8) Green Life, Charred Bones

Legolas followed the highway uphill all night. He was beginning to get an idea of exactly how far he had drifted during his latest death. His rock-as-a-weight idea was even more flawed than he thought.

Though he knew the woods that the trail cut through very well, they looked different. He knew the voices of these trees well. He knew what they would say, their opinions, their wisdom. But they refused to speak to him now. He couldn't even hear them muttering amongst themselves, as he knew they certainly must be.

However, what he saw wasn't quite like anything he had ever seen before. He could see vividly and perfectly everything in the forest that was alive in direct contrast to that which was dead. The living trees and foliage swirled with light green design, illuminating their veins. The rocks, alternately, hummed with a dull black. The dead trees also contained this black colour, but with lights of green within where the bugs, plants and other life were alive, utilizing the rotting wood for food and fertilizer.

"What is this new sight?" He said aloud. He turned to a tall evergreen. "Why won't you speak to me? I didn't ask to be reincarnated. I didn't ask for anything. Yet you won't forgive this unnatural occurrence?

Legolas' mind was beginning to move along faster and make connections that he didn't really have proof of. He was becoming disheartened and the trees' snobbery did nothing to calm his fears about Aragorn's fate.

The tree said nothing.

"I will not forget the way that you have treated me here, this night…"He whispered and turned on his heel and carried on, clumsily up the path.

In his flushed anxiety and anger he felt more and more ill. His head felt empty and light as air. In great contrast to the darkness, the bright lights of life in the forest hurt his eyes and he was beginning to feel dizzy. He swayed from side to side all the way up the path, using the trees to balance off of. He carried on, determined to ignore his own discomfort and secure transportation from Rivendell.

The pink clouds of morning presaged the arrival of the sun as he neared Rivendell. He slowed. He could hear elves moving on the fork in the road ahead. Without thinking, he ducked behind a tree to avoid being seen. He wasn't sure why he felt like some sort of criminal or fugitive – it felt as though he shouldn't be there. However, he did know that he didn't want to run into anyone, but that he wasn't going to get anywhere on foot, especially with this dilapidated body that barely listened to his commands.

I need a horse. But the stir that I would create by showing up, presumed dead. . . My father still there. . . His throat hurt terribly. He decided that there was no alternative to sneaking into Rivendell and stealing a horse.

Ahead, the Prince could hear the Elvish murmurings of a couple of hunters. They were exclaiming to one another about some blackness down the trail, but Legolas wasn't listening. Instead he was focusing on how he could use their distraction to sneak through the trees and over the bridge without being detected by their keen hearing, or being exposed by the ever-lighter morning. As they moved down the path the way that he had just come, he snuck toward the bridge, through the dense brush of the forest, careful to move as they moved, his noise absorbed by theirs. At the foot of the bridge - the very bridge covering the water that, a few hours ago, ushered him to his second death – he knelt in the high grass and listened. He listened hard over the thundering water of the waterfall and over his own pounding, exhausted heart.

Quick and painless! He told himself.

As agile and swift as a cat, he rolled low over the bridge and hid in the grass on the other side. He turned and kept himself from looking at the ruined mound of grave-dirt where he was supposedly buried. From here he moved behind various trees and walls trying to avoid being seen on his way to the stables.

It was then that he heard a loud rumbling that sounded like a staggered explosion. He froze. Were they under attack?

There was no time to find out. He slunk into the stables, checking carefully to make sure he was alone. Upon his entrance, the horses all perked up in their stalls. They glowed green to his eyes as many stamped nervously. Some tried to back away as he stepped forward, but none acted so violently as those closest to him. A bay mare and a dappled gray angrily reared to the best of their abilities, tied within the stalls.

Legolas was shocked. This had never happened to him before. All animals had always responded with warmth and respect, in light of the deep connection between elves and all life, as well as his own love of such creatures.

Astounded as he was, he moved quickly to try and calm the frightened horses. He shushed them as gently as he could, reminding them in Elvish who he was and that he meant them no harm. He told them all that he had had a rough week, but that that didn't change the deepest reverence he felt for all of them.

Slowly but surely, he succeeded in calming them. Despite his success, Legolas felt the strangest suspicion that rather than being calmed by his words, it had been the tone in his voice that had finally won them over. But that didn't make any sense. Since when could he not articulate himself to other creatures? But there was no time to wonder about such trivialities. It would soon be time for breakfast and the stable master would be down soon to feed these beasts.

He chose the bay mare that he had initially frightened the most deliberately because she was spirited. He wanted to reinstall as much confidence as he could, so he chose her. She also looked nimble.

He moved quickly, taking her saddle and blanket from the peg near her stall. He slid the blanket and then the saddle over her back, her warm fur the first soft sensation he had felt since his death.

She suddenly stood erect, her eyes bugling, her nostrils flaring. And then, the elf's eye caught on something black. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing. His eyes widened and his stomach turned into a horrid block of ice.

Black was rapidly spreading all over the horse's back like a plague, charring and disintegrating as it went. The creature gave a grotesque scream as the disease trickled down her legs and burned and charcoaled her like acid.

"What! No! Why is this happening? Oh Valar, no!" Legolas fumbled, trying to stop the spread, trying to hold her up even as her legs disintegrated and she began to crumble into dust.

But there was nothing he could do. Her face turned black and her bulbous eyes, which were now milky and bright in contrast, accented her voice, letting out one last strangled plea for help. (Legolas heard dimly that in her plea she was appealing to the other horses, hoping that they would save her from him – the enemy.) The coaled horse fell into a pile of charred bones and dust while the elf stood, his hands open and shaking, not believing his eyes.

TBC