Vanimalion will tell you how much I loath author's notes, but I'm making a quick exception here: I'm sorry this is so late in coming, but I've been battling with this to get the right tone, and it ended up being far longer than intended. It was actually going to be a mega-chapter, but the size of it (over 7,000 words) would have been far too much for one chapter, seeing as it isn't finished yet! Plus, I've kept you all waiting far too long as it is.

Anyway, enjoy! The seventh chapter will be along very soon, I promise!

Chapter Six: The Storm Breaks

Frodo and Sam had barely registered the scrape of the boat's hull on the shallows before Aragorn's boots plunged into the water. The ranger waded to the vessel's prow and proceeded to drag it. "Sam – Frodo – get under the trees! Quickly!"

Not daring to disobey knowing the immediate peril they were in, the two hobbits complied, jumping into the water and dashing for the trees even as Aragorn hauled their boat up the steep stony incline, making for the relative cover of the encroaching forest. Even when he had managed to manoeuvre the boat's bulk behind a rocky outcrop and obstructed it from view from the water, he set about disguising it with clumps of dead flotsam. Legolas' action may have been essential for the survival of their companions, but their position had been forfeited because of it. With their quarry so close, Aragorn knew the others would harbour no fear of an archer. But, so far as he was aware, they had not actually seen them on the water: it was imperative that they hide as completely and quickly as possible.

He could only pray that the ploy would at least buy them some time...

Aragorn gained a shallow sense of relief when he heard the splashes of feet and the scraping of silver hulls as the other two boats made berth. Merry and Pippin hastened to join their kin waiting under the boughs with no instruction, leaving the larger folk to tend the boats. Legolas and Boromir likewise drew theirs into position beside Aragorn's, joining him in his efforts without prompting.

"Did you see them?" Aragorn shot the question at the elf as they both stooped for a mass of collected branches, grasses and reeds ensnared by the brittle twigs like the matted mane of something long since dead.

"I saw two in the far distance to the north, and a further three coming in from the west," Legolas replied heavily, tossing a large branch over a lovingly crafted yet betraying prow. "I couldn't say if they sighted us or no, but they almost certainly witnessed their companion fall. I know they can communicate without speech, but they would have to discuss little to guess that arrows took down the wings of their cohort." He gave a sudden bitter laugh. "I'd say light a beacon, Aragorn, but I think it would be a waste of wood."

"Worry not of that," Aragorn replied dismissively, casting a hasty eye over their work and deeming it good enough. The ranger turned on his own heel and ran up the pebble-strewn incline, he and Boromir ushering the hobbits into a run for the deeper shelter of the forest. He did not see Legolas hesitate behind the rest of the company, holding back from the woods with apprehension in his clear eyes. But, for Legolas, wherever Aragorn chose to tread was the path, and he consciously set aside his unease, following his friends into the mass of beech.

It was more spacious than the forest the Mirkwood elves called home; the air was wholesome in here, sweet with the slow decay of leaf litter and earth, the damp drowsiness of a forest coming to winter veiling the trees. The dense canopy of turning leaves was not so thick that it obstructed the sky, so that during the day light could penetrate through in thin shafts. But Aragorn's need for cover from their pursuers was too dire for him to consider the forest itself: he pushed the hobbits as hard as he dared in the failing light, taking only minimal care for obstacles in favour of speed. But as the brighter river boundary disappeared behind them, the oncoming twilight of the outside world cast shadows too deep to run through. Aragorn was forced to bring them to a halt.

The steady quiet of the still air was marred by the heavy panting of an exhausted company, the less sturdy of whom plonked themselves unceremoniously onto the forest floor and leaned their backs against the solid trunks in an effort to find some relief for their aching bodies. Being tightly confined in the restrictive boats and then forced to sprint did not sit well with unused muscles. The hobbits attempted to massage the cramp from their own limbs as they huddled around a particularly wide-girthed beech, constantly reminding their ankles that they were designed to bend by flexing them as they sat. The taller members of the group chose to attempt to walk off their cramp, a grimace set on each face as they paced.

It took the elf in their midst much less time to recover. He passed between the silver trunks within the vicinity of the company until he seemed to find one to his liking, analysing it only momentarily before leaping for the lowest branch little more than six feet above his head, successfully catching it and hauling himself into its hard embrace. In a series of fluid movements he was gone. Gimli watched his passage from the boulder he had chosen as a seat, shaking his head at his companion's dexterity. "Damned squirrel more than elf."

Aragorn did not hold an interest in what Legolas was doing, however. Boromir had taken a watch position a small distance from the others, staring intently into the darkness from whence they came. The ranger's feet took him to the Gondorian's side, and they shared the watch for a time, each keeping a wary eye for the danger that pursued them. Lightening tore their sheltered darkness into shreds of stark white and pitch black, layering immense shadows over the tree trunks to make it seem that scores of Nazgûl were upon them already. By its sheer nature, the flash left them all in a deeper darkness than before, their vision in the dim light sundered by its brilliance. A thousand discordant drummers could not have made more noise than the heavy rain as it began its assault on the canopy above, great streams of water penetrating through the green barrier like an invading army through weak defences.

The wind slapped their wet hair into their faces with the impudent attitude of a spurned brat. Its battle with the obstructing trunks seemed to further irritate it as the intermittent gusts wailed around the uncaring living towers, whipping sodden clods of detritus and flinging it at them. Teasing ice fingers tugged at their tightly wrapped cloaks with callous abandon, taking evident glee in their obvious discomfort.

Boromir and Aragorn both shuddered. A deep unease settled in them ... whether it was the tension of their situation, or something else at work, neither could say. The trees that had felt like such reliable guardians less than twenty minutes ago now seemed to conspire against them. For the first time since entering them, Aragorn felt a sharp pang of whatever it was that the elf's keener senses detected: to him, now, the trees could conceal an entire host from their view, and they would know nothing of it until it was far too late. The forest will not receive us...

Boromir sighed heavily through his nose. "We search for shadows hidden by shadows." He voiced his discontent quietly, keeping his tone low enough for Aragorn only. "I do not know about you, Aragorn, but I do not possess sight skilled enough to make such a distinction."

Aragorn offered his companion a tight smile, giving his head a quick shake to rid his eyes of waterlogged hair. "Fortunately for us mere Men, we travel with others better suited to such tasks."

Boromir gave a derisive snort. "By which, you naturally mean Legolas."

Aragorn frowned to himself at the bitterness of the comment. "Not just Legolas, no: the hobbits have sharp eyes, and Gimli's sight is keen enough at penetrating through darkness..." His sentence faded to nothing and he allowed the silence to stretch from him, only the sounds of nocturnal creatures stirring to activity breaking the quiet. But the silence was fast becoming a gulf between them as Boromir's words stuck in Aragorn's heart like burrs in a dog's coat. He found himself incapable of holding back any longer. "What has he done, Boromir? From whence does this resentment come?"

Boromir did not offer an immediate answer, allowing Aragorn to truly taste what it was to be kept in the dark when all you wished for was a straight answer. When he did give Aragorn his reply, his voice was checked. "There are eight of us here, yet it is between two that decisions are made."

That is what this is about? Jealousy? He was about to say as much when Boromir continued: "You lay far too much faith in what Legolas says. So far on this journey, we have packed up camp and fled on nothing more than a word from him in your ear no less than five times." There was no concealment of the irritation this caused in his tone. "Neither evidence of need to break camp was shown, nor explanation offered, and only once have I seen reason behind such actions." He paused, clearly weighing his next words. "You are a competent leader, Aragorn, but if you focus the safety of the Fellowship on the ... unnatural ... perceptions of an elf, I have no doubt you will run us into our deaths."

Aragorn was stunned numb to the world. He had no idea Boromir harboured such thoughts. But did they stop with Boromir, or did they reverberate with the rest of the Fellowship? The hobbits never questioned his decisions, and their respect for Legolas as the eyes and ears of the Fellowship and Aragorn's close friend never seemed to waver. Gimli was a little different: if he had misgivings, he would voice them, and he partook in verbal sparring with Legolas with relish. But if the feelings Boromir spoke of truly were in the thoughts of the others, then Aragorn was not the leader he thought he was ... what leader could be so blind to such sentiments?

But he had something he needed from the son of Denethor, and he made sure his beaten confidence did not reverberate in his voice when he asked it: "Is it because Legolas is an elf that you do not trust him?" Keep the question straight, get a straight answer. Right now, that was what he needed.

Boromir considered the question for a time. However loath he was to expose his feelings to the world, he was an honest man, and he would not bandy his words. "Rivendell was my first experience of elves, and I confess that I was in awe of them. There is a place of elegance and craft the like of which I had never seen, and I couldn't help marvelling at the sheer beauty of its creation. It touched me.

"But of the elves themselves ... Gondor has no dealings with them, and there are stories of their magic and mysterious ways. Children's tales, mainly; but there are warnings there for the adults, and it is unwise to ignore all that is spoken of in legend.

"Legolas has shown me over time that some of those stories are untrue, but certainly not all. And she made me realise that their powers are far more dangerous than I ever imagined."

Oh, of course. Aragorn knew to whom he referred and his mouth set in a grim line. When they had spoken at length in Lothlórien about the Lady, he had sensed the younger man's discomfort, but his respect for Boromir's pride provoked him not to pry. There were few elves left in Arda who possessed such natural gifts, Elrond and Galadriel being amongst the very most powerful. Awe-inspiring to those who held even the vaguest understanding of what they did, deeply unsettling for those who didn't. Boromir belonged to the latter category. On the whole, the majority of elves were actually like Lindir of Imladris: gifted with the grace of their people, physically stronger and with keener senses than men, but more concerned with finding ways to encapsulate their love of the earth and stars in craft and song. They did not trouble themselves with learning such mighty talents as Boromir assumed.

Legolas was, however, a little different. Aragorn knew there was debate as to whether Legolas possessed the gift of foresight or no. Yes, he certainly had some kind of talent when it came to knowing the presence of danger before it made itself properly known, but aside from that, Aragorn had never witnessed anything to suggest otherwise. He most certainly did not have the power Galadriel held.

"Legolas does not possess that kind of ability."

Boromir snorted again. "Does he not? I am forced to wonder, when you leap at his every word."

Aragorn bristled, but kept his temper. Choosing a different tact, he ventured forth from a new angle: "Forget Legolas is of whom we speak – forget it is even of elves: if you had a source giving you vital information but with no evidence of its origin, and this source had never been wrong, as a leader of men, would you not entrust your faith to them?"

"With all my heart, no."

"No? But-"

The ranger's return was cut short by the agonised squeal of ripping wood and a yelp of surprise from the heights of a tree behind them. The shout of fright flung aside their differences and they spun round together, swords ready through sheer reflex and attention pinned on the treetop -

The sharpest eyes were hard-pressed to discern whether he ran or fell. His feet barely came into contact with the branches as he came down and his line of descent completely missed the bottommost limb. Legolas' feet hit the ground hard and his body folded into a crumpled heap, his usual careful grace completely lost in a shower of leaves and snapped twigs.

Sam and Merry were on their feet immediately, calling out with concern to the fallen elf and starting towards him...

Birds took wing, shrieking in panic as something heavy pounded through their roosting spots, shearing foliage in its crashing descent –

With horror, Boromir recognised the sound for what it was, for the danger the hobbits ran into and the elf lay beneath - "GET BACK!"

The hobbits startled to a halt at his holler. Legolas threw his arms over his head and rolled out of the way just in time as the immense branch thwacked into the ground exactly where he had lain, a shower of smaller limbs and fresh leaves raining down on his back and shoulders.

No-one moved. The forest stilled again, an unnerving peace settling on them like a stifling blanket. Aragorn himself started forward, panicked by what had occurred and frightened for his friend. But before he could reach him, Legolas sat up, his stunned gaze fixed on the arm of wood that had nearly killed him. Thank the Valar. "What was that?" the ranger demanded, his voice a little higher than was normal for him. "Are you hurt?"

Legolas flowed to his feet, brushing himself off a little shakily and moving away from the tree. He shook his head absently at Aragorn's concern. "I am unhurt." He looked back to the offending tree, his expression one of stunned disbelief. "The tree betrayed me," he murmured, his tone sounding like a grievous wrong had been committed against him. But sudden alarm passed over his face as though he recalled something more urgent, and he spun round to face his friend. "Aragorn, we -"

"Oh yes," Gimli scoffed openly, missing the elf's urgent tone and interrupting him with his rather derisive mirth. "Because over-grown weeds can be turncoats. The tree betrayed me – bah! You elves make truly absurd statements sometimes! What really happened, Elf, is you fell because you stepped on a rotting branch."

The archer bristled like a cornered wildcat, his father's legendary searing temper threatening to break loose of the normally tight fetters with which Legolas kept it bound. For the briefest of moments, Aragorn actually saw Thranduil standing there instead of his son, his face pinched white and his eyes capable of cutting the thickest of hides to ribbons with their ire. "I am tired of being doubted by children!" he hissed, his voice dripping with vehemence. Although he did not shout, the power of his anger was such that even the storm seemed to cow from it. "Do you imply that I know not of what I speak? I, who have lived and fought amongst the eves of my home for a span of years your people can only relate to in lore? Do not seek to belittle me with your own ignorance, Dwarf!" Legolas nudged the heavy branch with his foot. "Does that look like dead wood to you?"

He was right, it wasn't. Even in the almost totally gone light it was clear that the wood was torn and moist, not splintered and dry; it even smelled fresh. Gimli merely shrugged his brows at the elf's angered retort, crossing his arms over his chest with a "Humph". The slight shuffling of his feet betrayed his discomfort under Legolas' penetrating steel glare.

When no further interruption came from the dwarf, Legolas reverted back to what he was originally trying to say, fixing his eyes on Aragorn once more. "They are in the forest. If this tree betrayed my step, then I can guarantee that the others will not harbour us. We must leave, and now."

"So it begins again."

Aragorn did not miss Boromir's resentfully muttered remark. Despite the enormity of the distraction, the conversation the two men had held prior to the event was more than fresh in their minds, and it filled Aragorn's heart with barbs. Right now, his oldest friend needed him. To the others, the elf's normally cool temper had been tested too far by the thoughtless utterances of a dwarf. But Aragorn knew that Gimli had merely been an unfortunate channel for his frustration ... Legolas had promised he would not seek open confrontation with Boromir, and he kept his word. But he was clearly stung by what he had evidently overheard. His eyes exuded a wont for Aragorn's support, and it made the ranger feel a traitor for even considering turning aside from it.

But Boromir... It pained him that the man's tenuous loyalty hung on the weak threads of a conversation staged moments ago and worlds away. If he made the wrong choice now, he was a slip away from losing the fragile links of kinship and trust wrought between them...

This is it, he realised. This is what it is to be a leader of men: deciding who to hurt and who to please. To distance yourself from what your heart bids you do for the sake of allegiance. The thought left a vile bitterness in his mouth, but he had no option open to him, and all he could hope was that it would not be held against him...

"You have seen them?"

Seen them? Legolas was stunned by the question. The one person he thought he could rely upon for his trust openly doubted him. "What, through the trees? My eyes are good, Aragorn, but I confess they are not that good. Can you not feel them?"

"I can."

All heads turned at the quiet confession, surprised at the sound of the voice made unfamiliar by a long-kept silence. Frodo was the last one left sitting, leaning heavily against his chosen tree and grasping his shoulder. What was always a dull ache for him had mounted in intensity to nearly the strength of a fresh wound. Never before had he thought that he would share any kind of connection with Legolas, but it was there now, a bizarre link that their aptitude for sensing Nazgûl created between them. "I can feel them."

As though to punctuate his statement, the unnatural shrieks of a thing that should have long been gone from the earth sullied the crisp air. Two others echoed the call in a violent assault on their collective nerve. They were behind them, separated for now, but close and converging on the Fellowship's location.

And that was it: the decision was removed from his hands. Even as the warriors forced the hobbits to abandon their freezing fear and run for their lives, the cries became louder, piercing the gusto of the storm with a thirst for blood and a lust that could not be allayed for the thing they sought. The Fellowship could not afford to watch their path for rocks and roots now, their concerns consumed with dodging the tree trunks that seemed to maliciously bar their escape. It barely registered with Aragorn through the cold fear incited by the presence of the Nine that they were being herded up an increasing gradient, not until the mud began to slow their flight by slipping their feet back from under them ... and he did not realise that the distant roaring in his ears he had thought to be his own blood came from a much more sinister source until he nearly slid into it.

The ravine opened as a great split in the earth, deep and full of raging flood water. It was nowhere near the breadth of the Anduin, but its might was fierce as the water funnelled through the narrow confines of rock far below them. The earth that met with the edge was clearly too soft to support itself against the raging onslaught, the bared roots of trees exposed by landslides glistening in the wet like bony fingers. About twenty feet across the water, a scree slope capped the cliff that disappeared into the rage of the river, ascending some thirty feet to the rest of the forest beyond.

"There's no way out!" Pippin's hands curled into his cousin's cloak, his raw fear shared by his kin as they stared at the white death, clustered together for the only vague comfort they could give themselves. As their terror rendered them defenceless, the rest of the Fellowship searched frantically for a solution to their dire predicament. Through the rain sheeting into his eyes, Aragorn just managed to discern the fallen carcass of what had once been a mighty beech, silvered through age and rot when it had been ripped from its life by the waters in flood but not completely carried away, wedged into a crude and perilous bridge high above the whitewater. It was a little way down from them and along a narrow dirt ledge, but it was accessible.

Seeing his line of sight, the others paled. "You cannot be serious!" Gimli exclaimed in horror. Memories of a very similar situation not so long ago forced their way into every mind amongst them. But Aragorn was serious, very serious. "There's no other path!" he yelled back. "The Wraiths have us trapped!"

An arrow sang from Legolas' bow as he fired into the dark behind them, bringing an angered scream from one of the demons that ventured too close. "We can't fight them here, it's too tight!" the archer shouted over his shoulder, taking aim and loosing another shaft. Aragorn made to join him, intending to employ his own hunting bow in the elf's efforts to keep their flank defended. But what the elf could see clearly, Aragorn's mortal eyes were doomed to be blind to in the impenetrable darkness.

For once, Boromir found himself concurring with the elf. They really couldn't fight here: his and Aragorn's swords were far too long to fight efficiently amongst such tightly growing trees, and that only left Legolas and Gimli as the experienced fighters with weapons that were usable in that kind of space. The hobbits were armed, but their fear would never hold out against the Wraiths.

So when Aragorn barked the order over his shoulder for Boromir to take two hobbits across with him and be followed likewise by Gimli while he and Legolas defended their flank, he complied willingly. Frodo and Sam consented to go with him, seeing as Frodo's need to get away was the greater, and Sam was more than willing to face down his own fears to accompany his master. The terror at what they were about to do was clear on their faces, but where terror threatened to take over, there was also stout resolve. Boromir swallowed his own fear and vertigo and began to edge his way over to the tree, keeping his hands firmly wrapped in Sam and Frodo's hoods to keep their feet steady along the crumbling ledge.

Reaching the tree was fine. It was crossing it that presented the real issue. The wood gleamed at them, its decaying planes slick with wet. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be treacherous underfoot – more so for him in his boots than the large bare feet of the hobbits - but the desperation of their situation forced him onwards. One step was followed gingerly by another. The tree was more like a sponge than solid wood, each step of his compressing the rotted material worryingly. It was weaker than it had looked. To him, his heart thundered louder than the storm as they ventured over the open water. Its beat was so violent Boromir half feared it would shake him off the lethal crossing and throw him to his death ... but he kept going, bending into the jostling wind with the two hobbits likewise shuffling along with him.

He thought they were as good as dead when the tree lurched.