Legolas X Reader - Bewildering Charm Part 2

“Glamhothea (Orcs)!”
Legolas’s roar pierces the night and the elves awake with a start. An elf you don’t yet know the name of dashes to Legolas’s side. You and Larien both refer to him as the bitter one.
“Orc’s, my Prince? Where?”
You watch him attentively, your eyes never leaving him. Aside from the fact that he is almost all you think about, watching him now is strictly regarding survival.
Alright, yes partly because he looks so admirable when he is preparing for battle. Legolas gets a certain look in his eyes, there is a transformation in his stance during a hunt. It is most peculiar that this fascinates you. Your eyes are stuck on him until there is a disturbance of a clutter of small stones behind you.
By now the other elves in the group are wide awake and vigilant.
“(F/n), what is it you’ve heard?” asks Larien, a small and petite elf with a cascade of dark brunette waves down her back. She has become one of your closest friends the past few weeks, not that the word ‘friend’ has ever meant anything to you. There has only been yourself you could count on, and even then your mind wasn’t the best of company.
“An Orc cry, more of a horrid shriek really,” you say with a smirk, Larien stares at you for a moment, unblinking, before she shows a broad grin. Her teeth pull back over her pearly whites into contagious laughter.
“Lle desiel (Are you ready)?” she asks sarcastically.
You roll your eyes, grinning too now, and give her a nudge with your shoulder, “I am always ready.”
Larien laughs once more before nodding you on, “We’re moving.”
Realising your mistake you rush after the group, the steps you take are silent and nimble. Such is the agility of an elf, although compared to Legolas’s movements you may as well be a stump of a dwarf, clunking the whole way.
“Relax, (F/n). His expectations of you are already as high as the clouds. You need not worry,” she says in an attempt to reassure you.
“Shh,” you hush her hurriedly. If the other elves knew of the crush you were nursing you would become a walking talking joke.
Larien merely rolls her eyes and shakes her head before dashing ahead of you.
There is a sudden change in the air, an alteration of some sort.  It is the smell of rotten flesh that has changed. It has changed directions.
“Tampa (stop)!” you yell abruptly. The elves spin around to face you and your heart beat quickens. Larien cocks her head to the side, confused.
You attempt to avoid it but your eyes jump to Legolas who is making his way towards you.
“What is it, (F/n)?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
There are two elves in the group who only speak Elvish so Legolas wastes no time in translating. It isn’t that you don’t like Elvish, you truly do, it just stirs unwanted memories and you have adapted to speaking the common tongue. It is just far simpler.
“The scent of the Orcs. It is no longer in front of us. I can smell it stronger at the back. They are attempting an ambush. It is a trick, Legolas.”
Legolas hesitated and he falls to a crouch, there is complete silence amongst the group before he stands again.
“Tula! (come)” he commands, coming back towards me, back the way we’d come.
The elves flock west, silently gliding across the highlands. Your spirit soars, devotion to the buzz of a hunt shudders through you. It makes your body quiver in exhilaration.
‘Bitter’, gives you an icy glare as he passes by. The horses give small grunts and Larien hushes them with Elvish. It calms them quickly.
Each elf lifts the spell put on their horse before mounting. It is but a precaution and harmless enchantment all elves use to keep their horses from fleeing in the night when the use of ropes is absent.
“Dina (be silent),” Legolas utters as he springs onto his ghost-white steed, Alatariel, in an elegant and nimble manoeuvre.
You are part of the last to mount as you glide over to Erazin, you’re rather lanky but incredibly agile mare. With a sleek ebony coat she reminds you of the creeping shadows in the misty mountains. Her dark cobalt eyes watch you and she nickers softly. Her nicker is a comforting rumble that soothes your eager heart. Springing into the saddle you give her a soothing pat. Her neck is slick with sweat, she senses the beginning of the hunt.
“Easy, Erazin,” you whisper, your mouth rolling over the words. Your Elvish accent curls around each letter.
She shies away from something at your left and you withdraw your sword in a flash.
“Who dares try and sneak up on me?” you spit irritably and your sword almost falls from your very grasp when you see your challenger. “Legolas,” you scold him, shaking your head. Your sword slithers safely back into its sheath.
Legolas jingles with a small chuckle and his eyes glint with hilarity, “Easy, (F/n). You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He takes up his rains and moves Alatariel into a steady momentum beside you.
Erazin snorts quietly and you almost mirror her, “I assumed you were an Orc.”
“And if I were to have been?”
“You would be dead,” you say confidently.  
A small smile creeps itself onto Legolas’s delicate lips and you bite your lip hard and kick Erazin into a faster gait.
Legalos pushes to match your speed, his tone is serious when he next speaks, and his eyes are intense with passion but also swimming with reluctance.
“Promise me you will be cautious, I dare not see you hurt,” he murmurs softly more to himself than to you. Your breath catches and your heart erupts, that calm exterior breaks and your eyes fly to him.
“Legalos,” you begin, not sure if words are able to leave your mouth, not sure if they could even if you tried.
“Lle vesta (Do you promise), (F/n)?” he states with a faint urgency.  
His eyes still have not met yours and they are focused to the Alps ahead.
“I promise,” you murmur, voice breaking quietly.
They fall on you then. Adoration blazes in those crystals as they sear into your (e/c) windows. With a swift small nod he moves his horse into a prompt canter, pushing to the head of the group.
There is barely a second to pore over his words as you near the bottom of the hill. Your eyes fall upon the flat gulley below, it crawls with the revolting Orcs. Horrid beasts.
You only just hear Legolas’s order to you all.
“Caela ie'lle! (Have at thee)”