AN: I've been debating on whether or not to put this chapter, but oh well. The plot bunny insisted. How sad. This chapter is again (and unfortunately) short, but I promise that after that they get longer. (Just to let you know, these are memories from Alysae's childhood.(except for the middle part. does that make sense? oh well, whatever) .) Enjoy :)
Sorry FFnet just went weird and completely messed up my chapters oops. Please bear with me , thanks.
. . . Chapter 1 – Alysae's Childhood. . .
"And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one …"
John Donne, 'The Good-Morrow'.
.~.
The arrow embedded itself with a thud, right in the center of the target, the shaft quivering slightly, and the feathers rustling.
"I win!" Legolas declared.
"That's not fair! You've had more practice than me!" A small girl pouted at the older elf. Her blonde hair fell down her back, framing her flushed face as she glared at him, twirling a strand of hair in frustration.
"Perhaps you're right," Legolas said with a mischievous smile. "Centuries of practice."
"Centuries?"
"Centuries," he repeated, tickling her sides. She giggled and squirmed in his hands.
"I yield!" she laughed. "You win!"
He spun her around in circles, their laughter echoing in the clearing. "Put me down! Put me down, Legolas!" she shrieked between fits of giggles.
"As you wish, my Lady," he said, gently setting her down. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off, running back toward the targets.
"I want to try again!"
She reached for the small bow that lay discarded on the grass, her fingers caressing the carved wood. Legolas had made it for her as a gift for the Winter Feast, and it had become a comforting object, soothing her whenever she touched it.
Alysae picked up an arrow from the ground and nocked it on the string. She was keenly aware of Legolas' watchful gaze as she drew the string back until it was taut. Her small arm trembled slightly with the effort. She took a deep breath, careful not to move the arrow. Focusing intently, she aimed at the target and released. The arrow whistled through the air and landed just outside the center.
"I can't get it in the center," she huffed, tossing her bow aside in frustration. Pouting, she crossed her arms and stomped her foot.
A hand lightly touched her shoulder. "Here," said Legolas, holding out her bow. "Let us try again, shall we?"
With a reluctant sigh, she took hold of the small bow. "I don't understand how you manage to hit the center every single time," she grumbled.
Legolas offered a patient smile. "Perhaps it is because your attention is too focused on the target."
She furrowed her brows. "But isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Aim for the target?"
He chuckled softly. "Your eyes should be on the target, but your mind must be in control of your actions." He guided her to draw the arrow again. "Do you see? Your focus is on the target alone."
"But I'm supposed to shoot at it, not the sky!" Alysae cried in frustration.
"True, but while your eyes are on the target, your mind must guide your body." He gently adjusted her posture, moving her shoulders, turning her hips, and positioning her feet. "Now, let go."
She obeyed, and the arrow embedded itself in the center of the target. Her eyes widened in astonishment, and her mouth dropped open.
"What?"
"You did it," Legolas chuckled.
"I did it!" She beamed, jumping up and down with joy before throwing her arms around him. "Thank you, gwador," she whispered against his chest.
"It was my pleasure, gwathel tithel."
-xxx-
Alysae sat in front of a large mirror, brushing her long, fair locks. The moonlight reflected off the silver glass, casting a soft glow on her pale skin. Wide silver-blue eyes gazed at the reflection before her. Not elleth, she reminded herself. I am a mortal. Her fingertips lightly traced the curve of her ear, where she often wished for the characteristic point of the elves.
With a sigh, she removed her hand and focused on brushing the tangles from her hair. Why am I different? she couldn't help but wonder. It was rare for a mortal to be treated like royalty, to be adopted by King Thranduil at the age of five. She knew she was lucky, and many people reminded her of this. But it was too easy to forget. Too easy to forget that she was not an elven princess and that she did not truly belong here.
Yet, this was home.
When her golden locks were finally smooth and free of tangles, she plaited them into a loose braid, her fingers moving expertly. Alysae shivered slightly as a light breeze brushed her bare arms, her light nightgown offering little warmth.
She tiptoed to her large bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. The soft covers enveloped her, and soon she was fast asleep.
-xxx-
"Ada!" the little girl squealed. "Where is ada?"
She stood in one of the Palace's long corridors, her bare feet cold against the stone floor. A light purple dress billowed around her, its long sleeves often causing her to trip. Legolas had told her that in a few years she would look as graceful as a swan in them, but for now, she resembled a little duckling. The thought had made her giggle.
"Where is Ada?" she asked again, tugging on the sleeve of a passing servant.
"I do not know, my Lady," replied the maid, her dark hair tucked neatly under a cap. Alysae's patience began to wane, and her eyes grew misty. "I want my Ada," she mumbled, her voice trembling.
Her light hair swinging behind her, she made her way to her father's study. The large wooden doors were intricately carved with patterns of leaves and twirling petals. Her fingertips traced the designs as she stood before them. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand to knock, knowing the hard wood would likely hurt her knuckles.
Suddenly, the door opened before she could knock, and she took a step back in surprise.
"What do you want?" The elf who appeared in the doorway spoke with a cold, hard voice. He was tall, with long black hair, and his sharp features were set in a severe expression.
"I want to see my Ada," Alysae said, her voice small.
The elf sneered. "The King," he emphasized, "is busy."
"But I want to see my Ada!"
"He is not your father, child," the elf scowled. "He took you in out of pity. You are nothing but a puny mortal, and you do not belong in the Palace!"
Alysae's lower lip quivered, her eyes filling with tears. With a sob, she turned and ran, her blonde hair flying behind her. Her small bare feet slapped against the cold stone, her chest heaving with each breath as tears streamed down her face.
"My Lady!" a voice called after her, but she did not stop.
Finally, she slowed when she reached the forest. The towering trees gently swayed, their branches brushing against her hair as if acknowledging her presence. She wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, stumbling over loose rocks and roots, until she reached the clearing where she usually played with Legolas.
A light breeze lifted her pale strands, and she shivered as the cold wind caressed her skin, raising goosebumps along her uncovered arms. Green leaves and sunset-colored flowers danced around her in a billowing cloud of colors.
Falling to her knees, she wept, her sobs wracking her small body. Why were people so cruel? It wasn't fair; she didn't deserve it.
If Thranduil wasn't her adar, then who was? If he had taken her in out of pity, then why had he kept her? If her adar didn't care for her as she had believed, then why was she here?
She wanted... she didn't know what she wanted. Perhaps some comfort. She wanted her adar. Her fingers clutched at the blades of grass around her.
A twig snapped behind her, but she did not turn. Then, two strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"What is wrong, gwathel?" Legolas' melodious voice reached her ears. As soon as he had heard about his sister's distress, he had rushed to find her, knowing exactly where she would be.
Alysae buried her face against his chest, her small hands gripping his tunic tightly.
"Caralel saw you running out of the Palace in tears. Tell me," he asked gently, "what has happened?"
For a few moments, she simply lay in the safety of his arms, crying. Then, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Do you want to be my gwador?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Legolas furrowed his brow. "I did not realize it was a decision I had to make. You will always be my gwathel," he replied, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
"B-but you're an elf and I'm a mortal, and I will die, and you will live forever, and you will forget me," she sobbed.
Legolas froze. "What do you mean, Alysae?"
"Lord Faeron said I was a 'puny mortal' and that Adar was not my ada!" She began sobbing again, burying her face in his tunic.
Legolas clenched his jaw. "Lord Faeron," he murmured. He should have known. The elf had always tried to stir trouble, openly disagreeing with Alysae's presence.
"Dearest sister," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "your place will always be with Adar and me. We are your family. Do not let an old elf like Faeron upset you with his words. I treasure every moment with you, for I love you and wish no harm to ever come to you."
Alysae lifted her head to gaze at her brother, her cheeks wet with tears. "Is it true?" she sniffled.
"Very much so," he replied, wiping her cheeks with his thumb.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a faint smile replacing her tears as her worries began to fade.
"Let us go find Adar," he said, rising to his feet.
"Adar!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up at the thought.
Oh, how much I love you, Legolas thought, gazing at his young sister as she walked beside him, a large smile on her adorable face. Even though she will not live long by elven standards, she shall always be my sister, and I shall be deeply pained by her dea— He stopped himself, unable to bear the thought.
-xxx-
Translations:
gwathel- sister
gwador- brother
tithel- little
ada/adar- dad/father
Edited as of 14/08/2024