Disclaimer: See the previous chapters. The phrases Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there… and "… deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone," belong to Tolkien from the first to the last word.

Author's note: My best regards to Faerlas and Name1. :o)

Chapter 5.

Deep they delved us…

"Where are we heading to?"

Gwirith barely turned her head and tacitly pointed straight in front of her. That was the answer he had hooked out of her thrice, no matter what the form of his question was. And though it was hardly possible to receive a more exact response, which Legolas had already admitted after the first two attempts, this time he was determined not to give up as easily.

"And where are we now?" asked he, having waited for some minutes.

"I thought the Elves to be more skilled in scouting," said Gwirith blankly, "We are in two days of travelling from Hollin, if it can help you somehow."

"So we are going there," stated Legolas musingly, "Are we?"

"More or less…"

And it also was a habit of hers, which frustrated him to no end – when demanded of a definite explanation she gave the most inappropriate reply, making it unfeasible to continue the conversation in the same course. More or less! More or less what? It was as impossible to be "more or less going" as to be going "more or less to Hollin". And should he try to point it out for her, she would begin playing with words without break, till they all lost their sense and became as worthless as a handful of dry fish-scales.

Quite irritated, he stopped and straightened himself, his bones loudly cracking in the silence.

"Are you tired?" immediately reacted Gwirith, "Shall we halt here?"

"We shall," nodded he, ignoring the first question.

The girl looked around, and then pointed at several scattered stones to their left.

"Just don't take off the hood," warned she, when they settled right on the ground: he – resting his tired back against one of the rocks, she – smoothly stretching herself and rubbing her shoulders to drive away cold and fatigue.

The nascent night was slowly pouring chilly darkness over the hills, and slaty-coloured fog glided down their slopes, drooping in the shallow hollows. The companions were sitting quietly, as every minute brought forth the thicker dusk than the previous one had delivered, till Gwirith stirred to take out her flask and offer it to Legolas. He carefully drunk some of the stinky liquid, having absentmindedly noted that there was not much of it left. There was no food either – yesterday they shared the last cracker of those twelve ones, his guide had to herself when they quitted Rivendell. No animals had he seen to chase after, no birds to shoot, no berries to appease their hunger, for they definitely hungered. All they had was this flask, and now even its unappealing contents was running out.

For the first few days they didn't make any stops, except those short halts to eat or drink, which happened rarely. He got tired rather quickly, because his bent back protested against each movement and revenged itself with dull ache or stark rigor. At first the staff in his hand was more of a hindrance than a help – but little by little he leaned against it more and more heavily. He was too proud to complain or ask for a respite, yet soon Gwirith began to notice his troubles and suggest stops by herself, delivering him from the humiliation.

What surprised him was that they didn't hide – though he had a poor notion of what they should hide from. He tried to lead Gwirith away from open places, where they were in full view, yet she just dismissed him with a slight wave of her hand.

During their short moments of rest she wouldn't sleep. He argued with her, persuaded her that she needed repose, promised that he would wake her up should something went wrong – it was of little help. Sometimes she allowed him to win and lay for an hour or so with her eyes open, so that his vigil became senseless. And if she closed them, her breathing never turned into that calm, measured sound, one could hear coming from a sleeping person. After the hour passed she sat up and there was nothing left for him but to try and sleep in his turn. Each time he woke up, she remained in the same sitting position, with her eyes lowered and estranged.

Yet he could never get rid of the sensation that she was watching him, while he was asleep.

Gwirith slowly screwed up the flask without taking a single sip.

"Have some sleep," said she almost softly, "We shall not stop from now on."

"Are we going to Hollin?" asked he once more, quite hopelessly, but this time she conceded to answer.

"So far – yes."

"And what is it there now?" his eye-lids were filling with heaviness, and he closed his eyes to let them rest.

"A human settlement," he heard her shift, making herself comfortable between two low stones, "we need some food. Be careful there, it's full of orcs. I don't want them to find out who you are."

Orcs sauntered through Hollin, Rivendell was destroyed… Dreadful world she lived in. As Legolas was slowly diving into a deep sleep, a familiar voice was ringing in his head, over and over repeating the words he seemed to have heard lives ago in the place they were making for now. Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there… And indeed, much evil had befallen this country…

As if answering his thoughts, Gwirith whispered the phrase, which made him wake up immediately and stare at her in amazement, because this phrase had once escaped his own lips:

"… deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone," her glance was chained to something in the air, and for the first time he saw pain and sadness rip through it, "They are gone," muttered she hoarsely, "Gone."

"Gwirith," called the elf, frightened by the fierce bitterness, overfilling each sound she uttered. She gave a start, looking at him as if it was the first time she saw him. Then her face relaxed, the image of composure dawning upon it again.

"What were you saying?" inquired Legolas quietly.

His companion turned away, not a stir of a muscle betraying the burst of feelings he had just witnessed.

"Nothing," responded she, "nothing of what should worry you."

With that she settled her folded arms against her knees and sank into meditation again. In such moments he felt as if he was alone, because though her body stayed by him, her mind was travelling so far that he knew she wouldn't come back at once, even if he cried out for her.

He began to get used to the thought that he wouldn't hear anything more from her today, when she suddenly broke the silence, reigning between them.

"What happened to me in your world?"

It was his turn to flinch, her question having caught him off-guard.

"You knew me," continued Gwirith insistently, "You said my name. So there was someone like me in you world. What happened to her?"

"She died," Legolas closed his eyes again, for fear that she would notice unbidden moisture under his eye-lashes.

"How?" her voice sounded cruelly and harshly. The elf swallowed, vivid pictures of that October day flashing in his mind.

"She was murdered," whispered he ruefully.

Gwirith took a long breath and set her forehead against her arms.

"Rest in peace," muttered she softly, "And Eru bless that hand."

"What?" asked Legolas, but she interrupted him with another question.

"Who did it?"

The elf clenched his teeth. Why was she torturing him? And he could answer the truth, and he could utter one word of verity, but his tongue refused to obey him.

"He died, too," said he, dropping his head.

"I pity him," the girl turned her head to look at Legolas, her lips bent with a grieved smile, "I hope he didn't suffer."

"Would you forgive him?" he froze in expectance of the verdict, and his heart was beating slowly and painfully inside his chest.

"I would," nodded Gwirith sincerely, "And if she were really me, she would, too."

The darkness mercifully hid a sole tear, coursing down his cheek…

"Have some sleep," repeated the girl in whispers, "I'll be on guard."

Falling asleep he managed to think that he had probably never seen a more doleful image than the one that made up her arms, wound around her knees in a gesture of self-protection and unavailing soothing.