Canines and Arachnids

When the group stopped for the night, all attempts to force Elladan to revert were renewed. As before, their efforts resulted in only ripples of silver, but no elf. Relinquishing him to the care of the elders, Legolas and Elrohir started towards the trees, hesitating at Elladan’s timid call.

*Can I go?* Elladan asked suddenly. His ears flicked with uncertainty at his own presumptuousness, but he didn’t back down from his request.

*We’d be delighted to have you along,* Legolas answered immediately. *The first hunt is always easier with company.*

Emboldened by the ready acceptance, Elladan perked up considerably. The traveling had worn him out, but he was still heartened by the thrill of the hunt. The feeling was strange, shooting feelings of uncertainty and excitement through him at the same time, and both of the other werewolves were quick to assure him that it was normal. The more skilled wolves flanked him, forcing him to take the lead despite his lack of experience. Whenever he strayed from the proper path, they nudged him into the right direction with a simple word or suggestion.

*Left by a few degrees,* Elrohir commented.

*Can you smell the vague spicy head in the air?* Legolas asked, to which Elladan agreed readily. *That is the scent of a wild hare. Just follow the strongest vane along the air.*

Reassured, Elladan shifted his course several times, ears erect and nostrils flaring. His elfin instincts bade him to continue straight, but his new canine senses pulled him to the left. Fighting between the sensations, he pulled left, aroused by the new aspects of his growing awareness for the surrounding lands. Movement flashed before him and he lunged, a grayish brown blur shooting out from under his fangs. Instincts controlled his every movement and he shot forward in chase, teeth descending on the escaping figure.

The creature came within reach and he snapped his jaws shut, hot coppery liquid filling his mouth as his fangs broke the hare’s neck. Repulsed, he scrambled back, silver eyes wide. Whooping with laughter, Legolas and Elrohir caught up with him.

*You know, I think you like it!* Legolas crowed.

*You’re good at this,* Elrohir laughed. *Better than we were, anyways.*

They were gleefully ignoring his discomfort, amused by the sight of the raven elf knight squirming at the thought of a kill. They felt that their automatic approval would calm the newest addition more than any other action they could possibly offer. Though they wanted him comfortable more than anything, the clear disgust in his eyes was a little funny. Pranksters frirthirth, they couldn’t resist the chance to watch someone squirm.

Sighing loudly, Elladan relinquished the kill to his companions, not quite ready to partake of the flesh of a quivering carcass of the long-eared rodent. It was one thing to eat flesh tartar from a bowl, quite another to rip it from the form of a writhing kill.

*Don’t think of it like that,* Elrohir admonished, sensing his thoughts.

*It’s a hot meal,* Legolas offered.

*It’s twitching,* Elladan protested.

*It’s fresh,* Legolas countered.

*It’s twitching,* Elladan reiterated, unable to get beyond that fact. Both of his companions laughed hysterically at him.

Trying to show him how it was done, Legolas pulled the animal’s belly open and happily slurped up the innards, blood dripping from his muzzle. Rumbling joyfully, Elrohir edged in to lap at the blond fur in a strange parody of a kiss. Tilting his head, Legolas returned the attentions, tangling his long flattened tongue with his companion’s, angling to flick his tongue across the raven wolf’s fangs.

The shock of the sight moved Elladan into attempting to mimic the other two werewolves. Very gingerly, he pulled at a leg, flesh giving way easily beneath his razor sharp fangs to land a small amount of meat and fur in his mouth. His tongue writhed at the unusual sensation of fur and he almost spit out the morsel. Only the encouraging looks leveled in his direction gave him the peace of mind to swallow, his tongue rasping harshly against his teeth. Trying to keep his emotions out of it, he had to admit that the flavor wasn’t entirely abhorrent. More boldly, he latched onto his first kill, twisting his head to the side to loosen up a patch of meat. He tried to pull back, alarmed by his own ferocity, but Legolas and Elrohir wouldn’t allow it, urging him to continue.

A little unsettled by the scrutiny, encouraging despite everything, he spent several minutes stripping the rabbit. Though loath to admit it, he felt infinitely better after a full meal suited to hew few form. Abandoning the pile of bones and skin to the wild, the trio started into the woods again, the more experienced wolves hesitating when Elladan stifled a yawn.

*Go back to camp and rest,* Legolas prompted immediately.

*I’m fine,* Elladan tried.

*We’ve been in your position before,* Elrohir reminded him firmly. *You’re tired. We’ve been waiting for some time for you to show signs of fatigue.*

*It is a tiresome process,* Legolas agreed. Between their twinned assaults, the two backed him into resting, allowing the elder elves to care for Elladan.

Elrond and Glorfindel noted Elladan’s return, but didn’t say anything. Elrond was kind enough to brush a few leaves from his fur and ran a dampened rag around his muzzle. If the werewolf objected being coddled, he gave no sign of it. Turning to his father, he tilted his head to indicate a place missed, though there was none, the movement having stemmed from an attempt to prolong the contact between them. Elrond pulled him into an embrace instantly at the first indication that his son desired comfort. Their contact left the elder twin staggering, unable to recognize how easily he had been accepted into society as he was. Images of childhood flashed back to the Lord of Imladris and he couldn’t help remembering his son as a toddler staggering about, arms askew as he sought to regain his balance and an unruly child that had shown little skill in wielding a spoon. Elrond smiled at the memory of a toddler with an upended bowl of oatmeal on his head.

“Was there much game?” Elrond said idly. When Elladan nodded his head, his father continued speaking. “We were expecting you to be out longer. We’re but a day from Lothlórien. I would have thought you’d find nothing this near our goal. From now on, I’d advise you to watch for patrol closely when you’re away from us.” He eyed the black wolf critically. “The closer we near, the closer you’ll have to stay to us. Hiding you from the archers long enough to explain the situation will be difficult at best.”

“I’m surprised that we haven’t seen anyone yet,” Glorfindel mused. “Haldir is more cautious than this to allow a party onto his lands. The March Warden should have come to greet us some time ago.”

“Unless he’s simply observing us because of the unusual nature of our company,” Elrond agreed.

“Or if he’s distracted,” Glorfindel said. In answer, a loud scream issued from somewhere in the darkness. He sighed. “Let us see what damage your son has done this time.”

“In all fairness, it could be your lover,” Elrond returned, deflecting blame to Mirkwood.

Kicking dirt over the fire, the trio started towards the source of the shouting. They expected a battle of grand proportions to be in effect by the time they arrived. They weren’t let down.

* * *

Rúmil had been the first to spot the two wolves sliding silently through the undush ush and slapped Orophin on the shoulder to gain his attention. The furry forms were gigantic, much too large for any dog or wolf, but still too small and sleek to be wargs.

“What are they?” Orophin asked, knocking an arrow.

“Don’t know. I’d say wolves, but for the size of them,” Rúmil mused, raising his bow as well. “Predators, that much is certain.”
ere ere is Haldir?” Orophin questioned softly. He pulled the string back in preparation to fire.

“He ran off after a third one. His standing instructions were to claim them at the same instant. Don’t want one to escape.”

* * *

Legolas and Elrohir were aware of the other elves long before they had been sighted. Common sense, or at least decency, would have them step behind a tree, revert to elfin form, cover themselves modestly and calmly explain the situation to the other elves. But what fun would that have been?

While Legolas ran around in clear view, his golden fur standing out more brightly than his companion’s, Elrohir slunk up to the tied mounts and gleefully untied them with a quick pull at a key rope. A light nip was the only act needed to send the three horses barreling away at breakneck speeds. Arrows rained down on them, but they calmly stepped away from each shot, the near misses encouraging the archers to try harder. Slowly but surely, they separated, forcing the silver-haired brothers to do the same.

Hopping to the side of what would have been a lethal shot, Legolas started a mental count, knowing full well that a Lothlórien quiver held eighty arrows. And it was already half empty. Frustration added to his haste, both aspects working against Rúmil’s aim. Orophin suffered just as badly as Elrohir danced around his deadly aim, darting swiftly through the gloom, assisted by his raven coat and incredible speed.

Seeing an opportunity, Legolas scooped up one of Rúmil’s arrows in his teeth and made for Orophin. The blond werewolf allowed one paw to revert to a hairy short-fingered hand. Gripping the shaft of the arrow, he leapt high into the air and snapped the sharp arrowhead into the three, passing cleanly through Orophin’s shirt just as the blond made to jump to a new limb to attain better sites on Elrohir.

To all other eyes, it simply appeared that Legolas had passed closely to the silver elf in an attempt to bite him. The appearance of Rúmil’s arrow through his tunic led to one simple line of events that couldn’t be avoided. Momentum threw him forward while the arrow held him in place, throwing his legs forward while his trunk was forcibly restrained. The consequences to that were naturally not desirable. Rúmil fell out of the tree, his robes going up over his head and leaving him all but defenseless on the ground, both bow and quiver tangled in the garments. Dignity flew out the window, and he screamed as he plummeted towards the ground. Orophin peered down at him instantly, eyes wide.

“What happened?”

“You shot me!” Rúmil proclaimed aptly, eyes blazing with fury. He unsheathed his sword a little stiffly, watching for the wolves and trying to glare at his little brother at the same time.

“I wasn’t even aiming in your direction!” Orophin protested.

“Maybe you should! Then you might hit something!”

“Trust me, it’s tempting!” Orophin growled, cursing loudly in elfish when Elrohir cut sharply to the right, the arrow’s flight bringing it so close that the feathers brushed up against his flank.

No longer in danger of being shot since his particular hunter was half naked and without his bow, Legolas turned his mind elsewhere. Attention diverted by his older brother’s bitter complaining, Orophin was caught off guard and fell victim of mblemble golden figure behind him, too much a wolf to be an elf, but to much an elf to be a wolf.

Balanced on a wide redwood branch by thickened feet showing traces of nails, but no heel whatsoever, an entirely new creature to the Silvan elf stood before him. Barrel chest and wide shoulders, arms that were elfish enough to be used as such, but digigrade legs that weren’t entirely suited to maintaining an upright position for extended lengths of time. The slightly hunched posture spoke of great strength and the ability to move instantly and with a great deal of accuracy. Hair on the body was for mostmost part short, growing thicker along the midline of the chest to navel, and downright bushy down his spine and near the major joints, such as shoulder, knee and ankle. A bushy golden tail arched backwards in a sinuous curve to maintain balance. While his muzzle was present, some of the length had been lost, leaving it with more of a blunted appearance. Deep-set sapphire eyes completed the image, entirely too elfin and intelligent in thherwherwise monstrous appearance.

Using the shock of his appearance to his advantage, Legolas yanked the bow out of the flabbergasted elf’s hands, claiming his quiver and blades as an afterthought. The silver elf still had enough wit about him to protest the loss of his sword, and the two ended up struggling for the finely wrought blade while Rúmil could do nothing but watch helplessly from below. Thddleddle child was brought back into the fray when Elrohir charged him from the side, taking them down in a tangle of limbs. Using Legolas’ example of a partial transformation, he discovered that the half-form was perfect for combat, stronger and more maneuverable than elfin, but maintaining the rather useful aspects of things such as an upright stance and hands.

Weapons no longer in play, the struggle was over in seconds. Both silver haired elves of Lórien were pinned face down in the dirt, hands bound behind them with strips of cloth taken from their own cloaks. Their weapons were collected and cleaned, the arrows gathered carefully so as to not further damage the delicate feathers adorning the wooden shafts. Slowly, the bound pair settled, seeing that they were in no imminent danger from their strange captors. Rúmil cleared his throat from behind his gag. The blond beast above him helpfully pulled it free.

“Do you plan to hurt us?” he asked.

“No,” Legolas returned, his voice a bit more hoarse and guttural than he would have liked, but it was enough to relay his message. He smiled patiently, knowing that more questions were to come.

“Are you going to leave us here?” Rúmil asked tentatively.

“To what point and purpose? Again, no.”

“Then… where are you taking us?”

“You’ll see,” Legolas purred. Both silver elves shivered at the sound, the evil ring to the rumbling laughter. The situation did not bode well.

To Be Continued…
And so you have it. March Wardens beware! Hyperactive werewolves have been sighted in the area. R&R!