Okay, this was a completely random idea which popped into my head last night… It's yet another story of Legolas' childhood. It doesn't match up at all with my other Legolas'-childhood story, 'The True Prince of Mirkwood', but oh well.

I was going to use this title for a different fic, but I changed my mind… ;

But you know: whatever.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's genius writings/works. I do own two certain elflings in this fic, as well as another young elf and two more older ones. But one of then dies, so…

Hope you like it…

Heheh… this is really quite PG13…

Tears of Blood

Chapter One: A Bloody Beginning

It was a clear day in spring in the great forest of Mirkwood. The birds sang joyfully in the trees, the trees were a beautiful green, and the flowers were in full bloom, giving off a fresh, sweet scent. Laughter echoed through the trees, letting the woodland creatures know that three little elflings were coming down the lane. A small squirrel scurried under a tree root as the trio raced past.

"You're it, Legolas!" The one who brought up the rear chortled as he grabbed at the other's tunic, barely touching his arm. Legolas put on an extra burst of speed to try to catch up with his other friend. He had to tag him because they were playing with no tag-backs. "You'll never catch Suithór, Legolas!" The one bringing up the rear laughed. "He's too fast!"

Legolas knew his friend, Hweston, was right; Suithór was probably the fastest elf in all of Mirkwood. He was determined to try though. He made a swipe at the elf's long, brown hair, missing it completely. He leaned forward, trying to push some speed on while still watching his footing. There would be no end to the teasing if he tripped again.

"You'll never catch me!" Suithór boasted as he ran. He turned his head to check on Legolas' progress. The elf was still about three feet behind him, and still losing. Turning his head, he soon found, wasn't the smartest idea if he wanted to win. "Whoa!" Suithór looked forward just as he tripped, tumbling down a small hill.

"Gotcha now!" Legolas realized the hill in time, lunging rather than tripping down it, and landing on top of his friend. "You're it!" Legolas said triumphantly.

"Oh no!" Hweston appeared at the top of the hill, realizing that he was the next target.

The one flaw with the game was that Legolas always had to go for Suithór, Suithór always had to go for Hweston, and Hweston always had to go for Legolas. That was what happened when you only had three people to play the game.

"I'm gonna get you now!" Suithór jumped up, dumping Legolas on the ground before running after Hweston.

"You'd better run, West!" Legolas cried, grabbing at Suithór's leg and giving his other friend a head start. Hweston's nickname was 'West' because it was easier to say than 'Hwest'. When Legolas had been smaller, he hadn't been able to even say the name.

The game went on for some time. The elflings ran further and further into the woods, not realizing how far they were going from home or how late it was getting.

The three finally stopped, all collapsing in a small ditch. They lay there panting until Legolas looked up through the trees, realizing that the sun was setting.

"Ai! We must go home!" He jumped to his feet, quickly followed by the other two. They started to run towards the palace, knowing that their mothers would have their hides for sure. Legolas was more worried about his father though. He would get mad whenever Legolas was out too late. The elfling tried to think of a good excuse, but he wasn't coming up with anything. His thoughts were interrupted by a long, low howl.

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, his blood running cold. That was no wolf. It was a warg, or he was a horse's rear-end. It was a warg, and it was close. Also, Legolas had never heard of a warg traveling alone. There would be at least three more.

"Was that—a warg?" Hweston voiced both his and Suithór's thoughts in a whisper. The other two had stopped as well, their no longer merry eyes wide in terror. Legolas nodded slowly, reaching for his twin blades. Suithór pulled out his saber and Hweston his throwing knives.

"Let's try to make a run for it." Suithór whispered, taking on the role of the leader since he was the oldest. The other two nodded, though they doubted they would make it. They had no other choice really. They could try to find a cave or tree and hide, but they might be stuck there to either starve or be the wargs' meal anyway. No mater what direction they went in it would probably end in three dead elflings, unless the Vala were feeling merciful. The three took off; taking what seemed like the most sensible answer. It went well at first, though all three of them were still stiff with terror. The each ran as fast as they could, which meant Suithór took an easy lead, with Legolas second and Hweston barely keeping up. The poor elf wasn't the most athletic, even though he had an excellent eye. He could easily beat the other two in an archery contest.

"They're after us!" Legolas looked back when he heard the frantic voice of Hweston behind him. Sure enough, through the trees he could just make out the shape of a large warg. It was getting darker, so it was harder to see now. Legolas turned his head again, trying to focus on going faster. His focus was cut off as a scream tore through the cool night air.

Legolas halted in his tracks, looking back. The sight made his stomach do flip-flops.

A warg, though a smaller one, was on top of his friend, trying to get to Hweston's throat. The elfling was desperately swiping at the dog's nose with his blades. The warg's claws came out, digging into Hweston's chest. He screamed again, but didn't stop waving his daggers. Legolas, not thinking before he acted as his tutor had been trying to teach him, rushed forward, determined to help his friend.

Before he reached the warg, he was pummeled by another dog. She was a bit bigger, and she easily pushed his small weight to the ground. He gave a cry as the wind was knocked clean out of him. He felt one of his knives leave his hand as the canine's huge paw pushed down on his breast. He gasped for air, but none came. The dog's weight on his lungs weren't allowing any air in. Legolas swiped at the warg's nose, cutting into it. She jerked away from it, but didn't take her massive paw off of him. She swiped her paw back at him, her claws out. He yelled in pain as the claws scraped across his shoulder and neck. The yell was more of a squeak though; he had no air in his lungs to make a real noise.

"Oh no! Legolas! Hweston!" Legolas heard his other friend. He had apparently just turned back. Legolas dropped his other knife, clawing at the dog's paw. It was stupid, but Legolas' head was light, he was panicking and he was having trouble thinking, or even staying conscious. The warg growled, her saliva dripping on Legolas' face. He hardly noticed. What the elfling did notice was the black spots appearing in his vision.

Suddenly, there was a yell, and something broke through the trees. Legolas tried to look around, finding more wargs. But he also saw something else.

A tall horse bearing a fair rider, his long, blonde lock waving out behind him had just appeared at the edge of the clearing. Legolas wasn't sure if it was real or not; he was a bit too dizzy to even realize the pain ripping through his shoulder again. He heard some dull clashing, and then suddenly the warg fell off of him. He gasped, sitting up as the air rushed into his lungs. He coughed, trying to take in as much air as he could. A hand grabbed him up by his left arm (the one the warg hadn't torn apart), leading him away. Legolas was pushed into a tree, where he sat for a moment.

When he looked up, he soon saw his rescuer. The tall, blonde elf was pulling his friends away from the wargs. He fought valiantly, blocking almost every blow with apparent ease. There was another fighting with him, but he was younger and not so experienced. The two fought off the wargs, soon felling most of them. Then, there was four left. The younger elf fought one, the older elf fought two, while the last, apparently the pack leader, circled them. She watched the older on intently, soon moving in.

Legolas tried to warn the elf, but he found that his voice was nearly gone. The younger elf finished off his last one as the older finished off the two he was working. But the leader was already in mid-air.

"No!" The younger one saw the warg, but it was too late. The tall one was knocked over as the warg bit into his shoulder. Legolas had to put his hands over his ears as the elf screamed louder than Legolas had ever heard anyone scream. He watched in horror as the warg pulled her head back, digging into the elf's neck instead. She chomped down hard. There was a loud crack!

"NO! ADA!" The younger elf jumped forward, baring his sword in anger. The warg turned though, swatting him away. He fell back, dropping his sword. The warg was about to claim her second victim, when an arrow whizzed through the trees, finding its mark in the warg's neck. She immediately dropped dead.

Legolas looked up as another horse rode into the clearing, bearing a rider much similar to the first. This one, Legolas recognized though. It was his father.

"Ada!" He jumped up, ignoring the intense pain in his shoulder. Thranduil jumped down from his horse, scooping his son into his arms as he ran to him.

"Shh, it's okay now, tithen pen." (little one) Thranduil whispered gently, rubbing his son's back as sobs racked the elfling's form. He walked over to the scene of the battle once he had looked at his son's friends. Suithór hardly had a scratch, though Hweston's wounds were very bad. Thranduil knew that he would die if they didn't get them back soon.

The scene in the clearing was terrible; about eight dead wargs were scattered about. In the middle of the carcasses, in the middle of the dead filth, were the fallen elf and the younger one.

He strode over through the warg carcasses, where he came to where the youth was sobbing over the form of his fallen companion. Thranduil didn't recognize the boy, so he tried to turn the bloody body over.

"Eruant?" He immediately recognized his younger brother's face. Thranduil stood as Legolas saw the dead elf's body, and whimpered. "Who are—" Thranduil started to ask the youth, but then he recognized him too. "Naegion? Is that you?" He hadn't seen his nephew since he was still a toddler, so it was shocking to see how much he'd grown. The elf gave his uncle a dark look, but he nodded.

"Hir nin!" Thranduil's soldiers had arrived on the scene, though they had been checking on Suithór and Hweston. "We should leave; the children need medical attention." Thranduil nodded, now fully noticing the blood which was staining his tunic, though it belonged to his son rather than him. He carried Legolas over to one of his guards, handing him over despite the whimper Legolas gave.

"Naegion, you should come with us." Thranduil bent next to his brother's dead body where his nephew still wept.

"I'm not leaving him to rot!" The elf pulled his father's limp form onto his lap. The elf's head was bent in a very unnatural way.

"We don't have time to bury him, and burning him would cause a large forest fire. Come on, we can take you to where you can get some rest and food and shelter…" Thranduil put his hands on Naegion's shoulders, trying to pull him up gently.

"No! I won't let scavengers feast on him!" The young elf pulled away from his uncle.

"You must come with us!" Thranduil pulled the elf to his feet by lifting him under his arms.

"NO! I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE UNTIL HE'S BURRIED!" The elf yelled, his voice carrying quite far.

"Naegion!" Thranduil leaned down, holding the boy's face in his hands. "We don't have time! You're hurt," He said, noticing how the youth hid his injured arm in his cloak. "And we must get back."

"No!" Naegion's voice was weakening slowly. Thranduil grabbed the elf under his knees, lifting him and carrying him away with only a small struggle.

"Adar…" Naegion sobbed over Thranduil's shoulder. The group got onto their horses quickly. Legolas whined when he had to ride with his tutor, Galu, rather than his father, but he was too tired to protest for too long. He soon drifted into sleep as they rode on into the night.

Whew! This story was completely random! Yay!

Okay, just to clear this up: Legolas would be about the equivalent of a four or five-year-old at this point, and Naegion is about the same as a twelve or thirteen-year-old. In upcoming chapters that will change, though.

Please R&R!