Revision uploaded December 2022
Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Ranger
Camaenor – Male, Master at Arms
Cordoves – Female, Ranger
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores
Gueniel – Female, Midwife
Laeron/Wren – Male, Ranger
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables
Mereniel/Swan – Female, Ranger
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping
Nestdôl – Male, Master of Healing
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command
Summer in the Lost Wilderness was much the same as it was down on the Carthal flats; hot sun beating down upon the earth without a single cloud offering shelter. Up there in the foothills of the northernmost end of the Misty Mountains, where the land was broken by rivers and small lakes, the air resonated vibrantly to the beat of the natural world.
The constant drone of insects filled the stagnant heat of a breezeless day, only broken by the songs of sleepy birds and the occasional plop from fish ducking up from the swift moving river to snack on the gnats and flies.
The abundance of life amongst the rocky hillsides paid no mind to the tall white stallion or his master, quietly making their way up the steep stony deer track to the top of the bluff. A cautious glance from the rodents and birds still bravely awake in the heat of the early afternoon was enough to convince them the intruders posed no threat and contently ignored them.
Taking the deer track up to the top was not ideal, for it was narrow and steep. Unfortunately, there weren't any others leading to the top of the bluff.
Legolas dismounted earlier to ease his friend's burden, especially given the number of loose stones under hoof, and he aided where he could by holding tree branches out of Aglarebon's face or offering murmurs of encouragement. Aglarebon was still young and quite inexperienced in dry, hot rocky hills and pebbly steep tracks. Having never ventured passed the lands of Eryn Galen there was much of the outside world Legolas had to teach him.
Even so, Aglarebon was bred for intelligence just as much as he was for speed and endurance; with a little patient encouragement and a firm guiding hand he would learn these lessons well.
The area chosen for their brief respite after four days offered plentiful cover from both the sky and the surrounds, whilst not obstructing the fine panorama of the south-east. Although not even the eyes of Legolas could see Carthal from a slip over two hundred miles, it was pleasant to gaze in its direction.
With an unsettled sigh, he pulled his thoughts back to the present and held Aglarebon to a halt. "(Rest here)," he muttered quietly and went about unbuckling the saddle and sliding off the bridle. "(I am hungry)."
Kneeling among the large slate rocks and tufts of spiny grass, Legolas set about taking an inventory.
The provisions packed were substantial for the time expected to complete the mission, but a learned warrior didn't use each day's ration freely. There was always the chance of being held up, sent off course, and chased by the enemy. And although he could hunt for his dinner, bloody raw meat didn't settle in his stomach well, if he could get it passed his lips and only a fool would light a fire so close to Angmar.
Finishing halving the remaining supplies, he re-tied the larger bag and stuffed it back into the saddle pack.
Picking up the saddle and the rest of Aglarebon's gear, Legolas took notice of the features around him and chose the spot beneath the leafy thorns of a bush. There he carefully gathered leaves, thorns, rocks and pebbles and buried his belongings under his makeshift camouflage.
Standing back, he surveyed his work and when satisfied he went back to sit down next to Aglarebon, who was busy filling his belly with what grass was about in the secluded little clearing.
This night he would indulge in a substantial meal. Pulling the drawstring, he snuck his hand in to find something more than the mere morsels he'd eaten over the past couple days to ease his growing hunger.
Pulling a large chunk of dried goat, his eyes once more wandered to the view of the southeast . . .
"Why did you bring her?"
After placing Eryndes in the padded chair by the fire in the Great Hall, Aragorn stayed with her awhile. When he found Legolas again a little later, he ushered him into an empty utility room.
Legolas faced Aragorn's anger calmly, "There was need of a second healer. You said so yourself."
"I didn't mean her!"
"Why not? She is a capable healer."
"You do not invite my sister into danger. Ever."
"I did no such thing," Legolas negated evenly, "She offered and there was no better option."
"No better option? She tried to go off to seek the boy against orders and then fainted on the return journey. She was a liability. Bringing her was a mistake, even if you're too proud to see it."
Legolas blinked. "A liability? You deny her any credit. Praise, not censure, is what this night demands. For one who does not know war as we do, she held up well enough. A reminder to remain warm might have been prudent before leaving the farmhouse. As for facing danger, we both have seen trained soldiers run in terror-"
Aragorn screwed up his face. "Was she your sister, you would have allowed her to go?"
"Were she my," he stopped and shook his head, "my family, I would scarcely allow her to live in a fortress less than two hundred and fifty leagues from Angmar. Everyday she resides here, in this place, she is in danger."
Aragorn's face hardened.
"You cannot condemn me for having accepted her offer," Legolas stepped in close, schooling his posture and tone to one of infinite patience and serenity; a trick he'd learned from years at his father's knee. "My decision was based in logic, giving no quarter to emotion or the sexism of mortals."
"Yes," Aragorn snapped, "it's easy for you to feel nothing."
Legolas recoiled. "I will not answer to that. I know you do not mean it." He softened his features and looked upon him with great affection, "Aragorn, your fears play on your mind; your anger is not for me, but for yourself."
"My fears?"
"When you are not here, who tells her not to go with the rangers? Orders her to rest? Who carries her when she faints? Holds her in comfort when her people are slain-?"
"Enough," Aragorn dropped himself heavily into a chair. "I can't control what she does when I am not here."
"And when you are absent, who leads the Dúnedain? Why does she not? Why is your kin toiling away in fields. Why is she not leading your people?"
"She doesn't want that. She refuses."
"Why? Because she fears her people lack faith in her? She knows well you do not back her."
"You've said too much. I have every faith in her."
Legolas' head tilted, "Although clearly terrified of the evil out there, she volunteered to accompany us into danger. For that, you scold her. You fear for her safety and so take away her freedoms. You give the rule of Carthal to men who you loathe, why? How do the Dúnedain perceive their Mistress? Do they see a brave leader or a scared woman, so sheltered she is frightened of her own shadow?"
Aragorn shook his head and walked out the room. Legolas watched him go and decided he would give him an hour before tracking him down. He was not going to leave this unresolved.
Walking through the great hall towards the kitchen, Legolas fancied a cup of the Dúnedain tea, it's warming qualities would ease his unrest.
The hour was late, and he was surprised to see a few folk loitering. Many were speaking the tale of rangers' flight through the darkness; others spoke of their sorrow and grief for the friends lost.
One caught his attention, and his boots came to a sharp stop on the well-worn wooden floor.
Staring out into nothingness, Eryndes sat in front of the fire, unmoved since he helped Aragorn place her there after she'd passed out.
He watched her for a long moment. With a grumble, he marched back out to the corridor. Finding a supply cupboard, he collected a blanket and returned to the Great Hall . . .
Fingers unexpectedly brushing paper, he carefully drew out a small, waxed paper parcel tied with coarse twine from the bag. Turning it over he found a note threaded through the twine. Pulling out the note, the muscles in his face twitched until finally giving into a broad smile.
Scrawled neatly in lead the note simply read, 'A token honeywell to lighten spirits.'
With exaggerated care, Legolas untied the twine and opened one end to peek inside.
He broke into a quiet chuckle taking one of the six ginger-snap biscuits stacked neatly inside.
Sitting back against the rock, he took an appreciative bite, savouring the sweet warming taste on his tongue.
"(Sweet lady)," he chuckled, taking another bite. How did Foruyndes get inside his provisions bag?
Popping the last of the biscuit into his mouth, Legolas took another from the wax paper and sat back to gaze into the coming night sky.
He brushed off the crumbs from his jerkin. Foruyndes was an oddity, but he liked her just the same . . .
After attempting to offer Eryndes companionship after her ordeal and her brother's temper, Legolas continued to the kitchen.
Foruyndes was by the fire at the back, sat in one of the two rocking chairs and attending to her twisted wool and needles. Upon seeing him, she set down her work and went to make them tea just as she had done for the past two nights.
"A difficult night," she lamented softly.
He took the seat opposite hers and waited for her.
"You are pensive this evening, my dear Sindar."
Legolas turned away from the golden glow of the fire long burnt down to mere coals and took the mug of hot tea from his new friend, "Thank you, Foruyndes."
"I said you are pensive," she reminded, taking the armchair opposite him, easing her aged body down gratefully.
"I heard."
"Did you know the family well?"
"Not well, no. I knew Langwen as a ranger, but nothing more." He added, "but I sympathise with the loss."
Foruyndes didn't speak and Legolas continued to watch the fire, taking the occasional sip from his tea. Jasmine tea. He would've preferred uruilas.
"You are pensive!"
Legolas took another sip. "Yes."
"Langwen was such a dear. And her children! Oh, how awful. And the wee boy? At least his elder brother lives. Brave lad, riding all that way injured. He must've known. Raising the alarm or remaining behind to die with your family. A tough choice for anyone. But a young lad? Oh, so horrible."
There was a certain art when speaking with Foruyndes, he considered but not unkindly. Sometimes he suspected she had entire conversations with him when he wasn't there.
He liked her company, and she didn't expect much in return. He could sit with her, listen to her talk, answering where necessary, and be completely at ease.
"-And so their farmhouse is gone. Tradition, aye, but what a waste. When Strider allows Geledir to take over the farm, or gift it to another, whomever has it will have to start anew. From the foundations to the roof! And what of the two lads? Will Geledir take them too? Will they reside here with us?"
Legolas quietly sipped his tea, he listened, and he waited for the time when he would be required to answer.
"Baineth, Sindar. What do you think?"
He looked to her in question, "Baineth?"
"Oh, you know her. Young, barely nineteen, always tottering around Joust? I've seen you speaking to her a couple times. Truly you should pay more attention to folks' names!"
"Joust's intended?" he guessed 'somewhat' confidently.
"He thinks! She is handsome, tall and slender, much like lady-elves I'd wager. She could well pass for one, don't you agree?"
"I had not thought about it," he mused, picturing the young girl. The girl was as Foruyndes said; handsome, taller than most of the other women, and indeed slender. "Yes, she might pass for an elleth, if none looked closely."
"Aye," Foruyndes mused, her wrinkled forehead deepening, "I don't think I'd approve if she were my daughter. What is your motivation there?"
"My motivation?"
"Laddie, I've seen her. She's been giving you the eye. Tell me it isn't so? Tell me you don't flirt right back?"
Legolas scoffed and took another sip. "I do not flirt."
Foruyndes took up the pot and poured more into her cup and held out the pot.
Holding out his half empty cup, he used his other hand to steady her shaking. "Your shakes are back."
Finishing pouring, she set the pot down. "You should not encourage her. One so young doesn't understand these things."
"The girl comes to me to practice her language skills. She wishes to faithfully sing elven songs. I encourage nothing more."
"Hmm," she huffed. "Folk will see, and talk. Silly girl. Well, if you aren't interested in her, you should make it clear before the whole manor hears her sobs. Don't want folk taking up pitchforks and the like."
He studied her for a pause, her shaking hands working her needles with skill. "I will make it clear. Though I do not see why I should be to blame if I did not encourage her interest."
Foruyndes twirled the wool thread around her finger. "Tis unfair but always incumbent upon the man to plainly discourage silly young girls. If she were older, then responsibility falls to the woman."
"I see."
"Well, now that's done. Let me ask you. Do you know any unattached elf-maids?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Obviously, you don't have a sweetheart back home. Nay, I mean for our men here. We have so few children. Can you not imagine it? Scores of beautiful children, running through the grounds, their laughter livening up the place! I can just see it. And they'd all come to me for sweets and cakes. Oh, how jolly that would be."
Legolas took another sip, hoping she would change the subject before making him answer.
A thought struck him. "Why is it obvious I do not have a 'sweetheart'?"
"My dear boy, you are a little young to be ogling ladies skirts."
"Foruyndes," he said patiently, placing his empty cup on the table. "I am nearing three thousand."
"Oh, I know," she said cheerily.
He pursed his lips before sitting back in his cushioned chair. "Most of my kind find love young, before they come of age. Most marry in the first few centuries of their lives. Those who do not . . . likely never will."
"How charming they must be, elf-maids. So fine and elegant. Not like us ungainly creatures! Do not fret, Sindar. Someday the most elegant elf maiden will knock your socks off, and old Foruyndes will have a couple more delightful children to watch over."
Legolas gave her a cheerless smile . . .
On impulse, Legolas snatched the paper parcel and quickly withdrew yet another biscuit.
Foruyndes meant well.
Both his mother and father had meant well all those millennia ago, with their strong encouragement to explore the possibilities . . .
"Legolas, why not try?" Mother beseeched, her hand resting on his. "A couple. You might enjoy it."
The celebration was for some noble's betrothal. Legolas didn't know either party, and yet Father insisted upon his attendance.
He was ninety-five, so close to coming of age and yet, even after being recognised as his own elf, attending was not his choice.
That privilege was reserved to those who weren't the son of a king. "I promised to join the group dances."
Mother leaned in closer to him, "Surely you can spare a couple dances with the ladies. You are a splendid dancer."
"I like dancing," he muttered, "It is not dancing I object to."
"Please, Legolas? All the ladies will be delighted and amongst them you may find your spark."
Legolas' unmatched sight surveyed those maidens in the room which Mother expected him to favour with a dance. He quietly cleared his throat. "I can see them from here, I see no sparks, nor do I think dancing will alter anything."
"My son," Father leaned around Mother, "Heed your mother. Every dance."
His eyes widened. "She said a couple."
Father's face turned stern, "Then you argued. Now you will dance every dance, and you will smile at your partners. You will leave no lady unsatisfied. Go."
Mouth agape, he sought Mother's aid, pleading.
"Try to enjoy yourself," was all the aid she offered. "You may wish to look back upon this night with affection."
The pit of his stomach squirmed. He glowered at both.
"Wipe that expression off your face," Father commanded without altering his tone, "and do as I bid."
It took all the discipline gained from the years under Lanthir to rise to his feet and force a smile.
His approach incited a plethora of silent beaming faces, a playhouse of marionettes, each vying for his attention to move them to centre stage.
The first partner he picked was a beautiful, willowy, golden-haired daughter of the court.
They danced in perfect unison. And spoke very little, too nervous by half to have anything interesting to say, apart from the usual spray of compliments; how handsome he was, how well he danced, how marvellous was the king, his father.
The second followed the same. Precisely the same. A beautiful lady, taller than the last, but willowy with golden hair, the same compliments as her predecessor, danced not a foot out of place.
The third was a beautiful lord's daughter, a favourite of Father's. The daughter was beautiful, willowy, with the dark hair of a Noldor, and spoke for the entire duration of the dance.
And the night progressed thusly, beautiful, flawless, identical compliments, and no sparks.
When Father called the last dance for the night, Legolas obtained the nearest lady for the dance and when it was done, so was his obligation. He escorted the lady back to her people then headed for the nearest exit.
The call of freedom beckoned, and he lengthened his gait along the twists and turns, striding towards his parent's private suite-
His flight ended, turning a corner straight into Father.
"Legolas. Walk with me."
Jaw clenched, he took position by his father's side.
"Your false smiles did not fool me. You are lucky those ladies did not know you better. What was your purpose?"
"You ordered me to dance with them. You told me to smile at them."
Father answered with a long nasal sigh. "Why are you fighting this? This is your future, your happiness."
"Mother intimated my match would light a spark within me. There was no spark. None of them are my future, and certainly not happiness."
"Are you really so cruel?"
"What is cruel is sending me out on parade to perform like a trained beast."
There was a pause and Legolas kept his eyes forward.
"No, do not stop. I am listening."
"I . . . do not wish to be familiar with them. They are . . . all the same."
"How so?"
"They look at me and it is not I they see. False compliments and smiles. My name kindles their interest. My name they wish to wed."
Father's scowled back towards the festive gathering. "If that is so then we shall find others. Worthy enough for my son. From outside the realm if that is what it takes."
Shoulders sagging, Legolas kept pace and held his tongue.
"No?"
"You do not understand. That is but half the issue." Legolas looked up at him, "Father. I do not want this."
"This being?" Father gestured with his hand, "Speak clearly so I can understand."
Legolas struggled to find the correct words. "I feel . . . not ready. I do not yet know myself enough to begin learning another. I feel the branch beneath me is about to break."
Father's long strides halted, and his larger body turned to face him. The big grey eyes scrutinised. "You are in earnest."
Swallowing the thickness in his throat, he admitted, "I am."
Father blinked and resumed along the walkway. Slower this time. "I failed to see this."
"The fault is mine. I was not forthcoming with you."
Legolas blinked, feeling Father's hand on his shoulder.
"A part of a father's duty, Legolas, is to know his children, to know you, to guide you. If you truly feel this is best, then you shall have more time."
A heavy weight fell from his shoulders. "Thank you, Father."
"It is your mother who we must convince, who I must convince." Father slowly shook his head, "She has agonised over your lack of interest."
"I know."
"She fears watching all your years spent in loneliness and regret."
"Her fears are for nought. In time, I will be ready. I will."
"Your mother will come to agree with this postponement and shower you with her compassion and understanding. But I will be blamed, and I will be scolded. These are the things a father endures for his son. I expect your appreciation for my sacrifice."
With an incredulous chuckle, Legolas asked, "Mother scolds you?"
"If you think that is humorous, then there is a great deal for you to learn. When you decide the time is right." Father's beaming face lit the room around them. "Worry not, I will teach you, for I am an expert in all things charming. Your heart's desire shall reap the benefits of my talents, be swept off her feet, and dub you, savant . . ."
Legolas' mother was killed eighteen months later. Nothing was ever the same again.
Staring at the last of the ginger snaps, Legolas found his appetite lost. Snatching the parcel, he rewrapped the paper and retied the twine.
For those few centuries after her death, Legolas attended no dances.
In the centuries following those, he chose to attend private dances and celebrations. He did enjoy feasts and dancing but kept his partners to those whom he knew.
There was no room in a broken heart for love.
Long years passed, and loneliness came to Legolas just as his mother feared. In a scheme to end his solitude, he attempted to gain the attentions of his long-time friend, Tauriel.
But her heart was not for him . . .
"This is not fair."
From the rock, red and white with blood and snow, she tore her gaze away to look up him. Fierce grief poured from her face and her heart, and her dead lover a silent witness.
"How can I lose you both on the same day?"
Her cries hurt. So did her beseeching.
Until this day, he'd never been wrong like this. So very wrong.
Now, he must leave. Now.
Standing up to Father was the right thing to do. Aiding the dwarves was also right.
Thinking Tauriel could be swayed to care for him? To come to love him?
He thought wrong, and in a few short days, she found and lost her spark.
And now Legolas didn't know what to believe. Except the Creator deemed him worthy to gift him skills and talents matched by a mere few in this age.
And gifted him nothing of love.
He was a warrior. That was all he knew. And all he was destined.
"My path must deviate from here," he explained quietly.
"But why?" More tears fell to join the dirty streak down her face.
"Too long have I loitered, lingering in a place which is no home for me."
"This is your home, Legolas. With your father and your people."
"Not since my mother's death has it felt home. My path longs to change. Now is time."
"No, Legolas." She caught herself, her chin falling to her chest. "Where will you go?"
There was a part of him which wished to be uncivil, narky, to tell her it was none of her business. It was a petty part of him, and a part which held no control. "I do not yet know. There is much of the world I have yet to see."
Tauriel sniffed, her attention returning to the dead dwarf. "You will come back?"
"I cannot say when. It . . . maybe some time before I visit."
"Visit?" she squeaked.
He nodded, though she did not see.
"Legolas? How am I to endure without you?"
He watched her fingering a dark polished stone, her eyes only for the dwarf. "You are strong, my friend. You will find your way."
Swallowing against the pressure in his throat, Legolas touched his hand to his shoulder.
Without another word, he turned and left her to her mourning . . .
And now? Sixty years later?
What was he to do?
Lifting his head, he took in the sight of the horizon.
His father, so caught up in his own grief, failed in his promise to teach that which he proclaimed his expertise.
The only other elf of influence in his life was his teacher, Lanthir, who never married. Never courted. Never came close to broaching the subject. The moody elf wouldn't know a kind word to say to a heart's fancy.
Neither did Legolas.
Although, there was one success he could claim. A smile softened his mood, recalling her song, of rainbows and bluebirds. A silly, simplistic song.
Even so he recalled it word for word, and the warmth it fed to his heart.
Drawing a knife, he busied himself, running his whetstone along the blade.
Fools denied things they could not change. Legolas had been a fool. Upon their first meeting he found her attractive and each day since, the feeling worsened.
Legolas eyed the blade, the light of the moon bouncing off the perfect edge and he traced the gilded etching with his fingertips.
Shaking away the memory, he homed the knife back into its scabbard.
Kicking back, he lay with his hands under his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts to once more look up at the stars. Their simple beauty never failed to shine into his soul and calm his spirits.
What he knew of courting was limited. He'd watched many from afar throughout the years. Was it so daunting? So complex? Defensive words and awkward silences pointed to the truth of it.
His tutors schooled him in the ways of life, of how animals mated, how plants reproduced, and how people made more people.
Instruction in the ways of elves, elven ways being far superior and that much more complex than any other race, was lacking. There had been instruction yes, but no more than the mere basics, revolving around the supremacy of elven love between two sworn to everlasting union.
Courting?
His tutors focused heavily on honour, tradition, and the unbreakable laws of morality and restraint.
The rest they left to ambiguity. Perhaps they assumed his father would fill in the gaps?
Rising to sit once more, Legolas seized the waxed paper parcel and tore it open. He finished a biscuit in two bites.
What if he were to approach Aragorn? The man honourably secured the love of Arwen and was not without considerable charms.
What if Eryndes was not receptive to him? It was a possibility, likely even, given her low opinion of him.
Furthermore, two men already failed in their attempts to woo her. Joust formally courted her, that was clear.
Camaenor's behaviour suggested an unreciprocated interest, turned bitter.
If he should fail, what repercussions was he to expect? What damage to his kinship with Aragorn?
There was another alternative: He could leave. Choose to ignore this fixation. Forget every yearning reawakening within the safe confines of his heart. Leaving, he would live eternity as he always had; alone and untroubled. Or there could be another someone out there, somewhere, who'd again draw forth the spark as his mother called it.
The horizon to the east called his gaze like a moth to flame. Was it possible? What then? What was he willing to do for this spark?
For this woman?
Releasing a hard breath through his nose, Legolas shoved the now empty wax paper and twine into his provisions bag and surged to his feet.
Pointless. These considerations were foolish. Premature.
The correct course of action could only be known once her inclinations towards him became apparent. Or perhaps changed for the better.
Without word he coaxed Aglarebon down the other side of the hill along the well-used track cut into the gorge. Bats and other nocturnal animals shrieked and went about their business unhindered and unconcerned. Creatures of the night feared no day-walkers; they owned the darkness.
The Lost Wilderness as it was known by the Dúnedain was a triangle wedge of tall forest, jutting rock bluffs and spurs, and edged by two fast following rivers; the Medlin which twisted and turned for a hundred and fifty leagues before flowing into the Mŷl; a long thin lake collecting all the waters from the eastern mountains, then spiriting swiftly westerly all the way to the sea.
The second river was simply the 'unnamed' river; or more correctly but vastly less popular name, Carn Dûm . Out of obstinate hatred, the locals refused to acknowledge the river's true name. Such was the ' unnamed' river's reputation most folk would never dare swim, fish, or drink its waters until it passed through the underground rocky caverns thirty or so miles to the south, just before flowing into the Mŷl .
Legend claimed this underground labyrinth was created long ago by the rulers of Fornost ; a mountain brought down over the river in a strategic effort to stop the dark Númenóreans easily rafting down from Angmar towards the lands of Arnor. The local folk now believed this underground river created a natural filter, purifying the water from Carn Dûm's filth and evil, before mixing into the Mŷl.
Legolas didn't know whether that was true. Local folk legends held little interest to him, finding most were foolish and incredibly fanciful. Considering the only way across was to swim, he was hopeful this folktale was also wrong.
Either way he'd know soon enough.
Ten minutes later they stood at the base of the gorge and the 'unnamed' river of Carn Dûm flowed before them.
Enchanted?
Legolas took a long breath, his eyes scouring the dark water moving by them at a fair haste, the small waves lapping the bank lit by the soft glow of the stars above. There was nothing his superior senses could detect.
No magic or illusion tugged at his consciousness.
Four days he'd followed the trail starting from Langwen's farm. The orcs were clever to disguise their tracks using different methods of misdirection. None were successful but they'd still been clever to try.
Following the trail served to ensure the enemy owned no beachhead within the north-eastern Dúnedain borders - he'd proved that now. The raiding party which killed the family had come from across the river, and from the Angmar Mountains.
The raiding party consisted of no less than fifty orcs; a number great enough to require boats or a temporary bridge, like a rope bridge slung across from the use of crossbows. This was one of the mysteries Legolas hoped to uncover.
Legolas continued to eye the water of the unnamed river before them.
"(What is your opinion? Is there cause for hesitation)?"
Aglarebon snorted in derision.
With a last look at the moon seeping towards the horizon behind him, Legolas gently stroked his friend's neck. He set his sights firmly towards the east and his mission. He climbed up onto Aglarebon's back, "(Well, my friend. Shall we)?"
Aglarebon moved off, walking them into the river with a good measure of care and slowly swam them across the border and into Angmar.