Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

26: Claws and Arrows

Following the return of the Rangers, from their largely unsuccessful venture out into the wilds to track down the regrouping orcs, the village life largely returned to normality for two weeks. Although, the villagers noticed that Legolas seemed to be gradually retreating further away from them as each day passed, his melancholy almost palpable. Even Gelwin, with her big blue anxious eyes could not engender a smile from him.

Winter was by all appearances, imminent. Various tasks were attended to such as fixing roofs, repairing hinges and sharpening weapons. That was until the day a howl sounded out, coarse above the treetops. Everyone in the village froze, heads cocked to listen. They all knew the sound of a wolf; plaintive and pure as the moon at night. This was no such creature; the Dúnedain knew the hunting howl of a warg.

Strider was dropping down off the roof he had been in the midst of repairing, before the echo had died away. Legolas and the other men followed suit. They villagers all wore simple tunics and breeches for work, not a piece of armor nor weapon among them. By the time Strider called the Rangers together in the square two minutes later, they all had their swords, bows and knives in hand.

"Beringil, take a party of six and follow the game trail. I want you at the mouth of the valley ready to cut off any sort of attempt at a retreat." Strider spoke with collected authority, his eyes clear and grim as he strapped on his sword belt. The older Ranger nodded sharply and departed with no hesitation.

"Rodorin, keep back a dozen of the younger Rangers here at the edge of the village. You are the last stand; nothing gets past you. Understood?"

The brief flash of wounded pride in the tall youth's green eyes was clearly obvious. But Rodorin acknowledged his captain's command and called out a group of other young men to join him at the grassy hill that stood between the village and the main valley pass.

Strider had finished strapping his vambraces onto his forearms on his final word to Rodorin, he then shouted to the rest of the Rangers. "You all come with me. Where there is a warg, there is a pack." With that he plunged into the trails of the forest with Wren, Legolas, and the rest of the Dúnedain Rangers close behind.

She ran in front on him, her long dark hair flowing as she ran, and for a moment Legolas's breath caught in the back of his throat, even now. She was as lithe and quick as a deer.

Another howl sounded, this time much closer than it had been in the village. An answering chorus confirmed that this was indeed a warg pack, well within the patrolled boundaries of the valley. Legolas counted eight at least, judging by the growing din. No doubt the invaders had scented their approach already. With Strider in the lead, the Rangers moved with deadly haste to intercept the foul creatures. What they did not know yet was whether orcs were to be found as riders.

Stopping abruptly, Strider signaled with quick gestures to the Rangers. Immediately a number of them began to shimmy up the trees surrounding the small glen, bows and quivers thumping on their backs. Wren grabbed a branch and swung herself effortlessly into a tree ahead of him. Legolas decided to remain the ground. Ducking into the brush, within seconds, the entire squad of Rangers had disappeared in plain sight, awaiting their prey.

Strider had charted their course well. Within a minute they could all hear the crashing that heralded the passage of large paws. No doubt the wargs could smell them, but if they could be kept uncertain of the Rangers' exact location until the last possible moment, so much the better.

The first beast exploded into the glen in a shower of dead branches, slavering mightily at the jaws. Its scrawny ribs showed clearly beneath its fur, and its yellow eyes burned with ferocious hunger. There were three others were fast on its tail, equally emaciated.

Legolas stood and loosed an arrow, the twang of his bowstring, a familiar tune. His shot hit the mark, striking a warg squarely between the eyes. As the creature fell over, more howls erupted from the forest nearby. He felt a renewed surge of energy and sense of purpose. Notching another arrow to the string, Legolas drew it back to his ear, sighted a target quickly along the shaft, and shot, killing a warg which was trying to claw its way up the mottled bark to Daernon's perch.

However, he then struggled to get a clear line of sight to the next warg; there were too many Rangers in his line of fire. Apparently, he was not the only one struggling to get a shot in, as the next moment he saw Wren dropping down from her tree.

"Legolas, mind your flank!" Faolán shouted from his treetop vantage point.

A smaller warg more easily missed in the skirmish had managed to get around behind the attack. It was close enough for Legolas to smell the stench that rolled off its mangy hide. The warg had already coiled on its haunches and sprung. Legolas angled his loaded bow upward at the warg as it leapt at him and loosed the string.

The arrow flew short but true; the warg was dead before it landed, with it's claws still out and its mouth foaming. The deadweight of a paw landed on Legolas's shoulder, but the elf swiftly moved out the way before the remainder of warg's body crushed him. Turning on the spot, he found Wren by his side. There was fear in her eyes as she looked over at him. It unnerved him. There were two wargs coming at them both, from either side. Legolas and Wren turned in unison, each to face a warg.

He was back to back with Wren; he felt the instant his body touched hers. Legolas struggled to concentrate. As he brought his reloaded bow to bear in the direction of the nearest threat, Legolas felt a sharp pain growing in his right shoulder. He paused for a second too long. With a hiss, Legolas sent the quarrel burrowing beneath the bony ribs of the warg headed towards him. It was only then, that he realized the warg was mounted by a single orc, with an arrow pointed directly at him.

He heard Wren dispatch the warg behind him. He saw her turn; too late to stop the arrow, but quick enough to draw her long knives above her head, and lunge at the same orc, who had been launched forward as his mount fell. In one, simultaneous, downwards motion of both her blades, she decapitated the orc, before it's body landed on the dark earth.

The orc's head fell and rolled on the hard ground, then came to stop, alongside a tall figure, lying prostrate.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Soooooooo ... I may have just shot everyone's favorite elf... (only possible in his current state of course)!!!! A couple of chapter's from Strider's point of view to follow...ho hum...0.0

I would love to receive your comments and PLEASE vote on this chapter if you enjoyed it. Each vote and comment helps the wider circulation of my story, I really appreciate them!

And yes a picture of WREN!!! ...well the closest I found...please see the original in all its artistic glory at https://wisesnailart.deviantart.com/art/Kira-and-Wolf-539016008. Many thanks to the fabulous "wisesnailart" for letting me edit and use it!