The Long Way Home.
Summary: After being slaves in Mordor for 20 years Thranduils children begin the long journey home.
Rating: PG -13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money (and I've stolen names other fan fic writers used. Not their characters, just their names.) Limloeth, Lanthir and Lainfea are mine.. If you want to use them, send me a mail..
Beta: Celebwen.
The Long Way Home.
Prologue
She looked into her mirror because she felt something was wrong. Something had happened that would greatly affect the future of the elves. But not in Lothlorien, nor in Imladis or the grey havens. Mirkwood. Something was wrong in Mirkwood. "Well, what a suprise" she thought. Something was always wrong in Mirkwood. But this time things were different. It was not the darkness she felt. It was the absence of light.
She searched her mirror for the Mirkwood elves. With the experience of thousands of years she found them quickly. She found their past, she found their present and then she found their king. He was sitting in one of his childern's rooms.
Galadriel chuckled. Dear Thranduil. He was always trying to appear stern and unemotional. But Galadriel had seen him in the mirror, laughing. She had seen him teaching his oldest son to read and write with endless patience. She had seen him kissing the top of his youngest son's head after the boy had fallen asleep. She had seen how he scooped up his daughter in his arms ans spun her around untill she screamed with laugher. She had seen the look on his face when he touched the belly of his pregnant wife, feeling the first kick of the fourth prince or princess of Mirkwood.
Now, he was most likely wachting his children as they were sleeping. She smiled. "You can try, Thranduil, but I will never believe you are like Oropher. You are a softy and I know it." 'Not that there is anything wrong with that of course.' She tought. After all, she married one.
However, seeing Thranduil watch his children was not her goal. She was trying to figure out what was wrong with Mirkwood. "What is missing?" She asked the mirror. "What is wrong?" But the mirror refused to show anything other than Thranduil. "Show me Mirkwood's future." she asked. Thranduil again. "Show me what is wrong!" Thranduil. "What has happened?" Thranduil. "Show me what I need to know! Thranduil. "Show me anything other than Thranduil!" The image shifted slightly to the bed of Thranduil's child. It was empty. "Where are they? Where are the princes of Mirkwood?" The mirror went blank. "Where is the queen?" The mirror showed Thranduil again. The king of Mirkwood looked up, as if he could feel her presence. She could see the trails of a thousand tears on his face. "They are all gone." He said. " The orcs have taken them. They took them to Mordor as slaves. I could not pay the ransom they asked. I could not. I could not give Mirkwood up. I'm responsible for it. I could not trade the life of thousands to the live of five. And now they are all gone. I wish I choose differently."
Galadriel didn't know what to say. Could she say he had made the right choice? Had he?
Galadriel had never met the royal children of Mirkwood. But she had seen them in the mirror.
Legolas. The eldest. The silent one. The fighter. The leader.
Limloeth. The daugther. The dreamer. The mystic.
Lanthir. The smart one. The know-it-all. The reader.
Lalaith. Their mother. The laughter of Mirkwood. Pregnant with Thranduils fourth child.
Mirkwood would be lost without them. There would be no future for the woodland realm.
He didn't know how long they had been here. There was no way to count the passing of time. There were no stars, there was no hope. Everyday was the same. Hard work. Little food. No friends. Pain. Death. Despair.
Everyday slaves died. He had seen it so many times that it ceased to effecthim anymore. He was still very young, a child in body, but the long years as a slave had turned him into an adult. He didn't fight anymore. He didn't resist. Resistence was a luxary he coudn't affort. They would take it out on his brother and sisters. They would make him responsible for their death, just as he was responsible for their mother's so many years ago.
Back then he was a fighter. He refused to give up. He fought. He stole food. He gave hope to the other slaves. Brougth them together. Showed them strenght in numbers. He made escape plans. But he never escaped. His mother had just given birth and she was unable to come with them. The baby, his new sister was still too weak. So he waited. The child grew. Lainfea, his mother called her. Free Spirit. An insane name in a place like this. He waited. The child grew stronger, his other sister got sick. He waited. The baby learned to say his name. His other sister got better, his brother came home. Severly beaten. He waited… And waited… And waited too long.
Orcs came in his cell. They found his escape plans. They found the food he had stolen. They killed his mother, forcing him to watch. She should have raised them better, they said. She should have told them there was no escape. She should have told them there was no hope.
He learned his lesson. He obeyed. He needed Limloeth. He needed Lanthir. He needed Lainfea. Just like they needed him. Years went by and nothing changed. Nothing, except Lainfea. She grew older every day. She learned words. She learned to walk. She learned to dress herself. And then she learned work. And pain. And fear.
When Legolas was the age Lainfea was now, his father had taught him to read. No one taught Lainfea. He tried, but the words he had learned to write with didn't work. Lainfea had never heard them before. She didn't know flowers, trees, joy, father, mother, friends. Lanthir watched them, corrected them and when Legolas stopped, he took over. He used other words. When he explained his actions to Legolas he said Lainfea needed to learn the words she could relate to first. Limloeth entered and heard the words Lanthir spoke. She followed Lainfea to the place where she had written her first letters in the dirt. Lainfea showed them proudly. Seeing them, Limloeth cried. "Are my letters wrong? Lanthir said I did everything right." Lainfea started to cry also. "No little one." Limloeth said. "Your letters are perfect. But you should find other things to write about." Legolas then read for the first time the words Lainfea had written. Written in the dirt with a stick, in a very childish handwriting stood three words. "Orc. Work. Slave." It was that moment Legolas decided they had to leave. No matter the consequences. This place was killing them.