Disclaimer: Nothing that resembles another's work is mine. This is just for fun.
Summary: One shot. A young Legolas loses a horse in the woods and has to deal with his first encounter with the death of something he loved.
Dear Hasfulah.
Legolas rode with such pride.
His horse was beautiful. A large, gray body, thickly muscled, gleaming silver in the bright sun.
White mane and tail flying like banners, faint dappled spots on his flanks.
Hasfulah was the most marvelous horse Legolas has ever seen.
And he was all his.
Legolas had had Hasfulah for a few years, and never had he loved a creature more. The horse was everything. He was smart, strong, swift, brave, loyal, and, above all, a good friend.
Legolas nudged his steed with his bare heel, sending the great stallion into a jump over a fallen tree.
With all the ease of a bird flying through the air, or a fish through the sea, the horse sailed over the long and cleared it without any difficulty, landing on the ground and thundering off again.
Legolas released his grip on the horse's mane, and threw his arms out and head back, letting the wind whip his hair back. This was freedom in its purest form.
"Come, Hasfulah!" Legolas cried, and steered the horse into a stream, sending spray up on either side and the cool droplets were refreshing in the heat.
Spinning around a great oak, rounding some jagged boulders, Legolas rode with aimless abandon, enjoying the day and the ride.
He rode out farther than he normally did, but didn't worry. He had his bow and his arrows, including a belt knife. He should be alright, there were few dangers in Greenwood.
He rounded another dense pocket of trees, and ran right into a couple of goblins.
Goblins?
There had not been goblins in Greenwood for a while. Why were they out of their mountain?
It didn't matter.
They were dangerous.
Legolas reeled Hasfulah around and tried to flee.
More goblins raced out of the trees he had just gone around.
One threw itself at him, grabbing him by the pant leg.
The young Elf found himself pulled off Hasfulah and onto the ground, the goblin on top of him, pinning him down and preparing to stab him with a jagged, rusty blade.
Legolas kicked his legs and flipped the goblin, jumping up and drawing his knife and slashing at any goblin within reach. They were too close for him to use his bow.
Hasfulah came charging in, biting and lashing out with his iron shod hooves.
Any goblin hit by the horse went down.
And stayed down.
Legolas swung himself up onto Hasfulah, and turned the horse again to race away.
It went well, the muscles rippling under the smooth, silver hide, mane lashing Legolas's face and stinging his eyes.
Goblins shouted behind him, but were not quick enough to catch the Elf or his horse.
They fired arrows, threw knives, but were not accurate enough to hit them.
The thundering of Hasfulah's hooves were all the sound Legolas heard.
That and his own thundering heartbeat.
He held onto Hasfulah tightly, fearing a fall at this speed.
Suddenly, from his side, appeared more goblins.
Or the same ones, it didn't matter.
All that mattered was the sudden jerk in Hasfulah's flawless motion.
The horse staggered forwards a few steps, bravely running without realizing he was hurt. Legolas didn't know what the problem was.
Until he saw the last six inches of an arrow protruding from Hasfulah's sleek chest, blood running down his legs, the red clashing with the silver.
Hasfulah's breath came in heaves, his chest worked to get enough air into starved lungs.
His front legs folded, and his head dug into the ground.
They were still going at a great speed.
Hasfulah's back legs caught up with his front legs, and he flipped over and landed heavily on his side, throwing Legolas into some brush.
The goblins were cheering, running forwards.
Legolas could see that they were the same ones, for some had the knife slashes Legolas had inflicted.
The young Elf stood up and rushed to his horse, who was on his side and kicking weakly.
Legolas felt grief and rage like never before.
He looked up.
Five goblins.
Five? Only that? It had seem like more.
Legolas grabbed his bow from where it had fallen and strung an arrow, firing quickly and repeatedly into the goblins.
They tried to avoid, but Legolas shot faster than they moved and soon all goblins were dead.
Legolas's bow dropped from numb fingers and the Elf dropped to his knees beside the struggling horse.
"Oh, Hasfulah." Legolas cried, tears running down his cheeks. Elves rarely cried. Legolas had only cried once in his life. That had been when his mother had died.
Legolas stroked the horse's mane, his neck, running slender hands around the large, brown eyes and across the sensitive nose. He brushed flies away from the pooling blood around the wound, and he bowed his head.
The light in the stallion's eyes went out slowly, staring with remarkable intelligence at the Elf.
That intelligence faded slowly, fogging around the edges and finally dulling.
Legolas leaned over his dear friend, closing his eyes in grief.
(End Story.)
Sorry for the shortness!
I've been running out of ideas for Lord of the Rings stories, and can't seem to get any started.
I'll probably do small one shots like this from now on.........
Hope you all like!