It took Gimli and Legolas but one day to reach the edge of Mirkwood. It would have taken them less, but they travelled slowly. Not so slow that it was tedious, but slow enough to be comfortable.
Gimli still didn't like the horse, but he understood that there had to be comprimises. Even if it was to an elf.
Now Arod slept, ears drooping, eyes closed softly, swaying where he stood. Gimli too was fatigued, but he did not sleep, instead he sat, leaning against a tree, eyes half closed.
"You have your own great halls Legolas, but we're sleeping on solid ground," he looked up from his bowl as he shovelled another spoonful of slop into his mouth. Chewing as he continued he chuckled to himself.
Legolas turned his head onto one side as he finished his own mouthful. He picked at the slop, turning it around with his spoon. "Something is wrong Master Dwarf?" he asked patiently. "It is a good night," he murmured to himself more than anything else. "We are free Gimli. Do you understand that?"
Gimli nodded slowly. It was all Legolas kept speaking of. The freedom. Freedom from the cuffs of war. But the cold shackles of sacrifice still bound their feet. He hadn't been happy about leading the horse into a forest but this was the home of the elf, and Arod was content enough. But even he, a Dwarf, knew the forest was different to others.
Because in normal forests, there was music. Even in the murkiest depths of Fangorn, the trees had been singing. Gimli didn't hear it well. But he still heard it. And in Mirkwood, the singing had stopped. He'd been waiting and listening and waiting. And it was quiet. Too quiet.
It scared Gimli. It was like walking into Moria, and knowing everything was dead. But what scared Gimli even more, was that Legolas had not mentioned the silence yet. It was worse than the silence of the lambs, the sound before the battle. It scared him.
But the forest was not dead. The trees were growing. Things still crept about in the darkness. The firewood they'd collected was burning nicely. Animals scurried about. Legolas had warned him of the spiders, descended from Shelob herself.
Legolas grimaced as he stood, and took Gimli's bowl from his protesting hands. He scraped the contents of his own bowl into it. "I am not hungry," he informed his friend.
Concern grew in Gimli but he grunted his thanks. "What's on your mind Legolas?"
"Nothing much Gimli," promised Legolas. "Nothing much. We will go to Fangorn and we will go to the Caves and we will travel to the end of the earth and back. When the trees burnt, the trees grew back. Not the same trees, but they did. Many cities were torn down, many civilisations destroyed. But they will grow back, new ones. Better ones. Taller trees, stronger trees."
He lapsed into silence. Gimli did not dare disturb it.
Later as darkness swept forth and they'd spoken of adventures they would have and old stories people had almost forgotten Gimli lay silent. He decided the elf had to be sleeping, but he still wasn't quite sure because of the fact that the Elves slept with their eyes open (apart from Lady Arwen but that was different).
They'd spoken of many things. Lady Eowyn was expecting her and Farimir's first child and could already feel its kick. On their last day in Rivendel a traveller who'd come from Rohan had saught them out to tell them that a Meriadoc Brandybuck was engaged to an Estella Bolger and had happened to be in the great city of Edoras when the man had been passing through.
Gimli felt the cold creeping in and tucked the blanket around himself. Arod had grown a little impatient when Gimli had awoken him accidentally. The creature had given him a look of utter disgust then turned away. Gimli was starting to feel that the horse was more than a horse because when he'd called it a stupid animal which resulted in being told off by Legolas he'd swear on his axe that the thing had smirked at him.
Now Arod slept. Gimli turned over. The traveller had been a nice bloke, proud to meet such a hero. They called them all heroes. After all, they were the fellowship. Everyone knew who Lord Aragorn was. King Aragorn. Everyone remembered the lightfooted elf, Legolas of Mirkwood. Borimir had fallen, which made him memorable. Gandalf was a wizard. That in alone was a feat. Merry and Pippin, the two tallest hobbits to ever walk in the Shire. The two ring bearers, halflings, Frodo and of course Sam. And Gimli, Dwarf, and hero. All heroes supposedly.
But Gimli decided that heroes were all well and good but when the sun set there weren't really heroes. Only good people. But those were deep thoughts and the only things that Gimli liked to be deep were his caves, mines and food bowls.
It was then that he heard crying. Little soft whimpering noises.
Pricking his ears he pushed himself upwards to a sitting position. Arod's ears were pricked too. Yet Legolas lay still. Surely, he, with his gifted sense of hearing would have heard an animal wounded. Especially in the silence.
Legolas's shoulders moved. As he shivered and shook.
It was then, that Gimli realised, the whimpering and the sobbing came from the bundle of blankets and tangle of limbs that was Legolas.
Strangulated cries. Cries that snaked under doors and cracks and slithered there way up into his body. Legolas heard them.
He never scramed. Legolas of Mirkwood did not scream.
Thrashing though, certainly. He thrashed around. Gasping from breath, struggling for breath. But he never screamed. When he awoke he would shake. Shuddering as he moved, like an elderly man, with brittle bones.
So much blood. Bodies. Everywhere. Falling. Dying. Burning. The trees were screaming. The orcs, their souls were screaming. Begging. Beautiful creatures orcs. Once upon a time anyway. Children were screaming.
Legolas did not scream.
But they did. And it hurt. It hurt bad.
They led Arod slowly through the forest. Though Legolas claimed not to want to dwindle he did not want to rush through his homeland either. He walked, Arod and Gimli followed.
They spoke of tales, tales of mines and caves and beautiful lakes. He sang of birds and trees and peace. They shared adventures past and old, retold legends of great heroes. But it was nearing midday when Legolas called for Gimli to stop.
They were in a large clearing that looked as if it had once been a place where animals, humans and elves had come together in harmony. Now it was empty of all three and watched only by the trees, trees that did not move for they had slept so long and lived so long without doing so they had quite forgotten how.
Gimli almost walked into the elf.
"Can you feel the difference here Gimli?" he asked softly.
Arod wasn't comfortable, he pawed at the soft ground twice, whinning and tugging from Legolas's grasp slightly.
"It's...quiet?" offered the dwarf. Shivering his fingers slipped slowly to the handle of his axe, fear crept over him. It was the same silence that had struck him before, the same silence that had writhed in Moria.
"This is where we used to have parties, such parties Gimli," he laughed. "That stopped when it started happening again. When he became powerful again," he lasped into silence. "This is where we caught the thirteen dwarves. Father never did understand how they escaped. When he found out he laughed!"
No one escaped from elven prisons, because elves did not lock away their enemies. Elves vanquished their enemies. Those they locked up were usually too dangerous or dreadful or simply annoying. But someone else had escaped once. Something else...
"My Father told me of that time, the hobbit, young Frodo's uncle and all, he let them out of their cells at night and they floated down the river in apple barrells! Apple barrells I say!" stroking his beard Gimli chuckled. "He couldn't look an apple pie in the face after that!"
Legolas did not hear him. We used to take him out to walk, to feel the air on his skin. It was cruel to keep a creature in a cage for so long. We let him climb the trees. We pitied him. Estel, Aragorn, he brought the creature to Mirkwood. All they had to do was guard it. Keep it in irons day and night in a dark cell with but candles for light. But they didn't do that, even to their worst enemies. Not for such a long amount of time. That was a punishment worse than death.
Now he knew that for Gollum, the slave of misery, death would have been a release. It would have been kinder that Aragorn kill him. But as Frodo had told anyone who'd listen, without neither him nor Sam would have reached Mordor. Yet had the beast not escaped their grasp-
"Legolas?"
Gollum had liked the air, the warm of the sun and the trees. It had brought him from the darkness. All those secrets he couldn't share. The last night in the cell he'd barely screamed or cried at all. They'd been geting somewhere. Besides he almost always refused to return and come down from a tree, but he always did in the end.
Then the orcs came.
"I'm sorry Father! Please Father...please...We tried!"
They'd all tried. They'd fought them well, they'd slain many. But there had been too many. It was no coincidence that the attack of the orcs came on the same night as Gollum's escape. His Father had sent the other elves to the healers or to return to their chambers. But he'd glared at his son with such pain and anger that he shook.
Gimli placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not start so Elf, you frighten the horse."
Arod pulled free from the grasp of the elf, who's fingers ghosted the space he had once occupied.
"Father look at me!" screeching, begging, screaming. Eyes wild. "Father! Father look at me! Do not turn away from me again. Father we failed. We failed what we were asked to do. But we showed mercy. We did all we could have done. We failed. But we were merciful! The creature was in pain! The creature is not whole anymore Father, its actions are no longer its own. We showed it mercy and Father if that means nothing then-"
Then, the King of the Mirkwood Elves had turned, and for the first time in his long life his eyes and skin and hair reflected his age.
"Father, do not cry."
"Hush," whispered Gimli.
Retching Gimli knew not too comfort him yet. That morning when they'd awoken he'd seen his friend shaking and retching, huddled in his blankets he'd tried to comfort him. Legolas had struck out and almost broken his jaw. Gimli did something that took forcing but he left Legolas on the ground and comforted Arod instead. At least that way, he was doing something.
Finally when the horse was calm and the elf subsided into sobs, Gimli approached. He knelt down, taking the elf in his arms. He'd seen things like this before they all had. Men and women. Shaking, vomiting, screaming, sobbing, seeing things, begging, sweating. Especially after a battle. He'd seen it in Frodo, after the greatest war. He'd seen the pain in Sam too.
He'd seen it in Strider and Gandalf and even himself. In humans and dwarves and halflings. But never in an elf. Never in him.
Hefting the tall slim creature into his arms he stroked the blonde hair away from his face, revealing open eyes swollen almost shut. There he lay for what seemed like years, cradling the elf like a child.
Had anyone come across the clearing they would be faced by a strange sight. A dwarf and an elf clinging on to one another as if letting go would result in them falling off the edge of the earth. Their weapons lay discarded and their horse watched uncomfortably. Anyone watching would have known what bond prevented either being from being able to let go.
They would have called it love. But not the kind that first comes to mind.
Had anyone come a little closer they would have heard the dwarf telling the elf of how Gandalf the then Grey had impersonated three trolls in order to help thirteen dwarves and a burahobbit escape from becoming their dinner. They were both laughing.
The trees laughed too. Some even moved.
Brynmor son of Bard, Mayor of Laketown expected nothing but bad news when their came a knock on the door of his office. The town had grown since the days of the dragon but during the War of the Ring, a war that still raged in some places, they'd lost over half of their population. Entire families had been wiped out and entire generations of men. Fathers, Brothers, Husbands, Sons.
What made it worse, was they were like every other civilisation.
They'd sent their men to war and hardly any had returned. But those who had were proud.
When the door was pushed open he hurriedly stood, almost banging his left arm that was in a sling on the desk and removing his hat hurriedly with a gasp. "Prince Legolas forgive me, I did not know...but I thought all the elves had gone to the West? To what do we owe this honour?"
He suppressed another gasp as a dwarf followed the elf into the room with a curt but polite nod. Gimli son of Gloin he whispered to himself. If two of them were in his office would the halflings be waiting outside? He dared not risk a glance out of the window for fear that King Aragorn would wave at him through it.
"Not all," Legolas explained. "Laketown has suffered too. We saw your injured. We did not know that orcs had attacked the town itself."
Brynmor nodded unsure whether to sit or not. The elf had not aged a day since he had first met the young Prince when he himself was a child, almost thirty years ago. But he'd heard the stories since. Everyone had. They were the stuff of legends. "They had to, to get to Mirkwood."
"It is Mirkwood that I come to you about," Legolas explained sadly. He studied the man for a second then a smile broke his face. "Were you the human, who when surrounded by a group of orcs, having lost your weapon, bit one's nose off and used it to dispose of the others?"
Brynmor was a redfaced man but he still managed to blush as he nodded.
"Good man," Gimli commented. He was busy squinting at a large framed painting of a woman with a pointy nose.
"Brynmor, Laketown has always been good to us, and most of the elves have left this earth now. It is the time of men. The dwarves are disappearing into their holes underground and not coming back. We are leaving. One day it will be only men left. I give you Mirkwood."
Brynmor's eyes widened as he raised a hand to his mouth in disbelief. "You can not-"
"You will not harm the trees, you will not harm the creatures that hide in them, but the halls are of no use to elves who do not walk in them. They are yours now. Use them well...please, let your children run in the safety of the forest, let them play, let them climb the trees. We have always liked the people of Laketown. Men will come to own Mirkwood one day, and I wish that you be those men."
Brynmor nodded, still breathless. "Where-where do you intend to go now?"
Legolas shrugged. "We will travel. Here and there. To the mines of the dwarves and the forests that move. But our first intention is to return on the route we came, to the home of old Beorn."
Brynmor sighed deeply. "I am sorry Prince Legolas...but Beorn he is dead."
Neither Legolas or the trees wept. There were too many dead already and they were done mourning. When the first child touched their branches they began to sing to one another with glee. Then they made a promise to a single elf, that they would never let anything harm the innocents that entered their midst.