Merry Christmas all!! It was my holiday resolution to put this up by
Christmas day and I did it! YAY! I have decided to give myself dead lines
for these fics otherwise one just keeps on postponing and postponing and
postponing.
Anyway the next update is foreseen for the 5 of Jan I know It's a long time
but I'm going away for a week so can't work much from the beach where I am
off too. Yes THE BEACH HAHAHAH. Freeze in hell all you northeners!!!
By the way let me know if ya want this updated because I'm not going to
bother putting the next part up otherwise. Oh yes It's written.
Oh yes It's a movie flick for FOTR (have read the books but can't check
details as a friend has them now)
MelodySongSinger sorry (sorry sorry sorry) I didn't write back to ya after you offered to be my BETA reader, if you are still interested please let me know.
If she is mad with me and has boycotted my story. Is someone else willing to Beta for me? (No MelodySongSinger I'm not trying to replace you)
Oh yes don't own LOTR and I humbly swear not to hurt the characters I have borrowed. (Too much.)
SCARLET REFLECTION
The darkness enveloping any soul who dared enter the Mines of Moria seemed dead in its stillness, and yet, there was movement. Fleeting arrows flying through in search of a target repetitively pierced the damp air leaded in blackness. They flashed past the eyes of nine companions like silver incrinations in a shattering glass whose surface would disintegrate leaving no trace of its existence.
Similar in speed were the arrows released by the elf Legolas. A single strength against the many others thrust his way but, surely, each time embedding their deadly ends into the body of one of his unfortunate victims. His hands gracefully armed his wooden bow countless of times over and repetitively opened his grasp on the wooden weapons unleashing a fearsome, tangible power. His elven vision and hearing were finely tuned on every action and rustle occurring around him making his aim all the more deadly.
It was these senses that protected him; these senses that always served him victory; these senses that he, in battle, cursed with all his might. There wasn't a lament that escaped his ears, nor was there a falling corpse that his eyes didn't register into his long term memory to resurface in his mind when the struggle was over. The voices of his fellowship continued on playing in his head: their footsteps or pleading cries of help to each other. These sounds where what pushed him forth and yet they were the ones that caused him to cringe every time they reached him. He dreaded the vision of seeing one of them fall like he had seen so many others do.
Daggers and swords gleamed around him. It was time to use his own blades. He had, in the past, mastered these too. Millennia of experience were what brought him apart from all the rest. From the dwarf, who attacked his opponents with his deadly axe with seemingly no skill at all apart from the haunting hatred fevered by the sight of so many of his kin laid on the ground slain; Their rotting carcasses littering their paths as they moved forth in their desperate need to escape this haunting place. The two humans who seemed comfortable, if this word could have bee used to describe killings, with their swords. Slicing the very air they were thrust through to slash at their enemies until they collapsed in the dirt in lifeless, nauseating heaps.
It was the four hobbits though that plagued his thoughts as he carried on defending himself. The four halflings that barely knew how to utilize a sword and that remained huddled together as they fought. The four child- like forms that replied to the countless of strikes aimed in their direction with innumerable ones of their own with about a third of the necessary force. They were the ones that he felt the most protective over. The wizard Gandalf obviously as preoccupied as he had been, rarely left their sides at all throughout the confrontation. His presence barely relieved the elf. Even though he knew of his immense power the mere sight of his physical conditions, with his long white beard and a body weakened by old age only seemed to un-nerve him further.
Legolas was ripped away from the ghastly thoughts of death and decay amongst those he had vowed to protect by a tremendous roar echoing throughout the stone room.
The massive form of a cave troll bashed his way through the rotting wood that in the past had probably been a potent door as its size and thickness hinted at. Yet, just one of its blows was enough to reduce it to mere splinters landing amongst corpses of orcs and dwarfs whose appearance had been rendered identical in their stillness. Legolas glanced at the gigantic figure headed his way waving his enormous club dangerously in the air. He barely had time to register the peril he was in before the heavy piece of wood was thrust down at the spot where the elf had stood just a couple of seconds before.
Aragorn thrust his sword at the beast while the four hobbits retreated back against a wall, partly to escape the ord of orcs and partly intimidated by the humongous stature of the monster-like figure. Legolas tried to shoot an arrow at it but the point of it embedded in his shoulder was barely enough to make it flinch away. It continued in it's murderous parade hitting left and right with it's weapon hardly recognizing friends from foe and killing quite a few of it's supposed allies in the procedure.
The free end of the chain that had been tied around its neck was whipped in the elf's direction splintering away pieces of the stone pillar beside him with its Herculean strength. He had just the time to duck down before the piece of metal was thrust down again in what would have, in the troll's intention, been the final stroke. The irritation in the beast at having missed his target was evident as blow after blow followed in the most erratic of way, hitting and hitting as though to cast the anger out through his mere strength. Finally the troll was made to pause for, in one of his most violent attacks, the chain he had been busy swinging perilously around had become entangled in one of the stone pillars on the elf's side. The latter had been quick in his action for, with his foot, he had managed to secure it tightly preventing the knot that held the rope in place from sliding down and thus becoming a weapon once again.
As he fleetingly stepped on the chain using it to bridge his way over to the troll he cursed his elven ideas. Battling with a cave troll was in itself one thing but actually standing on his shoulders WHILE trying to fight it was indeed another more irrational and manic stupidity. Nonetheless he armed his bow and proceeded to shoot an arrow at its head. Another failure, the arrow simply seemed to scratch the thick skull and break off in small little fragments. The elf seeing nothing else he could do in his current position jumped off the back of the creature mentally sighing his fortune in relief.
An orc attacked him from the side and his attention was removed from the menacing beast that had in the meantime managed to free the chain from the pillar and was busy searching for other victims. It didn't have to venture far though: four huddled figures fighting together to the best of their abilities obviously sparked his nasty curiosity. It wasn't until a couple of seconds later that the elf finally realized what had captured the interest of the beast but, at that point, it was all too late. He watched helplessly as the trident that the troll had picked up from the ground was thrust forcefully into the body of the ringbearer.
At that moment it felt as though the whole battle had stopped, ceased momentarily in eternity to let the shock following the strangled, suffused cries that escaped the little body trapped against the wall register into the minds of all around him.
Legolas found himself staring down at the small form gasping desperately for breath, his blue eyes cringing in pain and disbelief as it continued on his mad struggle to survive.
Even for just a couple of moments more.
The elf's vision was as clear as it could ever have been as it studied the hunched form of the hobbit finally sink to the ground in defeat. Yet, even though the form was immobile, dead to the eye, the prince couldn't stop staring, couldn't glance away. The whole room had spiraled to a halt so suddenly as to render him unfocused, numb almost.
Yes, that was the word: Numb.
As he glanced at the unconscious body on the ground he felt nothing. The grief had become too great for him to bear; his own brain had switched off all tremendous feelings in order to not suffer from them. It had happened before. Just once.
That 'just once' was a thought that in itself terrified him because he now knew what was to follow: all the emotions that he wasn't letting himself feel would soon all rush back to him simultaneously. They would soak through his very skin if he wasn't careful, for everyone to see; for everyone to fear.
He couldn't let that happen and yet, he couldn't control himself, couldn't remove his eyes from the little hobbit laid on the ground facedown and still.
So still.
A sharp, horrendous pain in his side finally shattered the silence in his mind. An arrow. He glanced down gasping and clutched at the wood sunk into his torso. His fingers tightened around it quickly and yanked it out cursing his failing elven senses.
He should have seen it!
Should have avoided it!
And yet he hadn't. The weapon had pierced through his skin a hand above his hip and had cut through the flesh that rested there. He could feel the tissue ripping further as he moved his arm, stifling a cry as he touched his fingers to it.
The wound, as agonizing as it was, didn't prevent him from battling; it couldn't prevent him from battling. He armed his bow once again and was quick to repay the inflictor of the gash that now burned his side. His own strike was much more deadly though for the orc was on the ground instantaneously. It seemed as though that was the last one to go for, as he glanced around all he saw was the fellowship looking in Frodos direction. Aragorn, rushing to his side, Gandalf, staring as though lost, and, lastly the three remaining hobbits with looks of utter pained disbelief painted all over their faces. As the heir of Isildur touched the ringbearer though, there was movement in the previously immobile figure. A ragged breath, a gasp of air and a small moan of discomfort.
"He's alive" Samwise Gamgee sighed in relief as he looked down upon his master with outmost adoration.
Legolas kept himself away from the commotion. He turned his back away from the rest of the fellowship and glanced down at his side dreading what he would see once the material of his shirt had been removed. As his hand traveled down and grazed the rim of the tear he had to hide a grimace of pain, it was worse than what he had thought. He parted the folds of his clothing and bit back a gasp as he caught the first sight of the wound. The arrow had obviously pierced in deep and, in his haste to remove it, he must have twisted it for there was another tear in his skin: one that enlarged the hole produced by the weapon itself.
He knew what he had to do.
As the rest of his companions fawned around the little hobbit he hid away behind a crevice, where darkness would for once, against his elf nature, be his friend. He didn't have much time; None at all perhaps if the others decided to leave then. He dug a spare shirt out of his pack and proceeded on slicing it with his dagger in order to result in three long and strong bandages. He hastily tied them around his midriff trying desperately to stop the blood flow. The scarlet liquid was quick to penetrate the first layer of the dressing, and slightly slower for the second but the elf reckoned that the third would be able to conceal it for the time being. Not for long though.
He could feel the injured meat rasp against the material that attempted to sooth its' pain. Cease its movement, cease its pressure, cease its anguish.
It hurt. It cut. It ripped. It BLED.
The very movement of his left arm was enough to send him gasping for air as it pulled on the sliced skin . He felt his very raw flesh pull apart and again friction together has he testingly tried to lift his bow from the ground.
He was an elf true. An immortal being and yet, so close to slipping from life he had been.
He could still be.
"Legolas, come, we must move out." Aragorn voice reached him from the remains of a doorway the fellowship had already gone through. He nodded in recognition swinging his weapon on his back ignoring the deep throb that erupted from his side at his action. Ignoring the deep ache that seemed to spread throughout his abdomen as he started walking towards the ranger. Ignoring his conscience as it bit at him to mention something, anything at all about his condition. The others deserved to know. He could slow them down. Could cost them their lives. Could cost them Middle Earth.
A shot of resolution cursed through his very being at that same moment.
He would NOT let this slow them down.
DUH DUH DUH DUUUUUH. Is Legolas going to spill the beans or not? I actually have two versions written if you are interested let me know which one you would rather have me put up.
I know I know I'm not particularly good at action sequences but the next part is going to be in Legolas' point of view and yes, there is angst. I'm sorry I let any of you people out there down I know it's not my best work but hell!! It demanded to be written. SHOULD I carry on?
LUV YA READERS!!!
MelodySongSinger sorry (sorry sorry sorry) I didn't write back to ya after you offered to be my BETA reader, if you are still interested please let me know.
If she is mad with me and has boycotted my story. Is someone else willing to Beta for me? (No MelodySongSinger I'm not trying to replace you)
Oh yes don't own LOTR and I humbly swear not to hurt the characters I have borrowed. (Too much.)
SCARLET REFLECTION
The darkness enveloping any soul who dared enter the Mines of Moria seemed dead in its stillness, and yet, there was movement. Fleeting arrows flying through in search of a target repetitively pierced the damp air leaded in blackness. They flashed past the eyes of nine companions like silver incrinations in a shattering glass whose surface would disintegrate leaving no trace of its existence.
Similar in speed were the arrows released by the elf Legolas. A single strength against the many others thrust his way but, surely, each time embedding their deadly ends into the body of one of his unfortunate victims. His hands gracefully armed his wooden bow countless of times over and repetitively opened his grasp on the wooden weapons unleashing a fearsome, tangible power. His elven vision and hearing were finely tuned on every action and rustle occurring around him making his aim all the more deadly.
It was these senses that protected him; these senses that always served him victory; these senses that he, in battle, cursed with all his might. There wasn't a lament that escaped his ears, nor was there a falling corpse that his eyes didn't register into his long term memory to resurface in his mind when the struggle was over. The voices of his fellowship continued on playing in his head: their footsteps or pleading cries of help to each other. These sounds where what pushed him forth and yet they were the ones that caused him to cringe every time they reached him. He dreaded the vision of seeing one of them fall like he had seen so many others do.
Daggers and swords gleamed around him. It was time to use his own blades. He had, in the past, mastered these too. Millennia of experience were what brought him apart from all the rest. From the dwarf, who attacked his opponents with his deadly axe with seemingly no skill at all apart from the haunting hatred fevered by the sight of so many of his kin laid on the ground slain; Their rotting carcasses littering their paths as they moved forth in their desperate need to escape this haunting place. The two humans who seemed comfortable, if this word could have bee used to describe killings, with their swords. Slicing the very air they were thrust through to slash at their enemies until they collapsed in the dirt in lifeless, nauseating heaps.
It was the four hobbits though that plagued his thoughts as he carried on defending himself. The four halflings that barely knew how to utilize a sword and that remained huddled together as they fought. The four child- like forms that replied to the countless of strikes aimed in their direction with innumerable ones of their own with about a third of the necessary force. They were the ones that he felt the most protective over. The wizard Gandalf obviously as preoccupied as he had been, rarely left their sides at all throughout the confrontation. His presence barely relieved the elf. Even though he knew of his immense power the mere sight of his physical conditions, with his long white beard and a body weakened by old age only seemed to un-nerve him further.
Legolas was ripped away from the ghastly thoughts of death and decay amongst those he had vowed to protect by a tremendous roar echoing throughout the stone room.
The massive form of a cave troll bashed his way through the rotting wood that in the past had probably been a potent door as its size and thickness hinted at. Yet, just one of its blows was enough to reduce it to mere splinters landing amongst corpses of orcs and dwarfs whose appearance had been rendered identical in their stillness. Legolas glanced at the gigantic figure headed his way waving his enormous club dangerously in the air. He barely had time to register the peril he was in before the heavy piece of wood was thrust down at the spot where the elf had stood just a couple of seconds before.
Aragorn thrust his sword at the beast while the four hobbits retreated back against a wall, partly to escape the ord of orcs and partly intimidated by the humongous stature of the monster-like figure. Legolas tried to shoot an arrow at it but the point of it embedded in his shoulder was barely enough to make it flinch away. It continued in it's murderous parade hitting left and right with it's weapon hardly recognizing friends from foe and killing quite a few of it's supposed allies in the procedure.
The free end of the chain that had been tied around its neck was whipped in the elf's direction splintering away pieces of the stone pillar beside him with its Herculean strength. He had just the time to duck down before the piece of metal was thrust down again in what would have, in the troll's intention, been the final stroke. The irritation in the beast at having missed his target was evident as blow after blow followed in the most erratic of way, hitting and hitting as though to cast the anger out through his mere strength. Finally the troll was made to pause for, in one of his most violent attacks, the chain he had been busy swinging perilously around had become entangled in one of the stone pillars on the elf's side. The latter had been quick in his action for, with his foot, he had managed to secure it tightly preventing the knot that held the rope in place from sliding down and thus becoming a weapon once again.
As he fleetingly stepped on the chain using it to bridge his way over to the troll he cursed his elven ideas. Battling with a cave troll was in itself one thing but actually standing on his shoulders WHILE trying to fight it was indeed another more irrational and manic stupidity. Nonetheless he armed his bow and proceeded to shoot an arrow at its head. Another failure, the arrow simply seemed to scratch the thick skull and break off in small little fragments. The elf seeing nothing else he could do in his current position jumped off the back of the creature mentally sighing his fortune in relief.
An orc attacked him from the side and his attention was removed from the menacing beast that had in the meantime managed to free the chain from the pillar and was busy searching for other victims. It didn't have to venture far though: four huddled figures fighting together to the best of their abilities obviously sparked his nasty curiosity. It wasn't until a couple of seconds later that the elf finally realized what had captured the interest of the beast but, at that point, it was all too late. He watched helplessly as the trident that the troll had picked up from the ground was thrust forcefully into the body of the ringbearer.
At that moment it felt as though the whole battle had stopped, ceased momentarily in eternity to let the shock following the strangled, suffused cries that escaped the little body trapped against the wall register into the minds of all around him.
Legolas found himself staring down at the small form gasping desperately for breath, his blue eyes cringing in pain and disbelief as it continued on his mad struggle to survive.
Even for just a couple of moments more.
The elf's vision was as clear as it could ever have been as it studied the hunched form of the hobbit finally sink to the ground in defeat. Yet, even though the form was immobile, dead to the eye, the prince couldn't stop staring, couldn't glance away. The whole room had spiraled to a halt so suddenly as to render him unfocused, numb almost.
Yes, that was the word: Numb.
As he glanced at the unconscious body on the ground he felt nothing. The grief had become too great for him to bear; his own brain had switched off all tremendous feelings in order to not suffer from them. It had happened before. Just once.
That 'just once' was a thought that in itself terrified him because he now knew what was to follow: all the emotions that he wasn't letting himself feel would soon all rush back to him simultaneously. They would soak through his very skin if he wasn't careful, for everyone to see; for everyone to fear.
He couldn't let that happen and yet, he couldn't control himself, couldn't remove his eyes from the little hobbit laid on the ground facedown and still.
So still.
A sharp, horrendous pain in his side finally shattered the silence in his mind. An arrow. He glanced down gasping and clutched at the wood sunk into his torso. His fingers tightened around it quickly and yanked it out cursing his failing elven senses.
He should have seen it!
Should have avoided it!
And yet he hadn't. The weapon had pierced through his skin a hand above his hip and had cut through the flesh that rested there. He could feel the tissue ripping further as he moved his arm, stifling a cry as he touched his fingers to it.
The wound, as agonizing as it was, didn't prevent him from battling; it couldn't prevent him from battling. He armed his bow once again and was quick to repay the inflictor of the gash that now burned his side. His own strike was much more deadly though for the orc was on the ground instantaneously. It seemed as though that was the last one to go for, as he glanced around all he saw was the fellowship looking in Frodos direction. Aragorn, rushing to his side, Gandalf, staring as though lost, and, lastly the three remaining hobbits with looks of utter pained disbelief painted all over their faces. As the heir of Isildur touched the ringbearer though, there was movement in the previously immobile figure. A ragged breath, a gasp of air and a small moan of discomfort.
"He's alive" Samwise Gamgee sighed in relief as he looked down upon his master with outmost adoration.
Legolas kept himself away from the commotion. He turned his back away from the rest of the fellowship and glanced down at his side dreading what he would see once the material of his shirt had been removed. As his hand traveled down and grazed the rim of the tear he had to hide a grimace of pain, it was worse than what he had thought. He parted the folds of his clothing and bit back a gasp as he caught the first sight of the wound. The arrow had obviously pierced in deep and, in his haste to remove it, he must have twisted it for there was another tear in his skin: one that enlarged the hole produced by the weapon itself.
He knew what he had to do.
As the rest of his companions fawned around the little hobbit he hid away behind a crevice, where darkness would for once, against his elf nature, be his friend. He didn't have much time; None at all perhaps if the others decided to leave then. He dug a spare shirt out of his pack and proceeded on slicing it with his dagger in order to result in three long and strong bandages. He hastily tied them around his midriff trying desperately to stop the blood flow. The scarlet liquid was quick to penetrate the first layer of the dressing, and slightly slower for the second but the elf reckoned that the third would be able to conceal it for the time being. Not for long though.
He could feel the injured meat rasp against the material that attempted to sooth its' pain. Cease its movement, cease its pressure, cease its anguish.
It hurt. It cut. It ripped. It BLED.
The very movement of his left arm was enough to send him gasping for air as it pulled on the sliced skin . He felt his very raw flesh pull apart and again friction together has he testingly tried to lift his bow from the ground.
He was an elf true. An immortal being and yet, so close to slipping from life he had been.
He could still be.
"Legolas, come, we must move out." Aragorn voice reached him from the remains of a doorway the fellowship had already gone through. He nodded in recognition swinging his weapon on his back ignoring the deep throb that erupted from his side at his action. Ignoring the deep ache that seemed to spread throughout his abdomen as he started walking towards the ranger. Ignoring his conscience as it bit at him to mention something, anything at all about his condition. The others deserved to know. He could slow them down. Could cost them their lives. Could cost them Middle Earth.
A shot of resolution cursed through his very being at that same moment.
He would NOT let this slow them down.
DUH DUH DUH DUUUUUH. Is Legolas going to spill the beans or not? I actually have two versions written if you are interested let me know which one you would rather have me put up.
I know I know I'm not particularly good at action sequences but the next part is going to be in Legolas' point of view and yes, there is angst. I'm sorry I let any of you people out there down I know it's not my best work but hell!! It demanded to be written. SHOULD I carry on?
LUV YA READERS!!!