Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings

Act I

Chapter 5: Archer of Death

The sun had barely risen, casting a pale light through the dense canopy of the Drúadan Forest, as the company left the village of Ghâsh behind. The Drúedain's guidance had led them to a narrow path, overgrown with thick vegetation and lined with ancient trees whose gnarled branches seemed to reach out like silent sentinels.

The forest was eerily quiet, with only the occasional rustle of leaves or distant call of a bird breaking the stillness. The path ahead was fraught with obstacles, and each step demanded vigilance and care. As they ventured deeper, the sense of being watched grew more palpable, as if the very trees held a wary gaze upon them.

Aragorn led the way, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he moved with a quiet confidence, driven by the knowledge of what was at stake. His thoughts often drifted back to the Drúedain village and the lessons they had learned there. The resilience and unity of the wild men were a powerful reminder of what they fought for.

Legolas followed closely, his elven senses attuned to the slightest disturbance. He moved with a fluid grace, his bow ever ready. His thoughts were a mix of admiration for the Drúedain and concern for the path ahead. The forest was familiar yet foreboding, and he could not shake the feeling that danger lurked just beyond their sight.

Elladan and Elrohir walked side by side, their bond as brothers a source of strength and comfort. They exchanged quiet words, their eyes constantly scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The twins had always been protectors, and their resolve was as unyielding as ever.

Celdor brought up the rear, his experience in the wilds making him an invaluable asset. He moved with a practiced stealth, his eyes sharp and his senses alert. The Drúedain had impressed him with their resourcefulness and resilience, and he carried their lessons with him as they pressed on.

Elenion walked near the center of the group. It had been around three days since they left the village of Ghâsh and began their journey through the Drúadan Forest. So far, he had managed to keep up with the company, but as the days passed and the journey grew more challenging, fatigue began to set in.

The path grew steeper, the terrain more treacherous. The company moved in silence, their focus on the journey ahead. Elenion wondered why they had not stopped yet. Of course, he wouldn't dare ask Aragorn or the twins to camp; he already knew it was too early for that. They had discussed this before he joined them on the quest.

Aragorn had warned him that this journey would be arduous and that they would not have the luxury of stopping and resting whenever they wished, unlike their previous missions. This was a serious quest, and their lives were constantly in danger.

Even the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, had advised him against joining this expedition. But, like Arwen, Elenion possessed the stubbornness typical of elves. He had resolved to follow them, and there was little that could be done to dissuade him. The twins did not want to push the matter further, recalling previous attempts to keep Elenion in Imladris, which had ended poorly.

Allowing him to accompany them on this quest had not been a decision made lightly. It was the result of many stories and hardships that had ultimately led to their agreement. Those stories, however, were for another time.

As they navigated the increasingly difficult terrain, Elenion's fatigue grew. He could feel the strain in his muscles and the heaviness in his steps, but he pressed on, drawing strength from the determination that had brought him this far. He glanced at his companions—Aragorn, with his unwavering focus; Legolas, moving with effortless grace; the twins, a constant source of strength and comfort; and Celdor, ever vigilant.

As they continued to press forward, Legolas took up the rear of the company to better scan the area, while Elladan moved to the front with Aragorn. This shift allowed Legolas the opportunity to observe his companions more closely. It was then that he noticed a change in Elenion's demeanor. He had surely seen that Elenion was tired and was exerting more effort to keep up with the group.

Legolas, though seldom showing it, cared deeply for the well-being of each member of their company. He believed that no one should be overlooked, even in the urgency of their quest. He did not agree with Elenion's decision to join them, but since he had, Elenion was now a part of their company and deserved the same consideration as any other.

As Legolas watched Elenion more closely, he saw signs of mounting fatigue. Elenion's steps were heavier, and he was beginning to lag behind. The typically silent elf was now less cautious, his frustration evident. Though Elenion refrained from voicing his complaints to the group, Legolas could hear him muttering under his breath. What startled Legolas were the words themselves—curses and phrases that no elf should utter.

Curiosity piqued, Legolas focused his keen hearing on Elenion's mutterings. The language was coarse and surprising, out of place for one who had grown up in the noble realms of Rivendell and Lothlórien. Legolas could see that Elenion was pushing himself to keep pace, his frustration bubbling over in these unguarded moments.

"Bloody hell," Elenion murmured under his breath. "This damn forest never ends... nor does anyone wish to camp. My damn fate." He kept muttering hushed curses that no elf would typically use. Legolas could imagine a dwarf using such harsh tones and words, but an elf? It was baffling.

This peculiar behavior only deepened Legolas's curiosity about Elenion. Not only did his language seem out of place, but there was also the earlier suspicion that Elenion might not speak Elvish fluently. These anomalies drew Legolas's attention even more. He didn't particularly like Elenion; he considered him trouble, a source of potential problems within their company. Elenion's character seemed to be at odds with the harmonious nature expected of elves.

The more Legolas observed, the more he noticed the oddities in Elenion's behavior. Elenion appeared either overly spoiled or disconnected from his elven heritage. How could an elf who grew up in elven lands be so far removed from his roots?

Legolas had seen how Elenion interacted with nature—or rather, how he failed to. There was a distinct lack of the innate grace and connection that all elves had with the natural world. Elenion seemed almost alien to it, as if the forest and its wonders were a foreign concept to him. He acted with a detachment that was troubling, preferring things that no true elf would ever desire.

As they walked, Legolas's mind churned with these observations. He resolved to keep a closer watch on Elenion. There was more to this elf than met the eye, and Legolas intended to uncover the truth. For the sake of their quest and the safety of the company, understanding Elenion's true nature had become a priority.

When the company finally reached a small clearing suitable for camping, Aragorn signaled for them to stop. As they set up camp, Legolas found himself near Elenion, who was clearly relieved to rest.

"Elenion," Legolas said, his tone measured, "you should rest now. We have a long journey ahead, and we need everyone at their best."

Elenion nodded, grateful for the reprieve but wary of the keen eyes watching him. He settled down, attempting to find comfort on the forest floor, his mind still racing with frustration and exhaustion.

Legolas watched him for a moment longer, his thoughts a mix of concern and determination. There was something about Elenion that didn't add up, and Legolas intended to get to the bottom of it. As he turned away to help the others with the camp, he silently vowed to keep a close eye on the enigmatic elf.

As the night wore on, the company could feel the darkness gathering around them, a palpable presence that seemed to seep into their very bones. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper, and an oppressive silence settled over the forest. Each member of the company felt the weight of it, their spirits dampened by the encroaching gloom.

Yet, amidst this pervasive darkness, Elenion seemed oddly unaffected. He went about his tasks with a calm demeanor, his expressions betraying none of the unease that gripped the others. Legolas, who had spent much of his life in Mirkwood, was accustomed to the darkness that had long plagued his homeland. The shadow of Dol Guldur had cast a long pall over the wood, and he had learned to endure its presence. But how could an elf who had lived in the sheltered lands of Rivendell and Lothlórien, protected by the rings of power, withstand such darkness with such ease?

This inconsistency gnawed at Legolas. He watched Elenion closely, noting the steady hands and the calm eyes that seemed to defy the very nature of their surroundings. The other elves, even the mighty Elladan and Elrohir, showed signs of the strain—subtle flickers of discomfort and wariness in their eyes. But Elenion remained composed as if the darkness held no power over him.

Legolas's thoughts churned with suspicion and curiosity. There was a mystery here, something that set Elenion apart from the rest of them. He pondered the possible reasons, his mind sifting through the fragments of what he knew about the enigmatic elf. How could Elenion, who seemed so disconnected from his elven heritage, be so resilient in the face of such encroaching darkness?

His musings were abruptly interrupted as he noticed a subtle change in their surroundings. The dense forest seemed to close in around them, the trees pressing nearer, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The air grew even colder, and a faint, eerie whisper carried on the wind.

Legolas's keen ears picked up on the faintest of sounds—a rustle of leaves, a snap of a twig. His senses sharpened, and he raised a hand to signal the others to stop. The company froze, their eyes scanning the darkened woods for any sign of movement.

"Something's not right," Legolas whispered in Elvish, his voice barely audible. "I hear something."

Aragorn moved silently to his side, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pierce the shadows. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

Legolas shook his head slightly, his gaze sweeping the forest. "I do not know, but we are not alone."

The company tightened their formation, each member readying their weapons. The oppressive silence was broken only by the soft rustling of leaves, a sound that seemed to come from all directions. They stood still, muscles tense, breaths held, waiting for whatever might emerge from the darkness.

Minutes passed, stretched into an eternity by the tension that gripped them. Then, without warning, a shadow darted between the trees, too fast and too fleeting to be clearly seen. Legolas's bow was in his hand in an instant, an arrow nocked and ready.

"There!" he hissed, pointing towards the movement.

The others turned, eyes straining in the dim light. Another shadow flitted through the trees, and then another. They moved with a stealth that spoke of experience and cunning, circling the company like wolves stalking their prey.

"Prepare yourselves," Aragorn commanded his voice a calm anchor in the rising storm of fear.

As the company braced for an imminent attack, Legolas felt a surge of determination. Whatever shadows lurked in the darkness, they would not find easy prey in this company. He glanced at Elenion, who stood with his sword ready, the same calm expression on his face. The mystery of Elenion's resilience would have to wait. For now, they had a battle to face.

The first assailant broke through the trees, a snarling orc, its eyes gleaming with malice. Legolas loosed his arrow, and the creature fell with a gurgling cry. The forest erupted into chaos as more orcs charged from the shadows, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.

Among the orc raiders, the second-in-command, a hulking brute named Gurzog, watched in fury as the first of their party fell to Legolas's arrow. The orc's eyes, small and beady, burned with anger as he saw another of his kin drop, an arrow piercing his throat with deadly precision. Then a third orc crumpled, Legolas's arrow embedded deep in his chest.

Gurzog's growl of anger rumbled through the ranks as he watched Legolas in action. The elf moved with a fluid grace, his hands a blur as he nocked and released arrow after arrow. Each shot was a masterpiece of precision, striking its target with unerring accuracy.

The first arrow had barely found its mark before the second was on its way, whistling through the air to embed itself in the eye of an orc about to raise his sword. The third arrow followed almost instantaneously, taking another orc in the throat, the force of the impact lifting the creature off its feet before it fell lifeless to the ground.

Gurzog's rage grew as he saw four more of his warriors fall, each taken down with a single arrow. Legolas's movements were swift and sure, his bowstring singing a deadly song as he continued his assault. The fifth orc had barely let out a grunt of surprise before Legolas's arrow silenced him, the sixth collapsing with a look of shock frozen on his face.

The seventh and eighth orcs went down in quick succession, arrows striking their hearts with such speed that they fell almost simultaneously. The ninth arrow, released in a fluid motion, found its target in the skull of an orc who had just raised his axe, the force of the impact driving the creature backward.

Gurzog's eyes widened in disbelief as nine of his warriors lay dead within the blink of an eye. Legolas stood amidst the chaos, his expression calm and focused, his bow a blur of motion. The orc lieutenant roared in frustration, his voice a guttural snarl that echoed through the forest.

But the company was ready. Aragorn, sword in hand, met the charging orcs with a fierce cry, his blade flashing in the dim light as he struck down one enemy after another. Elladan and Elrohir moved in unison, their twin blades cutting through the orcs with deadly precision. Celdor's short sword and dagger whirled through the air, each strike a testament to his experience and skill.

Elenion, despite his fatigue, fought valiantly. His sword met the orc blades with a ringing clash, his movements determined and resolute. He stood his ground, defending his companions with a fierce resolve that belied his earlier weariness.

Gurzog, eyes, small and beady, burned with recognition. His group had traveled from Gundabad decades ago and had moved close to the outskirts of Mordor after Sauron began gathering his forces. But they had lived long enough around Gundabad to recognize the prince of Mirkwood.

"It's the archer of death!" Gurzog yelled in the Black Speech. "Durbat-lûg!" He pointed towards Legolas, his voice filled with hatred. "Do not let him live, the son of the Elvenking! Pushdug!"

Legolas's keen hearing picked up the orc's cry, and he understood the urgency in their attack. The orcs knew who he was, and they feared him. He moved with deadly precision, his bow a blur as he released arrow after arrow.

Gurzog's eyes widened in disbelief as his warriors lay dead within the blink of an eye. The orc lieutenant roared in frustration, his voice a guttural snarl that echoed through the forest. "Durbat-lûg! Pushdug!" ("Archer of death! Filth!") Gurzog bellowed, rallying his remaining forces.

Aragorn, went on, met the charging orcs with a fierce cry, his blade flashing in the dim light as he struck down one enemy after another. Elladan and Elrohir moved in unison, their twin blades cutting through the orcs with deadly precision. Celdor's short sword and dagger whirled through the air, each strike a testament to his experience and skill.

Elenion had seen Legolas fight before in previous battles, but today's attack was larger in number. Elenion watched in awe, understanding now why Legolas was known as the best archer in Middle-earth. The scene before him was so vivid, so breathtakingly real, that no book or story could ever capture its essence.

The battle was fierce but brief. The orcs, realizing they had underestimated their prey, began to retreat, melting back into the shadows from whence they came. As the last of their enemies disappeared into the forest, the company regrouped, catching their breath and assessing their injuries.

"We must move quickly," Aragorn said, his voice steady. "There may be more of them nearby."

Legolas nodded, his eyes still scanning the trees for any sign of movement. "The darkness is growing stronger. We must be vigilant."

Elenion sheathed his sword, his calm demeanor returning. Legolas watched him closely, his curiosity about the enigmatic elf deepening. There were still many questions, but now was not the time for answers.

As they resumed their journey, the forest seemed to watch them with a wary gaze, its secrets hidden in the shadows. The company pressed on, their resolve strengthened by the battle, ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.

The company pressed onward, their senses heightened by the recent skirmish. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, now seemed to close in around them, each shadow a potential threat. The weight of the darkness was palpable, pressing down on them with an almost physical force.

Legolas took up his position at the rear, his eyes and ears attuned to the slightest movement. His mind was still preoccupied with the mystery of Elenion's resilience and his coarse language. The young elf had fought bravely, but there was something about him that didn't quite fit.

As they moved through the dense undergrowth, Aragorn called for a brief halt. "We need to reassess our path," he said, unfurling a map and motioning for Elenion to join him. "Elenion, can you update our route based on what we've encountered?"

Elenion nodded, grateful for the opportunity to focus on something other than the gnawing fatigue in his limbs. He knelt beside Aragorn and began to sketch, his hands moving with practiced ease. The act of drawing brought a sense of calm, allowing him to momentarily forget the weariness and danger.

While Elenion worked, Legolas approached Aragorn, his voice low. "There is something unusual about him," he said, nodding towards Elenion. "His resilience in the face of darkness, his language... it is not what one would expect from an elf of Rivendell or Lothlórien."

Aragorn glanced at Elenion, then back at Legolas. "I have noticed it too. But whatever his secrets, he is part of our company now. We must trust that he will reveal them in time."

Elladan and Elrohir, overhearing the conversation, joined them. "Elenion has always been different," Elladan said. "There are parts of his past that even we do not fully understand."

Elrohir added, "But he has proven his loyalty and courage. For now, that must be enough."

Legolas nodded, though his curiosity remained unsatisfied. "Very well."

As Elenion finished updating the map, he handed it back to Aragorn, who studied it closely. "We will follow this path," Aragorn decided, tracing a route with his finger. "It should lead us to a safer area where we can rest and plan our next move."

The company resumed their journey, moving with a cautious yet determined pace. The forest was a labyrinth of ancient trees and tangled underbrush, each step a careful negotiation with the wild terrain. The light was fading, casting long shadows that danced eerily around them.

As night fell, they found a small clearing, a natural alcove protected by towering oaks. Aragorn deemed it a suitable place to camp, and the company set about preparing for the night. A small fire was lit, its flickering flames providing a welcome warmth against the encroaching cold.

Celdor took first watch, his eyes scanning the perimeter with a practiced vigilance. The others settled down, their weariness evident. Elenion, though exhausted, felt a strange sense of peace as he lay down. Despite the day's trials, he was among comrades, bound by a common purpose.

Legolas moved to his own resting place, but his thoughts lingered on Elenion. The young elf's resilience in the face of darkness was a puzzle, one that Legolas was determined to solve. For now, though, he allowed himself to relax, the warmth of the fire and the presence of his companions a comforting reminder of their unity.

The night was quiet, the only sounds the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional call of a night bird. The darkness, though ever-present, seemed less oppressive in the safety of their camp. Each member of the company found a measure of peace, their bonds strengthened by the day's challenges.

As dawn approached, the first light of morning filtering through the trees, the company stirred. They packed their belongings, ready to face the new day. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with dangers unseen, but they moved with a sense of purpose and determination.

Aragorn took the lead once more, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Stay close," he instructed. "We have a long way to go, but together, we will prevail."

With renewed resolve, the company set off, the forest stretching out before them like an endless tapestry of shadows and light. They were a company bound by duty and friendship, ready to face whatever the darkness might bring.

And as they walked, Elenion felt a growing sense of belonging. His past, with all its secrets and mysteries, was part of him, but so too was this journey. Among these heroes, he was finding his place, step by step, in the heart of Middle-earth.

((Upcoming Chapter Six)

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