Chapter One

"He does not hide himself," Legolas spoke softly to his guard; they were concealed in the foliage between the mellyrn trees a distance from the strange creature, their horses behind on the road. He appeared to be wandering the realms outside of Lothlorien, stopping and turning with frequency. He was armed only with a long knife in hand, which almost mirrored Legolas' own; if this stranger's blade only had a twin, the resemblance would have been uncanny.

"Aye, he seems disoriented," someone whispered back.

"He is alert," another contradicted, shaking his head.

Legolas' eyes narrowed in concentration. He, for once, did not know how to proceed.

It was not said, but everyone in his company was thinking the same: this elf they had found was no ordinary elf. His hair was blonde, but coarse and tangled and too short; he dressed in strange clothing, similar to, and yet unlike any style they had seen before, and it was most all of it black, save a red waist-piece; his skin was unnaturally grey, and his lips and eyes were shadowed as if he had been touched by darkness.

The creature appeared to be between elven and Urukhai. All in the party had heard the stories of Sauron capturing and corrupting their long-ago kin, torturing elves until they became monsters. It seemed a reasonable explanation for this one's existence, vile though the thought may be; should this be the case, a swift death was in order.

But he was still elvish, not fully Yrch. Indeed, he appeared to Legolas to be constraining his savagery; it fascinated the Prince, in a manner of speaking. He himself had never been savage, yet a part of him would always be untamed, and it was thus he found something in the elf inherently appealing.

"Proceed," Legolas instructed. As a Prince, he would not- could not- risk his and his peoples' safety, and while a friend may forgive a mistake an enemy most certainly would not. They did not know what this creature was yet.

Legolas drew either of his long knives as his guard spread out into the surrounding wood, silent.

XXX

Nuada turned away from the approaching men, but still he hid his sneer.

Humans, he spat mentally. But, no. These were not humans, he thought. Humans could not move so gently; instead, they bulldozed through forests and leveled the land. But neither were these goblins, or trolls, or fairies- or any of the creatures Nuada knew of; though, he didn't know of this place, either, he reminded himself. These woods were unfamiliar to him.

He had been resting in the abandoned keep in Ireland where the Golden Army had been sealed by his father, waiting for that silly blue man smitten with his sister to arrive with the last of his crown. In one jarring instant, Nuala's panic and deep shock wrenched him from his half-sleep, stretched out on a cot in the servant's quarters. He had immediately armed himself and reached across their bond, feeling for her presence in the world and for her precise direction and state.

She was growing fainter, and with enough panic to match Nuala's own, Nuada had launched himself from the fort out into the woods. He had run and run and then the darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision and there was naught but Nuala's golden light before him. Then he fell, as if falling into her, but she was not there; all there was was darkness.

When he woke, he was laying face-down on the ground, acutely disoriented. He blinked rapidly until his vision came back into focus. Then, after slowly lifting his head off the grass, he craned his neck back only to find that his surroundings were very different. He didn't recognize the silver trunked-trees or this scent; the weather too had changed: the sky had been dark with clouds moments before, but now the sun shone brightly enough to penetrate the trees overhead.

Nuada had pushed himself to his feet, looking about him with critical eyes before pausing to seek Nuala's presence once more. He found she was at a greater distance now, but no longer diminishing, and no longer fearful or panicked.

He set off in her direction, unsure how else to proceed, placing one reassuring hand on the hilt of his blade fastened to his back- that is, until the foliage grew thick enough that he had cause to draw it- not to use it as a weapon as it should be, but as a bushwhack, which was not done without a grimace of distaste. Often he had to stop and change direction when he realized there was simply no way for him to proceed in the direction he had been facing. He had walked for what was not more than an hour when he became aware of the approaching party.

He hadn't let it show, of course, continuing on as he had been, but now he could feel his awareness heightening gradually with their proximity- and then, in one short second he tensed and lifted his knife in a tight turn, catching two other, glinting white-gold blades with his own blackened silver one. The weaponry clanged loudly in the forest, and Nuada looked across the three intersecting blades to find bright azure eyes, full of anticipation, staring back a him. His gaze moved languidly across the exquisite, chiseled features of the-

Of the elf, he realized, noting the pointed ears in surprise; he took a deep breath, dismissing this shock before letting his eyes drop pointedly to the two blades in the elf's hands. The other dropped his eyes, too, for a moment, as if thrown into uncertainty.

The long knives had been crossed, suggesting his assailant had meant to hold Nuada's neck between them. It was a naive move to make, Nuada thought, disparagingly; this elf had underestimated him severely. Little did he know, the intention had been only to subdue him. In one long-drawn motion, they came away, ringing minutely as they slid across the length of Nuada's own blade.

The next moment, a company of no more than six elvish soldiers stepped from the trees, two of them with bow and arrow aiming directly at him. Nuada raised a sardonic brow, at odds with his growing concern. Six elves may be a problem, he decided, considering that at least one of them was strong; he glanced back at the elf now stepping back from him.

"Who are you?" the elf asked, when Nuada looked at him the second time; he did so in elven tongue, an old dialect that coupled favorably with the vibrato of his voice.

"I am Nuada Silverlance." He cocked his head in curiosity, bringing himself out of his own half stance, and dropped his sword arm to properly face the elf, who seemed to have decided that he was worth a decent appraisal. "Who are you?"

"Nuada... I have not heard of this name before. Is it elvish?"

"I asked you your own name," Nuada shook his head in denial of the other elf's request.

He was rewarded a frown.

"I am Legolas Greenleaf." There was a pause, then. "Why do you speak so?"

"You are the one speaking strangely."

The elf, Legolas, was silent for another moment and then, when no further information was forthcoming, prompted, "Your name?"

Nuada could not understand the elf's- Legolas'- fixation with his name; however, this time he was inclined to oblige him. "It is Sindarin, derived from the words nur and ara."

"Sad nobel?" Legolas questioned, the curiosity and fascination on his face visibly deepening.

Nuada looked on at the fair elf as if he had not spoken.

"Are you of noble birth?" Legolas asked, stepping marginally closer and looking Nuada up and down who tensed at the approach and raised himself to his full height.

"No." He answered with only half of the truth. He was a Prince, of course, but there had been nothing noble or honorable about his and his sister's birth, he thought.

"Where do you hail from?"

"Bethmoora. Where do you hail from, Legolas?"

"I hail from Mirkwood," came the reply.

"And your station?"

"He is our Prince!" one of the surrounding elves declared proudly.

Legolas looked away sharply, at the elf that had spoken. "Hold your tongue, Dolbel!" His tone was commanding.

Dolbel, it was plain to Nuada, was the youngest of the group.

"I apologize, Prince Legolas!" the young ellon cried immediately, and it finally struck Nuada.

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood," he said, disbelieving, but the Prince did not seem to think anything of it. Nuada presumed he was used to similar reactions, which would have made him sneer had he not been preoccupied with this revelation.

"We are traveling to Caras Galadhon. What is your purpose here, Silverlance?" Quite suddenly Legolas seemed to grow into his authority, which Nuada admitted to himself, he had not noticed was there moments ago.

"Caras Galadhon?" Nuada repeated, showing nothing, this time, of his still growing surprise, realizing that meant he was in the woodland realm of Lothlorien. "I am merely looking for my sister."

"Sister?"

"Nuala... Balorlion." He added the last part deciding to seek some answers of his own, and, as he had suspected, his father's name was dismissed... These elves did not know of King Balor of the underworld or the last elven city of Bethmoora... Though, he supposed that was his title now, and the city was his as well. Nuada had to press his lips together to keep from making an expression.

"I have discovered no others in the nearby woods," Legolas said, still thinking of Nuala. "How have you come to be apart?"

"It's of no matter. I sense her. She is that way." Nuada gestured behind him.

"That is also the way of Caras Galadhon."

"Will she be safe there?" Nuada asked, unable to halt the words.

"Yes, of course," Legolas said, tilting his head, questioningly.

Though the names Legolas had spoken of were familiar enough, Nuada had never been interested in history. Instead, he had been swept up in his meanderings with goblins and trolls and dwarvish crafts, dismissing silly stories of the past, which had nothing to do with him. Even the concept of the Valar was a preoccupation reserved for fools.

"May I... travel with you?" Nuada asked; he would need access to Caras Galadhon, and he may be in need of allies. At least he was in no position to be making enemies, he knew that much. He was aggressive and headstrong, no doubt, but he was raised to be a diplomat as well as a warrior, and he was not stupid.

Legolas looked at him for a moment, his face again hardening. "You may if you answer my questions."

Nuada clenched his jaw discretely; then he nodded once. "So be it."

Prince Legolas actually deigned to smile at him, though it was subdued. A falsity rang in it, but so had there been in all of the elf's words and actions since he had failed to cut Nuada's neck, as if he was merely humoring him. It raised his hairs- especially because of Legolas' appearance; the Prince was far too beautiful, in his opinion, as if done by unnatural causes. He had made up his mind about what was prudent, and he would go along with the company- of course, remaining constantly alert, though he didn't see they had any real reason to distrust him.

"We shall walk together; Caras Gladhon is less than a day away."

Nuada stepped after the Prince, examining him and the others out of the corner of his eye. They were more serene and ethereal than the elves of his time- though, he and Nuala could not be compared to even those in beauty and grace. Nuada's darkness had touched them both and scarred them. They were dark, outcast creatures, and only their titles as Prince and Princess had ever spared them isolation. Nuala's kind heart and Nuada's honour and their equal cunning had earned them respect later in life, too. It was as it should be. Nuada knew how to lead; he was sure of his convictions; and he was comfortable with difficulty because he had had to learn to be. He would raise the Golden Army once he found Nuala and they returned home.

"Please," Legolas interrupted his thoughts, "will you tell me about these markings on your face?" He gestured at Nuada who blinked.

"They are-" Nuada ran his fingers along the line that ran horizontally across his cheekbones, crossed in a number of places by smaller vertical lines. "They are battle scars," he settled.

"You are a warrior?"

"No more so than yourself."

"And the darkness...?" Legolas asked, his voice dropping as he let his eyes roam over Nuada's eyes and lips.

"Is exactly that. I am not unsullied." Again Nuada missed the significance of his own words. Prince Legolas was silent for a long moment, though, and he wondered if he should have held his tongue.

"...Bethmoora... I have not heard of it. It is impossible that I not know of an Elven keep." Legolas was looking forward now, as he dipped and twisted in and out of the trees, his blonde hair swaying almost melodically.

"...Understandable. It is a small coven. No more than forty elves." Of course Prince Legolas would not have heard of Bethmoora- it didn't exist yet; however, he decided to avoid dishonesty as much as possible. If these elves were anything like the elves in the legends he had grown up hearing of, one or the other would detect his lies, perhaps even read his mind for the truth. There was, indeed, no more than forty elves in Bethmoora, and certainly no more than fifty the world over which was a generous estimate. Elves were not nomadic by nature, and few, he guessed, would try for life outside of the last elven city, as he had.

"Nay, it is not possible. I have studied maps of Middle Earth extensively," Legolas insisted. "In addition, you have been traveling in the direction of Caras Galadhon, trundling through the underbrush even when the road is mere paces away." As if to prove his point they emerged onto a veritable hallway through the forest, a beaten dirt path underfoot, proof that this was a frequented route, the aforementioned road. Legolas continued on walking, the guard falling somewhat behind as they recollected their traveling packs.

They trust his abilities enough to let him alone with me, Nuada noted.

Out loud he murmured, "Bethmoora is not within the realm of your maps," absently dismissing the Prince, which quickly proved to have been a mistake on his part.

Temperamental, aren't we? Nuada thought acidly as Legolas suddenly pivoted about to face him, gaze unfeeling, like a cold, hard statue. Stillness looked strange on him now, thought Nuada, now that he had seen Legolas maneuvering through the trees with such easy grace.

"You lie to me."

Nuada blinked, his own face slipping into the same passive mask. He said nothing.

"You lie to me," Legolas repeated. "You are of Sauron's creed."

Sauron. Nuada felt inclined to narrow his eyes, but he refrained. The third age. Legolas... of the Fellowship of the Ring. These names I remember, but I do not know the details of this story.

He was drawn slowly from his thoughts as the guards surrounded them, three in the trees and three on the ground: two arrows were nocked in their bows, both trained on him once again; four swords were drawn; and Legolas, like lightening, unsheathed both his long knives.

Nuada knocked aside the knives that came thrusting toward his face, his own blade drawn with practiced speed.

There was no time for him to experience surprise, or anger, or for him to attempt to explain himself- not that he would have if given the chance; his instincts took over as Legolas drew back and twisted his weapon, coming in for a fast strike from the side this time. Nuada dropped below the whistling blades and parried around the elf, turning in a motion that caused the bottom of his black robe to fan out.

His knife was lengthening into lance then, as Legolas whirled and brought his blades slicing through the air with him.

Nuada dropped below again, this time sweeping a leg out to knock the feet out from under Legolas, but the elf jumped back, and then swung straight down at him.

Nuada had no choice but to roll back, even though it opened up the opportunity for the archers to fire. He sprang to his feet and ran toward a tree trunk off to the side before launching himself up onto the lowest branch on which one of the guards stood, sword at the ready; it just happened to be Dolbel. Nuada smirked before flashing forward, knocking the sword away, and taking the elf by the hair, yanking his head back so that he could place the point of his now-spear at the crook of the young one's neck.

"Release him!" Legolas shouted.

"Do you make a habit of cutting down unsuspecting elves, my Prince?" Nuada asked venomously. If he were not at his best they wouldoverpower him; there certainly would be no subduing the group. He would have to run. There were simply too many of them, no matter his prowess in battle.

"In these times trust is often a foolish and fatal mistake. I cannot allow you further into Lothlorien, Dark Elf."

"Dark Elf?" Nuada laughed bitterly. "You are naive." Nuada's hand opened and closed around not just Dolbel's flowing hair, but around the back of his neck, too. The young man, shaking in his grasp, was visibly taken by surprise when Nuada withdrew his blade and threw him forward. He was pitched from the branch and would have hit the forest floor hard had Legolas not jumped in to soften the impact of his fall, taken to the ground in the process.

Before any of the others could make a move- apart from two arrows being loosed in his general direction- Nuada turned and jumped off the back of the branch and landed on the ground in a crouch, straightening up, and then launching into the forest and away from the party in the next instant. He would find Caras Galadhon and his sister on his own.

XXX

Legolas grunted as he shoved Dolbel off him and sprang to his feet. "I will pursue him alone; you will only hinder me. Move on to Caras Galadhon. Tell Haldir what has happened here," he ordered.

He did wait to hear arguments, not that his tone had brooked room for any; he turned and shot into the woods.

He couldn't deny the urgency to allay the potential threat to his kin, but neither could he deny that beneath this protective drive, anticipation was a flutter in his chest. He had not been so matched by one opponent in many hundreds of years, discounting some the sparring matches he had, which were blighted by the inherent safeness of practice. The experience Nuada Silverlance had displayed, the swiftness with which he had moved, and the way he had anticipated Legolas' own movements left him believing that, no doubt, this Dark Elf was a remarkably skilled warrior and a decidedly worthy opponent- a real opponent. The adrenaline coursing through his veins refreshed him and enlivened the chase, leaves and branches cutting at his sides and lashing at the air as he flew through the forest. The world seemed closer and clearer.

XXX

Author's Note:

As it says in the synopsis, I have taken a number of liberties. Most, I think, are self-explanatory, but I feel like I should point out that: first, Nuada's (and Nuala's) lances have longer blades than in canon, so they are more like short swords than fighting knives when they are not extended in the hilt; second, the architecture of Lothlorien and Mirkwood (and the rest of Middle Earth) is based on my imaginings which, of course, allows for much discrepancy!

Disclaimer:

I don't own Lord of the Rings or Hellboy.