Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.
Wherever the Surge May Sweep
By Jame K.
Chapter Thirteen: When Storms Are Gone
How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone!
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquility.
- Thomas Moore
The first sensation Legolas had become aware of was a tingly wetness clinging to his skin and the warm body pressed against his chest. He had opened his eyes and had momentarily thought the drug was still clouding his mind as he saw a drifting mist hanging before him.
Awareness had come slowly and he had seen the wet grass of the Drimrill Dale – the fresh, new green that faded into silver mist only a few lengths before his eyes. The dampness lingering in the air spoke of fresh rain and blooming flowers.
He must have made a movement for Estel's voice came from him in front of him, high and excited.
"Legolas? Are you awake?"
The heavy warmth left his chest as the boy twisted around to peer up at him with eyes that matched the mist.
"You were sleeping. Glorfindel said you would wake up soon but your eyes were closed and I had never seen that. And I was worried. He said that we have to find the Dunedain but I do not know what those are."
"I am well." Legolas blinked slowly, his senses coming into full awareness. "How long ago did they leave us?" The fog – Legolas knew – would hang over all of the plains and would possibly last several days. He would have to depend on his hearing alone to find the rangers and avoid the elves that he knew would promptly come hunting them as soon as the orcs were dealt with.
"Lord Glorfindel and Elladan? Not long." Estel's body sagged against the elf again. "Do you know where we are?"
"The Drimrill Dale. It extends from Lothlorien and runs alongside the Misty Mountains for several miles. The ones we are looking for often roam across its grasses." Legolas smiled. "It is a beautiful area. I am sorry that this fog prevents you from seeing more of it."
It was only a few moments later that sounds drifted through the fog to Legolas's ears. They were deep voices thick with accents of the North. And Legolas knew that they were safe. At least for a time.
Dark, brown figures emerged from white mist, ghostly phantoms from days long ago. Their weathered faces were wreathed in surprise. Not often did they find an elf and a boy alone on their journeys.
Nostalgia stole through Legolas as he viewed the earth toned clothing and dark, messy hair that seemed to be common among the rangers. Arathorn had looked much like this before his death. But, no, he could not think of that now. Arathorn was the past and Estel – Aragorn – was the future.
"Halbarad?" he ventured, his voice carrying slightly as the rangers observed him silently and Estel pressed against him, nervous tendrils stretching across their bond. "Is Halbarad among you?"
And a tall man stepped from the middle of the rangers. His hair had gray where Legolas remembered there to be dark brown but his face still had the hawk nose and sloping cheek bones. A scuffed sling bound one arm to his chest.
"Majesty," he greeted with an easy bow. Legolas noted, with a hint of merriment, the absolute sarcasm in which the young ranger said the word 'majesty.' "What brings you to these foggy plains?"
Pebbles fell from the heavy burden on Legolas's shoulders. He was able to taste the wet moistness of clean air instead of the harsh dryness of withering ashes. His limbs felt as if air had been pumped through them, like at any moment they would just – float away. Legolas swung from his horse as he pressed a smooth hand to the dry, cotton of Estel's shirt.
Stay here. We are safe for the time.
Then he moved to stand before Halbarad, his hands limp at his sides. "We come seeking asylum. I have called you friend for many years and I hope that I can offer my services in exchange for shelter for myself and the boy. You know of my talents on the battlefield. My arm will fight for you."
The ranger's stern face was suddenly transformed by a casual smile. "You are always welcome, Legolas, even if you were not to fight for us – you are welcome as our guest. And whoever your charge may be, he is welcome as well." The man took a step forwards and peered at Estel. Then he had turned back to Legolas, eyes wide with questions and a flare of suspicion. "Is he…"
A tremulous breath caught in Legolas's throat and he ignored the overwhelming desire to scoop Estel in his arms and cover his ears. But he restrained. Legolas smiled and touched Halbarad's arm. "I will speak to you, my friend, of many strange things. But not now." The elf was not ready for Estel to know the full story behind his parentage. The boy was still so young. No child deserved to have the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. Legolas wanted Estel to remain innocent as long as possible. "Thank you for your hospitality. It is most appreciated."
"You are welcome." Halbarad's eyes darted back to Estel and Legolas thought he detected something akin to wonder in the ranger's wide gaze. "We are journeying back to our village and you may live among us as long as the need remains."
His voice dropped then – the words meant only for Legolas. He seemed hesitant to speak as if his words would awaken foul nightmares within the elf. "We had heard that you had fled into solitude after the deaths… They said your heart was swept up in grief. Some said that you had sailed at last over the sea..."
Legolas dropped his voice as well and turned his face slightly away from his young charge, though his eyes stayed on the open, wondering features of the boy as he examined the darkly clad rangers. "Not all of that family passed into darkness. That is why I come to you now. Please, my friend, I will explain all in the proper time. This I promise to you."
"As you will, my friend."
Legolas felt his heart lighten at the easy acceptance Halbarad offered to him. He allowed himself to relax. The fighting instincts that had been gushing though his body ceased and he suddenly felt very deflated – an empty water skin parched from the sun, ruined for the rest of time.
They were safe for the time being. Estel would live to be a man. Now, Legolas would not be alone in his protection of the last hope of Middle-earth.
A dark shroud clung to the land. Moon and stars were lost in the black void that lingered somewhere above the fog and a sharp chill drifted over the plains – a phantom seeking helpless prey.
The same chill that wafted through the air was slithering under Estel's skin and cooling his blood – even his veins felt the deep coldness. Small shoulders hunched towards the heavy warm relief that the licking flames offered. Pink smudges had bloomed on his cheeks from the licking flames but numbness clung to the nerves of his back. He wondered if snow was coming and then remembered that summer had only recently passed.
This was the first chill of autumn. Winter was so far in coming.
Human blobs with no real color sat around the fire – features obscured by the darkness and details washed out by the orange flames. Estel knew they were people – rangers, his mind filled in excitedly – but a sense of unease still pervaded his system as he sat among the unknown faces.
He could not help the way his eyes continually left the fire, the craggy visages of the men around him, and went to Legolas – he could not help it anymore then a babe can keep from crying out in hunger. This place – frightening in all of its newness and uncertainty – was almost painful to sit alone in. The desire to curl up against Legolas was too immense for words. But Estel knew that he would have to be brave for at least the time being.
The elf sat at a separate fire, orange flames illuminating the startling whiteness of his skin on the right side of his face while bathing left side of his face in gray, licking shadows. His brow was leaned close to that of the head ranger – Halbarad? – and a slight furrow had creased between his eyes. His mouth was barely moving as he spoke in soft – too soft for Estel to hear – tones.
They were speaking of him, Estel knew. The boy could tell by the way Legolas's eyes darted to him every few moments. He could tell by the anguished glaze that painted itself over the elf now and then.
Estel wondered what he had done – what grievous error he had dared to commit – that would cover the elf's face with such sorrow. For the boy knew that it must be something he had done – Estel had seen the same expression on Legolas's face the morning they had attempted to flee from Lothlorien. He had seen it as Legolas had held him close while the guards had escorted them back to the foot of the Lady's throne. After that, he had only seen a blurred expression and foggy confusion in the normally clear eyes until Legolas had awoken in the plains.
And now, here they were. Far from anything Estel had ever known – traveling with a group of men Estel had never met to a land he had never been. And Legolas seemed strangely at home – at peace – with these rangers.
Irrational anger made Estel's teeth grind into one another and he filled his lungs with the cold, smoky air. Why had Legolas never spoken of these men – these men who obviously knew Legolas well – to Estel? Did Legolas not trust him enough to share his life? And why did Halbarad stare at him with wide, amazed eyes? What secrets had the elf kept from him?
"What are rangers?" Estel asked suddenly and his voice sounded strange to his own ears. Red swamped over his cheeks – covering the natural pink flush caused by the fire – as Estel felt all eyes turn upon him. "I mean…" his voice trailed and his eyes dropped to the ashy wood. What had he meant? "How did you come about?" he asked lamely, hands twisting into one another.
A ray of orange fell onto the craggy features of the ranger across the fire – Estel though his name was Conran. "We were started long ago when the last Highking of Arnor fell into shadow. Our duty is to defend this land until the Heir of Isildur takes the throne and beyond if he requires." Conran's eyes darkened. "But the line died out several years ago."
"It is probably for the best." The voice was rougher than Conran's and the burly ranger was a hulking mountain in the midst of the dark sea of fog. "Their line was cursed." And spittle flew from his mouth to land on the dark dirt as his nose and cheeks wrinkled in absolute disdain.
There was a nameless stir deep inside Estel's breast and his mouth went dry as if the desert had suddenly taken up residence there. With a deep click, he swallowed and moved his tongue across the roof of his mouth. Why did his insides leap at those simple words? "What… why?" And he wanted to shake the man.
"Isildur is the one who made the mistake of not destroying the ring." Conran's face turned away from the fire but his voice was not full of malice – a deep seeded bitterness and regret instead laced the rough tones. "Some say that all of his descendants are destined to fall into the darkness of the Evil One. We do not speculate on the rumors." He shrugged and his eyes warned the other rangers to not press the issue in the range of the boy's hearing.
"Oh." Estel shrugged in return and blinked heavily. A queer fire was building in his belly and his nerves seemed to tingle beneath his skin. "If what you say is true," he said sleepily as he felt Legolas sit down beside him, "it is good that they are all dead. Middle-earth is probably better without them."
And dreams scampered across his mind and Estel followed them into the slumbering darkness. And he missed the flash of pain – a white-hot flare in the dark – that shot through Legolas at his words.
The moon was white and the hills were orange. Legolas walked below the gray blue sky, beneath the play of colors that signified the beginnings of dusk – and was content. His gaze was long across the continuing plains and he could see no danger. Safety was the quiet air and the trampled grass.
Legolas was quiet because there was no reason to speak. Estel rode beside him and the wide nature spoke of renewal. What reason was there to fret? What reason was there to ponder the yesterdays – the tomorrows? Those days would come in good time and the days behind were gone forever. And for now the air was calm and the peace had settled deep into his marrow leaving him so relaxed, so serene.
In this state, he could not imagine – or would not imagine? – horror ever seeping into his life again. The future stretched out before. He fixed his mind's eye on idyllic days in warm forests with the nature growing around them in the symbiotic nature that few knew or understood. He dreamed of a forever that could be lived without worry or pain or suffering or fear. An impossible eternity that was always just beyond the tips of his desperate fingers.
And a sunburst flared briefly behind the dark silhouette of a tree – the last pulse of a dying star. All was at peace in the world. A sudden shadow fell across the valley as the sun inevitably lost the fight for the day and disappeared behind the day. Darkness washed across the dusky colors and left the world in a million dull shades of gray.
The lack of light drew Legolas's eyes in the direction he knew the black mountain of Mordor protruded – where the great evil of Middle-earth festered in his own wicked stench. And he wondered – as even his farsighted eyes strained across the distance – if the Ringwraiths were coming.
"There have been reports," Halbarad had told him just the night before, "of the Black Riders and abnormally large orc armies haunting some of the northern villages. They raid the town and burn everything to the ground." His eyes had grown darker with every word. "That is where we are going. We have reason to believe they are moving towards the village of Archet. You know it?"
A breath had wheezed in Legolas's throat. "I know it."
Halbarad's eyes had weighed him carefully – measuring the elf's strength of spirit and will. Much had changed. "We plan on cutting them off at the canyon by the Gladden River. We have no reason to believe that a Black Rider accompanies them but your help would be greatly appreciated."
"You shall have my help but I worry for the boy… I will not see him put in any danger. He is too important to… Middle-earth." Legolas's eyes had darted to the form of the boy – small and hunched, framed by the orange fire. "I will go into battle for you but he must remain in a safe place for the duration and if I am to pass beyond this world, I would ask you to raise him with your people."
Halbarad had nodded. "I will not be able to accompany the party," he gestured futilely to his bound and broken arm. "I will watch over him and defend him with a few others during the battle." His mouth had softened and a glint of white teeth had appeared in the darkness. "And while I do not doubt your ability to come through battle with nary a scratch, the son of the kings will always have a home with us."
And the conversation had ended. Legolas had gone to Estel's side and Halbarad had gone to look after the tending of the horses. To the eyes of the other rangers – to the eyes of Estel – nothing had changed. But there was a tight, invisible chord of promised that stretched tightly between the elf and the lead ranger now – a chord that thrummed with unspoken vows and tomorrow's fears. And both felt strangely comforted by its hovering presence – as if a pact could save the future of Middle-earth.
Legolas? The boy asked in the soft recesses of Legolas's mind. You are far from me. Where have you gone? Have you left with the sun?
I am here. Legolas made an effort to drag his thoughts from the sky and return them to the warm dirt beneath his feet and the cool air in the back of his throat – the earthy scents lingering on the boy next to him. "I am here with you." I have not drifted away nor vanished with the setting sun.
Good. Estel smiled and his small hand opened in a tiny wave. "Do you want to ride? The horse is not tired."
"I enjoy the walk."
And Estel was quiet then. His mind was at conscious rest with the easy lolling of the horse beneath him. When the elf gently skimmed the surface of the boy's thoughts, he found a serenity born from familiarity and safety.
Legolas rubbed his shoulder against the strong, warm flank of the horse. They would stop soon, he knew. They would lie on the cold ground and take in a little bit of sleep and some nourishment. And tomorrow… tomorrow they would reach the Gladden River and wait for the orcs.
Even in the gathering of the evening's gray shadows, Legolas could see the silvery blue strip of the river and the brown dust rising into the pale, twilight sky from the approaching orcs. The elf imagined they would reach the river and the canyon a few hours ahead of the creatures – perhaps even half a day. There would be plenty of time for the rangers to set up an ambush for the vile creatures.
So then why there was a strange black cloud of misery hovering in Legolas's limited foresight? Why did he wish to take Estel and flee into some secluded location? There did not seem to be an excessive amount of orcs and there was no Nazgúl in Legolas's sight.
Everything was fine.
And Legolas made a conscious effort to shake the black shadow from his thoughts as the sky turned golden with the fading sun.
The forests were quiet. The orcs had been driven from the woods and all that remained was a fallen leaf – a broken branch – a white rock splattered with red. And Legolas was gone.
Glorfindel felt a measure of pride as he thought of the part he had played in the saving of Middle-earth – even as he watched Elrond's face wrinkle in concern and Galadriel's eyes grow dark. He knew – somehow in the warm corner of his mind – that he had done rightly.
So it was he who sat the watch in the boughs of a large tree. His bow was clasped loosely in his hand and his eyes were turned towards the Drimrill Dale. Legolas and the boy had long since passed from his sight, swallowed in the passing of time but he stood the watch just the same. A soft prayer – a song of the elves – rose from his lips as he plead with the wide plains to keep the travelers their own secret – to hide Legolas and the child from all unfriendly eyes.
He was waiting – waiting for a gray, tired mare to bring a ragged, mussed rider to the silent woods. He was waiting for some to reassure that a madness had not taken over his soul – that he was right to go against those thought wisest in Middle-earth – waiting for some one to reassure that there would be a dawn – a beautiful sunrise painting the eastern horizon – after this swiftly falling night had taken the land.
And his wait was not long. The Grey Pilgrim passed into his sight just as the day began to turn murky with the approaching night.
Glorfindel tilted his head and lowered his eyes when they met in the starlit grass only a few moments later. "Mithrandir, dark are the days in which you have come. I fear they are too dark."
The wizard had dismounted the tired mare and leaned on his walking stick. The worries of a thousand peoples lined his wizened face. "What has happened? The trees are still and the elves do not sing."
"There were orcs…"
Mithrandir muttered a curse.
"But we drove them away but some damage was done." Glorfindel paused a breath away from revealing the fate of Legolas. A sick, torn feeling had infested his insides, crawling over his organs and covering him in dread. If Gandalf… if Mithrandir did not believe in the child… could he be trusted with the secrets of the Drimrill Dale?
"And Legolas?" The wizard's words were quick and his eyebrows were tightened as he leaned closer to Glorfindel. "What of him and the child?"
"They – the Lady and Elrond – they decided the child was too dangerous." Glorfindel kept his face loose. "They wished to take him from Legolas and do away with him for the good of Middle-earth."
"By all the stars," Mithrandir breathed and in his eyes shone the fires of the depths of Middle-earth. "Tell me that they did not act so foolishly – or all of the elven realm shall know the wrath of a wizard. They will deserve whatever devilry Saruman can create if they indeed destroyed him."
Glorfindel could see the Drimrill Dale stretching behind Mithrandir; he could feel the warmth from the wizard's proximity; he could taste the bitter anger seeping from Mithrandir's crinkled features. "He lives." His voice was barely louder than the wind in the trees. "He lives and is safe. They escaped together into the Dale to abide with the Dúnedain for a time."
"Truly?" Mithrandir's face seemed to be frozen save for his slightly parted lips. "They live and are well?"
"Truly." Glorfindel gestured in the direction of the green plains. "I believe Legolas will be in sore need of your companionship. The circumstances of his departure were not pleasant – or well planned."
"I will go. How can I not?" Mithrandir swept back onto his mare, his staff clutched tightly. "You may communicate my regrets to the Lady and Elrond. Perhaps I will stop by some other time." A smile crackled across his face and he winked at the old elf before him. "You have done the right thing, Balrog-slayer. Your time in the Halls has made you wise."
"Mithrandir," Glorfindel acknowledged as Mithrandir urged his horse into a fast gallop. "Keep them safe."
Saruman's eyes were shut tightly as his hands clenched over the palantir. "They have decided to hide with the Men of the North," he spoke to the air. "They think they can escape my arm by lingering in the fog."
In his mind, he saw the approaching horde of orcs and he saw the rangers preparing to meet them at the pass – the rangers accompanied by one tall, blond elf with blue eyes and a set mouth.
The future unfolded and he saw the battle – a sweeping victory by the rangers – his plans thwarted once again as the orcs that were not slaughtered, fled before the brown clad men. But even as he cursed this future and the failure of his dreams, another possibility mapped itself before his eyes.
Rangers fell to the ground, bleeding. Orcs screamed in victory as they tore apart the white flesh of their enemies and devoured the butchered meat. And one elf lay on the ground in a puddle of crimson blood – eyes sightless and blood dripping from an open mouth. The orcs then pressed on into Archet, burning and ravaging all in their path. Darkness swept across the small towns of the plains. A certain boy was swept up in the grief of his mentor's death and rendered pliable to Saruman's gentle prodding. And Middle-earth fell into complete darkness.
Glee touched the old wizard's face as he stretched with his mental sense – trying to find the cause of this change in destiny. What factor would play such a crucial role in bringing the darkness to Middle-earth?
And then – a slow smile stretched across his weathered cheeks and a chuckle began deep in his throat. Oh, yes, he could do that. He could definitely do that. Why had he not thought of it before?
He spun from the room in a swirl from his white robes. There were many things to plan before the rangers met the orc army tomorrow. And, then, the future of Middle-earth would be secured.
to be continued.