OH MY GOSH! THE PLAGUE IS OVER!
I.
CAN.
POST!
YEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! It has been, SO long since I've posted a new fic! This new profile doesn't have the "Profile Death Glitch" on it! I can post new fics! And I'm going to be posting empty fic slots, with explanations regarding the PDG(Profile Death Glitch), on my profile, as insurance in case this glitch ever happens again. if it does, then at least I'll have some pre-created extra fic slots to post a few new fics in before I go crazy. I'll do the same to the slots on my old profile where these fics used to be.
If you want any information on the PDG, or what the heck is going on here, visit my old profile and skip to the last chapter or two; It should provide some more clarifying information. So, without further ado, here is the first fic to be re-posted on the new profile of Jayfeattheris Awesome!
No-one askes to be royalty.
Not all who claim power deserve it,
And not all who are deserving claim power.
Emerilla ran through the forest, hefting the blade in her hand. Ferns lashed at her legs, and her tawny hair flashed with different shades of red and gold as the sunlight filtered through the trees. She was dressed in a brown tunic, with white leggings. A dagger was sheathed at her belt, and a strap where her sword was usually held was empty. Her brown leather boots, which were embossed with trees and other symbols of the woodland realm, were laced up to her knees, and her dark green cloak flew out behind her in what she hoped was a dramatic and flattering manner.
One thing that stood out most prominently, though, was the brooch on her cloak; two sideways golden trees, their branches sprouting mythril-veined leaves, intertwineing and surounding an emerald with a small opal on either side of it. This was no mere brooch; It was an heirloom, the symbol of a sheild-maiden of Greenwood. Emerilla was no mere elfling; she was an heir to the Elvenking's throne.
She leapted from a fallen log, landing in the clearing and clashing blades with an elf that was much taller than she was, his blond hair gleaming in the forest. They parry'ed each others blows, dodgeing and swirling to try and catch one another off balance. Emerilla spun to block the blow from the auborn-haired she-elf that leapt into the clearing, before turning again to counter another swing from the blond elf.
They both came in hot, trying to get at her from both sides. She ducked, then pulled her extra sword from it's sheath on her back from under her cloak with what she hoped was a dramatic flare, and she hit both her attackers in the shin as ttheir swords clashed above her. She rolled backwards as they aimed for the ground, and heard a double "Ow!" along with a crack that told her they had hit each other in the head.
She could see the anger in their eyes as she leapt to her feet. Oh, boy. Now I'm doomed.
"You can come out any time, you know, Wilhem!" she called out. The two older elves approached, swords raised, and Emerilla shifted her weight, ready to dodge if need be. Suddenlly, an arrow flew from the trees, imbedding itself in the gorund at the blond elf's feet. Another elf leapt from out of the ferns, his short blond hair messy and windblow, and his bow drawn back.
"Not too late, I hope?" he asked.
"Never, gwandor." she told him."Though if they were orcs, I'd be dead by now. Probably."
"Then maybe we should recify that." The two elves rushed towards them again, and they split apart, Emerilla strafing and locking blades again with the blond elf, and Wilhem blocking a blow from the auborn-haired one with his bow, striking her in the side with an arrow.
Emerilla rolled under the blond elf, hopping up again behind him and whirling to catch his blade. You may be fast, cousin, but so am I! She spun, twisting her sword and sendin his flying, and ground to a halt with the wooden blade mere inches from his neck. A few moments later, she heard Wilhem's triumphant victorious "yes!", and she turned to see that he had disarmed Tauriel successfuly, his blunted and cotton-covered arrow pointed at her neck.
"Oh, well; looks like we win again!" Emerilla told her cousin cheerfully,lowering her practice sword."So, who was it that said 'Winner chooses dinner.'? You, Legolas?"
"No need to be rude about it." he scolded, though everyone could see the steely pride hidden in his gaze. The same could be said for Tauriel; they had spent the better part of the last three years training these elflings, and watching the frequency of these victories increase was a treat well worth the bruises, chatter, impatience, and headaches.
Not that either of them would admit that out loud; then their charges would become unbearable. Emerilla flicked some of her redish hair out of her face. It was all loose, not tied back in any way, shape, or form, and it went down to her elbows. She was considering cutting it; it was becomeing a hastle to wash and brush. Most elves wouldn't suspect her as a Sindarin, but red hair had run thick in her father's side of the family, resulting in her somewhat Sylvan appearance.
Her eyes were brighter and greener than summer leaves, with a rich, mahogany brown lining her pupils, and the finest line of crystal-like blue surrounding her iris, like a thread of mythril. She, as the only other heir to the throne, was just as precios as the white silver. Her gwandor was less so, but only by a short amount.
Wilhem, unlike most elves, preferred his hair short. That was probably a good thing, as he would probably look like a mess with long hair. His blond hair was spikey and uncontrollable, giving him the look of being perpetually in need of a bath, or at least a hair comb. His eyes were as blue as the sky, but were strangly dull for elf eyes. He, himself, looked oddly dull, compare to the inner glow that most elves possesed. His seemed faded somehow, but that didn't stop him from being just as precious as any other elfling.
Elflings were a rare gift; most mothers died giving birth, leading to many elves not wanting to risk haveing children. Then, there were elves like Celebrain, who had managed Twins. TWINS, and then another one!
Emerilla's mother Elufael, had survived birth, but both her and Emerilla's father had been killed in an orc attack when she was four. Wilhem's origins were a mystery to everyone. They knew he was born of a Greenwood family, because of the heirloom he had come with, but other than that, they didn't know which family. All they knew was that he had been found by some fisherman from Lake Town.
Her and Wilhem were born only a few days apart from each other, makeing it that much more of a great event. The last elflings that had been born even near this close together had been Tauriel and Legolas. Emerilla and Wilhem, like their mentors, had been close since their early childhoods, meeting for the first time not eleven years ago.
Today, they were nearing their fifteenth birthdays, a ceremonial milestone in which they underwent a special assesment and recieved their new elven names. Tradition stated that they were to go to Rivendell to be judged by Elrond and Galadrial, receiving names that stood for what they were, based on their actions and behaviors during their stay in Imladris.
Emerilla hoped that she got a cool-sounding name; wheather or not the translation made sense was not an issue for her. Of course, she felt a little apphressive about giving up her current name; she had had it all her life. It would hopefully be worth it in the end.
"We should be getting back; the King will be eager to hear our report." Tauriel declared, picking her bow up and brushing dirt off her tunic.
"Did we do good?" Wilhem asked eagerly, pulling his arrow out of the ground.
"You were certainly hard to find, Wilhem. You did well to hide your presence." the Captain of the Guard told him. His eyes gleamed with pride, and he squarded his shoulders, chin held high."Where were you hiding, anyway?"
"I followed Legolas while makeing sure to only step on tree roots. Then, I climbed a tree, and circled around the clearing he stopped at. That's why I took so long," he added, looking at Emerilla," I had to get down."
"No harm done, Wilhem." she told him.
"Emerilla, I noticed that you took a more headlong aproach. I could hear you comeing from a legue away; literally." Legolas said, eyeing her skeptically as he pulled himself to his feet.
"Sorry. I got caught up in the moment." Not sorry; I felt so epic just now.
"It would do you better to keep control of you imagination whilst you are battleing; training session, or no." he told her firmly. Emerilla faught the urge to roll her eyes; Legolas was always so serious! She was only fourteen, for pity's sake!
"I think they both did fine, mellon-nin." Tauriel said, Wilhem beaming at her again. "I think King Thranduil will be more than satisfied with their results."
He'd better be!If i don't get out of this forest soon, I'm going to go crazy! Emerilla thought hotly. Her uncle had been babying her since she was...well, a baby, and she was done being treated like a child.
"We'll see." Legolas shrugged, picking up his training sword, heaving it over his shoulder."Let's get going; I wish to be back in the cave by nightfall."
Emerilla let out an exasparated gasp, and Wilhem groaned beside her.
"Seriously, Legolas?" she practically whined, "We just got done with the assesment, like, literally just now. Can't we have a break? Ten, fifteen minutes, at least?"
"No." her cousin answered unsympathetically, continueing to walk off in the direction of the caves. Emerilla picked up her swords begrudgingly, sheathing them.
"Come on you two; you heard the Prince." Tauriel urged, pressing past them.
"Yes, mum." Emerilla muttered under her breath, exchanging looks with Wilhem. Oh, she could not wait until it was her giving the orders.
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They passed through the gates as the sun set on the forest, painting the summer-green woods with blazeing golds and beams of fire. The rushing river that run under the bridge was laced with pale lines the same color as Legolas's hair, and the white foam of the rapids sparkled like a million stars marching through the water.
Emerilla lingered for a few moments outside the gate, drinking in the scenery as much as she could before encloseing herself in the darkness of the caves. She always felt sad to go underground, when it was so beautiful up above. Sure, she could go up to one of the many open-roofed areas of the palace any time she wanted; but it just wasn't the same as actually being outside.
"Emerilla." Legolas called from inside." Come, let the guards close the gate."
It seemed like she spent her whole life, now-adays, trying not to roll her eyes at her cousin. Casting one last look at the outside world, she turned towards the darkness. Wilhem stood , leaning against one door, the sunset light playing with his short, blond hair. There was a look of incredible shyness on his face, and his pointed ears were burning red, as they always did when he was embarassed. The look vanished before she could take it in properly, though his ears remained red. Of course, when she thought about it, his ears would be red, because of the sunset.
Offering him a smile, she joined him in walking into the depressingly dark caverns. I really with Uncle Thranduil would put in some more windows into this place. She thought. It would certainly make her feel better about literally living under a rock.
The caves weren't necisarrily bad-looking; gigantic, winding tree-roots made up most of the pathways in the front sections of the palace, and holes in the canopy of aforementioned trees let sunlight dance through the open-roofed areas of the cave occasionally. The river could always be heard in most places, and the village where most of the wood-elves made their homes extended from the back of the palace, winding through the tree-tops above.
But even with all the torches, and open roofs, the palace always made Emerilla feel claustraphobic. She loved all the freedoms of the fresh air, the wide-open forest where she could run and frolic all she wanted.
To her, the caves just felt wrong.
Legolas and Tauriel led them up the winding path to her uncle's throne; said uncle was sitting majestically, as he always was, looking faintly bored. She hoped that Legolas would never die; she couldn't imagine spending her life sitting in some dusty old chair every day.
The job, however, would suit her annoying cousin just fine. He was certainly big-headed enough.
They approached Thranduil's throne, and all four of them bowed deeply. All hail the all mighty big-head, the great King of the Woodland Realm, blah, blah blah, blah bleh. Emerilla thought privatly.
"My king." Legolas hailed formally. Why don't you just call him 'dad' like a normal person would? She thought rebelliously. "We have returned."
"So it seems." Uncle Thranduil stated wryly."Tell me, mentors; how did these elflings preform during their assesment? Do you think them worthy of their new names?"
"Emerilla preformed with great initiative. Her trail was easey to follow, though her path was made eratic, and unclear. Her approach was none-too subtle, though the style and... energy of the attack made up for it. She disarmed me while sustaining minimal injuries." Legolas concluded. Emerilla bit the inside of her cheek. Out loud, the way Legolas had said it, her preformance sounded both good... and very, very bad.
"Very well." Thranduil nodded slowly. Emerilla held her breath, waiting for him to announce his desicion. Please say I can go, please say I can go, please say I can go...
He tunred his gaze on Tauriel. "And you, Captain? What have you to say on Wilhem's preformance?"
WHAT!? Could he just IGNORE her report like that? Was he going to wait until later to tell them his desicion? She groaned inwardly. I'm going to DIE!
"He preformed excelently, my King. I lost track of him shortly before crossing paths with Legolas. He took a long while to come down from the trees to assist Emerilla, who had so far done a fair job of fighting us both, though he, too, made up for his tardyness by disarming me quickly whilst avoiding injury. Together, they disbatched us both within a matter of moments." Emerilla felt a rush of gratitude for the older elleth. She discretely crossed her fingers, hopeing that Tauriel's words of support would help her chances, or at least soften the blows made by Legolas's remarks.
She looked up at her uncle, who seemed to be deep in thought. Her internal organs seemed to be flip-flopping and danceing around inside of her. She felt like, at any given moment now, she might either scream with excitement, or just scream to break the tension.
"Elflings," Thranduil said after a few moments. Emerilla tensed." You may go to you chambers. Legolas and Tauriel, you shall stay with me. We shall discuss what shall happen next in private."
Emerilla felt like she might turn into jelly, or out-right liquify then and there. Standing stiffly upright, she put her fist to her chest and gave a small bow, Wilhem doing the same.
"Yes, your majesty." she said stiffly, trying not to grind her teeth, and trying to unclentch her jaw. Together, she and Wilhem marched down the pathway, and turned onto the sloping, root-made stairs that let to the royal chambers.
She thought she could feel Thranduil's eyes burning into the back of her skull the whole way there, and she could see Wilhem shaking like mad, until they were out of sight, hidden by the wall.
They both collapsed against the wall the moment they were off the stairs. Emerilla took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Everything will be fine, everything will be fine, everything WILL NOT BE FINE!
Wilhem looked like she felt, trembling, his breaths coming in shaky gasps. Every second she had to wait seemed like a lifetime. She couldn't wait, she just couldn't! She had to know!
Grabbing Wilhem's sleave, she led him around the wall to their left.
"No, no, Emerilla, not this time," he protested, knowing very well where they were heading to."This is a private meeting, we can't-"
She shoved him into their hidey-hole, looking up and down the corridor to see if anybody was watching before squeazing between the roots herself.
They had , as younger children, discover that this particular hole in the woven root walls, had a tunnel that led to a small pocket of roots in the walls of the throne room. They had since then used it to eavsdrop an multiple conversations between her uncle and many others; many of which were not for elfling ears.
Her and Wilhem, of all the elves in the woodland realm, knew more royal secrets than Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel combined. Had they not been so young at the time of discovering some of these secrets, they would have been frightened by some of them. And they were. What is seen in the shadows is easily misunderstood in the mind of a child, and this had led to wild theories about her uncle.
However, as they had matured, they had learned the meanings behind some of these conversations, and therefore had dropped almost all of their obscuer theories(save the one that Thranduil was secretly a vampire; Emerilla was sure of that one).
Now, as teenagers, it was a fairly tight squeeze. She pushed Wilhem down the tunnel, ignoring his flustered, nervous protests.
"Come on, Wilhem; you know you want to know!" she teased in a hushed voice.
"No, I don't want to know, Emerilla, I don't! I am perfectly fine waiting for Tauriel to tell me whether I passed or not, no matter how—" she cut off his whispered plea with a harsh hissing sound, shoving him into the root pocket.
He toppled onto the floor, and she pressed herself into the small space, sure to sit on his leg so he couldn't escape. She peered through the woven root wall, looking up, where she could only just make out her uncle's crown on top of his silver head.
"Emerilla!" he whined. She clapped a hand to his mouth without taking her eyes off of her uncle, who had risen. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying.
"…say they are ready?" Thranduil was saying. "When some things are not as I would have them?"
"I think that Emerilla would be more than capable of making a simple journey to Imladris and back." Her cousin's voice floated to her faintly.
"Wilhem is more than ready, King Thranduil," came Tauriel's voice pressingly, " even with his nose in a book. He has more knowledge about what is out there than Emerilla does, he knows how to protect himself—"
"You do not think I have noticed that the boy's reluctance to take a life?" Thranduil interrupted. "He would hesitate, even against the most murderous orc. He would not survive out there. There is more to survival than just knowledge alone."
Emerilla exchanged glances with her friend, her hand still held over his mouth. Thranduil had to be talking about every hunting expedition Wilhem had ever gone on; the elfling always returned empty-handed, and though most thought it was because he was a bad hunter, those who had hunted with him knew it was more. Wilhem was sweet and smart and could never kill a thing; even to provide food for the populace.
"I still believe that he is ready for this, even if he is reluctant to take lives." Tauriel said faithfully. "He is just as capable of defending himself as Emerilla is."
"And you think this means anything to me?" Thranduil scoffed." She is nowhere near ready, from what I have heard."
Emerilla's heartbeat quickened, if that was at all possible at this point.
"And what causes you to believe this?" Legolas inquired softly.
"You say she is ready. You say they both are. Yet Emerilla's lack in patience, and Wilhem's own weakness, are both so blatant, it is obvious that neither of them would be able to pass the ceremony, let alone make the journey." Thranduil reiterated calmly." I cannot allow them to go to Rivendell."
Emerilla's free hand curled up in rage. She could feel her finger nails digging into the skin, but she didn't care; her uncle was being a total git. There was no other word for it. Her and Wilhem had been training their butts off since they were twelve, and he wouldn't even let them go to get their new names! After all this time!
"Ada, listen to me!" Legolas said suddenly. Emerilla tilted her head to the side, and she could feel Wilhem's similar reaction as he squirmed around in the tight space. Legolas and Thranduil never acknowledged their relationship; not in public, at least." You know how Emerilla is. If she does not make this journey, there is no telling what she will do; she may very well take matters into her own hands."
Why, I have no idea what you speak of, dear cousin! She thought with mock hurt.
They were, of course, referring to her habit of sneaking out of the caves. She had, over the last few years, been growing more and more restless within her home. Sure, she loved the forest; charging around, like a dragon gone mad, playing so close to the river that it gave Thranduil an aneurism as she pretended to lose her balance for the fifteenth-million time.
But she also was very tired of looking up and seeing the same thing every day; leaves. Leaves and branches and, now-adays, for reasons unbeknownst to her, an occasional spider web the size of her bedroom. She was also getting tired of trees. Trees and dirt and rocks and caves. They were just so boring, it made her want to scream and charge off into the sunset, run away to Gondor, and never return.
Ever.
So, she had, over the last year, discovered a new sport that tempted her uncle-dearest's nerves; border-tagging. At least, that's what she called it; Wilhem called it "being an idiot", but he still played it, too.
So she had decided that they were both idiots.
This new "sport" of hers involved going as far out into the woodland territory as they could, and try to get as far over the border as they could before running back again. If they were caught by a patrol, whoever was over the border at that point would lose the game, but gain a point if they had beaten their previous record.
Naturally, the only, very best place to play this game was the borders near Dul'Guldor. They would take turns running out as far as they dared to go, carrying a pinecone with them. The moment they got too chicken to go any farther, they would drop the pinecone and run back across the border. There were plenty of frightening things about the Dul'Guldor border, frightening things that would have made most elflings wet themselves at the mere mention of the place.
However, it was the scary-ness that made it perfect for their game. What was the point of tempting her uncle's anger if they didn't tempt it to the extreme? Border-tagging in other parts of the woods had not yielded enough excitement for it's one-to-two-week bedroom groundings.
The excitement of border-tagging didn't even come close to making up for the fact that she felt like a prisoner in her own territory. The wide realm of the Elvenking felt too small, too claustrophobic. There was no adventure to be had in the kingdom of Mr. No-Adventures-Allowed-Lets-Stay-Safe.
"And we will stop her." Thranduil said airily.
"I do not speak of her and Wilhem's border-tagging." Emerilla shot Wilhem a look of triumph; their invention was called by the name they had given it, by other people! It's going to be called border-tagging centuries from now, and young elflings will be doing it, calling it by our name!
"I speak of the day she is finished border-tagging. "Legolas continued." Someday, it will not be enough to tempt fate; she will attempt to leave for good. What will happen when she decides that the forest isn't big enough for her?"
The forest already isn't big enough. She thought agreeingly.
"She will stay in this kingdom like she is ordered too." Thranduil growled. HA! As if!
Her cousin seemed to agree.
"Ada, this is Emerilla we're talking about." He told the king impatiently.
"You're point?" she could easily picture one of her uncle's eyebrows arching as he spoke.
"She… well, Emerilla. You've seen how she behaves; how she breaks all the rules—"Legolas began to list.
"- how she still plays pranks on the guards when she's been repeatedly told not to—" Tauriel interjected pointedly.
"-how she regards your every word as she would regard the babble of a toddler—"
"—how she still manages to sneak into the kitchens every night as if our security measures were naught but a flimsy bubble—"
"—how she and Wilhem have managed to make your wine stores disappear not once, but twice in the last five years—"
"—and need we remind you of "the incident"?" both of their mentors finished as one. She could see Thranduil's head twitch, as if he had flinched at that last one. Emerilla smirked.
Yeah, you better remember "the incident". She thought triumphantly. Wilhem squirmed yet again, and let out a muffled whine.
"Shhhsh; I'm trying to listen." She hissed quietly. He let out a muffled groan of complaint. She shifted her weight, purposefully jabbing her knee into his calf, earning her muffled yelp. She ignored his glare and tried to find her uncle's silvery head again.
She could now see the top of Tauriel's head, the she-elf seeming to have shifted position while Emerilla and had been silencing her partner-in-crime.
"None of that," Thranduil said slowly, and so quietly that Emerilla had to strain her ears to listen, "has anything to do with what we are discussing."
"It somewhat does." Tauriel stated daringly." If this is Emerilla now, what will she be like after she is told that her coming of age ceremony will not happen? What kinds of things might she do, just to leave the forest? Elfling restlessness can only be appeased for so short a time, and if you are to shrink our borders as you plan too, you only be feeding that restlessness to the breaking point even faster. "
Wilhem's mentor continued, her voice growing somewhat sheepish with her next few words."During my restlessness, I often entertained fantasies of purposfully getting myself banished, so as to leave the forest and see the world."
"Hmm." Emerilla pondered out loud, turning to grin at Wilhem widely." That's actually not that half bad of an idea. What do you think?"
Wilhem's eyes widened, and he tried to pry her hand off from over his mouth. She turned back to the wall just in time to hear her uncle speak.
"And you think that Emerilla may fancy similar ideas?" he inquired calmly. Emerilla pressed her face against the wall, straining to hear the next words that were spoken, which were so quite, she couldn't tell who was talking.
Suddenly, she felt something wet running it's way over the palm of her hand. She snapped her head around in Wilhem's direction, jerking her hand away.
"Eww, dude!" she exclaimed in elvish, forgetting temporarily that they were supposed to be being quiet."You licked me! Who does that!"
"We are not getting ourselves banished!" he protested fiercly in pure sindarin dialect." And you left me no choice!"
"In's ennas?" They both froze. Emerilla clapped her un-licked hand to her mouth, and covered Wilhem's with the one that he had licked.
Her uncle's voiced called out once more, demanded them to reveal themselves. She lifted her hand off her mouth by an infinite amount, to say one, very important thing in sindarin.
"Oh, snap."
Please review; reposting this fic means that it no longer has any noticeable publicity or popularity. I would really appreciate it if the review count could be reguvinated. Oh, and to those of you who actually follow Amberstar of Thunderclan's Siblings, it will be posted on her profile shortly.