Title: First Sight
Chapter: 1: Alkalphiel Exposits
Author: Alkalphiel and The Scribe
Summary: Alkalphiel meets Legolas for the first time, with disastrous results.
Feedback: Yes, please! Post reviews or email alkalphiel@yahoo.com
A/N: The Scribe: Hopefully this won't be Mary-Sueish. Or Anti-Mary-Sueish, for that matter. (Alkalphiel would like to note at this point that she has encountered many a tale of the fearsome Mary Sue and hopes never to see one at close range.) All characters, with the exception of Alkalphiel and her attendant family and friends, are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien (or rather, his family and estate). This fanfiction is not for profit and is intended as a work of respect for the Tolkien, his characters and his world.
Alkalphiel: I wish to point out that, while it is quite true that I am no one's property, neither are any other Elves. The ownership of other beings is a barbaric conceit, and if this J.R.R. Tolkien of whom everyone speaks so highly supported such conduct than his merit must be questioned. (At this point, The Scribe would like to promise to explain copyright law to Alkalphiel, in addition to the concept of the "Mary Sue," at a later time and off-camera, as it were.)
~*~
I would not even have been there if it weren't for my parents.
My mother is a venerable elf, but she refuses to believe that I could possibly be happy alone. "At 2718, you should at least be betrothed to someone. Your father and I would like grandchildren before we sail for the Grey Havens. And you must be lonely, dear! You should settle down . . . ." And on she goes.
So naturally, when the opportunity for me to attend a feast at Lord Thranduil's court appeared, my mother insisted that I take it. Our King wished to celebrate the return of his son from the War of the Ring. We all felt the new light-hearted spirit that had entered Mirkwood, leading us to hope that Greenwood the Great might one day return. The prospect of feasting, dancing and singing was perfectly fitted to the mood of the people, the younger elves like myself especially.
But I had nothing to wear. This is where the meddling of my parents enters the picture. It was, surprisingly, my father, Himquárëion, who took the initiative in this. He took me aside one evening following one of my many dinner visits. "I know your mother has been urging you to attend this celebration . . . ."
"Yes, and I would very much like to attend. All my friends are going and I very much enjoy taking part in such large festivals of song and dance. But, there is the matter of-"
My father cut me off. "Clothing. Yes, I know. Alkalphiel, you are a lovely young elf. But your mother informs me that your wardrobe is somewhat lacking for this sort of occasion."
"Atar, this isn't necessary. I'm a grown elf. I can provide my own clothing!"
"Too late. We've already schemed behind your back on this." Himquárëion's eyes twinkled as he reached around me and opened the closet. "Look."
I gasped involuntarily. It was . . .
"Beautiful, yes, I know. Such a lovely shade of gold. And look at the embroidering on the bodice! So delicately covered in leaves. Perfect for a lady of Mirkwood. Perfect for meeting a husband in. This dress is-"
Precisely the shade that makes me look yellow. 'Jaundiced,' I believe the humans call it. Swallowing my horror, I turned back to my father. "Atar, I appreciate the gesture. But I believe you have forgotten how my coloring differs from mother's and my sisters'."
My father regarded me appraisingly. And there I stood, my traits neither Silvan nor Noldorin. From my Silvan mother, who was all clean lines and pale colors, I had directly inherited little. Nor did I have the darker tones of hair and eye that my father's Noldorin heritage should have bestowed. My own hair had settled for a shade precisely halfway between the nearly white blonde of my mother's and the nearly black brown of my father's-the color of mud. My eyes were a similar compromise, mixing the pure blue and emerald green of my respective elders. "Well, your younger sister takes after your mother. Exquisite, she is. And your youngest sister, the third of you, has my traits . . ." he boasted, before returning to the conclusion that, "you are like none of us. I am sorry, Alkalphiel."
"It's alright, Atar. I know your heart was in the right place. But I cannot wear the warm tones and pastel shades that the rest of the family displays. I need gowns in cool colors and jewel tones."
Himquárëion sighed. "Yes, I know. I only wished to hear your charming color lecture again."
I looked at him in puzzlement.
"Alkalphiel, give an old elf a little credit. This is the dress for Ermenelwen!"
My face did not reflect any further comprehension, I am sure, for my father turned me around, nudged me down the hall to the guest room, and opened another closet. In this one I found an indigo dress, long and flowing and embroidered with the tiniest of silver stars. "Ada! You are too good to me." I threw myself on him in what I am sure was the largest hug I had ever bestowed.
"Nothing is too good for my daughter. You may be gone from my house, but you are never far from my heart. Now go. Put it on!"
Chapter: 1: Alkalphiel Exposits
Author: Alkalphiel and The Scribe
Summary: Alkalphiel meets Legolas for the first time, with disastrous results.
Feedback: Yes, please! Post reviews or email alkalphiel@yahoo.com
A/N: The Scribe: Hopefully this won't be Mary-Sueish. Or Anti-Mary-Sueish, for that matter. (Alkalphiel would like to note at this point that she has encountered many a tale of the fearsome Mary Sue and hopes never to see one at close range.) All characters, with the exception of Alkalphiel and her attendant family and friends, are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien (or rather, his family and estate). This fanfiction is not for profit and is intended as a work of respect for the Tolkien, his characters and his world.
Alkalphiel: I wish to point out that, while it is quite true that I am no one's property, neither are any other Elves. The ownership of other beings is a barbaric conceit, and if this J.R.R. Tolkien of whom everyone speaks so highly supported such conduct than his merit must be questioned. (At this point, The Scribe would like to promise to explain copyright law to Alkalphiel, in addition to the concept of the "Mary Sue," at a later time and off-camera, as it were.)
~*~
I would not even have been there if it weren't for my parents.
My mother is a venerable elf, but she refuses to believe that I could possibly be happy alone. "At 2718, you should at least be betrothed to someone. Your father and I would like grandchildren before we sail for the Grey Havens. And you must be lonely, dear! You should settle down . . . ." And on she goes.
So naturally, when the opportunity for me to attend a feast at Lord Thranduil's court appeared, my mother insisted that I take it. Our King wished to celebrate the return of his son from the War of the Ring. We all felt the new light-hearted spirit that had entered Mirkwood, leading us to hope that Greenwood the Great might one day return. The prospect of feasting, dancing and singing was perfectly fitted to the mood of the people, the younger elves like myself especially.
But I had nothing to wear. This is where the meddling of my parents enters the picture. It was, surprisingly, my father, Himquárëion, who took the initiative in this. He took me aside one evening following one of my many dinner visits. "I know your mother has been urging you to attend this celebration . . . ."
"Yes, and I would very much like to attend. All my friends are going and I very much enjoy taking part in such large festivals of song and dance. But, there is the matter of-"
My father cut me off. "Clothing. Yes, I know. Alkalphiel, you are a lovely young elf. But your mother informs me that your wardrobe is somewhat lacking for this sort of occasion."
"Atar, this isn't necessary. I'm a grown elf. I can provide my own clothing!"
"Too late. We've already schemed behind your back on this." Himquárëion's eyes twinkled as he reached around me and opened the closet. "Look."
I gasped involuntarily. It was . . .
"Beautiful, yes, I know. Such a lovely shade of gold. And look at the embroidering on the bodice! So delicately covered in leaves. Perfect for a lady of Mirkwood. Perfect for meeting a husband in. This dress is-"
Precisely the shade that makes me look yellow. 'Jaundiced,' I believe the humans call it. Swallowing my horror, I turned back to my father. "Atar, I appreciate the gesture. But I believe you have forgotten how my coloring differs from mother's and my sisters'."
My father regarded me appraisingly. And there I stood, my traits neither Silvan nor Noldorin. From my Silvan mother, who was all clean lines and pale colors, I had directly inherited little. Nor did I have the darker tones of hair and eye that my father's Noldorin heritage should have bestowed. My own hair had settled for a shade precisely halfway between the nearly white blonde of my mother's and the nearly black brown of my father's-the color of mud. My eyes were a similar compromise, mixing the pure blue and emerald green of my respective elders. "Well, your younger sister takes after your mother. Exquisite, she is. And your youngest sister, the third of you, has my traits . . ." he boasted, before returning to the conclusion that, "you are like none of us. I am sorry, Alkalphiel."
"It's alright, Atar. I know your heart was in the right place. But I cannot wear the warm tones and pastel shades that the rest of the family displays. I need gowns in cool colors and jewel tones."
Himquárëion sighed. "Yes, I know. I only wished to hear your charming color lecture again."
I looked at him in puzzlement.
"Alkalphiel, give an old elf a little credit. This is the dress for Ermenelwen!"
My face did not reflect any further comprehension, I am sure, for my father turned me around, nudged me down the hall to the guest room, and opened another closet. In this one I found an indigo dress, long and flowing and embroidered with the tiniest of silver stars. "Ada! You are too good to me." I threw myself on him in what I am sure was the largest hug I had ever bestowed.
"Nothing is too good for my daughter. You may be gone from my house, but you are never far from my heart. Now go. Put it on!"