I strode quietly through the tall grass, unheard and unseen. One with nature and all of its disciples. My horse whinnied quietly from a nearby tree. My bow was strung and I had an arrow ready to be loosed at whatever creature was at the end of the shaft. Everything was louder, brighter, and more intense. I was being hunted.
My name is Legolas Greenleaf. I hail from Mirkwood, up toward the north of what is called ‘middle earth’. My father is King of the Elves there, so I guess that makes me a prince. I have been called forth from my duties and pleasures by one Elrond of Rivendell. I bear bad news to Rivendell, news of great consequence to friends of the light. I know not what to expect from whomever may be there. I have heard that Aragorn, son of Arathorn shall be present at this ‘council’. I haven’t seen him since he bore the great burden, that cursed trickster Smeagol, to us in Mirkwood.
The heavier burden is mine though. I must bring tidings of Smeagol’s escape from Mirkwood, and surely into the very jaws of some foul evil. At heart he must have been good at one time in his treacherous life. We took him out of the dungeons into which he was flung, and let him see the light of beautious day. He turned on us however and in short escaped with the help of a band of orcs.
A branch snapped about twenty-five yards to my left or west, the wind is blowing southeast, and judging by the amount of padding going on, there are at least six of them. Wargs I’d say, being slightly downwind. Their foul, rancid stench is rivaled by no other. Luckily, they are dumb beasts and are not sure of my location. I glided swiftly over to the tree where my horse stood untethered, put my arrow back in my quiver, and mounted.
That’s when they saw me. Their eyes lit up with a demonic fire and they barreled toward me. I spun around quickly and galloped off. They were still right behind me, them already having momentum. However, my steed is one of the lands of Rohan, and therefore one of the finest beasts in the whole of middle earth. The wargs couldn’t possibly match my speed for long, and if they did, I would shoot them. It was that simple.
They gradually fell back, and eventually became part of the distant horizon. Specks among others in the descending light of day. By nightfall I was nearing the banks of the rushing river Anduin, or the Great River. I decided to follow the Old East Road that would lead me through the Misty Mountains, and right into Rivendell. Surely nothing would dare show itself a foe on this ancient pathway.
I rode for awhile, and then made a small stop. I didn’t need the rest, but I could tell my friend (my horse), was tiring slightly. She is called Raemnos, and he is colored a brilliant white. As I said she was bred in the fabled lands of Rohan by the skilled men of Rohan. After about five minutes rest and a drink or two from my water skin, Raemnos was ready to go on. I remounted and we trotted off toward Rivendell, refreshed yet wary.
There were no incidents between the river Anduin and the foothills of the Misty Mountains, yet I could sense something. I was sure we were either being watched or followed. An uneasiness swept over both of us as we began to traverse the mountain part of our short journey. Raemnos repeatedly neighed and twitched, showing me that he too felt something. It was in the wee hours of the morning when the mountains were no longer all that was in our view. Off in the distance the rolling foothills west of Rivendell were plainly in view. As we journeyed nearer to the end of the mountain trail, the danger that had seemingly decreased, suddenly spiked.
Orcs riding wargs came from all sides, at least three wargs each with an orc mounted. My bow, already in my hand sang a fast-paced war song as I loosed arrow after arrow. The orcs weren’t the problem, they went down rather easily after an arrow had pierced their crude armor. The wargs however, they kept coming. I trusted Raemnos to guide me safely while I dropped the reigns and focused on my target. One down with an arrow through its eye, another with one in its forehead, and one left. A careful shot placed an arrow right down its growling throat, and it too fell to the trail dead.
Why these grim minions of evil followed me, attacked me, or even knew where I was was beyond me. All I knew was that it had to be pretty important to get them to venture that close to Rivendell. Orcs so fear the full power of the elves of Rivendell that for them to attack an elf on the very brink of the city is very incredible. Their reasons and intents must have been great.
I returned my eyes to the path just in time to see the city burst into view. A great work of the elves, and a stronghold for so many things and citizens, Rivendell was the city one came to if he was in need. Great spires peaked and spectacular waterfalls cascaded down rock into the lazy, yet powerful river Loudwater. It a tributary of the Greyflood, which runs into the sea. I could see evidence of a busy day as townsfolk and warriors scurried around outside.
I slung my bow over my shoulder, and continued down the slope toward the gates. The sun was bright by that time, and only a few billowy clouds hung over the world. The gates swung open as I neared them, and I rode quietly into Rivendell. A perilous journey, yet my journey had just begun.