Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction story, so please have mercy! (Chuckles) Main characters. will be revaled hereafter. Disclaimer: I don't claim any of these characters, except for Derek and the men from Dale, Tolkien owns the elves and the lost king of Gondor, lucky guy! Some of the descripts come directly from "The Hobbit"- you'll be able to tell the difference. Poem is Tolkien's as well. Man, isn't there anything left for me???
The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay by night and day
And dark things silent crept beneath…
They walked in single file. The entrance to the path was like a sort of arch leading into a gloomy tunnel made by two great trees that leant together, too old and strangled with ivy and hung with lichen to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The path itself was narrow was wound in and out among the trunks. Soon the light at the gate was like a little bright hole far behind, and the quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the tress leaned over them and listened.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, otherwise known as Strider, led the company of men along the centuries- old forest path. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the six men scramble through the underbrush, nervously glancing into the greeny- blackness surrounding them on either side. Night was falling in Mirkwood. Bows and swords drawn, they forged on, despite the chills creeping up and down their spines. Every so often, he threw back an encouraging smile, willing his men forward. He knew they were afraid.
"Strider!"
The man stopped, cocking his ear in the direction of the speaker. He motioned him closer, while indicating that the others remain on guard, as they continued to make their way through the dense underbrush. Strider drew the first man aside.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Strider, something's wrong. Following this path any farther with take us straight into the halls of the elvenking."
"I know."
The man continued in a low, urgent tone. "I think we should stay away from the mountains."
"We must go where the trail leads us. Even to the elvenking."
"You are quick to form alliances, my friend."
Strider stiffened, surprised at the sarcasm in the other's voice. He looked into the eyes of his friend; they were heavy with concern and contempt.
"How do you know you can trust these creatures?"
"Creatures! Derek, they are not-"
"Strider! Derek! Come quickly!"
An urgent voice called out of the darkness. Thinking his friends were in danger, Strider drew his sword, motioning for Derek to follow. Hearts pounding, they raced ahead to join their companions. Stumbling through the underbrush, they followed the sound of the voice until they reached a small clearing where some trees had been felled and leveled to the ground. The stumps were arranged in a great circle, some thirty feet wide in circumference. Their five companions stood waiting at the edge of the circle, eyes scrutinizing the area in ill- concealed awe. Between the circle of tree trunks, they recognized the scattered remains of a large bonfire- the remnants of a colossal feast. Strider knelt, pressing the soft petals of a lily blossom between his rough fingers. Derek stood by his side, sword drawn, sniffing the air suspiciously.
"Whoever they are, they've not been long away from this place. Maybe an hour."
"Will they come back, do you think?" One man asked nervously.
Strider stood up, sheathing his sword. "Perhaps-"
"It matters not," Derek interrupted, "We should press on before it gets too late."
"I agree with you completely," Strider returned, with a sidelong glance at his friend. And he led the party out of the clearing.
As the men glanced from side to side, they noticed there was a greenish light about them, and in places, they could see some distance to either side of the path. Yet the light only showed them endless lines of straight grey trunks like the pillars of some huge twilight hall. There was a breath of air and a noise of wind, but it had a sad sound. A few leaves came rustling down to remind them that outside autumn was coming on. Their feet ruffled among the dead leaves of countless other autumns that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the forest.
Derek distrusted the forest. He distrusted the silence. He distrusted the breathing of the trees over his head. He distrusted the myriad of eyes peering out at them from the shadows. He distrusted the path they were taking. He distrusted the greeny light that was growing in intensity, they nearer they came to the mountains. The light that shone but did not penetrate the suffocating darkness that overwhelmed his mind. His head pounded; he nearly moaned aloud, if only those accursed voices would stop-
Derek stopped dead in his tracks, listening for all he was worth. Voices.
His companions, either unaware or choosing to ignore it, continued on. Derek stared long and hard into the trees, straining his eyes, as if daring them to reveal their secret. Slowly, he drew his sword from its sheath, and held it fiercely. Strider and the others were far ahead, and the forest fell silent, muting the sound of their footfalls. Derek listened; held his breath. But all he could hear was the rustling of the leaves under his feet, the sigh of the wind above, the pounding of his heart, the labored sound of his own breath…
Stop. Derek was holding his breath. Still the sound continued, soft, rhythmic, constant…someone, or something was breathing. As if in slow motion, Derek turned, head first, then torso, then his hold body, until his sword point swung around and pointed directly at the chest of a tall, slender man standing still as stone behind him. He did not move, or speak, or lift his head, while his eyes were cast irrevocably downward, staring fixedly at the questing point of Derek's sword. Derek raised the weapon, until it came to rest just underneath the man's chin, which he lifted, so as to meet his gaze.
"What are you doing, following me like a theif?" he demanded.
The man did not reply, only blinked, as if he had not heard.
"Do you speak, elf?" Derek sneered the last word.
When he received no answer, Derek felt his temper rising.
"What is your name? Shall I run you through with my sword?"
At this, the elf slowly began to smile, a small, self- assured smile. He met the questioning gaze in Derek's eyes.
"Look behind you," he said softly.
As warning bells clanged inside his head, Derek struggled to control his curiosity.
"That's the oldest trick in the book."
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw several figures racing down the path towards them. Once again, his hear began pounding. If he was surrounded, he was not sure he could fight his way out of an army of elves single-handedly, in the middle of a haunted forest, with his friends getting farther away by the second. Tensing himself for an ambush, he turned to attack-
"Strider!"
"Derek! What are you doing-"
Realizing his mistake in a split second, Derek whirled back to face his prisoner-
But was met with only laughter from above, in the trees. Angrily, Derek thrust his sword upward, and the person above moved to accommodate.
"Yes," the musical voice continued, "It is the oldest trick in the book. That's why I knew it would work on you."