Author's note

Events begin as canon to the BotFA movie.

I love Legolas but I'm NOT into mush, romance, drama, etc... so I'm writing this story for introspection, action, adventure, some angst and many different ways for Legolas to grow as a character.

This is my first LotR fan fic and I never write fantasy. I'm more of a sci-fi geek. Also English is not my native tongue. I try to write as clearly and as simply as possible while respecting the genre. Reviews and criticism much appreciated, though!

*This story is a pure invention and you might find inconsistencies with the books. I make no profit off this fan fiction. All recognizable names and characters are property of Tolkien and Peter Jackson.*

INTO THE LOST

Riding North

The last of the eagles disappeared from the sky over Erebor and Legolas turned his steel eyes upward. His last goodbye to the battle he was leaving. It was desertion; from his duty as Prince of Mirkwood and as a son of King Thandruil. The enemy was defeated, at least, and the Lonely Mountain could fade in peace as he'd turn away. Jaw clenched, he steadily strode down a snowy path of stone and ice until he reached the valley below. The cold left his hands and ears tingling as the temperature rose, but still his heart and mind were in the dark frozen ruins of Erebor.

They would have to wait before seeing him again.

He had to head west, where the forest of Mirkwood lied on the horizon, serene, impassible to the turmoil that just occurred. The western wind brushed his face - a welcomed smell of wet soil from the lands ahead. But Legolas wasn't yet clear of the mountain. The remnant noises of the battle between the five armies still reached his ears: wounded soldiers calling for aid, battlefield commanders regrouping their survivors, horns sounding to announce a departure. Soon there would no longer be any elves outside the Woodland Realm.

Except him.

And Tauriel. Poor Tauriel.

Legolas slowed his pace, first to turn his attention backward once more, then because his chest tightened at the thought of the red-haired archer. His last glimpse of her, collapsed and unwell on a ledge, stayed with him as his heart beat hastened. He had done all he could to come to her aid, he had no remorse as he recounted each step of the combat. He'd made each arrow count. No doubt had she made the most of her abilities in order to-

A sudden sound of trotting footsteps cut short of his pondering and he spun on his heels, reaching back to grab the handle of a knife. Over the white hill, the pointy ears of Iefyr appeared and Legolas relaxed with a sigh, walking up to the horse with renewed calm as he softly touched his snout. He stopped again as he heard a second set of hooves following suit.

Tauriel was sternly mounted on her own brown horse and she held something small in her left hand. Her face was blank as if drained of all emotion.

"Tauriel," he said, not knowing how else to greet her. He unconsciously took a step back at her approach.

Coming to a halt, her clear but swollen eyes laid upon him before she spoke with a tight throat.

"My Lord Legolas," she replied, toneless.

His brow was lowered at the object she held and it was the black stone given to her by Kili, the dwarf killed by Bolg, before he directed his stare at her. How much she had changed, in such short lapse of time, upon meeting their prisoners and now burdened with the loss of love, and a tarnished honor. Legolas empathized with her sorrow, yet his hands were clenching into fists.

"It will be a long road north," he pressingly told her. "I must go it alone."

Misty brown eyes blinked at him and her pale lips parted to speak. Perhaps there was regret, or an apology being willed but locked behind shame or an excess of pride. She had been his impetuous Captain of the Guard. A swift, strong and passionate fighter in his army, sometimes so headstrong it pained him to look at her.

"Kili is getting a a proper burial underneath Erebor," she finally murmured. "My path leads to his kin in the Iron Hills, and I will honor his promise to his mother."

Legolas stood perplexed at her statement. Dwarven people only saw enemies of his kind, and no amount of tears would help Tauriel gain their sympathy. She would be judged as the murderer of their fallen hero and executed on sight.

Or, she would do what he knew she did best. Stun them with her disarming stubbornness and passion. His father had fallen for it. Legolas however, having known Tauriel as a child, knew that erring too close to her fiery temper only resulted in getting burnt.

Face lowered, eyes reverently closed, Legolas wished her all the respect she would require.

"A noble quest, my friend. Take heed of the eastern winds. Travel safe."

To those words he climbed upon his saddle and touched his right hand to his heart in farewell. Tauriel did not return the salute before he directed his horse towards the western valley, lying in a cloud of white fog. He would not look back to gaze upon her sad figure and only tightened his grip of the reins, knuckles white though barely steering. Why had she come to him? The eastern path was a more flat, kinder itinerary for her but she had to find and tell him of her plans.

The dwarf named Kili had taken a long time to say goodbye to her in Lake Town. He'd witnessed the whole scene, awaiting Tauriel as he'd taken the responsibility of salvaging her right as a soldier of the Woodland Realm. She had insisted in not heeding his warnings. She had taken the hard way down, dragging him, and many others along in the fall. Now, he was lost in his muddled mind, deserting his home, his father, his duty. If Tauriel wasn't to blame then he was as much at fault for letting his emotions impair his judgment. His teeth were numb from the tension. He no longer saw the shift in the clouds above as the blue sky turned to gray and soon, an impalpable fog surrounded him.

Would Tauriel attempt to follow him if she lost his trace?

The air thickened, his lungs worked to fill and empty and he had to squint his eyes to see ahead. Fading trees of various nature grew dense until he found himself in what looked like ancient woods, branches naked of leaves ravaged by an old fire. Each of Iefyr's hooves landed in soft dirt, the only sound he heard within miles.

What if he had let her fight Bolg alone? What if the elven sword Orcrist had never found its way into the hands of the dwarf king Thorin?

Iefyr slowed to a halt and blew its nostrils. It felt lost and Legolas whispered a few reassuring words, patting its neck, distracted. The animal was sensing his confusion and it translated in its behavior. Coming back to his senses, Legolas climbed down and held the bridle, leading Iefyr on foot but he resisted, protesting noisily.

"Shh," Legolas whispered, but soon tempered his impatience. "This was a beautiful forest once, but the late Smaug turned it into this graveyard. The trees are dead and so is all life. You needn't worry."

Still the horse pulled back on the reins and began trotting backwards, its eyes riveted on Legolas with a rare determination.

The smell of danger crept up on him, too, but it was too late. The wet pitter-patter only sounded as they were raised up from the muddy ground, wet as they lifted intermittently. He heard the breath of the wolf and slowly eased on the bridle. Legolas made as little movement as he could to give a look behind him. The predator was smaller than he expected, but still an adult canine of white and silver coat.

Its brown eyes had a golden shine to them. Even though its fur was thick for the cold season, he could still guess its ribs showing through. It had probably not eaten in many days. It stalked between the trees and tentatively came closer, unafraid. As it came into view, Legolas, still motionless, could see more details of the wolf. Dark, grimy patches of dried blood stained its neck. It looked like it had survived a trap or an attack.

Had he carried arrows, Legolas would have shot the beast if it showed sign of aggression, but it kept its head low, a mere twenty paces away, set on meeting the elf.

There were many wolf packs in Mirkwood and Legolas had hunted a few that came too close to his home, scaring the horses and children. Most of the predators were in turn hunted and captured by goblins, to be used as mounts after being broken and tortured into submission.

Iefyr protested and stepped back as the predator was now upon them.

"What happened to you?" Legolas asked the creature as it moved close enough for him to reach down and pat its head. Ears folded backwards as he gently placed his hand upon the gray, humid fur. It whined, seeming distressed and out of breath. Parting the fur, he saw the wound at its collar had shorn hair in places, and blood was clotting in spots. A choke collar had been torn off. It insisted in staying close to Legolas, and he felt the creature's warmth against his shins. It whined again.

"I'm so sorry for your pain," he whispered back, feeling his own eyes catching mist. He came to a crouch and stroked the wolf's back until it soothed. He frowned as he could feel its spine.

Such a weakened creature couldn't survive for long on its own. And Legolas had no means to feed it, or heal it. A mercy killing was in order even if it broke his heart. Reaching up for one of his knives, he stopped in his motion as the wolf's ears straightened, head raised at attention towards the north. Then it bolted away at full speed.

Iefyr snorted and nervously trotted in his back. Voices could be heard, loud and crude.

"I told you to check on the locks this morning!" shouted an orc. "But no. Snacking on human rind for hours was too important. Good luck finding another wolf bait around here."

"Ahh... Shut up!" replied a goblin. "I will find this mutt and carve her pelt off while she still wiggles."

Legolas sent Iefyr away from sight and used his limber arms to pull himself up into the nearest tree. The orc was large and heavy, holding a morning star across his shoulder while the goblin walked hastily at his side. They were looking in all directions for the wolf.

"The tracks stop here," said the goblin, leaning over the spot where Legolas stood mere moments ago. "Bones of elves! Horse prints... and boots!"

They both roared in rage before following the tracks up to the foot of the tree. Slowly, they craned their necks to look up. Supporting his own weight upon a branch, Legolas returned to them a sneering gaze before releasing himself on top of them, knives extended as he jumped. The orc was first to scream in anger though his throat was severed and black blood spilled out. He grasped at his neck, trying to stop the bleeding and Legolas dodged the swing of the goblin's axe, kicking it off into the brambles nearby.

"Rotten elf!" It spat before curling onto himself and he sprung from his short legs to leap onto Legolas, screaming and biting ferociously at his bracers.

Legolas cringed as he felt a pinch on his left hand, but knocked the creature against the tree to release his arm. It held on, digging its foul teeth into his flesh. Once again, Legolas, forcefully pushed the goblin's head against the tough trunk, then plunged his other knife into its belly. Guts spilled as he pulled out his blade. The screams of agony filled the grim woods. Dropped to the ground, the goblin held his midsection with panic and horror, yellow eyes bulging out of their orbits at the realization that he was going to die soon.

Standing over his victim, Legolas heaved in utter scorn, flaring his nostrils as he smelled the vile stench.

"Tell me where is your camp," he muttered, knife pointed at the goblin's face, "and I won't let you suffer."

The wretched thing coughed and spat out blood, speaking with difficulty. Yellow eyes pleaded for mercy.

"We have done nothing to you, elf! We stayed out of your forest. So stay out of our land!"

Crunching his face with despise, Legolas pressed his foot into the gutted belly, mashing the intestines and something spilled out as well as cries of anguish, almost causing him to hurl in disgust.

"Please! Stop!... Just go north! Past the swamp in the ashen graveyard..." He coughed and hissed. "Now kill me, elf."

But Legolas planned to do nothing that would ease the goblin's pain. He bent to his level and sneered at him with anger.

"Why would I let you command me? Worthless filth. I would let you rot here for the crows to feast upon your entrails."

He left the scene of gore with the pitiful moans of the goblin behind him. Iefyr reappeared later on, having taken a detour to avoid the enemy. Legolas cleaned his blades as his step grew more cautious, landing on deeper mud. His left hands had the semi-circled marks of the goblin's tiny but sharp teeth, and dark blood was escaping from his skin. Using a section of his green tunic, Legolas wrapped his left hand and winced as it stung. There was no medicinal herb to be seen around to make a cleaning salve. If infected, he would have to treat the wound in a different, more aggressive way. Anger did not leave him until he was faced with another problem.

The swamp spread across the clearing and he found no way of walking around it unless he cut through the thick of the woods. A white fog covered the black pond, and no birds or insects could be heard.

"Iefyr, my friend," Legolas began saying, voice breathy, and still holding the horse's bridle. He stopped and looked at the horse, straight in the eye. "My path may lead you to more danger than is necessary." Swallowing painfully, Legolas couldn't rid himself of the cold pain in his throat, but he kept his face stern and strong for his friend. Iefyr seemed to calm down and grunted once, listening. "Go home. Find safety, and don't try to look for me."

He'd lost too many friends in battle, creatures of pure goodness, selfless to a fault. War had excused so much grief, sorrow he never allowed himself to feel for the sake of his people. Iefyr bumped its snout against his chest, stepping forward to press a last goodbye. Smiling sadly, Legolas held his forehead against his and patted his neck as he turned around.

Yet another farewell for that day. Once truly alone, Legolas took a deep breath of damp, cold air. No more farewells.

It felt like night time but he was sure midday still hadn't passed. The oppressing atmosphere of the lifeless swamp made his step slow and uneasy, he who usually strode agile and fast. It was despair, he told himself. With Smaug now gone the desolation still remained. How many years until the forest would regrow and thrive again? A century, millennia perhaps. One life seemed worthless in comparison.

The orc camp produced sounds of clatter, roars, and smells of burning metal, meat, and feces. Branches fashioned into defensive spikes boarded the fence. Here and there hung bloody skeletons and skulls served as dissuasive decoration. Legolas had seen rivers grow and deserts turn into valley in his lifetime. Hope wasn't lost, he would make sure of it.