On a lonely hillock, somewhere West of the Old Ford, a, lone rider sat atop a great, fiery eyed steed. The fierce gale blew back the rider's hood, but he paid it no heed, letting the wind snatch up his hair and whip it out behind him, like a flurry of blond dervishes. Lifting a slim hand to shade his eyes from the glare of the setting sun, the rider surveyed the landscape with a wry smile. Away in the distance lay the High Pass through the Misty Mountains, and beyond that… the house of Lord Elrond at Rivendell. He had made good time from Northern Mirkwood: having travelled South along the Forest River, skirted the Mountains of Mirkwood from the North and finally joined the Old Forest Road, passing the Old Ford just a few days previous. It would not be long now…
The horse tossed its head, as if eager to be off, the dark rider patted its neck soothingly. "Hush, my Thalion, my strong one, patience… patience yet. You will get what you desire soon enough…" He sound of approaching hoof beats silences the rider's words, but he did not turn to face them. There was only one person it would be.
Mordúlin
Before departing Mirkwood, Legolas had entered the Great Palace of King Thranduil, begging leave to be the one to journey to Rivendell with the news of that wretched creature Gollum's escape. He had needed a pretence to go. The King had granted his request, but ordered an escort to accompany him, saying that the Prince of Mirkwood could not travel alone in these treacherous times, especially to the noble dwelling of Elrond.
And so a party of five had set out: Prince Legolas and four of Mirkwood's finest warriors. And they had indeed been treacherous times… within a week of leaving the safety of the Wood Elves' realm, they had been set upon by a large party of particularly vicious Orcs, two of their company were slain, and another badly injured. And so, Legolas- who strangely enough had suffered no hurt- had sent Arkas the Injured back to Mirkwood; the bearer of the foul fortunes of his comrades, and continued with the one remaining Elf- a warrioress of unsurpassed skill called Mordúlin.
They had encountered many more Orcs, roving packs of wargs and massive spiders on their journey, but, despite bad odds, and the amazing ferocity of their foes, they had managed to escape, if not unscathed then with their lives.
Unfortunately for Legolas that meant he had the company of the ever vigilant warrioress at his side all the time, and therefore couldn't concentrate on planning his mission properly. The girl thought too much; she needed to be disposed of.
"My—my Lord…?" asked Mordúlin hesitantly. "My Lord, are you alright?" She was scared of him, Legolas knew… she is right to be
He did not answer; instead he turned his head to look at her. She stiffened slightly under his cold, emotionless gaze as his dark eyes traced every line on her face, showing no sigh of what he was thinking. "The camp is ready?" he asked curtly, breaking the heavy silence. At her nod he smiled tightly. "Good."
******
"Do you like the wind, Mordúlin?" Legolas sat across the fire from the she-Elf, whetting his slim, black dagger on a rock. He looked her right in the eyes as he continued his slow scrape-scrape on the stone.
"The wind, my Lord?" she asked, confused. "I do not understand."
"The wind can be your friend, Mordúlin. If you know how to use it." Whispered Legolas, never taking his eyes from hers. "You should never abuse the trust of the wind, it can be your only solace; your only saviour. When the wind blows in your favour you are truly blessed, Mordúlin, when it blows in your disfavour, you are ill-fated … the wind controls your destiny."
Mordúlin shifted on the ground and licked her lips unconsciously. She clearly thought him to be insane. Legolas grinned inwardly. "I will remember that my Lord." Said she, leaning forward to stoke the fire; dropping her guard slightly.
Legolas moved quickly. He sprang to his feet, jumped the fire, and caught the warrioress' slim wrist in his strong hand. She dropped the stoker with a cry. "What're you doing?!"
Legolas twisted her arm painfully behind her back, manoeuvring himself behind her, running his other hand down her neck and chest, pinning her other arm to her side. "Such soft skin…" he murmured into her ear, flicking his tongue out salaciously. "Such beauty and grace… you are a most amazing creature, Mordúlin. I find it quite a shame that I'm going to have to kill you…"
"Legolas… Legolas, stop it, please, you're scaring me" pleaded Mordúlin, rolling her dark brown eyes in an effort to see her attacker.
"Legolas, Legolas," he muttered, running his tongue down her neck, she shuddered at his serpentine touch. "Why do you call me so? Tis my name by birth, yes, but not my name by choice… do you know what my chosen name is, Mordúlin?" he paused, she could feel his hot breath oh her neck. "No? I will tell you then. Tis a good name, you will have heard of it, I think. The common people hold it in awe, they speak it only with hushed tones, and glances of fear. The Elf Lords and Ladies… they hold it in disgust, and speak it ever with furrowed brow and acid tongues. And the Wind? Why, the wind holds it in reverence. Yes… the Eastern winds come at my bidding, and they dance to my songs of death.
"Ahhhh! You are beginning to see! Do you know who I am now, Mordúlin?"
"Daesuuru…!" Mordúlin moaned, tears of fear welling up in her eyes. "No! It isn't true! Not you! Not our Prince!"
He chuckled evilly. "Yes, Daesuuru, the Shadow Wind [1] That is what I am hailed. Are you afraid of me now?" Legolas ran his hand along the she-Elf's hips, his hand closed on her knife. "You should be …" he raised the knife, ready to plunge it into her heart, but, in doing so, he released Mordúlin's arm, (the one pinned to her side) and she shot her hand up, grapping a handful of his long locks, at the same time twisting forcefully; yanking free her other hand.
Legolas hissed as she yanked on his hair, and in his surprise he loosened his grip on her wrist. She tore herself free of him before he could react, and smashed her fist into his abdomen. He gasped as the wind flew out of him, and her foot came into jarring contact with his skull, blurring his vision slightly
Mordúlin was on her feet now, eyes burning with hatred and disgust. She drove her foot into his chest, forcing him onto his back. "You treacherous bastard" she hissed bending down and grasping his hair, pulling his head up to face her. "How could you betray us like this? How?! Do you think you will get away with these atrocities? Do you?!"
His dark eyes were glazed, but he managed to focus on her face. "If you're going to kill me, why don't you just do it?" he said thickly.
She shook her head. "I'm not like you, I'm not a cold blooded murderer. I'm not going to kill you—although if anyone deserves death, it is you—but you wont get away with what your crimes, I am taking you to Rivendell, to Lord Elrond, there I am going to see justice done!" she reached out with her other hand, grasping for her heavy hafted knife, with the intent of knocking him out with the hilt in order to bind him.
Legolas moved so quickly that she didn't even notice until too late. He flipped his hips up, twisted; unbalancing Mordúlin, she stumbled but managed to keep her footing. Legolas hissed and grabbed at her leg sending her crashing to the ground with a dead thud. She groaned but didn't get up. Legolas didn't waste any time, he rolled, snatched up the fallen knife and came to rest straddling the warrioress.
She looked up at him through dull eyes. "You wont get away with this…" she said defiantly.
Legolas shrugged.
"Your fatal flaw..." he whispered. "…Compassion".
******
Legolas dragged the body of the Elven warrior away from the camp and into the cover of the trees. His head and chest were aching from Mordúlin's violent blows; she had been stronger than he thought. Blood tricked down his scalp and into his ear, he shook his head and grimaced. Curse the little bitch! I'll have to rest tonight instead of going on as I intended.
He wandered back to the camp and looked around: the fire was burning low, so he tossed another log on it. The nights were getting cold, and he wished to be warm that night. A movement in the trees caught his sharp eyes, and he turned to regard the horses ponderously. Thalion, his own white steed rolled his eyes, and aimed a vicious kick at the other animal: a bright bay mare once belonging to Mordúlin. Legolas smiled, he had a very good horse.
But what to do with Mordúlin's animal? It was plausible that he could take it on with him to Rivendell, but he couldn't be bothered with that kind of hassle. He could let it go, but then it might make its way back to Mirkwood and arouse suspicion there.
Legolas shook his head. He wasn't thinking straight. That blow to the head must have done more damage than he first thought, of course he should let it go! Twas perfect!
The Elf hurried to his saddle bags and picked up his arrow quiver. From it he withdrew a heavy and barbed arrow; an Orc arrow. Grinning at his own genius, Legolas fitted the arrow to his bow and turned to the horses. The mare whickered and tossed her head nervously. Smart animal thought Legolas as he raised his bow and took aim.
It was the perfect plan: when he arrived in Rivendell and was asked the inevitable question about his escort, he would tell them that just before reaching the High Pass he and Mordúlin were attacked by passing Orcs. They managed to slay most of them before the rest took to flight, but Mordúlin herself was slain, and dead before Legolas could reach her. He assumed the Elves of Imladris would trust his account of this, but just to back it up, he'd send the mare back to Mirkwood with an Orcish arrow wound in its side. If it didn't make it, it wouldn't matter. Legolas cared not. The point was if it did, the lone horse shouldn't cause too much comment.
Laughing at his own brilliance, the Elf Lord of Mirkwood, lifted his bow, took aim and let the arrow fly.
The mare screamed and reared, the arrow protruding from her left quarter, blood running down her leg. She thrashed about, and pulled herself free of her tether in her panic. Legolas watched dispassionately as the injured horse crashed off through the woods, he stood listening until the noise had faded away, and the world was peaceful again.
Then he walked over and patted Thalion on his broad neck, trailing his fingers through his snowy mane. "Tomorrow at sunrise, my old friend we ride for Rivendell…" he murmured. Legolas didn't just follow the will of the Higher, he had aspirations of his own "and then…the Ring of Power will be mine!"
******
Voila! Hope you enjoyed! Sorry the action wasn't great. It's not really my forte!
Anyway: chapter three: Legolas reaches Rivendell and attends the secret council…. What will ensue? You'll have to wait 'n' see ;)
A/n: I don't know when the next chapter will be up after this one, since I have a lot of exam revision and coursework deadlines coming up (Including French oral on Wednesday! Eek!) SO I don't know how much time I will have to devote to this and my other stories. But be patient ok? Legolas'll get round to joining the Fellowship and wreaking havoc soon enough. ;)- Mel
And also, can you please tell me if you spot any spelling mistakes of grammatical discrepancies? I'm awful at that kind of thing, but I do think it ruins a good fic if there are a lot of errors. Thanks!