~ Saved ~

The moss and lichen covered landmark of a perfectly round rock beside a sleepy oak, caused Legolas to let out a sigh of relief. His destination was close, and he would once again be surrounded by his own kind, safely within the guarded borders of the last homely house in Middle Earth, Imladris. Still, he enjoyed the light filled forest path he currently rode his relaxed, dapple grey mare along. Legolas had travelled beneath these trees many times over the years since walking away from his own homeland; turning his back on his realm, his kingdom, his King. A King, who Legolas doubted had bothered to send a representative or at least a messenger to Imladris, for a summoned council.

He himself was not entirely sure just what this council would entail, but a missive from the Lord of Imladris had reached him months earlier, summoning him to represent the Woodland Realm. He'd ignored it. He was not interested in playing Prince to a Kingdom which he was no longer loyal. Three weeks later, Aragorn had returned to the Dunedin and personally hand delivered another summons identical to the first. This second summons was not without the Ranger talking him into attending the council he was now riding towards.

He let out another sigh, hoping this council would not result in any actual involvement with the Woodland Realm. That was a life in his past, and Lord Elrond would surely know better than to drag him into any such matters. Two wood pigeons suddenly flew in fright towards he and his horse, both arcing around and into the trees he'd already passed, alerting him.

"Dar…" He spoke lowly to his mare, and she halted swiftly from her easy trot. He took his bow up quietly and felt back for an arrow. There were no noises, and he saw no danger through the trees, but these were dark times. He could not be too careful. "Padadínen, Niphredil." The mare responded by treading forward on near silent hoofs. Something felt off, the birds were no longer singing in the trees.

An uneasy feeling began to build within him when his mare suddenly threw her head up, body tensed as she strained, ears pricked listening. An almost inaudible sound of laboured cantering hoof beats, and louder, faster running feet shattered the tranquillity of the forest. There was only one race which made such destructive noise. Legolas listened intently, his heart dropping as he realised the enemy undoubtedly pursued a single rider. Using his legs and voice, he spun his mare and set her off at a swift gallop towards where he had heard the laboured hoofbeats and the louder sound of pursuing Orc.

Moments seemed to stretch out before finally, he caught sight of movement and heard the snarling sounds of Orcs in the distance, disappearing down a rise. He sent his mare flying after them, simultaneously knocking his arrow. Reaching the rise, he signalled his mare to stop to gaze down into a clearing of limestone outcrops. In-between the tall rocks stood an elleth, sword drawn, facing off five impossibly large advancing Orcs.

…

Exhausted, she turned to face the remaining Orcs she'd been fleeing continuously for the last eight days. Slowly she had picked off the pursing pack, shooting until her quiver was sparse and just five Orcs remained from the twenty that had given chase that terrible night.

"Give up, your strength has waned." Laughed the lead Orc as he advanced, blade raised. Her arms shook at the impact as his crude but hefty weapon crashed down upon her Elven blade. It took everything she had to hold him back and parry his sword away. Biting her lip, to keep from crying out which would surely use more energy she did not possess; she stepped forward and swung her blade up, disarming the Orc his weapon before arcing back, slitting his bared throat. He fell to the side and she stumbled back, her body now shaking from the sheer effort of protecting herself.

The four remaining Orcs ignored their fallen leader, advancing toward her. Their guttural snarls reminded her of wolves going in for the final kill. Shaking, she lifted her sword but one of the Orcs easily now batted it out of her hand, the blade falling to her feet. She kept stumbling away from them through the outcrops of limestone and they followed lazily, surely relishing in the thought they could draw out her death slowly. The thought should have made her ill, yet she was too exhausted. Limestone loomed above her and she wheeled around, realising too late she had backed herself into a corner she could not escape from. She turned to face the Orcs, a stone like weight of dread settling in her stomach as she finally accepted they had caught her.

They had caught her, and she would suffer the same fate now as her kin had. Perhaps it would be best, she could follow the others across the sea, be again with all those she had lost. She had not even grieved them, there had been no time; only running, surviving, following her brother's final order, his final plea. No! I must get to Imladris! She gazed wildly about for an escape, her heart thundering painfully under her ribs. The biggest of the four remaining Orcs stalked forward and she ripped a knife from her back, but the Orc was quicker.

Grabbing her around the neck, he lifted her up, slamming her back against the limestone wall. She gasped as the air was knocked from her lungs, the impact jolting her spine and causing her head to throb where it connected with a sickening hard thud against the un-forgiving stone. She couldn't get enough air; the Orc was crushing her windpipe. The long knife fell from her hand and now she kicked out with her legs, futilely trying to pull the vice grip from her throat.

Her vision became a hazy blur and still, blood rushed pounding in her head and her strength finally left her. She felt herself falling and was vaguely aware of the pressure leaving her throat. It was too late though, there was nothing left to sustain her soul. As she finally hit the ground, there was nothing.

…

He was kicking the last Orc aside moments after his arrow had sunk through its thick skin and burrowed through its lung and into its black heart. Hastily he knelt by the elleth's side to check she still breathed, pushing her dirt and blood-stained hair from her all too pale face. He could just detect her chest rising and falling and carefully placed an ear over her heart, dismayed to hear it was a laboured beat.

Frowning, he assessed at her. To be in the state she was, she must have run a truly long way. Further than Imladris, but where had she come from? Was she one of Lord Elrond's guards? Imladris did not have female guards... unless the lore's of the valley had changed? Her once white dress was torn at the hem and dirt and dried blood had collected on it. Never had he seen another Elf in such poor condition. He was no healer, but Legolas knew if he did not get her to the healers of Imladris quickly, her heart would surely fail.

"Niphredil, tolo!" He called out to his mare and she cantered over as he deftly stood and retrieved the elleth's sword and knife before returning to where Niphredil now stood, nosing the deathly still elleth with an anxiety he had not seen in his mare before. Legolas knelt and with deft movements, unbuckled and removed her quiver, bow and sword belt; sheathing her two used blades. He secured her weapons to his mare's saddle before turning back to the elleth. Curiously and without command, Niphredil knelt upon her knees, empty saddle presented the elleth and himself. Thanking his mare, Legolas gathered up the unconscious elleth in his arms and settled in the saddle.

A near tangible scent of violets caught Legolas's attention as he settled the elleth in his arms, stirring a whisper of a memory he could not quite grasp. Feeling a sudden protectiveness, he held her tighter against his chest, nudging his mare into a swift gallop towards Imladris.