Mirkwood lost

I.

The fire crept up another trunk. Slowly, yet unstoppable, it ate into the bark of the tree, found new nourishment and climbed higher and higher. The smooth, refusing surface of the beech on which it fed offered a great deal of resistance. There was not much left of the flames when they arrived at the top of the tree, but then they reached the leafs which brought them to new life. Hissing, because they were still in full sap, they fell victim to the fire, and soon the whole treetop was in flames. The fire went on with it's work until there was only a bizarre, blackened stump left of the beech.

Then the time was come to creep on the forest floor, to feed on the dried leaves of last year and to search for another tree. At first there had been elves which tried to fight it back, especially when it feasted on their king's wooden halls. They had thrown water and dug drains to deprive it from it's nourishment. But soon they had stopped because of the arriving of the black creatures. There had been tumults, riots and fights, but nothing that disturbed the fire. And soon there had been more food. Either elves or the black creatures – both of them were inflammable.

II.

Soon the smoke became thicker, and small pieces of ember rained now down on horse and rider. They burned up on the coat of the animal, laid themselves on Legolas' head, shoulders, face and hands and made breathing painful.

They were forerunners of the fire front which fast approached. Now one could also hear it. A weird hissing, cracking and snarling filled the air, the sound of burning wood and dying animals, as men might would say; the groaning of the trees being consumed by greedy flames, as an elf would put it. Like the embers the sound seemed to surround Legolas and hampered his perception.

Instinctively he felt the urge to cover his ears, to close his eyes and thus keep out the reality of the fire, but even that would not have helped since he could feel it. The mortal fear of the animals and trees which awaited their destruction was almost physically noticeable for him.

Like many wood elves Legolas was connected to the creatures of the forests in a way humans could not understand, and so he now had to share their pain and fear. It was almost too much for him.

The horse, close to panic, seemed to feel the same. With a bristled coat, wildly rolling eyes and shaking it pranced on the spot and was not easily persuaded to go on. In spite of the smoke Legolas took a deep breath to collect himself, for now he had to pass the fire front, and for this he needed to have his wits about one. He had to convince his horse to gallop straight towards the fire, he needed to find a gap between the burning trees, and he needed to be fast. Then he would manage to come trough the flames without much harm. Only the brightly blazing flames were really dangerous – right after the front it would be bearable. Legolas got a better hold on the brittle and looked searchingly around. Then he made his decision, and with a rapid blow in the flanks he chased his horse right into the flames.

Greedy the flames grabbed for the horse and it's rider, scorched skin, hair and clothes, but only for a moment, then the sea of flames was already behind them. Instead of blazing flames a bizarre world of charred tree stumps, burned earth and silently glowing embers awaited them. A death world, which did not allow it's intruder any orientation. Legolas, who knew Mirkwood, or at least this part of Mirkwood, like the back of his hand, was unsure where he was, perhaps for the first time in his life.

He reined up his horse. The poor animal, which now literally walked on charring ashes, was not willing to stop and with the instinct of animals it tried to get away from the fire. But as much as Legolas looked around, he had no clue in which direction he should go on. After a few seconds he shrugged his shoulders and directed his horse more southwards. Sooner or later he would join up with other elves. And his father's wooden halls were big enough not to be missed anyway.

III.

Legolas didn't join up any elves. He also didn't found anything to orient himself although his senses told him that his father's halls couldn't be that far. Only the smoke, thinner now, and the diminishing heat told him that he was already quite far from the fire front. A black, vast, destroyed nightmare of a forest surrounded him, completely bare of life.

It mirrored Legolas' own feelings: A gloomy cloud of hopelessness had descended on his heart which made it difficult for him to do something, to see some sense in riding on. His father dead, Mirkwood burned down, the sylvan elves –in the best case- robbed of their homes and scattered.

For the first time in his life Legolas felt a touch of the endless sadness which could drive even the immortal elves in the arms of death by attacking their innermost nature. Instinctively he knew that it was not the time to give in to this sadness, and if to escape physically from this overwhelming feelings he maltreated his horse again with his heels.

Taken by surprise, the animal made a few fast jumps - and almost crashed overrode a black creature which had waited in the dark.

The angry cry of the orc mingled with the shrill neighing of the horse. It was difficult to say which of them was more surprised to meet an enemy, but it was the elf who was the first to recover from it's surprise. Legolas had the advantage to draw his sword on a horse's back, and the orc seemed hampered by something he held in his claws- in any case he fell with a pierced chest in the ashes before his sword was halfway out. Fortunately, for the Orc had not been alone.

With chilling battlecries, teeth bared in their ugly faces, two more warriors attacked Legolas immediately. On seeing them a wave of anger and hate filled the elf's heart. What evil things had this creatures in mind? Why were they in the Mirkwood? They might had taken advantage of the confusion caused by the fire to search for easy prey, or even worse things...

All this thoughts went through his head in less than a second, and they banished every hint of sadness, turned him into a merciless warrior. All his grief, his sorrow which had dominated him were now changed to hate and bloodlust – both Orcs, surely not bad fighters themselves, fell only a few seconds later. Their blood dried up hissing on the gleaming embers.

Breathing heavily Legolas looked down on his enemies and tried to control the fierceness of the feelings which had reigned him a moment ago. For some seconds he had felt a pure desire to kill which left him now confused and somewhat ashamed. He almost dropped his sword, slippery with blood, but then he clenched it's hilt frantically, while in his head there were suddenly new horrible visions. Where the orcs really just looking for elfish arms or other valuable things? Or had they even caused – in one way or another – the devastating fire? And where were the other elves? Again he felt a wave of hate arise. It was an overwhelming feeling that threatened to choke him. Whatever the orcs had in mind, they would pay dearly for it. They would pay.

IV.

Legolas didn't have to go on searching for long. Just after a few hundred yards he heard the clang of metal, cries, and the triumphant yells of orcs. His stomach tightened, and his horror visions became more concrete.

More orcs. And the noise was unmistakable: There was a battle taking place. From all his weapons Legolas only had his sword left, and two of his knives. But still he hurried on. He didn't fear for his life. All that counted for him was his hate which screamed for orc blood. Probably it was this hate which saved Legolas' life in this night.

The darkness was already driven away by the first signs of dawn when he reached the source of the noise. At the first glimpse he could detect 15 orcs, in full armour, armed with swords, bows, some with spears. They attacked a total of about 10 elves. Legolas knew their leader well, but there was no time for greeting formalities right now.

The elves were in trouble, even though they fought bravely. Only few of them seemed to have any arrows left. Additionally, the fire had robbed them of their allies, the trees. Without this backing the elves' biggest advantage in war, the long bow, could not be used effectively. As fast as an elf may be with his bow: Without any protection the moment of taking aim made him very vulnerable. At the moment only three archers seemed to be on their feet. They stood back to back to protect each other, and they sent arrow after arrow against the advancing orcs.

They had to be careful though not to hit accidentally one of their own which were caught up in man-against-man fights, for the elven warriors, darkened by dust and soot, seemed tired. Their agility and fastness in the fight had visibly lessened. It was only a question of time till the orcs, although clearly decimated, would be victorious.

The flame of hate was again in his eyes as Legolas rushed forward with a loud battle-cry right into the battle. He was in the orcs' back and had killed three of them before they even knew what had hit them. His arrival caused something akin to panic among this nightmarish creatures for they seemed to await more attacking elves. But they regained composure fast enough, and the biggest among them, a giant with reddish long hair and strangely red eyes, raced towards Legolas, sword drawn, and two others aimed their bows on him. Legolas saw it out of the corner of his eyes, but he couldn't really react on this thread because the attacking orc demanded his full concentration. He was incredibly fast and equally strong.

Legolas, who did not have a shield, parried the orcs' first stroke with his sword. The blow which went through his right arm and shoulder in the same second was so painful he couldn't suppress a sigh, and under the fierceness of the attack he fell to his knees. A second wild stroke he avoided in the same way, under the third his sword broke. The orc yelled triumphantly and lifted his sword again. This time Legolas fell to the floor intentionally, dived away under the blade, rolled around and came up to his adversary's side. He was just in time to avoid the next blow, and this gave him the time to reach for one of his long knives. None of them would be a match for a sword, but if the orc would not be careful, he soon would taste one of them.

Legolas suddenly felt sick, and the small hairs on his neck prickled. The fight against this orc, although it had not lasted for more than a minute, seemed endless to him, and the two orcs with the bows he had lost from sight. They must be somewhere though, and surely they were ready to shoot at any second...A new blow, a new side-step. This time he was not fast enough. The sword opened his shoulder, draw blood and sent horrible waves of pain through his body together with a wave of rage. Out from his kneeling position Legolas threw himself against the orc. He hit him at the height of his hips. The enemy, surprised by the attack, fell to the floor, but he gripped his sword tightly and raised it again to beat his smaller enemy away from him. This was exactly what Legolas had counted on, and with a quick, experienced stroke he cut of the orc's sword hand. The maimed orc howled, a sound which quickly turned into a cough when Legolas slid his throat. The blood of his first adversary still on his knife, Legolas wildly looked around for a new enemy.

The other elves seemed to have restored their strength because of his arriving, for suddenly there were not too many orcs left. They had ridden themselves of the two orcs with the bows, which had made the mistake to give their full attention solely to the new attacker – a mistake which both of them paid with an arrow protruding from their throat. All the other orcs seemed to be involved in man-to-man-fights, so again Legolas could kill two of them without much trouble. Just as he gave his attention to a third enemy he felt a move behind his back.

The elf fighting which fought there before had fallen, and her killer had found a new intended victim: Legolas. His first blow came too deep, for he was small for an orc, and it hit Legolas, which instinctively had already turned halfway around, at the hip.

This time he couldn't suppress a small cry, and his knees buckled. Automatically he made a fall out of it and this way avoided the next stroke which was aimed much higher. His left hand searched for some of the hot ashes lying everywhere. Still in the move of turning around he threw it into the face of his enemy. The orc was blinded only for a few moments, since Legolas had not aimed too precisely, but his ordeal was enough for Legolas to cut his knees' ligaments. After this it was a piece of cake for the elf, and another orc died, breathing stertorously. With painfilled eyes Legolas got up. His left hip burned like fire, and his right shoulder felt deaf and useless. All the same he turned around very fast, knife arisen, when he felt another move in his back – and stopped a murderous stroke only inches before the face of another elf.

"Mardin", he said, after he had finally found his voice, and he took a deep breath to compose himself, to banish the waves of anger and adrenaline raging through him. The elf which he had called Mardin had backed away. He was an elderly Lieutenant of the king's guard which now looked quite sorrowful. "Yes, my prince." He said and saw with growing relief how Legolas distorted features slowly relaxed. "The orcs are defeated thanks to your coming, though we paid a high price for it." Except him and Legolas, only five other elves had survived the fight. The others lay dead or dying on the bare ground.

Legolas, almost stumbling out of tiredness and relief, needed a few seconds before he could utter a coherent sentence: "What happened, Mardin?" he asked. "Where are the other elves?"

Mardin, very tired, looked at him. He seemed much older since Legolas last had seen him. In the meantime the other elves had gathered around them. They seemed tired, and desperate, too.

Instead of Mardin, a simple soldier answered. "We don't know." he said. "The fire came as a surprise. And it came from all directions. We parted ourselves to fight it efficiently. Then we were attacked by the orcs and became even more separated..." He quieted.

Legolas suddenly noticed all of them watching him. They expected him to decide what to do now! Okay, this was simple. The flame of hate answered for him. "Arm yourself and collect your arrows." he said shortly. "Then we will search for other elves. Or other orcs to kill, that is." His commands brought some spirit back to the elves. With an odd feeling of satisfaction Legolas noticed anger and hate arising in the soldiers, too. Mardin seemed to look even darker than before.

V.

Late in the morning they reached the remnants of King Thranduils palace, Legolas and his troop and a few other elves they had found while striding through the destroyed Mirkwood.

All in all it was a total of about 200 tired, hurt and terribly upset elves which stayed in the ruins of their former homes. There was nothing more than ruins left because of the fire and the plundering orcs.

Now and then Legolas and his group had met some of them roaming, and all of them were killed unceremoniously. It was an irony of fortune that the orcs died for their greed since their hands full with their prey and thus were not free to reach for weapons. No elf bothered to pick up anything of their prey, and weapons, treasures or other useful things lay now as a grotesque decoration over the bodies of the killed orcs. But most of them had retired at the beginning of dawn, so Legolas and his soldiers concentrated on finding other elves.

Their search had brought precious little success, and Legolas desperately hoped that there were still more elves somewhere out there. More than the 200 which had been able to save themselves up to now. There were women, children, old and young elves among them, but only about fifty warriors.

What if the orcs returned the next night? Of course they would be expected this time, but could they be stopped by fifty elves which did not even have much weapons left? No, the orcs would have a damned easy game to finish what they had started last night: The total destruction of the wood elves.

Again a shadow of deadly sadness fell over him, the same he had felt the night before. It didn't help that the fire, now far away judging by the distant smoke, seemed to have lessened – perhaps the fire had – at last – found a natural end at the shore of one of mirkwood's bigger rivers, it didn't help at all. Against his will he felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he surveyed the forlorn crowd the once so proud wood elves had become. Some of the them slept, completely unaware of what happened around them, exhausted, drained, grateful of the moments of oblivion sleep brought them. Others lay on the floor, hurt and wounded, and others took care of them, but except some water and some pieces of clothes to dress the most awful wounds there was nothing that could be done. What had not fallen victim to the fire had been destroyed or stolen by the orcs.

Legolas look wandered to his brother, the only one from his brothers and sisters which had emerged yet. Elwyne lay in his immediate vicinity, deeply unconscious, and this was a blessing. A bloodied, maimed mass of flesh – that was all that was left of Elwyne's left leg. So much one could see even through the temporary bandages. He didn't know exactly what had happened to his second-oldest brother. It didn't matter anyway. It did matter however that Elwyne did survive, and it did matter, that he, Legolas, was the only member of the king's family which was present at the moment. The responsibility for what happened next clearly lay in his hand. The responsibility to reign and guide this people.

"Which people?" a bitter voice in his mind said. "There's only this pitiful crowd left from your people...", and Legolas did nothing to make it quiet. It was right. What was more, the other elves seemed willing to obey his commands, even though he was young, young in elven measurements. Perhaps the devastation of their homeland, the destruction of their own people, the fire, the insidious attack of the orcs and especially the news of the killing of their king had put them into a state where everything was indifferent to them. Legolas didn't really want to know. He felt vastly incompetent. Being the youngest of five brothers, he had never known the burden of responsibility since he was an unlikely candidate for the king's throne. And know every single decision he made would have an enormous impact, perhaps even decide the whole future for his people.

Of course he had sent hunters in every direction which searched for survivors, and messengers to Rivendell, and he had posted guardians just in case the orcs would even return before the light was gone. But now there were more decisions to be taken. Difficult decisions. Should they stay here, it was most likely that the orcs would return and kill them one after another. Would they hide themselves –where should they hide in the destroyed Mirkwood anyway? – many of the critically wounded would not survive the transport. And a troop of 200 people was most likely to leave a trace even a blind orc could easily follow.

Suddenly Legolas felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to turn around to know that it belonged to Mardin. He was grateful for the support from the war-horse. The man had stayed at his side since they had first met in the morning. He had insisted that Legolas had his minor wounds bound and that he ate some crumbs of lemba which popped up miraculously. "They will return tonight." he said darkly and thus mirrored Legolas' own thoughts. Legolas nodded. "We have to retire." He said. "To hide women and children. Perhaps we can defend ourselves long enough until we get help from Rivendell." Mardin nodded. Legolas remained silent for a few moments, then he added: "Let's move to the waterfalls. There we will have the hills in our back, and perhaps there will be some intact forest due to the frequent rivers and streams. Some of the caves there may can serve as a hide for the wounded and the ones which are not capable to fight. Furthermore the entrance to the valley of the waterfalls is quite narrow. We may be able to defend it some time. But the valley is also a trap. None of us will survive once we are in it, when we are on our own in this" "Also when we stay here, my prince, none of us will survive." Mardin said quietly and went to tell his soldiers Legolas' orders.

VI.

They reached the waterfalls hours after darkness had fallen. The wounded and their own exhaustion had slowed them down, and the destroyed wood made the journey not easier. As Legolas had suspected, many of the severely wounded elves had died. If they really died being deadly wounded or just out of sadness, no one could tell.

In silence they had brought the wounded to a natural cave by the waterfalls. Women, children and the old took care of them. They had left 10 soldiers with them to their protection, that was most likely more than they could spare by the defence of the valley. If the Orcs conquered their refuge, this ten warriors wouldn't be able to offer a great deal of resistance, anyway, but Legolas hated to left his charge completely without protection.

With the other warriors, a total of about 70 men, some of them had only joined them on their march up here, he prepared the defence of the valley's entrance. It seemed that nature was on their side: At the entrance of the canyon, which was quite narrow to begin with, a big avalanche once must have taken place. It barred the river's way, which flew through the valley in a multitude of meanders and arms. In the course of the time the river had successfully found a new way through the mass of rocks and stones, but he had not yet dug a real broad bed. So it created an artificial narrow entrance to the valley, and the debris of the avalanche created many angels in which one could hide the archers.

The river even had protected the trees not only in the valley but also around it against the fire. The trees would serve as an additional cover. Definitely, the valley was well suited for a final battle, and Legolas and Mardin positioned their men at the most suitable places.

No one said a single superfluous word. The air seemed charged with tension. Principally they all knew that they were lost. The orcs would find their traces-they had not had the time to try and hide their traces in any way- and they would be in the majority. Even if they wiped out 500 of the enemies- 500 new orcs would from the mountains would appear. Even if they had had an respectable arsenal of weapons on their side, they would succumb eventually, and they didn't have an arsenal. A few arrows, a few swords, some knives – a pitiful collection which would not last long. There was no reason to talk at all. The elves spared their breath for the battle.

And in spite of all the desperation about their more than hopeless situation Legolas nevertheless felt in every soldier the iron will to fight the hatred enemy in defiance of death. This determination chased their fears and made the waiting tolerable. The waiting for the death bringing creatures which would step forth from the forest before long and would wipe out merciless every life in their reach. Legolas squared his shoulders and continued to stare into the dark. They might been lost, but they would sell their skin as expensive as possible.

He felt an attachment to his fellow soldiers as strong as he never felt before, and their bravery filled his heart with pride. He turned his head to look at the serious, blood smeared and darkened faces of his comrades. One of the warriors next to him noticed his look and showed his teeth in a grim smile. Legolas approvingly smiled back and then turned his attention back to the dark valley in front of him. They waited.

VII.

The moon stood very high when they heard something for the first time. The sound could have come from some surviving animals of the night, but this fleeting hope soon died when the sound intensified. It was the found of a great troop moving- a great troop which did not even try to be silent.

Legolas bit his lips. It was cruel. Dawn was not far, so they had almost dared to hope that the orcs would find them too late and would be forced to wait with their attack in order to avoid the hatred sun. They would have to wait for the following night. And with a tremendous amount of luck, until then help from Rivendell might already have reached the valley...

But it was a matter of seconds till the orcs would arrive. And the three remaining hours of the night would most likely be sufficient for them to destroy the elves. Yes, fate was cruel, but there was nothing they could do. Now they were clearly audible. The clank of metal, bushes and trees which groaned under the people marching by, now and then the snorting of horses. Orcs on horses. Legolas smiled grimly. What an expenditure to slaughter about 200 defenceless elves!

They waited. They would wait until the orcs were at least partly in between the elves hidden in the forest and the defenders of the valley. Of course this meant sure death for the warriors positioned in the forest for they would have orcs in their front and in their back, but the other soldiers would die only shortly after them. It didn't matter where. They waited as the first attackers became visible as dark shadows between the trees. They waited as the entrance of the valley filled with them, at first with foot soldiers, then with knights. They were many. The moon was, most of the time now, hidden between cumulating clouds, so one could not see far. Not that it changed anything. One could feel their presence, their majority.

Legolas tensed and lifted the arrow he got from Mardin. He was to give the signal to the attack. His men hidden in the forest most likely would not see it, but they would hear the sounds of battle. Their personal Armageddon had arrived.

The moon had found a gap between the clouds, for a moment his pale light was mirrored in hundreds of silver and golden armours and helms. The Rivendell elves had come. "Elrond!" cried Mardin behind him in a hoarse voice. "The rivendell elves are here!" and Legolas suddenly was grabbed and caught in a big huge. "The Rivendell elves! Elrond is here!" The cry spread through the wood elves and became a loud cry of joy which fortunately also reached the elves in the forest. And suddenly the rivendell elves saw how their surrounding became alive with shadows which laughing and crying hugged each other, clapped on their shoulders or fell to the floor in fatigue. The Rivendell elves had come.

To be continued...