Lady of Song and Silence: Chapter 2

When rosy fingered dawn awoke and filtered just the slightest filaments of light through the thick leaved canopy, it's questing beams encountered a being previously unknown to Mirkwood.

This newest chapter in the tale started with a sigh as the creature's breathing pattern changed into a more active wakeful rhythm. A small rustle of movement, barely perceptible even to the discerning eye. Well, if there was an eye to discern that it. As it occurred, no one was there to observe the Lady of Song and Silence's entrance into her new territory.

That wakeful stillness was not just for the purpose of posing in artful dishabille. While golden tresses fanning out from a delicate fine-boned face and a lithe frame curled up in sleep would definitely be considered a pose, the mind behind those closed mint green eyes needed to determine the safety of the grove in which she currently found herself.

Satisfied after several moments of scanning keen senses about and betwixt flora, the petite warrior rose to her feet with a grace rivaling the Elder-born, whose company she had yet to meet. While not as active as her previous long term companions, the forestland still welcomed the hope she brought with her arrival. Her presence akin to natural forest fires, painful, but sometimes necessary to clear out twisted undergrowth to allow new life.

In the distance in quite a few locations, dark presences caused a shiver to creep down her spine. Contrary to many, the shiver did not indicate any manner of fear. Oh no. It was a delicious reaction caused by those keen senses. There were masses of dark evil things in them thar woods. She hadn't had to exert herself at all in so long...

It was time to go hunting. Mwuahahaha!

Amidst the bustling hidden metropolis of a heavily shaded Elven kingdom, odd happenstance and reports of outlandish gossip were slowly trickling toward the upper echelons whom ruled those murky woods with fierce valiance and a reclusive manner.

King Thranduil was certain that some creature was encroaching upon territory that was his to protect. Some of his best wardens reported coming across scenes of gruesome massacres many days distant from his lands, blood spatters arcing hundreds of yards, bone, chitin and gristle being easily unearthed. The only thing causing him not to go into paroxysms of royal anger was the fact that it was not his people being preyed upon. Nor was it the natural wildlife of the woods, being hunted for sport. Instead, the blood spatters were patterned green or black ichor normally found in yrch infestations, or the chitinous armor of the descendants of Shelob scattered like the shells of crustaceans after they had been picked clean.

It was as if a devastating wind started blowing through the reaches of the great Mirkwood. But, like all winds, it had started slow, building up inexorably until it became lethal, but invisible except for the effects it left in its wake.

By no means was the forest realm instantly cleansed. There was still much work and guarding to do. It actually increased a bit. His people came across roving bands, those that favored Mordor when it was at its prime lurked and hunted. But over time, their encounters grew slowly more vicious.

Why? At first, no one knew and the King grew fractious and worried for his people. It was several decades before he sent scouts to battle their way far beyond his lands to seek some sort of help from his fellow elves. It took that long for him to bitterly eat his pride and ask for assistance. When the scouts returned, he was at first enraged when they told him they did not breach the outskirts of the Mirkwood. He then became extremely thoughtful when the full impact of their message was conveyed.

It appeared that something was causing the spiders and yrch to be displaced from their normal haunts. A force was pressing with undying vengeance and everything that harbored a special place in their black hearts for the dark felt the threat, the promise of oblivion. From evidence of the aftereffects, the appearance of a painful exit to the abyssal realms is mostly to blame for their fleeing hie unto Thranduil's grasp. It just so happened that while the outskirts of the wood were starting to let the light shine and recover from centuries of taint, those with little black hearts found it in their best self-absorbed interests to not be where the killing was. Most were not smart enough to think of it in those terms, but even the dullest would have the survival instincts to flee a greater predator.

Thranduil was of two minds. One was greatly enchanted with anything that would help free his beloved Greenwood from the Mirk that had since descended. The other was both suspicious and humiliated. All his millennia of effort did not make as much impact as these last few decades.

While normally fiery in temperament as well as the iron blustery will needed in a king, even he could be drawn from the blackest of his rages. Granted, only his beloved wife and cherished son could provoke and cajole him. It was one of these times that they begged and pleaded with liquid crystal blue eyes to have a picnic and a chance to frolic just beyond the secure walls of his arboreal palace. The duo wanted a rare chance to take a moment for the family, just the three of them near the flowing river. Thranduil was sorely tempted just to cave in to their sweet entreaties, but after a mighty session of frowning, hemming and hawing he had to let the two loves of his life go. He still had too many duties to attend for the moment. They of course needed to take a full complement of guards, but it was just beyond the guard stations, within sight of two of them even. What could go wrong?

The never rooted golden sapling took a year or two just studying the composition of the local fauna, natural and those not so natur- who are we kidding, the monsters. She was very fixed upon the monsters. She found fewer orcs, but more spiders. Her first strike against those eight legged menaces was very satisfying. It was a leap from a web-burdened ash tree and a wild minute of riding the lead arachnid before slipping a honed dagger between the pinched joint that connected mandibles to thorax and ripping upward through the multiple eyes. By aiming for the mandibles, the canny warrior was able to direct the ruptured venom sacs into the face of an incoming spider sibling. By all accounts, it was a two for one deal that left the surrounding brood momentarily stunned. The lead siblings were gone, just like that. That was all she needed. Under her breath, a tune was half-sung, half chanted and the chorus had the words 'Munchies and crunchies and sounds that go 'splat'". She knew it was morbid, but there was such a thing as taking pride in her work and having a bit of fun while making things safer.

That wasn't to say she was completely imperturbable. They were spiders for Pete's sake! The ones larger than a horse weren't too scary when she knew somewhere that she's faced worse. It was the little ones! No, even the hand sized ones she could step on without remorse. It was the itty bitty ones. Sunlight tresses would always give a quick shake in horror at the thought of the tiny, so quick you miss 'em, they like to crawl over you when you're sleeping NORMAL spiders. It was the one sticking point when she contemplated her solitude. Without a companion, there was no one she could direct into swatting the LITTLE pests.

The golden Huntress of Song was sporadically hunting them, but has only followed til the more guarded borders of the elven kingdom, which she doesn't want to cross, since she wants to avoid all 'people' and a certain gender in specific. A few decades on the outermost layers has thinned the herd as the saying goes, and so seeks a challenge in the middling layer of the earthen forest. She who takes wild joy in her instinctual duty ensures the sweet anticipation of a new challenge by scoping out a series of spider nests along a river winding through one side of the Mirkwood. After sufficiently clearing what leftover dangers were lingering to the no-go line she had mentally set herself by the patrolled edges, the eternal sapling settled temporarily into another willow along the river for her new base of operations. She will stake out the nests to tactically plan the funnest way of blitzing them in one strafing run.

The first few nights were calm as a way was determined to savor each kill and still raze each nest in a timely manner. The finishing touches were celebrated with a decision to wash with the soaproot growing along the riverbed in abundance. To that end, after only snagging a small portion of the cleansing roots and leaving enough to repopulate and stripping herself of her artificial bark, her goldenflower hair slipped between the swiftly running waters for a vigorous swim before getting down to serious business of scrubbing.

Meanwhile, (there's always a meanwhile) a certain group of displaced yrch encounter a certain group of picnicing pointy eared tree huggers who are also by a river. For as both groups unknown to each other can later attest, it seemed a nice place, and was a good idea at the time. Can we spell ambush?

The Official Lady Queen of Mirkwood, being of a gentler nature than the males of her species were forced to become is terror-struck and stunned for precious seconds. As a rising slavering band of yrrch erupt from the underbrush in such terrible waves, the alert and protective guards react in time to save the little prince wandering the edges of the river's grove picnic area. the front waves are replaced by enough of the pestilence to overrun the outer perimeter guards who give their lives to see their little lord skitter back to his dame-elf mother. Trembling hands yanking her skirt almost overbalance her Highness, but it even out her senses. The High Lady sees the way things are going and tumbles her little darling into the river in hopes he'll make it out alive.

She gets captured, her guards get killed and no one gets word back to the elfdom for reinforcements. Royal Heir Legolas continually strives for the river surface, bobbing along, going under occasionally, trying to watch a scene from an elderberry wine induced nightmare float off into the distance.. But he smacks into something. Something soft and yet hard. Something that hauls him out of the water by the scruff of his neck.

She was nude, golden-blonde, and only about a foot taller than the tiny elf-child. Oh, and spitting mad with a startled look upon her elven-fine features. She - was magnificent!

The assumed height diminished elven lass was obviously about to flee in a fit of modesty before her prince, clothes or no clothes, but the lil squeaker of a drowned rat started bawling.

Something stirs in the blonde pest controller. Something inside reminds her that she is also a protecter. By the looks of the scratches and bruises on the little oneshe could assume something had happened, and the way he was clinging to her leg and pointing upriver gave her a direction and incentive. To get him off, she'd have to do something she hadn't during her entire time in Middle Earth. She's have to talk with something that wasn't a plant.

Well this would quickly stump both her and the kid. Neither understood each other. The Huntress spoke either this one language that none of the Ents understood, or the language of the trees, which conveyed only simplistic messages. But it was enough. Danger. Help. and That way. What more was needed?

The Fisher of Princes quickly pried the elfling's grip (rather strong for a kid, ne?) off her and quickly donned her clothes. She sat him down in the crook of a tree pointing at him authoritavely and making the tree's sign of 'putting down roots'. She then surprised him by addressing the tree itself in a manner not unlike the royal family were allowed and asking 'shelter' to which the tree complied and hid the tree-squirrel within its foliage. And then she was off!

A few miles down the riverbanks, she came across a familiar scene of carnage. Blood and little squishy bits littered the ground. The soil was torn up, rocks overturned, and arrows dotted the landscape like bizzare blades of grass. Nothing was really moving except for flies and other little carrion bugs.

With experienced eyes, she surveyed the tracks of the battle. The freshest marks left the battleground in much smaller numbers as well as dragging things. Only one of the dragging marks showed signs of fighting back. Either everything the orcs dragged off was unconscious except one, or they were all dead. How was she to know that they liked the taste of elf-meat?

Well, she kept following at her blinding pace. After decades practicing her lethal craft, she had more than enough endurance for this speed and still be able to fight viciously after she chased down her quarry.

Needless to say, she found them, took her time separating heads and various limbs from their proper positions and then looting the looters. Well, she was until she came upon the pile of pretty carcasses and one pretty battered elf lady. It was a good thing she was unconscious, or else that would have been the last anyone would see of the mysterious blonde. It took all of Buffy's willpower not to bolt then and there, but she could just see a resemblence between the childling she left behind and this equally bruised and scratched creature in front of her. Even in a new land, Buffy still could not bring herself to disappoint the kawaii chibi boy.

So she came to a decision. She hid the loot, both from the orcs and the pretty carcasses. That could be recovered later. She buried the dead in different places. Not only for the benefit of the trees, but also because she didn't think any being should be buried close to such filth as what she just killed. Finally, she hoisted the (tall, why were they always so tall?!) lady over a shoulder and made her way back to the river, and then back to her campsite. Hopefully where the chibi was still waiting for her.

She did, he was, and there was the sound of much rejoicing... Of one. The Lady didn't awaken, and Buffy pretty much had forgotten how to laugh in front of others. So it was entirely up the the child to dance and caper around crowing in glee.

But as the day waned and night commenced, Buffy was starting to feel the strain of being social. The Lady elf could wake up at any point, and that would tear open the mental scars Buffy had in her mind, which she unconsciously feared. She had to get rid of her company quickly.

Apparently, the elfling had different ideas. He had just found his new hero and was sticking to her like glue. Especially since it was night.

Buffy ended up pulling an all-nighter, her anxiety keeping her awake. The reason? The elf-child, who emphatically said "Legolas" while beating on his chest. Legolas would not go to sleep unless he was beside his mother. Normally that would not be a problem for Buffy, but when he insisted on keeping a hold of her hand or arm while he was snuggled up to his mum.. Yeah, big problem when she didn't want to be anywhere near the scary female. Buffy kept getting flashes of immense pain, long hair both red and deep brown. So she kepts singing to herself, keeping calm. Soft lullabies in her native tongue, which incindentally kept Legolas calm too.

When the early wisps of dawn allowed the keen sight of Legolas to move without tripping, Buffy packed up her supplies, got the kid on his feet and hauled the scary lady across her shoulders again in preparation of moving.

Legolas kept suggesting that they 'put down roots' until his papa would find them, but Buffy wouldn't hear of it. She was getting away from their company now, even if it meant moving closer to those guarded borders.

A good three quarters of the day were spent travelling. Much longer than usual for Buffy, since she often used the immense trees as an above ground highway. But Legolas couldn't keep up even with Buffy burdened as she was. So they traveled by ground, and slowly. When she finally sensed one of those guards within her hearing distance, she was pleasantly surprised when Legolas also informed her that he heard it too. So she did what she came here to do. She hurriedly propped the lady against a tree, gave Legolas one of her knives 'just in case' and asked the curious tree to call attention to the ones at its base without mentioning the forest's new guardian.

Just before disappearing on the hero-struck child, she knelt down in front of him, studying his face. Mint green eyes sparkled with relieved mirth into glowing arctic blue. A quirked smile twitched across her petal lips as she ran a hand through his snowy blonde mane. When a disgruntled frown popped on his face for ruffling his hair, she tugged gently on a pointy ear in jest before jumping up into the leaves and vanishing just as a Mirkwood marchwarden dashed between the trees, alerted to a disturbance.

It would be almost a year before either elfling or slayer saw each other again. The effect of the yrch attack on his mother and their picnic ignited something in the young prince. That intervening year saw the chibi pestering his father, the marchwardens, the warriors and the master archers that called Mirkwood home for lessons, as well as setting an almost permanent blush across his lady mother's face. The warriors and whatnot should be pretty self-explanatory. Legolas wanted to be able to defend his loved ones, as well a fervent desire to be of help to his not forgotten hero. Since no one would believe his 'wild tales' of a golden warrior woman who lived in the wilder parts of Mirkwood, the elfling prince had kept the majority of his 'adventure' to himself.

But what sent the avid blush storming across his recovering nana's cheeks was her darling son's questions as to a female's 'assets' and if any elf maiden would have as large... wits... as the fictional heroine he kept spouting about. Even if he was a water-logged half-drowned tree squirrel scared beyond measure when he met her, he still has the male presence of mind to get an eyeful and accidental handful when he first 'bumped' into her.