Disclaimer: All characters, aside from the occasional OC wandering in and filling in literacy blanks, belong to JRR Tolkien. All recognizable places are also Tolkien's creations, as I am not the literary genius that he is.
Authors Note: Since there is no mention of Legolas' mother in any Tolkien material that I have read, I took the liberty of creating one.
Summary: After a tragic attack rips apart the Mirkwood royal family, Thranduil sends two of his sons as missionaries to Takon. But will the visit to this strange, isolated human town only give the Mirkwood princes more devastation?
Timeline: About three years after the War of the Ring
THE DAY DAWNS RED
By, the debuting authoress, Larka Isil, commonly known as "that crazy chick in the corner"
Chapter One: Red, Blood Red
Looking back, I suppose the red sun was a warning of spilled blood. But no- to me, an overly trusting young Elf, it was just another day, dawning in its own unusual way.
No day was typical in my home, Mirkwood, formerly Greenwood the Great. But a shadow had fallen over my fair home just after my birth- an interesting coincidence, according to my brother, Nevren. But I brush him off, for I have realized that Nevren is not to be trusted.
I rise- I have lingered far too long in the warm embrace of the silken sheets. Only the best for the Princes of Mirkwood, so say my parents, but I would much rather sleep between rough cotton- I wouldn't have to worry about getting it dirty then. The walk to the wardrobe is routine; I could pick out my clothes, white tunic, green jerkin, brown trousers, with my eyes closed. My boots are sitting, untied, where they always are- half hidden beneath my bed. I crouch and pull them out, wiping dust from my hands, and slip the boots on, tucking the ends of the pants into them.
The second knot on my boots has just been completed when frantic knocking, accompanied by yells of "Prince Legolas! Prince Legolas!" shatters the mid morning peace. My usual irritation at being interrupted is absent- the servant is just agitated enough for me to truly believe something more serious than someone breaking a vase has occurred.
With the door open, the servant immediately begins babbling, but he is incoherent. I listen patiently for a moment, trying to make at least some sense of his agitated words. However, it proves impossible, for he soon breaks down into tears, leaving me to watch in confusion. Unsure of how to react, I awkwardly pat his shoulder, then carefully slip by and hurry to the Great Hall, where I am sure my father and brothers will be.
Normally, my mother, Queen Iantha, would join them, but she departed last night on a short pleasure trip with a few of her lady friends and a small escort. It is good that she got to go away- my mother came from a desolate Elven settlement, of which I have forgotten the name, and she fairly despised palace life.
It appears my family has not been informed of whatever happened; my father's angry roaring is absent, signifying that nothing awful has happened. Perhaps a particularly old or valuable artifact was shattered, and that was what sent the servant into such hysterics? I dismiss any foreboding thoughts and push open the doors to the Dining Hall, where the Elves of the palace are currently tucking in to the morning meal. My father and brothers, Erion and Nevren, preside at the head of the main table, and I can clearly see the empty seat, where I assume I am to sit.
Smiling apologetically, I slide into the gilded chair, ignoring Nevren's loud sigh. My father merely eyes me, an eyebrow raised; Erion keeps his attention on his plate, although I can see him smiling. Feeling some explanation was necessary, I speak, "My apologies, I was held back by a rather hysterical…"
I am interrupted by the doors being dramatically flung open, the maple structures crashing shatteringly loudly against the walls, sufficiently drawing the attention of every Elf in the hall. Framed in between the doors is a dark haired Elf, his face deathly pale, blood gushing from a lethal gash in his side. I can hear several Elf maidens gasp; from the corner of my eye, I see a maiden slump down in her chair, swooning.
The mystery Elf, who I soon recognize to be Rezion –a member of my mother's escort, stumbles over to our table, his hand placed ineffectively over the death wound he has sustained. Every pair of eyes in the hall follows his laborious path, dripping blood on to the freshly cleaned floors.
My father, seeming to realize the movement is causing Rezion extreme pain, quickly gets up and hurries over to the dying Elf, followed closely by Erion. The three hold rushed conversation, and even from my perch, I can see Erion's face go three shades paler. My father appears distraught- he closes his eyes and passes a hand over his face, prodding me into standing and rushing over to the trio, where I can hear the tail end of Rezion's tirade.
"All…dead…ruins…" the Elf gasps, before drawing in a sharp breath and collapsing in a heap on the floor, eliciting shocked looks and horrified gasps from the onlookers. Reacting quickly, I crouch and hold my hand over the Elf's open mouth, at loathe to touch the dead. Blood trickles from his mouth, and I can feel no breath- it is evident that Rezion killed himself just to deliver the news of whatever tragedy took place at the ruins.
His crimson blood is soaking into the floor as I stand, spreading over my boots, and wetting Erion's cloak tails. "We should ride to the ruins," I say quietly to my stricken family; having jumped in at the last moment, I am still unaware as to why Erion is so pale, and why my father seems to want to just break down and cry.
Erion comes to his senses and makes a motion to Nevren, who has been sitting motionless during the whole exchange. My brother jumps up, and the four of us hurry from the hall, my father notably slower than myself and my brothers- shock, perhaps? I know not.
The guards appear shaken as they open the doors mechanically; as they scrape across the floor, I can clearly see the scraggly trail of blood Rezion made as he dragged his stricken body to us. I shudder briefly- there is just something about seeing blood, in such copious amounts, strewn across the floor of your home that shakes your core.
We rush to the stables, and the four of us separate to our horse's stalls, myself to my grey mare's stall, Anariel. Requiring no tack, the four of us are ready within moments.
The stable doors crash open again as five guards rush through; they have apparently realized that it is important that they 'protect' us. Thus, we are forced to wait for several agonizing moments as the guards collect their equines, although it takes only a few seconds to lead the tack free animals from their stalls.
No words are spoken as our small party trots from the stable, likewise as we hoist ourselves onto our horses; the situation is grave, no light jesting will pass from any lips this day. A canter is quickly picked up, we fly from the ajar gates; the Elves posted at the gates knew we would soon pass through, as they had seen Rezion's plight first hand.
The ruins…the rather depressing remains of a human castle. Stones scattered all about, the occasional skeleton unearthed among the collapsed walls. Eerie indeed, and made more so by Rezion's dying words. They are not far; we reach them soon, and not more than a minute after the first horse passes through the half erect gates, do we encounter the first body.
An Elf, recognizable only by his weapons, as he is absolutely covered in blood, lies with a black feathered arrow sticking out from the area between his eyes- a grisly and painful way to die. His stomach is apparently slit, explaining the copious amounts of blood adorning his body. Feeling sick, I urge Anariel to step over the fallen warrior, casting a nervous eye over the devastation.
More dead Elves are scattered over the ruins- slung over walls, lying decapitated or worse on the ground, still astride dead horses, more often than not. No one speaks as we pick our way around the mangled corpses, although I know everyone is experiencing a nausea much like mine.
A faint gurgle draws my attention away from the legless –his legs had evidently been hewn from his body by some crude weapon- corpse I was studying, the source of which was a dying Elf crumpled up by a collapsed doorway. I leap from my horse and, dodging still bleeding corpses, hurry over and kneel by his side.
With a lurch of my stomach, I soon recognize the fallen Elf to be Codeine, my childhood friend. I gasp brokenly as Codeine's eyes laboriously flicker open, locking on to me.
"Codeine! Do not worry; we will get you to a healer!" I say hurriedly, reaching down to take him into my arms, but he stops me with a weakly whispered word.
"No…too late…for me. Go…over there. Find…her!" He murmurs painfully, before he gasps again. A bubble of blood works its way through his cracked lips; he is evidently suffering a punctured lung, an extremely painful affliction. Codeine fixes tortured eyes on me, glazed over with pain, and he speaks again, his tone pathetic and pleading. "L…egolas…please, kill me…now. No…hope…" the Elf pleads, his eyes wandering over to the knife at my side.
Torn between pain at seeing his agony, and the selfish desire to keep my friend alive, I hesitate, my hand wavering over the handle of the ivory knife I carry. However, another pained gasp and bubble of blood seals my indecision, and I draw the knife. Codeine watches me trustingly as I raise the knife, blocking out Erion's shout of protest in the background.
I bring the knife down, quickly, before my screaming heart can prevent me from granting his death wish. My mind cries out at me to close my eyes, but something prevents me- I want to see his eyes as he fades, for some reason. So I force them to remain open as the knife plunges into Codeine's heart, and just before his auburn eyes flicker shut, I see nothing but love, respect, and trust.
A hand, trembling, over his mouth confirms that he is dead; I carefully pull my knife out of the corpse of my first friend, wincing at the unpleasant noise that results. I wipe the blood from the knife on the red stained grass, before sticking it back into its sheath, belted on my right hip. Erion is watching me, horrified; Nevren has averted his eyes, and is currently fixedly watching a point somewhere above Adar's head.
Feeling some sort of explanation was necessary, I speak as I remount Anariel. "His lung was punctured, he was in immense pain. He asked me to kill him, and I respected his death wise," I say quietly, cool and calm, although my heart weeps great bloody tears. "He…he said that Queen Iantha was somewhere over there," I add, a bit more emotional. My hand flutters in the indicated direction, where the majority of the bodies are located- apparently, they died trying to protect someone.
I had a sneaking superstition who that someone was, and, feeling sick with fear, I nudged Anariel into a walk. The rest of the search party follows after me, glancing around at the blood splashed on the walls, and the brutalized corpses lying on the ground; I can quite distinctly hear one of the soldiers vomit over his horse's side as we step over a particularly mangled soldier.
The horses prance, snorting, through another doorway, sidestepping around fallen, blood stained stones. Thranduil and Erion are silent; they seem to know what we will find, but Nevren, the soldiers and I are oblivious. And so we press on, sitting proud on the fearful horses.
Soon, something much more morbid draws my attention from the gruesome blood stained walls: A crude sword, embedded in something lying on the ground, trembling slightly as if it had been stuck in great force, recently. I swallow as I dismount, followed by Nevren, and tip toe over to the quivering sword.
Before, only the sword was visible to us, but as we slide closer, what it was stuck into became evident also. I can feel the blood drain from my face as I drop to my knees beside the lifeless corpse; beautiful brown eyes opened, and glazed over in death. Blood from the lethal chest wound still flows across the casual clothes, soaking into the white tunic and staining the silky blonde hair a sickening stain of red
Beside me, I hear Nevren stumble back, but my mind is not him; I am focused on the dead one before me. Soon, I can no longer hold them back- I feel crystalline tears dripping down my face as I bow my head over the bloody corpse.
"No…"
As tears fall onto the body, I know I do not cry alone.
Well! There goes the first chapter…I hope you liked it!
Just to let everyone know, this is a review run story…I feed off of reviews, not literally, but they will help me churn out chapters faster! So, please read and review!