Though noiseless by nature, he could not keep the tight control he had his breath any longer. With great shuddering gasps, he pulled air into his raw and starved lungs.
He continued down the steep slope at a break-neck speed, his sharp elven senses letting him know that the foul orcs were getting closer. He had to warn the Fellowship of the approaching scores of enemies.
Suddenly, a sharp hiss greeted his ears and a shaft slammed into the Prince's left shoulder. The sheer force of the impact throwing him off his feet.
He leaned himself against the incline, tears of frustration, pain, and anger coursing down his beautiful face as he fingered the arrow portruding from his rapidly bleeding shoulder. The entire head of the arrow had broken through the front and a good portion had splintered inside the flesh. With deft movements, he broke the head off and removed the flights as well, leaving only the unreachable part buried inside his shoulder.
Using the tree trunk as a support, he pulled himself up and set off again, the pain of the wound licking down into a blanket of unbearable heat.
His delay had cost him precious time. He could hear the orcs behind him, chanting a war cry in their gruff voices, their foul language assaulting the elf's ears. The sound of their voices and the words that they spoke gave Legolas a new energy. He put on extra speed, determined to make it to his friends in time.
Though his endurance was great, he was tiring quickly, the steady blood flow from his wound, the stress of the chase, and the pain in his body were exhausting him even further. He cursed himself for leaving his bow and quiver earlier that morning before he had left on this scouting mission. He soon realized, however, that it wouldn't have made much of a difference, his left arm was hanging, useless, at his side, making his movements awkward and less graceful than usual.
Legolas burst through the tree line ahead of him, bowling over Gimli and Pippin, who were arguing over who should get the last bit of breakfast. Aragorn, who had been studying the blade of his sword, flashed to his feet, sword held ready to defend. His eyes fell upon Legolas's heaving chest and bloodied shoulder and his expression darkened considerably.
"Orcs!", Legolas gasped out. "Orcs and a pack of Uruk-hai behind me. Two score strong, they are, I'm afraid. They're scarcely minutes behind me." Legolas panted as he readied his bow, notching an arrow to the string. His shoulder protested greatly, but, he ignored it.
As the Fellowship drew their weapons and prepared to fight, Aragorn sidled up to Legolas, a deep concern in his grey eyes.
"You are wounded, my friend." Aragorn said, eyeing the dark stains of blood trailing down his friends clothing, the crimson color covering almost the whole left side of the tunic.
"'Tis nothing that can't wait until later." Legolas murmmered, shrugging off Aragorn's worry. However, he was unable to assure the King of Gondor further, for just then, a wave of intense nausea engulfed him with such ferocity that it drove him to his already aching knees. His head hung between his arms, his chin resting on his chest as he waited for the feeling to pass. His head swam and he felt as if he were going to pass out.
There came a brief touch on his back. Aragorn was saying something to him but his senses were fleeing him quickly. In front of them, the trees seemed to part as the scores of orcs and Uruk-hai poured forth from the woods into the clearing. The Prince of Mirkwood finally gave up the fight against the oppressive blackness clouding his vision. The elf slumped forward over his weapon in a faint, and knew no more.