A/N: So it has all actually started with one scene (which will appear in one of the later chapters) and then other things happened (like Lee Pace with his pretty face). I admit that my knowledge of Tolkien's world is quite limited, because I've last read LOTR trilogy and The Hobbit years ago. I don't remember everything, but I can assure that I am thoughtfully researching everything I want to include in this story to make sure I won't butcher this. I'm actually really nervous, because it's my first dive into the world of Tolkien-inspired fanfiction and it's not easy to get it right.

That being said, I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. For all it's worth I actually feel very strongly about the plot and my OCs, which admittedly doesn't happen every day.

There should be a chapter out at least twice a month, but if time allows me I will publish more frequently. Also, the translations for the actual Elvish words/phrases will always appear at the end of the chapter.

Have a nice read and when you're done, don't hesitate to favourite and review! Also, if you see any mistakes (grammar, spelling, content, etc.), please PM them to me so I can correct them (I don't particularly like having a beta reader, but I do appreciate help when it's needed).

Please don't eat me! ;)

INTO THE WOODS

"Nothing in this world happens without a reason. That we are all exactly where we are supposed to be, and that the pieces of the puzzle have a tendency to come together when you least expect it."
–Jane Green

PROLOGUE

The air was damp and hazy with milky-white fog that has settled upon the lake like it tended to in the early hours of every morning. Though it was thick enough as to completely obscure the western shore of the Long Lake, the boat was close enough to Esgaroth and so its outline was visible, if only barely.

A sigh escaped her lips as her eyes stayed on what would disappear from her sight in a mere moment.

She had spend two months travelling to this very destination, hired by an older man, a scholar from Gondor, who longed to see the wonders of the world in his late years and who she had stumbled upon in one of the many cities of Rohan. He had been asking around for weeks, trying to find a guide that could help him pass the foreboding forests of what common people referred to as Mirkwood now. Though she had thought it rather unwise to attempt such a journey, she at least could safely say he was no fool, because, had he tried to brave the woods on his own, he would have perished within a few days time. He wasn't much of a warrior nor a traveller by any means. His skills, as she had learned very quickly, laid only in teachings of arts, history, and literature, but he was still a good companion. Although there were centuries in age between them, she felt like after spending so much time in the man's presence, she has learnt something, which wasn't an everyday occurrence.

Turning around in her seat, her eyes moved in the direction of the shore, where the Long Lake met with the Forest River. It was still hidden from sight, but since she could no longer see even a glimpse of Lake-town, it was much more useful to look where the boat was taking her rather than dwell into what has already passed.

The scholar had extended an invitation to visit him in his homeland, since he planned to return there in the upcoming months, but she highly doubted she would see him again. She had always thought it stupid to befriend mortals, for their lives were short and it only ever brought pain to those who would continue to live on after their passing.

Besides, there were still places in Middle Earth she haven't seen during her frequent travels and she planned to do so after paying Lord Elrond a short visit. She needed a moment of rest, but the lands over the Misty Mountains were beckoning her and she didn't plan to dwell in Rivendell for longer than necessary, though she suspected it wouldn't be the easiest feat for her to leave, as per usual. She wasn't a fair maiden who could spend years broidering away to pass her time and so the halls of Lord Elrond's house held little interest to her, but they were the only home she has ever known and every time she came back, she stayed for a bit longer. Homesickness wasn't just Men's malady after all.

In the times of peace there was no place for a she-warrior , because there were no armies that required her help. Idle hands suited her ill, so she has taken to work here and there for small payments. Being a guide provided her with the best income of them all, but she had also helped during many a harvest, healed the sick and wounded, and taught others how to fight.

The boat jostled to a sudden stop as it reached the wooden deck. She gathered her belongings – a sizeable bag, a bow and a quiver with arrows – and bid the rower farewell, jumping onto the deck with practised ease. He only waved at her dismissively, already pushing his boat away and on his merry way back home.

Long used to the strange ways of Men, she paid him no mind and proceeded onto the path, which would hopefully allow her to pass through Mirkwood undisturbed as she had done previously not so long ago. Back then she had decided to keep to the borders and stay away from both the open lands and the deep woods. There was darkness lurking in those places which she did not wish to disturb, but it was only part of the reason for the unusual approach she has taken to her many travels through this very forest.

Although not a threat to the Kingdom of the Wood Elves, she was not a welcomed guest either. Lord Elrond had warned her many times to avoid any dealings with elves of these lands if she could help it. They were not accustomed to strangers. Trespassing and being caught doing so could very easily get her killed, and she had no wish to die yet.

She dared one last look over her shoulder, trying to memorize the view of the Lonely Mountain, which appeared suspended in the air with the fog still obscuring the lands below with its thickness.

Then she turned back to the path and continued onwards, moving like the wind – quietly and with without hesitation

-o-o-o-

Days moved by in silence as she travelled.

Along its eastern border the forest was still bustling with life. The trees were healthy here, their branches full with colourful leaves and some bending under the unyielding weight of fruits. When she looked close enough, she was able to see the spirits of the woods. They were like little bursts of light and quite playful, floating around her head and tugging at her hair. At the end of summer, they were already taking into the colours of the season, flickering about it various shades of red and orange.

Autumn was fast approaching and she could only be grateful that the nights were still those of summer, warm and light, since they made her journey much easier. As she laid down to rest when the sun hid behind the tightly-woven branches, the fae hid in the nooks of the trees to replenish their strength as well, only to awake once again in the morning and continue in their sprightly ways. She knew they would go into the winter sleep soon.

Would they be given a chance to come to life in spring once again or were they doomed to disappear one after the other with the passing of seasons like other magical beings before them?

She didn't want to know.

In the previous years she had braved Mirkwood in later months when the trees were bare of bloom and the air freezing cold, and she would probably never do it again. It was painful to witness what was already happening to it – how it was slowly withering away, consumed by sickness – but at least during summer and spring one could easily pretend that nothing was wrong. She was not a type to lie to herself, though it didn't change the fact that there was something lurking in the shadows, almost ready to bring back the hardships of war.

Being who she was, no one was willing to listen and consider her words. She had on multiple occasions attempted to warn Lord Elrond of what she had seen and felt during her travels, but he remained stubbornly deaf to her words. It was not for his lack of faith in her, though it mattered little in the end. He was afraid of what laid behind her tales and, if he decided to acknowledge that there was something to worry about indeed, it would mean that his sacrifices for peace during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men were, in the end, for naught.

A sudden movement nearby startled her. She packed her midday meal in haste and put it away into her bag. She then scalded the nearest tree, hiding in the foliage, high enough so that no one would be able to see her. Her fingers flexed against the hilt of one of the many throwing knives as she strained her ears to learn more about the approaching party.

It was not a sound which altered her, but a smell so foul, it made her gag, and it was getting more intense by second.

"Rutting flesh would surely smell nicer", she thought.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, she waited and her patience was soon rewarded when orcs, clad in heavy armour and carrying bulky swords, moved swiftly underneath her. They didn't notice her and she was grateful for it. Fighting against what looked like an entire battalion wasn't something she wished to do. Although her skills in combat were sufficient, since she had been training from an early age, she knew only death awaited those foolish enough to look for trouble.

When the last of the orcs were a safe distance away, she slowly lowered herself back to the soft forest soil. She waited for a short while, crouching between the trees, and then moved along, following the same path she had been for the last few days. Fear gripped her heart and there were no good spirits around anymore to make it go away. She would be safer there, as far from them as possible. Since the orcs had been marching to the north-west, she was fairly sure they wouldn't meet again.

"Iuitho vegyl lîn!"

Her eyes widened in shock when she heard the words, spoken loud enough for her to hear them clearly. The voice she had heard wasn't ragged and wheezy, like those of Orcs, but rather melodic and smooth. The phrase itself was Sindarin and she understood it well.

Draw your swords!

It was a calling to arms for unprepared warriors.

She stood stock-still, frozen in place by shock, looking in the direction where the troops she had encountered only moments ago had been marching. Her heart was beating frantically against her chest as she surveyed her surroundings, half-expecting an attack at any given moment.

There were elves out there, in the path of those rotten beasts. They would be attacked soon enough and slain like animals. In her mind she could see their bodies laying on the ground with their poor souls hovering over them like ghosts. The thought alone made her nauseous.

"Gurth gothrim lye!"

Another battle cry echoed through the woods.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for her knives. She unsheathed them quickly and broke into a run in the direction from which the voice had come from. It didn't take her long to arrive at what could only be describe as a battlefield.

Metal clashed against metal in a cacophony of deafening sounds. An arrow whistled past the right side of her face, hitting one of the orcs in-between the eyes.

She ducked, in the last second avoiding a sword and then jumped onto the back of her opponent, bringing him death with one sure flick of her wrist. Another charged at her, but she managed to cut his throat open before he even had a chance to rise his weapon. For a short while she fought in close combat, both throwing the knives at the heads of those orcs who didn't have helmets and simply slashing throats as she went.

There was more of them than she had initially thought and it was clear the elves were at a disadvantage. Their light gear, suited for travel more than battle, gave almost no protection. While they were armed, it was clear they weren't expecting an ambush. The fact that most of them were sitting atop either horses or deer was one of not so many saving graces. She suspected they were simply on their way somewhere when the orcs appeared seemingly out of nowhere, attracted by the smell of elves.

She sheathed her knives and took a hold of the bow. In one fluid movement, she nocked an arrow and fired it into the skull of an orc who was half a breath away from decapitating an elf whose back has been turned. Arrow after arrow, blow after blow, she moved back and forth, bringing death to those who crossed her path and threatened the safety of elves. Her arms grew weary and tired, but she struck with precision and unwavering determination, praying to whoever was willing to listen to give her just a bit more strength, so she could survive it. There were moments when she almost gave up – when a sword had almost touched her nape or an Orcish bolt missed her by a hair's breadth – but her will to survive was simply too great.

A sigh of relief escaped her when she noticed that they were finally gaining some vantage.

This split second of inattention would have been her last if she didn't turn around just in time. Pulling a knife out of its sheath, she somehow managed to cut the orc from ear to ear, almost beheading him in the process. Hot dark blood hit the side of her face and made her shudder.

"A lack of head would certainly improve their appearance," she murmured under her breath.

Jumping to the side, she pushed herself against a tree trunk and delivered a deadly blow to another orc, burying her knife in the back of its thick neck. It grunted and fell onto the ground. She landed on its back with grace and immediately dived to the side, and then rolled over, coming to her feet once more. The orc who had attacked her this time had his sword stuck in his kinsmen's armour. Instead of abandoning it and trying to kill her, he was pulling at it. Her head moved to the side. She briefly marvelled at the sheer stupidity of those creatures.

An ellon riding a fine stag cut the orc's head clear off before she had time to ponder over the matter any further or kill him herself.

They looked at each other and she was momentary stunned by the shade of his eyes. She has never seen a blue so luminous before in her life. Even in the dim light of the deep forest, she could see them clearly. His gaze was frigid cold and scalding hot at the same time, and it made her shudder.

A whistle pierced the air and a bolt sank into the side of the stag. It neighed loudly, trotting in place of a short while, and then it fell onto the ground with one last pained sound. The ellon was on his feet and fighting even before the animal was truly down, which was an admirable feat. He was tall – taller than most ellyn she had ever encountered – and broad in shoulders, and yet he moved with such agility that he looked more like a skilled dancer than a warrior.

Distracted once again, she swallowed down a curse as she side-stepped another orc. Where they crawling from the soil now? They were too loud to sneak upon anyone, but they seemed to catch her off guard with disheartening ease. Peaceful journeys apparently had a tendency to leave her less alert than was wise.

She turned to the side just in time to avoid another blow. This fight was becoming rather tedious in her opinion. Moving back a bit, she then threw the knife, hitting her target in the eye. He staggered back a few steps before falling to the ground, already dead. Taking a hold of her knife, she pulled it out. Thankfully the eyeball stayed within the orc's head.

A telltale sound of a swordfight made her look to her right where the ellon with those enchanting pale blue eyes was fighting with one of the sturdiest orcs she had seen thus far. She didn't have time to warn him of another one approaching, but he still somehow managed to turn and kill him before the creature could even blink.

It was a wrong move. When he turned back, he was a second too late. The enormous glamhoth had knocked the sword out of the elf's hands and then raised his own blade. She was already halfway there when he brought it down and slashed it across the ellon's chest. Fear gripped at her heart as she saw the elf stagger backwards, holding his gloved hands to the wound, and then her fury almost blinded her as she launched herself at the orc with a cry of rage so animalistic she could hardly believe it came out of her mouth. Armed with her knife, she held his head back firmly and swipped the blade across his throat with as much strength as she could muster. The orc gurgled and then fell forward. She landed on its back in a low crouch, breathing laboriously through her nose.

Her eyes sought out the injured elf. She watched as he collapsed against a tree, his fingers digging into the front of his dark silver tunic in a futile attempted to stop the bleeding.

She dared a glance around. When she confirmed that they would be left in peace for now, she approached him, holding her hands up to show him she meant no harm.

"Mae govannen, mellon en mellonamin." She put her right palm over her heart."Im Nemireth."

"Saesa… omentien… lle… Nemireth," he greeted her in-between gasps, pronouncing her name with some difficulty, as it was probably foreign to him. His breathing was laboured and wet, and it was obvious that he was in great pain.

"Do not worry. I will help you," she informed him as she kneeled at his side.

After laying her knife on the ground in front of her, she pulled his hands away so she could examine the wound. She inhaled sharply when she noticed how deep it was. Blood was oozing out of it in such quantities that she could hardly believe he was still alive. She cursed under her breath and pulled her bag onto her lap in haste. She reached inside and took out a linen tunic, which she then pressed onto the cut. He hissed in pain, but didn't complain, probably aware that she was not trying to deliberately hurt him. It was all she could do for now. A healer was needed to mend such a injury. Nemireth was good with healing magic, but she had no herbs with her. Even if she did, it needed to be closed with needle and thread, and to do it, she required help – namely someone to hold the ellon down while she worked.

"Mani naa essa en lle?" She asked to distract him.

"Thranduil," was his short response. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deeper breath, but it only resulted in a cough. Blood coloured his lips red.

"Don't do it. It will make it worse." She admonished him quietly. "Do you live here, in this forest?"

He didn't say anything this time. His eyes were still closed and spasms went through his body every now and then, as if he had a fever.

Listening closely to the sounds of battle, she took the time to truly look at him.

Although they were mated and grime with both dirt and blood, she could still see the golden colour of his hair and she suspected they were much paler than what she could see with so little light. His skin was flushed now, but it was probably just as fair as his hair. Long lashes cast shadows upon his high cheeks and his full dark brows were furrowed. His lips, marred with blood, were parted slightly as he breathed. Clad in fine fabrics and strangely withdraw, even on the brink of death and suffering greatly, he painted a rather peculiar picture of beauty and strong will.

There had been many, both Men and Elves, who had caught her eye before with their looks, but she had neither seen nor met someone as mesmerizing until now

Something touched her neck and she shuddered involuntary.

"Man cerig?"

She didn't dare to move even an inch. An angered elf was surely better than an orc, but still dangerous.

"I am trying to help. He was wounded and his injury still bleeds," she said hurriedly in Common Speech. "He requires the aid of a healer or he will die."

"Pedil edhellen?"

Nemireth bristled at the aggression in his voice, but responded all the same.

"Ná, pedin edhellen." Her voice shook slightly. "Im Nemireth. I mean no harm."

He withdrew his weapon and she almost cried in relief. The stress of the fight was slowly leaving her, which made her exhaustion rear its ugly head, but she was determined to not give into it yet.

"We have no healer with us." She heard worry and fear in his voice. It gripped her heart, making it hard to breath for a moment. "What can we do?"

"I can help, but I will need herbs and someone to assist me. I cannot do it alone."

She glanced at him and was not surprised to find him in the state of disarray. He looked frightened too, but his state of mind had nothing to do with the battle.

"He is your lord, is he not?" She asked and he nodded slowly. His wide eyes were looking at the wounded ellon with something akin to desperation, as if he wanted to will the injury away with his mind or take it onto himself.

"I will do what I can, but I promise nothing."

His eyes found hers.

He understood.

Translations:
Iuitho vegyl lîn – Draw you swords
Gurth gothrim lye – Death to our foes
Mae govannen, mellon en mellonamin – Well met, friend of my friend
Im Nemireth – I'm Nemireth
Saesa omentien lle, Nemireth – It is a pleasure to meet you, Nemireth
Mani naa essa en lle – What is your name
Man cerig – What are you doing
Pedil edhellen – Do you speak Elvish
Ná, pedin edhellen – Yes, I speak Elvish
ellon/ellyn – male elf/elves
glamhoth – orc