A/N: Yah two chapters posted in one day. For me that is truly an accomplishment. I hope everyone enjoys…
Also the Lyrics used in this chapter are from Shania Twain's I'm Gonna Get Ya.
Chapter Three: Now I'll Shoot And You Run
(I'm gonna getcha)
I'm gonna getcha while I gotcha in sight
(I'm gonna getcha)
I'm gonna getcha if it takes all night
(Yeah, you can betcha)
You can betcha by the time I say "go," you'll never say "no"
(I'm gonna getcha)
I'm gonna getcha, it's a matter of fact
(I'm gonna getcha)
I'm gonna getcha, don'tcha worry 'bout that
(Yeah, you can betcha)
You can bet your bottom dollar, in time you're gonna be mine
Just like I should - I'll getcha good
(Shania Twain)
The sniper saw the white figure fall to the ground.
He had done it! He had killed the royal!
His stomach heaved in his chest, and he felt he would be sick.
Maybe he should not have felt proud or jubilant at what he had done, but he expected to at least feel justified.
So why did he feel like he had become the monster? He suddenly felt so ashamed.
His family would not have wanted this.
They would not have wanted him to become a killer.
The assassin broke his bow in anger and shame, dropping the pieces with ill-concealed distaste. He did not even watch as the beloved gift disappeared into the vast undergrowth of the forest floor. It had been a gift from his brothers, but he did not deserve it now. He had not used it honorably.
He pulled his hood up to cover his face and started to slowly make his way down the tree. He had no time for regrets now.
The elves would be upon him soon enough if he didn't move quickly.
Such an assassination would not go without reciprocation.
As the cloaked figure made his way, as quickly as possible, down to the forest floor, he was paused in his tracks. A wave of animosity wormed up his spine, and he instinctively jerked around to find the offending feeling's origin.
His eyes locked with two pale orbs of blue fire. The archer's breath caught, as he felt the wave of utter hatred wash over him.
Those eyes promised retribution…they promised him death.
He shuddered. His palms felt sweaty and weak, and only sheer will power kept him from falling, to his death. He forced his head around, and slide more than climbed, ignoring the burning pain that slashed across the palms of his hands, nor the tattering cloak left in the tree's wake.
He felt exposed now.
His muscles were tensed throughout his dissent as he waited from the arrow that would plunge in his back and end his life.
But it never came.
He was not quite sure if this was a blessing or not.
As his feet touched ground he took no pause to catch his breath, but immediately headed into the forest.
He had no clue where he was going, just that it was away from the palace….away from those cold merciless eyes.
He ignored the brush that slashed painfully at his skin, snagging his clothing, seeming to intentionally try to slow his escape. The forest floor seemed intent upon tripping him as well, and he nearly tumbled several times.
Was everything against him this day? First his own conscience, now the forest, and soon the no doubt outraged elves of Mirkwood if he didn't hurry.
And so he kept running.
Though his legs were beginning to weaken and his lungs burn in protest, he could not stop. He could not stop until his body forced him. For stopping would be his end.
He could hear not a sound, even the forest was silent.
But he sensed the elf's presence. He was close…too close. The golden-haired creature would be upon him before long.
The cloaked figure felt his hope dwindling. He would never out run an elf. It was impossible. Humans had limitations that far surpassed the elves' impressive skills.
But he could not succumb to defeat, not yet. He was not one to give up, stubborn some might say. He would not have gotten this far though if he wasn't.
Be that gift or curse was yet to be seen.
Something jumped down into his path and he nearly ran into the white blur of motion. Only his quick reflexes helped him skid to a stop, before the imposing collusion could occur.
It was the elf!
The wood elf glared at him coldly as he slowly and purposefully approached the cloaked figure, elven daggers menacingly clenched in his hands.
The elf approached with calm certainty.
He knew he had his prey.
There was no escape.
The assassin slowly backed away, unable to pull his gaze from those burning coals of anger.
He felt his back smack painfully against the rough bark of a tree and knew it was over.
There would be no more running.
His heartbeat frantically in his chest, demanding release. And his breath was quick and ragged, as his lungs sucked in the oxygen it had been too long denied. He was sure the elf could smell his fear, hear his wobbling legs.
The assassin's legs were set to give out at any moment, but he stubbornly denied their demands. He arched his back straight and raised his chin. He would not cower or beg for mercy. He had already dishonored his family enough this day.
He felt the sharp point of a dagger resting forcefully against his throat. His breath shuddered as the cold metal tip made contact with his defenseless skin He was gratefully from the cloak that hid his fear.
He closed his eyes tightly, and waited for the slash that would end his life.
A/N: Oh No it's a cliffe….ahhhhhhhhhh. The suspense is so horrible. Will Legolas kill own "unknown" assassin? Will our unknown assassin kill the prince after all? Will the prince really cut out Teleran's tongue? Find out next week when the shocking update continues.