Ch. 2 Prey
Two friends bid each other farewell at the edge of the forest closest to the Misty Mountains.
"Be careful, Aragorn. I wish you would let me send an escort –"
"That is the twenty-fifth time you have said that today; you average about five times an hour! Stop it! You know that I am much less likely to attract trouble alone." His voice softened a little as he continued, "You have taught me well, mellon nin, as have Glorfindel and all the rest. I will be safe and will send you word that I have arrived. And what of you? Will you fare well until we meet again?"
"I am returning home in my own forest! What should happen?"
Aragorn began ticking off his fingers. "Spiders. Orcs. Nameless shadowy somethings from Dol Guldur. Did I mention spiders?" Smiling, the elf nodded. "Well, they should be counted twice!"
The two gripped arms as warriors do when they embrace in their hearts, but fear to show emotion. Then they turned away, each to his own trail.
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As Legolas entered the forest again, he decided to tickle a trout for his repast in camp that night. He lay on the bank of a stream where the current had undercut a little pool. His hand was in the water: motionless, waiting. A brown trout brushed past his fingers but he wisely did not move. Not just yet. Wait. The fish brushed him again, but before he could snatch it out of the water, the sun flashed on its side as it turned and bit him. He jerked his hand from the water, laughing.
"You have won the field, bold one! It seems you are not the one who will be eaten!" Still laughing, he lay on his back enjoying the summer sunshine.
He did not linger long; duty called him and so he once again took the trail for home. After another hour of unhurried traveling, he heard the chittering and squeaking of a squirrel fight. Several squirrels tore through the branches toward him, leapt across the path, and continued on into the distance. One laggard did not clear the path but used the top of Legolas' head as a stepping stone. As he jumped off the blond hair he scratched the elf on the forehead; a deliberate rake of claw on skin. The prince touched his face and looked with astonishment at the drop of blood on his fingertip.
He rode on for two more hours then dismounted to stretch his legs. His horse trailed behind him as he jogged lightly along. Just ahead was a small log. It was too small to bother clearing it from the trail and Legolas had only to increase his stride to cross it. On the left of the path, a vine drooped down and Legolas should have brushed by easily. But as he rose to clear the log his hand caught in the loop and he was pulled off balance. He fell over the log hitting his ribs hard. He turned over and looked up at the vine. Had it moved? Impossible! He reproved himself for blaming his clumsiness on an innocent plant and got to his feet, dusting off hands and leggings.
He decided he had had enough footwork and called to his horse. It did not come to him. He walked toward it and it shied away. "Here now, what has curdled your cream?" he demanded. He put out a hand and again the horse moved away. It backed a little way down the trail, then spun and galloped off. Legolas whistled and called to no avail.
The elf was puzzled about the horse's behavior, but not unduly so. Animals have minds of their own, after all, and elven horses were particularly intelligent. It was not unheard of for a horse to have a rebellious day every so often, though usually not when horse and rider were headed for home!
He began to jog again as he no longer had any desire to linger on the trail. Some time later he heard the flap of wings high above him and looked up to see a raven back-winging to settle on a branch. Another appeared and then another. Oddly, they made no sound. Usually the elf could hear their hoarse calls a mile or more away. He shrugged and ran lightly on. Just before a sudden impact he heard again the sound of wings behind him. Then a raven hit him forcefully on the back of the head. He lurched forward before catching his balance. He felt claws in his hair and raised his arms to fend off another raven that attacked him from above. Still another flew straight toward him from down the trail, his knife-sharp beak aimed for the elf's eyes. He flailed at the birds and pulled his knives. He killed one and the rest flew silently away. Now the elf was no longer complacent about all the odd happenings. Something was very wrong in his forest. He ran faster.
As Legolas went deeper into his home, he became aware of a murmuring from the woods around him. It sounded angry. He let his mind drift so that he could meld with the thoughts of the trees and was astounded when they denied him. They would not speak with him! Had some elf committed some great crime? Cut down one of the Ancient Ones? He needed to get home and speak with his father. There was no one who knew more about the forest than he. Legolas ran.
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He ran.
Darkness fell and still he ran.
Ran though the stitch in his side had become a fiery blade.
Ran though a gash in his arm left shining black splotches on his backtrail.
Ran though his heart labored, banging hard against his chest as though to free itself from its prison of bone.
He tried to slow, to think; he could not escape through blind flight. But still he ran. He could barely stay ahead of them. He no longer ran toward the palace. He had been forced to change direction again and again. The forest, always his friend, his birthright, had become the enemy. The night was full of eyes, all reporting his position: "He is here! Here! Hurry, he is here!"
He leapt a log and tore through a thicket. Brambles caught at his legs and slashed his face. Before this night they would have opened a way for him and then confounded his pursuers. He burst through into a clearing and jolted to a stop. He bent over, gasping and sobbing air into his lungs.
He heard a loud snort—a blast of air through nostrils—and jerked upright. A stag stood before him, pawing the ground and lowering his antlers. He charged and Legolas was late in jumping to the side. One point of the huge rack caught his calf, opening another gash. The elf rolled over his shoulders, sprang to his feet, and leapt desperately for a tree limb over his head. His grace was gone and he scrambled up anyhow, hooking a foot over the branch and momentarily hanging before heaving himself up. The stag reared against the tree and raked his antlers back and forth against the trunk in fury.
Shaking with exertion and shock, Legolas rested his head against the bark. It chaffed his face and the leaves hissed, "Traitor!" "Death dealer!" The elf's mind reeled at what was happening to him. Every creature that lived in the forest was seeking his life. He had been bitten by rabbits! He had never heard of this nightmare happening before, not even in the wildest tales told to frighten elflings. He had a thousand questions and not one answer. His greatest concern was what was happening at the palace. Was he the only one so sought, or were all his people threatened as well?
The ground below swarmed with life as his pursuers caught up with him. A wolf joined the stag, jumping high to snap at a dangling foot. The two mortal foes ignored each other, their attention solely on the elf. Rats, badgers, rabbits and more circled the tree and covered the ground below Legolas. Snakes began to move up the trunk and squirrels ran chattering toward him through the branches.
The elf got to his feet. He had to move on. He ran along branches from one tree to another. He had done this from a child but never before had the branches pulled away from him or snapped beneath his feet. He had to shorten his leaps as he could not be sure of his landings. An especially loud CRACK! tumbled him back to the ground. He rolled on landing and staggered to his feet. Again he ran.
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After a few more hours the elf was finished. He could not take another step. He crashed into another clearing and drew his knives. He would not tamely submit to his fate. Nonetheless, he would be taken in moments for he could not put up any serious resistance in his current state. He bled from so many wounds that his clothing was as scarlet as a bard's at a festival. As the maddened army closed on him, barking and squealing, hissing and cawing, he thought of Aragorn. Would the man ever know where or how his friend had died? Would the beasts leave enough for his father to find and bury?
As they leapt upon him and he was borne to the ground, his last thought was "WHY?"
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A rider on a moon-white horse thundered through the forest. He bore a wooden staff and muttered to himself. He asked many questions of the night, over and over. How had "He" been awakened and how was he to be put back into the somnolent state in which he had passed the last age? And would he, Gandalf, be in time to save the fool Galadriel had warned would not live out the night without aid? A most important fool who was not intended to die in the woods of his home.
The wizard rode into the clearing that held the elf. His horse plowed through the outward edges of the multitude that seemed to have no other purpose than to try to add themselves to the heap in the middle of the open space. Gandalf dismounted and lay about him with his staff as he strode forward through the teeming throng. He beat off the topmost on the pile and chanted old words long forgotten by most. The creatures fell back before his rage and he finally caught a glimpse of their prey. He once again used his staff and all but a few stubborn stragglers backed away. A weasel had the elf by the throat and a thousand millipedes crawled over him, biting with miniscule mouths. The worst was the badger that had bitten completely through his boot and was shaking the leg like a terrier. Legolas' face was a hideous mask of cuts, bruises, and gore.
Gandalf dispelled the last of the attackers, although they formed a circle a few feet away, still snarling, growling, and whining with eagerness to return to their bloody work. He looked down at Legolas and the elf looked up at him with gratitude and relief.
"Mithandrir! Thank Elbereth you came!" The elf was certain that now he was safe.
"SAURON'S CODPIECE! WHAT THE BLEEDING BLUE BLAZES HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?"
Gandalf's accusation was the final straw of many, and the elf's eyes closed as he retreated from a terrifying world that had gone mad.
End Chapter 2