The sun's last few rays shined through the dim canopies of Mirkwood forest, offering the smallest promise of returning before casting the gloom of the once beautiful forest of Greenwood unto darkness. Othelion winced despite himself, wondering if this was the last time he'd see the sun. Looking up, the darkening night sky was hardly visible through the thick layered treetops, and the sounds of the night became his only company. As a wood elf, Othelion was well versed in the ways of this forest, having to fight its growing evil alongside his fellow warriors of Eryn Lasgalen for centuries. This moment, however, when all light seemed to die and the darkness took hold of the forest the elves called home, was never easy to witness.
Othelion said a quiet prayer to the Valar, shifting his weight upon the branch he was currently crouched upon, and looked out along the forest. A distant bird call was his only indication that the others were near and still alive. The elves often communicated with bird calls, especially those from his company. He was part of the King's most valuable patrol, and they were trained heavily in matters of stealth and scouting. This night, however, it seemed that their training was for naught. Their enemy had always been one step ahead of them, having taken three of their company noiselessly and without warning. Their bodies were found later, their fatal wounds clean and expertly dealt. This task was beyond them, but no elf would admit defeat. They were trained to see every mission to its end, whatever that might be, and this mission was of utmost importance.
He shuddered, the familiar dark and sinister presence that had been plaguing them for their journey's entirety was again felt on the air. He brought his hands to his mouth and let the signal fly quickly before gripping the branch above him and launching up into its boughs. Moving quickly but quietly through the trees, he searched along the forest floor, not daring to come down any closer. None of them knew fully what their enemy was capable of—but they knew they were safer in the trees… or so they thought.
Suddenly a loud snap to his left cause him to stop dead in his tracks, the noise shaking him to his very core. The air chilled around him and his breath was visible in the darkness. Slowly turning, Othelion braced himself for what he knew was his end. He began to tremble, afraid of what he would see. His trembling body grew stiff and his grip clammy, as if a great cold overtook him. Unable to stop himself as he turned, he slipped from the branch and landed hard on the forest floor. He cried out in pain, his leg having taken the brunt of his fall. It was unheard of for a wood elf to fall from a tree, but it was this fall that saved his life. For among the tree's reluctant branches was his enemy, crouched low and gazing wickedly down towards his next victim, lost to him by mere seconds.
Othelion was unprepared for what he would see in the darkness. He was unprepared for the black stare that looked down upon him in a face that he knew for centuries. He was not prepared for the feeling of complete and utter helplessness that befell him as he looked upon the enemy they had been tracking in vain for weeks. It was his childhood friend, his lord, the person he had pledged to protect. The King's son…
"M-my lord?" He stammered, wincing as he moved his now broken leg. He backed up slowly, pulling his injured body along the forest floor in the hope of escape. This was not his friend, he reasoned, as he looked into those dark eyes, devoid of all emotion. He looked the same, but his eyes which were once a pale blue were completely black, and an evil aura was visible around him, like a black cloud clinging to his lithe frame. Othelion nearly jumped as his liege landed from the tree gracefully in front of him, looking down with no semblance of recognition. He walked towards him, pulling one long, bloodied white-handled knife from his back slowly.
"Legolas… " Othelion stared, completely frozen. It was as if his body was no longer his. He could only sit there as complete and utter paralysation took him. He was unsure if it was from fear or some other unknown evil spell, but he could not move to safety. "L-Legolas… please." He begged as his lord and Prince came to a stop standing above him, looking down with an unreadable expression. His hair swayed softly as a light breeze came through the thickness of the trees, and impossibly, his black eyes darkened further. He grinned, and it was completely evil.
Othelion felt a tear slip down his pale cheek, despair filling him that he would die at the hand of his friend. No, he thought. His friend was gone. Legolas was gone. By some terrible act his friend was overtaken by evil, and it was by this evil that he would be murdered this night. He closed his eyes as the knife fell. "Good-bye, mellon-nin."