Chapter I: In the Company of Wood-elves
"…Yet whatever is still to do, I hope to have a part in it, for the honor of the folk of the Lonely Mountain."
"And I for the folk of the Great Wood," said Legolas…
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King.
The trees were laughing at him.
Aragorn felt their leers, cool and ice-black and malicious, and suppressed a shiver.
"We don't like the scary forest, no, we don't, precious," said the creature at the end of the rope the Man clutched in his scarred hand. "Scary forest doesn't like us. And scary forest has scary, nasty spiders, yes, it does, precious. And Orcs, and nasty Elves." Aragorn was inclined to agree with the wretch. Taur e-Ndaedelos well deserved its name. He glanced nervously into the trees, hand on his sword hilt, although a sword was of little use here. He needed a quick, light weapon that he could draw and maneuver easily. His knife would suffice, perhaps, though it was not as sharp as his sword and he was less skilled in its use.
Truth be told, he had few skills that were any good in this lightless realm, where monstrous spiders lurked, unseen until too late, and the very leaves seemed to have taken a personal dislike to him.
"We're so hungry, precious," squeaked Gollum. "And so very tired, yes, since nasty Man did not let us sleep or eat. Can you not give us something to eat now? Or let us sleep, precious, yes, sleep."
"You have only yourself to blame for your condition," said Aragorn shortly. "Had you behaved I would not have had to starve you or drive you hard to tame you."
"Nasty, cruel, horrible Man!" And the creature wheeled round on his rope, jumped up and sank his teeth into Aragorn's arm, adding yet another bite to the collection already accumulated by the Man. Aragorn cursed and struck Gollum down.
"Sméagol is hungry, so hungry and so sleepy," sobbed Gollum.
Aragorn sighed and tried to ignore him, knowing that the creature would go on in this fashion for some time. Yet no matter where his thoughts led him, it was always someplace unpleasant. The stabbing pain in his arm. His own weariness and near starvation. The worry and the heartache that lay just underneath the physical pain, pain for which he was almost grateful because it kept his mind from troubles of a more subtle sort. And the trees, always the trees, watching, taunting, telling each other dusky secrets that were known to none else.
Except for the Elves of this wood, of course, but that was yet another nuisance.
Moriquendi. Silvan folk but without the fair guardianship of the Lady Galadriel. The Mirkwood Elves were rustic and dangerous, wise in wood-lore but little else, feral warriors who had none of the arts of their higher kindred. They were still Elves, it was true, and a good and worthy people. Aragorn knew this. And yet he who was accustomed to Rivendell could not help his unease in their realm.
Thranduil, of course, was Sindarin and therefore of the Eldar. But that was little comfort. The fierce and fell Elven-king, like his father Oropher before him, kept his face turned from the Light and preferred the wild ways of the Avari to the high art of the Noldor. Yet he was loved and revered by his subjects, and commanded a grudging esteem from the rest of Elvendom. 'Thranduil the Stiff-necked,' Elrond had called him. Arwen's father had spoken of Mirkwood's lord with little liking, yet not without sincere respect. And Aragorn, when he had spoken to Thranduil before capturing Gollum to ask if the creature could be held prisoner in the Wood, had developed that same feeling towards the Elven-king.
Still, he wished himself out of Thranduil's realm as soon as possible.
"Nasty spiders, will jump out at us and surprise us and then gobble us up, chomp, chomp, yes, gollum, gollum, we thinks we hears the spiders now…" Without thinking Aragorn looked up and scanned the branches overhead, strained his eyes to search the dark mire of wood and leaf. He saw nothing. Wearily he stumbled on. He tried to keep alert, yet noticed nothing save the trickle of sniveling words from Gollum, the rough rope in one hand, the sword hilt pressed against the other, and the trees, always the trees. And then suddenly he and Gollum were no longer alone.
They were surrounded by Elves armed with light bows. Aragorn drew his sword instinctively and whirled round in his place, yet wherever he looked he saw an Elf training a sharp arrow and sharper gaze on him and his captive.
"Who are you?" demanded one Elf, stepping out of the circle. "By what right do you keep this poor wretch captive, and why do you and he trespass in our realm?"
"Nasty Man is so cruel to poor Sméagol. Will kind Elves help us? We'll be ever so good if they does, yes, gollum, gollum," said Gollum. Aragorn jerked on the rope to silence him.
"I do not trespass," said the Man. "I am here with the permission of your King. This creature is a servant of Sauron, whom I have captured at the behest of Mithrandir, and King Thranduil has consented to keep him as prisoner in your realm."
The Elf gave Aragorn a skeptical look. He turned to his companions and spoke in lilting Silvan speech that Aragorn could not understand. Then he turned back to the Ranger and said,
"You will sheathe your sword and come with us. We will take you to our lord, and there we shall see if your tale is true." Aragorn slowly obeyed, sliding his sword back into its sheath and tightening his grip on Gollum's rope. They walked on, Aragorn and Gollum surrounded by the vigilant Mirkwood warriors. These Elves were dark of hair and eye. They were duller of complexion and lesser in height than the Elves of Imladris, and yet for all that they seemed perilous. Aragorn felt that he would not like to meet them in combat.
After what seemed like hours they reached the stone caverns where the Elven-king and his family dwelt. The Elf who had spoken earlier took council with some of his companions, in the fluid and unstructured tongue they had used before. Aragorn tried to understand what they said, but their speech was too rapid and the tongue too different from Sindarin. They seemed to be arguing about something.
A tall Elf, lighter in coloring than the other Wood-elves and with the air of one of the Eldar, came out from the cavern. The arguing Elves looked at him in startled relief. They spoke to him in the Silvan tongue, and when they were finished he turned to Aragorn.
"Mae govannen," said the Elf, fixing a keen green-eyed stare on the Ranger. "So you are the Ranger Aragorn son of Arathorn, and this is Sméagol whom you wish us to keep."
"Yes," said Aragorn, relieved to meet someone who knew the truth of his tale. This Elf had an easy manner and a gentle voice, and the Ranger began to relax.
"I am Legolas Thranduilion," said the Elf, and indeed his Eldarin look and resemblance to Thranduil marked him as one of the house of the Elven-king. "Take the poor creature away, and feed him and let him rest," said Legolas, and two Elves came forward to take Gollum from Aragorn. "As for you, Aragorn, come inside, and rest and heal and refresh yourself ere you meet our lord."
"I cannot tarry long," began Aragorn, anxious to leave the Woodland Realm as soon as he could. Legolas, however, cut him off.
"The King will wish to speak with you," said the Elf, and though his voice was soft it carried a note of finality. Legolas spoke to another Elf in Silvan, and then gestured for Aragorn to follow him. Wearily Aragorn obeyed; he was in the realm of the Elven-king and could not hope to defy him. He followed Legolas and the other Elf into a winding tunnel, cool and silver-gray, with teasing hints of carvings on the walls. As they walked further inwards jewels began to speckle the walls and ceilings, winking star-like out of the stone.
Legolas showed Aragorn into a spacious and airy room, and then left him in the care of Bardil, the other Elf. Bardil took him first to a healing-woman to mend his torn arms and then to a place to bathe. Gratefully Aragorn did so, although midway through his bath he heard a tittering noise and when he turned his head he saw three elf-maidens leap from the tops of the pillars of the bathing-room. The maidens chattered amongst themselves, and Aragorn thought that one of the words they said meant 'ugly,' though he was uncertain. They looked at him, holding his eyes with their bold stares, and then fled amidst a cloud of giggles.
Aragorn shook his head. He would not have imagined Elves of any kind to be capable of such impropriety. Or perhaps this was a custom among Wood-elves, for the males and the females to use the same bathing-room, and look on each other unabashed? The thought unnerved him. He sprang out of the water and hastily dried and dressed himself.
On returning to his room he found that someone had left food for him. He ate eagerly, and just as he was finishing he heard a knock on the door. It was Bardil.
"I am come to take you to King Thranduil," he said, and gestured for Aragorn to precede him out of the room.
Aragorn took a deep breath. The Elven-king had agreed earlier to keep Gollum; his son had been fairly welcoming; he, Aragorn, had done nothing wrong, and any nervousness was foolish. He would speak with Thranduil and then leave, and all would be as it had been before. Squaring his shoulders, he walked out the door.
TBC
Taur e-Ndaedelos- Elvish name for Mirkwood, literally "forest of great fear."