Disclaimer: As always I do not own any characters settings places that Mr. Tolkien (who's up there with the wonderful Marion Zimmer Bradley- did I spell that right?) created. Also, I am making no money off this fic.

A/N: This is completely experimental and spontaneous. I wanted to see if I could write a fic about Legolas, a character that I don't exactly favor (Dear Goddess I'm going to get flamed for that), and somehow find it decent. This is the outcome.

Chapter One:

It was indeed false that Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood (although he desired to not follow that name) was lost. He was surely in the grand forests of Mirkwood, the outlying forests. The blood red sun had encircled the mounds of purple and pinkish clouds that huddled clearly in the horizon. However, the elf could vaguely see the horizon, for the trees cut into his keen elf vision by far.

His comely stallion, touched by a hint of pure white, trotted slower, embracing the gentle touch by Legolas. The elf's stern face was upon the forest horizon, where little light shone, however, it was nearly enough for him to get by. It was not the simple matter of finding his father's fortress, hidden deep in the outlying forest, but arriving there before sunset. The matter seemed abroad, filling his mind with a scorning from his father, although his father was far from cruel. He just did not favor his son's late advents.

The war was still waxing and that, indeed, was a problem for it was quite dangerous to wander the outlying forests at dusk. A horrid war, causing much bloodshed even now. It was not on the matter of either religion or territory, but the worst fate his world, in which he loved, faced. Legolas steadied his breathing to a mere silent touch of his tongue against the air. He could vaguely taste the flavor of dew, nearly lick it from the warm air.

And the sweetness of the breeze relaxed him, for he would surely not meet his deadline. Legolas's stallion left muddy footprints in the uneasy dirt of the forest. The elf felt a slight hint of bewilderment as this thought crossed his mind: What if I shall find my way not before a horrid, troublesome raid of Orcs arrives? I will be unaided if, indeed, this happens, and it has a great chance of. For those fiends have captured many farmlands and cottages in my outlying Kingdom, which I cannot find an answer. It could be as I am next a victim.

With an unsettled breath, Legolas urged his steed quicker, but quietly, for there was a faint rustle of leaves. The stallion walked languidly, yet cautiously, as Legolas bid, through the drear woods. His stern face was set upon a faint clearing of sunlight. If there was, truly, a breaking of light through the trees, it must mean there is a clearing and perhaps a dwelling as well.

This was smart and, for not only elves, but also Legolas in person, was very clever. He managed a silent groan as his horse trotted gently, as wind on a raven's wing, through the heavy mud of Mirkwood. Legolas's flesh was damp from the humidity, yet the temperature did not effect him directly.

His eyes did not betray him, for in the distance, his saw smoke! Fine, gray smoke gave the elf comfort wholly. Legolas petted his stallion, for bearing the burden of carrying him through the murky forest all afternoon, and dismounted.

There stood a cottage. It was as fabled ones should look- a stone snowy in colour, stone chimney, with an arch door, plastered with bars of black, and grass all about it. This simple cottage should be nothing to fear and most-likely will give me a place to stay for the night. I cannot possibly find my father's fortress in this dusk, amongst raids of orcs!

A heavily pink shade of clouds rolled over the horizon and into the new blackness of night. Legolas noted the concealment of the forest and a scent of burning firewood. He concluded that the dwellers must have a source of water, thus a stream must be what the trickling sound he heard awhile back must have been. Not only was the horse's hooves, but Legolas's feet, as well, were bruised with endless searching only to find blank areas of forest, hidden by sunlight and aromas of thick, damp, plant and animal life.

And he always bore a hidden fear of Mirkwood's Spiders, descendents of Shelob. The very instant he pictured long, hairy legs of the blood-coated creatures nagging at their monstrous webs, catching pray and digging into their skin, he shivered. Indeed, he shuddered instantly. Next, he pictured, himself turning far from the forest, and into some unknown realm, cursed by fiends such as those. He pictured his reaction as his pale body was wrapped in hideous webs of sticky silk, yelping until his voice was cut from screaming, breathing.

A radiant colour of phobia covered his once serene mind. Next, Legolas's thoughts were vividly focused on the cottage and a place for the night. Cautiously, he knocked the door, the fear of spiders drowning in his subconscious.

It was an old woman who answered. The elf's first impression was that she was an old hag, damned here in exile for sorcery. She wickedly grinned, at first look upon Legolas, "Eh? Prince of Mirkwood! How do you?"

"Very well, my lady, however I am at quite a dilemma. I seem to have lost myself in the darkness of the coming dusk and I suspect I shall not find my way," He paused and looked at her, as if she was an old bitch puppy, eyes full of awful shrewdness, "Could I request a stay for the night?"

Her eyes grinned sardonically, but it seemed that the old woman had now realized that he was majesty, "Very well, Prince. I suspect I could find you a room. Come in, please, and make yourself comfortable. I do hope that these awful woods had not frightened you."

"I do confess, I have nowhere for my noble stallion to go," Legolas asked, still aware that he was in the presence of a sly woman. And she said: "Ah, that does arise a problem. Do you mind, sire, if we restrict him to the tightness of a rope?"

"I suppose that will do, for there is no place else," He said.

The woman held the door open for the Legolas, "Indeed, it will." She spoke with delicate harshness and he was fully on heed. He stepped inside the warm cottage, although the warmth did not effect him, the elf just felt it lingering upon the air. The cottage was a bit dusty for his own tastes, yet it was kept organized. There were small, close, rooms filled with many objects; some of elves, dwarves, and men creation, embroidered with fine jewels and mysterious things to the eye.

A calm breeze from the open window singled the coming of dusk. The early stars, hardly visible, appeared to Legolas's eyes alone. He squinted faintly, letting the breeze flutter about the room, creating an aroma of freshness. The woman, who went by the name of Glaradith, escorted the elf farther into the depths of her hearth.

A hasty fire, dancing as a battle; fierce and unvigilant, guarded the main room, encircled with many rugs and ancient tapestry of the elves. It was surprisingly comforting. Legolas's eyes searched for more proof that this strange hag was no sorceress damned here in exile, as he once pondered.

"What, my lady, shall I call you?" He asked with a dulcet voice as silver threads breaking at a cackle of the dancing flames. The old woman turned to him, eyes figuring what to make of the prince; "You can call me Glaradith if you must. The terms madam, my lady or any other nonsense shall not apply to me."

Legolas nodded in understanding, reasoning Glaradith's behavior. Her personality is, I daresay, fierce. I would surely be surprised not if she was indeed a sorceress. She speaks with wisdom, but hatred, like fire. His glance was turned to the flames as he found his thought fitting. Glaradith spoke: "My apprentice shall arrive shortly to remove your dirty clothing and give you warm wine to drink."

"Thank you, Glaradith, and many times more for allowing me to share your cottage on such a foul night," The hag did not speak but merely twisted her face as if he was too kind, and merry, then left to find rope for his stallion.

Legolas had a great hunger for something, like stag meat. He wondered, with no greed, if they would provide any food. When shall that apprentice arrive? I am certainly needy of rest. The elf questioned, yet only to himself. He felt uneasy of his night at this cottage, as if Glaradith would cast a fetid and dirty spell upon him in his sleep.

He sat down in a leather chair, shaped in a gratifying way, perhaps stuffed with peacock feather or whatnot. Suddenly, a shadow came from the right room, the kitchen. The darkness was beginning to dwell on the wooden floors of the cottage like shadows.

A woman, with a cloth over her head and wearing horribly dirty clothes, stepped into the room. She was carrying a goblet of warm wine for Legolas. Her steps were uneasy when in the presence of the Prince of Mirkwood.

The tray moved slightly, causing tiny splashes of wine to hit the outer rims. Legolas turned towards her and spoke: "Thank you, madam." She simply responded in a voice of hidden dark richness, "My lord, be in no thanks to a mere servant as I. Do you request anything else, sire?"

"I confess, I do. My tunic is damp and unclean since my departure from the castle. And my stomach is craving of stag meat, if you could, of course, supply it. I do not wish to trouble you, however." The elf spoke. The young woman met his eyes and he could see that her face was round and dirty, and her eyes were darkly intense, alike her words.

She bowed, slightly, and returned to the kitchen to find something edible for the guest.


The deep lights, which staggered across the wooden floor, caught his eye. Legolas examined them carefully, as if laboring a secret interest. The fire was very comforting, however the warmth meant nothing to an elf. He next pondered the upcoming war and sighed. So much change will arrive, as I should bare it with much difficulty. I do, indeed, wonder how this will effect Mirkwood, and myself.

Legolas sighed, gently, and remembered where he was. He was in a cottage, far from his castle, and consolation. The elf was vaguely worried by Glaradith and questioned her apprentice. She seemed chaste, innocent, and wise, something considered highly in the wed of a man, or elf. However, she was a simple apprentice to a puppy bitch, nothing more.

Next, he thought about the old woman, with much fear, in fact, although he did not show it. Legolas thought of her as he did the awful spiders of the haunted lands. An aversion crossed his pondering mind as he imagined a spell of disgusting spider webs consuming his each breath until he lay slain by silk, yet deadly, webs. Legolas did not trust the old woman, even in the smallest measurements of time, since his stay.

"Eh? You are still awake, my prince?" he turned to find Glaradith, "Well, you best be getting to sleep, for I suspect you shall be leaving after midday." Her ill-tempered face wrinkled up and she next limped up the staircase, echoing something: "Radais shall show you to your bed."

Legolas took the woman harshly and sneered. He then figured that he was feeling a bit weary and decided to find her apprentice, Radais.

She sat in a small room and continued to weave, fingers entwining with the string. The elf took a further glance and saw the quilt was nearly plenary, a few snags and mishaps. "Glaradith told me that you would escort me to my bed."

"Yes my lord. Please, follow me," Radais turned from her tedious weaving and to Legolas. She looked at him with longing, yet purity, yet punished herself in thought for thinking of someone that she could never have in such a disrespectful manner. Radais closed her eyes and walked up the old stairs, which seemed to clink and shake with every breath. The elf was quite afraid it would collapse at any moment.

And he followed her through a narrow corridor, which was filled with bright flames of candelabras. He saw three doors, two to the left and one single to the right. Legolas suspected that each woman dwelled in their own room, which remained a guestroom. He followed her into a room, small yet filled with many tidbits and delicate items from Arda. The scent was as if the room was dipped in cinnamon, and caught his attention instantly.

There was a single window, which consisted of a flap that was hitting against the stone walls hastily, and obnoxiously. A heavy wind blew into the idle cracks and onto his own elven body. He shivered at the ghastliness of the room. He now noticed that the apprentice was carrying a candle herself, which provided a bit more warmth.

"I suspect you will sleep well, my lord. You may call upon me if you like, to ask of any needs," Radais turned and walked from the room, compassion obvious, "Goodnight, Prince." And she felt a deep crevice burn inside her limbs, feeling, for the first time, desire.

He turned his stern eyes upon the closing door, next examining the room. Legolas felt it less haunting once the candles were fully lit, and decorating the chamber with solace. He mouthed a 'Goodnight' to the fleeing apprentice.

Legolas slept uneasily, ideas of witches and horrid magic spells cast upon him, dwelling in his black mind. Next, he pictured the apprentice, and sincerely hoped she did not resemble Glaradith and her gorgon ways. Although he did not know the old woman greatly, he did fear her.

Another A/N: I will have more posted very soon so keep checking back and please, tell me what you think of this so far. ^__^