"Identify yourself!" Legolas ordered the cloaked figure holding the sword
at his throat. All he could see through the shadows cast by the
swordsman's hood was twin green flames boring into his equally wary and
determined gaze.
"After you, sir," said the decidedly female voice, firm and confident.
Legolas had thought his order had left no room for argument. If it had been one of the elves of his kingdom, they would have recognized him immediately and yielded. Apparently he hadn't been as commanding as he'd thought.
They glared at each other with steady hands on their weapons, each in a position to kill the other easily - though most likely not without serious injury to themselves while doing so.
Legolas sighed.
"I will withdraw if you do as well, so we may settle this without fear of fatal injury from a mere flinch of the wrist," he said, holding his arrow steady despite the growing cramps in the muscles of his right hand.
The green eyes studied him for a good while before they seemed to concede. The sword withdrew slowly, lowering only when Legolas's arrow did.
The figure visibly deflated before him as a faint beam of sunlight shown across his face - as well as his ears. Only then did Legolas notice the glaze of weariness in the moss-colored eyes.
"Are you a friend or foe of the elves?" he queried, much less threatened by the girl in front of him as her shoulders slumped in fatigue.
Instead of answering, the girl pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing the fine bone structure and features common to elves and two pointed ears.
Legolas almost took a step back as she revealed herself. A hazy glow seemed to emanate from her, casting a golden light into the darkness. It made her light hair shine like spun gold.
"I am Laurelin Galadruin," she said wearily, moving to lean against her horse. "I am seeking the King of these woods, Greenwood the Great. I mean no one harm, and if you would please let me pass, I will be on my way."
She was aptly named, Legolas thought. He had to give her that. Galadruin essentially meant 'one who shines bright' and Laurelin was the name of the golden tree of Valinor, the fruit of which had been set in the sky, the sun. It was oft times translated into 'Song of Gold'.
"You need not go any further, Lady of Gold. I am the King you seek," he said, taking no joy in his lofty title, "though these woods have not been called Greenwood for many thousands of years. It was long called Mirkwood and was recently retitiled Eryn Lasgalen [the Wood of Greenleaves]."
Laurelin's eyes widened and she quickly straightened at his admission of title.
"Oh, Lord Thranduil, please forgive me for drawing my sword. I did not know," she bowed quickly and when she raised, she kept her head low.
Legolas was now even more curious as to where this fair-haired elf was from. His father, Thranduil, the former King of Mirkwood had been killed early in the upheaval of men, over ten years ago. The men rejoiced as the elves mourned, but either way, it was news past and well known to almost all who inhabited Middle Earth. Where was this elf from that she did not know of the passing of the last great elven King and called Mirkwood by its ancient name?
Laurelin seemed to take his scrutiny as consideration of her fault and raised her eyes to meet his again.
"Once again, my Lord, I ask for pardon. But whether you grant it or not, I must speak with you."
Curiosity peaked Legolas's interest, but the need for his own haste was stronger.
"Forgive my tongue," he said, catching himself after a long silence, "For I find you at no fault, but self preservation, of which I am guilty as well. If you must speak with me, ride beside me, Lady, for I am at a great press for time."
Without waiting for an answer, Legolas turned to retrieve his horse, expecting her to mount her own and follow. But again, his authority was questioned, and it made him wonder at how used he'd become to being obeyed. Though frustrating, her insubordination wasn't entirely unpleasant. And it wasn't as though she was an elf under his rule. She was from a different kingdom entirely, though what it was, he hadn't the slightest idea.
"Lord Thranduil, I beg of you time to rest," she said, stopping him in his tracks. Ah, he hadn't corrected her mistake of names. It did not really matter, at least for the moment. She'd come seeking the King of Mirkwood, and the King of Mirkwood she would get. Names were merely a pleasantry. But if she was to come with him, taking a break was the last thing he would grant her. Time was of the utmost importance.
He turned back to her, keeping his face expressionless as his father had whenever pulling rank.
"If you wish to speak with me, you will ride now, for I have little time to spare." He knew he was being rude, but he just couldn't find the common courtesy she would otherwise be shown had he not had such a feeling of haste and pressure. He waited for her compliance, but was not altogether surprised when she had more to say.
"Forgive me, but I have ridden several thousands of miles to find you, and I am not sure that I have the strength to go much further. I have been able to rest my mind while riding, apart from fear and worry, but my body has been deprived of the recuperation it needs after such a journey. I fear what might happen if I don't obey its need for rest. What is more, I'm not sure my horse can go much farther."
Legolas felt a thread of sympathy, but an even larger string of resentment at her trying to slow him down. After all, who wanted to speak with who? Though, admittedly, he did want to see what she had traveled so far to discuss.
Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he decided on a compromise.
"Ride with me 50 miles. When we reach the Mountains of Eryn Lasgalen, I will stop and rest with you until nightfall when we will continue. It is not safe to camp in these forests, anyway."
Laurelin sighed, knowing the 50 miles would feel like much more once atop her horse. But she could tell that she'd pushed the King to his limit of tolerance and had no choice but to comply.
In acquiescence, she climbed upon Ranadol, pulling herself up straight to face Thranduil.
He nodded and turned to fetch his own horse.
"Nthalion, Ranadol [Be strong]," she soothed as she urged the horse (as well as herself) forward, back onto the path. "We will rest soon enough."
The King was waiting for her in the clearing when she approached, sitting tall and regal upon the back of a cinnamon-colored mare.
"We go South. If your horse is well trained and you are able, you may rest and I will lead you," he said, feeling his sympathy grow at her look of dread on mention of the short trek.
The glowing skin had grown paler and her skin hung slack from her cheekbones. He could tell by the way she sat and the way the horse heeded her without command that she was an experienced rider. But exhaustion was taking its toll on her as she nodded slightly in thanks, lining her horse with his and promptly falling into a deep, unwary sleep, her eyes glazed and staring straight ahead; trusting her life to his guidance.
Legolas sighed. He would have to go a lot slower than he'd originally intended. He was letting her join him in hopes that, when well rested, she would be able to match his pace. And he wouldn't mind the company. But either way, what she had to say better be good.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
(in response to a review:) Just so people know, I am NOT a mary sue writer. maybe when I'm doing therapy writing or something random, but I WOULD NOT PUT IT ONLINE. what so far has made this a mary sue fiction? laurelin = lauren, yea, I can see that. but the thing is, I wanted my character to have certain characteristics that go with the name laurelin (primarily with the golden tree of valinor)- if you've read the silmarillion, you'll know a bit about it. I don't have green eyes or blonde hair (blue and brown, thank you very much.)
I'm working on hard on my character development, and if anyone else feels laurelin is becoming a mary sue-type character, let me know, because I'll have a lot of work to do.
if anyone needs a beta or wants to beta read this story, that'd be great!
thanks! lauren
"After you, sir," said the decidedly female voice, firm and confident.
Legolas had thought his order had left no room for argument. If it had been one of the elves of his kingdom, they would have recognized him immediately and yielded. Apparently he hadn't been as commanding as he'd thought.
They glared at each other with steady hands on their weapons, each in a position to kill the other easily - though most likely not without serious injury to themselves while doing so.
Legolas sighed.
"I will withdraw if you do as well, so we may settle this without fear of fatal injury from a mere flinch of the wrist," he said, holding his arrow steady despite the growing cramps in the muscles of his right hand.
The green eyes studied him for a good while before they seemed to concede. The sword withdrew slowly, lowering only when Legolas's arrow did.
The figure visibly deflated before him as a faint beam of sunlight shown across his face - as well as his ears. Only then did Legolas notice the glaze of weariness in the moss-colored eyes.
"Are you a friend or foe of the elves?" he queried, much less threatened by the girl in front of him as her shoulders slumped in fatigue.
Instead of answering, the girl pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing the fine bone structure and features common to elves and two pointed ears.
Legolas almost took a step back as she revealed herself. A hazy glow seemed to emanate from her, casting a golden light into the darkness. It made her light hair shine like spun gold.
"I am Laurelin Galadruin," she said wearily, moving to lean against her horse. "I am seeking the King of these woods, Greenwood the Great. I mean no one harm, and if you would please let me pass, I will be on my way."
She was aptly named, Legolas thought. He had to give her that. Galadruin essentially meant 'one who shines bright' and Laurelin was the name of the golden tree of Valinor, the fruit of which had been set in the sky, the sun. It was oft times translated into 'Song of Gold'.
"You need not go any further, Lady of Gold. I am the King you seek," he said, taking no joy in his lofty title, "though these woods have not been called Greenwood for many thousands of years. It was long called Mirkwood and was recently retitiled Eryn Lasgalen [the Wood of Greenleaves]."
Laurelin's eyes widened and she quickly straightened at his admission of title.
"Oh, Lord Thranduil, please forgive me for drawing my sword. I did not know," she bowed quickly and when she raised, she kept her head low.
Legolas was now even more curious as to where this fair-haired elf was from. His father, Thranduil, the former King of Mirkwood had been killed early in the upheaval of men, over ten years ago. The men rejoiced as the elves mourned, but either way, it was news past and well known to almost all who inhabited Middle Earth. Where was this elf from that she did not know of the passing of the last great elven King and called Mirkwood by its ancient name?
Laurelin seemed to take his scrutiny as consideration of her fault and raised her eyes to meet his again.
"Once again, my Lord, I ask for pardon. But whether you grant it or not, I must speak with you."
Curiosity peaked Legolas's interest, but the need for his own haste was stronger.
"Forgive my tongue," he said, catching himself after a long silence, "For I find you at no fault, but self preservation, of which I am guilty as well. If you must speak with me, ride beside me, Lady, for I am at a great press for time."
Without waiting for an answer, Legolas turned to retrieve his horse, expecting her to mount her own and follow. But again, his authority was questioned, and it made him wonder at how used he'd become to being obeyed. Though frustrating, her insubordination wasn't entirely unpleasant. And it wasn't as though she was an elf under his rule. She was from a different kingdom entirely, though what it was, he hadn't the slightest idea.
"Lord Thranduil, I beg of you time to rest," she said, stopping him in his tracks. Ah, he hadn't corrected her mistake of names. It did not really matter, at least for the moment. She'd come seeking the King of Mirkwood, and the King of Mirkwood she would get. Names were merely a pleasantry. But if she was to come with him, taking a break was the last thing he would grant her. Time was of the utmost importance.
He turned back to her, keeping his face expressionless as his father had whenever pulling rank.
"If you wish to speak with me, you will ride now, for I have little time to spare." He knew he was being rude, but he just couldn't find the common courtesy she would otherwise be shown had he not had such a feeling of haste and pressure. He waited for her compliance, but was not altogether surprised when she had more to say.
"Forgive me, but I have ridden several thousands of miles to find you, and I am not sure that I have the strength to go much further. I have been able to rest my mind while riding, apart from fear and worry, but my body has been deprived of the recuperation it needs after such a journey. I fear what might happen if I don't obey its need for rest. What is more, I'm not sure my horse can go much farther."
Legolas felt a thread of sympathy, but an even larger string of resentment at her trying to slow him down. After all, who wanted to speak with who? Though, admittedly, he did want to see what she had traveled so far to discuss.
Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he decided on a compromise.
"Ride with me 50 miles. When we reach the Mountains of Eryn Lasgalen, I will stop and rest with you until nightfall when we will continue. It is not safe to camp in these forests, anyway."
Laurelin sighed, knowing the 50 miles would feel like much more once atop her horse. But she could tell that she'd pushed the King to his limit of tolerance and had no choice but to comply.
In acquiescence, she climbed upon Ranadol, pulling herself up straight to face Thranduil.
He nodded and turned to fetch his own horse.
"Nthalion, Ranadol [Be strong]," she soothed as she urged the horse (as well as herself) forward, back onto the path. "We will rest soon enough."
The King was waiting for her in the clearing when she approached, sitting tall and regal upon the back of a cinnamon-colored mare.
"We go South. If your horse is well trained and you are able, you may rest and I will lead you," he said, feeling his sympathy grow at her look of dread on mention of the short trek.
The glowing skin had grown paler and her skin hung slack from her cheekbones. He could tell by the way she sat and the way the horse heeded her without command that she was an experienced rider. But exhaustion was taking its toll on her as she nodded slightly in thanks, lining her horse with his and promptly falling into a deep, unwary sleep, her eyes glazed and staring straight ahead; trusting her life to his guidance.
Legolas sighed. He would have to go a lot slower than he'd originally intended. He was letting her join him in hopes that, when well rested, she would be able to match his pace. And he wouldn't mind the company. But either way, what she had to say better be good.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
(in response to a review:) Just so people know, I am NOT a mary sue writer. maybe when I'm doing therapy writing or something random, but I WOULD NOT PUT IT ONLINE. what so far has made this a mary sue fiction? laurelin = lauren, yea, I can see that. but the thing is, I wanted my character to have certain characteristics that go with the name laurelin (primarily with the golden tree of valinor)- if you've read the silmarillion, you'll know a bit about it. I don't have green eyes or blonde hair (blue and brown, thank you very much.)
I'm working on hard on my character development, and if anyone else feels laurelin is becoming a mary sue-type character, let me know, because I'll have a lot of work to do.
if anyone needs a beta or wants to beta read this story, that'd be great!
thanks! lauren