A/N: yes, it's one of those awesome legolas fics where he…um….falls in love and stuff :) I can't help it, I've fallen in love with these after reading progidalwriter's "Choices in Love." Anyway, this first chapter occurs when Legolas is really really young (we're talking like less than one year old…human-wise. I guess that'd be like a hundred years in the way of elves…. ^_^) Just….to clarify that.
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Sarryia's eyes fluttered open as the sunlight hit them. She groaned and shut them tightly again. It was way too early. She let her mind drift to places she wanted to go to – places she would never reach. Other elven places like Lorien and Rivendell. But she was stuck here. Here, in boring Mirkwood. A soothing voice broke through her thoughts and brought her back to the present.
"Sarr, dear, it's time to wake up. Come on, you've got to eat."
Sarryia sighed loudly and rolled out of bed and landed at the feet of Mrs. Ethreniel Greenleaf. The latter laughed out loud and strode out the door to let Sarryia get dressed. A few minutes later, Sarryia swept down the stairs carrying her laundry, a smile on her face.
"It's going to be a lovely day, Ernethiel, so I'm going to wash these and hang them up, is that all right with you?"
Ernethiel gave an absent wave of her hand, not looking up from the manuscript she was reading.
"Of course it is, dear. And while you're at it, could you do something about that horrible pile of – "she grinned " – well, you know what I'm talking about."
Sarryia smiled and picked up the pile of cloth diapers by a cradle near the edge of the room. Grinning, she tickled the baby inside while making cooing noises. The baby gurgled appreciatively and wriggled in his cradle. Laughing softly, Sarryia stepped out the door.
It was, as Sarryia had predicted, a gorgeous day. The sun shone in shafts through the treetops, and the very air was heavy with a musty smell – magical, Sarryia thought. Birds chirruped everywhere around her, and bees buzzed about brightly colored flowers lazily.
It was days like this that Sarryia felt happy to be alive. As she hung she wet laundry up on a taut string between two trees, she thought of how her life came to be this way.
It had all happened very long ago. So long, in fact, that she had had to ask Ernethiel about her past in order to understand it. She had been an orphan. Ethreniel had found her on the side of a beaten path, wailing her heart out when she had been a very small child. Pity had moved the older elf's heart, and Ethreniel decided to take in the lost child.
Thranduil, however, was another matter altogether. He was a good man, just and fair, and King of Mirkwood, but with a fiery temper that he kept on short rein. It took Ethreniel hours of pleading and much throwing of things to get him to let her keep the child. Sarryia often felt that Thranduil hated her. It was silly, of course – he merely disliked her, but not to the point of hate – but she felt a prickling in the back of her neck every time he would talk to her. He often treated her like an inferior, someone not worth his time. Ethreniel always assured her it was nothing more than a feeling, however, so Sarryia seldom dwelt on the topic.
She wiped off her hands on the smock she wore over her elven dress and made her way inside, having washed the clothes.
"Ethreniel, I was thinking, those rose bushes, they could really – "
Sarryia stopped in mid-sentence. A sixth sense told her something was wrong.
"Ethreniel?"
She made her way cautiously into the kitchen and peered around. Nothing. She walked uneasily over to the chair where Ethreniel had been sitting. Strewn over the table were charts, maps, sketches, and paragraphs of things she couldn't understand, all written in a spidery writing on yellow parchment paper. Sarryia shuffled though them nervously, not sure what she was looking for. Her hands moved faster and faster, and her breathing came heavily. She had no idea what was going on, only that something important was about to happen and she was the key to it. She was flipping through another paper when her hand stopped dead. She had found what she'd been looking for.
Blood.
Panicked, she shouted out Ethreniel's name. Once, twice, three times. On the third time, she heard a hoarse whisper from the next room. Rushing over, she was shocked to find Ethreniel lying down, on the ground of the sitting-room, with a huge gash across her head. A puddle of blood had formed around her head, and it was obvious she wouldn't last much longer. Sarryia remembered bitterly that the sitting-room had always been Ethreniel's favorite. It was always bathed in sunlight, and had many plants everywhere. There was a lovely soft white carpet in the center. A white carpet that was now stained with a crimson patch. Ethreniel smiled faintly.
"Knew…it would happen. You must listen, child…" he eyes riveted themselves on Sarryia's, the only part of her that was still burning with life. "You are not….like – others. One day…you will know. A…a hundred years, maybe. Take the papers…" She coughed, and blood dribbled out of her mouth to join what was already on the floor. "Planning…for some time, now. Never lose….faith. Do not…do not forget who you are."
With a gasp and one last, shuddering breath, her eyes rolled backwards into her head and her body went limp. Sarryia knelt down, tears spilling down her cheeks. She cradled her makeshift mother's sagging form softly in her arms and kissed her forehead.
"I won't forget you, Ethreniel. I won't forget who you were, or what you did for me. I – I will try to do as you have told me."
She stood up and wiped her eyes roughly. She felt it was most important to take care of those papers for now. Hurriedly, she gathered them together and put them into her apron pocket. She noticed something interesting on the last one. Pulling it back out, she examined it. It was a lovely drawing of a necklace. It was a simple circle, but the drawing seemed to show that there was something more within it. Peering closer, she saw something written beside the sketch.
"Sarryia."
Sarryia carefully put the paper back into her pocket and reentered the room containing Ethreniel's body. Carefully, she felt around the elf's neck for the pendant. Sure enough, a tiny, barely noticeable silver chain presented itself to her hands. She pulled it off gently and placed it around her own neck. Immediately, she knew there was more to this necklace than met the eye. She could feel a sense of warmth and security radiating from it, the same sense that had come from Ethreniel not so long ago.
Sarryia took a deep breath and tried to still the thousands of questions swirling in her mind. One could not be silence, however, and that was "Why?" Why had this happened? Why did she matter? Why had she been forced to lose the one person she had ever looked upon as a mother? Why –
She stopped in mid-thought at the creaking of a door. Thranduil. Her heart was gripped with an icy fear. He would not understand. He needed only this excuse to be rid of her. She needed to leave. Standing up quickly, she prepared to rush for the door. But the feel of those cold eyes on her back stopped her.
Thranduil's footsteps echoed a thousand times over in her mind. They were heavy, purposeful. Foreboding. She heard a ruffle of clothes. He must be leaning over her now. Sarryia squeezed her eyes hut. Why couldn't she just run away? It was as though some force more powerful than anything she ever could have imagined was holding her in place. She turned around slowly, willing herself to face this man she was so frightened of.
Thranduil had his head bent over his wife. His eyes were dry, and his mouth was set in a hard, straight line. Finally, after a minute of unbearable tension, he lifted his head and locked eyes with Sarryia. So strong was the hatred in those, the fury and anger and indescribable loathing, that Sarryia fought to keep his gaze. More tears ran down her face. He decided it was time to say something.
"Sir, I – What I mean is, it wasn't – "
"Murderer."
"I swear, it wasn't me! I came in, and – and – "
"MURDERER!" he roared. "You – you filthy piece of scum! I should have known it from the start. You can never trust someone who is not one of your own. I feed you, shelter you, clothe you, and how do you repay me?" by now Thranduil was shaking with rage, and his hand strayed towards the bow at his back. "By death! You probably enjoyed it, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"
"Sir, I swear, it was – "
"I WILL HEAR NONE OF IT! You are a dirty, two-faced liar and a cheat! You are not worthy for this earth."
Now Thranduil's face was bent upon hers. His eyes were cold and hard, and every fiber of his being was clenched in hate. Sarryia sobbed, trying desperately to defend herself.
"Sir, I am telling the truth! I – "
"Run."
Thranduil's voice was low and dangerous. He spoke so softly that Sarryia could barely hear him. But she knew that whispers, with this man, were much more dangerous than shouts. Thranduil breathed deeply through clenched teeth.
"Run, you filthy, filthy piece of scum. I am sparing you, which is more than can be said for my wife. Run, Sarryia. And if you ever come back, if I ever need to set my eyes upon your stupid, ugly face, if you ever turn back from whatever direction you are running…I'll kill you."
Sarryia knew there was nothing she could do. Suppressing the sob that rose up in her throat, she turned and ran out the door, gathering her dress in front of her. She was about to reach the edge of the woods when a voice stopped her.
"Sarryia!" Thranduil called.
Automatically, Sarryia stopped in mid stride and turned around. Standing on the doorway in front of her once-called home was Thranduil, a cold smile on his face and a loaded bow in his hand. A bow with an arrow that was aimed straight at her heart.
"I thought I told you not to turn back," he said quietly.
Sarryia had only time to open her eyes in horror before the arrow sliced the air with a telltale whoosh. With a shout, she threw herself to the side. She was a fraction too late, however. The arrow sliced her side right beneath her ribcage, causing an agonizing pain to spread through her body. Thranduil laughed mirthlessly, his eyes glazed over in hate. He had obviously lost all reason at that moment, with the death of his wife.
"So, scum, how do you like the pain? I think I shall leave it so, yes?" he laughed again, a sort of mad glint in his eye. "Yes, it will do nicely. You'll have just enough time to think about what you've done before the fiery gates of hell greet you."
He turned and stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Sarryia could not stop the hot tears flowing down her cheeks. The initial searing pain of the cut had subsided to a dull, aching throb. Painfully, she stood up, keeping a blood-drenched hand to her side. She needed to get away. Ripping off the bottom of her dress, she tied it around her side to keep the blood from flowing. She stumbled into the forest, her chest heaving with ragged breath and sobs rising up before she could stop them.
A few minutes later, the only sign that a being had ever been there was the thin trail of blood on the forest floor.
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A/N: r/r please! Constructive criticism is welcome!
