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Shadows - Chapter Eight - Run, Legolas, Run

Shadows - Chapter Eight - Run, Legolas, Run

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Published by Cain S. Latrani

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Published by: Cain S. Latrani on Jun 24, 2012
Copyright:Public Domain


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DisclaimerI do not own Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it.I do not make any money from the writing of this story.Furthermore, so it is perfectly clear, I wrote this only as a means to sharpen my own talent.I've no intention of using it for personal gain, now or ever,and am not looking for accolades or recognition from it.Lord of the Rings and all associated entities are the property of the estate of thelate J.R.R Tolkien, who did this world a great service,and has my undying appreciation.This is just me, writing something on a whim, nothing more.
Chapter EightRun Legolas Run
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From Rivendell, Legolas headed out at a dead run. He no longer feared being huntedby the Shadows, for he knew now they had a better prey, his friend, the King of Gondor,Aragorn. If he failed to get there in time, all would be lost.He rode the stallion hard, pushing it to its absolute limits, resting only when he had to,crossing the Misty Mountains, barreling through Mirkwood, pausing only long enough topick up a fresh horse.He knew Elrond and his father would be close behind, but he could not wait for them.On he rode, pushing for all he was worth. He ignored the feel of the wind in his face, the hardbreathing of the stallion under him, even his own pounding heart.He listened only to the gnawing terror in his soul.Then, late one night, half way to Gondor, it came to him, a memory so bright it flaredacross his mind like the sun. He sat up, bolt straight, his heart raging so hard against his ribsit hurt, his breath coming only in small, quick gasps.He was already suppose to be in Gondor. For the ceremony. The announcement ofArwen's pregnancy. If the Shadows got there first, and they most certainly would, he darednot even consider the ramifications."Not while I yet breathe," he swore.When the horse gave out, Legolas continued on foot, running as fast as he could,setting aside his own exhaustion until later. Nothing but Aragorn and Arwen mattered now.Not even his own life mattered next to theirs. Next to their unborn child's.With each passing day, the Shadowbox continued its countdown, pushing him evenfaster. Little time remained, he knew. Exhaustion began to catch up with him, bringing with itdelusions of what he would find when he reached Minas Tirith.Aragorn, cold and dead, upon the stone floor.Legolas pushed that away.Arwen, destroyed beyond recognition.He pushed that away as well.Both of them, greeting him warmly, for all was well.That, he held on to, embraced as a lover, and clung to as the sun rose and fell. Itbecame his mantra through the long run, the one thing that pounded in his mind, even as hisfeet pounded the earth."All will be well," he muttered to himself. "All will be well."

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