DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor claim to own any of the names, characters, places of or pertaining to Lord of the Rings. They are all sole property of the great J.R.R. Tolkien, whom I hold in the utmost of respect.

Trouble Ever at Their Heels . . .

The sun was now high in the sky, shining brightly down upon the woven rooftops of the Druedain huts. Light shown upon the dew sprinkled blades of grass, making them twinkle like innumerable stars scattered across a green sky. The birds had awakened and chirped quietly from their lofty perches. A slight chill yet clung to the air like dampness to cloth and all appeared calm. However, this was certainly not the case beneath the boughs of the Druadan this morning. A rumor was spreading amongst the trees, one of confusion and wonder and it was carried on the breeze. Someone had crossed their borders and their presence sent shivers from their roots sown beneath the earth to their reaching web of arms above. Their leaves rustled in anxiousness. As bright as the sun was, it was hesitant to penetrate the depth of the forest, for something there made it wary. Drums, beating like the heart of the wild, rose from its depth. And the woodland drew into itself.

Confounding had broken free of its reins and in its felicity, had galloped all throughout the village trampling order in its wake. Despite the Chieftain's attempts to quiet his people, they continued to speak in whispers amongst themselves, seeing if the person standing next to them knew more about what was going on then they did. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli's eyes were locked on Nwoi and it seemed that they had not been spared the confusion.

"Ezulu has returned," the boy repeated to himself in a tone that floated on his breath. He shook his head, his dark eyes wide like the full moon and mouth pursed in rumination

"And who is Ezulu?" asked Aragorn after a moment's silence. The king of Gondor did not favor ignorance, and at the moment, he felt as though it consumed him. Nwoi looked up, apparently startled by the sudden question. He had forgotten that there were still others watching him.

"He was a warrior of some status . . . a few years aftermost the great war was ended, gorgûn had emerged from the mountains. We had thought none yet remained. We were wrong. A small portion of them had hidden in the mountain caves and we had not perceived them. I know very little about it, but we lost many of our people when they came. Yet we defeated them in the end, thanks in part to Ezulu. He lead the attacks and won much merit for his bravery. However," Nwoi's voice faded as he recalled the events. "However . . . he insisted that the mountains should be searched. And so they were. He took it upon himself to do so. He called it his duty. We waited many weeks and still heard nothing from him. When we could wait no longer, a search party was sent but to no avail. They found no gorgûn nor did they find any trace Ezulu. We waited for months and when he still did not return we grieved his loss and assumed him to be dead. Why he should return now is beyond me . . . "

"What are these gorgûn?" asked Gimli in his gruff voice, hooking his axe unto his belt. Nwoi turned to the Dwarf once more.

"Orcs." The word tasted like poisonroot in his mouth and he spat it from his lips. But his thoughts did not have time to linger on the subject for long, otherwise he would have said a great deal more about those hated creatures. At that moment, Bahârrod's troop emerged from the trees, and at its forefront there walked Ezulu. Silence, sparked by his arrival, spread like a wildfire on grassland that no longer remembered the taste of water.

The three travelers watched him closely as he walked, with a slight limp in his step that offset the march of Bahârrod's troop. His long hair was uncannily dark and lay in disarray across his shoulders and over his broad brow. His eyes were deep-set and beady, flitting here and there as if trying to return the gaze of each and every person there at one time. He held his chin high.

The more Nwoi scrutinized him, the stranger he became. For some reason, Ezulu did not look like he had ere his disappearance. Almost, though it seemed illogical, it looked as though this he had aged far more years than had passed. And what was more, he seemed threatening. Certainly the warrior that had left in search of gorgûn? Ezulu had been fearsome, but neither had he been unkind. Ezulu's very gaze made goose bumps rise on the young boys skin. And as the distance between them lessened, a chill shot up his spine. Seeing someone he had taken for dead suddenly walking toward him was frightful enough, but that was not what caused him to blanch.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, boy," said Ezulu in a breath, leaning in to whisper in his ear as he passed, so quietly Nwoi strained to hear it. The boy's eyes widened and the warrior laughed loudly and continued to walk. Ezulu's black eyes drifted quickly over those standing around the boy and regarded them coldly before moving on. Legolas stiffened beside Nwoi and for some reason felt the urge to throw himself between the boy and this stranger. Ezulu had spoken friendly enough, but even so . . . Something was not quite right here, and his senses had been set on alarm. 'There is danger here', they seemed to say.

"What do you perceive?" Aragorn asked in such a low voice that only an Elf could hear.

"It is nothing," breathed Legolas, though he did not take his eyes from Ezulu.

Aragorn had seen Legolas' reaction. It was disconcerting, as he had watched the Elf narrow his eyes ever so slightly as if, in secret, his hackles were raised. Truth be told, Aragorn did not sense a friendliness about this Ezulu, nor could he say that he was not disturbed somewhat by what Nwoi had said of him, however, he did not feel threatened. But he would be wary of him.

Needless to say, Nwoi was both dumbfounded and startled. Ezulu had never given him a passing glance ere now, why speak to him even before addressing the Chieftain? And what perplexed him more was how Ezulu had spoken the Common Tongue. Of all the inhabitants of the Druadan, Ezulu was the most forthright in his dislike for outsiders. Why, then, would he care to learn the tongue of outsiders? It was hypocritical, to say the least and frightening to say the most. Where had he been all this time to so change him?

"Ah, Lakmno," Ezulu dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"Djou owrns glramakdtí . . . Ezulu, waardeí djou?" questioned Ghân-buri-Ghân in the throaty Druedain language, trying his hardest to hide his surprise at this unexpected return. The Chieftain was not one to forsake another, and he had searched long and hard for his missing comrade, but it had all been to no avail. Even when he himself took up the hunt, all came to naught.

"Vereč, lakmno," he said with a grin that was hidden by his matted black hair. Yes, there was something different about him

"Owrns mek pbraat . . . " Old Ghân stared deeply at the top of Ezulu's bowed head for a moment. He too, seemed perplexed by this turn of events. Of course, he was happy to have one of his warriors back . . . but Ghân was, in all his years, very perceptive and Ezulu's peculiarity was not lost on him. He shook his head as if to dispel his thoughts and turned to Aragorn, who he was to have audience with. "I am sorry, King of Man, may we discuss later? I learn where my warrior has been."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I understand." Indeed, he would much rather know that things were being dealt with, even if they did not include him. Ghân was a sagacious leader and would do what he deemed best. And Aragorn knew also that it was not his place to interfere with the dealings of these people. The Druadan lay within Gondor's territory, but it belonged solely to the Druedain. He would wait and see what happened, perhaps this was a joyous occasion and not the puzzling one it appeared to be? And so the Chieftain and his warrior disappeared within the hut, and Bahârrod was beckoned after them.

"Well that was . . . interesting," said Gimli at last, watching as the villagers began to disperse. There were things to be done, they knew, and as 'interesting' as it had all been, work was not wont to do itself. For a moment, no one spoke. Then at last a light entered Gimli's eye. "But what is more . . . Legolas, wherefore do you look as though a cave troll dragged you astir?"

"You are one to talk, Master Dwarf. When you burst into the daylight waving your axe I daresay I worried there was a cave troll," Legolas replied, his eyes brimming. Aragorn raised a brow and waited for the Dwarf's response. As bothersome as their quibbling was, it was a welcome change from the morning's events. There was a need for lightheartedness. Nwoi watched with curiousity again as an argument began to take shape.

"You have yet to answer my question, Elleth," retorted Gimli. He had been expected that to be thrown in his face, but he yet had a trump card up his sleeve. "Dirt does not suit you,"

"Ah, I fear I must agree with you on the latter," Legolas both grinned and frowned simultaneously, as he reexamined his attire.

"Well that would be a first. I had thought that you, being an Elf, would naturally be incapable of coming to an agreement with a wiser being." At times, Gimli could swear that his long-legged companion could read minds. Somehow, Legolas always managed to guess at what Gimli planned, and therefore, only to irk him, said the exact opposite of what was anticipated. As for the nickname Gimli had given him, of which he was none too fond, he deemed it was a worthy sacrifice for revenge in the form of words. Even so, he could not help but inwardly cringe.

"A wiser being, you say?" Legolas answered with a smirk on his face. Aragorn knew that tone . . . somewhere inside that Elf's head a scheme was brewing. Gimli was being lead into a trap, the former Ranger knew, and soon he would be caught in the snare. The Prince was a master at tempting his Dwarf friend into saying something that could be transformed into a lethal weapon.

"Most certainly. All your years wear at your mind. Perhaps Dwarves do not live forever, but at least we live our lives with reason. Not like you Sindar, devoting yourselves unto all things green. No, we live more purposefully, and when we are gone the stone still remembers our name. Can you engrave your name in the stars and know that it will forever remain? Nay. We are just as immortal as the immortal themselves, for after death, we still live on." Gimli did not see it, but Aragorn swore he saw the light in his friend's eyes dim. Of all words, Legolas scorned most one Gimli had just said. Death. The prospect always seemed to sneak up on him when his was guard down, just as old-age crept unnoticeably until its wrinkles at last revealed themselves. And he would forget at times, that his time with them was limited, so when realization again hit him, it was doubly worse. With time he himself would not age, but words such as those were constant reminders that those he had surrounded himself would. Time was fleeting for him, and the thought of one day awaking to find that a dear friend would rise no longer devastated him. Those he loved most would not last. They would wither like leaves in the fall. And he would be left, a single green leaf upon barren boughs. "You say the elves are complex, but complexity does not suit those who are truly wise. The Dwarves know that in simplicity there lies happiness," Gimli finished, proud of his riposte.

"And with the ages, water erodes stone. But the sea cannot reach the stars. It can but hold their image. Do not wish for immortality, Gimli, it begets sorrow," Legolas sighed. This was one of those witty, yet obviously evasive responses that the Elf was wont to give. He had also taken great pains to say what he did. No longer could he speak the name of the sea without anguish. This was one of those topics he wished not discuss. He had lost his enthusiasm for this word game and whatever great scheme his mind had devised vanished like the whiffs of smoke that were wafting from the huts around them. "Child of Aulë, there is still much you do not know."

"Legolas . . . " Gimli breathed apologetically. He had not realized what impact his words might have and regretted ever speaking them, now. Winning a quarrel was not worth this. Nor did he truly think he had been victorious.

"Do not think of it. Besides, what would a simple Dwarf know of the Elves?" Legolas said with a smile that for a moment did not quite reach his eyes. Behind it, his throat had suddenly tightened up, and heart seemed to skip a beat. But stoicism was a skill that all Elves wielded well, and this Elf in particular had an unnatural knack for it. Some might say it is selfish to mask emotion from those dear to you, but Aragorn knew the truth of it. Legolas would not have others feel his sorrows. His altruism was also hidden behind closed curtains that might benefit others. "It is high time I shed this coat of dust." He turned to Nwoi, eyes bright with feigned luminance. "Have you water I may use?"

The young boy was scarcely able to disguise his jump at suddenly being addressed. He had been listening quietly, content to observe. Even now he still pondered what was said, and though he did not entirely understand, for some reason, Legolas' words saddened him. So he is an 'Elf' . . . ? He thought, awestricken.

"Certainly," Nwoi sprinted to a small well nearby, it's short stone walls worn with age. Scooping up a clay pot, he filled it quickly with water and made to return. However, before he knew it, Legolas was standing next to him with the pot cradled in one arm.

"Do not burden yourself, I mean to do naught but . . . " Legolas lifted the clay pot over his head and let the water spill onto himself. With the dust, he prayed to the Valar that it would wash away the languishing ache that had so startlingly risen in the pit of his chest. He took a sharp intake of air as the wave of water hit him. The wet coldness of it all seemed to clear his mind as it rushed over his shoulders like the caress of a rivulet or a stream. He placed the clay pot on the ledge of the stone well and grinned down at Nwoi, water trickling down his neck. "I believe I needed that," he mused, eyes closed tight. And when he opened them, a veil of mirth guised his true thoughts and none there could penetrate it. "And Gimli, as far as your endearing moniker for me, you pronounce it poorly." Though perhaps, the others hoped, there was some steadfast mischief therein to be found.

"Hmph," was all Gimli said, or could say, in response. In truth, though he was overwhelmingly grateful that they could move on to different, less heart wrenching, topics, he could not dispute the fact that he was not in the least bit comforted. He knew now that Legolas was more aware of mortality than most mortal beings themselves. He supposed that this was what his friend hoped to spare those around him, by hiding it. Legolas shook his head and droplets flew from his hair like rays from the sun. "Let us find some breakfast, if the Elf is quite done dousing himself."

"Aye, that sounds aright. Nwoi, if you would be so kind, my companions and I shall retire to our quarters," Aragorn agreed. They needed something more to occupy their minds until their audience with the Chieftain.

"But, I will bring you bre- " Nwoi began.

"You are welcome to join us, all the same, we have brought our own supplies. Your hospitality is appreciated, but unneeded," Aragorn's tone was firm yet not unkind. But supplies they did have, in plenty. They had prepared for spending the nights beneath the night sky, not a roof, and had wound up being housed as guests regardless of intent. Besides, he was not a man who took kindly to being cared for.

"I am sure our mounts would appreciate our company . . . " Legolas chimed before Nwoi could object, craning his neck to look at the horses that chewed at the grass. His voice was not as ariose as was habitual.

And so it was decided, that they would break their fast beneath (and for a certain wet Elf, within) the trees that shaded the horses. The mounts, as Legolas had said, were very much thankful of having their riders nearby once more. Most did not know it, but even horses could grow bored of the same patch of grass after due time. And in Arod's opinion, it was past due time. They were set free of their tethers and let to roam about the forest, so long as they did not stray beyond the eyesight of an Elf.

Gimli was seated on a tree stump, chewing a piece of dried spiced meat. Meanwhile Aragorn was leaning against the tree that Legolas currently occupied. Nwoi was still trying to discern exactly how anybody could shimmy up a tree quite so fast as Legolas. At the same time, he was in conflict as to whether this 'bread' tasted any good. He had similar things in his village, but this was still something unfamiliar to him. At first it seemed too dry, and then not dry enough. Next he had been given a dried meat of sorts. This, at least, was something more recognizable. During colder times, meat, venison in particular, was dried and stored for hard times. Withal his taste buds, by the end of their ordeal, were hesitant to try any more foreign foods. Aragorn could not help but be amused by the strange faces the boy had made during his different stages of evaluating taste.

"This Ezulu," Gimli asked eventually, finishing his food and watching as Aragorn rummaged for his pipe, "has he always been of such a grim countenance?" It was quite a random question, considering the general discussion of foreign foods which had just come to a close. But, nevertheless, it was a question that had been nagging the Dwarf for some time now. Nwoi looked up from attentively observing Aragorn's doings. He was quite interested in the strange piece of wood the King of Gondor had just placed in his mouth.

"No," he answered after much thought, "no . . . not grim. He was serious, but that is not the same. Today he seemed different," his eyes traced the waft of smoke as it rose from the pipe and into the treetops, like a snake slithering up the air. As soon as it penetrated the treetops, there was a cough, sneeze, and a rustle of leaves before a rather large stick was cast down upon King Elessar. Aragorn put his pipe between his teeth, glanced upwards, and disregarded it. Gimli took out his own pipe.

"And he went on this scouting trip you spoke of earlier . . . alone?" asked the former Ranger, tapping the end of the pipe against his bottom lip in contemplation. How did Orcs manage to go unnoticed in a forest with eyes in every tree, every stone? That was no small feat... something strange was at work here...

"Without a doubt. He insisted that he should go alone. Our Chieftain was hesitant to allow it, but it was Ezulu's war-right, that is . . . he had won privileges, or so to speak. I suppose it was a matter of pride. He never liked to be helped."

"How far away were these Orcs situated, in relation to the village, do you know?" Nwoi rubbed his chin at this, trying to bring old memories into more detail.

"About a day and a half's hike into the mountains . . . it somewhat rocky, I am told, and stiff, but all and all it should have been a relatively safe journey." Aragorn made a sound that Nwoi assumed was something of a 'hm.' He put the pipe back in his mouth, the wood clicking slightly as it touched his teeth, and was silent for a time. Again the smoke rose into the trees. Nwoi could have sworn he heard them complain, or grumble at least.

"I did not know the trees had voices," murmured Aragorn to himself, glancing upwards. And in retaliation, the tree sent down a shower of water. Aragorn shot to his feet, severely stunned. Water dripped from his dark locks of hair and his shirt was quite soaked. The culprit remained above, perched on his branch.

"They do," said Legolas, somewhat nettled. Directly above the small stream of smoke sat Legolas, wringing out his tunic and further dousing the King resting underneath. He stared down at the Aragorn as though the man were a child who had misbehaved, and the Elf had an expression of both distaste and roguishness. "And they say that smoking that repugnant thing is a filthy wont. But I shall say what they are too polite to, stop that," Legolas shook out his tunic once more to insure that he had made his point, gracing Aragorn with a light sprinkling before he draped it across the branch. Elves did not smoke pipes, and their senses were very sensitive to such things as smokes. Thus, Legolas had very little tolerance for such things. On occasion, he would turn a blind eye to it . . . but of all things, he could not stand its scent. Gimli would argue that this was another shortcoming of the Elves, however, Legolas could easily reverse the insult.

"Was that really necessary?" demanded Aragorn, somewhat irritated at not only being soaked from the midriff up, but that his pipe had been quenched in the process. He stared up at the Elf with the same disapproval with which a mother eyed a child, just as Legolas had done moments before. But both their eyes twinkled in the sunlight. Gimli was, in the meantime, trying desperately to stifle his laughs and making a very interesting sound in the process. Nwoi was torn between watching the tree-borne Elf and the King or the sputtering Dwarf who had turned a very interesting shade.

"Consider it your bath," chuckled Legolas with his hands on his hips. Aragorn sighed, though inwardly he was laughing, and settled down once more beneath the tree, albeit hesitantly. And he did not strike up his pipe again, nor did Gimli, for fear of a wrath that would befall him from above. Nwoi grinned. This was the beginning of a wonderful learning experience. Foreign lands certainly had strange customs. Legolas, confidant that his point had been made, likewise settled down upon his branch and sighed. For now, all was peaceful and the three travelers awaited their audience with the Chieftain. Then they would learn what needed to be learned, but now was a time for lightheartedness while it lasted..

And deep in the trees, though still under watchful eyes, Arod stumbled across something that should not have adorned the forest floor...

To be continued...

Translations:

Elleth: Elf maiden

Lakmno: Chief

Djou owrns glramakdtí... Ezulu, waardeí djou?: We have missed you (lit. We grieved you) Where have you been, Ezulu?

Vereč, lakmno: (far) Away, Chief.

Owrns mek pbraat : We must talk.

Poisonroot: the plant ground into a paste and applied to the arrow points of the poison arrows used by the Druedain. Hence the name.

Well, there's that. I tried to get the next chapter up as quickly as I possibly could. I hope you enjoyed.

Gismo: Thanks so much for your review! As I've said before, and will say again, I really appreciate them. You always write such wonderful reviews. I hope the language is working out. And I'm glad you had a good vacation. Yes, it is definitely the perfect time for fanfiction. I hope this cheers you up a bit! Till next time!

- Lintu ...