*author steps up to the mic and clears throat* 'After posting my previous chapter I have been informed by an anonymous source *glares at shadowy figure behind me* that I made a rather large blunder in my author's note at the end and do in fact have another O.C.. I would like to at this point state my mutual love for Avarilas as well.' *pulls shadowy figure out to the mic and gives a hug*.
'There. Are you happy now?'
*O.C. nods* 'Yes, thank you.'
*author glares at O.C.* 'I can kill you off you know.'
'Cannot. You need me for the next story."
'Damn it.'
Comments to my oh-so-lovely reviewers…
LegolasLover2003 - Ah, I'm glad you approve of my outofcontext!Legolas. I was afraid that I had overdone it and people would not like the story because of it. Though… the poor elf still has a lot, and I mean a LOT, to go through before he's back to his old self. Hopefully he'll be just as appealing when he continues down the path to insanity. Ahnd I'm placing our dear little human at around 18, give or take.
MG87 - *cringes once again at the horrible shortness* I'm sorry to say that ery few of my chapters are very long at all. *cries* I try, really I do! But I just find myself with such great cutting off points! And I promise, scouts honor, that I'm not going to kill of our beloved elf. Then who would I have to torture. *laughs maniacly* And I saw the trailer online with AOL. Oh my God!!! I cannot wait!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tinnuial - Well I'll certainly try. Thanks for the review!
silvertoekee - *dramatic music plays in the background* Dun dun dun… lol. Anyway, yes, yes we will have to see if our elf really meant to be so very very cruel. And will Lindelen arrive on time? Hmm… We'll just have to find out. *grins*
Now on with the story. Once again apologize for my hyperness. :P
" Memories of Ilithien "
Chapter 5 - Lost
The air, whipping at Legolas' face, tossing his hair into a tangled web behind his head, seemed distant, a memory of something he could no longer understand. The ground beneath his feet seemed hollow, echoing like a forge and hammer with every footstep, steps that were so light they barely bent the fertile blades of grass he unknowingly ran on.
And inside, a battle raged in his body, his soul. A battle of fire and ice; burning rage and an icy calm that carried him onward, towards his goal, towards his release. He caught a tainted scent on the distant wind and force more speed to his pumping legs.
He was close.
*
Three Elven warriors perched easily in the trees at the edge of the forest, the rest of their company less than a mile away, waiting for them to return with their report. They were hidden from sight of any creature, above or below them, looking down on the grisly band they had been tracking since dawn. The creatures had stopped at the forest's edge to wait out the murderous rays of the sun, and now as it neared dusk they readied themselves to move on again, toward their foul caverns in the Misty Mountains. And the elves waited patiently for the right moment of attack, when the orc's guard was down, when they were most vulnerable.
For none would survive this battle. Even if the elves had to follow them to Mordor and back, they would all perish for what they had done.
Elrond watched with hate-filled eyes as the creatures moved beneath him, soiling the very earth they walked on, the air they breathed. Elrohir was balanced lightly on his left, watching the orcs intently, his eyes burning with a barely controlled rage. Elladan was on his right, a calmness about him that was more terrifying than his brother's fury.
Elrond had tried once to understand Ilithien's sorted view of the orcs, that he could have been born one of the foul creatures if not for chance, but he could feel no sympathy for these twisted beings. Not after what they had done to him and those he loved.
~
Ilithien watched as the twins, so rare to elven parents, readied themselves for their 'hunting trip'. She knew they hunted nothing but the blood of orcs on these trips. But she had never tried to persuade them to change their grieved ways as she had done with her prince.
For the pain that tore at their dark eyes whenever they thought of their mother, thought of the pain she had suffered that they could not prevent, lashed at her heart like the cruelest of whips and she could not bear to ask it of them.
Elrond slowly walked up behind her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Centi minai leithian." He said softly, watching sadly as his sons spoke to each other of their hunt. ("They seek only release.")
"Ai." She sighed. She watched with wounded eyes as the twins exchanged a private look, one that only they, who had shared and womb and now this pain, could understand. They clasped each others hands, unspoken words drifting in the space between them, then Elladan nodded resolutely and they left the protection of Imladris to sate the hurt in their souls with the blood of their enemy.
Ilithien turned towards Elrond again, tears brimming in her emerald eyes. "It will never leave, will it?" She asked, venturing into an unspoken forbidden territory with the ancient lord. "The pain… the grief. Even in all our long years as the Eldar, we cannot ever escape such as this."
Elrond stared back at her, his eyes darkening with a silent, ever hidden grief that his sons showed so easily in their hatred and anger. He shook his head softly, a voiceless answer that spoke more volumes than any words, then turned to retreat to the silent walls of Imladris.
"Elbereth, berio ti." Ilithien whispered as the twins disappeared across the bridge and into the woods. ("Elbereth, protect them.")
~
*
Legolas crested a hill and nearly screamed in satisfaction. He had found his prey, and now the hunger for blood would be satisfied.
He let out a primal cry and, white knives drawn, charged into the center of their foul camp, yearning to feel their blood on his hands.
*
Elrond signaled for his sons to retreat into the woods. They would retrieve their warriors, then destroy the creatures. But before they could move even a hand's-breadth they heard a call; an ancient, rage-filled war cry, that filled the air and seemed to vibrate the very trees they hid in.
They all stared in horror as a lone figure, tangled blond hair whipping around his head, rushed into the midst of the orcs.
*
Legolas howled in uncontrolled fury as his stainless knives tore into the flesh of an orc, spraying it's blood as the smooth blade slid through it's body like a silver fish through the black depths of the ocean. Legolas reveled in the feel of it and quickly turned towards the nearest body, slashing through the thick hide, slitting it's throat, it's dying scream coursing through Legolas' body like the fire in his veins.
As he spun again, his knives searching, his soul begging for another body, another twisted creature to die at his hands, it's blood spilt to forever stain the ground, he lost all sense of himself and what surrounded him. The only thing that was real now was the rage, the need, the ice and fire.
With stroke after endless stroke he laid waste to the horde that surrounded him, bit into their flesh, destroyed their already mangled bodies, spilt their blood until he could taste it. He did not sense the three bodies that leapt from the trees behind him and joined the battle.
*
There was no time. No time to retrieve the warriors that still waited in the woods, so close yet suddenly so very far away. If they left the prince now he would surely die. For in his rage, his blinding fury, he did not notice, or did not care, that he was fighting nearly a hundred of the perverted creatures on his own.
He had felled an astounding number of them just as the three elves watched, stunned, from the trees. But he could not, even with his wrath giving him unheard-of strength, destroy them all before they overtook him. The three leapt from the trees and instantly engaged in the fight, working always towards the lone creature at the center of the maelstrom he had created.
They slashed and parried, thrust and dodged, fighting their way to their friend, felling startled and confused orcs with a single blow. But for all they felled, an endless stream took their place and soon they found themselves divided, surrounded by twisted black bodies, fighting now for their own lives instead of their friends.
Elven warriors or not, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and Elrond watched in anguish as his sons, and the young prince that he considered as close as a son, were slowly pulled away from him, fighting for their lives, fighting for the death of the orcs they hated, but always away, away from safety, away from his protection.
He let out a terrifying cry of rage and killed three of the foul beasts with one stroke. He would not, could not let these creatures take what little he had left in this world. Fury boiled in his veins as it had so long ago and his body seemed to move of its own, propelling him toward his children, coursing through the putrid bodies like he were swatting at flies.
But just like any other swarm of flies, this one would not disappear. It came ever on, boiling around him in a clash of scimitars and armor, elven blades and the rank stench of fetid blood. A cry of pain, heard above the others only for the life that was held so dearly by the elven lord, came from his left and Elrond turned towards the sound, drawn to it like a insect to a light in the darkest night.
He watched in horror, shock, despair, as Elladan was pulled beneath the swarming mass of grotesque bodies and did not emerge again.
"ELLADAN! BAW!" Elrohir screamed in anguish as his twin disappeared into the twisted bodies. His elven blades sang in the air as he charged towards his fallen brother. But he was blocked by a solid wall of orc bodies and he had to fight again for his own life, though a part of his mind stayed ever fixed on the last place he had seen his brother. (… NO!")
*
Legolas, so lost to his rage, so distracted by the fury that destroyed any creature that came near him, did not hear the tormented cry his friend had released, did not even know his dearest friends fought with him, for him.
He felt the warm, black blood coat his hands and splatter across his face as it ran in rivers down his knives; blades that always searched for more, fed from his desire and found the aching release in the feel of flesh torn, bodies felled. He sensed nothing but the creatures around him, felt nothing but rage and grief and the unfulfilled lust that was not sated by the blood he had spilled.
Bodies fell at his feet, one after the other, and soon he found that a wider circle existed around him than the orcs had allowed before. He smiled, a twisted, sadistic smile and plunged his knives in the belly of another beast.
They feared him.
*
It was over. Elrond knew, even as he fought the foul creatures, felled them as they came and stepped lightly over the bodies to kill another, he knew they would not survive. They were locked in a cage filled with demons, with no escape. One son had already fallen, dead for all his anguished heart knew, and the other was failing fast, grief over his brother clouding his mind and bringing him down.
And the third? He had been lost before the fight had even begun.
As the orcs tightened the circle around him, he whispered a prayer and released his hope to the winds.
To Be Continued…
Ah, cliffhangers. How I love thee, let me count the ways. One review, two review, three review…
Translation… more reviews make for the end of evil cliffhangers. No author's gonna post if she doesn't feel loved, now will she?
What can I say, the fine art of guilt-tripping has been in my family for generations!
Until next time!
Adrienne