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 may evolve into some romance, but it's not going to, if it ever will, until these two know each other very well.
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!
And, to all my wonderful reviewers:
Trina T: Here it is, my next chapter! Hope you like this one, too.
Morgan le Fay: Yes, I keep messing up the spelling of 'leapt'. I'll fix it…when I'm not being lazy or procrastinating.
Hael Deydre: Yes, I know about that mistake… I'll fix it…sometime.
~*~*~*~*~
Legolas hummed a tune to himself as he tied a strip of cloth about his wounded arm, and took a sip from his waterskin. It was still night—or rather, early morning—but the moon and stars illuminated the surrounding forest adequately, so Legolas decided to hunt. The food supply was growing smaller, as well. He hadn't seen any sign of more orcs since the skirmish, so he left Nyatha sleeping by the fire.
He sighed in pleasure as he stepped through the forest, his feet making no sound on the soft grasses. It was quiet, with only the occasional hooting of an owl, or the scurry of a small mammal through the bushes breaking the silence. The moonlight and strlight filtering through the treetops gave the forest an ethereal appearance, casting a silvery glow on the leaves and grasses.
Stealthily and quietly, the Elf crept through the forest, his bow and an arrow in his hands. His blue eyes glittered—he loved the forest, and it was on nights like these he loved it the most. The lovely Greenwood, now known as Mirkwood, was his home, and there was no place on Middle-Earth he felt was lovelier.
His eyes picked up a movement, and he aimed and shot at the squirrel in a fluid movement. As usual, the arrow hit true; Legolas was an archer with almost legendary talent among the Elves of Mirkwood.
He walked up to the squirrel and brought it back to the camp.
***
Nyatha groaned and stretched as the sunlight hit her eyes. She looked up and judged the time—it was a little past dawn. She reached a hand to touch her shoulder, than pulled back, thinking perhaps it was not a good idea to touch the arrow-wound.
Legolas was eating rabbit stew from a crude-looking bowl, and he made a head gesture that told her she should have some too. "Good morning," she told him, and ladled herself some of the stew. It was good, spiced with herbs she didn't recognise.
When the stew had been finished, the two silently packed away what they needed too, and Nyatha scuffed out the dying campfire with her boots. Then she climbed into Kivan's saddle, instinctively patting the gelding's neck as if to say 'good morning'. Kivan switched his tail and at a light kick from her heels trotted off into the woods at her direction.
Elves generally rode with neither saddle nor bridle, but Legolas had known the orcs had got a headstart, so he'd packed a type of saddle-bag that elves used when they went on longer trips, or what the elven armies used sometimes. Avormith, the vain horse, had been a bit insulted that she'd had to carry some of Legolas' things, but knew what it was, and bore the burden with a graceful ease.
Legolas easily mounted the horse, and whispered to her in elvish. Avormith flicked an ear, and trotted smoothly after Kivan.
The orcs's trail was surprisingly clear and easy to follow, so the two hunters picked up their speed, the two horses moving to a slow canter. Finally Nyatha, who happened to be in the lead, stopped, and Avormith stopped behind Nyatha's gelding. The orc trail now branched off into two directions. One went to the east, the other to the south.
Nyatha and Legolas dismounted, and studdied the ground carefully, but the only foorprints to be seen were orcs, and there was no sign of which way the orcs had taken their hostages.
Legolas muttered something in elvish, then said, "If only Estel were here; he far surpasses me in tracking skills."
"Estel?" questioned Nyatha, who was squinting at the ground, examing the bushes and looking for any sign, any trace of where her brother had been taken.
"He is a friend, a man who dwells in the elvish city of Rivendell," Legolas told her, "The adopted son of the ruler there. His name means 'hope'."
"Hmm…" was Nyatha's distracted reply. Finally she shrugged and turned disappointed eyes on the elf. "No sign. We must choose a way to go."
"I say the south, since that's the way the orcs were going all along," Legolas said.
Nyatha shook her head. "But east lies… Mordor. Would not the orcs go there? To that black, horrible land?"
The two argued for a moment or so, when Nyatha finally stamped her foot and shook her head. "This is silly; we should be tracking those devils, not arguing over which path to go! Let us go to the south, as you say, and hope that that is where your beloved and my brother have been taken."
Legolas agreed, and did not correct her over her mistaken assumption that Benawen was his beloved.
They rode along the south trail slowly, keeping an eye on the trail. No sign did they see, however, of Benawen or Nyatha's brother. After a while, however, they did ride straight into an ambush of about a score of orcs, armed to the teeth.