F.A 1486 Ithilien
Raen Vanyawen, a Watcher of Draugan devised a preposterous plan - slay Legolas Greenleaf the Elflord of Ithilien. Believing the Elves were trying to steal the Draugan Forest from the Woses, Raen was determined to slay Legolas to dr...
It was a gloomy afternoon, a few dozens of Elves thudded to the forest floor fast as soft raindrops touching the ground, armed with bows and spears they hopped and dodged, swung and jumped over logs and brushes heading down the sloping land. Green-cladded, they blend well with the forest, trunks or even with rocks therein. No one can see an elf perching atop a tree save the eyes of Elves or if they move and let themselves be seen, and when they were running in plain sight.
The Southern forest was fairly dense and oldest of elms and oaks bent deep, where green leaves were inches high from the earth and the giant trunks were gnarled and dark. They ran and ran to the borders of Grey Wood forest and to where a glade was waiting for them. They moved as smooth as the wind through the tall grass and as fast as lightning.
Atop the trees, Legolas leaped and caught a hanging vine, spun and slid until he's down the sloping ground; and he joined the chase, nocking an arrow he fired at the fleeing goblins. He counted six (but he have killed seven, counting the troll), two more arrows flew and skewed two goblins by the throat, and he was precise and swift and can hit the target's eye even in the slightest light.
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It was midday when they raided the outskirts East of Grey Wood, found a troll and at least two dozen goblins lurking in the forsaken place. Half a dozen left and half severely wounded, the goblins scrammed and dared to cross over the borders and into Druadan's forest, where things couldn't get more treacherous for wanderers and trespassers. Druadan's famous for something far more deadly than the arrows of Elves or the swords of Rangers from the Emyn Arnen. It earned its fame from a notorious group of highwaymen using poison darts, so good at their job they never missed to rob a target, and travelers could be lucky to have their treasures stolen, or very unlucky and get home with only small clothes on, (never did it happen that bandits wanted someone else's underclothes, unless they were fashioned with gold of course). Old tales about the Wild Men of the Woods turned out to be true, the Druedain as Men call them, and the forest seemed dark as if under some sort of enchantment to keep unwanted at its bay.
As to the goblins, it was no perfect time for thinking about other concerns, there was no other place Elves would dare go, seemingly, they too, fear the mysterious creature inside it, and because it is forbidden to set foot at Druadan without welcoming of the mysterious people therein. And so the few remaining goblins swallowed their fear and jumped over the bushes, crossed the hundred feet glade and finally disappeared to the trees on the other side.
Legolas skidded to a halt just before his right foot stepped into the queer land and he called for a stop, and the rangers halted behind. He breathed, deep and long, frowning like a mad man he was far more than just disappointed. His golden-silvery hair swished as the sudden gust of wind past by him, slowly, cold crept to his skin. By the sneer in his lips he believed that it was the darkening skies and the breeze that made him shiver, but deep in his thoughts, he was hesitant, worried that foul things would happen if he would lift his foot and make a step into the queer forest.
Finally, his face turned clear and he said, 'Daro! Let them face death another day, this cannot be the best time to go after those filth,' Legolas squinted to the sky but could see little of the darken clouds. The boughs were thick casting grey shadows upon them. His rangers skidded to a halt. Then the rain started to fall from a few drops to a pour.
Legolas knew it wasn't worth the time chasing after six goblins, much more risk the lives of his people.
'Ernil,' Orophin, one of his rangers paused behind him. 'We have been preserving that forest far too long,' Foul things breathe in there, the thieves must be hiding in the shadows of the woods. Should we not cross?'
Legolas was grim, and with a grimmer voice he said, 'Soon that forest will be ours to raid, but we would need more bows and swords and more arms than we already have. The Southrons has good reasons to fear Druadan, we do not cross the border until we know all paths and streams therein. We've cleared the East, that is enough for the day.' And he squinted back to the skies again, though he could barely see it, the sun was fading West and the clouds have darkened some more. Without further words he turned his back and walked to trace his steps, back to his newly established village he named las Galena, for such weed grows abundantly in those parts.
Orophin threw a lingering look at edge of Druadan's forest while all others started to head back. It has been eleven years since the wood-elves have left Mirkwood and in those short years they have cleared Ithilien's forest and caves of trolls and goblins and thugs surrounding Minas Tirith, but they have not set foot at Druadan ever since they have come North of Ithilien. They have been chasing a group of thieves for the past three weeks to no avail. He did not understand it, nor he would have tried asking his Lord about the mystery in that woods. Surely the tales cannot be true, he thought, that a rouge ghost lives deep in the woods, enjoying a remarkable repute in theiving merchants and collecting tolls from travelers. But just as he was told, the King Elessar had given Druadan to the Druedain long ago, and Legolas would not dare the forest unless the King revokes his order.
In his thought, thunder cracked and reminded him it was time to go. His comrades had gone far, Orophin trotted faster off the edge of the forest still thinking of the next day they would be out to hunt again.
Across the glade, the rain poured some more, a shadow of man stood behind an old tree. A goblin shrieking pain from his grasp, he hoisted the creature by the neck and trusts his knife straight to its heart, hurled it to one side and shook his blade to rid of the blood. That was the last one, he counted on top of his head, Beren clicked his tongue three times. 'They're getting closer, pointy-eared rats, they should have stayed off our lawn.' Then he bent to sheath his knife back to a scabbard hidden in his leather boots.
Another silhouette appeared behind him, stout and tall, Amir covered himself with a cloak fashioned in black bearpelt, his black hood pulled down to reveal his thick brown hair and thick brows, his onyx eyes gleamed pale-fully. His chiseled arms spoke many stories of battles he had been, stories written in strange language of blade marks and stitched skin. 'They should have never left their trees. They've pillaged all caves, cleared all holes and nooks, now they've gotten this far!'
'The King is friend to the Elves, what else is there to expect?' Kano appeared from behind, a young man clad in dull iron breastplate that made him looked thinner than a stick. He moved lazily behind, watching the last Elf retreating back to the woods until he disappeared from their sight. The rain continued to pour as thunder roared, more angry. They took shelter below the old mallern tree whose boughs were thick and drooping and trunk as white as milk. At length the three stood watching the Grey Wood forest at the distance watchful of any movements in the bushes. Until the sound of falling water came to a sudden rustle, they all turned their eyes above.
All three could hear the cracks and creaks of twigs and branches drawing louder. A shadow hopped from one tree to another, swinging smoothly towards them and down the shadow thudded a few strides behind.
Dark green cape draped over her back, clothes made of fine green tunic, leather was her boots. Her bare hand held a bo and though her face was well hidden beneath her hood, two pale lavender eyes were beyond notice. Her long black tresses had soft waves, dark as the night.
'Elves,' Raen murmured with a hint of disgust. 'They linger far too close to our lands, my dagger thirsts for their blood.' She walked past by her companions until her boots caught the very edge of the glade. The rain was heavy and loud but her eyes had a burning look. She stood with feet apart thrusting her bo to the ground, then she grinned.
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P.S. To those who have read Ire of Winter, it's obvious who Raen is. And, just so you know, galena really do exists in ME. :)
