| REWRITING |
A shapeshifter walks alongside Thorin Oakenshield on his perilous quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. As they traverse the rugged terrain, unexpected challenges arise, testing their resolve and camaraderie. With the shapeshifter's un...
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Legolas and Tauriel have successfully apprehended an orc and escorted it to the grand throne room of Thranduil, nestled deep within the enchanted woods of the Woodland Realm. With a firm grip, Legolas maintains his knife at the orc's neck, ensuring its compliance as they stand before the regal presence of their king. Thranduil, a figure of authority and wisdom, begins to pace around the captive creature, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation.
"Such is the essence of evil," he proclaims, his voice echoing through the chamber, "It thrives in the vast, unknowing wilderness of the world, spreading like a shadow that grows more profound with the advancement of night. An ever-watchful malice, as black as the impenetrable curtain of darkness that descends upon the lands." His words hang in the air, a somber acknowledgment of the eternal struggle against the malevolent forces that sought to corrupt the world.
The orc, seemingly unfazed by Thranduil's words, snickers in response, revealing a disturbing revelation that it had been tracking a party of thirteen dwarves and a lady. "Not thirteen," it cackles, a sinister glee in its voice, "Not anymore. The young one, the black-haired archer, he's had a taste of our Morgul shaft. He'll be gasping for air soon enough." The orc's gaze shifts to Tauriel, the mention of the archer sparking a flicker of fear and anger in her eyes.
"Why were you pursuing them?" Legolas interrogates, increasing the pressure of his dagger on the orc's vulnerable flesh. "You seek information, yet you offer us only taunts and jests," he says, his voice a mix of frustration and urgency.
The orc remains silent about the shifter, a creature of which Tauriel is aware but whose significance to the orc is yet unclear. "Answer the question, foul creature!" Tauriel demands, her patience wearing thin. The orc's demeanor only sours, and it snarls back at her, speaking in the harsh, guttural tones of the black tongue. Despite not understanding the words, their venomous intent is palpable, and Tauriel feels her anger swell.
Legolas, recognizing the orc's intent to provoke, presses harder. "I do not care about your petty triumphs," he says, his voice cold and even, "Tell us the reason behind your pursuit and what you know of the dwarf named Thorin Oakenshield, and perhaps I will consider sparing your miserable life."
The orc's eyes light up with a sinister amusement. "Dwarf king?" it jeers, "Thorin Oakenshield? He'll never rule over Erebor." It laughs darkly, a sound that sends a shiver down Tauriel's spine. "As for the shifter," it adds, "you have no idea what he truly is to us."
"Speak!" Thranduil commands, his voice a thunderclap in the tense silence.
The orc's response sends a wave of dread through the room. "The flames of war are coming, and she will bring them," it says, its voice filled with malicious glee. "You know nothing, Elfling. Your realm will burn as it did before, and the shadows will rise again."
