Little Elf (Prequel to Warrior Elf)

Pairings: Haldir/Legolas (implied), Thranduil/Annariel and Orophin/ Rumil.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character Death, Angst, War Scene (blood, gore and all the humours that comes with it)
Summary: Legolas received something he really wanted. But will he live to regret asking for it?
Beta Reader: Caz

Notes: Ever wondered why the Fellowship wore oochooch shaped in that of a Green Leaf? This is my attempt to make odd ends meet.

Little Elf Series Part 4: Nana (Mother)

The Forest of Mirkwood was alive with the sounds of cheers and delighted cries. A tournament: and it was being held in a courtyard in front of the palace. It was a friendly match, consisting of archery and sword play between the Elves of Lothlorien and those of Mirkwood. Many had come to see the three brothers from Lothlorien – most of them were Elf maidens – wad had hopes of seeking the affections of the handsome trio, especially the beautiful Haldir, who had only just recently reached his majority. But if the truth be known, it was Legolas, the King’s illegitimate son, that attracted the most attention, for although he was young (no more than sixteen years of age) he was a fierce competitor and a worthy adversary.

The challenge was conducted thus: Each Elf (only the males) was allowed to enter the two competitions at the same time, but, they must have a challenger before they were able to compete. So far, the Elves from Mirkwood had trailed a little behind in terms of sword-fighting, but they were putting up a good fight where archery was concerned. And as Legolas was still young, he could only take part in the archery contest, although not many wanted to challenge him at first for they thought that he would be too easy to defeat.

But the young Elf had put many of Lothlorien’s Elves to shame, calmly and easily hitting the target right in the centre. Rumil and his brothers had smiled secretly whenever that happened. No one knew that Legolas had been taking archery lessons from the three, and Legolas, who was quick and eager to learn, had easily mastered the techniques for he had very keen eyes and was also a hard worker. His bow was of a smaller version as compared to the bows of ‘Lorien and of Mirkwood, whittled by Haldir himself as a gift on the younger Elf’s fifth bih birthday.

The King was seated in his chair on an elevated podium, leaning forward as his eyes focused intently upon the action that was taking place below. His consort sat next to him, wearing a white dress and looking twice as beautiful in the morning sun – her hair glowing with a rich, gold colour, which put even the sun to shame. On her face was a small smile as she watched her son sending yet another Lothlorien Elf out of the tournament in disgrace, the older Elf shaking his head in disbelief at the thought of being beaten by a mere Elfling.

On the whole, it was a good day for Mirkwood, as well as Lothlorien. Prince Teril had secured third position in the sword-fighting contest, losing to Orophin, of Lothlorien. Apparently, one of the audiences (from Mirkwood), cried foul, for he had seen the ‘Lorien Elf leering at the Prince in a most indecent manner, causing the Prince to lose his concentration. But there was no rule stating that one Elf could not leer at the other. So the match was considered to be fairly won.

The first place went to Rumil, also of Lothlorien. The match was a strange one for it involved the two adversaries wrestling one another rather than engaging in normal sword-fighting. It was reported the Haldir had snorted while Legolas had just smiled and looked away. Victory was won when Rumil pinned Orophin to the floor, sword pressed to his neck.

“You are dead, brother. I have killed you,” Rumil had said in a self-satisfied tone of voice. Someone swore afterwards that he had heard Legolas’ choked laughter and immediately after that, Haldir had strangely cried out, “Did it feel good, Orophin?” No one understood why Rumil and Orophin had pounced upon their youngest brother, trying to choke the life out of him. But seeing that they needed Haldir for the final tournament, they decided that they could kill him later.

“Feel good? I’ll show him how good it feels. Wait till I get my hands on him,” muttered Rumil, as Orophin patted his brother’s head sympathetically, but grinned at the same time. The folks of Mirkwood looked on compassionately also. They had heard that the Wood Elves of ‘Lorien were queer folks, and one could only extend their pity to their parents for bringing them forth onto the earth.

The archery competition proved to be the most exciting of all. Haldir was a wonder to look at, skilfully hitting the targets dead centre every time he let his arrows fly. Prince Amras had lost to him, and like his brother, also getting third place. Only one other Elf remained, and he represented the Elves of Mirkwood. The King and his consort leaned forward in their seats slightly as Legolas and Haldir bowed to each other in respect before taking their positions.

“Stop,” said Thranduil, raising his hand. All eyes turned to look at the King. His lips were curled in a light smile and his expression was serene, but his eyes held a strange glitter in them.

“Let us raise the stakes a little,” he continued. Silence greeted him, but he was not disturbed by it. “The winner of this archery competition will be granted a wish. Whatever is it you desire, and if it is within my powers to give it to you, I will.”

Murmurs broke out, washing over the sea of Elves like a wave. Legolas’ eyes were fastened upon the King, his expression thoughtful. Haldir smirked.

“Be sure you are able to keep your words, my lord, for I shall not lose,” he declared, tossing his head proudly. The Elf Maidens giggled behind their hands, fluttering their eyelashes at the silver-haired Elf. Haldir pompously blew kisses in their direction. The King just tilted his head to one side, a small smile playing upon his lips.

“So be it. May the better archer win,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear. And with that, the final match began.

The competition was fierce. Every arrow that was launched hit the centre of the target. It went on for ten rounds and one wondered how it would end. The atmosphere was tense and it was mirrored upon both Haldir’s and Legolas’ faces. After the twentieth round, a new rule was created: it was to be a tie breaker.

“You can only shoot once. Pick a target. Any target. The audiences’ reaction to the accuracy of your shot will decide the winner of this competition,” said the King while the Elves stirred excitedly, the volume of their chatter increasing all the time.

Haldir bowed very low before the King and looked to Rumil standing some distance away from where he was. His brother understood and then placed his hand on the trunk of a tree. Haldir took aim. And fired.

The crowd stood up in excitement, clapping wildly. The arrow had landed neatly in the space between Rumil’s thumb and index finger, without causing any hurt to his brother’s hand. Haldir bowed again, this time to the female Elves who were beside themselves in their exuberant show of support for him. Legolas just stood silently, his face solemn. The crowd quieten down, nearly holding their breaths in anticipation.

“Give up while you can, Little Elf,” Orophin cried out, grinning widely. Giggles broke out but still Legolas remained silent.

“How badly do you want to win, Little Elf?” said Haldir, his eyes twinkling teasingly.

Legolas took aim, silently signalling for Rumil to stay put. The smile upon Rumil’s face faded a bit but he kept his hand upon the trunk, the arrow still buried deep into the tree trunk between his two fingers.

“How badly do I want to win?” murmured Legolas, holding his aim steady. The crowd was as silent as death. “Very badly, Haldir.”

The sound of arrow leaving the bow echoed in the courtyard.

The applause was thunderous. The Elves of Mirkwood stood up once more, roaring their approval while Haldir just stared, a little bemused at the sight of Legolas’ arrow splitting his own into two. The result was unanimous. Legolas had won.

The crowd chanted his name and Iruven, Prince Amras’s son, ran up to his cousin and latched himself onto Legolas’ leg, clinging tightly, and at the same time pressing loud, noisy kisses upon the Elf’s kneecaps.

“You won! Wittle Ewef won!” Iruven cried out happily and would not let go although his father tried to detach him from Legolas’ leg. Legolas laughed merrily and shuffled his way towards the King, and presented an awkward bow. Thranduil looked at him, his eyes holding steady upon Legolas’ gaze. And then he smiled. It was a tiny smile. But it was a smile nonetheless and when Annariel looked at the two proud figures looking at one another, her eyes misted a little. But she too smiled.

“I stand before you to ask for my heart’s desire, my king,” Legolas said, his face grave once more. The King was silent for a moment, quietly beholding the Elf before him, wondering slightly when was it that Legolas had grown into the Warrior that he had become.

“And what is it that you desire, Legolas?” he asked, cocking his head in a polite manner. Legolas hesitated as his eyes darted towards his mother. The Elves were silent once more, watching the drama that was unfolding before them.

A pause.

“I only wish for one thing, my lord,” Legolaid, id, the blinding blueness of his eyes boring into the King’s. “I wish for you to release my mother. I wish for you to allow her to return to Lothlorien, where she rightly belongs.”

The silence was long and heavy. Every single body stiffened and Legolas could feel the strain that hung thickly in the air. The King still looked politely inquisitive, his expression carefully masked. Annariel stared at her son, trembling with emotion.

Lothlorien. The name alone sent a rush of delight through her veins. What would she not give to see her homeland once more? What would she not give to dwell alongside her people as she did sixteen years ago? And she continued to tremble, her eyes darting between the still figure of the King sitting next to her and the proud, straight form of her son standing before them.

“And why do you wish for that?” asked the King lightly, seemingly oblivious to the tension that surrounded him.

“I believe that it will make her happy, my lord. And it is the one thing that I desire most; for her to be happy.”

“And what then, of you? If your mother leaves, will you go with her? Or will you stay in my service?”

Legolas looked away for the first time, suddenly unsure. But he went on anyway.

“My loyalty will always lie with Mirkwood. I only ask that I would be allowed to visit her from time to time.”

The King leaned back into his seat. He turned to look at Annariel, gazing at her hair, her face and her eager, green eyes for the longest period of time. And then he looked back to Legolas once more.

Thranduil stoodand and moved towards the Elf, coming to stand directly before him. Legolas did not flinch. His eyes continued to stare into his father’s.

“Is this truly what you wish for?” he asked, his hard eyes fixed intently down upon Legolas’. The younger Elf barely reached his shoulders in height, but he looked back, never blinking and never showing fear.

“Yes, my lord. It is,” he said, and his voice was clearly heard in the strained silence.

There was a long pause.

“So be it.”

The crowd gasped collectively and whispered to one another. Thranduil continued to gaze at his son and then, suddenly, without warning, his expression softened as it never had before when he looked upon Legolas. A hand reached out to clasp Legolas’ tense shoulder and it lingered there for a moment. A reluctant smile broke upon his face. He removed his hand.

“So be it,” he said again. He stepped back, nodded to his attendants and strode back towards his palace.

The tournament was over. The crowd dispersed and in the midst of it, two figures were locked in a tight embrace.

“Bless you,tle tle Elf. Bless you,” Annariel murmured repeatedly, cradling her son in her arms. Legolas hugged her back tightly, ignoring the squawk of protest that came from below his knees.

In the distance, another Elf smiled. And as he looked upon them, he did not realise that all the love he held for Legolas was reflected clearly in this grey eyes.

“Well done, Little Elf,” Haldir murmured, his lips lifting in a smile. And with that, he too walked away.

**********

Preparations were made during the week. It was planned carefully, for the King had decided at the last moment that he would accompany Annariel to Lothlorien. With him, forty archers (including the three ‘Lorien brothers) and ten attendants would follow, making sure that the King and his consort were well protected. Annariel was glowing with joy, her gentle laughter tinkled like bells in the halls of the palace. The King kept mostly to himself, locked in his study, only to leave when the sun set to spend the night in Annariel’s room, as he had often done of late.

**********

His chest heaved as he moved his hips in a rhythmic manner, his member sliding itself into the wet warmth of his lover. She sighed and moaned. And when she did that, heat seemed to build up in his loins and his movements grew more frantic.

“Ah yes, my love. Take me!” she seethed and he obliged, locking his mouth onto those red lips, rocking himself back and forth. He was so close now. So close to reaching what he was desperately seeking for.

A knock on the door.

The male Elf ignored it. The bed shook and squeaked in time to their torrid love-making.

“Haldir? It’s me, Legolas,” came the voice, its sound muffled.

Haldir cursed. He rolled off his lover and grabbed his clothes, wincing as he tried to stuff his engorged member into the restraints of his leggings. The female Elf gave a sound of protest, but before she could say anything else, he dragged her off the bed and hid her in the closet.

“Stay there. Do not move,” he croaked out, and cursed once again at the burning sensation in his loins. Trust Legolas to interrupt him at a time like this! He still had not forgotten long ago when Legolas had crept up behind him while he was busy pleasuring himself with his hands. He had ended up being chased by his brothers through the woods with a monkey on his back. Or was that monkey Legolas? Haldir shook his head and thought that it was the same difference anyway.

Another knock.

“Coming,” he grunted and snorted. ‘How I *wish*,’ he thought and grumbled to himself a little as he went to the door to let Legolas in.

Legolas looked at Haldir in surprise. The older Elf looked strangely dishevelled; his hair was rumpled and he wore only his leggings. Haldir also did not look too happy to see him.

“I am not disturbing you, am I?” he asked uncertainly. Haldir gave him a pained expression but shook his head. Legolas paused as if unsure of what to say next. But he threw caution to the wind and said it anyway.

“Can I spend the night here again?” he asked in a rush. Haldir’s face softened with an unnamed emotion and he reached out to stroke the head of soft, blond hair.

“It is lonely in your room,” he said. It was not a question. It was a statement and a true one at that. Ever since Legolas had spent three weeks in the confinements of his room, after the unfortunate incident with Baby Iruven at the bathing pool, he felt that he could no longer lie on his bed without remembering those bleak hours of his time there.

The bleak hours where he had just sat on the floor and rocked himself back and forth, all the time separated from people to talk to and separated from the caresses and kind words of Nana’s.

Legolas just nodded, his lips pressed together and his eyes downcast.

“The King spends every night in Nana’s room. I can no longer stay with her at night and …” he trailed off here, unable to continue. Haldir just smiled and led Legolas to his bed. Legolas snuggled under the covers and Haldir lay down next to him, wincing again at the persistent hardness at the junction of his thighs. Legolas curled up to him.

“You are hard. So unlike Nana,” he mumbled sleepily, as he shifted around, trying to get cotabltable and Haldir groaned a little. As he listened to the even breathings of his young friend next to him, and as he thought of his lover in the closet, he realized that this was going to be a long night indeed.

**********

It was time for Annariel to leave Mirkwood. Hundreds and hundreds of the Wood Elves gathered at the palace gate to see her. They were rather sad to see her leave for Annariel had been kind and gentle to all Elves, regardless of what social background they came from. Her attendants adored her and all who looked upon her face loved her, for not only was she beautiful to look at, but her beauty seemed to come from deep within her soul, shining out onto her fair skin and bright, green eyes.

She was smiling, clasping her son to her side, waving at all those who waved at her. The King remained silent and grave. He sat regally upon his horse, looking every inch like royalty. His hair shone in the morning sun and little tendrils of his hair locks fluttered in the breeze.

Legolas helped his mother onto her horse and leapt onto his own. Iruven stood amongst the crowd, bouncing on his toes and waving enthusiastically, alternating between tears and laughter. He was crying because he was told he could not follow Legolas to Lothlorien, but he was laughing because Legolas looked so happy that he could not help himself.re wre was a final call of the horn and with that, they rode off towards Lothlorien.

**********

The journey would take only ten days or so, for the horses were swift and Elves were resilient travellers, needing very little rest. They passed many lush, tall trees and many rushing rivers. Within the fourth day, they reached the boundaries of Rivendell. A scout called out to the King. There was lone figure on horse standing before them.

Annariel cried out with joy. She halted her mount and jumped off while the other figure did the same. Running to each other, both female hugged each another, murmuring words of welcome.

“Celebrain! Well met, cousin,” said Annariel, her eyes moist with emotions. Thranduil looked upon them, a small smile playing upon his lips.

“We heard… we heard that you are heading to Lothlorien. And my husband allowed me to accompany you there,” said the fair Elf. She was tall and beautiful like Annariel, but her eyes were a striking blue instead of green. She turned to Thranduil with a grateful expression on her face.

“I am so happy. You have proven yourself to be a benevolent ruler indeed, to allow my cousin to return to her homeland. Your kindness will be remembered fondly, King of Mirkwood,” she said, addressing the King, tears trickling down her face as she gave him a shaky smile.

“I do not know if I could stand so much happiness,” he said wryly, referring to the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. Celebrian just laughed, dabbing away her tears self-consciously and Annariel laughed with her, her heart secretly singing with joy at the jest that her lover had made.

They travelled on for a few more hours, Annariel and Celebrain speaking to one another rapidly, making up for all thmes mes that they had been apart from each another. Legolas rode close to his mother, his eyes fixed upon her animated face. He was silent most of the time but he was smiling. Haldir watched his young friend and his heart seemed to reach out to Legolas. It had been so long since a smile involuntarily crossed the Elf’s face and Haldir found that he was glad to see Legolas happy once more. And as Haldir watched Legolas, Rumil and Orophin whispered to one another with a knowing look upon their faces.

**********

Night had fallen, and the King called for his followers to halt for the night. Tents were set up and a fire was built. It was peaceful and quiet in the forest at that point of time. There was barely any movement amongst the trees, nor any sounds from insects. The King bestowed a kiss upon Annariel’s forehead before retiring for the night, but he did not ask her follow him to his tent as he had done during the past four nights, allowing her to spend more time with her son and cousin. And for that, Annariel was grateful.

“He does not seem to be so terrible. The way Rumil described him to me when I was at Lothlorien, I thought that he was perhaps a troll who had been reincarnated as lf,”lf,” Celebrain whispered as she sat next to Annariel by the fire, the flames deliciously warming their toes. Legolas rested his head upon his mother’s lap, silent and contented as Nana stroked his hair. Haldir and his brothers sat near them, but they were engaged in their own conversation and so did not take much notice of them.

“He has changed much of late,” she murmured back. Celebrain smiled gently.

“Do you love him?” she asked and Annariel’s hand froze upon Legolas’ hair. Legolas pricked up his ears and waited in anticipation for his mother’s reply. Annariel said nothing for a moment, her head cocked to one side as she contemplated her response.

“He is kind to me,” she said finally, “At one time he was a cold and bitter Elf. But somehow he has grown tender over the years and he has been a considerate King and a patient father to my son. I cannot ask more of him.”

It was not the answer Celebrain was looking for, but she said nothing.

“What is the first thing that you will do at Lothlorien?” Celebrain asked suddenly. Annariel smiled as she took out a piece of parchment from her pocket. The parchment was a rather old, yellowed at the edges, and it was folded many times. She opened it and showed her cousin the content within the page.

It was a leaf. And although it had long since parted from its parent tree, the leaf was still the glorious colour of a green leaf.

“I will fashion a brooch out of this leaf so that I may wear it. It will be special for it came from afar; from the Forests of Mirkwood. And it may seem to be of little value but it carries with it all the virtues… all the qualities… that I could ever hope to instil in myself,” she said, pressing the leaf close to her heart. Legolas sat up and looked at the leaf. And then he looked at his mother’s face.

“Why is that leaf so special, Nana?” he asked softly, eyes shining with wonder at the awe that he saw upon his mother’s face.

“Don’t you know, Little Elf?” Celebrain said with a smile. “This is the very leaf that gave you your name. And look! Look at how fresh and unmarked it is! Ah, Annariel. Your son will be very precious indeed. It is marvellous how it is able to survive even without its roots.”

And Legolas looked upon it in awe also.

“It came to me, Little Elf, as how *you* came to me. It was a gift from the Valar when I thought that all was lost. And it represents Salvation, Patience, Love, Hope, Joy, Strength, and Life: the qualities that exist in a Warrior. And that is what you mean to me. And that is what you are… a survivor… *my* saviour,” whispered Annariel, kissing Legolas’ head tenderly, and her face blurred before Legolas’ eyes. It was then he realized that he was crying.

“Am I all those things, Nana? I never knew that,” he murmured as he enfolded his mother in his embrace.

“Ah, Little Elf,” Celebrain said, laughing lightly as she reached out to stroke Legolas’ hair. “Sometimes the most important things – the very thing that we want to listen to most – are oft left unsaid. We hunger for the words of love. But sometimes it is hard and it is from looks and actions that we can see those unspoken words.”

Annariel smiled, knowing that her cousin was alluding towards Thranduil. He might not have told her that he loved her. But his actions had proven that, perhaps, he had come to care for her. After all, had he not allowed her to leave his side – after sixteen years – to return to her home? Had he not kept to himself throughout the week, locked himself up in his room, unable to bear looking at her face, as eageeagerly waited for the time when she could leave Mirkwood? And had he not made love to her with a strange sense of desperation every night?

“You are right, of course, cousin,” she said simply as she carefully folded the paper over the leaf and tucked it once more into her pocket. She lay down upon the ground, her face turned towards the dark skies, sprinkled with thousands of bright stars. Legolas curled up next to her and Celebrain held her hand. And with that, Annariel fell asleep, peaceful and content in the knowledge that all of whom she cared for were rooted deep in her heart. Her son, her cousin and her King…

**********

*Annariel*

A cry rang through the air. The cry of pain, of terror and of death. Annariel started from her dreams and sat bolt upright. Next to her, Celebrain did the same. Instinctively, she reached out for her son. But he was no longer next to her. He had vanished. And Annariel could feel the cold claws of fear gripping her heart.

“Little Elf!” she cried out, her voice drowned out by rapidly increasing volume of the shouts and noises around her. A battle had broken out in the night. The Elves of Mirkwood and of Lothlorien were scattered about, their knives glinting in the moonlight. Apparently, the two female Elves were not notified of the ambush for the guards had tried to lure the enemy away from their camp. But they had failed.

“Little Elf!” she called out again, springing to her feet.

Celebrain grabbed her hand, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Nay, Annariel! It is too dangerous! Let us return to our tent!” she cried.

“Nay! I must find my son!” she cried, wrenching her hand away from her cousin’s grip. And with that, she sprinted away, calling out for her son as her voice rang out sharply and desperately in the cold, cruel night…

*Celebrain*

“Annariel!” Celebrain cried out and made to run after her. A hand held her back and she turned around. It was Rumil. He was covered from head to foot in scratches and his sword smoked with fresh, hot blood.

“Nay, my lady! We have been ambushed! Stay close to Haldir!” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the dark corner of their camp, amongst the trees, before dashing off after Annariel. Celebrain ran to the direction that was pointed out to her. She hid amongst the tall trees, peering out at the massacre that was taking place before her very eyes.

“Annariel,” she moaned hopelessly, wringing her hands. She felt someone approaching her from behind. “Haldir, we must…” she began to say, as she turned around to address the ‘Lorien Elf. And then she stopped abruptly as she regarded the figure before her…

*Legolas*

Legolas looked around, his eyes registering the faces before him. They were terrible faces. Orcs. And from their eyes, he could see no pity – just the desire to kill and to destroy. He had felled many but his arrows were all spent. He took to his knives but he knew that he could not keep off all of them for he grew wearier by the minute. The Orcs knew this and they circled him like predators closing around a wounded prey. The Elf’s hands tightened onto his knives…

*Rumil*

Rumil saw an Orc looming over a figure, its foul fingers trying to choke the life out of the slender Elf. With a cry of rage, he launched himself at his enemy, his sword sliding easily into the vulnerable flesh of the creature’s neck. Beneath the Orc, Haldir’s chest heaved as he gulped in air.

A frown marred the older Elf’s features as he looked down upon his brother.

“Where is Lady Celebrain?” he asked, his voice harsh with worry.

“With Orophin,” came the reply. Rumil gave a quick nod of his head before leaping into the battle once more with Haldir next to him…

*Thranduil*

An anger that he had never known burned through his veins like fire. His white knives darted out, slashing open the foul beasts that were foolish enough to challenge him. Orcs. His lips curled in disgust and intense hate. They were the reason why his son was dead. They were the cause of his father’s death. And so, he fought on, his mind numb to pain – numb to everything except the hatred that gnawed in the depths of his heart. He just wanted to kill – to inflict hurt on the very things that had caused him much suffering for hundreds of years.

A scream cut through the air and he froze.

“Legolas!” he choked out, and sprinted into the direction of his son’s cries…

*Orophin*

A scream. A lady’s cry for help. The Elf raced towards the voice, his face contorted with rage at the sight that greeted him. An Orc towered over a prone figure, its bow and arrow ready to fire. Orophin flung his dagger towards the direction of the enemy and its pointed end sank deep into its back. It fell to the ground and never got up again.

He ran swiftly towards the lady and his mouth dropped open in an expression of horror and shock.

In the moonlight, the pain on the Lady’s face was brought into sharp relief. An arrow had pierced through her shoulder and from the trembling of her slender body, Orophin knew that the weapon had been poisoned.

“Lady Celebrain,” he murmured as he held her in his arms. The Lady shuddered at the wave of anguish. Her cracked lips moved as if to say something.

“Annariel!” she whispered upon and and and her eyes closed as she succumbed to darkness.

*Legolas*

He saw it all. It was something that would haunt him until the day he died. But he saw it all. He saw his mother running to him. He saw how the Orcs had turned to the direction of her screams.

“Nay! Not him!” she had cried out. Running towards him. Running to protect him. Even when she knew that it was hopeless. The Orcs barred her way, clearly taking pleasure at the pain that was unmistakably heard in his mother’s voice. They laughed and spoke in their foul tongue, mocking the Lady before them, her eyes wild and her face and hands scratched as she brushed past trees in her haste to get to his side.

“Nana, no!” Little Elf cried out. “Go! Run away!”

But Nana stayed.

One of the Orc grabbed her fair hair. The pain brought her to her knees, but still her hands stretched out for Legolas.

Little Elf tried to run to his mother but cruel hands held him back. He thrashed around, desperate to get to N eye eyes widening in horror as his mother cried out when a fist smashed across her face. But her eyes continued to fix themselves upon her son.

“Little Elf… Little Elf,” she murmured, her hands clawing against the earth as she tried to crawl towards her son. But a foot upon her back prevented her from moving. She pressed her head against the ground; defeated.

The Orc drew out his dagger.

Legolas screamed…

*Haldir*

The enemies were retreating.

Although several of the Elves had died defending the King and the lady, victory was near. He withdrew his knife from the chest of the creature and disgustedly wiped it against the grass.

And then he heard it. A scream. It was high and had an unnatural quality to it. It was a scream of anguish and anger. And it sounded close. Too close.

“Legolas!” he cried out and ran towards the sound. He ran wildly through the trees and as he reached a clearing, he stopped as he looked at the sight before him.

A dagger was raised.

And it was brought down, sinking into fair, Elven flesh.

Screams. They were loud. Painful. Terrible. No words could possibly describe it. Screams coming from Legolas. Screams coming from his mother.

Haldir roared his rage. His sword was raised as he lunged towards the loathed creature, beheading it instantly.

There were ten of them left. One was holding onto Legolas while the other nine encircled him. Haldir fought like he was possessed. He was not aware of another figure joining him but one by one the enemy were felled. A lone arrow whizzed through the air, catching the Orc who held Legolas captive in the head. It fell down, dead, and Legolas scrambled on all fours towards his mother.

“Nana! No! Please… no!” he cried out, crawling towards the limp and wounded figure.

“Little Elf,” came the soft reply and Legolas cradled her head on his lap, crying and calling out her name.

“Nana… please… no!” he said over and over, rocking to and fro as he buried his face into her bloodstained hair.

“Take him away,” said a voice. Haldir turned towards the King, a look of disbelief upon his face.

“You cannot deny him this, my lord!” he said, his voice laced with anger.

“He is still in danger! Take him away!” Thranduil gritted out.

“Hurry!” the King said, as he heard approaching footsteps of the Orcs in their direction. Haldir had no choice but to obey. He moved to Legolas and tried to pry him away from his mother. It was heart-wrenching. Legolas’ renewed cries of protest were like knives being twisted in Haldir’s heart. But there was little he could do. Orcs continued to approach them from all around them. They were near. Too near. And so, Haldir continued to try to take Legolas away from Annariel.

“Nana! No… Haldir… please, no!” he screamed, tears flowing from his eyes, washing away his mother’s blood from his face. He struggled. He cried. He clasped his mother tightly to his heart, his head pressing against hers. But Haldir did not let him go, and dragged him away, tossing him over his shoulder.

More noises of Orcs and Elves engaging in a battle were coming towards them. Legolas was still screaming, wanting to go to his mother. But Haldir carried him away, ignoring the Elf’s pleas and tears.

“Haldir! Please… Nana!”

Annariel’s arms were stretched out towards the direction her son.

“Little Elf,” she wept, her eyes closing as if she was growing weary.

“Go! Take him to Rivendell!” Thranduil roared and Haldir balked for a moment before sprinting away just as several Orcs appeared amongst the shadows, racing towards their direction. The Elves of Mirkwood fought hard to keep the enemy back from their King. And as Haldir raced away, Thranduil could still hear his son’s cries, reverberating in the night; and it continued to echo in that empty space of his chest that he called his heart.

“Little ” An” Annariel said again, as Thranduil knelt next to her. Carefully, he laid her head upon his lap and held her cold hands.

“Hush, now. He is safe,” he said, his chest tight with sorrow as a hand moved to stroke her pale face and her hair. He cradled her to his chest, pressinssessses upon her forehead, her blood soaking into his clothes.

The battle continued around them, but it paled in comparison to the battle that the King had within his heart as he stared down at the beaten and broken figure in his arms.

Annariel cried, her hot tears seeming to burn into the Elven-Lord’s skin. Regret was a harsh reality. And it was painful. It was something he had lived with all his life. But tonight, the regret seemed even more difficult to bear. Annariel continued to call out for her son, her hand fumbling in her pocket for her treasure.

Thranduil helped her and their hands entwined together as they clasped the leaf to their hearts. Her lips parted as if to say something. But she was too weak, and she coughed with her effort, blood trickling out of the corners of her mouth,

“Little Elf,” she said again, her bloody hands clutching into the folds of the King’s tunic.

“He is safe,” he repeated once more, his voice cracking with sorrow. “Our son is safe.”

Annariel gave a small, tremulous smile despite her pain, her chest heaving with her last few breaths.

“Our son,” she murmured, and as she thought of how wonderful the words sounded upon her lips, her eyes closed. She never opened them again.

And the King did what he had never done before.

He cried.

And all the time, it seemed that he could hear Legolas’ voice resounding deep in the caverns of his mind and his heart.

“Nana! Please…no!”

To be continued…