All right...my first fic upload! I'm only just getting the hang of this, so please bear with me if the formatting messes up, or the adding a chapter thing.

I suppose I should say it: this is a FANfiction. I do not own The Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters, names, history, or dramatic adaptations. (Dammit, Jim, I'm a fan, not a master author or a big-time film director!) This disclaimer may not be necessary (I didn't see it mentioned in the rules), but I want to be safe.

Hope you enjoy!

Alagos bounded silently through the trees. He was the youngest of the Lothlórien border guards by far—scarcely a century old—but he already had a reputation for being a swift hunter and deadly opponent. After only a year of being on the guard, Alagos already had more Orc kills under his belt than he could count—certainly as many as any of the more senior guards. Unfortunately, many of these kills were thanks to one of his other reputations: impetuosity. Haldir the Marchwarden liked to name attacks on Orcs that were unnecessarily instigated by the youngest guard, counting them off on his fingers as he did so (he used all ten and had to start over), to which Alagos always retorted that all of the "unnecessary" attacks had served the dual purpose of keeping the guards' skills sharp and ridding Middle Earth of more Orcs.

Today was yet another example of Alagos's impulsiveness. The young Elf was tracking an intruder—almost certainly an Orc—alone. It was just one Orc, though, Alagos reasoned; one shot from the trees and the threat would be taken care of, without any risk to himself. The Elf's spirits soared as he leapt from tree to tree, flet to flet. The chase was what he loved. Sometimes he even pretended he was stalking an enemy, just to get the feeling of flying through the treetops, completely unobserved and unnoticed.

He slowed as he approached his quarry, which had halted. That was odd. Orcs always did their best to penetrate into the heart of Lothlórien. Perhaps it had stopped to rest in the shade, for though it was somewhat overcast, Orcs couldn't stand the sunlight.

Wait. An Orc during the day—albeit a cloudy day? True, the huge trees provided shade, but any Orc would have had to cross an open field to reach the edge of the forest. Alagos paused, and then proceeded even more cautiously. Perhaps he was mistaken about his prey, or perhaps there was no prey at all. The young Elf winced, thinking about the ridicule he would face from the other border guards if this "intruder" turned out to be a stray dog—or worse, a harmless deer.

Alagos leapt into one last tree and crouched down on a branch. His quarry had stopped in a small clearing on the edge of the forest, one that had a small stream—a branch of the Nimrodel—bubbling cheerily through it. Come to think of it, he had investigated this clearing several times before, sure he smelled the stench of Orc, but he had never found any intruders. Until now.

It was indeed an Orc, and it was indeed out in the daytime. It didn't even keep to the shade of the trees; it was sitting in the lush grass at the edge of the stream, where a weak beam of sunlight fell and sparkled on the water. Alagos was very surprised, and once again wondered if he was mistaken about the race of his quarry. He crept a bit closer, farther out along the branch, and studied the figure. He decided that it was, without doubt, an Orc—a very small Orc, with skin perhaps less charred-looking than most, but an Orc nonetheless.

Alagos readied his bow and nocked an arrow. He would make this quick. He drew back the string, aimed, and…waited. Something stilled his hand. Alagos didn't know why, but for some reason, he decided to watch this little Orc that had behaved so strangely, so contrary to its kind. The young guard relaxed his arm, returning the bowstring to its natural position, and lowered the bow, but he kept the arrow nocked. He sat back on his haunches and observed the intruder.

The small Orc wasn't doing anything, really, just sitting on the bank and gazing at the stream. It appeared to be mesmerized by the dull flashes and shimmers made by the weak sunlight striking the running water. The Orc reached out a gnarled hand and hesitantly touched the water with one clawed finger. Alagos, watching from the trees, winced and gritted his teeth. Part of the pledge of the border guards was that they would never let the filth of Orcs touch the springs of Lothlórien, especially the Nimrodel. And still, the Elven guard did not shoot.

The Orc had giggled—actually giggled—when its finger touched the cool water, the current swirling and flowing around the new obstacle. It wasn't a pleasant sound, exactly, but it was certainly more pleasant than any other Orc laughter Alagos had heard. Though somewhat raspy, the laugh was quite high-pitched for an Orc, and for the first time Alagos wondered if perhaps this Orc was a young one.

The Elf had never thought about Orcs having a childhood before. They probably didn't—most likely they were engaged in vicious, bloodthirsty behavior from birth. Alagos thought back to some of his past battles with Orcs and remembered that some had been smaller than others. Had those been younglings? He wouldn't be surprised if they were. Orcs, even young ones, had no innocence. They were pure, filthy evil. Alagos kept watching the small Orc with narrowed eyes—and still did not let fly his arrow. He was, rather against his will, fascinated with the utterly un-Orc-like behavior of this intruder.

For a few minutes, it dipped its finger in and out of the water, giggling and observing the way the water curled around it. Tiring of this, the Orc looked around the clearing. Spotting something that caught its interest, it rose and trotted across to the base of the tree right next to Alagos's. The watching Elf tensed and tightened his grip on his bow, but the Orc only bent and picked something up from the ground, holding the object close to its face to inspect it. The object was a walnut, but inside its yellow-green skin, it looked nothing like a nut, and the Orc was visibly puzzled as to what it was. It sniffed the nut's casing and sneezed (they did have a rather strong citrusy smell, Alagos recalled), and then pierced the thick skin with its claw. Alagos stiffened and narrowed his eyes at the destructive behavior he had been expecting. However, now having figured out what the strange orb was, the Orc did not tear apart any others; instead, it gathered up a few and returned to its spot on the riverbank.

The Orc dropped one of the walnuts into the water, presumably to see if it would float. Then it scooped the nut out of the stream and dropped it again, this time from a taller height, and giggled again. It kept this up for a minute, grinning—Alagos had to assume it was grinning, though it looked like a snarl—though the Elf couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it enjoyed the deep ploop! noise the nut made as it struck the water. After dropping the walnut a few more times, the Orc began to toss it into the air and catch it. Alagos fondly remembered doing this when he was a child, too. To see a young Orc play the same game as a young Elf once had was a jolt, to say the least, and not a little unnerving.

After a while, the Orc, tired of fumbling its catches, set the walnuts aside and lay back on the grass, its feet dangling over the bank, its toes just submerged in the stream. Cushioning its slightly misshapen head on its long arms, it gazed up at the cloudy sky. The sun had moved and was no longer focused directly on the clearing, which the Orc seemed to enjoy. Alagos was thoroughly perplexed. This young Orc seemed to be…enjoying nature. He had never seen anything like it, nor had he ever heard of this happening before, either. He and everyone he knew had always thought that Orcs liked nothing but killing, destroying, and torturing things. For some reason, this one was drastically different.

Alagos studied the young Orc again. He now saw that, in addition to its less-beastly skin, its head and face were not as repulsively misshapen as most of its kind. Other Orcs' faces were set in a permanent, hideous snarl; this one, while still vicious-looking, was naturally relaxed. Perhaps this was because it was young enough to not have a snarl stuck on its face yet. The Orc's ears were also smaller, more gently pointed than most other Orcs'. All in all, though by no means charming, it was the least hideous Orc Alagos had ever laid eyes on.

A sweet, high birdsong brought his attention to a warbler that had alighted on a branch above and to the left of his head. Alagos was rather enjoying the peacefulness of the scene—until he realized that the bird's twitters and chirps had also caught the attention of the Orc. It had sat up and was looking around for the source of the song. Alagos froze. Uh oh. The Orc's eyes were already trained in his general direction. If he ran away now, it would certainly see him, and it might follow him. That would not do; he must dispose of this Orc, no matter how gentle it seemed to be. Slowly, carefully, Alagos shifted his weight, again readying his bow. The arrow slipped a little, and he glanced down to catch it and return it to its place on the string. When he focused once again on the Orc, he found that its eyes were staring straight at him.

What do you think? Too short? Too long? Just right? I've got another chapter that I'm going to post, but it could easily be the end of the story, making it just a sweet little one-shot kind of thing. I may or may not continue it; I have a rough outline for the story in mind, but it'll just depend on my motivation to write, I guess.

So, please review; feedback is appreciated! Constructive criticism will be noted and applied. Just plain mean criticism will be noted, disregarded, and unmade in the fires of Mount Doom. :)