༶•┈┈⛧┈♛Foxgloves and Greenleaves ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

Chapter 1: Legolas

Orcs. I should have known. I feel their darkness creeping on me with each passing, but now, amongst the shadows, I feel another force. Magic.

A herd of twenty orcs surround me as I nock my first arrow.

"What now, pretty elf?" The biggest orc snarls. "No Thranduil to save you now."

I release my first arrow without hesitation, aiming for the neck. Another arrow knocks it out of its path and kills the orc instead. No, not an arrow— a throwing knife. One by one, they each make their target, its aim true and final. I look in the direction of the flying knives to find their owner, settling on a pair of narrowed emerald eyes, silently calculating me.

"I see you." I call out. "Show yourself!"

The figure in the shape of a woman lands in front of me, knives raised. A green cloak shrouds her face.

"I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Elven king Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. I mean no harm."

She speaks in an Elvish language I do not recognize until she speaks in Common Tongue. "I am Miranna Foxglove, eldest daughter of Nerine and Arcan Foxglove. I mean no harm as well. May I ask you why an elf prince like you wanders in these parts of the forest?"

The sound of an orc horn blares through the forest, startling both me and Miranna.

"Not good." She mutters. "This must be their route." She whistles and out comes a dark mare as mysterious as her savior. Miranna hoists herself on her saddle and offers me her hand. I take it and hoist myself up.

"Hold tight." Miranna commands. "Virago's a fast one. Hyah!"

Virago takes off at such an alarming speed that I grip the saddle until my knuckles whiten.

"Who are you?" I yell over the whistling wind.

"Did I not introduce myself?" Miranna yells back. "I am who I say I am."

"What are you?" I specify. "Elf? Halfling? Dwarf?"

"That is for you to figure out on your own. Now defend yourself!" She stands up and propels herself from her mare. She grabs a tree branch and swings herself up and over. She kicks the oncoming orc as she releases her grip.

I string my bow and fire arrows at the herd of orcs. Miranna brandishes her knives and slices away at any remaining orcs that dares to stand in her way. I turn Virago around to pick up her owner.

"Good girl." Miranna coos as she hoists herself up. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Who am I? Shall I repeat my answer? I am who I say I am."

"Yes, but what beautiful face lies underneath that cloak?" I try.

"Are you assuming all faces are beautiful? Besides, your flattery won't fool me, Greenleaf."

"I have shown you who I am."

"Does that mean I must?"

I curse in Sindarin. She's good. No, good isn't the right word. She's cunning.

"So why does an elf prince like you wander through these parts of the forest?" she asks, conveniently changing the subject.

"That, I can not say." I respond. "But my destination may be in this direction. Do you care to take me as far as you and your mare are able to?"

"And yet you expect me to reveal myself." She sighs. "No, I care not to share my journey with you. Although Virago might care."

Virago huffs in agreement with her owner.

"Tell me elf prince, why do you care so much about my looks? Didn't your father teach you that character overrules looks?" Miranna asks.

My father did teach me that. Why do I care for her looks? They are not what matters most. What matters is that she saved my life.

"Thank you, by the way." I say. "For saving my life."

"The pleasure is mine, Legolas."

"Where are you heading, then?"

Miranna turns her cloaked head to look at me. "My destination may be in the direction of your destination. To be truthful, I am heading to a village to stock up on supplies. I fear that the imminent winter breeze may steal them away from me."

We continue the rest of the journey away from the orc path in silence. The sun's rays hide itself from the trees and blankets Middle Earth in darkness.

"Shall we stop here?" Miranna asks. "From the looks of the tracks, the orcs haven't ventured here yet."

"Of course." I answer. "But who will take the first watch?"

"I will. You've done enough today."

"Haven't you done enough already?"

"I'll be fine. Now go to sleep. You needn't worry about me."

I did worry about Miranna. I would not be surprised if she deserted me with the orcs and her potential lies.

"Do not be discouraged, son!" Thranduil's voice booms. I open an eyelid to find my father, King of the Woodland Real, looming over me.

"Oh. It's only you, Father."

"A pleasure to see you too, Legolas." He sighs.

"Why do you wander freely in my dreams?"

"I would ask the same of you, Legolas. I see you've met Miranna?"

"Not exactly." I sit up and start strumming my bow. "You know Miranna?"

"Not really. May I remind you that I have excellent vision and hearing?"

"So you have been spying on me?" Anger blooms inside my chest. "Do you think that I cannot fulfill my task?"

"Not if you've been staring at that Miranna. Move on, son. Her heart's already been broken enough."

My brows furrow. "Come again?"

"I cannot tell you any further."

"Then why have you come here?"

"Am I not allowed to visit my own son? What troubles you, Legolas?"

"Nothing, Father."

"Legolas, you are my son. I know when something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." I assure him.

"Be patient with her. The only thing she has ever known is hate. But that does not mean you can pursue her heart."

"Father! How could you say such a thing?" A jolting feeling awakens me before my father could come up with a clever retort. I open my eyes, finding Miranna violently shaking me.

"Wake up!" She whispers. "It's your shift now and I cannot keep my eyes open much longer."

I yawn. The sun still hid its face from Middle Earth, yet the stars had moved. Miranna positions herself on her back, facing the stars. Her hood perfectly covers her face, as if by witchcraft.

She could be a scout of Sauron, waiting to kill me in my sleep. It is a convenient enough excuse since she was following me. She could be my father's spy, watching my every move. She could be anything if I do not know who she is.

I do not dare make a sound until her breaths become slow and steady. Slowly, I remove her hood, careful not to touch her face. Her long, raven hair challenged the darkness of the night sky. Her skin, the color of lightly toasted lembas bread, seemed to glow in the moon's beams. Her ears were slightly pointed, but not as sharp as an elf's ear.

Why would someone hide such beauty? I ask myself. But her most noticeable feature was the scar that ran diagonally from her right temple to the bridge of her nose. And that was the moment Miranna's eyes opened.