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Chapter 13: I Lose a Staring Contest
I like to think that I have a decently high tolerance for misery. I grew up in Mirkwood, paid my dues as a lowly forest sentry spending countless hours in wind and rain twenty feet up on a forlorn tree branch sniping spiders and the occasional goblin. Certainly my time in the Fellowship honed my mettle, strengthened my fortitude, and undoubtedly taught me that I was no way near as brave as I thought I was. Perhaps one of the greatest lessons I learned along the way from Rivendell to the Black Gate of Mordor was that I was not infallible; I could not save everyone I loved and there were foes beyond my ken.
I spoke to my father about it once, after my return—that my time in the Fellowship had taught me how to be afraid. I had not been sleeping well, and of course, he noticed. I had many dark dreams after the war, not to mention the sea-longing—but I won't speak of that now, only to say that my father is very perceptive. I could not bring myself to speak of what plagued me the most, but this, the fear... the dark walls of Moria choking out all light and hope, the Paths of the Dead, the drowning doom of the Black Gates, the recurring nightmare of seeing my friends' lifeless faces among the mud and ruin of the battlefield.
My father understood, for he had also faced the darkness of Moria, and certainly he knew firsthand of love and loss. Part of being a leader, he said, was to acknowledge your fears, to be aware of the risk, and having the wisdom to know when to fight.
I thought about his words to me that night as I rode back from the scorched mounds of orcs to meet up with the rest of my caravan bound for Ithilien. Whatever beast or creature had killed those orcs, it was beyond my ability to kill; of that I was fairly certain. The smoking ruins and partly consumed bodies reminded me too much of the Balrog the Fellowship encountered in Moria. I was confident in my fighting abilities but not so vain to fancy myself in the same league as Glorfindel. Needless to say, I wanted to put as much distance as possible between my group and the smoking bonfires behind me.
Upon my return, I quickly informed the other elven warriors of our unfortunate discovery. In the briefest of councils, I decided we would leave the road and give the piles of dead orcs a wide berth. The warriors now took position alongside the company, sandwiching the unarmed. I tried to keep my eyes bright, my demeanor cheerful. There was little need to worry the innocent. Yet despite my warriors' discretion, disquiet spread among all the elves. Even those who were not privy to my words sensed the uneasy dread settling among the tall grasses of our path. The air was too still. The sudden summons of my archers did not help matters; the once merry conversations amongst my people shrank to a strained silence. Even the youngest elf babe stirred restlessly in his mother's arms. The company rode quickly now, eyes scanning every shadow and every movement, down to each swaying blade of grass in the fields. Our ears caught the drop of each hoof against the earth and the beat of every wing in the sky. The air grew thick and heavy as we neared the Anduin.
I caught Miredhel watching me ride past with her brother. By her guarded expression, I could tell she knew that something foul had happened, but I could hardly stop and give her details. We rode quietly onward instead. The Anduin was near.
We reached the great river just as the sun fell into the shadows of the Misty Mountains. Through a ravine of slick rock, the river ran fast and deep, reflecting the last crimson rays of the sun. An ill omen, I thought, as if blood pours from the wounds of the earth. Because we left the road, we did not meet the river at the bridge. My company could not cross here. The water was too swift and deep. I shaded my eyes with my long fingers, archers' hands, my mother used to tease me. The bridge was still a league further down the riverbanks. I knew I could easily summon the energy to meet the bridge before dusk and ride on into the night, but as I studied the careworn faces of my followers, I knew I should break camp for the evening. They were weary…and some were frightened.
Many had left the safety of the Lothlorien for the first time. The discovery of the orcs had plagued my mind that afternoon. I had seen death in many forms, but this, this was something new. The flesh had been shredded to ribbons. Swords, axes, and arrows left no such marks. I looked again at my followers. They depended on me and my judgment alone, and again, I felt the full weight of my decision to take on the enormous responsibilities of leadership. I had no one to turn to for guidance—not my father, brother, or even Aragorn.
How could I keep my people safe against an enemy that rips through and devours the slain? It was beyond frustrating, and I found myself tense all over, from my shoulders down to my fingers which had curled themselves into tight fists. I wondered what my father would have done, what he would do right now, but there was no way of knowing. I would have to trust my own judgement.
"Make ready to camp for the night," I announced. "We will cross the river at dawn."
Upon my orders, the elves lit no large fires; instead, a few small lanterns cast a merry glow across a morose campsite. As the night darkened, fingers of cold mist crawled forth from the river. Hazy, white curls snaked toward the camp, winding and twisting around the elves, squeezing all sight from us.
"Ai! We are blind in this soupy fog," cried Eledhel, his eyes darting toward the camp perimeters.
"I know. I cannot even see our night watch, although I know they are there," Belegil contended.
"If someone or something attacks the camp, we are ready and more than capable of fending off any advances. Our ranks boast the best archers and swordsmen of Lothlorien," I said, attempting to make my voice match the confidence of his words. These were my friends to be sure, but I was also their leader. I needed to reflect strength, confidence.
Eledhel and Belegil left to join the night watch, leaving me to my thoughts.
The camp rested quietly at least, breaking their elvish waybread and drawing new strength from its substance. I studied the camp as I ate, taking the time to notice every detail—the children with their bright eyes and cherubic faces, the steady way the mothers sang low lullabies. Miredhel sat with them, cradling a child in her arms. Her hair had come undone and spilled down her back, across her cheek. She looked up, and our eyes met. Those green eyes of hers, framed by dark lashes—a lesser elf might have looked away in embarrassment, but neither of us were the kind to back down, I suppose. So we continued looking at one another, both feeling a little silly, but neither wanting to be the first to look away.
Miredhel stared back at me in sheer defiance. I wondered if she had been talking to Limaer any. I certainly hoped not. I should call her over, see if she would talk with me. She was Eledhel's sister, and it was certainly alright for me to allay the fears of my friend's sister. I told myself that my interest in her wasn't just because she was pretty, or had green eyes, or those fetching freckles across the top of her nose and cheeks—I needed to stop looking at her. But she wasn't looking away, and I appreciated that fierce flame of independence I witnessed in her at the archery contest. I detected a hint of sadness to the set of her mouth—I should probably not stare at her lips any more—and I wondered if she missed the Golden Wood.
My thoughts were interrupted by Sulindal's return.
"Hail, Legolas," he greeted me, and I finally averted my eyes to look at my friend.
"How goes the night watch?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
"Quietly, almost too quietly for my liking." Sulindal's eyes scanned the night sky.
"What do you mean?"
"Listen…do you hear it? Nothing, no crickets' chirping, field mice, birds or frogs can be heard…"
"I see what you mean," I said and tilted my head. "I wonder that I did not notice before."
"I believe it may have something to do with Miredhel," observed Sulindal. "I watched you watching her for a full five minutes before I finally greeted you." Unlike Belegil who was often brash and loud, Sulindal was soft-spoken, unless provoked, infinitely preferring quiet observation of the world and people around him.
"You did, did you?" I finally choked out. I did not mind Sulindal knowing my regard for Miredhel, but I definitely blamed myself for not paying more attention to the safety of my own camp. A fine leader I was turning out to be, distracted by a pretty face! I had about decided to join my archers in the night watch—"that is where their leader ought to be anyway, not half-dreaming in the moonlight," I muttered to myself—when Sulindal's low voice broke through my thoughts again.
"What is she to you?" he simply asked. A simple question indeed, and I was not quite sure of the answer myself. An unsuccessful conquest? No, that wasn't right. More like a hoped-for conquest, but I couldn't very well say that to Sulindal.
At length, I sighed and responded, "She is…Eledhel's sister." I managed to say it convincingly, even managing to convince myself to an extent. I was not having this conversation. I did not want to think about her when the camp might be in danger and some horrid new threat might be at large in this abysmal fog. I needed to focus. I abruptly stood and picked up my quiver, signaling the end of the conversation.
Sulindal gave me an exquisite look, a combination of 'You are fooling yourself if you think that,' and 'I know better.' Belegil and Sulindal looked nearly identical—same broad shoulders, determined chin, and flaxen hair, yet Sulindal's grey eyes missed little. They were his greatest defense and strongest weapon in times of battle…and conversation.
"I understand if you wish to keep it between the lady and yourself," Sulindal said slowly. "Your forbearance is admirable. Never did you utter a single word to any of us about your wager to kiss her."
I dropped my quiver and sat back down. Oh, Valar. "How did you…did she tell you?"
"No, Miredhel has ever been private concerning such things. I simply overheard your voices in the garden and then saw you past the gate." He smiled, eyes twinkling. "I was sorry things didn't go your way at the tournament."
I eyed Sulindal carefully. Good grief. To think he's known all this time and not said anything, especially when his own brother was considered to be one of the nosiest gossips in the Golden Wood. I certainly had thought Sulindal had been more difficult to get to know, for he was far more reserved than his brother. But perhaps Sulindal's quiet ways would make him just the right sort of ally. He obviously could keep a secret; perhaps, here was the inside perspective to help me with Miredhel.
"I don't think she likes me very much," I confessed.
"A case of two strong personalities?" guessed Sulindal.
"She blames me for taking her and Eledhel away from her home," I said. "She has every right to feel that way...and now I have more pressing matters to deal with than trying to change her mind about me."
Sulindal leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "Legolas, I beseech you. Do not give up on her."
"Would you have me ignore the rest of the camp?" I asked flatly. "We sort of have a situation going on here, if you haven't noticed."
"Of course not, but you have friends who would help you. The entire weight of the camp does not have to rest on your shoulders alone."
"I know, but I worry for our safety, friend, even with elven warriors such as your brother and yourself in our company." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I cannot shake the sights of the bodies on the road, the smell. I cannot place it. It lingers in my memory. Something about the smell…so acrid…more than just burnt orcs. What could lay waste to fifty orcs like that, as if they were tinder caught in a fire storm?"
"Other than a few elven warriors?" Sulindal jested, and I smiled at that. "Perhaps, King Thranduil will have intelligence on this new foe, if it be an enemy at all. In the meantime, tend to your heart," Sulindal said.
"She's not been the most welcoming," I pointed out.
"Aye, my lord. She still grieves…"
"Grieves, Sulindal?"
"Did you know that Belegil and I had a sister?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer. "She was our junior by many years, closer to your age, I imagine. Belegil and I spoiled her shamelessly. She had the sweetest soft grey eyes…" Sulindal looked lost in the memory, but continued, "She and Miredehel were friends, more like sisters really."
"What became of her?"
"She was head-strong and closer in disposition to Belegil than I would care to remember. When they got together…" he sighed and shook his head. "She sought training as a warrior with the bow and sword, which we happily granted. When she came of age, she joined Eledhel's division of archers. They were close, not just because we were all friends. Sometimes, I think they might have fallen in love if given the chance, if fate had been more kind."
"What happened?" I asked, already suspecting the truth.
"The War of the Ring…the defense of the Golden Wood…Annariel, that was my sister's name, escaped unscathed. I think Miredhel desperately wanted to join Eledhel's division, but he would never allow it. He was always over protective with her…" Sulindal cleared his throat and continued, "When the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn gathered all the warriors, swordsmen and bowmen alike, to lay siege to Dol Goldur, Eledhel's company was chosen as was mine and Belegil's. Miredhel was left behind.
"Orcs, wargs, everything foul, choked the woods. During the siege, a dark shape, a nameless cloud, some say the evil thrall spirits set loose from the dungeons, shrouded the moon. I lost sight of her. The shape wavered and was gone, but my sister had disappeared. Only later after Galadriel laid bare the pits, and we piled and burned the slain enemy, did we find her. Eledhel brought forth her body, trampled and ruined, in his arms. So young, so fair…" Sulindal looked up to the night sky, his eyes wet. No stars could be seen.
"I have visited the burial mounds there, Sulindal. Neither I, nor my people, will not forget the great sacrifices made."
"This war has required sacrifices of everyone. We are all bound in grief."
"And Miredhel?" My traitorous eyes glanced her way.
"She suffered cruelly, blaming herself for not having been at Annariel's side, her brother and I for not saving her, and all of Mirkwood by association."
"Including myself, I see." Guilty by association.
"I will not speak of how she nearly wasted away from heart ache, her fiery spirit spent from grief, or how Eledhel struggled with the decision of taking her to the Grey Havens. I will only say that for the first time in many months, her spirit has returned."
Again I glanced furtively at the object of our conversation. Eledhel had joined her, offering the comfort of his shoulder where she lightly rested her head. "She is lucky to have you looking out for her. I paused and felt the weight of Sulindal's grey eyes on me. "Thank you for telling me...and I am not giving up on her—more like trying to be realistic about my chances." I rose and stretched. "I must join the others now."
I joined Farothin on the edge of camp near the river. I had spent many hours on nights such as this, watching and listening for unseen foes. I honed in on the steady pulse of the river, the whispering of the grasses, the way the wind moved through the trees, listening for any change that might signal danger. I could hear the steady breathing and munching of the horses as they grazed. Everything seemed exactly as it should. I relaxed and exhaled, then drew in a deep breath.
My breath stopped short in my throat.
That distinctive fetid odor, the same I had smelled at the road with the mangled orcs, tinged the chill air. I gripped my bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver.
"What is it?" whispered Farothin.
"That smell…the dead orcs…do you smell it?" I hissed, my eyes scanning the hazy dark.
Farothin nodded and whistled a low bird call to alert the others to the danger. He, too, fitted an arrow to his bow. The horses began to twitter restlessly, neighing and stamping their hooves.
"The horses are nervous."
"Something draws near," I added. I could feel the change in the air.
"I also sense it," said Eledhel. He had heard the whistle and joined them, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Someone should go calm the horses. They will give our position away or worse, scatter in the night," suggested Farothin.
"I will," I whispered in a voice audible only to elven ears. "Farothin, you stay on the river-side of the camp. Eledhel, I want you to take the western side of the camp. Tell the camp to blow out their lanterns. We will use the mist and the cover of darkness to our advantage." Both Farothin and Eledhel brought their fists to their chests and saluted me in the elven style; I nodded and left.
I stealthily crept along the steep riverbank toward the clearing where the horses grazed, keeping my bow in my right hand, an arrow ever ready in my left. The horses pawed and snorted. Elvish steeds rarely spooked. The scent was stronger now. I reached a grey mare first, her eyes wild. "Shh, fear not," I comforted her, tousling her mane with my fingers. One by one the lanterns from our camp winked out, until all was dark, save the spare light of the moon hidden behind a wisp of clouds. I petted Arod's flank as I passed and moved in the direction of the scent.
I slid between the columns of trees that blocked the vertical bank of the Anduin from view. From the sound of the current, the river was a good drop down, at least fifty feet. Pausing behind a tree trunk, I caught my breath. The putrid scent nearly overpowered me now.
The scent of blood hung in the air.
The wisp of clouds now clothed the moon, and all light was lost. I was utterly alone, and the darkness drowned me. That night, foul with a pitch so black—it fought to consume me, swallow me whole, and if it did not, then my enemy would. I knew not who or what I faced, but I had seen first hand its grim trail.
Crack! An enormous pine slapped the earth. The ground shook as if lightning split the sky. Crack! Another tree whipped down, this time grazing my side. A few steps to the right over, and I would have been pulverized. The trees and the night thrummed in the rhythm of torture, a terrible drawing of breath, thick and sinuous. The breathing grew louder, each distinct thunderous breath. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.
I tightened my fingers on my bow, steady I told myself, and briefly rolled my shoulders back, a habit I used to calm my nerves before battle. I lightly released my fingers and squeezed the bow again. Calm returned, or at least a semblance of calm. I was ready.
I swung out from behind the tree, fitting an arrow to my bow and firing toward the breathing. I plastered myself against another tree, edging my way closer to the smell and the rustling sounds. In the inky night, I could see no more than my hand and bow in front of him. The ground pulsed beneath my feet. The horses whinnied, followed by the pounding of many hooves. They had stampeded. A muffled thump sounded from the trees, and then silence. The rank odor had vanished, and only the hot scent of fresh blood lingered. My body sagged involuntarily like an exhale when you know the worst is yet to come. I could not be sure the threat was gone until I swept the area.
I stepped into the clearing, weapon still in hand. All of the horses were gone, hopefully of their own volition. I could not blame them. If I had the slightest shred of intelligence at all, I would be with them. I knelt to the ground and then stood. It was too dark to check for any tracks of predators. That would have to wait until morning light. I moved steadily back to the tree line and the river where I had first heard the breathing. I was sure of one thing; the creature I encountered tonight was no ordinary wolf, bear, troll, orc, or anything thinkable.
I kept my guard up and stole back toward the river and trees. My eyes busily scanned the close-knit woods for any sign of movement. Scarcely looking at the ground before me, I stumbled over a fallen log. So much for elven grace. I scrambled toward my feet. Certainly, that log had not been there a moment ago. I ghosted my fingers along the coarse bark until I reached the breaking point of the tree. Almost as if someone had snapped the tree like a twig, the trunk broke off in jagged ends two feet above the ground. Glancing up, I noticed with a growing sense of dread four other trees broken at the base in the same manner. Deep gouges marked the trunks. I bent down to study them and then swallowed hard. The choking smell had returned.
My arms darted out to grab my bow when a hard jerk toward my chest sent me reeling toward the river. As I tumbled over the bank and fell, I drew my long, white knife, frantically slicing the open space before me. I struck something hard. It was too dark to tell what. Before I hit the river below, I found myself wondering if it was such a good idea to fall blindly into a ravine with a blade in one's hand…
Author's note: So...a new chapter, sort of a literal cliff-hanger...and we've returned to that opening scene in the Prologue. Let me know what you're thinking about all this.
Please Review, Follow, and Favorite! Legolas' life hangs in the balance! eep!