Chapter Text
Chapter One
She was born in the Greenwood, the first elf in more years that many could count born beneath her broughts. In her birth, the very wood seems to sing. Sweet and joyful, proud and welcoming. She wakes to that singing, her head pressed to the roots of the oak tree she has appeared under. It is the oldest tree in the woods, and it is in this tree that it had begun in the first place, deep in the cavern of the palace of the Elevin King, used as his throne and seat. Eyelashes flutter, drowsiness fades as the girl who used to be Evangeline de la Luna finds herself very very surprised.
The tree is singing to me. That’s not normal, is her first thought. Her second is that her last memory was of a speeding truck heading her way.
It had been raining.
And she had jaywalked as she always had, and had only looked up when she had heard the honk of the horn-
I think I’m dead.
She waits for tears. She waits for hysterics. But the tree’s song is so pretty, so warm and comforting that she cannot bring herself to cry. A hand reaches out, and she is utterly confused to see how small it is.
It isn't the hand she died with.
The same rosey tan, perhaps, but it is small and chubby.
It is then that the hysterics start. Because dying is one thing.
Being reincarnated is another entirely.
Chapter Two
She stays at the foot of the old tree, crying as it sings gently to her.
Chapter Whenever
She is presented before the King of the Greenwood, or that is what the pretty redhead tells her in beautiful language, soothing down the her hair, fingertips lingering on her now chubby cheeks.
She is very aware that she glows soft and prettily, and it is, she suspects, because this is not her first life. She is also much more awake then a baby has the right too.
“She looks well, for a child who has run around so wildly unhindered in my palace,” is the words of what she suspects is the tall people’s King. His voice is cold and grave. He isn’t speaking english nor spanish, but somehow Evangeline can understand him all the same. His language is pretty and flowing, sweet and quick, “You say she was found at the feet of my throne?”
He sits aloft, in his throne, in the oak tree. It says something like a hello, quick and light. And Evangeline wishes to say hello back, but she doesn’t trust her throat.
She sits, unhappily in the beautiful red head’s arms.
And she blinks as he stands, his robes drifting, a beautiful thing of green that is woven so well it looks like silken leaves. He looms over her.
She is startled.
Because one side of the man she knows is a King, is wretched. Like a horror movie effect. It is a hurt and scar that has never healed. One eye is stern and grey, assessing and clear, the other is milky white. Vicious red burns run down the side of his pretty face.
Her lips part.
“Does it hurt?” Her voice is pretty. Nicer then it had been before. Soft and like a song. Seemingly unconsciously, she too is speaking in their language.
Her small hands reach out. And the King of the singing tree lets her touch his face. His unblemished face is soft, and his scared half is hard and hot to the touch. Tears prick at her eyes. It must hurt.
“You see this?” his voice is soft and more gentle then before, his brows crumpled.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. They cannot. This magic is old and true. But I suspect it means nothing to you.”
“My name is Evangeline, not you,” she replies, gently stroking his face.
Grey and milky white went wide.
“I am Thranduil.”
“I am sorry I woke you up. I was quite startled to wake up in front of the tree. I just didn’t understand. She’s not very helpful. Only singing about how I am welcome here.”
“You can understand words from the tree?”
She tilts her head to the side.
“It’s not so much as words. More feelings that can almost be words.”
Chapter Whenever II
She was barely old enough to understand when the dragon came.
Chapter Whenever III
“Why are you here, thief?”
She swallows, fingertips trembling. She has no ring to hide her. Only her wits and quickness. And is nothing but quick.
“I am not a thief. I want nothing from your hoard, Smaug. But I am here for something.”
“What can you want, elleth?”
“You’re friendship, if I can have it?”