Disclaimer: All Tolkien's except the OCs and the rampant speculation.
Chapter VII: The Journey West
"Quiet!" hissed Luinmir, and Legolas fell back, silent. Luinmir stood absolutely still, obviously listening for something—Legolas knew not what, until he heard the faint but recognizable twitch of a spider's leg in a tree not far away. With one rapid motion Legolas drew and shot. From the sound of arrow meeting flesh, Legolas knew that his shot had gone into the spider's underbelly as intended.
"Come," he said, and he and Luinmir made their way back to their camp, watching the sun sink over the trees on Mirkwood's borders, its colors deep and blood-rich. They had been traveling for a few days short of a fortnight, and were now halting for rest upon reaching the western edge of the Wood.
Rohiril hailed them as they reached the camp. "Is there no danger, then?"
"None, save a stray spider," answered Legolas.
"That is good," she said, her dark eyes nonetheless darting to and fro in vigilance. "Our hunt was successful—Tathar is preparing the meal." She gestured over to where Tathar was bending over a campfire.
Legolas sat down and leaned against a tree trunk with a sigh. Drowsily he stared at the fire, keeping himself on the very edge of reverie, but without truly slipping into his dreams. He had perfected this knack in his long years fighting the Shadow, and he took a perverse delight in testing how close to the dream-world he could come before losing awareness of his surroundings.
A sharp noise jolted him back to the immediate reality. In a flash the four Elves were on their feet, arrows pointed in the direction of the sound.
"Worry not, my friends!" came a voice that was merry and yet foggy, as if the speaker's mind were somewhere else altogether.
"Radagast!" cried Legolas, rushing forward. The brown-clad Istar stumbled towards the Elves, beaming at them all.
"And it has been too long a time since I have seen you, son of Thranduil, or the King either!"
"Indeed it has," said Legolas warmly.
"And you, young Rohiril—how are you, and your honored foremother?"
Her answer was long, and made still longer by Radagast's persistent questions. Rohiril was of the Avari, and Radagast took a great interest in their doings. The Istar would be especially keen to hear of Rohiril's family, Legolas knew. For her oldest ancestress was one of the Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen ere the coming of Tauron, and knew the near-forgotten lore of the ancient Quendi.
"Our meal is near ready," said Tathar. "You must stay and eat with us, Radagast the Brown."
"With a good will," said Radagast heartily, and then added with haste: "No flesh meat, of course."
"Naturally," said Rohiril with a grin. "The forest here is fruitful and we gathered berries and roots as well as game, so you are fortunate."
They gathered round the fire to eat from the pot, jesting and reminiscing, for Radagast was an old friend to the Elves of the Woodland Realm.
"Where do you journey, Radagast?" asked Legolas. "Do you return to Rhosgobel?"
"Nay," said Radagast with a sigh. "I return nowhere. I come here to speak to a few of my creature friends, and then I move on to speak to others. Strange things are afoot, dangerous things, and I have little leisure in these troubled times."
Luinmir began to press Radagast for more news of these "strange things," but Radagast fended him off with vague answers, using many words to say very little. Legolas favored the Istar with a keen and thoughtful stare. Whatever troubled Radagast was likely to be somehow related, however distantly, to the cause of Thranduil's worries. A swift and quiet darkness was spreading through Ennor, no longer menacing just one land or the other. Legolas wondered if Radagast planned to share any knowledge of the Enemy's doings with Thranduil, and regretted that he was unlikely to have a chance to speak to the Istar alone to find out what he could. He comforted himself with the thought that Radagast was not Mithrandir and would likely tell Thranduil something, if not everything.
Of a sudden Legolas caught Rohiril's eye. The elf-woman was holding a squirrel, whispering in its ear.
Rohiril was gifted beyond measure in the care of horses, and because of that skill she was known to Mirkwood as horse-mistress, which was her usual occupation although she had skill with the bow. Yet with other beasts she also had skills that, while not as strong as her connection to horses, were still greater than those of most Wood-elves. Legolas knew that she could speak with creatures and learn from them nearly as well as the most talented of the Nandor. She was, he could tell from what he heard, using the creature to communicate with her family.
An innocent act, and yet Legolas could not help feeling uneasy about it. He was as certain of Rohiril's honor as of his own and knew she would do nothing unworthy. So why this suspicion?
Perhaps, Legolas thought suddenly, Adar is using her to keep informed of my safety?
That thought certainly made Legolas uneasy, yet as soon as he thought it he knew it was wrong. Rohiril would not consent to spying on a long-time comrade, even for her lord and king. Such deceit was beyond her, for her nature was as direct, as clear and as forceful as a swift, straight-flowing stream. And if Thranduil wished to be constantly aware that Legolas was safe, the Elven-king was well able to simply command his son to send messages through the creatures himself. Legolas could not communicate with them as well as Rohiril, but he was skilled in that art nonetheless. Thranduil had no need to resort to espionage, concealment and subterfuge.
So what, then, could account for his feeling of unrest? Rohiril's talents had never troubled him before. Legolas could find no reason for his worry, and dismissed it as best as he could from his mind. Yet he resolved to closely watch Rohiril's communications with the birds and the beasts nonetheless.
Radagast left them in the night, and for a few hours the Elves slept, taking the watch in turns. Then they moved on, crossing the Great River and beginning their climb through the Misty Mountains. The journey to Elrond's valley was an arduous one, particularly when going over the Mountains. But the Wood-elves dexterously avoided the gravest perils; they were beset by Orcs twice, but the Orcs were in small numbers both times, and the Elves overcame them without difficulty.
In good time they were on the other side of the Mountains. The paths leading down into the valley were narrow, and stony and steep in parts, but Legolas and Rohiril remembered their way from past visits to their western kindred.
And so they traveled on, finding the way easy after the rough climb. At last they saw from a distance the beeches and oaks that peppered the valley of Elrond, and heard the soft far-off rustle of Elves about their business, and knew they were well nigh upon Imladris at last.
TBC
A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating—Real Life plus Summer Laziness isn't good for fanfic. But expect the next update very soon, within the next few days—I'm looking to finish this story in the first week of September or so.
List of OCs:
Luinmir and Tathar: Elves of Legolas's patrol.
Rohiril: Mirkwood Elf of Avari descent
Responses to Reviewers:
Daw the Minstrel: Yes, I do see Thranduil's relationship with Legolas as complex--Thranduil himself is complex, after all, and I wouldn't call Legolas straightforward or simple either. And I like to think that Thranduil is mischievous. In The Hobbit he seems to have a sense of humor and I just think anyone who likes Wood-elves has to have a streak of mischief in them. And yeah, I added the lines between sections--thanks again!
Lamiel: I had a tough time figuring out Thranduil's inner thoughts, so I'm glad you found them logical. I thought Legolas was annoyed because he thought Thranduil was going to be pushily and intrusively concerned for his well-being, but we were in Thranduil's head, so really it could be anything.
Do you consider your fics angsty? Because I read In the Deep Places (reviewed under the pen-name of Portia since I started it before I registered) and loved it. I guess what I don't like is gratuitous angst, where the author seems to be reveling in all the suffering and guilt and Elf-torture to the point where it gets self-indulgent. And it's tough for me to write angst because I'm scared of crossing that line.
Brazgirl: Yes, it's Dinner with the House of Thranduil! I figure Legolas will send a letter to Thranduil before he leaves with the Fellowship, but Thranduil will be worried nonetheless. And he'll soon have a war to deal with in his own kingdom. Poor Elven-king.
The-burgler: Sorry about the long wait! I'm really glad you're enjoying this, though, and thanks for coming out of the woodwork and reviewing!
