Author's Note: I don't really have a clear visual of Eryn Lasgalen in my mind, so I apologize if it's a bit unclear where she is in that part. After further research, it's still unclear to me if the pre-The Hobbit Mirkwood is dark and gloomy and such. Apparently the coming of Men made them so dreary, but it's obvious we already have human involvement here. (Who can go wrong with elves and nature, right?)
So I'm writing it like it's not, but if anyone has a clearer idea of what it looks like, please feel free to leave a comment!
An owl hooted its eerie cry, the sound echoing through the shadowy trees.
I barely glanced up, continuing on my way through the forest. The hours since my escape from the slave wagons had slipped by without my notice and it was now night.
I recalled bones being sliced by my knife as if they were melting butter. Screams of agony as men clung to life amidst roaring pain. The family of farmers bolting off with frightened glances in my direction. Another evil reputation made in a new town.
Until the haze of battle fury had cleared from my mind, I did not know I had been wounded. A sneaky trick of one man left a shallow slash on my upper arm where my bracers didn't cover it. I had bandaged it with a strip of white cloth which was now soaked crimson red. Bruises were the evidence of sword hilts and the occasional armored fist ramming into me.
But that was just another day, now fading into my bank of memories of days just like it, days torn with slaughter.
The inky blackness of the sky enveloped me, in my own clothes of shadow. Every garment I wore was black or deep sapphire, which allowed me to melt into the darkness.
They do not call me Shadowed One for nothing.
That is my name, Jevryn Haldaer. At a young age, my race sent me out of my home, a luscious and beautiful forest the humans call Greenwood, but we call Eryn Lasgalen. I loved that forest, not as much the city as the grand old trees.
Soaring high above my head, in the night, they would appear as if I climbed to the very top, where the pine needles brushed the stars, I would somehow fly away...
I soon learned to love other forests. Middle Earth became my home and the night became my friend.
I learned how to survive, how to truly live. There hasn't been a roof over my head for nigh on fifty years, and that's the way it's meant to be. The way I was forced to live by the elves.
And then I met Quinn.
The grizzled old ranger knew every trick in the book, meeting every challenge with a bold heart, sly mind and a quick wit. He was like a father to me, but of course I'd never told him that.
Smiling to myself, I tilted my head back to take in the full beauty of the moon through a break in the foliage. Moonlight splashed on my high, prominent cheekbones and brightened the whites around my deep brown eyes. My gently waved dark brown hair fell down my back, but was usually kept tucked into my hood and was kept back with the twisting of two pieces of hair on either side of my head.
The moon was a marble-like white, as usual. It never changed. I could always count on it. Unlike some.
My mood darkened, I set my jaw and pulled my hood up over my head, trudging on.
Eventually, my tired body gave into its weariness and I found myself a nice hollow in the roots of a tree to climb in. Drawing my cloak over myself, I unsheathed my knife, holding it surreptitiously under my cloak to greet anyone- or anything -that should make the unwise decision to disturb me.
Relaxing, I let my eyes close and the world of dreams overtake me.
It was a foggy dawn in a glorious forest. The fog seeped through the trees, swirling through the emerald-green grass carelessly. The sun was just beginning its ascent to its place in the rosy sky. The air was mildly warm, and when it touched you, brought the feeling of a cool, welcoming day to come.
A young elf strode through the forest, her dark brown hair rippling freely down her back. Even now she was dressed in dark hues; a dress sewn with deep blues and purples. Her pace was quick, almost anxious. Her hands clenched, long nails digging into her palm.
In time, she came upon a city so in tune with nature it could've been grown out of the earth. The craftsmanship goes far beyond anything humans could create- they would have neither the patience, nor the skill.
She ignored the trilling birds and the wondrous town and walks on. The town faded into the trees again, and the trees themselves began to change into Beech trees around the path the elf was on. The rush of water became clear and straight on was a sturdy bridge across a frothing river.
Gathering up her skirts, she stepped across it and faced a tree-covered slope with a deep cave that was directly across from the bridge like a dent in the mountain.
The elf gazed at it, apprehension and more than a little anger in her eyes. A dagger emerged from the folds of her skirts, her hand gripping the hilt with so much force, her knuckles were white. Then she approached the cave, chin high.
The magic gate swung open for her and she was met with two guards, who stared at her with a suspicious gleam in their eyes before guiding her through the underground passageways.
The hall of the king was regal, befitting one of his rank, but the air was not fresh and carefree, like it was in the forest, in the hall, mistrust boiled and fury brewed.
The king had straight, long flaxen-blond hair with a crown of leaves and berries atop it. He was wearing a scarlet robe with many shades of brown. His eyes were a grey-blue and locked on the young elf maid the moment she entered his presence. He lounged on a wood-carven throne with guards on his left, his son on his right.
His son had inherited his father's flowing tresses and blue eyes, though his were brighter, clearer, the color of the afternoon sky. He had small braids in his hair, each tucked behind his pointed ears to keep hair out of his face, as was the fashion with Elven warriors. His face possessed high, arcing cheekbones that gave him a noble appearance. He was wearing a light-blue long tunic, slim, grey-brown boots and a twisting of silver served as a crown, resting on his brow.
The elf maid refused to look at either, instead fixing her eyes on a space between them.
The Elfking rose, a sudden fire in his gaze. "Jevryn Haldaer." His voice commanded attention and echoed through his hall.
Jevryn glared at him, silent and unbowed.
The king stepped down from his throne, fingers trailing along the sides. "Word has spread of you, Haldaer. Of the way you manipulate shadows, of your...attitude towards our kind."
Her deep brown eyes flashing with the burning power of pulsing lava, Jevryn spoke in Sindarin, voice tight with barely controlled anger. "That is not my name."
The king arched a slender eyebrow. "Haldaer? Shadowed One? On the contrary, I believe it fits you." He raised his voice. "The parents of this young elf have been in our prison for a year as of today. There they will remain." Narrowing his eyes threateningly at Jevryn, he added, "We do not tolerate those who would betray their own people for one so evil and wretched. And with an act of such horror." He cast a glance at his son, who was staring at his feet, sorrow in his eyes. His father's similarly blue gaze wondered what could ail him, and then returned to the matter at hand.
"He was controlling them! They could not fight him!" Jevryn's voice rang forth, challenging the king's. "You help so many others! Why not those who need your aid most? Those who are enslaved to your greatest enemy-"
"Silence! They do not deserve rescuing!" The king snapped, his robes whisking as he turned on her. "Jevryn Haldaer, today we send you from this land. The blood that runs in your veins is traitorous and shadows have clouded your mind. You do not belong here."
A pair of elves stepped out from amongst the columns on the sides of the hall and handed Jevryn a sword, a knife, a longbow fashioned of ebony wood, and a quiver full of black-fletched arrows.
She snatched the weapons from them and in return, handed them the dagger that was hidden in her skirts.
A shocked silence followed. "What plan did your parents bid you to carry out before you were banished, Haldaer?" The Elfking asked, voice shaking with rage. "Would you murder my son, your future king?" He shook his head. "Such shame you have brought to your people."
"Do you not understand that you, my people, have done nothing for me?" Jevryn questioned quietly. "My parents were heartless, they did not love me. Do not worry, I do not ask for pity, I do not want any. Besides, you have none to give. However, regardless if they loved me, I will fight for them." Her tone was bitter, and her voice trembled. "And now you, who would be my second family, throw me out of the only place I've known." She paused, "You are correct in saying I don't belong here. Never have I felt as though Eryn Lasgalen was a place I could be safe, never has it been home to me."
"Then this should be easy for you." The king's voice was like steel, cold and unbending. "You will never hurt the elves again, Haldaer. You will never return to Eryn Lasgalen."
Never return to Eryn Lasgalen. Never return to Eryn Lasgalen.
My eyes shot open. "N-never..." The echoes of my dream sounded in my head. For a moment, I was frozen in grief, then annoyance swept the emotion away.
Pushing myself up, I sheathed my knife and stretched my cold, aching muscles.
That memory haunted me. As much as leaving my homeland set me free, it chained me, never letting my forget.
Pointless. It was pointless. There was nothing I could do to change it. And I hated dwelling on thoughts that were meaningless.
I found a cold stream, running with fresh mountain water and washed my face in it, fighting my mental battle over not thinking about the dream and trying to nitpick it to see if there was a way I could get my rightful vengeance.
I thought about the prince's face and wondered for the hundredth time why he was mourning. What was his name, Legolas? The valiant prince, always craving the center of attention- and always receiving it. As always, I reached the same conclusion: He was pouting because he wasn't being doted upon.
Straightening my back, I unslung my longbow from my shoulder and had the thought that I had been pondering since the first dream I'd had; could I murder the prince?
Examining the fine wood grain in the bow, I contemplated. I wasn't the best shot out of all the elves; I preferred sword work. It would be easier to shoot him, but I'd be brought down by the Elven archers before I was even in range. And who knew where the prince was going to be anyways?
As I had countless times before, I told myself it was useless and began scouting for deer tracks for my morning meal.
One more thought flashed in my mind; That prince deserves to die.