Disclaimer:

I will only write this once but it's meant for the whole story. I do not own Lord of the Rings or the characters therein, merely I borrow them for a short while as playthings in my own twisted imagination come to life within my story.

I have seen this idea done several times already and got inspired to try my own hand at this type of story. Thus if it resembles several other well written stories of a similar topic, this has not been done deliberately on my part and I apologize in advance for any similarities to other stories already out there.

"Speaking"

Thoughts'

"Mind Communication"

Where to begin?

His graceful hand lifting slowly from the curved blank page, as his thoughts stalled for a moment on that single question; where to begin? While the other hand absently brushed strands of his golden hued hair away from his face and tucked it behind one pointed ear.

Outside, the soft sun danced on the trees and shimmered into his window, when a path could be found through the shielding trees. And still the window, decorated with coloured drapes cast the illusion of leaves on the floor of his room. He could hear the young ones laughs as they chased their queries through the court yard and through the trees. The birds sang and noises of the forest became like a symphony for those that knew how to listen to it. The trees voices echoing through the glade, singing, enjoying the temporary relief from the coming darkness; still celebrating the return of someone they had thought lost many years before. Not only the trees celebrated but the elves that lived in union with them did too. Feasts and other merry making, songs and competitions testing speed, endurance and skill with long range targets and short range fighting; all who could participated in, including his father.

Where to begin when there were so many places he could begin from. From the start of his life or from the start of his adventures in Arda; and as he looked back on the more recent past he wasn't sure where it truly began, if the beginning could not have a starting place, but many.

Should he begin at his beginning, his birth? But that story had already been told, or at his supposed death from the hideous spiders which haunted the fair forest for so long; the ones that had killed his Mother? Or his escape by throwing himself into a raging river in a corner of the forest he did not know.

He decided that would be the beginning. The river. And lowered his quill to the parchment to begin to write, thoughts flowing from his hand like the river that flowed around him; seeking to pull him into its icy depths and keep him locked there forever. He paused suddenly, looking back on his life, and dropped the quill.

The cold had been like nothing he had ever felt. It shocked him, when he jumped in, to avoid the painful death from the spiders that had given him chase. And he was swept away, not strong enough to swim against the current and back to a shore. He remembered the panic of fighting for the surface so many times that even with his enhanced elven memory he could not count. And the seeming eternity that passed until strong arms circled him and pulled him from the cold grip of the stream. He was barely conscious, suffering from the one bite that he had suffered from the small spider that had caught up with him. It had pinned him and bit him once before he instinctively kicked at its stomach and sent it flying back. All he saw, before the darkness claimed him, was that he was not in the forest anymore. Instead a field, separated only by sparse trees and mountains stood barely visible to even him.

And he awoke, in a bed, covered by a thick blanket. An elderly woman sat at his side, and smiled down at him. Her smile had reminded him of someone, but he could not remember who. He remembered crying at that moment, scared as no answer came to her gentle questions. She had asked for his name, he did not remember. She asked where he came from, that too was blank but for a fleeting impression of dark green trees. That image faded instantly and he was unsure if he had remembered it or it had been a flight of fantasy. He did not bother mentioning it to the healer.

He cried in her arms, still a young child by their count. He was over three centuries old at that point but resembled a child of five at the most. All he knew from that point on of his parents was that the smile of the woman that kept him alive for the weeks he had been ill, reminded him of someone that he had been close too. But he could never explain how that smile made him feel a pressing sadness too, as if a buried memory attached itself to some grief that he could not remember.

And from that point on, and indeed until he met his father again, he did not know who he was or where he came from, even his name laid blank. But sometimes when he laid quiet under the spell of the few trees around the tiny village he resided in he could almost hear his true name being whispered in his mind. The village elder gave him a human name, Girrak, as nothing else could be deemed as his name; nor did this village have contact with Elves that could have at least given him a name from his people; for the centuries he had spent in that village, he went by that name. And there he stayed, raised by countless generations of the same family that had saved him from the rivers touch. He could close his eyes and flashes of their faces danced across his memories.

He remembered at six centuries, holding a newborn baby human in his arms, and having the funny feeling that soon this little human would soon be his caregiver. How the small infant would soon grow up and be older than he. He had looked ten. He had never been mistreated by the village or the family he lived with, as all loved the first born race on Arda. But inside he knew he was different, knew he would never be like these pleasant humans that patiently raised him and guided him along until he was old enough to be out on his own.

And in between his six and seventh century he discovered trees and their voices. He realized that it was not his imagination whispering across his mind when he concentrated on a tree, but its individual voice; he recalled nearly falling out of said tree he had been resting in when the sleepy voice answered his unconscious thought into it. The tree had claimed that it had been several hundred years since the last being had spoken to it, and had understood its answer. And that started his love of the trees. When he was done his chores for the day, he would always sneak away to that glade to speak with that tree again. They had become friends.

And from that discovery of the voices within trees he had slowly started to hear all the voices of nature, he could understand them but could not speak to the animals the way he could to the trees. He would wander away and spend several hours a day in their company, listening to their stories and learning about their past. They were his second teachers. And through them he learned many things about nature that humans could never know. The one thing he cherished the most was their gradual reintroduction of the elvish languages into his dialogue. He had been so young when he had last heard elvish and hearing it once more reassured him that he did belong somewhere, even if it wasn't here. Sadly he had almost forgotten the languages his people spoke as he spent time with the humans. And so in the company of the sparse tree, he slowly learned to rely on the trees for camouflage and to move as they did, undetected by all whom passed looking for him; he had always felt at home lying on a tree branch watching the flickering light of the sun dance in patterns on their leaves.

The village men had trained them as best they could in combat with a sword, but none had ever seen hard times, neither by a war with other greedy men or by the series of dark things that began to slowly sweep across the plains at night, did not have much to offer him; but he never forgot their sincerity or their lack of trying. Oddly he never grew to love fighting with a sword but despite this dislike he soon bested his teachers, in both weapons training and learned all he could from the healers and other people that claimed to hold much knowledge in the village.

And just under a millennia of age and around the human standard age of fifteen, he traveled away from the tired little village and at the cluster of trees that sat above a hill he turned and bade goodbye to the place that had become a home to him. And bade goodbye to an old friend, the first tree that had awoken to his minds' touch and had whispered back to him that sunny day when he had been so young. He did not forget the trees almost prophetic answer to him when it learned he was leaving.

'I must leave, my friend. Be well.'

'Stay well, Child of the Forest. You will find you past in the Great Forest. Seek the company of your own.'

'Such odd words for such a sad time. But I will listen to your words, I will seek my past.'

'Do not be sad…You're call awoken me from a deep sleep, and I cherish the time we were together. Goodbye tree friend. May your journey be blessed.'

'May the Valar keep you well.' He had unconsciously responded.

He overlooked the village one last time before leaping from his perch and running swiftly away from the only home he could remember, not looking back; afraid that if he did he would louse his nerve and return there to live in obscurity for the next millennia.

And so began his travels, in the deepest wilds of Arda. Learning as he went from those mortal and immortal alike that he met on the way. It was in a dark forest glade that he first met a human ranger. He circled the odd human warily looking for any sign that he should have to fight. The darkly dressed human regarded him, arms held away from his numerous weapons in a non threatening manner, and then to his surprise spoke to him calmly assuring that he had no interest in a fight.

Soon he let down his guard and they became friends, sharing camp together and swapping stories. He had hesitantly let it be known that this was his first journey away from his home and he did not have much combat training. Here he met his third teacher, one that instructed him in short arms combat with daggers instead of a sword, and was the first one to introduce him to a bow and quiver. They traveled together for many moons; until they reached the golden forests of Lorien.

And within the glowing depths of the golden forest he met the first of his kind in nearly six centuries. It was an awkward meeting, both circling each other, feinting in both hand to hand combat as well as in their answers and questions of one another.

The elf had spotted him napping in a tree and tried to ambush him when he apparently did not recognize him as friend. This had failed, as the tree gave a warning of an impending attack to the dozing elf and just before the elder elf could get to him he lunged backwards onto the next lowest tree branch. Both adversaries stood watching each other. He recalled looking upwards, into the dark eyes of the elder elf. His long blonde hair allowed to fall straight down his back, was a lighter colour than his, more silver than gold, and his eyes a darker blue. Then dodging another lunge he tracked backwards through the trees with the elder chasing him, not really interested in escaping capture, he had just wanted to test his skills against someone raised by elves. And what a run it had been. Eventually the two slowed down, standing on opposite trees in a clearing, watching each other once more.

But soon word came from the lord and lady of Lorien that he was welcome here and to be allowed access to the forest whenever he would come. And so the now friendly elf escorted him through the trees, talking as if he was an old lost friend. He recalled being incredibly confused by the change in the elder elf; he had gone from being treated as a possible enemy to now a friend. Soon he understood why, news of his entry into Lorien had spread from the trees to others and the elder elf had been sent to distract him while the lord and lady decided on their course of action, strangers were not often allowed into the golden woods. The strange elf had introduced himself as Haldir and soon introduced his two brothers.

There had been so many introductions at that moment. He was still busy, half listening to the joyful call of the elves and to the equally joyful call of the trees that were their home.

And what a home it was. Everything that lived in the realm looked as if the sun had blessed it with its pale colour; from the trees, their beautiful leaves, their gleaming bark, to the animals and even to the elves that lived within. All seemed to glow, a shower of dark to light golden colours which blended into the iridescent radiance that resided in the trees. Winter had never touched these trees and he remembered hoping that it never would. The elves, the ones he could see, had golden hair, much like the elf he had met in the woods, he could barely see running from tree to tree as if each branch was the forest floor. As comfortable with trees as he was, and their voices rose in song to the trees. And the trees sang back, to the delight of the elves; speaking of his coming to the golden woods. And as he watched them, he absently played with a strand of his hair; he remembered fingering the gold locks. Darker in colour than those that he had watched he and realizing that he did not belong here either. While he was among kin, this was not where he was from. His search for his past was just beginning.

And it was on the balcony, overlooking the tops of several smaller trees that he met the lord and lady; that the trees sang most of. They approached from behind so quietly that he barely heard their coming. Turning he had stopped for barely a moment, awed at what he saw.

The lord was dressed in the palest white robes he had ever seen, as if these robes had been spun that day and had never seen any use before this. Within the white he picked up the palest glimmer of sparkles of silver that reflected into his wise silver eyes and almost silver appearing hair, so gold that it was nearly white, but silver too. He could not think of the words to describe the awe of the lord. Their eyes met for but a moment, mid blue and wise silver, and he was sure he saw a flicker of recognition within their depths. The elders face then donned a relived look for but a moment and then a gentle smile.

He moved his gaze to the lady. She too was donned in a pale white dress that flickered and danced in the gentle wind and reflected an almost blue colour into his eyes. Her dark gold hair, similar to his colour than the elves of this wood, danced also in the soft breeze that blew over them. Their eyes met too and her gaze softened and a smile graced her face.

Both lord and lady gave off a silver radiance which came from their own selves. And he remembered bowing to them, unsure of where the knowledge of how to bow came from and the realization that he was meeting elves much greater than himself. Straightening up he watched in shock as the lord inclined his head to him, an informal bow and the lady curtsied to him.

"Welcome, young one." She whispered. "Long have I wished to meet you, and the coming of the ones that will serve in the fellowship."

"My lady?" he questioned.

"That remains in the future, little one. Do not concern yourself with it yet. I am Galadriel. I welcome you to the elven realm Caras Galadhon."

"And I am Celeborn. I too wish to welcome you to our realm. You may come and go as you please, as our honored guest."

"Is this where I belong?" He remembered asking, already pretty sure of the answer.

"You are already aware of the answer to that question, little one. This is not where you belong. Your search for your past must continue. But tarry with us for some time, and you will be trained further with the weapons of your choice as well as in our customs and the customs of our neighboring elven realms. Indeed the captain of our guards, Haldir, has already expressed interest in training with you. He mentioned something about your natural ability and your strong connection with nature. I see in your future that you will need such skills, both as a warrior and as a diplomat."

"As you request, I will stay."

"A place shall be made ready for you. We shall send for you when it is ready." Lord Celeborn answered.

"I thank you, my Lord." He remembered once again bowing to the pair.

"You're tongue is truly dipped in honey." The lady responded with a laugh.

"As well said for charming hosts."

As the two left he recalled hearing the lady's laughter echoing to his sensitive ears. And so began his stay in Lorien. On the eve of his first night in the golden city the Lord blessed him with an elven name, finding for some reason humor in the situation of an elf named as a human.He was renamed Laitheryn which would translate to Spirit Forest in the language of the west. And yet as he received his second elven name, something inside him cried that this name too was not right. He had listened to the voice, but could not answer its cries at that moment.

His stay in Caras Galadhon lasted two more centuries, and learned much more than ever before and not in just the arms of war, but in tree lore and elf lore as well as the development of his particular gift with the trees, not just learning their language but learning how to call them to his defense when needed.

His many friends were sore to see him leave, but he, on the eve of this second century deemed it time. He was happy in Lorien, content to stay among kin and learn their ways; but here too, he knew, he did not belong.

He had heard much of the two other elven realms, enough to know that Lord Elronds' realm, while more accepting of outsiders, which tempted him into traveling there first, it was not situated in a forest, and his most cherished dreams of his past, were of flickers of the sun through a huge green canopy.

As he had heard Imladris (or Rivendell as spoken in the West), was situated in a mountain valley, with a gliding river spotting between. Homes that looked more like they were carved from more the passing of time then skilled hands, shone golden in the sun. Not as golden as Caras Galadhon but still the shimmer of the light of the Elves touched their lands. And instead of an eternal summer the lands there seemed to be locked in constant spring. Their lands were open with no forests; and his only memory and where he felt more comfortable was in the deep forests of Arda.

And of the Elves in Imladris, they were more of a darker tone than his, for the most part. There were exceptions to that, such as the balrog slayer Glorfindel. But generally their hair was between the colours of earthy brown to the darkest midnight and their eyes shone like dark stars. They were more open to human travels and even dwarfs were known to be allowed into the splendid halls.

The third Elven realm, in common tongue it was known as Greenwood or Mirkwood; the Elves named it Eryngalen. This was the realm that he had dreaded traveling to. As he had learned it was situated within the sheltering trees of an unmeasured forest that shone in pale browns and greens. Its palace and largest city barely visible within the hidden glade in the center of the forest; but other than that there was not much known about the most distinct elven realm, and less about the people dwelling within. And as the centuries passed, it appeared that the realm would continue to drift apart from their kin.

The Elves dwelling within were mid toned, having hair that went from light earthy tones to golden blonde, much like him. And the majority had blue or silver eyes. But it was their abhorrence of strangers that had troubled him, even if he could somehow gain entrance into Mirkwood it was more likely that he would be turned away by the Elven scouts that constantly patrolled its borders. Or arrested and given over for questioning. The rumors he had heard of the King of Greenwood were that he was a cold elf; cold, stubborn and set in his ways.

Back then he remembered doubting that the King would be overly patient with a stranger that came seeking answers and looking for his past, especially if said Elf could not even give his true name. If he approached under those standards it was likely he would end up in the dungeons.

He recalled his extreme hesitation when it became apparent that the most logical place to search for his past was also the place he feared traveling to.

He could laugh at those notions now. How untrue they were. Suddenly looking down, he realized that he had filled several pages with his thoughts, and the hours had passed without his knowledge. The sun was now setting and lighting the pale green leaves up and shadowing the horizon with pale purples, vibrant reds and other colours that the Elves with all their talents could not bear to make. Nature was truly amazing. Sliding from his desk he approached the open window and slipped onto the balcony, he shared with his father, to watch the remainder of the falling of the sun, soon the moon would rise to chase the sun once more. Their rooms were separate, but close enough to share one area outside, overlooking a wildflower garden.

A moment later he realized he was not alone. He turned and watched his father make a graceful enterence onto their shared balcony from his separate room. The taller elf slipped from his door to stand next to his son, and they both shared a smile and returned their gazes to the display of the sun.

"How was your day, Ada?"

The addressed elf smiled despite himself. "Busy as usual. And you ion Nin?"

"Moderately busy."

"Come, let us retire and share supper. I have missed your company today."

"And I you." He responded following his father into his chambers, where supper was laid out.

I hope you enjoyed reading this and will drop a line to tell me what you think of my writing.

Well this is the beginning in what I hope to be a long arc, with other stories branching off in detail what was skipped fairly quickly in this chapter. But for now this is the frame work story.

Ja'ne

Avion Jade