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b2mem2015-03-29 12:42 am
fadesintothewest) wrote in b2mem2015-03-29 12:42 am
Forest Paths
B2MeM Challenge: Forest Paths (prompt by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_winterwitch)
Format: Short Story
Genre: General
Rating: All
Warnings: Only a slight sense of dread
Characters: Elrohir, Thranduil
Creators' Notes (optional): Thranduil's a good guy!
Summary: Elrohir has a message for Thranduil and so he travels into Mirkwood hoping his path through the forest opens up to him.
Forest Paths
Elrohir was tired of walking beneath the darkness of the old forest that both withstood the darkness and wedded some of the shadow to its roots: a strange symbiosis of survival. Silently he cursed himself for months earlier agreeing to carry his father’s missive to Thranduil. Long had either people freely visited one another, though the paths were now too dangerous between Rivendell and the Woodland Realm. Elrohir had never met the Woodland King, being away in Lothlorien on the occasion that Thranduil had been in Rivendell. Indeed little did the Lords of each region visit for there was the Battle of Dagorlad and elven hurts are long to heal.
Elrohir carried an important message to Thranduil. Though his father did not say, Elrohir sensed the message was about the seed of distrust growing in Elrond. Of course, if there were truth to that shadow Thranduil, living in the midst of such shadowy lands, would certainly know the truth of it. The content of the message increasingly weighed heavy on Elrohir, growing like a tree within him, threatening to break out. It was a strange thing indeed. Somehow the words etched onto paper were growing with power, so much so Elrohir dared not touch the parchment folded away in his breast pocket. But it weighed and snaked its way into his heart.
Elrohir trudged on. Soon, he thought to himself, soon he would feel the eyes of the woodland trackers on his back. They had not yet made themselves known to him, but he suspected they were in range, using their strange, fey woodcraft to keep him at the edge of their senses. Elrohir had so lost himself to his dark mood he failed to see the path open up far ahead of him. Maybe if he had held his head high and cast his eyes forward he would have seen the light. But his dark moods were drawing him down and within, the darkness snaking its tendrils around him, trailing its fingers across the missive.
Suddenly the sound of an eagle sounded above piercing the dark canopy of the trees. Elrohir sucked his breath in, as if remembering to breathe. The eagle’s cry sounded again, clear and strong. Elrohir instinctually looked in the direction of the sound, allowing his eyes to fall upon the beacon of light that filtered onto the deer path Elrohir was following. As Elrohir drew closer, the trees grew sparser, allowing the soft light of the sun touch the earth here and there. He found himself able to breathe without struggle, to stretch, to let his long legs reach out in front of him. Elrohir hastened towards the widened path he saw ahead, gleaming under the sun. Finally a path that would take him to Thranduil’s keep, though Elrohir knew this path opened up only for him. He’d heard the tales of the Wood magic, how messengers who ventured into Thranduil’s kingdom would have to venture in on a sort of faith, since all paths, except the Old Forest Road or the tended paths near the cavernous halls, were hidden and would only open if the Wood Elves so desired.
Elrohir’s shoulder’s relaxed. A small smile appeared on his fair face. He was now under the protection of the Wood. Elrohir sensed the moment he crossed the threshold of green magic and into the opening of the wider path. The hues of green were vibrant, dancing as the beams of sunlight wound their way through branch and leaf. The bright clean scent of evergreens filled the path. Yet there was also a shimmering quality to his surroundings. Elrohir felt he had fallen into an illusion so potent was the Green power that washed over him, but he could see, hear, smell, and feel the forest about him. And yet it too, Elrohir realized, was studying him.
“Welcome, son of Elrond,” a voice materialized from the branches. Elrohir’s feet froze, his head whipping about trying to find the source of the voice that seemed to materialize from all around him. The voice sounded again, this time simply laughter. Elrohir circled the area he found himself in, looking for the voice. “I thank thee for thy welcome,” Elrohir replied. “Though more welcome would I feel if I could see thee?” Elrohir added more cautiously.
A figure stepped out from a dark green wall of evergreens. “Is my welcome now more courteous son of the Noldor?”
Elrohir gasped, stepping back. There before him was Thranduil, the Woodland King, but he was unlike any elf. Living green things wrapped themselves around the King so it seemed he needed no jewelry save the flowering vines that wrapped around his arms and torso. Upon his head was a dried crown of branches in the shape of antlers. His was naked save for the swirling markings that ran the length of his chest and down his legs and a simple wrapped linen loincloth.
“Courtesy, Son of the Noldor?” Thranduil repeated with a hint of amusement.
“Oh my,” Elrohir muttered as he dropped obeisantly to a single knee. “Greetings King Thranduil,” Elrohir sputtered, forgetting his words and manners.
Thranduil touched Elrohir’s shoulder indicating he rise. “And what do I owe the honor of your presence in my Wood, Elrondion?” Thranduil continued, his eyes searching Elrond’s son’s.
“Forgive me, King of the Wood, I forget my own courtesy,” Elrohir answered, gathering his wits. Yet another story to add to the odd tales that were told of Mirkwood in Imladris. Elrohir tried not to stare too long into the green of Thranduil’s eyes, a strange green, unlike any elf.
Thranduil laughed again. It was a warm, breezy laugh that melted into the green around them. “It is the Wood you see in my eyes, son of Elrond, but pray do tell what brings you to my Realm for I have felt you coming, and the weight of it traveled to me in my keep bringing me to these paths to seek you out.” Thranduil’s whimsy gave way to a weighty seriousness.
Elrohir no longer hesitated. “I bring you a missive from my Lord and Father, Elrond, King Thranduil. He seeks your counsel on a matter.”
“I know,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes looking beyond Elrohir towards the south. Gathering himself, Thranduil focused his sight on Elrohir once more. “Come, Lord Elrohir, make haste and we shall be safe in the Keep before the sun falls. We must not speak more of this matter or the Shadow will fight to break the enchantment.” Thranduil paused as he said this, turning to look at the dark path Elrohir had left. “My magic is aided by no other power than by my will to commune with the Wood. It is finite.” At this, Thranduil turned and walked North towards his keep.
As they walked in silence, Thranduil paused to pick up a tunic discarded on the path. Without a word he slipped it on. Elrohir noticed that the green things that grew on Thranduil, around him, were slowly melting away as if into the colorful markings on Thranduil’s body-another queer occurrence to add to Elrohir’s tale upon his return to Imladris. Further up the path, Thranduil located his breeches, slipping them on. They continued thusly, finding his stockings, and finally his boots. The living green things were now gone, save the wooded crown of antlers. Thranduil said not a word to explain his odd behavior and Elrohir pretended not to be curious.
As Thranduil adjusted his clothing, he turned to look at Elrohir, a bit of the whimsy back. “Now what tales will Lord Elrohir tell his People: that the strange king of the Wood disrobes as he strolls in his Forest?”
“Of course not, Aran,” Elrohir protested, though Thranduil was correct in his assessment.
Thranduil slowed to walk next to Elrohir, his eyes cast ahead. The strange, bright green hue was gone, revealing the blue of Thranduil’s eyes. Elrohir dared keep his eyes upon Thranduil for a moment longer, sensing that Thranduil did not mind and was indeed used to being observed.
“You were under assault my young Lord,” Thranduil admitted, his own eyes turning to study the grey ones of his Noldorin companion. “The shadow was seeking to undo you,” Thranduil revealed, his eyes turning back to look towards the forest path now far behind. Elrohir too cast his gaze back towards their moment of greeting. He shivered remembering the darkness that was snaking its way into his heart, choking him.
“You see,” Thranduil continued, “I had to run to your aid and call the magic of the Forest into Being quite without warning. And to do this, I cannot be hindered,” Thranduil intimated, smoothing his tunic.
The only sign of the strange runes and markings were visible on Thranduil’s left hand. Elrohir watched this hand closely as Thranduil smoothed his tunic.
Seeing Elrohir look curiously upon the markings on his hand, Thranduil remarked, “Courtesy and curiosity and not always easy companions.” Though he gently rebuffed Elrohir’s curiosity, Thranduil wore a grin and his eyes sparkled with merriment.
Elrohir had the courtesy to blush, this time. “Of course, Aran,” Elrohir spoke quietly trying to keep his head down, but he could not help but look back up to Thranduil’s face and there find a wry grin and a wink gifted to him. Elrohir felt like a silly youth, but did not fight the smile that graced his own face.
“Now tell me Peredhel, what tales will you share with your Noldorin kinfolk? What strange and fantastic stories will you weave for them?”
Elrohir laughed quietly. He quite liked Thranduil. He was nothing like he had heard, but then again, that was the point Thranduil was making. “I will tell them how I came upon a Fey Sprite upon a forest path that appeared out of nowhere leading me to strange places.”
“That is a tale I would love to hear!” Thranduil replied, as the two continued to walk through a forest path that soon would cross the great Forest River.
Elrohir touched his hand to his heart, feeling the parchment folded beneath. This time, he felt the sure hand of his father, warm and sunny, like a breeze weaving through a field of wildflowers. He would indeed have a great story to tell.
The End
the_winterwitch)Format: Short Story
Genre: General
Rating: All
Warnings: Only a slight sense of dread
Characters: Elrohir, Thranduil
Creators' Notes (optional): Thranduil's a good guy!
Summary: Elrohir has a message for Thranduil and so he travels into Mirkwood hoping his path through the forest opens up to him.
Forest Paths
Elrohir was tired of walking beneath the darkness of the old forest that both withstood the darkness and wedded some of the shadow to its roots: a strange symbiosis of survival. Silently he cursed himself for months earlier agreeing to carry his father’s missive to Thranduil. Long had either people freely visited one another, though the paths were now too dangerous between Rivendell and the Woodland Realm. Elrohir had never met the Woodland King, being away in Lothlorien on the occasion that Thranduil had been in Rivendell. Indeed little did the Lords of each region visit for there was the Battle of Dagorlad and elven hurts are long to heal.
Elrohir carried an important message to Thranduil. Though his father did not say, Elrohir sensed the message was about the seed of distrust growing in Elrond. Of course, if there were truth to that shadow Thranduil, living in the midst of such shadowy lands, would certainly know the truth of it. The content of the message increasingly weighed heavy on Elrohir, growing like a tree within him, threatening to break out. It was a strange thing indeed. Somehow the words etched onto paper were growing with power, so much so Elrohir dared not touch the parchment folded away in his breast pocket. But it weighed and snaked its way into his heart.
Elrohir trudged on. Soon, he thought to himself, soon he would feel the eyes of the woodland trackers on his back. They had not yet made themselves known to him, but he suspected they were in range, using their strange, fey woodcraft to keep him at the edge of their senses. Elrohir had so lost himself to his dark mood he failed to see the path open up far ahead of him. Maybe if he had held his head high and cast his eyes forward he would have seen the light. But his dark moods were drawing him down and within, the darkness snaking its tendrils around him, trailing its fingers across the missive.
Suddenly the sound of an eagle sounded above piercing the dark canopy of the trees. Elrohir sucked his breath in, as if remembering to breathe. The eagle’s cry sounded again, clear and strong. Elrohir instinctually looked in the direction of the sound, allowing his eyes to fall upon the beacon of light that filtered onto the deer path Elrohir was following. As Elrohir drew closer, the trees grew sparser, allowing the soft light of the sun touch the earth here and there. He found himself able to breathe without struggle, to stretch, to let his long legs reach out in front of him. Elrohir hastened towards the widened path he saw ahead, gleaming under the sun. Finally a path that would take him to Thranduil’s keep, though Elrohir knew this path opened up only for him. He’d heard the tales of the Wood magic, how messengers who ventured into Thranduil’s kingdom would have to venture in on a sort of faith, since all paths, except the Old Forest Road or the tended paths near the cavernous halls, were hidden and would only open if the Wood Elves so desired.
Elrohir’s shoulder’s relaxed. A small smile appeared on his fair face. He was now under the protection of the Wood. Elrohir sensed the moment he crossed the threshold of green magic and into the opening of the wider path. The hues of green were vibrant, dancing as the beams of sunlight wound their way through branch and leaf. The bright clean scent of evergreens filled the path. Yet there was also a shimmering quality to his surroundings. Elrohir felt he had fallen into an illusion so potent was the Green power that washed over him, but he could see, hear, smell, and feel the forest about him. And yet it too, Elrohir realized, was studying him.
“Welcome, son of Elrond,” a voice materialized from the branches. Elrohir’s feet froze, his head whipping about trying to find the source of the voice that seemed to materialize from all around him. The voice sounded again, this time simply laughter. Elrohir circled the area he found himself in, looking for the voice. “I thank thee for thy welcome,” Elrohir replied. “Though more welcome would I feel if I could see thee?” Elrohir added more cautiously.
A figure stepped out from a dark green wall of evergreens. “Is my welcome now more courteous son of the Noldor?”
Elrohir gasped, stepping back. There before him was Thranduil, the Woodland King, but he was unlike any elf. Living green things wrapped themselves around the King so it seemed he needed no jewelry save the flowering vines that wrapped around his arms and torso. Upon his head was a dried crown of branches in the shape of antlers. His was naked save for the swirling markings that ran the length of his chest and down his legs and a simple wrapped linen loincloth.
“Courtesy, Son of the Noldor?” Thranduil repeated with a hint of amusement.
“Oh my,” Elrohir muttered as he dropped obeisantly to a single knee. “Greetings King Thranduil,” Elrohir sputtered, forgetting his words and manners.
Thranduil touched Elrohir’s shoulder indicating he rise. “And what do I owe the honor of your presence in my Wood, Elrondion?” Thranduil continued, his eyes searching Elrond’s son’s.
“Forgive me, King of the Wood, I forget my own courtesy,” Elrohir answered, gathering his wits. Yet another story to add to the odd tales that were told of Mirkwood in Imladris. Elrohir tried not to stare too long into the green of Thranduil’s eyes, a strange green, unlike any elf.
Thranduil laughed again. It was a warm, breezy laugh that melted into the green around them. “It is the Wood you see in my eyes, son of Elrond, but pray do tell what brings you to my Realm for I have felt you coming, and the weight of it traveled to me in my keep bringing me to these paths to seek you out.” Thranduil’s whimsy gave way to a weighty seriousness.
Elrohir no longer hesitated. “I bring you a missive from my Lord and Father, Elrond, King Thranduil. He seeks your counsel on a matter.”
“I know,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes looking beyond Elrohir towards the south. Gathering himself, Thranduil focused his sight on Elrohir once more. “Come, Lord Elrohir, make haste and we shall be safe in the Keep before the sun falls. We must not speak more of this matter or the Shadow will fight to break the enchantment.” Thranduil paused as he said this, turning to look at the dark path Elrohir had left. “My magic is aided by no other power than by my will to commune with the Wood. It is finite.” At this, Thranduil turned and walked North towards his keep.
As they walked in silence, Thranduil paused to pick up a tunic discarded on the path. Without a word he slipped it on. Elrohir noticed that the green things that grew on Thranduil, around him, were slowly melting away as if into the colorful markings on Thranduil’s body-another queer occurrence to add to Elrohir’s tale upon his return to Imladris. Further up the path, Thranduil located his breeches, slipping them on. They continued thusly, finding his stockings, and finally his boots. The living green things were now gone, save the wooded crown of antlers. Thranduil said not a word to explain his odd behavior and Elrohir pretended not to be curious.
As Thranduil adjusted his clothing, he turned to look at Elrohir, a bit of the whimsy back. “Now what tales will Lord Elrohir tell his People: that the strange king of the Wood disrobes as he strolls in his Forest?”
“Of course not, Aran,” Elrohir protested, though Thranduil was correct in his assessment.
Thranduil slowed to walk next to Elrohir, his eyes cast ahead. The strange, bright green hue was gone, revealing the blue of Thranduil’s eyes. Elrohir dared keep his eyes upon Thranduil for a moment longer, sensing that Thranduil did not mind and was indeed used to being observed.
“You were under assault my young Lord,” Thranduil admitted, his own eyes turning to study the grey ones of his Noldorin companion. “The shadow was seeking to undo you,” Thranduil revealed, his eyes turning back to look towards the forest path now far behind. Elrohir too cast his gaze back towards their moment of greeting. He shivered remembering the darkness that was snaking its way into his heart, choking him.
“You see,” Thranduil continued, “I had to run to your aid and call the magic of the Forest into Being quite without warning. And to do this, I cannot be hindered,” Thranduil intimated, smoothing his tunic.
The only sign of the strange runes and markings were visible on Thranduil’s left hand. Elrohir watched this hand closely as Thranduil smoothed his tunic.
Seeing Elrohir look curiously upon the markings on his hand, Thranduil remarked, “Courtesy and curiosity and not always easy companions.” Though he gently rebuffed Elrohir’s curiosity, Thranduil wore a grin and his eyes sparkled with merriment.
Elrohir had the courtesy to blush, this time. “Of course, Aran,” Elrohir spoke quietly trying to keep his head down, but he could not help but look back up to Thranduil’s face and there find a wry grin and a wink gifted to him. Elrohir felt like a silly youth, but did not fight the smile that graced his own face.
“Now tell me Peredhel, what tales will you share with your Noldorin kinfolk? What strange and fantastic stories will you weave for them?”
Elrohir laughed quietly. He quite liked Thranduil. He was nothing like he had heard, but then again, that was the point Thranduil was making. “I will tell them how I came upon a Fey Sprite upon a forest path that appeared out of nowhere leading me to strange places.”
“That is a tale I would love to hear!” Thranduil replied, as the two continued to walk through a forest path that soon would cross the great Forest River.
Elrohir touched his hand to his heart, feeling the parchment folded beneath. This time, he felt the sure hand of his father, warm and sunny, like a breeze weaving through a field of wildflowers. He would indeed have a great story to tell.
The End
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Would you like a banner with the image?
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Thankss!
Fades
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It's integrated very well--your interpretation of the "native" Elves is always interesting!
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