It is a small crowd that gathers to see us off this morning.

Thranduil stands with Ionwë to one side, and they are both stone faced and inscrutable as Legolas' – and indeed my own – friends bid us farewell. It is a sea of gimlet eyes and lissom figures, a rainbow of forest coloured hair and smiles. I am clapped about the shoulder almost into insensibility but they do not linger, the elves of Mirkwood do not draw out their goodbyes. I realise that these elves have said goodbye a great many times with the very real chance of it being final; none wish to dwell on that and so it is brief and joyous, and then it is over.

Legolas' great black mare stands ready with Naurwen. Her name also is Roch, I learn. It is a good name, Legolas says, and they have all been named thus. He is odd and I tell him so. They are joined by a fine boned bay and a cream coloured gelding with kind, gentle eyes. Idhren and Almárean are mounted already and I stand awkwardly by my own mount as Legolas approaches his father to say his farewells. He presses his fist to his heart and bows to his king, Thranduil takes him by the upper arms and speaks to him at great length but I do not hear what he says. If the look upon my companion's faces is anything to go by it is good that I do not. They seem embarrassed that they overhear, and find themselves adjusting packs and tightening straps that need not be adjusted nor tightened to keep their eyes away from the farewell.

When Legolas returns to us he is grim faced, and although I see him push his sadness at leaving his father far away when he sees us, it remains in his eyes.

We mount – the elves do not ride with saddle but I am grateful that they have found me one – and I take one last look behind me before we go. It is strange but I feel a thrill of regret to be leaving. I have been unexpectedly at peace here, despite the unpleasantness of much of it. I look upon the cool leaf dappled stone and hear the distant sound of weapons clashing from the practise yards. I know that deep within all is busy and orderly and full of elven laughter, and I realise I have come to know this place and its movement. It is good here, and I understand why Legolas has fought so hard for the people living within the mountains and outside in their talan homes. I catch Thranduil's eye and something passes between us, a moment of understanding and I nod to him. It is more than a farewell or recognition, it is an agreement and he gives me a long, unblinking look before returning the nod with an oddly formal half bow.

Then, with sharp call from Legolas and a clatter of hooves we are gone, and the palace of King Thranduil is at my back.

~{O}~

We ride steadily south along the road all morning. At first we are quiet; Legolas is far away in his own thoughts and Idhren and Almárean ride ahead, heads close in low conversation. They are close, they two, although they are very different. Almárean is the elder by far and he is a serious and softly spoken Sindar whilst Idhren is amiable and talkative and regrettably Silvan, but they are like brothers. It can be easy to feel left out in their company.

I am happy at first to spend the morning getting used to riding a horse again; Naurwen is a spirited thing and dislikes being ridden by a dwarvish sack of oats after being ridden by elves her whole life, but I spend a while cursing at her and she bites my shoe, and after a while we come to an understanding to simply try and tolerate one another.

It is turning into a fine day, and the sky beyond the tree swaying green canopy is a pristine blue. It is warm and a breeze sets the leaves shivering in whispering susurration, we pass through dappled light and eventually Legolas is drawn from his reverie. He watches the birds as they dance and play across the road, singing: 'Joy! Follow: come and see!' and dart off into the trees again. He breathes deep the heavily scented air and I see his whole being relax. He is a golden rider upon a sable horse, a picture of opposites and when he turns back to check on me the pensive shadow in his eyes is replaced with the untamed light that I know far better.

In the afternoon the trees open out into a wide expanse of grass, and I see the sky open to me as far as I can see. There is a sharp, wild cry from my friend and the elves suddenly push their horses into an explosive gallop. I am helpless to stop it, Naurwen will not be left behind and so I am pulled along with them into a wild, headlong sprint.

At first it is all I can do to stop myself from falling off. The feeling of reckless, unbridled speed is not something I have experienced before but I quickly learn the rhythm of it, and how to bend low upon Naurwen's neck so that I do not unbalance her. My stout hearted little firebrand cannot match the other horses' reach but I cannot fault her for her speed – she is smaller but she is just as fast as they are. We gallop four abreast, side by side across the plain running for naught but the joy of it and I hear one of the elves cry loudly with exhilaration. I would do the same but I have not the breath for it.

My breath is whipped from me, the ground is a blur but I am flying! Truly flying! I feel the thundering in my chest that is my heart, I feel my blood rushing through me like fire and the beast below me is all power and spirit. We are wild things, unfettered and boundless beneath an endless blue sky and I wish I could fly like this forever but all too soon we slow and fall back into control, running our horses a while longer as the Greenwood rises upon us again, and we come to a stop. The horses are blowing but they wheel and dance, thrilled by their flight. The elves are feral eyed and grinning, and I realise I match their grins with one of my own. We say nothing on it – it is not something for words – but when we continue on our way I understand them a little better. I know now, even if I never experience it again, for a brief and shining moment what it is to be wild.

We travel a good distance through the day. We stop at a sparkling stream that rushes headlong toward the Anduin and let our horses drink as we ourselves stretch and rest. Almárean takes watch in the trees, and Idhren takes this opportunity to decide he is going to teach me how to shoot a bow. I get my beard tangled in the string and nearly shoot Legolas with a stray arrow, and I cannot do a thing for laughing so hard. Almárean abandons his watch to crouch in the lower reaches and peer down curiously at the three of us, all giddy as children with mirth, and I announce that archery is for elves and so should it remain. We set off again and Legolas begins to sing, and for once I do not complain about it.

When the sun begins to set we find ourselves upon a ridge, and settle a short distance into the trees where the setting sun glints like jewels through the leaves. It has been a wonderful day, and I make sure to tell Idhren that he is not to spoil it by letting Legolas cook then I take a short walk. I take myself out of the darkening forest to the grassed ridge and I look out at the world as it stretches below me. I can see Thranduil's mountain rising from the endless trees in the far distance and all the miles of forest between us are lit golden green by the setting sun. It is like a carpet of fire, the light like spilled gold and the air is sweet with the green scent of the wood. I take a deep breath, and Legolas comes and sprawls upon the ground beside me. I sit and we remain there in companionable silence, enjoying the sunset.

"I am becoming an elf," I sigh mournfully to him. "You have ruined me."

"You are too short to reach even the lowest branches of a tree," he disagrees. "And I have never managed to persuade you out of the pipe. Do not fret; the mountains will fall before the last drop of dwarf is wrung from you."

I chuff a small laugh and try not to notice how he rubs at his hands.

"What was in the letter the lady sent you?" he asks me, plainly and simply. I find myself unable to refuse such an honest question but I still do not understand my own feelings on it.

"A warning," I admit to him. "It was a warning of a choice to come that she has seen, though she has given little more than that: a branching of paths, or so she says."

Legolas is silent for a while as he thinks on this. The golden forest before us changes hue, the shadows shift, the display is constantly changing. The western sky is a riot of pinks and purples, the east is deepening navy.

"The lady Galadriel hears the Song and understands it," Legolas muses. "If she bids caution it is a fool that does not heed it."

"Caution is fine advice for anyone with any level of sense, mysterious warnings or no," I grumble, glad finally to be speaking of it. "I am unsuited to unravelling elvish mysteries, could she not have said 'do not do this thing' or 'go not here, there is danger'?"

"If it is a branching of paths then she will likely not see the outcome, and therefore not know the avoidance of it. She could hardly go without speaking of it though; she obviously thinks quite highly of you."

I finally look to him. I can see that the sun has made me a bristling mass of fire red beard but he is golden. His knees are brought up and his arms rest loosely about them, at ease.

"The warning was for you, Legolas, not for me."

If I see any reaction at all it is in the slightest narrowing of his eyes, but if I was hoping for any further discussion of it I am disappointed. He is thinking, and I see that this is another thing that I must wait patiently for his response on. We will speak again on it eventually but we are finished for now.

"Come," I say, getting to my feet. "I think we have been enough time now for Idhren and Almárean to have done all of the work, let us see what is for our supper."

He is to his feet in one fluid movement, and gives one last look at the glory of the fading sky before gripping my shoulder and following me toward the welcoming glow of firelight within the trees.

It is a pleasant evening spent eating slowly and talking quietly at ease around a merry campfire. There are the soft sounds of the horses nearby and the hushing breeze through leaves, and Legolas departs to take his watch this night.

Almárean asks me then of my home, and I tell him of deep halls that echo with the movement of the world and the rumbling songs of dwarves. I tell him of vast forges that burn with the endless fires of Arda's heart, of the beauty wrought by the hands of my people and spun from the raw materials of the world. I tell him of stout men and sturdy women, strong children all who smile and sing of the wonders they have seen in the darkness where none other can behold them. The two elves listen raptly, unable to comprehend beauty that was not brought to life by the hand of Yavanna but wanting so much to understand. They ask endless questions – they are like children – and Idhren is as breathless with the thrill of it as Almárean is quietly contemplative. I am happy to speak of my home, and am filled with a sudden yearning that I have not felt since the very quietest and darkest of times upon the quest. Here I am safe and amongst friends, and this is a happy yearning. I know I will see my home again.

I fall asleep to the sound of the low, musical voices of the two friends, and although I doze I note when their voices turn to more serious subjects. I cannot follow their swift speech but I have learned much of Sindarin, and even the dialect of the laegrim, and understand enough of their speech to know they speak of their prince. I do not catch it all, but they speak of his injury – not to his hands but deeper than that. It is the deep ache that he still feels that concerns them, and although he has learned to hide it, he fools them as much as he fools me. Something is not right with our friend.

~{O}~

The next day dawns with the promise of rain but the sky is merry; it is all about with scudding clouds and breaking sunlight that dances in mighty columns that twist and writhe upon the forest below us. I am back upon the ridge and stretch languorously as the last vestiges of sleep are swept quite thoroughly from me by a swift summer wind.

"Gimli you must see to your horse," Legolas calls out to me from just within the boundary of the trees. "She has bitten Idhren quite enough for the morning; she is yours to get bitten by."

"It is hardly my fault that she has never been taught manners!" I call back.

"Some are beyond teaching," he replies flatly and I know that it is not the horse to whom he refers. I wave him away with one hand, and somehow he takes that as invitation to approach.

"What see you out here in any case?" he queries in exasperation. "I was of the belief that you disliked looking at trees."

"It is not the trees that I look at, it is the whole. Is it not grand to you?"

It is not usual for me to speak so, and he quirks an eyebrow. "Perhaps those berries were not fit for eating last night."

I feint, a pretend at violence. He dances out of the way with a merry laugh and I cannot help but laugh myself at the sound of it. We are at ease and our guard is down. Neither of us are prepared.

The attack upon us is sudden; not even Legolas hears it coming and we are beset without warning by a swirling storm of black. I do not know the source of it at first; it is not until I am over the initial moments that I recognise the baying, wailing sound that is the furious cawing of crows. We are attacked, a flurry of oily black feathers and raking claws from out of the trees and from over the lip of the vast drop beneath us they come. I feel my skin scratched raw, and it is pure instinct that throws my hands up to protect my face and eyes, nevertheless my scalp is pecked at and my hair and beard pulled and tugged. Their wings beat at me and I am senseless with it. Sight and sound are blinded and muted to all but them and their unceasing mewling and braying. I seek to run, to flee from them. I feel panic that has no source and I cannot control it, I cannot escape this; they are relentless and furious and I seek my friend to see how he fares and – I will admit to it – to seek his aid but I have been turned around.

I step and I hear my name; a cry of terror that drops my gut into my boots but it is not a cry for my help, it is a cry for my welfare, and I know why in an instant. I have been turned, and my foot meets only air. I try to recover from it but the birds flap and claw and push at me, and I feel my balance tip. I am to fall from the ledge and I cannot stop myself.

There is a moment of realisation where I know I am to fall. My neck and spine freeze, the passage of time bends and warps, and I take my hands from my face as the fear for my eyes is overtaken by the fear for my life. I feel myself drop into the abyss and I am gone into the air, but as I claw and grasp for purchase a hand grabs onto me, and my fall is arrested. I drop and cease with a sudden lurch and there is a cry of great pain above me – it is Legolas. As I dangle in the air, feet and free hand scrabbling for hold he lies flat upon his stomach upon solid ground, and his hand grips me hard enough that I know I will bruise savagely. But I will bruise! I will be alive to know it!

There is a deafening of cawing; a hurricane of wings about us and the crows are gone as swiftly as they were there. I have no mind for them right now.

I hang; one gripped hand away from the end of my days, and my eyes meet the one who has caught me. Mine are wide with fright, I can barely breathe through it. My heart hammers in my chest hard enough to hurt and I gasp short, sharp breaths. I look up into Legolas' eyes and they are terrified as well but they are agonised. I cannot imagine what the sudden arrest of my fall felt like to such damaged hands and arms nor what it is taking for him to hold all of my weight like this. I have never known Legolas to show his pain so readily upon his face and he gasps as I do but he will not let go, his grip is like iron and he holds my life… but it is all he can do. He cannot pull me up.

There is an endless moment then when I realise how close I am to my end, how little there is between me and death, and there is not one single second of it where my eyes do not leave those of my friend.

'Do not let me fall,' mine beseech.

'I will never let you fall,' his promise back.

And then we are rescued, and I nearly weep with relief that we did not come alone. Almárean supports Legolas as Idhren pulls me up; it is jarring and hurried, and I fly through the air to lie flat upon my back on the grass and Ai! Never has the sky looked so glorious to me! I gasp and suck the air into lungs no longer constricted with fear but I shake; the fear is gone but I am filled with the horror of what I have just so narrowly avoided. I roll my head to one side and Legolas is there, sat upright like a puppet with strings cut cradling one hand close to his chest. His skin is grey with pain but his eyes are bright with horror, he reaches out to me and grips my wrist as though to reassure himself that I am here. I grip his back, I am most certainly here.

Almárean and Idhren are looking at us with surprise and fright; they do not understand what has just happened. When I have my breath back I will be quite sure to tell them, but not quite yet. I will feel the solid ground beneath me just a little while longer.

TBC

Usual message here folks - reviews are love. Its always very sad to know people are reading but don't have the time to give a bit of appreciation, or even say what you think isn't working. Thanks as always to those who always take that time; your continued support is a wonderful thing and I thank you.

Considering a double posting to celebrate the Jubilee long Bank Holiday (thanks Queen!) which would mean another chapter tomorrow night as well. I suppose that depends on you, the readers, letting me know that a) you're there and reading and b) enjoying it. It gets rather lonely otherwise!

Thanks, and see you all soon.

MyselfOnly