I could give a long speech about how the praise of readers is the food for savage writers, but I think a better gift would be the next chapter. So, without further ado, here it is!
Take from it what you will
Chapter One- The Beginning
Brona Ross was taken from her home in Greenwood days before she came of age. Her father was a "retired" palace guard, her mother a similarly retired handmaiden to the queen. Brona and her sister, Sein were forced to watch their mother and father die before they were taken away to the Blue Mountains. Sein was chained in the dungeons, the only thing Brona had left that was worth caring for. If Brona behaved and studied well, Sein was treated well. If Brona misbehaved, Sein was beaten, raped, tortured, or any combination therin. It didn't take Brona long to learn the arts of assassination, torture, and murder. As soon as she had them as mastered as her elfin arts, her captor taught her the Assassin's Creed
I am an assassin.
I feel no fear.
I am an assassin
I feel no pain.
I am an assassin.
I feel no anger.
I am an assassin.
I fear neither death nor life.
I am an assassin.
Death is my only companion. Fear, my only friend.
I am an assassin.
I do not fail.
They had begun with fear. Her Master, called Ohtar, had begun with simple things, like locking her in rooms full of spiders or dropping her from large heights. He had then progressed to emotional fears, making things like loss and hope foreign to her. Emotion of any kind became irrational, uncalcuable; just a variable. Ohtar had then moved on to pain. For days, he would subject her to physical pain until she had such a high tolerance that she did not blink when an arrow burried itself up to the fletching in her. She had gone so far as to impale portions of herself on her Master's sword simply for the pleasure of victory. Then, they dealt with pain of the mind. It was easier, because Brona had long ago learned that emotion made you as weak as it made you strong. The love she felt for her sister was harbored in a cage, only to be unleashed when she truly needed it. Ohtar had, instead of completely drilling her into a state void of emotion, moved on to the issue of anger. Using anger to drive actions was rash, and there was no room in an assassin's life for rash decision making.
It had progressed until Brona had no personal passion or interest. Everything she was had been buried beneath the calm, stoic exterior of an assassin, and she had been given her final test.
"Go now to Gondor. You will kill Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood. If you are undiscovered, stay there. I will release your sister when you complete this task," Ohtar said sharply. He threw a book of valum parchment at her containing details of all her previous assassinations and her new one.
"You will have to get another one of these soon," Brona said wryly, despite the emotionless tone to her voice.
"Work on your inflection. The king will notice if you appear off as he has encountered assassins before," Ohtar said by way of dismissal.
None of them were elves like me.
As such, three days after her target had been thoroughly researched and reviewed, she had left the comfort of familiarity in the fortress of the Blue Mountains and had ridden out only to discover a band of four halflings and a wizard riding on the same road she would have been taking. One of the halflings she recognized as her only friend in such parts (indeed, in any parts), and she felt suddenly very uncomfortable. When she was with Pippin, she was able to forget that she was an assassin for a time. How would he react if he discovered she was a murderer?
"Dunmhari?" the small halfling asked, looking at her from the back of the wagon. "Dunmhari!"
Brona felt her heart clench as she lifted her cloaked head to see the hobbit. "Pippin? What brings you so far from home?"
The wagon stopped, and the old wizard leaned out over the edge to see her seated atop her black stallion, Contuirt. His gaze seemed to pierce her through, but Brona ignored it in favor of gazing at Pippin.
"We're going to Gondor for the king's wedding!" Pippin said jubilently.
Brona tried not to feel fear as she put on a mask of a smile. "I wasn't aware he was getting married."
"Then were do you go on this ill traveled road?" Gandalf asked darkly, for she knew it was Gandalf by the fire in his voice.
"I have business in the forest of Ithilien," she said, her demeanor changing instantly. She had told Pippin long ago that she didn't follow the principal that any friend of his was a friend of hers. He knew first hand that she was slow to trust.
"Why do we not travel there together?" a dark haired hobbit, one who Brona assumed was Frodo Baggins, said, trying to mediate.
"You would not be able to keep up," Brona replied.
As if to illustrate her point, she whispered a command to Contuirt, who took off like the wind while she raised her arms, feeling as though she were flying. Her command of body and mind was absolute, and it was rare that she allowed herself such indulgences as challanging four hobbits and a wizard to a race. It was nice, in a way. It allowed her to lose herself to the elements before she found herself immersed in work again, unable to surface because every assassination brought her closer to her sister's freedom, closer to her ability to turn the point of the sword on herself.
That thought took the fun out of everything, and she urged Contuirt on. The horse was bred for endurance, and could run for months without getting tired. Straight riding, it was a month to Minas Tirith. Brona had no intentions of stopping, seeing as she would have to dye her white hair yet again to keep up apperances now that she knew Pippin was going to be in the city. She had been hoping to avoid that.
Just goes to show; an assassin isn't meant to have friends.
Pip isn't the friend of an assassin. He's the friend of an elf.
Regardless of her intentions of not stopping, the orcs who she had slain to get their staining blood had put up a very brutal fight. So, in addition to cleaning her clothes in the river, Brona dyed her hair a vicious crimson, a very natural color for an elf of her age. She also took a sheet of valum and composed a message to the king, written in her finest hand, warning him of orcs that were on the move, banding together unnaturally. Her words were very true, as she had seen many orcs as of late since she had begun leaving the mountain stronghold again, looking for portraits of her elfin target. In the thousands of years she had been held captive, she no longer had any idea who the current prince of Mirkwood was. She remembered a time when Thranduil was the crown prince of Greenwood. She had known through her secret scholarly pursuits that she devoted anxious time to, so as to not appear totally unaware of the events of the past, that Greenwood had become Mirkwood after Sauron's occupation. She also knew that this Legolas had been a member of the Fellowship, having fought at Helm's Deep, Minas Tirith, and the Black Gate of Mordor.
Pippin's quite the talker once you get him drunk enough, she chuckled to herself as she rose out of the water, her hair permanently red until she went to town with her bleaching soaps that took all the color out of it. Her hair hadn't always been such a bland shade of white; it had once been as red as it was now. However, in the need for changing apperances, white was the best possible color; easy to change and manipulate. Drying herself off with a towel, she didn't hear the hoof beats of a great army of horses until she realized she was stopped on a very awkward side of the fords of Isen, seated right in the middle of the gap of Rohan, straddling the Rohirrim, in a way. She clothed herself quickly, saddled her horse and pulled him into the trees at the foot of the mountains, praying that the Rohirrim would not notice her.
If not for the wolf, she was certain they wouldn't have.
As it happened, a great blue wolf had been tracking her from the mountains, curious as to her mission as she had been his friend for many years. When he saw the impending danger, he growled, leaping out to fight the entire Rohirrim blindly, as animals are wont to do when instinct takes over. Brona leapt out of hiding, showing real emotion for the first time in centuries.
"What news from the Mark?" she called, distracting them. Contuirt came out after her, and she smiled plesantly enough, despite the hand-made arrow pointed at the heart of the leader of the Rohirrim.
"Put down your bow and arrow so that we might speak quickly enough," he said, and, although every ounce of warrior and assassin instinct told her not to, Brona dropped her arm, putting the arrow and bow back in their places, although she was not as docile as she might have appeared. Concealed beneath her arm guards were a pair of leathal daggers attached to a spring, ready to flip out and back before anything could be done.
"What has the Rohirrim out so far so late?" she asked, every nerve in her body on fire from adrenaline should she have to kill the Rohirrim.
"We were tracking a band of orcs, but they appear to have been killed and drained of blood. Did you see anything?"
Brona was glad that her research habits had paid off. It allowed her to think up a quick and plausible story. "I saw wargs of some kind over their carcasses. I killed the uruks, but I left quickly enough. I had no desire to encounter more."
"What allows so fair a lady to be so skilled with blade and bow?" one of the other riders asked.
Brona pulled back her hair, revealing her ears. "I fought in the first war. Alas, I was too far away to be reached for the second. The peace of the mountains in the north is a lusty call."
The Rohirrim bought it. Their leader bowed to her shakily, unaware that they had had a hero in their midst. As it stood, it wasn't far from the truth. Ohtar had allowed her to hone her skills in the army of Elrond, meaning that she had experianced first hand what the Lord of Mordor was capable of. She had returned only after her first six week stay in Rivendell, most of which was spent unconcious. She had left the day after awakening, never to be seen again, so the healer-elf thought. She highly doubted Elrond would recognize her, warped by Ohtar's influence and the scars of many close encounters as she was, but she would have to take special care to stay away from him. Awren Undomiel, betrothed of the King, was his daughter, after all, and she couldn't risk meeting him or her in a dark alleyway somewhere.
She mounted her steed in silence, the Rohirrim having left her to the wistful memories of a time when she had been so much more than a cold blooded killer hell bent on ridding the world of all life if only to see her sister free again. She knew that she was free never to return; she didn't have to keep going back to Ohtar. However, Sein had no choice, and her every action was subtly influenced by her desire to see her sister, her beloved sister free. Ohtar no doubt expected her to fail, but, after all, he'd never said that Legolas of Mirkwood had to stay dead, and Brona knew of several ways to kill him and bring him back; all she had to do was win his trust.
It was fortunate that Brona had been training herself to block Ohtar's presence from her mind. There were whole periods where she could hear nothing but sweet melodic silence from her mind; the rest of the time was riddled with a fuzzy voice trying to reach her. She blamed it on distance if he asked.
There were six weeks until the king's wedding to Arwen Undomiel, and Brona had a plan. Granted, it wasn't as organized as she needed it to be, but she knew that her services were invaluable to Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar. All she needed in return was her sister, and she would serve him until she died, unable to breathe any longer, unable to raise her sword to strike down her foe.
She was an assassin, after all.
When Brona first set her gaze upon the gates of the White City, two days before the wedding, she felt her breath hitch. Three years ago, the gates had been stained black with the blood of orcs and men, torn through in the haste to erradicate the world of men. And, yet, they had been subtly, beautifully ressurected.
Immediately inside the gate, she was greeted to the sight of about ten guards, all of whom were pointing spears at her. She could have wiped them out easily, extinguishing their lives instantly, but her mission would require her to earn these people's trust, despite her sorted past. The message, of course, was only a cover story, which she offered the guards.
"I come from a colony of elves located in the blue mountains of the North. My name is Lady Brona and I come bearing a message for the king from my people."
"Certainly you do not feel such a beautiful elleth is a threat?" came a soft, yet commanding voice.
Brona swooned slightly at hearing her native Sindarin. Ohtar only spoke common tongue, and she had missed the sweeping beauty of Sindarin greatly. Hearing it spoken by such a gentle, beautiful voice was much appreciated, too.
"Lle i yaara ohtar en ed i Rohirrim, (You must be the ancient warrior spoke of by the Rohirrim)" he said, reading her mind.
"Oh, so my horsebound companions have been through already or are you just that swift upon the horse? I only passed them four and a half weeks ago," Brona heard herself say in common tongue, allowing herself for the first time to refuse to speak Sindarin when given the chance. She was wary of the elf, knowing that he might be her target. Given what she knew of Thranduil, the elf before her could easily be his son.
"I must be swift indeed. They passed you at the Gap of Rohan, yes?" he asked, leading her horse through the city.
"Aye, they did," she said quietly. And, under her breath, "Ni raibh siad an-deas ar cheachtar. (They weren't very nice, either.)"
"I have never before encountered an elf who can speak Sindarin and Eilimint," the elf said as they crested the top of the hill.
Brona dismounted mechanically, unaware of the fact that her faithful steed was being led to the stalls by a pair of attendents even as she shouldered her bags; her focus was on the massive garden before her. She had never once seen such beauty, especially not in the mountains. She recognized many of the plants as native to her Mirkwood, even though it had been called Greenwood when she last saw it.
Don't get distracted. You have to find the King.
"I had heard that the city was beautiful, but I have never cared much for the beauty of stone-masonry and carving. This... is something I did not expect. I believe the surprise makes it all the more beautiful," she said softly, longing to reach out and touch the rose bush before her. She restrained herself, knowing that if she could only get the king to see reason, perhaps she could even come to be allowed to live in the city-tower. "As much as I desire to simply walk among such a lovely garden, I must see the king."
"So urgent is your message?" the elf asked.
"So urgent are the tidings I bring. The message itself is... almost utterly unimportant," she said softly.
"Then let us go to the king's chambers."
"Legolas, mellon nin," King Elessar said, and Brona mentally smacked herself. I told you so! "Who is this?"
"My name is Brona Ross. I come from the land of Mirkwood, except when I knew it, it was called Greenwood. When I was soon to be of age, a hooded rider came to my family's home on the outskirts of the realm. He burned my home and took myself and my sister away to his fortress. If I... behaved well, my sister was treated well. If I behaved poorly... you can only imagine," she began softly, her gaze never wavering. "Ohtar, he called himself. He set about training me in weapons and poisons; the tools of an assassin."
The blonde elf who had caringly escorted her to the top drew his knives, but did not attack.
"I have not come here to kill you, King of Man, or your wife. I don't think I have the heart to kill one who once showed me kindness. My master, however, has assigned me to kill the Prince of Mirkwood, an elf whose father also showed me kindness once, although it was long ago and I have changed much," Brona said, quelching the guards' fear and inspiring a new one. "I have done great things in the name of freedom and never before has Ohtar asked me to kill an elf. Considering my options, I have very few, but I have to try. I offer you my services, my fealty, my alligeance; all I ask in return is the chance to free my sister."
"And how will you do so without killing my friend?" the King asked softly.
"Ohtar said he had to die. He did not say that he had to remain dead," Brona replied, a kind of wicked gleam in her eyes. "There are many ways to kill a person and be able to revive them. Many... too many... I have experianced first hand."
"Is there any other way to free her?"
"I cannot best him and I was trained by him. He has mithril sewn into his skin, preventing him from being killed easily."
"If we have not heard of your presence before now, you must be very skilled. Why turn over a new leaf?" Legolas asked, relaxing his stance slightly.
"When I was but an elfling, my father used to spin long yarns about brave princes and princesses who fought evil without a thought to themselves. I never thought I would encounter one. Once upon a time, however, a great elf Prince once saved me. I was traveling back to my home along the outskirts of the forest when a band of orcs attacked. If he had not dispatched them and taken me to a healer I would be dead. I know not if this would have been a better or worse fate than what befell me after, but I am thankful that he saved me, otherwise it would have been my sister in my position," Brona said softly. "It was your father, Prince Legolas."
