Just a little story that I thought of—something that, for once, would not be a Legomance (Legolas Romance). I read somewhere on a review on another website that Legolas was a warrior, not a romantic womanizer, so this is my way of agreeing with them. It won't evolve into romance, I promise you that.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or J. R. R. Tolkien (which is too bad), nor do I own Legolas, Thranduil, Mirkwood, Dol Guldur, or any other familiar name. I do, however, own Anathen, Firaniel, and Nyatha. Oh, and Avormith and Kivan, and other unfamiliar names.
If you like it, review it. If you don't, review it anyway. If my Elvish is wrong, if my grammar is not good, or if there are any spelling mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me!
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"Handsome the son of Thranduil is," sighed Lady Firaniel, watching the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, vanish into the forest on horseback
"But he is not for the likes of you," Lady Anathen, Firaniel's dearest friend, said. "You know just as well as I that he is betrothed to Lady Benawen—"
"Against his will," interjected Firaniel, a hint of humour in her voice. "My Lord Legolas is apparently none too thrilled of his coming marriage."
"Which won't happen. Did they not tell you?" Anathen tossed back her dark hair, blue-grey eyes alight with excitement.
"What is it that they would have told me?" wondered Firaniel curiously.
"Lady Benawen has been captured by orcs!"
"No!"
"And this," Anathen said with a sardonic grin, "Leaves him free."
Firaniel sighed as she watched the elven prince below. "But I am not of rank—"
"He is a warrior," Anathen tormented her friend. "He is not for the likes of you, or any maiden. As you know, I care not for the prince, I have Lord Evarion." She spoke of the Elf who had been courting her for some time. "Also, he just left to go hunt for his captured bride-to-be."
"A warrior..." Firaniel's words trailed off as she sighed dreamily.
***
Prince Legolas of Mirkwood would have enjoyed the sounds of birds cheerfully singing, the breeze whispering through the trees, the smell of green and growing things, the rustling sound as Avormith, the grey mare he rode, trotted through the forest. However, Legolas could not enjoy things today, as he was not in the best mood. Sent by his father, Elvenking Thranduil to rescue his betrothed—a maiden Legolas did not particularly like, although Thranduil did not know this—Lady Benawen from a party of orcs who had captured her and taken her as captive towards the south.
Towards Dol Guldur, his traitorous mind said. "No," hissed Legolas, "Not towards there." But it lies in the south...you must at least consider this option. "Even though I do not much like the maiden, I will not abandon her to torment by foul yrch," Legolas said to himself fiercely. Avormith bobbed hr head and snorted, as if to agree.
Legolas smiled at the mare's antics and patted her neck, "So you agree, fair lady?" Again Avormith bobbed her head.
The Elf knew that it would take some time before he would reach the orcs, and now they would rest in darkness for it was day, so he let the mare take an easy trot—smooth as the trots of regular horses never were—and fell into something akin to a doze, but his eyes were wide open. It was a relaxed state he enjoyed while traveling on horseback.
This continued for a couple of hours or so, until a stirring in the forest forced him 'awake'. "Daro, Avormith," he told his horse. She stopped immediately, obeying his command, and stood stock still as he slid off her bare back.
He nocked an arrow to his well-made bow, and stealthily crept towards an odd rustling past several trees in that direction...
He identified the noise as someone walking—probably one of the race of Men or a Dwarf as Elves rarely made noise while traveling through the woods.
"Show yourself," he said, using the Common Tongue, not the language of the Sindarin Elves, "You trespass on Elven lands, and are in danger of using your life."
The rustling stopped, and a young man stepped from behind a large tree. Young man? Legolas did not blink, or show any other sign of surprise, although he was quite astonished to realize that the man was actually a young woman. She held the reins of a handsome chestnut gelding, and stopped as soon as she saw the Elf, and the arrow pointed right at her heart.
Mistaking the maid's gender would not be hard to do. Unlike most maidens of the race of Men, this one had her mousey brown hair cut short so it just brushed her shoulders. A headband of dark-grey kept hair from her face. Her eyes were large, brown and intelligent, and her face had stern features, the hawk-like, stern nose, and the stubborn set of her mouth. Her body was far too over-muscled, unfeminine, unable to be in the least attractive. She was clad in a brown tunic, dark grey breeches, and black boots. The tunic was belted with a black belt, from which hung a slender sword a few inches longer than the standard short sword. Strapped to her back, over her cloak, was a quiver of arrows. She also bore a well-made bow, though not as finely crafted as Legolas'.
There was something familiar about the way she moved, and it hit Legolas after a moment. She moved with a grace that was like the grace his old friend Estel, or Aragorn as his proper name was, moved with. Hers was cruder than Aragorn's, for Aragorn had been raised by Elves, and from the look in her eyes, Legolas was the first Elf she had ever seen. There was a gleam in her eyes, a tint of gold, and they reminded him of a raptor bird's. The way she moved too, seemed to scream "Predator!" at him. She was hunting something, of this Legolas was certain.
"You trespass on elven lands," repeated Legolas, "What is your reason, maethor sell?"
She looked him up and down, and reached a hand to her hilt. In response Legolas drew the string back, and she sighed, stopping her hand. "I apologize if I have stepped onto your lands, Master Elf, I track a band of orcs who are headed south through the wood. I mean no harm to either you or your people, in fact, the very opposite! I doubt that your people are fond of orcs."
"Yrch," said Legolas disgustedly, "You are correct. I also track orcs, heading south as you say." Legolas lowered his bow, sensing that the young woman meant what she said. There was honesty in her face, alongside determination, and the look of a hunter.
"If I may ask, what is it you called me, "maethor sell"?" she asked curiously. She seemed to relax, trusting the Elf, although he noticed that her eyes were still wary.
"It means warrior maid," said Legolas, a touch of a smile upon his lips, "In my language."
She arched an eyebrow, "A fitting title, perhaps." A trace of sadness ran across her face, quickly replaced by an emotionless look. "I am called Nyatha," she offered after a pause. She gestured at her gelding, "He is called Kivan. He was bred in Rohan."
Legolas whistled piercingly for Avormith, and nodded his head gracefully. "I am Legolas Greenleaf and she—" he gestured as Avormith trotted into view, "Is Avormith."
"Oh!" exclaimed Nyatha as she stared at Avormith, who stepped into a shaft of sunlight, which turned her grey coat silver. "She is lovely," Nyatha stepped to Avormith, extending her hand. The mare sniffed her hand, and then butted it, asking for a nose-rub, which she got.
Legolas said, a hint of humour in his voice, "She is very vain."
"Rightly so," replied Nyatha, entranced by the Elven-bred mare.
"Since we travel for the same reason, and in the same direction, shall we travel together?" asked Legolas after Avormith finally pulled away from Nyatha's caress and bent her head to rip some grass off the ground. Nyatha looked up, and nodded, "It would be wise. Two stand a better chance against a band of orcs than one. We can guard each other's backs ... provided this does not insult you?" Nyatha looked worried for a minute, and Legolas knew why—she knew little of Elves, evidently, and would not know if they appreciated such offers.
"Hardly," answered Legolas, "It is always well to have someone watch your back."
With this new partnership now cemented, they both mounted their respective mounts, and rode off tracking the orcs. While Legolas rode, he wondered what Nyatha's reason for tracking the orcs was. However, it appeared Nyatha liked her privacy, and he would grant her it. It was a stroke of luck, Legolas thought, or the will of Valar, that he would meet with someone who could, indeed, guard his back. For if indeed the orcs were headed to Dol Guldur—he shook off the thought. Traveling with a warrior maid would be more enjoyable than traveling with a maiden whose only thoughts were for embroidery and handsome men, after all.