Chapter 8
Meant To Live
Clouds were gathering again. The elf could smell the whisperings of heavy rain on the wind. Perhaps even worse than the storm several days ago, the one Aragorn had disappeared into. The day was already waning; the elf knew he would see the sky open up before the night was over.
Nudging Silme gently with his heels, Legolas again comforted his traveling companions. Silme was calm, trotting in a high-spirited way that showed her good mood. She loved forests and the depth of this one was almost familiar, akin to the woods around Mirkwood and what she knew as home. Legolas spoke to her often, keeping both their minds off of their weariness. Celebnar perched on Legolas' arm, chirping softly as they journeyed on. The falcon was completely at ease with these two, strange and foreign though they were to him. They were both like something he had always dreamed of having but never dared hope for – laughter and peace. His wing had healed much since Legolas had taken the bird in, and Celebnar was itching to add his voice to the sky. Legolas had promised him the next time they had need to stop he could. For now though, the elf retained a firm, but not confining grip on the jesses still strapped around Celebnar's legs.
The forest was quiet now; birds were fading away and the air became still. As the silence grew louder, the three companions became a little edgy. It was not unusual for the birds and other creatures of the woodland areas to seek shelter before a storm, but to hear no more of their song was vaguely disturbing in and of itself. Legolas became tense, listening carefully for any sign of danger. With the birds gone, he could not rely on them to help discover an oncoming threat.
A short distance later Legolas told Silme to stop. The forest was silent and the trees were calling out to him in warning. They were in danger, but as to what kind, he was unsure. The elf dismounted and knelt to the ground, pressing his ear to the earth. Celebnar chirped in fear but Legolas shushed him, wanting to know what was coming.
Then, it came. Like the rushing of a storm on the sea as it comes closer to the shores of land. The earth was groaning beneath the elf, Legolas could feel it. A rumble from the depths barely touched his ears. The actions of the earth were strange and unsettling – Legolas knew they were all in danger.
The elf barely had time to register the thought when the ground beneath him began to move violently. It was as if he were in the high branches of a tree and someone below had taken hold of the trunk and shaken it. But it got worse, much worse. The ground began to tremble faster at an alarming rate. Celebnar cried out and opened his wings; Legolas lost his grip on the leather straps and the falcon flew into the air in the attempt to escape the shuddering earth.
"Silme!" Legolas turned to his horse and was nearly knocked off his feet. All around him there was chaos, trees cracking in half and limbs falling to the ground. Silme reared high in sudden fear and cried out as she tried to bolt but did not get far. The earthquake drove her to fall with violence on her side, too unsteady on her feet. Legolas landed near her, attempting to protect her head with his body from the falling limbs.
After several seconds the movement of the ground ceased, fading away like the beat of a drum. The earth shuddered and then went still.
"Silme?" Legolas looked down at his horse after a moment, still confused and fearful as he watched the world around him. "Are you all right?" he held her head down, not wishing her to bring any harm to herself though the elf was sure she had done some damage when she fell.
"Come on, girl, easy..." Slowly, Legolas allowed the mare to rise. She was a bit unsteady and wobbled on her feet, but otherwise rose without difficulty. When Legolas came to inspect her side that she had fallen on, the elf discovered her shoulder and part of her ribcage to be bruised, unable to take the pressure of her weight so suddenly. Otherwise, they were both fine.
Legolas looked around him. Fallen tree limbs and debris littered the ground. Even the earth was tossed about and shaken. Celebnar was nowhere in sight. But the earthquake had not seriously injured them; they were still alright. Legolas gently shushed Silme until she calmed enough to move again.
Legolas knew there was wisdom in stopping for a while to let the mare recover. Silme was trembling and her side would need a little care when the stiffness set in. After a few moments of searching with his eyes, the prince spotted a small clearing in the distance that offered some protection from anything they might encounter, though Legolas doubted they would be discovered by anyone other than their quarry.
When they reached the desired area, Legolas removed his pack of supplies from off Silme's back and searched though his cache of herbs for a salve to help take care of the bruising. As he did so, he searched the sky, worry creeping its way into his heart. Celebnar was no where to be seen.
A short while later, Legolas caught faint sounds of cries in the distance. Listening more closely, he recognized them to be orc voices. Revolted, the elf gathered his weapons and left Silme in the clearing to investigate. He would not have those vile creatures doing anything to jeopardize his quest, it would be better to catch them off guard than the other way around. Traveling swiftly through the forest, he followed the noise of the orcs. Shortly however he discovered something he did not expect.
"A horse?" he asked himself softly. And not just any horse, it was one Legolas was sure he had seen before. He ran in the direction of the growing figure, filled with confusion and hope.
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When Aragorn finally woke, he wished he had not. His arms had been twisted behind him and iron manacles had been clapped around his wrists and elbows, connecting him to a single heavy chain that latched to the ceiling of a small, but familiar room – the only one in the cave with a door and a lock. His booted feet barely touched the floor; his shoulders were straining painfully to keep him up. Torchlight flickered from one corner of the same room he had been in since coming here, and a cold voice greeted his awakening.
"Trying to escape, human?" the voice was Ralorn's, and the very tone sent a slick of fear down Aragorn's spine. Another light came, one that Ralorn claimed as his own odd elvish glow. The elf's face was dark with hate, and he stood, walking over and standing mere inches from the ranger. These new dealings had done nothing to improve his mood.
"Fool!" Ralorn slapped Aragorn hard across the face, flinging the ranger's head back roughly. "You set the boy free? Were you hoping to get help that way?"
Aragorn hesitated, smarting slightly from the slap. "I didn't want you to hurt him any longer. He can do you no harm."
Ralorn wasn't impressed. There was much about the boy he assumed the ranger did not know, but he wasn't going to tell the man that. He didn't want the man knowing what he was really trying to get out of the boy. "In these wilds that child will be dead by morning from the danger that lurks, worse than anything he could receive from me."
Anger suddenly gripped Aragorn. He did know - a lot more than Ralorn thought he did by means the elf did not consider the man would ever receive. "So that's why you broke his leg? The wilds are not as merciless as you." Fire glimmered brightly in the ranger's eyes.
The elf did not take kindly to the retort. In a powerful swing he punched Aragorn hard in the stomach, removing all the air from the man's lungs. "You've sent that boy to his death, and put your brothers on a dangerously tight time limit! You should have learned to guard your tongue better, but nothing can save you now, human."
Ralorn left him and walked to the door, knocking on it lightly. The door opened swiftly and Ralorn whispered fiercely to whoever had opened the door. The door shut again once whatever Ralorn had requested was on its way to be fulfilled and the elf turned back to the man, his scowl turning into a deadly sneer. Aragorn froze, his soft wheezing catching sharply in his throat.
"You're pushing it now. Before you may have had a chance making it though this without being extensively harmed, but I will not let this go unpunished. You've put yourself in a dangerous situation, one I frankly have to wonder if you'll live through."
The door opened then and Mayroniel entered, flanked by Lom. Ralorn turned to them swiftly.
"There is something I must see to, but I will return. Mayroniel, take over for me, will you? You know what to do." Mayroniel nodded his assent, a dark glimmer of amusement entering his eyes.
The earthquake had done much damage to the lower tunnels – several of them had collapsed under the strain. Aragorn had no memory of the event; he had been unconscious at the time and did not understand what had happened. Ralorn had to go direct his men in removing all that they could from the lower levels before sealing them off, and that was going to take some time. Luckily, none of the more important rooms had been apart of the collapsed half of the cave, and Ralorn was generally unconcerned. Sealing and stabilizing the tunnels however would require some fast attention before anything unusual brought the rest of the cave down on their heads. So he made ready to leave, putting Aragorn in Mayroniel's control, the assignment that the other elf rather relished in and the man desperately reviled against.
Aragorn began twisting violently in his bonds, but there was nothing he could do to get free. The chains that bound him to the ceiling were not intended for him to remove and the elves had made sure there was no way he could. But he could not be left with Mayroniel, not like this – the elf would kill him! "No Ralorn! If you kill me Elladan and Elrohir will never submit to you!"
Ralorn paused in the doorway. "Who said anything about killing you? No, Mayroniel, don't kill him. Just make sure that the lesson you teach him will never fail to remember!" The command however was too lazily given and it brought the ranger no relief. It only served to intensify his fear.
Ralorn left, slamming the door behind him. Mayroniel turned back to Aragorn, walking forward and gripping the man's chin tightly in his maimed hand. "I've been waiting for this, human scum," he whispered angrily, his eyes shadowed with anger, gripping the man tighter so he would recognize the missing fingers. "You'd better pray that your brothers come quickly to save you."
Aragorn could do nothing; he was surrounded and bound too well. Struggling helplessly against the increasing pain in his shoulders from the weight of his own body pulling him down, he felt the cold touch of a blade as it cut through his thin, worn, dirty tunic and strong hands held him in place as someone roughly removed the cloth.
§§§
Gowen could feel the warmth of sunlight on his back filtering through the trees as he held tight to Tole's thick mane, all his senses as alert and aware as they could be. The stallion was walking in a brisk trot, eager to be away from the cave to do as his master bid him.
Gowen knew they had been traveling for only about an hour, but they had not been caught yet and slowly he was beginning to relax. Tole needed no comfort it seemed. The stallion had a thick hide and a wide threshold for pain, hardly even limping on his injured leg. The stallion was focused on the world around them as well, using all that Gowen was in the same ways save one advantage – his sight.
Picking his way carefully over a rather rocky drop, Tole landed on the ground evenly, but before he took two steps he made a dead stop. The suddenness of it made Gowen tense up.
"Tole?" The boy whispered, leaning forward slightly and gently stroking the horse's neck. "What's wrong?"
Tole nickered at the boy softly, not understanding the words the boy spoke but clearly hearing the concern in Gowen's voice, wanting to encourage him. This was no visible threat. This was something else, a stir within his soul that made him freeze in questioning, curious fear. It was not a moment too soon.
Tole felt it underneath his feet a millisecond before it happened – the ground began to shake again with a violence more intense than the last time. Tole neighed in surprise and spread out his feet, widening his stance so he would not fall. Gowen leaned forward and gripped more tightly to his mane, trying desperately not to cry out in utter fear. The shaking of the earth jarred his bad leg and nearly unseated his wavering grip.
Trees around them began to crack and break, tumbling down to the earth and crashing into the undergrowth under the force of this new earthquake. Rocks and debris fled down the steeper parts of the mountainside, leaving behind clouds of dust to fill the air. But still, Tole did not move. He couldn't, for fear he would endanger both his life and the boy's. He whinnied shrilly as his feet stumbled under the force of the earth, expressing his frustration and fear in a way other than trying to run as instinct told him to do. The movement of the ground below him was terrifying; he had never felt it so violently before!
After several moments, the rumbling of the earth faded and then quickly died altogether. Slowly, the ground went still again.
Tole and Gowen were both breathing hard, the young human was moaning softly at the once again building pain in his leg and the stallion let loose several agonized cries. Tole knew the movement of the earth was nature's way, but it still confused him. The boy however, was in too much pain to think of such things at the moment.
After a few minutes of recovery, Tole took a wary step forward. Nothing happened this time, the earth remained steady. A few more test steps bolstered the horse's confidence enough to walk again. Gowen did not sit back up this time, but remained hunched over his knee. The pain flare would have been much worse if Aragorn had not reset the bones, but there was nothing holding them in place and the sudden jerking of the earth had sent waves of fire through his senses. Gowen felt his head grow a bit light. It could have been worse, but this still hurt... a lot.
Tole picked his way over the fallen trees, making his way carefully through the damage. He could feel the boy shuddering in pain on his back and wished there was something he could do to ease whatever ailed the boy. Aragorn had put him in his charge, but unfortunately the horse could do little to none when taking care of injuries.
Another fifteen minutes passed by before Tole stopped again. Gowen assumed they had hit a little road block the horse couldn't immediately find a way around, but then he felt the stallion inhale deeply in the attempt to catch some smell on the wind. After a few moments, Tole's body went rigid. Gowen gripped tighter when he felt the stallion tense. They were in trouble again.
The boy's sharp hearing caught a sound on the wind now, just after Tole did. It was an odd sound but chilling to hear. He did not recognize it at first, for it had been some time since he had come into contact with this new threat, yet he knew it was not something they wanted to hang around to wait for. The sounds grew in strength and suddenly Gowen knew what hunted them now.
Orcs.
Gowen let out a sharp cry as something small and painfully sharp cut into the side of his injured leg as it whizzed by. The arrowhead sliced open a gash three inches long, sharpening the pain in his knee once more and his head reeled from the shock. It had barely missed the intended target, which happened to be the stallion. Orcs had never been known for their aim but that had been too close for comfort. Tole had to move sideways to keep the boy stable, snorting sharply as he did so. The voices were closer now, every second gaining in strength. There weren't many, but from the mindless rabble Gowen knew they poised a threat.
Pushing the energy-sucking ache away from the front of his mind, Gowen worked long finders into the thick, tangled tresses of Tole's mane, leaned forward until his forehead touched his clenched fists and whispered to the stallion below him. There was no need to hide his voice now, and desperation flared bright and hot.
"Run, Tole! Run!"
Though Gowen could not see it, Tole's ears flicked back, listening. Stamping nervously for a moment, he again registered the chilling cry of the filthy creatures far behind them. In minutes they would be overcome. Forgetting his wounded leg Tole sprang forward over the large log that had been blocking them and cried aloud in determination.
Gowen could not recall being more afraid in his entire life. He was injured, on the back of a stallion with no control whatsoever over where they were going while hanging on for dear life, pursued by some of the most vile creatures to have ever graced Middle Earth. Never before had he felt so awkward and unprepared. He jounced harshly on Tole's back as the horse reached a full gallop, and the knowledge of his complete inability to ride a horse became very clear. Tears streamed down his face as he considered his options. If the orcs didn't shoot him down first, falling beneath Tole's pounding hooves would. Already he could feel his grip failing him as his body slipped sideways. He did not want to die, not here... not when he had barely been given the chance to live and save another from certain death.
Why did Strider have to place so much trust in him? Such a foolish, foolish move. The man's gift of freedom was going to be for nothing. Gowen wept into the coarse hair in front of him, pleading with anyone listening that Strider's sacrifice for him would not be in vain. He knew the man would pay dearly for helping him escape. Ralorn would be just that angry and cold. Fear was filling him so darkly at the thought that Gowen almost expected his heart to break with the force of it.
The stallion felt him slip and checked the boy, moving sideways to accommodate the change. Gowen could feel a difference in Tole's gait now; the horse was beginning to limp yet still keeping a strong pace. Clutching with a death grip on Tole's mane, he felt like they were flying.
Tole was breathing hard, his strong gait withering away to a mad, desperate shuffle. He had managed to place a fair distance between them and the enemy that pursued, enough for him to stop a moment. The boy did not move from his position lengthwise against his back. The horse could feel the boy weeping, could feel the trembling that shook him, and could sense the fear that flowed from his young touch.
Tole's leg was bleeding freely and it pained him greatly. There would be no more mad gallops for him lest he got help. Searching with his eyes and listening with his senses, Tole tried to find a way out of their predicament. The orcs were gaining again and Tole was forced to walk, limping heavily and leaving behind an easy trail to follow.
Suddenly Tole froze yet again, his attention riveted on something still a distance away. Altering his course of direction slightly, the stallion made his way toward an unknown target, neighing frantically as he went.
Gowen had no idea what Tole was thinking, nor where he was going, but he did notice the confidence that began to strengthen the horse's weakening gait. He gripped the thick mane tightly, whispering to over and over again to the horse. A moment later his ears, heightened by a lifetime of blindness, caught the sound of running feet, and a moment later, a high clear voice.
"Ai Valar, Tole! What happened?"
It was an elf! Gowen's heart leapt into his throat. The voice was very clear and pleasant, an accent a little different to what he was accustomed to but still quite obvious as to which race it belonged. The language he could only slightly decipher, but as the only experience he had ever had with the elves was like a black mar in his memory, the boy had no idea what to expect and therefore kept his mouth shut, trying to block out the sounds of the Grey Tongue. At first only fear kept him from encouraging Tole to run again.
Tole stopped a moment later, whickering anxiously at the unknown elf. Gowen could hear the elf and horse speaking in a way only they could. He could not find the strength to find his voice, for his fears had not nearly drifted away. Unfortunately, he was not ignored long.
"Young man? Please do not fear me, I mean you no harm. I know the horse upon which you ride but I do not recognize you. I will return in time after I take care of your pursuers – there are only six and they come carelessly. Wait for me!" and whoever it was that spoke sprang away, heading back lightly toward the yelling orcs.
Gowen relaxed his grip on Tole's mane and sat up a bit straighter. This elf sounded friendly, unlike the ones he had been captive of for so long. Only Strider's earlier admonition that not all elves were evil kept him from running this time. Behind him, he could hear the cry of dying orcs, being caught by surprise by a crafty elf. Several minutes later the being returned, his breathing coming quick this time but by the sound of it he had escaped unscathed.
"Quickly, you must follow me. Orcs rarely travel in so few numbers out here and the forest is restless. I need you to dismount; your horse is badly injured and should not be ridden right now. You can follow me to-"
"I can't," Gowen whispered, finally lifting his face to the direction of the elf. It was so strange to him to be able to speak freely, whenever he wanted to, now for a time released from his vow.
The elf sounded perplexed. "Why can't you? I can help you, but Tole needs not be ridden now, you'll have to-"
"No, you do not understand! I can't follow you, I can't see." Gowen was pleading. "I'm blind. The horse has been leading me."
"Blind?" the elf, though surprised, responded quickly. "How on earth did you find the stallion of my best friend? Quickly, I must know!"
Best friend? Something whirled in Gowen's memory. No, it could not be... that was impossible! And yet...
"Who are you?"
"My name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm. Do you know the whereabouts of the rightful owner of the stallion upon which you ride?" the elf was attempting to be diplomatic about his question, but his voice was anxious – as if he barely dared to hope.
"Legolas?" Gowen couldn't believe it! Like a character from a story suddenly brought to life, there he was! "Strider has told me of you!"
"Strider!" The elf, Legolas, sounded as if he wished to shout for joy. "Please, tell me you know where he is!"
"You must go to him; I fear he is in great danger. He risked much to get me out, but it will not go unpunished-" Gowen realized he was rambling; nothing he said would have made much sense to the elf.
"What is this you speak of? Come, you must leave with me. I would know what has happened to him, I have been searching many days." Legolas gently took hold of Gowen's shoulders, easing the boy into his arms. "You are injured as well I see. Don't fear me, I want to help. Hold on!"
Legolas began to run quickly and nimbly, Tole following behind. Relief flooded through Gowen, everything was looking up. He could help Strider after all!
As he ran, the elf asked him only one question. "What is your name, young one?"
"...Gowen."
"Gowen," the elf repeated, and said no more.
A fair distance from where they started, Gowen felt the ground decline sharply and moments later he was set gently down, the firm trunk of a tree at his back holding him upright. He could hear Tole snorting, this time in slight pain and he knew the bad leg was beginning to ache fiercely. Soothing sounds of the elvish language, used in a much sweeter tone than the boy was used to began to flow through the air, easing Tole's whimpers to a calm silence. At first, Gowen had to fight his body's urge to recoil from the sound, but the way that Legolas spoke it eased his mind quickly. It truly did sounded like a different language, though Gowen knew that the native tongue of the elves that Legolas, Strider, and the Guard all spoke were most certainly one and the same. Gowen suddenly recognized the presence of another horse in the clearing, the almost indecipherable sounds of shifting feet giving away the animal's position. The other horse stood quietly, showing nothing more but curiosity at these newcomers.
"While I care for his wounds, could you please grace me with your story?" Legolas' voice was gentle but firm, filled with the desire to know the truth. The rustling of a bag filled with many contents accompanied his question. Gowen listened to the elf uncork a few bottles, untie a sack, and mix several unknown substances together into something he couldn't identify.
The boy scooted closer to the sound of the elf's voice and the gentle shifting of Tole's feet. "What know you of Strider?" Always cautious, he wanted to be sure he had the right elf. His hands again fell to his knee, holding it steady and attempted to block out the pain. The gallop had done neither him nor Tole any good and they were both paying for it... but at least they were alive and for the moment, safe.
"Strider is one of the best friends I've ever had," Legolas said, working patiently as he spoke. "I've known him much of his mortal life. Though rightfully a son of men he has been raised by the elves of Rivendell. To the elves he knows his family and to men he is often scorned because of his upbringing. He appears gruff, but he is gentle and strong-willed in nature, fiercely loyal to his family and friends." Gowen heard the sound of sticks and leaves being combined together, followed swiftly by the crackle of a fresh fire. The smell of burning wood filled the boy's nose. Legolas stopped speaking for a moment as he encouraged Tole to lie down close to the small fire he had just made while adding more fuel to the flames. The horse did as the elf bid, his heavy body settling on the forest floor with a weary sigh. "Does that sound like the Strider you know?"
"Yes." The elf had seen right through his question, and some part of Gowen's heart relaxed. The man's description of his elven friend was stunningly accurate. "He is currently being held captive in a cave a few hours from here, under the control of an elf named Ralorn."
Legolas did not respond, but Gowen heard shifting among the growing embers and small popping of the fire and realized the elf had placed a knife in the coals of the fire, preparing to sear the wound closed by first sterilizing the blade and heating it to the proper temperature. The sound of a cloth being squeezed of excess water in the grip of a firm hand came as Legolas began to wipe away any blood and debris he could find out of the open gash in Tole's leg.
"Many days past – how many I could not tell you for sure – he joined our group for the trip over the mountains. Lord Ralorn captured me many years ago for reasons I will not explain now, but only that he now wishes me dead unless I help him. He is evil, bent for revenge against two elves that have some connection to my friend, Strider. His intentions are for Strider's brothers, but Ralorn will not hesitate to torment the human if the need arises..." Gowen took a deep breath. "And use him as a weapon against them."
"Is... is he all right?" Legolas had a touch of fear in his voice now, mingled with a trace of despair. Gowen tensed slightly.
"He is very strong. The guards have withheld food for many days and allowed little water. He has been beaten on occasion." Gowen sighed and Legolas hissed angrily through his teeth at the thought. "But there is a new guard Ralorn hired who protects him from some of the abuse."
Legolas sighed. "Please wait a minute, I must take care of this and Valar knows Tole won't sit still through it."
Gowen understood what Legolas was about to commence and backed up a pace, out of the way. There was a low hissing from the knife and a sharp whinny of protest from Tole as Legolas pressed the blade against the ripped flesh, searing the wound and forcing the skin back together. It took much of Legolas' strength to keep the stallion on the ground through the ordeal, but his voice was calming and Tole responded to it, though it was clear to both Gowen and the elf that he didn't like it at all. After several moments the wound had firmly closed all the way and Legolas propped his knife on a rock to cool.
It was very unusual to sear a wound hours after it had come, but Tole needed to be able to travel soon without mishap and Legolas needed to know the horse could make it home without worrying about stitches popping open. It would do no one any good. The stallion however, would have no feeling in that part of his leg and bear a deep scar for the rest of his life.
"Forgive me," he said as the sound of his mixture of herbs he had concocted earlier was lifted from the ground and gently applied to the seared flesh. It was to stave off the pain of the burn and help fight off any infection, though the searing should have cauterized the wound sufficiently. Tole nickered softly as the ache began to fade. Legolas patted the horse on the neck repeatedly. "Please continue. What can you tell me of this guard?"
"His name is Arahil. I know little of him, but of his nature I can tell you this - he does not relish in the thought of hurting another and takes no pleasure in killing for sport or revenge. He is strong but merciful, and often he defends Strider from the abuse of the other guards. I don't know what he looks like obviously, but Strider once told me that he has long raven colored hair, is a little shorter than the man, and rides a large white stallion named Asfaloth."
Legolas nodded though Gowen couldn't see it. The name Asfaloth sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it at the moment, nor did he even have the patience to try in the face of his growing fear. "Say on."
"I overheard a conversation about what they intended to do to Strider. I heard enough to know his life was in danger, but I was caught trying to escape and paid for it." Gowen gestured lightly to his leg, the worst of his injuries and winced as he registered the sting. "I was beaten, but this was the worst of it; they dislocated my knee." He fingered the gash, his hand drawn to it as he felt the blood on his leg as well as the feverishheat of the swelling. "This was from the orcs. One of their arrows grazed me."
Cool hands touched his leg and with uttermost gentleness his knee was turned to receive better attention. Legolas, having finished with Tole, moved closer to see what he could do to ease the boy's own suffering. Aragorn's care had done much to keep the injury below critical and long-term, but it hadn't healed yet, not by a long shot. There was some strength in the elf's touch, and life spread through the swollen knee, the ache of it fading a little.
"I can do little to help you, other than splint it and bind the gash. Did Strider care for it?"
"Yes. He did what he could and to distract me from the pain he told me stories of his home and of those most dear to him. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his voice." Something in Gowen's face relaxed at the memory, something Legolas couldn't quite place or entirely understand. The elf cleaned and bound the gash, then splinted the injured leg carefully. "Later we woke up to a horse screaming. By either grace or luck Strider snuck us both outside and discovered Tole, also caught now and beaten by the guards for his spirit. Strider put me on the horse after quickly binding the wound in his leg somehow, and gave me this with the instruction to go to Rivendell and find Lord Elrond." Gowen reached under his tunic and withdrew the ring on its leather thong. "He is quite protective of this."
He heard Legolas agree with him on the last statement, then inhale sharply at the ring came into his sight. "Barahir," he whispered, his hand brushing Gowen's as he fingered the silver ring and its green stone. "He gave it to you?"
Gowen pulled the leather strap over his head and held it out to the elf. "He said it would help his family listen and understand." The leather slipped out of his fingers as the ring left his possession.
Though Gowen couldn't see it, Legolas clasped the ring close and whispered almost inaudibly, a familiar but painful question to one not present. "Ai, Estel, what has happened to you now, mellon nin?"
The only way Aragorn would have given his ring to the protection of another was if he knew his life was in mortal danger. From what Legolas had discovered about Ralorn, that assumption was not unlikely.
"Will you help him?" Gowen pleaded, almost desperate.
Legolas' voice quickly hardened with resolve. "I swore I would not go home until he is with me. Do not fear; I will not let him be subject to such cruelties without a fight."
The boy breathed a sigh of relief. "It really is you." The words made Legolas smile a little.
"Now, you must listen to me carefully." Legolas leaned closer, again placing Barahir around Gowen's neck. "You will have to continue to Rivendell and give your message to Lord Elrond as was intended. The gash on Tole's leg was not critically deep and I have cared for it sufficiently; he should be ready to travel in a few hours, and it will be then that I part from you. Let go of your fear for Strider; I will do my best to take care of him and bring him home. You may find two more elves somewhere in this forest along your way. They are Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond and Strider's older brothers. If Valar permits you should meet, tell them what you have told me and to make haste! I fear I may need them before this is over. They can track your path, so do not waste time giving directions. But always, keep your goal Rivendell. Tole knows the way, and he'll protect you."
"Of that I have no doubt."
"Valar willing, we will all make it back home."
"Is your home like Rivendell?" Strider had not said much of his home, and he knew little already of the elves of Rivendell. Legolas spoke as one who knew the ways of this elven haven quite well.
"No, my home is Mirkwood and the realm therein, some distance from Imladris and very different," Legolas said, but with a touch of fondness in his tone continued. "Though Rivendell is very dear to me as well."