AUTHOR NOTES: I know, I know. It took forever. I offer up this in my
defense: I've just finished my first semester of college! The change in my
life was quite severe (for the good, I'm happy to say), and it took me away
from my story. I've been stuck with writing essays and exercises and
whatnot. The truth is I could write this story swiftly-I already know how
it is going to end, and all of the plot twists along the way-but I don't
want to. I'm not going to post swill. I want to give you something worth a
read. A lot of thought goes into my writing, but it does take time.
I have updated every chapter preceding this one-fixing nearly all the typos and repetitive words. Please feel free to point out anything I've missed-I HATE hitting mistakes when I'm reading a story. I've also lengthened quite a few scenes. Might be worth another read. This chapter may undergo some changes as I have posted it as soon as it was done, without giving it a final proofread.
I finally got to see "The Return of the King" and I don't think I've ever cried that hard, publicly, for a very long time. Already I'm bursting at the seams for the Extended Edition. Not nearly as much Eowyn as I would have liked, though. And Legolas didn't have many lines. But I find that for his portrayal in the films, actions speak louder than words. Certainly he turned out to be a lot prettier and lighter than I ever pictured him (that last shot of him in that prom tiara, ha ha), but I love that both Peter Jackson and Orlando Bloom captured his sort of samurai quality, which I have tried to include in my story.
Alas for the scoring! I miss it as well. I know that I have skipped the musical element of quite a few of these chapters. I decided to remove the score from this version. One day I'll go back and put the soundtrack in, I swear.
I am proud to announce a wonderful, beautiful website you must all check out: The Leaf Storm fanlisting! The address is: - angl.com/
Go to the above website to see a full archive of the Leaf Storm story thus far, as well as a preview of Chapter Nineteen! Oh baby. The archive of Leaf Storm is in a much prettier format than here at FF.net. But remember THE ONLY WAY TO PREVIEW UPCOMING CHAPTERS is to visit the fanlisting! Aight?
Knowledge of the novels is essential to fully comprehend the following story, as always, but this chapter skips around more than most of the previous. Upcoming chapters may be similar. Also there is some verbatim dialogue in this chapter, which may spoil the book for some readers. But I honestly shouldn't have to convince you to read one of the great literary masterpieces of all time, should I? Right on.
Chapter XVIII - The Quendi and the Edain
In less than a day the company had been rocked by two extraordinarily ominous events: a winged Nazgûl had flown over Isengard, filling every heart below with cold, gripping fear, and Pippin, the most innocent among them, had gazed into the Palantir. And while, in truth, the former event caused Legolas greater strain upon the body, it was the young Hobbit's pain that had moved him the most. He had not been there to help him. The Elf had been resting-his hands folded over his breast, his eyes gently staring up at the stars. His dream had come like a gentle rain after years of drought, for he dreamt of Eowyn.
She was in Edoras but the great hall was empty. All the people-the guards, the servants, the courtiers-were gone. The aisles were silent. The doors had been left unlocked and a strong wind came and flung them open. The sound was startling, but the vision of Eowyn did not seem to notice. She stood straight and still behind Théoden's empty throne. Dust lay upon its seat and armrests; flecks of dust swirled in the light. The hall looked like an ancient relic. Legolas was reminded of the time he had first seen her standing there. Then the room had seemed still and empty as well, but the explosion of lightness he had felt then was not now returning.
Eowyn stood staring out through the open, swinging doors-out over the valley, beyond the mountaintops. Her golden hair was lightly tossed and her lily-white garments rustled, but her face remained still.
Legolas found himself in his dream, a sort of melting sensation, and approached the dais slowly. He did not speak. His feet made no sound. When he was near her, he reached up to catch Eowyn's hand. As he took it, he felt her touch as cold and as smooth as steel. Her face and fingers were unresponsive, her gaze still focused at some point far away. He turned to look where she looked.
A white tower rose at the foot of the mountains. Around it were seven white walls like stacked rings that a child might play with. The pinnacle of the tower glowed in the crisp sunlight and somewhere near its top, a horn sounded. He had to admit, though the thing was clearly of human make, it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. The grace of the white tower, like a beacon of moonlight, was mesmerizing. Tiny black and white banners fluttered in the wind. The light danced off the helmets of soldiers on the walls. Yet it was a surreal vision-even Legolas' eyes would never allow him to see all the way to Gondor from Rohan. And, like a mirage, the image of the White City rippled.
"Why do you look to the White City?" he asked her, tearing his eyes away from Minas Tirith.
Eowyn did not reply. Her eyes remained trained on the tower, her ears focused on the rolling call of the horn.
"Eowyn?" he asked again.
She turned to him, but her eyes were empty-she could not see him. She was seeing through him. He swallowed. Suddenly she seemed frightening. Her gaze was hollow and chilling. Her deadness froze Legolas' heart, and he caught her wrists, trying to warm them.
"Eowyn, listen to me."
Suddenly her face transformed-a thousand years fell upon her. She collapsed in his arms, an old mortal woman, her hair a white mist. He stared in confusion and horror, unable to think. Her porcelain skin was spotted and wrinkled, her eyes filmy and bloodshot, her teeth sparse and yellow. Then she changed again-she seemed to wilt and decay. Flesh dropped from her bones, the skin fell off her face, her eyes melted in their sockets.
Legolas gasped, livid with fear, and tried to get away, but the wraith of Eowyn held onto him with hands that bit like serpents. Her neck made a cracking sound as she twisted to turn toward him. Dust fell from her rotting lips as she opened her mouth and screamed.
* * *
Across the campground, Pippin let out a cry.
Legolas bolted upright, gasping. His eyes dilated in the darkness. His arms hurt where the wraith of Eowyn had seized him. Cold sweat covered him. The reality of the night descended upon him-he saw the riders and their horses encamped around him, Gimli snorting awake by his side-yet all this was of little comfort. A cobweb-like fog had blotted out all stars. He stumbled to his feet and swung his head around to find the young Hobbit.
"Fool of a Took!"
He saw Gandalf, his white robe shimmering in the moonlight, kneeling before a small figure that was sobbing. Another small one stood near: it was Merry, concern wracking his young, pleasant features. Gandalf's voice was stern and he seemed to be making demands when Legolas came over and knelt beside him.
In the wizard's hand was the palantir.
In a moment Legolas understood the situation. The palantir was a thing corrupted by Saruman, and its power lingered though its master had been thrown down as best he could be. Looking at the stone in Gandalf's wizened hands, Legolas could sense the malice that must have been dwindling there a moment before. Legolas touched the wizard's arm and gestured at the orb. Quickly, the white wizard smothered it in the folds of his cloak and went on questioning Pippin.
"And then, Pippin! What then?"
"No," the Hobbit moaned, "No, I-I cannot say!"
Legolas' heart knotted with sorrow. He laid a hand upon Pippin's heaving shoulders. The Hobbit looked up tearfully. Legolas looked for a moment into his eyes. There was fear, yes, but no sign of betrayal. Innocence remained intact-miraculously so. The Elf smiled lightly. Gandalf exchanged a quick look with Legolas and perceived what he had not in his hastiness.
"Very well, Master Peregrin, but I will have no more of you looking at things that are not meant for your eyes. Do you understand?"
A short nod and a sniffle was all Pippin could muster. It was enough. Gandalf gave a curt incline of the head and Merry fell forward onto his friend and embraced him. Legolas stood up, satisfied, but he felt the wizard's eyes and turned to him. "He cannot stay here."
Legolas began to understand. "Mithrandir, does the Enemy now think that...that Pippin has the Ring?"
There was movement to the left. Aragorn came to stand by Legolas' side. "Where will he go? We have not the time to conceal him in the wild with our allies. Even if we did, now all roads are dark with dangers."
The Elf looked at the ground. "There is no safety to be had anywhere."
"No," said Gandalf slowly, as an idea formed in his mind. "But he may be safest with me. I go to Minas Tirith to sound the alarm. We now know where Sauron will strike the hardest."
Legolas looked up swiftly. "Minas Tirith? But if the city falls-"
Aragorn inhaled sharply.
The white wizard gave a little smile, his black eyes twinkling. "The White City will not fall." He turned, with a sweep of his pale robes, and made to ready Shadowfax for the ride of his lifetime.
Legolas sighed, but cleared his mind and looked to Aragorn to learn his next plan of action. But the Ranger's face was suddenly strange; he seemed to have grown many years older in the past ten minutes.
"This day and night have been evil," the Ranger said. "I would not have us tarry here any longer either."
"Gimli and I will be ready to ride whenever you give the word," Legolas replied steadily, sensing the anxiety in Aragorn's voice. "The Rohirrim may need a little longer. But yes, we should continue. That is what I believe."
Aragorn gave no reply, gazing down at Merry and Pippin. "Yes. We should."
Legolas felt Aragorn's guilt and it kindled his own. But he also perceived something else in the Ranger's heart-something dark, something evil, like a premonition of death. They turned from one another and went to ready the horses. Yet as their steeds stood side by side Legolas saw that Aragorn had a new bundle attached to his saddle-its shape and size gave away that it held the palantir. Legolas felt a twinge of uneasiness, but he let it pass. They divided-Gandalf and Pippin rode south. The rest went with Théoden and Aragorn. A cry was sounded, the horsemen mustered, the Hobbits were cared for as best as warriors could, and the company continued on its way.
* * *
A skilled assassin will be able to sense his own pursuit. It is the essence of defense, vital for offense, and it was something that the Wood- Elves of Mirkwood instilled in their youths from the time they were born until their coming-of-age ceremony-and then it was practiced for all their lives. It was essential to their way of life, surrounded by Goblins and Spiders, and they were known for it. Only the perimeter guard in Lorien could match the Mirkwood Elves in this skill. It was because of these reasons that Legolas was amazed at himself for not have sensed the riders a few leagues behind their company until they were almost upon them. But sense them he did, before either Gandalf or Aragorn. He swung Arod around abruptly, skillfully avoiding the oncoming riders. Gimli let out an annoyed yelp.
Legolas stood in the stir-ups and peered into the mist. He could sense the riders quite clearly now but could not yet see them. He dove into his deepest senses, seeking to perceive the minds of these incoming people. There was something familiar among them. He thought, for a moment, it was something positively Elven. Hope lit up his heart, but hope had proven fruitless far too often. He paused, staring harder, the wind whipping his hair across his face. Instinctively, his hand fell on the hilt of his one of his knives.
The company had slowed with Legolas, and Aragorn and Eomer rode up to him.
"What is it?" Eomer asked. He looked to one of the lesser horse- chiefs in irritation. "The scouts have reported nothing of pursuit." The next moment his mind leapt to unnatural things, and he felt a shudder approaching. "Is something coming?"
Legolas continued to stare out. "Someone. We are being followed. I do not know by whom." He gazed back into the grayness of mist. "Whoever they are, they just outnumber us. Let us hope they are friends."
A rider rode up from the rear of the column, breathlessly shouting, "My lord, there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought that I hears them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard."
Eomer grimaced. Their horses stamped and snorted. The Rohirrim grabbed their spears and the column began to turn to face the approaching company. Gimli peered around Legolas' waist and took in a nervous intake of breath.
"How soon will they overtake us?" Aragorn asked, looking where Legolas looked.
"Give them five minutes."
* * *
Legolas had misjudged again, and he cursed himself for it and was glad his father or one of his elders had not been there to see. He had misjudged the time. It took the approaching company a mere three minutes. A large cavalry of riders emerged from the mist as though they themselves were beings of fog rather than flesh. They were swathed in gray, hoods hiding much of their faces. They rode proud gray and chestnut steeds, many with white stars on their foreheads-perhaps not as masterful as the horses of the Rohirrim, but graceful and hardy nonetheless. Their hardtack was very old, unburnished silver, but the straight marks of runes could still be seen gleaming off a bridle or a bit. Brooches shaped like rayed stars shone on the riders' shoulders.
"Halt!" cried Eomer. "Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"
The gray figures stood still. Even their horses stopped completely. There was a precision to these people that Legolas had not seen in mortal Men. He narrowed his eyes but could not search their faces, half-hidden under the hoods of their cloaks. Their hands rested on the shining hilts of their swords. Then one of them dismounted-a tall Man with broad shoulders visible under the fall of his dark-gray cloak. He came forward palm up in a gesture of peace.
Aragorn, on his steed Hasufel, was beaming. This was a little surprise that Legolas had not expected. The Ranger rode forward, leapt off his horse and met the dismounted rider halfway, tangling him in a warm embrace.
"Halbarad!"
In an instant Legolas understood, and he remembered the Rangers of the North who had come to Laketown or the outer edges of Mirkwood, trading news, goods and stories. He smiled, and whispered to Gimli, "The Dunedain! This is indeed a joy unlooked for."
"Indeed," Gimli replied. "I wonder how they came? I suppose Gandalf sent for them."
"Nay, Galadriel. Remember her words to Aragorn-" but then Legolas' face blanched as he remembered the Elven Lady's words for him: a cryptic notion of death, something about the sea. He frowned and looked back at the Rangers. But Gimli caught his breath behind him and replied in an awed whisper, "Galadriel. How she reads the hearts of all who come before her!"
Legolas continued to scan the line of Rangers. He was glad that Aragorn knew them-weight fled from his chest. The Riders of Rohan were also less tense. But Legolas felt something that had not been satisfied. He urged Arod forward with a whisper and walked him down the line of Dunedain. The Rangers nodded their heads at him and made elvish signs of greeting- many knew him from his face as one of the ancient line of Greenwood. One said something to the rider next to him in what sounded like Númenorean. The Man turned called downed the line and two riders emerged.
Their hoods were thrown off to reveal their faces: pale-skinned, gray- eyed, raven-haired beauty, symmetrical and almost eerily alike. Indeed they seemed to be exact copies of one another. They were smiling when Legolas saw them, each smile identical in its crooked mischievousness. He smiled back as he realized with great joy that he knew these faces all too well.
"Elladan! Elrohir!"
Elrohir, the quiet one, laughed, "What on Middle-earth is a child of Mirkwood doing this far south?"
"He is obviously up to no good," Elladan, the troublemaker, replied.
The Sons of Elrond dismounted at the same time. Legolas handed Gimli Arod's reins, who received them precariously. The Elves met in a warm group embrace. Greetings between them were jovial as they had always been. Legolas and the Twins had always felt a sort of generational gap between themselves and the older, worldlier Elven lords and ladies of each of their fathers' courts; together, for better or for worse, they felt a strong sense of kinship and exclusivity. Miles of distance and many dangers between realms had separated them for years. Rangers, Rohirrim, Hobbits, and a Dwarf all gazed in analogous wonder at the quiet joy clear in their reunion.
"Fallen among the Horse-Lords of the south, have we?" Elladan smirked.
"So it would seem. And how long have you been amongst these grim- faced wanderers?" Legolas retorted.
"I've lost count," Elrohir replied. "Long months we have been abroad- and it has been good company among others of Aragorn's kin."
Elladan smiled and peered over Legolas' shoulder. "And where is our little brother? Estel!" His eyes lit up. "There."
The three Elf-princes turned. Elladan met Aragorn halfway and enveloped him in a very tender, very smothering embrace, and then, much to Aragorn's horror, ruffled his hair as he had done so for nearly eighty- seven years. Legolas laughed, his heart filling with the happiness he was able to glimpse even now, on the brink of all their dooms-but he also saw Elrohir looking at him quite gravely out of the corner of his eye.
"We bring word to you, Legolas, from your father."
* * *
The Goblins had begun their nightly raids of Mirkwood at the beginning of the last month. At first their attacks had been a mere irritation, a task easily left to the Royal Guard. Goblins lived in wide, wet caves in the Misty Mountains. They were not used to the fecund tangle of Mirkwood. Even the dim, green light below the Canopy was harsh on their subterranean eyes. But they persevered, and they persisted, and in time it was obvious that their numbers were not dwindling-they were growing. And as they mustered, like a wave gathering strength before it strikes the shore, they became used to the forest.
In two weeks the Goblins had driven the Guard back to the inner perimeter. There had been heavy losses on the enemy's side, yes, but at least twenty Elves had fallen, too. The Sons of Elrond did not have their names.
"Your father is well," Elladan said. "He has taken no injury in the fighting."
"He has gone out against the enemy?" Legolas could not believe his ears. It was the War Marshal, Atavodain, who led the Guard in all its maneuvers. Thranduil had not donned helm or scabbard since the Battle of Five Armies. Had it come to that? Suddenly Legolas felt overwhelmed with emotions-he could not tell whether he was afraid for his father or extraordinarily proud of him.
"He has," said Elrohir. "Three times now he has led your people against the Goblins. The third time they were driven out to the feet of the mountains. This, even with rear attacks from the Spiders."
"The Spiders are coming together?"
Even Elladan's face was very severe. "Yes. And their number, too, is growing."
Legolas stared at nothing. His heart was beating quickly in his chest as though his body were running for miles and miles without him. He felt conflicting tugs at his mind. Should he not be there with his father, rallying his people? What did they think of him now, far away fighting someone else's battles? Suddenly his head hurt. He put his hand to his brow and let out a long shuddering sigh. "I should be there," he said softly, to no one in particular.
The Twins looked at him thoughtfully. "We know how you feel, Legolas," said Elladan. "Our home is also under assault." Legolas looked up, disbelieving. "It's true. Our father and his Elf-lords are doing all they can to keep the Ford from similar evils. But time is running out."
"Numbers or strength of arms cannot defeat our enemies abroad," Elrohir added.
"Nor can they make much difference here," said Legolas darkly.
"But here is the only place where any hope of victory can be found," Elladan said, his voice resolute and firm. "We have put our trust in Men. So have you-else you would not be here."
Legolas had to admit this was true. "But," he said, "time is running out."
"Legolas, we did not tell you this news to turn your thoughts from your path, nor to put doubt in your heart," Elrohir said. "We think you have chosen wisely. So does our father. So does yours."
Legolas looked up. "He-knows?"
"Yes. And he has not spoken against your decision. The messenger from Mirkwood said 'King Thranduil commends the actions of son and extends gratitude to Lord Elrond of Imladris in his decision.'" Elladan grinned. "That part I was sure to memorize to the word."
The weight on his chest lightened, but Legolas still felt something amiss-the tugging had not stopped. He looked into the Twins' eyes and perceived that something had been left unsaid.
"What is it?"
Elladan looked at his twin and sighed. "We do not wish to trouble you further, son of Thranduil, but you deserve to know." He could not bring his eyes to meet Legolas' when he then said, "Something is stirring in Dol Guldur."
* * *
Gimli thought at first that he ought to keep his distance from the Elf. After talking with those twin brothers who had come with the Dunedain, Legolas had looked positively haggard-and that was not a word Gimli was accustomed to applying to his friend. *Moody Elves,* he thought lightheartedly. *I wonder what is troubling him this time.*
But there was no real mirth in the Dwarf's heart. He had noticed several changes in Legolas' character throughout the quest. Most had been, as far as Gimli was concerned, for the better. Legolas was certainly the quiet type, but he had never known Elves to speak without need. Still, this Elf's silences had become more unnerving than customary of his kind. It was true that he had seemed more like himself since they had been to Lorien. Gimli smiled as he thought of Galadriel; instinctively his hand felt at the little pouch hung round his neck, wherein were three strands of golden hair always kept near his heart until he could immortalize them in everlasting crystal, as he had promised. Yes, Galadriel was full of promise, and only she had truly brought hope into their hearts. But then they came to Rohan, and then again Legolas had changed. Gimli would never say Legolas had become flighty, but he would say he had become distracted. Gimli could not name the cause.
Aragorn had had his own share of changes. The brethren Elladan and Elrohir had brought him a message in secret that even Legolas did not know. Gimli felt, with hurt pride, that he was being left out of a good deal. Legolas' bantering remarks had ceased for the most part. Often Gimli felt as though the Elf did not even notice he was there. And Aragorn now seemed to only have time for his kinsmen.
Gimli grunted discontentedly, and Legolas turned in the saddle a little to look at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing, nothing," the Dwarf lied through his teeth.
Legolas' face was unreadable. He turned away again.
"It is only," said Gimli, "that seeing so many of Aragorn's kindred come to join our journey, I now wish the Lady had sent for some of my own."
"I do not think any would have come." The Elf's voice was cold. "They have no ride to war; war already marches on their own lands."
Gimli did not speak again for the rest of the long ride back to the Hornburg.
* * *
They came upon Helm's Deep. Gimli took joy in pointing out to Merry the details of the battle, boasting proudly that he had defeated Legolas in the final count. The young Hobbit smiled, but Legolas could see his thought were clearly with Pippin, now far away.
Aragorn, Elrohir, Elladan and Halbarad went off together and did not come down from their chamber in the Burg to eat with the rest of the company. The other Rangers sat a bit apart, silent and grave, as much of the Rohirrim made ready to ride to Meduseld with Théoden. Just as the old king had mounted Snowmane, Aragorn emerged with his companions. His face had aged again, but his eyes were haggard and nearly dead. Legolas stood up swiftly and went to his side.
"You are troubled," he said, falling in to walk beside his friend.
"Long have I had counsel with my kin, and now my path is clear-but the way is the darkest and most toilsome of all." A shadow clung to him. Legolas turned his head-Elrohir was looking at him. In the Elf's eyes Legolas read something quite clearly: Aragorn had looked into the palantir.
Legolas was silent. They came to Théoden's side and Aragorn spoke for a little. His voice was like a storyteller's, full of time and premonition. Théoden nodded at his words, but then a grim silence fell as Aragorn said, "I will ride by the swiftest way, and I will take the Paths of the Dead."
Legolas knew the name. He started and looked at Elladan and Elrohir, but they were looking straight ahead at Aragorn, and their faces were sure.
* * *
"The Paths of the Dead?" Gimli shook his head. "I do not know them. Yet it is a name of ill omen, Aragorn. The Rohirrim took no liking to it, I saw."
Legolas nodded. "I do not fear the dead." As he made this statement, Legolas wondered if it was true. Of his next statement, Legolas' felt no doubt whatsoever. "I will go with you, Aragorn."
Aragorn smiled for the first time since either Legolas or Gimli could remember.
Then Legolas looked to Gimli, expecting the same resounding response. But the Dwarf did not seem so certain. He gazed down at the food in front of him, his face deathly serious. Suddenly Gimli seemed very small-even weak. Legolas' heart stung at the sight.
"It is a name of ill-omen," Gimli breathed. "But I too shall follow you Aragorn, even to an end."
The smile died on Aragorn's face. But his voice was strong. "The heir of Elendil will never forget your kindnesses."
"Whence do we ride?" asked Legolas.
"We shall come to the Stone of Erech by way of Edoras. There will be one night's rest in Théoden's hall. It is kept yet by the Lady Eowyn."
Legolas nodded and looked down-he would not let Aragorn or Gimli see the color drain from his face.
* * *
Eowyn rose and followed the boy out of the stables, stepping into the afternoon sunlight just as ten men opened the great wooden gate and a small company rode into the courtyard of Edoras. Their raiment was gray and their horses swift-she wondered, at first, if this was some small host of Elves that had drifted into the southlands. But then she looked to the front of the column and saw that three among them had their hoods thrown off- Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.
Her breath caught with wonder and she broke into a smile.
The horses settled and their riders dismounted. She walked swiftly to the foot of the stairs that led to the Hall and opened her arms, bowing her head.
"Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn. In health may you be housed again in the halls of Théoden, lord of Rohan." She raised her head, her face stern and fair. Aragorn came forward and bowed deeply. Just behind him, Legolas and Gimli did the same. Then they and the others in the Gray Company followed her into the Hall. She felt Legolas' eyes upon her back as they walked inside.
* * *
Bedding had to be found, and supper had to be made-the servants worked swiftly, doing their best to accommodate so many at such short notice. Eowyn was very busy as well, dispensing orders and helping where she could. Yet as she crossed from the kitchens to the shield-hall she stopped and saw Legolas looking at her. He was leaning up against one of the carven columns, his arms folded. He was gently smiling.
Eowyn caught one of the serving boys by the arm and told him to be sure a flask of spring water had been put in each of the Rangers' rooms, and then returned the Elf's smile. They came forward and met in the middle of the hall.
"My Lady," he said, every bit a prince. He put his hand to his heart and inclined his body in the Elvish manner.
"My Lord," she replied, nodding in turn.
He looked up, his eyes tracing over her face. He seemed lost in thought, but then he said, "Just as we left you days ago."
She smiled, sharing their secret. "I should hope, my lord." Then she took his arm and led him out to the back balcony that overlooked the valley and the white-tipped mountains. "Now tell me everything that has happened."
Legolas laughed but did as he was told. He described everything in as colorful detail as he could-their wonder at discovering both Merry and Pippin alive and well, the strange, ancient magic to be found in the Ents, the last malice of Saruman. But he did not say what Saruman had said to him. Eowyn asked questions throughout his story, and for the most part she seemed satisfied with his account. The sun had set by the time he reached the end. Yet when he was done, she looked at him sternly.
"Legolas," Eowyn said, "Is that all?"
He paused and turned his eyes upon her. "What do you mean, my lady?"
Her eyes were slightly narrowed, scanning his like a seer gazing into the future. "You...are not...*hiding* anything from me?"
He laughed a little. "Me? Hide something from you?" He let his hand lift to touch a lock of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. He had done it unconsciously-a moment later he realized that they were outside overlooking much of the city and his hand fell.
She didn't smile. "Not hiding then. You are protecting me from something."
His gentle flirtation had somehow turned to poison. He stiffened, all mirth disappearing from his voice and his face. "You are imagining things. Good evening, my lady." He did not even have the time to take a step before her hand shot out and caught his forearm, purpose glinting in her gaze.
"I hate to be protected. You should know that by now."
"There are some things that I would not wish upon anyone," he said. His voice was strangely soft, almost a whisper. "And I do not wish to share my experience at Isengard with you, Lady Eowyn. Please be content with what I have told you. I have not the strength to revisit that time again."
She gazed at his face for a long time, her eyes gleaming and her expression unreadable. At last she looked down and said, "Very well, Master Elf. I will let you be." But then she reached out and took his hand in two of her own and whispered, "If you need to speak on it, for I see that you are greatly troubled, know that I am here to listen." After a moment she released his hand, her face filled with enlightenment and sorrow. "Who were they?"
Legolas started. He had revealed nothing to her. He was certain Aragorn had not breathed a word on the matter. In the company of another Elf then, yes, it would have been fairly obvious why he was suffering. But mortals could not perceive the minds of others. Why had she?
Eowyn wondered if she had perhaps committed a misstep. She saw the shock in Legolas' eyes, and realized she may have spoken in folly or out of turn. "You need not tell me anything. If that is what you wish."
"Many of my people suffered because of me," he said. "I had nearly put it behind me. But something...came up."
Eowyn nodded and interlaced his fingers with her own, and gently lead him to a seat beneath a window. They turned to face each other, the night air gently breathing upon their faces. For a moment Eowyn seemed so ethereally beautiful that Legolas could not speak. But he found his voice, for she was one who would listen, and he told her about June the twentieth. It was like a river that had long been dammed up against its natural course- suddenly words were pouring forth. He spoke more openly to her than he had to anyone, even to Galadriel. And she listened! Eowyn's face was acute as she took in all he said. She comprehended his pain and his guilt. She knew his sorrow. And then he told her what the Sons of Elrond had said, and at last she spoke.
"I did not know that the Elves were under siege."
He stopped, a bit thrown by her tone of voice.
She looked at him as though for the first time, her eyes shining. "I did not know...that your people still cared for the fate of this world." She paused. "I do not mean such in offense. Forgive me if my words seem ignorant. But I am amazed, Legolas, at your people's valor and resilience." She smiled. "I would like to meet your father one day. I will tell him of all you have done for Rohan."
Her face was so genuine in its pride, so pure in its devotion that Legolas forgot that they were in full view of the court and took her hands in his. "And my people shall marvel at the strength of Men."
A chime sounded and the magic of the moment withered. "Oh, I am a fool," Eowyn laughed. "Here I am met with a host of Men who are tired and hungry, and I have time only for you. Come inside, that is the supper bell. After all, I must hear news of this battle I never saw."
* * *
The banquet was laden with food; the people of Rohan set aside not an ounce of generosity in serving their guests. Wine was brought forth from the cellars. Fresh breads and cheeses were passed. Three deer had been caught that very day-they were carved and spiced and served in large helpings to each of the weary warriors.
Eowyn sat at the head of the table. On her left were Aragorn and Halbarad, on her right Legolas and Gimli. The Three Hunters relayed to her an exciting account of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Gimli reminded Legolas, with a dig of his elbow, how he had beaten one of the Eldar by one orc. Legolas laughed. Even Aragorn's faded expression lightened, and praised Théoden in his final charge and spoke of the strength of the sword of Eomer.
The Rangers spoke in their own tongue, keeping to themselves again, but even they seemed less grim to be thus welcomed in Rohan, and to be housed by one so fair as Eowyn. One of them rose-he was younger than the others, his hair a deep brown, his face carved as if in marble. From under the folds of his dark-gray cloak he brought out a silver lyre and offered the hall a song.
"Please," said Eowyn, and a hush resounded as the wine was passed. The young Ranger briefly tuned his instrument, then cleared his voice and began in a strange language. Another ranger accompanied him on a low haunting flute. Then the Dunadan's voice rose, clear and lyrical, Elven-fair, and he began to sing in Westron:
Riders of the Northern Lands
A people lost with countless lays
Have come upon the Southern Strands
The heralds of the End of Days
Our city sank beneath the tide
The Sea has swallowed countless hosts
But some escaped and some survived
And came in ships to Western coasts
Our cities in the mountains carved
Our ships in rivers sailed
And no Child of the West starved
And no blossom in winter failed
Eowyn noticed that she had turned her head during this song to stare unashamedly upon the figure of Legolas a few feet away. He had his head tilted to one side, his eyes half-lidded, relaxed and seemingly lost in the song. She gazed at his slightly parted lips and felt a strange in the center of her body. It was something akin to devotion and sorrow-it must have been just that. It was unmistakably love. Like a child who has glimpsed some work of art he cannot yet fully understand, Eowyn looked away. But the pleasant hold on her heart did not lessen. She stood silently on the brink. Ages seemed to pass as the song went on. Yet she did not look back at him until it had ended.
We who turn gold into water
We who count stars in the morn
We know a sword may be resoldered
And so can a line be reborn
And as the Elves seek out their harbors
And leave the world awash in gray
We, once forgotten by ardor
Shall in the dim light yet remain
For as we once left our sea home
They shall there depart and there stay
As gray ships ride out on the seafoam
The Men of the West fade away
Legolas seemed to rise from his trance when the song was done, roused by the boisterous cheers of the flaxen-haired soldiers of Rohan and the cool praises of the dark, misty Rangers. It looked as though he had awakened from a pleasant dream, refreshed and more alive than she could remember ever seeing him. Unconsciously, Eowyn felt herself break into a smile. As though it were an instinct, he turned and startled her by staring back with equal intensity. Immediately Eowyn felt as though her midriff was melting. He was so beautiful. His gray eyes, piercing and full of intuition, were stirring up storms in distant lands. She saw a great and striking sadness. And he was so haunting, a thing of the forest, inhuman, dangerous, ancient and new. Young to his people, they said, to his people of countless ages, some old as the mountains, some older still. And yet he, too, was fathomless in age. He was like a great monument-a thing of the past, of lost ages, whose equal has never been made.
And then with a light smile like a flame in a dark tunnel, he looked away.
With the end of the song, the talk turned to the road ahead. And just as the song had ended on a dark note, so did the discussion turn. The previous mirth disappeared. Eowyn turned to Aragorn and said, "My Lord, you are weary and shall now go to your beds with such ease as can be contrived in haste. But tomorrow fairer housing shall be found for you and your companions."
"Nay, lady. We stay here tonight, and will break our fast in your hall tomorrow, but that will be enough." He did not look at her as went on. "I ride on an errand most urgent, and shall depart at the first light of dawn."
She turned a questioning eye on Legolas, but the Elf would not look at her either. He sought distraction, found it in his wine glass and took a sip. Eowyn turned back to Aragorn, confused. "It is kind then, to ride many miles to Eowyn to tell her of tidings of valor, though she must stay in the hall in exile."
Aragorn was a natural orator, yet even he was having difficulty skirting the issue at hand. "No man would count such a journey wasted, and yet, my lady, I would not have come here if it were not the road which I must take to lead me to Dunharrow."
A thought pricked the back of Eowyn's mind, but she smothered it swiftly and hoped her voice did not reveal her aggravation. "Then you are astray. Out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south. You must return as you came."
Legolas finished his wine, put the glass down, and looked at Aragorn through lowered brows. There was no avoiding it now.
"We are not astray. There is a road out of this valley that I shall take tomorrow. I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."
The hall went silent but for the crash as one of the serving girls dropped a pitcher of water she had been carrying. Eowyn's eyes went wide, stricken with horror and utter disorientation. One Ranger pushed back his chair and rose to seek out his bed. Soon enough the rest had followed. The hall cleared until the only people left were Eowyn, Aragorn and Legolas. Gimli cast a searching eye on his Elven companion before deciding it best to get some sleep, too. The three remaining sat in silence.
Then Eowyn turned a sharp on Aragorn and demanded, "Is it your errand to seek death? The Dead do not suffer any to pass that way."
"They will suffer me." He said in a voice that Legolas did not recognize. "No other road will serve."
"This is madness." Her hands were gripping the table. "These are your kinsmen-I can see that they are Men of renown and prowess. We need these Men in the war! You cannot lead them into shadows."
"This is not madness," Aragorn said steadily. "This is a path appointed. Those who ride with me do so of free will." Here he looked up at Legolas with a significant glance. "I will ride it alone if need be."
"Don't be ridiculous," Legolas said.
A silence fell, one in which Eowyn looked back and forth between Man and Elf, utterly aghast at their resolution to die. They did not seem to see her. Aragorn gave Legolas a weary look and said, "Esto le."
The Elf looked at him squarely. Aragorn nodded a little.
"I must talk with Lady Eowyn alone, Legolas," the Man said.
Legolas blanched and looked away from Aragorn. In his mind new fears kindled-would he be able to get Eowyn alone again before they left at dawn? He would find a way. He said, "My Lady," and disappeared into the night.
* * *
When Aragorn came back into the little room, he glanced down at the two occupied cots. Gimli slept deeply, grunted a bit in his slumber. Legolas lay on his back, his slender hands folded on his breast which softly rose and fell. His eyes were half-lidded, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly open.
Aragorn sighed and sat upon his own cot, then put his head in his hands. For a moment he sat like this-then he pulled off his riding boots and lay down on the mattress. For a long moment he lay there. His eyes stayed open in the dim light. Then exhaustion took him. He shut his eyes and after a moment his breath became steady.
Legolas blinked and rose up on his elbows. He looked at Aragorn's face for half a moment and, perceiving rest, silently got out of bed. He slipped his shoes on, ran a hand through his hair and went out of the room into the candlelit hall. He did not see or hear Aragorn shift upon his cot.
* * *
Eowyn was sitting alone on one of the three small steps that led up to Théoden's throne. Her hands were on her knees and she was staring ahead to a pool of moonlight on the middle of the floor. Legolas came in silently and stood in the shadows between two columns for a long time, before finally stepping forward.
"I have spoken with Aragorn," she said. She would not look at him.
"I know." He came to stand by her side, then sat down next to her on the same step. He felt a breeze and looked down the length of the hall-the door was open, letting in the cool air. His mind leapt back to the nightmare he had had of a similar view, but Eowyn's warm breath and heartbeat calmed his nerves. Together they gazed out into the valley. Stars were just visible over the high mountains.
"He said he would venture the Paths of the Dead alone if necessary."
Legolas did not reply. He continued to look out into the night as though she were not there. Her hands twitched in irritation.
"He said you and Gimli agreed to join him."
"Yes," was all he said.
"Why?"
A bit surprised, he turned his eyes upon her. "Wouldn't you?"
"Of course!" she responded almost shrilly. She remembered the night and the Men asleep, and went on more quietly. "He is your companion, but he is my king and my captain. I would follow him anywhere. But I would not go walking willingly into Death like a fool."
Legolas sighed and his smoky breath fled through the open hall into the cold night. "Then we are fools. But we will go." He looked at her again. "What does it matter?"
"What does it *matter*?" she said darkly. "You too would go then, and throw your life away?" Her eyes were wild with fury. "And leave me here?"
"It is my path," he replied sternly. "I will go where it leads me."
"Spare me your philosophy," Eowyn shot back. "You will go on this road and you will not return."
"I do not fear the Dead," he countered sternly.
"Perhaps you should."
Legolas felt himself becoming angry. "You would do well to learn something of loyalty and friendship, Eowyn. It is something that goes beyond honor and duty. It is a thing of the heart, an organ that you do not seem to know very well."
His insults bit her as none had before. She felt his judgment and took it quite seriously. But she still had her pride and twisted the pain into a plea. "Perhaps you are more versed in this matter than I am. Very well. You are his friend. Counsel him! Give him the wisdom he is lacking now."
Legolas' face was stony. "He has all he needs."
She inhaled, all reason lost to her. "Then you condemn yourselves to death."
"This is the only way. Aragorn has never led us astray before. Why, now, when our faith in him is most vital, would I abandon him?"
"Yet you cannot say that you think this path the wisest?"
"Actually," he said, "I do." She began to say something, but he talked over her. "There are legends that I know and that Aragorn knows, words that were lost in memory though not in potency. There is great power in the Line of the Kings. I know it for I have seen it. I have faith in Men."
Eowyn sighed and looked at her lap. Her voice was very small when she said, "I wish that I shared the same faith."
Legolas reached out his left arm and drew Eowyn against his side. She was cold. Her head fell gently onto his collar and they sat like so, fitted together, for a long time. A breeze drifted in again and gently nudged Eowyn's skirts. She shivered. Legolas put his other arm around her. He let his hand stray into her hair. With shining eyes she looked up at him, even paler in the moonlight, tears bright but unfallen.
Legolas brought his hand to her cheek and in a moment he felt as though she had cast a spell on him. In a daze he felt utter happiness alone in the cold room with her. His thumb moved slowly down her face and traced, ever so lightly, the contours of her lips.
Then she moved away, shaking his arms from her shoulders and stood up. The wind had picked up and it tossed her golden hair. Her face was firm- her tears were gone. She was like a statue of a shield-maiden, hard and pure. Legolas stood as well and very slowly reached up and rested his hand on the back of her neck. It was very warm. Her hair smelled like fresh clover. Her skin was smooth.
She was stiff, her arms crossed, her face firmly set, but he did not let it stop him. He stood behind her, a head taller than she was, and draped his arms across her body. Then it was as though she truly was a thing of ice-she melted back into him, turned her face toward him as he turned to her, and she let him kiss her.
Legolas heard the sharp intake of breath too late. He shoved himself back from Eowyn and knew, from the sound, that Aragorn was gaping at them in absolute horror. They stood, the three of them, perfectly still. And though the Man's gasp had been directed at the act, but his eyes bore only into the Elf.
Legolas felt like a tower under siege-suddenly he was surrounded on all sides by faceless foes. He knew that this, his deepest, darkest secret, was laid bare before the last person he would ever tell. For a moment it was as though Eowyn were not there at all-it was simply he and Aragorn at the edge of the world, and both felt somehow deeply betrayed by each other.
Eowyn was silent and still, staring at nothing, her eyes wide and frigid. Like a tableau the three of them stood rooted-then Aragorn stepped forward, his form clearer in the moonlight. She was not looking at him, but she could feel his fear. Without a word or a gesture, she gathered her skirts into her hand and walked as swiftly as she could out of the hall, away somewhere, anywhere, where she might be able to forget and be alone again.
* * *
Man and Elf stood like mortal enemies facing each other off before a duel to the death. Aragorn realized that his fists were clenched-he released them. Legolas realized he had not yet made eye contact with his friend-he did so. They stood staring at one another, trying to search out some sort of meaning in their faces. Aragorn's face was deeply confused and even hurt- but Legolas' face was blank and impassive. It made the Man even angrier. He shook his head from side to side, noiselessly disbelieving. Then at last the anger overflowed.
"She-is-mortal," Aragorn spat.
The blankness melted like snow in summer. Legolas suddenly became livid, his teeth on edge, his eyes wild as a rampaging Warg's. Power emanated from him. The haunting, ancient light that sometimes flickered in his eyes was now a wildfire. Aragorn nearly stepped back. "Yes, Aragorn! She *is* mortal! She is mortal-and so are you!"
And then an image floated by Aragorn's eyes, a little, colorful tableau, the painting of a moving memory. He saw a skinny dark-haired boy, fair, strong but suddenly shy, gazing between the boles of smooth birch trees, gazing into the eyes of a woman with hair as black as a river at night, and a word escaped, "Tinúviel."
He had not meant to say it aloud.
"No, Aragorn." Ah, yes. Back to reality, back to Legolas who stood tall and taught as a strung bow, an invisible venom-tipped arrow aimed at the Man's throat. His voice was stern, more like King Thranduil's than his own. "Arwen is not Luthien. And you are not Beren."
Yet Aragorn was a proud, wise mortal Man. He shot back, "And you? What shall I call you? Nothing! Such have no names in the history of our world!"
"Then we are the first. We have not yet been tested. We are not lost in the silly dreams of Mortals or even Elvenkind. You are not Beren, Aragorn, in any sense of the name, save for that worthless ring you wear, save for the fact that you shall die."
These were harsh, ugly words-words that a well-bred Elf would be truly pressed to say. Suddenly, Legolas didn't seem very Elf-like at all. Aragorn stood staring, thrown by the hideous cruelty of his companion's words, but also astounded by the realness of the pain and suffering he saw in Legolas' face. A battle was raging behind those gray eyes. There was a trapped soul crying for release. Mortality and immortality were at war in more sense than one. Then Aragorn was overwhelmed with pity, and he spoke once more, softly and sorrowful.
"And so shall Eowyn. So shall Eowyn."
Legolas' face froze, his eyes like lances. But then all the aggression and savagery died with one gentle exhalation of breath. Both he and Aragorn knew that he had been defeated.
"Do not do this, my friend," the Man said softly, and he realized that all he felt now was genuine pity.
Legolas looked away, aghast and feeling once more completely alone. "I know what is at stake."
"Do you?" Aragorn stepped forward and reached out a hand, resting it on Legolas' shoulder. The Elf almost flinched at the touch. "Do you know what lies ahead?"
Legolas did not answer.
Aragorn was silent, too, seeking the right words. "You will take no wound like this one. You will feel no agony as this." He stopped. His voice had caught-there were tears in his eyes. "You must listen-"
But Legolas shrugged off Aragorn's hand and spun on his heel. Without looking back he disappeared into the darkness, in the direction of their room. Aragorn stood alone for a moment. He looked at Théoden's throne, but only saw an empty chair. He looked out through the doors at the city and the sky, but saw only a ghost town under dwindling stars. Then he followed Legolas-he went to their room, he did not look for his Elven companion-for all he knew Legolas could have run out into the night, never to be seen again. He simply lay upon the bed and collapsed into a deep, numbing sleep.
* * *
Legolas lay perfectly still, his hands folded on his breast, staring up at the ceiling. He swallowed. He felt as though the roof and walls of their tiny chamber were closing in all around him. He felt lost and naked in the dark. His own heartbeat was hollow; the night air was dead. Tears were entreating his eyes but he had not the strength to let them fall.
And everywhere, all across Middle-earth, darkness was stirring.
-Fin-
GO REVIEW NOW, DAMN YE!
Continued in Chapter XIX - Among the Dead (Oh what a double meaning lies in that chapter title. Symbolism! Symbolism! I love it. The Paths of Dead lie ahead!)
Remember there is a preview of Chapter XIX up at The Leaf Storm Fanlisting!
I have updated every chapter preceding this one-fixing nearly all the typos and repetitive words. Please feel free to point out anything I've missed-I HATE hitting mistakes when I'm reading a story. I've also lengthened quite a few scenes. Might be worth another read. This chapter may undergo some changes as I have posted it as soon as it was done, without giving it a final proofread.
I finally got to see "The Return of the King" and I don't think I've ever cried that hard, publicly, for a very long time. Already I'm bursting at the seams for the Extended Edition. Not nearly as much Eowyn as I would have liked, though. And Legolas didn't have many lines. But I find that for his portrayal in the films, actions speak louder than words. Certainly he turned out to be a lot prettier and lighter than I ever pictured him (that last shot of him in that prom tiara, ha ha), but I love that both Peter Jackson and Orlando Bloom captured his sort of samurai quality, which I have tried to include in my story.
Alas for the scoring! I miss it as well. I know that I have skipped the musical element of quite a few of these chapters. I decided to remove the score from this version. One day I'll go back and put the soundtrack in, I swear.
I am proud to announce a wonderful, beautiful website you must all check out: The Leaf Storm fanlisting! The address is: - angl.com/
Go to the above website to see a full archive of the Leaf Storm story thus far, as well as a preview of Chapter Nineteen! Oh baby. The archive of Leaf Storm is in a much prettier format than here at FF.net. But remember THE ONLY WAY TO PREVIEW UPCOMING CHAPTERS is to visit the fanlisting! Aight?
Knowledge of the novels is essential to fully comprehend the following story, as always, but this chapter skips around more than most of the previous. Upcoming chapters may be similar. Also there is some verbatim dialogue in this chapter, which may spoil the book for some readers. But I honestly shouldn't have to convince you to read one of the great literary masterpieces of all time, should I? Right on.
Chapter XVIII - The Quendi and the Edain
In less than a day the company had been rocked by two extraordinarily ominous events: a winged Nazgûl had flown over Isengard, filling every heart below with cold, gripping fear, and Pippin, the most innocent among them, had gazed into the Palantir. And while, in truth, the former event caused Legolas greater strain upon the body, it was the young Hobbit's pain that had moved him the most. He had not been there to help him. The Elf had been resting-his hands folded over his breast, his eyes gently staring up at the stars. His dream had come like a gentle rain after years of drought, for he dreamt of Eowyn.
She was in Edoras but the great hall was empty. All the people-the guards, the servants, the courtiers-were gone. The aisles were silent. The doors had been left unlocked and a strong wind came and flung them open. The sound was startling, but the vision of Eowyn did not seem to notice. She stood straight and still behind Théoden's empty throne. Dust lay upon its seat and armrests; flecks of dust swirled in the light. The hall looked like an ancient relic. Legolas was reminded of the time he had first seen her standing there. Then the room had seemed still and empty as well, but the explosion of lightness he had felt then was not now returning.
Eowyn stood staring out through the open, swinging doors-out over the valley, beyond the mountaintops. Her golden hair was lightly tossed and her lily-white garments rustled, but her face remained still.
Legolas found himself in his dream, a sort of melting sensation, and approached the dais slowly. He did not speak. His feet made no sound. When he was near her, he reached up to catch Eowyn's hand. As he took it, he felt her touch as cold and as smooth as steel. Her face and fingers were unresponsive, her gaze still focused at some point far away. He turned to look where she looked.
A white tower rose at the foot of the mountains. Around it were seven white walls like stacked rings that a child might play with. The pinnacle of the tower glowed in the crisp sunlight and somewhere near its top, a horn sounded. He had to admit, though the thing was clearly of human make, it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. The grace of the white tower, like a beacon of moonlight, was mesmerizing. Tiny black and white banners fluttered in the wind. The light danced off the helmets of soldiers on the walls. Yet it was a surreal vision-even Legolas' eyes would never allow him to see all the way to Gondor from Rohan. And, like a mirage, the image of the White City rippled.
"Why do you look to the White City?" he asked her, tearing his eyes away from Minas Tirith.
Eowyn did not reply. Her eyes remained trained on the tower, her ears focused on the rolling call of the horn.
"Eowyn?" he asked again.
She turned to him, but her eyes were empty-she could not see him. She was seeing through him. He swallowed. Suddenly she seemed frightening. Her gaze was hollow and chilling. Her deadness froze Legolas' heart, and he caught her wrists, trying to warm them.
"Eowyn, listen to me."
Suddenly her face transformed-a thousand years fell upon her. She collapsed in his arms, an old mortal woman, her hair a white mist. He stared in confusion and horror, unable to think. Her porcelain skin was spotted and wrinkled, her eyes filmy and bloodshot, her teeth sparse and yellow. Then she changed again-she seemed to wilt and decay. Flesh dropped from her bones, the skin fell off her face, her eyes melted in their sockets.
Legolas gasped, livid with fear, and tried to get away, but the wraith of Eowyn held onto him with hands that bit like serpents. Her neck made a cracking sound as she twisted to turn toward him. Dust fell from her rotting lips as she opened her mouth and screamed.
* * *
Across the campground, Pippin let out a cry.
Legolas bolted upright, gasping. His eyes dilated in the darkness. His arms hurt where the wraith of Eowyn had seized him. Cold sweat covered him. The reality of the night descended upon him-he saw the riders and their horses encamped around him, Gimli snorting awake by his side-yet all this was of little comfort. A cobweb-like fog had blotted out all stars. He stumbled to his feet and swung his head around to find the young Hobbit.
"Fool of a Took!"
He saw Gandalf, his white robe shimmering in the moonlight, kneeling before a small figure that was sobbing. Another small one stood near: it was Merry, concern wracking his young, pleasant features. Gandalf's voice was stern and he seemed to be making demands when Legolas came over and knelt beside him.
In the wizard's hand was the palantir.
In a moment Legolas understood the situation. The palantir was a thing corrupted by Saruman, and its power lingered though its master had been thrown down as best he could be. Looking at the stone in Gandalf's wizened hands, Legolas could sense the malice that must have been dwindling there a moment before. Legolas touched the wizard's arm and gestured at the orb. Quickly, the white wizard smothered it in the folds of his cloak and went on questioning Pippin.
"And then, Pippin! What then?"
"No," the Hobbit moaned, "No, I-I cannot say!"
Legolas' heart knotted with sorrow. He laid a hand upon Pippin's heaving shoulders. The Hobbit looked up tearfully. Legolas looked for a moment into his eyes. There was fear, yes, but no sign of betrayal. Innocence remained intact-miraculously so. The Elf smiled lightly. Gandalf exchanged a quick look with Legolas and perceived what he had not in his hastiness.
"Very well, Master Peregrin, but I will have no more of you looking at things that are not meant for your eyes. Do you understand?"
A short nod and a sniffle was all Pippin could muster. It was enough. Gandalf gave a curt incline of the head and Merry fell forward onto his friend and embraced him. Legolas stood up, satisfied, but he felt the wizard's eyes and turned to him. "He cannot stay here."
Legolas began to understand. "Mithrandir, does the Enemy now think that...that Pippin has the Ring?"
There was movement to the left. Aragorn came to stand by Legolas' side. "Where will he go? We have not the time to conceal him in the wild with our allies. Even if we did, now all roads are dark with dangers."
The Elf looked at the ground. "There is no safety to be had anywhere."
"No," said Gandalf slowly, as an idea formed in his mind. "But he may be safest with me. I go to Minas Tirith to sound the alarm. We now know where Sauron will strike the hardest."
Legolas looked up swiftly. "Minas Tirith? But if the city falls-"
Aragorn inhaled sharply.
The white wizard gave a little smile, his black eyes twinkling. "The White City will not fall." He turned, with a sweep of his pale robes, and made to ready Shadowfax for the ride of his lifetime.
Legolas sighed, but cleared his mind and looked to Aragorn to learn his next plan of action. But the Ranger's face was suddenly strange; he seemed to have grown many years older in the past ten minutes.
"This day and night have been evil," the Ranger said. "I would not have us tarry here any longer either."
"Gimli and I will be ready to ride whenever you give the word," Legolas replied steadily, sensing the anxiety in Aragorn's voice. "The Rohirrim may need a little longer. But yes, we should continue. That is what I believe."
Aragorn gave no reply, gazing down at Merry and Pippin. "Yes. We should."
Legolas felt Aragorn's guilt and it kindled his own. But he also perceived something else in the Ranger's heart-something dark, something evil, like a premonition of death. They turned from one another and went to ready the horses. Yet as their steeds stood side by side Legolas saw that Aragorn had a new bundle attached to his saddle-its shape and size gave away that it held the palantir. Legolas felt a twinge of uneasiness, but he let it pass. They divided-Gandalf and Pippin rode south. The rest went with Théoden and Aragorn. A cry was sounded, the horsemen mustered, the Hobbits were cared for as best as warriors could, and the company continued on its way.
* * *
A skilled assassin will be able to sense his own pursuit. It is the essence of defense, vital for offense, and it was something that the Wood- Elves of Mirkwood instilled in their youths from the time they were born until their coming-of-age ceremony-and then it was practiced for all their lives. It was essential to their way of life, surrounded by Goblins and Spiders, and they were known for it. Only the perimeter guard in Lorien could match the Mirkwood Elves in this skill. It was because of these reasons that Legolas was amazed at himself for not have sensed the riders a few leagues behind their company until they were almost upon them. But sense them he did, before either Gandalf or Aragorn. He swung Arod around abruptly, skillfully avoiding the oncoming riders. Gimli let out an annoyed yelp.
Legolas stood in the stir-ups and peered into the mist. He could sense the riders quite clearly now but could not yet see them. He dove into his deepest senses, seeking to perceive the minds of these incoming people. There was something familiar among them. He thought, for a moment, it was something positively Elven. Hope lit up his heart, but hope had proven fruitless far too often. He paused, staring harder, the wind whipping his hair across his face. Instinctively, his hand fell on the hilt of his one of his knives.
The company had slowed with Legolas, and Aragorn and Eomer rode up to him.
"What is it?" Eomer asked. He looked to one of the lesser horse- chiefs in irritation. "The scouts have reported nothing of pursuit." The next moment his mind leapt to unnatural things, and he felt a shudder approaching. "Is something coming?"
Legolas continued to stare out. "Someone. We are being followed. I do not know by whom." He gazed back into the grayness of mist. "Whoever they are, they just outnumber us. Let us hope they are friends."
A rider rode up from the rear of the column, breathlessly shouting, "My lord, there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought that I hears them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard."
Eomer grimaced. Their horses stamped and snorted. The Rohirrim grabbed their spears and the column began to turn to face the approaching company. Gimli peered around Legolas' waist and took in a nervous intake of breath.
"How soon will they overtake us?" Aragorn asked, looking where Legolas looked.
"Give them five minutes."
* * *
Legolas had misjudged again, and he cursed himself for it and was glad his father or one of his elders had not been there to see. He had misjudged the time. It took the approaching company a mere three minutes. A large cavalry of riders emerged from the mist as though they themselves were beings of fog rather than flesh. They were swathed in gray, hoods hiding much of their faces. They rode proud gray and chestnut steeds, many with white stars on their foreheads-perhaps not as masterful as the horses of the Rohirrim, but graceful and hardy nonetheless. Their hardtack was very old, unburnished silver, but the straight marks of runes could still be seen gleaming off a bridle or a bit. Brooches shaped like rayed stars shone on the riders' shoulders.
"Halt!" cried Eomer. "Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"
The gray figures stood still. Even their horses stopped completely. There was a precision to these people that Legolas had not seen in mortal Men. He narrowed his eyes but could not search their faces, half-hidden under the hoods of their cloaks. Their hands rested on the shining hilts of their swords. Then one of them dismounted-a tall Man with broad shoulders visible under the fall of his dark-gray cloak. He came forward palm up in a gesture of peace.
Aragorn, on his steed Hasufel, was beaming. This was a little surprise that Legolas had not expected. The Ranger rode forward, leapt off his horse and met the dismounted rider halfway, tangling him in a warm embrace.
"Halbarad!"
In an instant Legolas understood, and he remembered the Rangers of the North who had come to Laketown or the outer edges of Mirkwood, trading news, goods and stories. He smiled, and whispered to Gimli, "The Dunedain! This is indeed a joy unlooked for."
"Indeed," Gimli replied. "I wonder how they came? I suppose Gandalf sent for them."
"Nay, Galadriel. Remember her words to Aragorn-" but then Legolas' face blanched as he remembered the Elven Lady's words for him: a cryptic notion of death, something about the sea. He frowned and looked back at the Rangers. But Gimli caught his breath behind him and replied in an awed whisper, "Galadriel. How she reads the hearts of all who come before her!"
Legolas continued to scan the line of Rangers. He was glad that Aragorn knew them-weight fled from his chest. The Riders of Rohan were also less tense. But Legolas felt something that had not been satisfied. He urged Arod forward with a whisper and walked him down the line of Dunedain. The Rangers nodded their heads at him and made elvish signs of greeting- many knew him from his face as one of the ancient line of Greenwood. One said something to the rider next to him in what sounded like Númenorean. The Man turned called downed the line and two riders emerged.
Their hoods were thrown off to reveal their faces: pale-skinned, gray- eyed, raven-haired beauty, symmetrical and almost eerily alike. Indeed they seemed to be exact copies of one another. They were smiling when Legolas saw them, each smile identical in its crooked mischievousness. He smiled back as he realized with great joy that he knew these faces all too well.
"Elladan! Elrohir!"
Elrohir, the quiet one, laughed, "What on Middle-earth is a child of Mirkwood doing this far south?"
"He is obviously up to no good," Elladan, the troublemaker, replied.
The Sons of Elrond dismounted at the same time. Legolas handed Gimli Arod's reins, who received them precariously. The Elves met in a warm group embrace. Greetings between them were jovial as they had always been. Legolas and the Twins had always felt a sort of generational gap between themselves and the older, worldlier Elven lords and ladies of each of their fathers' courts; together, for better or for worse, they felt a strong sense of kinship and exclusivity. Miles of distance and many dangers between realms had separated them for years. Rangers, Rohirrim, Hobbits, and a Dwarf all gazed in analogous wonder at the quiet joy clear in their reunion.
"Fallen among the Horse-Lords of the south, have we?" Elladan smirked.
"So it would seem. And how long have you been amongst these grim- faced wanderers?" Legolas retorted.
"I've lost count," Elrohir replied. "Long months we have been abroad- and it has been good company among others of Aragorn's kin."
Elladan smiled and peered over Legolas' shoulder. "And where is our little brother? Estel!" His eyes lit up. "There."
The three Elf-princes turned. Elladan met Aragorn halfway and enveloped him in a very tender, very smothering embrace, and then, much to Aragorn's horror, ruffled his hair as he had done so for nearly eighty- seven years. Legolas laughed, his heart filling with the happiness he was able to glimpse even now, on the brink of all their dooms-but he also saw Elrohir looking at him quite gravely out of the corner of his eye.
"We bring word to you, Legolas, from your father."
* * *
The Goblins had begun their nightly raids of Mirkwood at the beginning of the last month. At first their attacks had been a mere irritation, a task easily left to the Royal Guard. Goblins lived in wide, wet caves in the Misty Mountains. They were not used to the fecund tangle of Mirkwood. Even the dim, green light below the Canopy was harsh on their subterranean eyes. But they persevered, and they persisted, and in time it was obvious that their numbers were not dwindling-they were growing. And as they mustered, like a wave gathering strength before it strikes the shore, they became used to the forest.
In two weeks the Goblins had driven the Guard back to the inner perimeter. There had been heavy losses on the enemy's side, yes, but at least twenty Elves had fallen, too. The Sons of Elrond did not have their names.
"Your father is well," Elladan said. "He has taken no injury in the fighting."
"He has gone out against the enemy?" Legolas could not believe his ears. It was the War Marshal, Atavodain, who led the Guard in all its maneuvers. Thranduil had not donned helm or scabbard since the Battle of Five Armies. Had it come to that? Suddenly Legolas felt overwhelmed with emotions-he could not tell whether he was afraid for his father or extraordinarily proud of him.
"He has," said Elrohir. "Three times now he has led your people against the Goblins. The third time they were driven out to the feet of the mountains. This, even with rear attacks from the Spiders."
"The Spiders are coming together?"
Even Elladan's face was very severe. "Yes. And their number, too, is growing."
Legolas stared at nothing. His heart was beating quickly in his chest as though his body were running for miles and miles without him. He felt conflicting tugs at his mind. Should he not be there with his father, rallying his people? What did they think of him now, far away fighting someone else's battles? Suddenly his head hurt. He put his hand to his brow and let out a long shuddering sigh. "I should be there," he said softly, to no one in particular.
The Twins looked at him thoughtfully. "We know how you feel, Legolas," said Elladan. "Our home is also under assault." Legolas looked up, disbelieving. "It's true. Our father and his Elf-lords are doing all they can to keep the Ford from similar evils. But time is running out."
"Numbers or strength of arms cannot defeat our enemies abroad," Elrohir added.
"Nor can they make much difference here," said Legolas darkly.
"But here is the only place where any hope of victory can be found," Elladan said, his voice resolute and firm. "We have put our trust in Men. So have you-else you would not be here."
Legolas had to admit this was true. "But," he said, "time is running out."
"Legolas, we did not tell you this news to turn your thoughts from your path, nor to put doubt in your heart," Elrohir said. "We think you have chosen wisely. So does our father. So does yours."
Legolas looked up. "He-knows?"
"Yes. And he has not spoken against your decision. The messenger from Mirkwood said 'King Thranduil commends the actions of son and extends gratitude to Lord Elrond of Imladris in his decision.'" Elladan grinned. "That part I was sure to memorize to the word."
The weight on his chest lightened, but Legolas still felt something amiss-the tugging had not stopped. He looked into the Twins' eyes and perceived that something had been left unsaid.
"What is it?"
Elladan looked at his twin and sighed. "We do not wish to trouble you further, son of Thranduil, but you deserve to know." He could not bring his eyes to meet Legolas' when he then said, "Something is stirring in Dol Guldur."
* * *
Gimli thought at first that he ought to keep his distance from the Elf. After talking with those twin brothers who had come with the Dunedain, Legolas had looked positively haggard-and that was not a word Gimli was accustomed to applying to his friend. *Moody Elves,* he thought lightheartedly. *I wonder what is troubling him this time.*
But there was no real mirth in the Dwarf's heart. He had noticed several changes in Legolas' character throughout the quest. Most had been, as far as Gimli was concerned, for the better. Legolas was certainly the quiet type, but he had never known Elves to speak without need. Still, this Elf's silences had become more unnerving than customary of his kind. It was true that he had seemed more like himself since they had been to Lorien. Gimli smiled as he thought of Galadriel; instinctively his hand felt at the little pouch hung round his neck, wherein were three strands of golden hair always kept near his heart until he could immortalize them in everlasting crystal, as he had promised. Yes, Galadriel was full of promise, and only she had truly brought hope into their hearts. But then they came to Rohan, and then again Legolas had changed. Gimli would never say Legolas had become flighty, but he would say he had become distracted. Gimli could not name the cause.
Aragorn had had his own share of changes. The brethren Elladan and Elrohir had brought him a message in secret that even Legolas did not know. Gimli felt, with hurt pride, that he was being left out of a good deal. Legolas' bantering remarks had ceased for the most part. Often Gimli felt as though the Elf did not even notice he was there. And Aragorn now seemed to only have time for his kinsmen.
Gimli grunted discontentedly, and Legolas turned in the saddle a little to look at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing, nothing," the Dwarf lied through his teeth.
Legolas' face was unreadable. He turned away again.
"It is only," said Gimli, "that seeing so many of Aragorn's kindred come to join our journey, I now wish the Lady had sent for some of my own."
"I do not think any would have come." The Elf's voice was cold. "They have no ride to war; war already marches on their own lands."
Gimli did not speak again for the rest of the long ride back to the Hornburg.
* * *
They came upon Helm's Deep. Gimli took joy in pointing out to Merry the details of the battle, boasting proudly that he had defeated Legolas in the final count. The young Hobbit smiled, but Legolas could see his thought were clearly with Pippin, now far away.
Aragorn, Elrohir, Elladan and Halbarad went off together and did not come down from their chamber in the Burg to eat with the rest of the company. The other Rangers sat a bit apart, silent and grave, as much of the Rohirrim made ready to ride to Meduseld with Théoden. Just as the old king had mounted Snowmane, Aragorn emerged with his companions. His face had aged again, but his eyes were haggard and nearly dead. Legolas stood up swiftly and went to his side.
"You are troubled," he said, falling in to walk beside his friend.
"Long have I had counsel with my kin, and now my path is clear-but the way is the darkest and most toilsome of all." A shadow clung to him. Legolas turned his head-Elrohir was looking at him. In the Elf's eyes Legolas read something quite clearly: Aragorn had looked into the palantir.
Legolas was silent. They came to Théoden's side and Aragorn spoke for a little. His voice was like a storyteller's, full of time and premonition. Théoden nodded at his words, but then a grim silence fell as Aragorn said, "I will ride by the swiftest way, and I will take the Paths of the Dead."
Legolas knew the name. He started and looked at Elladan and Elrohir, but they were looking straight ahead at Aragorn, and their faces were sure.
* * *
"The Paths of the Dead?" Gimli shook his head. "I do not know them. Yet it is a name of ill omen, Aragorn. The Rohirrim took no liking to it, I saw."
Legolas nodded. "I do not fear the dead." As he made this statement, Legolas wondered if it was true. Of his next statement, Legolas' felt no doubt whatsoever. "I will go with you, Aragorn."
Aragorn smiled for the first time since either Legolas or Gimli could remember.
Then Legolas looked to Gimli, expecting the same resounding response. But the Dwarf did not seem so certain. He gazed down at the food in front of him, his face deathly serious. Suddenly Gimli seemed very small-even weak. Legolas' heart stung at the sight.
"It is a name of ill-omen," Gimli breathed. "But I too shall follow you Aragorn, even to an end."
The smile died on Aragorn's face. But his voice was strong. "The heir of Elendil will never forget your kindnesses."
"Whence do we ride?" asked Legolas.
"We shall come to the Stone of Erech by way of Edoras. There will be one night's rest in Théoden's hall. It is kept yet by the Lady Eowyn."
Legolas nodded and looked down-he would not let Aragorn or Gimli see the color drain from his face.
* * *
Eowyn rose and followed the boy out of the stables, stepping into the afternoon sunlight just as ten men opened the great wooden gate and a small company rode into the courtyard of Edoras. Their raiment was gray and their horses swift-she wondered, at first, if this was some small host of Elves that had drifted into the southlands. But then she looked to the front of the column and saw that three among them had their hoods thrown off- Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.
Her breath caught with wonder and she broke into a smile.
The horses settled and their riders dismounted. She walked swiftly to the foot of the stairs that led to the Hall and opened her arms, bowing her head.
"Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn. In health may you be housed again in the halls of Théoden, lord of Rohan." She raised her head, her face stern and fair. Aragorn came forward and bowed deeply. Just behind him, Legolas and Gimli did the same. Then they and the others in the Gray Company followed her into the Hall. She felt Legolas' eyes upon her back as they walked inside.
* * *
Bedding had to be found, and supper had to be made-the servants worked swiftly, doing their best to accommodate so many at such short notice. Eowyn was very busy as well, dispensing orders and helping where she could. Yet as she crossed from the kitchens to the shield-hall she stopped and saw Legolas looking at her. He was leaning up against one of the carven columns, his arms folded. He was gently smiling.
Eowyn caught one of the serving boys by the arm and told him to be sure a flask of spring water had been put in each of the Rangers' rooms, and then returned the Elf's smile. They came forward and met in the middle of the hall.
"My Lady," he said, every bit a prince. He put his hand to his heart and inclined his body in the Elvish manner.
"My Lord," she replied, nodding in turn.
He looked up, his eyes tracing over her face. He seemed lost in thought, but then he said, "Just as we left you days ago."
She smiled, sharing their secret. "I should hope, my lord." Then she took his arm and led him out to the back balcony that overlooked the valley and the white-tipped mountains. "Now tell me everything that has happened."
Legolas laughed but did as he was told. He described everything in as colorful detail as he could-their wonder at discovering both Merry and Pippin alive and well, the strange, ancient magic to be found in the Ents, the last malice of Saruman. But he did not say what Saruman had said to him. Eowyn asked questions throughout his story, and for the most part she seemed satisfied with his account. The sun had set by the time he reached the end. Yet when he was done, she looked at him sternly.
"Legolas," Eowyn said, "Is that all?"
He paused and turned his eyes upon her. "What do you mean, my lady?"
Her eyes were slightly narrowed, scanning his like a seer gazing into the future. "You...are not...*hiding* anything from me?"
He laughed a little. "Me? Hide something from you?" He let his hand lift to touch a lock of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. He had done it unconsciously-a moment later he realized that they were outside overlooking much of the city and his hand fell.
She didn't smile. "Not hiding then. You are protecting me from something."
His gentle flirtation had somehow turned to poison. He stiffened, all mirth disappearing from his voice and his face. "You are imagining things. Good evening, my lady." He did not even have the time to take a step before her hand shot out and caught his forearm, purpose glinting in her gaze.
"I hate to be protected. You should know that by now."
"There are some things that I would not wish upon anyone," he said. His voice was strangely soft, almost a whisper. "And I do not wish to share my experience at Isengard with you, Lady Eowyn. Please be content with what I have told you. I have not the strength to revisit that time again."
She gazed at his face for a long time, her eyes gleaming and her expression unreadable. At last she looked down and said, "Very well, Master Elf. I will let you be." But then she reached out and took his hand in two of her own and whispered, "If you need to speak on it, for I see that you are greatly troubled, know that I am here to listen." After a moment she released his hand, her face filled with enlightenment and sorrow. "Who were they?"
Legolas started. He had revealed nothing to her. He was certain Aragorn had not breathed a word on the matter. In the company of another Elf then, yes, it would have been fairly obvious why he was suffering. But mortals could not perceive the minds of others. Why had she?
Eowyn wondered if she had perhaps committed a misstep. She saw the shock in Legolas' eyes, and realized she may have spoken in folly or out of turn. "You need not tell me anything. If that is what you wish."
"Many of my people suffered because of me," he said. "I had nearly put it behind me. But something...came up."
Eowyn nodded and interlaced his fingers with her own, and gently lead him to a seat beneath a window. They turned to face each other, the night air gently breathing upon their faces. For a moment Eowyn seemed so ethereally beautiful that Legolas could not speak. But he found his voice, for she was one who would listen, and he told her about June the twentieth. It was like a river that had long been dammed up against its natural course- suddenly words were pouring forth. He spoke more openly to her than he had to anyone, even to Galadriel. And she listened! Eowyn's face was acute as she took in all he said. She comprehended his pain and his guilt. She knew his sorrow. And then he told her what the Sons of Elrond had said, and at last she spoke.
"I did not know that the Elves were under siege."
He stopped, a bit thrown by her tone of voice.
She looked at him as though for the first time, her eyes shining. "I did not know...that your people still cared for the fate of this world." She paused. "I do not mean such in offense. Forgive me if my words seem ignorant. But I am amazed, Legolas, at your people's valor and resilience." She smiled. "I would like to meet your father one day. I will tell him of all you have done for Rohan."
Her face was so genuine in its pride, so pure in its devotion that Legolas forgot that they were in full view of the court and took her hands in his. "And my people shall marvel at the strength of Men."
A chime sounded and the magic of the moment withered. "Oh, I am a fool," Eowyn laughed. "Here I am met with a host of Men who are tired and hungry, and I have time only for you. Come inside, that is the supper bell. After all, I must hear news of this battle I never saw."
* * *
The banquet was laden with food; the people of Rohan set aside not an ounce of generosity in serving their guests. Wine was brought forth from the cellars. Fresh breads and cheeses were passed. Three deer had been caught that very day-they were carved and spiced and served in large helpings to each of the weary warriors.
Eowyn sat at the head of the table. On her left were Aragorn and Halbarad, on her right Legolas and Gimli. The Three Hunters relayed to her an exciting account of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Gimli reminded Legolas, with a dig of his elbow, how he had beaten one of the Eldar by one orc. Legolas laughed. Even Aragorn's faded expression lightened, and praised Théoden in his final charge and spoke of the strength of the sword of Eomer.
The Rangers spoke in their own tongue, keeping to themselves again, but even they seemed less grim to be thus welcomed in Rohan, and to be housed by one so fair as Eowyn. One of them rose-he was younger than the others, his hair a deep brown, his face carved as if in marble. From under the folds of his dark-gray cloak he brought out a silver lyre and offered the hall a song.
"Please," said Eowyn, and a hush resounded as the wine was passed. The young Ranger briefly tuned his instrument, then cleared his voice and began in a strange language. Another ranger accompanied him on a low haunting flute. Then the Dunadan's voice rose, clear and lyrical, Elven-fair, and he began to sing in Westron:
Riders of the Northern Lands
A people lost with countless lays
Have come upon the Southern Strands
The heralds of the End of Days
Our city sank beneath the tide
The Sea has swallowed countless hosts
But some escaped and some survived
And came in ships to Western coasts
Our cities in the mountains carved
Our ships in rivers sailed
And no Child of the West starved
And no blossom in winter failed
Eowyn noticed that she had turned her head during this song to stare unashamedly upon the figure of Legolas a few feet away. He had his head tilted to one side, his eyes half-lidded, relaxed and seemingly lost in the song. She gazed at his slightly parted lips and felt a strange in the center of her body. It was something akin to devotion and sorrow-it must have been just that. It was unmistakably love. Like a child who has glimpsed some work of art he cannot yet fully understand, Eowyn looked away. But the pleasant hold on her heart did not lessen. She stood silently on the brink. Ages seemed to pass as the song went on. Yet she did not look back at him until it had ended.
We who turn gold into water
We who count stars in the morn
We know a sword may be resoldered
And so can a line be reborn
And as the Elves seek out their harbors
And leave the world awash in gray
We, once forgotten by ardor
Shall in the dim light yet remain
For as we once left our sea home
They shall there depart and there stay
As gray ships ride out on the seafoam
The Men of the West fade away
Legolas seemed to rise from his trance when the song was done, roused by the boisterous cheers of the flaxen-haired soldiers of Rohan and the cool praises of the dark, misty Rangers. It looked as though he had awakened from a pleasant dream, refreshed and more alive than she could remember ever seeing him. Unconsciously, Eowyn felt herself break into a smile. As though it were an instinct, he turned and startled her by staring back with equal intensity. Immediately Eowyn felt as though her midriff was melting. He was so beautiful. His gray eyes, piercing and full of intuition, were stirring up storms in distant lands. She saw a great and striking sadness. And he was so haunting, a thing of the forest, inhuman, dangerous, ancient and new. Young to his people, they said, to his people of countless ages, some old as the mountains, some older still. And yet he, too, was fathomless in age. He was like a great monument-a thing of the past, of lost ages, whose equal has never been made.
And then with a light smile like a flame in a dark tunnel, he looked away.
With the end of the song, the talk turned to the road ahead. And just as the song had ended on a dark note, so did the discussion turn. The previous mirth disappeared. Eowyn turned to Aragorn and said, "My Lord, you are weary and shall now go to your beds with such ease as can be contrived in haste. But tomorrow fairer housing shall be found for you and your companions."
"Nay, lady. We stay here tonight, and will break our fast in your hall tomorrow, but that will be enough." He did not look at her as went on. "I ride on an errand most urgent, and shall depart at the first light of dawn."
She turned a questioning eye on Legolas, but the Elf would not look at her either. He sought distraction, found it in his wine glass and took a sip. Eowyn turned back to Aragorn, confused. "It is kind then, to ride many miles to Eowyn to tell her of tidings of valor, though she must stay in the hall in exile."
Aragorn was a natural orator, yet even he was having difficulty skirting the issue at hand. "No man would count such a journey wasted, and yet, my lady, I would not have come here if it were not the road which I must take to lead me to Dunharrow."
A thought pricked the back of Eowyn's mind, but she smothered it swiftly and hoped her voice did not reveal her aggravation. "Then you are astray. Out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south. You must return as you came."
Legolas finished his wine, put the glass down, and looked at Aragorn through lowered brows. There was no avoiding it now.
"We are not astray. There is a road out of this valley that I shall take tomorrow. I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."
The hall went silent but for the crash as one of the serving girls dropped a pitcher of water she had been carrying. Eowyn's eyes went wide, stricken with horror and utter disorientation. One Ranger pushed back his chair and rose to seek out his bed. Soon enough the rest had followed. The hall cleared until the only people left were Eowyn, Aragorn and Legolas. Gimli cast a searching eye on his Elven companion before deciding it best to get some sleep, too. The three remaining sat in silence.
Then Eowyn turned a sharp on Aragorn and demanded, "Is it your errand to seek death? The Dead do not suffer any to pass that way."
"They will suffer me." He said in a voice that Legolas did not recognize. "No other road will serve."
"This is madness." Her hands were gripping the table. "These are your kinsmen-I can see that they are Men of renown and prowess. We need these Men in the war! You cannot lead them into shadows."
"This is not madness," Aragorn said steadily. "This is a path appointed. Those who ride with me do so of free will." Here he looked up at Legolas with a significant glance. "I will ride it alone if need be."
"Don't be ridiculous," Legolas said.
A silence fell, one in which Eowyn looked back and forth between Man and Elf, utterly aghast at their resolution to die. They did not seem to see her. Aragorn gave Legolas a weary look and said, "Esto le."
The Elf looked at him squarely. Aragorn nodded a little.
"I must talk with Lady Eowyn alone, Legolas," the Man said.
Legolas blanched and looked away from Aragorn. In his mind new fears kindled-would he be able to get Eowyn alone again before they left at dawn? He would find a way. He said, "My Lady," and disappeared into the night.
* * *
When Aragorn came back into the little room, he glanced down at the two occupied cots. Gimli slept deeply, grunted a bit in his slumber. Legolas lay on his back, his slender hands folded on his breast which softly rose and fell. His eyes were half-lidded, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly open.
Aragorn sighed and sat upon his own cot, then put his head in his hands. For a moment he sat like this-then he pulled off his riding boots and lay down on the mattress. For a long moment he lay there. His eyes stayed open in the dim light. Then exhaustion took him. He shut his eyes and after a moment his breath became steady.
Legolas blinked and rose up on his elbows. He looked at Aragorn's face for half a moment and, perceiving rest, silently got out of bed. He slipped his shoes on, ran a hand through his hair and went out of the room into the candlelit hall. He did not see or hear Aragorn shift upon his cot.
* * *
Eowyn was sitting alone on one of the three small steps that led up to Théoden's throne. Her hands were on her knees and she was staring ahead to a pool of moonlight on the middle of the floor. Legolas came in silently and stood in the shadows between two columns for a long time, before finally stepping forward.
"I have spoken with Aragorn," she said. She would not look at him.
"I know." He came to stand by her side, then sat down next to her on the same step. He felt a breeze and looked down the length of the hall-the door was open, letting in the cool air. His mind leapt back to the nightmare he had had of a similar view, but Eowyn's warm breath and heartbeat calmed his nerves. Together they gazed out into the valley. Stars were just visible over the high mountains.
"He said he would venture the Paths of the Dead alone if necessary."
Legolas did not reply. He continued to look out into the night as though she were not there. Her hands twitched in irritation.
"He said you and Gimli agreed to join him."
"Yes," was all he said.
"Why?"
A bit surprised, he turned his eyes upon her. "Wouldn't you?"
"Of course!" she responded almost shrilly. She remembered the night and the Men asleep, and went on more quietly. "He is your companion, but he is my king and my captain. I would follow him anywhere. But I would not go walking willingly into Death like a fool."
Legolas sighed and his smoky breath fled through the open hall into the cold night. "Then we are fools. But we will go." He looked at her again. "What does it matter?"
"What does it *matter*?" she said darkly. "You too would go then, and throw your life away?" Her eyes were wild with fury. "And leave me here?"
"It is my path," he replied sternly. "I will go where it leads me."
"Spare me your philosophy," Eowyn shot back. "You will go on this road and you will not return."
"I do not fear the Dead," he countered sternly.
"Perhaps you should."
Legolas felt himself becoming angry. "You would do well to learn something of loyalty and friendship, Eowyn. It is something that goes beyond honor and duty. It is a thing of the heart, an organ that you do not seem to know very well."
His insults bit her as none had before. She felt his judgment and took it quite seriously. But she still had her pride and twisted the pain into a plea. "Perhaps you are more versed in this matter than I am. Very well. You are his friend. Counsel him! Give him the wisdom he is lacking now."
Legolas' face was stony. "He has all he needs."
She inhaled, all reason lost to her. "Then you condemn yourselves to death."
"This is the only way. Aragorn has never led us astray before. Why, now, when our faith in him is most vital, would I abandon him?"
"Yet you cannot say that you think this path the wisest?"
"Actually," he said, "I do." She began to say something, but he talked over her. "There are legends that I know and that Aragorn knows, words that were lost in memory though not in potency. There is great power in the Line of the Kings. I know it for I have seen it. I have faith in Men."
Eowyn sighed and looked at her lap. Her voice was very small when she said, "I wish that I shared the same faith."
Legolas reached out his left arm and drew Eowyn against his side. She was cold. Her head fell gently onto his collar and they sat like so, fitted together, for a long time. A breeze drifted in again and gently nudged Eowyn's skirts. She shivered. Legolas put his other arm around her. He let his hand stray into her hair. With shining eyes she looked up at him, even paler in the moonlight, tears bright but unfallen.
Legolas brought his hand to her cheek and in a moment he felt as though she had cast a spell on him. In a daze he felt utter happiness alone in the cold room with her. His thumb moved slowly down her face and traced, ever so lightly, the contours of her lips.
Then she moved away, shaking his arms from her shoulders and stood up. The wind had picked up and it tossed her golden hair. Her face was firm- her tears were gone. She was like a statue of a shield-maiden, hard and pure. Legolas stood as well and very slowly reached up and rested his hand on the back of her neck. It was very warm. Her hair smelled like fresh clover. Her skin was smooth.
She was stiff, her arms crossed, her face firmly set, but he did not let it stop him. He stood behind her, a head taller than she was, and draped his arms across her body. Then it was as though she truly was a thing of ice-she melted back into him, turned her face toward him as he turned to her, and she let him kiss her.
Legolas heard the sharp intake of breath too late. He shoved himself back from Eowyn and knew, from the sound, that Aragorn was gaping at them in absolute horror. They stood, the three of them, perfectly still. And though the Man's gasp had been directed at the act, but his eyes bore only into the Elf.
Legolas felt like a tower under siege-suddenly he was surrounded on all sides by faceless foes. He knew that this, his deepest, darkest secret, was laid bare before the last person he would ever tell. For a moment it was as though Eowyn were not there at all-it was simply he and Aragorn at the edge of the world, and both felt somehow deeply betrayed by each other.
Eowyn was silent and still, staring at nothing, her eyes wide and frigid. Like a tableau the three of them stood rooted-then Aragorn stepped forward, his form clearer in the moonlight. She was not looking at him, but she could feel his fear. Without a word or a gesture, she gathered her skirts into her hand and walked as swiftly as she could out of the hall, away somewhere, anywhere, where she might be able to forget and be alone again.
* * *
Man and Elf stood like mortal enemies facing each other off before a duel to the death. Aragorn realized that his fists were clenched-he released them. Legolas realized he had not yet made eye contact with his friend-he did so. They stood staring at one another, trying to search out some sort of meaning in their faces. Aragorn's face was deeply confused and even hurt- but Legolas' face was blank and impassive. It made the Man even angrier. He shook his head from side to side, noiselessly disbelieving. Then at last the anger overflowed.
"She-is-mortal," Aragorn spat.
The blankness melted like snow in summer. Legolas suddenly became livid, his teeth on edge, his eyes wild as a rampaging Warg's. Power emanated from him. The haunting, ancient light that sometimes flickered in his eyes was now a wildfire. Aragorn nearly stepped back. "Yes, Aragorn! She *is* mortal! She is mortal-and so are you!"
And then an image floated by Aragorn's eyes, a little, colorful tableau, the painting of a moving memory. He saw a skinny dark-haired boy, fair, strong but suddenly shy, gazing between the boles of smooth birch trees, gazing into the eyes of a woman with hair as black as a river at night, and a word escaped, "Tinúviel."
He had not meant to say it aloud.
"No, Aragorn." Ah, yes. Back to reality, back to Legolas who stood tall and taught as a strung bow, an invisible venom-tipped arrow aimed at the Man's throat. His voice was stern, more like King Thranduil's than his own. "Arwen is not Luthien. And you are not Beren."
Yet Aragorn was a proud, wise mortal Man. He shot back, "And you? What shall I call you? Nothing! Such have no names in the history of our world!"
"Then we are the first. We have not yet been tested. We are not lost in the silly dreams of Mortals or even Elvenkind. You are not Beren, Aragorn, in any sense of the name, save for that worthless ring you wear, save for the fact that you shall die."
These were harsh, ugly words-words that a well-bred Elf would be truly pressed to say. Suddenly, Legolas didn't seem very Elf-like at all. Aragorn stood staring, thrown by the hideous cruelty of his companion's words, but also astounded by the realness of the pain and suffering he saw in Legolas' face. A battle was raging behind those gray eyes. There was a trapped soul crying for release. Mortality and immortality were at war in more sense than one. Then Aragorn was overwhelmed with pity, and he spoke once more, softly and sorrowful.
"And so shall Eowyn. So shall Eowyn."
Legolas' face froze, his eyes like lances. But then all the aggression and savagery died with one gentle exhalation of breath. Both he and Aragorn knew that he had been defeated.
"Do not do this, my friend," the Man said softly, and he realized that all he felt now was genuine pity.
Legolas looked away, aghast and feeling once more completely alone. "I know what is at stake."
"Do you?" Aragorn stepped forward and reached out a hand, resting it on Legolas' shoulder. The Elf almost flinched at the touch. "Do you know what lies ahead?"
Legolas did not answer.
Aragorn was silent, too, seeking the right words. "You will take no wound like this one. You will feel no agony as this." He stopped. His voice had caught-there were tears in his eyes. "You must listen-"
But Legolas shrugged off Aragorn's hand and spun on his heel. Without looking back he disappeared into the darkness, in the direction of their room. Aragorn stood alone for a moment. He looked at Théoden's throne, but only saw an empty chair. He looked out through the doors at the city and the sky, but saw only a ghost town under dwindling stars. Then he followed Legolas-he went to their room, he did not look for his Elven companion-for all he knew Legolas could have run out into the night, never to be seen again. He simply lay upon the bed and collapsed into a deep, numbing sleep.
* * *
Legolas lay perfectly still, his hands folded on his breast, staring up at the ceiling. He swallowed. He felt as though the roof and walls of their tiny chamber were closing in all around him. He felt lost and naked in the dark. His own heartbeat was hollow; the night air was dead. Tears were entreating his eyes but he had not the strength to let them fall.
And everywhere, all across Middle-earth, darkness was stirring.
-Fin-
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Continued in Chapter XIX - Among the Dead (Oh what a double meaning lies in that chapter title. Symbolism! Symbolism! I love it. The Paths of Dead lie ahead!)
Remember there is a preview of Chapter XIX up at The Leaf Storm Fanlisting!