The Jewel of Mirkwood

EDIT 1/10/05 Disclaimer - You've heard it all before so here it goes again, I don't profess to own any of the characters or plot co incidents with the Lord of the Rings series written by Tolkien, contained within this story. All dirt, sex and other profanity is made from the sick genius of my own and while I use for my own and others amusements the character of Tolkien's stories, I do neither profit monetarily or legally from anything contained within these pages. All relative warnings related to this story are clearly indicated and should you be reading this story and take offence I accept no responsibility having warned you thoroughly before undertaking the project. If you sue, you won't make a dime so don't bother. RIFFRAFF.

The Jewel of Mirkwood

End of the Second Age of the Ages of the Sun – Middle Earth (Mirkwood formally Greenwood)

CHAPTER 1 (Child's Play)
His shadow fell like a lost twin brother behind him on the cold slate floor of his room. Through the window he watched as they mounted their steeds the glory of their realms emblazoned across their plated armour chests. They were proud to fight for their Lord, for the very heart of their freedom but among the pride he felt the fear, the sadness and the stark reality that was war. The sight below him in the courtyard was not uncommon, many elves and men alike had left to march to war in the very same manner for seven years at least. However today there was an air of finality to the situation that made the youngster shiver with fear. Among the warriors suited for battle below were his father, his two brothers and two great elf kings. His father’s beautiful fair hair singled him out among the many warriors below he whe watched with sadness as his brothers rallied around their sire, their rank among the officers not without distinction. His father had paid him little attention since the beginning of the war. While he had never been much in his fathers eyes compared to his elder brothers, of late he’d become even less of a prince and rather a steward of the family. He didn’t understand why he was being left behind. Why the entire household had received the call to war in some respect, while he’d merely received a summons to the stables to continue preparing the horses as usual. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t the training. His tutor had told him he’d rarely seen such skill with a bow at such a young age and his hutting skills had grown with each passing season, yet it hadn’t been enough for his father not to look him over.

The bellowing of a horn signalled the beginning of the march to war and he watched with moist eyes as his father took his position at the head of the army alongside the other great elf kings and their stewards. Just back from the front contingent of lords and guards he caught a glimpse of his brothers and his tutor. Filgree had been what his sire had not. A role model on which to take comfort, to learn from and to take praise. His tutor seemed different now though, a top a mighty stallion his dark tresses tied back in a typical warriors braid. He couldn’t help wonder if this would be the last he ever saw of the elder he looked up to, as more than just a friend.

Not a footstep could be heard from the last alliance as they marched from the gates of his home into the great forest of Mirkwood. As his father’s figure became blurred among the sea of elves he felt the familiar tingle of tears sliding down his cheeks. There was many he’d grown up with as an elfling he knew he’d never see again as they passed through the gates on their march towards Mount Doom. When the last trickles of the army passed the gates he jumped from the window seat in his room and ran down the corridor to the steps of the watchtower. With little grace he leapt up each stone step ignoring the questioning stares of the last remaining guards as he stumbled onto the platform that stood high up from the cavernous halls of his fathers great house. Below the thick canopy of Mirkwood’s trees he could see flashes of coloured banners and uniforms as the army spread it’s wings to become the defining massive force it was. It moved like a sea across the forest floor consuming everything and nothing at the same time. On the wind he could hear a song, a lone voice among the many thousands that marched in silence. It was a sweet voice that sung a sombre song as the army moved over the horizon and disappeared from view. It was that voice that the prince held dear to him in the deathly silence that consumed the forest realm in the army’s wake. There was nothing for him to do but to wait anxiously for their return.

TBC......

Well I tried giving you plot and you all tore it to pieces so here's something less heavy with no particular story line. It'll go where I go and it will do things that I want it to do. *Pokes tongue out at you all*