Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the places… or the orcs… sigghhh… no, not the lembas either… (sobs) That last one always gets me.
AN: Well, I meant to get this up sooner, I really did. But despite graduating from high school, preparing for college, and finishing work on an original novel, there really is no excuse for the length of time it took to get this ready… except for sheer laziness. Then today I looked at myself in the mirror, and after mourning the appearance of all my summer freckles, I told myself that I would not sleep until I updated one of my stories here on the F-net.
And as I rather like my bed and my dreams (though I function without them), I present to you a new chapter. Other notes will be, as always, at the end. Charge!
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Deep within the forest of Mirkwood, the captain of an elven patrol called for a halt in a deserted clearing for their noonday rest. There were twelve of the Firstborn altogether, a deadly force despite their slender forms and fair faces. Even an unqualified, casual observer would have been able to see this: it showed in the way they held themselves, poised and ready even in repose. It was obvious that their crafted weapons were never far from those slim hands. They laughed and spoke calmly with each other, but there was never any doubt that this group could instantly be ready to deal out a great deal of woe within a second's notice.
Unlike many captains, the leader of this particular patrol chatted amiably with anyone who would listen, and the pleasant rolling trembles of Sindarin echoed through the trees. The captain flitted from one elf to another, taking his time and including everyone in his silly chatter. His comrades responded to his laughter and gentle cajoling well, offering up interesting tidbits in return.
Although every warrior of Mirkwood enjoyed taking their turns with this particular patrol leader, some of the other captains and older elves on the Council that advised King Thranduil did not approve of his methods. They thought of him as young and idealistic, and while this was true, there was no denying the excellent results. Many of the warriors the young elf took outside the gates were far older than he, and yet their trust in him was so complete that they would do anything he asked of them. They enjoyed going out with this young elf, whose unique personality made them laugh and kept their wits sharp. Neither the Council members nor the elder captains could really find anything at fault with the way the young captain handled his 'charges'.
Also, the captain in question happened to be none other than Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood. And none dared to voice an ill-founded complaint to the king.
Legolas surveyed his elven comrades while he nibbled at a bit of lembas. He had spoken with every one of them before climbing a tree and settling on one of the lower branches to eat his lunch. All had favored him with a smile, and some had laughed out loud at his pointless questions. Legolas smiled and leaned against the trunk of the tree. He genuinely enjoyed these patrols, despite the imminent dangers that the woods concealed. He was young enough to still be amazed at many of the things he found in these woods, from the gnarled trees bent and twisted with age, to the simple beauty of sunlight spangling across the swift waters of a creek. He loved the company of the warriors, many of whom were his friends. And he was genuinely happy to be able to see all these sights and be around elves whose company he enjoyed while helping to protect his home.
Oh, he didn't deceive himself, to be sure. He was very aware of his position. It sometimes made his nerves tingle to realize that he was solely responsible for making snap decisions that would result in life or death for the warriors he led. If one of them died because of a wrong decision on his part, he knew that the guilt would haunt him for the rest of his life. Thankfully, such a thing had not occurred, and if the Valar favoured him, it never would. He told no one of the secret doubts he harboured. He had been brought up to always appear in control of a situation. Of course, it was not always possible, especially in his elfling days in which he was embarrassingly (but rather funnily in retrospect) clumsy. But it had grown to be second nature to him over the years. He had found that perfect balance where he could retain his casual, laughing personality and be authoritative at the same time.
Legolas reached for his canteen, intending to wash down the lembas and get started on the hike back to the palace. No matter how much he enjoyed these 'treks', and even the thrill of danger that sometimes accompanied such tasks, what he was really looking forward to was a nice hot bath.
As soon as the canteen touched his lips, the peaceful silence of the forest was shattered by a shriek of pain. Legolas's hand jerked in surprise, spilling water all over him. The warriors came to their feet instantly, reaching for their weapons. Their keen ears picked up the sound of orcan cheering. The prince darted nimbly along the length of the branch and came to a halt above the heads of the elves on the ground. The shriek came again, and his face hardened. "That is no elf. That is the cry of a man."
A pause while the warriors looked at each other in amazement and apprehension. What a man was doing in the depths of Mirkwood was beyond any of them. The nearest village of men was leagues away. Perhaps the orcs had raided a village and taken prisoners. None could tell, and speculation would be time-consuming and pointless. The real question was what their captain would do. While some wood-elves tolerated the race of men, it was a well-known fact that Thranduil despised them and had passed his hatred of them on to his son.
Legolas kept his face calm as his mind raced. He loathed the idea of just walking away, in fact would never do so. That course of action would leave an entire party of orcs in the forest, foul creatures who could not be allowed to roam so near to the elves' home. But he had no intention of rushing in to save the man either. That would put his comrades in danger, all for the sake of a Secondborn. Unthinkable. He chewed on the inside of his lip, aware that the warriors were patiently awaiting his orders.
"Into the trees," he said finally. "We will go and learn what we may. Fan out around them and have your weapons ready. We wait until they have finished with the man to make our move."
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The son of Thranduil crouched in the leafy branches of a large oak, bow in hand, arrow notched. His gaze was dancing from the scene below him to the positions of his warriors at various points around the clearing. But even as he assured himself that the elves were ready to act at a second's notice, his eyes were continually drawn more and more to the human in the clearing.
Legolas had never actually seen a man before. When he was much younger, he and his father had gone hunting near the northern edge of the forest and had nearly run into a group of Secondborn merchants before Thranduil had heard the voices. He had not allowed his son to go any closer, but he had let the youngling listen to the conversation so that perhaps in a later situation, Legolas would be able to tell the difference. The little elf had listened with wide eyes, for the voices of men seemed rough and hard to ears accustomed to the light melodic sound of elven speech. As a result, he had always imagined men as being rather ugly creatures, and Thranduil had done little to dispute the prince's beliefs.
But looking at the man in the clearing, Legolas was surprised at the similarities between the two races. The man's shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back, revealing rounded ears. He was built more sturdily than an elf, though he looked rather gaunt, perhaps not having eaten anything in the last several days. As a matter of fact, Legolas thought, unconsciously wrinkling his nose in distaste, he looked as if he had not bathed in several days either. On the whole, the only real differences that Legolas could see physically were that elves had finer bone structure and more of an ethereal appearance. And a better grasp of personal hygiene.
There was something else that bothered him as well. It was often difficult to tell age with the elves, as one who looked not older than thirty years could be into their third millennia of life. He knew it was not so with the Secondborn, who aged and died often before their first century. The man in the clearing looked to be young even by those standards. He did not think that the human had even reached his second decade, barely older than a boy.
The blonde elf watched as the young man was forced down onto his knees before the leader of the orcs. His grasp of the Westron language was tentative at best, and he had never had the chance to use it other than with the tutor who had taught it to him. So, despite his excellent hearing, he couldn't understand much more than a few words at a time. It seemed that the orcs had come upon some sort of tribe or group of men and had attacked, as orcs so often would. The foul beings had sorely underestimated the power of their targets (as usual) and had come away with heavy losses. How a group of such bumbling orcs had managed to capture one of the men baffled the prince. His disdain of the humans grew; how could they have let one of their kin be captured if they had been so much more powerful than the orcs? Much less one so young. The young were to be protected, and they hadn't even been able to do so.
The orc removed a whip from its belt and shook it out. The man struggled desperately to get loose from his guards, but the creatures merely laughed and tightened their grip. Legolas watched impassively as the orc made quick use of the whip. The man stayed admirably silent for the first few lashes, though his posture and face clearly expressed his pain. But of course, as the seconds ticked by, the pain became too much for anyone to hold in. He yelled, and Legolas shivered involuntarily. Stripped of the harsher syllables of speech, the cry could very well have emanated from an elf.
The prince's father had no love for men at all, and he had instilled this hostility into his son. Legolas could barely remember his mother, who had been killed by a small forest fire when he was very young. As his father began to take on the full responsibilities of raising his small (and impressionable) offspring, he had made no effort to hide his feelings for the Secondborn. And so Legolas, who at that point wanted to be just like his father, had learned to imitate how the king spoke of the younger race. This continued throughout his childhood, and by the time he was fully grown and had come of age, Legolas had fully forged his opinion of men.
And yet, for all his misgivings about that race, Legolas found himself moved by that harsh cry of pain.
He stilled himself and gripped his bow tighter. All of his warriors were most likely stealing glances at him, waiting for the signal. He would not let them see that he was feeling… what was he feeling? Sorrow that the man was being tortured? Indecision about his next move? No, he could not let them see. It went against what he believed in, it showed that he was not in control of the situation. He schooled his face into a look of calm patience. They would wait.
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Time passed, and still, the elves waited amongst the trees. Legolas was completely unaware of the penetrating gazes of his patrol. They had long-since ceased to watch the clearing and the torture of the young man. They no longer needed to see the scene to know exactly when the orcs used the whip, or landed a blow on the Secondborn with their fists or feet. Their leader, eyes riveted to the clearing, unconsciously flinched every time the man was struck. The warriors tightened their grips on their own weapons, each wondering what was going through their prince's head.
Legolas was determined to keep to the vague plan that he had told his patrol before they had arrived. They were to wait until the orcs had finished with the man to make their move. But he had expected the man to be killed quickly. He had forgotten that the orcs were cruel enough to torture someone for hours, days, sometimes even weeks before they delivered the death blow. He mentally berated himself: how could he have assumed that the orcs would kill the man right away? He did not want to sit here for hours watching the human be tortured.
He did not think that he could stand it that long.
Maybe, if Legolas had had a terrible wrong done to him by men, he wouldn't have felt the way he did. Maybe, if he had a true reason to hate the Secondborn, he would have been able to watch coldly as the orcs beat the man to death. He was not heartless, no, not by any means. His instinct was screaming at him, screaming for him to go and help this man. He actually shifted to stand, but then his mind caught up. Would he really choose to endanger his patrol over a human? Would the Council think his actions foolish and restrain him from leading more patrols? And perhaps most of all, what would Thranduil think? What would the king do if he discovered that his son had saved a human?
The whip cracked and at the man's sharp yelp, Legolas's shoulders stiffened. His instinct –his heart- was telling him to save this man. He could not sit and watch as the man was tortured for no reason other than for the amusement of orcs! But his mind, his practical side, and hundred of years of looking up to his father was working against him. Legolas notched his arrow and raised the bow to aim. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his patrol watching him intently, hands tight on their weapons. He knew that they would support him no matter what he chose to do.
That trust scared him.
His hands began to tremble. To shoot now would mean showing that he was not entirely in control of the situation. It would mean that centuries of following in his father's beliefs would be wasted. It would mean… that a young life would be saved. It would mean that he could look at himself later, knowing that he was able to do something. It would mean that he had followed his instincts and his heart. He could live with that.
The orc captain raised the whip in preparation for a stinging lash. In a flash, Legolas's hands steadied and he and he loosed his arrow. It flew straight and true, landing squarely between the orc's wide-set eyes. He had another arrow notched and fired by the time the orc hit the ground. Pandemonium broke loose in the small clearing as the orcs scrambled to discover where the arrows had come from. They never found out. Legolas's warriors dropped from the trees, swords and knives out and flashing before they even hit the ground.
Legolas fired one last arrow before slinging his bow over his shoulder and leaping down himself. He would not force his comrades to fight hand-to-hand while he sat up in the tree. In seconds, his knives grew black with orc blood.
The takeover of the clearing was quick and brutal. Legolas gazed around the clearing, sharp eyes taking in the shape of the patrol. To his vast relief, not a one was seriously injured. His shoulder's drooped as he let out a sigh of relief. His gamble had paid off.
He knelt by the man's side and hesitantly touched his shoulder. "Are you…" he paused, searching for the Westron words. "Are you well? Your name?"
The young man straightened painfully and locked eyes with the prince. His grey eyes were filled with gratitude as he said, "I will be fine. I am called Estel."
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"And that," Legolas said to the group, "that is how Aragorn and I met."
There was a long silence during which the elf took time to gauge the reactions of those around him. Aragorn was quiet, a reflective look in his grey eyes: Legolas had never before divulged his reasoning for helping him those many years ago. The pipesmoke wreathed and curled all about the other members of the Fellowship, and he was hard pressed to read their expressions. In fact, it was a great effort of will not to move well out of the way of the sickly sweet cloud.
Pippin frowned, absently chewing on an apple slice. "But I want to know more!" he said plaintively. "Did you get in trouble for helping Strider, Legolas? What did your father say? How did it all come out?"
"It all came out rather well, I believe. We did the best we could for Aragorn's injuries and I sent half of my patrol to escort him back to the forest's boundaries. He was met there by a group of frantic Noldor elves and I am told that he was suitably berated by them for wandering off. My father and the Council were relatively unconcerned by my actions, though I suspect the latter was only convinced because the orcs had been dealt with and we did not garner any casualties. My father was willing to let me off with only a stern talking to." He smiled upon remembrance, eyes softening. "I believe that he was secretly proud of me, though I never could get him to admit to it."
"I'm sure he was," Aragorn assured him. "I believe I came off the worse for that encounter. I got into quite the amount of trouble for wandering away from my foster brothers. I'd ended up with a caravan of merchants when the orcs attacked. I consider myself very lucky that Legolas and his companions acted when they did." His eyes glinted. "Even if they could have acted before."
"My adar has never really warmed up to Aragorn, even all these years later." Legolas set an arm across his friend's shoulders. "But I surely am glad that I decided to help that unwashed, smelly human that we found in the woods. Upbringing isn't always everything, you know."
"Hah! Your royal upbringing certainly didn't show several years ago when you stuffed deer droppings into my favorite pipe!" Aragorn sniffed upon unpleasant remembrance, but the elf only looked serene and innocent, though even he could not refrain from a smile as the hobbits shouted with laughter.
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AN: And there we have it! We are now well and truly off on our adventure! Show of hands, who's excited? :-D I know I am: it feels lovely to be back writing here! Not only this, but I also have many many ideas for other fandoms, so I'm going to be branching out all over the place! Fabulous, no? Rebell is taking over the web!
But I wouldn't be doing it without all of you fine folks urging me on. That being said, thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter: Lywhn, fangirl29, CAH, Firefly-Maj, Mel, invisigoth3, Templa Otmena, Aggie2011, White Wolf1, tmelange, rivendellelve, PlumaLibera, Taraisilwen, ArodieltheElfofRohan, and crazyroninchic.
You guys are all fabulous, and since I think that this chapter topic came out of nowhere (I had an epiphany about two minutes before posting and had to subsequently rearrange much of the content, not to mention some tiny details in the previous chapter), I hope very much that I didn't disappoint!
