Disclaimer:  See First Chapter.

Notes:  Sorry this is a bit short.   The holidays are draining in more ways then one.   I could sure use someone familiar with the Tolkien Bestiary, to bounce some ideas against.  Give me a holler @ oceans63@swbell.net if you are interested.  Thank you for your interest in my little tale and you patience with its progress. 

Chapter 3 – Between A Rock and Nothing Else…

Legolas flew through the forest of Mirkwood as if a pack of wargs was giving chase.  He only stopped when darkness made travel unsafe and to swap a horse for the fresher mount.   Taurtathar, Forest Willow, had been his horse for several years.  She was his mount of choice and as sure footed as a mountain goat.   He brought a gelding, Rilruin, Bright Flame, named for his shining chestnut coat, for his endurance in the flatlands. 

Even with Cassia's prediction that his travels would be uninterrupted, Legolas decided that staying away from the Old Forest Road would be a wise safeguard. Picking his way through the thick forest with confidence that few other than a Sylvan elf could demonstrate.

He finally reached the Anduin. Caution drove him to cross the river north of the Old Ford.  He swam the horses across at a narrowing of the Great River, quietly thankful that the season of rains had passed.  The most strenuous part of the journey was crossing the Misty Mountains.  Once Legolas and the horses ascended beyond the tree line, he found that he often had to dismount to lead the horses as he negotiated the ledges that were the only paths along the sheer mountain faces. 

As his pace slowed over this dangerous climb, Legolas could not shake the feeling of being watched.  Maybe his breakneck speed along the forest and river plain had dulled his senses.  Perhaps, he pondered, the fears for his father and his home of the last few days were praying on his imagination.  As he bedded down for the night, all he knew was that even in the darkness he sensed some otherness out beyond the light of his meager fire.

When he started out again, just before first light, the feeling of being watched was still there tickling at his consciousness like a hot breath breathing on his neck. 

At one particularly tight pass, Legolas thought he heard a sound.  But how could is sound like it was coming from above him.  He stepped to the neck of the lead horse as if to adjust the bridle.  The wind whipped his hair about him, bringing to mind golden fire dancing around his shoulders. 

"Do you hear it too, Taurtathar?" Legolas breathed the question gently into the horses ear.  Whether in agreement or simply responding to a whisper that tickled her ear, Tuartathar nodded gently.

Just as he believed he had isolated where the sound was coming from, Legolas heard a crack from just below his feet.

The warning sound was barely enough to grasp Taurtathar's reins before the ground beneath him gave way.  Legolas had no way of knowing if the whole side of the cliff was going to give way, but his instinct and quick elven reflexes served him well.  In mere seconds three things happened in quick succession.  First, the reins drew taught as they took the weight of the elf.  The strain on the reins telegraphed directly from Legolas's wrist to his shoulder as the short free fall was checked.  Next, Taurtathar, well trained from birth, braced her legs as her head and shoulders bowed at the weight and her rear hooves acted as anchors for her load. Finally, the rein held taught over the side of the cliff's edge acted as a pivot point, causing Legolas to swing hard against the cliff wall.  The impact was taken by his already strained shoulder – yet, miraculously, his grip held. 

A new problem presented its self almost immediately.  Legolas's right arm and shoulder were stretched well over his head and try as he might, he could barely swing his left arm to reach his right wrist much less grasp the rope and climb.  He then attempted to try and get a handhold on cliff face.  The broken piece had sheered, leaving vertical grooves in the rock wall.  The grooves were too wide to jam a fist or foot in to get any purchase.  The rope was biting into the palm of his hand and he could feel a dangerous slickness develop where the leather cut into his palm. 

Maybe it was his struggles that radiated up the length of the reins to the bridle or maybe it was just sheer impatience on Taurtathar's part, but suddenly the rope lurched up.  Taurtathar was backing up along the path, trying to pull her rider back to solid footing.  The lack of hand or foothold and the wrenching of his arm and shoulder prevented the elf from giving more assistance.  Instead Legolas offered the straining mare gentle words of encouragement. 

"Come, sweet forest willow, it's my blessing that you bend so well.  Pull for me and tomorrow might you will be bedded in Rivendell in a warm stall with sweet clean hay and all the oats you can eat." 

Taurtathar may have been responding to the sounds of the words spoken like a lover's plea or like many a horse, knew her favorite treat when it was mentioned.  Nonetheless, she heaved one last time and pulled the exhausted prince over the edge. Almost too entusiastic, she practically pulled him to his feet. 

Legolas leaned heavily into his mare's neck, resting his forehead and gulping breath's to fill his lungs and master the pain in his hand and shoulder. 

"Sweet girl," he whispered into her ear.  She seemed to agree as she reached back to gently nuzzle her rider's shoulder.  He reached in the saddlebag and found one of his shirts.  He bit down on the hem and with one hand ripped strips of cloth to bind the friction burn across his palm.  There was nothing he could do with his shoulder.  At least it was not dislocated.  Though under normal circumstances, Legolas would rather have led the two horses, he grasped the pommel with his left hand and swung himself awkwardly into the saddle.  Exhausted, he decided that he trusted the mare's sure footedness more than his own.  Soon, the pass would widen as they continued their descent to Rivendell.

The best he could do to immobilize the shoulder was to tuck his right hand into his tunic.  No more listening to strange sounds.  He decided to trust Cassie's words that he was safe from attack.  Tomorrow he would reach Elrond.  After than there would be plenty of time to be on his guard. 

TBC…

I write for the love of the tale but have to admit that the feedback doesn't hurt either (shameless feedback devil planted firmly on right shoulder).  Happy Holidays and may you all have tickets firmly in hand on Dec. 18th!