This is my first story. I am not an amazing writer or great at grammar and spelling. So, please no flames; I already know my writing is not the best. Though if you have ideas or questions I would love to hear them!
Out of Mirkwood is set in an AU. In this story, Legolas is about 600 or so years old. I am translating this to be about 16 – 17 years old in human years. I am fully aware that this is not how Tolkien said that elves age.
I would love to know what you guys think. This will be a three-part series so be on the lookout for book #2 coming out in spring 2021!
Out of Mirkwood
Scribbles-on-Parchment
July 20, 2019
Chapter 1 - Prologue
Elrond looked at the letter in his hand. The parchment was dirty and torn and the hastily done wax seal was barely holding the paper together, serving as a testimony to the fact that the letter had not been opened.
"We found Lasbelin slain by orc arrows at the forest gate."
Elrond looked up as the messenger's voice cracked. The ellon's grief was evident in his hazel eyes.
"The letter was still in his hand, hîr nín," the elf continued, "He never got the chance to deliver it."
Elrond bowed his head. This was what he had feared. Thranduil had not received his letter that was meant to warn him of the upcoming attack. Elrond's heart was heavy with dread as he asked,
"And what of the Greenwood? What became Thranduil and his people?"
At this the other elf dropped his gaze to the floor of the tent, "Slaughtered. We found them all slain at the gates to the palace. The king lay dead with his people, shot in the chest by an orc arrow," the ellon paused before continuing, "We found but one survivor. Next to the king, we discovered one ellon that yet drew breath. We believe it to be Tamír, Captain of the Greenwood archers. He appeared to have been gravely wounded trying to protect the king. He may yet live to see another dawn, but it is not so for his kin."
When the elf paused again Elrond said quietly, "There was nothing you could have done for them. Do not burden yourself with such guilt. I am sure you gave them a proper burial and that will no doubt serve as some comfort to him."
"No hîr nín," the ellon said, his gaze filling with such sadness that Elrond had to look away, "The yrch were quick to return to scavenge the battlefield. We were outnumbered and there was naught else we could do but make haste back here with the wounded ellon. I fear that if we return we will find no bodies left to bury."
There was a pause and when Elrond said nothing the elf choked out, "The Greenwood is lost hîr nín. We have failed you."
Elrond's normally gentle brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears; his heart grieving at what he had just heard.
"No mellon," he said at last, "We have failed them. This time I arrived too late."
The two Noldor ellyn went silent, the loss of so many immortal lives weighed heavily on both of them. At length, Elrond slowly rose from his chair.
"I must bring news of this tragedy to those waiting outside, though it pains my heart to do so," He put his hand on the shoulder of the young soldier who stood in front of him, "Do not let this grief consume you Lamonir. There was nothing else you could have done. If anyone is to blame it is me."
At the door to the tent, Elrond paused and took in a deep shuddering breath. Never had he foreseen the fall of this elven kingdom. Though he had not been anything but a formal acquaintance with Thranduil, he had respected the ellon and admired the loyalty of his people.
Elrond gripped the cloth door of the tent tightly as he drew it back and stepped out. The small group of elven warriors that waited outside quickly gathered around him. As Elrond caught the eye of Glorfindel, his loyal friend and advisor, a single silver tear escaped Elrond's eye, leaving a glistening trail down his check before dropping into the tall grass.
Elrond moved his gaze to rest on the expectant faces of the elves in front of him.
"My heart is heavy with grief to bring you news such as this," Elrond said addressing them, "The great kingdom of the Greenwood has fallen and our fellow eldar slaughtered by the forces of evil. We were not there to save them."
A murmur passed through the gathered elves.
"The last woodland realm of the Silvan elves has now faded and passed into legend, and with it, the last of the Sindar have departed these lands. The Greenwood is no more and the forest is covered in darkness."
All was silent as the ellyn were filled with sorrow. Some wept softly, while others showed their anguish only in their eyes. The loss of so many immortal lives affected all gathered, even those who had had no love for their woodland kin.
Elrond stood with his head bowed as sorrow and guilt consumed him. He felt a hand land softly on his back and heard the gentle voice of Glorfindel trying to comfort him. Elrond looked up into his friend's sad face and said,
"What have we done, mellon nín? Where did we go wrong?"
Elvish Translations:
hîr nín – my lord
mellon - friend
mellon nín – my friend
yrch - orcs