~This was orriginally written as a part of an interfic crossover (with X-men:Evo, if you're that curious) on the Nutboard (Internutter.org), but it turned out so well. . .It only needed a little editing, so. . .Here it is! Enjoy!~
Disclaimer: . . .should I even bother?
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Helm's Deep.
Not exactly the warmest place in Middle-Earth, with it's unfriendly stone walls, grey surroundings, and the ever-present smell of unwashed humans.
...And that's on a good day. Now, with the ever-present threat of Saruman's army on every inhabitants mind, the atmosphere of doom was heavy.
Those were the thoughts on Legolas' mind as he strode towards the armory of Healm's Deep.
Oh, how far away were the pleasant days of his childhood in the Greenwood, when he only picked up his bow with the intent of shooting a parchment target, or even a small animal.
The concept of death did not come easilly to him. As an elf, immortal, he found mortality something he'd rather not dwell on.
He knew that if he did, he would fall into a mental pit of dispair; never to return to the warm green light of happiness again.
The elven prince passed by a group of young boys solomly inspecting their dented, handed down weapons. How horrible it was that they should be the ones to live in these uncertain times; to use weapons in such bad shape, that would normally never be used. Legolas knew by their expressions -how easy it was to read mortal's thoughts on their faces- that they too knew that there was little chance that they'd live out the night.
A few score of young, inexperienced men, and even less older ones that could barely lift their own swords, let alone use them...versus several thousand of the deadly and mercilous Uruk-Hai?
It was folly.
But they had no choice.
That was why he wouldn't dwell on it.
It would hurt too much.
Disclaimer: . . .should I even bother?
*** *** ***
Helm's Deep.
Not exactly the warmest place in Middle-Earth, with it's unfriendly stone walls, grey surroundings, and the ever-present smell of unwashed humans.
...And that's on a good day. Now, with the ever-present threat of Saruman's army on every inhabitants mind, the atmosphere of doom was heavy.
Those were the thoughts on Legolas' mind as he strode towards the armory of Healm's Deep.
Oh, how far away were the pleasant days of his childhood in the Greenwood, when he only picked up his bow with the intent of shooting a parchment target, or even a small animal.
The concept of death did not come easilly to him. As an elf, immortal, he found mortality something he'd rather not dwell on.
He knew that if he did, he would fall into a mental pit of dispair; never to return to the warm green light of happiness again.
The elven prince passed by a group of young boys solomly inspecting their dented, handed down weapons. How horrible it was that they should be the ones to live in these uncertain times; to use weapons in such bad shape, that would normally never be used. Legolas knew by their expressions -how easy it was to read mortal's thoughts on their faces- that they too knew that there was little chance that they'd live out the night.
A few score of young, inexperienced men, and even less older ones that could barely lift their own swords, let alone use them...versus several thousand of the deadly and mercilous Uruk-Hai?
It was folly.
But they had no choice.
That was why he wouldn't dwell on it.
It would hurt too much.