AN: Hello peoples, readers, nerds, hobbits, elves or whatever you might be. This is my first fic (on this account, lol don't judge I'm really bad with forgetting account information). I'm gonna post maybe a chapter or two and let the feedback roll in, I might delete them and repost with updated content (ya'll are basically the beta-reader I do not yet have) as I'm always up for critique and kinda wanna start this on a good note, I'd hate to wish I did something different to start so please hit me up with the ideas. I am also looking for an active beta, so if you're up for it lemme know.
I've got a little prologue taken straight from the genius that is Tolkien, obviously I do not own that bit or his characters and world etc. etc. I'm essentially sticking an OC or two into the timeline and seeing how they shake things up. I hope to break hearts and...well nah breaking hearts is about all I'm here for. Currently this is a Legolas/OC fic, but things could change and be added as the story progresses. Imma go with it, or wing it I guess.
Also I ah...I'm a science student...so don't expect fast updates please, especially as exam time is approaching, so I must begin studying...or stuDYING. I do have chapter two already written, but I will upload it either tomorrow, or whenever I feel chapter one is decent enough to roll with.
Anywho, hate or enjoy it, I look forward to reading your comments (I'm begging for comments here, if you couldn't tell), nerd is out *dab and exit*
Prologue
At the Ford of Bruinen they left the Road and turning southwards went on by narrow paths among the folded lands. Their purpose was to hold this course west of the Mountains for many miles and days. The country was much rougher and more barren than in the green vale of the Great River in Wilderland on the other side of the range, and their going would be slow; but they hoped in this way to escape the notice of unfriendly eyes. The spies of Sauron had hitherto seldom been seen in this empty country, and the paths were little known except to the people of Rivendell.
Gandalf walked in front, and with him went Aragorn, who knew this land even in the dark. The others were in file behind, and Legolas whose eyes were keen was the rearguard. The first part of their journey was hard and dreary, and Frodo remembered little of it, save the wind. For many sunless days an icy blast came from the Mountains in the east, and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers. Though the Company was well clad, they seldom felt warm, either moving or at rest. They slept uneasily during the middle of the day, in some hollow of the land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in thickets in many places. In the late afternoon they were roused by the watch, and took their chief meal: cold and cheerless as a rule, for they could seldom risk the lighting of a fire. In the evening they went on again, always as nearly southward as they could find a way.
Chapter One:
As always, Aragorn rose Legolas for the third watch, it was his task to guard the fellowship until dawn broke, as he had done since their departure from Rivendell. Legolas sat on the face of a rock, slightly away from his slumbering companions but still near the warmth of the fire, anticipating the rising heat of the sun to warm his cold bones. They were surrounded by cliff faces, following a path down to the low ridge crowned with ancient holly-trees. He held his bow across his lap, an arrow held loosely in his fingers, but even hours later, it seemed the sun was not rising. The sky was a dull grey, the chill in the air dulling the colours of the barren lands around him. The strangest thing was the silence, the winds from the north had ceased their screaming, though they had left their frost behind, and even the birds had gone silent. There was a tension in his muscles, and a nagging at the back of his mind that had him reaching to wake Aragorn from his rest, and that was when the silence was broken.
His companions shocked awake, lunging for weapons and protection as the sound of a piercing scream ripped through their camp, the absolute pain and terror in that shrill screech driving the cold even further into their bones. Legolas and Aragorn shot towards the sound, Gimli only a few steps behind, their weapons drawn and ready for battle. They bounded across the ridge, dodging holly-trees as they rounded a small outcropping in the cliff faces above them, turning to see a small opening in the face of the rock, tunneling down into the mountain. The darkness tunneled down, with a small red heart of the light of a fire distant in the darkness. The scream sounded again, vibrating off the sides of the tunnel, assaulting his elvish ears quite brutally, but with one look from Aragorn, they both ducked down into the tunnel, now sprinted towards whatever was making that agonizing wail.
They burst into a small, brightly lit cavern just as the screams shifted to angry yelling, distinctly similar to Elvish, but somehow unintelligible to the Elven prince, and the Orcs scrambled to gag the screamer. A small group of orcs were huddled around a figure on a stone table, a pile of rags and blood, which dripped off the table and pooled at their feet. Legolas sent an arrow between the eyes of a smaller orc that was shoving a dirty cloth into the mouth of the figure as the other startled towards their weapons, but they didn't have the chance to wield them. Aragorn spun between the orcs, Elendil ripping through muscle, bone and sinew, severing heads from their shoulders as Legolas picked off the remaining orcs, with even Gimli getting into the action, catching up just in time to sent his axe soaring through the air and into the temple of an orc who had just managed to get his grimy fingers around the shaft of his weapon.
In the silence of the aftermath of their skirmish, the bloodied figure spat out the rag, and the raspy sounds of breathing filled the cavern, the figure rolled onto their side and spat out a wad of blood, eyes closed as they passed out of consciousness.
Quickly, Legolas went to the side of the figure, and was shocked to see she was a female, her hair was simply matted with blood, her clothes torn to shreds, but the feminine figure and structure of her face was clear to see. Legolas couldn't help but roll her to face him, gently untying the knots from around her wrists that tethered her to the table, and when he saw the deep, bloodied grooves in her skin he could almost feel the pain of the rope ripping into his own flesh. With a graceful movement, Legolas picked her up, blood covering the front of his clothing, as he turned to his companions, the only thought in his mind was to protect the poor girl in his arms.
"Aragorn, we must get her to Gandalf," he pulled her closer to his chest, her head lolling to rest against the crook of his neck, her skin ice cold as she dribbled blood down the front of his tunic.
"Her?" Aragorn questioned, following in line with Legolas as Gimli took the lead exiting the tunnel, he peered over Legolas' shoulder, trying to discern the feminine form from the bloodied figure in his arms, "What are the orcs doing torturing a woman? And a human at that."
Legolas didn't give an answer, glancing down at the poor woman in his arms, she couldn't be far out of her adolescence, her hair glued with thick blood to the sides of her face, reaching down to the centre of her back. Her features were soft and young, he couldn't even tell her hair colouring due to how much blood was coating her, he hoped it wasn't all hers.
Dwarf, man and elf hurried back up the tunnel, rounding the cliff face, running to their camp, yelling at the hobbits to clear a space and roll a bedroll for a cushion for the poor girl's head. Legolas set her down as gently as he could, placing her head onto the soft bedroll, shifting to support her head between his legs as Gandalf hurried to her side.
"What happened, what is this?" Gandalf yelled, throwing the sleeves of his robe out of his way as he examined the body of the poor girl.
"We found her in a cave just around that cliff," Aragorn replied, breath irregular as he regained his composure, "a small group of orcs were torturing her, she lost consciousness just as we arrived."
Gandalf ran his staff over the length of her body, muttering spells in the Old Tongue, as Legolas gently pulled her hair off of her face, pulling it free from the congealing blood, his fingers coming away red and tacky. She stirred loosely, groaning in pain as Gandalf forced her weakened body back to health, knitting bone and tissue back together with snaps and cracks. Legolas couldn't help but wince at each crack, feeling the pop within his own bones, imagining the pain she must be undergoing.
Boromir loomed over the girl, mistrust clear in his eyes as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, "this may be some trick, how do you know there are no more?"
"We have slain those with her, no remained," Legolas snapped back, "trick or no, she needs our help, if you are so concerned keep watch elsewhere."
Boromir made a gruff sound of disapproval, but stalked off towards the cliff face, sending a scathing look at the girl over his shoulder. Aragorn placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder, meeting his gaze with a cool acceptance, acknowledging the elves obvious annoyance with their companion.
Legolas stayed at her side for hours, through every second of Gandalf's healing, through Sam coaxing some water through her split lips, and especially through Boromir complaining about the sheer amount of time they were wasting with the girl.
"We are wasting a day of travel on that frail little thing," he bellowed, waving his arms in exasperation, "look at the blood coating her, she will not survive the night! We should move on and leave her here, or better yet take her out of her misery, I will do it myself."
Boromir drew his sword with a screech of metal on metal, the heavy sword glinting in the light of the sun. He glared at the girl on the ground, stalking forward with malicious intent clear in his eyes. Legolas rolled to the girl's defence without a second thought, stopping with a crouch between her and the steward-prince, an arrow taut in his bow, aimed directly between the mans eyes.
"You will not touch her!" He yelled, holding his arrow straight and true, expressionless as Aragorn and Gimli took their places behind him, their weapons drawn and held loosely in their grips.
Boromir let out a roar, sheathing his sword angrily, stalking off towards the cliff faces, "you will regret this elf, if we die it is on you and that feeble little bitch.
The three relaxed slowly, silence heavy but for the raspy breathing of the girl behind them, as they watched the angry man stomping away from them. Legolas turned to the girl, her face peaceful in sleep, blood hardening on her skin in an almost black layer across her face and body. With a sigh, he strung his bow over his shoulder, and laid beside the girl, staring at the blue skies above them.
When the sun reached its peak, and the warmth thoroughly warmed their skin, Legolas carried the girl down to a small river, and he and Aragorn began to clean the blood from her hair and skin. They were quickly swimming in blood, dark red mingling with the clear blue of the water, creating a trail down the river. They peeled her bloodied and hardened clothing from her skin, leaving her in her underclothes as they beat the blood from her clothing. Her skin was revealed as a light olive colour, light freckles spotting her cheeks and nose, running down to her shoulders. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the softness, teasing out knots as he went, slowly revealing her dark brown hair. Now mostly free of the blood, he could make out her distinct facial features, she had a small slender nose and sharp cheekbones, and couldn't have been more than 20 years old. He and Aragorn gently pulled her tunic back over her head, looping her arms through her sleeves, and pulled her legging on. Legolas sat in the water, holding her on his lap, letting her soak in the fresh waters, hoping to further soothe her sore and damaged skin.
"Where are her injuries?" Aragorn asked, shocking him out of his stupor.
"What do you-" He trailed off, now noting the lack of injuries, pale white scars ran across her stomach and chest, trailing down her arms and across her legs. "That's very peculiar, she doesn't seem to have any wounds, so where did all that blood come from?"
They sat there for a few minutes, words beyond the both of them, eventually just picking the strange girl up, returning to the camp.
"Gandalf," Aragorn said as Legolas set the girl back on her little bedroll, "the girl lacks any injuries, despite all that blood, did you really heal her to that extent."
Gandalf had a knowing smile, turning to Aragorn with a twinkle in his eyes, "oh no my dear Aragorn, she did most of my work for me."
Gandalf turned, watching the breathing of the girl, humming softly, clearly not willing to disclose more information on the matter.
And so, they sat, spending the rest of the day at their small camp, much to the disgust of Boromir. The hobbits however, they were having a wonderful time, taking careful time and energy to cook quite a delicious meal, and as night fell, they feasted under the stars, next to the slumbering dark-haired girl. Legolas slept near the poor girl, his hand on his bow and his quiver half-slung onto his back, as Boromir took first watch as usual. Several hours later, Aragorn shook him awake, but this time he did not go to the rock face to watch the rising sun. He sat next to the girl, one hand stroking the hair out of her face, as he couldn't help but try to calm her as she shifted restlessly, making distressed noises as she tossed and turned.
Suddenly, she shocked awake, one hand knocking his hand away from her face, the other flying to her waist as if reaching for a weapon that was not there. She flipping to a crouch, hands pulled back into a defensive position, hair flying wildly and she yelled out words in a language he did not recognize. The words were distinctly similar to his Elvish tongue, but were not anything he recognized, which was extremely strange as he was well versed in all Elvish languages past and present. His companions burst awake at her shouts, reaching for weapons as they did the previous night, pausing as Legolas yelled for them to relax and not frighten her. Only Gandalf stood calmly and relaxed, leaning on his staff looking down on the fierce girl, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. Legolas looked up at the girl in front of him, hands out defensively, staring into the truly memorising eyes of the girl he had been caring over for hours. Twin piercing silver eyes shone back, fear and shock lighting them with a fire, illuminating them like the moon was lit up behind her.