Prologue
Legolas drew his bowstring back, shooting the arrow the four-hundred meters with ease. The arrow thudded into the center as, the other men beside him took shots as well, many of them hitting around the target yet none hitting the actual wooden disc.
"Balance!" Legolas shouted, quickly righting the bow of a young man, straightening the left elbow. "Use whatever position you can keep steady the longest!"
The elite archers-in-training quickly obeyed, adjusted their grip and their stance, trying again and listening to his criticism. More arrows fell closer, a few hitting the tree it was nailed to. Legolas clapped their shoulders, smiling with triumph and pride until he noticed the man on the horse galloping towards them.
"Hail, Lord Legolas!" the rider called, using the title King Aragorn had given to him despite his best protests.
"Hail, messenger!" Legolas called back, waiting patiently as always for the rider as the man leapt off, pulling off a quick bow before reaching into his cloak to give a piece of parchment to him.
"A message from King Aragorn, my lord," the messenger said hurriedly. "He asks for your presence as soon as you can manage."
Legolas quickly broke the seal, unrolling it as he read it over swiftly.
His eyes narrowed.
His recruits gave him a worried glance. They had gotten to know him well enough to know something was amiss. One of them, a man by the name of Caldan, laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Legolas looked up at the messenger.
"Five days time," he said curtly. "And I will be at Minas Tirith."
"Yes, m'lord!"
The man quickly bowed, leaping onto his horse as he spurred it into a quick gallop, swiftly vanishing into the forest that the Ents now patrolled and held dominion over.
"Legolas, sir, what's wrong?" Caldan asked worriedly.
The Lord of the Mirkwood clasped his trainees' shoulders, "I will explain on the way. Pack up everything we need for travel, light, quick, but durable. We make for Lothlórien and then through Fangorn to Isengard, Rohan, and with all haste to the City of Kings!"
The men went to work without any other questions, leaving the Lord of Mirkwood to his own thoughts.
He shook his head with disbelief, leaping to his feet to watch as Asfaloth trotted over to him, the elven horse neighing as he sensed his master's worry. Glorfindel had gifted the great steed to Legolas before beginning his travels of Middle Earth with Gimli, who had become surprisingly fast friends with the noble elf.
He gently stroked the horse's neck, smiling despite the news he had just received. "Gwenwin in enninath, mellon nîn," he said softly.
The steed snorted, licking the elf's hand fondly.
Legolas chuckled, jogging over to the cache of arrows to grab a sizeable bundle, maybe a hundred more arrows, and split them into two piles, tying them up and wrapping them with a cloth. He tied them to either side of the supply horse that he and his archers shared named Swiftfire, the sturdy horse head-butting the elf. Legolas quickly offered Swiftfire some sugar cubes before running to Asfaloth to leap onto the horse.
The other archers were quickly packing rations and supplies, the dozen men and elves working together with the ease of a tight-knit group of comrades.
"Athanavar!" he called to the brown-haired elf who instantly was at his commander's side. "I will ride ahead, follow my tracks as fast as you can. I leave you in charge."
The elf bowed his head, "Namárië, hir nîn,."
Legolas patted Asfaloth's side, "Noro lim, mellon nîn," he urged. "Noro lim!"
The horse leapt forward, vanishing into the forest.
The elf gave a quiet sigh, "Asfaloth, when can we ever take a break like Glorfindel?"
The horse gave a soft whinny.
The elf chuckled, "True. Probably never."
King Aragorn or Elessar sat on the throne of Gondor, his fingers gently stroking his neatly trimmed beard, Arwen watching him with worry and anxiety mixed together with an expression of care.
"Valar," he sighed heavily.
Arwen smiled, gently placing a soft kiss on his brow, "Do not worry so much, meleth nîn. Once Legolas and Faramir return, we'll deal with everything."
"The news is something to worry about," he muttered tiredly.
The doors burst open, two members of the White Company striding in with Faramir between them, dressed in his white clothes as the Prince of Ithelien. He bowed deeply, "Your majesty, you called upon my presence?"
Aragorn stood up, quickly hauling the steward and prince to his feet, "Faramir, you came just in time. Legolas is making his way from Mirkwood through a few other regions. He hasn't been heard from in a week though and I worry for him."
His old friend chuckled, "Legolas can take care of himself way too well. He will be alright."
Aragorn put an arm around the other man's shoulders, leaning until their heads were side-by-side, "Disturbing news has reached the White Tower," he whispered. "News that I do not find reassuring."
Faramir nodded, "I have heard rumors of strange occurrences but heard nothing more. Glorfindel and Gimli passed through Ithelien not ten days ago, saying they were taking a trip to Arnor to investigate some strange stories they had heard."
The king of the reunited kingdoms sat down on the throne, asking a servant to pull a heavily padded chair over for Faramir.
"Sire, Lord Legolas has been sighted with a great host of riders!" a lookout shouted, running into the hall.
"Allow them in and give the other riders shelter, food, and drinks!" Aragorn ordered. "Ask Lord Legolas to meet me here."
"Yes, sire!"
Faramir leaned forward, "What is so wrong, friend?"
Aragorn took a quiet breath before turning to look at his advisor.
And that one name he hissed quietly was enough.
"Uruk-hai."