Chapter 2: Shadows Under Leaves

Though the haze of trees had been visible in the lower lands since they left the Dimrill Dale, the forest seemed to spring up before them rather suddenly when they finally reached it. The sparse firs and scattered brush that had lined the road through heather and whin gave way now to ranks of tall-standing trees. The trees arched over path and stream, their leaves whispering upon the night-wind. The Fellowship had come to the outskirts of Lothlórien, well-guarded, fairest and most revered of the dwellings of the Elves in Middle-earth. Their hearts grew lighter, though they had scarcely crossed the threshold and were far yet from the elven border. They passed beneath the eaves cautiously, becoming used to the dim light of the stars filtered by the trees. In the dusk the Golden Wood was colourless and seemed grey and ghostly to their weary and wary eyes.

Mouthless mutters, hushed voices, stifling confinement. Not ghostly, no. Like a nightmare to the one who followed them into it. Elvish webs of cunning and deceit woven between branches, Elven enchantment in the very air. He could smell it, could taste it, and he trembled.

"Few come out who once go in."

Gollum had heard the strong Man with the silver collar say so, and the words had penetrated his mind. He murmured them now to himself in a sing-song voice, casting nervous glances at the heavy boughs that o'erhanged the narrow road. They creaked and rubbed together in the breeze as if in anticipation of snaring those who were foolish enough to enter. He paused, and thought there might be movement high in the tip-tops of the massive trees, movement that was not the wind, movement that he could catch only at the corner of his eyes but ceased when he looked directly at it. They could be silent, he knew, could be invisible if they willed it so. The Elves, the Elves would be watching, watching from high above, their piercing bright eyes seeking targets in the dark for their piercing bright arrows.

"Few come out who once go in... few come out who once go in..." Gollum sang beneath his breath. He crept along the edge of the path, casting agitated glances around him, waiting for something to move in the darkness, to grab him, for cold steel to slide over his skin. He slowed his steps, and then stopped. Gladly would he have fled back down the way he came, back to the darksome mountains and secret paths and away from the terrible trees. He remembered bonds and chains and the sharp ears of Elven captors not so long ago. To him, one forest was as another, and Elves were all the same.

Those he followed were already far ahead, no longer visible. Only darkness and uncertainty lay before him. He snuffled and whimpered. "Cannot go in, my precious, cannot go in. Already too far, we are, too far, and they shall catch usss, they will..." He took a few steps backward, then danced forward again, then cowered back.

But greater than his fear of the trees was his fear of losing the hobbit. "We can't go back, precious. Curse them and crush them, we can't!" With a burst of courage he squinched his eyes tight and darted forward, daring danger, defying the voices in the wind. He ran and ran and came to a breathless halt some distance within the forest, then scrambled off the path to hide, pressed tightly up against the stem of a large smooth tree, his fingers digging into the bark, his thin chest heaving.

He strained to catch the faintest noise, the faintest hint that something was creeping up behind him, that someone had seen him. He waited for the hue and cry, the whistle of arrows... waited, and fretted, and panted. He waited... and waited... and began to relax, to hope...

He started violently and bit down hard upon his tongue at the sudden sound of a lilting, cursed voice echoing from the path ahead: "Ease your hearts, my friends! Follow me. Here is Nimrodel."

Gollum swallowed and sank to the bole of the aged tree. The voice belonged to their Elf. Gollum muttered to himself and wondered of whom the Elf spoke, if they had met up with others of his kind. Where there was one, there was bound to be more. Again, he looked longingly back along the path he had trod and he yearned to go back, but a stronger compulsion was upon him now. The Precious called to him, cried out to him all the more strongly the further into the wood it was taken. His desire rose up and tamped down the fear and doubt; a fell light was kindled in his eyes. He crept forward carefully, quietly, weaving past the grey pillars of the trees, stopping now and then to watch and listen, but there were no voices but the familiar ones he had come to recognize.

"The water is not deep. Let us wade across! On the further bank we can rest."

Gollum peered through open spaces, keeping low, and saw that they had come upon another stream, dark and hurrying, splashing across the pathway. The travellers were making their way one by one down a steep embankment to wade out into the shallow pools. They gasped at the touch of the cold water as it swirled about their feet. The sound of the stream seemed to lift some of the weight from their grieving hearts and they made mild jests as the water mounted to their calves, then their knees. The Elf waited upon the far shore, the cruel bow slung over his shoulder, but just him, only one Elf, no more. The tall Man with the familiar - ah so familiar! - worn face came next with his cloak trailing in the water; that one cast keen glances behind him as he went, watching over the others. The Baggins was next with his servant, then the smallest hobbit, who was attempting to keep up with his friend beside him, splashing and floundering about. The smallest one tripped and nearly dragged the other down with him.

"Ai! Pippin! If it is cold water you love, far be it from me to deprive you!" The hobbits scuffled and pushed one another in the middle of the running stream until one of them inadvertently drenched the Dwarf with an ill-aimed kick.

"Lest I hold BOTH of your heads under the water and leave you as food for the Orcs, I suggest you be on that shore and far away from me," said the Dwarf. His long beard was dripping and his voice was dangerously calm. The two hobbits looked shamefaced and scrambled up onto the land to wring the water out of their clothing.

The strong Man with the silver collar brought up the rear, and it was long ere he stepped into the rippling creek to follow the others. He cast his eyes to the treetops often. It seemed to Gollum as if he, too, saw shadows lurking there.

Gollum kept at a distance that was safe, leaving the path to slip through the trees downstream, and only then did he slink cautiously over the bank. He sank himself into the mud of a small deep pool and crawled forward. The water tarried sluggishly there ere it plunged into the falls a short distance away. With nary a ripple he floated like a water bug across the tickling stream, his arms and legs splayed, his eyes protruding above the surface. The water was cool and sweet and it cleansed the dust and filth that had clung to him over the miles; he paddled there for a long while, pushing aside the sense of urgency that prickled his mind. He stayed concealed, hidden, black upon black under a dark sky, feeling the gentle current caress his parched and weary skin.

At length, reluctantly, he made his way towards the shore and clambered out onto the rocks. He shook his thin frame and licked himself like a cat, pawing long fingers through his lank hair. From where he sat he could hear them camped upstream and now and then he heard snatches of sombre song floating down to him upon the air.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was, and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.

Gollum sniffed.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.

Gollum wrinkled his nose, listening, and then leaned over to look into the dark water at his feet. He saw the stars mirrored there, sparkling and winking like tiny bits of silver and glass, and the interlacing pattern of the branches high above him framed the black shadow of his own head. He dabbled his fingers in the puddle derisively and the stars wavered. He dashed his hand upon the surface and the stars disappeared. He turned towards the voices and sounds of the travellers taking their rest. He grinned, baring sharp teeth.

Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade,

Gollum crawled, tearing and pulling at tufts of reeds and clumps of dirt until he was above the bank and crouched upon the grass. He scrabbled upstream, wheezing and chortling to himself. "Few come out, precious..."

For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.

"...who dare go in," he hissed.


The voice of Legolas faltered and his song ceased. The Elf's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly as if he were listening.

"Well?" said Merry. He pushed damp curls back from his face as he fought to chew at a piece of dried meat. "What happened next, Legolas? Did Amroth find her?"

Legolas was silent a moment longer, lost in thought, and then said, "I am sorry, Merry. I cannot sing any more. That is but part of the tale, for I have forgotten much. It is long and sad, for it tells how sorrow came to Lothlórien when the Dwarves awakened evil in the mountains."

"But the Dwarves did not make the evil," said Gimli. He and Boromir sat side by side upon a fallen tree, the Dwarf with weary legs outstretched, Boromir with his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees.

"I said not so; yet evil came," answered Legolas sadly. "Then many of the Elves of Nimrodel's kindred left their dwellings and departed, and she was lost far in the South, and she came not to the ship where Amroth her lover waited for her. But in the spring when the wind is in the new leaves the echo of her voice may still be heard by the falls that bear her name. And when the wind is in the South the voice of Amroth comes up from the sea; for Nimrodel flows into Silverlode, and Silverlode into Anduin the Great, and Anduin into the sea. But neither Nimrodel nor Amroth ever came back."

"Mmm..." Gimli turned to Boromir. "Her voice mingled with the water," he mused. "A sweet maid, this Nimrodel... but she sloshes inside my boots most unpleasantly." Boromir choked as he took a pull from his flask and Dwarf and Man shared a smile.

Gimli was pleased to note that Pippin's mouth twitched as well, though he strove to hide it from Legolas. Gandalf's fall in Moria had affected the youngest hobbit greatly; they were all saddened, but it was hardest to watch his sorrow. His grief had lightened somewhat since they had crossed into the Wood. Although the Dwarf reserved his misgivings about the place, he saw hope slip back into his companions' faces beneath these sheltering leaves.

Gimli watched Pippin a moment longer, and then glanced up to see Legolas straighten suddenly and push away from the tree upon which he had been leaning. The Elf melted silently into the forest.

"Legolas!" Boromir called to him. "We meant nothing by it. Come back."

Gimli snorted and murmured something beneath his breath. Boromir shook his head, troubled. "He should not be wandering alone here, Aragorn! I do not trust this place. We have suffered too much loss already."

Gimli cast a look at the Man's face beside him and saw uneasiness there. There is new hope here, but Boromir does not feel it, he thought. He takes no comfort in the forest. Perhaps he had reason. Gimli was not certain he liked the forest either, but somehow he did not feel threatened by it.

Aragorn gave no reply. He lifted his head and his eyes were shining beneath his hood. He had seen Legolas move, had seen the Elf's sharp ears prick up ere he disappeared. The Ranger wondered what it was their companion hunted. And thought he knew.


Gollum sat with his knees drawn up, his long, thin arms wrapped around himself. The air was cool but not cold, yet his skin was damp still from the stream and he shivered. His large eyes gleamed with a green light in the near darkness and he bared sharp teeth in a grimace. He remained some distance from the road, yet near, near enough to hear their voices, to hear them rummaging through their baggage, to hear them partaking in food and drink. He shifted uncomfortably and ran his pallid tongue over dry lips.

"Does they moves, or does they stayss?" he hissed quietly to himself. "'Praps they sleeps a bit, 'praps they does, and with haste, haste, we might find a bite to eats... nice fishes from the waters, crunchable and juicy, my preciousss. Famissshed we are, yes, and Orcses are near, but they must sleep before long, must rest tired eyes, precious, they must, they must..."

The voices had quieted some and he edged closer, still mumbling absently to himself, then twisted his neck sideways to better hear the conversation upon the pathway.

He stiffened and became aware of someone staring at him.

He gave a strangled squeak and looked up into inquisitive eyes, into a gaze as sharp as any bird, set in the pale and serene face belonging to an Elf who sat within the crook of the tree under which Gollum crouched.

It was their Elf again. He was perched there casually, impassively, pondering the creature below him. How long he had been there Gollum could not guess. He looked at the Elf warily, taking into account that the bow was not over his shoulder, that the white knife remained sheathed at his belt.

The Elf slowly straightened before him and stood tall; he pressed one hand against the tree's trunk, and then placed the other hand upon his hip.

Gollum stayed low to the ground. He blinked. The Elf did not move. They watched one another for a very long time. Gollum's fingers twitched nervously. The breeze stirred the Elf's dark hair.

Gollum sprang. With the nimbleness of a squirrel he lunged over stone and brush, clawed his way up a broad grey tree trunk and hurled himself through the branches to get away. The Elf tossed his head and coiled himself and leapt, landing within the same tree. He ran along the limbs, twisting and ducking the boughs that snapped and whipped behind the fleeing creature. Faster than sight could follow they weaved and dodged, rustling through the foliage. Gollum skittered and scrabbled to find firm hand holds, throwing himself recklessly between trees, down from the heights to the ground, then bounding back up to wind his way through the dark mazes of wood and leaves high in the air. The Elf was ever at his heels, vaulting through the spaces with flying leaps, sprinting across the trembling branches as if they were firm earth. He touched the ground lightly, and then kicked off into the trees once again, no more than a moment behind his prey. Gollum jumped for a branch and hung there just a little too long. The Elf was there above him, his eyes flashing dangerously, and he clasped the creature's wrist. Gollum snarled and hissed and bit, shaking loose, twisting himself desperately. He let go of the branch he held and his heart caught in his throat... then he deftly snagged another and he was off once more. They chased with dizzying speed through the grey forest, two quick, flickering shadows skimming fluidly through the woods. They circled and twisted back towards the clear stream that crossed the path, Gollum keeping ever just a finger's-snap ahead of the Elf…

Until he ran out of trees.

The tree-line ended abruptly at the water's edge at the riverbank. In his panic Gollum moved higher rather than nearer to the ground, scrambling along boughs that thinned and grew too weak to support even his spare body. They bent and broke as he tried to find purchase among them, clinging desperately with nimble fingers and grasping toes. Gollum caught a brief glimpse of the Elf standing below him, cradled securely in a forked trunk, watching him calmly, and he hissed with rage and frustration. Then he grabbed and searched and found nothing left to hold on to.

Legolas saw the strange creature plummet with limbs flailing just beyond his reach. It hit the soft ground far below with a muffled thud. To the Elf's amazement the thing was immediately on its hands and feet once more and loping towards the stream. It jumped once, twice, three times, over the deep embankment and then plunged into the dark water, disappearing with the current.

Legolas climbed down and paced silently along the Nimrodel, but there was no sign, no sound but the song of the running water. He knelt and examined the tracks of long fingers and spindled toes pressed into the wet soil.

"We have stayed here beside the road already longer than is wise, Aragorn!" said Gimli impatiently. The wind was gusting harder now and the Dwarf wrapped his cloak more tightly about his shoulders as he stared back along the winding trail from whence they came, back towards the Dimrill Dale; the leaves swirled in patterns over the dark ground and past his feet with a dry rush.

There was a soft whistle off to his side from the trees and the Dwarf whirled, his hand upon the hilt of his axe. He felt movement behind him and he pivoted back to find the Elf sitting cross-legged before him on the path as if he had been there all along. A faint smile played upon Legolas's lips. In one cupped hand it appeared he was holding a goodly amount of river mud.

Gimli's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare..." he growled.

"My dear Dwarf... mud drives the sting from scratches." Legolas stood and proceeded to anoint a few thin abrasions that traced his hands and face. "The trust you place in your companions leaves much to be desired." Amusement shone in his pale eyes.

"Certain companions, aye, and for good reason," said Gimli. "Most of my companions are not out tilting with trees in the middle of the night. What have you been up to? Did you fall out of one?"

"May we go on?" interrupted Frodo. The hobbit sat nearby on a rock by the trail with one hand pressed against his breast as if he were in pain. His face was drawn and weary. Sam was by his side, both his pack and Frodo's slung upon his back, and his eyes were also tired and frightened beneath the fresh bandage Aragorn had wound about his head earlier that day.

"Of course, Frodo," said Legolas ruefully. "I am sorry. It is indeed unwise to stay here. Our pursuers are not far behind and we must find safe ground to rest. It was not my intention to tarry for as long as I did. Forgive me." He bowed towards both hobbits and ere Sam could protest, Legolas relieved Sam of the burden of his pack and Boromir took Frodo's. The Company rose and stretched and prepared to continue with their march. The Elf swept past Gimli to gather up his bow and his belongings; he handed the Dwarf's gear to him as well and gave his shoulder an amicable pat.

Gimli glowered. A generous plaster of mud stuck where Legolas had touched him. "Safe ground… that may be hard to come by! How far are we yet from the borders of Lórien?"

"Not far, yet far enough," answered Aragorn. "Too far, if the Orcs are as near as I suspect. They are as hounds upon the scent and the Golden Wood is vast. The trees grow taller and the forest deeper towards the West beyond the Silverlode. There we might find shelter."

They turned aside from the winding road and began to pick their way through the underbrush. Aragorn slowed his pace, letting Boromir and the hobbits lead. He fell back to walk with Legolas and he looked questioningly at him. With the streaks of mud painting his face the Elf looked like some wild forest spirit risen from the earth.

Legolas met his gaze and shook his head lightly. "I had hoped we had lost our little shadow in Moria, but it seems he follows Frodo still," he said in a low voice. "A fright I gave him, I deem, and perhaps he should not now be so bold as to linger so near. I would have slain him had I not recalled Mithrandir's reluctance to do so in Moria and... in truth, I know not if I could have done it. He is an utterly miserable creature, Aragorn."

Aragorn sighed and nodded, running his fingers through tangled hair. "One more danger, one more worry. There is naught we can do tonight but press on as swiftly as we may."