OF SNOW AND STONE AND WOLVES
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.
Rating: PG – 13, for heavy angst stuff and implied m/m interaction.
Author’s notes:
Many of you have asked if Boromir is ever going to find out about Elladan’s sacrifice. Well, if you can remember, it was Elladan’s explicit wish that he would not, because he did not want to load even more guilt upon Boromir. On the other hand, of course, he is travelling with people now who like to talk about him behind his back – which is always a somewhat risky thing. <g>
Anyway, for the next two days they are still wandering in Hollin. That might give them plenty of opportunity to clear some questions – if they are able to.
Deborah asked me how the Shielding Stone – and the bond between Boromir and Elladan through it – actually worked. I honestly cannot say. Since the Stone is not a canon device but my own idea entirely, I make this up as I go on with the story. In case you are curious, I conceived the idea upon the description of Boromir’s clothing on the Council of Elrond (in FOTR), where the silver collar with the white stone was simply a piece of jewelry – and never mentioned again. It seemed to me pretty, so I gave it a function that served the purpose of my series rather nicely.
Oh, and one more thing: This chapter was partially ’’inspired’’ by other fanfic writers who regularly make some disgusting monster out of Thranduil, Mirkwood’s King. Until I come to write his entire story, I felt the need to say something to his defense.
Thanks for the reviews. Keep up feeding my muse, please!
Chapter Four: Hollin – Hunches of Truth
Boromir’s strangled cry – more a wordless screem than aught else – alarmed the other members of the Company. Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas ran to him at once and found him sunk onto his knees, eyes wide open yet seeing naught, his hand desperately clutching the white stone adorning his silver collar.
Gandalf squatted down before him, glaring sternly into the far-away eyes, his face becoming increasingly worried. Then he stood again and shook his head in defeat.
’’We shall have to wait till he comes back on his own.’’
’’What happened?’’ asked Legolas. ’’It seems to me as if the Shadow that passed over us had affected him greatly. He grabbed the Stone at that very moment. Do you know what it might have been, Mithrandir?’’
Gandalf nodded, somewhat reluctantly.
’’I cannot be sure… yet I believe I know. Let us not speak of it, till we are securely over the Pass.’’
’’But why did it have such a great effect on Boromir while it merely gave us a dread feeling?’’, the Elf asked. ’’Surely he is not less steadfast than any of us? Though, I must admit, I still am at a loss if it comes to mortal Men. They seldom react as I would expect them to do.’’
’’He had faced the evil of Minas Morgul every single day of his life’’, Gandalf answered, his eyes full of sorrow as he kept watching the face of the younger Man. ’’Who nows what terrors he had met during all those years spent on the battlefield against the forces of Mordor? I seldom visited Minas Tirith during his lifetime, and even then, I only met his brother most of the time. Elrond told me ere we departed from Imladris that he is in grave peril – more so than any of us, save the Ring-bearer.’’
’’He has been touched by the Shadow earlier’’, Legolas murmured. ’’I could feel it already when we first met in the woods, approaching Imladris. Yet he spoke little of what happened to him during the battle of Osgiliath.’’
’’What I have heard of it, and that was not from him, seems clear enough’’, replied Gandalf. ’’Sauron sent the Nazgúls against Gondor’s forces, to scatter them in horror – at least one of them, ere they were sent out to hunt down the Ring and its Bearer. That much is certain of what the Eagle told me.’’
’’Can it be…’’, Aragorn hesitated, not quite ready to speak about things of such evil, ’’can he have been touched by the Black Breath?’’
’’Almost certainly’’, Gandalf sighed, ’’for he is a brave and stubborn warrior, one who stands his ground when all others flee, ready to face an enemy he cannot defeat. Were he a Man of brooding nature, he might have submitted to its terror already and lost his mind. His short temper may prove to be a blessing, though.’’
’’It would not be enough’’, said Legolas quietly, ’’had Elladan not performed the Rite of Protection and bound his soul to Boromir’s. I can feel the pull of the Ring on his heart as we speak. The darkness that befell him in Osgiliath, makes him vulnerable for the evil lure of the One. I am worried about him.’’
’’Why?’’, Aragorn asked. ’’Can the Shielding Stone not protect him? Is that not the very purpose it was returned from the Blessed Realm for?’’
’’You ask me? A mere Wood-Elf?’’, Legolas said with unusual bitterness in his voice. ’’What do I know of the Jewels of Aman? My ancestors had never sailed over the Sea, they saw not the light of the Two Trees of Valinor. We are Moriquendi, Dark-Elves, who know naught but the trees and waters and winds. Our roots in the soil of Arda are deep. We defended it during the Dark Years, yet our own Kin considers us less than your kindred. You are the one who have descended from the evening star1 – teach you me about the Jewels of the Blessed Realm!’’
The hobbits, having gathered around them, exchanged worried – and highly confused – looks, and even Gimli glared in surprise at the Elf, who was nearly shaking with cold fury. No-one understood what made Legolas so mad all of the sudden, except mayhap Gandalf, who knew more about the animosities among Elves than the Fair Folk themselves.
’’Easy, easy, my good Elf’’, he said soothingly. ’’Are we not all friends and allies here, enemies of the one Enemy? No-one had belittled the valiant struggles of your people to keep their homes safe…’’
’’Did they not?’’, asked Legolas bitterly. ’’Have you ever heard them speak about my father, Mithrandir? Have you heard the Men of Dale laugh over him and call him a greedy ogre? Have you heard the Eldar tell amused stories about him hoarding gold and jewels and having made war against the Dwarves for even more of it?’’
’’Why?’’, Gimli grunted. ’’Has he not made war against us for gold? Has he not thrown my father and his company into the deepest dungeons under your palace?’’
’’He has’’, Legolas admitted glumly, ’’and that was a grave mistake. Yet we were desperate at that time, Gimli, no matter what merriment your father might have seen in our palace. Mirkwood cannot bring forth much food, save the deers we hunt and some berries, and we have no mines, either. We needed weapons, for we were besieged from all sides, by Orcs and trolls and the giant spiders and fought with our backs against the wall. And no-one would give us aught without paying a high price for it. Yet we cannot live on songs and thin air only!’’
He took a deep breath to soothe himself.
’’My father has his faults and he is certainly not always right in his decisions, but he only wants to protect his home and his people. ’Tis easy not to err when one sits in the safety of Imladris and the hidden power that protects the dale2. My father has no such power. We only have our skills and weapons to protect ourselves against the forces of Dol Guldur. And do consider, son of Glóin, what might become of Dale, or even Erebor, should Mirkwood fall. Our bows protect your backs as well as they do protect us!’’
He turned away and climbed up a nearby tree with cat-like crace and amazing speed. Gimli looked after him doubtfully, regretting to have brought up that old quarrel between their fathers.
Yet ere he could have followed the Elf, in a helpless intention to apologize, Gandalf grabbed his shoulder.
’’Let him alone, my good Dwarf. ’Tis dangerous to bother a furious Elf, even for you. He will come to his senses in a short time, after his wrath cooled a little. Those of the Silvan folk are known of their short tempers, but they fume not long.’’
’’Gandalf!’’, someone tugged on his grey robe. The wizard looked down and saw two round brown eyes blinking worriedly at him in the twilight. ’’Gandalf, what is happening to Boromir?’’
’’He is fine, Pippin’’, the wizard smiled; it surprised him how fond the younger hobbits had become of Boromir, but he considered them a healthy influence on the grim warrior. ’’Do not worry about him. He… shall return to us, shortly.’’
’’Should we not remove his hand from the Stone?’’ Aragorn asked.
Gandalf shook his head, silently wondering about the foolish ideas Men – even wise and experienced Men like Aragorn – could bring forth sometimes. How could Aragorn even consider to break such a delicate bond? Not even the Elves were full aware of the true nature of such connections. Not even Elrond would have risked such a step, unless in the gravest peril.
’’Nay’’, he said, ’’it could be dangerous to break the bond by force… for him as well as for Elladan. We must wait till they end it on their own, or else we might seriously harm them.’’
’’But he is draining strength from Elladan, is he not?’’ pressed Aragorn stubbornly. ’’Could it not become just as dangerous?’’
’’It could, and it is’’, the wizard agreed, ’’but if Elladan is willing to take that risk, ’tis not our right to hinder him. ’Tis hard enough for him as it is, their bond being one-sided; if we interfere, it could be broken for good, and I cannot foresee what the consequences would be for him.’’
’’Still, I believe we should take that risk’’, Aragorn persisted, ’’or else they both might end up dead.’’
Gandalf glared at him from under his bushy eyebrows and all of a sudden his eyes grew cold, and when he answered, he turned into the Elven tongue that neither Gimli nor the hobbits could understand, save mayhap Frodo, who was deep on his own thoughts and did not listen to him.
//Are you certain, Aragorn, that ’tis concern for your foster brother that is speaking from your heart? Or else is it jealousy that the son of Denethor had received a gift you had been longing for all your life and still have to reach yet?//
Aragorn gave no answer, only his face hardened, and he turned away, the words of the wizard hitting a sore spot deep inside his heart.
Pippin looked from one Man to the other, utterly confused about the whole thing – first Legolas’ unexpected outburst, than this fight between Gandalf and Strider who, it seemed, wanted to keep things among themselves – yet, still worried about his new friend who seemed like a gentle giant in his eyes, a giant who still had the heart to talk and jest and make fun with them, listen to their little songs and funny tales that must have seemed so small and unimportant for him. And now, his giant lay defeated and no-one seemed to truly care for him, not even Gandalf.
Pippin leaned towards Boromir, placing his small, warm hand upon the big, clammy cold one that still clutched the Stone desperately, and called to the far-away Man with his clear, frightened little voice.
’’Boromir? Lord Boromir, sir, ’tis time to come back. Can you hear me, Boromir? Came back to us, please, sir!’’
’’Pippin, no!’’, Gandalf shouted, pale with fear that the young hobbit, in his well-meant ignorance, might have interfered with something far beyond his understanding and that they might lose not only Boromir but Elladan as well due to his thoughtless handling.
But to his amazement and great relief, Boromir seemed to have heard Pippin’s desperate summoning. He blinked, a little confused, then gave a quiet groan and finally let the Stone go. His eyes focussed again, locked with Pippin’s and a faint, regretful smile appearad in the corner of his mouth.
’’Thank you, Master Peregrin’’, he said, rising to his feet, and tousled Pippin’s curly hair gently. Then he turned to the wizard. ’’What happened?’’
’’We are not certain’’, Gandalf said. ’’Something passed high over our heads, nearly as high as the stars. We believe…’’
’’It was the Nameless Fear that dwells in Minas Morgul’’, Boromir interrupted. ’’No-one who ever felt its touch can forget it again. Look at Frodo; he most certainly felt it, too.’’
They both looked at the pained, pale face of the hobbit, who wrapped himself tightly in his cloak and seemed to shiver, regardless all of Sam’s efforts to make him feel better. Boromir shook his head in helpless sorrow.
’’We should go on, Mithrandir, and not rest till sunrise. The road shall be more closely watched with every passing hour, and the snow is coming. We have to hurry.’’
’’That I know’’, said Gandalf, shooting an irritated look towards the tree where Legolas was sitting, simmering with anger, ’’but alas! We have a very agitated Elf among us, who refuses to share our company right now.’’
Boromir followed his gaze and saw the Elf, sitting high up in the tree, on a dangerously thin branch, or so it seemed for the untrained mortal eye, with a face as cold and hard and stubborn that it would have put even his father, the Lord Denethor to shame. But again, he was used to handle his father in all of his moods, which gave him here an advantage the others might not have.
’’Let me speak with him’’, he offered.
The wizard knitted his bushy eyebrows, looking like an irritated grandfather whose patientce towars a particularly unnerving grandson just run out.
’’You think you can get him down from that tree?’’
’’I can try’’, shrugged Boromir. ’’I shall go for the one thing nearly always works with my father: appealing to his responsibility.’’
’’Then do try’’, Gandalf sighed. ’’Wood-Elves could be the most stubborn people I have ever met… at times even worse than Dwarves.’’
’’Hey!’’, Gimli exclaimed, but the wizard listened not. He already went to call for Aragorn and the hobbits, instructing them to get ready for going till Boromir tries to talk Legolas down from his damned tree.
The Elf sat motionless up in the tree. He gave no sign that he had noticed the approaching Man, though Boromir had no doubt that he had. His ears were better than those of a fox, after all – even better than those of other Elves.
’’Legolas’’, he called quietly, standing under the tree, ’’we have to go.’’
’’Then go’’, the Elf answered, not looking at him. ’’I shall catch up with you later. I am lighter on my feet than any of you.’’
’’I doubt not’’, said Boromir, ’’but you are needed now. To watch our backs and protect the little ones.’’
’’You are a born warrior, son of Gondor’’, the Elf replied snippishly, ’’you can protect them awhile without me.’’
’’I can’’, Boromir agreed, ’’yet I have not your keen eyes and good ears. In truth, the Halflings say, I go blundering along, making a noise like an oliphaunt – what ever that might be –, so they cannot hear a thing through it.’’
To his surprise, the Elf laughed quietly.
’’They meant a múmak’’, he explained. ’’Not that any of them had ever seen one, mean you. They are in their fairy tales only.’’
’’A múmak?’’, Boromir shook his head, not knowing whether he should feel insulted or amused. ’’A múmak, indeed… They should be glad to know those beasts only from their tales!’’
’’I fear they shall lose their innocence soon enough’’, Legolas sighed, then he unexpectedly jumped down from the tree and landed on his feet, as smoothly as a big cat. ’’But you are right, my friend. We shall go on. And they need me.’’
’’We all do’’, Boromir replied, wondering about his quick success. He had been prepared to have to argue with the Elf a lot longer, but apparently Wood-Elves were as quick to forget as they were quick to anger. ’’Why were you so angry?
’’I would rather not talk about it, if you do not mind’’, said Legolas, gathering his weapons from under the tree. ’’’Tis a long and, it seems, fruitless quarrel among Elves, and I let my anger lash out to Estel. I was wrong… but he can be maddening at times.’’
’’One day’’, Boromir said, ’’you should tell me about it.’’
’’Mayhap one day I shall’’, Legolas smiled, ’’but right now, as you said, we have to go.’’
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nothing further happened that night. We went on, stumbling in the darkness, without a word. My little friends kept close to me, and often would I see the big, curious eyes of young Peregrin watching me, searching my face for something – I know not what for. He must have caught something from Mithrandir or Aragorn while I was… away. I have to ask him later, I thought, yet my mind was still elswhere, lingering on the memory of my lover’s voice and the strange dreams that had come to me during our last rest.
And the Nameless Fear. I still could feel its icy touch on my heart, the dread that made me call out in despair to my beloved – and, for the first time since he gifted the Stone upon me, I had reached him on my own. I always believed I could not do it, for while he was bound to me by choice, I was not bound to him, yet now, though by great effort, I could truly reach him. It was overwhelming: great relief and also great joy – one I never thought I shall know one day.
The next morning dawned even brighter than before. But the air was chill again; already the wind was turning back towards the East, and the feel of the snow coming weighed more and more heavily on my heart.
How were the little ones supposed to go on when the Pass will be blocked by snow? They do not even wear boots, and as hardened their woolly little feet might be, they shall hardly be able to walk through four-feet-high snow walls that are know to build up during storms in the Misty Mountains. How should they be able to climb the Pass that would be a challenge even for a grown Man in the time of winter?
’’Can you feel the coming of snow in your bones?’’, I asked Legolas, who put down his bundle next to me when we finally hold on for our day break.
He nodded, bright eyes sparkling.
’’More than you believe. One of my ancestors was said to have the skill to let the rain fall at will. I know not if ’tis true, yet we always can tell the change of weather… all of my family.’’
’’Are you not concerned about the Halflings?’’, I asked.
He seemed to be good friends with them, as well, and I wanted to share my worries about them with someone who would at least listen to me. For Mithrandir and Aragorn seemed only to have eyes for the Ring-bearer and his servant.
He looked at me with those bright eyes, deep green as the young leaves in a forest at springtime.
’’I am. But we cannot take an other road – not one with pess peril, it is. We shall have to help the hobbits.’’
’’How?’’, said I. ’’Unless we carry them there is not much we can do for them. We cannot change the weather or hold back the snow from falling.’’
’’For awhile they shall be able to go on their own; they are tough little creatures’’, the Elf answered, letting down his long, auburn hair that had become somewhat loosened during last night’s walk, and combing it swiftly and absent-mindedly with a wooden comb; then he started to rebraid it, even more tightly than it used to be, without paying any attention to what his long, skilled fingers were doing, seemingly on their own – it was an amazing sight. ’’But we might have to carry them when it becomes too much, even for their brave little hearts. Can you do it?’’
’’That and more’’, I answered, a little irritated. Why have Elves to doubt on Men’s abilities all the time, I cannot understand.
He must have noticed the rising of my temper for he smiled.
’’Forgive me. I meant no offense. So you shall take care of the younger ones, I presume?’’
’’Of course’’, I said, surprised by the bitterness in my own voice. ’’Or do you believe that Aragorn, or even Mithrandir, shall trust me with the Ring-bearer or his servant?’’
He considered the answer for a moment, while his fingers worked with amazing speed, waving his braids into a spotless coronet, so tight and shiny that at the end it looked more like a helmet, made of bronze.
’’I guess not’’, he finally said, and for once I was thankful for the customary Elven honesty, brutal as at times it might be.
’’Do you trust me?’’, I asked quietly.
This was a question I intended to ask him ever since we set out on this quest; for though we had travelled together before, during our stay in Imladris that slowly growing trust between us seemingly got lost, and I regretted it.
He looked intently at me with those deep emerald eyes, as if he tried to pry into my heart.
’’I trust your noble intentions’’, he finally said, ’’and I doubt not that you are determined to do what is right, no matter the costs for you… or any one else.’’
’’But…?’’, I said, for there definitely was a ’’but’’ following.
’’But I am not certain that you can see clearly what is right’’, he said bluntly. ’’Your heart is troubled, and your mind is focussed on one thing only, which could be dangerous, even if ’tis a good thing you focus on. Like the protection of your people.’’
’’You speak in riddles’’, I said, though I could guess what he meant.
’’Well, I am an Elf, and thus an irritating creature in the eyes of Men’’, he replied, smiling. ’’But you are not the only one among us who has to fight his own heart. We all have to struggle with temptation.’’
’’Even you?’’, I asked, curious, what that coursed Ring might whisper to him in the twilight. What was it that a Wood-Elf could find tempting? Great forests covering Middle-earth again? Being able to talk to trees and hear them answer? Could he not do that already?
He looked at me soberly, youthful carelessness vanishing from his fair face, and I had to remaind myself that I was talking to a creature who was over three thousand years old, regardless of his appearance. It was so easy – and so deceiving – to mistake him for a merry youngling, that I kept forgetting who – and what – he really was.
’’Next to you, son of Gondor, I am the one mayhap the strongest tempted, if we forget to count Mithrandir in’’, he said. ’’You are not the only one who dreams of bringing the lost glory and greatness of your people back. You want the power to keep what is still yours, yet I… You cannot imagine how great the temptation for me is to reclaim what we have already lost, more than a whole age ago.’’
’’I thought the Ring would be the most perilous for those who already possess great powers’’, I said carefully, not wanting to insult him.
Legolas laughed, yet that was a laughter without mirth.
’’Oh it is. But you know very little about the Silvan folk, Boromir; and you know less to naught about me. You cannot believe, not in your worst nightmares, what I might become with the One Ring upon my finger.’’
’’What might you become?’’, I asked, truly curious now.
I had heard how dangerous Wood-Elves could be when they turned wicked, but I always thought it a myth. Apparently, there was more in it that I had been ready to believe.
He shook his head, bright eyed darkenins – with fear or desire, I could not say.
’’Little less than the Dark Lord himself’’, he said. ’’I might be young, by the measure of my own Kin, but there is a power in me that no-one of the Elves who had passed over the Sea and returned possess. Wood-Elves drain their strength from Arda itself, for we never left its soil, and the less removed from the Firstborn we are, the greater the strength in us is.’’
’’How far are you removed?’’, I continued asking, amazed by his rarely-seen openness and eager to learn more.
’’Four generations only, on my father’s side. On my mother’s, I know not. She was a Silvan Elf, and the Tree Children made no records of their ancestors.’’ He shot me an amused glance, guessing what I might have wanted to ask. ’’That is the same generation as Elwing, Elrond’s mother3.’’
I shook my head. This was confusing. He laughed.
’’Elves are long-living, and I am a late child. All my siblings, save my baby sister, had been born at the beginning of the Second Age… I came when my parents did not even hope for an other child any more.’’
’’I thought you were the only child of King Thranduil’’, I said, surprised.
His eyes saddened at once.
’’I am – now’’, he said; then he stretched. ’’As I heard, you have second watch after Estel today. You should rest now. Sleep well.’’
’’Where are you going?’’
’’Up to a tree, of course. I am more comfortable there.’’
With that, he left me and ran up a close tree lightly and vanished among the grey branches, blending in with his grey-green cloak completely.
A moment later young Peregrin came with some food I was too tired to even recognize. Meriadoc joined us shortly thereafter, and we ate in uncostumary silence. Then the Halflings curled up on their bedrolls and fell asleep within a moment, exhaustion marring their young faces. My heart saddened from the thought what might lie before us yet. They did not belong here. They were so young, they should be in their friendly little land and have a warm chamber and plenty of food and merry songs, not the perils of Caradhras waiting for them.
I shook my head. They were here now, by their own choice, and I could not change that. I got to my feet, walked over to Aragorn and asked him about the setting of watches once more, to make sure I truly was next, then lay down to sleep, resting my hand upon the Stone. Mayhap I would dream of him again.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Having spent most of one’s adult life on battlefields has its advantages. One of them being that a trained soldier is able to wake up on his own at any given time when he is on watch duty. Even if this soldier is the one who usually gives the orders.
Therefore I woke up dutifully a few moments ere I was due to take over the watch from Aragorn. I leaned up on my elbow to get my bearings. About twenty feet away I saw him, sitting with Mithrandir, in deep conversation as always. They had something to discuss about all the time, and they loved to leave out all the others from their counsels.
Legolas was no-where to see; mayhap he had climbed high up in that tree of his; though I doubt not that even from there he could hear every word the two were speaking. But I doubt even less that he would refuse to tell me about. He might have been forthcoming concerning his own affairs, but he would never reveal what he might have heard, probably not even by choice. Having ears as keen as his could be a burden sometimes, I mused.
The Halflings were sleeping, Samwise holding his little master in a careful embrace, like an overprotective mother a sickening child. His devotion towards Frodo was truly moving; I had never seen a friend so faithful before. The two younger ones were snugging together like frightened children, sharing the warmth of their blankets. They seemed so small and helpless – yet I had learnt already how brave all these little people in truth were. I only prayed that the braveness of their hearts would be enough to face the perils of our road.
I strained my ears to hear what Mithrandir and my King-to-be were talking about, for it angered me to no end that they always had to be so secretive. Alas, they kept their voices very low, but it was quiet all around, so I was able to catch most of what they were saying – if not anything. Still it was enough for a good guess.
’’…do something’’, Aragorn was saying. ’’If he goes on… this, Elladan… be able to…’’
He spoke in the Elven tongue, but I had a decent education in my youth, and Faramir’s obsession with Elves, which he readily shared with me, finally payed off.
The wizard shook his head; this was the first time I saw him to be truly upset with Aragorn. Usually, they agreed about almost every little thing.
’’…our right to… Even if he drained Elladan’s strenth... time he uses… Stone… was the very reason… performed the… of Protection… wanted to shield him…. Shadow. What else… pure love could do that?’’
’’But he could die!’’, agitated, Aragorn raised his voice, so I could hear him clearly. ’’Elladan is but an Elf, not one of the Valar!’’
’’Quiet!’’, Mithrandir hushed angrily. ’’Wake not the others!… was Elladan’s choice… the right of Elrond’s children. Arwen… chosen the same… … years ago… are you to question… right to choose likewise? Even if…’’
He spotted me being awake and lowered his voice even more, so that I was unable to hear a word of what he said next. But what little I caught made me worried to no end. What price was my lover paying for my protection? Was he in danger, when ever I used the Stone to wear off the darkness?
If ’tis so, I shall never touch it again. It would be wrong to harm him, just to protect myself. I should find the strength to deny myself the comfort of his love, no matter how I shall miss the soothing touch of his soul upon my heart. I am not worth causing him any harm.
Wearily, I got up from my resting place to relieve my King-to-be from watch duty, knowing how hard the rest of our journey would be without the memory of those soft, slow songs that kept the nightmares from me, without the quiet presence of my beloved in my heart. I have just found out how to reach him, and now I had to give up that joy. But I would. I would feel into darkness ere I harmed him.
Walking through our camp, I had the strange feeling of being watched, yet despite my best efforts I could not determine where from. I never saw Legolas, sitting high up the treetop, his eyes locked on me in deep contemplation.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End note:
I know, I know – if he could not determine from where he was watched, how could he know that Legolas was watching him. Confused? Fear not, in the next chapter or so you shall see how such a thing is possible!
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