I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (Just the AU storyline and my OC). Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fanfics would not be in existence.
As always, please review, favorite, and follow -it is really encouraging :D
A note- lots of family stuff going on right now. My ADHD is struggling with being able to put the story together due to everything else that's going on overwhelming the attention center of my brain. I will update as I can focus, so please be patient with me! I really appreciate it! -Tweetzone86
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Legolas's knives were singing as he ran along web-covered tree boughs, slaying every spider that crossed his path with a deft precision that came from many long years of practice. Black blood streaked across his face, but he paid it no mind, so focused was he on the task at hand.
"Show no mercy!" he heard Tauriel shout to her patrol. "Kill these foul beasts of Morgoth!" A fat spider charged him, and he quickly stabbed its belly. Arrows rained around him, but none struck him, so skilled were the Woodelves of Mirkwood.
Mirkwood. Oh, how he hated that name! Once, his father's realm was filled with light, wafting through bright green leaves to the carpeted floor beneath. Emperor butterflies flitted throughout the boughs, fat squirrels scampered in the trees, and majestic stags bound across the forest, their fur shining with dew in the early morning light. Wildflowers sprang up around the roots of ancient beech and oak, and high in the mountains the yew trees rose amongst the mist.
He let loose arrows from his bow. Its wood came from the yew trees in the mountains of Mirkwood to the south, and he crafted it himself for the Master Bowman tournament. It was the pinnacle of all the years of hard work, training, and discipline, and he had won the tournament handily, even outshooting many of the most skilled bowmen of his people. The only archer to defeat him had been Erestor, and he was the best archer in their realm.
There would be no more bows made of yew for his people.
The journey south was too dangerous now. The shadow of evil crept from the ruins of Amon Lanc, his grandfather's old fortress from the days of old. In these days it was known as Dul Guldor, the Hill of Sorcery. The very thought of that evil place made his blood run cold. The spiders they were now fighting were spawning there, his father's most stout-hearted scouts had said. Even they feared to venture too close to that place, for elves could not bear to enter the darkest, most evil places of the world.
The shadow had spread north, surpassing the mountains from which the wood of his bow had come. Long before he was born, his father had led their people to the uppermost eaves of the forest to escape it. Still it followed, held at bay only by the goodness and valor of their kindred, and the enchanted elven path that lay at their southern border. He slew another spider, and frowned.
They should not have been able to cross that path, he thought to himself, his heart troubled. The dwarves should not have been able to enter the path, either. Or cross the enchanted stream.
The fact that the border guard had missed dwarves traveling along the path this far was also quite concerning. He glanced over at Tauriel. She was fighting fiercely, her own two blades also singing as they dripped with black spider blood. There was fire in her green eyes, and determination in her gaze. He had never once doubted her skill at arms, or her determination to succeed. What he did doubt was her decision to leave her patrol leaderless on her first day as a Captain of the Guard.
If their borders were this poorly patrolled to begin with, then what might have happened if they had not returned in time? How many more elves would perish?
He didn't have much time to ponder the answer to this question, for suddenly Nairon shouted ahead.
"Naugrim!" he cried in the Silvan tongue. "They are alive!" A few spiders were still alive as well, and he could hear dwarves shouting and see the glint of their weapons as they tried to fight off the foul beasts too.
"Kill the spiders!" Tauriel shouted. "Do not shoot the dwarves unless they attack you, but do not let them escape!" A spider jumped from the bough ahead of him, and the elven prince deftly grasped at the sticky rope its spinnerets left. The stickiness burned his flesh a little, but it would heal quickly, and it was the fastest way to get down from the great height in a hurry. He ran after the scampering beast, and, using the slick, rotting leaves to his advantage, slid under the spider and sliced through its soft underbelly with his knife.
In one quick motion, he leapt to his feet, sheathed his flicked-clean knife, drew his bow, and pointed his arrow at the first dwarf he saw. Several others were with him, and patrols surrounded them as well with their own bows drawn. He heard more shouts in the trees, and within seconds, five more dwarves were marched to the group already assembled before him.
They were the sorriest dwarves he'd ever seen. They looked unusually emaciated, their clothing, beards and hair were covered in webbing, and their pallor suggested that they had indeed been captured by the spiders, and were ill with spider poison. It did not seem to diminish their spirits, however, for despite their pathetic state, their gazes were very hostile and wary, like an animal caught in a cage.
He locked eyes with the dwarf facing him, and frowned. He looked rather…familiar, despite his clothing, beard, and hair being covered in spider webbing. He also held a decidedly non-dwarven style blade, and the others didn't seem keen on relinquishing their weapons, either. The elven prince tightened his grip on the nock of his arrow.
"Drop your weapons," he commanded, eyes narrowed. "And no harm will come to you." The dark haired dwarf's eyes narrowed further, and the young prince stared him down, unflinching. The dwarf finally released his grip on the curiously styled sword hilt, albeit very, very reluctantly. The others followed suit, and none looked happy about it at all.
"Search them!" Tauriel commanded. "Seize their weapons!" Several elves moved forward to do so, while others kept their arrows trained on the group. Even Mareth obeyed the command without hesitation, and Legolas knew it wasn't due to Tauriel's leadership, or even his presence, but rather the fact that Mareth vehemently hated dwarves, too.
He backed away and returned his arrow to its quiver, trusting that the patrol would not let him come to harm. One thing he was absolutely certain of- his safety in this realm was assured, because no one was mad enough to risk his father's wrath, should harm come to his son. Thranduil was deeply protective of him, much to his frustration at times. But he knew it was because his father loved him. He felt no hesitation whatsoever in putting his life in the hands of his kin.
Tauriel was supervising the search, and he walked over to her and motioned for her to follow him. Stepping off to the side, he leaned in so their conversation was a little more confidential.
"Are all the spiders dead?" he asked her in low tones. She nodded.
"Ayeth, hir-nin," she affirmed. He looked toward the south.
"They're growing bolder," he said quietly, his voice grim. She nodded. He looked back at the group, and frowned. One of the dwarves looked very, very worried, and kept glancing around the wood.
"Are you certain all the spiders are dead?" he asked Tauriel. She nodded.
"I did not lie, my lord," she replied. His frown grew deeper.
"Then why is the young one—" he began, but a shout cut him off.
"Hir-nin Legolas!" Nairon shouted from behind a large tree several ranga away. "Come quickly!" He glanced at Tauriel, now concerned and confused.
"Stay here and supervise," he commanded her. The young elven prince ran toward the tree where the shout had come from. Coming around the trunk, he stopped short in surprise.
Nairon was kneeling over an unconscious and very ill-looking young girl. A quick glance told him she was no dwarf. Commanding Nairon to move, he knelt down over her, his blue eyes filled with concern.
"She's just a child," Nairon said, concern in his voice also as he stood over them. "A young maid. Why was she with dwarves?" Legolas reached down and gently took her face into his hand. His little finger sought the pulse at her neck as he cupped her very pale cheek, and he grew even more concerned at how weak and rapid it was.
"She is very, very ill," he said quietly. She stirred in his hand, and whimpered. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and glassy, slightly unfocused blue eyes met his.
"…Legolas?" she murmured, her voice a mere whisper. His eyes widened in shock, and Nairon started in surprise. He knew without a doubt that he had never, ever seen her before. Before he could ask her how she knew him, her eyes fluttered closed and she went limp.
"Do you know her, hir-nin?" Nairon asked, just as surprised as he was. He shook his head, now extremely confused.
"No," he replied, studying her face. "No, I've never seen her before." He rose to his feet and looked at the patrol.
"Tell Captain Tauriel to bind the dwarves' hands and take them to the king's dungeons," he commanded him. "Give them food and drink, for they are clearly starved. Then take them before my father for questioning." Nairon nodded, then looked worriedly at the unconscious girl.
"What about the young adaneth, hir-nin?" he asked. Legolas knelt back down and took the young girl into his arms. Rising, he looked at the patrol.
"I will take her to Miriel," he replied. "She is very ill with spider poison, and needs healing. Have Tauriel report to me after she arrives with the prisoners." Nairon nodded. The young prince turned and began to run through the trees as fast as he could, his grip firm on the unconscious girl in his arms. Legolas was not only skilled with knife and bow. He was also quite a fast runner, even for an elf. With any luck, he would get her to the head healer in time.
"Hold on, little adaneth," he said quietly in Westron as he ran. "You will be taken care of. Hold on."
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Elvish translation:
Ayeth- yes
Hir-nin- my lord
Adaneth- mortal woman/human woman
Tolkien lore note (because someone's already mentioned it)- In Laws and Customs of the Noldor (Book XIII of History of Middle-earth, aka Morgoth's Ring), it states that names aren't usually repeated amongst elves. I would like to note that the Mirkwood elves are NOT Noldor. They are Sindarin (Thranduil's household, and some of the nobles that traveled east with him and his father, Oropher, after Doriath fell and Beleriand sank into the sea), and Silvan (the original inhabitants of Mirkwood that took Oropher as their king, and Thranduil now rules them after Oropher's death in the Battle of the Last Alliance).
It is reasonable to expect that elements in Laws and Customs do pertain to elven nature itself, regardless of elven group delineation. For example, strict monogamy, able to see in one's eyes whether one is wed or not, abhorrence to infidelity, physical attributes, things like that. But for things which are CULTURAL, such as name repeating, it's not unreasonable to expect that some of the more "commoner" names may well have been repeated, especially across different elven cultures. The Silvan elves in particular had very little contact with the Noldor after the Great March west, as they broke away from the group to settle in the Greenwood (now Mirkwood), whereas the Noldor continued all the way to Valinor, many thousands of years prior to this time period.
And elves don't know every single other elf who ever lived, especially if they dwell in a completely different location, and have never met, nor heard, of them. It's not like they have a mental catalogue that gets filled up every time an elven couple names a baby, and go "Whoops, don't use that one! Jim Bob elf and Bertha elf from podunk Middle-earth just named their kid it!" It would be impossible to track what common names were used and what weren't, especially if the elven parents had never met the other person. Potential birth rolls and census rolls WITHIN an elven group might be made, especially amongst the more culturally refined Noldor, but I doubt they'd keep track of the other groups and other realms. And other realms may have census rolls, but I doubt they'd bother to check the Noldor rolls first before naming their kids, too.
Infamous names would be the exception, much like how most people know of A-list celebrities and world leaders' names today. For example, most folks know who King Charles and Queen Camilla are, or who the US president is, or their favorite actor or musician, but don't know the name of the neighbor down the street.
In Middle-earth, this would be the kings and queens, lords and ladies, and commoners of particular renown because of their great deeds. Feanor, Galadriel, Thingol, Turgon, Finrod, Luthien, Beleg, etc would be very unlikely to be repeated by any elf, because those are very well known names and deeds (and, to be fair, I seriously doubt ANY elf would name their kid after Feanor or Eol or Maeglin. Those dudes were CRAZY, and not exactly role models).
But common names- Erestor being Elrond's assistant/butler/manservant, Miriel being more or less a name in Valinor, but not Middle-earth, etc may well have been names that could have been repeated amongst the common elf folk. Miriel's claim to fame was simply that she died giving birth to Feanor, and refused to be re-embodied. But that was isolated to Valinor, and one can hardly expect it to have been broadcast in Middle-earth, especially since Feanor was super sore about it, and probably would have banned its mention amongst the Noldor. The Miriel in my story is also not a Noldo (Singular Noldor), so it's entirely plausible that the Noldorin custom of not repeating names doesn't necessarily extend to the Sindar and Silvan elf culture (though I expect they wouldn't repeat famous names or royal/nobility names amongst their own kindred).
And that's my justification. I tried to think of other names, but my brain assigned those names to these characters, and it kinda got stuck in my head, so there ya go ;)
Namarie!