DISCLAIMER: Obviously you will realize that I own very few characters in this story. However, I've seen that a disclaimer is a necessity. So here it is! I own the following characters/their families/their histories/etc.: Evalgine, Trinity Night, Scarlette Rowe, Faith Evans, Destiny Motto, Dezaria Johnson. The rest belong to the Tolkien Estate.

- RATED: M for violence/gore/and maybe sex if I get ambitious.

- Violence/gore/hostility, this is Bellethiel writing it, what do you expect?

- A freakishly long story
- Random odds and ends that I decide to stick in it.
- Original characters with histories/attitudes/actions of their own.
- Cheesy Legomance, hell, I won't even beat around the bush. Give it a chance. Unless you hate Legolas, then you can go ahead and move on.
- I will be using the movie plotline for sanity's sake.

He watched her die, felt the slick wetness that was her blood smeared on his hands. Still, he could taste her, the sweetness of her tongue before the fatality. How cruel it seemed, to shoot down a mere girl, who had only just now found the joys of womanhood. Hours ago, he made love to her, and now her body was slumped against him, lifeless and void of the life that filled it to the brim only seconds ago. Carefully, reverently, he lowered her to the ground, ignoring the clashing of swords behind him. "Evalgine." His whisper drifted over the screaming – bestrode the panic. She stirred, alive, though barely. Her eyes pried themselves open with great effort, the spark of youth in them fading fast. Hot tears threatened to spill over, he blinked rapidly to evade them for a few more crucial moments. Teacher, protector, friend, lover, he had been all to her. She was his eternity. Thoughts raced in his mind; he should have known the orcs would attack, should have known that she would risk her life in battle, should have known that she would give herself to him without hesitation, should have, should have, should have. Yes, there were many things he should have known, but did not. He made a mistake surrendering to her, for now he feared he would be forced to live out his long years without the girl he had come to adore. His will pleaded with the Valar. Let her live. Let her breathe. She opened her mouth in a shuddering gasp; blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Tenderly, he wiped it away. Her fingers twitched, and he completed the thought and action for her by grabbing her slender hand and cradled it to his face. He leaned forward, allowing his forehead to rest lightly against hers. No breath caressed his face, though he yearned for it to. His eyes shut tightly, and the prince allowed a few tears to fall on her perfect features. "I love you." He wished he had imagined those blood-chocked words, for many years they would haunt him. Slowly his eyes opened, only to find that it was too late. Evalgine was dead; her brilliant green eyes did not see him any longer, but something greater than him. He clutched her body tightly to him, and his howl of grief competed greatly with the painful shrieks of the others heard on the battlefield that day.

Her father came. The battle had been won. The Prince did not release Evalgine, but looked up at the man without shame. He was looking down at them, his traitor daughter and the Elf Prince. "Burn the bodies," he ordered the men and Elven warriors who had gathered, then turned to leave. "And your daughter, My Liege?" asked one. The King – or so the naïve called him – halted. "She is no better than the rest that died here – burn her with the others." Legolas let out a cry of protest when of the men tried to separate Evalgine's body from him, pulling her to his right to avoid their greedy arms. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, "My Lord, there is nothing that can be done, let her go. Obey her father's wishes, however…crude they may seem." He looked down at her body, bloodied and bruised from the battle, and gave her a chaste kiss before slowly, reluctantly, handing her to her father's whim. Anger swelled within him, and he simply could not keep himself from exchanging a few choice words with the 'King.' "Our kingdom will never ally with yours," Legolas hissed between clenched teeth, "And she was worth much more than you ever gave her merit for. Her father said nothing, though his eyes blazed with an untouchable hate – and power. The Mirkwood Prince turned his heel on the man, and his eyes caught an unfavorable glimpse of Evalgine's limp body being tossed haphazardly into a wheel barrow filled with others. He gripped the upper arm of the closest Elf near him, "We leave at once." "But your supplies, my Lord-" "Leave them," he ground out between brief flashes of rage, "Let the King do with it as he pleases. Everything that made his place inhabitable is gone." The Elf nodded in understanding, and left to group the others. Legolas drew a few shaky breaths, and looked into his right hand.

Crumpled inside his shaking fist was a red-soaked silver chain, and on that chain was the ring that was meant to make Evalgine his wife. For a few moments, he stared at it, pain filling his every limb. With one arrow, and a distracting kiss, his only happiness had been stolen from him. He watched her die that day, that wondrous, brave, beautiful girl of merely fifteen, who had fought valiantly and had nothing to show for it, not even her own grave.

Whoa. Emotional strife, or what?