Chapter Eight

Legolas

            They are watching me. Do they know that I am lying? I wouldn't be surprised if they do. But either way, I do not care. Laire is gone, probably forever. I know I told her I'd find her again, but what is a promise, really? Just a few empty words strung together with no real meaning. I will look for her after the quest, but I doubt I'll find her. In fact, I doubt she'll make it to Rivendell. She is brave and smart, but her skills with weapons are nonexistent. I curse her father for raising her the way he did.

            I sink to my knees and try to fight the rising sobs. I have never cried before in my life, not once. I tell myself to be strong. My hands cover my face and run through my hair almost involuntarily. I gulp the air, trying to steady my breath. And then I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. I twist around and look up into the face of my father. He knows.

            "My son…" He pulls me to my feet and embraces me. His voice is almost inaudible. His words are meant only for me. "It is all for the best. Someday you will see. She will wait for you when the quest is over."

            Someday I will see? Someday I will see? I hope I never see things your way, Father. She is going to die, I am going to die, you are going to die. And yet you say it's 'all for the best.'  The words play through my mind and dance on my tongue. But I have not the heart to speak them. Instead, I pull myself out of my father's embrace and trudge wearily back to the castle.

            As I walk up the stairs, the guards don't seem to notice my presence. Their blue eyes stare solemnly ahead, and for once I notice how blank they are. The guards are so used to following orders, they probably haven't had a single original thought in a thousand years. I wonder if I am like that. A mindless servant. But no, I am going to Rivendell of my own will. I want this quest. I want to save Middle-Earth.

            The route to my old room is a familiar one, although I haven't been to it since last year. The warm, clean halls of the palace are a relief after the endless grime of the prison where I used to guard Gollum. I push open the wooden door to my chambers and nearly throw myself into the soft bed, which creaks from disuse. The fabrics, made of the finest Elvish cloth, hug my form. I can't help but be comforted. It is good to be home, even if Laire is not with me.

            I stare at the ceiling for a while. It is domed, made of glass and precious medals, and the gray midday sunlight streams through. It used to be beautiful at night, before Mirkwood was clothed in fog and cloud. I miss the stars. The skies of Middle-Earth used to shine so brilliantly that on the clearest night, it seemed as though day had simply traded its garish yellows for blues and silvers. A truly awe-inspiring sight.

            Nostalgia begins to take the place of fear, and as I fantasize about the time when Middle-Earth was almost free from the evil that threatens it now, sleep comes to claim me. I don't want to rest for fear that I will awake to find my world shattered, but my body aches almost as much as my heart does. I close my eyes.

            Sleep comes instantly, crashing over me like a torrent of rain. And just like rain, sleep brings relief. Just before a dream takes me, I remember that I didn't even bother to take off my boots. I care not. Let the sheets get dirty.

* * *

Hot, bright sunlight is shining right into my eyes. I squint and raise a hand to block the light. Then I gaze up into the sky, and almost gasp.

It is a brilliant, deep blue. A single cloud drifts lazily by, but the usual blanket of gray is gone. I wonder if the sudden burst of sun has burned away the fog. I spring from the bed and dash down the stairs. My body feels light as a feather.

When I finally reach the doors, I push them open and find myself in a world of blinding white light. The fog is gone. Mirkwood's colors shine as they once did thousands of years ago. A laugh rises in my throat, but I force it down. To break the peaceful morning silence would be almost blasphemy.

And then the silence catches my attention. Has my hearing deserted me? Are my ears playing tricks on my mind? The complete lack of sound presses in on my ears, and I clamp my hands over them to drown out the steady roar that fills them. Not a tree branch rustles, not a bird sings its melancholy song, and not a single Elvish voice announces the return of the sun.

I scream. The sound tears at my throat, and I feel my lungs empty themselves of air. But the silence remains. My heart races and I feel cold fear run down my spine. Frantically I run to the nearest house and pound on the door. There is no response, of course. So I raise my leg and kick the door down. The room that comes into view is empty. Not even a spider climbs the walls.

My breath begins to come in ragged gasps. I race from that house to the next, afraid of what I might find. I kick the door down, and my heart sinks. It is, like the other, completely empty. And the next house as well. And the next. And the next. All of the dwellings are empty.

I stand alone in the town square. An icy wind sweeps past my cheeks, and I can no longer feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I want to scream again, but my mouth won't move. I try to move my arms, and they are immobile as well. I cannot hear, I cannot move, and I am going cold. Is this death? What is happening to me?

And then I awaken.

* * *

            There is no sun in my room. All is gray. I tell my limbs to move, and they comply. I kick the wooden posts at the foot of my bed and delight in the noise that follows. I am still alive. It was but a dream.

Shaking slightly, I rise from the bed and head down the stairs. I make my way slowly to the kitchens, inwardly rejoicing every time an Elf crosses my path and greets me. After the dream, it is a relief to be in the company of others.

I find the palace kitchens easily and quickly. I slip inside, and Írime, the cook, greets me with open arms.

"Legolas!" She exclaims, embracing me. For an Elf, she is rather plump, and her pale hair is tied back in a messy bun. Her clothes are made of very fine Elvish cloth, but they are simply and brown. Streaks of flour discolor her tunic, face and hands. "Home at last," she sighs, stepping back. "Shame you can't stay longer."

I nod in agreement, and she smiles kindly.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Please," I answer, and she grabs a bowl and begins mixing. When she speaks again, her voice is grave and sad.

"Everyone speaks of the coming of the Second Darkness. The orc attack yesterday seems to be a sign that they are correct. I pray dearly that Mirkwood won't fall to the hands of the enemy." She pauses to lean over and take my dirty hand in her flour-covered one. "I also pray that you are safe on your journey to the Council of Elrond. Are you afraid?"

"Yes," I respond so quickly that a sad smile crosses her lips. "But I am honored, and I want so badly to see Middle-Earth free again. I am sure of my skills, and I know that I can take the Ring to Mordor if I am chosen. I don't hope to be chosen – I am not that foolish – but if I am, I would…" I trail off and smile weakly at her.

She takes her hand off mine and reaches out to lay it on my cheek. "My brave little Legolas," she whispers. "You are going to be a great warrior."

She smiles sadly and returns to her bread. I wait as she makes it, and let my thoughts wander. Laire is the first thing that comes to mind. My heart skips a beat and once again I fear for her safety. Will we meet again in Rivendell?

Will we ever meet again?