A/N: I own only the type of elves that don't normally run around Middle Earth.

Chapter 2: New friend

The first thing registering on his mind was the quiet chirping of a sparrow as it called for its mate, then the slow realisation that he was lying down. Thirdly, that though his body ached, it was not the intense pain he had experienced before, and that someone had apparently carefully cleaned and wrapped up his wounds.

Slowly, Legolas opened his eyes, immediately regretting the move as sunlight flooded them and overwhelmed his vision. Blinking, the elf turned his gaze from the sky to the ground, watching as his surroundings came into view.

He was still in the forest, he saw, but it did not appear he was close to the orc camp – the grass was simply too untouched for orcs to have been near it. Lying for a few moments, watching a lazy bumblebee flutter its way through the grass in search of a flower or two, he realised that he could smell the scent of broth boiling.

Turning to his other side, trying to not disturb the bandages that had been carefully lain over the cuts and bruises he had received, he saw the source of the, to him, wonderful scent. Over a small, merry fire crackled not far from him, supported by three thin iron poles, a pot was boiling, its contents being monitored by…

Legolas blinked, wondering for a moment if he was still stuck to the tree, and was merely dreaming this. The creature tending the boiling food appeared from his current position as elven, and he was positive it was male, but, unlike what he had seen on other elves, the hair appeared to be almost completely white, turning to a very faint, blue colour as it neared the end of the near-waist length hair. Yet, it was the skin that surprised him the most, for, unlike the elves he knew of, the skin of this one was not pale nor glowing with the light of the Valar. Instead, it had a light brown tan, darker than what a human in these parts could achieve, yet not as dark as the skin of a Haradrim.

Seeming to sense his awakening, the brown elf looked over his shoulder, and Legolas found his eyes met with an intensively blue gaze. Definitely elven, he concluded with a small shock when he spotted the pointed ears and slender features, while the other turned to scoop some of the warm broth into a bowl, and crossed the distance between him and the lying Wood elf.

Legolas moved to sit up, trying to ignore the pain in his back as his wounds were stretched along with his muscles, when the foreign elf slid a strong hand around his shoulders and easily hoisted the other elf into a sitting position. Surprised, Legolas took the bowl as it was placed in his hands, and, flashing him a broad smile, the stranger rose to his feet and returned to the fire.

Blinking, and realising that this had to be the same person who had wrapped his wounds, the Mirkwood elf found himself wondering if the same elf had also been the one causing the amount of havoc he had heard. However, he decided that if the other elf had had any intention of harming him, he would not have been treated with such friendliness, and suddenly feeling ravenous, began eating.

"More?" the dark elf asked with a bemused smile and in a quite melodious voice, as he gestured towards the pot hanging over the fire.

Though he still felt weak and tired, Legolas knew it would not be wise to stuff his stomach with food so soon, and shook his head.

"No thanks, mellon-nin," he replied, seeing another amused smile cross the features of the other.

The dark elf removed the pot from the fire, instead picking up a smaller one, containing water, as well as a few pieces of clean cloth – extracted from the depths of a worm backpack - and moved over to Legolas' side.

"Tha'kka eniita," he explained, making a small gesture with the cloth in his hands. "Wounds, clean."

Blinking a few times, before he realised that this elf did not speak the common tongue fluently, Legolas nodded and shifted his weight forward, feeling the other settle behind him.

Gentle fingers moved over his skin, unwrapping the bandages and carefully peeling the pads of cloth from the wounds, before examining their state. Legolas closed his eyes, remembering the pain from each when he had received them. Yet, there was no pain in the soft touch from the other elf, and it suddenly struck the elf for how long he had been with the orcs – he had completely forgotten how a friendly touch felt.

His mind drifted back to the time where he had travelled with the Fellowship, of the many hardships they had seen there, and, relaxed by the feel of gentle fingertips massaging the edges of a wound to ensure it would heal as fast as possible, found himself remembering the celebrations following the crowning of Aragorn and the marriage between the Dunédain and Arwen.

With a gasp, he suddenly recalled that Aragorn had been on his way to Mirkwood for a visit, and nearly jumped to his feet, had a pair of hands on his shoulders not kept him down.

"How long was I unconscious!" he demanded to know, turning halfway around to look at the stranger behind him.

"Getikka," the other replied, holding up three fingers and doing a gesture towards the sun that Legolas interpreted as sunsets.

Pausing for a short moment, understanding dawning on the Wood elf, he realised that though the stranger had replied in this odd tongue-twisting language, he had clearly understood what Legolas had said.

"You understand what I'm saying…?" he slowly asked in wonder, receiving a confirming nod. "But.. you don't speak the common tongue?"

"Not much. Mei trakelli. Enough," the dark elf said with a light grin. "Not speak much, but know enough."

Legolas smiled, feeling slightly relieved by the fact that they could understand each other, though he was still worried that he had apparently been out cold for three days, and spent an unknown amount of time with the orcs. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea of where they were, nor how far they were from the orc camp.

He felt a sting in his right leg and reached down, scratching it through the cloth of the trousers he wore - which also made him aware of the fact that it was not his own clothes. Looking down, he noticed that they were of the same cut and type as those the dark elf wore.

A dark hand patted his shoulder, before the stranger rose and returned to the fire, having finished the cleaning and redressing of Legolas' wounds. He returned minutes later, carrying a simple shirt akin to the same as his own. Carefully, he aided Legolas in putting it on, making sure his bandages were undisturbed.

"What happened to my own clothes..?" the mirkwood elf queried, looking up at the other.

In return, his new-found friend trotted over to a pile of dirty clothes that he apparently had used to make a few of the bandages, and returned, carrying a piece of clothing that could only be described as shredded.

"Leg thick – cuts hal, bad," he explained, showing on his own leg the size Legolas' apparently had swollen to while he was unconscious. "Only knife get off fraél."

Understanding, Legolas nodded, looking at the torn leggings. Though he could see where the dark elf had used the knife to cut them off him, he could also see the many tears that had been made by the whips and knives he had been tormented with. Unconsciously, he closed his eyes and shivered, all too clearly recalling the pain the orcs had brought on him.

However, a gentle hand under his chin, tilting his head up, withdrew him from his thoughts, and he looked into those strange blue eyes of his new companion.

"Safe now," the dark elf softly said, smiling lightly. "No yrch come."

At Legolas' light nod, the stranger's smile widened, before he rose again and returned to the fire.

The Wood elf watched him leave, suddenly realising that he had no idea why he had been saved by this foreign-looking elf in the first place. He recalled the scream he had heard, not long before he had been cut down from the tree, and wondered idly if it had been his new friend who had been hurt by the orcs. Which inevitably lead him to wonder how a single person could have defeated the entire orc camp alone, and, if there had been more people, where the rest were.

Could it be, he wondered, that it had been a larger group who had attacked the orcs, and afterwards travelled on, leaving but this dark elf behind to take care of Legolas? Though it was quite possible, and the most likely explanation as to how he had been brought safely out of the orcish camp, it still did not explain why but a single person would have remained behind.

In every group that Legolas had travelled with in his immortal life, he knew that they would always bring any wounded people with them, or let at least a large portion of the party behind to defend their makeshift camp against enemies.

The only explanation to that could be that the dark elf HAD been in a party, but most of the others, if not all, had been killed while fighting the orcs. If the stranger spoke truth, then three days would have been enough time to bury any bodies – though, if that was the case, it seemed odd to him that his friend did not appear to have any visible wounds of any kind.

Maybe, he briefly wondered, there were more than one person left behind in the camp, but the others were out and about at the moment. But, that idea seemed unlikely to him, as he could only see equipment enough in the camp that a single person would be able to carry. If he was to trust his logic and not his knowledge, this elf was travelling alone.

Looking up at the sky, half-hidden by the thick foliage of the trees above him, Legolas' thoughts swirled around his head. All signs pointed at there being only this single elf, yet that would not explain how the orcs had been defeated. Were there more people, it seemed very odd that there was no trace of them anywhere, unless they had gone ahead to fetch a healer or something like that. Yet, if that was so, then why could he not see any signs of horses or other people?

He rubbed his eyes, feeling a heavy headache start to form as every theory he came up with had too many flaws. There was always a single piece missing from the puzzle, though, despite his attempts, he seemed unable to find that missing piece. The only explanation, he thought at end, that could solve it all, was if this dark elf was a warrior unlike anything else that Arda had seen. Though, he concluded, as he glanced around the make-shift camp, that would not explain the noticeable lack of weapons.

"Mellon?" he called softly, immediately drawing the attention of the dark elf, who came to sit by his side. "How did you get me out of the orc camp?"

His friend grinned.

"Yrch not like fire," he chuckled. "Yrch run fast on fire."

Legolas frowned, looking at the other elf with confusion. Though it was a known fact that most things, including orcs, would flee if they were on fire, it did not explain how the whole orc camp had been defeated.

Apparently sensing the mirkwood elf's confusion, the stranger held out his hands, balling his fists together. As Legolas watched, a tiny light seemed to start within those hands, and, before his very eyes, the dark elf slowly moved his hands apart, revealing a small, floating spark between his palms. As his hands moved further from each other, Legolas saw the spark increase in size, until it formed a tiny globe of fire that hung freely in the air between the dark hands.

"Yrch not like fire," the dark elf grinned, closing his palms around the fire and extinguishing the glow. "Run very fast."