III
Legolas Greenleaf has encountered a party of Dwarves traveling west on the path he and his companions are using to reach Rivendell. But Legolas has more on his mind than incomprehensible Dwarvish behaviour...
The goblins seemed to have abandoned their quarry; Legolas could find no trace of them lingering in along the pass. He shadowed the Dwarves as they reached the summit and began their descent. Often they would raise their bearded heads and look about, sensing someone near but blind by the Woodelf's crafty skill. Legolas was an Elf of the woods, but he grew up and lived among stone and knew its ways and songs. He made no sound as he moved, so perhaps the Dwarves heard the rumour of him from the stone itself.
Behind, Legolas could hear the scrape of hooves on stone as Finoglos came at a pace, remaining just beyond eye-line of the Dwarves. Legolas ran lightly along the crest of a ridge as rough and sharp as a flint-point. He was outlined briefly against the brilliant sky, but he moved so swiftly that only a hawk could have espied him. Ahead of the Dwarves now, he settled down on his haunches and waited. The stones were cool in this high place but from between the cracks grew hearty grasses and here and there a small wind-bitten tree. Legolas brushed the wiry leaves of a sapling pine with his long fingers, smiling at the scent it left on his hands. A memory pulled at him and he followed it, his eyes alert on his surroundings but his mind traversing time and distance instantly.
Greenleaf and Gollum
"It is time to come down now, Smeagol. The moon will come out soon, and you will not be able to see to climb back down." Legolas slapped the bark of the tall pine tree. "Do not make me climb up there and fetch you again! Come down now and you will get fish for evening meal."
"Fissssssh," came the answering voice, a soft hissing from above Legolas's head, closer than the Elf had guessed the sly creature had been. Out of the shining needles appeared a weathered face, still painfully thin-looking and greyish, as if a very old, very ill man were peering out of the treetops at him. Two large bulging eyes, pale and colourless, blinked at him. A long tongue appeared, swiping thin lips and small sharp teeth. "Fresssh fisssssh? Not ssscorched on nasssty tonguesss of flame?"
"I will catch it myself, if you come down now."
Smeagol twisted round quick as a flash and slid down the smooth bark to the forest floor, where he crouched at Legolas's feet. He knew better no than to try to escape from this Elf; he had tried many times and always Legolas had caught him swiftly and he was punished with the dark cell. He had come to enjoy climbing the tall trees of Mirkwood and feeling the free air. It was dark under the eaves of the trees, and the White and Yellow Faces did not trouble him as much here. He hated his cell but he was well fed and the Elves did not abuse him. When he misbehaved or bit his handlers he was left alone for long periods in the windowless cell. Smeagol had grown to prefer company.
"Smeagol catch fisssh?" Hopefully he looked up at Legolas's face, and then he looked swiftly away as if to hide the crafty gleam that lit within his eyes. He would indeed like to be let loose near the river for a while. Not even this Elf could catch him then!
"No, Smeagol. I know very well your ability to swim. Aragorn has told me the tale of your meeting and I have not forgotten it." Smeagol hissed at the name of the Ranger; he rubbed his neck and scowled. "You would disappear and I would have to hunt you down. I would find you and take you to the top of the tallest tree in the forest. Then you would have to stay ever in your dark cell and never see trees again. Is that what you wish?"
When the Elves took Smeagol to see the trees, they made him wear a collar that bound him to his guard. Only Legolas did not use the collar, except when they returned to the Caverns. Only Legolas let him climb the trees, and Smeagol obeyed when Legolas told him to come, because once he had refused and Legolas had come up after him and dangled him by the foot for his disrespect.
"No! No, Smeagol will be good!"
Legolas took Smeagol back to his cell, promising again to bring a fresh fish for his supper. He had to laugh as he closed the door and locked it. The creature was repulsive, sly, dangerous, and wretched, but ingratiating in a strange way. He seemed so simple, almost innocent, until the strange light came into his eyes and his voice took on a different timbre. At night two distinct voices were sometimes heard by the guards, arguing fiercely, as if someone were in the room with him. Legolas knew Smeagol was like two beings in one body; one dark and evil, bent on lust for his "precious" and revenge on the thief who stole his treasure, and the other one fragile, confused, and pitiable; a small bent soul stretched beyond his years, alone in a wild wide world. Legolas looked upon him and knew pity.
Legolas went down to the Forest River, where the waters flow slowly through eddying pools beneath the shade of willows lining the banks, dragging their long fingers in the stream. He removed his gear and waded out, not feeling the icy cold of the waters. Large trout with speckled backs swam lazily against the current. Legolas lowered his hands slowly into the water, moving a fraction of an inch at a time, and waited with the patience of the Eldar for one large fish to swim through his fingers. He caught it as effortlessly as one might pluck an apple from a bough heavy with fruit, ripe and sweet. He hooked a finger into a gill, and then he caught a second one for himself, one-handed. Fish did sound good for supper, but Legolas preferred his cooked… yes, precious!
When he returned to the dungeons he heard voices as he approached Smeagol's cell. The guard on duty was listening, his ear pressed to the crack between door and wall. He waved for Legolas to come and hear; his face showed distaste and wonder.
Legolas listened, and he heard clearly a debate raging on the far side of the stone door. Smeagol was arguing with himself again… and it sounded like he was losing.
"Mussst be away. Musssst find IT.We needsss the preciousss," a cold, venomous voice demanded.
"We can't get away," the answering voice came softer, less syllabant. "Elves always watching. Their eyes are bright and their feet swift. The rope bites us!"
"Away, away, we mussst get away! Get to the river, get to the trees... they will hide us and we can get away from them all."
"They are looking for us. HE is looking for us! Go away! go away go away!" Smeagol's voice rose to a pathetic shriek; a child having nightmares from which there was no waking. Legolas motioned for the guard to open the door. The guard looked doubtful but obeyed.
As the key clicked in the lock, the voices fell silent within. Smeagol ceased his weeping. "Fisssshess?"
"Here, Smeagol. I have kept my promise," Legolas said. He laid both fish on the floor of Smeagol's cell and then exited swiftly. The guard locked the door as he emerged.
Legolas shook his head in pity and sorrow. "He is beyond all healing, I fear. Would that death might grant him some peace… I would slay him myself if he were not so ruined and wasted; he would but continue to wander as a ghost of desire."
The guard shuddered, pocketing the key. "At least bound in his flesh, he cannot yet walk through stone."
"No, not unless he knows some Dwarvish tricks!"
⌂
This thought brought Legolas back to the present with a jolt. The mystery still nagged at him. He was never very good at riddles, being more skilled in weapons and archery. But very much did he wish to learn how those 12 Dwarves had escaped from his father's dungeons that night some years ago… and who had placed the black mushroom draught in his wine.
Movement below attracted his gaze, and he saw that the Dwarves were moving slowly now, talking over-loud. One was missing from their number, and Legolas laughed as he heard the clear sounds of soft footsteps approaching his hiding place. He waited until the Dwarf was nearly standing on him before he spoke softly. "This spot is taken, Dwarvish scout."
Gimli turned sharply, his gleaming axe mere inches from Legolas's face. Or rather, where his face had been. With a smooth motion Legolas had moved himself beyond the Dwarf's reach. He allowed himself a mocking smile as the Dwarf started and grumbled, "Skulking elf! We are weary of your eyes on our backs, waiting for the bite of your arrows! Come out and be seen."
"I have my own people to look out for, Dwarf," answered Legolas coolly. "The orcs may linger in these rocks. I will not make the mistake of saving your life again, since it seems to mean so little to you. You need not fear me, Gloín's son. I have no quarrel with you."
Gimli's eyes found him at last, leaning against a boulder nearby. He lowered his axe and looked the Elf up and down. He set the haft of his axe on the ground and leaned against it like a prop. "No quarrel? Do you not remember the faces of your prisoners? You kept my father locked in a cell like a dog, and yet expect me to have no quarrel with you?"
"Your father?" Legolas's curiosity was piqued. Here, perhaps, were some answers he had longed to hear. Unfortunately, they were locked behind the lips of a disgruntled Dwarf.
Gimli tugged on his beard in frustration. "My father! Do you have no memory? One of Thorin's companions that you cruelly detained from their journey of vengeance. Tell me, do you often imprison folk for the crime of being lost and starving in the forest?"
"Not often," responded Legolas. "Only when they attack my people and draw down the fury of spiders on helpless merrymakers. But I am glad that you have told me. I have long wondered how he managed his wondrous escape, he and his companions?"
Gimli's beard twitched; a smile could be seen through the red plaits. "It is said that Elves like riddles."
"Aye, that is true." Legolas allowed hopefully.
"Well, I guess that this is one of them!" And the Dwarf turned and walked away, his axe over his shoulder and a smirk of satisfaction on his face, not at all concealed by his beard.
Legolas watched him walk away, torn between frustrated curiosity and wry humour. Dwarves were strange folk indeed.
