By: LadyoftheRings
Rating: PG-13 for violence. May go up to R in one chapter.
Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com
Spoilers: If you haven't read the Two Towers or the Return of the King.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Middle-Earth or J.R.R. Tolkien's world or characters. Everything recognizable J.R.R. Tolkien's, all else is mine. I am receiving no money for this, and this story was written purely for enjoyment.
Summary: Few know that Legolas Greenleaf was born a twin, and that his twin Laurëmîr was enamored of the human race. But when tragedy befalls him, can Laurëmîr prevent him from killing the one she loves?
Series: None.
Other disclaimers:
Any spelling, date, place or character errors
are the fault of the author only and are totally by accident. I am not an
expert on Middle Earth and do not claim to be. Please forgive any
omissions or errors you might find.
A/N: First of all: Thank you to all who reviewed! I read and consider everything that you tell me, even the things you don't like. And as for the whole spun sugar thing, mainly it came from the thinking that elves in general were much, much more advanced in civilization at the time than humans. Consider the fancy cloth they wore, able to weave river, sun, grass, and rock into garments to hide the wearer, as the elves of Lothlórien did in The Fellowship of the Ring.
A quick note though. Although I appreciate constructive criticism, keep in mind this stuff is just for fun. I don't want or expect to publish this, I'm not intent on polishing it, and frankly I really don't care if it's junk or note. I like writing it and that's what matters. I thank the reviewers who tell me what you don't like and do like and so on, but remember this is just the dumb stories bouncing around my head. I only write them to get the plots out of my head so I can write the stuff I'm really good at—which is not fan fiction. And if my characters are annoying or Mary-Sueish, well…that's just the way the plots bounce around in my head. Try not to be too hard on me, I have only been writing for a short time, and this is not, repeat not, anywhere near the good stuff I've done. Thanks to all!
-LadyoftheRings
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The Golden Jewel
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*~*Chapter Three*~*
I slowly walked down towards my sister's room. It felt so strange, finally coming of age and marrying Luinros. I had not seen my sister for a few days, our tasks had kept us apart, and now I wanted to see her again, and speak to her, while I had the change. My marriage was in two days.
I knocked on the wooden door. I could hear movement inside, and then a voice, sharp and obviously strained called, "Who knocks?"
"Sister, can you not yet recognize my footsteps?" I teased lightly, opening the door.
Laurë sat on her bed. I could tell she had been crying from the redness of her eyes and cheeks. She looked away from me.
"Sister?"
"Go away, Legolas."
I said nothing, only closed the door. She would not look at me. "What's wrong, Laurë?"
"Everything. Now go away."
"Maybe it would help…"
"No. Go. You have your Luinros to water."
"What?" I was, as of yet, unaware of her observation that I fussed over Luinros like a wilting rose.
She sighed. "Never mind."
I began to grow a bit annoyed. "What does this have to do with Luinros? And why are you angry at her?"
Laurë stiffened. "Oh, you mean that spoiled, bratty, overly-refined glass doll?" she snarled with much more venom than I expected. "That Luinros? The one that you sit next to, petting like a favorite lapdog, who licks your hands whenever you smile at her and wags her tail whenever you praise her?"
My face tightened with anger. "Who are you to judge her?" I demanded.
"You abandoned me for her, the little…" she trailed off as her voice broke. She turned away, but not before I had seen the tears in her eyes. I was puzzled. What was this all about?
"You were so blind that you never even saw it," she added, sensing what I was about to say. "You never noticed that you stopped coming to talk to me, to visit me when I was confined."
"Your confinement was your own fault," I said in a tone harder than I had meant it.
I saw her body go rigid and knew I had hit a sore spot. "Get out." Her voice was flat, with no trace of sorrow.
"No."
She turned. "And still you cannot see it." Her voice mocked me, and her eyes were angry, but underneath I sensed real hurt. "Still you walk your perfect little elven wife around on a perfect little elven leash so you can have a perfect little elven family. Well I don't want to live that life! And so be it if you do. I no longer care. Get you gone. I no longer care." She turned to the window and kept her back firmly to my face.
"If you had really tried, you could have kept out of trouble and been with me more often."
"It would have made no difference. You were so busy making eyes at that little prissy elf-girl that you never even noticed when I watched from the corner, when no one would talk to me after my latest adventure, when father was so angry that he would not look at me, when mother was so frustrated that she would not speak to me." Laurë turned around. "You never noticed!" she cried. "You never noticed that you stopped coming to see me! You never noticed that you stopped talking to me! You never noticed that you let our friendship die! And now look at you! The perfect prince marrying his perfect wife so they can have perfect children and live in a perfect palace! Well I am sick of it! Everyone around here expects me to be the perfect princess, and I am so tired of it! And if I am not perfect, I am ostracized. I'm the crown Heir and I still could be horse manure for all you notice me!"
I regret to say that I was completely insensitive. At the time, I was angry with her for being selfish. It was, after all, two days before my marriage. I wanted her to be all smiles and congratulations. I should have known that she was not like that.
"You've always been so selfish, so immature," I said coolly. "It surprises me not that you've been such a disappointment to us." She gasped and looked as though I had struck her. The pain her face held rattled me. "Laurëmîr—"
"Go." She turned her back on me again, staring out her window. "You have said what you came to say."
I wish I had stayed. I wish I had apologized. I wish I had told her that even though we fight, she was still my sister, even though I was marrying Luinros, I still loved her.
But I did not, and it remains one of my greatest regrets that I allowed a woman to come between us.
* * * *
Two days later, it was my marriage. As the ceremony progressed, I looked futilely for my sister. I did not truly expect her to be there, but it angered me nonetheless that she had not come. As I continued to search, however, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she had indeed come, and my heart jumped. I felt a sudden anger at her that puzzled me. I had wanted her to come, but now I did not want her there. Was it because she had insulted Luinros? I did not know. I felt so conflicted. She caught my glance and nodded. I nodded back, and turned to the ceremony.
Soon after the ceremony, my thoughts were turned to other things.
* * * *
When the traveler came, I thought little of him. It was not unusual for a human to accidentally run astray I the woods near Laketown and stumble around until they found one of our sentries, and was brought to the palace. Besides, all my thought had turned upon my dear sparkling bride, Luinros. I had nearly forgotten the harsh confrontation with my sister, though she had not. Whenever I saw her in the halls, she turned her face from me. I was annoyed with her to be sure, but I had not realized how hard my words of her singleness had hit her; I had not realized that I had hit upon one of her fears. For indeed no elven men had expressed any interest in her, rare for a princess. And with her aging past her sixty-ninth mortal year, when elves generally marry around their fiftieth year, soon after they come of age, it was no wonder she was afraid she would live alone.
Laurëmîr was lonely, that much I could see. I had always been her best friend. She had too sharp a tongue, too quick a temper to easily be accepted by the other elves of our generation. She was quick to speak and slow to think of her words. I had forgiven her when we were younger, but as we aged, I grew tired of it.
I remember one the evening the traveler was brought before us. Laurë sat on our mother's right, and Luinros and me upon our father's left. He was a tall man, dark haired and tanned with a beard and bushy eyebrows. He had a deep voice, booming and strong. His face was weathered and tired, and his muscles finely honed. He was what the elves considered at the time, a barbarian.
Laurëmîr looked at him suddenly, and in her eyes, I saw a light. She had always been interested in humans and dwarves, more so than was considered usual. It was another thing that had painfully set her apart from our people, another thing for which they could not forgive her. Isildur's failure was still fresh in our minds.
"What brings you to our forest, human?" father asked sharply.
"I come before you to beg assistance," the man said in a steady voice, no fear in his eyes or stance, despite the harsh looks from my family and from the court. "My sister has been taken by wild orcs, and my men have all been killed searching for her. I beg that you let me go, to find her if I can."
"You shall be released," my father said.
"Could you be so kind as to allow me to refill my water-skin? I am afraid there are few fresh sources in the woods."
"That we will not do," mother said sternly. "We will neither harm you nor add you. You are on your own. Expect neither protection nor aid from us."
His green eyes glittered as he bowed his head slightly. "I see."
Suddenly and without warning, Laurë sprang to her feet. "I will go with you," she declared. "I know the forest paths best of all here, save the hunters who travel far." This was certainly true. "I can show you the fastest paths to tread," she added, "and the safest ones. I will aid you with all my skill in tracking and surviving on one condition."
"Laurëmîr, sit down," Father said sternly.
"No, Father," she said steadily, not even looking at him as she descended the stairs. Her eyes were burning with an inner flame. "Will you take me with you when you find your sister? Wherever you go, you must take me with you. Anywhere, but here."
The man nodded slowly. "Gladly, if you aid me, Lady Elf."
There was sharp murmuring among the crowd as all the elves began rapidly speaking in elvish. "Laurë, you cannot!" mother said. "You are the Heir!"
"I am that title no longer." She turned and stared rebelliously at us. "You have your son and his pretty wife." Luinros gave Laurë a sharp, angry look. She heard the harshness in Laurë's tone. "Take them as your Heir. I relinquish all my ties to the throne. I am your Heir no longer."
"Laurëmîr." Father's voice was laced with anger. "I command you to stay."
"Then you command nothing but air. I will not stay. If you try again to confine me, I will die. I tell you this truly. I am not meant to wither behind castle walls."
The proclamation was an astonishing one, much like the slap of ice water across the face, but not completely unexpected. The fact that she would die, however, if confined again, no one doubted. The fierceness in her face reminded me of the tethered hawks many humans kept as hunters. They longed for freedom, and many died in captivity. So, too, would my sister have died if she remained locked forever in our palace. This no one doubted. No one, but my father.
"This dramatics has gone far enough," Father snapped. "Guards, take this man and leave him outside the palace walls, far enough out that he cannot find his way back. And take my daughter to her room. I will have no more of this mutiny from you!"
"Then you sign my death, father," she said coldly. "I hope it brings you much joy." Father jumped to his feet but Laurë had turned and fled the room, leaving the traveler much confused, as this all had been spoken rapidly in elvish.
I followed her out. Even as I caught up to her in the hall, though, she seemed to weaken. I caught her in horror as she fell over, her face paling. I recognized the signs—but no, it could not be! Not in one so young!
The signs of death by heartbreak are known to our people, and thankfully rare. Much as a cut flower will linger for a while before wilting, so will one of our race wilt and die as they loose the will to live. So was the will lost in my sister's heart.
She opened her eyes when I caught her, calling her name. "Let me die, brother." Her voice was soft and weak. "Then at last I will be free from here."
Panicking, I lifted her and carried her back to the throne room. "Father!" I shouted. "Laurëmîr is dying! You must let her go if you wish her to live yet!"
The color and anger drained from his face as he came near and touched her face. Laurë's eyes were closed again, and she flinched. Her skin was cold and she was growing very white.
Father closed his eyes, and I could see his pain. "Then I have no choice," he said softly. He lifted his eyes to mine. "Let her go with the traveler then. It is the only way." His voice was heavy and laced with sorrow and bitterness. I turned and ran as fast as I could to catch the guards leading the man out.
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