Disclaimer: I wish I owned LOTR characters, but I don't. I do own the mysterious attacker.
A/N: Read and review.
The forest was deathly silent. Legolas hoped it remained that way. It was not common for him to travel alone but when he had set out from Rivendell, he felt no need to draw another elf into harm's way. Watching his footing he sidestepped over protruding roots as he listened intently for hostile sounds. A feeling of great unease formed inside him. Deftly, he un-shouldered his bow. His blue eyes darted back and forth searching for other life in the woods. Legolas found none.
The silence hanging over the forested area was broken. An arrow buried itself in the trunk of a tree where the elf had been standing moments before. Not waiting for the arrow to finish quivering, Legolas darted silently ahead craning his neck to the treetops. A second arrow sunk into the loam behind him. Looking briefly over his shoulder, he put on an extra burst of speed. Abruptly, he halted, pivoting around and dropping to the ground in the same instant. With a sharp hiss Legolas shot an arrow in the direction of his assailant. When he did not hear the desired scream, he shot two arrows off instantaneously in the same direction. The branches directly above him rustled. Springing into a crouch he trained his bow upward, squinting along the arrow he held drawn. The leaves stopped rustling. A shrill scream cut through the air. A small creature plunged through the foliage to land before Legolas. Legolas recognized the yellow-shafted arrow jutting out of the beasts left shoulder as his own. Despite its injury, it held a sword aloft with its good arm, bringing it sloping downward towards Legolas' head. Rolling sideways, he managed to escape being decapitated. Hurriedly regaining his composure the elf leapt upright. Towering over the clandestine figure, he released the arrow from his grip, sending it straight into his enemy's chest. With a gurgle, the cloaked being fell to the ground clutching the arrow feebly. Holding the one of the barbed edges of his bow towards the thing, he muttered to himself quietly in Elvish. Pushing the rim of the hood upwards Legolas peered down sullenly at the dead being. He did not recognize the face nor was he able to identify what type of creature he had killed. Although its face resembled that of an Orcs, its body was much too small to be one. The concealed figure was shorter than any hobbit he had met. Pushing the hood back down over its face, he knelt down on one knee.
Next to the fallen foe he found the sword it had been wielding. On it's hilt were numerous dash marks, some large and some small. Angrily, Legolas shoved the weapon's blade down into the dirt. He recognized the blade as one forged by Elvish folk. The marks on the hilt represented kills the creature had made, the large marks representing adult beings, the smaller dashes representing young ones. Fury flashed across Legolas' usually solemn face.
Pushing himself upright again, the elf began running in the opposite direction he had come from. This time when he set off, he did not worry about making noise. Any foe with the slightest bit of intelligence would have stopped dead in its tracks and fled in the opposite direction if it had glimpsed the irritation depicted on Legolas' face. Then again, not all of Legolas' pursuers chose to be that smart.