Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in
You Only Live Forever
:::::::::::::::::::
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which is why I am posting it on this site. Legolas and associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien. James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig.
Author's Notes: Um, stuff. Stuff and nonsense. Nothing to say, in other words.
Review replies: Ertia: wow, lookee everybody, we have a 'nooo' reader! (Apologies, I just couldn't help the Marjorie Dawes impression). Glad you like the fic. Tripe stew, hmm? That's an interesting description.
theinklesspen: well, thankees. Though I have to admit to not being the first to have sadistic healers. They are fun though.
Nemo Returning: just the two of them, yes. I couldn't just re-write the books, could I? And there are hobbits! (chapter 1 of Ringfinger) I just didn't particularly include the hobbits in this fic. Why have hobbits when there's a rather sweet Elf to do it with much more style?
:::::::::::::::::::
Chapter 8. Spies on the Wind
"Ouch! Aren't there any smoother paths than this? Blasted horse!"
Greenleaf sighed. They had only left Lothlórien two days ago, and the Dwarf had been complaining ever since.
"And why can't you at least get a saddle or something for this beast? My arse must be as blue as an asphyxiated warg!"
"You could try and bridle him if you wished," Greenleaf observed dryly, "though he wouldn't allow it. Even supposing you were tall enough to reach."
That shut the Dwarf up, at least for the time being. They continued on in silence. Their path led them down the Eastern side of the Great River, the Anduin, following the course of the flowing water. Shadowfax ran fast, covering the ground at no uncertain pace. The closer they got to Mordor, the more Greenleaf felt his anticipation build. He had known that something would happen in the East for years. It was always a threat, an ever-present one that lingered in the back of everyone's minds. It was no surprise when Sauron finally began making his moves openly. The nature of his attacks –with the red eye device being clearly marked- only confirmed what had been long suspected; that Sauron was growing stronger and more confident. Of course, it was always something of a worry that he already had covert operations in place that he didn't know about.
But none of that mattered that much at that moment. Greenleaf, for the most part, trusted Lórien's security protocols and espionage networks. If there was anything he needed to know, he knew it. This was the big one, the sort of operation he'd been waiting for all his life. His grandfather had died in the last great battle against Sauron some thousands of years before. That was probably one of the reasons why G didn't want him to go; she thought it was about revenge. It wasn't, Greenleaf was fairly sure about that. He had never known Oropher, his grandfather, and he wasn't stupid enough to blind himself with anger. Even so, many had died in that battle, both Men and Elves, and that was a good enough reason for Greenleaf to stop Sauron before he got too big again. The task itself was daunting, but Greenleaf refused to let it scare him. The size and scale would obviously need to be thought about and taken into account, but there was no sense in worrying about it. If anything, the Elf was excited.
He always got a buzz from his missions, and this was no exception. There was always enjoyment in bringing down some big shot, and Sauron was bigger than most. Greenleaf would get him or die trying, but there was no use in contemplating failure just yet. It was the biggest job he'd ever had, but this time he wasn't alone. It was odd; Greenleaf was actually fairly glad of the company. Even if it was a Dwarf, it was almost a relief to be able to share some of the responsibility, though not equally of course. He was still in charge.
Their path took them close along the riverbank. A few trees edged it, but beyond that was a great rise of stone. It was the Emyn Muil, a large expanse of sharp, twisted rocks, where many travellers became lost. Once among the rocks, everything began to look the same. If you weren't actually going round in circles then you thought you were. For this reason Greenleaf and Gimli followed the edge on the Emyn Muil, between the rocks and the river. It was a narrow way, but Shadowfax traversed it easily and at speed. The river rushed beside them, singing its song to anyone who would listen. It was a pleasant day, with a few crowds dotted across the sky. Greenleaf smiled. It was a perfect day for teasing a Dwarf.
"I have heard it said that Dwarves will not appreciate the beauty of a day like this unless they are underground," he commented. "Tell me, is this true?"
Gimli spluttered a little. "Of course not!" he defended. "I can see that this is a beautiful day quite plainly, thank you very much. Just because you Elves can't see pleasure in a well formed rock formation." He humphed, and Greenleaf felt the Dwarf's head turn away in irritation. He grinned to himself.
"But rocks have no life, they do not grow," he said quite calmly, as if they were simply having a discussion over dinner, "where there is no life there can be no beauty, surely."
"I beg to differ," Gimli argued, "only glancing at some carved piece even you can see the work that has gone into it, the care that has been lavished on it."
"Oh, something may be much worked and still lack beauty." Greenleaf rubbed Shadowfax's neck idly. There was silence for a few moments, during which time he could practically hear the Dwarf thinking.
"But there are many Elf homes built of stone," Gimli said. "Can you say that Rivendell is not beautiful?"
Greenleaf almost laughed out loud; the Dwarf had made a good point. Not that he'd let him have it, naturally. "It is beautiful, but not due to the stone. It is more the light and space, not to mention the gardens."
Gimli grumbled under his breath, and Greenleaf knew that he had scored a point. "You Mirkwood Elves though," the Dwarf said suddenly, "you live in caves, don't you?"
How did he know that? Greenleaf stiffened in surprise, then remembered that this Dwarf's father and his companions had been prisoners for a time in the Mirkwood dungeons. "Nothing like those monstrosities you call Mines," he said coldly, "and they are a necessity. Our woods are dark and dangerous, and to live so out in the open would be foolhardy. It is the trees that are beautiful in my home, though not so much as they are in Lothlórien."
He scowled, not really wanting to be discussing his home with the Dwarf. He didn't usually talk of it at all. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of Mirkwood did make him homesick to a certain degree. His work with the Secret Service meant that his visits home were few and far between, and always short. That was, admittedly, partly due to him. While his father was proud of him, there was a disappointment in his eyes and manner, a wish that Greenleaf had stayed in Mirkwood with his duties as Prince. They never had anything to talk about anyway. Greenleaf's life was his work, nothing more, and he couldn't talk about it to anyone outside of the Service. Too much relied on secrets remaining secret. He and his father never quite seemed to connect. Since his mother...but that thought was best left. No point in getting morose just before an important mission.
"So, Gimli," he said, "tell me what beauty may be found there." He pointed up to their left, where the Emyn Muil rose.
"Well," Gimli began, shifting to try and gain a more comfortable seat. "The beauty is obvious to one who looks. Its solidity is a marvel, a testament to its hardwearing nature. You cannot call rocks dead when they are such a part of nature as they are. They stand for generations the same. Surely you know the majesty of an ancient tree?"
"I do," Greenleaf agreed, "but all the more so when I have seen it grow from seed or acorn. It is the passage of time and what it works."
"But rocks will stand so much longer than trees," the Dwarf continued, "and each single rock will have seen countless thousands of years. Think of all they have witnessed in that time!"
"Some things are better forgotten, if it were possible," Greenleaf said. "What of the rocks that have been stained with the blood of the slain? They bear forever the mark and the memory of murder, of the taking of lives. Where can their beauty be?" His tone was hard. This had progressed beyond simple teasing, and he wished it hadn't.
"It was not the rocks themselves that did the deeds," Gimli answered softly, "a rock cannot in itself be evil." He paused and took a deep breath. "But that was not your original question. I merely thought that, as an Elf, you would find some beauty and something to appreciate in rocks this old. I didn't think I'd be able to persuade you of the attractiveness of a well-formed lump of granite!" He laughed, and Greenleaf was glad. Gimli continued. "Do you not appreciate these rocks that are older than the Lady Galadriel?"
"And that is a measure of beauty?" Greenleaf asked with a grin. "Why, Gimli, you find Lady Galadriel very beautiful, do you not, to compare her to a pile of rocks?"
Gimli mock-scowled as the body of the Elf before him began to shake with laughter. "You wicked Elf!" he exclaimed. "What are you trying to suggest?"
"Nothing, nothing," Greenleaf said, laughter subsiding to a broad smile. "See, we have reached the Falls of Rauros. Here is truly a most beautiful sight! That even you must agree to, Master Dwarf."
"Aye, that I must," Gimli acknowledged.
It was true. The great waters of the Anduin, which had travelled so far from the North, were constantly pouring off of what seemed to be the edge of the world. Spray and foam hid the very bottom, where the waters hit with unrelenting force. A great plunge pool spread out below and beyond that the river continued its way, eventually to meet the sea, where it would roll and play amid the cry of the white gulls. The roar was tremendous, a mighty challenge that issued from the throat of the river.
Shadowfax stood still on the bank and they all stared over the tumbling waters. It was quite a sight, but Greenleaf soon turned away.
"We go east now," he said, turning Shadowfax that way, "if we keep as far south as we can on the Emyn Muil then we shouldn't get lost."
"Pah!" the Dwarf expostulated. "It would have to be a very great area of rock for me to get lost in it, I can tell you! I have the eyes of a hawk!"
"And the modesty of a peacock," Greenleaf added. He laughed. "But Shadowfax will not allow us to become lost."
Gimli muttered a few choice words, mostly involving damned horses. The Elf laughed again.
The rocks they passed were, of course, beautiful in their way. Tall craggy formations created curious shadows in the sunlight. Some seemed to take on the form of a man's face, with rough-hewn nose and chin, or sometimes animals in ridiculous proportions. One had been a dog so lifelike that had either of them been at all fanciful they would have expected it to leap from its crouched position and bark at their passing. Here and there among the grey landscape were stunted trees, as gnarled and twisted as old men. Little grew in this barren area, and there was indeed little that an Elf could find wonderful. Away to the south, just visible through gaps in the rock when cresting a ridge, were damp marshes. They were of a lush, mucky green, a stark contrast to the stone they travelled through. The marshes were known as the Nindalf, or Wetwang. It was such a lovely day that Greenleaf began humming to himself.
"Is that a cloud?" Gimli suddenly asked. He pointed ahead of them to the East, where a dark shape was visible. "It moves very fast, and there is little wind."
Greenleaf stared at where the Dwarf indicated. He cursed as he saw what it was and leapt from Shadowfax's back, pulling Gimli with him. "Crebain!" he hissed by way of explanation. "Go, Shadowfax," he said, turning to the horse, "find concealment." Shadowfax obeyed immediately, vanishing among the rocks.
"We must hide too!" Greenleaf dragged Gimli under a bush, drawing his cloak over them both. "They will be here any minute," he said, "and we must not be seen!"
"What are they?" Gimli demanded. He wasn't going to be dragged anywhere by an Elf without proper explanation.
"Crebain," Greenleaf repeated. "Basically they're crows, but they've been used as spies before." He glanced up. "Hush now, here they come!"
The great flock of black birds that pin-wheeled above the Emyn Muil was a breathtaking sight. However, there was an eeriness, and unnaturalness about it. No normal flock would behave in such a fashion. They swept in circles over the plateau, covering it with efficiency. A whirlwind of black feathers was all they seemed, but Greenleaf knew there were sharp claws and beaks, and ever watchful eyes as well. He peered up through the leaves of the bush, calculating how long it would take before they could be on the move again. The Dwarf beside him was almost intimately close, enough so that Greenleaf could smell him clearly; an odour of heat, of metal in forges, and of rocks. It was as if they were two lovers, he reflected with a deprecating smile, waiting in the bushes for some passer-by to go on so they could continue. The image threatened to make him laugh out loud, so he quickly quashed it.
The crebain continued to circle, seeming –at least to Greenleaf and Gimli- to be spending far too long over their position. Paranoid thoughts were only to be expected, as the tornado of birds remained over them. Greenleaf found himself closing his eyes in a childish attempt at 'if I can't see them they can't see me'. He forced them open again. This was no child's game, and he was well past the age for such. He watched the flock's progress as they swept the plateau, until finally they soared off in a different direction from which they had come. Greenleaf gave it a couple more minutes, and then eased himself out from under the bush. The birds were tiny black specks off to the South.
"Odd," Greenleaf muttered.
"What?" Gimli asked, getting to his feet.
"Crebain like that come from Dunland," Greenleaf answered, "which is West of here, completely the opposite direction of where they came from. I didn't know Sauron used them."
"He must be expecting someone," Gimli said, "I wouldn't have thought that he has those birds fly up here regularly."
"No, he wouldn't." Greenleaf rubbed his side, thinking. "It looks like they're doing a sweep of the area, at least within certain boundaries." He put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.
"Will they be back?" Gimli asked. "If he is expecting us then he won't be satisfied by one sweep round, will he?"
"No, he won't," Greenleaf answered, "and he'll probably have high security round his borders as well. We'll have to keep our eyes to the skies and waste no time as we go."
Shadowfax galloped up through the rocks to meet them. Greenleaf patted him before lifting the Dwarf up and swinging on to sit before him. He encouraged the horse on. Their pace was fast, and before long they had reached the edge of the Emyn Muil. And what an edge it was. Gimli took one look over and clutched Greenleaf's waist tighter.
"This may seem a silly question to a crazy Elf," he said, "but how are we, including this dratted horse, to get over that?"
"We use a rope," Greenleaf told him, as if it was the simplest thing in Middle-earth. "Shadowfax –who is a fine horse, not "dratted"- can find his own way down, which he'll do better without us on his back. It's obvious enough, even to a stupid Dwarf."
He slipped down off Shadowfax and Gimli followed, grumbling quietly to himself. He stood moderately near the edge and looked down, eyeing the rather steep drop. The rock did seem quite sheer. Hoofbeats behind him signified that Shadowfax had gone on his way. Greenleaf came up behind with a silvery-grey rope in his hands. He tied it in a quick skilful knot to one of the solid, stumpy trees and let the end drop. It was, curiously, exactly the right length. Gimli eyed it suspiciously.
"Will you go first?" asked Greenleaf, gesturing down.
"I would rather you did," the Dwarf grunted, "I'm not sure I trust entirely in your Elvish bits of string." He crossed his arms.
"Have it your way," the Elf said, going to the edge. He took up the rope in his right hand. "But bear in mind that this "bit of string" was made by Lady Galadriel herself."
With that parting shot he lowered himself over, gripping the rope in both hands. He braced his feet against the cliff, legs straight ahead, and began to walk down backwards. The rope slid through his hands as he allowed it to. First his left hand, which was about level with his head, would slide down, and then grip tightly. Then he would take a few steps back, allowing the rope through his right hand, which remained beside his hip. His right hand then tightened and the whole process began again. There was no worry of rope burn from the Elvish rope.
Gimli watched the Elf's progress, hand resting on his axe shaft for reassurance. About halfway down, Greenleaf looked up.
"There's an overhang here," he called, "have to just go hand over hand for a bit." He let his legs down, wrapping them round the rope to support him. It was faster going like that, but it wouldn't have been possible before, when the rope lay against the rock face. His feet touched the ground. "Your turn," he shouted, "and don't take your time about it."
The rotund backside of the Dwarf soon appeared above Greenleaf, and he stood back to watch Gimli make his way down. It wasn't as if Dwarves were unfamiliar with rope work; after all they used it a lot in their caves when exploring undiscovered caverns and the suchlike –whatever it was Dwarves actually did in caves. Ironically, whereas Greenleaf would probably think twice about such a tactic in a cave, for Gimli it was the opposite.
Oh, we're a right pair, Greenleaf thought. Nobody'd think we were working together. He smiled. And that fact could prove useful.
"There you go, Master Elf," Gimli said as he reached the foot of the crag, "quick enough, was I?" He looked back up. "One thing though," he asked. "Are you just leaving the rope there?"
Greenleaf smiled again, and tugged lightly at the rope once. Obediently, it slid down the cliff, landing in a pile at the Elf's feet. His smile grew wider as he saw Gimli's face.
"Th-that rope," the Dwarf stammered, "could have come down at any minute! How could you just climb down it? Or let me climb down? Your knot was suspect, I think!"
"Not at all," Greenleaf pacified him, folding the rope and stowing it away again, "it is Elvish rope. It would not have let you fall, but it came when it was called."
Shadowfax trotted up behind the Elf and nudged his shoulder with his nose. Greenleaf smiled and mounted the horse, reaching down to pull Gimli up. The Dwarf had given up complaining about riding; it was a waste of effort really. He settled, as comfortably as possible, behind the Elf, holding his waist. Shadowfax walked on at Greenleaf's request.
"So where is it now then?" Gimli asked.
"The Dead Marshes," Greenleaf answered, pointing ahead, "but don't worry, Shadowfax will find the path quite easily."
Gimli muttered something, and Greenleaf fought the urge to roll his eyes. They soon reached the Marshes; the great flat area before the mountains. Closer to, the grass looked less healthy and more stringy, often half- drowned and soggy in puddles of muddy water. A foot wrong anywhere could lead the unwary traveller to fall and even be sucked under. A few trees stuck up in places, but none of any attractiveness. Shadowfax, after only a slight hesitation, headed straight out onto the Marshes, hooves finding sure footing with each step.
"Not to sound ignorant," Gimli said after a little while, "but why are they called the Dead Marshes? Granted, they're not cheerful, but they still seem alive. Got plants and everything."
"There was a battle, a long time ago," Greenleaf explained, glancing to the side and into the water, "Elves and Men against Sauron's lot. Pretty bad fight. They fought right here, when it was a huge field. Hundreds died." He was silent for a moment, considering it. "They were buried here, all of them: Elves, Men, orcs. Then the waters rose, and it became a marsh."
Gimli shuddered a little. "Delightful," he commented, looking down cautiously. He caught a view of something white in one of the pools as they passed, and he gazed back curiously. He hadn't expected to see anything in the dark waters; the night was drawing in slowly and the light of day was dimming. He leaned over further, trying to see into other pools. One caught his attention, one near to the path they followed. A light seemed to glow faintly within it, and Gimli could see a face. It was pale and slightly rotting, but fascination bade him look closer. The eyes were shut in the fair, proud face, and the shadow of a helm still seemed to be about its brow. Silvery hair rippled around it, becoming indistinguishable from the weeds that grew from below. Gimli seemed to be drawn to its dead beauty, the closed eyes holding him in a corpse's embrace. Without realising it, he leaned down yet more.
"Gimli!" Greenleaf called, suddenly grabbing his companion's arm and pulling him back abruptly. "Do not follow the call of the Dead, Dwarf!"
Stunned, Gimli allowed the Elf to heave him upright. He glanced up briefly, and decided that the encounter with the dead face must have left him confused, because he thought for a second that he had seen concern in Greenleaf's eyes.
"Blasted will'o'th'wisps," he muttered before the holding the waist before him tighter. He pressed his face into the Elf's back, shutting his eyes.
Greenleaf was berating himself for not keeping a closer eye on the Dwarf. He should have realised that there would be trouble in the Marshes and kept alert accordingly. At least he had noticed before the Dwarf actually fell from the horse; the consequences could have been much worse. He glanced to the sides warily, never staring for very long in one place. It was darkening further, but Shadowfax still continued tirelessly, never missing a step. The moon was up and the stars just coming out as they finally reached the edge of the Marshes.
Gimli looked up again as Shadowfax began to gallop. "Are we out of those infernal Marshes?" he asked. His voice was quiet.
"Yes," Greenleaf answered, "this is North Ithilien. Those mountains to the East are the Ephel Dúath, the Mountains of Shadow. They are part of the border of Mordor."
Visible above the dark craggy shapes was a deep red glow. Occasionally, flames were seen leaping up to the sky. They were from the volcano Orodruin, the place where Sauron had his lair. Such an obvious spot, Greenleaf mused, yet one that no one thought of. The idea of hiding in a volcano was unthinkable, far too dangerous. But Sauron had obviously found a way to make it viable, somehow or other. And hiding in plain sight was always a good way to be concealed. Greenleaf looked ahead, but could see little. He pulled Shadowfax to a halt.
"We'll stop here for the rest of the night," he said, dismounting. "Tomorrow we reach the dead city of Minas Morgul. We'll find a way through there."
::::::::::::::::::::
You Only Live Forever
:::::::::::::::::::
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which is why I am posting it on this site. Legolas and associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien. James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig.
Author's Notes: Um, stuff. Stuff and nonsense. Nothing to say, in other words.
Review replies: Ertia: wow, lookee everybody, we have a 'nooo' reader! (Apologies, I just couldn't help the Marjorie Dawes impression). Glad you like the fic. Tripe stew, hmm? That's an interesting description.
theinklesspen: well, thankees. Though I have to admit to not being the first to have sadistic healers. They are fun though.
Nemo Returning: just the two of them, yes. I couldn't just re-write the books, could I? And there are hobbits! (chapter 1 of Ringfinger) I just didn't particularly include the hobbits in this fic. Why have hobbits when there's a rather sweet Elf to do it with much more style?
:::::::::::::::::::
Chapter 8. Spies on the Wind
"Ouch! Aren't there any smoother paths than this? Blasted horse!"
Greenleaf sighed. They had only left Lothlórien two days ago, and the Dwarf had been complaining ever since.
"And why can't you at least get a saddle or something for this beast? My arse must be as blue as an asphyxiated warg!"
"You could try and bridle him if you wished," Greenleaf observed dryly, "though he wouldn't allow it. Even supposing you were tall enough to reach."
That shut the Dwarf up, at least for the time being. They continued on in silence. Their path led them down the Eastern side of the Great River, the Anduin, following the course of the flowing water. Shadowfax ran fast, covering the ground at no uncertain pace. The closer they got to Mordor, the more Greenleaf felt his anticipation build. He had known that something would happen in the East for years. It was always a threat, an ever-present one that lingered in the back of everyone's minds. It was no surprise when Sauron finally began making his moves openly. The nature of his attacks –with the red eye device being clearly marked- only confirmed what had been long suspected; that Sauron was growing stronger and more confident. Of course, it was always something of a worry that he already had covert operations in place that he didn't know about.
But none of that mattered that much at that moment. Greenleaf, for the most part, trusted Lórien's security protocols and espionage networks. If there was anything he needed to know, he knew it. This was the big one, the sort of operation he'd been waiting for all his life. His grandfather had died in the last great battle against Sauron some thousands of years before. That was probably one of the reasons why G didn't want him to go; she thought it was about revenge. It wasn't, Greenleaf was fairly sure about that. He had never known Oropher, his grandfather, and he wasn't stupid enough to blind himself with anger. Even so, many had died in that battle, both Men and Elves, and that was a good enough reason for Greenleaf to stop Sauron before he got too big again. The task itself was daunting, but Greenleaf refused to let it scare him. The size and scale would obviously need to be thought about and taken into account, but there was no sense in worrying about it. If anything, the Elf was excited.
He always got a buzz from his missions, and this was no exception. There was always enjoyment in bringing down some big shot, and Sauron was bigger than most. Greenleaf would get him or die trying, but there was no use in contemplating failure just yet. It was the biggest job he'd ever had, but this time he wasn't alone. It was odd; Greenleaf was actually fairly glad of the company. Even if it was a Dwarf, it was almost a relief to be able to share some of the responsibility, though not equally of course. He was still in charge.
Their path took them close along the riverbank. A few trees edged it, but beyond that was a great rise of stone. It was the Emyn Muil, a large expanse of sharp, twisted rocks, where many travellers became lost. Once among the rocks, everything began to look the same. If you weren't actually going round in circles then you thought you were. For this reason Greenleaf and Gimli followed the edge on the Emyn Muil, between the rocks and the river. It was a narrow way, but Shadowfax traversed it easily and at speed. The river rushed beside them, singing its song to anyone who would listen. It was a pleasant day, with a few crowds dotted across the sky. Greenleaf smiled. It was a perfect day for teasing a Dwarf.
"I have heard it said that Dwarves will not appreciate the beauty of a day like this unless they are underground," he commented. "Tell me, is this true?"
Gimli spluttered a little. "Of course not!" he defended. "I can see that this is a beautiful day quite plainly, thank you very much. Just because you Elves can't see pleasure in a well formed rock formation." He humphed, and Greenleaf felt the Dwarf's head turn away in irritation. He grinned to himself.
"But rocks have no life, they do not grow," he said quite calmly, as if they were simply having a discussion over dinner, "where there is no life there can be no beauty, surely."
"I beg to differ," Gimli argued, "only glancing at some carved piece even you can see the work that has gone into it, the care that has been lavished on it."
"Oh, something may be much worked and still lack beauty." Greenleaf rubbed Shadowfax's neck idly. There was silence for a few moments, during which time he could practically hear the Dwarf thinking.
"But there are many Elf homes built of stone," Gimli said. "Can you say that Rivendell is not beautiful?"
Greenleaf almost laughed out loud; the Dwarf had made a good point. Not that he'd let him have it, naturally. "It is beautiful, but not due to the stone. It is more the light and space, not to mention the gardens."
Gimli grumbled under his breath, and Greenleaf knew that he had scored a point. "You Mirkwood Elves though," the Dwarf said suddenly, "you live in caves, don't you?"
How did he know that? Greenleaf stiffened in surprise, then remembered that this Dwarf's father and his companions had been prisoners for a time in the Mirkwood dungeons. "Nothing like those monstrosities you call Mines," he said coldly, "and they are a necessity. Our woods are dark and dangerous, and to live so out in the open would be foolhardy. It is the trees that are beautiful in my home, though not so much as they are in Lothlórien."
He scowled, not really wanting to be discussing his home with the Dwarf. He didn't usually talk of it at all. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of Mirkwood did make him homesick to a certain degree. His work with the Secret Service meant that his visits home were few and far between, and always short. That was, admittedly, partly due to him. While his father was proud of him, there was a disappointment in his eyes and manner, a wish that Greenleaf had stayed in Mirkwood with his duties as Prince. They never had anything to talk about anyway. Greenleaf's life was his work, nothing more, and he couldn't talk about it to anyone outside of the Service. Too much relied on secrets remaining secret. He and his father never quite seemed to connect. Since his mother...but that thought was best left. No point in getting morose just before an important mission.
"So, Gimli," he said, "tell me what beauty may be found there." He pointed up to their left, where the Emyn Muil rose.
"Well," Gimli began, shifting to try and gain a more comfortable seat. "The beauty is obvious to one who looks. Its solidity is a marvel, a testament to its hardwearing nature. You cannot call rocks dead when they are such a part of nature as they are. They stand for generations the same. Surely you know the majesty of an ancient tree?"
"I do," Greenleaf agreed, "but all the more so when I have seen it grow from seed or acorn. It is the passage of time and what it works."
"But rocks will stand so much longer than trees," the Dwarf continued, "and each single rock will have seen countless thousands of years. Think of all they have witnessed in that time!"
"Some things are better forgotten, if it were possible," Greenleaf said. "What of the rocks that have been stained with the blood of the slain? They bear forever the mark and the memory of murder, of the taking of lives. Where can their beauty be?" His tone was hard. This had progressed beyond simple teasing, and he wished it hadn't.
"It was not the rocks themselves that did the deeds," Gimli answered softly, "a rock cannot in itself be evil." He paused and took a deep breath. "But that was not your original question. I merely thought that, as an Elf, you would find some beauty and something to appreciate in rocks this old. I didn't think I'd be able to persuade you of the attractiveness of a well-formed lump of granite!" He laughed, and Greenleaf was glad. Gimli continued. "Do you not appreciate these rocks that are older than the Lady Galadriel?"
"And that is a measure of beauty?" Greenleaf asked with a grin. "Why, Gimli, you find Lady Galadriel very beautiful, do you not, to compare her to a pile of rocks?"
Gimli mock-scowled as the body of the Elf before him began to shake with laughter. "You wicked Elf!" he exclaimed. "What are you trying to suggest?"
"Nothing, nothing," Greenleaf said, laughter subsiding to a broad smile. "See, we have reached the Falls of Rauros. Here is truly a most beautiful sight! That even you must agree to, Master Dwarf."
"Aye, that I must," Gimli acknowledged.
It was true. The great waters of the Anduin, which had travelled so far from the North, were constantly pouring off of what seemed to be the edge of the world. Spray and foam hid the very bottom, where the waters hit with unrelenting force. A great plunge pool spread out below and beyond that the river continued its way, eventually to meet the sea, where it would roll and play amid the cry of the white gulls. The roar was tremendous, a mighty challenge that issued from the throat of the river.
Shadowfax stood still on the bank and they all stared over the tumbling waters. It was quite a sight, but Greenleaf soon turned away.
"We go east now," he said, turning Shadowfax that way, "if we keep as far south as we can on the Emyn Muil then we shouldn't get lost."
"Pah!" the Dwarf expostulated. "It would have to be a very great area of rock for me to get lost in it, I can tell you! I have the eyes of a hawk!"
"And the modesty of a peacock," Greenleaf added. He laughed. "But Shadowfax will not allow us to become lost."
Gimli muttered a few choice words, mostly involving damned horses. The Elf laughed again.
The rocks they passed were, of course, beautiful in their way. Tall craggy formations created curious shadows in the sunlight. Some seemed to take on the form of a man's face, with rough-hewn nose and chin, or sometimes animals in ridiculous proportions. One had been a dog so lifelike that had either of them been at all fanciful they would have expected it to leap from its crouched position and bark at their passing. Here and there among the grey landscape were stunted trees, as gnarled and twisted as old men. Little grew in this barren area, and there was indeed little that an Elf could find wonderful. Away to the south, just visible through gaps in the rock when cresting a ridge, were damp marshes. They were of a lush, mucky green, a stark contrast to the stone they travelled through. The marshes were known as the Nindalf, or Wetwang. It was such a lovely day that Greenleaf began humming to himself.
"Is that a cloud?" Gimli suddenly asked. He pointed ahead of them to the East, where a dark shape was visible. "It moves very fast, and there is little wind."
Greenleaf stared at where the Dwarf indicated. He cursed as he saw what it was and leapt from Shadowfax's back, pulling Gimli with him. "Crebain!" he hissed by way of explanation. "Go, Shadowfax," he said, turning to the horse, "find concealment." Shadowfax obeyed immediately, vanishing among the rocks.
"We must hide too!" Greenleaf dragged Gimli under a bush, drawing his cloak over them both. "They will be here any minute," he said, "and we must not be seen!"
"What are they?" Gimli demanded. He wasn't going to be dragged anywhere by an Elf without proper explanation.
"Crebain," Greenleaf repeated. "Basically they're crows, but they've been used as spies before." He glanced up. "Hush now, here they come!"
The great flock of black birds that pin-wheeled above the Emyn Muil was a breathtaking sight. However, there was an eeriness, and unnaturalness about it. No normal flock would behave in such a fashion. They swept in circles over the plateau, covering it with efficiency. A whirlwind of black feathers was all they seemed, but Greenleaf knew there were sharp claws and beaks, and ever watchful eyes as well. He peered up through the leaves of the bush, calculating how long it would take before they could be on the move again. The Dwarf beside him was almost intimately close, enough so that Greenleaf could smell him clearly; an odour of heat, of metal in forges, and of rocks. It was as if they were two lovers, he reflected with a deprecating smile, waiting in the bushes for some passer-by to go on so they could continue. The image threatened to make him laugh out loud, so he quickly quashed it.
The crebain continued to circle, seeming –at least to Greenleaf and Gimli- to be spending far too long over their position. Paranoid thoughts were only to be expected, as the tornado of birds remained over them. Greenleaf found himself closing his eyes in a childish attempt at 'if I can't see them they can't see me'. He forced them open again. This was no child's game, and he was well past the age for such. He watched the flock's progress as they swept the plateau, until finally they soared off in a different direction from which they had come. Greenleaf gave it a couple more minutes, and then eased himself out from under the bush. The birds were tiny black specks off to the South.
"Odd," Greenleaf muttered.
"What?" Gimli asked, getting to his feet.
"Crebain like that come from Dunland," Greenleaf answered, "which is West of here, completely the opposite direction of where they came from. I didn't know Sauron used them."
"He must be expecting someone," Gimli said, "I wouldn't have thought that he has those birds fly up here regularly."
"No, he wouldn't." Greenleaf rubbed his side, thinking. "It looks like they're doing a sweep of the area, at least within certain boundaries." He put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.
"Will they be back?" Gimli asked. "If he is expecting us then he won't be satisfied by one sweep round, will he?"
"No, he won't," Greenleaf answered, "and he'll probably have high security round his borders as well. We'll have to keep our eyes to the skies and waste no time as we go."
Shadowfax galloped up through the rocks to meet them. Greenleaf patted him before lifting the Dwarf up and swinging on to sit before him. He encouraged the horse on. Their pace was fast, and before long they had reached the edge of the Emyn Muil. And what an edge it was. Gimli took one look over and clutched Greenleaf's waist tighter.
"This may seem a silly question to a crazy Elf," he said, "but how are we, including this dratted horse, to get over that?"
"We use a rope," Greenleaf told him, as if it was the simplest thing in Middle-earth. "Shadowfax –who is a fine horse, not "dratted"- can find his own way down, which he'll do better without us on his back. It's obvious enough, even to a stupid Dwarf."
He slipped down off Shadowfax and Gimli followed, grumbling quietly to himself. He stood moderately near the edge and looked down, eyeing the rather steep drop. The rock did seem quite sheer. Hoofbeats behind him signified that Shadowfax had gone on his way. Greenleaf came up behind with a silvery-grey rope in his hands. He tied it in a quick skilful knot to one of the solid, stumpy trees and let the end drop. It was, curiously, exactly the right length. Gimli eyed it suspiciously.
"Will you go first?" asked Greenleaf, gesturing down.
"I would rather you did," the Dwarf grunted, "I'm not sure I trust entirely in your Elvish bits of string." He crossed his arms.
"Have it your way," the Elf said, going to the edge. He took up the rope in his right hand. "But bear in mind that this "bit of string" was made by Lady Galadriel herself."
With that parting shot he lowered himself over, gripping the rope in both hands. He braced his feet against the cliff, legs straight ahead, and began to walk down backwards. The rope slid through his hands as he allowed it to. First his left hand, which was about level with his head, would slide down, and then grip tightly. Then he would take a few steps back, allowing the rope through his right hand, which remained beside his hip. His right hand then tightened and the whole process began again. There was no worry of rope burn from the Elvish rope.
Gimli watched the Elf's progress, hand resting on his axe shaft for reassurance. About halfway down, Greenleaf looked up.
"There's an overhang here," he called, "have to just go hand over hand for a bit." He let his legs down, wrapping them round the rope to support him. It was faster going like that, but it wouldn't have been possible before, when the rope lay against the rock face. His feet touched the ground. "Your turn," he shouted, "and don't take your time about it."
The rotund backside of the Dwarf soon appeared above Greenleaf, and he stood back to watch Gimli make his way down. It wasn't as if Dwarves were unfamiliar with rope work; after all they used it a lot in their caves when exploring undiscovered caverns and the suchlike –whatever it was Dwarves actually did in caves. Ironically, whereas Greenleaf would probably think twice about such a tactic in a cave, for Gimli it was the opposite.
Oh, we're a right pair, Greenleaf thought. Nobody'd think we were working together. He smiled. And that fact could prove useful.
"There you go, Master Elf," Gimli said as he reached the foot of the crag, "quick enough, was I?" He looked back up. "One thing though," he asked. "Are you just leaving the rope there?"
Greenleaf smiled again, and tugged lightly at the rope once. Obediently, it slid down the cliff, landing in a pile at the Elf's feet. His smile grew wider as he saw Gimli's face.
"Th-that rope," the Dwarf stammered, "could have come down at any minute! How could you just climb down it? Or let me climb down? Your knot was suspect, I think!"
"Not at all," Greenleaf pacified him, folding the rope and stowing it away again, "it is Elvish rope. It would not have let you fall, but it came when it was called."
Shadowfax trotted up behind the Elf and nudged his shoulder with his nose. Greenleaf smiled and mounted the horse, reaching down to pull Gimli up. The Dwarf had given up complaining about riding; it was a waste of effort really. He settled, as comfortably as possible, behind the Elf, holding his waist. Shadowfax walked on at Greenleaf's request.
"So where is it now then?" Gimli asked.
"The Dead Marshes," Greenleaf answered, pointing ahead, "but don't worry, Shadowfax will find the path quite easily."
Gimli muttered something, and Greenleaf fought the urge to roll his eyes. They soon reached the Marshes; the great flat area before the mountains. Closer to, the grass looked less healthy and more stringy, often half- drowned and soggy in puddles of muddy water. A foot wrong anywhere could lead the unwary traveller to fall and even be sucked under. A few trees stuck up in places, but none of any attractiveness. Shadowfax, after only a slight hesitation, headed straight out onto the Marshes, hooves finding sure footing with each step.
"Not to sound ignorant," Gimli said after a little while, "but why are they called the Dead Marshes? Granted, they're not cheerful, but they still seem alive. Got plants and everything."
"There was a battle, a long time ago," Greenleaf explained, glancing to the side and into the water, "Elves and Men against Sauron's lot. Pretty bad fight. They fought right here, when it was a huge field. Hundreds died." He was silent for a moment, considering it. "They were buried here, all of them: Elves, Men, orcs. Then the waters rose, and it became a marsh."
Gimli shuddered a little. "Delightful," he commented, looking down cautiously. He caught a view of something white in one of the pools as they passed, and he gazed back curiously. He hadn't expected to see anything in the dark waters; the night was drawing in slowly and the light of day was dimming. He leaned over further, trying to see into other pools. One caught his attention, one near to the path they followed. A light seemed to glow faintly within it, and Gimli could see a face. It was pale and slightly rotting, but fascination bade him look closer. The eyes were shut in the fair, proud face, and the shadow of a helm still seemed to be about its brow. Silvery hair rippled around it, becoming indistinguishable from the weeds that grew from below. Gimli seemed to be drawn to its dead beauty, the closed eyes holding him in a corpse's embrace. Without realising it, he leaned down yet more.
"Gimli!" Greenleaf called, suddenly grabbing his companion's arm and pulling him back abruptly. "Do not follow the call of the Dead, Dwarf!"
Stunned, Gimli allowed the Elf to heave him upright. He glanced up briefly, and decided that the encounter with the dead face must have left him confused, because he thought for a second that he had seen concern in Greenleaf's eyes.
"Blasted will'o'th'wisps," he muttered before the holding the waist before him tighter. He pressed his face into the Elf's back, shutting his eyes.
Greenleaf was berating himself for not keeping a closer eye on the Dwarf. He should have realised that there would be trouble in the Marshes and kept alert accordingly. At least he had noticed before the Dwarf actually fell from the horse; the consequences could have been much worse. He glanced to the sides warily, never staring for very long in one place. It was darkening further, but Shadowfax still continued tirelessly, never missing a step. The moon was up and the stars just coming out as they finally reached the edge of the Marshes.
Gimli looked up again as Shadowfax began to gallop. "Are we out of those infernal Marshes?" he asked. His voice was quiet.
"Yes," Greenleaf answered, "this is North Ithilien. Those mountains to the East are the Ephel Dúath, the Mountains of Shadow. They are part of the border of Mordor."
Visible above the dark craggy shapes was a deep red glow. Occasionally, flames were seen leaping up to the sky. They were from the volcano Orodruin, the place where Sauron had his lair. Such an obvious spot, Greenleaf mused, yet one that no one thought of. The idea of hiding in a volcano was unthinkable, far too dangerous. But Sauron had obviously found a way to make it viable, somehow or other. And hiding in plain sight was always a good way to be concealed. Greenleaf looked ahead, but could see little. He pulled Shadowfax to a halt.
"We'll stop here for the rest of the night," he said, dismounting. "Tomorrow we reach the dead city of Minas Morgul. We'll find a way through there."
::::::::::::::::::::