Prologue submitted 10-1-12.
Yes, I'm alive. Just enjoy the prologue of my newest story. Explanation is at the end of the prologue. :-)
Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien.
THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.
Book Four in the IAUR MIN Series.
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe.
PROLOGUE.
Year 2310, Second Age of Middle-Earth.
Maedhros sighed, and coughed a bit more blood from his throat. With the motion, the long dagger impaling his left bicep grated painfully against the ribs it was lodged between.
"Someone must rescue them," he said. His voice was low and gurgling, and he choked and heaved for a second before he could speak again. "You two and Legolas track those orcs down and get those humans back. I shall remain here with Elladan and Elrohir to aid the villagers and treat the wounded." The twins looked hesitant, but departed at his urging, calling Elrond's sons over and retrieving Legolas as they left. As he watched the trio's retreating backs, Maedhros felt a stab of foreboding and wondered if he had done the right thing.
"May the Valar watch over you all," he whispered. Then they were gone.
For a long moment, all Maedhros could do was sit there, breathing slowly as he tried not to pass out. A second later, twin pairs of hands were on his shoulders, steadying him. Elladan and Elrohir looked worried as they scanned him up and down.
"We need to get you inside, iaur min," one of them said. Maedhros's vision was starting to swim, so he could not determine which twin the speaker was. He nodded faintly, coughing blood again. Then he felt a strange rushing in his head. The last thing he heard before blackness overtook him was the sound of his name being yelled.
A fire crackled merrily in the darkness of the night. The smoke drifted up into the boughs of the trees, briefly hindered by a small cooking pot, before dispersing into the warm breeze. To one side of the flames rested a pack and a laid-out bedroll; to the other side crouched a shadowed form over a dark, quivering lump on the ground.
The night was silent for several moments.
"Will she live?" asked a male voice from the edge of the trees. The silhouette's head, for it was indeed humanoid, lifted. It seemed to be staring at the source of the sound.
When Maedhros regained consciousness, he was not alone. A familiar figure was standing over him, arms crossed. The expression on her features was unreadable.
Silver eyes glinted sea-green as they stared at the red-headed elf lying, bleeding, on the pallet.
"Yes," the silhouette replied. Its voice was a smooth, feminine alto, gentle and husky with the whisper. "Her body is healed; her mind, however, is not."
"How can you be so cavalier about this?" the elleth with the strange eyes demanded as she reached out to lay a gentle touch against his wounded side.
"Will she recover?"
His grey eyes looked at her, filled with pain, but he did not allow it to influence his voice. "I had no choice." He choked a little, and spat out a glob of blood with a grimace. "I had to help them."
Now the shadowed woman hesitated, and then bowed her head again. A long-fingered hand snaked out to touch the brow of what was revealed to be another female. "I do not know."
Her eyes darkened further, threatening to fill with tears.
"What do you mean?"
"You only have one chance at this life," she whispered. "How can you toss it around so carelessly?"
"Her head was damaged when she hit it on that branch," the woman replied somewhat snappishly. "She woke earlier, but could recall nothing but her name and the fact that she is pregnant. She knows nothing of where she came from, nor anything about her parentage or the sire of her unborn child."
He stared levelly at her, brow creased with the knowledge of a thousand years and a thousand battles.
"And what of her body? Are she and the babe alright?"
"My choices were to die, or to stay and atone," he said. "I chose to atone. Am I not doing that?"
"Physically, they shall be fine," the silhouette replied. "I have seen to that. However, I fear that no more shall she walk in the realms of her people as she once did, and if she ever does regain her memories, I pray that it will be a slow trickle… and that there is someone present who can explain them to her." The figure paused. "You know as well as I that I was never particularly gifted with foresight, my young fire, but something tells me that battles face her in the future."
Her face contorted, and she spun away, shoulders hunching as they trembled faintly. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. "If you keep doing things like this, you will eventually be hurt so badly that not even I can save you!" she spat angrily, turning to face him.
"Does her link with her husband still stand?" The figure finally looked back up at her counterpart, and the firelight glinted off of silver eyes and black hair.
They were silent for a long moment, staring into each others' eyes, his gaze scrutinizing and hers furious.
"Of course," she replied. "That is a bond that could only be severed by divine intervention." She paused once more, her voice growing quiet. "That bond and the child that she carries shall be what see her through the difficulties that I see ahead of her. She shall need much aid during the coming months."
"Tell me," she ground out, "what you would do if I told you I was with child. Would you go out and risk your life needlessly like you're so fond of doing, when it meant that our child could be left fatherless?"
"Then aid we shall give." The male voice finally entered into the ring of firelight, and his grey eyes danced in the flickering glow. He came over and hunkered down atop the bedroll, shoving his hands into his armpits and crouching upon the balls of his feet. Silence reigned for several seconds longer.
He grimaced painfully, and then was silent for a long moment, his grey eyes boring into her now ocean-blue orbs.
"She has the blood of my people flowing through her veins," the female mused at length. She traced a thoughtful finger down the other female's cheek. "I can already sense its awakening. It is weak, but it is present. If anything, she shall have at least the talents of the shadows and the thought-speech. It remains to be seen whether she shall have any talent with magic or not, or any other extraneous abilities."
"The blood of your people is strong," he said at length. "It would run strong in the child, stronger even because of your own power. You also have your subordinates to think of. You would not abandon them, and the child would at least have its mother."
"Indeed."
She stared bitterly at him, ignoring the raven-black fringe that fell into her eyes.
Again, the hush of an awkward quiet fell between them, with the grey eyes fixed upon the flames and the silver staring musingly on the incapacitated woman. The grey eyes briefly flicked up to stare at his companion's back, and then they returned to the fire as their owner returned to his thoughts.
He had come upon the woman quite abruptly earlier that day when he had helped a group of men, women, and children in need of healing supplies. When he had been tending their minor injuries, he had noticed the wounded woman. He had immediately seen the differences between her and these rustic folk, and had asked that he be allowed to take her into his charge in return for his help. The men had been reluctant, but in the end had acquiesced.
He had tried his best to heal her, but her wounds had been long-infected, likely a couple of weeks old. Frankly, the silhouette with the grey eyes had been surprised to realize that the woman was still alive- that was until he had felt, during his initial examination, the faint bulge of her belly and realized that she had good reason to cling tenaciously to life.
Even so, he had feared that she would not last until the morning.
Then help had arrived from the most unlikely of sources. She had come upon him in the night, melting out of the shadows like she was wont to do. Upon seeing the condition of his ward, she had immediately taken charge. Now, the wounded woman was resting, as was the shadow-maid, and he was contemplating what had brought her to him at that critical moment.
"I've been searching for you." His companion's voice jolted him from his reverie, and he realized that he was more tired than he had previously thought.
Her face contorted, and he thought for a second that she would either weep or shout.
"You have?" His voice was dull, and held a faint tinge of cynicism to it.
"How could you assume such a thing?" she quietly asked instead.
"I was."
"How could you think that I could simply move on as though nothing had happened?" She frowned. "I may be powerful, but you overestimate my strength." A tense pause stretched itself in the still air.
"Why?"
"If you died, I would follow you in an instant," she choked out, "regardless of any duty to my people or our child." Silence reigned between them for several long moments.
Now the woman paused, and then she finally left her place beside the deeply unconscious shape on the ground. She circled the fire until she finally knelt beside the man, and gingerly unfolded his limbs from his body, forcing his knees to the ground, so that she could press herself against him, her arms encircling his neck as her face lingered only a half-inch away from his.
"Because when I said those words I had been both angered with worry and distraught that you had come so close to death yet again," she whispered, breath floating across his lips. "And when you replied in the way you did, my temper flared even further because you were so calm when you had taken a dire wound. I did not understand, and my words caused a rift between us that I refused to heal at the time."
"I am no stranger to dire wounds," she said sternly at last. "But I refuse to stand aside and watch as you allow yourself to be wounded carelessly over and over again." Her voice rose in anger toward the end of her statement, and then faded for a long time.
She paused, her silver eyes briefly closing as she drew a slow breath. "Nevertheless, it hurt after I parted from you, knowing that I had hurt you as well. It hurt me more than I had previously thought possible, my husband."
"I shall heal you this time," she hissed. "But after this, I do not wish to see you again."
The man finally sighed, his hands coming up to pull the woman to him as his own eyes drifted shut and he leaned his forehead against hers. A few wisps of his light hair, russet in the firelight, drifted down to tickle his cheek. "I missed you, as well, my wife. Where have you been these years, beloved?"
He froze, feeling a chill run through his body as memories of his parents flashed in his mind's eye. He swallowed with some difficulty. His voice was level, but very quiet as he spoke. "You would leave?"
"Many places," she replied, snuggling against him. Her lips briefly brushed against his, causing them both to freeze for an instant. Then she deepened the contact again.
"Yes," she said with conviction, and her eyes were cold and hard as chips of ice. Then she moved forward, closed her eyes, and began to heal him.
"I have been many places, my young fire," she breathed through their kisses, her hands questing to his belt. He did not stop her, also allowing her to straddle his hips. He held her about the waist as she undid their leggings and tunics.
A few moments passed in strained silence. She began to sweat, and her breath started to come heavy while her eyes opened, revealing them to be glazed. At last, she wrenched herself away from his side with an anguished cry, collapsing to the floor in a heap.
"But none of them really matter unless you go to them with me." Here she paused, eyes meeting his again. "Will you consent to have me travel with you?"
His heart lurched in fear, and he tried frantically to get off of his pallet, to help her, but she angrily held up a hand toward him. He halted at the silent command. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stared bitterly into his own. She said nothing as she got up, turned, and stumbled weakly, unsteadily, from the room, clutching her lower abdomen. A single tear fell to the floor, and then he was alone with his unspoken apologies and terrible grief.
He did not see her again.
He was silent for a second, his grey eyes smoldering as he stared into her silver ones.
"I would have it no other way, my bright shadow," he said fervently. Then he dove in for another searing kiss.
Year 2310 S.A.
Legolas paused, and regarded the red-haired healer hovering over him.
"You've had no trouble breathing?" he asked, eying the sling and bandages wrapped around the other elf's chest. Maedhros hesitated, deliberating for an instant before nodding.
"I did," he answered. Strangely enough, he would not meet Legolas' gaze. The eldest son of Fëanor seemed almost hurt as he continued to speak. "As chance happened, my Life Guardian, Dínenweth, was passing through the village when the orcs attacked. She was able to heal me enough to stop the interior bleeding before she ran low on energy. She rested a bit, and then had to leave." And he would say nothing else.
"Well, old one, it has been a long day of training. What say you to a bit of relaxation with a story?" asks a young man's voice.
"Yes! Tell us a story!" says a female. There comes a heavy sigh and then an exasperated chuckle.
"Alright," replies a male's gentle tenor. Now a different female laughs.
"You give in so easily, love!" she exclaims. Her voice is a smooth alto. The tenor male's wry groan is joined by a baritone, and then the baritone says,
"You do not know these young ones! They are persistent!" The tenor snorts in an undignified manner.
"Persistent, indeed!" he scoffs. "But I shall tell the tale nonetheless. Tell me, young one: Where did we leave off?"
"The prince was going to begin training his powers," replies the young male.
"Ah, yes," replies the tenor. The male pauses, and when he continues, there is a note of tender sadness in the words he speaks.
"This is a tale of the beginning of a great grief that haunted the prince many a long year, and of a great love that was torn asunder for an Age. I ask you, as I asked you before: Are you sure you wish to hear this tale?"
"Romance? Angst? Adventure?" the young female voice and the young male voice chorus together, tones incredulous. "Of course!" The tenor chuckles along with the baritone and the alto female.
"Very well," the tenor says. "This tale begins in the year 2325 of the Second Age, 15 years after my last tale. Please note that many things had happened between these tales that were small but played a large part in making some of the events possible. If you desire to hear some of these stories at a later time, I would be glad to tell you, for they are adventures of peacetime, and often were quite humorous. I also tell you that I shall be vague in some of the details in this retelling, as not all are suitable for an audience's ears." There is a pause as the speaker gathers his thoughts.
"I shall begin this tale with what was told to me…"
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit.
I know, it was long for a prologue. Probably longer than most of this fic's chapters, in fact. But I'm trying to tell two different scenes at the same time, here. If it was confusing, please let me know so that I can improve it.
And I know, you're probably thinking, "She's ALIVE?!" And you're about right. It's been 4 years since I updated anything on this account. I blame other addictions, college, work, and my own lack of inspiration for not finishing this sooner. To be honest, it was very difficult to do until I finally got over the "point of no return" hump with this story, and that only happened recently. It doesn't help that I lost half my plot notes and still haven't found them after three years. They're probably stashed somewhere in my filing cabinet at home, but I don't have the time, patience, or energy to find them. Thus, I finally said "Screw the notes" and wrote a new ending corresponding to what little I remember of the plot. Now that I've finished it, I've decided to post it. With The Hobbit coming out in December, I figured now would be a good time to get back into the Lord of the Rings swing of things.
For any of my old readers who are utterly AMAZED that I'm continuing this series after so long, I apologize profusely. You've been very patient, and I'm sure you thought I was dead at some point. Fortunately, I'm not. The final chapter of "Peacetime Adventures" will be posted as soon as I finish up here.
For anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:
www. fanfiction ~portraitofascribe
and HERE: elvenwhitemage. deviantart
Just remove all the spaces and add the appropriate dot-com s, and you'll find me.
Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear. Enjoy the fic!
Prologue posted 10-1-2012.
-GundamWingFanatic90, a.k.a. Portrait of a Scribe