A/N: After having watched the third Hobbit movie, I have returned. This chapter was written a long time ago, but at the time my life took a turn for the hectic, and I simply didn't have time to write. Recent hype about the last Hobbit movie as well as the movie itself has heightened my desire to explore Legolas's character more (he is certainly not how he is portrayed in the Hobbit movies... *facepalm).

As usual, we have dear Gwedhiel to thank for sticking with me and being my beta. And what would I ever do without all the lovely souls who reviewed and silently waited so long for this? I can only hope with fingers crossed that you are still with me. And I sure hope you'll enjoy all the more book-verse Legolas who shall appear below!

~*~*~Chapter 2~*~*~

The autumn night air was crisp. Wisps of fog encircled the Misty Mountains and blurred the tree line of the Trollshaws. Not a bird sang, for all birds slept; and not a wolf howled, for all wolves hid. All seemed quiet and peaceful upon the High Pass, though the Moon hid his face, and the clouds shed their tears, bathing the land with their melancholy.

It was nearing midnight when the faint tapping of hooves from the east interrupted the monotonous splashes of the rain and the rustling of leaves in the Trollshaws. Three Elves, longbows upon their backs, rode upon the High Pass [1] on elegant white horses, deterred by neither gloomy weather nor inconvenient darkness. Two of the Elves galloped by each other's sides, statures alike, and youthfulness even more so: under the hoods of their cloaks, their courageous faces showed hardly complaints of fatigue, and their eyes glinted and were full of curiosity as they surveyed all that could be distinguished from the darkness. Another Elf led them, his brows furrowed, his gaze never straying from the foreground. He wore not his hood, and his golden hair swayed in the hostile winds. Raindrops batted against his pale, handsome face, yet he paid no heed and stayed not the pace of his proud, unsaddled steed.

[2] "Belegorn, my friend, do you not find Legolas exceptionally eager today?" said one of the followers in the Woodland tongue, his amused voice ringing like music against the dull sounds of rain and hooves, "I am sure we have long passed the troupe of Dwarves by now. Surely these poor people could not ride, and if they could, they would only ride lethargic ponies that could hardly sustain their weight a mile without rest."

"That is just what I think, Iaudîr," laughed Belegorn who galloped at his side, "But I am sure Legolas hopes for a glorious win. That Dwarven leader was very rude indeed; the words he spoke against the King were so vile that even I was infuriated, and you know I hate to be angered. I would not be satisfied until I declare to all of Lord Elrond's house that we have beaten the Dwarves' arrival by days, and I believe that is also what Legolas thinks."

Locked though Legolas's gaze remained to the front, the Elf-prince could not help but smirk. The happiness, however, was thin and brief. "I do not doubt our triumph, though it will hardly impress our generous Imladris kin if we flaunt it," he spoke gravely in a tongue that blended Sindarin elegance and Nandorin freedom, "And I implore you, my friends, to be a little more cautious and observant. I do not ride in this foul weather to trump the Dwarves in speed; I ride because it is hardly safe to stop and rest."

Belegorn and Iaudîr exchanged surprised glances and looked carefully about. They could not make out much more than silhouettes of rocks clouded by fog.

"Questionable footprints have been beneath us a while now," Legolas addressed their unspoken bewilderment simply, without turning back.

Belegorn and Iaudîr looked down. They gasped. Under the tidy tracks of their horses scattered deep impressions of goblin feet, which overlay the remnants of shallower traveller footprints from earlier in the day. The goblin prints clustered chaotically and hideously, and seemed to mock the two Elves for missing them.

"In the name of Elbereth!" Iaudîr breathed, apprehension clouding his young, cheerful countenance, "I cannot believe I did not see this. Here must have been dozens of Orcs at least!"

"And not so long ago," whispered Belegorn, a frown upon his lips, "These prints came after rainfall. String your bow, Iaudîr; they may well be watching us from the crevices of these dark rocks."

"Or they may have more important prey to pursue. Orcs are foul, impatient creatures, and would surely have attacked us by now were it not for a reason such as that. I am almost certain they are near," declared Legolas, drawing his ready weapon.

Iaudîr cursed under his breath as he pulled forward his bow and awkwardly strung it, secretly wishing he, like his friends, had done it earlier. "If we were in the Woodland Realm, I would find and kill them all."

"And you were the most excited out of the three of us to be out of the Woodland Realm at last, Iaudîr," chuckled Belegorn quietly, for Belegorn loved to jest even more than the oft-merry Elf-prince Legolas, and would never pass up a chance to tease.

Iaudîr was about to fire back when Legolas interrupted pensively, "Hold your jests, my friends. I see now the prints of boots from a single distressed refugee, but, strangely enough, the Orc prints do not follow. Judging from the distances between the prints, the Orcs have been pursuing the victim quite closely, and it would have be unlikely for them to lose track. I believe they may stopped because they have set another trap ahead."

"Charming," Belegorn smirked, "And since you are leading us to follow the boot prints, I must deduce that you wish to see this trap for your gallant self. Well, I am always the last one to object to being headstrong and heroic."

"I wish only that we would get off these rocks before we encounter this trap," groaned Iaudîr, "It would be much easier to pierce Orc throats with my arrows if I had a broader field of view."

"Oh, Iaudîr, who was it that, less than an hour ago, admired the High Pass ardently and even sang a song about the rocks? A very good song, too, I might add. It impressed me that you managed to describe their shapes with more than two dozen distinct phrases. That was beyond acceptable for a whimsical composition."

"Belegorn, when I effused my love for the diverse shapes of the rocks, it did not cross my mind that I may have to shoot while all such shapes are obstructing my aim."

Legolas, despite his best efforts to remain serious and on guard, could not help but laugh. "Belegorn, as much as you flatter me with your assumption of my bravery, I must clarify that I do not follow these prints because I wish to. There is only one path in this dreary High Pass, as you see. And Iaudîr, though I think you will shoot just fine here, it seems that your wish will be granted after all."

The three Elves came now to a sharp slope that marked the end of the High Pass. The tree line of the Trollshaws, which had seemed faint atop the slope, grew larger and clearer as the Elves descended. They could make out in the west the shapes of trees much too familiar to them, birches and elms and oaks whose leaves had been painted all colourful by the season and shed ruthlessly by the howling winds. The hooves of their steeds were soon treading on crackling leaves and soft soils instead of barren, stony land. Imladris was to the left, not far in the south; but none of the Elves spoke of making the turn. Legolas pursued the boot prints. Belegorn and Iaudîr followed Legolas. All had their weapons drawn, and any merriment in their faces faded as the trees, endearing though they seemed to any Woodland resident, zoomed slowly in their view.

The downpour faded into a drizzle as the Elves slowed their horses before the forest and examined the footprints again.

"The refugee fled into the forest," whispered Iaudîr, hesitation in his voice, "Much as I would love to slay some Orcs, I do not know if it is wise to follow the prints any longer. This forest is much different from our home; we do not know it well enough to detect hidden danger."

Legolas heard him not. The Elf-prince's gaze was fixed deep into the forest, and the more he stared, the graver his countenance became. Soon he jumped off his steed and nocked an arrow, and tiptoed alongside the boot prints toward the narrow passage that led into the Trollshaws.

Belegorn jumped too from his horse. "Come, now, Iaudîr. You know as well as I do of Legolas's superior sight [3]. Perhaps he saw that the refugee can yet be saved."

Iaudîr sighed and conceded, and began to follow his comrades. But the moment his foot touched the ground, there suddenly came shrill howls from the forest!

Battle cries. Cackles. Axe cheeks rubbing against each other. Birds fled from the evil sounds, and the trees ruffled what was left of their leaves in trepidation.

Legolas halted abruptly, and he stared intently ahead and blanched. "By Elbereth, there are far more Orcs than I surmised, and they have surrounded the victim and blocked my view!" he hissed spitefully, "Dozens of goblins against a single victim! Vile creatures indeed!"

Belegorn and Iaudîr exchanged grim glances, and the former asked with the solemnity of a warrior, "And do we strike, my lord?"

Legolas hesitated. His brows furrowed deeper with every moment passed, and when another wave of sinister laughter chilled the air, his bow hand twitched as if stabbed by its coldness.

"There are too many; we will not be able to infiltrate unnoticed. Our current mission is to bear important news to Imladris; there are only three of us, and we cannot afford casualties. We will not strike. Besides, I do believe we are already too late."

The Elf-prince abruptly turned and shut his eyes. He had lowered his bow, but his followers could see his fingers trembling from the cruel decision he made.

"Let us move! We must not allow the goblins to be upon us!"

But Belegorn and Iaudîr seemed not to hear him. Their gazes were fixed instead upon the forest, and their jaws were dropped from shock. Legolas scowled at them in bewilderment and was about to reiterate his order, when he felt behind him the blow of a wind much too sharp even for the harsh draught of the dreary night.

Was it a new danger? He spun his heels hastily and raised his bow, but his lips parted in incredulity when he saw.

It was the unfortunate refugee whom he had concluded doomed, approaching, nay, flying through the air straight toward him!

How was this even possible?

Legolas's mind was momentarily emptied by incredulity as he watched the figure speedily approach, until it was at the forest's edge and began to drop. His alert returned to him, and he hastily jumped back. The flying body landed with a thud and slid a few feet on the wet ground.

The refugee lay face-down and did not move, one arm reaching forward as if calling for aid, the other tucked underneath the body. The Elves identified her figure as that of a human maiden. Her flaming hair was stained by dirt, and her battle garbs were marred and slashed, revealing ghastly axe wounds underneath. But, most strangely of all, there was a dark crimson light that surrounded her and seemed to grip at her like chains.

For a few moments the Elves stood and stared, shocked still by the unnatural levitation they had witnessed. But when the refugee's fingers began to grip at the soil, when her knees began to tremble in a feeble attempt to stand, Legolas recollected himself first and rushed forward.

He knelt and turned her limping body, supporting her shoulders with his arm. Her face was covered by soil and blood - Orc-blood and her own - and her features were indistinguishable from such overlying filth.

A weak, fading glint at her chest caught Legolas's eye. He lowered his gaze, and saw the source of the dark, crimson light clutched tightly within her left hand. It was a red stone from a pendant she was wearing.

The refugee lay quietly in Legolas's arms, seeming to have relinquished all attempts to move; yet her left hand was firmly gripped and trembled dramatically still, as if fighting against the dark light that gnawed still at her palm. Legolas suspected the jewel was hurting her, and tried with a free hand to pry her fingers open. But the moment his hand touched hers, she suddenly jerked upright and her eyes were wide open.

"No... no!" her voice was shrill and scratchy, and there was terror and rage in her large eyes as she clasped the jewel tightly with both hands.

Legolas was startled and almost jumped away. But the unfortunate maiden's moment of violence was brief, and she fell back with a weak whimper. More blood gushed from her numerous wounds and stained her garments. Legolas's heart ached at the sight of so much suffering, and he steadied her in his arms and minded her hostility no more.

"Fear not, young maiden," he looked upon her with pity and whispered softly, "We will not touch your possessions and we do not mean to harm you. What is your name? What atrocity has thrown you here?"

The terror in her eyes was gone now, and she blinked repeatedly at him in what seemed to be curiosity and confusion. But her strength deserted her with each moment that passed, and her mumbles before falling into unconsciousness would have been lost in the night, had not the rain ceased then.

"Rivendell. Rivendell."

[1]: According to The Hobbit, the High Pass is not crossable by horses. I made an alteration here and allowed horses to pass through.

[2]: When any language other than Westron is spoken, it will be italicized.

[3]: While it is a fact that all Elves can see rather far, I'm inclined to think that, like humans before the invention of glasses, some can see better than others. I do not recall any Elf's sight particularly emphasized in Tolkien's works except for Legolas's. So, I took a bit of liberties and made him see slightly better than an average Elf.