Chapter 1
It was a warm Winter's afternoon, the sun having disappeared over the treetops of Mirkwood only an hour before. They were experiencing strange whether for that time of year. Instead of being bitterly cold it had been a mild January so far. Faranthir knew that she shouldn't be in the North - it was out of bounds to all from the Southern part of Mirkwood - but she enjoyed the thrill. If her father found out...well, she couldn't even imagine what he'd do!
Her horse, Larendil, was a grey mare that had only seen six summers. She had been a gift from King Theoden of Rohan a few years before he had died, as thanks for the Elf's help in healing the King's own horse. Princess Faranthiril Whitefeather of Southern Mirkwood (but just usually know as Faranthir) was very good with animals, as all elves generally are, but had a particular speciality in healing.
She had ridden from the northern part of the Gladden Fields – where she had camped overnight – into the forest a few miles until she met the Old Forest Road, which she was now travelling west along. It was well known to all in Southern Mirkwood that the Old Forest Road was often used by the Northern folk, but Faranthir thought that if any came, she could easily slip away into the darkness of the forest.
They were trotting quietly at a slow pace along the road, so as not to disturb any passing Northerners or creatures with ill intentions. Faranthir used her keen eyesight to see into the darkness for a place to rest for the night. She dismounted as she saw a small clearing near a tall oak tree. Larendil's ears picked up and pointed straight ahead listening intently to an almost silent breaking of twigs and rustling. Faranthir heard it too and automatically drew out her bow and arrow, padding round quietly searching the woodland with her emerald eyes for an enemy. She stopped in the direction she had last heard the noise from, when a clear and powerful voice of a woman spoke behind her.
"Why is an Elf of Southern Mirkwood wondering the Northern parts after sunset?" the voice questioned in an annoyed tone. Faranthir flipped around with great speed to find two Elves, one male and one female - who was slightly further forward - dressed in Northern fashion. The She-Elf wielded a curved and beautifully inscribed sword almost touching Faranthir's neck, the other with his bow and arrow ready to launch at any second.
"Lower your weapon," she commanded. Faranthir dropped it but quickly pulled her sword from her back and pushed away the Elf's blade away from her neck. The Elf quickly reacted and struck Faranthir's forcing them to be locked in a battle for control above their heads.
"Medethran!" the other Elf shouted, "Let me deal with her!"
"No, Legolas," she said slyly, "She's mine!"
Faranthir and Medethran engaged in a long swordfight. Medethran was obviously very skilled and Faranthir found her a tough opponent but each time Medethran found a new way to outsmart her, Faranthir would always find a way to beat it and visa versa. The two of them fought bitterly just like the real battle between North and South. After nearly ten minutes of combat, both were becoming tired but Faranthir would not surrender. As they swirled around Medethran accidentally swiped Legolas' upper arm, neatly slicing through his green tunic and cutting him. He dropped his bow instantly from the pain and grabbed his arm. For that one moment she lost her concentration giving Faranthir the opportunity to lunge at her again causing Medethran to lose her balance and fall back against the oak tree onto the ground, which Faranthir quickly took advantage of knocking the sword out of Medethran's hand and digging her own into her neck without breaking the skin. Both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, breathing heavily while recovering from the fight – Faranthir angry and Medethran afraid of the stern look on her opponent's face.
"Do you surrender?" Faranthir asked. Legolas studied the two of them closely. There was his future wife cowering and defeated, sat beneath an old tree that almost seemed just as menacing as this Elf from the South. His gaze travelled to this proud and powerful figure that towered victorious above the frightened creature on the ground. He admired her – her courage for taking on such a tough opponent and winning, her skill with a sword, nearly the best he had ever seen and her beauty was amazing. A perfectly set jaw and high cheekbones, full red lips, a small and straight nose and lastly her eyes: they were the strangest colour of green he had ever seen. They were not dark, but not light. Blue tints here and there added to the fact that they looked like jewels. Her slender figure and long ebony hair added to her overall grace. He had never seen another Elf similar to her.
"Yes," Medethran muttered reluctantly. Faranthir looked at Legolas to await a reaction. He said nothing and his expression gave no more clues as to what he was thinking. Faranthir switched her gaze back to Medethran.
"Very well then. You will let me leave here freely and tell no-one I was here," she said simply.
"We cannot do that," replied Legolas calmly and without warning he grabbed her waist with his undamaged arm and pulled a knife out quicker than lightning and placed it before her throat. Medethran quickly realised what was happening and grabbed Faranthir's arms. She struggled but Legolas held the knife closer and Medethran only gripped tighter.
"No, you're not going anywhere," said Medethran with a smirk on her face as she pulled out some rope from her pocket and bound Faranthir's hands behind her back.
It was a warm Winter's afternoon, the sun having disappeared over the treetops of Mirkwood only an hour before. They were experiencing strange whether for that time of year. Instead of being bitterly cold it had been a mild January so far. Faranthir knew that she shouldn't be in the North - it was out of bounds to all from the Southern part of Mirkwood - but she enjoyed the thrill. If her father found out...well, she couldn't even imagine what he'd do!
Her horse, Larendil, was a grey mare that had only seen six summers. She had been a gift from King Theoden of Rohan a few years before he had died, as thanks for the Elf's help in healing the King's own horse. Princess Faranthiril Whitefeather of Southern Mirkwood (but just usually know as Faranthir) was very good with animals, as all elves generally are, but had a particular speciality in healing.
She had ridden from the northern part of the Gladden Fields – where she had camped overnight – into the forest a few miles until she met the Old Forest Road, which she was now travelling west along. It was well known to all in Southern Mirkwood that the Old Forest Road was often used by the Northern folk, but Faranthir thought that if any came, she could easily slip away into the darkness of the forest.
They were trotting quietly at a slow pace along the road, so as not to disturb any passing Northerners or creatures with ill intentions. Faranthir used her keen eyesight to see into the darkness for a place to rest for the night. She dismounted as she saw a small clearing near a tall oak tree. Larendil's ears picked up and pointed straight ahead listening intently to an almost silent breaking of twigs and rustling. Faranthir heard it too and automatically drew out her bow and arrow, padding round quietly searching the woodland with her emerald eyes for an enemy. She stopped in the direction she had last heard the noise from, when a clear and powerful voice of a woman spoke behind her.
"Why is an Elf of Southern Mirkwood wondering the Northern parts after sunset?" the voice questioned in an annoyed tone. Faranthir flipped around with great speed to find two Elves, one male and one female - who was slightly further forward - dressed in Northern fashion. The She-Elf wielded a curved and beautifully inscribed sword almost touching Faranthir's neck, the other with his bow and arrow ready to launch at any second.
"Lower your weapon," she commanded. Faranthir dropped it but quickly pulled her sword from her back and pushed away the Elf's blade away from her neck. The Elf quickly reacted and struck Faranthir's forcing them to be locked in a battle for control above their heads.
"Medethran!" the other Elf shouted, "Let me deal with her!"
"No, Legolas," she said slyly, "She's mine!"
Faranthir and Medethran engaged in a long swordfight. Medethran was obviously very skilled and Faranthir found her a tough opponent but each time Medethran found a new way to outsmart her, Faranthir would always find a way to beat it and visa versa. The two of them fought bitterly just like the real battle between North and South. After nearly ten minutes of combat, both were becoming tired but Faranthir would not surrender. As they swirled around Medethran accidentally swiped Legolas' upper arm, neatly slicing through his green tunic and cutting him. He dropped his bow instantly from the pain and grabbed his arm. For that one moment she lost her concentration giving Faranthir the opportunity to lunge at her again causing Medethran to lose her balance and fall back against the oak tree onto the ground, which Faranthir quickly took advantage of knocking the sword out of Medethran's hand and digging her own into her neck without breaking the skin. Both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, breathing heavily while recovering from the fight – Faranthir angry and Medethran afraid of the stern look on her opponent's face.
"Do you surrender?" Faranthir asked. Legolas studied the two of them closely. There was his future wife cowering and defeated, sat beneath an old tree that almost seemed just as menacing as this Elf from the South. His gaze travelled to this proud and powerful figure that towered victorious above the frightened creature on the ground. He admired her – her courage for taking on such a tough opponent and winning, her skill with a sword, nearly the best he had ever seen and her beauty was amazing. A perfectly set jaw and high cheekbones, full red lips, a small and straight nose and lastly her eyes: they were the strangest colour of green he had ever seen. They were not dark, but not light. Blue tints here and there added to the fact that they looked like jewels. Her slender figure and long ebony hair added to her overall grace. He had never seen another Elf similar to her.
"Yes," Medethran muttered reluctantly. Faranthir looked at Legolas to await a reaction. He said nothing and his expression gave no more clues as to what he was thinking. Faranthir switched her gaze back to Medethran.
"Very well then. You will let me leave here freely and tell no-one I was here," she said simply.
"We cannot do that," replied Legolas calmly and without warning he grabbed her waist with his undamaged arm and pulled a knife out quicker than lightning and placed it before her throat. Medethran quickly realised what was happening and grabbed Faranthir's arms. She struggled but Legolas held the knife closer and Medethran only gripped tighter.
"No, you're not going anywhere," said Medethran with a smirk on her face as she pulled out some rope from her pocket and bound Faranthir's hands behind her back.