Dark Forest
By Anarithilien

Part Four: When Worlds Unite
Chapter Fifty-One: Powers Renewed

"I have seen what is to come, Celeborn," Galadriel argued.

"Of course you have," the lord said, the tone of his voice laden heavily with disbelief.

"I do not do this to harm you," she said, and Celeborn could not help but soften his heart as he met her eyes. Thranduil did not know he realized, but the memory of what she had done all those years ago, maneuvering his cousin as she had, was still with him. Yet he could not truly blame her present actions.

"Perhaps not, but regardless I resent that the decision is made without conferring with me," Celeborn replied.

She did not bother dropping her eyes, for that would have been coy and she had no need to act so with him. He knew her too well. "You would not have agreed," she said.

And she was right. Of course he would not have agreed. "Why should I?" he asked, feeling again his aggravation mounting in light of his memory's renewal.

"Despite the years, you have not forgiven me my previous mistakes," she said.

"Not true," he argued. "I simply do not understand why it is important that you become involved in Thranduil's endeavor. It does not concern us."

"It is important because what occurred with Annatar is not yet complete. The Quest may be done, but evil still lives and it affects those of our kin. It does concern us."

"But are you not weary? Do you not tire of fighting this darkness? I know I do," he countered.

Always complacent and calm, none would have noted the tightening of her jaw had they not the many years of history that he did. As much as he felt ire in this moment, so did she. He knew her answer; she was tired, infinitely so. Over the years he had seen the burden taking affect on her. The price of being a bearer of Nenya was great. The crushing sea-longing It created had been drawing her away from him and he knew she would remain on Arda for little time more. "I would try to amend my errors if I might," she said and he recognized that she was trying to redeem herself of what she had done to Thranduil before she would leave.

"Do you think he will forgive you? I dare think it not. You would do better to distance yourself from him," Celeborn advised.

"I do not do this for him. Thranduil will forgive as he so chooses. But Legolas has been needlessly harmed by actions set into motion long before he was born. He has been sorely used, and I blame myself for his fate as much as I blame myself for the life of that orc woman and her misbegotten child," Galadriel replied, and this surprised him. He had thought she acted for his cousin's sake, not necessarily out of a greater state of guilt.

"You did not cause the events that led to their fates," Celeborn argued, thinking her cause too vast. She sounded like Thranduil now, trying to redeem a past that was too large and cumbersome to be placed squarely on the shoulders of one.

She negated him. "I created a sequence of happenings far earlier than their parts in history. Legolas and that orc female are just the innocents who have suffered in the wake of what I have done," she answered, and he could see the sorrow shimmering in her eyes.

"Galadriel-" he began, but she stepped up to him first, cupping his face between her fingertips.

"Celeborn, let me do this. My fate is not important in this, but Legolas's is, as is Thranduil's. I can help, and perhaps I can even repair some of the damage I have created. It is such a small thing for me, but it can do so much."

Her eyes met his and held him. The color he saw there was a blue as deep as the sea and he knew that her feelings met that depth. He could not deny her. Never could he deny her.

He nodded his assent. He turned then knowing she would follow Thranduil and Gimli from there. She needed nothing more from him. But he needed much from her. Still. Yet.

He remembered the days of Annatar. At the Man's appearance, Celeborn had immediately sensed the ruse of His façade. What he had not realized was Galadriel's attraction to the darkness that resided there. That was before Nenya had entered their lives and Galadriel's gift of premonition had not been so keen. She had a sense of the danger Annatar posed and she fought it, but her attraction to the power He wielded had been overwhelming and Celeborn could not deny his jealousy. That was why he had berated Thranduil as he had, and why the young elf had become such easy prey to Galadriel's manipulations. It was not the kiss she had bestowed on his young cousin that angered him - a witness to it, he knew well it had been a meaningless token - but her pursuit of the Man had hurt him greatly. In the end, she had chosen Celeborn, but not before losing Thranduil to the seduction of Annatar's deceptions. By the time Celeborn and Galadriel had united and begun their fight against the darkness together, Thranduil had been so immersed in the ways of Annatar that he was jaded to the counsel they tried to offer him.

They had set the young elf on the wrong path. He knew he must share in that responsibility, and that is why he would acquiesce to Galadriel's wishes now. Fortunately, in recent years his cousin had come to try to remedy their strained relations. But Galadriel had not been so willingly forgiven, and he was not sure Thranduil would ever come to do so. But perhaps if she could help him recover Legolas he would. Celeborn would let her try.

xxxxxx

Gimli's attention was drawn to Thranduil as he followed in the elf king's path. He watched as the golden-haired elf gathered tack and then ducked the rope pen that kept the horses. Except for his broader shoulders, Thranduil looked exactly like Legolas from the angle at which the dwarf watched.

Arod's head came up from the grass he had been grazing as the jangle of the bit sounded in the air. Gimli would have thought the horse would want to feed, but Arod trotted to the king without the urging of the clicking sound elves used to call their beasts forth. It seemed Arod was as eager as they were to be gone.

Thranduil smoothed the blanket over the horse's back and then easily drew the saddle over. "You will ride with me then, Master Dwarf?" the elf asked.

"I will," Gimli said, remembering how enraged he had been with the elf the last time they had ridden together. Somehow it all seemed different now though their battle of words had only been a few hours before. His feelings were not altered, for he still perceived Thranduil to be arrogant and maligned in his previous actions. But he also noted a change, a sort of lightness in the king that had not been there before. It no longer seemed that his reasons for acting were a desperate reach driven by guilt, but in fact were motivated by concern and true desire to be with his son. Gimli knew the king had proclaimed as much before, but now it seemed he genuinely felt it. The dwarf noted that the elf kept looking out to the horizon as he tightened the girdling cinch of the saddle.

And then Gimli too gazed out over the horizon.

There was something looming out there. He could not see it, but he could feel it. It resonated deep within him, a thrum and beat upon the ground. For Gimli it was as if oliphants tromped the fields.

"Do you feel that?" he asked Thranduil.

The elf's brows drew up. "I feel Legolas," he answered, barely registering a glance. "In small part."

It was not what Gimli meant, but he was curious. "Tell me of him."

Thranduil gazed again across the plain. The bleached fields of grass trembled with the breeze and the sun progressed low in the sky. All was painted orange and red as the sun drew to the plain's nigh and it seemed the colors told the story as much as the elf's expression and words.

"He is in pain," Thranduil answered through a tightening jaw, turning back to his task, and Gimli noted then that the elf's hands shook as he fit the bit into Arod's mouth and pulled the cross straps over the horse's ears. He glanced at the dwarf as Arod shook his head and twisted his mouth to adjust the bit in his mouth. The horse snorted as he settled and Thranduil stroked the animal's shoulder, gathering up the reins. "My son is confused and feeling lost."

"Yet he lives," Gimli added trying to find encouragement.

"He lives," Thranduil confirmed, "though he is fading. I know not if it is from his wounds or his heart that he does so, but he is failing and will die if we do not make haste to get to him."

"How do you know this?" Gimli asked, flinching as Thranduil stepped forward with Arod, thrusting the reins into his hands. He almost laughed thinking the elf meant him to lead, only understanding a moment later he just meant for Gimli to steady the horse.

"It is the bond of a parent to his child that I feel," Thranduil said as sidled up to the horse, running his hands over Arod's legs and lifting each foot to inspect and pick at the hoofs.

"Can you do nothing for him from here?" Gimli asked, absently running fingers over Arod's velvet nose as he watched the elf in his task.

"He does not reciprocate the bond," Thranduil said as his eyes once more turned out to the horizon, and Gimli could read in the muscled twitch of the elf's jaw the ache that was felt. He read the unspoken words conveyed in that action. For I am the cause. The elf continued. "I have tried but he does not hear me."

Gimli followed his gaze, noticing once again the thrumming sensation of the ground beneath him. He watched the elf to see if there was any perception on his part for what Gimli felt. But Thranduil merely turned his eyes down, returning once more to the task that occupied him, clearly not cognizant of it.

He looked up suddenly in the next minute though, glancing past the dwarf and back to the camp. "Galadriel comes," he said and Gimli peered over his shoulder to see the lady coming their way. An elf jogged past her, nodding to her before dodging the rope fence to enter the horse pen. He quickly retrieved her horse, calling to another to gather tack, as Galadriel came to speak with Thranduil and Gimli.

Unflustered as always, she smiled at the dwarf as she said to Thranduil, "If we journey through the night, we should reach Fangorn by the morn."

The king nodded without glancing up. "That was my intent," he said and Gimli noted the stiffness of his posture and sudden aloofness. This is where Legolas gets it, he thought, remembering how his friend could create a wall when he was angered or in pain.

He almost felt sorry for the elf queen for the coldness of the reply, but she serenely turned to the dwarf, seemingly ignoring Thranduil's disdain. She said, "The Onodrim come."

The Onodrim, Gimli thought. That is the Elvish word for Ents. Ents? "How near are they?" he asked, thinking again of the earth's pulse and realizing it was them that he felt.

"We should come upon them by middle night."

Stunned, Gimli gasped. How could the beat of the earth seem so near to him when clearly the Ents were many miles away? He shook his query off, not convinced yet that the movements of the tree lords was what he felt.

"Is Treebeard with them?" he asked, for he had come to think the Ent Lord the only one capable of quelling Graywood's madness.

"The messages I had sent asked specifically that he come," Galadriel replied.

The Ents are coming, he thought.

Galadriel stepped away and Gimli was left to consider the role Treebeard would play in Legolas's rescue. He was glad to hear the tree lord would be involved for he felt Greywood was dangerous and he did not look forward to facing the Ent without aid.

The Ents are coming.

He knelt to the ground so he might touch it with his hand to feel again the tremors of the earth. As he did so, he heard the Ring lightly drop to the ground, falling out of his pocket and bouncing off his boot. Knowing the ways of these Rings, he recognized that this was not so much a means of escape as it was the Ring trying to get his attention. He supposed then that it had a name and he wondered at it as he reached to pick It up. Vaenduzk, he heard in his mind. He pondered this as he repeated the Khuzdûl word. Passion, he translated as his fingers brushed over Its surface. In that same moment his hand touched the ground.

He fell backward in surprise for it did not seem that he just touched the ground in that instant but that he also had smelled, tasted, knew the ground on which he stood. It startled him, for the sensation was sudden, as if the Ring had heightened what he was. As a dwarf, of course he could discern the earth, but here he found he sensed it with greater intensity than he had ever felt before.

He clutched the Ring in his hand and gazed out once again over the plain. The landscape was different now that he held It. He could nearly see the rock that made up the earth, ruddy and vitreous dolomite, smooth blue sheets of shale with touches here and there of ocher-bright limonite. Off in the west where the sun drew toward the mountain crests, he could see the effervescent sparkle of feldspar and the flattened moss hues of peridot. He turned about him then, astonished and imagining that he could even taste, smell, the iron, calcium and salty residue of the stone that wafted on the air. For the first time he thought he could appreciate what Legolas called the Song of Nature, for he felt he understood those same qualities in the sensations he drew upon in this. He was empowered by it.

And this is what he felt just in holding the Ring? Imagine what it might be to wear It!

But he did not need to wear It. He knew in that instant that should he wear It, his powers would grow greater, that not only would he sense the earth, but he would be able to maneuver it, to use it.

Quickly he stuffed the Ring back into his pocket, frightened by It. And he also understood then the meaning of Its name, for this was Passion - want, desire that came from the soul. His soul was of stone and the Ring drew it out. More, he realized It could easily become an addiction. It enticed him with the romance of what It could bring him, all the riches he could gain and control.

"Vaenduzk an berran lieb," he murmured. He knew history and what had come to those who succumbed to the greed that privilege created. "But not always. I know what You desire; I will not follow."

Still, reluctantly, he was a Ringbearer, and he needed to find a way to manage It. He could not freely toss It aside, not knowing in just this brief exposition, what he knew now. And too, he felt somehow It could help. He did not think fate had placed the Ring with him if not for the sake of Legolas. He could not explain this, for Thranduil too set out on a path to rescue his son, yet the Ring had not stayed with him. He does not have the powers I do over It, Gimli decided.

Passion was wanting though, and in that there was danger. He shuddered as he felt It call out to him. He would not use It to meet Its desires. He would control It. He only hoped he was not making a terrible mistake.

xxxxxxx

Though it was not something an Ent was supposed to admit, Treebeard was enjoying his recent sojourn beyond the borders of his forest. Normally an Ent, or any good tree that had legs to carry it, would be wary of doing such a thing.

In the world of Men, walking trees were a thing of myth and mystery. Men only liked to hear about them while cloistered in their cities and enclaves of gathering, not in the realities of the greater world. Indeed humanity did not harbor strangeness well. Thus despite their greater size and superior strength, the Onodrim frightened those of Men unaccustomed to them. And frightened Men could be dangerous.

Treebeard understood Man's fear, just as he understood that he could not blame Men for their wariness. They did not know Ents and that was the fault of his kind. Too long had the tree lords been resistant to leave their secured lands, finding it easier to grow complacent and not bothering with the world beyond. Had they made themselves familiar outside their borders, none of men would fear them and they could saunter about at will. But for reasons even Treebeard could not recall, they had stopped moving about, setting roots in the soils at the great mountain's feet.

Still, Treebeard was pleased to be roaming, for since the recent days when war times had made creatures of all types availed to the world, Men had become aware that Ents indeed existed, and the tree lord had less to worry about in that regard. Still, he did not walk about alone. Sweettree and Quickbeam were companions to him now.

But that was only one part of the wandering of his mind, and his eyes looked off to see the approaching riders. He could see they came to meet him just as he came to meet them. No doubt they would confer about the news that had set this mission into action. It troubled him. The Elf and Dwarf that had come to visit his forest and had suffered harm, done so at the hands of Mithtaur. Greywood had long been a worrisome Ent for Treebeard. Ever since Sauron had launched a war upon the wood, the mind of the Greywood had been disordered. Never though had Treebeard thought his old comrade capable of doing injury or real harm. That was a new turn and one Treebeard would need to address firmly. He had hoped that he would never have to dole out retribution to his own kind, but hurting invited guests of the wood was not acceptable. He had to wonder if Mithtaur even understood what he had done.

It was a heartbreaking thing to consider the differences that had occurred in the Ent. What Mithtaur had once been and what he was now were two completely different things. The Ent had once been thoughtful, eager and kind; now he was just confused.

It did not matter. Whatever his state, Mithtaur had harmed friends and that deed could not go unpunished. The Ent would have to be stilled. That was never easy. Ents were mobile and meant to be so. To force them to stillness was a cruel punishment. Of course sometimes Ents stilled of there own volition - living eternally was a long task and it was possible for an Ent to grow more treeish as a result of their fatigue. But to force it... Fangorn was not happy with what was to come.

He watched as the riders neared and he grew excited when he realized two of them were elves. Fangorn had a long memory and recalled those times when Ents and Elves lived closely. That was why Mithtaur's act was so grievous. Much of what Ents were could be attributed to the Elves.

He saw Galadriel-lady elf of Lothlorien. And then upon another horse was the diminutive figure of a dwarf. Here was Gimli-Elf-Friend-Thirdborn and he felt the eagerness of this young one even from this distance. He remembered when he had first met the Three Hunters. The elf of Greenwood the Great had been the dwarf's companion. He had amused himself then with the dwarf's smallness and fierce loyalty. Now he saw that those indeed were helpful traits.

He noticed a change however. The russet-haired dwarf seemed burdened somehow. Treebeard was not so keen in his understanding of two-legged creatures to read their emotions well. Still, he could tell there was something happening with the elf-friend that was greater than mere anxiety.

But then Treebeard flinched. The message that had been relayed to him was that the young Greenwood elf had been stolen away by Fangorn's Greywood. But was that not him there, sitting before Gimli? He certainly looked to be. Yet upon greater scrutiny Treebeard saw he was not. This elf was older and not so light of mood as the other. That did not change the uncanny resemblance this elf maintained. Like the dwarf's tenacity, he wondered if that might be used to help the situation.

And that was when a plan began to form in his mind. Despite Mithtaur's seeming madness, Greywood was no fool and he guarded his sector carefully. Entering would not be easy, at least not for a fellow Ent. Treebeard and his companions might have difficulty entering Greywood's region unnoticed, but this elf and dwarf would not. It might be that Ents were known for their plodding slowness, but Treebeard had a quick mind and could indeed move with haste when need required it. And now his mind was moving fast. He planted himself where he stood and waited for the riders to reach him. He would think on it more, and when they met he would bear the fruit of his ideas to them.

xxxxxxx

The brilliant sunset dissolved into the rich thickness of cobalt as the night stretched before them. They traveled through the evening with barely a word said between them, Thranduil with Gimli at his back, and Galadriel riding singly on her bay. The horses' coats were slick with sweat but the animals' breathing was steady and controlled and so they rode on. Treebeard was there as well and marched near enough to keep their pace, but distant enough so as not to frighten the horses. Thranduil could not help but be slightly disappointed at that, for though he had seen much in his lifetime, the Onodrim were creatures new to him, and his curiosity made him feel invigorated.

Yet their mounts grew skiddish, ears twitching wildly and chins drawing into their furrows as if they might buck whenever the Ent marched near. All resigned themselves to what conversation could be made at a distance.

Not that there was really opportunity to talk. Though he knew they were taking a risk in doing it, they galloped or loped the horses most of the distance. In the dark it would have been easy to misstep and lame his mount with a turn on a rut, but if Treebeard's plan was to work, they had to arrive before the evening drew too far gone else they would have to create another plan or wait another full day. And they were so near. Surrendering to the danger and keeping a watchful eye in the dark, Thranduil and Galadriel pushed their horses on into the night.

With the pace they kept, Thranduil was glad he did not have to share words with Galadriel. He did not think his patience could hold with her, and he had no desire to have to explain to the dwarf the reasons for his short temper. Still, he glanced at her from time to time, wondering what her reasons were for taking his cause and insisting her place at his side. Could it be she felt sympathy for him? He tried not to dwell upon it overlong for despite all his pent animosities, he begrudgingly had to admit she still stirred admiration from him. And her beauty could not be disputed. Yards ahead, he watched her single braid swing and trail behind her, swaying with the rock of her motion. Her riding clothes were of simply cut, pinching in at her waist but not constricting her movements as she matched the rise and fall of her horse's gait. Still, he reminded himself that beauty was deceiving and Galadriel was not one to act on purity of deed. She had her motives.

Fortunately he did not have long in her company to ponder this. It was shortly after midnight when Galadriel and the Ent parted their company and he and Gimli rode on alone. It was there Thranduil regained his focus, casting his eyes across the plains. He could see the forest growing in scale and scope, becoming greater than just a dark line on the horizon ahead and emerging from the plain to fringe at the mountain bases. Within the hour their ride brought them to near enough position that it had become Gimli's responsibility to find his former camp and report their next turn and when they might stop. Following the willowy trail of the Limlight, they had reached their goal and stood at the walls of the forest.

Thranduil looked for signs of his son as they re-established the former camp. He saw nothing and so looked toward the forest, seeking feeling that might lead him to the young elf. It was an inhospitable wood but that did not frighten him. His own forest was said to be menacing yet he knew how to walk its paths. Still, he did not know this wood. He was servant to Gimli and Treebeard now, for though he would have liked to believe he was capable, he could not venture it alone. Listening, he could hear the heaving moans of the trees within though he could not understand their song. Each murmured something different and their commingled voices became a burr of noise. But it was the anxiety he felt in his own heart as they neared the forest that tested his resolve.

In that last hour's ride, when they had slowed their gait, Gimli had told him why Legolas had fled their outer camp and Thranduil knew the fault was his. Though he had not been present when the event had occurred, the reason Legolas had run was because a memory of the pain Thranduil had created.

Worse, in the hours of riding, Thranduil had come to feel less and less of his son. He looked into his heart and sought the spiritual attachment and found it lacking. His sense of Legolas was waning.

It was the question that drew his attention outward. Gimli was gathering scraps of wood to make a fire, brushing his hands off as he tossed the branches and sticks to the ground near the former fire pit. He had found the bare remains from the one he and Legolas had lit weeks before and he set about making it anew. But the query came when the dwarf noticed him staring into the dark forest. As if he could discern the thoughts in Thranduil's mind, he bowed his chin into his beard and asked, "He is still alive?"

That the dwarf would conceive to ask him that now startled the elf. Thranduil's fears were growing greater and he was having difficulty remaining still, keeping them. His fingers twitched and he was eager to move. Perhaps that was why the dwarf had asked. Yet at the root of his chest, he found a small tendril of hope and familiarity. He could feel spring green and the sound of birdsong. This was his son. He nodded, the economics of words hiding the depth of his feeling. Legolas was still alive.

"What does it feel like?" the dwarf asked, not reading the mask he wore. "How do you know?"

Thranduil screwed up his brow. He had never thought to explain a bond before, but having gone so long without noticing the one he shared with Legolas it seemed almost new to him, and he freely studied it. "It is weak," he began. This was stating the obvious, but in his mind it required saying for it was the thing that frightened him most. "Even in the best circumstances it is not greatly felt. But he is fading I think, and that makes it less than what it was."

Gimli began stacking and arranging the kindling in the fire pit, but he glanced at Thranduil over his work, his expression one of curiosity, and the elf understood that he was being vague in his reply. He continued. "Some say it is like Song, that there is a vibration that resonates in one's soul. That is what it feels like to me. I cannot put words to the sensation, I can only send out my thoughts and hope they are sought just as I try to reach his."

"You know what he is thinking then?" Gimli asked.

"No," Thranduil shook his head. "I can only glean a bit of what he might feel. There are no words."

The dwarf shook his head as he returned to his work. He struck a spark to his flint and in an instant the dry kindling was marked by flame. He quickly fed it, creating fire. "I fear I may never understand such a means of communicating without sight or sound as aid."

But Thranduil was encouraged. Speaking on it was drawing him in on the sensation and he found himself focused on finding an explanation. Thinking creatively, he said, "I do not know how a dwarf understands his craft either, but I imagine it is much the same as the sense of bond an elf shares with another of his kind. Among my people, we call what you do Song. I do not know what word you use. But let me ask you: when you are tunneling the earth, how do you know where it is safe to venture and where it is not?"

At first Gimli looked querulously at him, but after a moment he nodded in comprehension. He replied with a small shrug but also a smile, "I feel it as if I can sense where the ground is going to give, where the veins lie in the stone."

"Does the stone speak words to you to explain this? Does your sight of these things come alive to you?" Thranduil asked.

And the dwarf smiled, obviously recognizing the point of his question. It was clear he did not. "I simply feel it."

Thranduil nodded but then returned his gaze to the forest. He continued on without being asked. "Distance does not matter much. I would sense Legolas even if he were in Aman. His fea resonates with Song that, at its best, reaches into my soul. But it is weak and hard to discern. He has turned from me and does not grace me with much of himself."

"So he has control over it?" Gimli asked.

"Only in how he directs it," Thranduil replied.

Neither said anything then, for it had already been said that the Song was weak, and they both understood that the complete breaking of Song meant Legolas was near death. Thranduil thought on his wife and how greatly he had felt the severing of her bond when she had relinquished her fea to pass. He added somewhat absently, "When one bonds in marriage, the faer is even stronger than that of a parental bond. It is because the souls are merged in heart and act. I could sense Laeraniel when we were bonded almost to the beat of her very heart."

The dwarf looked away, as if recognizing Thranduil's thoughts were drawn back in memory. But his face was grim, lit by the fire. "It is not so with Legolas?" Gimli asked.

Recalling the pains of his wife's death, Thranduil affirmed it with a simple nod.

"Can you tell him to hold on? That we are near?" Though not outwardly visible, there was something of tearfulness in the dwarf's voice that made Thranduil look at him again.

"I can only send my thoughts his way. I hope he will seek my strength," Thranduil replied wearily though his affections for the dwarf increased greatly in that moment.

The dwarf continued feeding the fire then, and the pair remained silent for a time. When he thought it right, Thranduil then asked, referring to what had transpired that night, "This is the hour when Legolas left, is it not?"

He had not said anything of it but Gimli somehow perceived the ache in his heart, for he said, "He set about to forgive you, Thranduil. You should know that. He just did not know how to begin. It was my doing that pushed him to flee into the woods that night. Blame me. He was not always thus; his distress then was not typical of him. The Hobbits always thought him to be merry. They did not know the hurt in his heart. He did not outwardly show it."

"Yet he could be driven there. Had I followed a better course through the length of his life there would have been no need for him to relay the tale to you as he did." The elf bowed his head and sighed, contemplating his mistakes, but a movement from the dwarf stirred him. He turned his eyes there and saw then the fatigue the dwarf wore. He had forgotten about the mortal need for rest and it had clearly been a long day for all. Even he found himself weary, though he knew there would find no sleep tonight.

"You should get rest while you can," he said, resigning himself to his mission. "I should follow his steps if we are to make this work."

Gimli nodded, not fighting him on the need for sleep as he sat on the ground before the fire pulling Haldir's cloak tighter about his body. But then he added, "Be careful. Neither of us knows what we will find within. I only know that this wood is dangerous and for the both of us I do not relish the steps taken for admittance. I feel unrobed here and I do not think I will breathe well until we have met up again with Treebeard."

"Regardless, do what you can for rest. As we cannot know what is within we also cannot know when the next opportunity to do such will avail itself."

"The same to you," Gimi uttered, meeting his eyes. "You may not sleep like a dwarf, but you must need rest too. Find it if you can in that forest."

"I will see you at the appointed place," Thranduil bid, and without further fanfare, he turned and darted into the wood, just as Legolas had those short weeks ago. Like the dwarf, he did not know what to expect, but he did not worry for sleep. He could go on without it and despite the hours that lay between their next meeting he thought it more likely he would find himself fretting at the low sense that he felt of Legolas than what he would of sleep. Galadriel had said they could spare no more time. His heart concurred that statement.

TBC

Khuzdûl translation:

Vaenduzk an berran lieb. - Passion will guide you.

A/N: As anyone who has done research on Tolkien's languages would tell you, Khazad is a secretive language, not often spoken in mixed company. Few words of it have ever been published in Tolkien's world. I did as best I could to scrape the words I have here together using Ardalambion as a resource. The ones I could not find there came from role-playing sites where Tolkien dwarves are characters; and as there is often as much passion for accuracy on those sites as what I strive for here, I trust them to be acceptable alternatives - at least more so than if I just randomly made up words.