Faith,

By Kellen

The already feeble light that shone into the dark corridor dimmed. For a brief moment, Legolas took it as an omen; Fate had abandoned them to their own devices. The orcs crowded around. Legolas lifted his knife, his left arm close in on his side to staunch the bleeding there.

Eldabeth shifted beside him, coming in to protect that side. Legolas grimaced; she really had no idea how to use the sword she held.

Orcs rushed them. Legolas parried high, then came in low. Granted a small reprieve, he spoke to his niece. "Hands closer, widen your stance," here he whirled nearly tripping over his own feet as exhaustion caught up to him. "And always," he continued, backing toward her, "be moving."

"You're giving me a lesson now?" Eldabeth cried as he hastily followed his orders.

"Seems as good a time as any," was the wry response. He spared a moment for a concerned glance. "Don't use it as a club; it's like carving a roast."

"Carving a roast," Eldabeth repeated dubiously. "I don't cook." Legolas stepped back and she did also, staying behind him. Still, that didn't do much good; orcs surrounded them completely and Eldabeth was stepping closer to the group that awaited her.

She looked up, saw them and stopped abruptly. Legolas bumped into her. "Keep moving," he admonished. "Try to make your way out." What he didn't say was plain: Go through this time. No waiting.

Eldabeth nodded and faced the orcs between her and the opening. It wasn't hard to imagine these creatures killing her father. They were foul, evil, but it was the unadulterated glee that they had shown in their torment of the Elves that nearly brought Eldabeth to tears. Her father had fallen in battle and had it been left at that, she might have found release, but these orcs had shown that those who killed Taricir had enjoyed doing so.

Tears stung her eyes at the though of Taricir and spilled onto her cheeks, but her vision did not blur. Instead, it seemed to focus until her entire world consisted of the orcs in her way.

They laughed, and Eldabeth's grief coalesced into white-hot rage.

Rage can fuel a great many things, including resolve and strength, but it does not give the bearer of such rage the experience needed to accomplish the task. Eldabeth was filled with rage, yes, but experience still eluded her and while her wild, strong swings kept the orcs at bay for a few moments, it wasn't long before they realized something: the driving force behind the sword was a frightened girl.

They closed in on her. Whether by luck or fate, Eldabeth wildly parried blow after blow. Soon that rage that filled her being gave way to panic and she whimpered as they pressed closer. "Uncle," she pleaded, looked back over her shoulder at him.

Legolas spun, knife locked hilt to hilt with an orc blade and despair filled him. "Beth, no!"

The leering visage of an orc replaced the shaft of sunlight.

Eldabeth's eyes went wide and she started to turn back as she realized her mistake. The creature's blade was already coming down.

Legolas froze, horror and dread warring with his own panic. The blade would kill her, for when Eldabeth turned to him, she dropped her sword and exposed her vulnerable neck. He did the only thing he could: He dropped his knife and leapt into Eldabeth.

The tip of the orc's sword raked across her collarbone, slicing the skin open to expose the bone. She cried out.

Legolas took no time to register that the blow missed her neck or that she even still lived. He took the sword from her limp hand and cut down the orc that had dealt the blow. He whirled, ready for the next orc, but collided with a reeling Eldabeth. She clutched his tunic.

An orc grabbed his wrist, pulling him off balance and Legolas felt more than saw the blade coming for his unprotected chest.

Eldabeth fell, still holding her uncle's tunic. Legolas stumbled to his knees. The orc's blade passed within inches of his head.

Legolas wrapped an arm around Eldabeth's waist and clumsily leapt sideways, trying desperately to get through the hole.

Thranduil refused to wait for all his warriors to clear the passageway before he rushed the first of the orcs. To his chagrin, if not his surprise, Mener was on his heels, a war cry on his lips. As the orcs turned at the sound, Thranduil swung his sword, felling an orc.

First blood had been drawn.

The Elves rushed the foul creatures and the orcs turned from the hole they had been congregating around.

"Behind! Behind!" The cry rose from the orcs nearest the passage they spilled from.

The orc nearest Legolas was already swinging his sword and the Elf could not evade the blow. Legolas still moved forward, though, desperate to give Eldabeth a chance.

The orc inadvertantly checked his swing as he turned when the frantic cries came and the flat of his blade impacted with Legolas' shoulder blades, knocking him once more to his knees. Eldabeth fell next to him.

Legolas braced himself, almost certain that this time, the killing blow would come. Certain fate had turned her face away from them.

But no such blow came.

Orcs still milled about them, but they were regrouping near the entrance. Legolas looked up and found his way blessedly clear. "Eldabeth," he breathed. "Come." He spared a glance to her face and found her staring back at him, pain filled eyes still trusting. He lurched to his feet, dragging her with him, toward the dim sunlight.

Toward freedom.

Mener ruthlessly stabbed an orc, pulled his blade free, spun on his heels and swung the sword in a high arc, cleaving open an orc's chest. He whirled around and came to a halt beside Thranduil, sword ready. Kirwen came beside them as all stilled. One of the warriors thrust his sword through the chest of an injured orc.

Thranduil eyed the ledge as all stilled around them. "See what's up there," he ordered and stepped aside as two warriors scaled the ledge and disappeared in the darkness.

Before long, one returned and crouched at the lip. "There are dead orc." Somberly he held up on hand to the light. Red blood coated his fingers. "This, however, is not orc blood," he stated quietly.

Kirwen gasped and started forward.

"There was a small passage through the rockfall," the warrior continued. "There is blood on those rocks."

Thranduil closed his eyes; he had no doubts about where his son had gone.

"There is sunlight," the warrior said. "There may be a way out."

Thranduil nodded. "Follow that trail," he said. "We will circle around from the outside." He turned, catching Mener's eye.

"If it pleases my lord," Mener said quietly, "I would go with those two."

Thranduil nodded. "Valar keep them safe," he murmured as he watched Mener go. He hoped his prayer was not in vain.

Legolas nearly kissed the grass. Arm still around Eldabeth, he lurched to the nearest tree, caught the trunk and sank to the ground. He stifled a moan as his side was jarred. He dropped the sword and turned Eldabeth so she rested against the tree.

Sorrow clenched his heart. Blood coated her neck and shoulder and her once green bodice was stained dark. "Beth?" He ran his fingers lightly along her jaw and neck, searching for cuts. He almost could not believe the orc had missed cleaving her neck, even faced with proof to the contrary.

He tore a piece of her cloak, silently resolving to get her another to replace this one, once her favorite, and pressed it against her collarbone. Her eyes flew open at the contact.

"Hello, tithen men," Legolas said lightly.

She eyed him, then looked down and fingered the grass, then turned her face to the sun. "We are out," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"Then my faith was not misplaced." She fidgeted.

"Be still."

"You are hurt."

"And you are not?"

Eldabeth grimaced. "I am," she admitted. "I was frightened."

Legolas adjusted his grip, trying to hide just how much he was hurting. "There is no shame in that, Beth."

Suddenly, Legolas stiffened. Eldabeth's eyes went wide and Legolas turned his head enough to see the dark shape snarling, ready to pounce.

"Why?" was all he had time for as the wolf crouched. Iluvatar, why? If he reached for the sword, he left Eldabeth open for attack. Legolas stayed still, back to the wolf, between it and Eldabeth.

The wolf sprang.

Legolas braced himself.

A cry of pure fury reverberated and it took Legolas a moment to realize that sound did not echo from any person's throat. A weight hit his back, but it wasn't the claws and teeth he expected. He rocked forward into Eldabeth.

"Bronwe," Eldabeth breathed.

Legolas managed to turn. Bronwe, indeed. Taricir's big black warhorse stood in front of them, snorting heavily, one forehoof in lifted off the ground and lathered in sweat and dirt. The wolf lay dead at her feet. Legolas thought she never looked more beautiful.

Bronwe returned the gaze and tossed her head before looked down the hill. Legolas turned his head in time to see Mener race toward them.

The End…

…almost. Don't forget the epilogue…