Princes of the Earth Chapter 1 The Four Princes
"Behold, the newest prince of Greenwood the Great, Legolas Greenleaf!" King Thranduil announced to the full courtyard, holding up the tiny baby for all to see.
All the Elves cheered for the beautiful newest member of the Royal Family. He was very fair and had silver eyes; downy golden hair was already visible upon the miniature head. Behind the King stood the four elder princes, smiling proudly.
A banquet was held in honor of the infant prince, with much dancing and celebration. As a formal ritual for the closing of the week-long feast, Thranduil called forward his four older sons. "We must not keep this new joy to ourselves," the king began, and here all the Elves cheered again.
Telepsîr, Thranduil's eldest, knelt before him according to the ceremony, as his father laid his hands on his son's shoulders. "Telepsîr, to Lothlórien." The Crown Prince stood and moved to the side.
Next came Laurëfin, second born, and the actions were repeated with him. "Laurëfin, to Imladris." Lindil, Thranduil's third son, knelt before the king. "Lindil, to Gondor, the kingdom of Men." Lastly came Ransûl, no longer the youngest. "And Ransûl, to the Dwarves in Moria."
"Now go, my sons, and spread this news of joy to all the realms," Thranduil formally commissioned his sons. The four younger Elves bowed and headed for the stables, leaving within a few minutes with their messages, just as tradition before them had gone.
The Elves of Greenwood watched the princes gallop off, the perfect image of nobility. All four seemed almost replicas of each other, with fair hair and features, and silver eyes. Legolas was already promising to look much like them.
The elder princes were not in the least bit jealous over all the attention their youngest brother was receiving, as they knew the exact same thing had happened at each of their own births. In fact, they were delighted to have another brother to love on and help raise.
Telepsîr would help him in matters of court, Laurëfin would teach him to find beauty in all things and instruct him in the ways of nature, Lindil would teach him poetry and song and the immeasurable value of literature, and Ransûl would most likely train him to be a warrior.
Slightly outside the borders of Greenwood, the four brothers parted ways, Telepsîr and Lindil traveling together for a way, Lórien and Gondor being in the same direction; Laurëfin continued west towards the Misty Mountains and Imladris; and Ransûl adjusted his course to a south-west angle to Moria.
Though it was already past nightfall, the Greenwood princes continued until dawn, determined to quickly reach their destinations and relay the message of the new prince, so they might sooner return to him.
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Laurëfin trudged on beside his horse, struggling through the unusually severe weather over Caradhras. He was almost to the peak of the pass over the mountain, and hoped it would be calmer on the other side. The pass over Caradhras cut a significant bit off his journey to Rivendell, and he did not want to have to backtrack and waste time in getting there.
Finally, the Elf broke through the bad weather so suddenly it was almost as if he had passed from one side of a wall to the other. He reluctantly shrugged it off, knowing that Nature could be very unpredictable. He gave thanks for the calm weather and made haste to the Last Homely House.
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When Telepsîr and Lindil reached the Anduin, the elder passed over after bidding each other farewell, continuing at a slightly more westerly direction. Lindil sustained a course almost straight south, to cross the Great River when he got closer to Gondor. Neither brother had any trouble arriving at their destinations, and had soon reached them.
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Ransûl also had an easy—though rather dull—journey to his goal, Moria. He was spared the trouble of crossing over the Mountains, entering instead by the East Gate.
Out of all of Thranduil's sons, Ransûl was the most tolerable of the dark and underground, and had therefore volunteered to be the one to go to the Dwarves.
At this time, the animosity that would eventually grow between the Elves and Dwarves had not yet come to pass, and the two races were still considered allies.
Therefore, Durin's people welcomed Ransûl with their famed "Dwarven hospitality" and upon learning that he was a prince of Greenwood, he was immediately shown to Durin himself.
There, Ransûl regally delivered his message.
"A new son born to the Elvenking! This is cause for celebration indeed!" Durin cried. Most anything in those days was cause for celebration to Durin's folk. "Come, my friend, we shall find a gift worthy of the little princeling!" He laughed and led the Elf from the room.
Hours were spent showing Ransûl the wonders of the underground mine, including the mithril mines themselves. Finally Durin led him to a great store room, or "treasure chamber" as the Dwarf called it, with myriads of finished products inside, mostly made from mithril.
After searching for a short while, Durin produced a small mithril corslet, nearly half the size of what would have fit Ransûl. "For the new prince. He'll grow into it eventually," Durin smiled.
It was absolutely beautiful, worthy of the skill of the Dwarves. Its collar was studded with diamonds and sparkling white gemstones, and the jacket itself was of the impenetrable mithril rings. Ransûl thanked him graciously, praising the excellent craftsmanship.
"I will have it properly wrapped and secured to your horse," the Dwarf-lord said, beaming at the praise. He called forward a nearby Dwarf and had him carry out the orders.
Turning back to the Elf, Durin asked, "Will his highness be staying the night? I plan a feast in the young prince's honor."
Ransûl bowed deeply, but replied, "That is most gracious of you, my lord, but I must be on my way home. I am most eager to see my brother again." He smiled at the thought of the little baby.
Durin laughed jovially, clapping the Elf on his back. "Ah, I have almost forgotten what it is like to have a child running around." He laughed again.
Ransûl followed him out of the great storeroom, the two soon coming to a stone bridge spanning the length of the abyss below. The two paused as a thunderous rumbling was suddenly heard, and several Dwarves came running toward them.
"My lord!" cried one to Durin. "We were working on one of the mines above and it collapsed! The whole thing is coming down!"
As if on cue, another loud rumbling was heard, and boulder-sized pieces of rock from above, under too much pressure from the cave-in to stay in place, came crashing down right at the opposite end of the bridge from where Ransûl and the Dwarves stood.
The miner Dwarves took off running again whiled Durin stood still in surprise. There came another great crack, and Ransûl pushed the Dwarf-lord to the unblocked end of the bridge, not a second too early. Having no time to get back across himself, the Elf could only jump back as another mass of boulders fell in front of him.
Eyes widening in disbelief, Ransûl realized he was quite trapped unless he could somehow climb over the giant rocks blocking his path.
Before he could do this, however, there was a loud crack as of stone breaking, and he realized with a start that the bridge was collapsing from beneath him. It was not as large or sturdy as most of the other bridges, being rarely used and not built for large loads.
Durin had snapped out of his surprise and called to the trapped Elf. "Come on, hurry! We must get out of here!"
Ransûl took a hold of the boulder set between him and safety, preparing to climb over, but before he could, the cracking came again, the bridge straining under so much weight. A great rumbling shook the entire cavern, loosening the bridge's last support. It collapsed, taking all upon it down with it. Durin cried out in alarm as the Elf prince and pieces of the bridge fell into the yawning abyss below, soon lost to his sight.
Ransûl knew there was nothing to save him now, that he would keep falling and falling until…what? Falling was such an odd sensation, he thought; almost like flying, only downwards and with no control.
He had certainly fallen a few times in his long life, from the occasional tree, or when he was an Elfling and was continually jumping off incredible heights and getting injured, worrying his father sick. Ransûl always had been the adventurous one.
But he knew that this time there would be no simple recovery. He was doomed to die, and he knew it.
Ransûl did not know for how long he fell, but it seemed an eternity, even to an Elf. Yet he refused to cry out, though he much longed too, for he knew it would no good. Falling…falling…falling…
He found himself thinking over all the pranks and mischief he had caused, and all the good and bad memories of the past. There was the time he had climbed his first tree, with nearly disastrous results; when he wielded his first sword and almost lopped off Telepsîr's arm, on accident, of course; when he first fired a bow, almost hitting Laurëfin, also an accident; Lindil teaching him how to sing, which he was actually not very good at, to Elven standards; his first hunting trip; the time he got caught outside in a sever rain storm; the first time he had seen snow and had stayed outside playing with it till his fingers were frozen; horseracing with his friends; his father's smile, his mother's embrace, Telepsîr's patience, Laurëfin's laughter, Lindil's songs and poetry, and Legolas's beautiful eyes.
Ransûl thought about the future, about how he would not get to see Legolas grow, to see him wield a bow, a sword, never get to hear him sing, or ride a horse, or come home proudly showing off his first hunted game. Legolas would not even remember him.
Ransûl felt a small tear slip down his cheek and immediately be pulled away as he still fell. "I am sorry, Legolas." He closed his bright silver eyes and darkness claimed him.
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Laurëfin smiled as the hidden valley of Imladris finally came into view. Within the hour, he entered the gates of the fair Elven realm, and had a nearby servant send for Lord Elrond.
In no time Elrond appeared with his wife Celebrían and greeted him formerly. Laurëfin dismounted and responded likewise. "Lord Elrond, my lady Celebrían, I bring a message from my father, King Thranduil." He smiled excitedly. "The King wishes his allies to know of a great happening in the Greenwood—the birth of a new prince to the Royal Family."
The Lord and Lady of Imladris congratulated Laurëfin; although having no children of their own yet, they were still happy for the King.
"And what is the name of the little prince?" Celebrían asked.
"Legolas," Laurëfin answered with the pride a brother could possess. Celebrían remarked that it was a lovely name and excused herself to prepare for a feast that night in honor of the prince, as was the custom.
Elrond invited Laurëfin to walk with him to the prince's guest chambers that were always kept ready for cases like this, which he did after quickly entrusting his horse to a stable hand.
"How long will you be staying?" Elrond asked politely as the other Elf set down his small traveling pack.
"I believe I shall only stay this night, if it pleases my lord," Laurëfin replied, not wanting to offend his host.
"Very well. I shall send someone to fetch you for the feast tonight, if you plan on attending?" Laurëfin nodded and bowed as Elrond left.
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That night a great feast was held in Legolas's honor, followed by stories and music for the remainder of the night in the Hall of Fire. Laurëfin retired early, wishing to set out at dawn for home.
The following morning, the prince was securing the last of his things on his horse, along with the gifts of jewels and such for the new prince.
Elrond and Celebrían watched as he prepared to depart. "Are you certain you do not wish to stay longer? Imladris would be glad for your prolonged company," Celebrían asked. Laurëfin smiled, but politely refused. Seeing he was ready, he bowed to each of them again and mounted his horse.
Before he could go, Elrond stopped him with the question, "Which path will you be returning by?"
"The same by which I came—over Caradhras. It saves much time," the Wood-Elf replied.
"Be careful," Elrond warned. "That mountain has been treacherous to travelers lately."
"Worry not for me, my lord," Laurëfin replied. "I came over him with little enough difficulty." He nodded politely. "I thank you for your hospitality, and shall be sure to send your well-wishes to my father and brothers." He placed his hand over his heart and swept it outwards. "Namárië."
"Namárië," they replied, and watched as he trotted out through the gates.
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Laurëfin was nearly halfway up the mountain when the savage weather struck again. Wind was whipping everywhere—in his eyes, nose, mouth, and anywhere uncovered. But it was not yet dangerous and visibility was still relatively good, so he pressed on. Perhaps he was about to break through the worst of the storm, as with the first time. Laurëfin had long dismounted to easier guide his weary horse through the storm by holding a hand under its jaw, having no reins.
Contrary to his hopes of breaking through the storm, it only intensified the higher the Elf went. Laurëfin considered turning back, but he was already at the halfway point, and decided it was worth it to keep going to save the extra travel time.
Lightning suddenly split the sky and hit the peak above with a deafening crack. A small cascade of rocks rained down, but the Elf and horse hid under a miniature outcropping.
The jagged white light came again and struck the ground barely a few feet from where the two stood. The horse's eyes bulged in fright and he reared back, escaping Laurëfin's grasp. "Anroch!" the Elf cried as the horse took off running in the direction they had come from, thunder rumbling angrily after him. A few moments later there was a whinny of terror interrupted by one of pain.
Laurëfin started, but scarcely had he taken five steps in the direction his mount had gone when there was a great creaking and groaning from above. Startled, he glanced up, and saw the whole side of the mountain above him shift and start to fall.
The Elf gasped and started to run over the thinly packed snow as thunder growled again and the avalanche of snow quickly closed in on him. He caught sight of Anroch lying on his side ahead and shouted to him, but his voice was caught up by the wind and carried away.
In another instant the great fall of snow was upon him, slamming into him and carrying him a way before finally settling.
When Laurëfin's mind had cleared somewhat, he forced his eyes open to see white everywhere. He tried to bring up his arms to push away the snow before him, but quickly realized that he could not move at all without a great deal of effort.
He was trapped.
Laurëfin realized he was probably somewhere near the base of all the snow, judging by the weight crushing down on him, and its density. He cursed himself for being so careless as to get caught by an avalanche, and for not having backtracked earlier.
The prince tried to push up and break through, but it was hopeless. Neither could he dig his way through, for it was nearly impossible to move as it was. He briefly considered shouting for help, but quickly discarded that idea. Even if somebody else was on the mountain, which he doubted, they would never be able to hear his voice above the wind and beneath the snow.
Laurëfin wondered if his body heat could melt the snow around him. Unlikely. Could Elves die from freezing? He did not know. He had never been told they could, but he had never actually been told they could not, either. He had never thought to ask, but now he did not doubt it. Already he could feel the numbing effects of the cold coming upon him.
The prince wondered what others would do in his case. Thranduil probably would have melted the snow long ago with his boiling temper, he reflected with a smile; Ransûl would probably do as he was now; Telepsîr, being the eldest brother and wisest, would probably have not even been in this situation in the first place; Lindil would likely just laugh and tell him to use his mouth for something useful and eat through it. That thought made Laurëfin laugh slightly, but he did not even attempt it.
He tried to shake his head to disperse the dimness that had settled in his vision, but it persisted. With a start, he realized something else. He was running out of air. The snow around him was so densely packed that what little amount of breathable air that might have gotten through was not nearly enough.
Laurëfin calmed his panicked breathing and cursed himself again. he slowly but surely forced his arms above his head, and gradually attempted to push some of the crushing force away. After a while his movements grew more lethargic and slow, having accomplished next to nothing. It had been hopeless from the beginning, but he had to try.
The darkness edging Laurëfin's vision was steadily growing. He suddenly thought of his family—his parents and his brothers he would be leaving behind, for surely there was no hope for him now. He thought of Thranduil, his stern but loving father; Dúlinwen, his gentle, caring mother; Telepsîr, his wise and respected brother, the Crown Prince; Lindil, the one who found beauty in everything; Ransûl, the adventurous one of the four…well, five now; and lastly, little Legolas, who did not exactly have much of a personality yet.
Unbeknownst to him, his thoughts were much the same as Ransûl's during the last moments of his life.
Laurëfin noted the growing heaviness in his limbs and eyelids, and he yearned for sleep. As much as he knew he had to, he could not fight it for long, and as he stood there, gasping for breath, eyes dim, he whispered "Legolas," and fell asleep.
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Lindil nodded politely to the guards at the Gate of Osgiliath as he entered. Another guard was sent ahead to announce the Prince to King Elendil.
The Elf made his way to the large of Osgiliath, riding straight and tall as people stared at him and whispered among themselves. The palace was a sizeable structure of white stone, as was the rest of the city, surrounded by expansive gardens on three sides. It stood in the center of the city, right on the waterfront of the Anduin. Lindil took special note of a beautiful white tree that grew in the center of the palace courtyard.
Lindil left his horse in the courtyard, promising to be right back, then followed the guard that had been sent ahead inside. The king was waiting in his private meeting room, designed especially for meetings such as these with other kings and lords. The two bowed formally to each other. Elendil offered the Elf a seat, but he politely refused and remained standing. The king bid him speak.
"My lord," Lindil replied, "I bring a message from my lord King Thranduil. He wishes his allies to be informed of the birth of his new son, Legolas Greenleaf."
Elendil smiled and congratulated, having feared that it was some grave news the prince bore, and sent a servant to find an appropriate gift. Then he asked Lindil if he would be staying long so he could have quarters prepared, but the Elf replied that he would only be staying long enough to rest his horse.
The Human king invited him to sup with him, which Lindil accepted. The meal was exquisite, with only the finest meats, breads, and fruits. Lindil ate only enough, to satisfy his host, wondering if his horse had yet been fed.
When Elendil pushed back his chair from the table, Lindil stood and bowed, saying, "My lord, you are most gracious to suffer me for such a superb meal, but I must away. My kingdom is far from here and I wish to be there by the end of the week."
The two exchanged formal farewells, after which a servant showed the Elf prince out. Another servant presented him at the door with a wrapped package for the new prince. Lindil informed him to give his thanks to the king, and, securing the package on his horse, jumped onto its bare back, and was off. In a few minutes he was outside of the city and back in open country.
About an hour later, he slowed his horse to a walk so it could rest. Lindil retrieved a small harp from where it had been safely bundled up, tied to his horse, and started playing a tune. His fair voice could be heard far over the land as it was raised in his own Elven song.
After a while he urged his horse back into a trot, anxious to get home. He was impatient for news of his brothers and their own quests, and most of all wished to be with Legolas again. Lindil could not wait till the babe learned to speak, for, as far as he was concerned, that was nearly old enough to sing.
Nothing could dampen the mood of Thranduil's son, even when dark rain clouds rolled in overhead, soon pouring down their contents upon him. He simply made sure all his provisions were safe and dry, and slowed his horse to a more careful pace.
By now it had grown quite dark and Lindil finally halted his horse at the first copse of trees he came across, well within sight of the Anduin. He considered crossing the mighty river that night before it was possible swollen from the rain, but decided it would be more dangerous in the dark than to wait. He would cross it in the morning.
Lindil leapt up into the thick boughs of a large tree after making sure his horse was as dry and comfortable as possible, and settled down on a thick branch with his back against the trunk. The leaves above provided adequate protection against the downpour, but still they moved closer together, overjoyed to have a Wood-Elf in their care.
The next morning was nearly as dark as the precious night, for all the grey clouds were pouring rain. Lindil woke and was off again barely a minute later. He had to travel slower than he liked, however, due to the muddy, slippery ground.
An hour later, Lindil stared in dismay at the swollen Anduin, its banks overflowing due to the heavy storm. How would he cross? It would be nearly impossible. He turned his horse upstream, hoping to find a more shallow and slow-flowing spot for easier crossing.
After another half hour, he came to a small bend in the river that was not as deep or wide. Lindil pondered his options. On the one hand, he could cross here, in shallow water where his horse could probably touch the bottom if he held his head high; on the other, he could continue possible several leagues upstream to where the rains perhaps had not reached.
Lindil decided to take his chances where he was, for following the river would mean much lost time while he could be cutting straight across country. The Elf flung his packs across his shoulders to keep them dry and urged his horse into the water. Immediately, the great current pushed at them, causing the horse to strain to stay upright and not be swept away.
Halfway across, the horse could barely keep its head above the icy waters, its hoofs barely scraping the riverbed. There suddenly came an ominous crack from just upriver, then a loud splash. A large, rotten old tree was swept around the bend, heading straight for the two at a tremendous speed.
In an instant, Lindil was swept off his horse, gasping as he was submerged in the freezing waters for a moment. He quickly gained his senses and swam for the shore. As soon as his feet found steady ground, he turned back and called for his horse, which was gradually moving toward his master, trying to find purchase on the river bottom.
Just as the horse came within arms reach of Lindil, another sharp crack of thunder was heard almost straight overhead. The poor horse reared in fright, pawing excitedly at the air. "Calendal, no!" Lindil moved forward to calm the horse, but at that moment Calendal fell back forward, inadvertently bringing one of his hooves crashing down on the Elf's head.
Lindil was dimly aware of falling back into the water as a large bloody gash appeared on his brow. Darkness neared as he unconsciously breathed in water. 'I am going to drown!' he suddenly realized, too dazed by the blow to move. With that last thought, he was swallowed by the dark waters of the Anduin.
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Telepsîr readied his horse to depart again Lothlórien after his two-day stay in the Golden Woods. Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of the Wood, had been most pleased to hear the news of Legolas, for the birth of an Elven child was rare and treasured, even in those days.
Telepsîr finished with his horse, and stepped toward the lord and lady, bowing deeply. Galadriel smiled warmly at the prince as he thanked them fir their hospitality. Leaning forward, she gently kissed his brow, watching in amusement as he blushed. "Safe journey, Prince Telepsîr," Celeborn said.
Telepsîr bowed again then mounted his horse, starting off at a trot through the woods. "Safe journey," Galadriel repeated in a murmur. As soon as the prince was out of sight, she addressed Celeborn without moving her eyes from the last place she had seen Telepsîr, brow furrowed. "I fear for him," she said. "Something grave has happened, I believe, and is yet to."
Celeborn stared at her for a moment, wondering if perhaps she had seen something in her Mirror. "Orcs have been sighted between here and Greenwood," the Lady continued.
"He had no trouble arriving here. Do not worry so," Celeborn soothed. "The prince is more than capable of defending himself."
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Indeed, nearly the first half of Telepsîr's journey home passed quite uneventfully, for which he was thankful. Uneventful meant not dangerous.
The Crow Prince occupied himself mostly by thinking of home and everyone there. His responsibilities as the oldest son of Thranduil could not be put off much longer. He wondered if Legolas had grown or changed any while he was gone. He wondered what latest misadventure Ransûl was up to, or if Laurëfin had finished his new bow, or if Lindil had composed a new song, or if they were even back home yet.
Telepsîr halted at a small stream to allow his horse to rest and drink. He dismounted and stepped into the stream, letting the cool waters bathe his dusty feet, boots and all. A few minutes later, his eyes snapped open, not even aware that they had been closed, to the rapidly growing sense of danger nearby.
Telepsîr quickly but carefully studied his surroundings, noting the position he was in. He was in the middle of a small valley of sorts, with gently sloping borders and tress lining each side. He warily made sure his weapons were secure and ready for use, then turned back to his horse.
Just at that moment, inhumane screeches filled all the valley, echoing eerily as they were amplified, and dozens of Orcs came rushing down at him. Telepsîr knew it was almost always wisest to avoid a confrontation with danger whenever possible, especially when alone, and had nearly mounted his horse when he saw more Orcs storming down at him from the opposite end of the valley, completely surrounding him. How had he not noticed them before?
No use bothering with the "how's" just then, Telepsîr knew, as he pulled out his bow and an arrow and shot one of the approaching Orcs. He almost smiled to himself when it fell dead with a screech, only making its companions angrier. Telepsîr had always been the best warrior in his family, besides his father, having a few hundred years advantage over his brothers, and was much respected throughout Greenwood for his talents in fighting.
When the Orcs came too close for a bow, he slung it back over his shoulder and unsheathed his long, white sword. He was now completely surrounded, but did not let the foul creatures close enough to him to wound him.
The Orc bodies piled at the Elf's feet, and still he continued. A shooting pain erupted in his left arm, and he risked a quick glance down to see the protruding arrow. Disposing of the two Orcs closest to him, he had the Orc archer in his sights and felled with an arrow faster than mortal eye could see.
The pain in his arm only intensified when he fired his bow, but he had no time to pull out the arrow and stop the bleeding. A few minutes later the Orcs' original number was greatly diminished, but Telepsîr was growing tired.
Another sharp twang was heard, and he turned to face the direction from which it had come. A large black arrow slammed into his right shoulder. He almost fell under the force of the blow, but forbade himself from doing so. If he fell, he did not know if he could rise again, then all would be lost.
Before Telepsîr could gain his bearings again, a fiery pain erupted across his back, and he turned on instinct and killed the Orc that had slashed him with its scimitar.
Telepsîr managed to kill three more Orcs before they finally overwhelmed him and wrested away his sword. Still he punched one in the face hard enough to shatter its deformed nose and hopefully kill it. Pulled to the ground, he struggled and kicked under their rough grasps until a dirty black blade was pressed against his throat. A few of the beasts had already slaughtered his horse, though not without a fight on the poor animal's part, and had dragged it off, likely to eat it.
The prince glared up at his foes as one reach for the arrow in his shoulder. It roughly pulled at the projectile at an angle, only causing more harm as it was pulled out, but Telepsîr bit his lip harshly to keep the cry of pain from escaping. The same was repeated with the arrow in his arm.
Telepsîr sent them a glare that could have melted ice, but the one holding the blade to his neck only grinned in response. It snarled something in its harsh tongue, making the Elf wish he could cover his ears, and several of the Orcs produced short, black knives.
The Orc holding the long scimitar, apparently the leader, took a step back, moving the weapon from his throat. Telepsîr immediately attempted to jump up, but the Orc had naturally foreseen this action and quickly drove the scimitar through his unharmed arm. Telepsîr gave a strangled cry as the weapon roughly slid through his flesh and pinned him to the ground.
The other few Orcs acted as if on cue and clawed and slashed at his arms until they were little more than a bloody mass. Though the pain was blinding, Telepsîr kicked out at whatever was within reach, until one of the beats drove a long knife into his leg, slightly above the knee. Excruciating pain shot up and down his leg every time he moved in the slightest.
The Orc leader raised his scimitar, and with one stroke, had sliced off one of the Elf's ears. Blood poured freely from the wound. Telepsîr brought up a bloody hand to the injury, but the Orc only impaled it on his blade, roughly yanking it free.
Telepsîr cried out and felt close to tears, but refused them. He felt sick from all the pain and wondered why he was even still conscious.
After a while the Orcs seemed to have had enough sport, and, stabbing him one last time through the stomach, left him to die. Telepsîr watched as they started to move off, dimly following their movements with glazed eyes. The leader suddenly stopped and turned back to look at him, as if making a decision. Finally it returned, and in those few moments it took to close the distance between the two, Telepsîr thought of many things.
He mentally bid his brothers farewell, thinking of tiny Legolas who would now never know him. He would miss out on his little brother's entire childhood, entire life, and all the small enjoyments of watching him into a proper prince. He was suddenly filled with an uncontainable rage toward these creatures that had taken all that away from him.
But he could do nothing about it now. He sent a quick prayer to the Valar will all his remaining will, to keep Legolas safe and for him to grow and be might and wise, and to remember his oldest brother.
A single tear slipped out from his unfocused eyes to trail down his bloodied face. Then he turned his silver gaze to the calm blue sky and time seemed to fade as he found peace within it.
By now the Orc had reached him.
It took the Elf's own long, white blade and raised it above his head. Then, with all its strength, drove it straight into Telepsîr's heart.
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Yes, they all died. MWAHAHAHAHA!
Aight. I could have been a lot happier with this chapter, but decided to just post it and get it over with. Haha. Ok, a couple things. (1) Personally, I don't think that Legolas had any brothers. But hey, it makes a good story. (2) I never really took the time to educate myself on the complete Dwarven history, so I'm not sure where they were at this approximate time. They probably weren't in Moria, and Durin probably wasn't alive, but I had to do it this way to fit the story. You'll see. (although if you want to tell me the complete Dwarven history, that's fine with me. I would even appreciate it, though the story will not be corrected.) (3) Yes, I am aware that Gandalf did not die in Moria because of the fall, and Ransûl did. Just assume that he got banged up on the way down, or got crushed by one of the boulders or something, or was in a different section of Moria altogether and didn't exactly land in the water. Use your imagination. (4) If you were wondering about the part where I said how Telepsîr punched the Orc in the nose and hopefully killed it, and how punching somebody in the nose can kill them, it is true. If you hit a person's nose hard enough to shatter it, and just the right way, the pieces can go up into their brain and kill them. Yay!
Forgot the disclaimer. Don't own, don't wanna. Imagine the fangirls! (runs screaming)