Glorfindel was running. Heart pounding, breath hitching, he darted through the silvery trees barely half a mile outside of Rivendell, whipping through the underbrush, feet hardly whispering against the soft forest floor as he tore past. Fear gripped his insides, twisting, squeezing, driving him further, faster, faster - he had to move faster.
A noise sounded behind him, far off still, but much too near all the same. The rustling of disturbed foliage, a shout – that voice. That name.
"I think I've found his tracks!" The words carried faintly to his elven ears, melodious and deadly.
He cursed under his breath, eyebrows drawn together, and threw a glance over his shoulder. They were coming. They were gaining.
He stumbled over a tree root, barely twisting himself out of the way of the trunk he almost hadn't seen as he'd turned, flinging himself to the side but always forward, further, faster. He needed to get to Rivendell. Surely there he would be safe?
Another shout, to the left of where he'd heard the first, the disturbance of two figures now chasing through the trees.
Already?
With a strangled, barely suppressed cry, he sprang suddenly from the ground, catching onto a low hanging branch and swinging himself upwards. He needed no pause to balance himself, knees bending the moment his feet touched upon the bark and propelling him upwards, higher into the trees, always moving forward. Away.
The voices shouted to each other, closer still – how fast could they move?
He could hear the dull thud of their footfalls, feel their suppressed excitement. There was another shout, from the closer of the two – "Come back, my pretty elf! We won't bite!" And they laughed, they both laughed, a clear, joyous sound, on either side of him. Herding him. Closing on him. Still lagging, oh yes, but ever nearer.
And then a snap all too close. A rustle. The laugher faded away.
Glorfindel caught onto the next branch and swung himself up silently, pressing his back against the thick trunk of the tree, and remained crouched where he was.
And a third figure appeared below, much quieter than the others, slowing down some fair yards from where he was – still too close for safety, though. Much too close.
Dressed in white, the figure stooped towards the ground, gently brushing dead leaves to the side.
Glorfindel watched from his vantage point, watched through the gaps of the leaves as the white robe shifted, straightened, scraped quietly across the earth as the feet beneath it moved. Silvery hair shimmered up at him, playing calmly in the faint breeze, and he screwed his eyes shut and leaned his own golden head onto the bark he was pressed against, fighting to keep his frantic gasps quiet.
He was wary of the unnatural silence that had descended over the forest, a forest that was usually alive with birdsong and the comings and goings of its inhabitants. The panicked sense of evil, of something otherworldly and wrong, only increased within the elf as he sat deep inside the tree branches, mind whirring, palms sweating, and tried to flesh out his options.
The sound of running grew nearer, the voices grew nearer, and then the other two pursuers came bursting through the undergrowth, halting before the robed figure, both grinning and eager.
There were too many here. He had to leave before any more arrived, before he was discovered – and he had to leave unnoticed.
"What do you think?" The taller of the two spoke in a smooth voice, black hair slipping over a green-glad shoulder as they leaned forward with anticipation.
"The earth tells me he no longer treads on soil." The robed figure responded evenly.
There was more laughter from the two, a sound as silken and fair as the dresses they wore.
"So my prince has like, gone into the trees?" Locks of burnished bronze bounced happily with this proclamation, and the raven-haired companion turned her gaze upwards into the foliage. "How exciting."
Glorfindel bit his lip, anger flashing through him, momentarily overlaying his fear. They were mad, that much was clear. He had never before come across such an unhinged sense of reality as theirs, and was at a loss as how to deal with them. He had no weapons, he had no knowledge of what he was dealing with. His only instinct was to flee.
He rose slowly, half crouching still, a hand pressed against the bark of the trunk. As he stared down at them, lips curling in disgust, the silvery figure suddenly raised a hand, and the other two quietened. The breeze picked up, flicking strands of blonde hair forward against Glorfindel's cheek, and the robed form inhaled deeply. Then the wind faded as quickly as it had come, and the delicate layers of white whipped around as the slim figure turned towards him, silver hair flying.
Glorfindel was suddenly pinned by the most beautiful, metallic grey eyes he had ever seen. Liquid they appeared, a molten swirl that seemed as hard edged as a blade – and yet capable of such softness as to soothe the aching fires of his heart, he knew, if only he would let them in.
He froze in that instant, and seemed incapable of noticing anything but the astounding beauty of the woman who possessed those eyes, those hypnotic swirls of silver. They shone, remaining steady as she gazed through the distance into his very soul, her lips stretching in a slow, almost predatory smile.
For a moment he found himself unable to move, unable to react, to think, to even remember why it was that he should be running.
Then he blinked, and with a shudder sprang away once more.
The chiming laughter followed after him, echoing throughout the unnaturally quiet forest, and the sound of pursuit picked up once more.
He leapt still higher into the trees; judging by their footfalls, the three women remained below. They could follow no marks he might leave behind on ground level as they were, and he was making next to no sound. If he could out-wit them, if he could double back, turn off course, perhaps they would become confused and lose him altogether amongst the leaves. He thought it was a plausible plan of action, considering current company.
His heart thumped a frantic beat against his chest as he landed smoothly on a sturdy limb and flitted quickly along its length, heading almost at a right-angle to his previous motion of bearing. Leaves whirred past him, branches jumped out from all directions, and the noise of pursuit faded slightly, although another voice seemed to have joined in.
Glorfindel leapt directly up to an overhanging branch, following along its length in a new direction, once more changing course. He moved as fast as he could, as silently as he could, and it seemed to him the voices were now heading at a diagonal away from him. He did not stop.
Distracted as he was, he still should have noticed the sudden appearance of an obstacle in his path long before he happened upon it, and was forced into a surprised halt lest he land directly on this new thing. Eyebrows raised, arms catching out at branches for balance, he stared at the lumpy black object that sat precariously in the elbow of the bough he had been about to land on, and wondered from where it had appeared.
The mound of dark material shifted, and the figure of a girl emerged – no more than fifteen years of age! he thought, adding surprise to the growing list of chaotic emotions churning through him.
The girl flicked her long, black fringe to the side, and eyed Glorfindel with the one soulful blue eye that could be seen through her hair.
"What are you doing here?" She sneered at him, voice dripping with venom and a deep sense of hurt.
"I…" Glorfindel managed, eyebrows struggling to rise further than the muscles in his face would allow.
"WHAT?" She yelled, producing two daggers from her black arm-holsters with a snick. "Have you come to laugh at the weird girl who wears pants, too? Well let me tell you…"
Glorfindel was out of there before her leather leggings had time to finish creaking with her movement.
He didn't understand. He didn't understand. Where in Arda were they all coming from?
His feet continued to fly along the branches as the noises below persisted, multiplied, grew louder and more frantic once again. In place of the natural song of the forest was the uneven spread of people, the crashing of many running feet, the whoosh of delicate material snapping amidst the shout of desperate voices. There were more of them, at least three others had been added to the immediate count, all darting through the trees, searching. Hunting. For him.
He caught the flash of fiery red curls whipping past below; a woman dressed in naught but scanty armour, her bosom bursting out of a frighteningly graphic chest-plate design, as she thrashed wildly at the shrubbery with a sword as long as she was, calling that name again and again. That name he was learning to despise.
Glorfindel moved faster still.
The ground suddenly shook, the trees rattled, and one deep (yet clearly feminine) voice rose above the swelling tide of noise below.
"I call to thee, Osiris, king! Come forth to your humble servant…"
Glorfindel paid it no heed; a swaying tree was not enough to trip his balance, or force him to the ground. For some reason they chose not to climb up after him, even as at least three of the beasts knew he was not on the ground. He would not give up the one scarce point of safety he had.
Something crashed mightily, far to his left, and a dainty squeal immediately followed.
"Ow, ow, ow!" came the distant cry. "Ohmygosh, I'm bleeding!"
"Stand aside, I'm a healer!"
"So am I, Elrond himself trained me…"
Glorfindel sprang in the opposite direction as the argument drifted faintly, unwanted, into his ears. He also ignored the golden glow that pulsed from that section of forest. And the gold horse with wings that struggled awkwardly away from it.
There were perhaps eleven of them now, within a dangerously close perimeter of him; at least seventeen within the half-mile. A panic was threatening to overwhelm him completely, and the erratic rhythm of his breathing was due only partly to the pace he had set himself. He fought onwards, refused to give in – he would not be caught – but he did not know how much further he could go, if he was still being directly followed or if he was just moving to escape general discovery.
He felt tears springing to the back of his eyes, as frustration, fear, and a deep sense of not knowing what was going on threatened to overwhelm him. He had never felt so terrified, so at a loss, in the entirety of his two existences.
Ever.
And then it all stopped.
The movement, the voices, the noise. It all stopped.
Glorfindel slowed to a stop himself, but not out of relief. This new development was highly unnerving.
His breath came ragged, wisps of blonde hair were sticking to his forehead, he had a small scratch from a wayward branch on his cheek and there was a bit of mud on his shoes. Yet as he leaned a shoulder against the tree's trunk, eyes darting suspiciously into the now silent gloom, he could not find it in himself to care in any way about his dishevelled state (something which was not a common thing among the Eldar). He lifted a hand to clutch at his chest, over his heart, and tried to breathe away his terror.
Perhaps they really had disappeared as quickly as they had come?
Then something dropped from above, and landed crouched before him.
Glorfindel blinked slowly, and stared.
"…Erestor?"
The dark haired elf suddenly in his presence smiled faintly, both arms braced by his feet, and cocked his head to the side.
"What are you doing here?" Glorfindel tried once more, his harsh breathing loud to his own ears. Then he shook his head, and allowed himself another glance over his shoulder. "It matters not. We must both get back to Rivendell as soon as possible. Some foul things crawl the earth of this forest, things I cannot for the life of me understand, and of which I certainly do not wish to make further study. We must leave now."
The other elf remained silent, dark hair falling across his shoulders as he calmly watched his frantic companion.
"Do you understand, Erestor? I do not jest, we are in very real danger!" Glorfindel hissed, dropping his arms by his side and standing straighter, weary of the perfect silence.
"Who is Erestor?" the elf before him asked, staring up at him with vague eyes.
Glorfindel blinked, and would have taken a step back had he not already been pressed against a tree trunk.
"Tch… Erestor?" a soft, melodic voice called from the foot of the tree they were on. "What kind of an elf name is that?"
Glorfindel's blood ran cold, and he looked sharply down into those cold silver eyes once more.
"Yeah, I mean, what. Is he going to… Erest…me?" A second voice proclaimed with a giggle, as the shiny bronze locks bounced into his view.
Glorfindel remained silent, fingers clenching into bark.
"Anyway, I've never heard of Erestor," The curvy brunette continued, as her slim raven-haired friend glided silently to a stop beside her.
"I've never heard of Erestor," Erestor echoed, still smiling faintly.
The sounds of the others began picking up once more, one by one in the distance, as the three women stood below him.
"You should go to them. They are awfully pretty," Erestor sing-songed, standing slowly from his crouch. "Come now, my prince– "
"Oh please, not you too!" Glorfindel interrupted, almost feeling exasperation underneath all the fear – which at least melted away his frozen sense of entrapment.
"What is wrongeth, my lord?" A bright, banana-yellow mass of curls attached to a buoyant sky-blue dress (and presumably, a female body, too) came springing in from the left, to the apparent distress of his current company.
"Oh god, she's here," was muttered beneath the breath of the raven-haired woman, and Glorfindel was left with the sick curiosity of who she was, as he stared down at the unfolding drama with increasing confusion and horror.
"Wander downeth, my love, and we shall endeavour to make you feel all better and stuff!" the blondecalled, trotting to a stop beside the base of the tree, as the far-away noise of other women could be heard tramping ever nearer.
"I yearn for thee," she continued with a deeply tragic expression. "I crave thou's love, thou's touch, thou's quivering member pressed against my– "
"Oh please…"
"Oh yes," the brunette shouted with another giggle, as silver eyes turned away from Glorfindel to send a withering glare at the curly blonde. "Won't you please come down, my pri– "
"Stop it, stop it!" Glorfindel had both his hands clutching at his hair at this point, looking as if he was about to rip out great chunks. "What are you doing? Why are you saying these things? Who- What- Just… Why!"
"Whatever do you mean, L– "
"Don't you say it, woman!" he suddenly roared, voice cracking, anger colouring his cheeks, as he pointed an accusing finger down. "Don't you dare say it!"
"But, Legolas– "
"I AM NOT LEGOLAS! Valar and above, Legolas does not live in Rivendell! Why are you even here?!"
"Oh, you blonde hunk of elf, you. Of course you're Leggy, don't be so silly!"
The brunette suddenly whirled on the newcomer, fire in her deep green eyes. "Don't call him silly, Galadralina! You're silly!"
"Me? I'm not the blonde one around here!"
"Yes you are!"
"Yeah? Well you have yeti feet!"
"Oh great, guys, Viper's coming…"
"WHERE IS HE? I WILL SLICE HIM WITH MY KNIVES! HOW DARE HE INSULT ME, MY LIFE IS A SPIRALLING ABYSS!"
As a bundle of black cloth and fringe rampaged onto the scene and the yelling match escalated, one pair of silver eyes turned away and stared coldly at the dark elf who remained in the tree above, a glazed expression on his face. Her eyes, cold and hard as a cold hard metal thing, slid angrily over the empty spot which had only moments ago housed her prize, and her expression turned to ice. Which is a cold and relatively hard (though not very silver) substance.
She stepped quietly up to the tree trunk, as three beautiful women in blue jeans and T-shirts wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. Placing a hand over the bark, she closed those cold, silver eyes of hers, and a rush of air ran through the trees.
Then her hard, cold, molten swirling cold silver eyes snapped open, and in an instant Erestor coiled, and was gone from his perch, speeding through the tree-tops.
With a smirk and a glance at her still arguing companions, she set off after him at a more sedated pace. She did not want to ruin her robes, after all.
Fin.
Author's Notes
So instead of contributing nearly 3000 words to my actual, multi-chapter story - which im getting behind on AGAIN, by the way - i went and did... this. I'm... I'm.... vaguely embarrassed. I apologise, ffiction world. I dont know WHAT came over me...