Disclaimer: I (sadly) am not Tolkien and no amount of pleading will make him change his mind to give me his characters. Believe me, I tried.
This story is rated T for some violence and war, a bit of blood. There's no gore though or torture, no smut or swearing. Trigger warning for illness too and death.
It follows the life of Alysae as she comes of age during the War of the Ring. It's not a Tenth Walker.
A/N: Please note that this is not a Mary Sue and that this story isn't the typical 'girl goes on adventure with the fellowship and saves Boromir and everybody else and throws the ring in the fire and is madly in love with Legolas'. First, that would be incest, because in this story Legolas is her adoptive brother; second, because other things happen. This plot bunny is running wild!
hope you enjoy :)
.Prologue.
A bird scurried along the ceiling, its small wings fluttering furiously as it searched for an escape. It had likely flown in and become trapped when the doors had closed shut. The creature's frantic energy mirrored the Elvenking's own inner restlessness.
It would search for a very long time before it found an exit—if there were any at all.
Thranduil's eyes followed the bird's lithe form for a moment, pity and compassion stirring in his heart at its desperate efforts to find its way home. The caves where the Elves dwelled often weighed heavily on him, the mass of stone above his head crushing the whispers of the forest. Both King and bird alike shared the same fate: trapped in a prison of their own making.
His gaze dropped to his ring-clad fingers. On his middle finger lay a silver ring with a large black stone, which he absently twisted when his thoughts wandered. All his other fingers sported rings, some gold, some silver, some large and ornate—save for one. His ring finger was bare and pale.
He traced the knotted branches on his armrests; they wound together like tangled threads, rising from the ground to form his throne. Small leaves grew where he rarely sat, and he could feel the tree's sleepy soul lying dormant within, a steady presence he had known for centuries.
The distant sound of running water flowed gently over stone, a constant background murmur to which he had long grown accustomed.
The throne beneath him grew stiff as stone, and he shifted his legs. His long dark robes rustled against his thighs and spilled onto the floor. The crown of twisted twigs and light petals on his head pressed heavily against his skull.
The Throne Room doors opened ahead.
Thranduil's icy blue eyes fixed on the elven guard who strode into the room. The young elf, newly recruited and still completing his training, wore a light tunic of green and brown, with a sword catching the light at his hip.
"Your Majesty?" he said hesitantly, his voice ringing in the still air.
The Elvenking tilted his head slowly. The spiders could not have breached the perimeter again, could they? "Yes?" His voice was cool and smooth, as unwavering as a river's current.
The elf swallowed, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Thranduil sighed inwardly. The newer recruits were always so skittish, as if he might devour them whole.
"My lord," the elf said, "we found a child wandering in the forest."
Thranduil raised a single pale eyebrow. "A child?"
"A human child, my Lord."
"How interesting," said the Elvenking, though he did not look interested in the least. He twisted the ring with the large black stone on his finger. "What was it doing there?" The more pressing question was: why had they not sent it back to Lake Town?
"We do not know, my lord. We found her alone. There are no traces of others of her kin."
The King contemplated his pale fingers as they drummed on the armrest. He could not deny his curiosity. Perhaps the child was simply lost, or perhaps her family had perished. But the silence bore down on him, and he had been sitting on his throne for hours.
Legolas and his patrol would not return for some time.
He needed the distraction.
"Bring her in," he finally said.
Two guards standing at the large entrance stepped aside as the grand carved doors swung open. Two more guards entered the vast throne room, stopping a few meters from the King. Between them stood a young child, looking especially small next to the towering elves. One guard had a hand on her shoulder as though to restrain her.
Her little legs were thin beneath a torn, ragged dress, which might have once been pale but was now unrecognizable in its grimness. Tiny hands clutched at the fabric, so dark that the Elvenking could not tell if it was stained with blood or merely grime. Pale blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, striking against the darkness of the room. Dust smeared her face and obscured her round features.
But what caught the King's attention—his breath hitched in his throat—were her eyes. Two wide pools of silver with flecks of blue stared back at him, round as saucers. Eyes he thought he would never see again. Eyes he thought lost to the world. How is this possible? he wondered helplessly.
His chest tightened, and he was acutely aware of every eye in the room on him. He could not lose control. With practiced ease, he forced his face into a blank mask, though his icy eyes were strained.
"What is your name, child?" he asked in a calm voice.
The little girl sniffled, her eyes darting around the room. She took in the tall, imposing guards on either side of her and the Elvenking seated on his throne, menacing and distant—looking very much like a deer caught in headlights. Thranduil waited patiently for her answer.
She finally spoke in a trembling voice, impossibly young. "A-Alysae."
What a strange thing, Thranduil remarked silently. She bears an elven name, though it is formed in an unusual manner. Very strange, indeed. He took a breath.
There was a pause.
He leaned forward on his throne, his knuckles white against the armrests. "Where do you come from?"
"I—I don't know."
"Where are your parents?"
The little girl broke down in sobs. "I d-don't kno-ow." Tears ran down her cheeks as her shoulders shook.
The guard on her right stepped forward. "Should we bring her to Lake Town, my Lord?"
Thranduil remained motionless, his hand coming to rest under his chin. For a few seconds, no one spoke. For reasons unknown to him, this girl—this mortal girl—was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He felt drawn to her, as if a red string of fate connected his soul to hers, invisible to the eyes. The child looked exactly like her, and yet she was mortal.
He wished he possessed some power like Lady Galadriel's, to look into others' minds or see their pasts. As it was, he settled for regarding her with level eyes.
"No. Bring her to the guest chambers and call for maids," he finally said. "She looks like she needs a bath." Besides, it would not be permanent. After all, he could not in good conscience throw the child out when she looked as though she hadn't eaten or washed in days. Once she had rested, she would go.
The two elven guards nodded and gently guided the trembling child out of the throne room, their footsteps echoing in the vast chamber.
An elf with long brown hair tilted his head.
"My Lord?" he asked.
"Yes?"
The advisor folded his hands together. "What are you going to do with the child?"
"She will stay," said the King, leaving no room for argument.
"For how long, my Lord?"
"As long as she wishes," Thranduil murmured under his breath. For some reason unknown to him, it felt right to say this. Seeing the confused look on his advisor's face, the King stood up. "Leave! Out! I need to think."
In a matter of seconds, the room cleared, leaving the Elvenking alone. He staggered back onto the throne, his knees finally giving out. Images flashed before his eyes: a tall elleth with an easy smile, her silver-blue eyes twinkling…
"Oh, Bereneth," he whispered, his face in his hands. "What shall I do?"
-xxx-
tell me what you think!
Alysae is my OC and belongs to me. Have a good day ;)
edited 14/08/2024