: : :

III III III

For several moments the only thing that could be heard was Anne's ragged breathing.

"Are you done?" said Legolas at length.

His tone was light and calm - as if Anne were merely dallying with some chore that he had asked her to do, and not like she had just tried to hit him. He sounded in fact so bored with the whole situation that it took all of her restraint not to throw back her head in the vain hope that she might hit his face. Chances were that he was capable of doing the same thing to her neck he had done to her arms – which in turn might prove to be rather unhealthy.

"Let go off me!" she hissed instead.

"With pleasure. Once you have calmed down."

"You are hurting me!"

"You are hurting yourself."

"Because of you!"

"What has gotten into you?"

"I thought you were dead!"

The words had formed in her head without her realising it, and they were out of her mouth before she had a chance to bite down on her tongue. She did it belatedly, dimly registering that opening her mouth in the first place might have been a huge mistake. This was not what she had meant to say at all.

Legolas had fallen silent and gone very still. Anne could feel his slow intakes of breath against her back – and even that faint movement seemed to cease for a moment. Then she suddenly felt the Elf let go off her left wrist and pull her around by the other one so they were facing each other again. She looked up at him defensively, trying to read his expression. He appeared to be doing the same, possibly with a lot more success, as the only thing moving in his face were his eyes. After a few moments, he slightly bowed his head and waved one hand in a 'go-ahead'-gesture.

Anne stared at him, nonplussed.

"What?" she said uncertainly.

"Ask your questions."

She frowned, not sure what to make of his sudden change of mood. "Really?"

"You will not stop pestering me until you have, am I mistaken?"

"Er—"

„That is what I thought," he said while letting go of her other wrist and walking back towards his tree where he turned around and sat down against it once more. "So ask."

Still feeling somewhat wary, Anne approached the Elf and crouched down on the ground in front of him.

"What happened to that woman? And to the child?"

It was not exactly the question she was most anxious to get an answer to, but for some reason, it was the first one that popped into her head.

"Nothing. She fled when her healer began his attack."

"So it really was her whom I heard screaming," Anne muttered. "Was she … do you think she was –"

"No. There was no lie in her eyes when she approached us, and when that man's true intentions became apparent, her fright seemed genuine. I doubt that she was anything more than a tool to them."

"But who are they? And that man… it seemed like he was only after you."

"Yes," said Legolas, his gaze slowly wandering away from Anne. "It did seem like that."

"But how could they know that you would go in there? How could they know that you would even come that way?"

His motion was half an elegant shrug, half a defensive gesture.

"That eludes me. These days there might be many unfriendly eyes watching from afar, from hidden and unhidden places."

"And that doesn't alarm you?" Anne asked incredulously, before adding in a sardonic tone: "Or did you suspect that as well?"

"Who says that it does not alarm me?" the Elf retorted, his eyes meeting hers again.

She bit her lip and fell silent for a moment, before realising that he had not told her anything new so far.

"That 'healer'," she said, not quite managing to put the same punctuated irony in the word he had done before. "He was talking about fire… he said it didn't belong to you anymore…"

It might have been a mere trick that the twilight was playing on her eyes, but for a moment Anne thought she saw the corner of his mouth jerk into the ghost of an icy smile. But then the moment had passed, Legolas expression was blank and his face showing nothing but a vague tiredness.

"Yes," was all he offered.

"What does that mean?"

This time he remained silent for so long, Anne had already begun to suspect that he would not answer her at all, when he finally sighed, bowing his head.

"The word may be misleading, I think. What he was referring to is something we call Galacil."

"And what is that?"

"It is difficult to explain, especially to mortals. Ultimately it is something like the essence – or force – of life, of every growing and breathing being, every living thing on earth. It is not visible to the eye, though many of us are able to perceive it, and sense how great it is. Whether the smallest plant or the greatest beast, they all carry it within them."

Anne frowned, trying to follow him. "And we do also?"

The Elf tilted his head. "Of course. Maybe it really is easier to understand if you think of it as fire. Within the Eldar it burns far brighter, and the flames grow much greater than in mortals, beasts, or even trees. Therefore it presents us with powers and skills that you do not know, provides us with strength and will that you cannot muster. However, it also is capable of burning and consuming us from the inside if we let it – and like a fire, its force can turn from life-giving to perilous. With the same might that it empowers us to love - it may lead us to hate. And while it may enable us to build and create many things that are fair and good, it may lead us to destroy them as well."

"So, then" Anne threw in, in a harried attempt to understand this all correctly. "It is not exactly like a soul, is it?"

"No. As far as I understand, Men seem to think of the soul – which we call fëa - as something that defines the person who bears it, whereas the Galacil, whether it burns bright or dark is entirely dependant and defined by us and our decisions. Also, mortals are of the belief that after the death of their hröar – their body - the fëa will live on. The Galacil, however, lives and dies with us." The Elf formed a vessel with his hand. "Without something to hold it, it cannot exist."

"But –" Anne was still struggling to follow. "If your people have so much more of that… life force than we do – does that mean that you cannot be killed?"

"No," Legolas shook his head, "of course we can be killed. Also we age, just as the world ages. But, like you said, the amount of Galacil a mortal carries within himself is extremely small compared to ours. It connects us with the power of the earth of which it is made. Therefore, if we are not killed by the hand of someone else, or choose to leave this world willingly, that flame inside us burns and lives on - until the earth itself is undone."

Anne stared at him for a moment. "That is to say, you… you are… how old exactly—" she stopped herself, shaking her head and waving a hand at him, having decided not to try and wrap her mind around this for now. "Never mind that. Are you sure, that is what the man was talking about? I mean – what does that mean, 'it is no longer yours'?"

Legolas did not reply immediately, and for a moment, the gentle rustle of dry leaves and the monotone, whistling call of a wagtail were the only sounds to be heard. When at last, the Elf spoke, his voice was soft and somehow more mellow than usual, as if reluctant to drown out the bird's song with his words. "You are too young to remember the last war, but during such times there will always be – corruption – amongst people. Do you understand what that means?"

Anne, who had been staring at him in apprehension, frowned and looked down at her hands, which were wrapped around her knees. For some reason, she thought of the altered ones, even if she had a feeling that this was not what Legolas was talking about. Then her thoughts turned to the destroyed camp on the slopes of the Misty Mountains... the corpses... the body of the red-haired woman, defiled, broken, destroyed. She swallowed. "You mean... corrupting as in... making people do bad things?" she asked quietly.

The Elf met her eyes for a moment; there was something dark in them, Anne thought with a shudder. Not like before, though — he wasn't exuding it, but merely reflecting it – as if from a distant, grim memory.

"Yes, as in making people do bad things," he said gently, utilising her child-like wording. His gaze strayed away from her and towards the shadowed mountain chain. "This happens to the children of Men, but it also happens to us. A firstborn – one of the Eldar," he added at Anne's puzzled expression, "might suffer even worse from such a fate perhaps. Having us act against our will — against our nature — will weaken our Galacil, may even rob us of parts of it.

And while the life force of a secondborn – a mortal – might be swiftly spent, that of an Elda will last indefinitely longer. A darkened heart, but made to beat forever — to someone thirsting for power, that may seem like a mighty and desirable ally... or a powerful servant."

"But... how would someone be corrupted like that?" Anne asked cautiously, unable to repress the memory of how that man in the village had addressed Legolas.

"How indeed," the Elf muttered, his eyes still cast into space and his voice distant and cool. "If not my means of trickery, coercion or deceit, that person's heart would have to be filled with utter darkness."

Anne stared at his profile, an ominous feeling of inexplicable fear suddenly pressing down on her.

"How would that… how would something like that happen?"

The Elf said nothing for a while, but when at length he spoke, he might as well have been talking about the weather.

"By committing murder, for example. By hurting or killing someone dear to you."

"But," Anne said swallowing. "Why would anyone do that to someone who is dear to them?"

"Deception… treachery… or even by accident."

Anne realised dimly that she was quivering, and it wasn't just from the cold of the falling night. "What about the other... way around," she murmured shakily. "Wouldn't that be worse?" She more sensed than saw Legolas turn his head towards her and she looked up at him; darkness was creeping in, but his eyes looked slightly brighter than they should have, reflecting some strange light that was invisible to her.

"What could be worse than slaying your own kin? Or a friend?" the Elf asked quietly.

"Well, being the other one, perhaps?" Anne muttered. "To be murdered, or at least attacked by someone you trusted and thought to be your friend?"

"Do you think so?" Legolas' voice was pensive as he turned his gaze back towards her. It was, however, already impossible to make out his expression in the gloom. "perhaps your fear of betrayal and bereavement is greater than that of guilt. But then, perhaps this kind of pain is not measurable. It would not matter, though. As I said, once the body has died, the spirit's energy becomes useless – it returns to the earth of which it is part."

"How do you know all these things?" Anne asked, frowning, and peering at his face in the swiftly falling dusk. "Have you seen this—" A thought suddenly struck her. "Wait — Is that what happened to the altered ones? Someone somehow took away that life force of them?" Even while she was still speaking, Anne saw the dark silhouette of Legolas shake its head.

"No. Like I told you, the body cannot survive once robbed of all its life force. Those Men and Elves you call altered… what was done to them is something very different – and in a way perhaps much worse."

"So you do know what was done to them?" Despite her surprise, Anne felt a little distracted; there was something odd about what Legolas had said, and she was still trying to work out what it was. "No one in Carrockton seemed to have a clear idea of what it was that happened to them."

"No, they would not know about it," said Legolas, leaning back against the tree. All Anne could see of him was the pale oval of his face and the soft shimmer of starlight reflected in his eyes.

"What changed them is an ancient curse – much older than the history of Men. And even though the one who was the first to cast it does not dwell in this world anymore, many of his evil deeds have stood the test of time and lived on – though, who is making use of them now, I cannot say. "

"And this ancient curse – what…" Anne swallowed. "What exactly does it do?"

"Little is known about it, even amongst my folk. It is believed, however, that it makes people… diminish. It extinguishes everything that defines the character of a person – memories, self-mastery, emotions…"

He raised his head to look at her. "All morality... all goodness of a living being – gone."

Anne suddenly saw a group of sordid men in front of her inner eye, grabbing her arms, staring down at her out of fathomless, broken eyes. "Those of them, I … I saw in the forest," she muttered. "They barely resembled humans anymore."

"No," the Elf agreed softly. "They do not know the feelings that would make them human – love, joy and sorrow… or mercy. They have nothing left but their most base and primary instincts. The only thing setting them apart from beasts is that they still know cruelty."

They fell silent for a while; Anne was letting everything she had just heard sink in while trying to imagine what it might be like not being able to feel emotions anymore. She remembered the pale, silver-haired Elf she had encountered along with those men. The cold of The disturbingly blank look in his eyes – removed... unseeing… dead. And yet, he had let her go.

"That curse," she finally began uncertainly. "Can they… can it be undone?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied quietly, after pausing for a moment, as if surprised by her question. Anne vigorously pulled her thoughts away from the unpleasant memories to address the original topic once more.

"What I still don't understand - what did that false healer really mean? What did they want from you? How did they even know…" The question slowly died on her lips as something that still had been nagging at the back of her mind, suddenly came to the surface again and began to make sense.

The body cannot survive once robbed of all its life force.

If someone lost all of that energy they would die, Legolas had said. But what if only part of it was lost…

"Having us act against our will — against our nature — will weaken our Galacil, may even rob us of parts of it."

Anne remembered meeting Glorfindel and having wondered whether it was merely due to the fact that she was used to Delior that the light shimmering through his skin appeared to be somewhat fainter and paler - compared to the golden-haired Elf. Although she had had the distinct impression that Glorfindel was both older and more powerful than Legolas, there was something else, which she had not been able to make sense of.

Anne looked up at the Elf, and even though she was barely able to make out the outlines of his features, it was almost like she could see the slightly too prominent cheekbones underneath pale skin, the bluish circles around his eyes, and the tired, slightly haunted look they had about them.

"Those people know about you," Anne said slowly, "because you have met them before… or at least one of them. That is what is wrong with you, isn't it?" She stared hard at him, although she couldn't see his expression in the darkness. Everything he had told her - everything she had discovered and noticed about him during their time together - suddenly it all made horrible but perfect sense. "Your life force – you have lost a part of it… that is why he said it did not belong to you anymore." Anne felt like something cold was pressing down on her insides. "But," she whispered. "You said that in order for that to happen –"

"This is enough for tonight, I think," Legolas interrupted her calmly, while rising soundlessly. "I shall see to the horses, they still need water."

"Legolas," Anne called after him, and saw his dark shape pause.

"What did they do?"

The Elf turned his head; the right side of his face was suddenly bathed in pale, colourless moonlight.

"I thought you had already found that out for yourself."

"No - I mean, what… what did they make you do?" she whispered.

For a moment he said nothing, and from what she could see of his face, it remained blank. When he spoke, his tone was as calm and level as before – though there was also the hint of something else that she could not quite place.

"I told you before that there are things you would not wish to know about me." A cloud shifted, veiling the moon and casting the Elf's face into shadow. "This is one of them."

With that, he finally turned and walked over to the tree group where the horses were tethered. With her mind whirling, Anne stumbled back towards the spot where she had rolled out her blankets, but it should take her a long time to fall asleep that night. Amongst all the answers Legolas had given her, there was one thing that kept floating back to the surface –

by committing murder

:::

The next morning, Anne felt less than rested. Legolas insisted on decamping at an exceptionally unholy time – the sun had not even risen yet, and it did not look like that would happen any time soon. The air still smelled humid and slightly musty, and as far as Anne was able to see in the twilight, the sky was hazy and grey. Only after having some breakfast she slowly began to feel a little bit more awake; while saddling Peg, she thought about everything Legolas had told her the previous evening, and she timidly asked herself how that was supposed to make her feel about him – only to discover that she had no idea at all. Anne had half expected to feel some sort of fear or unease upon looking at him this morning, somehow different from before, but that was not the case.

The thought that he had done something truly horrible – whatever that might have been – seemed as distant and unreal to her as a children's tale. Not that she believed him to be a saint, but she had seen the altered ones and their deeds, and then those men in the village. The thought that he might be capable of doing equally terrible things just seemed so absurd. She remembered him saying that one could be led to do certain things through trickery or treachery, and felt her insides squirm a little. For the umpteenth time, she found herself wondering what it could have been, but she knew that, even if she dared to ask him again, he would not tell her.

It was probably for the better; her feelings towards him were complicated enough as it was, that much she realised. Very deliberately Anne had shoved the memory of all the events from before their talk to the very back of her mind – which was slowly but surely becoming rather cramped – and decided not to ponder on them for the time being. During the morning she caught herself watching Legolas every now and then, looking for any sign of affirmation of the knowledge she now had.

The Elf was, however, his usual aloof self, acting (perhaps unsurprisingly) like their conversation from last night had never happened, and if, to Anne's eyes, he looked somewhat paler or more hollow-cheeked than before, it was presumably due to her far too vivid imagination. She was also still unsure as for why he had changed his mind so abruptly and decided to tell her so much. Whatever his motivation might have been, though, Anne would have liked to say something to him - something to acknowledge the sudden trust he had shown her by talking to her about those things. However, she did not know how to approach the subject, or even what exactly she wanted to tell him, and as the day progressed she lost her courage and gave up on the idea.

:::

It was after nightfall when Legolas finally reined his horse to a stop, and peered through the trees in front of them. Since he made no move to dismount for several moments, Anne rode up next to him; when she reached his side, she saw that he was frowning very slightly.

"What is it? Are we going to –" she began, but was stopped by a swift gesture of his hand.

He then held up the same hand, palm towards her. Anne understood and shortened the reins, while Legolas walked Dûrfang slowly forward, until they had vanished between the trees. Anne felt like a cup of ice-cold water had been tipped inside her stomach. She remembered very clearly the last time her companion had behaved like this. Anne did not even need to close her eyes to see the ground covered with dead bodies… the horribly mutilated woman… she remembered the sickening, sweetish smell…

Peg seemed to sense her fear; he began to prance nervously, snorted and threw back his head. Anne took a couple of deep breaths and began stroking the horse's neck, while talking calmingly to him – though, perhaps rather to soothe her own nerves.

"It's all right, don't worry. If he wants to lead us right through another graveyard, we will just refuse to take even one more step. Together we should be able to stand up against him, don't you think? At any rate, he is much too imperious for his own good. "I bet when he was little, he was the type to bully around other –

"Forgive me for having to interrupt your plotting," sounded the Elf's dry voice as he stepped out from under the trees again.

Not for the first time, Anne wished the plague on him and his catlike tread, but she tried to make her voice sound as serene as possible when she retorted: " I was not plotting. And I assume that it is all right to speak again, then?"

"It is. I even fear that it may turn out inevitable. Come."

He turned and disappeared through the trees once more. Nonplussed, Anne walked her horse after him. She had barely time to wonder what that curious comment of his was supposed to mean and where Dûrfang had got to, when they had already emerged in a small clearing, and her second question was answered. There the dark stallion stood calmly, and next to him – two Elves. Both were male, dark-haired, clad in grey and brown and, like Legolas, armed with bows and knives, but in addition to that, they also carried swords at their hips. When they had reached them, the three men exchanged a few quiet words in their own language, ignoring Anne completely, before one of the strange Elves lounged into a longer monologue. He seemed to be explaining something to Legolas, judging from the tone of his voice.

Anne, who had been unsure whether it might not seem rude if she kept sitting on her horse, had slid out of the saddle, and now took the opportunity to take a surreptitious look at one of the strangers, whose hair was drawn back and braided in an elaborate and complicated looking way. When her wandering eyes reached his face she found with a slight shock that he was staring at her. Suddenly his face split into a grin. He turned to Legolas and said something, while nodding his head in her direction. All three of them looked over at her now; Anne defensively folded her arms, while feeling her face heat up. Apart from everything else, she hated not to understand what was being said – especially if it concerned her. The Elf who had been talking to Legolas now appeared to be asking him something; Legolas merely shrugged and asked something in return. The other Elf nodded and pointed into the woods behind them. They exchanged a few more words – then Legolas motioned for Anne to follow him, took back Dûrfang's reins, and they left the clearing and continued on their path through the denser growing trees.

"What did he say?" Anne wanted to know, once she believed them to be out of earshot. "That one with the braids."

Legolas did not immediately reply; perhaps, Anne thought, the Elf had said something rude, and he was wondering how to whitewash it.

"He merely expressed his astonishment at the fact that you were nothing but a child," the Elf said finally. "After all the noise they heard, he had been expecting something far bigger, it seems."

He obviously had not spent much effort on the whitewashing.

"Who are they?" Anne had decided to ignore the comment. "Do you know them? Are they from your home?"

"No, they are not of the silvan folk. I think I may know some of the others, though."

"'The others'?" Anne asked quickly, a sense of foreboding rising within her.

There was no need for Legolas to answer; before them, Anne could now see the flickering light of several campfires shining through the tree trunks, and the murmur of soft, melodic voices became audible. A dark figure suddenly appeared on the path in front of them; he muttered something that could have been a greeting, when he passed them, and then disappeared into the direction they had come from. Anne twisted her head round to look after the person, but the darkness had already swallowed him, and after she had stumbled across a tree root she hastily turned back forward. Someone was singing in a low, very clear voice; she could not understand the words, but it was absolutely entrancing all the same. They went around a thicket and suddenly stood at the fringe of another clearing, and Anne blinked into the firelight.

"Mae Govannen, Legolas," someone called. For some weird reason, Anne remembered those to be the words Glorfindel had used as well, when they had met him. It had been the first time she had heard someone speak in that language. She curiously looked about her, while breathing in the homely smell of log fires, peat, and the resinous scent of firs. She got a brief glimpse of many fair faces, bathed in the warm, yellowish-orange glow of the flames of four or five campfires before she got distracted by someone else speaking to them. Although the voice had the clear, deep, but bright tone that Anne, by now, could identify as elvish, the words were not.

"Hail, Legolas! It gladdens my heart to see you, truly – but what have you brought us there? A chicklet with no feathers! A barrel of the good Dorwinion wine would have served better purpose for merrymaking and amusement."

It took Anne a moment to realise that they were talking about her. Perhaps, she thought surly, rudeness or offensiveness was just an elvish cultural mannerism. At least Legolas was a bit slyer about it... sometimes. 'A chicklet with no feathers'? A chicklet? The reverence she had felt upon suddenly standing in the middle of this group waned rapidly. She mutely scowled at the Elf who had spoken, and who was now getting up from the fire he had been sitting at and strode over to them.

He was lean but broad-shouldered, his black hair was tied together at the back of his neck, and he was - of course - towering over her. When he reached them, she saw that he was, in fact, as tall as Legolas. Absently she thought that he also seemed to resemble him more than some of the others, even though it was hard to tell in the dim light. He now grinned down at Anne, and took the reins from her hand. Somehow there was something disquieting about his eyes, but before she could put a finger on it, he had looked away. Legolas said something in his own language which made the other Elf laugh - then he handed him Dûrfang's reins as well and led Anne to one of the campfires, where he spoke a couple of words to the Elves sitting there. He then told Anne to sit down and that soon someone would bring her something to eat and drink.

Anne nodded and watched as he turned and went over to another fire, where she could see him greet another dark-haired Elf clad in a silvery-grey cloak, who had risen and grasped his arm, before both sat down together. She sighed and sat down too, mindful to arrange her cloak beneath her for some protection against the cold ground. She glancing about herself, but didn't dare to stare at anyone for too long. Those sitting at the fire with her had politely made room for her, but apart from one or two mildly curious glances, it appeared that she was being ignored. Anne suddenly felt very self-conscious; not knowing what to do with her hands, she hugged her knees and turned her gaze to the flames. Before she had time to very lonely, she was approached by a sandy-haired Elf, who handed her a bowl of hot, full-flavoured soup, smelling deliciously of fresh herbs, as well as some bread that tasted of honey and poppy seeds.

After a while, the Elf who was sitting next to Anne moved to the side - away from her. Maybe I should not take it personally, she thought sardonically. They probably have no idea what to think of me.

She briefly wondered whether she might not simply stink to high heaven, offending all the noses around her, which were presumably just as sensitive as she had already learned it from Legolas. The next moment, however, she realised that the Elf had merely moved over to make room for someone else, who now settled down in the vacated spot next to her. Looking up, she recognised the black-haired Elf who had taken the horses from them. He returned the look Anne was giving him, and upon seeing the expression on her face he smiled in a slightly unnerving way. He was holding a wooden cup in one hand, from which he now took a sip.

"I'm glad you didn't have to do without your wine after all." The words slipped out before she could mentally censor them.

His smile broadened. "Oh, but I did," he said silkily, holding the cup out to her - presumably for her inspection.

Anne stared down at it, wondering whether he actually expected her to be able to identify the content in the darkness.

"What was that about wine?" someone asked.

"Nothing, unfortunately," replied the black-haired Elf, giving Anne a captivating smile.

She suddenly realised what was so strange about his eyes; they were too pale - a very clear light grey, or blue perhaps, heavily contrasted with the jet-black of his lashes and brows, that gave his eyes a permanently penetrating look.

"I am merely proving my innocence," he now continued. (At this, one of the other Elves snorted and muttered something that raised soft laughter here and there, but was ignored by the one it had been directed at.) "… to our little guest here. However, it appears that she is angered at me for some reason."

"That might be due to your rudeness, Saenor," said the one who had snorted. He turned towards Anne. "Pay him no heed, lady. Regretfully, this fellow here deems himself overly witty -"

"Astonishing," said the Elf, whose name was apparently Saenor. "I might not have recognised the 'lady' underneath all that mud. Admit it, someone told you –"

"Excuse me - I am right here," spluttered Anne. "If you feel the need to talk about me, at least do it in your own language so I don't have to ..." She trailed off as everyone around her had gone very quiet. Then they began to laugh.

"I take back everything!" Saenor chuckled. "She is a lot more entertaining than I thought."

Anne was casting around for an angry retort – but Saenor had suddenly gotten to his feet and taken her hand in one swift, fluid motion, and now bowed low over it.

"Forgive us," he said in a voice so kind and gentle it was difficult to harbour any more grudge. "On behalf of my companions - we have been very rude indeed."

"You have been rude, you meant to say, surely?" said a blonde Elf, who had raised his eyebrows.

"No, Galdion, I did not, but thank you," Saenor replied, the haughtiness almost dripping off every syllable. "And now kindly stop confusing the poor thing, she had to suffer the frivolities of you lot for long enough."

The Elf named Galdion and one or two others began to protest half-heartedly, but didn't seem all too bothered by it all. Even Anne found it hard to stay grumpy, and no matter what she had said before, she was glad that they were not speaking in their own language. Somehow she felt more included this way, even though they were mostly talking about and not to her, and were being a bit silly. Also, despite his mockery Saenor had managed to make her forget her self-consciousness and that, a mere half hour ago, she had felt so intimidated and out of place.

"Now, little chicklet," Saenor said, while sitting down again. "Where did Legolas pick you up from?"

"I do have a name, you know. And he did not pick me up from anywhere, he just sort of… found me."

Saenor picked up his cup once more. "What is it, then?"

Anne frowned. "What is what? It's nothing, I simply got separated from the people I had been travelling with, and he, er -"

"No, your name, silly – what is your name?"

"Oh... Anne."

"O-Ên?"

"Oh dear, that was not even remotely ingenious, Saenor."

"Be quiet, Celendir, or am I talking to you? Anne, hmm… still, a bit strange. Is that foreign?"

"It is short for Elena," Anne said hastily. She did not exactly fancy explaining about herself and her situation right now. "Where do you come from – not from the Eryn Lasgalen?"

"No, no, we are from Rivendell. Have you ever heard of it?"

Anne frowned, sure she had heard that name before. Then she remembered. "Imladris! That is Rivendell, is it not? Does not Glorfindel live there?"

For a moment, Saenor's eyes widened in surprise. "Ai, it would seem you have seen quite a lot in your young live, and already met several highborn lords. You know Glorfindel?"

Anne shook her head. "No, not really. I only met him once; he came to speak with Delior – I mean, Legolas – and that was the only time I saw him, so -"

"You call him Delior?" Saenor asked, seemingly slightly amused.

"What? No..." Anne was still trying to get used to the Elf's apparent habit of dropping one subject and jumping to the next. "I mean, yes, I did – that was the name he told me to call him when we first met. I only learned his real name after Glorfindel's visit –"

"Visit? I thought he took you with him and you have been travelling ever since. So, you have seen Thranduil's halls as well?"

"No," said Anne. "No, I have never been there. We were…" She hesitated. Although Saenor appeared to know Legolas, he did not seem to know about the nomadic existence the latter was leading. Perhaps Legolas did not want people to know. Also, Anne somehow suspected that the idea of only the two of them 'staying' in the same cave (even if one of them was injured) for several weeks might be slightly frowned upon. "It was not a visit, really. We, er – sort of ran into each other. It was more of a coincidence, I think."

Saenor, however, already seemed to have lost interest in the matter. "And he told you that his name was Delior?"

"Well, he said, some people called him that." Anne shrugged, wondering why the Elf was so interested in this.

"Did he, now?" Saenor said slowly, while a strange, catlike smile was forming on his fair face. "How odd… I wonder why he would do that."

Anne looked at him, curious. "I am sorry, but what is—" she began, but was interrupted when someone called something in the elvish tongue. She turned and looked up; two Elves carrying bows were standing next to their fire, apparently waiting for Saenor to join them. The black-haired Elf had already jumped to his feet.

"You will have to excuse me, lady, I am afraid," he said, bowing gracefully to her. "I would like nothing better than to enjoy your company all evening, but alas, duty calls. Good night!"

With that he turned and followed the other two, away from the fires and into the darkness beyond the trees. Anne looked after him for a moment, and then glanced over at Legolas – but he still appeared to be in conversation with the dark Elf who she had seen him greet before. She thought about what Saenor had said for a while, and finally decided to ask Legolas himself about that name, as soon as she would get the chance. Nothing came of her plan that night, though. Shortly after Saenor had left, she suddenly became so tired that she dozed off right where she was sitting – to the great amusement of those around her.

After that, one of the Elves at her fire led her to a spot a couple of feet away from the fires where hazel bushes formed a natural shelter. The Elves had somehow managed to use twigs, fir sprigs and her blankets to build a sweet smelling, soft mattress. Within seconds – so it seemed to her – Anne had fallen asleep.

:::

"You are quiet."

Legolas sighed, tearing his gaze away from the flames to look at the slightly worried face of the Elf next to him.

"I have told you everything I know. Also, it seems to me that little of it was news to you."

Elrohir leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand. "That is not what I mean."

"I feel weary."

"I cannot remember ever having seen you weary."

"Then you may not be as perceptive as you think."

"Perhaps - though there remains the possibility that you have not told me everything, after all." When Elrohir received no reply he continued: "At any rate, many things have changed since I last saw you."

"It seems like Saenor has not changed."

"Did you expect him to?"

They both watched Saenor bow to Anne in an exaggerated way, before leaving for his guard duty.

"If indeed, it becomes worse the older he gets," muttered Elrohir. "Which is peculiar, for he is well-read and highly articulate. Also he is a credit to his ancestry in the matter of craft. It is fair to say that his skill in the forge is something this world has not seen in several ages."

"So I have heard," Legolas said softly. "I also heard about other qualities of his – and not all of them are quite as praised."

Elrohir sighed. "Yes, he has to be reined in every now and then. He can be rather captivating if he means to, though."

Legolas shot him a short glance. "And that is your opinion?"

"My wife's."

"Aah."

"It seems like your charge there shares her view on the matter." Elrohir watched the woman for a while. "Why did you bring her here, Legolas?"

"I told you. An unfortunate series of events – I had little choice."

"Yes, I understand that you could not leave her there. After her injury had healed, however, why did you not take her to your own people? She would have been safe in your father's realm, and also it would have been closest." Elrohir paused for a while, but Legolas said nothing. "So, you would not return… not even to bring someone innocent to safety –"

"She is safe." Legolas looked up at the other Elf, his face darkened. "Are you accusing me of endangering that girl?"

"Are you arguing that you did not?" Elrohir shook his head. "We have fought side by side - I know you to be more considerate than this."

Legolas remained silent for a moment, while Elrohir watched him. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and distant. "As long as she is with me, nothing will happen to her. In Bree she will be amongst her own people. Do you not agree that this is better for her?"

"That may be true," replied Elrohir. "You should not forget though, Legolas – sometimes the only way to face our shadows is to turn back."

"I know," said Legolas quietly.

:::

The following morning passed in a blur of activity Anne was not used to anymore. The atmosphere within the Imladris group, although very organised and well-attuned, seemed rather noisy and chaotic, compared to her usual morning scenario. The breakfast was exceptionally good in Anne's opinion, but when she confided this to an Elf who handed her a cup of something that appeared to be hot fruit tea, he merely laughed disbelievingly. Legolas was sitting at the same fire with her this time, but Anne's hope that being amongst his near-kinsmen might lighten up his mood was sadly disappointed. None of the Elves she had met the night before were present either, so she too ate her meal in silence, blinking into the early-morning haze. There was not even a chance to bid anyone goodbye as their departure – like always – was rather rushed. While mounting, Anne thought she saw Celendir at the other end of the camp and waved at him; the Elf returned the gesture, but he was too far away for her to be sure of his identity.

Having spent one evening in the merry company of the Elves, to Anne it felt like Legolas was even more withdrawn than usual. It took her several hours to bring herself to address him, but she was aware that they would probably reach Bree in a few days, and she had a feeling that she might regret it later if she simply let the hours pass in silence.

"Legolas?"

He turned his head to look at her; it had started to drizzle about an hour ago, and they had both drawn up their hoods against the faint but persistent rain.

Anne urged Peg forward so they were on the same height. "May I ask you something?"

"I think so."

She frowned. "Promise to answer."

"I will not promise you anything."

"Oh, all right then… why did you not tell me your real name when we first met?"

He glanced at her, before concentrating on the path before them once more. Anne could not tell whether he was surprised by the question or not.

"Did you not do the same?"

"What?" she said, completely taken aback. "Me? I did no such thing!"

"Is not your real name Elena, then?"

"How- when did you... oh, never mind," Gossip travelled fast amongst Elves, it seemed. "Elena was the name my- my brother told the people in Carrockton, when we arrived there. But he died, there is no one else I could ask, and that name doesn't feel… familiar. Not at all." Anne paused, trying to form words around her thoughts. "It just feels strange, like something belonging to a past that has nothing to do with me." To her own surprise, she found that this was true. She had not even realised it herself, but during the last weeks, she had begun to put that burden of not knowing, not being able to remember anything, behind her somehow. For the time being, she was content with the present and the near future.

"So I didn't lie to you," she concluded.

How had he managed to make this conversation about her?

"I see," the Elf said slowly. "Perhaps it is not so different with me."

"You mean… you are not the person you used to be?" Anne asked cautiously.

He was silent for a moment before he said, "Perhaps not."

"Would you- would you like me to stop using that name? I mean, should I rather go back to calling you –"

"No," he said with surprising firmness, before looking sideways at her. "No, call me by my name, if you like."

:::

A little later, Legolas stopped and surveyed the ground, looking very thoughtful. Anne brought Peg to a halt next to Dûrfang, staring down as well, to see what might have caught the Elf's attention. They were back on the road once more, though it was now extremely muddy from the constant rain.

"What is wrong?" she finally asked, not having been able to spot anything remarkable, apart from several ruts in the road.

"Can you see those tracks? They were made by a cart."

"Yes," Anne said uncertainly, wondering what was supposed to be so fascinating about cartwheel tracks on a road.

"They are fresh, only a few hours old."

Puzzled, Anne watched him as he pensively stared at the tracks for a few more seconds, and then let his eyes wander about the landscape surrounding them. He did not elaborate, however, but urged his horse into a trot. Nonplussed, Anne followed behind.

"Are you trying to catch up with that cart?" she called out to him.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Accepting the fact that she was obviously not about to get an explanation, Anne pulled her hood closer around her face, while holding on to her horse's mane with the other hand. She was not sure for how long they had ridden through the rain, when Legolas stopped again. She had been holding her head as low as possible, and only looked up when she felt her horse slowing down. Legolas had turned his stallion half around and was looking at her. When he told her to dismount, she first thought she had misheard him. When he made an impatient sound and repeated the order more urgently, she slid out of the saddle and stared up at him.

What on earth was going on?

"Come here," he said, holding out a hand to her.

Anne hesitantly reached up and took it; she felt herself being pulled up, and the next moment she was sitting behind Legolas on Dûrfang's back.

"Hold on to me."

"What? But, wait—"

He did not wait. Instead he urged his horse forward and into a canter, so abruptly that Anne had merely time to squeak and –already seeing herself swish down the animal's smooth back– grab fistfuls of his cloak, clinging on for dear life. She did not even try to see what was going on in front of them, but pressed her face against the drenched wool between the Elf's shoulder blades, ignoring the muscles in her arms that were beginning to protest. Her heart seemed to be racing in the same rhythm as the horse's hooves.

Suddenly Legolas made an angry sound, and Anne felt his body tense as he strung his bow, while they were slowing down.

She finally dared to look past his left shoulder; they had found the cart. It looked strangely lopsided – the front axle had veered off the road and one of the front wheels had slid down the bank. She saw someone running along the cart, grabbing for something. There was a furious cry and the sound of splattering mud. Anne rather felt than saw Legolas bend and then release his bow; there was another cry; a shout, and then she saw two or three figures running away. They had already vanished into the thicket, at the side of the road when they reached the cart. Legolas did not seem to intend on following them, however. He jumped off his horse, so swiftly he nearly pulled Anne down with him, and strode towards a large bundle that was lying in a pool of mud, and was now beginning to stir and moan.

Legolas reached down, seized the bundle and turned it around. It seemed to be a young boy; he now began swearing very colourfully and wiping his mud-smeared face. Only – his face was not that of a child, and neither was his voice (not to mention the curses). Anne stared at this peculiar appearance, and then her eyes searched the face of Legolas in order to see his reaction to this phenomenon. It was not the one she had expected. In fact, it was nothing she had expected to ever see upon his features – it was a smile.

A real, genuine smile, and what it did to his face – the way it changed it completely – actually took her breath away for a moment. Anne swallowed. She suddenly could see him how he must have been before: untarnished and whole, full of vigour and mirth and joy. Anne was dimly aware that she was gaping at him, but fortunately, no one noticed that.

"My dear Peregrin Took - stop fidgeting, or I will drop you back into that puddle!" Legolas said loudly, laughter in his voice.

The small figure stopped cursing and tried to peer up into the Elf's face, wiping mud out of their eyes, and finally gave a cry of surprise.

"Legolas?"

III III III

:::