-o0o-
His hands were numb with the cold as he wrapped them around his shivering body, trying to keep pressure on the cut in his side. He had long since lost the ability to feel the pain from the wound, or to feel the slick wetness of his own blood soaking his clothes as he held onto it with pallid fingers.
Another shiver racked his injured body, strong enough to shake his hands off his side, to make his teeth rattle and his steps falter. For a moment he stopped and just breathed, forcing another breath of frigid air into struggling lungs.
Cold and out of breath - the poison really was working fast.
It had only been this morning, just after crossing the peak of the High Pass that his luck had turned from bad to worse - that he had run right into the orcs.
At least it no longer snowed.
-o0o-
Darkness came upon him quickly on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, not the setting of Arnor but the arrival of dark clouds swallowing the light. Legolas sighed. They promised more snow.
Already the path was filled with it, piled high against the cliff face and swallowing the trail entirely in places. His horse was struggling to push through even on the easier stretches and more than once he had had to clear the path for it to pass at all, delaying him by hours. If any more snow fell, if it lay any thicker on the ground higher up the Mountains, he would never make it across with his horse.
But he might without.
Perhaps it was the depressing dark, or the long solitude of his travels, perhaps it was that he had promised to be in Rivendell in time for the winter solstice, or just the fact that he missed Aragorn and would not let a mere mountain range come between them - whatever the reason, a dangerous thought took hold.
Imladris was close to the other side of the pass after all. And he would cross the mountains faster on foot by himself than riding and clearing a path for his horse. He would arrive later than he had intended, but by a quick calculation he was still a week shy of the solstice. He could arrive in time for that.
Yes, he decided, after all: for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow - pick an elf.
Decision made, he turned back to his horse, resting a warm palm on its forehead, whispering gently: "It will be safer for you to turn back now, now when the path is still clear ahead of the new snow. Go to Beorn's house - he will be glad to see you."
The horse was an offspring of Beorn's fine animals, and knew the way back in the strange way all of the shapeshifter's animals possessed. And at least in the woodman's home it would be well cared for.
The horse looked back at him a moment longer, undecided or unwilling to leave him alone and Legolas laughed lightly before nudging it back. "Go now! I will be fine. It is only a three day walk across the mountains."
How wrong he had been.
Three days later he had not even crossed half the distance he had hoped for. Instead he had only just crested the top of the High Pass, stopping a moment as the expanse of the Misty Mountains stretched to his sides - He could barely see the peaks.
Snow swirled in thick flakes around him, dancing across the trail so densely they created a curtain of white, a shroud between him and the world. They shifted and moved, creating passing shadows and treacherous shapes as they swallowed the path. Leaving him bewildered, isolated, unprepared!
By the time the pale form of an orc coalesced into something more, something real, something dangerous, it was too late to draw his bow. He reached for his knives instead, slipping them free even as he danced to the side, evading the clumsy attack of the orc. The vile beast struggled in the deep snow, its legs weighed down, its steps graceless. It shrieked at him in enraged impotence, frustrated that Legolas had evaded its attack. Legolas cut the sound short by drawing his knife across the orc's throat. Black blood stained the white snow, only to be buried in moments by the still falling flakes.
But the danger had not yet passed.
More shapes sprang from the flakes, barely formed shadows bearing deadly weapons, blackened scimitars, oil-slick daggers. And they had the advantage of numbers.
Four, or was it five? No, four of the beasts appeared. Lunging at him as one and Legolas only barely evaded the first attack, spun around and slashed at the scimitar-wielding hand of his foe. The orc dropped the weapon with a shriek, but its companions were quick to jump in.
A second blade almost grazed his cheek, catching strands of his blond hair as he whipped his head back, turning to parry another blow even as his evasion threatened to leave him dangerously unbalanced. Another strike, aimed at him from the right and Legolas raised his second knife a second too late. The attack hit at an awkward angle and his weapon fell to the white ground, instantly swallowed by the deep snow - but at least he had deflected the attack.
He twisted his other hand forward, skewering an orc and spilling its entrails over the mountain side, before switching hands, placing his now only knife in his stronger hand.
One orc down. But three left. Two of them sprang forward, one with a scimitar held high, striking at his knife over and over again, while the other one, the one whose hand he had struck earlier, lunged for his feet. Its claws tightened around his ankle, tripping him, just as the other orc struck again. But its scimitar found only air as Legolas dropped, diving for the beast at his feet, burying his white-handled knife in the soft spot between its neck and its shoulder.
The orc's grip on his feet loosened and Legolas dove forward, the air above him whistling with the pass of a blade, seconds too late to cleave him in two.
He came back to his feet right in front of his attacker, ramming his knife into its midsection, watching the stunned surprise turn to pain and hatred, before the eyes of the beast turned glassy in death.
The last orc bellowed in rage. There was hatred in the shout, raw and unfiltered, unforgiving. But Legolas did not care.
He turned towards the beast, waiting for it to lumber closer through the thick snow, raising his knife. The odds had evened and the fight, when the beast finally rushed forward, was short. Legolas danced to the side, jumping into the air to avoid the clumsy swing of the dark weapon, landing behind the orc. His knife bit into the beast's back with ease, tearing through its flimsy armour and stabbing at its heart. It slumped forward into the snow. Another mound to soon be covered by the falling flakes.
Legolas bent forward, breathing hard, wiping his knife on the orc's clothes with distaste.
It was only when he felt the sharp sting of a dagger cutting into his side that he realized there had been five orcs after all.
-o0o-
tbc…
A/N: To think I almost finished 24 days worth of whump without poisoning anyone - we couldn't have that now, could we, precious? :D