Hello again one and all. It's time for another instalment of this tale, but first, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, they were really encouraging!
Stinky Stan, Elvish Song and Little Lost One – Thank you for your short but sweet reviews, much appreciated!
Bant – Thanks and good luck with your schoolwork too – I'm writing this while I should be revising…
Tithen Min – Do you have any idea how tempting it was to really hurt Princess Legless of the Woodland Realm? But I won't… or will I? Mwahahahaha… evil Alice. ;-)
Shayarian Draakami – I know how bad grammer can really ruin a story so I'm checking my story religiously for mistakes (Ignore the summary please – I'll rectify it when I work out how to!)
Astronema – Ah, you've got a mind controlling shoulder devil too? Great things they are-mine's called Dave and he likes pasta. (Yes, I'm a tad eccentric, I admit.)
Shadow Warrior & Amelie – Sorry for the cliffies! I dunno if it's the same for all authors, but I do them for shits & giggles… and I will continue to do it as often as possible. Mwahahahaha.
Cestari – Duly noted, thank you for telling me (I have a terrible memory, I thought I remembered the trip from The Hobbit, but just realised it wasn't short like I thought) however, it's debatable whether several hundred miles is a relatively short journey, isn't it?! It's short compared to a several thousand-mile journey… Sorry, I'm being facetious!
Inwe of Mirkwood (or better known to me as big sister Fayzie) – Look darlin', when I wrote that chapter, you were in Japan, so don't try and bring me down just because I have a higher IQ (as proved by the BBC) Let it be noted by everyone; this story will NOT be SLASH, mainly because I'm a firm believer in A/A and the second reason, well you'll see when we eventually get to the story (it's around here somewhere) Oh, and thanks for pointing out my mistake in the summary, like I said before, I'll fix it when I work out how.
And finally to my reviewer of the week:
Chatelaine – Well, aren't you the nicest, sweetest loveliest lady in the whole world?! Thank you sooo much for your review! * bounce * That is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said about my writing and I can only hope the rest of this story can live up to your expectations. You're a lovely lovely lovely laydee *say in a Northern (English) accent for full effect. * I want your babies. Thank you, I'm still smiling!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien, if they were mine… ooh the fun I would have, but they're not, so poo.
Author Notes: In this story, Aragorn witnessed his father's murder, and if there are any other moves away from the book, I apologise, please tell me and I'll either change the story to make it more accurate or I'll just gloss over it! I just remembered: For the purposes of this tale, Aragorn's mother died too, so she won't feature (obviously)
I'm having a really bad day today – I did a tough History exam and then got absolutely soaked (it rained for exactly 15 minutes - the same 15 minutes it takes me to walk home) Bah. So any flames will be duly sworn at until I'm in a better mood to take them constructively. Not to mention there's loads of speculation about Man Utd selling Beckham, Barthez and van Nistelrooy (nnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!) I'm fully aware that many of you are either not English or don't follow football (soccer) so haven't got a clue what I'm on about, so ignore me.
~*~ Chapter Two – An Unlikely Saviour ~*~
The storm battered through the trees, great droplets of icy water that stung the skin, creating a thick brown sludge that clung to their feet. Lightning lit up the forest momentarily before plunging back in to darkness with a deafening roar of thunder. The ear-splitting scene of chaos was now barely audible to Legolas, who lay helplessly in the mud, vulnerable and unmoving. His heart skipped a beat as he felt heavy footfalls approach.
The large goblin closed in, a wicked grin crept across his dirty, distorted face, his vicious red eyes lit up at the sight of blood and victory. His brutal sword swung behind his head and the immobilized elf looked to the ground, preparing for a gruesome execution, his matted hair hanging over his eyes before he finally closed them in fear.
A thunderous clatter from above startled the defeated elf.
A flurry of agonized screeches soon followed. The large goblin's body fell to the floor in front of him, his horrid head rolled beside the stunned elf, settling in a puddle of muddy brown water; the ripples dancing across his fingers, it's scarlet eyes staring back at Legolas. He looked up in amazement to see a single warrior, whom he guessed had dived from the tree he was slumped against, furiously battling the remaining two-dozen creatures. He worked the sword skilfully, stabbing and beheading all that stormed at him.
Legolas watched in astonishment as the goblins shrieked with panic and fury as they were slain one by one. He struggled to see in the darkness as the frenzied scene unfounded in front him. But there seemed to be something odd about this mysterious swordsman that had come to his aid.
He was very small, or at least he thought he was very small.
His senses were slowly returning and although he still felt terribly weak, he was still determined to try and fight, after all, no matter how skilled a fighter you were, this great a number of armed goblins could still pose great danger as he had realised moments before. Legolas struggled to climb to his feet, sluggishly picking up his graceful sword that was now half submerged in the rich brown sludge, but could not seem to put it to good use, and crumpled back to the ground feebly.
Wiping his tangled hair that had fallen in front of his eyes away, the fair elf surveyed the battle and the undersized fighter as he maimed the vicious parasites, killing them ruthlessly.
Perhaps it is a dwarf, he thought. Legolas was, despite being well-travelled, relatively inexperienced with races other than his own. As he continued to watch helplessly, he dispelled that notion; he was too lean and too quick to be a labouring dwarf. He may not have had many dealings with dwarves, but he knew that he did not like them. They were greedy. Horrible, abrupt, graceless creatures blinded by gold and treasure and did not wish to have any future dealings with them either.
A man, possibly? Men were skilled with the sword he remembered in his limited familiarity of them. Their eyesight was mediocre compared to elves and so trained with it instead of mastering the graceful art of archery. He disliked men even more than he did dwarves; they were weak and so easily corrupted. No, in all the inadequacies that Men had to endure, a lack of height was not one of them.
He would never admit it, but he was indeed puzzled by this fighter.
'Not a Halfling, surely!" The elf mumbled. "Nay, he is too strong."
The last goblin fell to the ground dead with a bloodcurdling scream that stung his ears. And, with that, the tranquil peace of the forest returned once more. The chattering of awoken birds lulled and the inky black clouds broke ever so slightly, easing the cool rain a little. The moon shone brightly through the small cracks, flooding the land with delicate ivory glow, causing everything around them to sparkle magnificently; the cruel blades of the slain creatures shone steely and still. Legolas looked around the peculiarly beautiful sight before his eyes fell upon his rescuer again.
Angry at his poor concentration, the blonde elf rose to his feet, relieved his legs were feeling far more solid than before. He climbed tentatively over the corpses of the hateful things and approached the mysterious figure, who now held up one of the dead goblin's torches.
It was a child.
The flame did not light up his entire face, but it was unmistakeably a little boy, no more than ten or eleven years old. He pushed back the plaits in his raven hair behind his ears and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was slim, about the size of an adult dwarf with dark eyes that twinkled in the firelight. The barrage of the storm ran down his face, washing away the stains of battle as he placed his sword back in his sheath.
"Y-you are a child." Legolas stammered.
"Your observational skills are exceptional, even for an elf." The young boy answered flatly.
"Who are you?" He eyed the youngster with curiosity but with suspicion also, their eyes meeting for a brief moment but his frown was met with a gentle smile.
"You are hurt." His reply was softly spoken in Elvish, taking the injured elf by surprise.
Legolas' frown deepened, if it was possible. "You are no elf, why do you speak in my tongue?" He asked coldly.
"You are no man, why do you speak in mine?" The child's smiled faded, but a cheeky glint in his eyes remained.
"You wear Elven robes and fight with an Elven blade too, who gave them to you?" The boy remained silent, avoiding Legolas' piercing gaze. "Speak, or am I to believe you are just some common thief?" Legolas grabbed the boy's arm quickly, holding him tightly.
"I am no thief." He cried angrily as he struggled desperately to rid himself of this ungrateful elf's grip, before relaxing once again. "I would have thought someone would show a lot more gratitude and little less distrust after being rescued from certain death by such a dashing young man." He grinned merrily.
His remark, a last attempt of jest did not produce the smile he had hoped for, and his anxiety began to grow. Legolas' hold was so tight; he thought it was stopping his blood circulation. He looked up into the blond elf's piercing blue eyes and saw nothing but great suspicion tinged with anger.
He kicked out. It was not hard, for he was exhausted, but had caught the still slightly winded Legolas enough for him to release his grasp momentarily and ran as fast as he could into the forest. The elf, however, was too swift, and caught the frightened boy without much trouble. He held even tighter, drawing his sword at the trembling youngster, who was now visibly beginning to panic.
"Why do you run? I mean you no harm." Legolas asked calmly.
"Then why do you threaten me with your blade?" He cried anxiously. "I pose no danger, if I had wanted to hurt you, I would have when you were down."
Legolas lowered his dagger a little. "Who are you?"
"It does not matter, Master Elf." An involuntary tear ran down the scared boy's face. "You are hurting me."
He glanced down at the stranger's arm, a small but deep gash from the battle was bleeding heavily, soaking through to Legolas' sleeve. It was obvious his tight grip was making it worse and so loosened his hold slightly.
But, it was a big enough opportunity for the mysterious boy to wrestle his arm free and escape into the darkness once more. Legolas sighed and chose not to follow this time, although the ground had softened and he would be easy to track; he was in too much pain and was too exhausted to continue the fruitless exchange. At that moment, his horse had chosen to return from wherever it had fled and he mounted the noble beast, thinking it would be safer to continue his trek to Rivendell that night and try to forget about his encounter tonight.
TBC…
Obviously I would have like to have written that little line in Elvish, but the translation I have doesn't seem very reliable, so if anyone wants to provide the translation for 'You are hurt.' Then I'll put it in.
Also, suggestions for names for Legolas' horse would also be greatly appreciated!
'Til next time… (I'll update on Wednesdays/Thursdays and the weekends)
