A Feather in the Night

Chapter Five

Legolas stared at the black feather in his hand, his grip tightening as his thoughts raced.

It was not from any bird he knew. The shape, the sheer depth of its darkness—it was something unnatural, something beyond the realm of what should be.

But that was not what made his pulse quicken.

It had not been there before.

And yet, now, it rested between his fingers, as if it had been left for him to find.

As if… someone had given it to him.

The wolf had left without a sound, vanishing into the night as effortlessly as a whisper carried by the wind. And when it did, so too had that strange weight in the air—the unseen presence Legolas had felt pressing against his very soul.

But it had not been the wolf.

No, the wolf was merely a messenger. A guardian. A tether to something else.

Something still watching.

Legolas's heart pounded, and for the first time in centuries, he felt something he had never known before.

Not fear.

Not uncertainty.

But curiosity.

An undeniable, unshakable need to understand.

Something… someone… was here.

Someone unseen.

And Legolas was going to find them.

Unrest Among the Fellowship

The fire burned low, crackling softly against the silence.

No one slept easily that night.

The air remained charged, thick with an unspoken tension, as if the very trees themselves held their breath.

Boromir sat with his back against a fallen log, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He had not spoken since the wolf had disappeared, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed his unease.

"I do not trust this," he muttered finally, his voice low but firm. "There is sorcery at work here."

Aragorn, who sat nearby, merely gave him a measured glance. "And yet, we still live."

Boromir scoffed. "For now."

Gimli grunted, tossing a small piece of wood into the fire. "Haven't seen a beast like that before. No wolf should be that size. No wolf should look at us like that."

"It wasn't a wolf," Legolas said, his voice quiet but certain.

The others turned toward him.

Aragorn frowned. "Then what was it?"

Legolas hesitated. The feather in his hand felt heavy, pulsing with an energy he could not name. Slowly, he curled his fingers around it, concealing it from view.

"I do not know," he admitted. "But it was not alone."

Aragorn's gaze sharpened. "You sensed something else."

Legolas nodded. "Not something. Someone."

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Even Frodo, who had been sitting quietly beside Sam, lifted his head. The Ring felt different tonight, heavier, as if it, too, was aware of the change in the air.

Sam shuddered. "Great. Another thing following us."

Merry, ever the cautious one, shifted closer to Pippin. "At least this one isn't trying to eat us."

Pippin let out a nervous chuckle. "Yet."

Aragorn turned his gaze toward the darkness beyond the firelight, scanning the trees with a hunter's precision.

But there was nothing.

Not a single movement.

Not a single sound.

And yet, they all felt it.

The weight of unseen eyes.

Watching From the Shadows

Harry remained just beyond their sight, cloaked in the very fabric of the night itself.

He had left the feather on purpose.

A mistake.

He had not intended to leave a trace, to become something tangible to the Fellowship. But in that moment, as he had watched Legolas reach for him—truly reach, as though sensing him in ways no one had before—he had hesitated.

And in that hesitation, he had left a piece of himself behind.

Now, the elf held it between his fingers, his mind turning, questioning, searching.

Harry sighed, his wings shifting silently behind him.

He should leave.

He should disappear before the elf's curiosity grew too strong, before his presence became more than just an unseen whisper in the night.

But he didn't.

He stayed.

Because despite everything, despite the centuries of solitude, despite his vow to remain apart from this world…

Legolas had seen him.

Not fully, not yet. But enough.

Enough to make Harry want to be seen.

A dangerous thought.

A reckless thought.

And yet, he did not push it away.

Legolas Seeks the Truth

Sleep did not come easily that night.

Legolas remained still, his eyes closed in meditation, his body perfectly at rest. But his mind…

His mind raced.

The feather sat beside him, resting atop his bedroll. He had turned it over in his hands countless times, tracing its edges, feeling the strange, almost unearthly energy that pulsed through it.

This was not from any creature he knew.

It was too perfect, too dark, too charged with something otherworldly.

And it had been left for him.

Purposefully.

His keen ears picked up the soft breathing of the others—slow, steady, resting. The night had not been peaceful, but exhaustion had claimed them all.

All except him.

Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet.

His movements were silent, as only an elf's could be. With a final glance at the sleeping Fellowship, he slipped into the trees, following a path that only his instincts could see.

He did not know where he was going.

But he knew what he was looking for.

Or rather…

Who.

The Moment of Almost

Harry saw him coming.

Even before Legolas had moved, he had known.

The elf had been turning the feather over in his fingers all night, his mind working through possibilities, unraveling the pieces of the puzzle left behind.

And now, he was searching.

For him.

Harry remained still as Legolas moved through the trees, his steps as light as the breeze. He could have left. Could have vanished into the night before the elf got too close.

But something held him there.

Some foolish, reckless part of him wanted to see how far Legolas would go.

How close he could get.

The elf paused in a clearing, his eyes sweeping the darkness.

He was so close now.

So close that Harry could hear his heartbeat, could see the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted slightly as he took in the silence around him.

Legolas took a breath.

And then—

"I know you are there."

The words were spoken softly, but they shattered the night like a thunderclap.

Harry's breath caught.

Legolas's gaze shifted, locking onto the spot where Harry stood.

For the first time in centuries, someone was looking directly at him.

Not through him.

At him.

And Harry did not move.