The peaceful rest of the elfling was interrupted by the brilliant hues that heralded the return of Anor, slowly spreading across the velvety night sky, caressing the slumbering Ennor into wakefulness with a mystical array of colorful splendor. He smiled sleepily as he gazed around him, grateful for the vantage point which allotted him a spectacular view of the sparkling dew-covered forest and the rainbow-tinted waters of the lively stream.
"Good morning," he greeted the green-limbed giant that had sheltered him, stifling a yawn as his senses sought to fully awaken.
The tree chuckled beneath him, its branches swaying at the slight tremor it caused. With a deep, rich voice it returned his greeting, an amused rumble still reverberating deep within its trunk.
Legolas grinned sheepishly; feeling strangely embarrassed that the ancient being found him humorous. "I did rest well, thank you," he replied softly in answer to its genial inquiry. "I hope that I was not too troublesome a burden," he added politely, his head bowed so that his long tresses might hide his scarlet cheeks.
The tree laughed harder in response, its roots now visibly trembling with mirth. When it had composed itself, it assured the golden prince that he had been no trouble, and that his presence had been a welcome companion.
Still blushing furiously, the elfling managed a gracious response before excusing himself to the streambed - a bashful smile accompanying him as the tree fell prey to another round of laughter.
At the water's edge he stripped of his clothing, and quickly submerged himself in the brisk waters, enjoying the jolt the icy water provided his sluggish senses. He paused to enjoy the sensation of the rolling current, before finally settling down to wash himself. Minutes later he emerged onto the bank, quickly dressing to warm his cooled flesh.
His composure regained, he decided to return to the bush he'd been shown the day prior that he might breakfast on fresh fruit. Birds sung joyful tunes, welcoming the new day, as he sauntered through the wood, feeling as carefree as he could remember. His mind drifted to his mission, and a grin stole across his features as he thought of the prize antlers he had sent back in completion of one of his tasks.
He imagined the look of surprise on his father's face when the hawk arrived, carrying with it the enormous rack, followed soon after by pride at the realization that it had been his son who had slain the great creature. He knew his was easily the most impressive of all the reported hunts in recent years, and felt a surge of delight at that knowledge. He had sworn that he would not only succeed in his mission, but excel to a level befitting a prince, just as his father expected him to. Thus far, he was making wonderful progress, and he couldn't have been more pleased.
After gathering a generous amount of berries - mindful not to deplete the plant's supply too greatly, for other creatures also depended on its produce - he headed back to his camp. As he walked, his mood sombered: thoughts of home triggering buried feelings of loneliness and a stinging desire to return.
A single tear shown in the corner of his eye, and he defiantly wiped it away, refusing to succumb to the feelings of weakness that were seizing him.
"You are stronger than tears, Legolas," the sharp tone of his father scolded in his ear. Through the eye of his memory, he could see the dispassionate glaze of his father's icy stare boring into him as the king stood stiffly before him, a look of disgust coloring his features when they elected to display an expression. "No son of mine will be diminished to such a show of frailty. I will not stand for disgraceful behavior, of ANY kind, and this pitiful display is far too demeaning to even be acknowledged! I had thought you able to rise to the standard expected of a prince, but I see this may have been somewhat of a misconception," the barking tone rebuked, further degrading him.
Legolas felt his heart freeze within his chest as the hurtful words tore through him once more, equally as potent through recollection as they had been when first administered. The tears that had been hiding began to well in his eyes as he valiantly fought to halt their formation. It was moments such as this that his resentment for his father's callous treatment of him burgeoned, incensing his blood till it nearly boiled. It was only the truth of his words that had ever held the young prince's ill-contained rage in check - the knowledge that he was merely being held to the expectations of a grown warrior, and the prince of a mighty nation. Despite how much the words tore at him, and how much his ire flared, he also knew that as the son of king, more rigid standards were expected of him than the average citizen.
A pang of shameful guilt quelled in his breast as he ceded; his father, as usual, was correct, and he should not be allowing such vulnerability to manifest. Just as he had the first time the words had been spoken, and indeed, every time that their equivalent were spoken, he raised his head high, squared his shoulders, and refused the tears passage.
He saw in his mind the arched brow of his father, and the nearly imperceptible nod he gave for the effort, assuring the young prince, with as much affirmation as he ever offered, that his response had been the correct one. In some way, Legolas knew that his father approved, and was even a little proud of his youngest progeny, loathe as he was to voice such feelings.
Pushing thoughts of home and family out of his immediate consideration, he forced himself to return to his campsite, knowing the time for his departure grew near. He munched on the berries as he walked, arriving within minutes. After a quick scan of the area, which confirmed that nothing had been disturbed, he chose to sit by the water's edge to enjoy his final few moments of rest before he was forced to resume his travels.
Legs swaying idly from his perch on a large rock, he gazed into the tireless waters, lost in thought. A few birds flew down to investigate his silent behavior; finally succeeding in coaxing him out of his trance to assure them that he was merely troubled by persistent memories. Many of the birds chirped in understanding, identifying with his unquiet disposition. To distract him from such thoughts, they told him tales of each of their adventures, succeeding in warming his mood.
As the sun approached its peak, Legolas conceded that the time had come for him to depart. Returned to his normal state of cheerfulness, he thanked the birds for their kind efforts, as well as their entertaining stories. After taking his leave of them, he scaled the tree, and began packing his belongings. The tree conversed with him briefly as he worked, allowing him to again thank it for its gracious reception.
Shortly before the noon hour he left the friendly glade, following the course of the sun to the western-most edge of Mirkwood. He felt refreshed, as he had that morning, and was comforted to have with him a clean change of clothes, as well as an ample supply of dried berries and meat to accompany his usual regimen of lembas.
He continued without pause throughout the reign of Anor, making excellent progress as he was able to maintain a consistently brisk pace due to his sound slumber the previous night. Around him, the forest grew denser and more shadowed, the calls of birds less frequent. An alarming chill raced down his spine as he became aware of the changes in his surroundings. He slowed to a cautious walk as he called on his heightened senses to alert him to any potential dangers. Despite its foreboding appearance, the forest seemed free of hazard - merely darker and lonelier than its northerly counterpart.
Legolas knew that the southern reaches of his beloved forest were infested with malicious spiders known to prey on intruders into their territory, especially those that were small in stature and completely alone. He also knew that he was well within their borders. His gut clenched in trepidation at the realization, and it took considerable effort to contain his unease. He had learned that spiders could smell fear, and that it often drew them like magnets – he merely hoped he was skilled enough at masking his emotions to pass unnoticed.
The young prince dared not rest that night, and instead pushed himself to continue all through the hours of Ithil's soft rays, which were skewed by the eerie woods to appear as a haunting haze of silvery glow, amplifying its menacing nature. Dawn brought little relief to the chilling air of hostility that assaulted his senses, although it did marginally improve his visibility.
With each passing hour he eagerly anticipated the forest's end ever more, until he could scarcely tolerate the constant sense of unease that hung about it. He ate as he walked, not wanting to stop, and silently cursed the ominous woods that continued endlessly before him.
Hours passed without incident, the time seeming to extend into an indefinite series of monotonous paces - each second as unnerving and wearisome as those that preceded it. A glance at the sky told the golden-maned elfling that the day's light had passed its median, and the hours of its minute comfort were waning.
Eventually the young hunter realized a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck, causing a wave of nervous energy to flood his veins.
Orcs.
The idea struck him with enormous clarity, his gut immediately throbbing with a sickening sense of dread. Equally chilling was how confidant he was that this perception was correct - so much so that it worried him to realize he had never bothered to question the potential validity of the notion. Never in his short life had he come across one of the fowl dark creatures, and yet from a source so deep within himself he could not conceive of doubting it, he knew them at once. They were the mortal enemy of his people, an unnatural abomination that repulsed the very earth upon which they trod. It seemed to him that his very blood could sense their presence, and recoiled in revulsion.
A foul taste in his mouth, he flung himself into the trees, flitting to the highest boughs in scant seconds. There he sat motionless, attempting to locate the offending creatures. Within moments his sensitive nose caught wind of their telltale stench, recognizable even to him, who had never encountered one before. As he waited, he discerned the loud clomping of their heavy steps, soon picking up muffled snarls and grumbles he assumed to be part of their Black Tongue.
With all of his might he forced his body to remain steady and calm, despite the jitters that raged through his system, threatening to seize control of his motor functions at any moment. He focused on his breathing, knowing that it controlled a large portion of his mind-blocking nervous impulses. He could scarcely think of what to do, innate fears washing over him and paralyzing him where he sat, his hands desperately gripping the mighty bough upon which he was perched. He tried to convince himself that the horde of beastly creatures would simply pass by, not noticing the lone figure still some ways off from them.
A slightly more rational part of him worried for other reasons. He knew he had strayed into a less friendly portion of the forest. What if there were more than just Orcs here?
As if waiting for this harrowing thought to cross his mind, a faint, but unmistakable clicking sound reverberated off from the wood beneath his gasp. The elf's eyes widened to saucers of oceanic proportions as he very slowly turned his gaze, dreading what could only be the worse possible outcome.
Painfully aware of his unidentified stalker, the young blonde convinced himself to continue as if he were ignorant of the knowledge, hoping the observer would merely turn away or be unable to find him if he made absolutely no noise at all.
To his dismay, the onlooker did not deter, but instead elected to steadily move closer, the clicks growing louder and louder. Legolas felt his eyes bulge with fear, his instincts screaming at him to flee with all possible haste, while his senses registered the ill intentions of his predator. His forehead creased with worry as he scoured his brain for possible options, his mind flitting back to the host of Orcs who seemed to have also drawn nearer.
As though it were a palpable substance, Legolas felt the color drain from his face when the first Orc entered his view. It had its head cocked at an odd angle, and seemed to be glancing tentatively at the upper branches.
Legolas' mind went utterly blank. No thoughts registered for several moments, and the next thing he knew, he was bounding through the treetops at a dangerous pace, not entirely sure how he was even managing to find purchase on the branches as he flew through them.
"Run, aye, brilliant choice! You know to never flee; it draws the attention of the hunter! Ai, but I am a fool!" he berated himself, angered by his fearful response, and poorly considered decision. "A moving target is easier to see, and a scared target is easy to capture!"
"Fear will be met with death, only a calm mind will see your deliverance," the words of his instructor echoed through his conscious. Further thought was interrupted, however, as a chilling screech erupted from within the shrouded glade just behind him. Legolas felt himself cringe in horror, his lungs constricting for a moment, as if not breathing would make him invisible to the stares he knew he received.
A second howl to his right alerted him to his need for action, and impulsively his legs began to move faster, carrying him as fast as they could from the unseen pursuers. As he fled, he knew his efforts were in vain, for the Orcs were fast and had the advantage of numbers.
Behind him he heard the unmistakable pounding of a great number of iron-clad feet racing to catch up with him. An icy curtain of dread fell upon him as he subconsciously counted at least nine bodies pursuing him, rapidly closing any distance he had achieved between them. Two orcs were now visible below him, their glowing red eyes unmistakably fixed on his location. Whispering a prayer to the Valar, he concluded that his best chance for survival was to attempt to slay as many of the beasts as he could without losing too much ground.
In a fluid motion that was nearly effortless, he drew his bow and notched an arrow, his pace remaining unchanged. Honing his senses on the Orcs below him, he continued his flight as he waited for one to come near enough to be within range. He only had to wait a few moments before two of the simultaneously swerved into his sight, one letting loose its own arrow, which landed in a branch precariously close to his foot.
Surprised by attack, Legolas lost a valuable moment in deciding which creature to fire upon first. The fowl creatures took the anticipated opportunity to attack in unison, each shooting an arrow at the fleeing boy, eliminating the elf's chance to contemplate the situation.
"When under attack, you do not have time to think. Any pause will be interpreted as hesitation, and the enemy thrives on indecision. He will take any opportunity you grant him, and use it against you. Do not give him the chance. Act quickly, and with purpose; never waste a shot, and never miss an opening," the voice of Lawlaeg scolded him angrily. Inside his mind, he could picture the stern teacher, with his piercing gaze and firm tone, pacing before the youth as he tried to impress upon him the importance of his words. Years of repetitive lessons, all with the same message, surfaced unbidden in the elfling's memory, shaming him in his moment of failure, while a small voice declared that he would pay for the unheeded teaching with his life.
He gulped as a volley of arrows were launched at him. At the last second he remembered his own bow, and released the arrow into one of the creatures, hitting it squarely between its eyes. The lifeless body continued to stumble to the ground, though it was almost instantaneously replaced by two of its companions, who were racing along struggling to hold the child in the sites of their own bows. Legolas dodged this way and that as two and three arrows at a time whizzed passed him. His luck could not hold forever, and soon he felt the piercing bite of one of the arrows across the outside of his thigh. Though not severe, the injury had the effect of startling him, causing him to falter slightly. His next leap fell short, and in horror he found himself plummeting towards four snarling Orc faces. Using every skill he had, he maneuvered himself to land gracefully on a thin branch, some five feet above the Orcs. Not taking the time to rejoice in the halt of his fall, he flew back to the higher altitudes and continued to attempt to elude the warriors.
Managing to notch an arrow as he flew through the branches, he hastily aimed again at the creatures below him. To his surprise, his arrow landed true to its mark in the side of the beast's neck, and with a strangled cry it too fell to the ground.
Legolas did not have time to retrieve a second arrow, however, for just as he saw his own arrow fell the Orc, a horrible ripping sensation tore through his right arm. The elf shrieked in agony, experiencing pain worse than he'd ever imagined. Glancing at the source of his pain he saw an arrow completely penetrating his arm just above below the elbow, the shaft firmly embedded in the limb. Fearing that things were only going to continue getting worse, and now uncertain if he could even use his bow, he reached back with his good arm to retrieve one of the knives strapped to his back.
The shiny metal gleamed in the poor lighting, the blade singing softly as it was unsheathed. The small noise was the Orc's only warning, before branches of all sizes began falling on them. Only afterwards did Legolas realize that this action merely served to further mark his position for the Orcs, but at the time, it did seem to scatter them somewhat.
His momentary relief was cut short when a new volley of arrows surrounded him, with one sharp tip finding purchase in his ankle. With even more of a jolt than before his steps faltered, and he scarcely had time to react before seeing the ground rush at his head. An Orc stood below him, watching his descent with an evil grin, its blade high in the air in anticipation. Legolas surprised him though, for though he could not stop his own fall this time, his knife remained clasped in the grip of his left hand. With lightning speed, the blade was plunged into the neck of the still grinning Orc before the creature had time to lower its own oily weapon. Miraculously, Legolas was able to flip himself, and although less gracefully than he would have liked, he landed more or less on his feet. Blood spurted from the wound in the Orc's neck, drenching the elf's side. Disgusted, the blonde paid it no further mind as he darted away from the body that moaned as it drew its final breaths.
In the scant moments he had fought the Orc, a third had soundlessly crept up to him. As he regained his footing, the new assailant lunged at him, bellowing loudly as it aimed its blade for his throat. On impulse, the young archer whirled out of its path, crouching beneath its arc to slash into its stomach with his already bloodied knife. Howling in pain from the violent blow, the creature doubled over, sending it crashing down upon the knife-wielding elfling.
Filled with a fiery rage, the beast lashed out at him, despite still being impaled upon the elf's blade. With a yelp the blonde ducked out of the way, averting much of the attack, though the glistening tip of the blade still found purchase upon his shoulder, grazing the bone as it narrowly missed its target. The creature's armored fists, impacted his chest, bruising ribs and slicing flesh as the Orc furiously struggled with the knife, still deeply embedded within his torso.
Mustering a surge of strength, the young hunter twisted the blade and thrust upward, killing the creature as it made to strike once more. Frantically he pulled himself from under the smelly beast, momentarily noticing the coats of blood that now covered most of his body. Giving his appearance no further consideration, he quickly cast a glance around him, concurrently scanning the vicinity with his other senses for additional nearby creatures.
Without command, his feet recommenced their plight, although the elf remained focused on the wood to his rear, waiting for the other Orcs he knew were there to show themselves. A chorus of howls and shrieks exploded in the dense foliage, offering him a chance to pinpoint the group's location. Ignoring the arrow that still jutted out from his right forearm, Legolas fitted another arrow onto his bow. To his left a single Orc bounded out of the brush with a menacing growl, immediately falling to the ground with an arrow to its jugular. An echoing snarl announced the second Orc's appearance, closely followed by three more.
Not daring to stop running, Legolas rapidly fired arrows at the pursuers, ably slaying them with his deadly accuracy. Unfortunately his quiver was not filled with an endless quantity of arrows, and as his supply depleted, he knew he could only buy himself a small amount of time before he was overwhelmed. His breathing became rapid as he felt his heart frantically pounding in his chest, terrified of the numbers he knew to still be behind him. Putting his bow away for a moment, he once again leapt to the safer position of the branches, his small form a blur of movement too fast for the Orcs to catch before he was out of reach.
A shrill squeal caused him to jump, his feet stumbling in their step. Rapid clicking noises erupted from all around him, bringing the previously desolate trees to life with a chorus of sharp answering calls. The Orcs too seemed to recognize the monstrous noises, and halted their pursuit in favor of snarling at the unseen foes.
The elfling swallowed forcefully as he listened to the engulfing mass close in on him. He closed his eyes and spared a brief moment to ask the Valar for mercy, before breaking into a blind run fueled entirely by multiple days' accrued adrenaline. The wind whipped through his long hair as he raced through the dense maze of trees, uncertain of his destination, yet desperately hoping he was headed for the forest border.
"It is in the Valar's care," his mind whispered to him, denying him any unfounded words of reassurance, for it knew it to be futile to lie, even for his own momentary comfort. In spite of the comprehension that he would not make it, his survival instincts forced him to expend the effort.
His heart pounded in his chest, mimicking the rapid gait of his feet as he pushed himself to faster speeds. As he continued, the deafening pulse of his blood was accompanied by the rasping sound of his breathing, his lungs forced to fight to supply oxygen to a body that was burning it up faster that it could be acquired. Behind him he heard the rapidly approaching taps of thousands of feet scurrying through the trees in pursuit, gaining on him even as he strained to sprint faster. All thoughts of the Orc party were forgotten in the face of this equally fearsome foe.
All around him he could feel the flittering beasts closing in, enjoying the excitement of hunting down their most recent prey. Ominous hissing noises soon reached his ears as the creatures anticipated the end of his flight, some scurrying ahead to lay traps of webbing in his path. He frantically dodged their efforts, but felt the pressure they were putting on him as they limited his escape route. The trees would have been his normal route of escape, but they were too heavily utilized by the spiders to offer him any assistance. Instead, he dropped to the forest floor and continued his frenzied pace. A feeling of terror gripped his chest like a steel hand, squeezing and crushing his nearly exhausted organs.
A chilling thought swam to the fore of his consciousness – he would not make it. The realization struck him with a force large enough to knock him over, were he not flying with all the speed he possibly could. Images of his family flashed through his mind - his father, brothers, and the friends he would leave behind. In the brief moments he had to contemplate such things, he wondered how they would deal with the news of his demise. Would they feel shamed by his failure? Would they be disappointed?
The impact of a large object struck him suddenly, drawing him from the recesses of his internal speculations. Instinctively his body struggled to free itself from whatever had latched onto his back. He knew instantly that it had been a spider, and vigorously shook to dislodge it, unable to see much of it due to its position on his mid-back. After swatting at it several times, he succeeded in unseating the foul creature, only to have another launch itself at his feet.
Another landed on his shoulder, slicing his cheek with its sharp talons. As the blood pooled in the wound, the spiders squealed with renewed vigor, several more making their own attempts at attaching themselves to the small elfling. Legolas struggled to avert their poisonous fangs, knowing that his fight was over should any of them succeed in biting him.
His progress was considerably slowed with the added concern of having a number of the creatures clinging to him, but he still managed to push forward. From the trees around him, the remaining horde cheered on their comrades with piercing shrieks as they worked to bring him down.
No longer watching where he was going, the young hunter was caught completely unaware by a small bush that blocked his path. Unceremoniously, the blonde tumbled over the obstruction, rolling down the hill it shielded with the spiders still attached to his form. He fell quite some distance before he managed to regain some control over his movement, eventually succeeding in steering his decent around the multiple trees that sprouted from the decline. Many of the beasts were crushed as they were caught between his body and the various rocks that littered the hillside, while others lost their grips and fell away.
Winded and badly bruised, the golden archer was relatively relieved when he at last reached the bottom of the steep knoll. Badly in need of a moment's rest, he was denied this by the persistent hissing at his back, indicating that his assailants were still in pursuit. With a ragged breath that served to stifle the scream of pain that resulted from his movements, he took off again, uncaring of where he was headed, or the agonizing protest of his battered limbs.
The forest rapidly thinned around him, and for the first time he considered that he might possibly escape. He refused to entertain the notion, however, and chose to focus on the immediate situation, which was anything but promising. Another round of spiders caught up with him, and at once launched themselves at his fleeing form. He nearly stumbled under the force of their impact, but even as he beat them off of himself, he managed to stay upright and keep moving.
A few paces later he again tripped and fell to the ground, tumbling through a row of thorny brush. It was a small comfort, though, thathe was not subject to another stony slope. Instead he felt the sharp sting of being stabbed as he landed on the other side, as well as the intense anguish of flames licking at his flesh. Yelping in surprise, the young prince jumped from his prone position, realizing with horror that his pack was on fire. He struggled to tear the offending article from his person and flung it away. He then threw himself on the ground and rolled around to extinguish the small flames that had caught his cloak and were burning their way to his skin.
Only when the pressing danger of the fire had passed did he take the opportunity to register his surroundings. Springing to his feet, he immediately regretted the decision, finally noting the strange blade that now protruded from his lower leg. More gingerly standing on his feet, he cautiously regarded the area. Apparently he had stumbled directly into an encampment, which was perched at the edge of the wood, for around him stood several startled men, staring agape at their intruder. Many had risen to their feet to gaze at him, while others cautiously approached where he stood.
Legolas continued to catch rasping breaths as he surveyed the site, feeling extremely vulnerable and unsure of their reaction to his presence. Though perhaps not in the most objective frame of mind at the time, everything about this group seemed foreign to him: their weapons, their tools, the unpleasantly pungent odor surrounding them, their bizarrely rounded ears... His eyes grew wide as he looked at them with sudden recognition. Edain.
Still frozen in placeobserving them, his limbs poised to flee at the slightest provocation, he listened totheir mumbled words and the guttural grunts being exchanged, unable to understandwhat was being said, ashe was unfamiliar with their language. The approaching men were now just outside an arm's reach of him, and the elfling was not certain their intentions were just. Panic began to surge anew through his worn body, and he was about to flee from the precarious situation when he felt a tiny piercing bite on his shoulder as two small fangs dug into his flesh.