"Now what shall we do?" grumbled Gimli the dwarf as he peered at where Aragorn knelt on the rocky ground. "We've lost the trail."
It was mid day. The
sun was shining brightly overhead, warm enough to be comfortable, yet the chill
of the coming winter could not be ignored.
The king had roused his men before dawn.
They'd eaten and then the camp was quickly disbanded, and as soon as it
was light enough to see by, they had taken to the trail once more.
A few times, the trail had been lost to them, but through Aragorn's
experience and skill as a hunter and ranger, they had picked up the trail at
other points, unknowingly saving them almost half a day's journey. But then they had come to a place where his
skill faltered. It was the rocky terrain
that had worried Legolas as he sat locked in his
cell. No footprint or any tell tale sign
could be gathered here, for there was little soil; mostly there was just dull
gray stone.
Aragorn stood up and wiped the dust from his knees. "Oft when a man's skill does fail, the sense of the beast does prevail. Now we shall see if Arod can find what we cannot."
He walked to the horse and Arod nuzzled him with his nose. The horse seemed impatient, stomping at the ground, head ever turning this way and that. Aragorn spoke softly to the horse in elvish, the only words that the men could decipher was the elf's name. But the horse seemed to understand and he sniffed the air all about him as if gathering news.
"Hopefully the trail will not prove too old for him," the king said softly to Gimli and Faramir, who stood by his side.
But soon Arod whinnied, and Aragorn and Gimli mounted him once again. The great white horse sprang away, galloping hard towards the place where Legolas was being held. The rest of the men spurred their horses after them, but Arod's pace outmatched them, and they were soon trailing him by several horse lengths.
Onward they sped, the landscape barely changing as it raced past them. Dark and bleak was the land, featureless for the most part, with a few brazen stunted trees growing in the near distance. Now Aragorn rode tall in the saddle once more; though his eyes roved over the land, now in the distance, now at the ground by Arod's hooves. But still he could find no trail and left it instead for Arod.
The sun continued its' endless journey across the sky above. The bright blue of the sky soon filled with colors. Reds, oranges, and golds all brightened that dreary land, but the Gondorians did not notice. Arod began to tire. Sweat poured from his flesh and his gallop began to slow, unnoticeably at first, but soon he'd slowed to a fast trot.
"Lord Aragorn," Faramir cried out, his own midnight black stead finally able to catch up with Arod. "We must stop and rest, if not for the night, then at the very least long enough for the horses to rest."
The king nodded. "Yes, we must stop and rest, though I greatly grudge it. See how Arod stamps! We must be close indeed. But come, let us all be refreshed and ready, for we know not what we shall find in the future. Make ready a fire. We shall sleep now and rise before the moon reaches its' height. Then we must continue. A threat has been growing in my mind all afternoon."
"Very good sire. It shall be done." With that, Faramir turned back to the men and began to give out assignments.
As cheerless as the previous night's camp had been, this night was even more so. Guards were constantly on watch, and when it came time that all that were off-watch went to sleep, the fire was doused and only a thin wisp of smoke rose silently into the heavens.
Aragorn and Gimli took the first watch again. The dwarf was sore from the day's ride, and said as much to Aragorn, always making light of the situation, ever trying to cover his own fear. But it was not so now. Gimli sat on his bedroll, running his finger along the edge of his axe. It felt a bit dull to him and Aragorn handed him a small whetstone to sharpen it with. As quietly as was possible, the two sat there together for half an hour, with only the faint sounds of the stone against the axe blade between them.
"If only we could keep moving," Aragorn finally spoke aloud, yet still half in thought to himself.
Gimli gazed at the man sitting beside him. He was alert and restless, but he still suffered himself to sit watch will his men slept all around him. Gimli smiled to himself. Here, this man was king, and his men would do whatever was asked of them, but yet he was still so like the ranger he'd been when the Fellowship had set out from Rivendell. Surely, it was Legolas, their own dear friend that had been taken captive, but Gimili suddenly realized something. Aragorn would do the same whether it was Legolas or any other of his men. It was simply who he was. And Gimli loved him for his nature.
He said nothing though, sensing that Aragorn was not all there in his thoughts. The silence thickened, and Gimli felt uncomfortable somehow. He strained his eyes against the darkness, but he could see nothing, though it felt as if he were being watched. Finally, he could stand it no longer.
"Aragorn," he whispered, "do you feel what I feel?"
"Yes, we are being watched."
"But by whom? And where?"
"I do not know."
The moon was shrouded in dense clouds, and in the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. It began to rain softly. The men awoke and began to shift camp to an overhanging wall of stone not more than a quarter of an hour south of them. It was when they began to move that the feeling of watchfulness withdrew and then altogether vanished.
Here the men set up one more, a northerly breeze blowing the rain outwards from the overhang, leaving the new camp dry. No fire was kindled, for now the wood was wet, and Aragorn feared that whoever had been watching them might return. But fortunately, the rest of the night passed without incident and they rose once again in the dead of night to continue the search for Legolas.
