Authors Note:
Hey so you're probably wondering why i'm starting up a second story when i'm not near done with the Gintama one? Yeah me too. Anyways, here i am, unable to control my writing habits. So I plan for this story to be pretty long i guess. Thranduil and Sigrid is a pretty odd ship but yeah i hope to make it semi-popular. The website i've used to translate english to Sindarin is called Elfdict, i think it is pretty darn valid but i'm starved for help in any way possible. Critics are welcomed with warm open arms!
Chasing red
Chapter 1
The very air seemed poisonous, thick and dense like a rotten fog. The pollution of evil itself. Sigrid would much rather breathe in the ashes left from the destruction of Dale -something that had endured for years upon years- than this stench of fresh blood. Yes, she could smell the fear. It enclosed her in a cocoon, following her every step as she ran through the toxic environment.
Her throat felt raw, utterly torn up from her screams, but still, it wasn't like she wasn't about to stop now. They were gone, she had lost them. It was an almost choking feeling, to be alone without her family by her side. Her father was away in a different part of the ruins, leading the forces. She had lost sight of Tilda and Bain, they must have gotten separated after that troll-like creature attacked.
It all went by so fast... First they were together and then that thing came upon them. She had screamed for Bain to run whilst grabbing Tilda by the arm... and then she'd ran straight into bricks it seemed. Everything went dark and she later woke up in the debris of stones and wood. Tilda and Bain were nowhere to be seen as well as the troll. Blood seeped from the side of her head, leaking into her clothes. She cried but hardly heard her own sobs over the ear-splitting racket from the fighting forces. The shrieks of pain and terror ate her up inside and Sigrid knew that chances were good, that she would meet her demise here.
"Tilda! Bain!" her voice cracked and screeched.
She sounded mad and sick. She had a wounded arm (what part of her wasn't wounded at this point?), trembling she held it to her side and stayed close to the stone walls. She could hardly do anything but to run if she came upon an orc and even that was hard. Her feet hurt and her limbs ached, it was even hard to breathe. Sigrid needed help if she was going to survive this. She needed to get to the great hall, that was the only logical location for the women and children. Tilda and Bain had to be there, they just had to. Suddenly the stone wall she was leaning on gave away under her weight like loose timber. She went down with it, crashing down on the hard ground and splitting her skin open on the sharp stones. She hit her head once again, on the very same place and for only a few seconds her gaze turned black, like she'd blinked for way too long.
"Nonono..." she wheezed out and slowly turned on her side.
Her bleary eyes caught something glimmering in the shadows, something blinking at her. There was a basket, filled with trinkets of all sorts but the thing that transfixed her was the small object laying off the side to the small treasures. A ring. Red like pure rubies, like spilt blood. It was simple in its form, almost average were it not for its crimson colour. Sigrid couldn't stop staring at it, her brown orbs, wide like dinner plates. She almost wanted to cover it up, throw a blanket over it and shield it from unwanted eyes. She compulsively bit her already torn lip, not thinking much of the pain. Her limbs felt wobbly but it didn't stop her from reaching out and grasping the ring. It was warm and it seemed to shine and gleam in the palm of her dirty hand, red shadows danced on her skin, making it almost glow orange. She would keep it, she knew she would. She had to... Keepers founders right?
Holding the ring in her clenched fist, she unsteadily rose up and stood a little crouched down, scanning her surroundings. The ruined pathways laid littered with corpses, bloodstains and severed limps. She knew not to look down, not to look at the fresh meat. many of the bodies were already surrounded by flies, buzzing around those glassy, swollen eyes and pallid-blue lips. The scenery of doom, it was like a horrid nightmare. One had to avoid the scarring details and asume a tunnel-vision. One way or another, they would have to emotionally detach themselves in order to actually function in this hell. Sigrid didn't know how to do that but the ring provided her with a good distraction. Strangely, she felt stronger with the ring in her fist. She only had to follow her instincts now, run from the horrors, run until you collapse. Her feet moved and her vision became blurred from her flight. She wasn't going to stop for nothing, if anything she would just run faster.
Fastened on the houses were old and ruined signboards giving her some directions but that was all she had to go on. She could make it though, she had to. The smelly, ash-filled air assaulted her face as she jumped over a fallen log. For some reason, she felt hope in this hopeless situation. Hope beyond hope. She would arrive at the great hall and Tilda and Bain would both be there and Da would come later and he would be alright, he would be alive. Everything would be fine. It had to, it just had to because the alternative was just too dreadful to even consider. So Sigrid leaped through the ruined streets, jumping left and right to avoid stepping on loose stones and dead bodies. Somehow she failed to notice the commotion she was running towards, darting straight into the maw of the wolf. She came upon a courtyard and the fighting was at its thickest here.
She froze up and choked on the scream rising in her throat. Orcs and elves fought here and the sounds of war rose around her like the bars of a cage. She had somehow found herself at the centre of it. Sigrid wrenched herself back, determined to find another way to the great hall. However, such a hasty motion made her stumble on a severed arm she'd failed to notice. She fell to the ground with a yelp and the odd encouragement she'd felt before slipped through her fingers like sand... just like her ring. She lost it and watched the red, gleaming trinket roll away from her and landing just beneath the feet of an orc. It was like time stopped. Sigrid clumsily stood up, ignoring her new bloody scrapes on her elbows and knees. The orc wasn't looking at her, instead he seemed to be gazing at the ring on the ground. To her horror, he started to crouch down towards it.
"NO!" she shrieked at the foul creature and her feet moved on their own.
She picked up the severed arm, heavy in its black armour and with a shuddering breath she threw it at the orc, hitting his head and directing his attention to her. She was scared but knew she couldn't back down now. With horror, she saw as the fiend, instead of charging her, looked back at the ring. He was distracted now but why? It was so unnatural. Tears sprang to her eyes as she quickly bent down to pick up a massive rock. Her eyes flickered between the ring the immersed orc and with a cry, she ran forward and tackled the orc to the ground, using all off her weight. She couldn't believe her luck as the monster dropped his axe in surprise and in return she furiously beat him around the head with the pointed rock.
Over and over again, she beat him hard for what felt like years. Her nails dug into the stone and bled, as did the horrid creature under her as his helmet flew off during her rampage. Blood seeped from his head, spattering all over her face and neck. His teeth were black and crooked and his lips looked green and chapped with some mud-like substance. She couldn't stop her arms, she couldn't stop her tears and her snarls. She kept on until his body stopped twitching, until his eyes stopped blinking. She noticed that orc blood was different. It was a black mass, the taste was rotten and bitter and the smell reminded her of decomposition. It was eating her alive. Her shrieks of anger and fear turned into high sobs of terror. She had never been more afraid, felt more out of place...
She fell away from the dead orc and her arm reached out to the ring, her price. Her own. She watched it closely and held it to her heaving chest, glad the filth did not touch it. She choked and gasped, weeping definitely not for the orc but for her own actions. This wasn't her... it wasn't, she wasn't impulsive and violent and-and... She couldn't even put it into words.
Sigrid knew she needed to get up and run away, she was in the eye of the storm, if she stayed here any longer she would be killed. All this she knew but it never reached the forefront of her distorted mind. She felt frozen, she didn't know where to go, she didn't even know if she was strong enough to stand. It was like her limbs laid enclosed in frostbite. The hopelessness of the reality, creeped up on her, strangling her neck and squeezing her ribcage. She watched elves and men fall around her like crumbling towers, like the demolishing of buildings.
"Hopeless"
"Hopeless"
"Hopeless"
The words repeated themselves in a mantra, she could not hinder them. Her shaking breath came out in uneven puffs and her chapped lips trembled beyond control. She slid the ring onto her finger, afraid that she would drop it again. It fit her well enough, as if it was made for her, as if it morphed itself to fit her fingers. Despite all of this, nothing changed, nothing mattered and least of all this useless trinket. Hope was gone, it was an illusion... what did she expect. She was gripped by anger and suddenly wanted to fling the ring away from her. Throw it away like trash, like it was to blame for all the evil in the world. But she didn't... she couldn't bring herself to do it.
There had to be more to it, she hadn't killed that orc for nothing. There had to be a reason... a reason. There had to be something that kept her from taking out her anger on the trinket. What had she gained? Then it dawned on her. She didn't feel pain anymore, the ache from her fingers, the bang from her muscles, the sting from her ripped skin... it had all numbed. Now that she thought of it, numbness was spreading through her whole body. Like when her limbs fell asleep, only without the jabbing and disoriented feeling.
The blood in her veins seemed to warm up and something shifted in her, it moved through her like a gust of hot air. She stared at the ring in still and silent wonder. Her captivating thoughts were rapidly pushed away. Sigrid barely avoided the arrow aimed at her head, she turned her head slightly to the right. The pointy tip of it stared her straight in her tear-filled eye. A shuddering breath left her lungs, as the realisation that she could have died washed over her like a cold shower.
A large armoured hand held the arrow in place and by her side stood a great elf. He seemed to radiate light and power... The brightness would have stung her eyes if she could feel it. For some reason he had this strange energy around him, it was really odd. He stood slightly bent down and she couldn't see his face as it was angled away to the orc that had fired the shot in the first place. The radiating elf snapped the arrow in half, only using the hand which held it. He stepped away from her side to cut down the enemy.
She took a better look at her saviour. The strange power around him made him look illuminated... come to think of it, the other elves looked like that as well, maybe they didn't gleam as much as her saviour but they still shone nonetheless. Beneath and around their golden armour, a luminous white light peeked out. Like they were beings of spun silver or starlit pears. They didn't look like that before... what changed? Was she finally losing it? Something told her that the elf who had saved her was important, his armour suggested that, silver and steel and instead of gold. A mantle of what seemed to be silverly leaves, pointed like knives, draped down his back. Who was he?
Suddenly the elf turned around and started to walk back towards her and she noticed a myriad of things, all at once. One: He was the elvenking, Thranduil of Mirkwood. Two: Amongst all that almost burning light, there was a speck of malicious danger. The light which stemmed from his visage was far from holy, far from good. Three: His face was hideous, a raw mess that frightened her to the core.
"No..." Sigrid gasped out as he came closer, towering over her like great hound.
Half of his face looked burnt, almost rotten. A red mass of muscle, a truly horrid sight, a devastating scar. It reached up to his right eye which was clouded in white, it didn't even have a pupil... it just looked blind and dead. She sat crippled with fear and she cried even more as his one blue eye closed in on her shaking form. He stalked towards her and he didn't look happy. This was wrong, there was some deep rooted malice coming from him in waves, she just couldn't explain it. She couldn't explain why he scared her more than the orcs, he had just saved her forsaken life. She shouldn't be feeling this way. She couldn't control her fears though, it steered her every move. Sigrid scrambled away from his terrible gaze, crawling over the corpse behind her and cutting herself on the sharp edges of the black armour. It went all unnoticed. She was a sobbing mess.
"No, no i don't want to... don't..." she cried out, not so loud as she would have wanted, her voice hoarse.
The elven king stopped for a moment, staring at her with a bewildered frown on his scarred face. He was deeply confused that this mortal didn't bend over backwards with gratitude and appreciation. Instead... she looked at him with fear reflecting in her glossy eyes. He knew who she was, one of the dragonslayer's brats, it would be in his best interest if she survived this war, as a way to keep up good relations with the fishermen. Not to mention... something was clearly wrong with the girl and his eyes couldn't help be drawn to the shining ring on her finger, red like blood. He recognised it, he just couldn't figure out where he had seen it before. The girl had killed an orc for that trinket... with a measly stone nonetheless. He wasn't blind. He knew the ring must have some magic capacity to it. Though it probably only was a small charm to keep it glowing like that for aesthetic reasons. He should be grateful that it wasn't what it could have been, it could have been worse. Much worse.
Sigrid saw her chance and took it. With surprising balance, she stood up and ran to the other side of the courtyard, avoiding the masses as best as she could. She fled towards a set of stairs when a shining figure took ahold of her arm and she recoiled in alarm. The unfamiliar elf held her in a tight grip.
"Why are you here mortal? This is no place for you!" he yelled, pulling her away to a corner.
"I...I don't know..." was all she could get out, trying to hold back her tears but it was just as hopeless as everything else.
"Andaer! Tog hen na i beleg tham, tog Herion di ech eithro. Dortha- di hen a thand hen until i auth na or." The elvenking's voice boomed out as he walked up to them with another elf in tow. "Cheb- an hend bo i cor hen heb a trenar- enni ae ma minai tol os".
The elf who had arrived with the king, moved over to stand by her other side, effectively caging her in between the two elves. She tried not to stagger backwards at the elvenking's scarred appearance. She had seen much worse during the last few days so why would this have such an affect on her? The ring on her finger grew even warmer and she clenched her fist around it, hiding it behind her skirt. She didn't know what he'd said to the two elves but the grip on her arm tightened and the two elves suddenly started to move away, bringing her along. She reared back however.
"M-my lord, i am deeply regretful for my behaviour! I was merely crippled with shock but please tell me where your men may take me!" She bowed her head, she would have bent the knee but it was hard with the elf warrior clutching her like there was no tomorrow. Sigrid tried to be subtle as she avoided the elvenking's face, she bit her lip until it bled some more, red dripping down her chin. She couldn't feel the pain that should be there... the numbness was spreading... circling around in her bloodstream. Her hand snapped into motion, hiding her bleeding mouth in shame. In their eyes, she was already so revoltingly mortal and she didn't have to make it more apparent. She didn't shine like them, she was just dull and dirty.
"Don't cause my men too much unnecessary trouble, Bardsdottir." That was all he said as the elves then strode away with her. She didn't know where they were escorting her to, she only hoped it was towards safety.
Translations:
"Andaer! Take her to the great hall, take Herion with you as well. Stay by her side and protect her until the war is over. Keep an eye on the ring she bears and tell me if anything unique comes to pass."