Chapter Five

Just before sunset, Legolas brought his horse to a stop. He had been riding at a gallop through the trees, his eyes forward, when he had looked down. The sight that greeted him was startling. His hands were covered with dried blood. So was the front of his tunic. How had that happened? The fact he didn’t remember something like that worried him greatly.

He slid from his stallion’s back and surveyed himself. His clothes were not torn. There were no cuts or gashes in his flesh. He felt no pain. He came to the conclusion that he had not been wounded or injured, therefore, the blood was not his. The most disturbing part was that he knew the blood was elven.

Legolas sat down on the ground, his legs crossed in front of him. None of this made any sense at all. It spoke of some kind of violence. How could elven blood, and lots of it, have gotten on him without his remembering the incident?

Thinking back over all that had happened in the last couple of days, the young archer became even more puzzled. If it weren’t for the fact that the blood of an orc was black and so was that of the giant spiders that inhabited Mirkwood, he would have believed he had tangled with one of those creatures. Surely that would not have slipped his memory. He was an elf, and elves did not have faulty memories.

He held his hands up before his eyes and stared at them, as if doing so would coax them to reveal the mystery of where the blood had come from.

The elf knew of a stream only half a league away from where he now sat, so he decided to go there and wash the blood off of himself. In addition to hating the feel of it on his skin, and the stiffness it caused in his clothes, he knew that there were creatures in the forest who were attracted to blood, sensing it might belong to potential prey.

Remounting, Legolas rode toward his destination. He slid to the ground and walked over to the bubbling stream that flowed from left to right in front of him. He knelt down and dipped his hands into the cool water.

However, it was not Legolas, who watched the blood flow from the elf’s hands and swirl away in the current. A twisted smile came to the elven features, though it was Saeragar who was behind them. It gave him a thrill to know that the blood represented the end of an elf’s life. ‘Stupid elf,’ the evil being said to himself, ‘thinking he could get rid of me.’ It didn’t matter that Arondo had not known anything of Saeragar’s existence. He had wanted to help Legolas, and that was enough.

Searagar would have preferred to leave the blood on Legolas’s tunic. Unlike the elf, the evil being loved displaying blood, because it represented a mark of triumph. It spoke of his prowess and his power. But with a sigh, he realized that anyone seeing this elf covered with it might raise an alarm. He did not fear confrontation with those who would pursue him, but he preferred to travel undisturbed until he was ready to reveal himself.

Thinking that the elf and all he possessed now belonged to him, Searagar took off his outer tunic and began the mundane task of washing it in the stream.

Darkness had descended by the time he was finished, so he decided to stay where he was and make camp for the night. When he was at his full power, he did not need sleep. However, this elven body he was inhabiting did need it. He curbed his impatience at the delay and settled down until the morning, when he would begin again.

*~*~*~*

The dream that came to Legolas after he fell asleep was both vivid and frightening. He shifted restlessly but did not wake.

Arondo was backing away from him. There was a look of horror on his face. Why? Legolas wondered. Why would his long-time friend be afraid of him, for the look of horror was born of fear. “Legolas, what is happening to you?”

“The body you see before you is that of your friend, but he is not here.”

The brown-haired elf had stopped moving away from the prince, but he was still wary. “I do not understand, Legolas. You are right in front of me. How can you not be here?” Arondo’s confusion was more than evident; it was pervasive.

Saeragar sneered. “I thought elves were sooo intelligent.” Emphasizing each word, he said, “Your...friend... is...gone. I have destroyed him, as I will do to all of those who do not bend to my will.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Arondo insisted, shaking his head. The words he was hearing made absolutely no sense. He thought that somehow Legolas must feel that he was not himself. The strange behavior verified that. Gently and in a completely non-threatening tone, Arondo said, “I only want to help you, Legolas. Please let me.”

“Perhaps it is just as well that you do not understand, little elf, for I think that you would never surrender to me,” Saeragar said, sounding neither angry nor regretful at that fact. “You, and all of those like you, would rather die than submit. And since I cannot afford to let you go and raise an alarm, you will get your wish.”

He stared at the elf for a moment, and then without the slightest warning of his intentions, Saeragar drew both of Legolas’s long knives and dove forward, crossing the blades over each other against Arondo’s throat and then jerkiing them violently free until they separated, leaving behind a gaping wound. Blood spurted outward, splashing over Legolas’s hands and covering the front of his tunic.

Arondo may have been afraid, but he never believed Legolas would actually attack him, so he did not react until he felt the bite of metal in his flesh. By then it was far too late. He tried to utter the word ‘Why?’ but was unable to force even that short word out of his torn throat. However, his eyes spoke the question his voice could not.

Saeragar laughed, a scoffing, grating sound of pure hatred. It was the last sound that Arondo heard, as he fell to the ground. convulsed once and then lay still.

Legolas woke up screaming and sat up with a jolt. It took a moment of hard breathing to get himself under control. He frowned in confusion. Why would he dream about murdering one of his closest friends? He was aware that his whole body was shaking. It occurred to him that this was the kind of dream Estel called a nightmare. He fully understood now why the man had said that the fear created by such dreams lasted beyond waking up.

Again Legolas asked himself why he would dream about such an act of betrayal toward someone he cared about, when he knew he could never do such a thing. He had no answer, because dreams like this were not experienced by elves. At least, none that he had ever heard of.

The elf looked down at his hands. They were trembling uncontrollably. Then he remembered the blood he had seen there and on his tunic the evening before. He looked toward the tunic, lying nearby on the grass to dry. His eyes went wide with the horror of what that represented, yet he was not willing to give the dream credence. The horrid event it depicted could not be real. It simply could not.

Legolas sighed. He readily admitted he had been acting strangely the last couple of days, but that could not turn him into a murderer. The very idea that such a thought had even come into his mind shook him to his core.

Legolas tried to push the dream out of his thoughts. It was but a dream, scary but false.

What he could not push away was the tiny voice in his head that insisted that it was more. “You were talking to Arondo, and then there was blood, a lot of blood, all over you. Arondo was nowhere to be found, because you killed him and left his body. You killed his horse, as well, so it would not run home and alert others that something was wrong. Face it, Legolas. You murdered your friend.“

“No. No,” Legolas refuted. He sat hugging his knees to his chest, as he was forced to accept the truth. His heart ached at the realization that his mind was not playing tricks on him because of the dream.

There had been one other reason for Saeragar to let the elf sleep besides rest: he would be induced to dream, and when he woke up and accepted what he had done, he would be devastated and thus easier to dominate when the time came. Saeragar’s plan had obviously worked.

”Oh, Arondo,” the archer moaned, “what did I do to you?” Legolas put his head down on his knees and wept bitterly.

*~*~*~*

Every time Begrin sensed Saeragar’s location, the feeling vanished, and the connection was broken. It was plain that the evil being was still not strong enough to take full control of the elf and thus remain dominant. However, these episodes of dormancy were becoming fewer and fewer.

He had lost touch with Saeragar’s presence shortly after dark and had guessed that the elven body he had taken over needed rest. He himself, though possessing special powers, also needed rest. He took this opportunity to get it now. He would start again early the next morning.

*~*~*~*

Aragorn rose with the dawn. He knew he had not gotten the rest he should have, but he was too worried about Legolas to think about that now. He saddled his horse, bid the night guards farewell, telling one of them to thank Hebrilith for his hospitality. In a matter of minutes, the ranger rode away, heading in the direction he had been told the prince had gone.

The man mulled over in his mind all that Hebrilith had been told about Legolas since the elven prince had arrived at the western patrol’s camp.

Aragorn was a practical man. That wasn’t always easy, considering he lived in a world where magic tended to pop up at odd and unexpected times. The lives of most humans were often as ordinary as a blade of grass, but then one day the appearance of a wizard or a dragon or an elf, all with powers beyond the norm, would throw the mundane ‘out of the window‘, to quote a phrase Glorfindel was fond of using.

The ranger tried to think of various possibilities for Legolas’s behavior. He wondered if something had happened during the orc battle he was told Legolas had engaged in. A poisoned orc blade, perhaps? He shook that thought away. Poison made the recipient ill or sometimes killed them, but alter their behavior? No, he was sure that was not the answer.

Had a spell been cast against Legolas? Not likely. His time had been accounted for. Except for the orcs, he had been around no one other than elves. Orcs did not possess the ability to cast spells. Their only chance of overcoming an enemy was purely physical. No magic there.

Aragorn could think of no type of plant that could cause such a reaction. Even if there were, Legolas would likely not have been the only one affected.

All the man succeeded in doing was confuse himself more. He would just have to wait until he found Legolas, hopefully with Arondo, and talk to them. He made up his mind that no matter what was responsible for the problem, they would all solve it.

He rode on, feeling that soon he would be with his friends.

*~*~*~*

Begrin heard the hoof beats of a horse, moving at a steady gait. He quickly jumped behind a tree wide enough to completely hide him from the view of the one who approached.

He debated whether to reveal himself to the rider. He could easily circle the tree, as horse and rider moved past. Begrin was good at concealing himself, when the need arose.

Seeing that the figure on the horse was a ranger, he made up his mind to expose his presence. He stepped out in front of the ranger, causing him to bring his horse to an abrupt halt.

“Hail to you, ranger,” Begrin said easily, being careful to keep his empty hands where they could be seen with one glance. He noted that the ranger’s eyes did indeed check out his hands before doing anything else. His inquisitive and searching eyes roamed over the robed figure with a practiced eye, used to keen observation.

Begrin had the distinct impression that had he attempted to hide something from this man’s intense gaze, he would have had a hard doing it successfully. Most of the rangers Begrin had come in contact with over the years were good at what they did. He knew he was now facing one of the best of them.

Noting again the robe the figure wore, Aragorn said, “And hail to you, stranger.” There was no staff in evidence, yet he couldn’t help but ask, “Ate you an Istar?”

“I am not a member of the noble Wise Ones, but I do travel with the blessing of the Valar.”

Mirkwood was not Aragorn’s home, and he had no real authority here. Yet because of the orc attacks and the fact that Sauron had a number of different kinds of allies, Aragorn felt he should protect the forest as best he could, when he was here, so he boldly asked, “May I ask what business you have here in Mirkwood?”

It was now that Begrin’s well-honed judge of character spoke to him of this man’s integrity. He knew instinctively that the ranger could be trusted. Smiling, he said, “Dismount and let us talk, and I will tell you my purpose here.”

TBC