Gimli and Legolas were having a mock battle when they were ambushed. The elf and the dwarf were both traveling from their own homes - the Glittering Caves in Helm's Deep and Ithilien, an elven colony settled in Gondor - to Minas Tirith, as King Elessar's birthday was rapidly approaching. With their most trusted guards escorting them, the two friends decided to join together in the long journey.
"Move your feet more, Gimli," Legolas encouraged as he danced around the shorter being. "Do not plant them so firmly in the ground that you cannot evade my attacks."
Gimli glowered at the elf as Legolas dodged the swing of his axe. "I wouldn't need to move my feet as much if you weren't prancing around like a newborn pony!"
Legolas brought one of his twin blades down on Gimli's axe. "Why, Gimli, are you saying that you need me to slow down so you can catch up?" he asked, a playful twinkle in his eyes.
Gimli spluttered, glaring at the laughing prince. "Pointy-eared elfling!"
"Stout little goblin," Legolas returned, smirking, not letting up on his banter with Gimli even as he attacked again.
"Gimli had hardly opened his mouth to respond when a cry from one of the elven lookouts reached their ears. They shared a solemn glance, before halting their fight and turning back to their guard.
Haradrim!" the scout cried as soon as the two of them reached the others. "Nearly fifty by the looks of it."
Legolas cursed quietly in Elvish. He was never fond of huge patrols, so he kept his soldiers to a bare minimum. There were only six elves, him included, and nine dwarves; then again, he and Gimli had faced worse odds before.
"Are they on horseback?" Gimli asked the guard, Lindir, one of Lord Elrond's people, who had chosen to stay on Middle Earth when he sailed.
Lindir paused before answering, looking to Legolas for guidance. Legolas repressed a sigh; even the newly made treaties between the elves and dwarves could not undo thousands of years of hostility between the two people. Legolas nodded to Lindir, and the other elf answered Gimli's question. "Yes, Lord Gimli, all of them on horseback, and…" here he paused and looked to Legolas, concerned. "My lord, they all appear to be wearing battle armor."
Legolas's mind started churning furiously. It was too big for a scouting party or a patrol, and too small for an army. Why were they here? It was unnatural for a regular patrol to ride out with as many as fifty, unless they were escorting a noble somewhere, and the Haradrim rarely sent out ambassadors, preferring to keep to themselves. And it would be unwise to ride out in heavy battlefield armor; normally Haradrim patrols wore light camouflage colors to blend in with the trees.
He didn't have time to ponder it though, as the Haradrim were approaching quickly. Legolas briefly considered retreating, before forcing the idea from his mind. If there were only elves, they could wait in the trees for them to pass, but it would not be possible for the dwarves. Running would do no good here, as the Haradrim had more than likely seen them already. And beside's, Durin's folk were far too stubborn to retreat.
"My people will stay on the ground, while you go cower in those trees of yours?" Gimli said gruffly, nodding to a nearby grove of lebethron trees. Legolas gave a small smile, amused by his friend's good-natured teasing, even as they were seconds away from being attacked by enemies. "Indeed, my brethren will be 'hiding' in those trees while providing the cover to save the lives of your people." Legolas didn't give him a chance to respond as he jumped into the nearest tree, gesturing to his soldiers to do the same.
Gimli had barely any time to complain before he started ordering his guards into formation, weapons at the ready. They immediately fell into well-rehearsed stances, waiting. The entire world paused, tense, the calm before the storm. Suddenly, the silence broke as an arrow flew through the air and embedded itself in the chest of the dwarf on Gimli's left.
"Hado i philinn! (Release arrows)" Legolas yelled at his soldiers, notching his bow and sending an arrow straight into the heart of a Southron* aiming for Gimli.
The next minutes were a flurry of activity, Legolas releasing his arrows instinctively, keeping one eye out for Harad archers and the other trained on Gimli. The dwarf was more than capable of holding his own as he plowed through enemy soldiers, cursing them under his breath all the while.
The Haradrim were upon them all too soon, and Legolas was forced to release his bow, not being able to use his long-range weapon at such a short distance. He drew his twin daggers, dropping out of the tree and landing gracefully next to Gimli. The dwarf gave a start, swiveling to face him. Gimli glared in response to Legolas's amused look.
"Be more careful, elf! I could have taken your head off!" He swung wildly, embedding his axe in the neck of an attacking soldier. "That's seven for me elfling!"
Legolas's smile dropped off his face. He eyed the soldiers with renewed vigor. He thrust his knife into the soldier coming up on his left, while simultaneously stepping foward to plunge his other dagger into the Harad approaching Gimli. He stepped back, smirking at his friend despite his fatigue. "And that brings my count to eight, Master Gimli."
Gimli glared at his friend. "That one was mine!"
"Evidently not," Legolas smirked as he raised his daggers in preparation again, but didn't get the chance to use them.
The first bolt came out of nowhere. Lightning arched through the clear blue sky, thunder rumbling moments later. A few moments passed before another one struck, the thunder coming closer now. When the next flash came, the clouds were pushed across the sky, darkening the blue into a deep gray. The bolts struck rapidly, one after another, and the thunder was a harsh beating of drums, drowning out all other sounds. Like magic, the lightning leaped from one Harad to the next, killing them instantly but leaving the elves and dwarves untouched, until there was not a man left standing.
Then the final bolt struck, larger and louder than all the others, electricity crackling in the air and around them, pounding into the earth just a few yards from them and throwing up a mountain of dirt. As the dust settled, the skies cleared, and the thunder stopped, and a girl was left standing where the bolt had struck.
She was just a child really, no more than sixteen years of age. She wore a silver jacket, black combat boots, and blue trousers that were made of unfamiliar material. A silver circlet adorner her spiky black hair, and she had a silver bow and quiver on her back.
Immediately lowering into a crouch, she drew two long hunting knives and glared suspiciously at them through electric blue eyes. The world was silent, not even the birds daring to sing. Only a stout brave dwarf was willing to break the eerie silence.
"Well," said Gimli. "That still only counts as one."
*Southron is another name for a Harad soldier.
Hope you enjoyed it.