My Fairytale
Summary: Estel daughter of Elessar has lost everything: father, mother, sister, brother – and freedom. When she is given a second chance at life, she finds herself in what she was always told was a fairytale. Is it? Or is it the past she was meant to live?
Rating: T due to the complexity of the storyline
Genre: angst (mostly emotional) ; mystery ; friendship ; adventure ; romance
Canon Character(s): Gandalf ; Lord Elrond Peredhel ; Aragorn Arathornion ; Legolas Thranduilion ; Boromir Denethorion ; Haldir
OC Character(s): Estel Elessariel ; Eldarion Elessarion ; Tinúviel Elessariel ; Lady Kiria ; Lord Elessar
Set During: runs through FotR, TTT, and RotK
Note: This fic is very confusing in the beginning because I wanted to get to the action, which flows smoother and makes more sense, so bear with me through the first couple chapters.
Prologue
~ Eldarion Elessarion ~
I stumbled into the woods, exhausted beyond caring. Branches whipped into my face, adding more wounds to my already bruised body. But I didn't care. My father hadn't cared either, throwing himself time and time again against our foes, trying to avenge the death of my mother and sisters.
But now he too was dead. He who was Elessar – my father, teacher, friend, and so much more besides. My mother and both of my younger sisters had perished a terrible death, trapped inside the flaming structure what once had been our summer estate. My father, anguished, guilt-ridden, and angry beyond belief, had entered battle after battle, throwing himself against opponent after opponent.
But he too was dead. My father had died just moments after his killer had fallen at my own hand, and now I fled from the remaining Orcs who sought to finish the deed.
I dodged another branch before leaping over a small stream. The cries of the Orcs rose in excitement ahead and behind me; I checked my run and whirled to flee in a different direction. An arrow flew past, mere inches from my hand. Gritting my teeth, I began to zigzag cautiously, just enough to make a hard target, but not so much that I pushed my body too hard.
I had to live through this, because the Believers had to know what I had learned. My grandmother needed to know the true name of Strider, Ranger of the Dunédain. It had been long told that we shared blood, but often had we strived to discover his true identity after his death and subsequent replacement in the Fellowship of the Ring by Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn and heir of Isildur. Now I knew, but my knowledge would have to reach Minas Tirith before it was of any use.
I cried out in pain when an arrow found its mark, and stumbled. I hit the ground hard, but rolled to avoid the most of the impact. As I rolled to my feet, something made me slip, loose my footing, and keep on rolling.
And I rolled into a raging river.
I cursed loudly, but I was caught in the strongest current. It was all I could do to keep my head up above the water, and my strength was fading fast. I took a deep breath and allowed the current to take me under, seeking to make myself a smaller target for the Orcs who had followed me.
I wanted to sigh and groan. My father had been quite skilled as a Ranger, and had trained me well, but in this moment I felt as though I had failed him. The knowledge of our ancestry would die with me, and our line would die out, leaving only one Believer left in all of Middle-earth.
One Believer who approached death, but had no heir to pass on the ancient secrets.
I fought to rise as my lungs began to scream for air, but the current had suddenly grown stronger. Too strong. It felt like someone – or something – was reaching for me, and pulling me down by body, soul, and mind.
I couldn't reach the air, and I couldn't hold my breath much longer. Pressure built on my ears as my lungs seemed to grow. Faint whistling, like the wind but also unlike it, rang in my ears.
I sank into darkness.
As consciousness crept back into me, I realized that I was lying facedown on the beach of the river I had fallen into. The sun, I was startled to realize, was high in the sky. I frowned. The sun had been sinking below the horizon when I had fallen into the river, so over a day must have passed since then.
I sighed, raking fingers through my dark brown hair. I looked into the river. My reflection stared placidly back at me. Many had often said that I resembled my father so much the two of us could have been brothers were we the same age.
I turned away abruptly at that thought. My father was dead now, as was the rest of my family. Who cared that I resembled Elessar?
I found to my relief that my bow and quiver remained strapped on my back, and that my sheath and sword hadn't been washed away. They all seemed in good shape, and none the worse for being banged about while being washed down a raging river.
My frown deepened as I pondered the river. The river shouldn't have been that high and strong. It was practically the end of autumn, and the melting of the ice and snow that made the rivers overflow had taken place months ago.
My eyes snapped open at the sound of birdsong. My mind fumbled to come up with a satisfactory explanation as to why a bird would be singing in late autumn. It was then that I noted other unusual signs that would not usually be associated with autumn. The trees' branches were far from bare, and the leaves were still green and healthy, not the gold and red and orange one expected in autumn. The sky was clear, and the bluest I'd ever seen in autumn. The sun was warm and shining brightly, not a usual sign.
I shivered suddenly as I passed beyond the tree line. I was no Elf, but even I could sense that this forest was old, very old. I felt as though I'd crossed an invisible boundary, and that even the trees were aware that I didn't belong here. At the feeling, I closed my eyes, trying to gather my senses. I was alone, wet, and without supplies. And I had no idea where I was.
It was a very bad combination.
As if to confirm that, a rough hand grabbed me, whirling me around. I complied, choosing to submit rather than have my shoulder torn off, and found myself face to face with an ugly Orc. Other Orcs closed a circle around us.
"Not a Halfling," the Orc hissed. A white hand imprint was on his face, and he smelled like something foul, something that the Valar had never intended to set foot upon Middle-earth.
"A Man," growled another, licking his lips. "The Master promised us man-flesh."
I frowned. What master? The Orcs that roamed Middle-earth were survivors of the destruction of Mordor and Sauron's demise; they should have no master. Unless someone was planning something against Gondor, of course.
But I had no intention of standing there and letting them eat me. Slipping under the hand, I drew my sword and plunged it deeply into the Orc. It shrieked in pain, withdrawing as others closed in. I gritted my teeth against the pain. Even had I been at my full strength and been fully rested and armored, I could not have held out long against so many attackers.
And I was far from that blessed state.
I whirled around to defend against an attacker just in time to see a long arrow fly into its chest and fell it. There was silence for a moment, and then – suddenly and silently – people were jumping into the combat from all directions, routing the Orcs completely.
"~Kill them all!~" I heard someone order, and the people intensified their attack. A numb feeling grew in my gut. These people moved to swiftly and gracefully to be Men of Gondor, and were too tall to be Dwarves. Both groups of the Dúnedain had long ago died out, yet I could think of no other group that gave orders in Elvish.
Within moments the Orcs were all destroyed, and the nocked bows swung to point at me. Another . . . person leaped lightly down, landing straight in front of me. I gasped as the air blew away the long blonde hair away from the person's face.
His ears were pointed.
"Impossible," I breathed, whirling to see better all of the strangers. All had pointed ears. It couldn't be . . . and here it was, staring me in the face.
But why – and how – could Elves still exist and be present in Middle-earth itself? All had sailed over the Undying Lands after the death of King Elessar and Queen Arwen Evenstar so many generations ago, if I were to agree with the myths of old.
"What is?"
I whirled back around to face the Elf, who had since straightened and was looking calmly at me. I groped for words to explain this impossibility as my mind grasped for some answers.
"~He is a trespasser,~" I heard another Elf say behind my back. "~Why should we listen to his lies?~"
"~Peace,~" soothed the Elf. "~Let him speak first before you pass judgment.~" Switching back to the common speech, he asked, "Who are you, and what business have you in the realm of the Lady of the Wood?"
Now my mind was really spinning. "The Lady of the Wood?" I repeated dumbly. "Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien? How can she . . . I thought she left with the other bearers of the Rings!"
If the Elves had been looking at me strangely before, now they looked as if I was a plague. "~What would a Man know of the Lady?~" questioned a different Elf to the first speaker standing before me, his black eyes holding only hostility towards me. "~He is either a spy or a madman, Haldir. Let us end his misery.~"
I straightened in anger at hearing this. "~I am no madman,~" I snapped. I regretted it when I realized that I had foolishly revealed that I knew Elvish. Now the complete attention of the Elves was on me.
"~You speak Elvish,~" noted Haldir, recovering far more quickly than some of his comrades.
I shrugged, wincing as pain raced up my side. "~As have all my fathers before me,~" I retorted. "~All who remain of my order must, else there would be no way to maintain the ancient ways passed down for centuries.~"
The Elves seemed to relax slightly. "~Are you a Dúnadan?~" Haldir asked, his gaze piercing.
My mind began to spin again. "~A Dúnadan?~" Now I couldn't restrain my own confusion. "~The Dúnedain died out generations ago,~" I said cautiously. "~The stewards disbanded them and they died one by one of 'mysterious causes'.~"
"~The Dúnedain are very much alive,~" Haldir countered evenly.
The pieces began to fall into place. I swore softly under my breath. Now I recognized Haldir's name, for he had been the Elf who had led some Elves to aid King Théoden in the battle of Helm's Deep. And if the Dúnedain still existed, Elves still lingered in Lothlórien, and the Lady Galadriel was still here . . . well, basically I was in the past!
Excitement began to course through my weary body. If I was back so far in the past, maybe I could what knowledge I had to prevent what had happened in my world. I frowned as the problem presented itself early on – I had no idea of what had truly happened that had ended King Elessar's line and allowed the stewards to seize control.
"~Who are you?~" demanded yet another Elf who finally seemed to have tired of my questions.
"~I am Eldarion,~" I answered absently, my mind running through various scenarios. Whispers coursed through the Elves present.
"~An Elf name.~" Haldir sounded surprised. "~And yet you are of the race of Men.~"
I shrugged. "~One of my sisters is called Tinúviel,~" I replied. "~It is tradition among my order to name our heirs after the legends of old.~"
"~Legends of old?~" Haldir's tone had turned skeptical. "~Lúthien Tinúviel was no legend.~"
"~She is to us,~" I said sadly. "~The common people don't even believe in Elves nowadays, much less Lúthien Tinúviel.~"
Understanding dawned on Haldir's face. "~And so you wonder at us, for you have longed believed us nonexistent.~"
I gave a harsh laugh. "~Nonexistent? No. We of my order have long perpetrated the belief of your existence on Middle-earth once long ago. No, what we believed is that all of you had sailed over to the Undying Lands after King – ~"
Here I broke off, regretting my quick tongue. I shouldn't have given out so much information about the Believers. Relief coursed through me when I remembered that I hadn't said whose son I was, for I was certain that Lord Aragorn already had the title Elessar in this world. But Haldir was having none of it.
"~King who?~"
I kicked myself mentally. Of all the things I could have said, I had to have blurted that out! "~The King of my people,~" I answered, sidestepping the question.
Haldir's eyes narrowed – he wasn't buying it. "~Who are you? Answer truthfully, for you can't leave.~"
I snorted. "~Wouldn't dream of it. It's either face you Elves or face the stewards. In truth I'd rather face you.~"
"~Are you an exile?~"
I laughed again, but my laugh was bitter. I hadn't laughed in joy since my mother's death, and certainly wasn't going to laugh again in joy for a long time. "~Yes. The stewards hate all who perpetrate the old legends. In fact,~" I reasoned, "~if it's possible I'm doomed to be exiled, because of the name I carry.~"
The air grew thick with tension. "~What is wrong with an Elven name?~" asked an Elf coldly.
"~You don't exist, remember?~" I pointed out sourly. "~The stewards don't want to be reminded of the days of old. The last person foolish enough to speak out against that was executed . . . oh, about thirty years ago. I believe he too had an Elvish name. . .~"
I trailed off, sensing the Elves' rage grow. Cold fury burned in their eyes. Angry murmurs passed around, and Haldir voiced them. "~From what country do you hail?~"
I bit my lip. "~I don't hail from anywhere anymore. I'm an exile, the last of my line.~"
Haldir's eyes softened slightly. "~We can offer you sanctuary,~" he said softly. "~But we will not harbor any we do not know about.~"
"~Well, I don't exactly relish the idea of having my name bouncing around,~" I said sarcastically. "~The stewards won't give up until my whole line is dead. And so far they've succeeded, because here I am, facing certain death by Elves.~"
"~What of your sister, Tinúviel?~"
"~She died," I said shortly. "I don't want to speak about that.~"
"~And your father? Mother?~"
"~All dead,~" I answered, but my voice shook. "~My mother and sisters perished in a fire; the stewards said it was the work of the Istari. Those of my order know that's a lie; the Istari left our shores long ago. My father died a few days ago.~"
"~The Istari still dwell in Middle-earth,~" Haldir reminded me. "~In fact, I believe Gandalf is in Lothlórien at this moment.~"
I looked at him with excitement. Most likely, if I hadn't gotten the times mixed up, Gandalf was still Gandalf the Grey and Saruman was still the head of the Istari. But I knew that he would soon become Gandalf the White, and would one day openly wear the Ring of Fire, Narya, when he sailed to the Undying Lands with Lord Elrond Peredhel of Imladris and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, the other two bearers of the Three Elven Rings. "~You mean Mithrandir?~"
"~You know him?~"
"~Of course. His deeds are held in great renown among those who still believe.~" His future deeds, I amended silently.
Haldir's gaze traveled over me once more, as if assessing me. His eyes seemed just as piercing as any famous Elven Lord or Lady. The other Elves merely looked to him. Haldir was, after all, the marchwarden of Lothlórien.
"~We will bring you to speak with the Lady,~" he announced finally. I heard a few unhappy mutters from behind, but the Elves did lower their bows and relax their stances. "~But you must go blindfolded until we reach her.~"
I sheathed my sword, keeping my hands visible so as not to alarm the Elves. "~I would expect nothing less, Haldir.~"
