It was quiet in the forest. So quiet that only an elf would have heard the faint rustle as a cloak slid over the fallen leaves. But here was an elf, and he heard the sound and was drawn by it, hands tightening, tensed to draw an arrow to the bow he held so loosely in his hand, now that the forest was threatened by the evil that had permeated so many other realms in recent times.

He moved silently through the trees towards the place where he had last heard the sound, ready to defend his aging father's kingdom with his life, if it should come to it. His foot, clad in soft leather, barely seemed to touch the carpet of bracken as he sped, silent and deadly as a shadow.

He slowed as he drew near a clearing, aware that although he was camouflaged by the light that dappled his green and grey tunic, that would not be enough to disguise himself if he came out of the cover of the trees. He halted as silently as he moved, concealing himself behind a tree on the edge of the glade. There was a tall figure approaching but he could not see it clearly as it moved in and out of shadow and light. He judged the height as well as he could and concluded that whoever it was, he bested them in height by nearly a hand's length. Light glinted off metal and he was notified to the presence of two blades, one seemingly longer than the other.

The figure finally stepped into the full sunlight of the clearing and he saw it was dressed in black, a hood covering it's face. The cloak was held at the neck with a silver clasp in a circle. The head was slightly bent, one thin fingered hand rested on the hilt of the sword, and the dagger hung nest to it on a belt under the cloak, which was lifted by the hand to display a dark green robe underneath. The figure knelt to drink from the tiny rivulet; it's back turned from the elf.

He stepped out from the cover, an arrow to his bow and said in common "Rise stranger, your life ends if you draw your sword."

The figure rose slowly, turned and a soft voice spoke "Lord, I do not know your name, but if like me you are an enemy of the dark lord then I can but hope you will allow me fair conduct until I may pass my message to The King of the Greenleaf."

The woman raised her hands to her hood, as though to reveal her face but then lowered them again. Her voice quavered and her head was bent once more, "Please, if you are a friend lead me to your King."

"I know him who you seek; he is my father, I am his only son, Legolas. I will be pleased to lead you to him but I am sure you understand that I will not lay aside my bow, or remove the arrow from it's string."

She nodded, and they proceeded, Legolas walking behind her, wondering how a woman came to be bearing a message, and travelling alone in these dangerous times. She did not walk smoothly but seemed to stumble slightly and Legolas reasoned that this was probably why he had been able to hear her. Her breathing was uneven but apart from her head she held herself erect. At length she gasped

"Have we far to go?"

"It is only a little further" he told her, wondering at the exhaustion that was plain in her voice," would you like me to stop for a short while?"

"No," it was almost a gasp, but she seemed to rally "I must speak with the King."

"He will still be in his palace, even if we do not reach it until evening."

"No!"

As they drew within sight of the castle and were able to see the platforms in the trees reached by thin, curling stairways and a network of bridges the woman seemed to be struggling for every step. Legolas had twice more offered to call a halt, had asked her to relinquish any weighty pack that she carried but she had refused, and he had had no choice but to follow her, though he had by now shouldered his bow. He took her arm, supposedly to help her find her way to the King, but really to support her as climbed the steps. She grasped it and he was astonished at how weak her grip was, and how heavily she also leaned on the balustrade.

When they reached the Great hall, high in the canopy, Legolas barely had to wave the guards to open the doors, so exhausted was the figure he supported. When they were inside, Legolas saw his father sitting in his throne and called his name urgently but almost before he had time to salute him, the lady had thrown off his arm and run the few steps to his throne, and holding out her hand had hurled a ball of light upwards, seemingly with her last remaining strength.

The light blossomed into a plane, which changed to a scene in a castle room, with a mountainous view out of the domed window. An old man stood there, and behind him guards could be seen, barricading the door with furniture and their own bodies as muffled sounds of battle sounded from outside. He spoke urgently;

"My brother Elf, I send this, my daughter, to you with this message. I will soon die- my warriors give my lives for this letter at this very moment. The armies of the dark lord have destroyed Elshadeth, have ripped crops from the land, torn up houses and watered the earth with the blood of our people. They move for Mirkwood, and they have a new weapon; fire that springs from water and powder, destroying all in it's path. They have broken our walls, those that were thought indestructible even from an army ten thousand trolls. Safeguard my daughter. She is the last of our land and carries our bloodline within her blood and my ancestors' sword, that which clove the helms of giants and slew balrog. Do this and my death and my peoples' deaths will not have been in vain."

The king stood, struck dumb by this news, but as the light faded Legolas ran to the fallen lady, who knelt. Tears were pouring down her face, and such a face. Her hair was dark, like polished cedar wood and it framed a face as white the snow on the mountains of the North. Her eyes stared at his face, unseeing, like two of the unfathomable blue ice lakes which lay in the west. The clasp of her cloak was loosed and it fell off her, as she fainted, revealing the deep wound which had stained her robe a deep scarlet.