Long ago took place a war. Destruction, devilry. How many lives have been taken? How many souls have faded due to the unbearable grief caused by their loses?
Families, destroyed. Bonds broken. Villages burnt down, to the last straw.
But in the midst of torment and darkness, a small elleth was born to Lithônion and Elarinya Rhaevaern. She was the flame of light that flickered lowly in a sea of obscurity. Hope was slightly restored in the Rhaevaern household. A new strength arose in the husbands' veins. She was their little star, a star who needed uttermost protection.
They gave her a mighty name, to serve her right in such hard times. Bellethiel, “the strong one”, they called her.
Bright eyes, slightly mischievous and giddy, brown, the color of duty, protection and support. Hair, the color of gold, just like her mother’s, a waterfall of beauty, draping on her shoulders.
However, when the armies of the enemy flooded deeper into the hearts and homes of those good, Mirkwood decided to go to war. Lithônion was called upon to join the army, also.
And so, the little bubble of happiness the small family previously held in their grasp burst open. Elarinya was most reluctant to let go of Lithônion, a voice deep in her heart whispered warnings regarding the events that were to take place soon. Her dear husband would be walking straight into his doom.
Everything was going wonderful, until an orc overpowered King Thranduil. Lithônion was faced with a huge decision: risk his life or let his friend perish just before his eyes.
He chose to help. It cost him his life. Lithônion got slashed in the chest by the orc's sword.
Thranduil, grateful beyond measure and concerned for his friend's well-being, leaned down. He crouched down to the other elf's height, who was resting on the ground.
"I am in great debt to you" He spoke lowly, clutching the hilt of his sword tightly.
"Please, take care of my family" Lithônion pleaded in a raspy voice. He gasped in pain. Blood soaked his clothes. With a cough, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then the elf went limp.
Elarinya was holding Bellethiel in her arms, outside their home, watching the parade that was celebrating their victory but more importantly she was waiting for her husband to return. However... he never did come back.
After two years of waiting, Elarinya grew weak. She was fading. Who was to take her of her sweet little daughter?
In her last moments, the she-elf gained enough courage to message Thranduil, begging him to tell her what has happened to Lithônion. She still had hope. A little over a week later, the king came by Elarinya's house.
Thranduil knocked reluctantly on the Rhaevaern's family wooden door. It had beautiful carvings on it, a variety of hues of brown played on the platform.
He expected Elarinya to answer but, the door was opened by a little, blonde, five year old she-elf, Bellethiel with big brown eyes. She looked up at him innocently.
"Where is your mother?" He asked gently, furrowing his thick eyebrows.
"She's in her chamber..." Replied the girl in a low soft voice.
Thranduil opened the door to find the girl's poor mother pale as the sheets, her breathing shallow. His eyes widened.
In a raspy voice, she asked "What happened to him?" Her face contorted in a pained expression. Thranduil's heart stood. He sighed and breathed out heavily.
"He had been killed while in battle. He died bravely, protecting his own king..." He whispered. Elarinya let out a cry. A river of tears strolled down her pale cheeks. Bellethiel furrowed her eyebrows, her eyes became puffy.
"I promised I'd take care of your family..." He whispered, trailing off.
A look of horror flashed on the surface of her face. With her voice shaky, she responded: "After all of this time, you just now tell me... You have no sympathy, monster..." She spoke with venom.
"Bellethiel, my sweet daughter... I love you." She regarded the little girl with a soft expression, before mouthing a "I'm sorry". She felt terrible, her grief was too strong, she could not be saved unfortunately. Her mind stormed with guilt, she couldn't leave Bellethiel... But then, she went limp, dead.
"Mama!" Bellethiel burst into tears. She tried to reach her mother, however Thranduil scooped her up gently. A tear rolled down the king's cheek. He ignored it and brought Bellethiel out of the house.
Her protests echoed.
"Shh.. Your mother did not leave you willingly... She is in a very happy place now, along with your father. They are watching over you. You are going to stay with me for a while." Thranduil forced a smile and began walking away.
And as the time passed, Bellethiel forgot about these events ever occurring.