Immortal
Prologue - The Hunter
Legolas was among those who found the wife of Lord Elrond after her ill-fated attack on the way home from Lothlórien. His investigation of the matter lands him into trouble, not to mention painful, haunting memories. (Heavy on Legolas and Elrond plots, non-slash)
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The blue dim that came before the stars was settling over the road and all was silent. Not a sound came from the woods, nor did the wind whisper in the trees. It was calm and pleasant, true—a night to revel in nature. It was like the kind of peace that came when a storm was calling all energy to its bidding on a path of destruction not far away. The kind of peace that trained eyes knew to be wary of.
There had been scant signs of life here for some few days. A stray bird or rodent perhaps, but nothing that lingered within the forest near the road. The sole being that did remain here despite all the warning signs had seen this type of quiet many times and knew the doom it foretold. He sat high within one of the trees, his back leaned against the massive trunk and his eyes upon the ground, mindful of anything amiss. Soon he would be on the move again, hunting that which had left little telltale signs of passage behind for the Elf to follow. He did not take well to this sort of company intruding upon the grounds so near his home.
The quiet would betray the footsteps of most, but not this hunter. He was skilled in the ways of stealth and could move without fear of being heard, even placed within a silent wood where the leaves had fallen to the ground for the season. Moving to a crouch on his perch, Legolas of Mirkwood listened to the air and then dropped down below, fading fast from the brush of the forest.
He took right to the road, for he knew his quarry would not be near enough to merit the caution that would keep him away from a short examination of the grounds. Sure enough there were the tracks in plain sight, footsteps made by heavy boots. Legolas bent down and touched his hand to the soft earth, trying to ascertain how many may have passed and if there were any foreign footprints mixed in. The number had been more than a few, he thought, but not so many that he could not handle if he were swift and careful. He could see no sign that there had been anyone else with them, but by experience he knew that meant very little. Many had been carried off to their dooms in the inevitable location he knew he must go to solve this mystery.
Straightening, Legolas ran back into the trees off road and broke into a sprint, following along side the path. His far-reaching sight could not find them in any direction, but he would guard himself against what may lay ahead. Who could foretell what doom may lay hidden in the shadows on up ahead? They were near enough at least to use caution while tailing them. He could catch up to them by morning, he felt certain. Then he could see what mischief they were up to. Orcs could never be doing anything good, never anything greater than reprehensible.
Not that he made practice of following orcs whenever the opportunity presented itself, but the slain Elves he had found when morning dawned had bothered him greatly, had angered him. The horses had been stripped of their meat and left beside the bodies of their masters, Elves with the dark hair and dressing that suggested Imladris. There had been three tormented males that had more than likely served as guards to the lady that belonged to the single shoe he had found on the road. She could not be found anywhere on the site; they had to have taken her. He liked not to think on what they could be doing to an Elf-maid away from the reaches of her home.
He had his bow and his sword ready for when he would be forced to see it first-hand. They would pay for their crime. That he would see to with all due haste.
The Prince of Mirkwood ran the whole of the night, rested well enough and driven by the need to see this through. He could not bear to see any come to the tormenting hands of the servants of darkness. He hated it.
When dawn broke upon the horizon Legolas stopped and studied the woods ahead of him, listening for the sounds of birds. There was not a song to be heard, which told him that the orcs could not be far ahead. He would have to mind his surroundings with greater caution now. Slipping from among the trees he approached the road slowly, peering from around the side of a great oak, but could see little through the dense forest ahead. The entrance to the High Pass was very close. His quarry had likely ascended the mountain trail and taken to black, hidden dens within.
Drawing his bow, Legolas retreated into the brush and began towards the Pass with a firm intent. The air was deathly still, but his ears caught the hint of something nearby. No creature of the forest would dare remain near to an orc camp. It had to be a sign of his prey.
He was quick and skilled, not breaking a stick or stirring a leaf as he headed on towards the noise ahead. As he neared he soon recognized the deep voices of the dark ones. The words became clear to him all too soon and he stopped to listen, soon to regret that he did so.
"Tired of bleeding the Elf-witch, huh?" The voice rasped into the ears of the prince and he set his jaw in anger.
The beast's companion rumbled a terrible laugh. "She's unconscious. Fragile little thing as Elves go. I'm getting hungry though. You ever tasted an Elf?"
The former snarled in disgust. "She'd barely feed one of us. Best to just toy with her and leave her dead where her kind can find her."
Knowing that time was not on the side of the one taken, Legolas hunkered down and drew nearer, seeing them now from the shadows. A large one with glittery eyes seemed to be watching his companion with a suspicious glare. "You want her for yourself!" he accused, drawing his sword. The prince knit his brow, aghast at the quarrelsome nature of orcs.
"What?" the other piped in quickly, hefting itself up and standing ready. "I said no such thing!"
"Yeah, but you was thinkin' it. Admit it!"
Notching an arrow and pointing, Legolas breathed, "Orcs," and made ready to end the argument for them.
A twig broke behind him and the Prince of Mirkwood cursed himself as the two stopped their bickering to watch him. They had trapped him, waited for him and lured him in. Legolas tried desperately to turn mere seconds after his realization, but something very hard hit the back of his head. He dropped to his knees and the last thing he heard as his vision clouded was the sneering voice of one of his enemies, hissing a sarcastic mirror of his disgust. "Elves."
He was out before he hit the forest floor.
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Author: Ruse – jedinineofninehotmail.com
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings isn't mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn. No infringement intended.
A/N: I'm not sure how detailed the account of Celebrían's sad tale is, but my inspiration compelled me to tell the tale in this way. :) Hope you enjoy!