Ashes ⇝Legolas

†1†

CHAPTER ONE
THE NAME

I will walk through shadow
Fight for lands
Yet my strength falters
Yet my spirits fall
And I shall die, if needed

Like a mask of light and darkness that parted her face in shadows, she lay emotionless and covered in light blanket, in solitude as her parted lips lowly sang a melody of sad song in desperation, just what it was meant for. Fire that danced over the fallen tree branches she used to light it up undercoverd part of her pale face in orange light, eyes crinkling in their corners on starlight above, an endless amount of dots connected in many constellations that shone over her soft features.

The tune was oddly accomplishing the atmosphere and tangled in her mind, repeated words all over again as fire crackled by her right side. She gently ran a hand over a dagger, gold handle shining and in a perfect balance as any good blade should be. She felt it was fairly warm as she noticed just after running her hand over it. Single, silver and sharp edge pointed at fire, her only companion in a lonely valley she made her camp in.

She rolled over, her face to the raging fire in proximity about two inches, an almost silent cracking of wood beneath orange flames occupied her attention. She gazed at waves of red, orange and yellow, a small but defiant smile tugging her lips upward as she sensed the fire's freedom. The freedom she could now understand, and the freedom she had.

She let her eyes close in pure happiness, one that she was grateful for ever since she was forced to live alone far from the kingdom of Edenon, her birth place, which now lay in ruin. As if her memory ran short, as if it was wiped by someone's force her mind just couldn't produce any fitting explanations on what happened to Edenon. Blurry, like a river that streamed down its own bed, over rocks as it mixed with morning air was her mind.

Shadows as ink on piece of paper covered everything in thick layer of black, the only light the fire as she motionless observed it. Then, as silent as sounds of night, leaves on brisk wind and air so cold it bit on ones cheek a faint rustle made her attention falter from the fire. Yet, at first she paid no attention to it, forgotten it was the sound that quieted like leaves after the wind stopped. She let a small breath through her cold bitten nose, which blew through loose hair strands that made their resting place near.

Yet, as her lids dropped again and as if someone just didn't want to provide the lonely woman with at least a few hours of sleep, the rustling broke her peacefulness. Furious, to say at least, she rose from fairly uncomfortable spot in between tall grass that now trampled by her head lay there or somewhere in thick layers of brown messy hair, connected together. Haistily, she reached for the dagger, the most prised possession of hers, and pushing it back into the leather belt loosely around her waist, began packing her things up. Throwing in waste the minimal amount of water she had collected somewhere near Bree about three days ago, she extinguished the fire before, unpleased, continuing to messily pack the blanket. Found to be secured and ready to attack at any sight of enemy, she ran behind the enormous leg of what looked like a Troll; she couldn't see what it really was.

And there she sat.

Nothing. As if whoever there was heard her movement, tracked her prints, she couldn't hear a sound. Nor leaf rustling, nor twig snapping beneath someone's weight. Scolding herself for being in such panic, the woman blew off a sigh of disappointment, ready to unpack when suddenly there were voices.

"Look, Mr. Frodo, it's Mr. Bilbo's trolls." She heard a quiet voice, embraced with happiness and resonating with laughter, yet somehow worried as it sounded.

"Quiet!" Then another, deep and commanding, that scolded the person to still silence. Familiar would be one of the words she would describe it with. "Someone has been here before." In obvious distress, he carried on speaking, hoarse his voice was as the young woman listened.

"Here? I thought no one took these paths." Cheerful, youthful voice spoke afterwards, fairly close to the hidden woman as it faintly startled her.

"Strange folks do, master Took. And they don't tend to be pleasant either."

The woman reached for her dagger quietly, gripping now colder handle as her fingers tightly coiled around it. She stood her guard up, rustling thought lower plants while the higher ones went over the fabric of leather trousers at her knees. Her steps came to a halt when she was faced with a Hobbit. Curly haired he was, with blue eyes that were covered by light brown strands of his hair.

"Strider. Would you count her in strange folks?" He pointed at the woman, who too stroke to even consider her actions pulled back into darkness.

"Who?"

"I swear she was here." Scared, even partly confused, young Hobbit barely whispered the words. His voice was dying down until it quieted to silence.

Seconds passed as the alerted man made his way toward the Hobbit and as the woman pulled even farther away from them. "Show yourself!" He shouted, brandishing a clean, shiny blade.

On his command, fearlessly, woman finally stepped out, letting the soft fire they've lit up cast orange glint over her features. Stunned, the man in front of her tried, no matter how hard, to cover his surprise. "It is not likely you forget your old friends, Strider." She observed the man. Strider, one who walks miles was the name known to many others beside her.

"Nesryn," His voice with almost solemn tone answered her. "You were deemed murdered."

(A/N):

Hello,
And welcome to my third book,
A Lord of the Rings fanfiction.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, no matter how short it was. I didn't want to make it 2k+ words because...don't you think that's a little to much for only chapter one?

Anyway,
How are you liking Nesryn so far?

Feel free to tell me if there are any typos.

Thank you for reading♥
~Gabrielle