The Red Bird
VERY SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: Trelan is an OC from Cassia and Siobhan’s Mellon Chronicles. They gave me permission to add him in; he’s there because I love fanfic, and this story, being a metafanfic, wouldn’t be complete without appearances from famous OCs. If you have not read Mellon Chronicles, do so now. NOW.
Oh, and I don’t claim to be an expert in Sindarin.
Boundaries of Mirkwood
"The Red Bird"
Chapter 8
The patient hunter remained perfectly still. Clear blue eyes pierced the gloomy forest’s dark density with the ease of his race. No quarry could escape him. His bow was out and ready to be knocked within a fraction of a mortal heartbeat. He was the best hunter; a premier archer, none better.
Gracefully peaked ears caught a faint sound; feathers gliding through air. It was distant and approaching his position. Silently, he reached back to his quiver and drew an arrow. His movement was nothing more than a yellow blur of fletching. He waited patiently for the quarry to come into his sights.
The vibrant red bird emerged from the murky haze soaring like a flame, and alighted upon a gnarled bough. His predatory eyes caught every detail of the bird; the gleaming golden plume, the shimmering emerald eyes, and the chick soft down. This creature contained its own radiance, for the gloom of Mirkwood could not account for its warm luminescence. Craning its neck, its beak opened, and a single, silvery note split the oppressive stale air like a sword through orc. The song was of hope. For a moment, Legolas felt his heart waver, and so with it his aim.
Oh, but this only served to wound his pride. He never missed his target and could not allow the bird’s appearance to distract him from his goal: he was here to slay the red bird, and so he would.
All was set. The bird’s breast was centered. He released the arrow.
It struck true, for it was from his hand. The red bird’s body jolted, then trilled a mournful note. At the sound, his breath caught in his throat. An untraceable, doubtful fear gripped him. Something had gone wrong.
The bird fell from its high perch backward, its wings still. Mid-air, a flame leapt from the mortal wound and consumed her. The ashes scattered upon the ground.
In the distance there was a horrible explosion, a defining sound he’d never heard in his life. It reverberated though the forest, enough to turn the wind’s breath against its intended course.
***
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood sat bolt upright on his couch, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. His heart was racing, and his ears rang painfully as though he had heard a very, very loud noise.
Blinking, he reassured himself he was indeed back home in his father’s palace, in his own apartment, on his own couch. Had he dozed off? Rarely did elves lose consciousness of their surroundings even as their minds rested. Had he been that tired? It was entirely possible; he’d barely rested the three months he’d been on patrol. Yet he’d never heard of an elf dreaming as he had, though a rare few had the gift of foresight. In two millennia, such a thing he’d never experienced. The likelihood of him suddenly having a premonition now, especially as he sat resting alone in the safety of his home struck him as ridiculous.
There was a light tap on his door, followed by an inquiring voice. “Highness?”
Legolas stood and made sure his underclothes didn’t look slept in. “Enter.”
Trelan, a familiar face and companion, entered. His discomposure betrayed his unease. “Your father bids you come for council. Something has happened in the wood Northwest of here.”
Though Legolas had certainly grown accustomed to interruptions, it didn’t make this one any easier to deal with. Not five hours ago he had returned from his patrol of the boarder. The patrol had resulted in not only a score of incidents with unusually clever spiders, but also a group of wandering and clearly confused, dull-witted adan. Orc were spotted repeatedly several miles off. Though they never entered in the forest, it was extremely close by elven standards. If he were being summoned for council something of equal or worse merit, to his exasperation, had probably occurred.
“What do you know?” He slipped his sir coat on, attempting to make himself presentable.
“I heard word that an elf from a hunting party staggered half dead to a fleet outpost. He was just brought in to the healers unconscious. No one I’ve spoken to knows why,” Trelan explained.
First the horrible boarder patrol, then the vision, now this? It was all boding ill for him, and Legolas wondered if he ought to turn around and go straight back to bed. He clapped his friend on the shoulder as he made for the door. “Let me know if anything else changes.”
“Then I should let you know Captain Nolaquen only just arrived.”
Legolas paused. Captain Nolaquen had trained him in the art of warfare when he was a young elfling. The prince had not seen his teacher in several years, as the captain was often in the southern woods. “Nolaquen?”
Trelan nodded in affirmation. “I think he may have been passing by, and was sent for.”
“Thank you.” Again, the news boded ill. “Trelan, you wouldn’t happen to have a ready excuse for lurking about the healing ward, would you?”
Trelan cleared his throat and spoke louder than entirely necessary. “Lady Ninde, the asinine thing, shrieked so shrilly at the sight of a mouse my eardrums have burst. I can barely hear you as it is, your Highness.”
Legolas smirked and mused aloud. “Places you in the ward, difficult to diagnose, encourages words to be exchanged freely among other parties; plausible if one has ever met the lady. Discovery potentially problematic should someone examine you.”
Trelan held up one finger, put it in his ear, and pulled out a ball of what appeared to be blackened wax. “That seems to have solved the problem, my lord.”
Impressed, Legolas took the sticky black wad from his friend, squishing it between his forefinger and thumb. “What’s it made of?”
“500 year buildup.”
Legolas quirked a brow.
“Sap, candle wax, ash.”
“Excellent subterfuge.” Legolas returned the wad.
“I thank you, my lord.”
They exited the prince’s apartment together and parted ways at the end of the hall silently, as not to raise suspicion of what Trelan intended. Legolas moved quickly. He would never run despite the fact he sensed he was tardy; it had been well over two thousand years since he last made any mad dash down the corridors and could still remember the distinct sound of porcelain shattering on polished marble.
Though he’d made good time, Legolas still felt as though he were interrupting. Upon being ushered into his father’s study, he found himself in the company of an outpost warden he recognized by the name of Ondollo, and Captain Nolaquen. Ondollo stood in respect, though there was a faint flicker of irritation across his face for being interrupted. Nolaquen was unreadable as ever, though politely inclined his head in respect. It seemed they’d begun without him.
King Thranduil, Legolas’ father gestured for all to sit and confirmed the prince’s suspicions. “My apologies, Legolas. I know you are in need of rest, but I fear Warden Ondollo has brought some rather grim news to us. He has been giving Captain Nolaquen and me his brief.” Thranduil, maneuvered behind the large, ornately carved desk looking as tired at Legolas felt.
The small council did have leeway on him. It also appeared the number present were the only ones privy to this information, a conclusion which unsettled the prince.
“Please, Warden Ondollo, tell us of what you know.” Legolas sat, focused directly on the warden.
The story was much the same as Trelan had said; a well-stocked hunting party of 5 had set out two days Northwest of the palace. It should have been a safe distance. Their numbers and the skill of several individuals therein should have been enough to dissuade and repel any spider attack. The half-deadedhel who’d barely made it to the outpost’s talan had claimed the spiders numbered upwards of 100.
Legolas did not bother to hide the surprise and confusion he felt. Spiders hunted in groups, that much was true, but largest of these capped at 25, and rarely that many. What was more unheard of were spiders attacking more than one, lone elf. Directly attacking a camp of 5 . . . Legolas didn’t like where this was headed.
“Be it true, the spiders are being organized by some other. Organizing themselves is against their nature,” Nolaquen reasoned. Legolas felt his gut twist, knowing the captain was entirely right and fearing its implications; orcs, goblins, men. “What of these men at the boarder, your Highness?”
Legolas shook his head. “Their numbers were ten, with two women and an elderly man among them. They did not bother to conceal their presence, and hardly made it beyond the boarder. For these reasons, it is doubtful they harbored ill intent. They were, as they said, lost.”
King Thranduil nodded at this assessment, but remained frowning. “I do not like this, coincidence as it may be. For the time being, any adan found within our boarders are to be arrested, regardless how far in they are or apparent conduct.”
Legolas nodded in agreement with the others.
“What news of the other four hunters?” Legolas asked Warden Ondollo. The other faces in the room turned grim. Legolas decided he didn’t want to know anymore.
“We assume captured.”
With capture, there was a near certainty that a few of those edhil were dead by now. The news felt acutely painful. To the elves, death was meant to be a foreign thing. That it was rare in Mirkwood did nothing to cushion the ire rising in the exhausted prince.
“The survivor had to be brought here. His wounds could not be cared for in the wilds,” Warden Ondollo continued. “The guard at our talanonly numbered 10. I feared the area was not safe, and two would have to be spared in accompanying him here. Therefore, I split the post which remained and sent them to warn and support the other talan posts and patrols, as well as send back any other parties hunting in the area. It is my wish to return with more sentries and a proper search party.”
Thranduil nodded in agreement. “Captain Ondollo, you will re-establish your post with extra sentries. Captain Nolaquen, if you would, lead the search party for the missing. I’d suggest taking your best trackers and at least ten of your best warriors. Legolas, for the time being, I must ask you to remain here.”
Protest rose in the prince’s heart, as his father knew it would.
“Should these foul coincidences continue, you shall be needed.”
Glossary:
Talan</i]: Platform up in the trees which can act as homes or military outposts for elves.
[i]Adan: One of race of mortal men.
Edhel: One of the race of immortal elves. Singular.
Edhil: One of the race of immortal elves. Plural.
Elven Names:
Ondollo: Little rock
Nolaquen: Enlightened one
Ninde: slender
Oh, and I don’t claim to be an expert in Sindarin.
Boundaries of Mirkwood
"The Red Bird"
Chapter 8
The patient hunter remained perfectly still. Clear blue eyes pierced the gloomy forest’s dark density with the ease of his race. No quarry could escape him. His bow was out and ready to be knocked within a fraction of a mortal heartbeat. He was the best hunter; a premier archer, none better.
Gracefully peaked ears caught a faint sound; feathers gliding through air. It was distant and approaching his position. Silently, he reached back to his quiver and drew an arrow. His movement was nothing more than a yellow blur of fletching. He waited patiently for the quarry to come into his sights.
The vibrant red bird emerged from the murky haze soaring like a flame, and alighted upon a gnarled bough. His predatory eyes caught every detail of the bird; the gleaming golden plume, the shimmering emerald eyes, and the chick soft down. This creature contained its own radiance, for the gloom of Mirkwood could not account for its warm luminescence. Craning its neck, its beak opened, and a single, silvery note split the oppressive stale air like a sword through orc. The song was of hope. For a moment, Legolas felt his heart waver, and so with it his aim.
Oh, but this only served to wound his pride. He never missed his target and could not allow the bird’s appearance to distract him from his goal: he was here to slay the red bird, and so he would.
All was set. The bird’s breast was centered. He released the arrow.
It struck true, for it was from his hand. The red bird’s body jolted, then trilled a mournful note. At the sound, his breath caught in his throat. An untraceable, doubtful fear gripped him. Something had gone wrong.
The bird fell from its high perch backward, its wings still. Mid-air, a flame leapt from the mortal wound and consumed her. The ashes scattered upon the ground.
In the distance there was a horrible explosion, a defining sound he’d never heard in his life. It reverberated though the forest, enough to turn the wind’s breath against its intended course.
***
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood sat bolt upright on his couch, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. His heart was racing, and his ears rang painfully as though he had heard a very, very loud noise.
Blinking, he reassured himself he was indeed back home in his father’s palace, in his own apartment, on his own couch. Had he dozed off? Rarely did elves lose consciousness of their surroundings even as their minds rested. Had he been that tired? It was entirely possible; he’d barely rested the three months he’d been on patrol. Yet he’d never heard of an elf dreaming as he had, though a rare few had the gift of foresight. In two millennia, such a thing he’d never experienced. The likelihood of him suddenly having a premonition now, especially as he sat resting alone in the safety of his home struck him as ridiculous.
There was a light tap on his door, followed by an inquiring voice. “Highness?”
Legolas stood and made sure his underclothes didn’t look slept in. “Enter.”
Trelan, a familiar face and companion, entered. His discomposure betrayed his unease. “Your father bids you come for council. Something has happened in the wood Northwest of here.”
Though Legolas had certainly grown accustomed to interruptions, it didn’t make this one any easier to deal with. Not five hours ago he had returned from his patrol of the boarder. The patrol had resulted in not only a score of incidents with unusually clever spiders, but also a group of wandering and clearly confused, dull-witted adan. Orc were spotted repeatedly several miles off. Though they never entered in the forest, it was extremely close by elven standards. If he were being summoned for council something of equal or worse merit, to his exasperation, had probably occurred.
“What do you know?” He slipped his sir coat on, attempting to make himself presentable.
“I heard word that an elf from a hunting party staggered half dead to a fleet outpost. He was just brought in to the healers unconscious. No one I’ve spoken to knows why,” Trelan explained.
First the horrible boarder patrol, then the vision, now this? It was all boding ill for him, and Legolas wondered if he ought to turn around and go straight back to bed. He clapped his friend on the shoulder as he made for the door. “Let me know if anything else changes.”
“Then I should let you know Captain Nolaquen only just arrived.”
Legolas paused. Captain Nolaquen had trained him in the art of warfare when he was a young elfling. The prince had not seen his teacher in several years, as the captain was often in the southern woods. “Nolaquen?”
Trelan nodded in affirmation. “I think he may have been passing by, and was sent for.”
“Thank you.” Again, the news boded ill. “Trelan, you wouldn’t happen to have a ready excuse for lurking about the healing ward, would you?”
Trelan cleared his throat and spoke louder than entirely necessary. “Lady Ninde, the asinine thing, shrieked so shrilly at the sight of a mouse my eardrums have burst. I can barely hear you as it is, your Highness.”
Legolas smirked and mused aloud. “Places you in the ward, difficult to diagnose, encourages words to be exchanged freely among other parties; plausible if one has ever met the lady. Discovery potentially problematic should someone examine you.”
Trelan held up one finger, put it in his ear, and pulled out a ball of what appeared to be blackened wax. “That seems to have solved the problem, my lord.”
Impressed, Legolas took the sticky black wad from his friend, squishing it between his forefinger and thumb. “What’s it made of?”
“500 year buildup.”
Legolas quirked a brow.
“Sap, candle wax, ash.”
“Excellent subterfuge.” Legolas returned the wad.
“I thank you, my lord.”
They exited the prince’s apartment together and parted ways at the end of the hall silently, as not to raise suspicion of what Trelan intended. Legolas moved quickly. He would never run despite the fact he sensed he was tardy; it had been well over two thousand years since he last made any mad dash down the corridors and could still remember the distinct sound of porcelain shattering on polished marble.
Though he’d made good time, Legolas still felt as though he were interrupting. Upon being ushered into his father’s study, he found himself in the company of an outpost warden he recognized by the name of Ondollo, and Captain Nolaquen. Ondollo stood in respect, though there was a faint flicker of irritation across his face for being interrupted. Nolaquen was unreadable as ever, though politely inclined his head in respect. It seemed they’d begun without him.
King Thranduil, Legolas’ father gestured for all to sit and confirmed the prince’s suspicions. “My apologies, Legolas. I know you are in need of rest, but I fear Warden Ondollo has brought some rather grim news to us. He has been giving Captain Nolaquen and me his brief.” Thranduil, maneuvered behind the large, ornately carved desk looking as tired at Legolas felt.
The small council did have leeway on him. It also appeared the number present were the only ones privy to this information, a conclusion which unsettled the prince.
“Please, Warden Ondollo, tell us of what you know.” Legolas sat, focused directly on the warden.
The story was much the same as Trelan had said; a well-stocked hunting party of 5 had set out two days Northwest of the palace. It should have been a safe distance. Their numbers and the skill of several individuals therein should have been enough to dissuade and repel any spider attack. The half-deadedhel who’d barely made it to the outpost’s talan had claimed the spiders numbered upwards of 100.
Legolas did not bother to hide the surprise and confusion he felt. Spiders hunted in groups, that much was true, but largest of these capped at 25, and rarely that many. What was more unheard of were spiders attacking more than one, lone elf. Directly attacking a camp of 5 . . . Legolas didn’t like where this was headed.
“Be it true, the spiders are being organized by some other. Organizing themselves is against their nature,” Nolaquen reasoned. Legolas felt his gut twist, knowing the captain was entirely right and fearing its implications; orcs, goblins, men. “What of these men at the boarder, your Highness?”
Legolas shook his head. “Their numbers were ten, with two women and an elderly man among them. They did not bother to conceal their presence, and hardly made it beyond the boarder. For these reasons, it is doubtful they harbored ill intent. They were, as they said, lost.”
King Thranduil nodded at this assessment, but remained frowning. “I do not like this, coincidence as it may be. For the time being, any adan found within our boarders are to be arrested, regardless how far in they are or apparent conduct.”
Legolas nodded in agreement with the others.
“What news of the other four hunters?” Legolas asked Warden Ondollo. The other faces in the room turned grim. Legolas decided he didn’t want to know anymore.
“We assume captured.”
With capture, there was a near certainty that a few of those edhil were dead by now. The news felt acutely painful. To the elves, death was meant to be a foreign thing. That it was rare in Mirkwood did nothing to cushion the ire rising in the exhausted prince.
“The survivor had to be brought here. His wounds could not be cared for in the wilds,” Warden Ondollo continued. “The guard at our talanonly numbered 10. I feared the area was not safe, and two would have to be spared in accompanying him here. Therefore, I split the post which remained and sent them to warn and support the other talan posts and patrols, as well as send back any other parties hunting in the area. It is my wish to return with more sentries and a proper search party.”
Thranduil nodded in agreement. “Captain Ondollo, you will re-establish your post with extra sentries. Captain Nolaquen, if you would, lead the search party for the missing. I’d suggest taking your best trackers and at least ten of your best warriors. Legolas, for the time being, I must ask you to remain here.”
Protest rose in the prince’s heart, as his father knew it would.
“Should these foul coincidences continue, you shall be needed.”
Glossary:
Talan</i]: Platform up in the trees which can act as homes or military outposts for elves.
[i]Adan: One of race of mortal men.
Edhel: One of the race of immortal elves. Singular.
Edhil: One of the race of immortal elves. Plural.
Elven Names:
Ondollo: Little rock
Nolaquen: Enlightened one
Ninde: slender
Subtitles
- Darkness and Starlight
- Abigail of Wellington
- Niobe of St. Andrews
- Arielle of Cedar Brook
- Yumiko of Shinjuku
- The Banks of River Running
- Stiff and Stark
- Screams in the Dark
- The Red Bird
- Many Meetings
- Night Fight
- Yumiko's New Friend
- A Mind of One's Own
- Running in Circles
- The Price for Revenge
- The Coming Night
- It Speaks English!
- Fragile Things: I
- Lull