Chapter XXVI
The Wolf One Hears

Legolas took first watch after the companions moved their camp to the crown of the hill. As the hobbits, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gandalf built a fire and sat dozing uneasily around it, the Elf and the Dwarf stood at the edges of the circle of broken stones, keeping their eyes open for any sign of the wolves.

Legolas had found again his calm strength, but in the uneasy quiet of the watch a thought came to assail him. He had not heard or smelled the wolves as he should have done. Even now, he could not sense them as he ought. He strained into the night, wishing (not for the last time) that he had the gift that would allow him to see in the darkness. Something seemed to be blunting his ears, muddling his mind with doubt and shadows. He drew an arrow from his quiver, though it was too dark for shooting; he tested the tip of the metal point on his finger, pleased that he could feel its razor-like sharpness. At least not all his senses had failed!

A dark shape moved toward him through the darkness. Legolas could tell by the sound of his tread that it was Boromir. The man came to the Elf's side and said quietly, "Can you see anything, Legolas? This night is as dark as if we were already underground!"

"I see little beyond the fire's light," Legolas replied, "and the thought of being underground brings me no comfort. Do not speak of it unless you must! I do not like the feeling that we are being herded into a dark trap."

Boromir's face was dark to Legolas's eyes, standing as he was with his back toward the fire. The burnished bronze metalwork on his shield shimmered with reflected flame. Legolas heard the man release a pent breath, his voice very soft as he spoke. "This very thought plagues me also. I have heard well the words of Gandalf and accept that the road through Rohan is perilous to us, still I do not understand the need to go to these dangerous mines. There is peril on any road we choose. What we must ask ourselves is this: what is the best hope we have to fight through? In Rohan we can find allies. What hope have we of aid in Moria? No word has come from Gimli's folk for many years—that would seem to me to be even more evidence that Moria should be avoided."

When Legolas did not respond, Boromir turned toward him. The glow from the fire lit the proud bones in his face, making his beard seem as though it were shot through with sparks. "It is not my purpose to argue the counsel of Gandalf, but to find understanding within myself. I value hearing your own thoughts on this matter, Legolas."

Legolas nodded, letting his eyes sweep the dark grounds for movement. "Should you find comfort in understanding, do please share it with me. I will follow the Ring-Bearer where he must go, but I feel that in Moria I shall not rest from worry, nor shall my bow ever be unstrung or far from my hand." He rolled the smooth arrowshaft in his fingers as he concentrated on the night. "The wolves argue Mithrandir's case very well, I find. We will not elude them for long on foot, nor will they listen to comforting speculations."

Boromir turned to face the darkness, listening for a long moment. Legolas noticed that the man stood in a state of alert readiness, weight forward and balanced on the balls of his feet. Every movement of his told a tale to the Elf; here was a trained and seasoned warrior, ready at a moment's warning, to do battle, or to speak, or to perform any needed feat. He was as taunt as the string that drew Legolas's bow, and his mind was ever moving behind that practiced calm.

After a time, Boromir let a chuckle escape his lips. "Mithrandir. It is good to hear you call him so; Lord Mithrandir I have in all my days heard him named; Gandalf must be a northern title. How my brother used to talk about him, back in the season our youth! Often he came to Minas Tirith in those days, to read the dusty scrolls in the Great Library or to delve in the Room of Artifacts. I spent little time in his company, having my duties in the Guard to attend to, but Faramir was often in his presence." Boromir's voice softened in the Elf's ears when he spoke that name. "Have you any brothers, Legolas?" he asked suddenly.

"I have not," the Elf answered. "Kinsmen near to my father I have, and many companions as close to my heart as my own name, but none with whom I share a blood-binding such as you have with your brother."

Boromir looked at him sharply. "What do you mean, 'blood-binding'?"

"At the Council of Elrond you spoke of dreams you shared with your brother." Boromir nodded. "This is not common among your folk; it is rare even among Elves. To dream the dreams of another is a closer kinship even than that of siblings. Only in one other instance have I heard of such a thing, and those brothers shared their mother's womb. They think each other's thoughts, though their dispositions are very individual..." Now Legolas smiled, remembering the sons of Elrond with whom he had spent much time. Would that Elladan and Elrohir could be here now! Greatly would Legolas's mind be relieved to have their wisdom and skillful arms at hand!

The corner of Boromir's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Sometimes I feel that I know what my brother is doing... what he is thinking. I know it is truly my own wish, to be home again and in his company. Our times together were always too few, too short. It will be good to get home again, after..."

Boromir did not finish his sentance, but nodded toward the darkness. His body had come wholly alert as he spoke, and Legolas had seen them in the same instant. Dark shapes were moving stealthfully up the hill. Here and there came the shine of animal eyes, throwing back the firelight like eerie coins. Legolas raised his closed fist, sending a warning to the rest of the companions. Behind him, Gimli gave a hoot like a owl; he had seen or sensed something on his side of the hill also. Gandalf stood and looked toward the place where Legolas and Boromir stood watching, near the break in the circle of stones. Aragorn moved swiftly to stand beside Gimli.

One large beast came almost to the gap in the stone circle. It was a huge wolf-shape, and it paused at the very edge of the spill of firelight, looking at them. Beyond his shadow Legolas could see the hint of other creatures, farther away but waiting, watching. His fingers itched on his bow, notched and ready. And now that he could see this beast, perhaps not clearly but well enough to mark it, he realized why he had been taken by surprise and not warned his companions earlier. This beast may look like a wolf, but Legolas was sure that it was not! The smell from its rank hide was not as it should be, nor was the light from its eyes correct for a predator of the world. Malign intellect there was behind that lumionous regard, and Legolas could feel the darkness pressing in around their camp; a cold thought from a cold mind that held no hunger and no fear of fire.

There is sorcery here, thought Legolas. He flexed his fingers around his bow, comforted by the familar creak from the wood and the silken touch of the feathers with which it was fletched. He would wait until he was ready to fire before he drew; an over-stretched bow cost a marksman accuracy. He wondered if a wooden shaft and a steel barb would do any harm to these beasts, canny and unnatural as they were. He stood steadfast, giving no ground and listening for Gandalf's words, hoping that the Wizard knew a way to fight these creatures.

Behind him and beyond the fire, Legolas heard the whisper of Aragorn's sword sliding from its sheath. Legolas bent his bow, drawing his arrow back until the fletchings brushed his ear.

Frozen, windburned, packed like a sack of flour and then half-drowned by an avalance, Gimli had not given the Elf much thought at all since that moment of unguarded relief, when he had seen him come back bearing his messages of hope to those still snow-bound in the Redhorn pass. Now he stood peering into a night as black as any hopeless dream, and he pondered his annoyances.

Nothing had gone well since they had left the dell the morning before. Gimli felt tired, as tired as if he had been swinging his axe all day and night; and the fact that he had done nothing but climb up a mountain and down again rankled even more; he had felt utterly useless during the whole ordeal. He hadn't even been able to light the fire to warm the fellowship!

The only thing that had gone right was that finally they were agreed that the company must attempt to cross beneath the mountains. Gandalf knew how to find the hidden West Gate, lore that had been lost to Gimli's folk for many generations. When the companions had come wandering down through the snow, the Dwarf had given up any hope of entering Moria. Now it was going to happen-- had to happen, as it was their best hope of escaping from the notice of the Enemy.

Gimli only wished he could make the others see the hope and excitement he felt. In most of their faces he saw only dread, and in others, resentment. Legolas had disappointed him when the Elf had said that he did not wish to go to Moria. Gimli had held his breath as the vote had leaned away from him and Gandalf. Now necessity had made up everyone's mind, and Gimli concealed his delight, realizing that a display would be very unseeming. There was no need to mention it aloud, and indeed to make light of it in the midst of a siege would win him only his companions' distain and perhaps their mistrust. Nobody is happy to be surrounded by wolves!

It was oddly comforting to finally have something that he could fight with his axe, he reflected as he let out his call of warning; Gimli appreciated that strength, perserverance, and fortitude were essencial and desirable qualities, but having a solid, clearly identifyable enemy and room to plant his feet and swing his axe... well! This was what he had come on this Quest to do!

Aragorn appeared at his side as Gimli noted more shadows appearing along the crown of the hill. None of them came within the faint circle of the firelight, just the sounds of an occasional whine or throaty growl. The shining eyes winked in the gloomy darkness.

Bill let out a whinny of fear. The poor pony was sweating and shaking, and it was all Sam could do to calm him and keep him from bolting out of the firelight and into greater danger. The other halfings stood close to the fire, holding their swords nervously and looking around. Sting shone like a small white torch in Frodo's hand.

Suddenly the great wolfish thing that had crept close loosed a shuddering howl, and Gandalf came forward holding his staff aloft. In a broad voice he said, "Listen, Hound of Sauron! Gandalf is here. Fly if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout if you come within this ring."

The wolf snarled and sprang toward them in a great leap. There came a sharp twang! the same moment that its bunching muscles propelled it into the air. Then there came a yell that was not a howl, but more like the agonized and furious cry of a man, and then the shape thudded to the earth. Legolas's arrow had pierced it through the throat.

The surrounding eyes were suddenly extinguished. Gandalf and Aragorn went outside the circle, but the hill was deserted. The night grew silent; even the wind held its breath.

Boromir placed a booted foot on the wolf's head, withdrawing the arrow with a strong wrench. "Good shooting," he said, handing Legolas the gory shaft. "This might be needed again." Then he hooked his foot beneath the corpse and rolled it over with a kick. "This is like no wolf I have ever seen before. They must be very hungry to come so close to a fire."

Gandalf came back, and his face was stern with care. "These are not wolves such as you find in the world, Boromir. We must be ready if they return, and yet we must rest while we can. Our only hope is to reach the gates of Moria tomorrow, and we are all tired. You and Aragorn should take some rest now while the hobbits and I take watch... yes, you also, Legolas!" The wizard's voice twinkled with a hint of mirth as he said, "We need our warriors rested. Let the little ones do what they may," he added softly, forestalling Legolas's protest that he needed no sleep.

The Elf nodded, seating himself against the stone just inside the ring to take his rest. The broken granite felt oddly comfortable.