Trees.

They had surrounded us since nightfall. I could smell their sappy, sickeningly sweet scent without inhaling. The wind was blowing in our direction again. Marching through the lines, I scoped the environment around us, seeing if any others were drawing near.

Nothing.

The trees of Mirkwood and that of the Golden Wood were all I could see in the beautifully dark night. No moon rose, and I uttered an appreciative, soft laugh to the stars. The tiny glints could not hinder us. Tonight was our night. Blissful darkness could reign forever and I would never object.

Softly, our armors clinked as we marched, our faces masked by the blessed helms of the Shadow. My brothers and sisters surrounded me, weapons at their sides, ready to take on the world. No elves, men, or dwarves could defeat our forces tonight. Dol Guldur would rise as the capital of the Shadow once we were through.

Suddenly, I caught a scent.

Lifting my nose to the air, I sniffed, and drew back my head in revulsion. Another next to me spat on the ground in revulsion and continued to march. I knew that he had also smelled the fetid stink.

Elves.

The trees and eaves were squirming with masses of them. Like termites or sucking tapeworms, they infested the trees, squatting like the toads they were, waiting for a passing fly for a juicy meal. The others around me were already moving uneasily, loosening their weapons, large hands grasping for axes and swords. With clanks, shields were held tighter, as, though I am reluctant to say, the elves had a more than mediocre skill of aim. Long ago, I had learned that their yellow-feathered shafts were deadly.

"Hold the line," an officer snapped, and the stragglers got back into place. His thick Moria accent made me snarl. What was a pitiful creature from the mountains doing in the forest that was our domain? "Halt!"

I acquiesced, and strongly clad archers broke form the front lines to match the elven archers. As one, we drew our swords, cruelly curved at one end and long enough to gut our enemies without having to risk ourselves to be pitted by elven blades. With one of our swords embedded in flesh, it was nearly impossible to extract it without cutting open the entire wound.

As the tension of battle hung through the air, I smiled. This was what I lived for. War meant glory. But what was glory without a little fun?

As soon as the arrows began to fly, I gave a heart-chilling, full-blooded war cry of the Shadow. The entirety of Middle-Earth must have known of our arrival as my brothers and sisters joined me, thrusting their weapons in the air and surging forward.

My mail clanked as I ran, and together, we formed the army of the night.

Some of us fell under the deadly shafts of the elves, but more ran forth to take their places. Our hatred, our courage, and our unity must have been enough to knock the straw-headed demons off their high-strung bottoms.

In ecstasy, I reached the line of trees, unscathed, unharmed in any way, and ready to destroy those in my way. Likewise, a squadron of elves was waiting for us.

I laughed.

It took at least two elves to kill one of us, and this tiny, rag-tag army would not last more than an hour in combat. Well, a skirmish never hurt anyone, I thought, as I plunged my sword at the nearest blond body.

There was not a defense as I felt the satisfying crunch of bones beneath me. Ribs snapping, sternum cracking, and diaphragm shredding, the elf could not even cry out as he fell to the ground. Baring my teeth, I showed the savage what we did to those who opposed us. Slitting his throat, I laughed manically as warm liquid seeped through my fingers.

Bloodshed.

It could not be helped, and while it would have been more helpful to all of us if the elves surrendered instead of fighting back, there was no shame in admitting how I loved it. With each parry and blow, I felt new energy course through my veins. Victory was close enough for me to taste, and as the scent of copper filled the air, I threw back my head and howled in exhilaration.

The enemy was slowly receding, and, as I wiped my blade on the sticky grass, I gave another call for my brothers and sisters to join me. Blood had congealed on my hands, and I flexed, cracking dried blood and skin off of my fingers.

More fell by my sword.

I was indomitable!

This was better than taking any lover, for no carnal knowledge could produce as stunning a climax as I could with sword in hand. As I finished the last elf in my proximity, I saw the face of a tall, stern elf advancing. At that moment, we locked eyes, and I knew he must have been their leader. Blonde, like all the others, he nonetheless gave off the commanding, haughty air of a prince.

Kill him, a sly voice whispered, and I knew if I did, I would have glorious days ahead of me. But something more interesting suddenly crossed my mind.

Among the chaos and dying cries that formed a euphonious symphony, a darker, more cunning voice said, No. Toy with him. Tickle him with a blade and see where on his body makes him scream loudest.

Smiling, I stepped towards him, letting our bodies come closer.

In his hands, he held a bloodstained blade, at least half an arm's length shorter than mine. The dark showed me that it was blessed with elvish runes and symbols. I wanted to laugh again.

No elven gods or goddesses could protect him tonight.

With a cry, I attacked, swinging my weapon forward, ready for it to taste sweet, elven flesh. But the elf seemed to have more in him than I believed, for he parried my blow with a strong arm, and stepped forward for the advantage.

Snarling, I stepped back, giving way so as not to lose a limb and struck out again. It brought joy to me that he could fight. I had not had a good fight in a long time. I would toy with this elven princeling and make him beg for death.

Roaring in triumph as my sword lanced across his arm, showing bright red streaks in the grass, I continued to advance. "Give up now, elf," I laughed in the coarse Common Tongue, "and perhaps I will make your death less painful."

The haughty elf backed away at the deep cut, clutching his sword arm, but came back without a change in his features. "It is not I who will die at the end of this, orch," he spat back at me, and swung his blade skillfully, "but you!"

I scoffed at his boldness, and replied, "I like your spirit, elf. First I've seen in a long time that knows how to fight." I blocked his blow with some difficulty and smiled to myself. Now this was what I had come for!

His blade flashed across my knuckles and I hissed as I saw the deep scratch marks on my hands. In a flash of fury, I lunged forward with my blade and sank it deep into his belly. His eyes widened in pain and surprise, and I frowned as he let his weapon slip from his fingers. As he gasped, I brought my face close to his, "Pity. I wished to toy with you and break your ever-so-high spirit, elf. Seems my dreams are shattered."

He said nothing, his diaphragm obviously torn.

I spat in his face and drew my sword clean of him.

Just then, I heard a cry of pain come from behind me. Turning, I saw another elf, like of feature and skill as the other, running towards his fallen comrade. In a burst of emotion, he cried out, "Legolas!"

Something, suddenly, seemed to dislodge in me.

TBC...