The Journey
Part: Prologue
Rating: Strong R
Pairing: Haldir/OFC
Characters: Just about every other elf that Tolkien created that's in the LoTR books and movies.
Warning: descriptions of wounds and sexual situations
Disclaimer: All known characters are owned by the great Tolkien, all others are of my own creation.
Beta(s): Marta, Novedhelion, and Vi
Timeline: 80 years before LoTR and extends to post RoTK events

Notes: I want to thank Marta, Zee, Mal, Kay, Suse, Phyllis, Vi, Novedhelion, Kika, Becky, Dorothy, and Rashida for their expertise. Without their input this story would not be what it is today.

Sindarian speach is shown with ""
Westron speach is show with ' '

This story follows the movieverse.

Summary: With no memory of a possible alliance with Mirkwood, an elleth, lone survivor of a devastating attack, is brought to Rivendell.

Prologue

"Are we going to stop at Imladris, herven?" Galedia asked her husband, Donathorn, as they journeyed east from the Grey Havens. The elleth was of average height and had long dark hair.

The elf that was addressed, Donathorn, seemed deep in thought before answering. "No, I would like to get as far as possible each day." But his real reason stemmed from pride. Master Elrond, Lord of Imladris, might have high Noldor blood, but he was not pure, and pure is what he had in mind when he started sending messages to Thranduil for a possible joining of their two houses. It never entered Donathorn's mind that all his careful planning could fall through. In his eyes the match was perfect. Sinda wed Sinda. Thranduil had never stated exactly who his queen was, but it was clear that she had been an elleth of high ranking. If Donathorn had known she was Sylvan, then everything would have been canceled, and his daughter head to Valinor, unwed. Though that was not his plan.

"Nanneth, why are we not stopping in Imladris?"

Galedia knew of her herven's prejudices and caught his glance before she answered her daughter. "Because your Adar does not wish it."

The young elleth, riding just behind them, noticed the stiffness of her mother's back, but did not question further.

Following a trail that had not been used in at least a millennia, their journey took them south of the valley that cradled the sanctuary of Imladris. Nearing the foothills of the Misty Mountains the unthinkable happened. The family traveled with the minimum number of servants and guards, Donathorn had thought it was enough. But it was not.

Narariand, Captain of the small contingency that had traveled with Donathorn, winced as he made himself sit up. He found himself staring into the open, vacant eyes, of the still form that had been his lord. Then he saw the blood-splattered bodies of the others. "No!" he moaned when his gaze came to rest on the young elleth lying under her mother. Galedia had tried to shield her child.

DEAD! His mind screamed at the devastating loss of his hervess, lord, lady, their daughter, and everyone else involved.

A rustling from the trees made him wonder if a second attack was imminent. Then he saw his horse. He whistled a bird call as loudly as he dared, and the animal trotted over to him and knelt down.

Narariand slowly lifted the supply pack that was attached to the saddle and opened it. Except for the long scratches on the side of his face, he had no visible wounds, though, he knew he had internal injuries. He took out a clean cloth and a water bag. His breath caught as the damp cloth touched his scarred face. Squeezing his eyes shut forced tears out of his eyes and down his face, while he tried to ward off the waves of nausea crashing over him.

When the nausea had mostly passed the horse gently butted his head and the captain eased into the saddle. "Take me to Thranduil; I know you will find the path," he whispered to the horse at the entrance to the pass that lead through the mountains.

As he slowly journeyed the pain in his heart increased as his own strength waned. Narariand found he had an increasing desire to close his eyes and sleep. He could not, would not fade until he delivered the message. Days and nights blended in together to the point that he did not know how long he had been traveling. His dry cough that started soon after the attack was increasing in intensity, so much so that for the last few days he was coughing up blood. Even in his much weakened state he would not stop. The only thing that kept him going now was his need to inform Thranduil of what happened. Which was when he heard voices he could barely rouse himself out of his stupor.

"He needs a healer," one of them spoke quietly in Sylvan. Sylvan? Am I in Mirkwood? "Where?" he started to ask with a weak, raspy voice.

"Mirkwood. Rest, weary traveler. We will get a healer to tend to your wounds."

"No," he answered. With his much weakened state his voice weary and soft. "It is too late." He turned grief-filled eyes to the elf. "I must speak to King Thranduil."

"I do not know if he will give you an audience."

"Then tell him that Donathorn's servant needs to speak to him. The matter is most urgent."

The warden humored Narariand, "I will do that."

They arrived fairly quickly at the courtyard of Thranduil's palace. Narariand was helped off his horse and into the healers area of the palace.

An hour later a grim-faced elf left the room. He found the warden that brought the wounded elf standing just outside.

"Captain, he is fading quickly. His only desire is to see the King. I know you normally do not do this, but do it this time."

The warden sighed while nodding, then headed towards the King's chambers. This was most unusual. "My Lord?" He bowed in respect to Thranduil when he found the monarch in his personal library.

"Yes, Captain?" the King's rather deep voice rumbled quietly. The sound was comforting, but underneath was of deadly strength. It was the voice of protection that could turn deadly if provoked.

"One of our patrols found a wounded traveler in our Wood. He is delirious and has continually asked for you since we brought him to the Hall for healing."

Thranduil turned to the fireplace. The flickering light cast odd shadows against the chiseled features of the elven monarch, while it made his hair look as if it were spun gold in the golden hue the flames produced.

"Did you find his name?" the answering voice sounded bored.

"No, my Lord." The captain paused while silently berating himself for that particular slip. "I do remember him saying something like 'Donathorn's servant'."

Thranduil turned, an odd glint in his eyes. "'Donathorn', you say?"

"Yes, Sire." The Captain was about to say something else, but Thranduil was already on his way out the door. "My Lord?"

Thranduil turned, "I do not fault you for not coming sooner. I told no one." Having said that, Thranduil turned on his heel again and walked away quickly, leaving his captain full of questions. Thranduil entered the healing chamber where the wounded traveler had been taken. He had a dark complexion to match his dark hair -- and his eyes were closed. It was not a good sign. His wounds had been bound, but he would not heal any more. The elf yearned for the release that would only come through fading, and it was now coming quickly.

With gentle strength he woke the soldier. The eyes that fluttered open were filled with the kind of grief that the King knew came only from severe emotional pain. Thranduil knew now for sure he was fading and would not last much longer. "I am Thranduil of Mirkwood." His voice was low, and full of kindness.

"I am Narariand," the elf whispered, his breathing labored. "They are all dead. Gone. No one will be coming." His raspy voice was barely audible. "I am sorry, my lord." As he spoke the words the light associated with their race died out of his eyes, and the gentle glow they were infused with, disappeared.

Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head while backing away from the bed.

"My Lord?"

"Have him remembered with honors,Morfilith." Thranduil turned to move out the door.

"Yes, my Lord. Do you know what he was speaking about?"

"Sadly enough, yes. I will explain later." Thranduil placed a hand on Morfilith's shoulder then left the room. When he reached the main hall he called to a servant, "Have Legolas meet me in my chambers."

"Yes, my Lord." The servant bowed then went to look for Thranduil's heir. "He is too young to have to bear something like this," the king finished softly to no one in particular.

Thranduil wearily went back to his chambers. He felt the weight of parenthood press heavily on his shoulders. He found himself standing before the fireplace again when Legolas entered the room.

"Adar?"

Thranduil knew there was regret on his face when he turned to look on his son. "Come, ion nin." He sat heavily on the couch.

"Thraldor said you wanted to speak to me. I asked him the reason why, but he evaded the question." Legolas sat down in a chair beside the couch.

"Because I did not tell him why I asked for you," Thranduil answered. "There is no easy way to say this, ion nin. I received word that Donathorn was on his way here, with his daughter. You know I will not force you into this, it is your choice."

Legolas nodded.

"Something happened, and Donathorn and his entire family have been lost. They are dead."

"Could the messenger have been lying?" Legolas shook his head not wanting to believe. He had looked forward to meeting his father's possible choice. They had just started to exchange letters and he had been charmed by her witty notes. A strange emptiness crept into his heart.

"Nay, Legolas. It was a guard." He continued when Legolas looked at him in question, "He faded before he could give me any details."

Legolas turned to look to the flickering fire losing himself in thought before deciding to speak again. "May I have your leave to go search out the site of the attack?"

Thranduil looked closely at Legolas for a moment. "On one condition," he started. "You must present yourself to Master Elrond for healing if you find it. If you do not do this on your own, then I order you as your king."

Legolas turned quickly to look at Thranduil. The older elf was not speaking in jest. "Fading is a serious matter, Legolas. Though you were not officially betrothed, you may feel her passing if you find where she died. I have your promise?"

The young elf finally nodded in assent. "Adar? Why did the guard come here? Why did he not go to Imladris for help? And why did Donathorn propose a union with Mirkwood? Elrond's realm is much closer to where he lived."

"Legolas, Imladris may be much closer to the Grey Havens, but you forget, Elrond's sons are not pure eldar. If they did not have any edain blood he would have gone there first. You, ion nin, are part Sylvan. He would not have come here either if he knew about that."

Legolas stood and turned towards the fire.

"When do you plan to depart?" Thranduil's voice came from behind the younger elf.

"As soon as I can sort everything out," Legolas spoke quietly.

Thranduil stood and placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Let me know before you leave," the king took his leave from his son. Legolas did need time to sort everything out emotionally and mentally.

The next morning Thranduil stepped out into the courtyard only to find Legolas tightening up the cinch that held the saddle in place on his horse. "Legolas," he stepped up and grasped the reins from a servant.

Legolas turned and acknowledged Thranduil standing close by, "Adar."

"Be careful, ion nin. Remember what we talked about yesterday."

Legolas closed his eyes then turned back to his horse, "I will, Adar." He made sure his bow was secure then mounted the high-spirited but docile animal.

Thranduil released the reigns allowing Legolas to give a slight tug on them to direct the animal out of the courtyard and into the forest of Mirkwood. Before being totally out of sight Legolas turned around to see his father still standing in the same spot, watching him. Turning back, Legolas spurred his horse into a faster pace and disappeared into the dense forest.

It took Legolas close to two weeks to cross the mountains, then another couple of days of trying to figure out which route would have been the most likely one the group had taken. Taking the northern route the Mirkwood prince worked his way north of Imladris. That way was seldom taken, and the trail heavily overgrown. Maybe he had passed it already, though he could not be sure. He eventually passed the full valley of the Bruinnen, then traveled south.

Reaching the main road that went through Imladris, Legolas went west for a short time, not sure of what he was looking for. The road was heavily used in both directions. Elrond's sons are not pure elf, Thranduil's words echoed in Legolas's mind. If Donathorn had held onto that thought then he would have not even traveled close to Imladris if it could be helped. He would go south of the Bruinnen valley. If nothing was found Legolas decided he would go down to the pass of Rohan to continue his search.

Legolas worked his way west of Imladris, still not exactly sure what he was looking for. It was then that he came across tracks of several horses leaving the main road and turning south. The depth of the prints alerted him to the fact that the animals were carrying weight of some kind. From his history lessons he knew this particular trail had not been used in several millennia, which made it all the more odd. The small group, it seemed, did not want to be discovered.

More out of curiosity than anything else, Legolas followed the trail the group left. It took almost another week to reach the foothills of the mountains. It was an old pass that lead to the southern part of Mirkwood, and Dol Guldur, though it did split and allowed one to head towards his father's realm.

"Elbereth," he whispered when the trees opened up to a small clearing revealing less than a dozen graves and a mound of what looked like burned carcasses. Although it was old the feel of death still hung in the air. He dismounted quickly and moved towards the graves. Something caught his eye on one in particular. Reaching the one in question, Legolas knelt down and picked it up. It was a family crest, specifically the one that represented Donathorn and his family. His father had shown him the crest when the letters first started arriving. Out of respect, the wood-elf touched his forehead then placed his hand on his chest while bowing his head. There was nothing he could say to help them along with their journey. Adar was right, I have no chance of at least meeting her until she arrives in Valinor, he thought somberly. Looking over the clearing again Legolas could feel mostly regret, but there was grief there, too. When that was realized he knew he needed to go to Imladris for healing.

With the crest still in hand, Legolas went over and placed it in one of the saddlebags then mounted his horse. Taking one last look around, he left the clearing and moved north back to the main road. What am I to do? I was really looking forward to meeting her, he though sadly. Why are the Valar so cruel? he asked the rhetorical question when he reached the main road. Turning back all Legolas could see were trees.

Closing his eyes, Legolas turned west on the road to Imladris. Entering the elven realm, the young prince could feel he was being watched, it was the same when you entered into his father's kingdom, though no wardens met him on the road. When he neared the sanctuary he let his horse choose its own pace. They entered the courtyard at a leisurely speed. Master Elrond was standing just outside the main building.

"Legolas, what brings you to Imladris?" the much older elf called.

Looking around for a moment Legolas dismounted and handed the reins to a servant who then lead the horse away. With a quick move the young prince removed the crest from the saddlebag and slipped it into a pouch before the horse was out of reach. Stepping up to Elrond, Legolas spoke quietly, "I wish to spend time here for healing. The reasons why, I wish to keep private."

Elrond cocked his head slightly, quite curious now especially after the last time the young prince and his twin sons had been together. "Does your father know of your coming here?"

"Yes, Master Elrond," Legolas bowed his head. "You may send a mess- -"

Elrond cut Legolas off with a slight smile and wave of the hand, "You need not explain your actions, young one. You may stay as long as needed for healing."

"Thank you, my lord," Legolas gratefully answered.

Small footsteps could be heard just inside the house. Through the door burst a small child. When he caught sight of Legolas the child's eyes widened then disappointment spread across the small face.

Elrond's face softened as he turned to the child, "Go back inside to your studies, Estel."

"But I thought. . ."

"You thought what?" Elrond placed a hand on the child's shoulder.

"That they had returned, Ada."

"It has been three weeks, Estel. If they had returned, it would have been much earlier than this. Now go back to Erestor, and your studies."

"Yes, Ada," Estel nodded then trudged back inside towards the study.

"My lord?" Legolas asked in confusion as he looked from the retreating child to the elf-lord. "Is he. . ."

Elrond turned back to Legolas and shook his head, "It is not what you think. Estel is my foster-son. He is also one of the Edain."

Legolas's eyes widened in surprise.

"He is from one of the Dúnedain families. His mother wished for him to be fostered here until he comes of age." Elrond gazed on Legolas for a short time as if searching the young prince's soul. "He had lost much in his first two years, and it has taken me five more to bring him out of his shell. He needs a friend."

"If he is only seven what can I do?"

"Let him be himself, and be a friend to him."

TBC...