The sticky air caused their clothes to cling to their backs. In the shades of the thick trees, the down pouring rain could be heard, but not felt. Two shadows could be seen occasionally darting between trees, but no twigs heard snapping, no animals disturbed. They had to be rangers. This troubled the Orc Chieftain. If rangers had already found them, then they would not have time to make it to the mountains. They had to make a stand. They wanted to make their stand. They wanted the blood of the Mirkwood King. Without warning, an arrow flew true into the nostril of the Chieftain, as if to tell him that he had chosen wrong. It was accompanied by another arrow, also shot true, that sailed into the scout that had first seen the rangers. The orcs, now in a blood rage, but no where to aim it, charged into the trees swinging their foul blades, hoping to strike meat. They found meat, one by one, their blades sunk into each other as they were lost in the woods, Arrows occasionally reminding them of how angry they should be. At last, the new King of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf, showed himself to what remained of a once powerful army. His sadden face gazed piercingly upon the orcs as he scanned over them. One stepped forward to challenge Legolas, but was struck down by the arrow of an unseen ranger. The remaining orcs took a collective step backwards. Legolas stepped forward, as if to again challenge them. The four remaining Urik-Hai, foul twisted mix of goblin and orc, stepped forward, snarling disgust at the other orcs. No arrows came forth, instead Legolas walked to meet them. The Urik-Hai drew their morgul blades and raised them to attack. One rushed at Legolas, Blade ready to bite. As the blade came down to meet the King, Legolas’ arm flashed, and the neck of the Urik-Hai tore open. Stumbling backwards, he saw in the hand of his slayer, a blade known once as Gortha, the Goblin Hewer. Gortha was a blade once used by dwarves, in their infamous battle with the goblins of old. It was a gift to Mirkwood from Gimli, whom discovered it himself while setting his own kingdom’s roots. Legolas looked down at the blade, now tainted with the blood of his enemy. The remaining three roared in anger and charged Legolas, Blades swinging madly. As they met him, he dropped to one leg and kicked out the knee of the closest Urik-Hai. While it fell forward, Legolas sprang upward and met the Urik-Hai’s skull with his blade. As the King was landing on his feet two arrows sprang forth from behind him, opening a hole in the necks of each of the remaining Urik-Hai. Legolas was met by the other ranger, whom stood by his side, bow ready. The foul army took off, fear driving them now. Legolas and his companion had prepared for this though. While he was distracting the orcs, the other ranger had been laying traps and running rope. When the orcs started to run, they soon met the ground. Legolas and his companion took this time to load all the arrows from their quivers on their bows. When the surviving orcs managed to stand back up, they released their justice on the orcs, raining the will of the King down on his enemies. The battle was won, but bleeding was the King. Unknown the wound, but his chest was laid bare. His companion ran forth, hood taken down revealing her face, the face of Legolas’ Lover. She laid her hand on his chest, fearing the cut. It was short but deep. She laid her head on his shoulder and whisper soft words. “I love you”, she said. He nodded knowingly and went to his knee. She drew from her pouch a piece of king’s foil and placed it in her mouth. She chewed it up and placed it in the cut. He flinched slightly, but the bleeding was stopped. She pulled him back up to his feet, and together they collected what arrows they could. In the arms of an orc, they found a pendant once belong to Legolas’ father, once King of Mirkwood. His ranger took it up and placed it around his neck. He touched his head to hers and stared into her eyes. In them he saw, the love of a life. She wrapped her arms around him, and held him tight, for now that the battle was over, the true fight would be waged. Mirkwood was in ruins, many of its people slain. Their trees were on fire, and their people in disarray. Together they walked, back whence they came. To the keep of Legolas’ castle, where all his people were gathered. His ranger was limping, to Legolas’ dismay. She told him it was nothing, and there was nothing to say. But Legolas’ didn’t believe her, and he lifted her up. He held her in his arms, and carried her as far as he could. After a nights walking, his chest hurt him to much. He had to set her down but she saw in his face, the true pain. So she in turn, lifted him up and held him tight. The thick trees fought against her, but she was a ranger, trained to navigate the forest. When at last they arrived, in front of his keep, she set him down for a King he was. By his side she walked into the castle, and together they stood in front of his remaining people. He spoke out to them all, telling them of the win. But sadness was still theirs, for few had a home to return to. He asked them all to please spend the night in his new home. “This isn’t just my home, but now it is all of ours, because we all share the same fate now.” He said to them all solemnly. The king and his ranger left the main room together. And up into the room of Legolas they went. Seeing them arrive, the servant came fast to the room, but found when he got there it was locked, and no one would answer.
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