Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

2.10: Prey

The long trek through the North Downs was uneventful, though not entirely unsurprising considering the Ranger's previous trip there, some three months ago. The further north they went though, the harsher and more bleak the landscape became. Within a week it seemed nearly all game had disappeared from the area, and even the elves were hard pressed to spy anything worth shooting for dinner. The Dúnedain were however somewhat familiar with the terrain, and their knowledge proved invaluable in hunting for edible roots. The lands southwest of Angmar proved eerily devoid even of such creatures as wargs and trolls. The Ettenmoors lay further to the east, and even with the recent calm, no one doubted that at some point they would have more than they could wish for in the way of hunting.

Several days passed, and the levels of boredom began to run high and tempers began to fray in the absence of any live prey and a diet primarily of roots. One morning, as Wren and Legolas left their tent, it did not go unnoticed by some of the rangers that Wren's hand lingered in Legolas's before he lightly kissed it. Wren then sat down at the morning campfire with some of the other rangers and a spot of merriment ensued before it was abruptly stopped short.

"Oh aye, I shoulda bought me own missus, then I coulda had me sel' a tent and sum 'un tae warm me toes!" Sniggered Drélen, one of the middle-aged rangers.

"Only if you wanted someone to warm your ears as well." Chirped Elladan. Chuckles rippled through the group, as Drélen's wife had a reputation in the village for habitually doling out a vicious scolding.

Drélen brushed away the suggestion dismissively, as he was not one to back down easily; perhaps a reason for his wife's ill treatment of him. He had a snide smile on his face, "Any other wifely duties you're willing tae perform fer us Wren..."

Wren grinned in response, if somewhat naively, "Unlikely my dear Drélen, as many might attest, it would be foolish to try my cooking and frankly you can wash your own filthy undergarments."

Drélen was rendered wide-eyed and speechless, Wren grinned triumphantly, having silenced him. Unbeknown to her, a tall blond elf stood behind her, his arms folded, his posture and his expression almost dangerous. As Legolas cast his steel blue eyes around the group, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that there would be no more jests of that nature. Needless to say, the threat of antagonizing a tall blond elf was effective and the rangers heeded the warning well.

The days began to blend together, until one day after some two weeks had passed, when Legolas and Wren silently crested a knoll to scout ahead. Elladan and Elrohir were likewise doing the same to each side of the party, looking for any sign of enemy activity. They had come across a few empty dens, but for the most part they all looked long abandoned. Patches of warg fur and bones strewn across the floor of the caves had not left much to the imagination as to the identity of their previous occupants. The question that hovered was where had these wargs gone. The practice of riding wargs into battle was well known by the orcs of Mount Gundabad in the southeast of Angmar. Legolas wondered if such a large number had been depleted in battle that wargs were not to be found wild in these lands anymore.

Shaking his head to himself, Legolas almost laughed. It was a nice thought, but far too hopeful for anyone to seriously consider. Like cockroaches spawning under a rock evil had a way of always returning to the world. No, the creatures of darkness still lurked here; Legolas could feel it from the twisted shadows of every tree and every boulder.

"Ai, Legolas!"

The soft call came from Elladan, some distance away to the east flank of the party.

Legolas moved swiftly to Elladan's side and Wren followed. Elrond's son was kneeling, bowed right over as if prostrated before some great presence. His head was cocked to the side though and one ear pressed firmly to the ground.