Chapter Six

Simple

Part 1

The dwarf and the king had made less than ten leagues before the sky began to darken and the lowering sun painted the bottoms of the thickening clouds a pinkish-purple. With the temperature dropping like a stone thrown in deep water, they decided to find shelter for the night – not because they wanted to, but because they had to. Gimli was exhausted. He staggered drunkenly, barely managing to place one foot in front of the other.

They stopped at the mouth of a small, natural cave, tossed their belongings in, and then both began foraging for firewood. Both leaned and grasped the same branch at the same time. When Gimli's eyes found Aragorn's hand he looked up, puzzled for a moment.

"What?" Aragorn asked, letting go and backing down from the unspoken challenge to let the tired dwarf claim the small victory.

"Your father's ring. Did you loose it?" Gimli asked, tucking the prized branch under his arm.

"No." Aragorn reached for more kindling and gathered it in the crook of his arm. "I left it at the palace along with everything else."

"Everything?" Gimli frowned. "Surely not Arwen's pendant."

"Everything. Why?"

Gimli shrugged. "Because I've never seen you without your father's ring before."

"No identifiable things, Gimli," he explained, yanking another branch from the ground. This one was frozen under the snow at one end and required a bit of muscle to pry it free. "The ring is a symbol of who I am. So is the pendant."

"So are those black clothes," Gimli pointed out. "And yet you're wearing them."

"Yes. But they only identify me as a ranger among many, not as a king. Too many people know the ring."

Gimli barked a laugh. "You got me there." His eyes unfocused for a moment and he swayed dizzily on his feet. He huffed and shook his head to clear it; his long red beard continued to jiggle comically long after his head had stopped moving.

Aragorn smiled. "Come on you stubborn mule. Time for some sleep before you fall on your face."

Gimli nodded numbly and headed back, not bothering to argue for a change, which came as a pleasant surprise to Aragorn. /But then, six days – no wonder,/ Aragorn thought. /If I were him, I'd be dead on my feet and starting to talk to myself long before now. Gimli must certainly have a strong friendship with Legolas to want to push himself this hard. And to think they usually natter at each other as though they can't stand each other. Who'd have thought a dwarf and an elf could become so close./

As though in a stupor, Gimli let the firewood slip from his arms as he entered the cave. Past caring, he trudged right through it, scattering it with his dragging feet. He pressed his back against the rock wall, dropped slowly to the floor, and was snoring softly without benefit of a blanket, worry or no worry, before Aragorn had time to strike a fire. Aragon, however, found that his own sleepiness had been stolen away. He draped his own blanket over the slumbering dwarf and gently patted his shoulder. Gimli didn't so much as stir.

Dropping to the floor of the opposite wall nearer the entrance, Aragorn settled his back against the smooth rock and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sat looking up at the stars and listening to the steady, rhythmic breathing coming from of the slumbering dwarf.

/Six days,/ he thought, running a hand over his weary face. /Gimli had waited a day, traveled for four, and then we left today. Six. Legolas could be anywhere by now. This won't be easy. Nearly impossible really. It will be another three days travel just to get to the starting point – more at this rate – and with the new snows... /

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Aragorn whispered softly to himself. "I hope." He breathed a long, slow sigh. "Lords, I hope."

He glanced up at the sky and spotted Earendil shining down like a beacon in the night. The thick clouds seemed to swirl around it but mysteriously did not cross it's path to cover it.

"Earendil, please help us find him," Aragorn whispered. "And if it's not too much to ask, please let him be alive when we do."

Part 2

Sleep didn't come as soon as Aragorn had hoped. He added a few more pieces of wood to the fire, readjusted Gimli's fallen blanket, and then resettled himself again. Earendil was finally asleep – the clouds covering the beloved star like a woollen blanket. Somewhere in the darkness an owl hailed its soft, haunting cry into the stillness, and Aragorn thought for a moment of his dream and his own question – who? Legolas was the who. But there were two Legolas'. Who is real... or are both real? Or neither?

Two, and yet one, the other Legolas had said. One and the same. Two halves of a whole. Remember that.

/But that doesn't make any sense,/ he thought, exasperated. /How can there be two of them?/

With that and other unanswered questions still plaguing his mind, Aragorn fell asleep not two minutes after he rested his head back against the rock wall.

And he dreamed again. But not the same dream.

This dream was almost as disturbing as the first one had been. Almost – because this one started out better but ended just as badly. He would awaken from this dream with his face wet with tears like he had after the first one and shaking just as hard, but this time he was a part of the dream instead of merely viewing it all as a spectator.

He was racing through the forest, his heart pounding in his ears and his breath coming fairly easy for the more than quick pace. He felt adrenalin flooding his body. His excitement mounted. /Predator and prey,/ he thought, and then wondered why he had thought that.

The darkness was almost complete but his eyes seemed to be adjusting to compensate well enough, drinking in the last small light of dusk. What struck him was not his eyesight, though that was amazing enough. No, what struck him was his hearing. It was incredible. He could hear everything for leagues around: a crow's raspy call from the treetops, an owl calling out, two foxes quibbling likely over found carrion, a startled deer darting out of the way, and so much more. The night was alive with sound.

He felt powerful, surefooted, and fast – much faster than he'd ever moved in his life. He ran through the forest, springing through the undergrowth so swiftly that he seemed to leave hardly an mark on the snow. As a matter of fact, he didn't sink into the deep snow at all but curiously ran on top of it. It was invigorating. Exhilarating. Impressive.

/Like an elf./

That thought struck him like a thunderbolt. Up until now, he would have sworn he was a wolf. The eyesight, the hearing, the scents. Yes, even the scents. They had set his nerve endings quivering with fury and bloodlust. His ears picked up the smallest sound, and his running body would flex subtly, here changing pace, or there swerving left or right, that he seemed to be as one with the forest. His instincts were utterly in tune with everything around him and ready at a moments notice to show his truest skill – fight – as fast as the turning of a snowflake in a wild wind. There would be no thoughts of flight tonight, he knew. His stride was too purposeful.

/I'm on a mission of some sort./

He suddenly stopped and turned his face up to the sky. He caught sight of Earendil shining down as brightly as it had when he had been awake, but this time it seemed as though he was viewing it from a slightly different angle. He felt his lips twist into a sneer and heard himself curse. Then he moved on.

His own face floated in front of his eyes as though a vision within a vision. Instead of ignoring it, he felt himself grow furious and quicken his pace.

The dream changed...

And just as the first dream had, this dream went south – a real hard turn south – straight into a nightmare.

He was in a room of sorts. At least he thought it was a room. It was too dark to tell. The boy suddenly appeared beside him, glowing faintly with a strange light that seemed to come from within. His eyes were not fixed on Aragorn's face but staring ahead to a spot in the blackness far before him.

A warning, Aragorn, the boy said. This time do not interfere nor move from this spot. There is nothing you can do here but watch and learn. Learn all you can. You will need it.

Then he vanished without a trace.

A tiny beam of light shone down from an unseen source to illuminate a spot a good twenty feet before him. Aragorn knew that the light was for his benefit. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. And in that spot of light was the prone form of Legolas, lying as though some invisible weight pinned him down. He was struggling to rise, his shoulders quivering under the enormous strain of effort, but whatever held him was strong – immeasurably strong – because it seemed that he couldn't manage to so much as lift his head. After a moment, Aragorn corrected himself with immeasurably strong and immeasurably cold, because the golden hair fanning out around him was frozen solid to the floor, as if not really a floor at all but a massive block of black ice.

Then came voices came with words he couldn't quite make out. One voice was weak and terrified and the other voice was strong and as unfeeling as a stone. The weak voice pleaded. The hard voice boomed and crashed like thunder. Then it laughed – long and deep and ear-splittingly loud. Aragorn grimaced and covered his throbbing ears. Legolas gasped and jerked, unable to move to cover his own. The elf groaned. Cried. Begged. Screamed. All to no avail. The laughing continued, vibrating right through both of them.

/Sweet lords, I wonder if Legolas has gone mad,/ Aragorn thought. /If this was real and I had to endure this, I think I would be!/

Finally, the voices stilled...and Legolas' head slowly rose from the floor.

/I don't want to see!/

But he did see. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Legolas' face lifted to his as if seeing him, though there were no eyes to see with – just hollow, black sockets. His face was gaunt, his cheeks sunk in, his forehead heavily wrinkled. He was

(dying)

aging at an incredible rate. Then faster. Thinning. Growing more and more feeble, more and more skeletal. His mouth opened, and a puff of dust blew out with the croaking words: "I have to die, Aragorn. I'm ready."

The desolation and utter hopelessness in his voice filled Aragorn with horror.

Legolas... a powerful voice cautioned.

Aragorn stood transfixed with horror at both the sight before him and the evilness of the voice surrounding him. /This is a premonition, a distant part of his mind thought. It has to be. Oh lords.../

Learn all you can. You will need it, the boy's voice repeated in a whisper in his ear, even though Aragorn knew he was no longer there.

Then he had another thought: /Try to take hold of it. Control it like a dream. Ask a question. Try it!/

Legolas, who is doing this to you? he asked.

I'm warning you...

I am, the elf answered defiantly, going against the other voice. He is.

You are, came another reply, this one echoing all around him, vibrating through him like impact tremors of some impossibly huge beast. Now shut up, Legolas. I'm warning you for the last time...

Don't trust him, Aragorn, Legolas whispered. Don't listen to him...or to me...or to us. I can't stop him.

DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU! I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!

Legolas suddenly flew upward, yanked from the floor by an unseen force, then suspended high in the windless air as if a puppet on invisible strings. He began to shake violently, helplessly; his arms outstretched, hands clenching to fists, and head dropping back as though gripped in ungodly pain. His mouth popped open, but instead of words, an unearthly howl burst from him.

Before Aragorn could rush forward he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found the boy staring at him, shaking his head slowly. "Do not interfere nor move from this spot," he repeated sternly. "There is nothing you can do here but watch and learn. Learn, Aragorn. Learn and believe...and remember all of this. Remember what kind of creature you will be facing soon."

Aragorn would remember this and the rest of this...dream, until the day he died; his mind would never completely loose this sight nor the sights and sounds of what would come next. He remembered thinking over and over again: /This is not physically happening...this is only a dream, a premonition...but this was not physically happening!/

And that was true, but seeing it now, seeing the pain on Legolas' face, seeing and hearing and being helpless to stop it...that did something to Aragorn. It hurt his mind.

Legolas shrieked even louder against the invisible, unholy force. Then with one last cry, like his sightless eyes in the first dream, this time his whole body cracked like thin ice on a lake and shattered in a dazzling explosion of glittering light.

As the shower sparkled to the floor, it floated down over something else – something standing directly beneath it, illuminating the form like a magnificent, shimmering ghost. Aragorn glimpsed it – it's outstretched arms and upturned face welcoming the shower as greedily as a farmer in a long drought would welcome a downpour – and at the same instant Aragorn felt it's sheer evilness – it's pure darkness – radiating outward from it as total and as searing as the sun.

The second Legolas.

Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then the breath in his chest hitched and he unleashed Legolas' name in a long, heart-rending scream – but again in the dream and not for real, thank the stars, or Gimli might have swung his axe first and asked questions later.

In his dream, Aragorn threw his arms up to shield his eyes from the sight...

Part 3

...and awoke, sitting bolt upright on the mine's stone floor. He was looking at the mine from behind his own upraised arms before he knew where he was; his heart still pounding in his chest like a too-fast drum. Shaking, he ran a hand over his wet cheeks and fought to slow his breathing while he waited for the dream to let go.

/Premonition,/ his mind insisted on whispering. /It's not a dream. It's not a dream./

He looked at Gimli and saw that he was sleeping soundly. He watched him for awhile then he let his head fall back against the smooth rock wall.

/Two different dreams, and Legolas – one Legolas – had weakened and died in both,/ he thought. /And both times he had been in dark rooms – the first in a mine and now in a black...what? Tomb? Prison? Whatever it was, it was still a room, though. Both dark. Both rooms. And both times he had been lying on the floor. Is that significant?/

/Trapped? Legolas often referred to mines as a feeling of being trapped. Was he trapped now? Was that what it meant? Or was it the darkness? Or forced down to the ground...the floor...or just...down? Down. Held down, forced down, tied down... So I'll say forced, then./

This is like trying to solve a riddle within a riddle within a riddle, all in an unfamiliar language.

/Alright, so what do we have, then?/ he wondered. /Trapped. Dark, or black. Forced down. And death is the end of each dream./

/Not a dream. A premonition,/ a small part of his mind corrected him.

/Alright – premonition. But what does it all mean?/

(I have to die. I'm ready.)

Aragorn's mind wrapped around Legolas' words and added them to the puzzle. /So add it up. He's trapped in the dark, weakening, forced down, and he's ready to die./ Then he added something else: /And there are two Legolases./

(I am. He is. Don't listen to him...or to me...or to us.)

/Lords, I'm never going to sleep tonight!/ he thought with a light snort.

He glanced over at Gimli, still snoring soundly, and was actually jealous of him. He had a quick mental picture of tossing a rock ner him to awaken him. Misery likes company, and all that. So do people who can't sleep for fear of nightmares. But he couldn't let this go now. He felt like he was just starting to get somewhere; like having someone's name on the tip of your tongue but can't quite say. The answer is there. He knew it. The answer is there somewhere in this jumble, probably right in front of him, and he'd likely kick himself later for not seeing it sooner.

Gimli began to murmur in his sleep, a single word becoming clearer and clearer. It was the elf's name. Then the echoes started up, and it was the echoes plus Gimli's repetitious murmurs that sent Aragorn's heart thumping so hard he felt the pulse, high and fast, in his throat. It wasn't Gimli's murmurs that got to Aragorn, but what he was murmuring that did. The dwarf wasn't murmuring the name – Legolas. He was murmuring the name – Greenleaf.

/Don't overanalyse it,/ Aragorn reminded himself. /Think simple. If it is a premonition, then there has to be an answer./

/But what's the answer? There are two Legolases – the stronger one forcing the weaker one down into the dark and torturing him until he gives up and dies? But that's – /

"– insane," he whispered. And with the word the all-too-familiar shiver raced up his spine, because as soon as the word left his mouth, it felt right. Too right. Simple.

And he was right about something else as well – sleep did not return that night.

Tbc...