The Lower Gardens
Baran was anything but thrilled when I told him about my conversation with the elf. But he was smart enough not to argue. He knew as well as I did that Legolas could have acted differently. And no matter how willing he was to take risks, Baran did not want to get on the wrong side of the king. That Aragorn would find out about it if the script did not reappear was beyond doubt. Perhaps he even knew it already.
Within twenty-four hours, the scroll was leaning against the doorway of my room, and for the first time in four years, I had a real chance to learn more about my fall through time. As excited as I was, I also knew I still had to be careful. Legolas had not specified exactly what his help would look like. I couldn't get my hopes up too high. But it was hard not to be at least a little happier than usual when I went to work that day.
In the morning, I had left a message for the elf at the library's front desk. He had not been there and I had not had time to wait for him. So I had told him a meeting place where I felt reasonably safe: the lower gardens. They had once been a beautiful but small place, but during the War of the Ring they had been almost completely destroyed by a piece of stone hurled from a catapult. That hadn't stopped the plants from reclaiming the garden. They were now growing wild, which I liked better than the accurately trimmed trees in the Inner Ring.
On the day of our meeting, I worked only well into the afternoon and had the evening at my leisure, a rare exception. I used the free time to study the script. Fortunately for me, it was written in Westron. I had not expected that. As Legolas had said, it was about the Greenwood. In my research I had learned a lot about Middle Earth, and in order to be able to classify all the reports geographically, there was usually a map next to my scrolls. I knew where the Greenwood was located, which had been called Mirkwood for a long time, when the shadow of Mordor still lay over it like a way too tight cloak.
In the meantime, that had changed: The forest was coming to life again and had been divided into two spheres of influence. Celeborn ruled in the south, which is why this part of the forest was also called South Lorien. The north belonged to Thranduil, King of the Woodlands, and the father of the elf to whom I would be handing this scroll. Only the middle part was free land where some people had settled.
It made sense that Legolas would be interested in the scroll, but less reasonable was the actual subject: it dealt with the Shadow, which had been lifted a few years ago. Nevertheless, the author described in detail the shadow creatures that had nested among tree roots and branches. Were there still problems? Was the Greenwood not as healthy as I had thought? What other reason could there be for Legolas to be so interested in this particular script?
While I was still thinking about it, I scolded myself for being a fool. It should not have interested me why he wanted it so badly. Even if I found the subject intriguing - it was not my business, but his. Only, what had happened to the Greenwood reminded me all too well of the forest extinction in my time. Of course, without the car-sized spiders and the other creatures. But I had to stop worrying about it. I had other things to do. For example, returning home.
As soon as the sun began to set, I was on my way. From my room in a two-story wooden house, it was not far to the gardens. After reaching the entrance, I took a quick look around, but the elf wasn't there yet. So I took my time and walked through the tall grass and flowers that grew around the fallen structures until I reached the verge. The balustrade was still intact. I climbed onto it and let my legs hang over the edge.
The view was fantastic. From here I could almost see all the way to Mordor. Across the grassy plain where I had arrived four years ago, to the Anduin glistening in the evening sun, and to Osgiliath. It was crazy to think that when I was twelve years old, I had sat in a movie theater and watched the elf I was about to hand the scroll saving the land I was living in right now.
"Gondor is an exceptionally beautiful place."
"Good lord!" I spun around. "What did I say about sneaking up on me?"
"My apologies." Legolas stepped up beside me. "But you agree with me."
"I haven't seen enough of Gondor to be able to judge that for sure, but yes: the view is incredible," I replied, as my heartbeat slowly calmed down again.
"I still remember the day I first saw Minas Tirith," the elf said as we watched the sun set.
"When was that?"
"During the Ring War," he replied. "And yet I paused for a moment to look at the city before... before the battle began."
I could hear in his voice that the memory of the battle was not a good one. How could it have been. Had we been close, I would have put my hand on his to show him that I understood. But so I let the moment pass. "So you first saw the city six years ago?"
He nodded.
"But you are... considerably older. Did you never have the chance to visit it?"
"I've spent my life in Greenwood."
"But..." I broke off. I almost said something I would have regretted later. Like the other day in the library.
"But what?"
Shit. Why had he asked? Now I had to answer. And in the nick of time, I couldn't think of anything other than the truth. "Spending centuries in a single place I imagine is very monotonous. Considering what I've seen in my short life... of course not everyone has the resources, but that doesn't seem to have been an issue for you."
He didn't react, or if he did, it was so subtle that I didn't see it before he replied, "So you've been around a lot. How is it that you live in the Seventh Ring of Minas Tirith then?"
I wish I had kept my mouth shut! "Sometimes life doesn't go the way you want it to."
He gave me a look that told me that wasn't enough for him. "Where are you from, Aspen?"
"I'd prefer if we didn't talk about my origins," I said bluntly. "I'm sorry I asked you about yours. It won't happen again."
"Aren't you proud of it?"
I frowned. "Of what - of my origins?"
"Yes."
"Where I come from, we try not to be defined by that," I replied, and as I recalled the conflicts of my time, I added, "Even though… sometimes it works good and other times it doesn't."
He took this as indifferently as if I had told him the sky was green. But when he responded, I heard the curiosity in his voice, and I knew this conversation wasn't over yet: "I've never heard of such a place."
"Then you haven't traveled far enough," I retorted and he smirked before replying, "Touché - that's what you say, isn't it?"
"You pick up too much too fast," I said with a shake of my head. He must have figured out the meaning after I used the word in the library.
"Then tell me: why won't you talk about it?" he kept drilling. Unapologetically.
"Because you wouldn't understand," I said.
"You could try."
With a quick movement, I pulled the scroll from under my cloak. "We didn't come here to exchange stories about our homes," I redirected the topic. "You wanted the script, and in return you promised me your help."
He bowed his head and held out his hand at the same time. "Indeed."
"Not so fast." My fingers closed tighter around the scroll. "Before I give it to you, I want to know how you intend to help me exactly. That I will trust your word goes without saying." During my time in Minas Tirith, I had learned one thing: Nobility was dangerous, but it kept to a code of honor. I judged Legolas to hold those values dear as well.
"You have very little trust," he noted.
"A lesson learned the hard way."
"But yes, it goes without saying. I discovered yet another piece of writing that tells of an event similar to that of the woman from Rohan. It is here, in Minas Tirith, but we may need to have it translated. Also, I could offer to ask about the woman who lived in Rohan."
That sounded like a lot of help I hadn't counted on. "All for this one script?", I asked suspiciously. "Maybe I'd better keep it instead, it seems to be very valuable." Of course I wasn't serious, I was teasing him. Testing out how he would react.
Briefly I thought he'd fallen for it, until he replied dryly, "Human humor. It is growing on me, but very slowly."
I had to grin. "Here, take it. Before I change my mind."