DISCLAIMER: The characters, names, and places within Lord of the Rings belong solely to Tolkien and Tolkien enterprises. Though I may fantasize of creating works as great as his, they do not in any way belong to me. My intent is enjoyment, not ownership.
Trouble Ever at Their Heels . . .
The sunset, its faint light waning slowly and languidly on the horizon, painted the Ered Nimrais a beautiful pink, with dark etchings about its ragged surface. It was as if a great many pastels had been loosed upon the stone canvas. And above, the stars were twinkling in their wake, like fireflies hidden in the grass at eventide. The moon was yet only a wraith of a scythe hanging in the sky. The forest life was calming, the birds concluding their daylong songs and the larger creatures of the woods heading to their homes for sleep. All were settling down for the night, all, that is, save the most famed inhabitants of the Grey Wood. Nestled deep within the woodland, shadowed by the great beacons Eilenach and Amon Din, there were still those who chose not to retire.
Ghân-buri-Ghân, in all his shortness, appeared a sizeable giant by his shadow, lengthened greatly in the quivering torches around him. The Druedain were not a tall peoples amongst the other beings of Arda, however, amongst themselves, they were quite tall. Their current Chieftain was one among those they regarded as tall, exceedingly tall. To his height there was also his grim countenance and dark mantle of matted hair that hung just above his shoulders, which gave him an air of unapproachability. And for all the intimidation his appearance thus might have caused, there were none amongst him who felt cowed. Indeed, the Chieftain of the Druedain was acting quite befitting of their rumors. He was laughing, and quite tremendously so. And in so holding true to the tales of the Woses, this laughter spread its self even as far as its possessor's own shade reached.
"We know you, King of Man. You are welcome here, for you have given peace. But we know not your company. Be they friends? Or madubeboei." He paused a moment and rubbed the moss-likestubble on the tip of his chin. It seemed as though he was searching for words. "How you say 'ungood folk'? Enemy. Nhiya, that word. Be your companions good or enemy?"
"Most certainly good, lord of the Grey Wood. They are my dear friends, unto whom I would entrust my life. We mean no harm. We ask for passage through your realm, if you will grant it, for only by your leave may we walk beneath the boughs of the Druadan," replied Aragorn, dropping down to one knee and inclining his head in respect. Legolas and Gimli followed quickly in his stead, Gimli somewhat awkwardly in his heavy chain mail. There was a moment of silence wherein none there gathered spoke. And then, as quickly as it had descended upon, it vanished and was thereby replaced with the low gurgling sound that rose in the Chieftain's throat. Any tension amongst Ghân-buri-Ghân's people was shattered, for they easily recognized this as laughter, and smiled upon its arrival.
"The King of Men needs not ask. You and your friends may stay." The Druedain slapped his thigh in mirth and dropped to one knee as well, returning the respect that had been given him. Aragorn was beginning to think that the little the Rohirrim had seen of these strange peoples hardly did them justice. The Druedain were far from primitive. Though their village was no great city, such as Minas Tirith, it seemed far more welcoming than the cold, white stone seen in Gondor's capital. And moreover, the former ranger could not blame the Chieftain for any suspicion detected. It was said that their dealings with Rohan prior to the War of the Ring had been none too pleasant. Because of the cruelty they had sometimes seen from the Horselords, they had grown wary. But even so, their leader still greeted King Elessar with mirth and open arms.
"Bahârrod, arud nyma kysingojet. Hobe, roghdli," said the Chieftain to his second in command upon rising. Bahârrod nodded and bowed both to his superordinate and to the King of Gondor before summoning a few Druedain that Aragorn soon recognized as the guards who had escorted them thus far. He and his followers thenwove through the crowd, as though the villagers were but underbrush in their way, and headed to the woods again.
Within moments they could be neither seen nor heard and even the keen ears of Legolas were hard pressed to track them before long. However, their inability to track the Druedain was not currently their problem. It was their inability to understand them. The deep, guttural language of these peoples thwarted them now, for it was so far removed from any languages they had heard ere now that they knew not what was said. Aragorn had studied within the expansive libraries of Elrond and knew well many languages of Middle-earth. But never before had he heard anything of this sort.
Legolas was similarly puzzled. Although he had not mastered nearly as many tongues as his royal comrade, he knew his fair share of linguistics. When faced with a language foreign to him, it was generally possible to grasp the gist of the conversation, if nothing else, though tone, gestures, or common word roots. None of these appeared to be present. And so, he had moved onto his next tactic. Facial expression. Long years of life under the boughs of Mirkwood may not have aided in communication skills, however, they did avail him in discerning the expressions and emotions of otherwise stoic warriors. Nevertheless, for the first time in many years both Aragorn and Legolas were severely nonplused. Not only was this a foreign language, it was completely alien.
And if they were having troubles, poor Gimli's mind was flooded with confusion. Though in stature he may have been lacking, in intellect he was surely ample. He did not speak more than the Dwarvish language of Khuzdul, which few but the Dwarves themselves knew, and the Common tongue, though he wagered his Sindarin was coming along quite nicely (likewise Legolas would plausibly be one of the few elves ever to learn Khuzdul). But even had he known Quenya, Entish, Orcish and the Black Speech it would not have availed him. Like his Elven companion, he drew much from the eyes and expressions of another. Through much practice with his irksomely stoic confidant, he had strengthened his ability to read emotions that were otherwise locked away. In the case of the Chieftain, he could read nothing. All he saw were the deep-set black eyes of another staring back at him from beneath bush-like brows. Some thought the Druedain were unintelligent because they did not speak Westron, but to the Druedain now, the three strangers must have been seen as equally slow-witted.
"Please forgive. I forget you know not our tongue. But I know little of yours, also." He scratched his chin again. " Nwoi has had some converse with your folk. Among us he speaks wellest your tongue, so Iwill have him be your guide this night. Fast of mind is he, and though horse men could not hear him, them could he hear and learn from. Strange it is to be taught by one who has seen so few spring-comings." Old Ghân shook his head. "But I will do my best with what I know, to speak with you as best I can," apologized the Chieftain. "Nwoi!" He was addressing someone to his left, however, none standing there seemed to reply. And then from the cliff sides there was a rustling and something emerged. The something, or someone, rather, then slide nimbly down the rocky descent, running as though it were flat ground, and came quickly to his Chieftain. Shaking blades of grass from his hair, he stumbled to a stop. There was a look of seriousness spread across his face, but even so, there was a twinkle in his eye that betrayed a playfulness about him.
"Nhiya, Lakmno," said the newcomer in a huff as he executed a clumsy bow to his elder. For indeed, Ghân-buri-Ghân was his elder, by a great many years it seemed. This Druedain could not have seen more than thirteen winters and his youth was apparent in the very way he carried himself. His hair, unlike that of the older residents, was considerably shorter while far from well kept. It would seem almost that with age, so too did these peoples gain their stone-like qualities. The grass skirt around his waist was worn and old, but likewise it served all the better for his camouflage. And though he appeared to take whatever duty that was given him with a purposeful attitude, it was obvious that beneath his lips there lie a smile.
"Nwoi will guide the King of Men and friends of Men this night," he said to the boy. Nwoi nodded assiduously. "Good." Next he turned his dark eyes back to his guests. "The sun sets. Dark comes. Time for talk is not now. When light comes again, we speak of what needs be said?" asked the Wild Man of Aragorn, who in turn nodded his agreement. "Good." Ghân bowed deeply once again before vanishing as abruptly as he had arrived, behind the cloth flap of his central hut.
The villagers began to disperse, though the air of tension seemed to make a slow reappearance in the absence of their leader. Most seemed eager to reach the sanctity of their own huts and be done with the day's events. All, that is, save the young boy, Nwoi. He had eagerness, certainly, and it was plentiful. However, it was an eagerness of another sort. He was intrigued by these strange people, so different in voice and appearance than his own kin. Since the first time he had caught a fleeting glimpse (and a fleeting glimpse it had been, for he had been whisked away upon the detection of them) of those outside his isolated village, he had yearned to learn more of them. And this was a trait most unlike the Druedain. In some aspects, they were much like Hobbits themselves. Peace and quiet are two things they hold most dear, though the Halflings love of food is something that would be peculiar to them. Just as Bilbo was occasionally thought strange amongst those of the Shire, so too was Nwoi thought of by his kin. What business does a child have with the towering Horse Fathers of the Wold? But even though his mother scolded him profusely for wandering too near the borders of the Grey Wood, even if his father reprimanded him for aspiring to learn a language of outsiders, still he had persisted.
And at last, or so it seemed, he had been rewarded for his doggedness. Three outsiders had come to him! And he would be privileged further by their conversations! Much of his knowledge of their tongue had been acquired by way of stealth and observation, but now his skill could at last be utilized. He was determined to put his studies to good use. He would sooner let the gorgûn take him than let it all go to waste. So many questions were there buzzing about in his racing mind he scarcely noticed their approach until they were gazing quizzically down upon him.
"Oh!" Nwoi gave a hasty bow. "Forgive my disrespect!" He knew he must be wary of these outsiders, however intriguing they might be. He knew not their temperaments, and the unknown is known to be both mysterious and spontaneous. The dark-haired one, presumably the King of Men himself, smiled and shook his head.
"What is there to forgive?" His deep, dark eyes scrutinized the boy and it was all Nwoi could do not to squirm under its weight. Their depth seemed unending as the night sky, and instead of seeing a window to the man's soul, all he could see in those dark orbs was his own reflection, gone a ghostly pale. Yet if the King's eyes were mirrors they were shards, and uncannily sharp. The dark-haired man, sensing this unease, withdrew his gaze. "I am told you speak the Common tongue?" He asked curiously. It intrigued him that one so young would have taken it upon himself to learn a language he would scarcely use. Nwoi nodded, trying to rid himself of the shivers that had just shot up his spine.
"Yes, I do." The boy grinned widely but hesitantly. Regardless, it was obvious that he was both proud and confident in his achievements. "I learned it all on my own," the King raised an eyebrow in silent praise, however, Nwoi took this as disapproval, "your highness." Though he was curious, he still harbored some fear for these big folk. He had heard terrible stories once, when he was much younger, of kin chased down by fearsome folk who ran on four legs. And these still haunted his thoughts now and again, for they would not be dispelled.
"Now that will not do, I would have you call me by my name and not my title." The man extended his hand, palm open. Now what could this be? Did the man have something to give him? Or mayhap he was pointing at something in the distance? Nwoi looked in the direction the hand was extended. A hut. Perchance he was tired and wished to take rest? That must be it . . . "Ah, I see." The man interrupted his thoughts. "I should know better. Time on a cold throne has benumbed my mind, it would seem." Someone standing behind the man gave a hmph in agreement. "I am called Aragorn. And you are Nwoi, if my numbed mind yet has some sense in it. Hindmost me are my companions, Gimli, lord of the caves of Aglarond . . . "
A stout man stepped forward, nigh unto the height of Nwoi's own kin, save this being's face was covered with thick hair about the chin and mouth. This was peculiar indeed. Secretly, though he would not dare say it, this 'beard' as he had once heard it called, reminded him very much of the small, tangled bushes that grew so numerously on the forest floor. He was clad in strange garb, similar somewhat to that which the horseman donned. And in his mail-gloved hand there was a fearsome axe. He nodded his head in Nwoi's direction in respect and Nwoi returned the gesture doubly. This Gimli was strong. He could see it in his very stride.
"And to my left, Legolas of the Woodland Realm and lord of Ithilien." At this, another strange being stepped forth and gave a fluid bow.
Unlike this Gimli character, Legolas was tall and slender with shoulder length hair that shown golden in the waning sun, and a face fair beyond mortal measure. About this one there was an air not unlike that which Nwoi had sensed when in the arm-like boughs of an ancient oak. All the years gone by, coursing just beneath the timeworn bark, in its very being. Yes, there was something curious about this fellow, certainly. He was a fellow, right? He had been called 'lord,' so he must be. But how could one so young be a lord? A loud snort and the stomp of a hoof disturbed him from his thinking.
"You have forgotten someone in your haste, Aragorn," said Legolas in a melodious voice, eyes twinkling in the sunset, as one of the great four-legged creatures rubbed its muzzle into Nwoi's chest in greeting. "Arod and Brego say they are pleased to make your acquaintance."
Nwoi felt the soft flesh of Arod's nose brush against his own, and whatever fright he had felt toward these creatures fled on eagles' wings. He could hear the strange sound the air made as it left its nostrils, tickling his face. The creature's hot breath tousled his hair as though in the wind, and the feel of the warmth against his skin was comforting. Arod seemed nothing like the 'fearsome four-legged beasts' he had heard so much of in rumor. Great maybe, but fearsome certainly not.
"I see no reason to be awed by a horse. As we Dwarves say, one finds his own legs sturdier than those of another," grumbled Gimli, planting the butt of his axe firmly in the ground as if to further emphasize his point.
"Sturdy your legs may be, but swift is another story," said Legolas loftily as he watched Nwoi timidly stroke Arod's neck. Years ago, perhaps, Gimli might have sputtered at this. However, these years had availed him in many ways, one such being in the quickness of his tongue. One of these days, he would outwit his feather-headed companion, he assured himself. Elves, he was known to remark, revered as the wisest in all of Middle-earth, yet with heads the consistency of thistledown.
"It is not always swiftness that is most eminent, but rather endurance, which serves better in the long run," argued the Dwarf, determined to best the other. Besides, he still saw very little sense in just how much trust was placed in these horses, even if he himself had come to trust Arod.
"And a very long run it would have been, Master Dwarf, had you chosen your own two legs over four swifter ones," replied Legolas with a tug at the corners of his lips. Nwoi wondered at these two. Already they were an odd spectacle to behold; arguing over something so trivial as the length of one's legs in comparison to speed was folly. What use did such knowledge do for a person? Yet here they were, pursuing their folly-full debate and in all likelihood would have continued to do so were it not for the combined efforts of both Aragorn and Arod. "Please excuse my stunted companion, he is quick of temper but not so quick of wit, or foot, for that matter," said Legolas to Nwoi in a whisper made just loud enough for all nearby to hear. Nwoi could not quite hold back a grin. Strange though their argument may be, it was also amusing.
Arod, being the wise horse he was and also having just as much experience as Aragorn in such matters, took it upon himself to cause a distraction. And did just that by butting Legolas playfully in the chest with his forehead until the Elf could no longer listen to whatever response Gimli might have come up with but instead had to focus all, or at least a good deal, of his concentration on evading a horse in the face. The horse demanded his rider's attention. In moments, Legolas was all but ignoring the grumbling Dwarf at his side, though if Aragorn had any say in the matter, he wagered this was an act on the Elf's part. And it was certainly working, for Gimli looked on the verge of sputtering. However, at the very least, Gondor's king knew their quarrels were all quite harmless; they had become almost a means for the two to communicate. Aragorn cleared his throat as a sign that perhaps they might consider resuming their gainsay at a later date. Luckily, they listened. Nwoi also recognized the dropped hint and cleared his own throat.
"The sun is all but set, Lord Aragorn. Would you like me to show you a place whereat you might sleep in comfort?" Asked Nwoi hesitantly, though in secret, he was quite proud of the long sentence he had successfully strung together.
"Please do not inconvenience yourself on our parts. Think of us as mere travelers and nothing more. Truthfully, though doubtless it is unnecessary to do so in the Grey Wood for it is so well guarded, I would rather that none distinguished me for whence I came. I would that rumor of my absence in Minas Tirith went unheard." Indeed, Aragorn had hoped none here, or anywhere, for that matter, would recognize him for who he was. In farther, or less observant, lands, perchance that wish might have been granted. However, among the Druedain it was not so. Like old Ghan had said, "though horse men could not hear him, them could he hear and learn from." And when these woods had been given onto their inhabitants, none had emerged from the trees but rather, all that could be heard were the drums on the wind. Dom, dom, dom . . . fading into the depths, like the heartbeat of the forest. No doubt they had seen each and every face present that day, and had not forgotten. Their memories spanned as long as the lives of stone.
"But mere travelers would not be permitted to travel beneath our boughs, lord." Nwoi pointed out. "You are the first to do so with our good graces." Aragorn sighed, though he fully understood what was said, he still wished that he could travel as a Ranger once more. Which was certainly not to say he was not thankful for all he had in life, but still . . . However difficult those cold and arduous years had been, he still longed for their solitude and simplicity. In some ways, his royal life now seemed more grueling even than his long search for the creature Gollum. As a Ranger, there were no treaties to be made, no trade routes to redefine, no counselors, lords, ladies or advisors. It was the wild. Some said a crown suited him, but to Aragorn, it felt most like a heavy burden, weighing him down from its place atop his head. And one day, he imagined, it would overcome him and topple to the ground.
"I for one have had quite enough of jostling about on the back of a horse for one day, thank you, and I should be more than content to see a good night's rest. If this boy wishes to lead us to that rest then I say, why not follow?" proclaimed Gimli in his deep tenor. And he had seen enough of this horse riding business, enough to last him many lifetimes. When Nwoi began to walk in the direction of a large grass hut, Gimli came quickly after, and the other two could do nothing but follow. It was that, or remain in the village center all through the night, pondering just what else could be done about the matter.
Aragorn and Legolas inquired as to where their mounts might spend the night, and as for that, Nwoi had no answer. There were no huts to accommodate their size, but after a moment of deliberation, Nwoi pointed out a section of trees hindmost the hut they neared that would serve as ample shelter. And to add some comfort he brought over a few clay pots filled with water that sloshed about as he walked for they were almost his own weight. He would not accept any help in this, though, and it seemed he was just as prideful as anyone else. Lastly, he scattered some straw-like bedding and the horses were tethered loosely to a tree and given some room to wander, for their riders trusted them, however both were known to search for the greenest grass and it always seemed to lead them farther than intended.
The hut, despite the stereotypes about the Druedain peoples, was quite a thing to behold. Its structure was made up of intricately woven saplings and a woven grass rooftop, with bark used to reflect the rain off its sides. There was scarcely a space between the young felled trees, but where there were, only the most scrutinizing eye could tell for they were snugly patched with mud and dried grass.
As they entered, pushing the cloth doorway aside, the engineering behind its structure became all the more evident. One might think, from the looks of it, that it would not be nearly warm enough to last through cold weather. And they would be quite wrong. Instead of just one layer of saplings, there were three, and between each there was mud and grass insulation. The floor was made similar to the walls, save with but one layer, and one that seemed replaceable. Near the center, there was a pit lined with stones, and more still that were piled atop each other to form what looked almost like an oven. Up above, there was a hole through which the stars could be seen, though its true purpose was to allow the smoke to escape. A small fire was burning dimly within the oven, its red embers heating the whole of the hut perfectly, and the smoke wafted upwards in a thin stream, out into the night. And the smell of it all was quite inviting, the scents of firewood andplantlife mixing to create the semblance of the nature that surrounded without.
There was but one problem, and this being the size in comparison to Aragorn and Legolas, for Gimli as a Dwarf had few qualms with the low roof. It was wide enough for both Elf and Man to lay toe-to-toe without having any lack of space, however, neither could stand upright without the risk of receiving a knock to the head. Nevertheless, the two resolved that they would be spending little time indoors anyways.
Nwoi quickly disappeared behind the cloth door and reappeared carrying an armful of firewood to be used during the night if the fire waned. "I bid you all goodnight. I will return when the sun rises. Sleep well." The company of three each thanked the boy in turn, for he had shown abundant hospitality and kindness. His bare feet patted almost soundlessly against the dirt ground as he walked away to wherever his own hut was.
"Why sit doing naught when we could rest?" Yawned Gimli as he made himself comfortable on the floor that apparently doubled as a bed. Legolas sighed and spread out his cloak in one of the corners, propping himself, cross-legged, against a wall in a place whereat he could easily see the stars.
"Verily this structure is quite a marvel. See there? The saplings are woven as though they are threads of a cloth. What an interesting peoples these Druedain are." Legolas pointed out, pulling his hair out from behind his shoulder so it would not become pinned there. "Perhaps we can learn from them yet,"he said with a smile on his lips. For as old as Legolas was, Aragorn swore at times like these that he spoke with the youthful wisdom of a child. Indeed, it was difficult for the former Ranger to keep a straight face whenever Legolas applied this term to Aragorn, for indeed, although he was mortal, he considered himself to act the elder of the two. And for Aragorn not to keep a straight face when he intended to do so was almost unheard of.
Aragorn had heard once, from Lord Elrond and Gandalf both, of some of their many reasons for choosing the company they did. He now fully understood why, even when far older, wiser and more experienced Elves were willing to set out as one of the Fellowship, Legolas was chosen. When compared to many of his kin, Legolas was, in truth, quite young and it was this youth, Aragorn surmised, that had resulted in an unheard of friendship with a Dwarf. The more years that evanesced into history around them, the more set in their way they became. In youth, one is moreaccepting.Like a stone, with each passing age growing in size until it can no longer be moved. He found that to be the best way to describe it.
"One can even see the night sky," he heard Legolas say, though he was still deep in his own thoughts. Speaking of that friendship with a Dwarf . . .
"Truly, Elves think of naught but the stars and the trees," said Gimli as a means to fill the silence that was beginning to encroach. Aragorn could hardly stifle a groan as he too propped himself against a wall. He was a very patient man, however, everyone has a limit, and after a day of riding to the tune of their quarrel, his patience was drawing to a close. Obviously Gimli was less interested in filling the silence and more in picking up where he had left off in their argument.
Legolas raised a fine eyebrow from his place across the room, his eyes bright in the firelight. "Oh? Is it even so?"
"Yes, it is so. And it is foolish. The stars, as all sensible folk know, are unreachable and frankly unworthy of such endearment. They are but lights in the sky. And the trees! Bah."
"Have you run short of words, Master Dwarf? I knew your vocabulary was limited, but never did I realize the extent of your incapacitation." Legolas began to hone one of the knives he carried with him, and purely out of habit, for rarely does an Elvish wrought blade go dull.
"My incapacitation!? Nay, it is the very thought of your ill-placed passions that causes my bafflement." For years now, this argument had been repeated. And always it began and ended in a similar way, which any who have spent a good deal of time with the two could predict.
"My ill-placed passions, as you call them, are far better placed than your own. I fear I shall never understand your foolish love of stone and gold," said Legolas calmly as the whetstone made a familiar and invariable -sheek- as it skated across the steel that flickered in the firelight like ice.
"That is because you are too featherbrained to comprehend," Gimli retorted, at last removing the trusted helmet which traveled with him wherever he went.
"Featherbrained, am I? Perhaps it is you, son of Gloín, who is too feebleminded to comprehend the complexity of the Elves?" Legolas' hand glided unchangingly, - sheek, sheek, sheek . . . -
"Nay, Legolas, it is your own inability to see the sensibility of the Dwarves that causes you to act the contrary."
"Wisely," said Legolas nonchalantly, putting down the whetstone and guiding a fingertip carefully down the blade. The Prince of Mirkwood had ever been the victor of these word games, and could just as easily twist what was said into something to better suit his argument as he could string a bow. There was an uncanny ability about him that enabled him to pick and choose through each and every word in a very short expanse of time. Once the choice word was found, utilizing it was child's play. Aragorn had learned also that Legolas resorted to such tactics when he wished not discuss something further.
Gimli, however, had never experienced such things ere the counsel of Elrond, and thus had been taken completely unawares at his first encounter. But time was a stern teacher and from it the Dwarf learned quickly. Soon, Aragorn imagined, a day might come when a certain Prince would find himself on the losing side of the argument.
"Let us end this. Gimli, was it not you who said we should use this time for repose?" said Aragorn, peering over at the two with one eye open, like a cat resting one eye while ever watchful with the other.
"Indeed, it was he. But thus is the peculiarity of a Dwarf, saying one thing and doing another," Legolas said matter-of-factly, as he sheathed his knife and crossed his arms across his chest, making himself comfortable even if it was unlikely he would stay in one place for very long.
Gimli, with a last grumble of annoyance directed in Legolas' general area, turned onto his side with a huff. Legolas grinned and to Aragorn's extreme thankfulness, peace commenced. As for a watch, Legolas and Aragorn agreed to switch off, simply for the sake of reassurance. The borders were well guarded, they knew, however, both knew it generally never hurt to be cautious.
The morning came swiftly, and Aragorn woke even before the first rays of sunlight colored the sky, as always. The birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the trees and the fire smoldering in its ashes. However, there was something out of place in the picture he awoke to. There was Gimli, quite deep in a sleep in his corner, yet there was something, or rather someone, missing Glancing about, he realized just what the trouble was. A cloak was folded neatly where an Elf had once sat, but where had Legolas run off to? Listening closely to his surroundings, the skilled former Ranger soon discerned another sound without the walls of the hut. The patter of feet in the dirt and the unmistakable laughter of children began to flood his hearing. This was a far cry from the dead silence the village had been filled with upon their arrival. Something strange was at work. Fastening his cloak about his shoulders, King Elessar pulled back the cloth doorway and came upon a strange and quite unexpected sight.
There were children, as he had guessed, and their guide, Nwoi as well. As he scrutinized them further, he realized almost all were either Nwoi's age or very close to it. They were playing a game that he had seen children in the streets of Minas Tirith play, though doubtless this version was unique, with a cloth tied together tightly to form a ball which they were attempting to keep from hitting the ground without the use of arms. Tied to a limb of an outcropping tree there was a woven hoop of sorts, which Aragorn concluded the ball was passed through. A very small crowd of spectators was gathered around them. But this was not what surprised him. Children he had expected, and perhaps Nwoi too, however, he had not expected to see a tall, slender, and somewhat distracted Elf among them.
Nor had Legolas, really. When he had first stepped out into the dimly lit world, he had no intention of becoming swept up in anything of this sort. In truth, he had merely thought to tend to the horses, who he knew must have grown restless during the long hours of the night just as he himself had. Soon after reaching them, combing through their wind-tossed manes with his fingers and singing softly to himself, he had heard the soft patter of feet coming his way. Sure enough, it had been Nwoi, arriving just he said he would, and even somewhat early.
Both greeted each other warmly, but even behind all the curiosity bubbling over from the boy, there was still a solute of discomfort about him. Nwoi had quietly positioned himself nearby and observed the Elf from his seat there in complete silence. Legolas resumed his tune, beginning to groom Arod's flank with a brush from his saddlebag. And he would have all but forgotten about the boy had Nwoi's curiosity not gotten the better of him. It had intrigued the Druedain, and profusely, that there was yet another language other than the two he had already mastered. Hearing it for the first time, and in Legolas' soft and lilting melody had not failed to spark wonder in a mind like fire, demanding more knowledge to fuel its flame. Thus he could not help but voice the many questions that began to fill his thoughts. What was this strange speech? Could he learn that song? What did the song mean? Where had it come from? Wherehad Legolas come from? At first he had been hesitant to ask, however this tall being seemed more than willing to discuss each topic, and soon the questions came spewing from his mouth.
Not long after their conversation began, it was cut short. Withal, though, Nwoi had gained more information in their short discussion than he had in many far longer ones yet each question answered had given rise to twice as many. By the end he had learned much, and wondered at more. The other was still a mystery to him. The reason behind the end in their talk was actually the arrival of others. The Druedain were obviously early risers, but then again, they slept the moment the sun disappeared on the horizon. A group of youths, in fact, came, most of which being around Nwoi's age. They had stopped in their tracks upon seeing the company their friend was in. And who would not act so? Two large and strange beasts and an equally strange traveler from lands none there had even known existed.
Fortunately, Nwoi had been kind enough to approach them and even introduce them to his own newly acquired acquaintance. Although they were still obviously uncomfortable, their reason for being where they were was thereby revealed. There was a hoop, apparently, hung from a nearby tree which was used for the game they wished to play. Legolas had seen no reason for them to leave merely because he would have to move the horses, and Nwoi had translated to themfor him that they were free to do as they wished and they need not fear Legolas nor the four-legged creatures. To demonstrate his point, Legolas had asked Nwoi to approach Arod and thus proved that these specific mounts were quite unworthy of fright, they were friendly when treated properly.
Even with their malaise about it all, Nwoi seemed convincing, and this Legolas, as Nwoi said he was called, seemed kind enough. So they had proceeded. The objective of the game was to hit a cloth ball through the above hoop. The tricky part was to do so without using hands or arms. But as Legolas watched them from the sidelines, needless to say he was impressed. Perhaps the skill of hitting a ball through a hoop thus would be of little practical use, but still, it was an impressive feat, nonetheless. And as chance would have it, Nwoi insisted Legolas was to participate, seeing as he had been thoughtful enough to move the horses. Besides, Nwoi had felt guilty somewhat of abandoning his task for the moment. At first, the Prince of Mirkwood was reluctant, and with good reason. He would much rather observe than participate. However, when Nwoi announced that he could not play unless Legolas played, the prince grudgingly obliged. The rules were revised slightly to accommodate Legolas' height. Legolas himself suggested that he should not be allowed the use of both his arms and legs. At this he had received quite a few odd looks, for that would certainly be a great challenge, especially for one who has never before engaged in such sport. But Legolas deemed it fair, and all others eventually shrugged it off and wondered just how this stranger would manage. So it began.
By the time Aragorn had discovered his companion's whereabouts, the game had gone on for some time. All there participating, and there were a great many more now than there had been to begin with, were quite engrossed with what they were doing and little else. It seemed that this game was not merely child's play, but also enjoyed by the grown population of the village. To see an Elf, though, running hither thither with a group of laughing, smiling children and hitting about a ball without using hands or feet, arms or legs was quite the spectacle. Though doubtless all gathered there were enjoying themselves immensely, for despite the revisions to the rules made because of the Elf's height, he was still besting a great many of them.
Legolas had not yet noticed the former Ranger, standing nearby and watching with a ghost of a smile that threatened to materialize across his lips any moment. But when at last Aragorn did call out the Elf's name, it was certainly one of the more memorable moments of their friendship. Hearing his name, he had turned immediately to its source, taking his eyes from the game. Realizing this fatal mistake almost seconds before it would have been too late, Legolas dove for the ball that was speedily making its way toward the ground. There was a cloud of dust and then the ball was flung with great accuracy off the Elf's chest and through the hoop to be caught by the King of Gondor.
"Is this how Elves spend their mornings? Much has changed since my childhood in Imladris, then. That, or those of Mirkwood have claim to the strangest customs e'er I have seen," said Aragorn, raising an eyebrow as the dust cleared away to reveal a hardly recognizable prince. Aragorn wondered at what Thranduil might have to say about seeing his son in such a state, lying on the ground and covered from fair head to foot in a layer of dirt. "This is a side of you I have never seen ere now, my friend. Who would imagine that the Prince of Mirkwood bathed in dirt?"
"At least I bathe at all," said Legolas, coughing somewhat as he stood and brushed himself off, "rather, you prefer to wait until it rains. And there was once a time when if it did not rain at all, you would go without." The Elf shook his hair and Aragorn noted that it turned noticeably lighter. But Legolas had ever been one able to laugh at himself, and it was plain to see that he was grinning.
"However, at present, I should say that you are in more need of a bath than I, my friend," laughed Aragorn as he watched Legolas shake his tunic somewhat. For a moment, he looked as though he were mimicking a horse who had just finished a good roll.
"Perhaps," replied Legolas with a frown as he fingered a small tear in his sleeve. Whatever his response may have been, it went unheard, for at that moment, three things happened quite simultaneously. Firstly, Gimli emerged from the hut, fully armored and ready to battle whatever enemies had besieged the village during the night. He had awoken to hear shouts and did not, in his dazed state, manage to distinguish between the shouts of enjoyment and the shouts that might be heard in a skirmish. So, little did he know that the Orcs he imagined were naught but the villagers' reaction to Legolas' latest trick. Secondly, Nwoi managed to appear in front of Aragorn and began to apologize profusely for so urging Legolas to participate. He had not known that nothing could have brightened the King's day more than to see an Elf acting so unaccountably un-elven. Thirdly, and by far most alarming, was Baharrod's sudden emergence from the woods, all of which was anything but soundless.
Aragorn was attempting to convince Nwoi that there had been no offense committed while Legolas was likewise informing Gimli of the Dwarf's err and receiving a very confused look in response. Gimli, of course, had figured out that there was no danger, and felt somewhat embarrassed bothat his mistake and his late rising, however, he could not help but wonder why his comrade was dressed in dirt and what the Druedain second-in-command was doing running so hastily to the Chieftain's hut, shouting 'arud nymí Ezulu,' whatever that meant. Meanwhile, the villagers did not know what to do. Some seemed happy, for they knew what Baharrod had said and apparently it was a good thing, while others were still trying to decipher exactly why there was a bearded being wielding an axe. In the end, the outcome was inevitable.
"Maa!" Ghan-buri-Ghan's deep tenor burst forth from his hut, stopping Bahârrod in his tracks and silencing all there gathered. He was not angry. However, his tone demanded order. And that is what he received. Had a cricket four leagues away chosen that moment to chirp, all there would have heard. The Chieftain sighed and turned to his second-in-command for explanation. Bahhârrod nodded and began.
"Arud nymi Ezulu, Lakmno."
"Hn," he rubbed his chin in thought.
"Translation?" asked Gimli, turning to Nwoi, who had at last ceased in apologizing to Aragorn and Legolas. Gimli had very little patience for being left in the dark, and presently, everything was black. Much too much was going on that he did not understand, and he felt that an explanation was eminent, if not forthcoming.
"Ezulu has returned." Nwoi's expression was one spread between excitement, wonder, and slight confusion. He shook his head and looked back at Gimli, his eyes wide. Gimli was about to ask why this should cause such a commotion when Nwoi answered the unspoken question. "Ezulu disappeared almost a year ago."
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Well, there you have it! I have FINALLY updated. I really hope you enjoyed.
Translations:
Baharrod, arud nyma kysingojet. Hobe, roghdli. - Baharrod, return to your post. Go (somewhat politely)
Nhiya, Lakmno Yes, Chief.
Arud nymí Ezulu Ezulu has returned.
Maa! Enough!
Gorgûn Orc(s) (this is one of the few words of this language found in the books. Ghân-buri-Ghân uses it to describe the force that would block the Rohirrim's way if they did not go through the Stonewain, and at a few other points in his dialogue.)
The Druedain language, from Tolkien's descriptions, came from deep in the throat and was far removed from any other languages of the time. It did not sound like Sindarin or Westron, and had few (if any!) roots in any sort of Elvish. With that in mind, I tried to combine some languages that might sound appropriate. What has been written thus far is a combination of a few African tribe languages (because, unlike English, which is more nasal, many African languages use the throat and not the nose) Swahili, and old Norse and Germanic. This is the first time I have attempted something like this, and so, I hope it worked. As far as pronunciation goes, I recommend that it be kept in mind that none of these words use the nose, but rather the throat. I may go back and make changes, but I'm hoping also to develop this a bit more, later on. If you have any questions, suggestions, recommendations, comments, or complaints on the subject, please don't hesitate to express them. I'd like to know what you think of it all, so please, do tell! On to reviews, all of which are so greatly appreciated!! They can lift my spirits from the darkest of moods.
Ryuujin dragon king: Thanks so much for the review. I know, I know, I've taken FAR too long in updating. And for this, you have my honest apologies. Rest assured, I'm being scolded this very moment by both my sister and good friend, Nominwen.
Nominwen: Confusing Pippin with Mary Poppins, my, that's certainly one for the storybooks! I'm glad you found my writing! I always look forward to your input. Thankies, Nominwen!
Bookworm, .303: Thank goodness your computer's fixed! I don't know what I'd do if mine broke down for a long period of time. Again, I beg your forgiveness for this long wait and hope you're still with me. Ah, yes . . . the locals. We have not yet come to the 'trouble' but I assure you, it's on its way. Thanks so much for your review! (Oh! And I hope you don't mind me mentioning, but you've got a new story! Sorry I haven't reviewed yet, I have, however, been lurking in the shadows. Great writing. )
AliciA: Thank you, thank you, thank you, is all I can say. Such a kind review /blushes/ I do hope I don't disappoint you. And by the way, your own writing is marvelous! I love your latest story (although they're all equally wonderful).
Gismo: I always look forward to your responses, and I'm overjoyed to know you're liking the story thus far. I hope you had fun on vacation! The summer seems a distant memory now that school has started. Lol. Oh well. I hope you like this update, however long in coming it was and thanks so much for the review and kind words.
Orliey: Nay, I have not forsaken you, but rather, school has dragged me away. But I've come back, I hope. I'm really glad you're liking the story and hope you continue to enjoy. Thank you!
P.S. Any spelling/grammatical errors in the Druedain speech is intended. Very few have any experience with the Common Tongue. With the exception of the Chieftain, Baharrod, and Nwoi, other villagers know a few phrases if anything. Keep in mind, this is only because they have had little if any exposure to other peoples.
P.P.S. I simply wish to mention that, although I am a huge fan of the LotR movies, I am trying to base my descriptions on Tolkien's descriptions of the characters, rather than the actors' portrayals of them (however good a job the actors may have done.) Tolkien himself calls Legolas "fair beyond the measure of men."
One last parting note (and I do believe I've become much like Gandalf in my writing, now!) About Brego. I realize that this is inaccurate (and I've known for sometime now) and eventually I will correct this flaw. It's been irking me for quite a long time and I would appreciate it if you might turn the other cheek whenever you see this flaw. Or perhaps let us assume for now that Brego simply came along for the ride, yes? Or perhaps Aragorn has named his horse after the actual Brego? Please? It will be righted. However, seeing as, in order to change Aragorn's horse now, I would also have to edit previous chapters . . . and I'm either too lazy or have not the time (your pick) to do so at present. Thanks so much for all the reviews! I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Till next time!
- (The ever procrastinating . . . ) Lintu . . .