Chapter 6
The summer night was cool and pale, the sole light coming from a silver moon darting between clouds; not unlike the fateful one a year ago when Ithilwen had been killed. But the ethereal mood of the evening was far from comforting; instead it was tense and foreboding. Thick smoke enveloped the already darkened forest, and the southern sky was tinted a blood red.
Legolas and Adrahil led their men swiftly through the woods, their steeds making ear-splitting noise, crashing through the brush. They spoke little, if at all, each intent on reaching the fire before it was too late.
As they passed a clearing, Brethilorn emerged from it, joined by about 50 men. Riding quickly, they reached the Southern Border in little amount of time. The heat of the flames was hot and the thick smog was strangling.
Men were digging a trench around the flames in hopes of keeping the fire from spreading. Sand was being thrown onto the flames on the ground, and what little water that could be harnessed from the nearby river was being put to use. However, very little, if not nothing, was being done to the fire dancing up the trees.
Legolas leapt off his horse and raced off towards the nearest tree. He skittered over and around flames in his path, ignoring the yells of protest from his brothers. Without hesitation, he grabbed the lowest branch of the nearest oak and began to climb. The young prince expertly maneuvered his way up the oak, avoiding the creeping tongues of flames crawling up the opposite side.
By the time he had reached the top, Legolas had somehow managed to draw his knife in his right hand. Clinging to the branches with his left hand, the prince stood up on the thicker limbs of the tree and inched his way around the tree to where the burning branches were. He crouched on a branch overhanging a burning tree-limb and flattened himself onto his stomach, dangerously close to the taunting flames. The choking smoke stung his eyes, blinding him with his own tears. He raised his knife and brought it down on the burning limb.
The branch crashed down through the leaves onto the forest floor where it was quickly extinguished by those working on the ground. When the others realized what the prince was doing, they too began ascending the burning trees and started cutting down the burning braches to prevent the fires from spreading further.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the chaos of the fire, nobody seemed to remember the orcs who had originally been the cause of the blaze. None of the four princes had taken time, or even thought to place guards to watch for the orcs' return. It was a fatal mistake.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas was balanced delicately on a slender branch, a feat which only an elf could accomplish. He was focused intently on the burning branch to the left, above his head. He released his grip on the tree, standing freely on the swaying limb. He turned to his left, facing the branch. The prince swung his knife up like an axe, wielding it with both hands. The blade bit through the wood easily and the burning limb crashed down, narrowly missing Legolas. He breathed a sigh of mixed relief and exhaustion as the limb passed. He turned and moved to step to another branch to work at another bough.
The youngest prince of Mirkwood never saw the orc arrow shooting through the air straight at him.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
PokethePenguin – I didn't stop, just got kicked of the computer X_X Trying to get the next two chapters up. J
Deana – Yup, Thranduil probably really hates those orcs. They killed his daughter too L. But then again, who wouldn't hate orcs?
Thanx you guys!
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Reviews please! Or email me at silwenaurdomiel@yahoo.com