Chapter X - The Perils of Fangorn
The first dream was during broad sunlight, though even day was dimmed in Fangorn. They were picking their way through the dense woods carefully, and already had come upon signs of two Hobbits among the roots, and some marks that were strange to them all. They had to lead the Rohiric horses through, and the beasts were almost as uneasy as Gimli, who seemed to be more terrified of the old trees than he had been of the Balrog. As Legolas stepped lightly through the woods, he left the tracking to Aragorn and slipped out of consciousness. The forest seemed to be almost steaming: the air throbbed with the voices of many unseen things. The breeze was a hot breath on the backs of their necks that made them turn around occasionally, to see if something had come up behind them.
Legolas liked his horse. He had been told that his name was Arod. A tall gray stallion, Arod was slender and sleek, but as strong as a dragon and swift as the wind. But the horse was troubled upon entering Fangorn and every now and then, his elvish rider had to pause and whisper soothing words into his downy ears.
As the hot wind tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, Legolas imagined himself far away. He was running over a moonlit glade as fast as his feet could take him, leaping over roots and streams as gracefully as a deer, as the Stag he could never catch. Then he was running beside the Stag. They were neck and neck. Their feet pounded into the earth, measured and exact, the beat of a drum. They were swift and strong, like a silent war cry flying over the land. Then the Stag's hooves changed to the hooves of a horse, and then the whole creature transformed into a foam-white steed, tall and proud. The antlers melted away and vaporized in the wind, becoming part of a gleaming mane. Legolas reached out an arm and touched the horses' side and they both came to a stop at a silent agreement.
The horse stood perfectly still, nostrils dilated, coat steaming in the cold night. Legolas circled it, admiring its form and strength. It was the image of equine perfection. He came nearer, and made to run a hand though its mane. Suddenly, the horse reared up and neighed, pawing the air with its hooves. Taken aback, Legolas darted out of the way as the hooves sliced the air near his head. He backed away until the horse calmed down. He knew that this creature, like the Stag, was not his to master-it was his to admire, to revere, but not to own.
Aragorn said something and Legolas snapped back into reality. Night had fallen. They tied the horses up to the least intimidating-looking tree and built a small fire using only fallen wood. His two companions were wary of the forest, but Legolas felt relieved. The tree behind him seemed to embrace his form as he leaned back onto its trunk. He could feel its life essence, and looking up, he saw its branches lean toward the flames, like a beggar who warms his hands by a fire. He smiled, and turned to Aragorn.
The Man hunched over the fire looked older than he had ever appeared to Legolas. He stared into the flames with an expression of both defeat and guilt, his arms hugging the Lorien cloak to his tall, wiry form.
"Aragorn, what troubles you?" the Elf inquired softly.
"Everything, for everything has gone amiss since I took leadership of our Fellowship." The human's eyes were dead, his mouth a hard line.
Legolas smiled gently, staring into the bright blue part of the fire. "You are too harsh upon yourself, Aragorn. You are mighty among my people, mightier still among Men. You are Isildur's heir, descendant of the line of Elendil. If you are to give up now, what are the rest of us to do?"
Aragorn looked darkly at his companion. "Why do *you* stay, Legolas? You may yet leave this world and live free and safe among your own kind, no matter how strong Sauron becomes."
Immediately Aragorn regretted his words. Legolas' expression was shocked and hurt, and the light in his gray eyes was flickering as violently as the fire before them. "This is my *home*, Aragorn. Do you forget I was born here? Long ago though it was, I have known no other place. And when the time comes when I too must cross to Eressëa, Middle- earth shall still be my home." Then with an icy threat in his voice Aragorn had never before heard, Legolas said: "Do not forget that."
They sat in silence. Gimli's eyes darted between his comrades, wary of the uneasiness between the two. Frustration in an Elf? Unheard of! Even Aragorn was not easily stressed. The Dwarf felt himself becoming agitated by his companions' behavior. The woods had already made him frightened, but he felt more and more nervous now. It was as though something was approaching. Did they feel it, too?
Legolas glanced around the forest shadows, hiding his anxiety with an air of supposed carelessness. "Who wishes for the first watch?"
"I'll take it, friend," Gimli volunteered.
"Very well. Goodnight, Gimli, Aragorn," the Elf said wearily. Legolas lay back in the cradling roots of the tree and folded his slender hands on his breast, letting himself sink into another dream.
* * *
"You have traveled so far from your home," the voice whispered, cool and calm. It was a woman's lilt. At first, Legolas wondered if Lady Galadriel had extended her clairvoyance into his very mind though many miles separated them. Alone in the glade in his dream, he looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.
"I wonder what it is you seek..."
No, it was as though the voice came from inside his very being, near the center of his chest, vibrating like a bowstring's pulse. It was not Galadriel's voice. It was unlike an Elven tone. Yet it seemed unlike a human voice, for it did something to him. It made him want to cry, and to run as fast as he could, and to yell a war cry, and to write endless songs in Quenya, and to be born again.
"In you I see something that I have known all my life, and something alien and strange. I must master that."
If a voice could smile, this voice had done just that.
"Where are you?" he called. The voice ceased. Fearful he added: "Don't leave me here, Ithilwen."
Conjured by her name, he saw the grass part a few feet away. The wind picked up and tossed the airy fabric of a white dress. He saw golden hair flying in the breeze. The yellow strands were blown a back a little, revealing only part of her face. He stared and saw nothing. Only her eyes were clear: they were a cold gray-blue, like a cloudy sky, but there was gentleness and vulnerability deep in their depths. Their master tried to hide this as the face turned away from his gaze.
But Legolas felt something in his torso, something like hunger. He felt propelled forward, eager, ravenous and a little afraid. She did not move. He was a few inches from her now. He felt her breath. It stung his skin in a way that was not uncomfortable. It pulled him forward. It was like being called. It echoed throughout the glade. Very slowly, Legolas reached up and placed a hand upon her turned cheek. Her face, hidden by her hair, was unreadable, but her skin was warm. It was hot against his fingers. As slowly, she reached up and lifted away the veiling strands from her face-
* * *
Something unnamable made him wake with a start, flying to sit straight up. Legolas' eyes almost immediately focused on the figure a few feet ahead. He could sense his companions on either side also glaring at the intruder: an old man in stained rags, bent with unknown age, peering at them from under a shadowy hood. A gray beard spilled onto the intruder's chest, flecked with darker strands. The mouth was grim, the eyes dark, ominous glitters under the hood.
Legolas' heart leapt in his throat as he remembered the image in the Mirror of Galadriel: yet that man had become Mithrandir. Could this be? Yes! He *must* be! For then Legolas felt something urging him forward, something familiar and soothing. It was almost like a trance, almost like a spell...
"One little prince hath strayed too far, I think."
The voice was inside his head. It was not heard, but horribly felt. It was a snake sliding over his neck, coiling around his throat. He felt a paralyzing wave of fear, his jaw trembling with panic. His lungs constricted. The ground was cold beneath him. The sky was dark and cloudless. The trees were no longer friendly but sinister, closing in. He felt their roots inch toward them, moving through the earth like enormous worms, the gnarled branched reaching down, curling over. How foolish he was! That feeling, that feeling of fairness that had called before-
He tried to stop himself. It was a heroic effort on his part, but Legolas could not help but look into the shaded eyes of the old man. And in that instant, something horrible happened. The thing knew him. With one look, the old man had seen everything. There was no doubt left in Legolas' mind, and he regretted with all his heart that he had not followed his initial instincts. This was one of the Istari, and one of great power, with an eye that could pierce even the mind of one of the Older Children of Iluvatar. There was only one among them who could have achieved that.
Saruman.
He couldn't move. Nothing, not one limb of his body would obey his command. He knew his knife lay a few inches away, just out of reach. He was vulnerable! *Not like this,* he thought to himself, beginning to tremble, *Not like this.* But it was too late. With one look, Saruman of Many Colors had rendered one of the Eldar defenseless. He wished his companions would forgive him for his failure to them all. He had let them down once again. He had given in. In one moment he had been taken.
But then another strange occurrence happened. To Legolas' left, Aragorn stirred. The Shadow had no hold upon him. He rose slowly, but by his own will. Standing tall, the Man's voice rang out and Legolas felt it slowly melt the paralysis that had fallen upon him.
"Come warm yourself by the fire, Father, if it is your will."
The old man winced back at the words. His glamoury broken, he sank back in to the surrounding shadows and disappeared into the darkness.
Legolas gasped as air rushed back into his lungs and fell back onto the grass, elated. It was a wonder to be alive. Yet even as he was freed, he drifted away from reality, from Aragorn and Gimli bent over him in concern, for in his dreams he knew another friend was waiting.
-Fin-
Please review
Continued in Chapter Eleven: A Randir Vithren (O Pilgrim Grey)
The first dream was during broad sunlight, though even day was dimmed in Fangorn. They were picking their way through the dense woods carefully, and already had come upon signs of two Hobbits among the roots, and some marks that were strange to them all. They had to lead the Rohiric horses through, and the beasts were almost as uneasy as Gimli, who seemed to be more terrified of the old trees than he had been of the Balrog. As Legolas stepped lightly through the woods, he left the tracking to Aragorn and slipped out of consciousness. The forest seemed to be almost steaming: the air throbbed with the voices of many unseen things. The breeze was a hot breath on the backs of their necks that made them turn around occasionally, to see if something had come up behind them.
Legolas liked his horse. He had been told that his name was Arod. A tall gray stallion, Arod was slender and sleek, but as strong as a dragon and swift as the wind. But the horse was troubled upon entering Fangorn and every now and then, his elvish rider had to pause and whisper soothing words into his downy ears.
As the hot wind tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, Legolas imagined himself far away. He was running over a moonlit glade as fast as his feet could take him, leaping over roots and streams as gracefully as a deer, as the Stag he could never catch. Then he was running beside the Stag. They were neck and neck. Their feet pounded into the earth, measured and exact, the beat of a drum. They were swift and strong, like a silent war cry flying over the land. Then the Stag's hooves changed to the hooves of a horse, and then the whole creature transformed into a foam-white steed, tall and proud. The antlers melted away and vaporized in the wind, becoming part of a gleaming mane. Legolas reached out an arm and touched the horses' side and they both came to a stop at a silent agreement.
The horse stood perfectly still, nostrils dilated, coat steaming in the cold night. Legolas circled it, admiring its form and strength. It was the image of equine perfection. He came nearer, and made to run a hand though its mane. Suddenly, the horse reared up and neighed, pawing the air with its hooves. Taken aback, Legolas darted out of the way as the hooves sliced the air near his head. He backed away until the horse calmed down. He knew that this creature, like the Stag, was not his to master-it was his to admire, to revere, but not to own.
Aragorn said something and Legolas snapped back into reality. Night had fallen. They tied the horses up to the least intimidating-looking tree and built a small fire using only fallen wood. His two companions were wary of the forest, but Legolas felt relieved. The tree behind him seemed to embrace his form as he leaned back onto its trunk. He could feel its life essence, and looking up, he saw its branches lean toward the flames, like a beggar who warms his hands by a fire. He smiled, and turned to Aragorn.
The Man hunched over the fire looked older than he had ever appeared to Legolas. He stared into the flames with an expression of both defeat and guilt, his arms hugging the Lorien cloak to his tall, wiry form.
"Aragorn, what troubles you?" the Elf inquired softly.
"Everything, for everything has gone amiss since I took leadership of our Fellowship." The human's eyes were dead, his mouth a hard line.
Legolas smiled gently, staring into the bright blue part of the fire. "You are too harsh upon yourself, Aragorn. You are mighty among my people, mightier still among Men. You are Isildur's heir, descendant of the line of Elendil. If you are to give up now, what are the rest of us to do?"
Aragorn looked darkly at his companion. "Why do *you* stay, Legolas? You may yet leave this world and live free and safe among your own kind, no matter how strong Sauron becomes."
Immediately Aragorn regretted his words. Legolas' expression was shocked and hurt, and the light in his gray eyes was flickering as violently as the fire before them. "This is my *home*, Aragorn. Do you forget I was born here? Long ago though it was, I have known no other place. And when the time comes when I too must cross to Eressëa, Middle- earth shall still be my home." Then with an icy threat in his voice Aragorn had never before heard, Legolas said: "Do not forget that."
They sat in silence. Gimli's eyes darted between his comrades, wary of the uneasiness between the two. Frustration in an Elf? Unheard of! Even Aragorn was not easily stressed. The Dwarf felt himself becoming agitated by his companions' behavior. The woods had already made him frightened, but he felt more and more nervous now. It was as though something was approaching. Did they feel it, too?
Legolas glanced around the forest shadows, hiding his anxiety with an air of supposed carelessness. "Who wishes for the first watch?"
"I'll take it, friend," Gimli volunteered.
"Very well. Goodnight, Gimli, Aragorn," the Elf said wearily. Legolas lay back in the cradling roots of the tree and folded his slender hands on his breast, letting himself sink into another dream.
* * *
"You have traveled so far from your home," the voice whispered, cool and calm. It was a woman's lilt. At first, Legolas wondered if Lady Galadriel had extended her clairvoyance into his very mind though many miles separated them. Alone in the glade in his dream, he looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.
"I wonder what it is you seek..."
No, it was as though the voice came from inside his very being, near the center of his chest, vibrating like a bowstring's pulse. It was not Galadriel's voice. It was unlike an Elven tone. Yet it seemed unlike a human voice, for it did something to him. It made him want to cry, and to run as fast as he could, and to yell a war cry, and to write endless songs in Quenya, and to be born again.
"In you I see something that I have known all my life, and something alien and strange. I must master that."
If a voice could smile, this voice had done just that.
"Where are you?" he called. The voice ceased. Fearful he added: "Don't leave me here, Ithilwen."
Conjured by her name, he saw the grass part a few feet away. The wind picked up and tossed the airy fabric of a white dress. He saw golden hair flying in the breeze. The yellow strands were blown a back a little, revealing only part of her face. He stared and saw nothing. Only her eyes were clear: they were a cold gray-blue, like a cloudy sky, but there was gentleness and vulnerability deep in their depths. Their master tried to hide this as the face turned away from his gaze.
But Legolas felt something in his torso, something like hunger. He felt propelled forward, eager, ravenous and a little afraid. She did not move. He was a few inches from her now. He felt her breath. It stung his skin in a way that was not uncomfortable. It pulled him forward. It was like being called. It echoed throughout the glade. Very slowly, Legolas reached up and placed a hand upon her turned cheek. Her face, hidden by her hair, was unreadable, but her skin was warm. It was hot against his fingers. As slowly, she reached up and lifted away the veiling strands from her face-
* * *
Something unnamable made him wake with a start, flying to sit straight up. Legolas' eyes almost immediately focused on the figure a few feet ahead. He could sense his companions on either side also glaring at the intruder: an old man in stained rags, bent with unknown age, peering at them from under a shadowy hood. A gray beard spilled onto the intruder's chest, flecked with darker strands. The mouth was grim, the eyes dark, ominous glitters under the hood.
Legolas' heart leapt in his throat as he remembered the image in the Mirror of Galadriel: yet that man had become Mithrandir. Could this be? Yes! He *must* be! For then Legolas felt something urging him forward, something familiar and soothing. It was almost like a trance, almost like a spell...
"One little prince hath strayed too far, I think."
The voice was inside his head. It was not heard, but horribly felt. It was a snake sliding over his neck, coiling around his throat. He felt a paralyzing wave of fear, his jaw trembling with panic. His lungs constricted. The ground was cold beneath him. The sky was dark and cloudless. The trees were no longer friendly but sinister, closing in. He felt their roots inch toward them, moving through the earth like enormous worms, the gnarled branched reaching down, curling over. How foolish he was! That feeling, that feeling of fairness that had called before-
He tried to stop himself. It was a heroic effort on his part, but Legolas could not help but look into the shaded eyes of the old man. And in that instant, something horrible happened. The thing knew him. With one look, the old man had seen everything. There was no doubt left in Legolas' mind, and he regretted with all his heart that he had not followed his initial instincts. This was one of the Istari, and one of great power, with an eye that could pierce even the mind of one of the Older Children of Iluvatar. There was only one among them who could have achieved that.
Saruman.
He couldn't move. Nothing, not one limb of his body would obey his command. He knew his knife lay a few inches away, just out of reach. He was vulnerable! *Not like this,* he thought to himself, beginning to tremble, *Not like this.* But it was too late. With one look, Saruman of Many Colors had rendered one of the Eldar defenseless. He wished his companions would forgive him for his failure to them all. He had let them down once again. He had given in. In one moment he had been taken.
But then another strange occurrence happened. To Legolas' left, Aragorn stirred. The Shadow had no hold upon him. He rose slowly, but by his own will. Standing tall, the Man's voice rang out and Legolas felt it slowly melt the paralysis that had fallen upon him.
"Come warm yourself by the fire, Father, if it is your will."
The old man winced back at the words. His glamoury broken, he sank back in to the surrounding shadows and disappeared into the darkness.
Legolas gasped as air rushed back into his lungs and fell back onto the grass, elated. It was a wonder to be alive. Yet even as he was freed, he drifted away from reality, from Aragorn and Gimli bent over him in concern, for in his dreams he knew another friend was waiting.
-Fin-
Please review
Continued in Chapter Eleven: A Randir Vithren (O Pilgrim Grey)