Gwaedh O Gwend Uireb [Bond of Eternal Friendship]
The bonfire greedily gulped the close, oppressive air and malingered hungrily over the taste of the aromatic branches buttressed against the lethal darkness and danger of the Greenwood's nocturnal predators. Stretching avidly towards the boundaries established for their short life, the flames tentatively touched the dry ground beyond these limits, tossing out bright sparks, testing the temperament of the surrounding forest floor to determine if anything there could be devoured as fuel and utilized to advance their escape.
The small flares were bold and the living incandescence darted and weaved cleverly, attempting to steal a greater share of sustenance from the trees and thus, secure its continued growth. Nonetheless, the sources of this tempting feast remained just beyond the range of the slavering jaws of red and orange heat. Wherever the fire chased after a tumbling leaf, it found the earth noncompliant, offering little more than crumbs of bark and tidbits of debris that were rapidly reduced to harmless ash, and so it could not advance beyond the carefully constructed barricade established before ever it burst into being.
The Wood Elf did not trust these flaming tongues, speaking their cheerfully crackling chatter and laughing in short loud pops, blowing soft sighs in blue jets, offering warm comfort and hot food while plotting to charge a heavy fine for the use of their potent energy and temporary docility. Legolas could not sit with ease and parley with such an inconstant and poorly controlled confederate, and wished he was in an area where the trees bore lofty flets. Then even his guests could ascend to safer rest so the fire would not be needed.
The three companions sat near the blaze in silence, the mortal and the wizard devouring their watery grouse stew while Legolas watched. The Man had offered to share the meagre repast, and he had declined as graciously as possible. Then Aragorn had searched his pack, disclosing a packet of lembas, and handed this to the elf. Legolas took it with thanks but only ate one piece, more curious than before. When he attempted to return the remainder, the mortal had insisted it be kept for future needs.
Who is this human with such close ties to elf-kind that he carries waybread, and what elves granted so great a privilege to an echil [human]? Legolas wondered as he tucked the packet away in his quiver. When he returned his eyes to the human, he found Aragorn studying him.
"You are a Ranger, yet I believed the Rangers lived to the north and west of the Misty Mountains," he said to the Man.
"That is true."
"I have not heard of any elves in that region."
"Nor have I." Aragorn took up his pipe again and with exaggerated care filled and lit it, suppressing a smile as the slightest of sighs escaped from the exasperated Wood Elf.
"Then how did you come by elvish clothing, elf raised horses, and that sword was not forged in any human foundry either."
"I got them from elves, of course!" the Man said in tones clearly indicating surprise at Legolas' failure to comprehend the obvious. Truthfully, he was uncertain if it would be wise to admit his connection to Imladris, given the hurt that had come to Legolas from that Realm. He had no wish to return the elf to his previous state of turmoil and wished he had thought to confer with the wizard about this before waking the archer.
"Elves do not trade such goods with humans, to my knowledge." These words from the woodland warrior followed his much more audible sigh of irritation.
"No?"
"No!"
"Then perhaps they were gifts."
"Exactly, but what elves would give such gifts to a human, making him like to one of their own?"
"Why is it important to you? Are you saying humans are not deserving of such gifts?"
"I spoke not those words! Forgive me, I can see you do not wish to discuss it; I did not know it would be a sensitive topic," Legolas said and removed his gaze to Mithrandir. The Maia had settled back with his head resting on his pack, pointed hat pulled down so that his face was almost covered, and seemed to be, but was definitely not, sleeping. A fleeting glance back at the Man revealed no signs of offense, but Legolas was unwilling to attempt conversation again based on the first failure.
A loud pop grabbed their attention and Legolas startled as a bright shower of sparks erupted from an exploding sap-heavy bough of eucalyptus and dusted his shoulders, briefly inflicting smarting needles on bare skin before he brushed them away in irritation. A larger faggot, flung higher by the force, fell back through the air and settled upon his arm. With a curse he plucked it off, leaping up to create more distance between his person and the glowing embers.
Gandalf stirred to tend the unruly blaze, reordering the displaced tinder and shifting around the wayward branches, trying to tell if any green ones were still aflame in order to pull them out before the event repeated.
Legolas stood gazing at the small blister forming on his forearm and groaned aloud in dismay. His small brush with the cruel heat reminded him of the torment the humans in the woodsmen's village had endured.
"Cemendur," he whispered and began striding back and forth, furious with himself on realizing he had completely forgotten the suffering child in his own worries. Now he could think of nothing else.
"What was that?" the wizard asked, his regard drawn back to the Wood Elf, and he did not like the heightened agitation Legolas displayed, for it was not the archer's natural state to so behave. The manic burst of activity reminded him of the behavior exhibited earlier in the day, and that had preceded the advent of the elf's overborne rout towards the brink of bleak despondency.
The Man rose and approached to see what harm was done, receiving a bewildered and suspicious look from the elf for his trouble.
"Are you burnt?" he asked, for the wild elf had stopped moving and pressed a hand against his forearm. Aragorn reached out but Legolas backed further away. "I am trained in healing," the human offered as explanation for the Elda was staring at him as though his actions were completely inexplicable.
"What good is that? He is probably dead now, too," these worrisome words were barely audible and the mortal shifted his gaze to the wizard, and both turned to their companion apprehensively. "Alas! My mistakes claim more and more souls! I will never free them all!" Legolas was growing increasingly disconsolate by the second. "Why do these others have to suffer for my faults?" he demanded and sat back down, hunching over his updrawn legs as he glowered into the fire's heart.
"What is this about, Legolas? Who is dead?" Mithrandir asked in trepidation.
"I should never have gone to the Southern Regions!" the archer exclaimed angrily. "My activity there has exacted a terrible price from the woodsmen and Tawar!" Legolas' voice rose in volume as he glared at the Istar. "Children! Innocents, Mithrandir, burned to death! I know not how many trees lost to the shaking ground."
"How is it you are the cause of that?" the human asked, aghast.
Legolas shot him a look stricken with anguish, mistaking the Man's words for accusation. "I made the Wraiths come out from Dol Guldur and face me. They were not pleased, for many Orcs perished and yet I was not captured. They caused the ground to tremble, and this in turn felled several trees, and that caused a fire in one of the human's cabins, and before anyone could do anything the flames spread and viciously devoured many lives, human and green." This abbreviated account tumbled swiftly from his lips, pebbles and gravel hurrying before a landslide.
"That is not your doing, Legolas. The Dark Lord has long haunted and harassed that region; for far more numerous years than your recent interests there," the wizard stated firmly, but he could see that the wild elf was not hearing his words.
"There were two little babes scorched in the flames, twin brothers called Carnil and Cemendur," Legolas lowered his head in misery, ignoring Gandalf's remark, if even he heard it. "The father was crushed under the collapsing roof, but the mother lived for days while the fire slowly devoured her. Carnil lasted a month in horrible agony before succumbing to his injuries. Cemendur was still living when I left the village, but he had grown worse again. He is probably dead now, too," he repeated the muffled prediction and rocked himself dejectedly, swept up in the relentless avalanche of guilt and misery.
Aragorn stepped closer and knelt near; his heart wrenched in concert with the warrior's over this fresh sorrow heaped upon the First Born's burdened spirit. That Legolas loved these humans was openly revealed and the mortal wondered at it, for his dealings in Laketown had left an impression of vigilant allegiance between the Wood Elves and their human neighbors, but not friendship. This elf keenly experienced the loss and strife of the people in his Realm, and Aragorn knew not if the primeval atheling could shoulder the additional grief of their persecution.
The Man endeavored to summon words to refute Legolas' claim of responsibility, clearly a manifestation of his shattered soul. No one could be the cause of such events or possess the means of preventing them, nor would Legolas believe these things in a healthy state of being.
The Maia's prayers were only a charade after all, relieving the burden of the pain but not touching the source of it, like a wound where the skin has regrown over the surface but inside the injury festers and spreads its poison through the body, the Man thought and cautiously touched the distraught Elda's arm.
"Legolas, what Gandalf says is right. You are not responsible for the Dark Lord's actions," he reasoned.
"What would you know of it?" the fallen prince demanded, and got up again to resume his excited exercise. "You have no idea what doom dogs all that I care for! What if my failings have become as a weapon in the Dark One's hands? What if I have turned into one of his chief agents?" Legolas' own words terrified him and his appalled astonishment was mirrored in the Man's eyes. The archer retreated, shaking his head, not believing he had spoken these words aloud. "Ai, Elbereth! It is true!"
Aragorn rose also but did not know whether to stay or draw near. Every instinct in his being predicted that the wild elf was going to bolt, but as to preventing this his thoughts only suggested a running tackle. This he rejected, for he had no doubt that in any contest against the wary warrior he would be quickly dispatched, grief or no. He looked to Gandalf for guidance.
"There is no truth in what you speak," the Istar turned, a meek and meagre old man no longer, shed of his humble pilgrim's demeanor, and confronted the archer. For here was Olórin in their midst, mighty agent of the Ainur. His voice filled the clearing like a wind from the Western Sea, deeply commanding, flushing away all lesser airs in its path and raising the fire up high in a brilliance of ruby flame and gold-kissed cinders. The simply worded statement rang with the majesty of the Music and echoed in overtones of the puissance of Aman so that Aragorn was overawed and stepped back.
Yet Legolas did not heed him.
The forest champion turned to flee back up into the trees where he could suffer this new revelation unobserved, desperate to find a means to stop these dire catastrophes from accosting all he held dear. Legolas worried his mere proximity to the travelers would result in their demise, rather than granting them protection from the evils in his lands. And how could he ever return to Fearfaron now, bringing this harrowing condemnation to that peaceful talan? This Legolas could not bear to imagine, for so much harm had already befallen the carpenter from his association with the archer.
"Gandalf! Stop him!" Aragorn shouted, and joined the Maia in giving chase as Legolas darted out of the camp and disappeared from view.
Legolas made it just beyond the fire's illumination and vaguely heard the shout of warning from the Man to the Istar before the vehemence of the slashing penetration gutted his soul and brought him to his knees.
He found he could not even breathe, each attempt to inhale increased the degree of extremis tenfold, it seemed, and he curled over until his forehead was nearly touching the earth and his arms squeezed vise-like around his chest. His left hand began futilely searching for the hilt of the blade piercing his heart, so desperate to pull it out, yet there was no weapon there. Panicked, Legolas unfolded his form, a grotesque blossoming of raw torment, and thrashed upon the ground clawing at his old wound, each gasping heave commuted to a gargled and shuddering groan.
"Valar!" Aragorn froze for a second, horrified at this sight. Beside him Gandalf cried out the elf's name in dismay, hurrying past the human to kneel beside the suffering warrior.
Twisting against the affliction as if being slowly dismembered, Legolas struggled against the intangible adversary. A fresh attack swept through him and his heels flailed against the earth, quickly scoring a series of grooves deeply into the indurate soil. In his frenzy to reach the center of this searing torture he broke the buckles of his quiver's harness and tore the tips of his elegant fingers in the process. A scatter of obsidian points littered the soil beneath him and the sharp report of an arrow's shaft snapping accompanied the grueling conflict.
This was not pain; that was something he understood well. Pain was a warrior's friend, warning of the body's injuries and demanding attention for hurts and ills. He knew how to control pain, how to use pain. This was unlike anything he knew; it felt like being devoured, like being eaten alive.
Legolas screamed.
The Man quickly made an about face and raced for his pack and the supply of herbs he had brought with him. Grabbing up the water skin and a blazing brand Aragorn returned, squelching his shock and thrusting the end of the sturdy branch into the ground to secure the light close at hand. In the red glow of the torch's illumination, Aragorn could see the straps of the feral elf's quiver hanging loose from around him and bright streaks of blood across his chest where he had raked through his own flesh.
Quickly and carefully Aragorn mixed a combination of ingredients, grimacing as he tried to determine the patient's body mass, difficult even under the best conditions when dealing with elves.
If only Elrond were here, he thought, knowing the potency of the remedy might go too far and send the elf into permanent insensibility, or conversely give barely any relief at all. He glanced up to find the wizard regarding him with somber eyes.
Mithrandir was attempting to restrain the archer's pain-racked convulsions, holding Legolas' hands away from his chest. As Aragorn watched, another spasm claimed the elf, heralded by the hideous sucking in of a jaggedly wheezing breath. The attack rigorously stretched every muscle in the slender body and nearly bent him in half as his back arched up off the ground. The quiver disgorged more of its contents, fletching and lembas captured in the disarrayed locks of gold.
Bound in the deepening sorrow's deadly embrace, Legolas held his lungs' capacity as long as possible before necessity demanded exhalation. The sound rushing from him then was unlike any expression of despair or torment either Aragorn or Gandalf had ever heard, for the process of grieving death had not been witnessed by any but the First Born.
"Do whatever you can, Aragorn, and soon, please," the Istar entreated.
The Man gave a resolute nod and drew closer, lifting Legolas' head from its unnatural angle of repose and raising the medication to his lips. The consummate terror in the elf's eyes as they connected with his nearly caused Aragorn to drop the vial, never having beheld such dread upon the features of one of the fair folk before.
This is no way for such a one to die, he thought with anger and his determination to succeed in healing the archer was increased.
"This will ease the pain, drink," he enjoined gently and tried to send his patient a reassuring smile. Slowly he dripped the fluid into Legolas' mouth, drop by drop between haggard draws of his diaphragm, and watched for any sign of effect within the body. Finally the last of it was administered and still Aragorn continued to support the elf's neck, maintaining eye contact whenever the Elda found strength to open his, trying to impart a sense of the compassion he felt for the suffering being. Now all the two travelers could do was wait and attempt to console Legolas through the horrific discomfort they were forced to witness.
The liquid took an hour's passing to make itself known, a minute span of time that required an eternity's domain for its transit, an eon of seconds within which the vindictive and jealous grief so closely coveted the helpless soul. Then the contortions subtly eased and the length between them increased until at last Legolas was able to take more than three gasps in the intervening calm. His body relaxed during these sessations, but overwrought from the unnatural exercise, every limb trembled in the aftermath of the draining episodes. The rending groans wrung from his exhausted lungs subsided, replaced with labored breaths that deepened and slowed as the agony retreated.
Aragorn surveyed the progress of his medication with relief; silently sending a prayer of thanks to both the Star-Kindler for hearing his unuttered prayers and his foster-father for teaching him the ways of herb-lore. He looked up to see that Gandalf's shining eyes mimicked his and they shared guarded smiles.
"It is working!" Gandalf said.
Aragorn nodded and reached over to grip the old wizard's shoulder with reassuring firmness, for which one's benefit, his or Gandalf's, he could not determine. "Stay here with him. I will go make a comfortable spot by the fireside for his rest," he said, and left them there.
The preparations consisted of no more than combining both their bedrolls into one more yielding pallet and folding a blanket into a pillow to support the invalid's head. This done, Aragorn returned and helped Gandalf lift Legolas carefully, one at his shoulders and the other his feet, but they could not help but hurt him anyway for the pain was not centered at the location of a wound that could be thus avoided.
"Daro! Avo! [Stop! Do not!]" the archer pleaded piteously. The pain had only just relented and he wished never to move again. Why must they jerk him about so? Could they not just let him die peacefully? Their hands felt like wicks of flaming lamp oil laid upon his skin. Now that he longed for oblivion, the state remained cruelly elusive and he could not escape his fate.
The travelers soon had their charge stretched out on the bedding and tried to make him as quiescent as they could. Aragorn cautiously took the quiver off and set it aside, gently disentangling the arrows and plucking waybread crumbs from Legolas' hair. He adjusted the blanket to better cradle the archer's weary head.
Gandalf gathered up the heavy tresses and pulled them back to drape over the makeshift pillow rather than let Legolas lie upon his mane and feel too hot. This done, the wizard retrieved the small bowl of athelas water he had been using earlier and gently wiped down the wild elf's face and neck and cleansed away the bloody tracks upon his chest.
While he was busy, Aragorn went back into his satchel and retrieved a small jar of ointment. This had a cool and pleasing aroma reminiscent of cucumbers and mint, and he gingerly smoothed a small amount over the unpleasant fingernail gouges. Beyond these minor treatments there was little more the two companions could accomplish, and so upon completing them both moved back to give their patient room to rest.
The Istar rebuilt the campfire, mindful of any leftover sap-filled boughs, and then took up his pipe and settled again beside Legolas.
Aragorn returned to the scene of the distressing ordeal and gathered up the arrowheads and scattered bolts from the ground, retrieving also a folded bit of parchment and two feathers. Once back in the camp, he sat beside the elf and took up the quiver, replaced the wild archer's belongings, and examined the strapping to learn whether he could repair the closures.
Legolas watched their activity through half-closed eyes, grateful to be put down again yet too fatigued to speak his thanks. Now that they had moved aside, he found his eyes trained towards the merrily dancing firelight and shut them tight. With effort he turned his head away and was relieved to find his vision directed toward the human, who sent Legolas a smile that he knew was supposed to be heartening, and so he tried to return it. He took a shaky breath and shifted, wincing against a small jab near his heart, and spoke. But the words were too soft for the mortal's hearing and Aragorn immediately set aside his work to come closer and bend down. Legolas determinedly repeated his question.
"How long?"
Aragorn sat back, for this query unsettled him, though of course he should have expected such. He looked away from the elf, his steady gaze focused inward as he tried to decide how to respond. The Man felt he could not lie to Legolas, knowing that would only jeopardize the elf's trust in him, as yet a tenuous construction. Still, he did not wish to give a prognosis devoid of hope; he could not himself bear to comprehend that this unusual immortal must perish.
"Honestly, I do not know," he finally answered. "I have never attended an elf suffering from this sort of malady. It is not certain you will die; for while such injuries to the spirit are difficult to repair, it is not impossible." He met Legolas' eyes with what he hoped was optimism and confidence in the archer's reserves of strength and fortitude, both of which would be needed if recovery would become more than a façade wrought of wizard's spells and healer's elixirs.
"Yes, it can go either way, Legolas," Gandalf joined in and reached out to pat the warrior's shoulder compassionately, letting his palm rest there. "You have lasted this long and you need only proper care and rest to rebound from this latest woe. Once back with Fearfaron, you will recover speedily, even as you did before," his words resounded in what was surely that same compelling tone, the glory of the Ainur underscoring every syllable.
"I believe that also," said Aragorn and was surprised at the confident sound of his own voice.
Did he really think this; was healing possible or was he lying to himself now as well? He looked at Legolas again through his physician's perception and sat up straighter, puzzled, as he peered carefully at the resilient body recumbent on the bedroll pallet.
In the shadowed firelit camp a hazy light was visible coalescing around the site where the Maia's hand lay against the troubled Elda's skin, and seemed to suggest transference of fundamental energy was occurring from the Ainu to the elf. Aragorn looked up sharply into the wizard's eyes. This was unprecedented, as far as he knew. Gandalf, according to his own explanations to the Man, was breaking several restrictions of his order to assist Legolas in this manner.
Mithrandir met Aragorn's gaze defiantly, daring a challenge. He had come to a decision, and nothing would shake his confidence in its rightness. As he reasoned it, he had already interfered in Legolas' well being by sending him to Dol Guldur and by hiding information about Malthen. It was no more than just for the Istar to correct as much of the damage as possible, and what he was doing was little enough in any case. Gandalf did not know for certain if Legolas would be receptive to this source of renewal, or if the strength he wished to give the archer could really be incorporated into the immortal's soul.
All through the night the wizard kept contact with Legolas, a hand either upon his shoulder or softly caressing his forehead with the athelas soaked cloth. Mithrandir talked quietly to him, intermittently intoning the words of a blessing or a curing spell, imbuing the prayers with the revered authority of his kind. Thus the pain remained diminished but unconquered, and Aragorn did not have to repeat his treatment.
Mithrandir convinced the elf to drink water at regular intervals and then just at dawn coaxed him into swallowing a bite of lembas as well. Gradually the archer seemed to be acclimating to this more bearable level of discomfort and was regaining some small measure of his strength.
Aragorn was of two minds regarding this, for it was horrendous to even consider anyone having to make such an adaptation and yet this was precisely what was required of Legolas if they were to continue their journey.
And continue we must, for I have no doubt as to the reliability of the archer's warnings about Orc activity. Perception among the Eldar was well documented, and that of Wood Elves was said to be doubly acute. Though the Central Mountains were yet several leagues away, he deemed it unwise to remain at their camp much past midday if they hoped to keep ahead of their enemies.
By midmorning the wild elf was sitting up cross-legged before the bonfire's remains. Though his head was bowed low Gandalf simply used this as means to feed more energy into Legolas' soul, massaging the back of the neck and across the shoulders vigorously as though to increase the circulation of this vital infusion throughout his being.
Pleased to see such improvement, Aragorn still feared that the recovery was progressing too slowly. At this rate it would be late in the afternoon before the three could mount the horses and move forward. He did not wish to use any further medicines if he did not need to, fearful of overdosing the slight and undernourished elf, but somehow needed to boost Legolas' responses. With sudden inspiration Aragorn turned to his pack and retrieved his small leather flask of Miruvor. This he opened and offered to Legolas, who looked at the Man with genuine regard before gratefully taking it.
"I thank you for your kindness and your aid, Aragorn," he said in the rasping remains of a voice the affliction's siege had spared for his use. "I am in your debt."
"As I said, I am trained in healing; no thanks are required nor anything owed," the mortal waved away the archer's solicitudes nonchalantly as though curing broken elves was a commonplace event. "But drink some of that, it is Miruvor and will do you good," he said encouragingly and smiled as Legolas took an extremely small sip.
The elf's face reflected pleasant surprise at the taste of the cordial and he tipped a large mouthful down his throat before handing it back to the human. Almost instantly he felt warm and contented, filled with a peculiarly peaceful exuberance.
"I am certain my own part in your recovery is quite minor," Aragorn added as he returned the flask to his pack and glanced appraisingly at Gandalf. He was definitely unprepared to meddle in the wizard's business, but was interested to know the Istar's motives with regard to the elf.
A contented murmur escaped Legolas' lips and he closed his eyes, leaning back into the wizard's touch. He sensed the flow of energy between them; it was almost like communion with Tawar, though not as overwhelming. Also, the current went only one way, through the Maia's hands into the archer's essence, whereas during his joining with the Great Wood his soul mingled with the forest's consciousness. This contact with Mithrandir was more like being replenished, he felt as a wilted plant might when absorbing nutrients and fluids during a gentle rainfall. Legolas was uncertain how such a gift could ever be returned, and vowed the Istar would have his eternal allegiance.
"That is a trait I value highly in you, Legolas," the wizard gently pulled the archer back into a tight hug, wrapping both arms around his chest and resting his bearded chin on the golden head. "You always seek to return more than you are given. I receive and accept your pledge gratefully." Mithrandir released him and resumed the brisk massage. Legolas smiled back over his shoulder at him, not surprised in the least that his old friend understood his intentions.
Aragorn, however, was completely confused and stared from one to the other, waiting for an explanation, but neither of his companions appeared prepared to enlighten him.
"Now who is engaging in secretive communications," he admonished, throwing a belligerent glance in the Istar's direction before moving to the pot boiling above the ruddy coals. He was preparing an herbal tea that should help with the strain riding was sure to place on the already weakened elf, and he poured this into an earthenware cup to cool.
"Peace, Aragorn; it is not so," Legolas said and sat forward, instinctively reaching out to clasp the Man's arm. "You, also, have my eternal fealty! Regardless of your courteous dismissal I will not forget my debt to you."
Aragorn was moved; he had done little to earn such gratitude and the wild elf's declaration was far too great a remittance for so small a service. "There is no debt, Legolas. A healer's gift is not a thing to be bartered. Yet a fool I would be to turn away from such an alliance; I gladly accept your oath also," Aragorn stated quietly and held the steaming mug out to his patient. "Let me live up to the title of healer and get your health stabilized before we break camp. Take all of this, it is a good brew for endurance."
"Aye, we need to move on from here," the archer agreed, taking the cup, and cautiously sniffed the steam wafting from it. "The Wraiths do not come as far north as the Central Mountains, but manage to make their orders known all the same. Their Orcs are expecting us."
"Yes, the Nazgul. What exactly did you mean when you said they were forced to face you? I do not recall that as part of my design in sending you south," Mithrandir said. He was worried about reigniting the wild elf's woes but felt Legolas' knowledge of the evil phantoms was important information for them, and for all of Middle Earth for that matter.
Legolas smiled, sensing this concern, and reached back to squeeze the Istar's hand where it kneaded his shoulder. He needed no words to make the wizard understand his reassurance that the topic would not undo his recovery. As his health improved the link with Mithrandir evolved and the two could now understand their respective thoughts and feelings when these directly involved the other. Legolas found this a great comfort, for every inkling the Maia generated concerning him resonated with both protective inclinations and approving admiration. He began his discourse.
"There are three of them, as you know, but normally only two at a time ever venture out together. Singly, any one of them may go forth, but if paired it is always the same two, while the third remains within the fortress and directs the others' actions.
"They were systematically isolating me from the Realm, severing all means of retreat and so I made a sudden and bold move to flee. That enticed the third one to join his brothers, and that is the one I forced into combat." The wild elf's demeanor reflected his pride in this accomplishment.
Legolas shifted away from the wizard so he could see them both without craning his neck back and forth and gazed upon his audience with glittering eyes, savoring the heralded roll of narrator in the telling of the tale. Needless to say, they listened in amazed silence as he recounted the details of the battle. He did not mention the presence of the Noldor, even as he had omitted them during the recount of the villagers' struggle for survival.
"Why, for all the wealth of Nargothrond, would you wish to make one of those demons draw sword against you? Are not the Orcs enough to contend with?" Aragorn exclaimed.
"Do you mean to say you can tell the loathsome things apart?" Gandalf asked in surprise.
"Of course I can distinguish between them. They were Men once, and still have very different personalities, enslaved though they are.
"The Chief, for so I call him, is always rather haughtily amused by what I am up to, and very certain he will have me in his dungeons to make answer. He bears a deep hatred for elf-kind that surpasses even what I sense from Orcs. What promoted this sentiment remains hidden, and perhaps he no longer remembers himself. It does seem to frustrate him that his Orcs are so powerless to bring me down, and when he comes forth to join the chase he returns alone, for in his wrath he destroys all the monsters I leave alive.
"The Lesser Evils, as I refer to the remaining pair, behave as if they were indeed once brothers; they seem to know each other's tactics and tend to stand together in battle as though to shield one another. It is sad, for probably long practice ingrained this noble behavior, and so perhaps once they were not evil, merely foolish or desperate, or both together.
"And as to why; how else will I destroy them if I cannot lure them into combat?" Legolas completed his explanations.
"They cannot be destroyed!" from Aragorn.
"That is not what I intended for you to get involved in, Legolas!" from Gandalf.
Legolas frowned at them each in turn. "It is said they cannot be destroyed by the hands of Men. Elf-kind is another matter. Elves have slain all manner of evil the Dark One has conjured, even Balrogs; why should these pitiful shadow slaves be different? And what else would you have me do, Mithrandir? I think it best just to dispense with them rather than sneak around trying to understand their plots."
The three were silent for a time as the archer's words were considered.
"There is logic in what you suggest," Aragorn answered, and silently marveled at hearing the dreaded Nazgul reduced to 'pitiful shadow slaves'. "I have heard this rumor also; but, does the description refer to 'man' as a race or to 'male' as a sex? If the latter, then you cannot succeed." He rose and carefully began extinguishing the remaining embers of the fire and collecting up the cooking gear. "But you have not drunk that tea, and I must insist. Let us have no more discussion until it is done, for we must ride hard all the remainder of Anor's hours if we wish to avoid a confrontation with the Orcs in those mountains ahead."
"We cannot escape that fight," Legolas replied seriously as he raised the cup and blew cautiously across the surface of the pale brown liquid within. "The path is designed to take us to them. We will have to kill them all," he added this so matter-of-factly that both his companions stopped what they were doing and stared first at him and then each other.
"That we surely cannot do," Aragorn said in astonishment. "There are but three of us here, unless you can send for the King's patrols using that, that, whatever that thing is going on through the trees and you. Three cannot prevail against a troop of a hundred Orcs."
"Even if this were possible, you are not in any condition for fighting just now," the Maia added. "We must find a means to slip past them."
Legolas sipped the tea and made a sour face as he calmly listened to their warnings.
They will be more trouble than help, he considered, for they would be forced to fight on the ground, a serious disadvantage. It was obvious their experience with the demons consisted of occasional confrontations in the Mountain passes or small skirmishes close to the borders of Lorien, where they most likely had numbers on their side. Never had these travelers been hunted before. Legolas grimaced as he tried the potion again.
"Valar! This is vile stuff! Put some of the Miruvor in it, Aragorn, if you expect me to drink this Orc piss." He held the mug out and the human accepted it wordlessly.
"And the three of us have not any choice in this matter. They are instructed to capture me, as I told you before, and many of these trees are helping them. That 'thing' you refer to, Aragorn, is my bond with Tawar. And that will be of little help henceforth, for Shadow has claimed great sections of the Greenwood here, and I fear even more betrayal as we get closer to the mountains. For that reason alone I would engage these hideous monsters and drive them out."
Aragorn poured a small amount of the rejuvenating cordial into the tea and stirred in a bit of cinnamon as well before pressing the cup back into Legolas' hands.
"We are not in a position to make war on these beasts, Legolas. You will reclaim the trees, I am certain, but at a later time. Our objective must be to reach the King's stronghold without combat. You have already said you do not have enough arrows." he chided gently and pointed to the doctored concoction. "Drink."
"Aragorn is right; we must not get into a struggle against them, especially as they mean to take you alive," Gandalf joined in. "There must be some way to avoid this unhealthy enchantment placed upon the elf path."
Legolas obediently swallowed down the altered tea and wondered how much to explain about this situation to his comrades. The Istar and the Man seemed not to understand that he could readily escape this fight, using the upper reaches of the canopy where the roadway's meanderings from the real path could be noted and avoided. The travelers, however, were unable to use this method. The Shadow was manipulating them as bait, luring the Wood Elf to their side, knowing full well he would never abandon two allies against the Darkness to the clutches of the foul confederates of the Nazgul.
Especially now, he thought,
for I owe both of them too much to turn away. These two, at least, I will not allow my cursed doom to collect.
The feral elf was happy to play the deadly game. It would be easy to draw away most of the troop; enough, he hoped, so that the human and the Istar would be able to hold their own. Once divided victory was only a matter of time and energy, for his determination far outmatched that of the cowardly Orcs. They would flee in terrified disarray as soon as his fury was unleashed in battle. Weakened or not, Legolas intended to both spare the lives of the travelers and destroy the Orcs, and on no condition would he turn from this confrontation.
"Mithrandir, the path is fully corrupted and even if we turn back we will find our way barred except in the direction of the approaching horde. We are the pursued, not the predators. Either we kill them all or end up in Dol Guldur. This I will not allow," he patiently explained as though his friends were very dense of skull and slight of intellect.
"If it comes to that, I will see us all dead rather than suffer such a fate."
Legolas tossed the empty cup back to Aragorn and granted each of his companions full exposure to the adamantine gleam in his elven eyes, overbrimming with the fierce resolve to carry out this vow.
Tbc
