The War Of Light And Shadow

by Freddie23

In a world changed by the rising of power in Mordor, Legolas gets entrusted with the life of a young boy. But he gets more than he bargained for as he must fight for his own life, for Aragorn's life and for the very future of Middle Earth. AU. Not slash. Complete.

31. Wolves Of The Mark

The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone out there who has kept reading up to this point. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter. And a few reviews wouldn't be too bad either!

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Chapter 31 – The Wolves of the Mark

Sauron's eyes, sunken into a pasty face and hidden deep behind the folds of his massive black hood, burned with something akin to sheer maniacal glee. Whilst the rest of his sanctuary had shrunk back and scuttled into the dark corners of the tower in fear of the coming of the Nine Wraiths to Mordor, he had almost rejoiced – as much as he was able – in their arrival.

They were his most treasured servants and they served him more loyally than any other, for they were bound to him in a way that none of the other wretched creatures under his rule were.

These mighty beasts were no mindlessly obedient Orc drones, snivelling and pathetic and grovelling at the feet of Evil. They were the Nazgul, the Ringwraiths, created by evil and cunning by Sauron himself centuries ago. In a wondrous stroke of brilliance on his part, he had gifted nine powerful kings of Men, sorcerers and scholars, nine of the Ring's he'd had forged at the same time as his One precious Ring. Whilst the Elves had hidden their own three Rings away, afraid of using them except in great necessity, the Men had been, just as Sauron had expected, driven close to madness by the immense power bestowed upon them and in their madness, Sauron had tricked them. They grew so greatly attached to the power pulsing relentlessly through their bodies and minds that they became bound, physically and spiritually, to their Rings. It was then oh so easy for Sauron, aided by the power brought to him by his One Ruling Ring, to enslave them all to his will. Over time, they faded from the corporeal world and became but ghosts wandering Arda, bound to their master's service for eternity.

Serving their lord as they did, they had initially been given bodies, hosts – such as they were – to make their presence in the corporeal world easier to bear. But beneath the swathes of black cloth and thick metal armour, there now laid little but Shadow and Darkness. They were, quite literally, wraiths. And they were entirely under the thrall of the Dark Lord, their one master.

Perhaps their very best attribute though, the thing that made them so immensely valuable to Sauron, was that they were and ever would be inexorably tied to the One that ruled over them. Over the centuries, the draw of the One Ring, Sauron's most precious possession lost, had lessened for them but although they could not pinpoint its exact location, infuriating them to no end, they felt its subtle tug on their minds constantly and fear of this most powerful weapon kept them tethered securely to the Darkness. They were simply incapable of betrayal.

Now, these big creatures of pure Shadow were knelt in a strictly organised line before the throne of their master. They feared no other man or beast walking on Arda but before their master, they quailed like frightened animals. They were silent and still, genuflecting before the only one they feared, hooded heads bent in deference and veneration, huge black-bladed swords held point-down in clawed, armoured hands as if in salute to their master.

Before them, Sauron stared intensely. What he saw knelt before him, however, were not black-robed creatures but rather pale ghostly shadows, caught in the purgatory between the spirit world and the land of the living.

There was no doubt in Sauron's mind of their unswerving allegiance to him and they mercifully did not lower themselves to squabbling as his lesser servants did even in his presence. He liked their calmness. It had taken them mere hours, upon being summoned, to reach their master from where they resided in the Tower of Minas Morgul, the once Human-ruled Tower of Minas Ithil. The take-over of that great Human fortress was a long time before the beginning of this new War he'd started, back when he'd first come to power and before that awful Human king had robbed him of his One in battle. Still, the Tower had ever been a beacon of evil in a world that had become infected by the Light in his absence and so it remained until this day. It was second only to his own tower of Barad-Dur in Mordor.

Yes, Sauron liked his enslaved wraiths above all the other sycophants who readily bowed before him, for they were untainted by the desire, guilt or greed so plainly evident in the others. They were his purest.

"Across my vast domains travels a man, a descendant of that most dreadful House of Elendil. He plans even now to unite those who would oppose me." Silence; they were listening for their orders with great patience born out of respect and fear. "My scouts inform me that he already carries…the Blade, re-forged by the Elves dwelling deep within the Sanctuary of the Half-Elven." It hurt him to think of that wretched sword, which had long ago stolen from him his most precious possession. Had he been able to feel pain as the corporeal beings of this world felt pain, he was sure that the long fingers on the frail hand of the body he now possessed would have now been throbbing at the memory of that last fateful strike. Pulling himself back to the present and away from the bleak past and the pain of loss, the Dark Lord continued, "With the boy travels the one who calls himself his…'protector' – a fool-hardy Elf born of Mirkwood."

At this, the Wraiths all shuddered and hissed in unison, as if the very mention of one of the Firstborn, the Valar's most beloved and blessed first creations, burned them. They let out long, high-pitched hisses and shook their heads as though to dislodge the notion from their blighted minds. They were not afraid of the Elves – they were afraid of nothing - but the Light inside Iluvatar's beloved unsettled them in much the same way as any Elf who had the misfortune to stumble across the path of one of the Nazgul would also shudder in horror.

As the Light would tremble before the Shadow, so the Shadow still shuddered at the Light - a weakness indeed for Sauron's otherwise unsurpassable servants.

"The boy is said to be growing ever more powerful. He opposes me, blatantly stands against me. Bring the boy to me alive. The Elf is yours to do with as you will."

With the order they had come for issued, the Nine rose to their feet in silence. Sauron walked awkwardly towards them, coming to a halt before the tallest.

"Do not fail me in this task, Loyal One."

The Wraith bowed its head, and from beneath the massive hood, answered in a deep, hissing voice, "My Master."

This leader of the Nine, the Witch-king from Angmar, was the most powerful of them all and remained the most terrifying of all Sauron's servants, presumed by many to be second only to the Dark Lord himself. He would not fail because the only thing in this world or the world beyond he was afraid of was currently stood before him.

So his master commanded, so it would be done.

OIOI

"Wow!" Aragorn exclaimed breathlessly as he looked out over the vast plain, lit now with dull grey light, laid before him. In spite of the dull day, it was impressive in its sheer size. He turned to his guardian, coming up behind him, and asked, "This is Rohan?"

"Part of the lands of Rohan, yes," Legolas answered, looking out across at the dusty plains, hazy in the grim daylight.

"Have you ever been here before?"

"No, never."

"So, you've never actually met a man of Rohan?" Aragorn then asked as they started walking down the side of the hill they had peaked.

"I can't say that I have."

"And you've no idea whether they'll be welcoming?"

"No."

"Or if anyone even lives in Rohan anymore?"

"Kinnale has sent out patrols here before and there have been people living close-by. As to whether they're friendly or not…we shall have to wait and see."

"Comforting."

Legolas smiled wryly across at the young man. He had been impressed by his ward recently. Aragorn had been fitting in very nicely with the Rangers, getting to know them in a way he would never have dreamed of when first meeting them shyly on the peak Weathertop.

It continually amazed Legolas how much Aragorn had grown since they'd first met on the Old Forest Road almost eighteen years ago. That scared, dreadfully timid child he had dragged from the side of his father's hastily covered shallow grave had grown into a relatively confident young man, able and willing to interact with others even though Legolas was certain that such social skills had not been taught by him. And all this had happened in such a short time - or a short time for the Elves anyway. Legolas' own youth and growth had lasted centuries. To watch a child grow so rapidly right before his eyes was little short of amazing to the ancient Elf.

Kinnale came up behind Aragorn and clapped him on the back, shoving the boy forward slightly with his strength. "Don't fear, Aragorn. We'll protect you," he laughed teasingly.

Aragorn scowled at him in spite of his playful words.

"Tell Aragorn more about Rohan, Father," Ciaran ordered his father excitedly as he caught up with them. He had never been close to these lands before either but he always liked to hear his father's exaggerated tales of the foreign places he had visited in his time running with the Rangers.

"Rohan was once the home of the mighty Rohirrim, the Horse Lords."

"What's a horse?" Aragorn asked innocently, much to the surprise of everyone else around him.

Ciaran, stunned by the ignorance of his friend, asked almost mockingly, "You don't know what a horse is?"

Defensively, Legolas answered sharply for his ward, "How would he know? He has never seen one in his life."

Tense silence fell between them after that short exchange as it always did when Legolas challenged anyone within the select group of Men. Thankfully though, Kinnale stepped in to break the unease, explaining patiently in spite of his surprise at Aragorn's ignorance. "It is an animal, Aragorn, bred for riding ride. They are strong, fast and easy to train, making for perfect beasts of burden. The Rohirrim were master breeders and possessed some of the finest of that species in all the world, hence them being adorned with the name of 'Horse Lords'. The Rohirrim liked to live simple lives, which mostly worked to their advantage when the War came to the lands of Men. At first they posed little threat to the Shadow but they remained fiercely loyal to the Steward of Gondor and when he called upon them to join the fight, they went willingly.

"They left behind only those who could not fight. But by going into battle, by being loyal to their race, the Rohirrim drew attention to their lands and the Dark Lord razed their homes to the ground."

"How did they survive then?" Aragorn asked, enchanted by the story of his race.

"By hiding. You see, the people of Rohan's best defence was a great, impregnable fortress called Helm's Deep. Beneath that fortress lays a vast network of caves. The Orcs did not know of their existence and so passed the caves by as they attacked and destroyed the homes and defenders of Rohan. A few Rohirrim were saved but in the wake of the devastation wreaked upon their home, they were forced to live scattered around the lands and horribly poor."

"It is much the same across all the lands," Legolas put in then.

Kinnale had to nod in agreement. "Struggling to survive, what remained of the people of Rohan became reclusive. They have since tolerated little by the way of interference from us, even though we offered them aid and even inclusion in the Rangers for their warriors if they wished it. But they are suspicious of outsiders, not trusting anyone but themselves."

"That's very reassuring," Aragorn muttered but was silenced by a sideways warning glance from his guardian.

"It may seem strange to you that they are so fearful of others, even their own kind, but it is nevertheless quite understandable. Abandoned by their brothers in Gondor in their time of need, they were left to defend themselves, their own homes and lands, against the unimaginable force of the Shadow."

"But those who remain are good, strong fighters, right?" Aragorn asked eagerly, searching for some small glimmer of hope in Kinnale's grim explanation of the people of Rohan.

"Primitive, I would say."

"Primitive? What does that mean?"

"They make do with what they have. Most have not had to fight but in simple defence of their homes. If I recall correctly, they have simple weaponry; spears, daggers and the like."

Aragorn stopped suddenly and the other three next to him followed suit in surprise at the abrupt halt.

"What?" Ciaran asked curiously at the odd expression on Aragorn's face as he stared at Kinnale.

For a moment, Aragorn was silent, looking to both Kinnale and Legolas in turn. Then, he spoke, scathingly, demanding, "Why on earth are we going there, then?"

"Aragorn…" Legolas started, hoping to settle the boy down.

"We're going to find a reclusive set of disorganised people who have no desire to fight, possess no weapons of significance and despise any and all outsiders. And you're expecting them to, what, join with us to go up against the might of the Shadow that has already defeated them once?" Aragorn shouted in a mixture of incredulity and irritation. "It is surely more likely that they'll simply chase us away with their 'spears and daggers and the like'."

Legolas stepped over to him and said soothingly, "Would you please calm down? We're not searching these people out on merely a hopeful whim. They want their freedom back as much as anyone and we are their best chance at that. And skills like fighting and weaponry can be taught and learnt."

"You don't know that they'll be willing."

"Not for certain, no. But we have to at least try. If they decide against joining us then we have lost nothing but a short walk."

Sometimes, Aragorn pondered as his anger was successfully doused by Legolas' calm words, he considered his guardian to be a little too calm in the face of such adversity. But then, Legolas did not carry the burden that Aragorn did. However, just once in a while, Aragorn wished that Legolas would just leave him to fret. He did appreciate the Elf's ability to remain steady in the face of adversity but Aragorn did not possess that ability himself and this frustrated him more than anything.

For the moment though, Aragorn sighed and hung his head. "Alright," he conceded softly.

Legolas patted his shoulder then pushed him gently to start walking again.

"Do not worry, Aragorn," Kinnale spoke up again to lighten the mood, "the Rohirrim are not completely without value. They may surprise you yet."

Aragorn offered him a small smile, feeling a little sheepish at his snap reaction to the Ranger's truthful tale.

OIOI

Aragorn held his stiff, gloved fingers above the small fire, wriggling them to restore feeling to the frozen tips. Up until now, the weather had been surprisingly temperate despite the fact that winter was coming upon them. A couple of days ago though, a hard frost had covered the plains and the temperature had rapidly plummeted until it resembled proper winter. The day's walking had created some warmth but as they were forced to pause for the night, the cold was settling in and Aragorn found himself shivering in spite of the heat from the fire.

"Here, wrap this around yourself," Legolas offered, sitting down next to his ward and throwing a blanket around his shoulders. When Aragorn made no move to comply, Legolas did it for him, pulling the threadbare piece of cloth around him tightly, pulling it into a bunch just below his ward's chin. "Carion is making some hot tea. That should warm you up," the Elf assured in concern, rubbing some heat into Aragorn's hands for him.

Through chattering teeth, Aragorn complained, "I wish we didn't have to stop all the time."

Legolas' eyes shifted over to where Kinnale was distributing the watches between the Rangers for the night. "Yes, well, you know these Men."

Glancing over to his guardian, Aragorn asked, "Do you ever wish it was just the two of us still?"

"Not really."

Aragorn was surprised at this. He'd always considered Legolas to be an essentially solitary creature, certainly the Elf had always shunned the Humans' company when in Bree and Aragorn was fairly sure that had he never jumped into rescue him and Arathorn over eighteen years ago, then he would still be walking up and down the Old Forest Road on his own.

"You don't ever think we'd have been better off on our own?" Aragorn asked in a whisper so that the Rangers couldn't hear his words.

"There are some things just too big for only two people to handle."

Despite his constant shivering, Aragorn smiled. "Come on, I know how much this frustrates you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Walking at this pace, stopping every single night – it frustrates you to no end."

Legolas chuckled, rubbing his own hands together now to warm his cold fingers. "I suppose so. But we have gained much from our friends. I concede I was unimpressed with them at first but…they have grown on me during our time together."

"Just like I grew on you," Aragorn grinned at him.

"Indeed."

"Tea!" Carion, Veron's twin brother, announced with a mix of cheerfulness and shivering, handing both a tin cup of tea each. "And I took the liberty of adding a little nip to preserve warmth." He winked at them, pulling a flask of the potent alcohol the Rangers loved so much from the inside pocket of his coat to show them his ingenious idea to stave off the cold a little more.

"Excellent," Legolas dead-panned - having no taste for the vile drink.

A little more cheerily as the hot cup warmed his hands, Aragorn said, "Thank you, Carion."

"Keep warm," Carion called back as he hurried away towards the bigger fire around which more of the Men were gathered.

"He's kidding, right?" Aragorn grumbled before sipping at his tea gratefully. Immediately, he felt the rush of warmth trickling through him and his shivering eased a little. Beside him, Legolas was sat turning the cup around in his hands, the liquid inside remaining untouched. He was looking into the steaming tea, seemingly lost deep in thought. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Legolas muttered distractedly.

"Then why aren't you drinking your tea?"

As if his memory had been suddenly jogged by the question, Legolas raised the tin cup to his lips and took a long sip. Immediately, he grimaced at the foul taste, tea tainted with alcohol. The herbs were almost completely swamped by the strong, burning taste of the 'nip' of alcohol Carion had added.

"Legolas, what are you thinking about?" Aragorn asked quietly after a while.

"I'm not thinking about anything in particular."

Laughing quietly to himself, Aragorn concluded, "That's not true."

Smiling, Legolas had to admit, "No, you're right, it's not."

"Then what?"

"It's nothing of import."

"Are you thinking about the Rohirrim?"

Blue eyes turned to him, shining with vague amusement. "Aragorn, I am not thinking about anything – other than idly wondering how much alcohol Carion has ruined this tea with."

"Oh."

"What are you thinking of?" Legolas realised that the man had been setting him up to return the question and, noting Aragorn's increasing discomfort at being forced to hold his silence until the invitation to speak with given, he decided to put him out of his misery.

"Of what we do next."

"Next?"

"After we find these people, if we get them to join us; what do we do then?"

"I see," Legolas sighed. He had been expecting Aragorn to ask that question and he himself had spent considerable time during their journey so far pondering upon that very problem. The conclusion that he had come to was not yet for Aragorn's ears, so he simply dodged the question and tricky answer with a vague, non-committal reply, "We will worry about that when we come to it. One problem at a time."

"Right; one problem."

"Try not to worry about it."

Finishing off his tea, Aragorn grumbled, "That's easy for you to say."

Legolas laid his hand on Aragorn's shoulder to placate him. "I know it seems that way and that everything is so uncertain, but all will be well. Have faith that things will work out."

"Why? They never have before."

"I don't know. I don't think we've done too badly so far."

"Would you please stop that?" Aragorn snapped back at him.

"Stop what?"

"Being so optimistic all of a sudden. It's creepy."

At this observation, Legolas laughed brightly, a sound that Aragorn had not heard from the Elf in a very long time and he couldn't help but grin at the noise. "My apologies. From now on I shall return to being dour and serious around you once more if it would put you at ease."

It was said in good humour and Aragorn couldn't help but laugh at him. This side of Legolas was a rare thing to witness and, although he had to admit that on occasion it could be disconcerting to see his keeper in such a different light, Aragorn did like it when his guardian momentarily let down his guard around him. He imagined this to be how Legolas had acted before the War, before he was weighed down by circumstance. This was Prince Legolas; confident, light-hearted leader, whom unfortunately Aragorn had never gotten to really know. It was a pity that this was such a rarity.

"How much alcohol did Carion add to your tea exactly?" Aragorn demanded teasingly. "Certainly enough to addle your mind somewhat at any rate."

Abruptly, the laughter died on Legolas' lips and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

Thinking that he'd upset his mentor with his mocking words, Aragorn insisted, "I was only jesting, Legolas."

"Be quiet!" Legolas hissed harshly at him, throwing out his arm towards the man as if to keep him seated.

The man knew that tone well. Something was wrong. He sat completely silent and still as Legolas seemed to listen intently beyond the droning noise of the Rangers, trying to discern what pricked on the edges of his senses, warning him of imminent danger in the vicinity. Aragorn's eyes roamed about across the dark plains, as did Legolas', but neither could see anything beyond the haze of light provided by the fire.

With confusion still on his face, Legolas relaxed a little and Aragorn followed suit.

Shaking his head, the Elf said, "Something is wrong but I cannot…I cannot tell what it is."

This was deeply worrying. Legolas' senses rarely proved wrong and Aragorn trusted his instincts implicitly. That the Elf could not determine what exactly was different about their surroundings was disconcerting. To both of them, the Plains of Rohan – or the Mark as Kinnale had called it – were foreign, unknown territory, they had no idea what dangers lurked across them.

Uneasy now, Legolas smoothly got to his feet and Aragorn suddenly noticed that he held his knives tightly in his hands although he hadn't seen the moment when his guardian had pulled them from their resting place in his bag. It was unsettling. Legolas was anticipating an attack, even if he didn't know from what. Dropping his empty cup to the ground, Aragorn dove for his bag and yanked Anduril free from its bindings. He stood tall beside Legolas, braced and ready as the Elf cocked his head to one side, listening attentively for any clue as to what disturbed his senses. Aragorn felt quite useless beside him. He did not possess the Elf's enhanced senses and could feel nothing out of the ordinary but for Legolas' tension.

By this time, some of the Rangers had also noticed the Elf's unease and stopped to look at them in confusion.

Aragorn turned to the man nearest him and barked, "Get Kinnale."

Startled, the man ran off, calling for his leader to come quickly.

"Do you know yet what comes?" Aragorn asked of the possibility of advancing danger.

Far from relaxing at the lack of further clues, Legolas was growing tenser with every passing second, no doubt accentuated by his frustrations at not being able to pinpoint the threat that tugged on the edges of his consciousness.

"No, I don't."

As Aragorn anxiously looked in the direction Legolas gazed, Kinnale, slightly breathless from running towards them, came to a halt beside them. Trying to catch his breath, he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"We don't know," Aragorn admitted, glancing to his side at Legolas. "But it's something."

Still trying to catch his breath, Kinnale looked from the young man to the Elf. He had no reason to trust in Legolas' what seemed to be mystical judgements that something was wrong around them but he felt compelled to take heed all the same. Casting Aragorn a quick glance, the commander turned to the intrigued Rangers watching them.

"Prepare for an attack," the commander ordered.

Although surprised because there was no obvious danger near their small encampment, the Men had practiced this drill many times before on the road at Kinnale's insistence so were able to prepare for an attack quickly and efficiently.

The camp momentarily bustled with activity as men and women gathered up their weapons in preparation, not pausing to question the order, baseless though it may have been. Then eerie silence followed. They waited expectantly. And Legolas listened.

At long last, the sounds made themselves more evident, even to the Humans amongst them. Snarling, hissing noises accompanied by the pounding of many large feet across the frozen earth of the Mark.

"What is that?" Aragorn asked his mentor, fear hidden in his voice.

"I don't know."

They didn't have to wait too long to discover what the disturbance that unsettled Legolas so. Orcs, riding astride huge wolf-like beasts, barrelled suddenly into the Human camp. It was such a shock, this unexpected mode of attack, that despite the vague warning Legolas had provided them with the Rangers were still taken by surprise. The heavy creatures pounced upon them without hesitation, snarling and slashing with long teeth and deadly-sharp claws. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn had ever seen anything of the like before but they did not dwell for more than a second on their surprise but rather launched into the attack upon this new enemy.

For all the Rangers' diligent training, nothing could have prepared them for this most unprecedented of attacks. The Orcs who leapt down from their enormous steeds were fiercely vicious but they were easy to tackle at least. The monsters who carried them, however, were very nearly impossible to attack with the knives and swords carried by the Rangers of the North.

Within moments, the beasts had trampled through the whole camp, wrecking it entirely and taking more than a few Rangers out in the process. The scent of Human blood, which matted in their thick brown fur and dripped from their razor-sharp teeth, drove them wilder still and they backtracked, attacking even more fiercely the second time around, driven by their insatiable blood lust, wanting to taste the thick red liquid again, just as they had been bred to. Whilst their brutal Orkish riders slashed down at the desperately fighting Rangers, the wolves went straight for the Human throats, tearing and ripping at the tender flesh of their prey with relish.

Copious blood was spilled on the battlefield, more red than black. For the first time, the Rangers were on the losing side and hopelessness began to set in amongst them even as they fought for their lives.

Less than five minutes later, Legolas paused in his hacking and slashing motions at the enemies amongst them to take stock of their situation. There was just no way that they could win this fight, he realised with no small amount of panic. And neither could he sound the retreat. On the great, barren plains of the Mark, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He searched around him for Aragorn but amidst the chaos and in the darkness he could see hardly anything except for the enormous black, brown and increasingly red hulks of the attacking wolves.

Forcing himself to keep calm, the Elf told himself rationally that standing still in the middle of such a fearsome and bloody battle was by no means a good idea. The best way to get out of this was to win against these agents of Shadow but that wasn't going to be achieved by standing about pondering upon how hopeless the situation was or by blindly and inaccurately hacking away at the beasts and hoping it might have some effect on the thick hides. If only they could dispose of those blood-thirsty wolves then the Orcs would be easy to dispatch without their mounts to protect them.

Suddenly, Legolas moved again, running through the masses of fighting Orcs and Men and dodging around the beasts. It was tricky and risky in the dark but he managed to locate his bag amongst the destruction wrought by the monsters. Dropping his knives to the ground, Legolas dragged out his bow and the few arrows he possessed. If knives wouldn't do the trick then he had to adapt his technique.

None of the Orcs paid him any attention. One man cowering on the ground in the midst of battle was of little consequence whilst strong Rangers tried constantly to strike them down. So, taking the opportunity, Legolas snatched up his twin knives; he wasn't going to completely abandon his most valuable weapons. Running back through the slaughter, Legolas headed for the edge of the battlefield to present himself with as wide a target as he could.

His shots were surprisingly accurate considering he had not used this particular weapon much of late – the Rangers did most of the hunting these days so he had not had much of a chance to practice with his second-hand bow. But past experience now served him well and he felt a certain thrill in executing the familiar movements of firing fast arrows into the chaotic field of battle. The massive wolves made for easy targets given their size, even as they moved in a lumbering, ungainly manner across the site of the battle, so they were fairly hard to miss even without perfect accuracy.

When the first creature went down, a crudely-made shaft penetrating its thick hide at the breast, hardly anyone noticed. Everyone on both sides was far too busy to be concerned that one of the beasts had fallen, crushing and suffocating its Orkish rider beneath it. By the third shot Legolas fired from the darkness, the Orcs, some of them at least, had cottoned onto what was going on. They searched the area beyond the camp with glowing yellow eyes, looking for the shooter attacking them from the side-lines. But Legolas remained perfectly concealed by the thickness of the night, able to see the targets only because they were illuminated by the fires that still managed to burn around the camp.

Even with his impressive hit-rate, Legolas knew this would not be enough to secure victory for the Humans. He had a limited supply of arrows and he realised that it would only be a matter of time before the Orcs pinpointed his whereabouts and took him out. The Men were by now only just holding their own against the monsters of Mordor and the Orcs still had the upper hand.

Reaching blindly down to the pile of arrows he'd placed at his side for easy access, Legolas' searching fingers felt that there was but one shaft remaining. Stringing the arrow, Legolas took careful aim and killed another of the massive beasts, leaving six of the creatures still standing. Wishing that he could have disposed of more of the Enemy was pointless though, so, without pause, Legolas discarded his now useless bow and retrieved his white knives from his side instead. He plunged back into the fray without hesitation.

Soon, Legolas was once again over-run by Orcs. He still had no idea where Aragorn was but in the melee of battle it would have been foolish to cease fighting and begin searching for the Man. He was tiring, having exerted himself shooting into the seething mass of Orcs, but he forced his aching muscles to continue moving. Stopping now would mean death.

"Legolas!" Aragorn screamed as loud as he could from the other side of the battlefield. Having been engaged in his own fight against these most vicious Orcs, he'd lost track of his guardian until the wolves, for they looked more like the creatures of the night than they did mere dogs, started falling, then he had known that Legolas was well.

The Elf would be far from 'well' in a moment though. A massive wolf was crouched, ready to pounce on the Elf and Legolas seemed to be completely unaware of it, locked in battle as he was with three Orcs at once.

The warning went unheard above the noise but there was no way Aragorn would be able to reach his guardian in time to prevent the inevitable strike. Nevertheless, he screamed another warning in the hope that a second might be more effective.

Legolas turned, not to the sound of Aragorn's shout but at the feel of hot, wet breath on his neck. One of the huge wolves, long fangs bared and dripping with fresh Human blood, was stood before him, sniffing the Elf with surprising patience given the glint of hunger in its yellow eyes. The Orcs that Legolas had been fighting abandoned him with ghoulish grins; they knew the wolf would finish the Elf off and they need not expend any more energy on him.

Bracing himself for the attack, Legolas raised his knives in a defensive position to the snarling creature. As if it sensed his readiness and wanted a fair fight, the beast tensed then pounced.

Legolas fought the instinct to close his eyes as the thing came at him, for he knew that his two long knives, sharp and deadly as they were, were not an even match for the teeth and claws and insatiable blood-lust of the heinous monsters of Shadow.

To Be Continued…