Disclaimer: Nay, my lords, 'tis not mine own; but of one JRR Tolkien. But wait... he's dead! So... is Ennor free for the taking? oO?!

A/N: This is my first story EVER! So please, be nice and forgive me for any eventual mistakes! CC is most welcome, but then again, any review will do!

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Chapter I - Reveries

Legolas rode hard across the plain that separated Taur-e-Ndaedelos from the Hithaeglir. He'd already crossed the Anduin that morning and was now on his way to the High Pass that would get him through the great mountains. He only hoped not to find any problems along the way. The mountains were well known as refuge for orcs and goblins, and in present times it seemed the numbers of the fell creatures kept rising, no matter how hard elves and men fought them. 'Twas as if they sprang from the ground itself.

This worried him. He'd already had an encounter with some giant spiders, when travelling through the woods, and it had cost him some precious arrows. Right now, he wished he'd taken his father's advice and brought some companion with him. The help would be most appreciated. But he could not dwell on such thoughts - t'would not do to be caught offguard by orcs, while considering exactly how to fight said orcs. Therefore, he abandoned this line of thought and focused on his surroundings, making sure that nothing escaped him.

When he reached the foot of the nearest hills, he paused to consider his next move. 'Twas almost night, his horse had been moving all day, with only few breaks for water, and she would certainly appreciate a good night's rest before they made for the high mountains. He watched the road that lay ahead of them, and decided that indeed it was best for both him and Mornië, his black mare, to regain their strength, for now theirs was a dangerous road.

He sought for a good place to make camp, and soon found one. The ground suffered already from the mountains' influence, as it was inclined and full of big granites that rose off of the depths of the Earth. He lit a small fire and, after relieving Mornië of her cargo, gave her water and left her to graze around freely. He sat down near the fire and ate some of his own food as well.

As the night passed, Legolas found himself thinking about his home and all that had befallen on it and its folk. He was not very old, at least among the Elves, but neither was he young. He'd come into this world only some years before the great battle of Dagorlad and had few, but very fond memories of his grandfather, Oropher. He wished he could have known him better, for many said that he had been a both wise and just King, even if pride ran strongly through his veins.

Ai, Legolas remembered his home then. 'Twas well worthy of it's name - Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great, in the Common Tongue. 'Twas a glorious and most vibrant forest of tall and proud trees of incredible green. And on Narquelië [October]... ai!, how he missed Iavas [Autumn] in those days, when he would wander carefreely amongst the trees, listening to their ever constant whispering, a gentle breeze rustling their beautiful leaves. And these were not green then, but took on many different shades of gold mingled with fiery red, and yellows too or plain browns. The leaves would cover the ground letting the dark barks of their former homes to contrast with the reddish environment. It had remained so, even throughout the hard times of the Last Alliance. Until, at some point during the Third Age, things began to change.

On the year 1050 of the Third Age, a shadow occupied the Southern reaches of Greenwood, and the elves were forced to flee North. Thus, Greenwood it was no more. Men started calling it Mirkwood and even among the Sylvan folk it became known as Taur-e-Ndaedelos, the Forest of Great Fear. His beloved woods were no more, they became dark and many evils roamed in their depths, and the dark tower of Dol Guldur, the Hill of Dark Sorcery, would not let the woodelves forget it.

Between Orc and Goblin, Spider and Warg, along with many other fell beasts, Thranduil's woodelves had become quite wary of strangers, and as their trust on them grew dimmer, their fighting skills had grown fiercer. Mirkwood's archers were known to be some of the best, if not the best in Arda, always shooting in murky places where others would see nothing. Indeed, it was usually said that Mirkwood's elves could easily shoot a small bird's eye in the dark.

And now, the Prince of Mirkwood journeyed to Imladris, seeking aid from Lord Elrond. Legolas was friend to the Lord's sons. He and the twins had had some adventures in times past and their friendship was a strong one; however, the same was not applied to their parents. King Thranduil and Lord Elrond were not in the best of terms, their differences dating back to the battle where Oropher had fallen. Still, Legolas' friendship with Elladan and Elrohir had allowed him to persuade his father to seeking help in Imladris. For the evil in the woods never ceased pressing on the elves, and the warriors, brave and mighty as they were, grew tired from the countless and constant attacks they suffered.

Legolas had never actually been to Imladris before, he only knew of what the tales told. And if they had anything to do with reality, then he was looking forward to arriving there, for the stories were wondrous!

Suddenly, something drove him out of his reverie and he became alert. His sharp elven ears picked up sounds of small stones moving down the mountain slopes. He gathered his weapons and fetched his horse, preparing to leave the place fastly if need be. Once more he listened, and his gaze pierced all around him, but still he could not find the source of the noise amidst all the great boulders that lay there.

Behind a rock standing too close for his liking, he saw something move and recognised it immediately as a goblin. He readied himself for a fight - t'would be a long, tiring night and he only hoped Mornië would come out unharmed.

Quickly, and before any of his foes could tell, Legolas had left the spot, the steed silently following him. The archer hoped he could find some better place to fight the unavoidable battle. He had stayed in a rocky region, hoping the rocks would grant him some cover from the goblins; instead, it had worked the other way round, the great stones were providing hiding places for the foul creatures. Besides, it was no good place for archery, his foes could hide behind the rocks, waiting for him to waste his already scarce arrows. Luck was not on his side though, and the goblins soon caught up with him again, and, as one, they attacked.

Legolas could not believe their numbers. How could he have missed their approach? They came from all sides it seemed, creating a circle and preventing him from escape. As he noted this, he truly became worried and as he buried his last arrow in a goblin's eye he yelled: "A Belegorod! [O Great Mountain!] What have thee against those of the woods?"

A second of calm passed and he took out his long silver knife. He immediately flung it at the first one that came near enough, separating head from body. Both fell to the ground, staining it black with blood. Others followed afterwards, but there was no chance for the elf.

He blocked a sword coming straight at his neck with his long bow, the end of it hitting the goblin's head, and plunged his knife into some other's chest. However, as he did this, the one standing at his back slammed his club onto him, while another slashed his arm, and a third still, aimed for his legs. There was nothing he could have done. The two goblins were grabbing his wrists and legs, while the first flung his club straight at Legolas' head. And he knew no more.