Hey, guys! Remember me? No? Dang. Anyways, I'm back, and with a new story in tow. Modern LOTR fics have always had a special place in my heart, so I decided to try one of my own. Updates will probably be every week/two weeks. I'm busy with a book I'm trying to finish to publish, so this is more of a fun escape from that than anything. Hopefully, you'll like it though!
And for those of you who remember 'Vicissitudes'… There won't be any more updates to that. My writing style's changed since then and I completely forgot where I was going with it.
Disclaimer: None of the characters you recognize are mine. They all belong to that bloke who wrote them books about those hobbit things. Top lad. The OCs, however, do belong to me.
Prologue
The silence is unnerving.
Such a street as this, especially in the great metropolis of New York, is meant to be bustling with crowds of humanity, regardless the hour. Lights are supposed to be ablaze, drowning out the stars. There ought to be unending noise.
Instead, it's desolate. Deserted. Black.
And completely and utterly void of sound.
Legolas reloads his silenced sniper rifle, pressing his back against the cold, brick wall. He clenches his teeth as new bolts of agony shoot from his side. He doesn't have to look to see that his white dress shirt is far more red than white by now. Not even Hiro will be able to get this stain out.
The stench of acrid smoke assaults his nose, and he tries not to breath.
There.
A scream.
His grip on the gun tightens. He takes a grenade from his belt, playing with the pin.
The earth groans as harsh, heavy footsteps pound against it, and Legolas winces at the Black Speech spoken fifty stories below.
A wind picks up suddenly, threatening to send him tumbling down from his perch. He secures his footing, and smiles grimly at Elladan. "Looks like you won that bet, mellon-nin."
Elladan doesn't respond. Legolas hadn't really expected him too.
But then, after all this, he wouldn't be too surprised if corpses start talking.
His iPhone buzzes in the pocket of his suit jacket. He'd forgotten about it being there. He checks it. New text from Radagast.
It's all set, princeling. Now get out of there before the city goes nuclear.
"As you wish," he mumbles, tucking the phone back into his pocket.
Taking one last glance at Elladan's blood covered body, Legolas pushes off the wall onto his feet. His right leg gives way under his weight, and he falls, falls, falls.
He can't help laughing. His phone buzzes again and Legolas doesn't need to read it to know that the new text is: Not that way!
But the eagles come; they always do at moments like these, although Legolas has come to think of them more of heralds of doom than saviors by now.
A penny for your thoughts?