Fall From Grace

Disclaimer: Most of these people belong to Tolkien, except for those who don't (Tadrien and Bagbag are mine and I don't think anyone else would want them). I'm not making any money from this now or ever, and there's probably no point in suing me as I have no money (once again, now or ever). :)

A/N: This would be the beginning of the edited version to correct such things as time issues and explain a few extras that appears in later chapters. You can expect no further interruptions with dedications and disclaimers and author's notes and the like. I'm going to leave the other chapters up while I'm doing this, but they probably won't make as much sense.

For Sarah, who's been loaning me her Legolas for this story, even though it would seem I now have my own firmly lodged in my mind.

Chapter One

Into Darkness


Orcs. An entire army's worth of twisted creatures of darkness with thick greenish skin stood at attention, awaiting their orders. They knew very well what was coming, and many fidgeted with the knowledge that soon they would be set loose to kill and destroy anything and everything in their paths.

A tall figure, its face hidden by a thick, black cloak studied his creations. Ghastly white hands with abnormally long fingers pointed at one of the large evil-looking figures in the first rank. "You..." a voice rasped darkly, cold and filled with hatred. "You.... Bring me... Elves. For our time... grows near..."

A massive cry rose from the assembled. Grunts and shouts of approval as many of them raised their swords and bows, eager to move out. Eager to do their master's bidding and maim or kill anyone or anything that would dare to stand in their way. As the cloaked one moved aside to give them way, they charged forth, longing to fulfill their destiny as a means to spread as much terror as they could.

***

News of strange disappearances had spread quickly to Bree, and indeed, to other parts of Middle Earth as well. Orcs roaming the forests, especially near Mirkwood in numbers as great as they had during the rise of Sauron. The victims were Elven and no distinction had been made other than that. As far as any knew, they were merely taken. For there were no corpses, save the Orcs. In fact, the only other signs that remained were Elven weaponry and trampled plantlife.

Two unlikely travelling companions found themselves in the inn, taking their fill of food and ale. The first, a Man, six feet tall, with black hair flecked with grey who carried a air of nobility about him. At one time, he would have been easily recognized by the regulars of this place, as a ranger. An evil looking man half hidden in dark cloaks and shadows with tangled locks of greasy black hair. Those who knew him, though, knew him to be far from evil and to be very fair.

His Dwarven companion stood at four and a half feet. A short, stocky fellow, stout of heart, with long brown hair that flowed from under his helm and a beard and moustache to match. His skin was rough and his hands were calloused, characteristic of years of hard work. He studied the Man for a long moment. "We are making good time, I believe, Aragorn."

He considered that for a time and took a long drink from his mug. "We are, indeed, Gimli. We should be able to reach Mirkwood in three, perhaps four, days."

The Dwarf nodded. "Good. The sooner we find who's responsible for this and put a stop to it, the better for all parties concerned."

"Very true," Aragorn replied. He drained the remaining contents of his mug and rose from his chair. "It would be best to get some sleep while we can. We have a full day ahead of tomorrow and I would like to leave this place at dawn." He clapped Gimli on the shoulder and bade him good night before retiring to their rented room upstairs.


****

Swiftly and gracefully, a tall figure with long, flowing blonde hair swept through the moonlit forest without so much as a backwards glance. He had no need of eyesight to tell him what was pursuing him, nor, although still out of sight, how quickly they were gaining on him. He could feel it. As though cold evil itself was directly on his heels.

Scanning ahead for something that might provide him with a bit of shelter, he ducked behind several large moss-covered boulders. It wasn't much and he knew very well it wouldn't hide him from his enemies, but it was better than nothing. At least now he had a point from which to make a stand. He couldn't very well run forever, at any rate.

He glanced upwards, towards the top of a hill which boasted many more smooth stones that jutted out haphazardly in all directions. Plenty of places to hide, but he dared not stir from where he was, for just down the trodden path that shone under the full moon and twinkling stars, he could see a horde of stocky, green-grey creatures pour out from the underbrush. He was all too aware that they had tried, and thankfully, failed, to cut him off.

"Yrch..." he murmured the Elvish word for orc under his breath, tucking a stray lock of fair hair behind one pointed ear. Not hesitating a moment longer, the elf took the bow from his back, nocked an arrow and let it fly, striking the nearest in the hollow of the throat. The other orcs howled and shouted terribly, shaking their swords and spears that gleamed in the darkness as their own archers loosed arrows that mostly riccocheted harmlessly off the rocks.

He peered out from his hiding spot long enough to let another arrow sing through the air to its target and caught sight of the numbers he found himself confronted with. There was still more than thirty from what he could tell, even with the two he had already dispatched. He looked out, and shot again, catching a third orc in the chest, though he barely managed to duck back under the cover of stone before more arrows sailed gracefully towards him, nearly silent, but deadly projectiles.

The Elf wouldn't have a chance to hold them off further with his bow- they were already swarming over and around the rocks. He flung aside his usual weapon of choice and drew a long white knife, fighting desperately against an enemy so seemingly innumerable he could scarcely tell where one Orc ended and another began. For his credit, however, he did manage to take out several more, before he felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull from the hilt of a sword caused to tumble forward, the legs of his attackers blurring as darkness fell over him.