Chapter Eight

The last rays of the fading sun flashed on metal, the source hidden amongst the great boles of the trees for tense moments. Then Boromir rode out into the clearing, his sword drawn, and behind him were Merry and Sam. After the cries and explanations and reassurances and hugs (especially among the hobbits) that followed, Boromir strode over to the pit and looked in. Blood had pooled at the bottom of the stake, appearing almost black in the failing light. The battle-hardened soldier shivered and turned his gaze to where Legolas leaned silently against the tree. When Aragorn quietly explained what was taking place, Boromir merely shook his head, no longer fazed by elven peculiarities.

Darkness was falling now, the first pin-prinks of stars sparkling through the veil of dusk. Night seemed to fall more quickly in the forest than on the open plains – already the ground lay deep in shadow. The horses had been staked to graze, their dinner supplemented by many armfuls of grass the hobbits pulled for them. Watching them, Frodo rubbed his stomach. "I’m hungry," he said wistfully. "Does anyone have anything to eat? I’ve only some very nasty-tasting strips of dried meat."

"Here, sir," Sam replied, pushing a fat brown butter-nut into his master’s hands. Frodo stared at the fungi in surprise. "I’ve just the one, and I didn’t bring my fry pan, nor butter or garlic, but those mushrooms are tasty cooked or not. "

"You left the rest with Pippin?" Merry exclaimed in horror.

"Couldn’t be helped," Sam said mournfully. "Maybe the lad will leave us a couple." He did not sound hopeful.

Several apples from Merry’s pockets and half a small wheel of cheese and some bread from Sam’s, and the hobbits stared at what was, for hobbits, a very unsatisfactory supper. They had canvassed the Big Folk but none of them had thought to bring food. Merry shook his head disapprovingly, his opinion of Big People’s priorities dropping a notch. When all of the Big People declined a share of the mushroom, Frodo broke it into three pieces and handed them around. "I don’t think we should even consider building a fire," he commented quietly. His gaze travelled around the brooding clearing. The trees seemed to be leaning in, watching them and listening to every word.

They looked at Legolas but the Elf’s position had not changed; still he inclined against the largest tree on the outskirts of the clearing, fingers splayed against the bark, forehead touching the trunk. The hobbits sank down on the turf to eat, huddling together against the approaching chill of evening.

Gandalf, too, was watching the Elf as he and Aragorn and Boromir conversed in low tones. The men were grooming the horses, working out the knots in their manes and doing what they could for the poor beasts’ hurts. Gandalf sat on a log, wishing he dared light his pipe. "We held this discussion in Rivendell, my friends." The wizard shook his head. "It was decided then to trust our own feet rather than the needs imposed upon us in caring for mounts. The hobbits and Gimli are not comfortable on horses. And these poor half-starved beasts could not take us far. Better to release them."

"There are wolves in these woods, Gandalf," the Ranger replied. "Other predators, also."

"I will put a word of protection upon them," the wizard said kindly. "Perhaps they will come, in time, to Imladris and seek out one of the retired herds of elven steeds. Elrond can read in them of the service they have done us. He will provide for them." Boromir sighed and gently stroked the nose of the mare that had borne him hence.

The hobbits dropped off to sleep while waiting for Legolas to finish his communion; Frodo first, followed by Merry. Sam surrendered last, still fighting against his weariness and a lingering headache. Boromir laid his great furred cloak over them all and volunteered the guard, watching the trees with wariness and trying not to dwell on the knowledge that he was being watched back.

"Well?" Gandalf asked as Legolas at last pushed himself away from the tree. The pattern of the wood he had leaned against had imprinted itself into the Elf’s palms, and the center of his forehead bore a bright red circle where he had rested it against the bark. Legolas rubbed the mark reflectively then stretched, for a moment resembling a tree himself, a slender sapling, as he strained his long limbs upwards. The Elf’s face seemed eased of much weariness and pain and instead of appearing tired, Legolas seemed invigorated. The wizard thought that must be the trees’ doing, their gift to the Wood-elf.

Legolas joined them with much of his accustomed grace and dropped into a cross-legged position, accepting the waterskin Aragorn handed him. "They will let us pass," he assured them to a chorus of soft sighs of relief. "They were angry at first and did not wish to listen. The taste of blood soaking their roots was sweet to them. But at last they heard my words and have granted us – all of us - safe-passage out of this place."

The Elf lowered his voice and glanced at the sleeping bundle of halflings. "They did not wish the Ring-bearer to pass. It was difficult to make them understand that he and what he carries is the reason for our Quest." Legolas paused and looked keenly at Gandalf, his face somber. "It would be best if we did not tarry in this forest, especially as we leave these trees behind us. Others beyond these may not feel bound to respect their wishes."

"If we go now," the wizard said quietly, "will you be all right?"

The Elf nodded nonchalantly and pressed his fingers into his side, testing for pain. Finding only a sharp twinge, he disregarded it and continued, "Do not fear for me, Mithrandir. The forest was generous with its strength. I need only a night of rest … which I would prefer to take far away from this place of death." Legolas began examining his weapons, the lack of light no impediment to elven sight. He sheathed his knives then rose to his feet and returned his sword to its rune-covered scabbard, sheathing it one-handed over his back without looking. "I will wake the little folk."

"We have lost a full day’s march," Gandalf said quietly to Aragorn and Boromir as Legolas drifted silently to the sleeping hobbits. "And will lose more time returning to our path. We have no more days to lose. It is already too late in the season to attempt the Redhorn Pass."

Aragorn nodded, worry and resignation on his tired face.

* * * * *

Legolas went first into the trees, trailing his hands along every trunk and branch that he could reach. It seemed to those who followed that many reached out to touch the Elf as he passed, and there was respect and even affection in the brush of branches along his chest and face. Gandalf followed, then the hobbits with Aragorn and Boromir as rear-guard. They moved swiftly through the deep wood for some time, Legolas leading them, his clear voice drifting back to warn them of obstacles their mortal eyes could not discern.

For the last half-league, the Company had been growing aware that the mood of the forest was changing. Legolas still touched every tree within reach of their passage, but no longer did he feel in them tolerance of the mortals’ presence. Word of the safe-passage granted them was failing, fading, diminishing as they went farther and farther from the clearing. The trees they were passing through now were not bound by promises given by others. The feeling of weight was back in the air, anger and old resentments. Legolas urged the others closer together, and asked the Ring-bearer to walk with him at his side, his hand resting on the hobbit’s shoulder.

"They don’t like us," Merry whispered to Sam. "This feels like the worst part of Buckland’s Old Forest. "

"Mr. Legolas will keep them from doing anything bad," Sam whispered back.

"To us," Merry murmured. "I wish Pip and Gimli were here." Legolas glanced back at them and shook his head, and the hobbits fell silent.

* * * * *

"I could cut some branches and light torches," Gimli said doubtfully.

"No, no, no!" Pippin squeaked. "Gimli, keep your voice down, please!" The young hobbit’s vivid imagination saw the trees looming over them, bare and spiny branches tensed to reach for them. Knotholes formed glaring eyes, broken branches became noses, breaks in the bark looked like jagged teeth. Pippin stared at the indistinct ground under his feet and tried to walk faster, hoping his fear did not show.

"My folk see well in the dark, Master Peregrin, but you do not," Gimli rumbled, deftly steering the tweenager around a rock that would have stubbed a hairy toe most painfully. "It is too dark to travel safely." He shifted his great axe to his other shoulder, feeling as if unseen eyes followed his every movement with anger and suspicion. "We could lose our way. We cannot be sure that we are still on the trail of the others."

"What stinks?" asked Pippin, wrinkling his nose.

Gimli paused, sniffing. He knew that smell, had smelled it before on battlefields and in the charnel-pits of orcs. "Come here, lad," he said quietly.

Pippin tugged on the horse’s rein and obeyed, rubbing his nose. Bill shook his head and Gimli tightened his grip on the pony’s lead.

Ahead of them the trees opened into a small clearing. A great tree-limb lay near to the edge, the smell of sap faint in the air. Stronger, much stronger, was the sweet-sick smell of recent death. Knowing what to look for, Gimli’s cavern-bred eyes sought for the source of the smell of rotting flesh.

"Something’s dead," Pippin said distastefully, then he gasped and his voice sank in sudden trepidation. "Gimli… What is it? Can you see anything?" Behind him, the horse plunged its head, its eyes white-rimmed. Pippin stopped and turned to it, rubbing its withers comfortingly. "Easy there, my lad."

The dwarf’s dark-accustomed eyes located the single boot that protruded from beneath the enormous fallen branch, and in an instant identified it as belonging to none of the Fellowship. Relieved, he tugged on the pony’s lead and the little beast moved forward, its body shielding the grisly sight from the young hobbit’s eyes. "No business of ours," the dwarf commented gruffly. "Come on, laddie."

Pippin tried to get the horse moving but it tossed its head, shying. To Gimli’s surprise, Bill began to whinny and pull on his rein. "What’s the matter, Bill?" Pippin asked the pony, reaching over to pat the animal’s soft nose. But the pony did not calm – instead Bill squealed, his shaggy ears laid flat against his head. The horse Pippin was holding suddenly shook its head roughly and balked, tearing the reins from the young hobbit’s hands. "No!" cried Pippin. "Come here, lad. Here, boy! Easy, now!"

Pippin snatched for the reins but the horse reared, hooves lashing in its terror. "Pippin!" Gimli roared. Pippin ignored him, dashing under the horse to catch at the flailing reins. Gimli leaped after him and caught the tweenager around the waist, pulling him back as the great hooves slashed within inches of Pippin’s face. The horse neighed shrilly and bolted into the night. Bill took a step after it, then trembling, crowded close to those he knew.

"Are you mad, youngling?" Gimli growled, giving the tweenager a shake for good measure. "You could have been killed!"

"The horse, Gimli!" Pippin cried, struggling against the dwarf’s arms. "It might get hurt!"

"It is gone, Pippin," Gimli said more gently, setting the hobbit down. "Now we must -"

A low snarl interrupted his words, a deep rumbling growl emanating from somewhere in the trees. Others echoed it. Pippin stilled, frightened eyes sweeping the darkness. "Gimli?" he whispered, pressing back against the dwarf.

There were shadows under the trees. Shadows that moved with fluid grace, the brush of tails and thick fur soundless against the forest wall. There was just enough moonlight to reflect from many slitted eyes and glint on ivory fangs.

* * * * *

Ahead of them, Merry saw Legolas pause and freeze into stillness, his head tilted. Then the Elf glanced back at them, his fair face tense. Gandalf and Aragorn went to him immediately and soft words were exchanged. Boromir moved closer to them, his hand on his sword and his gaze sweeping the darkness.

"Go," Merry heard Aragorn say. "I will follow." The Elf turned and ran into the forest, Aragorn on his heels.

"What is happening?" Frodo asked tensely.

"Legolas heard something which alarmed him," Gandalf answered. "He and Aragorn have gone to investigate. It is probably nothing."

The wizard’s easy words did not fool Frodo, or Merry. Sam said nothing but he loosened his sword in its scabbard. Boromir had already drawn his, and brought his great shield up into guard position.

"We must travel faster now," Gandalf ordered. "Come!"

* * * * *

Legolas drew his sword and ran into the clearing just as the first wolf broke from the cover of the trees. He had far outdistanced Aragorn, and could not wait for the man. There was no time to wait. "Stop!" he called aloud, willing the forest to hear. "Do not do this!"

Before him, he saw Gimli standing before a great grey wolf, the dwarf’s expression grim but unafraid. The dwarf’s legs were planted like pillars and his great battle-axe raised and ready. Gimli half-turned towards Legolas, confused by the shout, then swung back to face the pack. Pippin stood behind him, the trembling pony’s reins wrapped around his forearm while his hands fumbled to fit a stone to his sling.

Distracted by the sudden arrival of this interloper, the pack-leader paused, freezing into a hunter’s stance. Others slunk behind it, yellow eyes narrowed, growling and snapping at each other. A low sighing moan seemed to pass among the trees and they stirred, though no wind moved through their branches. Several limbs reached down to stroke the animals’ backs.

"Legolas!" cried Pippin, trying to dart past Gimli. He yelped as he was pulled up short, hampered by the pony’s lead. Frozen with terror, Bill stood stiff-legged foam forming on his shaggy coat. An instant later, Gimli’s hand clapped over Pippin’s mouth. The wolves reacted to the anxiety in the tweenager’s voice, ears flattening, muzzles drawing back over deadly, shining teeth.

"Be quiet, Pippin," Gimli said softly.

Mine, the Elf thought at the forest. Daring greatly, he ignored the snarling fangs and sheathed his sword, pressing his hands against the trunks of the two trees nearest him. These will do you no harm. They are my friends. Into his mind came an image of Gimli, or rather a squat, ambiguous figure carrying a great axe, dripping with the blood of trees. Anger pounded through the air. No, Legolas thought, gliding forward to place his hands against the bark of the largest spruce, not a tree-killer. I pledge you the axe is for orcs and evil-doers, not for hewing wood. Listen to me, please…

The wolves slunk along the edges of the clearing, tails low and curled under their bodies. Suddenly bereft of the guiding will that had summoned them, the pack was bewildered and apprehensive. They whined and sniffed the air, the smell of death and an easy meal quickening their hunger. Even better was the scent of fresh meat, four-legged and two-legged, which had not even the sense to run. The pack-leader snarled and Bill reared, whinnying wildly. Pippin was lifted near off his feet, still hanging stubbornly onto the rein. Gimli reached over Pippin’s head and caught the rein, pulling the pony’s head down before the halfling’s arms could be dislocated. The momentary clanging of the pans tied to Bill’s packs disconcerted the pack and the leader drew back, crouching to the ground. Muscles rippled under the furred coat as it gathered itself to leap.

A great tree limb swung down, barring its way. The wolf snarled, slavering, then tried to lunge over the branch. Quick as thought, the branch lashed the animal across its sensitive nose. The wolves felt the command to halt, to wait, laid upon them. The pack-leader shook his head, wanting to ignore the order, but the trees held him.

For long moments, Legolas leaned against the largest tree, forehead pressed against its bark. Then one of its great branches swayed and dipped, brushing gently along the Elf’s injured side and leg. Gimli and Pippin saw Legolas shake his head adamantly, his face pale with concentration. A rustling wove through the tree’s spiny branches. Then Legolas relaxed and stepped away from the trunk. As if a strong wind pushed through its branches, the great tree bowed in obeisance towards the Elf. But there was no wind. Gimli’s hands tightened on the axe, dark eyes nervous, but Pippin looked from tree to tree, a wide grin breaking out on his sharp face.

The wolves whined and raised their heads. Then they obeyed the silent command given them and reluctantly melted back into the shadows. Only the Elf’s ears could track their progress as they turned at the edge of clearing and settled down with little whimpers of eagerness, told to wait to claim their reward until the clearing was empty of all but the dead.

"I knew you could send them away!" Pippin crowed, thrusting Bill’s lead into Gimli’s hands. He ran to the Elf and wrapped his arms about Legolas’ waist to hug him tightly. "Oh, I am sorry! Did I hurt you, Legolas?"

The Elf gently disentangled himself from the hobbit. "No, Pippin. The trees have given of their strength to me, and I am almost healed. How are you?"

"Fine, fine," Pippin said dismissively. "Is Frodo all right? And have you seen Strider and Gandalf? And Merry and Sam? And Boromir?"

"Yes," Legolas responded, rather overwhelmed by the number and speed of the young hobbit’s questions. "All await us further on. Let us go to them."

"Come on, then!" Pippin called over his shoulder, already at the far edge of the clearing. Then he squeaked loudly as he was lifted into the air and into Aragorn’s arms. "Hullo, Strider!" Pippin cried, giving the Ranger a hug. "Where have you been? Did you see the wolves? One growled at us! But Legolas made him go away. Did you know he can talk to trees? Legolas, not the wolf - " Smiling, Aragorn set the hobbit down but Pippin continued to rattle on, holding tight to the Ranger’s hand.

Ignoring them for the moment, Gimli and Legolas looked at each, then the dwarf gestured toward the source of the foul stench. "Bad business, this," Gimli said.

"The forest is still angry," Legolas replied softly. "We must return to the others quickly." Gimli nodded and tugged the pony’s reins, the two following the chattering hobbit and the silent man from the clearing. Legolas glanced back over his shoulder, his elven eyes just able to discern the flashes of black and grey that marked the pack rising to its feet. Behind them, the wolves moved eagerly to their promised feast.

* * * * *

The hobbits, led by Gandalf and followed by Boromir, listened intently as they hurried after the Elf and the Ranger. But their efforts to hear were negated by a loud gurgle from Sam’s stomach. "Sorry! Sorry, sirs!" whispered the mortified gardener.

Merry’s stomach took up the duet. Gandalf turned around to glower at him but Merry could only shrug helplessly. "Do you think Pippin might have left us any of those mushrooms?" he whispered to Frodo.

"It would serve you right if I did not!" broke in a light voice, shaking slightly with excitement. Pippin emerged from the dark shadows between the trees, fair quivering with accomplishment. Aragorn followed and Legolas came next, amusement sparkling in his starry eyes. He had heardthe tread of boots and the gurgles and whispers from afar and exchanged a grin with the tweenager as Pippin released Aragorn’s hand and crept ahead of them, silent-footed and intent. Aragorn and Gimli looked surprised, but Legolas reassured them with a smile and a graceful wave of his hand. Pippin had so wanted to surprise his elders. "My lazy cousins and friends run off and leave poor Gimli and I all alone -"

"With all the food and blankets and cooking gear!" Frodo said, rushing to embrace his little cousin. Pippin flung himself into his arms and buried his head against his chest for a moment. "Where is Gimli?" Frodo asked, dropping a kiss on his young cousin’s head.

"Bringing Bill," Pippin returned breathlessly. "I heard you before he did. He’ll be here in a moment." Pippin puffed up his thin chest. "I could never have snuck up on you if he were along. He rattles and clinks with every step."

"I seem to recall telling you to all stay together, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, summoning as severe an expression as he was able when faced with a beaming, jubilant tweenager. Legolas looked away, smiling, when the wizard glared at him.

"Well, I don’t remember you saying that," Pippin replied shamelessly, grinning up at him. "Leave off, Frodo, I’m all right." This to his cousin, who was running his hands through Pippin’s matted hair with an anxious expression. "Ah, here’s Gimli - with Bill! And our food and blankets and cooking gear."

Merry laughed, then rubbed his face wearily as Gimli appeared, the tired pony trailing behind him. "Well, we are all together again."

"Good!" Pippin proclaimed. "May we stop and rest now? I’m hungry!"

"We haven’t eaten either," Merry informed him. "Well, not really," he said in defense to Gandalf’s raised eyebrow. "Nasty dried-out meat, crusts and a bite of cheese and mushroom and a few apples aren’t food. I’m about to drop from starvation."

"As good a place as any," Aragorn said, looking about them.

Sam patted Bill’s nose then reached up to open the panniers and untie his favorite pan. "Oi! Where are all the mushrooms?"

* * * * *

When Gimli sat himself by Legolas’ side after they had eaten, the Elf accepted it with resignation and prepared himself to be clumsily teased about falling out of the tree. Surely this was too great an opportunity for the dwarf to let pass. Determined to bear it with grace, Legolas gave the dwarf a cordial nod as Gimli dropped to the earth with a grunt.

"That was well done," Gimli commented gruffly.

Legolas looked at him in surprise. Gimli glanced at him out of the corner of his eye then jerked his head towards the hobbits. "Keeping the Ring-bearer safe."

"We kept each other safe," Legolas replied after a moment’s consideration. Surely the dwarf was about to comment on his mishap?

"It was well done," Gimli repeated. "Bravely done. Are you certain you are recovered?"

Legolas nodded. "I will take your turn at watch," Gimli declared without discussion. When Legolas would have protested, the dwarf’s voice softened. "I am honored to travel in your company, Master Elf. Permit me to show my regard by this small favor." Legolas watched in amazement as the stumpy figure rose and went to assist the hobbits in clearing a sleeping space for their bedrolls.

Later, as Gimli took the watch, Aragorn sank down by Legolas’ side before rolling himself in his blankets. "Are you certain you are well, my friend?" the Ranger asked, his voice no more than a breath.

"Estel," Legolas whispered back, music in his soft voice, "I am an Elf. I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary. Already my wounds close. In a day or two I will be completely myself."

Aragorn grinned at him, both for the use of his childhood name and the slight condescension in the Elf’s tone. "That is a relief. I could not possibly hunt enough to feed those hungry hobbits by myself."

Legolas laughed, then sobered as he looked over at the sleeping halflings. "I remember what you told me, that day we escorted Frodo about Imladris as he recovered from his wound. You were right."

Aragorn followed the Elf’s gaze then looked back at him, arching an eyebrow in silent question.

Legolas nodded. "When we were captive, never for a moment did the Ring-bearer succumb to despair or show cowardice. If any could achieve the goal of this Fellowship, it will be Frodo." The luminescent eyes traveled over the sleeping hobbits, Frodo and Pippin bracketed as always by Sam and Merry. Sam slept with one hand wrapped in Frodo’s cloak and Pippin had managed to loop one of his legs over his cousin’s, effectively pinning Frodo in place. "You said I would grow fond of him, of all of them. I learned today that I have grown even more fond of them than I knew."

"I think they are fortunate to have you in our Company," Aragorn said softly.

Legolas smiled at his friend, the stars reflecting in his eyes. "Go to your rest. At least we may travel by day tomorrow, hidden by the trees as we return to our road. Your mortal eyes will need the extra light."

"Insufferable Elf," Aragorn said.

"Arrogant Man," Legolas returned easily. Aragorn reached out and gently squeezed the Elf’s shoulder, and Legolas laid his hand over the Ranger’s for a moment. "Rest well, my friend," the Elf said quietly. "The trees will shelter us from unfriendly eyes." Aragorn nodded and went to his bedroll. Around them, the trees kept silent guard.

The End