Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.
3 The Forest is Evil
As they moved further south, the trees spoke to them less often, and less willingly. The Sindarin members of the patrol were the first to lose verbal contact with the trees, and soon the halfblooded – including Legolas – could no longer hear the voices of the trees, as the diseased trees became dominant, silencing the healthy trees.
As more and more trees fell silent, and spoke to fewer warriors, the eerie darkness seemed to drape over the world like a blanket. The three subgroups reconvened when the silence became oppressing, none of them particularly wanting to sleep separately. "This silence is killing me," Brethildíl commented, searching the thick darkness as if she hoped for a stray beam of light to appear. "How do the other races cope, living like this every day?"
Aglarmoth answered, his wise old eyes gleaming in the little light from their campfire. "They have never heard the voices of the trees, never understood the whisper of the wind. This silence is not natural, it is tainted with darkness and disease."
"We cannot send a message home," Nímlos observed, in a small voice.
This made Legolas feel particularly unsafe, and the silence seemed to press upon his ears with actual weight.
"There is only one thing to do," Tingallos stated gravely. "We must continue our mission."
"Have you ever seen this, Tingallos?" Aldanna asked, hoping that her father's friend would have some idea of how to calm the panic which threatened to overwhelm her.
"Only in individual trees," Tingallos confided, "or perhaps small pockets of forest. I'm afraid this complete silence is new to me, too."
The uneasy silence of the forest soon became the least of their problems, though. Rílglín and Encalion scouted around the campsite while Brethilríl and Tuilë sorted dinner, returning with concern about the strange things they had seen in the forest.
As the silence was so discomforting, Legolas decided that the group could sleep wherever and however they could. Glínornmir was quick to volunteer for watch, for he felt it was unlikely he could find rest in this unnatural darkness in any case. Brethildíl and her brother kept close together, and their comrades noted with a wistful smile how they fell asleep, holding each other's hands, as they had long ago as children. Nar-rhîw and Mallaer mimicked the siblings on the other side of the clearing, and Eleni held her daughter close while Nímlos slept. Encalion sought comfort in his father's embrace, Tingallos holding his only child protectively to his chest. Galenmír likewise had his father, Celebglín, to protect him from the encroaching despair and fear. Tuilë felt safe in Aglarmoth's arms, knowing that her husband could and would protect her from anything and everything evil.
Legolas and Tathar, feeling keenly the separation from their families, drew comfort from each other, each being the other's closest thing to a brother. Legolas had never known his true brothers, one having died at the end of the Second Age, and the other in the Third Age, when the old fortress had been abandoned, taken over by darkness to become Dol Guldor. Tathar had no siblings, and the spaces in his heart had always been filled by his friends, whom he'd grown up with.
Aldanna refused to bunk with Tathar and Legolas, though they made the offer several times, reminding her of their many sleepovers as children and young trainees. Stubbornly insisting that she sleep in the trees, Aldanna tried to draw comfort from the usually welcoming forest, as she chose the least diseased tree to be her perch. While her eighteen companions paired up, drawing comfort from family, friends, or conveniently lonely comrades, the strong blonde elleth insisted on rising above her circumstances.
This particular personality trait had served her well in the past, allowing her to see the impromptu barrel ride to Laketown as an adventure when she was eleven, and more recently, had allowed her and Legolas to discover that the Necromancer was indeed real and in Dol Guldor. That had been thirty-six years earlier, and the encroaching darkness had not yet fully claimed the forest, except perhaps immediately surrounding the old fortress.
Today, though, Aldanna's stubbornness proved to be closer to stupidity than heroism. The voiceless tree she nestled into did not welcome her like its own child, embracing her in a supportive hollow or fork. Rather, it shrouded her in a shower of dead leaves, when she climbed to her chosen perch, and when she settled into the least uncomfortable position she could find, it seemed to move slightly, just enough the ensure that knots and broken sticks stuck into her back, and bits of crumbling bark and dust got into her eyes.
Fuming, but refusing to go back down, Aldanna insisted on sleeping in the tree, and soon her companions fell asleep, many of them in the comforting arms of a family member. Rílglín had also offered to rest with her, but Aldanna had no wish to encourage the ellon, whom she had no feelings for other than friendship. She admitted, if only to herself, that Rílglín's arms would have been much warmer and softer than this diseased tree, but she shook herself out of it, deciding that she was going to prove to the others that these trees weren't a lost cause.
It was the darkest part of the night, and the watchers had nearly no light to see by, when Aldanna fell from the tree with a muffled thump, loud enough to wake only those closest to her – Rílglín, Legolas and Tathar. Rílglín rushed over to her immediately, and his panicked assessment of her possible injuries shocked Legolas to the core. "She's not breathing!" the smitten ellon panicked, trying to wake the listless warrior he'd fallen in love with. Tathar wasted no time in waking their healer.
Brethildíl pushed Rílglín out of the way, letting him fall to the ground hard, his should leaving a dent in the forest floor. The healer knelt by her friend, remembering many times in the past when she'd been faced with such a situation – Aldanna, unconscious before her, for unknown reasons. This time, though, no help was forthcoming from more experienced healers, and her dear, stupid friend was not breathing.
Brethildíl ignored the protests of the warriors as she cleared Aldanna's airway, finding a wet wad of detritus and dust which came free in Brethildíl's delicate fingers, dripping sickly as she hurriedly wiped it on the closest piece of cloth – which happened to be Rílglín's cloak. Without pausing to apologise, she manhandled Aldanna to lie flat on her back, tipped her head backward, and took a deep breath, pinching her nose as she forced air into her lungs. A second rescue breath followed, and Brethildíl nearly cried with relief when Aldanna's chest rose, showing that Brethildíl was successfully breathing for her.
In the near absolute darkness, it was difficult even for Elf eyes to see, but Brethildíl didn't need her eyes to treat her patient. She found Aldanna's sternum easily, pushing down on her chest, counting aloud. She reached thirty, and swapped again to breathing, forcing Aldanna's lungs to work.
As she moved to start pumping again, someone else started counting aloud, and Brethildíl, grateful, looked up to see the vague outline of a tall warrior.
Aglarmoth was helping!
Brethildíl kept breathing for Aldanna, each time Aglarmoth paused in his pumping, while their companions watched, many of them blinded by fear as much as by the darkness and silence. Glínornmír switched with Aglarmoth after a few minutes, when the spearman started to get tired, his rhythm faltering as he counted the beats aloud.
Brethildíl refused to give up. You can't die on me now, Aldanna! She mentally screamed at her friend. I've saved you too many times to lose you now!
While the drama went on, in the darkness, only a few well-placed warriors could see what was happening. Some guessed, by the warriors' counting, that someone was manually breathing and pumping the heart of someone else, but the smothering darkness, combined with being woken after only a few hours of sleep, made for many of the warriors not knowing what was happening.
Perhaps that was for the best, though, when the relatively loud Elvish numbers drew the attention of some strange creatures, which clicked as they approached.
Nar-rhîw and Mallaer were amongst the warriors who heard the clicking, and drew their knives and swords, for none could shoot in this absolute blackness. Others were with them, but unidentified, and Nar-rhîw soon knew nothing more than the clicking, and his attempt to strike the source of the noise.
Nar-rhîw recognised the warrior next to him when Belegcû swore harshly, before falling, limp, to the ground. He lucked out when he slashed to the right, as an itchy substance sprayed over his leg, and the clicking stopped from that direction. Now, there seemed to be only one source of clicking, and Mallaer's sword swished blindly through the air, silencing the clicks forever.
Belegcû was already unconscious when Nar-rhîw stumbled to the ground in an attempt to check on his condition. As Nar-rhîw blindly checked Belegcû's breathing, pulse, and the thick substance coating his knee, the felled warrior took one gasping breath, then shuddered, a spasm coursing through his whole body, before sighing out one last breath. For all appearances, he was dead.
In stark contrast, a few metres away, cheers rang out, as Brethildíl leaned back, and Aldanna breathed again.