Disclaimer: The pretty elves aren't mine! sobs
A/N: Hello readers! This is a very short chapter, but I will have more up as soon as possible! I hope you are enjoying this story! Me and the three visible muses don't know what you think unless you tell me. Isn't that right :Lomine, Melme, Saire nod.: They give me all sorts of ideas. This one is Lomine's fault. I want a review for each person who reads this! So review, pretty please with ten cherries on the top! Also, thanks to my amazing, yet lazy beta! (Hey Michelle!)
Hyperactive forever: A little more angst in this one...Glad you like it! The big angst is soon...In the first chapter of the next book which starts in three chapters!
Alariel: Glad you like! Hope you enjoy this chapter!
WildBlackWolf and Civia : Glad you think so! Enjoy!
Adsh (whomever you may be): You are right. That is out of character, but there is a reason for that. A reason to be revealed soon
Crazy-haldir-fancier :Glad you're enjoying it!
Vicki Turner : Funny...I got the review alert but your review didn't show up. So happy you like! It was called Papercut because of the song it was done to.
Chapter 6: The Art of War
The sound of clashing swords rang through the valley-turned-battle-field. The three elves had quickly decided a battle strategy, and it was a sound plan. Legolas had darted to a hill, grabbing two extra quivers of arrows. Elrohir had taken one side of the field and Elladan the other. The Mirkwood Prince fired volleys of arrows at the vile creatures while the two young Peredhils hacked away at the enemy with swords and blades. Keen sapphire eyes never strayed too far from the identical half elves, lightning quick hands swiftly dispatching any orc that threatened them.
Elladan sliced through the neck of yet another orc. The long sword he fought with wove intricate patterns of doom in the bodies of his enemies. With the skilled prowess of the warrior he most certainly was, Elrond's eldest destroyed orcs. With dainty footwork, he dodged and delivered fatal blows. The glamhoth struck at him with ugly blows meant only to kill or cripple. But this was not the way of The Firstborn, thus it was not the way the fair elf fought. He fought elegantly, a belligerent smile illuminating his face. Elladan focused on his front, over the years, he had learned to trust the bow of Legolas with his life, as had his brother. The only thing that had ever struck the twins with him playing lookout had been arrows, but there were no archers among the orcs - they were safe.
Elrohir was a scholar - not a warrior. But years of training can replace most of what belligerence and passion can give one. So he was skilled. He had always favored his blades, the patterns they wove in the air had intrigued him as a child, and the efficiency and the almost artistic flair they added to battle had declared them his favorites as he grew older. Now the delicate patterns his twin knives created were imbedded in the bodies of fallen yrchorcs. Glowing in the starlight, he used his beloved weapons to create death. He had never shared the love for fighting his twin had, but the almost poetic battles he had seen over the years had swayed him into a sort of fondness for the art of war. The fighting was methodical, after all, those years fighting still left him impassive. Yet impeccable footwork and lighting quick hand motions had been programmed into him by years of training. It took little thought and no effort to dodge an ugly blow from a scimtar. So he did not think, instead he just did. Sharp Elvish hearing picked up the sound of an arrow sinking into a body behind him and Elrohir made a mental note to thank Legolas later, and the graceful elf continued to fight.
The Prince of Mirkwood flung arrows into a sea of orcs. Glamhoth fell with each arrow. The darting motions of his slender hands disposed of more and more enemies. His skill with a bow was legnedary. The first time he'd been allowed to shoot one, the perfectly fletched green and gold arrow had found its self in the center of the bulls eye. Since he had been the tiniest elfling, the fair being had loved watching his father practice on the archery range. He could sit there for hours, just watching skilled hands shoot arrow after arrow into the center of each target, gather the arrows and shoot them again. And the watching had paid off. It took him very little time to learn the proper technique, and then he had set about perfecting it. Now, with grace and skill, the lithe being stood, shining with the stars and sending volleys of arrows at the enemy. The scimtar of an orc was lifted to strike Elrohir and before the vile creature even realized his presence, it was dead. Keen sapphire eyes noted each motion of the goblins, and the skilled archer knew exactly when an orc became a threat to one of his friends. And Legolas did not allow his friends to be threatened.
The three elves together were a force to be reckoned with. Much of the enemy had met an end at sharp blades and arrows of Elvish make, and the hope that had been absent when they were first attacked returned fitfully. Yet the battle still raged. The green grass around them was littered with dead glamhoth (they would have to be burned) but plenty still remained to be bested by the clashing of metal or felled by a quickly notched arrow. There remained battle to be done.
The expert warriors had much more skill than all the orcs combined but there lays strength in numbers. The elves were, and had been, greatly outnumbered. But the skilled bow of Legolas sang its somber song of death, the great sword of Elladan clashed, and the knives of Elrohir danced. Enemies fell. Enemies fought.
Quite suddenly, a slender figure silently crept onto the highest hill. The delicate form pulled her bow tight, a smile crossing her fair face. Nay, disfiguring it. Unseen, she let a single arrow fly. No quiver adorned a narrow back. With great pleasure soothing, celadon eyes watched as the emerald arrow pummeled towards its intended target. A slender hand let loose flowing, golden hair. And there she stood. Petite form hunched wickedly, pale hair swaying, darkly grinning, pale green eyes filled with the purest of evil. Melime.
A darkly fletchered emerald arrow tumbled through a raging field of war. Orcs slaughtered each other in the confusion. And in the midst of a ring of glamhoth, a dark haired warrior fought with knives. Suddenly the goblins behind him broke apart and an arrow slammed into his left side. Sharp wood pierced flesh and bone as the graceful being hit the ground. The point of the arrow found its self buried in the soft soil beneath him. Black locks spilled across the grass and blood gushed from a new wound as Elrohir Peredhil fell.
With that, she disappeared.
A/N: OOH...What have I done? Have I killed our beloved Elly? Well at least you know who to hate now! You do...They don't. :Evil bracesy smile: They trust the evil thing completely. Well...You'll find out a lot about her and her boss soon. Now how many of you suspected her? Be honest now...Death threats, comments, compliments, and constructive criticism are all accepted at that little button that says 'go'. Do click it. I don't read minds. Wish I did. Don't.