Oh. My. God.
What is this... Can it be? Is it really? Gasp! It is!! It's an update!!! And for "They Came" ta boot! Geez! The whole world must be coming to an end or something!
Sorry for the major hiatus, but I have been trying real hard to get an update out! It's just that sometimes it feels like the whole universe is trying to keep me from writing. Sorry for taking so long to finally get an update up for "They Came" in who knows how long. I will seriously be trying to devote more of my spare time to writing. I swear! (Famous last words...)
Anyway, enjoy the long awaited continuation of the ongoing saga! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine and belong to JRR Tolkien, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story.
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Late afternoon sunlight spilled out over the land, casting long dark shadows across the ground as the sun continued its descent towards the distant horizon in the west. Tall, dark mountains reared up in the distance above a sea of trees that seemed to lap and flow around their bases like water at the shores of a rocky beach. Though otherwise dark and ominous, the mountains' western sides seemed painted a brilliant gold with the last few rays of Anor's setting light. A gentle breeze shifted the heavy summer air that hung over the land, occasionally rustling through the leaves of the trees of the surrounding forest that stretched out all around the medium sized group of riders that slowly traveled past beneath their leafy boughs.
The group moved in relative quiet, the plodding footfalls of their horses and soft murmur of subdued conversation the only sounds to break the quiet stillness of the surrounding forest. Shining brightly in the late afternoon sunlight from out amongst the ranks of half a dozen or more riders gleamed the surface of finely polished armor, their chest plates proudly bearing the stylized image of the White Tree of Gondor. As members of the elite White Guard, the knights rode silently behind their lord, King Elessar of Gondor, and his strange new group of traveling companions.
Many of the knights were already used to the presence of the king's two friends – an unlikely pair which still on occasion were known to earn inquisitive stares from those that did not know the details of their odd friendship well – an elf and dwarf, the renowned Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Gloin who had accompanied Elessar on his quest to destroy the One Ring of Power almost six years before during the War of the Ring. The elven prince rode astride a great white war horse, a beast of undeniable linage from the great equine bloodlines of Rohan. He seemed to be in need of no bit or tackle as the men he accompanied did. For with but a single gentle touch or softly spoken word, the horse would heed his elven master's command and immediately move to obey. Riding pillion behind the elven prince also rode his dwarven companion Gimli, clutching the back of the elf's tunic with one hand so as to make sure he wouldn't somehow accidentally slide off the moving animals back as the two trotted along together.
But while the presence and otherwise odd sight of the king's two closest friends riding together was now a familiar thing to the group of guards that accompanied them, there was an unspoken unease among the men. For the elven prince and dwarf were not the only ones that accompanied their king into the wild for unknown reasons which they as only White Guards in their king's service had no right to question or demand.
Five other elves also rode with the small band of riders. Two at the front of their small company in front of the king and the other three behind him, flanking either side of the king's two friends as if acting as personal bodyguards to the warrior prince and dwarf.
Though elves were no longer a rare sight to the people Gondor since King Elessar's marriage to the Lady Arwen and the bringing of elves to southern Ithilien, the ones that accompanied the king and his two friends were almost immediately held by the men with reserve and uncertain scrutiny. There was something different about these elves. Something deep and mysterious that set them slightly apart from the warrior prince and the Lady Arwen, or any other elf they had ever come to meet or know.
They rode along silently on borrowed horses from the king's stables, all dressed in long, flowing cloaks of dark grey. To any they appeared just like any other elf one might happen to meet in Middle-earth: tall, beautiful beings gifted with eternal youth and unflawed grace, their eyes shining with the untold wisdom of their many long years. But there was something else hidden beneath these elves' calm, mysterious facades that the men could not quite name or describe and made them revere them with an extra certain amount of respect and caution.
A mysterious, disconcerting air seemed to surround them, as if they were from another world set totally apart from the one in which they now roamed. One that whispered of dark and ancient things that the minds of mortal men would never know or hope to understand.
But while King Elessar's personal escort of guards felt a certain, unexplainable wariness towards these strange, immortal beings of mystery and beauty, there was nothing with which to justify these unwarranted feelings of apprehension and suspicion on. So they spoke nothing of it, and only dutifully followed their lord deeper into the wilds, prepared to protect and defend him from any and all unknown dangers that might arise in the course of their mysterious quest.
Aragorn glanced over his shoulder towards the ranks of White Guards following in orderly rank at the rear of their small traveling party. Swivelling back around in his saddle, he heaved a heavy sigh under his breath. He hadn't wanted to bring an escort of guards with him on this quest. Even if it was for his own protection. He didn't want to get anyone else involved in this sudden chaotic whirlwind of ancient prophecies, returning Dark Lords, or reincarnated saviors that had so suddenly turned his, Legolas', Gimli's, and unknowingly possibly everyone else in Arda's life upside down barely even a day before. But there had been no other way for him to leave the white city of Minas Tirith without taking a small troop of guards with him.
He had left his Steward, Faramir, in charge of matters before he had set out earlier that morning with Legolas, Gimli and his strange new host of traveling companions on their dangerous quest to stop the return of the Dark Lord Melkor. But even that had not been enough to stop many of his advisors from protesting to the king's decision to suddenly get up and leave Minas Tirith to go out into the wilds with no explanation to them as to where he planned to go or what he planned to do..
As king of Gondor with yet no male heirs to take his up throne should something unexpected happen to him, Aragorn had found himself almost obligated to at least take with him an escort of guards. Many of his advisors had even suggested that he should not be allowed to go at all by the statute of the laws that were in place, such being the possibility of Gondor once again being ruled by an empty throne and a residing Steward ruling in the king's place. But in the end, who could argue with the king?
So Aragorn left.
The man again glanced back over his shoulder towards him men. He really hadn't wanted to bring them with him. It was enough that he and Gimli had offered to accompany Legolas on this dangerous quest the elven prince had felt compelled to go on with these strange elves from across the sea without involving the lives of any other innocent people. For he remembered well where Elendwë said they would have to go and what they would have to do to stop the Coming of the End...
"We must travel to Mordor," Elendwë had said the night he and his band of men had saved Legolas from being kidnaped by members of an ancient elven cult of Melkor's followers known as the Brotherhood, "That is where the Final Battle between Melkor and Fëaglin is prophesied to take place. When the Dark Lord was defeated by Fëaglin in the first Great Battle and shut away in the Great Void, his servant Sauron was meant to somehow find a way to return his Lord to Arda.
"This Sauron at first did. But as he grew in strength and influence and desired more and more power and control for himself, he began to realize he did not want to return his master to the world and once again become the servant, and so abandoned his quest to free Melkor from the Void. But although he did not fulfill his master's last command to somehow restore him back to the world, Sauron did not destroy the means by which he had found he could do such a thing.
"Deep beneath the base of Sauron's fortress-tower of Barad-dûr he built an endless maze of tunnels, chambers, and dungeons. It was there in those dark underground places he created his armies of demons, Orcs, and goblins, and tortured and killed those that stood against him. But it was also there he built a secret gateway through which his master might pass through to return to this world.
"It is this gateway that we must destroy. For if we do not, Melkor will find a way to open it and escape the Void. Everyday his power grows stronger and the bonds holding him to the darkness grow weaker. It will not be long before he finally breaks through the portal his servant Sauron left behind and return to this world."
"But Barad-dûr was destroyed with the defeat of Sauron and the destruction of the One Ring," Legolas had pointed out that night, "How could this gateway have survived the tower's collapse?"
"It did, young one," Elendwë assured him gravely, "Otherwise you would not be able to feel the Dark Lord's power slowly growing, and there would be no way for Melkor to escape his prison of darkness to return to this world here with. Sauron built Barad- dûr's underground labyrinth of tunnels and dungeon long and deep, like the roots of a giant Mallorn tree. The gateway survived. And this is what the Brotherhood is trying to keep us from destroying. It is how they plan to restore their Lord to this world. And what you, Fëaglin, must see that they do not accomplish..."
Aragorn shook his head, breaking himself out of his thoughts. Even now, the memory of that night's revelations made Aragorn feel as if his head was wreathed in a thick cloud of ancient magic. Glancing back over his shoulder again, the man stared at the one whom these mysterious elves they traveled towards the dark lands of Mordor with called Fëaglin. The one who was said to be the reincarnated spirit of the One that had defeated Melkor in the final battle between the Dark Vala and the Lords of the West over six millennia ago, and who was now suppose to save all of Middle-earth from the Dark Lord's return. The one who had traveled in the company of the Fellowship during the War of the Ring six years before, and the one who Aragorn had known and held as one of his closest friends now for many a long years...
"Tell me. Is it true what Elendwë said last night – that you are an archer?" Legolas tentatively spoke up and asked as he glanced over to his right at one of the elves riding beside him and protectively ensconcing him and Gimli within their ranks. Though he was not one known to make idle small talk, Legolas felt he needed to somehow break the slightly unnerving silence he and the rest of his company had been traveling in since first leaving Minas Tirith earlier that morning.
The elf in question that Legolas spoke to was of a beautiful, dark, chestnut brown hair coloring that shined subdued reddish highlights in the waning evening light. His eyes were like two deep, reflective pools of liquid grey. Gelion, Legolas thought he remembered the elf's name to be from his earlier introductions to Elendwë and the rest of his company the night before when he had been rescued from his attempted kidnappers.
The elf slowly turned his head towards Legolas and gave him a gentle smile. "Yes. I have some skill with the bow. But nothing of any great talent to boast about," he replied, his words flowing in a rich, golden string of syllables all heavily accented with the beautiful prosody of ancient Quenya.
"Surely Elendwë would not have mentioned your skills if they were not of some great talent and advantage to have you with him," Legolas said.
"They have been proven worthy for this great mission we have been entrusted with, but I do not assume to speak haughtily of them," Gelion once again humbly replied.
Legolas felt himself begin to regard his mysterious fellow archer with a growing sense of admiration and respect at this. If there was one thing Legolas hated was a person that boasted ostentatiously about his own personal skills. "Perhaps then you would be willing to demonstrate your archery skills for me sometime soon. For I am eager to see what mastery of the bow your leader has brought with him across the sea."
Gelion nodded his head solemnly to Legolas at this, some unreadable emotion now shining in his ancient grey eyes. "Do not worry..." he said softly, holding Legolas' eyes gravely with his own as if imparting some deadly secret to the woodland prince, "For I fear before our quest is done, you will see my skills put to the test first hand. And much sooner than you may think..."
Legolas stared at the other dark haired elf for several seconds as if trying to decide what Gelion might have meant by such a cryptic message. But he was quickly forced to turn his attention to other matters as he felt his dwarven riding companion agitatedly shift behind him and grumble something inaudible under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes.
"Gimli, what is wrong with you?" Legolas demanded, half turning in his seat to look back at his friend out of the corner of his eye, "You have been acting like you have been riding with a burr under your saddle ever since we left Minas Tirith. Whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing," the dwarf grumbled hotly under his breath, not looking up to meet his friend's concerned gaze. Legolas however did not appear convinced by his friend's answer and only continued to expectantly stare at the dwarf out of the corner of his eyes until finally the stout little warrior gave an exasperated sigh of resignation and elaborated saying: "That blasted elf won't stop staring at me."
Legolas followed Gimli's irritated gaze up past Aragorn towards the head of the group where Elendwë and his second in command, Larlossë, rode side by side leading the column of riders deeper into the north-eastern wilds of Gondor towards their ultimate destination of Mordor. As the elven prince turned to look, he managed to catch Larlossë looking back over his shoulder in his and Gimli's direction before then swiftly turning back around in his seat to stare ahead again, his long, golden hair lashing the air sharply as he did so. Legolas did not fail to note the look of clear disdain shining in the other elf's eyes before he turned away, or the contemptuous snarl pulling at the corner of his lips.
A low growl rumbled somewhere deep inside the dwarf's throat.
Legolas had to stifle the burst of laughter that threatened to explode from his lips at the sight of the silent exchange.
"What's so funny, elf?" Gimli demanded, glaring up at the back of his best friend's head, "He's been doing that ever since we left Minas Tirith. If he doesn't stop giving me those nasty little looks soon, I swear I'm gonna–"
"Ai, Gimli!" Legolas begged, quickly cutting off the dwarf's tirade, his voice suspiciously wavery as if he were struggling to keep his composure. But try as he might, the elven prince was unable to contain his laughter any longer as he gave a quick look back over his shoulder and saw the disgruntled look pulled across his friend's face. "I am sorry, my friend," he finally managed to get out after a moment, "It is just that I cannot help but notice how much you and our new companion here are acting much like the way you and I did when we first set out together from Rivendell as members of the Fellowship."
"What are you talking about, elf? We never traded such evil looks with one another," Gimli grunted.
"Are you sure?" Legolas quired, "When we first set out together I remember us doing little else but trade evil looks with one another until we finally decided to become friends in Lothlorien."
Gimli quieted for a moment and seemed to reflect back on his and Legolas' infamous first month together as an elf and dwarf suddenly forced to work and travel together as members of the Fellowship of the Ring. Needless to say, their first few weeks had been filled with racial slurs, prejudice remarks, biting cynicism, stinging comments, evil looks, and even one or two incidences of all out verbal warfare that had bordered just along the lines of breaking out into physical combat before Aragorn or one of the others had intervened. It had been a miracle they had survived each other, let alone come to actually accept each other's differences and look past their races' prejudices to eventually form one of the strongest bonds of friendship anyone had ever seen before in Middle-earth.
"Emm... I suppose you're right..." the dwarf finally gave a reluctant grunt of agreement, "It wasn't easy putting up with you those first few weeks – you and your strange elven ways. It's still sometimes a wonder to me how I managed to put up with you all these years."
"The same way I learned to put up with you and your strange dwarven ways," Legolas retorted with a smile, easily falling into their familiar pattern of banter and light-hearted insults. "Do not worry, Master Dwarf, for I am sure it is only because of whatever ignorant, misguided prejudices my kindred from across the sea might hold for the stouter race of Dwarves that make Larlosse act the way he does towards you. I am sure in all due time Larlossë will come to appreciate your idiosyncrasies just like I did all those years ago, and come to see you as a valuable friend and ally."
Legolas felt more than saw or heard Gimli give a small, contemplative nod of agreement at this before then leaning out a little to the side to see around Legolas and gaze up towards the mysterious blonde haired elf riding at the head of the group beside his dark haired companion. Legolas paused for a moment as Gimli did this before then playfully remarked to his riding companion, "Perhaps though if you chose not to aggravate Larlossë by returning his icy stares with some of your own, you might be able to hasten a friendly working relationship between you two much faster than what you and I first did..."
Gimli snorted. "And you expect me to do this when my mere presence here aggravates him... He clearly doesn't like me," he noted acidly.
Legolas chuckled softly to himself under his breath. "Ah, my friend, your presence sometimes manages to aggravate even me, so do not let that minor fact discourage you from making peace with our new friend here. He will probably even prove to be the one that makes sure you return to Minas Tirith in one piece. So it would probably be to your best advantage not to upset the one that might end up eventually saving your life before this mission is done."
Legolas waited for a moment expecting to hear some kind of defensive retort at this from Gimli about a dwarf's ability to take care of himself and not needing to rely on the protection of anyone else – especially that of an elf. But when no such remark ever came, he became slightly worried and turned halfway around in his seat to make sure all was right with his friend. The expression he saw though on the dwarf's face immediately made him blurt out in a slightly defensive way, "What?" For Gimli sat staring at him with a contemplative, musing look on his bearded face, as if he had been suddenly struck by some sudden random thought that made him give pause and think.
"What? What is it?" Legolas again demanded, starting to become somewhat uncomfortable and annoyed by the dwarf's quiet scrutiny of him.
"I'm sorry," Gimli said, finally shaking himself out of his thoughts. "It's just that this is the first time I think I've seen you really talking and acting like yourself in a good many weeks now."
"What do you mean?" the elven prince demanded.
"Just that you have been acting a little bit strangely as of late. Well, more strangely than usual for an elf, I suppose, but still..."
"Well, I cannot say the last few days have been without their stress for me," Legolas quickly retorted, feeling as if he somehow had to defend himself at this, "Do not forget it was only last night that some mysterious group of elves were trying to kill me. I think I am justified in being allowed to act a little bit more strangely than usual after surviving such an encounter."
"No, that's not it," Gimli said, shaking his head, "There's something else about you... Something I really can't explain, but what I noticed the first moment I met up with you back in Minas Tirith for the festival – even before this whole mess of psychotic Elves trying to kidnap you, and these ones trying to convince you you're the reincarnation of some elf that supposedly helped defeat Melkor. I can't explain it. It's like something about you's changed, and you know it, but you're still trying to pretend like nothing's wrong..."
"Nothing is wrong with me, Gimli," Legolas retorted, starting to get rather defensive. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you that?"
"I want to believe you, lad, but I'm just not quite sure what to believe anymore after all that's happened in only the last few days. You said you were fine after you fainted at the festival. And then you said you were fine after almost being killed by some group of fanatical Elves. But deep down I know you're not fine. I can see it in your eyes. I want to help you, lad, but you've been acting so strange lately I just can't help but feel as if I don't know you anymore..."
Legolas did not know how to respond to this, and the two friends continued to ride on in uncomfortable silence. The elf's mind spun with troubling and unwanted thoughts. Up until now he had tried to suppress his growing feelings of unease and distress from becoming noticeable to anyone else around him. But now Gimli said he had also noticed something out of place with the elven prince, as if he were slowly changing into someone else. How many other people also suspected his troubles and this growing sense of unsurety and self-doubt he had for himself and his very sense of personal identity? Could he really pretend any more that there wasn't something wrong? Or that there wasn't something unexplainable changing somewhere deep inside him that made him suddenly feel as if he had to fight to stay the same elf he had always been?
The appearances of the mysterious elven cult that had tried to kidnap him and Elendwë and his men the night before certainly confirmed something was stirring in Middle-earth. Something that's evil that had managed to spread across the sea unto the very shores of Aman in the West.
But was he really this Fëaglin these elves searched for? The one they said was the only one that could prevent the Dark Lord's return?
Despite even his disturbing dreams as of late and the growing sense of unease he felt in the land, Legolas didn't think so. There were many other elves in Middle-earth that had felt the same unnerving tension growing in the air as he had for the past several months now, and the same dark, foreboding presence of some unknown evil lurking somewhere just on the edge of their subconscious. What made him so special that made these elves think he was the reincarnation of some ancient elven warrior that helped defeat the Dark Lord Melkor? Surely there was some other more worthy candidate there in Middle-earth... Some other elf that was the one these elves from across the sea truly searched for...
But Legolas did not get a chance to ponder his situation or self-made list of personal inadequacies any longer as a sudden shout the front of the line drew the small caravan of riders back to a halt in the center of a small, grassy clearing nestled deep within the surrounding forest under the shadow of one of the large, dark mountains rearing up over the treetops in the near distance.
"We shall stop and camp here for the night," Elendwë called back to the other men behind him, "Dusk is approaching and we must secure a safe camp before nightfall." Shifting uneasily on his horse's back, the tall, dark haired elf then shifted his ancient grey eyes away from those behind him to scan the surrounding area of trees and hills. Beside him, Elendwë's blonde haired companion mirrored his leader's actions and nervously fingered the hilt of his sword hanging by his side.
"What is it? Is something the matter?" Aragorn asked as his guards began to dismount behind him and go about the task of setting up camp for the night. Ever since leaving Minas Tirith earlier that morning and heading off the well-beaten roads for the untamed wilds north-east of the city, Aragorn had noticed Elendwë and LarlossË become more and more uneasy and tense as the day progressed. Several times now he had caught them softly whispering to each other in hushed ancient Quenya at the head of the line, or saw them nervously scan the surrounding area. For with every passing mile they traveled closer to the dark, foreboding mountain range of Ephel Duath in the distance, the two elves seemed to tense and go on guard at the slightest hint of movement or sound in the forest around them as if expecting at any moment a surprise attack on their group.
Elendwë slowly reigned his piercing grey eyes back in from scanning the surrounding landscape to once more focus on the mortal king before him. "We are being followed," he whispered softly under his breath, the fair, lilting notes of his heavily-accented voice nevertheless easily reaching Aragorn's mortal ears, "And by the Brotherhood no less..." At Aragorn's sharp intake of alarm at this, the elf calmly added, "Do not worry though. They seem to be keeping their distance for now. I doubt they would risk an open attack on us with so many guards in our company. If anything, they will try to sneak in under the cover of night and kidnap Fëaglin from us again..."
"I will have my men stand watch tonight," Aragorn almost immediately offered, "I do not want any attacks on our camp. Especially if they are directly after Legolas. Though he is a skilled warrior by anyone's standards, I have already seen what underhanded methods of attack these elves used to try and capture him with the last time. I do not want to see him hurt again or worse..." he then softly whispered under his breath as he gave a quick but noticeable glance back over his shoulder in the direction of said elven prince who stood off on the other side of the clearing helping one of Aragorn's guards start a small fire in the middle of what would soon be their camp for the night.
"Neither do we," Elendwë agreed solemnly, "It is our mission to see to it that the prophesy is fulfilled as it should be. If Fëaglin is somehow injured or captured before we reach Mordor, than all hope of victory will be lost... We cannot let the Brotherhood get him." With that thus said, the dark-haired elf then turned and softly nudged his horse over in the direction of his fellow elves standing on the other side of the clearing inspecting some of the surrounding trees and softly whispering to each other in ancient Quenya. Larlossë quickly spurred his mount after his departing leader, leaving the mortal king alone in the middle of the small clearing.
Left with only himself and his troubled thoughts, the man gave a soft sigh and once again glanced over his shoulder towards his elven companion and friend. Legolas had by now finished helping build the fire and moved on to tend to his horse near the edge of the clearing. As he watched the prince go about removing his packs from the great white stallion's back, he couldn't help but notice several of the mysterious elves accompanying their small group also staring in Legolas' direction, their ancient eyes carefully following the prince's every movement as if making sure he didn't stray out of sight and into danger. Danger like the Brotherhood who was said to be somewhere very close nearby. Watching. Waiting for the next opportunity to strike.
Ai, my friend... I hope you know what you got yourself and the rest of us into... Aragorn silently whispered to his friend. And with that, the man then turned to prepare himself for the night ahead.
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The sun had long since set, leaving the sky a boundless black expanse of star-studded darkness. Ithil's silvery white face hung high in the heavens overhead and illuminated the darkened land below in a pale ghostly glow. Fire burned brightly in the center of camp, casting long, dark shadows across the ground. Occasionally a log or branch would snap in the belly of the dancing flames and send small popping sprays of fiery hot embers shooting up into the air where they lazily drifted and swirled in the gentle nighttime breeze before then swiftly winking out of existence.
A certain quiet seemed to hang in the air. The one that signaled the start of night and the natural time of day for all of Eru's creation to seek rest in the darkness. The small camp, now settled and secured, began to prepare for the night ahead. Many of those not charged with first watch for the night had already begun to drift away towards their individual bedrolls, ready to seek rest now that they had been properly fed and relieved of any immediate duty. Those that remained however did not show any signs of retiring for the night.
Huddling around the outskirts of the burning campfire sat several dark figures, their features brightly lit by the flickering orange glow of the crackling fire. None seemed to possess any desire for conversation and sat there in silence as they quietly stared down into the fire as if hypnotized by the dancing orange flames. As the extra guards not charged with watch for the night began to slowly drift away one by one into the blissful realm of sleep, an almost oppressive stillness seemed to settle in over the camp, the only sounds to break the silence being the soft chirping of crickets and summer insects and the crackling pop of fire.
As the moon continued its gentle arch over the sleeping land below, one of the figures moved forward to add some more wood to the fire. As several more branches were added to the already roaring fire, the figure once more took his seat on the edge of its circle of warmth and watched as a small plume of fiery embers shot up into the air as the logs settled into place alongside the already burning pieces. Illuminated by the small surge of light generated by the added kindling, the pale tired features of Legolas Greenleaf came into view.
Drawn and weary, the elven prince stared distantly down into the dancing flames, watching as they hungrily consumed his fresh offering of wood. Sighing almost inaudibly under his breath Legolas tiredly drug a hand through his thick golden mane and hung his head down his chest.
"Elf, you're exhausted. Go to bed already. You look like you're about to pass out."
Legolas tiredly raised his head up off his chest and looked at his companion who sat there close beside him to his right smoking on long pipe filled with pungent smelling pipeweed. "I am fine, Gimli," he retorted sharply, looking away from his friend back down into the dancing orange flames of the fire, "I just do not feel like retiring for the evening just yet."
"You might want to consider doing what Gimli suggested though, Legolas," the elf's other fireside companion, Aragorn, said from the other side of the fire, "We need you to be sharp and alert, and you look like you could greatly benefit from a full night's rest."
As much as Legolas wanted to try and pretend he was fine and not in such desperate need of sleep as he knew his friend's knew he was, the man's mere mention of sleep had an almost seductive sounding allure to it and seemed to instantly remind him once again just how tired he really was.
His eyes felt gritty and dry, his eyelids heavy, and his whole body sluggish and weak as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He felt like he hadn't slept in ages. And in truth, that wasn't very far from the truth. He hadn't had a proper night's rest in over two months. Ever since the onset of his reoccurring nightmares, Legolas felt like he was in an almost perpetual state of exhaustion and fatigue. His latest encounter with frightening, wraith like apparitions at the Gondorian festival and then his attempted kidnaping later that same night in the palace gardens the day before were not helping matters much at all either. With all the stress and fatigue he was battling, it seemed almost a miracle he had not yet succumbed to exhaustion.
But as tired as Legolas was, he couldn't seem to convince himself to seek rest. Sleep was no longer the peaceful escape it once was for him. No longer could he trust himself to walk in elven dreamscapes without his dreams suddenly becoming warped, frightening images filled with fire and destruction that were not of his own making.
"I would not feel right not taking my turn standing watch this first night," he weakly protested, looking for any excuse not to have to subject himself to seeking rest just yet even though he knew his body so desperately yearned for it, "It is because of me we are all out here anyway..."
"Do not be foolish, Legolas," Aragorn admonished, "There is no need for you to stand watch. Especially when you are in such obvious need of rest. I already have several of my guards standing watch. No one will attack us tonight. You will be safe."
At this, the last member of their little circle sitting there around the campfire finally spoke up, his fair, heavily accented voice carrying like music in the gentle silence of the night. "Your friend is right," Elendwë said, his ancient grey eyes shining like two endless pools of liquid silver in the flickering campfire light as he stared back into Legolas' eyes, as if he were looking down deep inside him to his core, "You should go seek rest. It is obvious you are weary and in need of sleep. Plus I would not advise you standing watch tonight or any other. It is you our enemies are after and they would readily take advantage of you standing watch by yourself. Do not worry. My men are also standing watch. We will not let Thalion or the Brotherhood attack you while you sleep. Go, rest. You will be safe."
Trying to fight the intense wave of weariness that seemed to instantly wash over his mind and body at the insistent urging of his friends, Legolas hesitated. Part of him still wanted to stubbornly remind them yet again that he was fine and in need of no one's protection while he slept. But with one quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of his empty bedroll laying just outside the small circle of light radiating out into the darkness from burning campfire, almost any other protest or excuse Legolas still might have tried to make seemed to instantly vanish from mind.
He was so tired and his bedroll looked so inviting. He knew somewhere far back in the darkest regions of his mind he still feared experiencing one of his reoccurring nightmares again, but his body's demands for rest were starting to become too much for him to ignore any longer without him knowingly jeopardizing his alertness and wit to fight in battle should an attack suddenly come. He would have to face his unspoken fears. Ones that were now somewhat heightened now that he finally knew the cause and source of the horrifying, blood-stained images of death and destruction he was forced to see night after night in his dreams.
If he could just get a few hours of sleep, he knew he would be able to face anything that came at him next with a clear head and better sense of control. Up until now, he had felt like some kind of helpless rag doll caught up and tossed around in some wild, swirling tempest of mystery and danger. If he could only get some sleep he knew he would be able to deal with the threat of this mysterious elven cult trying to kill him and his apparent responsibility as the reincarnated spirit of an ancient warrior to stop the Dark Lord Melkor's return.
Glancing around, Legolas noted several White Guards standing watch at different points around the small clearing. It should be safe for him to sleep, he told himself. Aragorn's guards and Elendwë's men were there. Surely he should be able to find a few hours rest without the incessant worrying of some faceless band of darkly cloaked elves trying to kidnap him again...
"I still do not feel right not helping with the protection of the camp, but I will relent to your suggestions nonetheless since it seems you will not let me do otherwise," he said, slowly pulling himself up onto his feet from his place near the fire. "I bid you all a good night," he then said with a small bow of the head.
"As to you," Elendwë replied as he too gracefully stood, "I must see now to some matters with my men. May you sleep well tonight, Fëaglin..." he said, nodding to Legolas before then quickly turning from the three friends and blended away into the night before any of them actually saw him go.
Legolas stood for a moment staring after the black haired elf. Somehow he couldn't help but wonder if Elendwë's presence with them at the fire for most of the evening was because of himself being there. Even after most of the White Guards had drifted away to sleep or to stand watch and the rest of Elendwë's men had seemingly disappeared into the night to supposedly keep watch over the camp, the mysterious elf had stayed with Aragorn, himself, and Gimli by the fire. Had Elendwë stayed there with them merely to keep a protective eye over him? It seemed like it. For it felt somewhat strange to Legolas that it was only after he finally agreed to retire for the night that the dark haired elf decided to separate himself from their little group and return to the company of his mysterious kin.
"Are you alright, Legolas?" the elven prince suddenly heard Aragorn ask, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts.
"Yes, I'm fine," he replied with a sigh, "It's just that he called me Fëaglin and not by my real name..."
"Well, those elves think you're really this Fëa-whoever it is their looking for..." Gimli said with a grunt, exhaling a large cloud of smoke out from around his pipe and staring in the direction Elendwë had just disappeared. Slowly turning his gaze back up at Legolas and studying the elf's face for a moment, the dwarf then tentatively asked, "You don't think you're really who they say you are, do you?"
Legolas heaved a weary sigh. "We've already been through this Gimli. I do not know if I am the one they truly search for or not, but I do know for a fact deep down inside me that I must somehow help them. I can feel Melkor's darkness growing stronger more and more everyday and know that he will soon break free from the Void just like they say he will. It is just that I do not know what they expect of me when we finally reach Mordor or if I will even be able to do anything at all... I just do not know what to do anymore..." he sighed, the weariness and confusion of his mission weighing heavily on his mind, body, and heart.
"It's alright, Legolas, you do not have to justify your actions or decision to go on this mission with us," Aragorn said, also pulling himself up to stand, "Just know that we are here to help you no matter what..." Walking around the fire to stand beside his confused and exhausted friend, the man gently laid a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Why don't you go to bed, Legolas," he softly suggested, nodding over in the direction of his friend's bedroll, "Like Elendwë said, you will be well protected tonight. No one will attack us."
Legolas sighed wearily, trying to force a wan smile on his face. But somehow even that seemed too much for the tired elf to muster. "Thank you, Aragorn," he softly whispered, "I believe you are right... A good night's rest would do me well... I have had so little of it lately, and after all that's happened, I feel as if I could sleep until noon tomorrow..."
Aragorn said nothing and only nodded his head in reply. Looking closely at the elf's drawn and weary face, the man suddenly had to wonder if he would ever have the lively, carefree elf he once had as his friend back again. This Legolas standing before him was different from the elf he once knew. This one was filled with tension and dread. Fear that did not belong there and a great sense of responsibility he felt was not Legolas' to bear. Somehow, no matter what Elendwë and his companions said, Aragorn could not bring himself to actual believe the elf he had fought beside and shed blood, sweat, and tears with over the many long years of their friendship together was the one these elves from across the sea believed was the reincarnated spirit of this legendary prophesied One who was said to have defeated the Dark Lord, Melkor, in a great, ancient battle over six thousand years ago, and was now said to be the only one able to stop the end of the world...
He knew and loved Legolas as only a close friend and brother could. And though Legolas was a brave and courageous warrior he would entrust his life to without even a second thought, the story of him being the reincarnated spirit of some ancient elven warrior powerful enough to defeat one of the Valar single-handedly was just too much for Aragorn to swallow. There was no way Legolas could be who they said he was... The mere implications of such a thing actually being true were just too much for the man's mind to comprehend. Who and what it meant his friend really was if they were right... It was just too much...
Aragorn surreptitiously studied the prince out of the corner of his eye. He could visibly see the effects of the elf's situation beginning to weigh down on his friend's face and features. Dark circles ringed Legolas' normally bright and vibrant eyes which now seemed to shine as dull and lifeless as unpolished jewels. His shoulders seemed to sag as if he carried some invisible, heavy burden on them. The elf looked tired and worn. And for the first time in Aragorn's memory of his long friendship with the elven prince, Legolas looked weary and old, his once bright and ageless face now heavily shadowed with the countless years of his immortal existence.
Aragorn had to wonder if the elf he once knew would ever return.
"I must speak to the captain of my guards before I retire for the night," he said, still sadly surveying the devastation exhaustion and stress had wrought on his friend's face, "May you sleep well tonight, my friend. I will see you in the morning."
Legolas nodded his head before then looking over at his dwarven companion. "Will you also be retiring soon, Gimli?" he asked.
"Perhaps in awhile. I want to finish my pipe first. AulË only knows when the next time I'll be able to get a good smoke of pipeweed after we cross into that accursed land of Mordor tomorrow."
Legolas once again did not answer and only silently nodded his head in acceptance. "I will see you both in the morn' then," he said, turning in the direction of his bedroll laying somewhere beyond the small halo of light radiating out from the fire into the darkness. "Goodnight." And then he was gone, melting away from sight like a ghost into the night.
Aragorn and Gimli both stared after the retreating elf for a long moment of silence, the same unspoken uneasiness stirring in the pit of their hearts at the prince's abrupt departure. Though neither said anything to the other, they both knew what the other was thinking. There was something troubling happening to their elven friend... Something that was slowly becoming more and more noticeable to them with every passing day in the warrior prince's waning personality and demeanor. They could only hope a good night's rest might somehow help restore their friend back to his former self...
Legolas, however, was unaware of his friend's growing concerns for him, and tiredly trudged towards his waiting bed roll. He was so fixed on reaching the comfort of his sleeping mat that he barely even registered the glances cast his way by several of the guards standing watch around camp as he slowly walked past.
Finally reaching his and Gimli's bedrolls, whose mat lay close besides his own, the elf quickly stripped himself of his long knives and laid them close beside his sleeping mat within easy reach should he suddenly need them at some point during the night. Then, with no more grace than if he had just collapsed where he stood, the elven prince dropped down onto his sleeping mat and stretched himself out across the ground, drew a blanket over himself and made himself comfortable.
Within mere seconds Legolas felt his eyes already beginning to grow distant and unfocused. I must have been more exhausted than what I was willing to admit even to myself...he thought distantly as he felt himself slowly slip away into elven sleep. Perhaps now I will finally be able to find rest... And with that, Legolas dropped away from the waking world into the peaceful land of elven dreams, unaware of the lurking danger hiding somewhere just beyond the edge of camp in the dark shadows of the night...
"He is finally asleep. Go prepare the men..."
"Do we really plan to attack him with so many others there with him? They will surely try to protect him..."
"Kill them. No one else except the One is to make it out of that camp alive. Our Master's power is growing stronger every day. The Second Coming is near. We must hurry and seize the One before he allowed to fulfill his part of the prophesy."
"But those with Fëaglin outnumber us more than three to one... Even we cannot hope to defeat that many Fírimar by ourselves..."
There was a small contemplative pause.
"No one but Fëaglin must escape that clearing alive... Summon the Deathscrys..."
To Be Continued...
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Fírimar – 'Mortals', one of the Elvish names for Men.