Disclaimer: Yeah, I know the drill. Nothing in this story belongs to me except the situation (more or less). Everything else belongs to the Tolkien family.
In this story, I kind of took maybe half an hour and just jotted down my idea, and I decided that it sounded pretty cool, so I decided to post it. R&R please. This is, as the title says, only one of my many Legolas Prequel ideas.
Attacks On Mirkwood: One of Many Prequels
By Lothlórien (a.k.a. Andromeda)
The elven prince moved silently through the midnight woods, his feet utterly silent. His bow was at the ready, with a perfectly straight arrow, made by his own hands, nocked. Orcs, evil ones lorded over by Sauron himself, had been seen prowling in this area of Mirkwood.
He knew that there were ten other elves flanking him, but they could not see or hear him. He didn't care whether they could see and hear him, for his mind was set on one thing.
Run the orcs out of his home.
"Prince Legolas," A fellow elf walked up behind him silently. He heard her coming, but kept his eyes ahead, "I come back from scouting. There are several orcs, a hunting band most likely."
"Thank you," He listened as she fell back into line.
The orcs soon came into view, huddled around their campfires, murmuring in their crude, rough language.
Legolas gave the signal to be at the ready. He knew that they would not attack unless attacked first. And he would not provoke an attack. There was a vague chance, his father hoped, that they were simply passing through.
A tracker orc, recognizable by its enormous nose, sniffed. At first, a feeling of worry flashed across the elven prince's mind, and then the orc just sniffed again, as if it had a cold.
Legolas relaxed, but only slightly. He heard something in the bushes behind him and spun.
An orc dove out of the bushes, a silent snarl on its face. Its evil sword flashed through the air. The sword dug itself into the tree beside Legolas' head.
"Elf!" The orc rasped loudly, right before Legolas killed it with a swift blow to the neck with his long-knife.
The sounds of snarling battle erupted, in the clearing and the surrounding woods. Arrows flew, and were both orcish and elven. Blades sang, being both the ragged hook-ended blades of Mordor and the keen, elegant sword blades of Mirkwood.
Legolas dove under one orc's blade and decapitated it with a swift slice. His bow would not be of much use, for he had been pulled into the very center of the brawl.
"My friends—!" Legolas heard the death cry of one of his elven friends. He was filled with a burning fury, for he recognized it as the voice of Kyrire, the same elf who had served at his bedside during injury.
"Kyrire!" He tore his bow from his back and let loose with a barrage. When his mind finally cleared, his quiver was empty. His eyes widened as he realized that his bow was useless.
He strapped his bow to his back and unsheathed his long-knives just in time to avoid being killed. He blocked attack after attack. He knew that they would never tire, for such was the way of Mordor.
"Ah—!" Another friend, his weapons gone and a blade coming swiftly down, was in dire trouble. Legolas dove, in the process, placing himself between the orcish blade and his friend.
A swipe knocked the blade away, and someone else's arrow killed the vile creature.
"Are you all right?" Legolas asked the fallen elf.
"My side—I may have broken bones," An earlier wound bloodied the moss green clothing of the elven archer.
"Come, I will carry you to safety," Legolas quickly pulled the elf to his feet and carried him as quickly as he could out of the battlefield. He set him in a tree's hollow, so that he would be safe until the fight was over.
When the elven prince had returned to the battle, most elves had retreated to the safety of the tree branches. They shot their arrows from there. It seemed that there were more than just seven orcs after all.
An orc saw him survey the battle. While Legolas was distracted by a different orc's arrow, the ugly being snuck up behind the elf, ready to bring his sword down.
An elven arrow found the orc's throat before the blow could be felled. But the elven prince's savior was too late.
Legolas spun to see the attacking orc fall to his face, the evil sword clattering to the ground. She turned back to the battle just in time to feel a black arrow pierce his chest.
"Prince Legolas!" An elf who had served by Legolas' side for many, many years, named Ulein, dove out of his tree. He pushed away the attacking orc with as much strength as he could muster.
The hulking orc just laughed and strung another arrow into his bow.
Two more elves dropped from the trees and helped him pulled the orc away. The orcish arrow flew crookedly through the air, thudding into the ground beside the elven prince.
The orcs began to retreat once the large, hulking orc had been killed, leaving the other elves to rush to the prince's aid.
He collapsed into the arms of two friends, who immediately lifted him onto an elven steed. The elf whose life he saved stood ready to lead the horse back to the forest home.
Thranduil stayed by his son's side as long as he could spare, until he awoke. Legolas was confused as to what had happened.
"Father, I—" Legolas cut himself off with a groan. He lay back on the pillow, his hand going to the bandage around his chest.
"Rest. You were shot in the chest and the arrow nearly pierced your lung," Thranduil stood, silently, emotionlessly, "You need to rest, son. I have received word that Lord Elrond Half-Elven is holding a Council in Rivendell."
Legolas was confused, and pain clouded his mind. Every breath was an agony in itself…
"I want you to be the envoy of the Elves of Mirkwood," Thranduil said, pouring his son a drink of a pain-numbing tea, "You will need all your strength, for Rivendell is far over the Misty Mountains."
"If Elrond is holding Council without much prior notice, it must be very important," Legolas took the cup, but did not drink, "If it is important, then dwarves will be there."
"Of that you can be sure," Thranduil touched the door handle, "I will leave you to your thoughts. If you wish to be our envoy, though I do not relish the thought, you will have to leave within the next few days."
The elven kings left the room, closing the door behind him. Legolas set the cup down on the bedside table and lay back, allowing pain and dreams to drag him into darkness.
He dreamed of nothing but the fight. It haunted him, but he fought against the pain, refusing to let it consume him.
He, and only he, knew that the arrow had been poisoned.
A few days later…
Legolas sat up straight in his horse as they rode through the mountain pass. This way was treacherous, but there was no other good way to get to Rivendell with speed. The wound in his chest throbbed, as if angry.
His father had been reluctant to let him go, and Legolas knew that if he told him about the poison that he was now fighting, he would miss this opportunity.
"Master Legolas," One of the others rode up beside him, "Are we to be taking the rode through Rohan?"
Legolas noticed that, while he was thinking, His horse had begun to lead them towards the pass over Caradhras. He snapped back to attention.
"If this were a different situation, Arandusin, yes, but if this council is as important as it seems, we would make much better time by going over Caradhras," Legolas thought through the decision carefully, "Yes, we will leave our horses at—"
His voice trailed off as they began to ride again, this time galloping, for strength had returned to their steeds. They made it to a small village almost at sundown.
The owner of one of the inns, the Branching Tree, had long been an elf friend, providing lodging for the elves that passed through frequently.
Legolas sat on his bed. The room that they had received was large with a huge fireplace. Each bed was separated from the others by a thin wall. Other than that, there was no ceiling or door.
He carefully shed his tunic and over shirt, revealing the carefully applied bandage. He had left the supper table early to treat his wound.
It was a deep injury, a few inches below his collarbone on the right side. The skin flamed a sickly red around the partially healed gash. The bandage that Legolas had tied himself was made for concealment, not comfort.
"Master Legolas?" Arandusin entered the room on the far end of the room.
"Yes?" Legolas paused.
"There is something outside that perhaps you should see," The tall elf's footsteps approached, and then stopped, "There is a band of orc that are camping outside the village."
"I will be out in a few minutes," Legolas thought, then changed his mind, "No, Arandusin."
"Yes, sir?"
"Ignore them," Legolas said, "if they attack, protect the villagers. But do nothing. Do not spy, do not taunt, nothing. We will let them be."
"But—" Arandusin began.
"We are on an important journey, Arandusin, and we must not be hindered by an incident such as this," Legolas moved to replace the slightly soiled bandage over his chest, "Now, leave. I would rest before our run tomorrow."
Arandusin left, closing the door behind him.
Legolas laid back on his bed after slipping on a sleepshirt. Out of habit, he tucked it into his pants.
His mind began to whirl with pain. Every night, once the sun set, his wound began to hurt, worse and worse since the night they left. He knew that there was a reason for it, but he dared not tell anyone.
He would receive all the healing needed once he reached Rivendell.
Legolas awoke to the snapping of a twig outside the inn. Such a thing wouldn't have awakened him normally, but the pain in his chest made it hard to sleep.
Quickly, quietly, he changed into his regular traveling tunic and over shirt. He grabbed his long-knives, and then thought better of it. If it was just a child, he wouldn't want to frighten them.
On the other hand, if it was an orc…
He took a pair of small, thin knives and fitted them into sheaths in his boots. He never normally used these blades, but tonight could be an exception.
The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, but not loudly enough to wake the others. He descended the stairs into the silent inn's tavern room.
An evil feeling of foreboding fell over him and he ran back up the stairs, three at a time. He quickly roused the others, and, without needing an explanation, they were running on foot over the field towards Caradhras.
They heard some commotion at the inn soon after they left. A high, shrill cry told them that they orcs had attacked.
Darkness was thick and the moon was new that night. Very little starlight guided their footsteps as they ran. Legolas' chest throbbed worse and worse with every breath until he was forced to stop.
Arandusin, who had been taking up the rear, noticed his pain. A whispered word called them all to halt.
Legolas slumped against a tree, grimacing in pain. His chest ached so badly—he could not think…
"Master Legolas!" Someone cried out as he nearly collapsed, "We left before the attack! How could he have been injured?"
"I do not know, Durian," Arandusin held the elven prince up.
Legolas breathed hard, trying to pull his thoughts together. The pain was so much… "I—I can run. We must get to Caradhras soon."
"My prince, tell us what has happened," Durian asked.
"All will be told—when we reach Rivendell," Those were the last words out of Legolas' mouth before he collapsed into darkness.
Many days later, they reached Rivendell. During the day, Legolas could ride as well as any elf, but at night, pain overtook him and pulled him down, into blackness.
He surveyed the majestic home of Elrond Half-Elven, searching for a particular face. Soon, Elrond himself joined them at the gate.
"My lord, I have a request to make," Legolas bowed.
"I already know, Legolas, son of Thranduil," Elrond smiled only briefly, "Your father sent word of your injury and sickness on the wings of a falcon. Come, I will see to your healing."
Though he was confused, Legolas followed, leaving his recovered horse to his companions. As he followed, he glanced up to a balcony and saw four small figures, accompanied by a taller, grey cloaked figure.
That was the first time he ever saw Frodo Baggins.
And it would not be the last.