Chapter 3 - A Futile Fight
Something didn’t feel right.
Legolas slowly scanned the area surrounding him as he rode through the trees toward Ithilien. The elf practically melted into his surroundings, his dark green tunic with silver etching almost hid him amongst the trees. If it weren’t for the sun shining off of his golden head, one probably wouldn’t be able to see him at all.
His horse also sensed something amiss. Legolas could feel it tense beneath him and noted that its ears twitched more rapidly the further they traveled from Minas Tirith. Beleg wasn’t a skittish horse. Legolas had received him as a gift from his father. He came to Ithilien with Angrod and he was a strong, reliable animal. He was very similar in color to Arod but with dark gray spattering over his neck and legs.
The adjustment that came with switching horses had actually been quite easy for Legolas, and he felt that Arod had earned the rest after the War of the Ring. While he did still ride with Arod occasionally, it was done only for relaxation where Beleg was now used for official matters.
It didn’t take long for Legolas and Beleg to earn each others trust and respect and Legolas found that he enjoyed his riding time with Beleg as much as Arod.
“I feel it as well my friend.” Legolas spoke softly to the horse.
It had been unusually warm for a Spring day when the two had departed Minas Tirith. There was a slight breeze that had picked up as the day wore on and because the weather had been so enjoyable, neither elf nor horse felt the need to rush their journey. Beleg had even begun to tease with Legolas by ignoring the prince’s commands and dancing sideways and turning in circles. It was his way of playing with the golden elf and Legolas, for his part, would act upset with his steed.
Moments earlier, the clear ringing of the elves laughter mixed with the joyous whinny of the beautiful horse filled the treetops. Now the silence was deafening and the two were on their highest guard. As the sun was sinking closer to the horizon and there was an uneasy sense flooding him, Legolas urged the horse to increase its pace.
The trees as well had changed their song, they were distinctly warning the Prince of something, their cautionary advice growing louder with each step the horse took.
Legolas hadn’t sensed any threats in years, there had been the occasional wandering pack of orcs or wargs that had crossed his path soon after the fall of Sauron. But most had been destroyed long ago and he had not seen any of the horrible creatures in quite a time.
The trees surrounding them weren’t extremely thick but they did present obstacles for his vision and he continuously turned his head back and forth seeking out the threat. Searching intently through the foliage, Legolas slowly raised his right hand over his shoulder to reach for his bow.
The trees opened up slightly to present a small clearing that Legolas knew well. Beleg shied and neighed softly at the entrance to the clearing and Legolas gently patted his neck to ease him. The golden elf debated with himself as the horse stepped gingerly out of the trees, the forest so quiet that the sound of Beleg’s hoofs, stepping on the natural items that littered the forest floor, seemed to echo around him.
The warning that he heard and felt was not one familiar to him and Legolas searched his memory quickly for anything he may have learned or heard that would explain the anxiety that he and Beleg felt. He had faced many a foe, but this was nothing like what he had felt with them.
The whistle of the arrow as it flew through the air verified his fears. He swiftly turned his head in the direction of the approaching projectile just in time to see it slam into the side of Beleg’s neck.
Beleg screamed in protest and he reared up on his hind legs. Legolas increased his grip on the horse’s mane and leaned forward in an attempt to stay on the injured animal, but as the animal’s forelegs reconnected heavily with the ground he stumbled and fell coming down hard on his right side.
Legolas pushed himself away from the horse, as it fell, to avoid becoming pinned beneath the large animal. As he landed he swiftly rolled sideways and up onto his feet his bow now clutched firmly in his hand.
The first thing he noticed as he righted himself was his beloved horse lying still on the hard earth with an arrow protruding from the side of his neck. All sense fled him and Legolas hurried to his friend’s side, “Beleg?” he whispered as he fell to his knees and scanned the horse’s injuries.
Blood flowed freely from the arrow wound and stained Beleg’s coat a deep crimson. Legolas slowly rubbed his hand over Beleg’s neck searching for any sign of life. The arrow had been expertly fired and had hit the animal’s neck precisely. Beleg’s breathing was loud and erratic and as Legolas’ eyes came to fall on Beleg’s clouded orbs, he realized that his friend would probably not survive the injury.
Dropping his chin to his chest, his eyes filling with tears, Legolas whispered a silent prayer for his loyal friend. He knelt there on the ground next to Beleg for a moment when a cold chill ran up his spine reminding the sorrowful elf of his current predicament. He snapped back to his senses and knew that the one who had fired the fateful shot stood just behind him.
In one swift movement, and faster than his foes eyes could follow, Legolas spun around, rose to his feet, nocked an arrow, pointing it directly at the murderers neck.
The man was dressed almost entirely in black, loose clothing. His head and face were wrapped, revealing only cold, dark eyes. As his eyes came to meet the eyes of his attacker, anger surged through Legolas.
“You attack one unaware and whilst hidden,” Legolas hissed, “you either are a coward or have a wish for death.”
“You may kill me elf,” retorted the strange man, ”but you will not leave here a free being.”
Legolas pulled the string of his bow a little further back and narrowed his eyes, “Shall we test your theory, human?”
The bushes surrounding him began to rustle and Legolas could see out of the corner of his eye more men, similarly dressed, stepping out into the open.
“Lets.” Sneered the man standing at the tip of his arrow.
Legolas let fly his arrow, the force of the impact throwing the man backwards, blood spraying over the elf’s tunic. Spinning around to face the oncoming attack he found himself surrounded by a half-dozen men, several with arrows nocked and pointed directly at him.
One of the men stepped slightly forward and shouted to Legolas, “Drop your weapon, elf. We would prefer to take you unharmed.”
Legolas turned his focus to this man and with a deadly glare responded, “I would prefer to not be taken at all, human.”
“That cannot be avoided, you might as well save us all the trouble and come willingly.”
Legolas’ eyes roved over the men surrounding him again, sizing up his attackers, “Oh, but I believe that it can be avoided.” His voice had turned hard as he prepared himself for the oncoming battle.
Before he could finish his statement, one of the men standing behind Legolas let go his arrow. The elf knew it was coming and easily spun out of the way and returned his own arrow, striking the man in the chest.
Legolas could hear the other men firing their arrows and he spun, twisted and parried quicker than his attackers could follow. The rain of arrows came quick and great and Legolas stumbled as pain seared through his left thigh where one lucky arrow had connected with its target.
He dropped to one knee and let another arrow fly, hitting one man in the stomach. The scream that elicited from the man, as he fell, rang in Legolas’ ears causing the elf to flinch slightly
Legolas rose to his feet again, the pain of his injury radiating through his leg and causing a flash of white to blind his vision temporarily. He could feel the warmth of his blood as it spread across his leggings and dripped down his leg.
He was reaching for another arrow when he realized that his attackers had unexpectedly stopped their onslaught. Spinning in quick concise circles, his eyes stopping on each of the men, Legolas noted a familiarity about these men. He had met their kind before. But what are they doing in Ithilien?
He took aim at each man individually, daring any of them to attack again. Praying that his leg would continue to hold him, but feeling it weaken under his weight.
A subtle prick on his upper right shoulder blade, followed by a warm, tingling sensation propelled fear through the elf. Numbness began to spread from the source of his discomfort, flowing down to his fingers and up over his shoulder into his neck, causing Legolas to lose his grip on his bow.
Legolas knew that he had been hit with a dart and that the battle was now lost.
The trees and men around him began to spin and tilt and Legolas struggled to maintain his focus on the world around him. Nausea welled up within him at the motion caused by the drug of the fateful dart.
The strength in his legs gave out and he fell to his knees once again, the pain to the arrow wound from the impact temporarily forcing his mind to take focus once more, however fleetingly. His head was beginning to feel extremely heavy and it was getting difficult for the golden elf to hold it erect, the blonde head bobbed and swayed in opposition with his body.
Falling forward his head connected sharply with the ground. The fall forcing the arrow through his leg, but Legolas was too numb to feel the pain any longer.
As he finally came to rest, blood pooling around his leg and head, he found himself staring directly into the empty eyes of his fallen friend. “Beleg.” He softly whispered, then his eyes rolled back into his head and Legolas’ world went black.