Chapter Four: Blurred Perception

Every face in the room was turned toward the elf who was laughing hysterically. Sam didn't think this was a particularly good sign; clearly his cheese had slid off his cracker.

It was understandable that the elf would be insane. He'd obviously been under a great deal of strain and stress for Valar knew how long. But this definitely was not a good sign.

Frodo was looking over at Aragorn with both eyebrows raised high above their normal resting place. Aragorn just offered a perplexed look in return, in all his years he'd never seen anything quite like this: a filthy elf, laughing manically on his bed.

In reality it was very, very disturbing. Elves didn't have mental breakdowns or psychotic episodes. They were stable and dependable. And although the entire elvish race carried a trace of sadness inside of them, they were a merry bunch most of time.

Aragorn had drawn on the strength of elves for as long as his memory stretched back. To see something one held so dear in shambles was not reassuring.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, the laughter ringing in his ears. He knew it was a stupid question and didn't really expect an answer, but he had to try.

The creature on the bed blinked and his laughter gradually subsided into his throat. He lay there blinking with wide glistening eyes. He examined every face in the room.

The tension in the room was tangible. A long moment passed between them until the elf finally curled up into the fetal position and turned away from the Man and Hobbits.

Aragorn reached out a hand to touch the elf's shoulder but stopped himself. He'd only make things worse. The last thing he needed was the elf thinking that he wanted to…Aragorn shook his head; he didn't want to think of such things being done to anyone, especially an elf.

"We must get him to Rivendell, I fear Lord Elrond may be the only who can save him now," Aragorn said looking from Frodo to Sam.

"We'll never make it to Rivendell in time!" Frodo exclaimed glancing at the fading elf. Rivendell was at the very least three weeks away, and that would mean running the entire way.

"I've told you, I know someone who will lend us mounts. The fastest horse in the land answers solely to him," Aragorn told him softly looking out the window, his eyes far off.

"But how will we get him out? I mean those Men…" Sam trailed off, his eyes flicking towards the door.

"We must leave now, while darkness provides some cover. We have not long and must not tarry. Quickly, get your bags in order. Leave the candles burning."

The Hobbits scurried about getting supplies together, while Aragorn slipped out of the room and down the hallway, a length or rope in hand.

~*~*~

The Hobbits stood anxiously in the room, looking at the door and waiting for Aragorn to get back. It had been some time since he'd left and the Halflings were starting to worry.

"What if he doesn't come back?" Sam asked lowering his voice and glancing toward the window to see if the sun was out yet. A dark shape that was obviously alive had just come up and Sam couldn't stop the yelp that escaped his lips. Frodo quickly turned toward the window.

"Keep your voices down!" the shape said coming into the light. It turned out to be Aragorn with his hood pulled up. With a sigh of relief, both Hobbits came up to the Man.

"Do you think you can manage to hand him out to me?" Aragorn asked, his eyes searching the faces of his companions somewhat nervously.

Both quickly nodded, and moved as one entity to the bed. There they scooped up the once more unconscious form and then carried him hurriedly to Aragorn.

The Man took the elf in his arms with a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who didn't know him. His gruff outer appearance often gave the wrong impression.

"Do you think you can get out the window?" Aragorn said looking to the Hobbits.

Once more both nodded. First Sam straddled the windowsill and quickly dropped the daunting distance of six feet to the ground beside Aragorn. Yesterday, Sam wouldn't have even considered such a stunt; today it was the only thing to do.

Frodo quickly followed behind him; and the unusual quartet was off into the darkness.

~*~*~

The door to an outlandish hut flew open as Aragorn raised his fist to knock. An elderly man opened it, and his bushy eyebrows flew up at the sight.

"Gandalf, we need your help…" The man, who a moment ago had seemed stooped with age, stood tall and straight. His white beard blew in the slight breeze as he held up a silencing hand.

"I know. Come, we will take Shadowfax," he said. Then raised two thin fingers to his lips and a great whistle was sounded. For a moment there was nothing, but then a great shape came bursting out of the night at an impossibly fast gallop.

The magnificent creature stopped beside Gandalf and nuzzled his arm softly. Gandalf stroked his head lovingly then mounted the great beast. He stretched his arms out and Aragorn handed him the slightly limp elf.

"We will meet you in Imladris. You know where the horses are, Aragorn," Gandalf said as he settled the elf in front of him. Aragorn nodded attentively.

Gandalf said something into the horse's ear, and the horse and rider were out of sight before the blink of an eye.

Sam and Frodo stared into the horizon for a brief moment, before Aragorn put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Come, we must follow them ere the sun rises."

~*~*~

Everything was a blur. Life seemed to be passing by at an alarming pace.

He wondered if he were to move fast enough if could erase himself out of existence. Let the whole world pass him by. Perhaps he could even go back in time that way?

To before.

To the trees.

To Home.

Oh, how he missed home! But where…? His heart gave a small ache. He shivered again and wished for the world to speed up. Warm hands were around his stomach.

Gentle hands.

He closed his eyes and waited for the world to leave him behind as he sped off to wherever it was he was headed.

~*~*~

On Shadowfax, Rivendell was not a far journey from Bree. In fact, it was quite a short one. What normally would have taken thirty or more days was done in just over one.

Gandalf the White, head of the Istari, slowed the great horse minutely as he approached the great haven. It was in sight now and he knew a patrol of elves would be nearby. He looked down at his charge and held his still form a bit closer.

The wizard knew who this was; knew how long he'd been missing and how important he was.

Long in the time of Man had he been thought dead; murdered in cold blood. His father had promised death to any who had played even the smallest of part in his capture, torture or death. No one had ever been caught or charged with connection to the crime.

But it was obvious this elf was not dead.

At least not yet. And if Gandalf had anything to do with it, the youngest prince of Greenwood would not die, not like this and not here.

~*~*~

The sun poked her head out of the darkness and burst into the sky. A beam of light rested on Wazurk's face. The Man stirred after it became unbearable. He sat up on the floor and kicked Oltrak's arm off his side.

Something was missing. He looked around the room for a moment when it dawned on him. The elf.

His elf.

Surely that dreadful thing must be done caring for it by now. He rose to his feet and dug his booted foot into Oltrak's ribs. Oltrak groaned then sat up rubbing his eyes.

"Get up, we need to get the elf."

Oltrak nodded and stood.

"Wake up everyone," Wazurk told Oltrak heading to the door. He twisted at the knob.

It didn't budge. There was no lock on the door, so it couldn't be the problem. He shook at it again, this time in the opposite direction.

Nothing.

With a grunt of rage he jerked the knob one last time. It was to no avail. The door stayed shut. Most of the others had awoken and were watching with slight smirks.  It seemed the idiot couldn't even open a door.

Muzsnak, the youngest in their company made the mistake of laughing audibly. Wazurk turned to him. "We'll just use you to open it then!"

He pulled the obnoxious creature to his feet and toward the door. Wazurk grabbed at the nape of Muzsnak's neck and the slack of his pants. With a great burst of speed, Wazurk used Muzsnak as a battering ram.

The wooden door splintered, and Wazurk dropped Muzsnak with a thud. He easily tore the rest of the door down and the group exited through the splintered gap.

They found a piece of rope tied to their door handle and a doorknob down the hall. The same room they'd left the elf in.

Wazurk bellowed and then proceeded to run down the hall and beat on the door until it gave way under his assault. The room was completely empty.

His elf was not here. That bastard and his Halflings had stolen him. He turned a murderous look to the rest of his group who came in cautiously behind him.

"Our hunt begins. Get horses, we will catch that thief."

Three of the seven Men hurried out the demolished door to see about permanently borrowing horses. Wazurk kicked everything in sight, and then went to see about killing the Innkeeper. Certainly he'd had something to do with this.

No one stole from Wazurk and lived to tell about it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes: Gandalf is referred to as 'the White' because in this universe he is the head of the Istari. Mirkwood is called Greenwood here because darkness never befell the wood, Sauron never gathered power within its borders and the wood remained fair and good. Certain liberties have been taken with Shadowfax; he's a wee bit faster here.