All the Glory is Tolkien's, I just bask in it. Owning nothing, I write merely out of love and a need for self expression.
My Mirkwood elves speak Doriathrin Sinda. The best way I've seen this explained – " Imagine stumbling upon someplace where they speak the language of Elizabeth I as opposed to Elizabeth II." Even for Elves, they talk funny.
If you see romance in my Tolkien works, it will stem from canon logic. I do not slash.
Thranduil's sister-in-law is my creation, because I needed a foil for his tall, elvish Majesty. She was created for a Sweeney Todd-Silmarillion Mash-up – you can't have Thranduil singing to himself on the plains of Mordor, even Elrond would bring out the white, hug-yourself coat – and consequently evolved.
Anyone cares to leave a Review, I'd be grateful. Anyone wants to point out typos, all help gratefully accepted, and thank you! Anything else you want me to know, drop me a line.
Chapter One: Black Squirrels.
The bird-weight sang its lazy circle around them. A small, blond elfling stood with his back to the she-elf's legs, pressed tight, but his intense blue stare darted systematically along the underbrush. Both were dressed in deep summer green, the Lady wore a sleeveless coat and the child a laced tunic, over linens dyed to match the patterns of the rough brown tree trunks. As the golden cord twirled above them, the dew-drop shaped weight circled their feet as it traveled just above a thick layer of oak mast.
Ai'mithe's hand seemed to hang weightless in the air, stretched above her head. Her silver grey eyes alert and very much alive in a placid face, she too scanned amid the small patches of wild growth.
/ We should go further,/ Legolas thought, his shoulder pressing for a moment against her knee. / Further away./
This would be against Thranduil's order, and Ai'mithe chose not to waste her breath. The weight, however, picked up speed as it circled. But this acorn had come down to bounce upon root, / Everything is hid away, 'twill be lembas and berries. We hope for squab./
The Lady bit back a momentary smile. A single leaf twitched once, low on her left, and she focused. The elfling felt her shift and his little body tightened as his dark blue eyes darted, hunted, caught and held on the dying quiver. He held his breath, while the she-elf remained his steady and calm support. The weight gained momentum, an elfin thread reflecting rapid flashes of the forest's dim light. Legolas inhaled sharply as another leaf stirred and shuddered. As his head set, tilting, the weight snapped around and let fly. Ai'mithe stood poised, her fingers pointing at the canopy of oak and elm leaves high above as golden slip threaded through them. The lead drop confidently took its course, building speed before it broke through dark, waxy ivy leaves. It landed with a tiny thump, and both paused to listen a moment before the elfling's body quivered and bowed forward, waiting impatiently for release. The Lady listened a moment longer, then – when the faint, trembling sensation ceased – she nodded.
He launched like an arrow, and she followed with a slower, graceful step. Unconscious fingers gathered the slender rope, and she coiled it neatly as they leaned over small trailings of ivy, athalas, valerian, and mint. She left it to the small prince to surface triumphantly with a dull bundle of feathers. He showed her a rather lean female partridge.
Ai'mithe took it in gentle hands, beginning to sing soft thanks to Eru and the fallen prey, as she stroked the dull feathers. Her song continued as she rose to loop tiny feet with a hide thong. She tied their catch to her girdle. Slowly, they moved through the trees to the next clearing. The elfling darted and scrambled silently, sometimes perching on a limb to join his clear, high treble with hers. The Lady sang in Doriathrin, but the child merely gave voice to wordless notes.
Charmed, the great oaks surreptitiously lowered their higher branches within the reach of small hands. Dark blue eyes lit and wide, Legolas hopped and glided with one hand full of acorns gifted to him by the Truly Ancient Oak when he had stopped to stare in still, silent awe at massive branches that were far too high for even the tallest of their Court, even the King himself, to ever reach from the forest floor. While his aunt walked on, the small prince gathered handfuls of wildflowers and laid them at the base of the great trunk. To show his Favor, the Oak had dropped several clusters of leaf and nut. Legolas snatched up a few as he sprinted behind Ai'mithe's slow progress.
At one point, while they walked and sang, silent shadows flittered through the strong boughs high above their heads. Legolas' golden head lifted but he said nothing as his dark eyes followed them. Where they headed southerly, the hunters moved east. A shadow slipped forth and settled within the embrace of an ecstatic Elm. Thranduil's serene face and steady gaze emerged from beneath a dark brown leather hood as he lifted his head with a tiny shake.
Legolas waved his arms high and pelted madly to where his father crouched. As if Thranduil had not seen him, or, indeed, had any other reason to pause. Ai'mithe smiled and kept the bird weight in motion as she glided on. Her thoughts passed from one mild concern to another – the lack of small game, the hunt above ranging wider than planned, whether Thranduil would keep to this unsettling Progress or turn them north for home, and how she would keep Legolas at rest this dark - short of tying him to some woeful trunk.
Last dark neither she, nor his father, had been capable of a whole dream, so often did the elfling change his mind about where he would rest. First in Thranduil's lap on the wide, low bough, and then in her arms on the narrower branch above the King's. Thranduil had actually given in to a small moan just before dawn when Legolas decided he could see light, and that meant he could drop down to play.
A wry Silvan had muttered about sleeping with squirrels never ending well, and they'd begun the day under moonless starlight.
Now Thranduil gave her the soft call of a song bird, and when she looked to him, he bowed slightly in his perch. Then he was gone, up to become another shadow moving among restless branches. Legolas pelted back to grab her free hand, swinging it as he spilled forth with a rush of Silvan. When he quoted the King, he switched effortlessly to formal Doriathrin then back again into the flowing Silvan to add that he'd shared his gift with Ada, holding out a single cluster of acorns to show her.
' If only the Lore Master could hear him now,' She smiled to herself, and down at him, before nodding with somber attentiveness. Moments later something caught his eye and he was off, a little green leaf carried hither and fro on the breezes of an elfling's fancy.
Summer morning passed to warm afternoon. With only four birds to their credit, they paused. Ai'mithe untied them from the flat leather traveling girdle that sat low on her hips. She lifted the bundle and took its weight.
" These are not plump, happy birds." Legolas voiced it. " A mouthful each."
" One mouthful is better than none." She reminded, " But I suspect this fortune is all for today." When they spoke, it was in the general amalgam of both languages used by the King's Court. The formal syntax of Elwe's tongue became quite lively when interjected with vibrant local terms. " We shall return whence we came now. Let us hope your father's Officer's have fared better. A King who brings venison when he abides in your flets is much preferred to one who does not." She added wryly, watching as the elfling's face knotted in a frown.
He was too young to understand that hosting the King could be more than the obvious thing – the King's Favor. It could be the King's Punishment, too, if Thranduil was of a heart for it.
The elfling opined that all the honour of hosting the King, and his eclectic Court, fell to the Host, whoever he might be. Ai'mithe murmured that of course he would think this, earning herself another thoughtful frown.
There was a rustle in the trees some yards away. The child's thoughtful frown became an indignant scowl. " Unseen!" His bow was in his hand and a blunt tip launched before she could prevent it.
Luckily, Brethil was used to this. The fair haired Sinda shifted left on his drop and Legolas' pointless arrow clacked, loudly but harmlessly, against the tree trunk.
" You are our Master's joy!" The guardsman pronounced cheerfully into Legolas' ferocious face. " Come, come, little Lord, you know full well we are here at your father's Command."
" You should not be seen, should not be heard, you said!"
" In verity - I said." A low voice issued from another tree on their far side.
" Aye, 'twas Diorith." Brethil nodded sympathetically down. " But now we ask your Lordship to bring the Lady back to camp. Long have we all wandered, and a robin tells me the Hunt will take only one more hill before they too return."
" Oh." Legolas' small face smoothed in a valiant attempt at grace, " Then thanks to you, Kinsman, and you," To the other tree, " And the robin. I will escort Ai'mithe, though with no undue haste!"
" Of course not." Diorith said soberly but his amusement became known. The slim Elm's leaves shivered and chuckled. Legolas scowled again, but by the time his small head whipped around, both gaurds had disappeared overhead.
Their first steps north were silent. Truly, she thought, this acorn bounces and bounces upon gnarled root. " It ill suits a Lord to brood in the company of Lady," She scolded, " What would Ada say?"
" Ada would say that you are Ai'mithe, and while you humour the King's sour temper no other shall be your burden."
" Does he?" Ai'mithe paused and looked down at the child. Legolas nodded. He reached for her hand again.
" Aye. He also says I should do what he tells me and not what he does…" The indignation was back in force. " Just as you do."
" Well then, you have no luck at all, nay?" She laughed, " Beset by Aunt Mouse upon one side and Ada White Hart upon the other! Whatever shall an elfling do?" Leaning down she kissed his forehead then tickled his chin until a burst of giggles spilled forth.
" Hunt squirrels!" Legolas cried. He hopped back from her brandishing his bow in one hand, lightening quick. As he pelted for the underbrush, he plucked a blunt shaft from his tiny quiver, notched it surely, and was lined to fire when he became another slip of green amid the rest.
The Lady resumed her pace, but coiled away her bird-weight. As they walked, Ai'mithe's grey eyes grew thoughtful and dark. She listened, and she frowned.
" Are there any squirrels?" Ai'mithe wondered aloud to herself. She stared at the branches above them, and the frothing scraps of underbrush through which Legolas slithered. " Are there any squirrels?" She asked him when he broke one set of cover to head to the next. " Ferrets? Voles? Mice? Anything?"
" Squirrels." He blinked at her, " Though only one or two." He added as he disappeared into a juniper bush, " Odd, aye."
/ Anything?/ She asked the two guardsmen silently.
/ I have not even seen a squirrel./ Diorith returned uneasily. / Eru alone knows where the elfling sees them./
Ai'mithe knew a growing chill, and she hugged herself briefly against it. Her dark red head craning lightly, she called, " Sweetling, come now. Time for due haste, or how will we meet our weary Knights with bright smiles and a warm cup?" Though only moments passed, she called, " Enough squirreling, Legolas." Uneasily.
He emerged, the same arrow still in his bow, and shook his golden head. He was perplexed. " Black squirrels are much faster than red or grey ones. I cannot even take aim before they are gone!"
" Black squirrels?" Ai'mithe demanded.
" Aye. And black butterflies."
" Come, come quickly." Ai'mithe all but knocked the bow from his hand as she scooped him into her arms, tight to her body. " I shall carry you, be still."
" Ada says I'm too big now." Came protests as the she-elf's serene steps became a loping glide. " Ada says you're too small, he'll be angry!"
/ Lady Red Maple?/
/ Lady Mouse?/
" Black squirrels! Where did we last see them, and black weasels? Black bats?" She speeded her pace, " Black rats!"
" What is wrong, Ai'mithe?" Legolas demanded, grabbing her shoulders. He tried to give her a little shake.
" Black arrows!" She cried, just as the evil sound of black bows snarled and hissed upon the suddenly heavy air. " Goblins!" Ai'mithe raised her head and the word emerged as half song, half scream. " Goblins!"
/ FLEE!/ Diorith's command came with a final urgency. Just ahead of them, she saw him tumble down through the branches. The battle sight came upon her, just as it had long ago, and the pace of Arda slowed to a snail's crawl.
The elf was bristling with black shafts, their fletching created soft whistles under the moaning cry of leaf and branch. When he hit the oak mast, Legolas' head shot about at the noise. The elfling's lips parted in a silent scream, some terror but – yes, Thranduil's son – mostly rage.
The wood at their back became a lunging mass of black skin, red eyes, and extending claws as the Yrch threw off their camouflage. Leaves and slabs of bark erupted, brushes rose to be cast off, and their feet made the very ground thunder as they charged.
" Alive, alive," The wood echoed with snarled commands in the Black Speech, " Both alive! Bleeding is fine! Bleeding is best!"
Ai'mithe barely paused her flight, grabbing up the dead elf's sword where it had fallen from his hand. She hefted the blade as she clenched her fist in the back of the princling's tunic and kept running. Brethil flew above and before, turning back to loose arrow upon arrow.
An Orch archer found him, though. The shaft took his shoulder, sinking deep, and its force knocked him from his perch. She came level with him as he got to his feet by pushing up against an oak trunk. He snapped the black haft, leaving the point embedded. His face, already pale as moonlight, became stark with horror when Ai'mithe jerked the Prince from her chest and swung him up onto the elf's.
" Haste!" She shoved at them, " Haste!"
" Ai'mithe, what! No!" Cried the child.
" He's bigger, he can run faster! Run, run you fool, save the King's son!"
" Ai'mithe!"
" Fly you fool!" Ai'mithe again half screamed, half sung the words.
Brethil, much to Legolas' shock, turned and fled. The child scrambled madly against restraining hands, almost pulling himself over Brethil's shoulder as he attempted to escape. And to return. His last sight of Mother's-Sister brought a full scream, loud and long, from his throat. Ai'mithe's back rose straight, for all her tiny height, and the bird-weight whipped above her head as she lifted the mithril blade in her other hand. It glowed blue.
Then all was lost amid a violent sea of slashing branches and rattling leaves. " Damn you, damn you," Legolas howled, not knowing whether at the writhing tide of Yrch or the stunned Kinsman whose swift feet carried them northwest into the wood. " Damn You!"