Legolas X Reader - Bewildering Charm Part 4

*******Years earlier*******

The wind whistles between the leaves of the oaks around you. There is an idiosyncratic chill that always creeps its way over you when you are out of Mirkwood’s borders.
It is stronger today you notice, the wind. There is a small driven gale at your back and you grimace. The storm is rolling in without mercy.
“Araliel, we should return. The storm is upon us. We’re exposed,” you say slowly looking up at the sky, surveying the blackness crawling its way across the cobalt sheet.
“Oh (f/n), relax. Even I am feeling tense with your worry,” Araliel giggles tucking loose golden strands behind her large peculiar ears. You’ve been cautioned by many that associating with Araliel will corrupt your status. Araliel is what some refer to as a cross-breed. She is the fool of Mirkwood, although she is a fine hunter. Well at least you have given her the decency to look beyond her peculiarities.  
“Araliel,” you whisper, the wind carries your voice to her ears and her arm lowers, bow drooping in her hand.
“But we have all but hunted, it has taken most time just walking,” she says softly with a glint in her lime flecked black eyes. Araliel is strong. But not as strong as she may think.
You often notice glimpses of pain in those eyes. There is but a handful of elves that will give Araliel the time of day, for Araliel is half human, half elf. An abnormality.
You sigh before you look her in the eyes and nod. Conjuring a small smile you say, “We will adventure out again tomorrow, I swear on the earliest elfin lords of Mirkwood.”
She raises a brow and at first you wonder if she will simply wave away your offer, but Araliel is not stupid. She’d not turn down an offer to hunt.
“I will hold you to that,” she says as she dances across the stepping stones. You glare at the water and shake your head to fight off the shiver you know is on its way. The water is in no way inviting, the thoughts of creatures that lurk in water used to keep you up at night.
They don’t anymore. For some elves are far worse than the creatures of the depths.
“Tira ten' rashwe (Be careful),” you blurt out and Araliel shoots you a scowl.
Her scowl melts quickly away into a small smirk, “Aren’t I always?”
“Yes but yo-“, her eyes twist and the smile drops, but you are not cruel. “But it is a windy day; the water is blowing onto the rocks.”
She looks down as she balances on one foot. The other comes down quickly, “So it is.”
She leaps off the last stepping stone and you stifle your sigh of relief.
Araliel puts a hand on your shoulder before storming on ahead, “what would I do without you, (f/n).”
“Heavens knows,” you joke back and she rolls her eyes but her smile is real.
There is a crash above you as the thunder sets in, your arms immediately wrap around yourself and your feet push into a run, Araliel -as always- is but an inch from your heels.

You are not far from the gates now, the storm has exacerbated. Wind whips your hair about your face, slashing at the icy and taut skin.
The darkness sets itself about the woods and you hear Araliel’s cry. Her eyes are as good as a humans in the dark. She cannot see as far as a metre in the blackness.
“Araliel, follow my voice,” you say soothingly, ignoring the panic creeping into your tone.
You turn around. Your stomach heaves and the world spins.

*******Present Day*******

The sword dives deep into the foul grey flesh. You tear the precious silver out. It is a wonder that an item that embraces such beauty can do such damage.
The Orcs cries fill the sky as many stumble about in the black abyss, meeting their death in several strides.
The Orc you have just annihilated was foolish enough to have lurched directly towards the tip of your blade.
“I'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor tul're (The bones of our foes will gleam under the sun tomorrow)”, hollers out Larien. If it had been any other elf, they would be severely disciplined for breaking out in the middle of a battle where darkness is at your aid. Through noise, the Orcs know where you and your kin are situated.
But this is no ordinary combat.
There are several captains amongst the group, although Orcs are greater in numbers, there is significant skill amongst your kin.
“Easy Larien, save some for me. I quite like a good fight,” chuckles an elf. The voice is familiar, but you can’t put a face to the voice. Perhaps it was the young brown haired elf that Larien had taken on as an apprentice.
The moonlight glints in the valley as a cloud separates into tiny black fragments. The light would only be offered for several moments; soon you must choose a different route as the Orcs have now located each of your locations.
“throquûrz-lab aaps (hungry for your meat),” comes a revolting snort from behind you. Your adrenaline pumps and your heart beat quickens. There is too many. The light is fading but you see grey spots clambering into the valley in the distance. There are more. They are coming.
Your sword meets an odd weapon. It is a sharp rock, coiled with barbs, on the end of what looks to be bone. The Orc bares its mouth and the stench of rot overpowers your senses and throws you off your game.
You skip sideways to avoid the slashing off the weapon. There is a wash of pain that is sent over your leg and your hand flings down to ease it. There is a hot liquid that seeps onto your fingers. Bringing your hands into the moonlight you see red fluid that dances down your fingers.
You grunt and swing your sword, over your head and through the Orc’s skull.
“Disgusting filth,” you mutter as it crashes to the ground. For seconds it twitches until finally it stills.
Orcs are trooping faster than you can see. It is a wave of grey as they enter the valley.
It is only now that you realise that your kin have scattered.
The light is stolen and the black embarks on its journey once more.
There is the shrill bellows of creatures and you sigh in relief. The advantage is back in your hands.
Your eyes scan for Larien as you slash along the swarm. Your sword is dripping with black now; it has swallowed many lives this night.
There is no loss in the taken.
An Orc life is hardly anything of value.