Author:  lwarren
 
Summary:  Nothing worth having ever comes easily, as the Prince of Lasgalen discovers...oh, and there is THAT problem with the sea, too, amongst other minor irritations.
 
 
Disclaimer:  Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I do not own them (wish I did!), and make no profit from this story except the joy I gained in writing it.
 
Acknowledgments:  Teanna, for allowing me to reference THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS.
 
*Hopefully, all characters' thoughts are in italics.

 
 
Chapter 6:  Lingering Shadow
 
 
     The next few days could not have gotten any worse.
 
     The third evening slipped into the darkness of full night and Legolas once again sat in front of the small fire located close to the Rhawiath.   He gazed into the flames, seeking answers and finding none.  He felt the heat from the flames, but not the warmth.  In the enclosure a hundred or so feet away he could still hear the restless pacing of the mare inside, a perfect compliment to the restless discontent in his heart. 
 
     Perhaps those missing orcs will attack...or maybe a roving band of thieves and murderers...that would make everything just...about...perfect!  The elf punctuated each bitter thought with a small piece of wood thrown savagely into the fire before him.
 
     He shook his head slightly.  Three days had passed...three days and the mare showed no sign of responding to his patient attentions.  He frowned at the fire.   He could not afford to give into impatience, for she would certainly sense it.  He shivered, for beyond his frustration he could hear the haunting melody of the sea and the beckoning song of Valinor once more.  It had been quiet for the past weeks and he had slipped into complacency, thinking he was free of it for a time. 
 
     Too soon...it is too soon for another attack.
 
     Legolas closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on remembering the past days, recalling each event detail by detail in an effort to once more silence the song. 
 
     Eomer and Ranalf chose well when they picked those four colts.  They are swift and intelligent...the blood of the Mearas runs strong in their veins.
 
      He pictured each of the four horses in his mind; the dark gray in particular had been wondrous indeed.  Had his heart not been set on gold, he might have been tempted by the smoky dark strength of that one.  He shook his head, redirecting his thoughts.  He could scarcely attain peace of mind through regrets. 
 
     He saw himself once more in the Rhawiath with the mare, shadowing her nervous pacing move for move.  He heard himself whispering and singing to her to calm her fears. 
 
     Easy, mir nin...be easy...you will come to no harm here...sedho...
 
     He saw her ears come forward for the first time, acknowledging she heard and found comfort in his voice. 
 
     Sedho...be at peace, my lady...
 
     He saw her wheel away from him to begin circling and pivoting again and felt the disappointment as keenly as he had then.  He saw himself crouched before her, motionless for hours as he listened...trying to discern her thoughts...trying to reassure her...all for naught.  He saw her remain apart from him, showing no interest at all. 
 
     Finally, that very morning his disquiet had sent him to Arod.  He took the silver white horse from his place with the rest of the company's horses and led him away from camp.  They walked for a long way in total silence before Arod had broached the subject of the mare. 
 
     You are troubled.  The big horse paced slowly by his side, a familiar and reassuring presence. 
 
     She will not have me, Arod.  She refuses all my efforts to reach her.
 
     You are certain of this?  Perhaps she is only upset by her confinement.  The rest of her herd is gone...she is alone...it may take time for you to get past her fear...for her to reach out for you.
 
      "I hope you are right, my friend," Legolas had said softly, "for I am not sure I can bring myself to choose another."
 
      Take me to her.  You said you wanted my help in choosing...let me see if she is worthy of you...Legolas had had to smile at Arod then; he knew the horse felt rather insulted on his behalf.  He had brought Arod to the enclosure early that afternoon.  The dappled white horse had watched her for long moments.
 
     She is fierce and swift.
 
     "Yes, she is, Arod," Legolas had acknowledged. 
 
     Arod had left his side and approached the corral, looking over the top of the fence and nickering softly, but the mare ignored him as well.  Legolas joined him after a time and for long moments elf and horse had remained silent, watching the mare trot back and forth, back and forth, stopping only to paw at the ground before beginning the cycle of movement all over again.
 
     Arod had turned his finely sculpted head towards Legolas then and rubbed his muzzle comfortingly against the elf's shoulder.
 
     She values her freedom...it is a fire in her...I am sorry...she may never really hear you.
 
     Legolas' shoulders had sagged slightly then.  I know, Arod nin.  She reminds me of another like her...strong and proud, with a heart that ran before the wind and refused to be tamed.
 
     Turning to Arod, he had laid a hand on the horse's warm neck and led him back to the others where he spent a long time grooming Arod's dappled coat to a polished sheen and meticulously cleaning and examining each hoof.  Arod had remained quiet, knowing that the familiar chore was calming and what Legolas really needed at that moment was to be with him.  Legolas had completed his care and bid Arod a subdued goodnight before returning to his fire.
 
     Now here he sat, brooding.  Legolas sighed and pitched another small piece of wood into the fire, his eyes following the sparks as they rose up and took flight, looking like glowing insects swept before a gentle wind...like a golden mare's spirit that longed to flee before that same wind to wander the plains.  At least through his concentrated efforts the song within him had quieted for the time being, thank the Valar.
 
     He heard someone approaching from the main camp and recognized Strider's steps immediately.  The man crouched down beside his friend, noting the shadowed eyes and resigned expression.
 
     "She still resists?" he asked quietly.
 
     Legolas tossed another piece of wood on the fire and marked the flight of the glowing sparks once more with thoughtful gray eyes.  "Still," he replied.
 
     "Eomer says that you may have your choice of any of the four colts they kept," Strider said, easing down to sit beside the silent elf.  "He said you thought that dark gray showed tremendous promise."
 
     Legolas nodded.  "The gray is a very fine horse...swift and lively.  Eomer is very generous."  Another piece of wood scattered more sparks; elven and human eyes tracked their path into the midnight sky.
 
     Strider spoke again, choosing his words carefully, "Perhaps this one is not meant for you, mellon nin."
 
     "Perhaps," Legolas agreed, "but I shall try once more before I release her."
 
     "But, Legolas..."
 
     Legolas raised troubled blue-gray eyes and studied his friend.
 
     "When I was still a very young elfling, Estel, I learned a rather difficult lesson about horses."   A trace of a sad smile softened the Prince's face.
 
     "In my impatience to possess one of my own, I embarrassed myself before everyone.  I was so mortified I went and sulked in a tree for the rest of the day!"  He turned to look at Strider, his eyes openly smiling now at the memory of that small, indignant younger self.
 
     Strider laughed softly.  "You?  Sulk?  Why, Legolas, I cannot believe you would do such a thing!" 
 
     The elf laughed with him and then looked down at his strong, slender hands.  After a moment of thought, he raised his eyes to look at Strider once more.
 
     "My father found me.  He told me I should never demand that a horse give me its friendship and trust.  He told me before a horse would gift me with its strength and heart, I must first learn to LISTEN."  Legolas paused, picking up another stick and drawing aimlessly in the dirt before the fire.  Strider waited quietly for him to continue.
 
     "A few months later, I was called upon to put his words to the test."
 
     "A group of elves from Lasgalen joined some men who lived between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains; the Eotheod they called themselves then.  We met from time to time to replenish our herds together.  One day during the hunt they brought in a magnificent stallion the color of the sun.  I was determined to have him.  He, too, did not respond...much as the mare does now.  I finally LISTENED...and do you know what he asked me, Estel?"
 
     "He asked me who I thought I was to capture him so.  Was I a great King of my people?"
 
     Legolas looked at Strider and grimaced.  "He showed me his battle scars, earned protecting his herd, and basically told me to come see him when I had grown some wisdom!  I let him go...and in freeing him, earned his respect.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do...at least, until now." 
 
     The mare made a sudden racket within the fence and both turned their heads, just able to see her pale, gleaming form through the shadows.
 
     "She is so like that other one," Legolas whispered, his voice strained.
 
     "Perhaps we should look at another herd," Strider suggested.  "Gerrith says there are several more in this area and Ranalf was saying..." 
 
     His voice trailed away as Legolas turned his head and speared his friend with a suddenly hard cold gaze, his remarkable gray eyes glittering like shards of silver and ice.  The elf surged to his feet, looking down on the man.
 
     "I will decide when or if that becomes necessary," he snapped in an abrupt, harsh voice and walked away into the darkness.
 
     Strider jumped up, but a small voice inside whispered to leave Legolas alone for a time.  He stood for long minutes staring into the night, willing the elf to come back
 
     Let me help, my friend.  He waited by the fire for a while, but Legolas never returned.
 
     At last, he walked back to the main camp; head bowed, lost in thought, he almost ran over Gimli.  His strong hands grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders to steady him and he murmured a quick, absent-minded apology before he started to walk on to his tent.
 
     "Wait just one moment, laddie," Gimli's gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.  He turned back to face the dwarf, who stood looking up at him with a considering look on his face.  "What...or should I ask who...has put you into such a study you cannot see where you are going?"
 
     He watched a series of emotions flit across Strider's face and said, "I know of only one who could cause you to feel worry, anger, impatience and fear all at the same time.  Where is that pointy-eared princeling anyway?"
 
     Strider motioned Gimli to follow him to his tent.  They sat before the entrance and he looked at the dwarf, who patiently waited for him to reveal the problem.  Honestly, the dwarf's solid, no-nonsense presence was actually comforting sometimes!  He reached over and clapped Gimli on the shoulder.  "Thank you, Gimli," he said gruffly.
 
     "For what?" the confused dwarf returned.  He eyed the man suspiciously.  "Do not think to distract me, Strider.  Where is the elf?"
 
     "Thank you for being someone I can always count on, Gimli," Strider said.  "As for Legolas, I do not know where he went."  Gimli sat up straighter, alarm flaring in his dark eyes.
 
     "Something is wrong, Gimli...I can feel it.  He seems troubled and it is not just the mare causing his unrest.  I fear it may be the sea-longing and if that is the case, I have no idea what to do for him."
 
     He and Gimli looked at each other for long moments, their concern for their friend shadowing their faces.  "It is too soon," Strider said, his voice low. 
 
     "Aye.  Well, then lad, what do we do?" the dwarf asked, his need for action reflected in the impatient expression on his face. 
 
     "We have only one course available to us right now, Gimli," Strider replied.  "We wait."
 
     Gimli looked as if to argue, but thought better of it.  Giving Strider a nod, the two sat back to wait for the dawn or the return of their friend, whichever came first.
 
~~~~~*~~~~~
 
 
     Hidden deep within the shadows of the nearby trees, Legolas watched Strider walk back to the main camp.  He was trembling slightly, his earlier, hard-won calm almost destroyed by the sudden gust of anger that had flared when Strider had suggested he choose another horse.  He was not ready to quit trying yet!   When the man finally disappeared among the tents, he stepped out and made his way back to the corral.
 
     Slipping inside, he approached the mare once more, singing softly to calm her and himself.  She had become accustomed to his presence in the past days, and her restless pacing back and forth ceased as she stood quietly, watching him come towards her.  Delicate ears pricked forward, listening to the song.  She snorted, lowering her head and pawing the loose dirt with a front foreleg, but was otherwise still. 
 
     Legolas sank to the ground a few yards away, silent.  If it was to happen, it must be now. 
 
     Lady, hear me.  I mean you no harm.  You are safe here.
 
     After a time, he sat quietly, watching her...listening with his mind and his heart.  Minutes passed and became an hour and still she shut him out.
 
     Legolas raised his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and buried his face.  Disappointment and the sea threatened to swamp him.  He had tried and failed.  He really had no choice but to release her.  He would not keep her here against her will.
 
     You also long for something.
 
     His head snapped up at the gentle mind voice and he looked at the mare, eyes wide with surprise.
 
     Yes, lady, I do, but I cannot have it...at least not for many years.
 
     I long to run free again...to go where I will.  The mare shook her pale mane and snorted softly.  Will you give that to me?  Legolas gazed at her for long moments, his heart heavy.  What a question!  Could he?
 
     Aye, my lady, I will.
 
     He climbed to his feet slowly, and moved towards the gate.  Once opened, he stood to one side, inviting her to leave.  The mare walked to the opening and paused.  She placed her soft muzzle against the elf's neck, snuffling, learning his scent.  Legolas stood very still, allowing her that freedom.
 
     You are strange, not like the others...and kind.  It is possible we will meet again.
 
     "I hope so, my lady," Legolas whispered.
 
     She threw up her head then and trotted through the gateway.  Turning to avoid the men's camp, she moved slowly away.  When she had reached a safe distance, Legolas saw her turn once more to look at him before she disappeared into the night.
 
     He watched her go and let out the breath he had been holding.  He lifted his face to the stars, finding some comfort in their soft light.  There would be no other horse for him, he decided.
 
     For I cannot bear these partings...I will choose a different mount every time and avoid any further attachments to those I will only lose.
 
     Legolas took a deep breath.   It was becoming clear that strong emotions weakened him, making him more susceptible to the attacks of sea-longing.  Had not the strongest attack he had ever experienced come after Arod's injury, when he had finally begun to face the mortality of his friends, even the horse?
 
     This one is yet again different...I had no warning before...now I can feel it coming upon me...
 
     The song of the sea swelled more strongly, loosening his tenuous grip on reality bit by little bit.  It was only a matter of time now.  His jaw clenched and he stood, rigid with tension and growing distress.  He could not bear the thought of the others seeing him incapacitated like before. 
 
     The concerned, questioning whisper of the forest caught his attention.  Perhaps the trees would offer the solitude and solace he needed until this passed.  Yes, the trees would not judge him or wonder at his weakness.
 
     He returned to the fire, which he quickly banked, then drew on his quiver and knives.  Taking up his bow, he turned towards the woods and walked blindly away from the camp.  He did not stop to consider the wisdom of leaving without telling the others.  He did not know where he was going, nor did he care.   All he could think of was finding a hiding place where he might wait alone until he recovered from the effects of the sea.
 
     As Legolas made his way through the night-shrouded trees, other eyes also noted his passage.  The sheer numbers in the party of men had kept him at bay, but this one, separated from the larger group, walked alone.  That changed things considerably.  Slowly and silently, the watcher withdrew to take his news to his companions.
 
     Legolas had been walking aimlessly for almost an hour when he sensed a difference in the trees.  Their song changed, became agitated and fearful.  Something evil approached, they warned...something that meant him harm.  He leapt into the nearest oak, hiding in the thick foliage.
 
     Before long, he heard the heavy movement of something or someone moving through the underbrush.  Then, the smell reached him.  Orcs!  Eru, the stench alone identified them!
 
     These, then, were the "rumors" he had been chasing seven months ago when Arod had injured his leg.  Or perhaps, they were a new group just now making their presence known on this side of the Entwash.  Whatever they were, they were a danger he must deal with before they attacked his friends or one of the settlements. 
 
     Legolas considered his options.  Returning for help was out of the question now; he had traveled too far into the woods to just slip past them, even if he stayed in the trees.  If they sensed his presence they might follow him right back to the unsuspecting camp.
 
     His best chance lay in observation.  He would see how large the group was and where they were going.  Then he would return to the camp for reinforcements and lead Eomer and Strider to destroy their foul nest.  However, if they discovered him...
 
     Here is an enemy I can see...and defeat.
 
     He smiled grimly, allowing the rage honed by numerous battles against Shadow to cleanse his mind of the sea's lethargy, burning away the weary longing with the hot flames of anger.  Calling upon the skills learned over centuries of fighting darkness, he waited patiently for the orcs to show themselves.  He silently drew an arrow from his quiver.  A single orc appeared, sneaking out from the brush, searching.
 
     For me...It will be his last search.
 
     Another appeared, and another, and another until the small clearing was crawling with fifteen of the foul creatures.
 
     So many...He noted the heavy bows the orcs favored carried by about half of the group. 
 
     I had forgotten the sound of evil...Mithrandir warned that it would always be with us...we will have to send out patrols to search out their hiding places before they become too numerous...   Strong, deadly hands tightened on the elegant bow of Lorien as he listened to the enemy snarling and snapping at each other below.
 
     "Where is it, Gurlash?  You said it walked under these trees," one of the orcs, obviously the leader, growled at another.
 
     So they know of my presence...they are tracking me...or trying to! 
 
     "It did," the other slightly smaller orc hissed.  "But it's a tree rat...maybe it's in the trees now."
 
     The leader snarled at several of the warriors, including Gurlash, to start a search.  Knowing they counted on his movement to reveal his location once the search began and realizing he had no other choice, Legolas stood, targeting two of the dark creatures below him.
 
     Notching the arrow and drawing back, Legolas loosed it into the neck of the one called Gurlash.  Thick gouts of black blood spurted and his bow continued to sing its song of death as he killed the second orc below his tree.  He quickly picked out and began firing on the most dangerous members of the group, the archers.  Before the others realized what had felled the two scouts, he had dropped four more.  The outcry came immediately.  With growls of rage and warning, orc arrows started flying wildly, forcing Legolas to move.  Leaping silently from tree to tree, keeping slightly ahead of the creatures, he drew them on, deeper into the woods.
 
     Twelve of the fifteen lay dead by the time he loosed the last of his arrows.  Dropping gracefully to the ground, drawing his knives as he jumped, he landed lightly and engaged the first enraged orc.  Slashing and pivoting, he gutted the creature quickly and turned to the next one rushing to the aid of its companion.  He made a quick end to its life, not realizing that the last surviving one had stepped back to admit five additional creatures that had materialized from the concealing undergrowth.  The six formed a loose circle, now content in surrounding the elf instead of attacking. 
 
     As Legolas turned seeking the last of the enemy, his startled eyes took in the increased numbers around him.   Choosing a smaller orc to charge, he made a dashing, running attempt to gain the safety of the trees.  One sweeping stroke of a knife dispatched the small one and he gave a great leap for the lower branches of the nearest tree.  Those branches stretched towards him, reaching, the voice of the tree urging him on, when something struck him in the back high on the shoulder, and a searing pain blasted through him.  The force of the impact knocked him to the side and he missed the branch, crashing to the ground.  Rolling quickly to his knees, shaking his head to clear it of the fog caused by the force of his landing, he struggled to rise.
 
     Blackness swam at the edge of his vision and he sensed rather than saw something nearing him.  With one last, gasping swing he managed to disembowel the approaching orc, but not before the creature's first clumsy thrust of its weapon sliced up under his guard and opened a five-inch gash in his side.  His failing senses registered the fiery pain, the sudden outpouring of blood and the heavy blow landing on the side of his head before his vision failed, and he knew no more. 
 
~~~~~*~~~~~
 
     Several hours crawled by and Strider and Gimli marked each second of every minute.  Neither slept and finally, by unspoken agreement, they rose and headed for the Rhawaith and Legolas.
 
     As they approached, Strider could see that the elf was not in his usual place before the fire.  He frowned.  "He is not here," he murmured.
 
     "The fire has been banked," Gimli noted, his eyes searching the area.
 
     Strider's gray eyes swept the neat campsite and he exclaimed, "His quiver and knives are gone!  The bow also!"
 
     The two ran on to the corral and found it empty.  "Do you suppose that wild horse finally let him on her?" Gimli asked.  He looked at Strider, who had knelt before the gate and was examining the ground for any evidence of Legolas.
 
     The man's worried eyes lifted and locked on the dwarf.  "I cannot tell for certain, Gimli.  It is too dark to see and Legolas goes over the ground too lightly."
 
     He stood and seemed to come to a decision almost immediately.  "Quickly, my friend, go back to the camp and rouse the others.  Tell them to arm themselves and bring torches."
 
     Gimli had turned to leave when Strider added, "And send Aravir to me at once." 
 
     The dwarf sprinted for the camp, his deep voice bellowing the alarm before he ever reached it.  Strider stepped carefully away from the Rhawiath, afraid his heedless steps had already destroyed the tracks he sought and waited for the others to join him.
 
     It seemed only minutes had passed before Aravir appeared silently at Strider's side. 
 
     "What has happened, hir nin?" he asked quietly.
 
     "The mare is gone and Legolas is nowhere to be found," Strider replied.  "I spoke with him several hours ago and he was troubled, Aravir...sad at first and then suddenly angry."
 
     Aravir frowned.  His heart sank as he considered what might have caused Legolas to rage at the friend whom he counted closer than a brother.  Well he knew the price the sea-longing exacted from the normally calm and composed Prince.
 
     "I fear it is the sea-longing, my lord," he said softly.
 
     Strider turned to look at him, aware that his thoughts had traveled the same path as the elf's, had he chosen to recognize it. 
 
     "But Aravir, it is so soon after that last attack...only a matter of weeks," he protested.
 
     "I cannot say I understand these attacks, my lord," Aravir said sadly.  "But in Ithilien it seemed his entire personality changed before they came.  It does sound as if another has begun."
 
     The man and elf stood silently, each lost in his own thoughts until they heard the sound of many running feet and raised voices.  Gimli had returned with the requested reinforcements.
 
     Strider and Aravir quickly moved to stop them before they destroyed any further evidence.  The large group listened with growing concern as Strider related what he knew so far of Legolas' disappearance.
 
     "Tell us what to do, Strider," Eomer said. 
 
     Strider quickly positioned the men around the camp and near the Rhawiath, instructing them to hold their torches so that if any prints existed, they might become visible.  Then he began a careful, methodical examination of the ground between the fire and the corral.  Aravir accompanied him, his sharp elven eyes and training as a Mirkwood scout making him a welcome partner in this search. 
 
     Aravir found the first sign.
 
     "He went into the Rhawiath and sat here for a time, it seems," Aravir said, his hands delicately marking the faint impression in the soft soil.
 
     "Then he rose..." the elf stood, his eyes scanning the corral between him and the gate, and finally lighting on one very faint footprint by the entrance.  Keen eyes noted the fresh drag marks where the gate had been pulled aside.
 
     "...and came to the gate and opened it.  He stood here."  Aravir positioned himself beside the gate.
 
     Strider, who had stood to one side while Aravir traced Legolas' path within the corral, noted the horse's prints leading to the gate...the pause before the place Legolas had stood...and the continued path through the gate and out of the corral.
 
     "He must have tried one last time to reach her," he breathed, his brow creased with distress, "and failed.  Look, Aravir, her tracks lead to the gate where she paused, and then left the Rhawiath.  He released her, as he said he would." 
 
     Strider walked through the gate, following the prints.  "She went south, away from the camp."  Sharp eyes followed the tracks until darkness swallowed them. 
 
     "Ranalf!" he called.  The stable master came quickly to his side, his eyes questioning.  "Take a few men and follow the mare's tracks...see where she went after she left the corral.  I do not think Legolas followed her, but I would know where she went regardless."
 
     Ranalf nodded and motioned to two of the skilled trackers he was acquainted with to go with him.  Torches held high, the three began following the mare's path away from the camp.
 
     Strider then turned his eyes back to Aravir.  "Come, my friend, let us see where he went after she left."
 
     The elf and man knelt by the gate, sharp eyes and sensitive fingers searching the ground for any sign of a footprint left by a light-footed elf.  Aravir found the first a few feet from the gate, on a line headed for the fire.
 
     "He returned to the fire, I think," he said, and they began retracing the path back to the campsite, finding one additional faint impression in the dirt.  Strider stood beside the fire, looking at the rumpled blanket and abandoned pack.
 
     "He probably returned for his weapons.  Why, in Elbereth's name, would he disappear if an attack seemed imminent?  He knows what they do to him..."
 
     Aravir interrupted, "Your pardon, my lord, but that is probably why he left.  After almost fifteen years of working with him I know of his pride, and I am certain you are very aware of it.  Think you he would stay and let us see him brought low by an attack?"
 
     Strider looked at him in dawning fear.  "B..but Aravir, he spoke of them openly to Gimli and me, just before we left the camp at Edoras.  He knew we understood..."
 
     Strider stopped and after a moment, said softly to himself, "Ai, Legolas, could you not trust me?"  His hands clenched to fists and he fought both the uneasiness and the irritation that Legolas' disappearance caused.
 
     Taking a deep breath and asking Elbereth for patience, Strider finally looked at the dark-haired elf and asked, "Now, where would he go, Aravir?"
 
     Aravir stood silently for a time, remembering past attacks and his Prince's need for solitude.  His green eyes flew to the nearby trees.  Strider followed his gaze and sucked in a quick breath.
 
     "Of course...the woods."
 
     By unspoken consent, the two trackers bent their eyes to the ground and began to cast about for a trail.
 
     "Ahhhh - here," Strider's low exclamation carried a wealth of relief as he located one faint partial print leading into the forest.  Aravir joined him and they stared at the dark trees.
 
     "How will we ever follow his path in the dark, Aravir?" Strider questioned.
 
     Aravir studied him, a somewhat surprised look on his face.  "We will ask the trees for their help," he replied, as if answering a slightly backwards child.  He promptly scaled the nearest one, leaving the King looking after him, bemused understanding in his eyes.
 
     Gimli and Eomer joined him, the rest of the men and Elfwine trailing quietly behind them.  "Elves!" snorted Gimli, in disgust.  "Show them stars and they will sing to them, give them a tree and they will climb it...or talk to it."
 
     The men standing around him chuckled at his comment and Strider placed a comforting hand of the dwarf's tense shoulder.  They waited.
 
     Minutes passed and accumulated.  Then, as the tension building within the group threatened to explode, Ranalf and the two trackers returned, jogging up to Strider to report their findings.
 
     "The mare trotted south for a time, my lord, but then suddenly turned and entered the woods almost a league from here."  Strider looked at Ranalf sharply.
 
     "You are sure?" he asked.
 
     "Yes, my lord, although I can hardly fathom why," Ranalf answered, while the other two nodded in agreement.  "It hardly makes sense, when her first instinct would lead her to return to the herd."
 
     Strider thanked him, then set about explaining what they had found and why they were presently waiting at the forest's edge.  Many more long minutes passed before Aravir dropped from the tree to stand before Strider, his breathing rapid from the speed of his exertions and his fair face alarmed.
 
     "He did indeed enter here, my lord," he said, "and his path leads deep into the forest.  My lord, the trees are unsettled and upset.  I cannot quite understand what has disturbed them so, but I sense a great danger in their song."
 
     The crowd of men behind Strider began murmuring in concern as Strider frowned at this announcement.  "Can we follow him, Aravir?"
 
     "Yes, my lord, the way is actually easy to discern.  The trees have marked his passing well, " Aravir replied, motioning the group to follow him. 
 
     Strider looked at Eomer and his men.  "Aside from the fact that we must hurry, I am afraid we must continue on foot.  With or without the trees' help, we must be certain that we do not miss anything." 
 
     Eomer nodded and other men murmured their agreement.  While some appeared faintly alarmed at the prospect of a search without their mounts, all trusted the leadership of these two kings implicitly.
 
     Eomer's eyes swept the group, lighting on the figure of his son who had desperately tried to blend into the group near the back.  His handsome face grim, he called the youngster to him.
 
     "But, Father..." the boy began before he even reached his father's side.  "Legolas needs us!"
 
     "Yes, he does, my son," his father agreed, crouching beside the boy so their eyes were level.  He looked at his son, his dark eyes serious.  "He needs men who will not be concerned for the safety of one small and as yet, untrained."  He raised a hand to still his son's ready protest.
 
     "I know you are worried about Legolas," he said, "and I will send for you as soon as we find him and I know that it is safe.  You cannot help this time, my son.  But I promise you, we will begin some sort of weapons training once we reach home.  Will you return to camp and await word from me there?" 
 
     Elfwine agreed reluctantly, saying,  "Yes, of course, only hurry, Father.  Find him before something bad happens!"
 
     His father reached out and hugged the boy fiercely for an instant, then rose, calling one of his personal guard whom he knew Elfwine considered a friend, to him.  "Eodreth, take him back to camp and keep him safe.  Perhaps he could curry Storm or help with the other horses."  The soldier nodded and motioning to Elfwine, the two walked back to camp to wait.
 
     Eomer turned to his men.  "Stay alert."  He motioned to those members of his guard to fan out slightly in order to cover a greater area.  Then, he turned and followed Strider into the looming trees.
 
     The group moved quickly, led by the wood-elf who remained in close communication with the trees surrounding them.  They had traveled several leagues when Aravir stopped them.
 
     "The trees are very agitated now, Strider," Aravir whispered, his face troubled.  "They speak of blood, and death."
 
     He had notched an arrow long ago, and now Strider and Eomer drew their swords while Gimli hefted his ax.  The others behind took note and drew their own weapons, scanning the darkened trees with growing trepidation.  It was not five minutes later they stumbled over the first body.
 
     "Orcs!" Eomer gasped and the voices of the men behind him rose in dismay.  He turned on them instantly and his whisper thundered.
 
     "SILENCE!"
 
     The group fell quiet instantly.  Their King glared at them for another instant, then turned back to Strider.  He and Aravir were examining the orc's body and Aravir had pulled the arrow from its throat.
 
     Looking closely at the fletching, he spoke one word in a terse voice, "Legolas." 
 
     Strider motioned the others to follow and he and Aravir continued to lead the group, the pace quickening as fear lent speed to their feet.  They did not need the trees' counsel now...they merely followed the trail of dead orcs.
 
     Strider had counted fourteen when Aravir gave a cry of dismay and sank to his knees.  Strider and Gimli rushed to his side.
 
     The light from the torches wavered and flickered eerily over the kneeling figure before them, the object in his hand gleaming brightly.  Strider recognized what Aravir held, the sight ripping a groan from his very heart.  "No!"
 
     He dropped beside Aravir and they looked helplessly at the white, bone-handled long knife Aravir held in his hands.  Eomer found its mate a few feet away along with the Lorien bow.
 
     But it was Strider's questing eyes that saw the dark streaks on the grass nearby.  Crawling over to them, his torch held high, he brushed his hand across the blades.  They came away streaked with red.
 
     "Blood," he sighed, and turned tormented eyes back to Aravir. "Elven blood.  They have him, Aravir."
 
     His voice broke.  "They have Legolas."
 
     He felt a strong hand clasp his arm and tug him up to his feet with inexorable strength.  "Not for long, lad," a gruff, implacable voice said and he looked down into the dark eyes of an enraged dwarf.
 
     "Come, Strider...Aravir...if we hurry, we will catch them.  Aravir, ask those trees of yours which way they went."
 
     Before Aravir could leap into a nearby tree, though, he paused, his head cocked in an attitude of careful listening.  He placed a restraining hand on Gimli's shoulder and whispered, "Wait!  Listen!  Something is coming!"  They could all hear the crashing of something rather large moving quickly through the thick underbrush.
 
     At that moment, the last thing they ever expected to see broke through the tangled brush.  The golden mare burst into the small clearing where they waited and came to a swift, sudden stop before them.  She stood before them, shaking her moonlight pale mane and pawing the ground in obvious agitation.  Her golden coat shone with dark patches of perspiration, her eyes wide with fright.
 
     "She came back," Strider said, his voice low and filled with wonder.
 
     The mare gave a low whinny of distress and paced away from them.  She stopped and looked back... then turned and trotted towards them again.  She stopped, rearing slightly, and then turned away again.  Always in the same direction...always along the same path.
 
     "She wants us to follow," Aravir breathed.  "She knows where Legolas is, my lord."
 
     "How can we be sure?" Strider asked.
 
     "Consider your friend, my lord, and the relationship he enjoys with Arod.  You know how animals react to him.  Why else would she be here?"  Aravir asked, his eyes on Strider's face.  "We must follow her, and quickly!"
 
     Ranalf came forward and stated firmly, "I believe he is right, my lord.  This is an extremely intelligent animal.  I know she left, but perhaps she sensed the danger and followed Legolas.  It would explain why her trail veered into the forest.  She probably scented the orcs and knew that Legolas was walking into danger.  She may not have wanted to stay with him, but I had watched him while he worked with her.  She was not afraid of him...she seemed to sense his kindness."
 
     Strider finally nodded.  "All right, we will follow her.  Stay back, though.  I would not want her frightened in any way."
 
     While they had talked, Aravir had approached the mare cautiously, singing to her softly.  She stood still, listening to the song, her graceful ears pricked to attention.
 
     Strider walked up beside Aravir, watched her carefully for a moment.  "Can you hear her?" he asked the elf. 
 
     Aravir shook his head regretfully.  "No, she is closed to me, my lord."  
 
     Then, Strider called softly, " Lead on, my lady.  We will follow...only please, take us to our friend." 
 
     Whatever the mare heard in his voice, she seemed to approve as she shook her mane and turned away, leading them through the forest.  They had followed her for almost an hour when Strider noticed that the inky blackness of night had faded to pale gray and a fine mist lay on the ground, its ghostly tendrils curling around the trees like fingers.  He shivered.
 
     Dawn, and still no sign of Legolas.  He knew if the orcs went to ground to escape the sun's light they might never find them.  He gritted his teeth, banishing the panic that threatened to overwhelm him and pressed on.
 
     Suddenly the mare stopped and refused to go any further.  Aravir slipped around her and disappeared up a nearby tree.  In only a few minutes, he returned, his face tight with both exultation and pain. 
 
     "I have found them," he said softly.  "The forest ends and they have made a rough camp in some rocks up ahead.  Legolas is with them...he lives...but his wounds look serious."       
 
     Strider clasped his shoulder reassuringly and gathered Eomer and Gimli to his side with a look.  As the sun rose ever higher and the weak morning light strengthened, Aravir drew a quick sketch in the dirt showing the layout of the camp and Legolas' position, as well as the location of each of the six orcs.  Eomer dispersed his men with quick gestures.
 
     Quietly, the group surrounded the camp.  On Eomer's signal, they moved into position, Aravir silently making his way close to Legolas in order to protect him once the attack began.   Eomer's next signal sent the men into the camp in a rush.  The battle was short and bloody, the remaining orcs dispatched in a matter of minutes with only two men slightly injured.  Strider and Gimli rushed to Legolas who lay, bound hand and foot, on his side, with Aravir kneeling beside him cutting the bonds and turning him gently.
 
     His face was bruised, his wrists bleeding and raw from the rough ropes.  The sight of the wounds to his shoulder and side made Strider catch his breath.  One in his shoulder appeared to be caused by an arrow, which the orcs had apparently removed none too gently; the gash to his side obviously inflicted by a sword.
 
     Legolas' tunic was soaked back and front with blood, and his body shuddered intermittently.  Strider dropped to his knees beside him, feeling for the pulse point on his neck.  It beat slowly, sluggishly and Legolas' skin was cold and clammy to the touch. 
 
     Strider quickly cut away the elf's tunic and used clean, soft pads handed to him by Aravir, who had immediately removed his undershirt and began ripping it into long strips.  Pressing down firmly on the wound in the elf's side, Strider closed his eyes and prayed as he struggled to staunch the loss of blood from the shivering elf.  Long minutes passed before the flow diminished and finally stopped.  Strider quickly bound both wounds tightly. 
 
     Finally satisfied that his friend would not bleed to death, he stripped off his cloak and wrapped Legolas in its warm folds.  He looked up at the concerned faces watching him work. 
 
     "I cannot detect the presence of poison at present, but I will be better able to tell later.  The bleeding has stopped for now.  Let us move him to another place away from the stench of this one where I can tend to him," Strider informed them. 
 
     As they prepared to leave, one of Eomer's guards approached and asked what they should do with the bodies.  Strider's reply was short and succinct.  "Burn them." 
 
     The men left to carry out that task and Strider checked the elf's wounds once more.  Satisfied, he slipped his arms under the unconscious elf's shoulders and knees.  Lifting his frighteningly still body into his arms, he stood carefully.  Gimli gently straightened Legolas' head so it would rest easily against Strider's shoulder.  Aravir tucked more cloaks around him as Gerrith came forward and whispered in Eomer's ear for a moment.
 
     "Gerrith will lead us to a stream which flows not too far from here," Eomer told Strider.  "You will have fresh water for cleansing his wounds and we can set up a temporary camp until you deem it safe to move him again."
 
     Strider nodded and followed closely behind Eomer and Gerrith.  Gimli and Aravir walked on either side of him and off to his right, in the trees, Strider saw the golden mare pacing them.
 
     "She stays," he remarked quietly, nodding to the mare.  Aravir followed his gaze.
 
     "Yes," he replied, surprised and pleased at the horse's obvious change of heart.  "That is a good thing, I think.  Perhaps she has chosen Legolas after all."  At those words, he and Strider shared strained smiles.  Both hoped she had not made her choice too late.  Strider's hold on Legolas tightened and he hurried his steps. 
 
     They reached the stream in short order and the men quickly built a fire for Strider.  "I will need boiling water and lots of it," he instructed, cradling his precious burden carefully.   "And more clean cloths for bandages, if there are any available." 
 
     Under Ranalf's direction, the men rushed to provide the supplies Strider had requested.  Several had carried packs and water was set to boil over the fire in several of the small metal pans one of the men produced.  Two others busied themselves tearing clean shirts into long strips.  Strider thanked the men and Ranalf with a grateful smile and carried Legolas to the mossy, level ground beneath a huge beech tree that Aravir had chosen for his Prince to rest upon.
 
     Eomer and Gerrith had others arranging the remaining cloaks to make a bed of sorts for Legolas.  Strider gently placed the injured elf on the pallet while Aravir knelt by his side, sponging the dried blood and dirt from his lord's face.  The elf raised stricken eyes to Strider as he settled himself next to Legolas.
 
     "He is so cold, my lord," Aravir whispered, "and pale.  He has shown no signs of awakening either.  Do you think the arrows were poisoned after all?"
 
     Strider placed a calming hand on Aravir's shoulder and said, "We shall see.  Try not to worry overmuch, my friend.  Legolas is strong.  With time and care, he will recover."
 
     He looked at Aravir sternly.  "I will have it no other way, Aravir."
 
     The elf smiled slightly.  "Now you sound like Thranduil, my lord."  He studied Strider's face thoughtfully.  "Perhaps all kings share that surety that when they command a thing, it will be done."  He returned to cleaning Legolas's face. 
 
     Strider pondered the truth of that statement, wishing it were even half true, as he took out his healing pouch and chose various leaves and bark for use later.  "Where is Gimli?"
 
     Aravir slanted a look at him as he continued his gentle cleaning and replied, "He has gone to hurry the heating of the water."
 
     The man shook his head with grim amusement.  If anyone could make water boil faster, it would be Gimli! 
 
     Indeed, a few minutes later Gimli returned carrying the container of steaming water carefully.  He set the water beside Strider and then settled himself nearby, out of the way, but well within sight of his friend's face.  Strider carefully cut away the makeshift bandages and examined the deeply torn flesh on Legolas' shoulder.  He pressed on the wound slightly, causing fresh blood to flow.  Taking some of the blood on his finger, he sniffed, trying to sense the taint of poison in the blood itself.  There was none.
 
     Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the medicinal leaves he had selected earlier; different herbs, including athelas.  He ground them quickly to a fine dust, stirring them into the steaming water.  He used the mixture to thoroughly clean the wound, flushing it repeatedly to remove any fragments of cloth or metal possibly embedded there.  A glint of dark metal caught his eye and he used the tweezers he kept in his pouch to delicately extract a long sliver of the orc's arrowhead from the wound.
 
     When he was satisfied the wound was clean, he took out needle and thread and carefully stitched the gaping hole closed.  He sprinkled more athelas on the wound before bandaging it carefully.
 
     Aravir, who had been efficiently and silently assisting him, looked at him, hope and fear at war in his green eyes.  Strider shook his head no in answer to the elf's silent question, his own gray eyes dark with relief and turned his attention to the long gash in Legolas' side. 
 
     The King repeated his careful treatment on the second wound.  Lifting a finger coated in blood from the injured elf's side, he sniffed...and froze.  A cloying, rotten aroma reached his nostrils.  Strider closed his eyes, then opened them and sniffed again.  Yes, there it was.  The orc had apparently coated its sword with the poison he had so feared.
 
     Aravir, seeing his expression, asked, "My lord?"
 
     Gimli, too, had come to attention at sight of the look on Strider's face.  The grim faced man placed a hand on Legolas' forehead and underneath the cold clamminess of shock, he felt the first heat of poison-induced fever beginning to bloom.  Stifling a curse, he looked at Gimli.
 
     "I will need more water, Gimli ...both heated and cold, if you do not mind."  The dwarf grunted, heaving himself to his feet and hurrying off to get the water. 
 
     Strider handed his pouch to Aravir.  "You are familiar with willow bark, Aravir?"
 
     Aravir was and familiar with its uses also.  "Poison?" he asked.
 
     Strider nodded.  He studied the wood elf sitting across from him quietly for a moment, before adding,  "Do not despair, my friend.  He needs you even more now, and I need you to care for him without fear clouding your thoughts.  Do you understand?" 
 
     Aravir shook his head yes, steeling himself to the task ahead.  He had unlimited training as a warrior, but healing...Ai!  He had always left that to the healers of Lasgalen or Ithilien.  He certainly had never cared for a friend before! 
 
     I will do this for my Prince...and my friend.  He will not suffer alone...not while so many who care for him are near.    
 
     Strider smiled at the determined set of the elf's jaw and continued, "Take this pouch and use the bark in it.  I will need some steeped in boiling water to make a tea for him to drink.  Also, go later and see if you can find any more.  You know willows more often than not grow near streams or rivers.  If we are fortunate, you will find a tree nearby."
 
     Aravir took the pouch and stood.  "I will see to it, my lord."  He left quickly to prepare the tea.  Strider finished cleaning the wound and stitched it closed.  He sprinkled on the athelas and bandaged it.  Then he set about cleaning the blood from Legolas' chest and arms.
 
     Once he was satisfied that Legolas was as clean as possible, he checked the bandages again, and found the wounds free from any further bleeding.  Frowning at the sound of Legolas' labored breathing, he placed his hand over his friend's heart and focused his attention on the elf.  Closing his eyes, he allowed the sweet song of healing he had learned at the side of the Lord of Imladris to sing through him and flow into the suffering body of his friend.
 
     We are here, Legolas.  You are safe.  I have not the skill of my Adar, but take my strength now and rest.
 
     "Legolas, mellon nin," he whispered.
 
     After a time, he raised his head and looked closely at Legolas' pale face.  His color seemed better and his breathing easier.  At least for now.  He covered Legolas warmly and leaned back tiredly against the bole of the great beech.
 
     Aravir returned with the tea, and together he and Strider coaxed a cup down Legolas' throat.  The fever, however, continued to rise as the morning passed.  Moving Legolas was out of the question for the time being so the men quickly readied the camp for the night. 
 
     After Aravir and Ranalf tended the two wounded men Eomer sent them and a number of the others to rest while Gerrith and several of his chosen friends mounted a watch.  Eomer and Gimli retreated a distance from Legolas, though not too far, and sat quietly talking.
 
     Aravir prepared a mid-day meal of sorts from the supplies carried and later wandered the stream in search of a willow for its medicinal bark and perhaps a rabbit or two...or three for supper.   The golden mare grazed silently on the other side of the stream, suffering no one near her, but refusing to leave. 
 
     Strider, too, slept briefly, lulled by the shushing of the flowing water.  The sound of Aravir returning woke him and he sat up, checking his unconscious patient first, before running an experienced eye over the camp and its occupants, the Ranger in him nodding approvingly.  Picking up the cloth Aravir had used before, he dipped it in the container of cool water and began sponging his friend's fevered forehead, face and neck. 
 
     He paused after a time, feeling the elf's pulse and frowning at its increased rate.  An increased pulse rate, though, was expected - the fever caused that.  Still, his breathing remained easy and there was no bleeding.  At last the shock seemed to be fading.
 
     Strider closed his eyes wearily.  Now we fight the fever from the poison until it leaves his system.  If the blood loss has not weakened him too greatly, he will survive.  Strider brushed back strands of bright hair from his friend's flushed face and settled beside him to watch and wait.

TRANSLATIONS:

mir nin - my treasure (jewel)

sedho - be still; peace

Arod nin - my Arod

mellon nin - my friend

hir nin - my lord