Disclaimer - I don't own the Lord of the Rings. Anyway, now that that's out of the way, read and enjoy!
The orcs howls and shrieks echoed wildly into the night accompanied by an assortment of clangs and thuds as the battle raged on. The trees of Mirkwood were swaying, their branches whipping about in the wind, their leaves rustling loudly as if in anger.
The group of Elven warriors from King Thranduil's fortress was no bigger than twenty strong yet they still managed to beat the repulsive creatures back. The King's son, Legolas, was among the warriors and his skill with weapons was rivalled by no one.
The golden haired Prince whirled gracefully, twirling his two white knives as he went and promptly sank the blades into an orcs chest before twisting once more to plunge them up to the hilt into the back of another.
It had been like this the whole previous week. Orcs and spiders from the dark shadow of Mordor had been multiplying in the forest recently and the Mirkwood guards had been fighting them non stop without pause for recuperation. No one knew why the dark forces had suddenly focussed all their energies on Thranduil's kingdom but it was all they could do to keep them at bay for as long as possible.
The King himself had been loath to allow his only son and heir to fight in such frequent and concentrated attacks. However he had been forced to relent as, whether he liked it or not, Legolas was his best warrior and it would have been pointless and possibly costly if he didn't allow him to fight. Or at least that was what his son had told him anyway.
The Queen of Mirkwood had died several centuries ago in an Orc attack such as this and it was partly for this reason that Thranduil disliked letting his son leave the safety of the Elven fortress and also the reason that Legolas was adamant to fight, vowing that an horrific incident such as the one that had befallen his mother would never happen again.
So, as it was, the King of Mirkwood found himself worrying and pacing his study carpet to shreds while the Prince of Mirkwood sliced, chopped and generally disembowelled anything slimy that moved.
A handsome, dark haired elf by the name of Maltalossë blocked and swung his sword in a graceful arc to decapitate the Orc nearest to him. There was a brief lull in the fighting as most of the Orcish army had by now been dispatched. Maltalossë took this opportunity to glance over at Legolas and give him a friendly grin. The two elves had grown up as warriors in training together and shared a special bond.
It was this special bond that had gotten the two into a great deal of trouble on more than one occasion. The Prince and the Head armourer's son trusted each other deeply and would do anything for the other. This meant that whenever one had gotten caught doing something they shouldn't around the palace the other would automatically sacrifice themselves to the blame in their friends place.
Unfortunately this continued into their warrior years and so injury whilst saving the other from a near fatal wound had become commonplace driving both fathers to despair over their children.
Legolas returned the grin cheerfully as he tossed his hair, complete with twin warrior braids, over his shoulders and out of his clear, deep blue eyes. It was agreed by the elves of any kingdom, whether it be Mirkwood, Rivendell or Lothlorien alike, on the subject of the Prince.
Legolas had the personality of his late mother; carefree and joyful yet with a terrific temper when provoked badly enough and the strong, handsome chiselled looks of his father though it was again from his mother that he got his extraordinarily expressive eyes.
Trusting that the other elves in the group had the remaining Orc infestation under control and seeing no immediate threat to himself, Maltalossë began to stride across the clearing to Legolas. What the elf didn't see was an Orc that, until now, had remained hidden in the bushes and was creeping up behind him with an arrow notched in it's crudely fashioned bow.
For Legolas, time seemed to stand still, all sounds had faded out apart from the distant whistling of the wind in the treetops. His friend's smile was slowly faltering. The prince sprinted towards him as fast as his legs would allow, he had run out of arrows some time ago and was now cursing himself for not having the initiative to pick some more up.
He drew a knife as he ran but the angle wasn't right, branches from the nearby bushes and Maltalossë stood in between his blade and the Orcish archer. Realizing what he had to do, Legolas steeled himself for the blow that would come and threw himself at his friend, twisting them round as they fell to the floor, and prayed that the Orc would miss.
Whilst time had slowed down for his friend, it seemed that it had behaved in the opposite manner for Maltalossë. One second he and Legolas were sharing a cheerful grin and the next he found himself being barrelled into by said friend and collapsed to the floor with an armful of royal warrior and a face full of blond hair.
Moving slightly he was about to laugh and ask the King's son what he thought he was doing when an unearthly screech briefly pierced the air and he glimpsed an Orc being cut down just a few metres from the spot he'd had his back to just moments ago.
Feeling slightly apprehensive, Maltalossë peered down anxiously.
"Legolas? Are you all right?"
A soft groan caught his ears and the dark haired elf gently rolled his friend onto his side. By this time the other warriors had finished up and had come running over to see what had transpired.
"Maltalossë? What is wrong with the Prince, is he injured?"
Legolas' face had tensed up; his eyebrows knit in obvious pain and his teeth were clenched together as if preventing a cry of distress. Coming across something warm and sticky Maltalossë froze. Removing his hands from Legolas' back he brought them round to his face where he gasped in shock and horror as they were stained bright red and dripping from the rapidly spreading crimson stain that was suffusing the Prince's tunic.
"Get a healer!"
"We don't have one," cried one of the younger of the group in dismay, "not one able to deal with a hurt such as this!"
"Then make a stretcher," said Maltalossë in desperation, "we must get him back to the palace soon ere he bleeds to death!"
As half the band hurried off to do as he bid, the distraught elf moved to get a closer look at the arrow embedded in his friends back. Carefully sweeping the once gleaming hair, now matted with blood, he realized with a shock that there was something trapped between the flesh and the arrow tip.
It was a piece of parchment, spattered with scarlet, but Maltalossë could still see black markings on it. Seeing the rest of the company coming towards him with a makeshift stretcher (two long sticks with a cloak tied between them) he quickly tore the paper slightly to free the note and stuffed it in his pocket to show the King later.
The Elves set the stretcher down and positioned themselves around their Prince. Before they went anywhere they knew they would have to remove the arrow. Not wanting to cause his friend any more pain, but knowing that it would cause him more harm in the long run, Maltalossë nodded at them to take hold of the limp arms and legs.
Getting a firm grasp on the end of the arrow shaft, the dark-haired elf offered up a brief prayer to the Valar before counting to three and yanking the arrow out as swiftly as possible. Legolas screamed in agony, arching his back and straining to thrash his limbs under the strong hold of his fellow warriors.
Looking on miserably, Maltalossë spoke softly to his friend, trying to calm him down. Eventually the golden haired Elf settled down and they temporarily bound the wound with strips of cloth torn from cloaks as none of the bandages they did carry would have sufficed.
Positioning the Prince tenderly on the stretcher and covering him with his previously unused cloak to keep him warm the guards set off. They moved as quickly as they dared without causing further injuries to Legolas' still form nestled in the cloak. Maltalossë was silent, as were they all, silently thinking of the dreadful moment when the King found out what had befallen his son.
Back in the palace Thranduil suddenly stopped pacing in his study The trees were restless, calling out in sorrow and warning. Striding to his balcony The king looked out across the forest with a terrible sense of foreboding.
'What has happened to you my son?'
AN - Well I hope you all had a good time reading this, I certainly put enough work into it so I hope you will all review and let me know what you think because it will make my day! :) I hope I have appeased all of you Legolas torture fans although if I haven't, then let me assure you, the fun isn't over yet, there is plenty more in store for our favourite elf! Till next time, Namarië!
The orcs howls and shrieks echoed wildly into the night accompanied by an assortment of clangs and thuds as the battle raged on. The trees of Mirkwood were swaying, their branches whipping about in the wind, their leaves rustling loudly as if in anger.
The group of Elven warriors from King Thranduil's fortress was no bigger than twenty strong yet they still managed to beat the repulsive creatures back. The King's son, Legolas, was among the warriors and his skill with weapons was rivalled by no one.
The golden haired Prince whirled gracefully, twirling his two white knives as he went and promptly sank the blades into an orcs chest before twisting once more to plunge them up to the hilt into the back of another.
It had been like this the whole previous week. Orcs and spiders from the dark shadow of Mordor had been multiplying in the forest recently and the Mirkwood guards had been fighting them non stop without pause for recuperation. No one knew why the dark forces had suddenly focussed all their energies on Thranduil's kingdom but it was all they could do to keep them at bay for as long as possible.
The King himself had been loath to allow his only son and heir to fight in such frequent and concentrated attacks. However he had been forced to relent as, whether he liked it or not, Legolas was his best warrior and it would have been pointless and possibly costly if he didn't allow him to fight. Or at least that was what his son had told him anyway.
The Queen of Mirkwood had died several centuries ago in an Orc attack such as this and it was partly for this reason that Thranduil disliked letting his son leave the safety of the Elven fortress and also the reason that Legolas was adamant to fight, vowing that an horrific incident such as the one that had befallen his mother would never happen again.
So, as it was, the King of Mirkwood found himself worrying and pacing his study carpet to shreds while the Prince of Mirkwood sliced, chopped and generally disembowelled anything slimy that moved.
A handsome, dark haired elf by the name of Maltalossë blocked and swung his sword in a graceful arc to decapitate the Orc nearest to him. There was a brief lull in the fighting as most of the Orcish army had by now been dispatched. Maltalossë took this opportunity to glance over at Legolas and give him a friendly grin. The two elves had grown up as warriors in training together and shared a special bond.
It was this special bond that had gotten the two into a great deal of trouble on more than one occasion. The Prince and the Head armourer's son trusted each other deeply and would do anything for the other. This meant that whenever one had gotten caught doing something they shouldn't around the palace the other would automatically sacrifice themselves to the blame in their friends place.
Unfortunately this continued into their warrior years and so injury whilst saving the other from a near fatal wound had become commonplace driving both fathers to despair over their children.
Legolas returned the grin cheerfully as he tossed his hair, complete with twin warrior braids, over his shoulders and out of his clear, deep blue eyes. It was agreed by the elves of any kingdom, whether it be Mirkwood, Rivendell or Lothlorien alike, on the subject of the Prince.
Legolas had the personality of his late mother; carefree and joyful yet with a terrific temper when provoked badly enough and the strong, handsome chiselled looks of his father though it was again from his mother that he got his extraordinarily expressive eyes.
Trusting that the other elves in the group had the remaining Orc infestation under control and seeing no immediate threat to himself, Maltalossë began to stride across the clearing to Legolas. What the elf didn't see was an Orc that, until now, had remained hidden in the bushes and was creeping up behind him with an arrow notched in it's crudely fashioned bow.
For Legolas, time seemed to stand still, all sounds had faded out apart from the distant whistling of the wind in the treetops. His friend's smile was slowly faltering. The prince sprinted towards him as fast as his legs would allow, he had run out of arrows some time ago and was now cursing himself for not having the initiative to pick some more up.
He drew a knife as he ran but the angle wasn't right, branches from the nearby bushes and Maltalossë stood in between his blade and the Orcish archer. Realizing what he had to do, Legolas steeled himself for the blow that would come and threw himself at his friend, twisting them round as they fell to the floor, and prayed that the Orc would miss.
Whilst time had slowed down for his friend, it seemed that it had behaved in the opposite manner for Maltalossë. One second he and Legolas were sharing a cheerful grin and the next he found himself being barrelled into by said friend and collapsed to the floor with an armful of royal warrior and a face full of blond hair.
Moving slightly he was about to laugh and ask the King's son what he thought he was doing when an unearthly screech briefly pierced the air and he glimpsed an Orc being cut down just a few metres from the spot he'd had his back to just moments ago.
Feeling slightly apprehensive, Maltalossë peered down anxiously.
"Legolas? Are you all right?"
A soft groan caught his ears and the dark haired elf gently rolled his friend onto his side. By this time the other warriors had finished up and had come running over to see what had transpired.
"Maltalossë? What is wrong with the Prince, is he injured?"
Legolas' face had tensed up; his eyebrows knit in obvious pain and his teeth were clenched together as if preventing a cry of distress. Coming across something warm and sticky Maltalossë froze. Removing his hands from Legolas' back he brought them round to his face where he gasped in shock and horror as they were stained bright red and dripping from the rapidly spreading crimson stain that was suffusing the Prince's tunic.
"Get a healer!"
"We don't have one," cried one of the younger of the group in dismay, "not one able to deal with a hurt such as this!"
"Then make a stretcher," said Maltalossë in desperation, "we must get him back to the palace soon ere he bleeds to death!"
As half the band hurried off to do as he bid, the distraught elf moved to get a closer look at the arrow embedded in his friends back. Carefully sweeping the once gleaming hair, now matted with blood, he realized with a shock that there was something trapped between the flesh and the arrow tip.
It was a piece of parchment, spattered with scarlet, but Maltalossë could still see black markings on it. Seeing the rest of the company coming towards him with a makeshift stretcher (two long sticks with a cloak tied between them) he quickly tore the paper slightly to free the note and stuffed it in his pocket to show the King later.
The Elves set the stretcher down and positioned themselves around their Prince. Before they went anywhere they knew they would have to remove the arrow. Not wanting to cause his friend any more pain, but knowing that it would cause him more harm in the long run, Maltalossë nodded at them to take hold of the limp arms and legs.
Getting a firm grasp on the end of the arrow shaft, the dark-haired elf offered up a brief prayer to the Valar before counting to three and yanking the arrow out as swiftly as possible. Legolas screamed in agony, arching his back and straining to thrash his limbs under the strong hold of his fellow warriors.
Looking on miserably, Maltalossë spoke softly to his friend, trying to calm him down. Eventually the golden haired Elf settled down and they temporarily bound the wound with strips of cloth torn from cloaks as none of the bandages they did carry would have sufficed.
Positioning the Prince tenderly on the stretcher and covering him with his previously unused cloak to keep him warm the guards set off. They moved as quickly as they dared without causing further injuries to Legolas' still form nestled in the cloak. Maltalossë was silent, as were they all, silently thinking of the dreadful moment when the King found out what had befallen his son.
Back in the palace Thranduil suddenly stopped pacing in his study The trees were restless, calling out in sorrow and warning. Striding to his balcony The king looked out across the forest with a terrible sense of foreboding.
'What has happened to you my son?'
AN - Well I hope you all had a good time reading this, I certainly put enough work into it so I hope you will all review and let me know what you think because it will make my day! :) I hope I have appeased all of you Legolas torture fans although if I haven't, then let me assure you, the fun isn't over yet, there is plenty more in store for our favourite elf! Till next time, Namarië!