A/N: In order to defeat the mighty block on my desk, I've decided to let Legolas be squashed for a while, and instead bring the focus onto Mel and his journey… Change of POV (Point Of View) eminent! And yes, the story WILL continue….

Chapter 14: To the rescue - again

The sun slowly climbed over the mountainside, its rays illuminating the great city, revealing the white stone from which it was build inch by inch. Mel smiled, his eyes picking out the faint shapes of people awakening and beginning to move about as the sun crawled through the streets, life in the top-most tower already fully awake by the time the final shred of the night's darkness fled the outer circle of the town.

Chuckling, deciding that perhaps it was not so bad that he had managed to make a wrong turn and had ended up at the wrong mountain top, the dark elf dug through his backpack and pulled out one of the waybread King Thranduil's cook had given him when he left Mirkwood – lembas, or something akin to that – to eat as he began his trot down the mountain in the direction of the great white city. He looked greatly forward to visit the city, both due to its immense size – he had not seen a town this big since he had journeyed through the lands of Harad – and because he had grown quite fond of both King Elessar and Queen Arwen during their stay at King Thranduil's palace.

Pausing in his steps, his mind going back to Leglas, he felt a slight pang of pain within his spirit. He did miss his good friend – the first true friend he had gained in these lands – and he still mourned that their friendship had been ruined as it had. The exchange of breath had always been something which symbolised a deep friendship and a promise to maintain this bond throughout the ages to him, yet Leglas had taken it so very differently – and had only confirmed that he and Mel came from two so different cultures that it would probably take long before either would fully learn to understand the other.

A frown crossed a dark brow as he recalled how things had been within King Thranduil's kingdom. It was a thought very foreign to those within Mel's clan that any male would be able to reign over a group of people – it had always been, and would probably always be so that the females were those with the final say. The Matriarch was the only who chose who were within the clan, and those outside of her favour were soon cast out – but here, King Thranduil had ruled, even without a Queen by his side…

Shaking his head lightly, once more reminding himself that this was a place several months' travel from his old home, and everything – even the weather, plants and animals – were different than what he knew of. Alone the lack of the great herds of the Long-nosed Sisters and Brothers, those Leglas had called Oliphants, should be enough to remind him of that fact.

Skittering down the mountain, he focused his mind on the present, realising that he had come to a quite sudden drop, where the only visible path was to turn back. Grinning, the dark elf dumped his backpack and quickly searched through his few belongings, pulling out his long wrist-spikes. Pulling on each, he adjusted the long piece of metal so it curved over the top of his fists, and hoisted the pack onto his shoulders again. Taking a few steadying breaths, he moved to the side of the cliff, giving but the briefest of glances down, and then jumped, twisting in the air as he began to fall.

Driving both arms forward, he rammed the two spikes deep into the rock and immediately felt the jolt through his body as his descent was slowed drastically, but not fully stopped. Waiting, letting the weight of his body drag him down, he pulled out one of the spikes the moment he felt it meeting something slightly harder than the rest of the rock, only to ram it back in a little lower, below the harder area. Continuing this process, he quickly descended down the side of the cliff, using his feet to support his weight whenever the stone grew too loose for his spikes to slow his descent enough, and soon landed, safely, on the rubble below the steep cliff.

Humming a small melody, he returned the spikes to their place within his pack along with a mental note to sharpen their blades, before he continued his walk, still in the general direction of the White City. However, despite his best attempts, he soon found he had to walk nearly half-way around the mountain down one path, before he finally managed to locate another path that went downwards, as he had no intention of trying to crawl down a very rocky and loose mountainside – he would most likely trigger a rockslide and get crushed rather than reach the bottom safely if he attempted to do so…

However, his thoughts were cut off when he heard a female shriek of terror, and, instinctively, he broke into a run in the direction of the sound. Racing around a bend, he skittered to a stop on a tiny ledge and found he had a surprisingly view over what was taking place some ten feet below on a small, grassy meadow that somehow had sprung to life in the shadow of the mountain.

Three women, of which he recognized one as Queen Arwen, were trapped within a small alcove of the mountain, a huge bear towering over them as it growled and snarled. A mother bear, Mel could see, as he spotted three tiny furballs running away from the meadow and realised that the females had probably, unwillingly, disturbed the bear while it was taking its young for a walk. A horse lay dead, torn open by huge claws, behind the bear, and, in the distance, two clouds of dust revealed that the other two horses had bolted in fright.

The bear was quite young, the dark elf determined, and it was probably defending its first litter – which was why it had risked a confrontation, rather than just running away. Knowing that it would mean the death of the cubs if the bear was killed, but the death of Queen Arwen if the bear was not stopped, Mel did the only thing he could think of. He jumped, letting his full weight hit the bear to drive it momentary off balance and thus gain its attention.

It roared with rage and twisted, sending the light elf towards the side of the mountain, and instantly, years of experience kicked in, the elf immediately recalling the teachings of his Clan's Master, and he spun within the air, hitting the rock with his feet first. Waiting for a split second, until his knees were fully bend and the entire energy from the throw had been released, he straitened his legs and propelled himself away from the rock, once more hitting the bear with his full weight and felt its front legs wrap around him.

"They won't hurt you!" he shouted, fearlessly looking straight into the bear's massive maw as it roared at him, and felt a near-shocking pain jolt through his back.

Placing both hands on the bear's shoulders, he pushed away in an attempt to break free of the crushing hug, even though he heard a strange ripping noise, and continued to yell at it, explaining that the three females posed no threat, and that it should just walk away. His mind was fully turned to the cubs and the women, working hard to defend both parties.

Slowly, the bear calmed, finally releasing its grip and dropping to all fours. With a final snort, it turned and quickly ran away, following its fleeing cubs. Gasping for breath, wondering faintly over the strange throb in his back, the dark elf turned his gaze to the three, still paralyzed, women and was relieved to see that they all appeared uninjured. He tried rising to his feet, but was surprised when he found his legs were uncooperative and refused to carry him, causing him to drop to his knees almost instantly.

And then, the three females were by his side, speaking far too fast for him to understand at first, and the strange buzz in his head was not helping. Glancing to Queen Arwen, his heart skipped a beat when he realised that there was blood on her beautiful dress.

"Are you hurt, My Lady?" he asked, hoping that he had managed to formulate the words in common.

"I'm fine," she whispered, a strange look of horror in her eyes.

Blinking, hoping it would help him in seeing through the strange fog that seemed to fill the meadow, the dark elf realised that he apparently had a cut of some sort, seeing another drop of blood dripping from his shoulder onto the Lady's fine dress.

"I'm sorry, My Lady. I appear to be ruining your clothes," he said, and found that his breath, too, was beginning to fail him. It had to be some kind of post-traumatic shock finally settling in now that the adrenalin from his initial leap at the bear had disappeared.

At the confused look at Queen Arwen's face, he realised he had spoken in his native tongue, but, when trying to formulate the same sentence in common, found that the words were fleeing him. Blinking, finding it harder to look, he realised that a strange type of darkness was settling over the meadow – although he found it odd. The birds were still singing as if it was broad daylight, unlike what they normally did when the great Air Serpent was swallowing the Sun for a short while…

Giving a brief glance down, feeling something wet start soaking his clothes, he was mildly surprised to see a puddle of red forming tiny rivers through the pebbles – and, only faintly, was aware of voices raising in alarm around him as the world quickly grew darker, until the point where his final shred of consciousness released its stubborn hold.