An elf - though seeming unfathomably strong and enduring to a human - does not have a bottomless supply of energy. It was something the twins were discovering, as weariness quickly overtook their bodies and senses. When Elrohir stumbled, Elladan caught him and dragged him along for a few steps before he could get his feet beneath him and rejoin the race. A glance behind them told them that the foul servants of the dark lord were less bothered by the chase than their quarry. Elrohir knew that they wouldn't last much longer if they continued in this fashion; Elladan was bleeding heavily from a head-wound and only determination - it seemed - was keeping him conscious and Elrohir himself had taken a near crippling blow to his leg, the pounding ache becoming more severe with every hurried step. He also knew that they were close to the eastern borders of the woodland that ran through the foothills of the Misty Mountains.
"Brother. To the left." He warned Elladan, before he made the sudden course change Eastwards and out of the forest. It was a risky action, for though he knew an elf could outrun a hoard of orcs over an open plain they were both injured and tired. He could only hope that a mad dash to the ford would give them enough time to evade their aggressors. He knew they needed only evade them until full dawn was reached, for the orcs had a great hatred of the sunlight and would often give up on prey once the sun had risen.
Desperation drove them on ever faster as the ford was sighted, the dewy grass grasping at their feet and the sky already showing the hints of the eagerly anticipated dawn. But too late… looking over his shoulder Elrohir found the orcs still nearing.
The nearness of their prey was obviously enough of a temptation for the orcs to resist their inborn drive to hide from the coming day for they presses on - now gaining on the lagging twins. Realising that their plan was failing they began to hunt for cover, but there was little hope. They were on the open floodplains of the Great River, cover was hardly at its best, and with the orcs so near… Sharing a despairing glance, they ran on towards the soft smudge of light that was growing on the horizon, a dark horizon of thick forest. Mirkwood.
Neither of them wanted to contemplate what might await them there. No word had been spoken between Mirkwood and Imladris since the start of the last age, and Lord Elrond remained tight-lipped when the cause was questioned. From what could be garnered through history books and rumour - some confrontation had occurred between their father and Thranduil after that disastrous charge of the Last Alliance, foolishly led by Oropher and his son as they tried to seize control of a situation where he was not in charge nor in possession of all the facts.
Because of this separation the twins had never met any of the woodland realm's people, and had no idea what to expect save what little they knew of the Sindarin elves of 'Lorien who denied any kinship with their northern cousins.
Still, the darkened wood offered their only hope - and they could only pray that they would open their borders to them, and that they would reach the wood before the orcs reached them.
Elrohir stumbled again and this time Elladan wasn't fast enough; he went down. There was a moment of absolute terror as Elrohir looked up to meet his brother's eyes and saw in them the closeness of the approaching orcs. Scrambling to his feet, he looked to the forest - too far - and grasped his brother's shoulder as they turned to face the hoard with swords in hand.
"We stand together." Elladan spoke into the silence before the storm as the orcs pounded towards them across the open ground. They fell comfortably into a ready stance - shoulder to shoulder with Elrohir left foot forward and Elladan right. They stilled themselves, not acknowledging the unbearable odds, waiting for the time to strike, and strike again, and keep striking until their inevitable deaths. Their thoughts did not linger on this ending, for to do so was to accept defeat and then they would not strike at all and simply wait for the end to come.
It was at the very last moment - even as they tensed for the first strike - that salvation came. A hail of arrows from the trees, deadly accurate, felling the first wave of orcs and leaving the twins momentarily baffled. The moment did not last long, as they turned once more and resumed their flight to safety, diving into the cover of the trees.
"Lindir? Lindir are you awake? It's Erestor." Elladan woke to the feeling of two strong hands on his shoulders and this most baffling statement. Opening his eyes slowly to defend against the throbbing headache that was pounding at his temples, he focused on Elrohir who was glaring meaningfully at him. "Lindir?" He asked again.
"Have you hit your head, Elrohir? I am Elladan, and you are definitely not 'Restor. He barely leaves the Valley these days, and I suspect he is probably quite safe at home." Elrohir tensed and grew still, and slowly Elladan became aware of other faces peering into his line of vision. Curious faces, not looking in the least bit welcoming. And even less so now, he realised a little belatedly, that he had identified them both.
There were seven of them, all carrying bows and knives slung across their backs. Elrohir's ankle had been bound and a poultice applied to Elladan's head wound. All in all they had been well cared for by the Mirkwood elves. And certainly they had saved their lives, driving off the orcs for the day. And yet all remained severely stoic, no twitch of emotion marring the seven identical scowls that encircled them, barring any escape.
"What do you want with us?" Elladan asked at last. "Are we prisoners here?"
"You have rested long. Darkness will fall soon, and the orcs will be on the hunt again." The elf that spoke was taller than the others, his hair black. Along with his bow he carried a thin sword at his side as opposed to the standard knives.
"Then let us be away, so that we might escape them."
"Certainly, you are free to go." No elf made to move.
"Then you will step aside."
"We do not wish to have to rescue you again." A different elf replied this time, a blond elf with laughter in his eyes despite his scowl. Across the circle, an elf turned abruptly and hurried into the wood. There was a moment of silence and then the elf that had spoken turned and followed him. Listening carefully to try and determine the reason for the sudden departures, Elladan was sure he heard… muffled elven laughter, light like that of an elven child. Sharing a glance with Elrohir to confirm what he had heard, he returned his attention to the dark haired elf.
"Enough of this charade." He called, smiling to reassure that no offence was taken. "Who are you to challenge us so?"
"We are the border guards, who will challenge all who cross our path, orc and elf alike."
"Though we tend to be more lenient with the elves." The second speaker returned with the young elf that had left first in tow. Both were straight faced, though blushed cheeks belied the earlier laughter. Finding his gaze lingering on that first deserter, Elladan took a moment to linger over the Sindarin/Silvan cross breed. The first difference had been seen even as he opened his eyes to the camp - the mixing of blond and dark hair to give several shades in between. This elf though, had hair of burnished gold, characteristic of his Silvan ancestors. The second it seemed was in the face and features. Elrohir and Elladan were set apart from other Noldor elves by their Adan heritage - giving broader shoulders and greater bulk - but still their features were of Noldor origin. This elf was quite different…
Becoming aware of his extended observations, the elf looked up and began to blush softly. Chastened, Elladan looked away.
He was innocent and sweet and young. Mostly young. Very young.
Elladan knew these were all reasons why he should pay no more heed to the laughing elf, but something was drawing him to the other, and it would not be denied.
Twelve hours was plenty of time to discover that his name was Legolas, that he was a prize winning archer, that he had never left Mirkwood, that his favourite colour was tan, that he was under two hundred (though he refused to specify), that his superior officer didn't like him talking to Elladan, and that Elrohir didn't either.
It would be over fifty years before they would see each other again. But their meeting would have repercussions throughout all of history.
