Many thanks to everyone that reviewed, and hope that you like this.
King Elessar, King Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the mighty Strider and Ranger could do nothing. Absolutely nothing. For all his values, he could not do anything but hack blindly, hoping that his sword would strike orc flesh.
Yet. The orcs kept on coming.
Wave after wave apparently popped up from the ground. Apparently they had raided a human settlement because they were garbed in sturdy armor that reflected arrows and forced the soldiers to reach for the sword.
He swung again and again with the ferocity that had earned him such respect during the War of the Ring. The orcs charged at him and with a swish of Anduril, they were flat on the backs, but then they would pop to their feet and try again.
"Maudsley?" Elessar shouted, hoping that the Captain of the Guard was still alive. He had seen the man dodge a particularly vicious swipe of an axe, it had missed him. Just.
"Yes, Sire?" Maudsley returned, ignoring the blood dripping from his ear as he dispatched another orc.
"Did you see where they went?" the King roared over the clash of metal on metal.
"No Milord. They disappeared behind a hill. They're traveling quickly- some of their number are Uruk-Hai." Perhaps the Captain had more information to rely, however Elessar never heard it.
With a gurgle, blood gushing through his mouth, Maudsley fell to the ground. He had been stabbed straight through the throat.
"By my Ancestors!" Elessar bellowed, taking a step backwards, raising the Flame of the West and starting to charge in. This action seemed to have an immediate effect and the orcs dispersed, scattering like seeds carried by the four winds.
They were swift and the archers only managed to shoot a few of them in the back. The rest disappeared like puffs of smoke.
Swearing in Elvish, the Man stabbed Anduril into the ground and scanned the horizon. "Where are they?"
The second in command ran to his King's side, saluting him quickly. "Ten dead, Milord," he said briefly.
"Take their bodies back," Elessar ordered.
"That will take all the men," the lieutenant protested, looking back at the remaining forty or so soldiers. Gondorians took pride in looking after the dead. Roughly four person per body would be adequate.
The King spun around, his grey eyes bright with activity. "Take them all! Leave me a bow, one of your cloaks and take my crown back."
There was a strange light in his eye that the lieutenant did not want to argue with. Bowing to show he would comply, he took the crown of Elessar's head then removed his own cloak.
It was a simple travelling one. Black, well made and lined with fur. The Man donned it and slung the bow offered to him over his back, as well as the quiver full of red arrows. "Strider shall ride once more," he said with a smile rare to his face and leapt onto his horse.
"When you return to Minas Tirith, Lieutenant, feel free to send troops after me. But as it is I need only one archer. The best you have."
There was shuffling among the troops. It seemed that none of them wished to undertake this. Then the Gondorian blood stirred in one youth and he sprang forward, a bow of yew in his hand.
"Milord, I am willing to serve you," he said with a calculating smile. He was a handsome boy of eighteen with the trademark looks of his country, dark hair, grey eyes and pale skin.
There was a slyness in his glance and a furtiveness to his feet. 'He will do well,' Elessar thought, nodding his head. "What is your name?"
"Archer," came the simple reply.
"There seems to be none more suited," Aragorn cried. "Mount up, Archer, and we ride."
Archer mounted his horse with the agility of an Elf and urged the creature into a gallop behind his King.
The soldiers then, picking up the bodies, carried them on their shoulders on the long trek back to Minas Tirith where they would be encased in stone. "Give 'em blood 'n' vinegar," the lieutenant said, watching as the two horsemen rode.
Then turning, he instructed the Guard into a solemn march and led the walk back to the White City.
~
They (the orcs that was) hadn't bothered to tie up Legolas.
Ganthru had taken his prize roughly by his slender hips and had hoisted him over one shoulder before ambling off with a drunken gait. The other orcs followed the self-proclaimed leader, dragging Eldarion with them.
It was nightfall when they stopped in a small copse. The orcs started a fire then posting guards around the wood, settled down to a meal of deer and hard bread.
The prisoners were dropped in the orc's hurry to get food and Eldarion was pushed to the ground a couple of meters from the fire. Legolas too had been left, with one final lust-filled glance from Ganthru before he too slumped to the ground.
The Elf had not yet regained consciousness and it wasn't until a passing orc gave him a hard slap to the buttocks, that he blinked and stumbled backwards away from the creature.
Cackling to itself, the orc joined its comrades leaving the two Princes alone. Legolas' confidence seemed to have diminished somewhat after his ordeal with Ganthru and on waking up stared around in bewildered silence.
Eldarion fidgeted with his bound wrists before his eyes wandered to the Elf. His protector suddenly appeared very young. His immortality made sure that Legolas would always look more-or-less the same with his innocent blue eyes, smiling face and golden hair.
Then this disappeared when the archer felt eyes staring at him. Mustering all the hidden strength that Legolas possessed, he threw on his stony mask and sat, powerful and brave once more.
"Oh Legolas," Eldarion whispered. He was so scared.
The Elf Prince eyebrows dropped and his lower lip fell as his face assumed an expression of empathy. "I know," he replied. His melodious voice was soft and silky as ever. Quiet though it was, there was a metal hardness to it.
"Oh Legolas," an orc called, imitating the young human in a falsetto voice, flicking back imaginary hair to the happiness of his friends. Then the monster sneered, his face twisted and scarred.
He got to his feet, staggering from an infected wound in his calf, and brought a slab of venison with him. The animal had been killed mere minutes ago and the meat was still wet with blood. The same blood that covered the orc's jowls.
Seeing the immediate horror in Legolas' face, the orc changed direction from Eldarion to the elder of the two. "Amin feuya ten' lle!" the Elf cried in outrage, his hands scrambling around desperately.
Lunging to his feet, he held a rock in his fist and brought it down on the orc's head. He dropped like a log, unconscious, black liquid dripping from his temple.
Ganthru snarled and ran at Legolas, a knife outstretched. "You've hard your warning, Elf!" he shouted.
The archer dropped into a fighting stance as Ganthru ran at him, hoped nimbly from foot to foot, hoping to confused his attacker as to which direction he would side-step.
It did not work. Legolas had not counted on the guards. The twang of a crude orc bow left him gasping with pain. A black-tipped arrow buried deep in his shoulder.
"Legolas!" Eldarion shouted, jumping to his feet. He was held back by an Uruk-Hai who was larger than the Man by several inches. The mockery of an Elf pressed his arms by his side and stopped him from moving.
Ganthru approached Legolas, smirking unpleasantly. "I am sure that the little Elf will be hungry, even though he has been feed." The innuendo in his words brought on a chorus of laughter from the orcs.
Legolas was not finished yet. He had been struck by arrows before. One was not going to hurt him. His face whiter than normal, he snapped off the end of the arrow leaving only the head left.
With a contemptuous spit, he flung the wood to the side. Ganthru rose what could be one eyebrow in a human gesture of amusement. "Little Elf is awfully bold. Perhaps he doesn't know…"
"Know what?" came the answer, quick as an arrow.
"Orc arrows are poisoned."
Legolas blanched and his legs wobbled before with another mighty grip on himself, he stood up. "You lie. You wouldn't want to kill me."
"Alas, the pretty Elf has seen through my bluff," Ganthru chortled and the orcs, getting to their feet, stood behind him. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, filled with desire and hunger.
However something within the Elf was not so sure as slowly he felt the world around him spinning. Everything seemed to blur and his eyelids drooped. "Its drugged," he mumbled in a barely comprehensible voice.
So sorry that this took so long. We have all been busy. But here is the new chapter, hoped you like. See that little button down there? The one that says review? Saes hit it. WE look forward to your responses. Cassie, Anna and Melba.
King Elessar, King Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the mighty Strider and Ranger could do nothing. Absolutely nothing. For all his values, he could not do anything but hack blindly, hoping that his sword would strike orc flesh.
Yet. The orcs kept on coming.
Wave after wave apparently popped up from the ground. Apparently they had raided a human settlement because they were garbed in sturdy armor that reflected arrows and forced the soldiers to reach for the sword.
He swung again and again with the ferocity that had earned him such respect during the War of the Ring. The orcs charged at him and with a swish of Anduril, they were flat on the backs, but then they would pop to their feet and try again.
"Maudsley?" Elessar shouted, hoping that the Captain of the Guard was still alive. He had seen the man dodge a particularly vicious swipe of an axe, it had missed him. Just.
"Yes, Sire?" Maudsley returned, ignoring the blood dripping from his ear as he dispatched another orc.
"Did you see where they went?" the King roared over the clash of metal on metal.
"No Milord. They disappeared behind a hill. They're traveling quickly- some of their number are Uruk-Hai." Perhaps the Captain had more information to rely, however Elessar never heard it.
With a gurgle, blood gushing through his mouth, Maudsley fell to the ground. He had been stabbed straight through the throat.
"By my Ancestors!" Elessar bellowed, taking a step backwards, raising the Flame of the West and starting to charge in. This action seemed to have an immediate effect and the orcs dispersed, scattering like seeds carried by the four winds.
They were swift and the archers only managed to shoot a few of them in the back. The rest disappeared like puffs of smoke.
Swearing in Elvish, the Man stabbed Anduril into the ground and scanned the horizon. "Where are they?"
The second in command ran to his King's side, saluting him quickly. "Ten dead, Milord," he said briefly.
"Take their bodies back," Elessar ordered.
"That will take all the men," the lieutenant protested, looking back at the remaining forty or so soldiers. Gondorians took pride in looking after the dead. Roughly four person per body would be adequate.
The King spun around, his grey eyes bright with activity. "Take them all! Leave me a bow, one of your cloaks and take my crown back."
There was a strange light in his eye that the lieutenant did not want to argue with. Bowing to show he would comply, he took the crown of Elessar's head then removed his own cloak.
It was a simple travelling one. Black, well made and lined with fur. The Man donned it and slung the bow offered to him over his back, as well as the quiver full of red arrows. "Strider shall ride once more," he said with a smile rare to his face and leapt onto his horse.
"When you return to Minas Tirith, Lieutenant, feel free to send troops after me. But as it is I need only one archer. The best you have."
There was shuffling among the troops. It seemed that none of them wished to undertake this. Then the Gondorian blood stirred in one youth and he sprang forward, a bow of yew in his hand.
"Milord, I am willing to serve you," he said with a calculating smile. He was a handsome boy of eighteen with the trademark looks of his country, dark hair, grey eyes and pale skin.
There was a slyness in his glance and a furtiveness to his feet. 'He will do well,' Elessar thought, nodding his head. "What is your name?"
"Archer," came the simple reply.
"There seems to be none more suited," Aragorn cried. "Mount up, Archer, and we ride."
Archer mounted his horse with the agility of an Elf and urged the creature into a gallop behind his King.
The soldiers then, picking up the bodies, carried them on their shoulders on the long trek back to Minas Tirith where they would be encased in stone. "Give 'em blood 'n' vinegar," the lieutenant said, watching as the two horsemen rode.
Then turning, he instructed the Guard into a solemn march and led the walk back to the White City.
~
They (the orcs that was) hadn't bothered to tie up Legolas.
Ganthru had taken his prize roughly by his slender hips and had hoisted him over one shoulder before ambling off with a drunken gait. The other orcs followed the self-proclaimed leader, dragging Eldarion with them.
It was nightfall when they stopped in a small copse. The orcs started a fire then posting guards around the wood, settled down to a meal of deer and hard bread.
The prisoners were dropped in the orc's hurry to get food and Eldarion was pushed to the ground a couple of meters from the fire. Legolas too had been left, with one final lust-filled glance from Ganthru before he too slumped to the ground.
The Elf had not yet regained consciousness and it wasn't until a passing orc gave him a hard slap to the buttocks, that he blinked and stumbled backwards away from the creature.
Cackling to itself, the orc joined its comrades leaving the two Princes alone. Legolas' confidence seemed to have diminished somewhat after his ordeal with Ganthru and on waking up stared around in bewildered silence.
Eldarion fidgeted with his bound wrists before his eyes wandered to the Elf. His protector suddenly appeared very young. His immortality made sure that Legolas would always look more-or-less the same with his innocent blue eyes, smiling face and golden hair.
Then this disappeared when the archer felt eyes staring at him. Mustering all the hidden strength that Legolas possessed, he threw on his stony mask and sat, powerful and brave once more.
"Oh Legolas," Eldarion whispered. He was so scared.
The Elf Prince eyebrows dropped and his lower lip fell as his face assumed an expression of empathy. "I know," he replied. His melodious voice was soft and silky as ever. Quiet though it was, there was a metal hardness to it.
"Oh Legolas," an orc called, imitating the young human in a falsetto voice, flicking back imaginary hair to the happiness of his friends. Then the monster sneered, his face twisted and scarred.
He got to his feet, staggering from an infected wound in his calf, and brought a slab of venison with him. The animal had been killed mere minutes ago and the meat was still wet with blood. The same blood that covered the orc's jowls.
Seeing the immediate horror in Legolas' face, the orc changed direction from Eldarion to the elder of the two. "Amin feuya ten' lle!" the Elf cried in outrage, his hands scrambling around desperately.
Lunging to his feet, he held a rock in his fist and brought it down on the orc's head. He dropped like a log, unconscious, black liquid dripping from his temple.
Ganthru snarled and ran at Legolas, a knife outstretched. "You've hard your warning, Elf!" he shouted.
The archer dropped into a fighting stance as Ganthru ran at him, hoped nimbly from foot to foot, hoping to confused his attacker as to which direction he would side-step.
It did not work. Legolas had not counted on the guards. The twang of a crude orc bow left him gasping with pain. A black-tipped arrow buried deep in his shoulder.
"Legolas!" Eldarion shouted, jumping to his feet. He was held back by an Uruk-Hai who was larger than the Man by several inches. The mockery of an Elf pressed his arms by his side and stopped him from moving.
Ganthru approached Legolas, smirking unpleasantly. "I am sure that the little Elf will be hungry, even though he has been feed." The innuendo in his words brought on a chorus of laughter from the orcs.
Legolas was not finished yet. He had been struck by arrows before. One was not going to hurt him. His face whiter than normal, he snapped off the end of the arrow leaving only the head left.
With a contemptuous spit, he flung the wood to the side. Ganthru rose what could be one eyebrow in a human gesture of amusement. "Little Elf is awfully bold. Perhaps he doesn't know…"
"Know what?" came the answer, quick as an arrow.
"Orc arrows are poisoned."
Legolas blanched and his legs wobbled before with another mighty grip on himself, he stood up. "You lie. You wouldn't want to kill me."
"Alas, the pretty Elf has seen through my bluff," Ganthru chortled and the orcs, getting to their feet, stood behind him. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, filled with desire and hunger.
However something within the Elf was not so sure as slowly he felt the world around him spinning. Everything seemed to blur and his eyelids drooped. "Its drugged," he mumbled in a barely comprehensible voice.
So sorry that this took so long. We have all been busy. But here is the new chapter, hoped you like. See that little button down there? The one that says review? Saes hit it. WE look forward to your responses. Cassie, Anna and Melba.