A Silence That Demands Answers
Chapter Eight
The air stretched between them, thick as mist, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken questions.
Legolas did not move.
Harry did not vanish.
For the first time, they stood before each other.
Unseen no longer.
The silence was not empty.
It was charged, filled with things neither of them yet understood.
Legolas's breath was even, steady. He did not grip his weapons. Did not take a step back.
But his mind raced.
This being—this man, this creature, this presence that had haunted their journey—was real.
Here.
Now.
Legolas exhaled.
Then, with the certainty of a prince who had faced things darker than men's nightmares, he spoke.
"What are you?"
The Answer That Was Not an Answer
Harry tilted his head slightly.
His wings—dark, enormous, folded against his back like the night itself woven into form—stirred with an unseen wind.
He considered the elf before him.
A choice lay here.
To tell the truth.
Or to hold the veil in place just a little longer.
At last, he spoke.
"Something forgotten."
The words were not a lie.
But they were not the truth either.
Legolas's blue eyes did not waver.
"Forgotten by whom?"
Harry's lips curved slightly.
"By those who no longer look beyond what they understand."
The elf studied him, his fingers twitching at his sides—not in fear, but in calculation.
"And yet I see you."
Harry's expression shifted.
Not in surprise.
But in something else.
Something unspoken.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then Legolas took another step forward.
"Then tell me—why do you watch?"
Harry's wings shifted again.
"Because you interest me."
The Fellowship Feels the Shift
Back at the camp, the air was wrong.
Aragorn felt it first.
The weight of something moving where it should not move.
The trees were listening.
The wind had stilled.
The world itself was waiting.
Boromir, sharpening his blade, paused.
Something curled at the edge of his mind. A whisper. A warning.
He turned toward Aragorn, voice low but not uncertain.
"Where is the elf?"
Aragorn's hand tightened around his sword.
His expression darkened.
"He is not alone."
The Breaking of the Veil
Legolas had spent his life reading the world.
The way the wind moved. The way the rivers whispered.
He had fought in wars before time even touched men.
And yet—
Never had he felt something like this.
Never had he stood before something so utterly outside the world he knew.
The figure before him was not elven. Not man. Not Maia.
Not anything that should be.
And yet, here he stood.
Watching.
Waiting.
"What is your name?" Legolas asked at last.
The figure considered him.
A long moment passed.
Then—
"Harry."
The name was so simple that it should not have meant anything.
And yet, Legolas felt it settle over him like an omen.
Like something that should have been buried beneath time itself.
"Harry," Legolas repeated, tasting the word.
The name felt wrong in his mouth.
Not because it was foreign.
But because it was too small for what stood before him.
He narrowed his eyes.
"That is not all you are."
Harry smiled.
"No."
Legolas exhaled.
He had not expected him to deny it.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
The unknown had a name now.
And yet, it did not feel any less unknown.
The Growing Shadow
Far across the land, in the blackened halls of Barad-dûr, Sauron felt it.
A shift in the world.
A disturbance in the threads of time.
Something old had spoken its name.
And the Dark Lord, for the first time in an age, did not know what it was.
He turned his gaze toward the West.
Toward the small, insignificant group of fools carrying the Ring.
And beyond them—
Beyond the paths he could see—
Something watched back.
Sauron recoiled.
Because for the first time in his existence—
He was not the only one who was watching.
The Fellowship's Unease Grows
By the time Legolas returned to the camp, they were waiting.
Boromir stood, arms crossed.
Aragorn's hand hovered near his blade.
Gimli scowled.
Even the hobbits—so small, so young, so untouched by the horrors of the world—could feel the change in the air.
Legolas did not explain immediately.
He sat.
Rolled his shoulders.
And then—
"We are not alone."
The words sent a shiver through the group.
Sam swallowed. "Another enemy?"
Legolas hesitated.
Then, finally—
"I do not think so."
Boromir scoffed. "You don't think?"
Legolas met his gaze evenly.
"If it wished us dead, we would not be speaking now."
Boromir fell silent.
Because that was the truth.
They all felt it.
Something had been watching them.
But not with malice.
Not with hunger.
Not with darkness.
But with something else.
Something they did not understand.
And that—
That was worse.
A Name in the Dark
Later that night, as the others slept uneasily, Aragorn approached Legolas.
The elf did not turn as the ranger lowered himself beside him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"What did you see?" Aragorn asked.
Legolas exhaled slowly.
Then—
He answered.
"Not what, Aragorn."
He turned his head.
His blue eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"Who."
Aragorn's breath stilled.
Legolas let the weight of the name settle between them.
And then—
Soft as a whisper.
"His name is Harry."