Of a Father and Son
Chapter 2
As the elven warriors readied their weapons, the approach of the orcs became audible to their sensitive ears. Long before they could be seen, the orcs' raucus voices and loudly rattling gear announced their presence. The warriors busied themselves checking and rechecking bowstrings, arrows, and lines of fire. Legolas and Thranduil were perched within arm's reach of each other, near the back. Legolas had argued to be in the front rank, as he was easily the most skilled archer of all present, but had been convinced that his skills were better served in direct defense of his father and king. He did not press the issue due to the fact that his duty was, after all, to do that very thing. If all went badly, it would be his task to break his father out and cover his escape. As the enemy drew nearer, Thranduil took a moment to study his son. The warrior beside him bore very little resemblance to the quiet, usually reserved elfling his son had once been. Legolas was totally focused on the foliage ahead of them, his sharp eyes tirelessly scanning for the first visual signs of a target for his near perfect aim. Rustling bushes at the far end of the clearing below the waiting elves snapped Thranduil's attention back to the task at hand.
The first couple of loose ranks of orc soldiers had entered the clearing before the elves loosed the first volley of arrows. The archers of Mirkwood were considered to be among the finest in Middle Earth and the company lived up to that reputation. Orc after orc fell to their arrows, only to be replaced by more of their kind. Soon, the orcs began swarming the trees, firing arrows of their own, not nearly as accurately as their opponents', but by sheer volume they managed to do considerable damage to the elven company. Thranduil had to dodge quickly to avoid an arrow directed toward his midsection, and to his left he heard Legolas grunt in pain as an orc's missile lodged itself in the flesh of his thigh.
"Legolas! How badly are you injured?" He swung around the back side of the tree to his son's side. "A flesh wound, Ada. It is not serious." Legolas continued his barrage of the orcs, barely pausing to look at his injury. Against his paternal instincts, Thranduil took his son at his word and swung back to his own side of the tree to continue firing arrows. As he loosed his last, he came to the sickening realization that a second group of orcs had joined the first. It was time to retreat and hopefully survive long enough to outrun the orcs until sunrise forced them to return to the hole in the earth from which they had emerged. The word was passed, and the elves quickly made their way through the branches trying to distance themselves from their foul pursuers.
Although wounded, Legolas managed to keep up with what was left of the company. Of the original twenty warriors, twelve were left alive and only Thranduil and three others were unmarked. All remaining arrows were given to three who volunteered to cover the rest while they attempted to escape. The remaining nine hastened to put as much distance between the orcs and themselves as possible. When they could no longer hear the orcs, the dropped to the ground looking for any sign of their horses. Thranduil shot concerned glances at his son every few minutes, looking for signs of poisoning from the arrow he'd taken, but saw none. Legolas was visibly favoring the leg, but was not glassy-eyed or disoriented as he would have had there been poison on the arrow. No sign of the horses was found, but to their horror more signs of orcs were everywhere. A shout to their right heralded yet another pack of orcs, this time accompanied by snarling, slavering wargs. The remaining seven warriors quickly formed a protective ring around their king and prince, preparing to defend them to the death. Legolas drew his long knives and took position back to back with his father as Thranduil drew his sword.
Chapter 2
As the elven warriors readied their weapons, the approach of the orcs became audible to their sensitive ears. Long before they could be seen, the orcs' raucus voices and loudly rattling gear announced their presence. The warriors busied themselves checking and rechecking bowstrings, arrows, and lines of fire. Legolas and Thranduil were perched within arm's reach of each other, near the back. Legolas had argued to be in the front rank, as he was easily the most skilled archer of all present, but had been convinced that his skills were better served in direct defense of his father and king. He did not press the issue due to the fact that his duty was, after all, to do that very thing. If all went badly, it would be his task to break his father out and cover his escape. As the enemy drew nearer, Thranduil took a moment to study his son. The warrior beside him bore very little resemblance to the quiet, usually reserved elfling his son had once been. Legolas was totally focused on the foliage ahead of them, his sharp eyes tirelessly scanning for the first visual signs of a target for his near perfect aim. Rustling bushes at the far end of the clearing below the waiting elves snapped Thranduil's attention back to the task at hand.
The first couple of loose ranks of orc soldiers had entered the clearing before the elves loosed the first volley of arrows. The archers of Mirkwood were considered to be among the finest in Middle Earth and the company lived up to that reputation. Orc after orc fell to their arrows, only to be replaced by more of their kind. Soon, the orcs began swarming the trees, firing arrows of their own, not nearly as accurately as their opponents', but by sheer volume they managed to do considerable damage to the elven company. Thranduil had to dodge quickly to avoid an arrow directed toward his midsection, and to his left he heard Legolas grunt in pain as an orc's missile lodged itself in the flesh of his thigh.
"Legolas! How badly are you injured?" He swung around the back side of the tree to his son's side. "A flesh wound, Ada. It is not serious." Legolas continued his barrage of the orcs, barely pausing to look at his injury. Against his paternal instincts, Thranduil took his son at his word and swung back to his own side of the tree to continue firing arrows. As he loosed his last, he came to the sickening realization that a second group of orcs had joined the first. It was time to retreat and hopefully survive long enough to outrun the orcs until sunrise forced them to return to the hole in the earth from which they had emerged. The word was passed, and the elves quickly made their way through the branches trying to distance themselves from their foul pursuers.
Although wounded, Legolas managed to keep up with what was left of the company. Of the original twenty warriors, twelve were left alive and only Thranduil and three others were unmarked. All remaining arrows were given to three who volunteered to cover the rest while they attempted to escape. The remaining nine hastened to put as much distance between the orcs and themselves as possible. When they could no longer hear the orcs, the dropped to the ground looking for any sign of their horses. Thranduil shot concerned glances at his son every few minutes, looking for signs of poisoning from the arrow he'd taken, but saw none. Legolas was visibly favoring the leg, but was not glassy-eyed or disoriented as he would have had there been poison on the arrow. No sign of the horses was found, but to their horror more signs of orcs were everywhere. A shout to their right heralded yet another pack of orcs, this time accompanied by snarling, slavering wargs. The remaining seven warriors quickly formed a protective ring around their king and prince, preparing to defend them to the death. Legolas drew his long knives and took position back to back with his father as Thranduil drew his sword.