A/N: To save some confusion that may arise, I'll tell you this: This story was originally my own, with my owns characters and settings. I just thought I would change it to turn it into a fanfic. I altered the Elvish so it would sound more Tolkien-ish, but there are some things I didn't change. It's hard enough changing the names and all that jazz, as well as the places and Elvish, to look around on the internet to find certain terms. Forgive me if there's something wrong in here, better yet, give me a correct term.
I hope you like it! Reviews will be welcome!
Disclaimer: I own nothing! I swear it! So...so you lawyers can go now... waves hand at lawyers standing in doorway lawyers: Awww...
Thunder growled in the distance. The lightning revealed barren land, dyed black from the heavy smog and poisonous gases in the air. The roiling thunderclouds trembled, ready to release the water they held, but no rain came. They swept over the sky, unable to bring what they were meant to deliver.
Far below them, a group of orcs were gathered. They laughed hoarsely in the night, gathered around a small fire and speaking in a cursed language. There were almost forty of them. Their scimitars and double-headed axes were thrown carelessly down upon the ground.
One stood and moved away from the group, sniffing audibly as he scented the air. He looked down at the ten slaves they had captured. Some were asleep, but the ones that were not stared up at him with large eyes that glistened in fear and pain. There was the sound of clinking chains as they tried to shuffle back from the horrid creature in front of them. The orc laughed at their fear, a deep guttural sound that grated upon their ears. He spat on the ground at their feet before turning back and heading for the fire once more and sitting next to another orcs on a large rock. The slaves visibly relaxed and huddled close together for warmth and comfort, the chains that bound them rubbing against each other with quiet screeches.
Only one sat away from the group, her back turned. Iron shackles were snapped about her wrists, connecting her to the group behind her, but she stayed as far away as possible. She was not like them. A faint blue glow emanated around her in the dimness, revealing what she truly was: an elf maiden. She rocked slowly back and forth, murmuring in her native language to comfort a small bundle in her arms. The bundle wrapped in her protective embrace whimpered and a small hand clutched the front of her dress.
"Nana," the little being whispered. "Mama. I want to go home." The elven maiden nodded and kissed the small elf boy she held in her arms. His tunic and leggings were dirtied and torn, his long blond hair mussed and streaked with dust, but he was other than that unharmed, save for the bruises an orc had given him earlier. He was nine years old in what elves would call "human years," for elves matured much slower than humans, given the fact that they were immortal. In reality the boy was nearly twenty, though he was still small and still considered a child of nine.
"I know, Legolas, I know," the maiden clutching the boy whispered into his golden hair. "I do too. We will be free soon, ion-nîn, my son." At least, that was what the maiden hoped. Her name was Khílya; she was married to Thranduil Mirkwood, an elven kingdom. The only thing that complicated the matter was that Thranduil was the forest's king, and she its queen. That made the small child in her arms its prince, and that was a cost too great to pay if she lost him. She could feel him shivering in her arms, mostly from fear. They had been captured almost three days ago. Thranduil, along with his wife and child, had been traveling east to visit Rivendell, another elven realm. Thranduil had wanted to discuss some matters with Lord Elrond, the ruler of Rivendell, since Mirkwood and they have had some conflicts in the past. Khílya remembered that day horribly.
"Ada, daddy, when are we going to get there?" Legolas asked, trying to be heard over the pounding of horses' hooves. He was riding in front of Khílya, who had her arms around him protectively, gripping the horse's mane. Elves did not ride with a saddle or bridle, for the animals understood and trusted them completely.
"Soon, ion-nîn, soon," Thranduil replied, looking over at his son fondly. Legolas had his father's features, golden hair, and fair face. But he had his mother's bright blue eyes, the color of the sky, and his mother's kind heart. Unfortunately he also had his father's stubbornness and impatience, as he was showing now as they trekked beneath the trees.
"I'm tired of waiting," Legolas said huffily, crossing his arms. Khílya patted his slim shoulder. She glanced at Thranduil, informing her husband of her intentions before she kicked the horse's underbelly, setting it into a gallop. Legolas whooped happily and leaned over the mare's long neck, watching the ground and shrubs as they rushed quickly by. He turned his face forward again and let the wind play with his golden locks, enjoying the ride. It had been too long since he was out like this. He was always kept within the palace walls. Even though the palace had a garden, it was not enough to quench the wild fire in the prince's heart. He always longed for the outdoors when he was forced to stay inside.
Khílya pulled the horse to a stop so Thranduil and the guards could catch up. Thranduil's horse skidded to a stop beside Khílya's. She turned her flushed face to him and smiled brilliantly, and Thranduil lost whatever he had been about to say. He saw in her eyes that she had needed that dash as much as Legolas had needed it.
Legolas began bouncing in his seat. The mare he was upon snuffled, but she accepted the young one's energy and didn't complain.
"Ada, did you see how fast we were going?" the young elfling asked excitedly, still bouncing. "We were on the wind's tail!"
"Of course you were, ion-nîn," Thranduil said distractedly, still gazing fondly at his wife. She smiled and kicked the horse into a light trot.
It had started out so right. They had been making good time and would have arrived at Rivendell by sundown. Why had everything gone so horribly wrong?
Khílya hunched over her small son, holding him against her breast. He shifted and pressed his face against her side, gripping her dirtied dress in his slim fingers. His eyes were closed as he slept, and that worried the queen. Elves slept with their eyes open, for they wandered through their dreams as they regained their strength. Only when elves were injured, mightily depressed or ill did they hide the light of their eyes, for that meant they had not enough energy to dream, and that their light hearts were darkening.
Khílya allowed a tear to escape her eye and run down her cheek, trailing through the dirt and grime that coated her fair cheeks. Where was Thranduil? When would they escape this evil?
"My Lord," a guard muttered. "I sense evil nearby." The whisper was barely audible, but the king's keen elven ears picked up the warning. He turned to his wife.
"Khílya," he said, trying to make sure his son didn't hear him. "The guards sense something of evil will nearby. Pull back."
The queen nodded and slowed the mare until two guards, who had their bows drawn and notched, flanked her. Their eyes flitted over the shrubs and trees of the path, watching for evil.
"Hëncda-kíl!" a guard shouted suddenly in Elvish. "Watch out!" A black arrow whizzed from the trees, but the shout came too late, for the tip of the arrow embedded itself deep into the heart of a guard. He was dead before he hit the ground, and the horse he had been riding reared and shrieked in surprise. A volley of arrows flew from the darkness between the trees, many hitting their marks and felling the guards that protected the royal family.
Rough gibberish filled the air. A swarm of orcs filed from the trees, surrounding the remaining four guards and the small family they were fighting to protect. The guards' horses closed in around Khílya's, shielding her and the prince from any more arrows. They drew their swords, but did not yet make any moves. The orcs closed in around the elves, muttering in the dark language. They raised their blades, whether it be to a sword or ax, and growled threateningly.
Khílya wrapped an arm around her son protectively, unsheathing her own graceful sword and watching the vecz warily. Legolas huddled back against her, trembling. He had never seen so many orcs in one place at one time. They normally fended for themselves or traveled in small groups. They wore black armor over their chests and arms, and some had horned helmets. This was a gathered army built for only one purpose: destruction.
With a loud battle cry, the orcs pressed in upon the elves, raising their weapons for the kill. Confusion ensued, and the sounds of clanging steel and painful cries rent the air. Birds took wing in surprise, and deer bolted in alarm. The peaceful night air was disrupted as the battle began.
Khílya slew another orc, trying desperately to keep her son safe. She stayed upon her mount, twisting on its back to reach every orc that came too close. The mare beneath her nickered nervously and worked with her charge, lashing out with her hooves and butting the foul creatures away, heedless of the gashes and scrapes she was receiving from the orcs' sharp weapons.
"Khílya!" Thranduil called across the path, where he was fighting off an enormous group of vecz. "Khílya, frítea-ü nyav thásl Legolas cuoisa! Take Legolas and run!" He shouted in Elvish to hide the command. Khílya cast one last glance at her husband. She normally would have stayed to fight, but her child's life was in danger, and she couldn't risk it.
With one last prayer to her loved one, Khílya spun her mare and kicked its underbelly, setting it into a fevered gallop. The horse leaped over the barrier of orcs, then dashed away into the night. A pack of orcs broke off from the main group and followed. Thranduil bid a prayer to the stars to keep them safe.
Khílya heard the orcs after her, but she was outpacing them. Their shrieks were growing more and more faint as she pressed on, desperate to escape. Her long brown hair flowed in the rushing winds. She ducked quickly beneath a low branch. Her pointed ears heard the sound of a flying ax, but she did not have time to swerve her mount aside before the blade of the ax hit the horse's hindquarters with a sickening thump. The mare squealed and collapsed as its legs gave out beneath it. Before the mare's head hit the ground, Khílya lifted Legolas in her arms and leaped from the fallen horse's back. She stopped her fall with a roll and ended up in a crouch. She prepared to run, but the orcs closed in around the front of her, blocking off the escape as the rest covered from behind, stabbing the helpless horse quickly with a spear.
Khílya straightened, holding Legolas tightly in her arms. He buried his face against her chest to hide his eyes from the horrid grins and evil giggles surrounding him. A bulky orcs stepped forward and eyes the elf maiden up and down, wondering what to do with her. He suddenly laughed.
"Bind her. We'll take her back to the slaves. It's not every day you get an elf slave."
They took out a thick rope and pressed forward. They wrenched Legolas from her arms, not bothering being gentle, and bound her hands in front of her. They marched back to the plains. They shoved the female elf ahead of them, sometimes poking her with their weapons, while another carried Legolas. He fought viciously against the creature that reeked of evil, but it only tightened its hold until it was hurting him. It was not long before Khílya was thrust into shackles and tossed carelessly upon the ground. Legolas was thrown down after her, and he rushed eagerly into his mother's waiting arms.
"Don't cause any trouble," an orc growled. "We'll be watching."
"Ada," Legolas murmured, opening his eyes. "Where's Ada?" Khílya quickly brushed her tears away before her son could see them. She didn't want him to despair.
"I'm not sure, Vynithel," she replied, using the prince's nickname she had given him. It was formed from both the Elven language and the Stezctkin language, which was the language of the moon. Stezctkin was an ancient dialect and not many people knew how to speak it. "Vynithel" was a mix of both languages, but it could be roughly translated to mean "child of the stars."
"Naneth, Mother, I cannot see the stars," Legolas whimpered, remembering them when he heard his nickname and tightening his hold on her. His light blue eyes flickered over the threatening thunderclouds overhead, where the stars should have been. "I'm scared, Nana. I want Ada. I want to go home." The little one's eyes misted over with tears. Khílya felt her heartstrings tug. She gently brushed a blond lock of hair from his thin face and tucked it fondly behind his pointed ear.
"It's all right, little one," she soothingly murmured. "We will go home. And you will see the trees again. You will see the squirrels and birds. You will see your centií again."
"My centií?" Neldë asked fondly, his eyes glazing as he remembered his loved pets. "Lalaith and Fehinte?"
"Yes, Lalaith and Fehinte are waiting for you," Khílya whispered. "And when you go home they will nuzzle you with their trunks." She massaged his cheek with the back of her hand. "And they will gently wrestle you with their long tusks, and then they will lift you up and put you on their backs. Do you know where they will take you?" Legolas smiled softly.
"Nay," Legolas muttered, shifting deeper into his mother's embrace. "Where?" Khílya smiled down at her son.
"They will take you to your favorite tree."
"The big one with the deep knothole?" Legolas asked, smiling at the memory.
"Yes, the one where you found Guithar," Khílya whispered. Guithar was a baby raccoon Legolas had found near dead in the knothole. The prince had saved his life, revealing how much of his mother's heart he had. It had remained Legolas' favorite tree ever since, for it had given him a wonderful animal friend that he loved dearly.
"What will I do when I get to the tree?" Legolas asked sleepily, his eyes closing again as his mother formed a dream for him.
"You will climb it, Vynithel," Khílya murmured, beginning to rock her son gently. "Climb it to the very top. The squirrels will come with you. When you get to the top, you will see all of the forest, right in front of you. You will be able to see the birds and the deer, and the stars." Legolas smiled and sighed lightly as he let go into sleep. Khílya kissed his brow softly.
"Nana?" Legolas suddenly asked.
"Yes, ion-nîn?" Khílya asked gently.
"You forgot something," the child whispered.
"What did I forget, little one?"
"You and Ada will be there with me," Legolas said, at last falling into a light sleep. Khílya felt her eyes sting and the tears run down her cheeks. The truth was, she was not expecting to live through this ordeal. Secretly, she was funneling her strength into the little body in her arms, keeping him alive and protecting him from the poisonous fumes and the evil in the air. She knew that if her son found out, he would ask her to stop giving him her strength, but she wouldn't, even if he asked her to. She was too intent on keeping his spirit and body alive.
Softly, Khílya began singing an elvish lullaby. Her voice was sweet and silky, despite the hoarse air and how it was choking her lungs. Elves' voices were like no other, and hers was one of the sweetest ever heard. She raised the song in volume. It lilted around the air, worming through the raucous laughter of the orcs. The slaves lifted their heads and listened intently to the smooth and soothing lyrics. The laughter of the orcs stopped, and they only heard one syllable of the beautiful song before they roared and clapped their hands over their ears.
"Silence, slave!" an orc thundered, standing and stepping closer to the female elf. He was stronger than the rest and the song did not weaken him like it did the others. To him it was only a terrible noise. The other slaves skittered fearfully away as he approached, their chains clanking together loudly. The orc raised a gnarled hand and brought it down across the elven maiden's head, sending her toppling. Legolas tumbled out of his mother's arms and was instantly awake. He sat up and gazed in horror as the orc drew out a black dagger, coated in poison, and raised it above its head.
"Nana!" Legolas screamed, lifting a hand, reaching for his mother as the dagger descended, its point flashing greedily in the lightning. Khílya barely made any noise as the dagger, the sharp metal driving into her side, impaled her. She felt the poison rush through her blood and felt suddenly hot, as if her blood was boiling over an open fire. She began to tremble uncontrollably. All sounds became muffled, from the orc's evil laughter to Legolas' anguished cries.
"No! Nana!" Legolas shouted, scrambling for the fallen form of his mother. He turned her over onto her back and held her head between his slender hands, tears running down his cheeks. His body shook with gigantic sobs. The orc above them spat at the elfling and turned away with a satisfied grunt. Legolas didn't hear him go, nor did he care. He watched as his mother's eyes, mirroring his own, glazed over and closed, hiding their dimmed light from him. Her blood ran over his palms, staining both his skin and heart.
"No, Nana," Legolas sobbed, his voice tight and choked. "Don't leave me, Nana. Please don't leave me alone here. No. No." He rested his head against her chest, hearing the usual strong elven heartbeat fade and slow. The poison was slowly dragging her into darkness. The bluish glow around her dimmed, and her form became darker by the second.
"Nana, Saes. Guitrs-lhkïj nóchse nuiët nenl. Bíetin juoáe huiteĉ líelth. Saes. Please. Do not give in to darkness. Hold onto the light. Please." Legolas begged for her to live. She did not heed his prayers, nor did the gods. He held onto her as she steadily grew colder, darker, as her life ebbed from her body just beneath his fingertips. He felt utterly helpless at her side, being forced to watch as she left him.
"Nî sésute kyũer hén, Naneth," Legolas murmured as he felt her last breath leaving her. "I love you, Mother." He sniffed mournfully. A slight breeze wafted around his head, stirring his golden hair. He leaned down and kissed his mother's brow. As he did, Khílya murmured one last thing:
"Nî sésute kyũer hén nuë, Vynithel," Khílya whispered, her voice as soft and soothing as the light breeze that stirred her son's hair. "I love you too, Vynithel." Legolas' eyes filled with tears again, and he collapsed against his mother's body, sobbing uncontrollably. Khílya's light faded and died, leaving a darkness where there once had been light. Legolas felt his heart wrench horribly as he saw the light leave his mother's body, and he knew that the light had left his life forever. Quietly, as he pressed his face against his mother's chest, he began to sing the elvish lullaby his mother had left unfinished. The slaves, their own hearts stinging from the sight in front of them, took up the tune, even though they did not know the words. Gently, the sound of the lullaby lifted above the evil of the land and they all found relief in its depths. The orcs, for the second time that night, heard the lovely sound, but hated it.
"I said silence!" the burly orc came back and struck the small elfling hunched over his mother's body. Legolas collapsed against the ground, gasping in unuttered sobs. But still he kept singing the lullaby. The orc kicked him in the ribs.
"You want to join that wench?" the horrid creature growled, pointing to Khílya's dead figure. "Keep up that screeching and you will." Legolas' lilting tune halted. The orc snarled in satisfaction. Releasing one last kick upon the little elf, he turned and walked back to the campfire. But he never made it there.
The orc's footsteps were abruptly stopped as he fell to the ground with a shriek, an arrow embedded in his throat. He grasped the shaft in his malformed fingers, but didn't manage to pull the arrow free before he died. The orcs around the fire all leaped to their feet, taking up their axes or scimitars. They turned towards the intrusion. Five elves upon their mounts rushed from the trees, their bows drawn, already firing a volley of arrows and felling many of the cruel beasts in front of them. One elf broke away from the battle and galloped for the slaves. The figure upon the horse's back jumped from the mount and landed at a crouch gracefully. He rushed immediately to the slaves and peered at their faces quickly, searching. Suddenly he saw Legolas hunched over the fallen elf maiden, shaking with new sobs. The warrior fell to his knees beside the distraught elfling, reaching out slowly for him.
"Ada!" Legolas cried, leaping into his father's arms. Thranduil wrapped his arms around the slim body in his grasp and buried his face into his son's golden hair. He had thought he had lost the little elfling. Legolas began to shake furiously, hiding his face in his father's tunic. Tears slid from his clenched eyes.
"Ada…It's Nana," he whispered. "She…she's…""It's all right, Vynithel, it's all right," Thranduil soothed, stroking Legolas' blond hair. "I'm here." He had already known what had happened to his wife before the prince had tried to tell him. The glow was gone from her body. He knew she was gone.
"It's all my fault," Legolas whimpered. "It's my fault she's gone."
"Do not say such a thing, ion-nîn," Thranduil said firmly. "It was not your fault."
"It was," Legolas whispered, but his voice was too quiet for even Thranduil's keen ears to hear.
Tears fell from Thranduil's eyes, falling to Legolas' hair. He held his son protectively, his shoulders shaking with the effort to remain quiet as he sobbed in distress. He rocked them gently back and forth. Soon he scooped Legolas up into his arms and walked back to the horse, where he sat his son upon its back. The prince gripped its mane in his small hands. Tearstains ran down his face, but his features were set grimly. Thranduil clasped one of the slender hands in his own and kissed its knuckles before walking swiftly to one of the guards.
Legolas waited for his father upon the horse's back. Thranduil talked hurriedly to the guard, then climbed up onto the horse behind his son. The guards gently gathered up Khílya's body while the rest released the slaves. The captain of the guards, Jenath, climbed upon his own mount and followed Thranduil back into the forest. The rest would catch up. He stayed silent as he followed his king, though he could distinctly hear the young prince's sniffles, and his heart throbbed in sympathy. It was a large blow the kingdom and its rulers had paid tonight with the death of their queen. It would take time to mend, but none would ever be the same.
Again, hoped you liked it, and I will gladly accept reviews! Copperfang