Well, here 'ya go! Chapter eight has arrived. I'm glad the last one went over as well as it did. Does everyone like the addition of the individual chapter titles? I thought it might be useful for anyone who gets lost or wants to go back and re-read a specific part of the story.

A lot goes on in this chapter and very little of it has to do with our beloved elves. I'm not very confident in my ability to write action scenes, so I'd really like some comments on how I can improve that aspect of it because there is going to be some larger-scale fighting later in the story.

In any case, Enjoy!!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan

Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

Chapter VIII

Of Chance Meetings, Battles, and Hope

            Gandalf sat astride the great horse Shadowfax and gazed out over Buckland and beyond to where the low outline of the shire was silhouetted against the land. From his vantage point atop a hill in the Old Forrest, he could see smoke floating up from the chimneys of the hobbit holes and squat brick buildings. Hairy brown hogs were tiny spots on in distant farmer's pens. On the frozen shallows of the Brandywine young and adventurous hobbits, many of them Brandybucks and Tooks, bound their feet in bandages to slide along the thick ice with much shouting and waving of arms.

            The wizard was exhausted and cold, though his weather-beaten face was firmly set. There were no signs of anything amiss, and for the briefest of moments, his burdens seemed a little lighter. He had gone a full day out of his way to satisfy his concern for the hobbits. Any Evil which would try so brutally to destroy the living members of the Fellowship would certainly seek its most malevolent revenge against the Ring bearer himself. Despite Elrond's precautions and the Elven soldiers, Gandalf had worried for Frodo's safety as he had not in years. Gandalf let a little sign of relief spill past his thin lips, knowing that the delay of coming so far west had been worth his while.

            With the fall of Mordor and the rise of Gondor, the old roads had found their purpose restored. Trade now moved freely and much to the surprise of its humble inhabitants, the Bree-land had become a blossoming crossroads. Travellers came now in such numbers that kind-hearted old Butterbur, the same bumbling innkeeper who had aided Frodo at the beginning of his journey, had been forced to add a wing to the Prancing Pony.

            And so Gandalf had gone to Bree, to watch and to listen. For three days he spoke to travellers, many of them merchants from. He heard much that disturbed him – little things of an insidious nature. Tales were told of Men on the roads, riding swiftly under a strange livery and who spoke with authority; though they would not say whom it was they served. What troubled him more was the reputed character of these men. It was said that while the mysterious servants of the unknown lord were fair to look upon, riding sleek horses and bearing fine arms; they were without even the basest courtesies, often abusing any which displeased them. They moved alone and in small numbers, though never more than a dozen, and their intentions were rarely clear.

            There were other stories, told in the safety and bright comfort of the Pony's common room; stories of orcs carrying off livestock and making a general nuisance of themselves. A few had even been seen lurking about the boarders of the Greenway and the along the edges of the Barrow Downs. The foul bests showed almost no organization as yet, and were little more than a consternation to the folks of the Bree-land, who had thought their quiet corner of the world was past such dark times. When the conversation turned this way, Gandalf would take a puff off of his long stemmed pipe to hide his smile. He was happy that these gentle people had known so little of the darkness which had touched the rest of the world and he wished them well.

            Gandalf turned Shadowfax with a touch of his bony fingertips and turned to face the elf that had stealthily crept up beneath the sheltering trees. "Mae Govannen, Valandil. I must say it eases my mind to know one such as yourself patrols these boarders."

            "Ah, Mithrandir! How goes it with you?" the elf hailed back as he walked into the clearing.

            Shadowfax shifted, regarding the newcomer with knowing eyes. "Not well. Dark rumours are abundant, though I would not speak of that here. This forest is known for its many ears," the wizard said, though he would have dearly liked to ask after the hobbits.

"Aye, indeed," Valandil agreed. "When I saw a figure on horseback mount this ridge I came at once. Yet these stubborn and gossipy trees would not tell me weather it was friend or foe and even attempted to hinder my way!"

Gandalf nodded slightly. "I would not doubt that," he grumbled and pulled his cloak tighter. "I must be off again. Guard them well, Valandil for we all owe them much. Good-bye!" And with that, the white wizard whispered into Shadowfax' sharp ear and the pair disappeared into the forest.

"And may the Valar go with you!" the elf murmured, though it was more of a prayer than a farewell.

* * *

            "Awake! To arms! Awake!" A frantic cry split through the night only to be drowned by the fierce roars of wargs and their orc riders.

            King Elessar burst from his tent, his sword already in his hand; he slept with his boots on. All around him, men cast aside bed rolls and reached for their weapons while the foul beasts swarmed over the camp. The clang of Gondorian steel against Mordor iron was everywhere, punctuated the screams of the dying.

"To the King!" shouted Danor as the seasoned soldier followed his own orders. Aragorn quickly found himself flanked, his back protected. Together they fought on, dodging the deadly blades of the orcs and the equally dangerous teeth and claws of the wargs. Yet after three day's hard march and the fierce onslaught, even Aragorn tired quickly and the servants of darkness vastly outnumbered the forces of Gondor; perhaps by as many and six to one.

Desperation and despair ran rampant through the Men. Soldiers hacked their way through the twisted bodies of their attackers, only to have others rise up in their place. Aragorn knew not how the fell creatures had found them, for he had taken every precaution against discovery. The horses had been held at the centre of camp, blanketed and their manure covered with snow so as to mask their smell. He had permitted no fires despite the bone-aching cold. Thee company's scouts, including himself, had roamed far a-field and had seen no sign of anything more dangerous than rabbits.

Aragorn stabbed at a passing warg, killing it almost instantly. Heaving the blade free he realized that he had been separated from his men and turned to wade back through the show to rejoin the fray. A movement to his left alerted him to the coming attack and he dodged, though with somewhat less than his normal grace; striking back instinctively. Yet it was no snarling orc that lay in his sword's path, but the pale face of a human soldier. Aragorn barely stayed his hand, appalled at what he had nearly done. Gulping down a deep breath of icy air he asked, "You are unhurt?" It was the dissenting man he had noticed in Imladris, Tanir.

The soldier nodded and his answering smiled turned sinister. "Aye, but you won't be for long – My Lord!" Tanir gave a short, barking laugh and thrust his sword towards Aragorn's belly. Not one to be taken down so easily, the king blocked flawlessly and stepped in to counter strike. With that move, their battle began in earnest.

The orcs forgotten, the two combatants locked weapons and found themselves equally matched in strength. As they fought, Aragorn's mind was a seething mass of betrayal and anger such as he had rarely known. To have harboured a traitor amongst the stout hearts of his personal guard was a heavy blow to his reputation as a king and as a leader of Men. "You will pay for every life and limb which is sacrificed here tonight!"

"Threats mean little, when one is dead!" Tanir exclaimed.

Enraged, Aragorn felt his exhausted body fill with energy and he redoubled his efforts. Blades clashed and fists met softer flesh. In the darkness of the night-time forest they were little more than shadows locked in constant motion. The screams of the wounded and dying were like horrible cheers in the distance, urging him on to victory…

It was not until the sad corpse of the youthful traitor was dead in the snow that Aragorn realized that he had lost control of his actions in the heat of battle. As his breath slowly returned to him, he hung his head in remorse. Even in the face of such gross betrayal, it had not been pleasurable to cut Tanir down. He turned away, no longer able to look at the boyish features, now slack in death.

Back at the camp, those who could stand were tending to those who could not. Somehow his soldiers had found the reserves of strength necessary to defeat the orcs and their feral mounts, though only a handful of the brave souls under his command still drew breath. In all Aragorn counted seven, himself included.

Danor greeted him, favouring one leg. "It is good to see you alive, My King," he said, genuine relief in his gruff voice. "When I turned to find you gone, I had feared you were lost."

Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder. "I am well," he said reassuringly. Though even as he bent to see to the old soldier's leg, the various small wounds he had sustained pained him. As he worked he confided in Danor, a man he found increasingly invaluable. "The situation grows worse – there are spies and traitors among us. Tanir gave away our position this night. He lies yonder, dead by my hand."

Danor shook his head. "My apologies, Lord. I should have watched him more closely after his questionable remarks."

"No blame lies with you; if any is to be had then it belongs to me alone. However, now is not the time to be assigning such things as guilt," Aragorn sighed. "Burn the bodies of the fallen, and take what rest you can. We'll drive the remaining horses; we can ride longer if we change mounts every few hours. I'll see to healing what wounds I can and construct litters for those who are unable to ride. We will continue to travel due south in the shelter of the mountains, and seek shelter at the first village we come to."

"As you wish My Lord."

* * *

The days passed and excitement ran high. Despite the many preparations and the growing sense of danger, life in Imladris resumed its orderly routine. With the familiarity, spirits rose and the twins' mischievous nature manifested, as if they were simply readying for a holiday.

             One overcast morning, a week before their scheduled departure, Legolas reclined on a bench, exchanging word puzzles with Gimli. Nearby Elladan and Elrohir played at hunting each other in turns between the trunks of pungent pine trees.

            Legolas plucked at the thick blankets covering him and smiled in amusement at his friend's futile attempts to guess the answer to his riddle. "Perhaps the heads of dwarves are thicker than I first imagined!" he taunted.

            Gimli only grumbled something less than polite and continued to throw out guesses as to the answer of the riddle. As his mind worked, his hands did also; crafting a finely carved cane suitable for Legolas' use. "Where does one find a frog which is not always green, and which does not croak?" he repeated for the fourth time, as if knowing the conditions of the problem would miraculously produce the solution.

Legolas watched as Elladan approached Elrohir, unheard and unseen from behind. Suddenly Elrohir leapt away; bounding over the snow like a spring buck. Elladan was after him so quickly a mortal eye might have thought they moved in the same instant. The swifter of the two, Elladan caught up with his brother half way across the frozen lawn and sent them both rolling in an unseemly tangle of arms and legs and long raven hair.

Blinking, Gimli took a moment to leave the riddle behind and follow Legolas' gaze. His fair friend was laughing, a bright and musical sound which brought joy to his heart. The elf's pale face was flushed with mirth as he watched his friend and lover wrestle as if they were wolf cubs. It was then that Gimli felt the cold, wet slap of a snowball thrown from close quarters hit the side of his face.

* * *

Aside from more fighting coming up, would anyone like more detailed/graphic romance? This is a slash story between Legolas and Elrohir, but it seems that in my attempt to stay as true to cannon as possible that perhaps I'm understating the romantic aspects of their relationship? Let me know what you think on this point and I'll do my best to write in a way that appeals to everyone! BTW, Does anyone know the answer to the riddle? First one to answer right gets a cookie!

That reminds me! As promised here are my responses to all of you who so nicely continue to read and review this story. You are the force that compels me to come home and sit down to write after a long day of school, sports, and work. Thanks!

Stardust – You are so astute!! Yes, Gimli's accent turned out a bit more Scottish than intended. As you know, I try to stay as true to the book canon as possible but I feel that a lot of people tend to hear/see the movie characters in their mind's eye when reading. As a result, I tried to portray that in my writing – a failed experiment? Also, yes – Elrohir's prophetic abilities are mentioned, though he never invoked that power in previous chapters or in Landslide. Usually the ability manifests itself in dreams or vague feelings. The idea was to show how important the moment was by having him choose to use his gift. Thanks for reading!

Lady of Legolas – Thanks for all of your comments! You are a very emotional person, aren't you? I get a kick out of your reactions. And no, Saberon was not mentioned by name at the beginning of the story.

Moro the Wolf God – I laugh out loud every time I see one of your reviews. You're always so excited for the next chapter it seems! Maybe you have an automatic response ready "More Please! Hurry!" You really make me want to write fast!

Barbra Kennedy – I very much enjoy your sincerity and I look forward to your reviews. They get me thinking and thinking gets me writing! I hope that you continue to tell me what /you/ think – your opinions are really helpful.

Renn – I'm glad you're hooked. And I hope you stay that way! My ego needs people like you! Thank you for reading and leaving so many reviews. I really appreciate it.

Also, I'd like to extend a special thanks to everyone who continues to read and review. Even though I couldn't reply to everyone, please know that your thoughts and opinions on this story are extremely important to me.

That's it for now. Please let me know what you think, okay? Thanks for reading!