Equinoxium: Chapter 7
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.
Author's Note:You'll notice quite a few Sindarin (the language of the Elves) words and phrases in this chapter. The definitions and meanings behind them can all be found at the end of the chapter, as well as the continuation of these notes.
Sighing softly, Buffy felt the tendrils of her dreams slowly fade away as the waking morn began to speak to her deadened senses. There was always so much to be done that when the first vestiges of sleep began to fade, she greedily clung to them for as long as humanly possible. Too soon Dawn would be barging into the room, scores of Potentials upon her heels, or else Xander complaining about the gaggle of girls that followed his every step through the house. It didn't matter who would soon come through her door, for inevitably, someone always did, always talking about something that needed her attention, no matter how much she'd rather curl into a ball and let the world slip away. Today was bound to be no different then any other. The girls would need to be given some sort of task before she left for work, and she still had to talk to Robin about his mother's bag - especially if he knew anything about the locked box that Dawn had mentioned the previous evening. They also had to find out where Giles had disappeared to this time. After all, if they didn't have time for dating, as her watcher had so sternly stated, then they certainly didn't have time for him to be pulling a disappearing act every few days. They needed to be kept abreast of what he was-
And why in the hell were there birds in her bedroom? And when did her bed get so unbelievably hard and... lumpy?
Bolting upright, Buffy clutched her meager blanket to her chest as her wild green eyes took in the weak, pre-dawn light. The morning was chilly and a thick mist had settled between the trees, blanketing the forest with its dark shroud and causing the world to become muffled beneath its dewy grasp. Confused, she looked around the wooded setting in growing alarm, her eyes skipping over the scorched wood of a cold fire pit until her eyes landed upon the unmoving forms of Thoron and Mirdan, stretched out upon twin sleeping rolls across from her own - and froze as the previous day's events came crashing back with a force that left her shaking.
Giles.
The First.
Whistler.
The Turok-hans.
Her goodbye.
Gasping, Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat - and then expel itself far too quickly as she greedily gasped for more air. In seconds, she began to hyperventilate as she remembered everything that she had forgotten in the bliss of sleep. She remembered all of the pain, the loss, and everything that the Powers That Be had forced upon her. She remembered the elves and-
Frowning, Buffy felt the uncomfortable pull of her overwrought emotions slam into sudden silence as she gazed curiously at Mirdan's sleeping form. He was as beautiful in sleep as he was in life, with his perfectly chiseled bones creating an array of features that were positively breathtaking... and yet something was wrong with the picture.
Kicking her tangled blanket aside, Buffy silently abandoned her bed and slowly crawled around the fire until she was perched on her knees beside the sleeping elf. He truly was beautiful - almost ethereal as his pale skin shone in the weak light, as beautiful in sleep as he was in life... in life. Blinking stupidly, Buffy suddenly realized what was so wrong with this picture as her eyes lifted from his slightly parted lips, past the graceful arch of his nose, and locked upon his wide, unblinking brown eyes.
Blanching, Buffy jerked back as if she had been slapped, the vision of Mirdan somehow merging with the face of her mother's on the afternoon that she had found her sprawled on the couch, dead from an aneurysm with her eyes forever locked in that same, wide-eyed gaze. Gasping, Buffy quickly pulled away, tripping over her coat in her haste as she fell on her backside and slammed against something that was soft and unyielding. Feeling a scream building in her throat as a warm hand fell upon her shoulder, the petite slayer quickly twisted aside and raised her hands defensively before her - and froze as she found Legolas crouched in front of her, his blue eyes softened in concern and his hands held peacefully before him.
"Buffy?" he murmured cautiously, his eyes tracing over her lined, panicked features.
"I... I think that your friend is-"
"That is how elves sleep," Legolas interrupted, a knowing smile lifting his lips. "He walks in elven dreams."
Uncertain, Buffy slowly turned away from the prince and looked back towards Mirdan - and frowned as she found him sitting up, his dark eyes curiously watching their exchange. "I thought that he-"
"I know," Legolas stated, cutting in once more as he gently placed a hand on Buffy's tensed shoulder. "I have traveled with mortals before, and each time it is the same," he continued, thinking fondly of the hobbits' reactions when they first encountered Elven sleep - and the near pandemonium that ensued.
"Mortals?" Buffy returned, her interest peaked at the word as she slowly stood, absently brushing the dirt from her pants and jacket. "As in I'm the mortal and you guys... aren't?"
"No, we are not mortal," he confirmed, shaking his head slightly as both Mirdan and Thoron, awakened by their conversation, began to break camp around them.
"Which makes you immortal," Buffy clarified as Legolas turned away and began to pack his own meager belongings. "As in you can't die?"
"Death can still claim us," Legolas countered as he paused in his work, his mind unconsciously flitting past the memory of the many elves that he had lost during the past five hundred years. "Whether it be by mortal wound or by grief, we do die. Yet it is not the death of mortals," he stated as he once more returned to his packing.
"What do you mean, not the death of mortals?" Buffy asked as she knelt down to help him roll the blankets that she had been using, her eyes never once straying from the elf that she questioned.
Sighing, Legolas paused once more as he settled back on his haunches, finally realizing that she would not stop asking her questions until her curiosity had been satisfied. "No one knows what happens to a mortal soul when Men die, but Elves? Our fa, or soul, as Men would call it, travels to the Halls of Mandos in the Undying Lands, in Valinor, to await the end of time, or until a time when we are ready to be reborn. In the end, no matter how an elf comes to Valinor, be it through a ship to the West or via the Halls of Mandos, the fate of all elves lies across the sea," he explained as his eyes turned wistfully towards something that only he could see, a small smile pulling at his lips as though he listened to a beautiful melody that was just beyond her hearing.
For a moment, Buffy thought about answering the big question of what comes next for her people, from her own personal experience and all, but then quickly decided that it would lead to more questions than she had the heart to answer at the moment. Instead, she sorted through the information as she absently worried her bottom lip. "So unless you're killed, you don't..."
Sighing, Legolas forcefully allowed Buffy's words to pull him from the sea's incessant call. "No, we do not know sickness, nor do our bodies age beyond what you see now," Legolas affirmed as he gestured with his hand, indicating himself and his companions, all the while refusing to mention the one sickness that could haunt an elf's spirit - the sickness of the sea-longing that would haunt him until he bowed beneath the weight of its siren call.
"Which means that you guys are pretty old, aren't you?" she asked as she turned to include the other two elves in her observations. Grinning, Buffy once more bit her tongue as she thought about vocalizing the apparent comparisons between elves and vampires, and instead decided to stick to a safer track. "Like you," she stated as she turned and nodded towards Legolas. "Not so old. But you?" she continued as she nodded toward Mirdan, who was watching the exchange with curious brown eyes. "Getting way older. And you?" she finished as she jerked her chin in Thoron's direction, a slow, taunting smile lifting her lips. "I'm guessing you rank right up there with old as dirt."
As Mirdan smothered a beautiful laugh, and as Thoron snorted softly before returning to his duties, Legolas beamed at the young woman. "You are correct," he affirmed as he curiously eyed the petite woman. "Thoron was born some time during the First Age, nearly seven thousand years ago, and is a contemporary of my father. Mirdan, on the other hand, was born at the beginning of the Third Age, over three thousand years ago, while I was born towards the end of the Watchful Peace, close to six hundred years ago."
"Which would make you the baby of the group," Buffy stated as she grinned cheekily at the blond-haired elf. "And yet," she continued, a thoughtful frown pulling at her lips, "you're the one in charge, aren't you? I guess that age isn't everything here either, is it?" she sighed, as her thoughts once more drifted away. How many times had she led her friends into battle? In many cases, she was the youngest of them all, and yet Angel had bowed to her leadership, as had Giles and Spike many times after. Amazing what a Calling could do to increase the faith in one's leadership abilities.
"But how did you know?" Legolas asked as he quizzically looked to the delicate-looking young woman that sat perched before him. "Most mortals cannot look past what is on the surface to see what is beneath."
"The eyes," Buffy returned as she openly met his gaze - this time refusing to look away as she once more felt the full-weight of an elven stare. "They give you away every time," she murmured as she felt the ageless weight of his gaze. "Every time it's in the eyes."
Ever so slowly the wind shifted through the tall trees, causing the branches laden with the vividly colored leaves to bend and turn, tickling one another while simultaneously reaching for the sky that was forever out of their reach. Lightly, their song spoke of a peace that many of the trees hadn't known in far too long as the elves' course drew them ever southward and into the parts of the forest that had long been held under Sauron's dark sway. Even Buffy began to notice the change as the once-majestic trees began to lose their luster as their branches blocked more and more of the sun from the trodden-ground beneath. Sauron was gone, but the twisted, gnarled branches of the recovering trees were yet another sign of the lasting damage that the Dark Lord had wrought before he was vanquished by the strong will of two small hobbits - a story that Buffy was only slowly learning, piece by slow piece.
"So you're sure that this Sauron guy is really gone for good this time?" Buffy asked as Sador moved so quietly over the leaf-strewn ground that it was as though the horse was as light as the elf that rode before her. "As in gone-gone? I mean, did you grind his bones into dust, because I've found that to be helpful in getting rid of pesky Evil," she continued as Legolas sighed once more, purposefully ignoring Mirdan's quiet snickering.
"Yes, quite sure," the blond-haired elf repeated for the fourth time in the past hour as he ruefully shook his head. "Besides, Sauron had no physical form in this last battle," he added - and then stiffened as his ears picked up the soft murmurings of the nearby river.
Easily feeling the tension that rippled through her companion and caused Sador to shift nervously beneath them, Buffy instinctively started reaching for the sword that was strapped to her back before she realized that neither Legolas nor the other two elves seemed to be going for their own weapons. Frowning, she slowly returned her hand to its place at Legolas' side as she shifted until she was looking around his lean frame, her green eyes piercing the gloom and searching out whatever had caused the elf to start in the first place. "What is it?" she asked, noting that for the first time since they had left the Elvish 'path,' the trees were parted before them, their path cut by the winding, wending trail of a narrow river, with a simple wooden bridge spanning the width.
"Oh, thank God," Buffy muttered as she slid from the horse, her hands instinctively sliding down to massage her aching limbs. "My butt was calling for a break," she sighed as she half walked, half wobbled to the river - and then paused as her eyes took in the dark, murky waters that drifted past the grassy bank. "So what's this one called?" she asked as she carefully knelt on the damp bank, wincing as her aching limbs protested the movement.
"It is the Enchanted River," Legolas stated as he slowly slid from the horse, his eyes drifting over the familiar banks as his two companions shifted pensively beside him.
"The Enchanted River? That's it?" Buffy returned, completely ignorant to the concerned glances of Thoron and Mirdan, and oblivious of Legolas' pained expression as she worked to twist her loosened hair behind her, quietly wondering how long she could go without breaking her sole elastic hair band. "No funky Elven name that I can't pronounce?" she continued as she fiddled with the elastic twist and then began bending towards the dark waters. "So why couldn't you have kept it simple with your Elmo Mountains-" she began, only to fall silent as Legolas wrapped his long hands around her smaller ones and pulled them away from the water's touch so sharply that were she anyone but the Slayer, she was sure that the digits would have been bruised by his fierce grip.
"It is not wise, nor safe to touch the waters of the Enchanted River," he stated, his voice so low and solemn - so dark and full of something unexplained that Buffy could only stare at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing before she slowly wrenched her hands free.
"Why?" she asked as she cradled her fingers against her, unconsciously drawing away from the normally kind and gentle creature that she had only known for the past day.
"Because the blood of my naneth runs through these waters," he stated, his words so low that she could barely make out his whispered statement. Closing his eyes as though pained by something that she could not see, he then turned and walked away - his back straight and rigid against whatever demons assailed him.
"Who?" Buffy returned, her mind spinning as she turned to the other two elves for aid.
Sighing softly, Mirdan slowly shook his head as he, too, looked away from the waters as though the very sight pained him. "The Queen of Mirkwood was killed here over five hundred years ago at the end of the Watchful Peace - her blood spilled into these very waters," he stated as he turned to brush his fingers through Sador's mane, working to comfort the unsettled horse. "We lost our Queen that day, and indirectly, the Crown Prince as well. The river has never forgotten the horror that polluted its depths, and has been as you see now ever since. Any of those who touch or drink the water fall into an enchanted sleep."
"The Queen of Mirkwood?" Buffy returned as she quickly scooted back, away from the dark waters. "You mean Legolas'-" she broke off as her eyes widened with understanding, obviously making the connection between Queen and Prince far too quickly. "Oh."
"Indeed," Mirdan stated, his words a soft sigh as he turned and watched as Legolas flitted into a familiar, towering tree that was older than the elf prince himself. It was a tree that had withstood the test of time and the horrors that had been unleashed beneath its boughs - yet it was a tree that would never forget the elfling that had found comfort and safety in its branches on a summer day, so many hundreds of years before...
With a careless grace, the towering trees bowed and dipped in the light summer breeze, adding a lovely cadence to the elves' voices as they boldly sang to the beautiful day. Humming softly to himself, the small elfling added his own voice to those of his nana and her ladies, his hands moving the beautifully carved squirrel through the long, bright green grass that blanketed the forest floor beneath him. To his right the clear waters of the river rushed past his location, singing over the smooth rocks and cooling the feet of the Queen's guard, while the towering forest gently swayed to his left.
Slipping a small, pink tongue between his lips, the tiny elfling carefully lifted his carved deer and caused it to prance through the greens, drawing ever closer to the unsuspecting squirrel and its innocent play. Then, with great speed the deer vaulted over the wooden squirrel, startling the woodland animal and causing it to hide behind its friend, the carved wooden eagle.
"Legolas, do be careful with those," his mother admonished lightly as one of her maidens, Ernelle, weaved a wreath of flowers into her long, dark hair. "Your brother only finished them last night, and I think that Brierend would be quite disappointed to find his careful work brought to ruin so soon."
"Yes, Nana," Legolas promptly responded as he turned a brilliant, innocent smile towards his mother - and then proceeded to continue the animals' play in the long grasses - at least until his tummy gave a sound that was more befitting the large bear that lay hidden, awaiting for his friend the deer to return to him. Frowning, the young elfling quickly abandoned his beautiful toys and turned once more towards his mother, his large blue eyes fixing on the white flowers that now adorned his mother's hair.
"Nana, when is Ada coming?" he asked as he crawled forward until he was scooped into his mother's warm, familiar embrace, his hands absently twining themselves in the deep folds of her white dress. "I am very hungry."
Laughing delightedly, the queen dropped feather-light kisses along her son's golden-blond hair as her ladies lifted their voices in another song. "He should be along very soon, tithen-min, and then we shall eat," she assured as she gently ran her long, pale fingers along the soft curve of his chin, still round with childish innocence as her thoughts turned to her husband and king. "And I believe that he is even bringing your brother, Brierend, with him," she added as she turned to throw a teasing look towards her other serving lady that had joined them this fine day, a blush staining Alantielle's cheeks.
Following her queen's gaze, Ernelle quickly shook her head, her long chestnut hair framing her mischievous features. "Whatever will the kingdom do without their king and crown prince on an afternoon as beautiful as this?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with teasing laughter.
"Now really, Ernelle. I am sure that between the two princes, the kingdom will continue to stand upon our return," Alantielle stated as she arched a fine brow at her friend. "They have nearly four thousand years of experience between the two of them - surely that must count for something."
Sighing softly, the queen quickly shook her head at her ladies, her blue eyes twinkling in the afternoon light. "I am impressed," she stated as she absently began rebraiding the fine locks of her son's hair, a smile playing at her lips as she thought of her two middle sons. "I am merely hoping for the kingdom to still exist upon our return. To find it standing would be an unexpected, yet welcome surprise."
Overhearing the queen's light words, the Queen's Guard joined in the light-hearted banter, the voices of the small grouping of elves mingling with the quiet, muted song of the forest. The idea for the picnic had been Legolas', and after the growing darkness that was building to the far south of their kingdom, the Queen had embraced the idea with relish - eager to lighten her husband and son's spirits in this little way. The clearing that they had chosen was a short distance from the palace, amidst the splendor of the forests of Eryn Galen and beside the beautifully churning river that wended from north to south through the mighty forest.
Humming softly, the queen absently listened as the warriors and Ernelle continued to banter and tease young Alantielle while Legolas curled into her soothing embrace, his eyes growing heavy as the warm sun beat down upon them. It was a glorious afternoon - a beautiful day, and all was well with-
"What is it, Legolas?" the queen murmured as she felt her child stiffen in her arms, his breath catching in his throat. Gently she tipped his chin until his wide, frightened blue eyes were locked upon her own, his small body quivering within her warm embrace. "Legolas?"
"The trees are very frightened," the little elfling whispered, his hands bunched into tiny fists in the voluminous fabric of her summer gown.
Instantly the queen felt her heart grow cold as she waved at the others for silence, her head tilting back as she frantically strained her hearing towards the forest's song - and then grew puzzled as she heard naught but the harmonious undertones of the gentle cadence. "Are you sure, tithen-min?" she asked as the others grew silent, their faces both curious and wary as they watched the exchange between mother and child. "Are you sure of what you hear?" she asked as her son's small body began to shake within her arms, responding to something that only he could hear - a fact that wasn't too surprising. After all, queen though she was, it was a bond that had been formed by marriage - not blood. At heart, she was no more than a simple Silvan elf who carried none of her husband's Sindarin lineage. Legolas and his brothers, however, shared the deep bond that her husband held with their forest - with all of Arda. Therefore, if her son claimed that the trees were frightened, in her mind, the trees were frightened - a fact that carried ill bodings for her and her companions.
Sniffling as large tears began to pool in Legolas' eyes before trailing down pale cheeks, the little elfling clutched at his mother. "Now they are crying," he stated, his child's heart breaking at the sadness that he heard within the trees. "They cry because we do not hear their voices. They cry because we have not heard their warnings. They cry because it is too late," he stated as the queen hastily climbed to her feet, holding her son against her.
"Rienan," she called, her blue eyes lifting to the Captain of her guard, her voice carrying a shrill note that had never before tainted her sweet, musical voice. "Rienan, something dark comes this way," she stated as her ladies quickly gained their feet, their large eyes darting between their queen and the small, terrified child that she clutched to her bosom.
"But my queen, I hear naught-" the dark-haired guard began, his startled words becoming lost as the forest erupted around them. It was as though a curtain had been dropped - a dark spell finally released - as with a booming crescendo the trees' warnings were finally unveiled as they cried to the firstborn about the threat that was nearly upon them. The threat that was upon them. They were too few to fight the enemy that approached, and there was no time to run or to take to the trees. The plan had been masterfully wrought as the warnings of the trees had come too late. In the end, there was no time but for one final, desperate act.
"Nana!!" Legolas screamed, his hands pressing against his delicately pointed ears as the trees' cries grated at his sensitive hearing. He was but a child - a child that had never known darkness nor fright - had never known naught but the beautiful, lulling and soothing song of the forest. In comparison, the harsh cries were as frightening to him as the warnings themselves - even more so when he saw the fear that was etched into the faces of the adults that began reaching for their weapons.
"Shh, my Little Greenleaf," the Queen quickly whispered as she turned to the large oak that towered above her and her son. Stretching, she lifted her youngest child towards the lowest branch as the tree lowered the lumbering arm towards her. "You must stay quiet for me now," she urged, her words frantic as her son crawled onto the thin branch and pressed himself against the protective nook of the large tree, his green tunic and brown leggings camouflaging him from even the most keen of eyes. "Very, very quiet," she continued as she tried to smile bravely at the terrified child, knowing it was the only thing that she had left to offer to her youngest. "Can you do that for me, in-nin?"
Slowly, the child nodded his blond head, his wide eyes growing impossibly large as the first of the orc troop left the covering of the wood to engage the three guards that stood before his mother and her two ladies. They were creatures of which night terrors were made - large and black with smiles that were filled with pointed, crooked teeth that seemed perfect for eating small elflings. Yet this was no dream - no night terror from which he could wake and find comfort in his ada and nana's arms. This was real - and in a way, he knew that there was no going back to that simple innocence.
"No matter what happens, I need for you to stay hidden here in the tree," the Queen repeated, her terrified eyes drifting back as one of the guards took mortal wound and fell with a scream that ripped at her heart. "Just stay very quiet and very hidden. Can you do that for me?"
Once more Legolas slowly nodded his head, the tears coursing down his chubby cheeks as another of the guards fell before the orcs' brutality. "But Nana," he began, his hand stretched anxiously towards his mother, somehow believing that if he could reach her, just hold her to him...
"I love you, in-nin," the Queen returned, tears wetting her own pale cheeks as she turned away from her son and started forward - only to draw back as Rienan and Ernelle fell, leaving naught but she and Alantielle before the disfigured horde that stood before them. Gasping, the queen stumbled back as Alantielle pushed herself before her queen, the young elf-maiden's eyes tinged with sorrow.
"Run my queen. Run and never look back," she whispered as she brandished a small, ornamental dagger that had been drawn from the waistband of her gown and held it before the orcs that threatened them with long, blood-painted swords. It was a battle that could never be won, and both knew this as the elf maiden darted forward, viciously parrying one blow and disarming an orc as another stepped in and delivered the killing blow.
"Alantielle!" the queen gasped, stepping forward as the young maiden fell back against her, causing them to both tumble to the blood-stained ground. "No, Alantielle!" she whispered as her hand brushed at the still face of her eldest son's betrothed. This would break his heart and as only a mother could, she knew it would be more than he would be able to bear. Her son was strong, but his love was stronger... and without Alantielle, or without his mother... and if Legolas...
Gasping, the queen lifted her tear-stained face and glared at the orcs that began to encircle her, their eyes slanted in hatred and their nostrils quivering at the smell of so much spilled blood. She had never before seen an orc, her husband and sons ensuring that their wife and mother would never have to see the darkness that was beginning to encroach upon their lands after so many hundreds of years of peace - and yet the creatures were as unmistakable to her as if they had haunted her dreams every night for centuries. In seconds, her fear was replaced by a deep, instinctual hatred for those that had brought harm upon her family as she dove for the sword that had been dropped by the felled creature, her hands wrapping around its scarred hilt as she rolled to her knees and brought the sword up and before her, blocking the blow that had been aimed at her neck. They all knew that she would never be able to survive this fight, but if there was one thing that she had learned from her husband and her sons, it was that to give up was inconceivable.
Gritting her teeth, the queen pushed against the blade that was locked against her own, the shrill sound of the metals singing against one another as they slid free. She darted to her feet, her blood-stained dress slapping wetly against her lithe frame as she called upon the skills of the firstborn to dance and weave amongst the foul creatures. Yet despite the rage that gave her the strength to fight the grief that threatened to cloud her senses, the battle was all too short as the creatures encircled her once more, their blades finding flesh as they cut thin, fiery trails along her arms, legs, and chest as they slowly pushed her until she was balanced on the bank of the shallow river.
Gasping, the Queen felt her blood blanket her body in warm rivulets as the sword finally slipped from her hand and fell onto the bank beside her. Hot tears blurring her vision, she felt apart from the scene as the orcs cruelly laughed and mocked her, their grating words tearing at her soul as her empty eyes looked past them and into the tree that held her youngest son. He had done so well - had stayed so quiet for her, just as she had asked.
"What will the elf-king do without his queen?"
Her soothing disattachment viciously torn away by the grating Westron of the orc before her, the queen turned hollow eyes towards the gruesome beast, her mind belatedly trying to make sense of his spoken words. Yet it was only as the orc drove his sword forward, slicing through skin, muscle and tissue and impaling her upon its sharp blade, did she finally understand the significance of his words.
This was no random attack, so far beyond the borders of their lands.
The orcs knew who they were attacking.
They knew who she was.
She had been their intended target all along, and by using some dark magic, they had been able to silence the forest to cloak the approaching darkness until it had been far too late.
The Necromancer had struck its first major blow against her husband... by taking from him his wife.
Mouth falling open in soundless protest, the Queen looked down at the sword that held her aloft, her blood staining her ruined dress in a widening circle over her abdomen. Turning her head, she then directed her eyes to the tree that held her son, her eyes looking past the leaves and locking with her baby's wide blue eyes. "Legolas," she whispered, her final plea as the sword was twisted and then ripped free, finally releasing the queen as she fell back with a billow of stained cloth, the shallow river accepting her body as her blood stained the water with its passing.
In that moment, the small elfling that found comfort and refuge in the arms of the towering oak felt his tenuous hold on this world crumble. He had watched as the nightmare creatures had cut deep with their strange swords, causing the guards and his nana's lady to fall to the ground, their faces twisted in silent screams and their eyes wide as though asleep. And yet somehow Legolas knew that they were not asleep. They were not walking the shadowed paths of Elvish dreams.
Small body shaking, he had watched as Alantielle fell - the gentle elf maiden that was to become his sister later that fall. She had never teased him like his brothers, and had even given him treats when Brierend was not looking. Yet now she was lying on the ground, alone and forgotten with her brown eyes looking at something that he could not see. And his nana...
Breath catching in his throat, Legolas found that he could not look past his mother's still form. Even as the nightmare creatures crushed his carved toys beneath their heavy feet, their black words causing the trees to cry out in agony, his eyes never once left his mother's still face. She was partly in the water and he knew that she wouldn't want to stay there, with her beautiful dress all wet and being tugged at by the swift current. She was all wet and she would get cold in the water, with her face so pale as the water washed the red blood away. Her feet were tangled in the long grasses that lined the banks, and the young elfling knew that the grasses would tickle her skin - and yet she seemed not to care. She didn't rise to free her ankles, nor did she wring the water from her skirts. Even as the orcs left their clearing and silence once more settled upon the wood, the trees' melody muted with sorrow, she did not stir. Even when a lone dragonfly settled on her wet cheek, she never lifted a hand to brush it away. Yet instead of reaching for the mother that was just beyond his reach, Legolas found himself drawing away, retreating into a place where no one could find or hurt him - where the nightmare creatures could not go.
Silent and alone, Legolas remained hidden in his tree, his eyes never straying from his mother, her dark hair billowing about her pale face as she lay so still in the cool river, now dark with the blood that ran through its waters.
Silent and alone, the young prince remained quiet and hidden as the hours passed unnoticed, his still features never changing - even as his father's party finally rode into view.
King Thranduil was grim, tall and stern as his eyes swept over the slaughtered party of elves, his guard silent beside him as he slid from his tall horse and slowly stepped through the melee. He remained thus until his eyes finally found his wife amongst the carnage. In that moment, the facade was broken as his poise crumbled, his breath becoming painfully locked in his chest as his sharp gray eyes found her spread in the unnaturally dark waters. "Nienna," he whispered, his beloved's name catching in his throat as he took one halting step forward, followed by another and another until he was wading brokenly into the river, his hands desperately curling into the heavy, water-logged fabric of his wife's dress as he tried to carry her back to the river's bank.
Horrified, Brierend, the Crown Prince of Eryn Galen, looked to his mother and father with wide, unblinking eyes as his friend, Mirdan, came to his side. "Naneth?" he whispered, the words stripped from his lips as he took one halting step forward - only to feel his legs quiver beneath him as his gaze fell upon the sightless eyes of Alantielle. "Melethin," he gasped as he staggered to the side of his betrothed and lifted her body against his.
Eyes pressed tight with grief, Mirdan gently laid a hand on his prince's stooped shoulder as his friend became lost to the world around them, the crown prince's eyes never straying from the elf maiden's blood-streaked face. In moments the glade became silent save for the grief-filled, choked sobs of the two members of the royal family - a silence that was broken once more as King Thranduil suddenly lifted his head, his gray eyes piercing.
"Where is Legolas?" he demanded as his eyes swept past the bodies of Rienan, Ernelle, and the other two guards. "Where is my son?" he asked, his voice shaking as he turned towards his guards. In seconds the elves were scattered far and wide as they scoured the nearby wood for the missing prince, their eyes falling to the tracks that littered the ground as they searched for signs of the youngest son of Thranduil - their hearts clenched with the thought that something ill had befallen the innocent elfling.
One elf, however, took a different view as he turned his eyes to the trees. In moments he found himself standing below a towering oak that stood beside the riverbed, his eyes locked upon the small, quivering form that remained hidden amongst the branches. "My Lord," Thoron called quietly, his brown eyes never straying from the child as he alerted his King to his find.
In seconds Thranduil was beside his most-trusted advisor as his eyes lifted to the trees and settled upon his son, the elfling seemingly unaware of their very presence. For a moment, the king merely stood on the blood-stained ground below, his eyes locked on his youngest child as he began to understand all that the small child had witnessed. Shattered heart clenching painfully in his chest, he leapt lightly into the tree, moving slowly and cautiously forward until he was kneeling before his son. Tenderly he reached down and gathered the unresisting elfling into his arms and then settled back against the trunk of the tree, his child cradled against him. And there they remained, locked in their grief and misery.
Sighing softly, Legolas gently rested his hand against the rough bark of the ancient tree, grown somewhat gnarled and dark because of the darkness that had stretched into these parts centuries ago. For the longest time, many had been worried that he would never recover from all that he had witnessed that day. Yet they had forgotten about the blessings of youth, for he had been too young to fully understand all that had happened. While the memories of that day were as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday, he had been gifted with over five hundred years to try and understand all that had passed. His eldest brother, Brierend, had not been so fortunate.
With ties so strong that they bound him so to Middle-earth, the Crown Prince had been unable to escape his pain by traveling to Valinor, and within a year, he had finally succumbed to his grief and had faded into death. That day the Necromancer had struck a mighty blow against the Elven realm of Eryn Galen, and against Imladris as well, when they targeted Lord Elrond's wife. Yet in some cruel, twisted way, Lord Elrond and his children had been lucky, for although Celebran had been so injured, both in spirit and body, by her captivity by the orcs that she had left for the Undying Lands not long after, they would always be gifted with the chance to be reunited with her in Valinor. His family had not been so fortunate, for as a direct result of that day, they had not only lost their Queen and mother, but the Crown Prince and brother as well. Yes, one day they would be reunited - but that day was uncertain and could stretch until the ends of time.
Shaking his dark thoughts away, Legolas abandoned the thick branch and fell lightly to the forested ground below. His kind may have been blessed with an immortal lifespan, but they were cursed with a memory that time never faded and a grief that would forever be biting. He was the youngest of his kind in Middle-earth, and already he had known much darkness and sorrow. Too much, he thought as he settled on the grassy banks before the Enchanted River. Far too much.
Legolas slowly turned his head away from the dark waters - and started as he found Buffy perched silently beside him, her eyes locked on the river that rushed before them. As Aragorn and Gimli would attest, it was nearly impossible to surprise an elf - and yet the small girl beside him had settled within inches of him, and he had been none the wiser. Frowning softly, he watched her for a moment, wondering at her intrusion before slowly turning back to the dark waters.
Silence descended upon him as Legolas struggled with the painful memories that this place always managed to invoke - and then he turned as Buffy shifted noisily beside him. For a moment she worried her lip as her hand pressed against the lining of her long jacket - and then it was as though she had finally made a decision of sorts as she parted the flaps and pulled a small, square piece of shiny parchment from an inner pocket.
"Would you like to see my family?" Buffy asked as she fingered the glossy photograph, her fingers tenderly working at the bent corners as she smiled hesitantly at the elf beside her.
For a moment, Legolas merely looked to her in confusion as she gently delivered the parchment into his hands, as though it was the most fragile and valuable object in all of Middle-earth. Turning, he looked towards the parchment - and felt his breath catch in his throat as it was as though he was looking into a glass that showed the frozen, smiling faces of a small grouping of Edain dressed in the strangest of clothing. Amazed, he tentatively turned the paper over, half expecting to see the people somehow transported beneath - and frowned as he found a plain white backing. "What magic is this?" he whispered as he turned it once more, his eyes eagerly devouring the smiling faces before narrowing upon one who could be none other than the girl that sat beside him. "This painting-"
"It's called a photograph," Buffy broke in, a fond smile pulling at her lips as she scooted a bit closer to the elf so that they could look at the picture together. "This is Xander," she started as she pointed at her friend's goofy, smiling face from where he was perched on the corner of the couch in the living room, the bay window boarded up behind him. "This is Willow and Spike - and that's Anya, Xander's ex-fiance, and Dawn, my little sister. And that... that's me and Giles," she murmured, her smile becoming slightly pained as she gently traced Giles' tall, smiling features and the arm that was casually slung over her shoulders. "This is my family."
Author's Note (cont.): For the records, the character of Legolas was one of the few that was never truly fleshed out in Tolkien's tales. While we can trace the family history of Aragorn, many of the Noldor, Gimli and the likes back to the First Age, we know very little of Legolas. His mother is never mentioned - nor any other siblings. Thus, his heritage has been a source of great debate in the LoTR circles and many authors have offered their own views of what makes up the royal family of Mirkwood. This happens to be my own, twisted view - one among many. I hope that you enjoyed this glimpse into the past.
Naneth: Mother
Nana: Mommy
Ada: Daddy
tithen-min: little one
Eryn Galen: Greenwood the Great - original name of Mirkwood before Sauron spread his darkness and corrupted the wood
in-nin: my son
Melethin: Beloved