Chapter XI - A Randir Vithren (O Pilgrim Grey)
Legolas awoke to a cool rain upon his brow. He knew that beyond Fangorn's eves, there was a downpour of epic proportions, but under the dense forest canopy, a light drizzle was all that was to be felt. Elves are not accustomed to unconsciousness: even in rest their minds dance. Thus Legolas gasped for air as he came to, franticly unaware of who owned the hands that lay upon his shoulders.
"Legolas, it is I, Aragorn. Can you hear me?"
Relief came like a warm, welcomed flood. "Yes. Aragorn." His eyelids fluttered, then his vision focused. Aragorn. Gimli. Silence in a vibrant wood. Another thought flew to his mind. "The horses..."
"They're gone, friend," said Gimli. "I did not like them, but now even I mourn their loss. I am sorry; Arod is gone."
Wearily he sat up, a bit embarrassed about having been rendered defenseless in front of his friends. The forest was strangely silent. The voices he had sensed before had extinguished, as though in reverence of something's passing. "Mithrandir."
"What?" gasped Aragorn, staring at the Elf hard.
"I thought..." Legolas trailed off. "No. I guessed wrongly. I thought he was-"
"As did I," the Man finished. "Such is the White Hand's malice: taking the hopes of three hearts and twisting them to ensnare us here."
"It's still unacceptable on my part," Legolas said. He stood up swiftly, but felt a little dizzy. Resting his forehead on the heel of his palm, he said, "I was so certain. I do not know what happened. It is rare that my premonitions are wrong."
"I know, my friend. That is what makes Saruman so dangerous."
Despite Aragorn's reassurance, Legolas guilt was heavy in his heart. The rain ceased after a while and they rose, shaking off weariness and unease though the latter clung to them for a long time thereafter.
* * *
They reached the top of the hill in little time, though Legolas was surprised to find himself short of breath. He guessed it to be a side effect of his encounter with Saruman, nothing more. Nothing more. Night would not hold comfort for a long time to come.
For the first time in many days, they felt the warmth of the sun on their shoulders. The cloaks of Lorien shimmered as if wet in the light. The air was crisp and fresher here, lacking the heady decay that was present below the branches of Fangorn. Yet Legolas felt that they were naked up there: as if the Eye of Sauron might brush that region, pausing to consider what it meant to see three races traveling together, heading toward the heart of a long-enchanted wood.
He shaded his eyes and looked around. At first he saw nothing that would give him unease, but the stirring in his heart told him that something was approaching. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the trees below. He blinked and looked back. There it was again! Something gray had flitted by, now blocked by boughs and leaves. In a moment, he saw it clearly, and his heart shrank with fear: an old man, all in gray rags, was working his way through the woods just beneath them.
"And he has us caught in his net once again," Legolas breathed.
Aragorn and Gimli rushed to his side and he indicated the old man's location with a curt nod. For a good four minutes they watched his progress in silence. Then Aragorn said, "We are three and he is one, and aged. But if he is whom we guess, then our only hope is the element of surprise. Yet we cannot attack an old man at unawares."
Legolas showed his disagreement by knocking an arrow, and fiercely narrowing his eyes to pinpoint their assailant. "I will not let him disarm me again."
"Nor will I." There was a ringing sound as Gimli took out his axe.
They stood poised, a triple tidal wave frozen at the peak of its crest, yet all their built up energy fizzled away into a dull hum when the old man looked up. His faint, glittering eyes pinned on each of them for a moment, analyzing their physical traits in mere seconds, then his voice called out to them.
His voice was strange: both like and unlike the lilt that had invaded Legolas' head the night before. There was power, but it seemed to be of a different source: a clear pool rather than a roaring waterfall, replacing violence with uncanny depth. But the power remained. It was demanding and keen. It cut into him.
"Will you come down? Or should I come up?"
Left mute in astonishment once more, the Three Hunters gaped in response.
"Very well. I shall come to you."
In five clean bounds, the old man had scaled the hill, his speed leaving them breathless and afraid. They stepped back a little as the old man straightened up, but his face was still shaded under his rags. He looked at them again from under his tattered hood and said, "A wonder do I see here: for together travel Dwarf, Man and Elf. I've not seen such since the Elder Days, and even then! There is a tale to be heard surely." He paused, expecting them to respond. Met with silence, he seemed to take minor offence. "Come now, the tale! The tale! I do not ask much of you."
Legolas felt his grip on his bow lessen, and shuddered as the arrow fell from his hand. Gimli heard the sound, soft as it was, as the dart smote the grass near the Elf's feet. The Dwarf turned and spoke as if the old man were not there.
"Now, Legolas! Shoot him! Before he bewitches us."
"Did I not say I wished to hear your tale?" the old man asked rhetorically, and his voice was strangely booming. "Kindly put aside that bow, Master Elf."
To everyone's amazement, including his own, he did. He lowered his left arm and felt the bow slip from his fingers, joining the arrow at his feet. Gimli gawked in astonishment. "What's the matter with you?"
*The matter with me...* Legolas mused, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The vision in Galadriel's mirror wavered before his eyes, dancing, tempting. That old man had been Gandalf-hadn't he? *But this one...he must be Saruman.* Yet he did not feel powerless now. He felt awe and sorrow. It was like coming home after many years, and seeing a new face plastered over the old rustic walls you remembered. It was familiar but unsettling.
"That's better," the stranger commended. Legolas blinked in response. From under his hood, the old man smiled through a snowy beard, flawlessly white and smooth as fresh snow gleaming on a mountain peak in the distance: a noble smile. Legolas relaxed a little. "Come, let us sit and talk." He moved toward a pile of stones, and as he settled himself down upon them, his gray cloak moved a little to reveal gleaming white robes beneath.
That was the signal. Legolas snatched up his bow and the arrow swiftly as he could move. He heard the soft ringing sounds of his companions revealing their blades. Then, as one, they all moved forward. Gimli cleared his throat a little and said proudly, "We have guessed your game, Saruman. Don't try anything or I'll put a dent in your hat you won't soon forget!"
But the old man seemed to have found a sudden swiftness that was a match for the speed of a young Elf. He leapt upon the stones and spread his arms wide. His walking stick seemed to have changed form, becoming a shining and polished: a staff of an Istari, a relic of awesome power. Fueled with fear and adrenalin, Legolas felt his arm go back on it's own. But before the string twanged, the bow tilted upward and the arrow flew above them like a shooting star, disappearing into the sunlight.
The old man's hood fell away, and he smiled at them all again. His coal-black eyes stared into Legolas' gray ones and they each grinned.
"Mithrandir."
* * *
The sun was high above them, hot and kind, by the time Gandalf finished his tale. In turn, Aragorn revealed their own trials and tribulations. The wizard's already-lined face seemed to become more deeply creased with sorrow and steady fear when he learned of what had become of Sam and Frodo. There seemed to be a great battle raging in his mind as he fought down the stifling sadness to move on, to lead the three weary warriors seated before him. They were thinner than when he had last seen them, even the Elf. The trek and searching had put strains on their eyes and soreness in their limbs, yet all of it was nothing compared to the constant anxiety that brewed in their hearts and reveries.
A lightness of being came forth when Gandalf spoke of Galadriel. The three hunters leaned forward, eager to hear word of Lorien and its lady. And it was revealed to them that she had visions to dispense to them all. Aragorn's message was one of aid: an invitation to rally the Dunedain. The Man smiled, his eyes gleaming, at the thought of his people, or Galadriel, or both.
Thus Gandalf turned to Legolas and said, "You, son of Thranduil, also have a greeting from Galadriel. Heed it, but do not let it rule your mind or heart.
Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree
In joy thou hast lived: Beware of the Sea!
For if thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
Thy heart shall rest in the forest no more."
A chill ran through Legolas' body. He met Gandalf's eyes unsteadily; pleading silently that there was more to those cryptic words to be revealed. Yet the wizard blinked in response, silent as the clouds.
"That...that is *all*?" Legolas asked in a voice that came out quieter than he had intended.
"That is all," Gandalf said.
Gimli spoke up, annoyed and fearful that Galadriel seemed to have forgotten him, but Legolas stared at his own feet in silence. He felt Aragorn's eyes upon his down turned face, but did not turn to meet the Man's face. He would not look at pity. Not now.
Death hung over the clearing like a heavy veil.
* * *
Arod was back, and Legolas' heart lifted. The horse was sacred to him. He had been touched by blessed hands: he was loved. He could sense this as he rode him, even with Gimli nervously clutching his waist when they galloped over the fields. Things were beginning to become clearer as they neared Edoras. Besides, Gandalf was back. He was real and there riding beside Legolas. But was he truly Gandalf? Yes and no.
When Aragorn and Gimli slept soundly one night, Legolas approached the wizard and they shared the watch.
"I've had so many dreams as of late," Legolas said. "Ever since we passed through Lorien."
"Ah, yes," Gandalf sighed. "The Lady Galadriel told me that she had bade you to look into her Mirror."
Legolas paused to seek the right words before speaking. "Did she tell you what I saw?"
"No. That was for you to know, and for you to tell only if it be the wish of your free will. It belongs to no one else."
Legolas fell silent. He looked to Gimli and Aragorn asleep on the springy grass. They were so young. "Then by my own leave I shall tell you, Mithrandir." He found it hard to look the wizard in the eye as he spoke. "My dreams are haunted by a maiden whom I do not know. I never have known her. Her face is strange and and yet somehow familiar to me. Lady Galadriel said that I would find her upon my quest and then I would know her. Am I making any sense?"
Gandalf smiled, but his heart was troubled. "I understand you. Go on."
"She was in a field, identical to these here that spread over Rohan. She had a horse, tall and silver-white. And she was fair, Mithrandir, fairer than most. She was cold and silent."
Gandalf sighed. Legolas stopped. "Go on, go on."
"But she is was a mortal maiden."
Gandalf paused, remembering in a fleeting moment, a vision from the time before his transformation: Rohan, Théoden angry, and behind his throne a lady, Elven-fair. He saw golden hair. He saw youth in the limbs and milky skin. What had her name been?
Legolas interrupted the thought with another: "I miss the days when all nine of us were gathered together. When we had time to smile even though deep down we were all afraid. I have not seen a genuine smile in such a long time. Our fears are laid bare as our day of reckoning approaches. I would not see my companions suffer so."
"Your heart is greatly troubled," Gandalf sighed. "Do not let it be." He placed a hand on Legolas' back in a gesture of comfort and smiled gently. "Your father would be proud of you."
In that moment, Legolas realized that he had no thought of home for many days. He had not thought of his own father. Guilt descended again. He rose silently and laid beside Aragorn's breathing body, letting himself slip away into a dream. It was not a restful one.
-Fin-
Please review, if you would.
Continued in Chapter 12, the chapter you have all been waiting for: Chapter XII - Eowyn of the Rohirrim (get excited)
Legolas awoke to a cool rain upon his brow. He knew that beyond Fangorn's eves, there was a downpour of epic proportions, but under the dense forest canopy, a light drizzle was all that was to be felt. Elves are not accustomed to unconsciousness: even in rest their minds dance. Thus Legolas gasped for air as he came to, franticly unaware of who owned the hands that lay upon his shoulders.
"Legolas, it is I, Aragorn. Can you hear me?"
Relief came like a warm, welcomed flood. "Yes. Aragorn." His eyelids fluttered, then his vision focused. Aragorn. Gimli. Silence in a vibrant wood. Another thought flew to his mind. "The horses..."
"They're gone, friend," said Gimli. "I did not like them, but now even I mourn their loss. I am sorry; Arod is gone."
Wearily he sat up, a bit embarrassed about having been rendered defenseless in front of his friends. The forest was strangely silent. The voices he had sensed before had extinguished, as though in reverence of something's passing. "Mithrandir."
"What?" gasped Aragorn, staring at the Elf hard.
"I thought..." Legolas trailed off. "No. I guessed wrongly. I thought he was-"
"As did I," the Man finished. "Such is the White Hand's malice: taking the hopes of three hearts and twisting them to ensnare us here."
"It's still unacceptable on my part," Legolas said. He stood up swiftly, but felt a little dizzy. Resting his forehead on the heel of his palm, he said, "I was so certain. I do not know what happened. It is rare that my premonitions are wrong."
"I know, my friend. That is what makes Saruman so dangerous."
Despite Aragorn's reassurance, Legolas guilt was heavy in his heart. The rain ceased after a while and they rose, shaking off weariness and unease though the latter clung to them for a long time thereafter.
* * *
They reached the top of the hill in little time, though Legolas was surprised to find himself short of breath. He guessed it to be a side effect of his encounter with Saruman, nothing more. Nothing more. Night would not hold comfort for a long time to come.
For the first time in many days, they felt the warmth of the sun on their shoulders. The cloaks of Lorien shimmered as if wet in the light. The air was crisp and fresher here, lacking the heady decay that was present below the branches of Fangorn. Yet Legolas felt that they were naked up there: as if the Eye of Sauron might brush that region, pausing to consider what it meant to see three races traveling together, heading toward the heart of a long-enchanted wood.
He shaded his eyes and looked around. At first he saw nothing that would give him unease, but the stirring in his heart told him that something was approaching. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the trees below. He blinked and looked back. There it was again! Something gray had flitted by, now blocked by boughs and leaves. In a moment, he saw it clearly, and his heart shrank with fear: an old man, all in gray rags, was working his way through the woods just beneath them.
"And he has us caught in his net once again," Legolas breathed.
Aragorn and Gimli rushed to his side and he indicated the old man's location with a curt nod. For a good four minutes they watched his progress in silence. Then Aragorn said, "We are three and he is one, and aged. But if he is whom we guess, then our only hope is the element of surprise. Yet we cannot attack an old man at unawares."
Legolas showed his disagreement by knocking an arrow, and fiercely narrowing his eyes to pinpoint their assailant. "I will not let him disarm me again."
"Nor will I." There was a ringing sound as Gimli took out his axe.
They stood poised, a triple tidal wave frozen at the peak of its crest, yet all their built up energy fizzled away into a dull hum when the old man looked up. His faint, glittering eyes pinned on each of them for a moment, analyzing their physical traits in mere seconds, then his voice called out to them.
His voice was strange: both like and unlike the lilt that had invaded Legolas' head the night before. There was power, but it seemed to be of a different source: a clear pool rather than a roaring waterfall, replacing violence with uncanny depth. But the power remained. It was demanding and keen. It cut into him.
"Will you come down? Or should I come up?"
Left mute in astonishment once more, the Three Hunters gaped in response.
"Very well. I shall come to you."
In five clean bounds, the old man had scaled the hill, his speed leaving them breathless and afraid. They stepped back a little as the old man straightened up, but his face was still shaded under his rags. He looked at them again from under his tattered hood and said, "A wonder do I see here: for together travel Dwarf, Man and Elf. I've not seen such since the Elder Days, and even then! There is a tale to be heard surely." He paused, expecting them to respond. Met with silence, he seemed to take minor offence. "Come now, the tale! The tale! I do not ask much of you."
Legolas felt his grip on his bow lessen, and shuddered as the arrow fell from his hand. Gimli heard the sound, soft as it was, as the dart smote the grass near the Elf's feet. The Dwarf turned and spoke as if the old man were not there.
"Now, Legolas! Shoot him! Before he bewitches us."
"Did I not say I wished to hear your tale?" the old man asked rhetorically, and his voice was strangely booming. "Kindly put aside that bow, Master Elf."
To everyone's amazement, including his own, he did. He lowered his left arm and felt the bow slip from his fingers, joining the arrow at his feet. Gimli gawked in astonishment. "What's the matter with you?"
*The matter with me...* Legolas mused, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The vision in Galadriel's mirror wavered before his eyes, dancing, tempting. That old man had been Gandalf-hadn't he? *But this one...he must be Saruman.* Yet he did not feel powerless now. He felt awe and sorrow. It was like coming home after many years, and seeing a new face plastered over the old rustic walls you remembered. It was familiar but unsettling.
"That's better," the stranger commended. Legolas blinked in response. From under his hood, the old man smiled through a snowy beard, flawlessly white and smooth as fresh snow gleaming on a mountain peak in the distance: a noble smile. Legolas relaxed a little. "Come, let us sit and talk." He moved toward a pile of stones, and as he settled himself down upon them, his gray cloak moved a little to reveal gleaming white robes beneath.
That was the signal. Legolas snatched up his bow and the arrow swiftly as he could move. He heard the soft ringing sounds of his companions revealing their blades. Then, as one, they all moved forward. Gimli cleared his throat a little and said proudly, "We have guessed your game, Saruman. Don't try anything or I'll put a dent in your hat you won't soon forget!"
But the old man seemed to have found a sudden swiftness that was a match for the speed of a young Elf. He leapt upon the stones and spread his arms wide. His walking stick seemed to have changed form, becoming a shining and polished: a staff of an Istari, a relic of awesome power. Fueled with fear and adrenalin, Legolas felt his arm go back on it's own. But before the string twanged, the bow tilted upward and the arrow flew above them like a shooting star, disappearing into the sunlight.
The old man's hood fell away, and he smiled at them all again. His coal-black eyes stared into Legolas' gray ones and they each grinned.
"Mithrandir."
* * *
The sun was high above them, hot and kind, by the time Gandalf finished his tale. In turn, Aragorn revealed their own trials and tribulations. The wizard's already-lined face seemed to become more deeply creased with sorrow and steady fear when he learned of what had become of Sam and Frodo. There seemed to be a great battle raging in his mind as he fought down the stifling sadness to move on, to lead the three weary warriors seated before him. They were thinner than when he had last seen them, even the Elf. The trek and searching had put strains on their eyes and soreness in their limbs, yet all of it was nothing compared to the constant anxiety that brewed in their hearts and reveries.
A lightness of being came forth when Gandalf spoke of Galadriel. The three hunters leaned forward, eager to hear word of Lorien and its lady. And it was revealed to them that she had visions to dispense to them all. Aragorn's message was one of aid: an invitation to rally the Dunedain. The Man smiled, his eyes gleaming, at the thought of his people, or Galadriel, or both.
Thus Gandalf turned to Legolas and said, "You, son of Thranduil, also have a greeting from Galadriel. Heed it, but do not let it rule your mind or heart.
Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree
In joy thou hast lived: Beware of the Sea!
For if thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
Thy heart shall rest in the forest no more."
A chill ran through Legolas' body. He met Gandalf's eyes unsteadily; pleading silently that there was more to those cryptic words to be revealed. Yet the wizard blinked in response, silent as the clouds.
"That...that is *all*?" Legolas asked in a voice that came out quieter than he had intended.
"That is all," Gandalf said.
Gimli spoke up, annoyed and fearful that Galadriel seemed to have forgotten him, but Legolas stared at his own feet in silence. He felt Aragorn's eyes upon his down turned face, but did not turn to meet the Man's face. He would not look at pity. Not now.
Death hung over the clearing like a heavy veil.
* * *
Arod was back, and Legolas' heart lifted. The horse was sacred to him. He had been touched by blessed hands: he was loved. He could sense this as he rode him, even with Gimli nervously clutching his waist when they galloped over the fields. Things were beginning to become clearer as they neared Edoras. Besides, Gandalf was back. He was real and there riding beside Legolas. But was he truly Gandalf? Yes and no.
When Aragorn and Gimli slept soundly one night, Legolas approached the wizard and they shared the watch.
"I've had so many dreams as of late," Legolas said. "Ever since we passed through Lorien."
"Ah, yes," Gandalf sighed. "The Lady Galadriel told me that she had bade you to look into her Mirror."
Legolas paused to seek the right words before speaking. "Did she tell you what I saw?"
"No. That was for you to know, and for you to tell only if it be the wish of your free will. It belongs to no one else."
Legolas fell silent. He looked to Gimli and Aragorn asleep on the springy grass. They were so young. "Then by my own leave I shall tell you, Mithrandir." He found it hard to look the wizard in the eye as he spoke. "My dreams are haunted by a maiden whom I do not know. I never have known her. Her face is strange and and yet somehow familiar to me. Lady Galadriel said that I would find her upon my quest and then I would know her. Am I making any sense?"
Gandalf smiled, but his heart was troubled. "I understand you. Go on."
"She was in a field, identical to these here that spread over Rohan. She had a horse, tall and silver-white. And she was fair, Mithrandir, fairer than most. She was cold and silent."
Gandalf sighed. Legolas stopped. "Go on, go on."
"But she is was a mortal maiden."
Gandalf paused, remembering in a fleeting moment, a vision from the time before his transformation: Rohan, Théoden angry, and behind his throne a lady, Elven-fair. He saw golden hair. He saw youth in the limbs and milky skin. What had her name been?
Legolas interrupted the thought with another: "I miss the days when all nine of us were gathered together. When we had time to smile even though deep down we were all afraid. I have not seen a genuine smile in such a long time. Our fears are laid bare as our day of reckoning approaches. I would not see my companions suffer so."
"Your heart is greatly troubled," Gandalf sighed. "Do not let it be." He placed a hand on Legolas' back in a gesture of comfort and smiled gently. "Your father would be proud of you."
In that moment, Legolas realized that he had no thought of home for many days. He had not thought of his own father. Guilt descended again. He rose silently and laid beside Aragorn's breathing body, letting himself slip away into a dream. It was not a restful one.
-Fin-
Please review, if you would.
Continued in Chapter 12, the chapter you have all been waiting for: Chapter XII - Eowyn of the Rohirrim (get excited)