Vales of Sorrow

Title: Vales of Sorrow
Author: Vi Janaway
Beta: Novedhelion
Rating: R to start...NC-17 later
Genre: Het...It is also AU ROMANCE starts many years before Fellowship of the Ring ends years after RotK
Pairings: Haldir/OFC, Aragorn/Arwen, Legolas/OFC
All the others....and a few more
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings... It all belongs to the Good Professor J R R Tolkien.

Summary: An injured Elf Maiden with a haunted past is rescued by Four Noble Elves. Dark, forgotten secrets will have repercussions for Lothlórien, Mirkwood, and Rivendell

Chapter One

Hiding in Plain Sight

Two sparrows landed on the wide sill of the window and traded cheerful trills. Mislyn opened her eyes and smiled. "Much better than the decidedly unmelodic crows of that benighted rooster that thinks he owns the entire town," she told them, then laughed when the rooster announced the day and they flew off.

Humming a happy tune, she rose from her bed, raised her arms high above her head and followed the same routine she did every morning. Not recalling the reasons why she did so, she began to count off the various positions of legs, arms, head and hands. Sometimes...sometimes...she could almost hear another voice counting with her.

A cool brisk breeze greeted her when she opened the back door to her two-room dwelling. An abundance of plant life covered a large, well-ordered garden. Dewd gli glistened on narrow strips of grass which separated the sections. The low stone fence that surrounded it gave anchor to honeysuckle, trumpet vines, and climbing roses. Gentle rain from two days before had coaxed the unfurling of blossoms in many colors---cream and gold, light blue, bright yellow, scarlet, pale green, pink---all in full spring flower, soon to become vegetables or table bouquets. She stood in the doorway inhaling the heady perfumes.

Dawn was her favorite time of day. Each offered new and exciting promises. This one offered the excitement and exhilaration of a Faire. She decided to leave the door open and watched purple, grey, rose, and pink streaks of color glow in the first bright rays and wisps of clouds dissipate when the sun cleared the horizon.

In the smaller of the two rooms, a table big enough for four was beneath the single window. Two chairs were pushed under it, and two were backed against the wall on either side. Opposite the table was her bed, constructed over a large storage area, and an old, weathered, built-in wardrobe, spanned the remainder of the wall.

All free space was covered with banners and other needlework creations. On the bed lay a cherished quilt. The design was the first her mother had taught her. Mislyn remembered well the day she had mastered the needlework skills needed to depict the intricate curves and shapes of the designs of the blocks.

Two shutter-style doors separated her private space from the much larger classroom. Spindles, small looms, and worktables took up half of the room. Sturdy desks and chairs were arranged near the front entrance. To her right, an enormous storage unit made of pigeon-holes, shelves, and cabinets held all that she needed to teach reading and math skills, and sewing. Pieces of bright material, colorful yarns, stacks of parchment, charcoal sticks, and wooden buttons lay in neatly ordered groupings. A small, colored glass jar held carefully preserved and treasured mithril needles. She taught the children basic stitching with bone needles. These could be quickly made in many sizes and sharpness and were easily replaced. Ribbons, rare lace work, leather cords varying in thickness, and many other trims and notions, were in containers along an open shelf.

On one of the long worktables, many small, hand-made items were lined up, ready for the faire. Later today, people from other villages would come with their own wares, to trade, swap, or sell. Mislyn loved fairs and smiled in memory of all the chatter, hard work, and determination that had gone into the crafts. She picked up a woven piece that had been carefully crafted by the ten-year-old daughter of the Mayor. The teacher laid it back on the table when she heard a loud voice bellowing outside.

The door was forced open and a broad-shouldered man of average height stalked toward her. In his hands he held a leather vest.

"You teachin' my boy 'bout sewin'?" He spat the laord ord and tossed the vest on the floor. "I warned you about tryin' to make my son into a girl." His fists opened and closed.

"He wanted to learn to mend and care for his own clothing she she said mildly to the enraged father. "We did discuss this if you recall. Your wife gave permission."

"My wife don't make the decisions. She never disobeys me unless it has to do with you." He stared at her insolently. "You been nuthin' but trouble since we moved here six years ago."

Determined to handle the situation reasonably, Mislyn held her temper. When she bent to pick up the vest, he grabbed her left shoulder.

"Let go." She said firmly.

"You think you can make me?" He tightened his grip and pushed her back against an empty worktable. "I got half a mind to show you you can't push me. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do."

"No. You are not." She kicked out at him when she fell back against the table and rolled over. Grabbing an empty spindle, she hit the back of his left hand with the hard bobbin end.

He howled in pain but backed off. "This ain't over," he said menacingly. "It ain't over." He strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

With a heavy sigh she walked back to her living area, closed and locked the shutters. Mislyn went the back door again and leaned against the frame drinking in the sight of the garden. Another, long look calmed her, and she smiled, thinking once more how its layout looked like a patchwork quilt.

Grateful that she had drawn water from the well the night before, she pulled aside the heavy material that curtained off her washing area. She looked into a small mirror--a relic from her past--and frowned. The cap she wore to cover her hair and ears had come loose. She untied two wide ribbons which wound around her head, and pulled it off.

Her fingers worked their way through the thick mass that fell half way down her back. She began to gather it up into a coil which would be securely held in place by the dark wig she wore everyday. She was startled by a sound behind her, and dropped her hands leaving her hair to fall again.

A little girl of six stood in the doorway, staring at her. "Mislyn?" .

The teacher closed her eyes and made a decision that would forever change her life. She went to the child and led her into the room. "You're up early," she said in a level tone. "Why did you come in the back?"

"The bad man was here. I...I...What happened to your hair and ears, Mislyn? The little girl tried to pull away.

"It is okay, Carah. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I am still Mislyn."

Carah shook her head, her dark curls swinging against her cheeks. "You're not her.

Mislyn held the youngster close. "I would never hurt you."

"I want my mommy."

Her heart breaking, the teacher began to sing in the child's ear---a song passed to her from her mother. Within seconds, the little girl was asleep. Mislyn carried the child to the bed and gently laid her down. There was not much time.

She pulled a backpack from under the bed and opened it. The quilt was carefully folded and placed it in the bottom. Two of the wall banners were removed and she went to the washstand where she lifted her mirror off its ledge and wrapped it in them. She unlocked the connecting doors again and hurried to the storage wall where she pulled out the container with her needles and crumpled a parchment page to stuff into it. She picked up her large drawstring workbag containing her personal tailoring tools and added the jar of needles. Her breath came on a sob as she looked once more at the art filled table. Many years of safety and peace were at an end.

Back in her bedroom, she opened the wardrobe doors. After removing her nightdress, she pulled on a long, sleeveless black undertunic and a full sleeved overdress of the same color, and quickly tied a wide cloth belt around her waist. It was then she remembered that her boots were being repaired, and her new ones weren't finished yet. The shoes she wore everyday would have to do. Sparing one last look around her, she lifted a carved box from a corner of the wardrobe, and put it and the banner-covered mirror into her pack. For good measure, she put her cloak over them and fastened the worn leather ties. After securing the pack straps over her shoulders, she picked up the workbag.

In less than an hour the two of them would be missed at breakfast. Another stiff gust of wind brought with it smells of fresh bread and cooking meats. She would not make this breakfast. Regretful that she had to leave the child alone, she placed a large, fringed shawl over her head, and stepped out the door...into uncertainty.


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For the first half of the day, Mislyn had been able to blend in with the people coming to the fair. Her head and pack were covered and if any one questioned why she was going in the other direction, she just shrugged, held out her workbag and said she had forgotten something. When she was away from everyone, she quickened her pace.

Long after nightfall, she finally stopped to rest, wishing she had at least remembered a water skin. Surviving without food and water for a while was something she had done before.

Lying on her back, she counted the stars, and fell asleep.

Mislyn awoke the third day, dismayed at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. She discerned three riders on the horizon, one of whom was Janap, the irate father who had accosted her.

There were no longer any trees or stone formations to offer a place to hide. The thin soles of her shoes provided no protection from the rock-strewn surface as she made a desperate attempt to escape. The bottoms of her feet were cut and bruised, and she stumbled to her knees when Janap jumped off his horse and shoved her.

The neckline of her dress tore when her pack was pulled from her back, and flung aside with her workbag. The rest of the dress was ripped away and hurtful hands pinned her to the ground.

Janap's face contorted with rage. "Liar! Thief! Whore! Perversion!" Many more names and curses rained over her. "What else did you teach my son? What did you offer him to make him turn against his own father?"

Mislyn screamed when he pinched and twisted the tips of her ears.

"You like that, huh?" He leered at her. "Been with us for years, and never let anyone near you!"

She cried out again as the twisting continued and barely noticed the glint of the sun on his knife before she felt the blade start to saw on her ear. Quivering, shivering in panic, tears of rage and pain mingled with her struggles to get free.

"You wanna be a human? We'll get rid of these, and then you'll look normal!" His derisive laughter at her screams was echoed by the other two men who held her still. But within seconds, Janap lifted his bloodied knife, and slapped her. "What are you made of? I can't cut all the way through." He dropped his blade on a piece of her shredded dress, then got to his feet.

"Never you mind. I'm still gonna fix it so you never bother anybody again." He picked up a rock and slammed it into her stomach.

Mislyn managed to sit up, but doubled over and her tunic was ripped down her back. Sharp edged rocks hit her from all sides. She screamed again as her arms were jerked out to her sides so she could do nothing to protect herself. One last keening wail escaped her dry throat. Leaning her head forward, hair protecting her face, the former teacher prayed for a quick death. She would never see another dawn.

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Four abreast, the flower and pride of Elvenkind sat on their horses. Haldir of Lothlórien, and Legolas of Mirkwood were flanked by Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell.

A company of forty Elves from all three realms, charged with the sole duty of protecting and serving these four cherished sons, waited in readiness behind them.

At the rear of the group were three almost empty supply wagons. But they were only one day from Lothlòrien...one day from completing their journey...one day from safety...and for many of them... home...in the Golden Wood. They had broken camp at first light, and Haldir gave the signal to move forward.

"Wait." Elladan stopped his grey stallion, then dismounted, listening to the sounds on the wind.

"What is it?" His twin, Elrohir, also dismounted and went to stand beside him. "What do you hear?"

"Screams."

Legolas urged his horse forward, then halted. "Over there," he pointed toward the north.
"Four humans." The ability to see far in the distance was one of his gifts. He rode toward the cries.

"Captain, we should not interfere," one of the Lothlórien guard called to Haldir.

The blond elf had no chance to reply, as he turned to see Legolas rushing back.

"There are human males assaulting a female. She's an Elf!" The Mirkwood Prince shouted.

"Stay here," Haldir commanded the Elven company. "You are in command," he said to the lieutenant who had spoken to him. "In ten minutes, choose nine others and follow us."

Elladan, once more astride his horse, and Elrohir moved alongside Legolas. Haldir looked at the three of them, and they raised the hoods on their cloaks. The Captain of the Golden Wood nodded and the four horses took off as one.

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tbc