(Author's note: In this chapter the mountains begin to take their toll on the Woodland Prince. Enjoy! -Rilwen)

-=~**The Prodigal's Son**~=-

Chapter 11

He could not feel his toes nor his fingers, and his body constantly twitched in efforts to keep warm although Legolas did not feel that was working. Every much-needed breath was like swallowing needles, his throat and lung burning as soon as they received the mountain air. He turned to look over his shoulder at Gelebrin who followed closely behind. Legolas had decided it would be too dangerous to continue along the High Pass on horseback, and Gelebrin's health had been failing the past couple of days. All he could give his mount was lembas and míruvor. There was no place for Gelebrin to graze there on that road; all the grass was dead and any small stream frozen.

For his own nourishment, Legolas had taken only the smallest sips of the Elvish cordial and had been forced to hunt whatever small animal he could find. As with all Elves, Legolas had spoken words of respect and pleas for forgiveness as he took the life of the creature that would help save his; not one berry or brush could be found to feed him and this was his last resort. The trek across the High Pass that led the duo right by Goblin Town had been long and strenuous. It seemed to have gone on for months in Legolas' mind although he had been traveling the High Pass only a couple of days. Now Legolas shivered and drew his cloak about him as tightly as he could, yet even the fabric had grown so cold it no longer provided much warmth.

Rich, green lands lay West on the horizons and to lighten his spirits he imagined the glimmering of the sea as well, yet he could not see it. The pass had begun a slow decent, and Legolas could see he was heading down into heavily wooded areas. To the South his fair blue eyes focused and caught the smallest glimpse of the River Bruinen. The river was a silver vein running through the forests twisting and turning through the trees until it disappeared into the mountains. It was daylight now, and whether because of the overhead Sun or the fact he was slowly leaving the mountains behind, Legolas began to warm up. Soon they would come across a stream or a patch of grass, and Gelebrin could eat and drink while Legolas scouted ahead to look for the quickest route to Rivendell.

The Prince of Mirkwood looked over at his equine companion as he had done so the entire journey. He could tell a vast difference in Gelebrin's appearance; he had thinned, his coat was dull, and his beautiful hair so neatly braided by the stable maidens in Mirkwood were now messy and undone. Personally, Legolas doubted he himself looked any better. He was dirty, starved and bruised from messy hunts and animal attackers he knew had been possessed by a darker force. Several Mirkwood arrows had been left behind in their Goblin carcasses; he had taken out two scouts before continuing on his way. The extreme cold and starvation he faced had disrupted his heightened senses and his hunting skills. He fought and shot his arrows sloppily, at least in Elven standards, and he looked anything but a Prince of an Elven Kingdom.

The snow on the ground beneath him was becoming sparser, and rich brown earth was visible here and there in little patches. Now Legolas faced woodlands once again, and from there he would follow the River Bruinen to the ford, and then cross over to Rivendell.

§…ˆ¤ˆ…§

"Gelebrin my friend, I hope this River feels as good on your hooves as it does on my feet."

Legolas stood barefoot in the Bruinen, surrounded by rich green woods full of birdsong and scented breezes. Gelebrin was busy drinking water as his master when about cleaning him up and fixing his mane. All their heavy clothing had been put away and replaced with lighter cloaks for the cool, fall weather. After managing to wash up as best he could, Legolas geared up and once again called on his steed. Gelebrin lapped up a final drink of water before coming to his master's side. Legolas vaulted onto the horse with ease, landing softly and without struggle.

"If you have the strength for it, full speed Gelebrin! Towards Rivendell realm of the Lord Elrond! There we will find rest and counsel and liberty from fear. We will be safe there, and be amongst the wisest and most noble of Elves."

Again the horse took off, speeding away through the trees, needing no certain path to guide him. The horse was enchanted, a creature of the Elves, and it knew moments before when to turn or when to speed on, not once causing Legolas discomfort or leading him into low hanging branches. Legolas leaned forward and rode on towards the Ford of Bruinen.

§…ˆ¤ˆ…§

Up and up they went along the curving path that led to the hidden realm. Filled with an almost childish excitement, Legolas kicked at Gelebrin's flanks and forced the horse to ride to the edge of the cliff to his left. The wind blew, cool and fragrant, flowing through Legolas' hair and lifting his cloak so it billowed behind him. There, as he stood, the sounds of roaring cataracts sang into his pointed ears and at last he beheld Rivendell.

Terraces that overlooked gardens of the sweetest aromas, streams the journeyed through glades and trickled into ponds; the sight of Imladris was truly breathtaking. A broad smile was now plastered on Legolas' lips, and he quickly adjusted his cloak and redrew the hood onto his head before he mounted Gelebrin. His heart was glad and his mind full of songs he wanted to sing. The High Pass had been horrible; the starvation, the attacks, and without a doubt those terrifying moments he lost consciousness from sheer exhaustion. Those moments had paid off, he was alive and well, ready to restore his Kingdom to its former glory with the help of the counsel of Lord Elrond.

The sun was starting to set as Legolas approached the Last Homely House.