The Hunting Trip
Chapter 29: Worries to Coarsen the Road

It took Gimli a full minute to digest the information that faded with the light but remained bright and ever glowing in his mind. He was flummoxed and for that brief period no words would come to him that could even mildly convey the awe inspired by the vision that had filled his mental paths. When he came back to himself, he realized his heart was beating in ecstatic tempo and the emotion he equated with it was complete jubilation.

Although he had guessed the mineral to be there, he had never expected to uncover a vein quite so rich, or quite so fast. It was astounding, and near hysterical excitement flooded over him. He wanted to scream out his delight, but he knew that was not a prudent thing to do in the bowels of the earth. Instead, words flowed out of him that he could barely contain, and the impulse to bounce in sheer joy overwhelmed him. "Ha! Legolas, oh Legolas, we have done it! I have found it, my friend! I have found it and it is yours! Can you feel my happiness for your people? Even you will rejoice to know of this discovery!"

Then he paused and he laughed. "Mithril! It is mithril, Elf!" he at last proclaimed. It had been a sight to behold, and he was almost afraid to say the words aloud for fear it would chase the discovery away. The jeweled light had faded, but the memory of the flashing ore sparked still in his mind. Quickly he drew out another make-shift torch and his flint. He had to see it again if only to assure himself he had not hallucinated such a thing.

The flame erupted and there again it was. The light was magnificent, bouncing off the walls and shimmering all about him. Never had he seen such brilliance, even in his own personal unearthing of riches.

He knew he had to act quickly. The illumination would die again soon and he knew he had to mark this place and confirm the quality of the metal to assure this claim. Though Gimli was certain of what he had found, prudence would rule, and examining the mineral in better light would be needed to make his claim for the Elf fully vested.

With a sharp stone and the flat of his halberd blade he chiseled out a clump of the glowing rock. Three taps more and he had a handful of samples that he immediately thrust into his pockets. Then the light faded and he was left alone only with the smoldering red glow of the tiny branches that disintegrated into shadow. They cast no light, but their color remained to remind him of the sensation of heat and aural spectrum. He watched them burn out, leaving nothing but scent and the impressed shadow on his retinas.

He felt a breeze brush by him and realized he must follow it". It was time to move on and his valorous uncovering was incentive enough to follow the air's course. He was most eager to find the Elf.

In his mind, he could hear it all, the Elf's objections returning to him. Often when he entered his caverns in the Glittering Caves he was greeted by his own imagination and what he thought Legolas might say. It was a silly preoccupation, but in many ways Gimli enjoyed the mental sparring his friendship offered, and by playing two sides of any argument, he felt more adept at the verbal jousting his real friend often gave him. Even now, the nag of the Elf played at his conscience. No Gimli, this is wrong. You are robbing from the earth.

The Dwarf snorted in answer and then chuckled once to enforce his stance. "You protest? Foolish friend! Do not tell me the Elves in past ages have not done the same themselves. Were they not too robbing the earth when they dug into her holds? Your objection is weak for you cannot claim immunity to this metal's allure and its beauty. I know well the ornaments hoarded by your kind. Many are there that are conceived from this rock, so put away your criticisms," he argued back in his mind with the fiction of Legolas that ran through his head.

But it is not yours to take.

"Nay, it is yours! It is a gift delivered to you to aid your people in their troubled times."

No, Elvellon, this land belongs to Gondor. This mithril, by all rights, belongs to Gondor.

"But did not Gondor give you claim to this land to improve on it and make it whole again?"

I see not how digging holes in the ground is improving on what was here.

"Surely Aragorn asks nothing for the fruits of your peoples' toils. You are beautifying what you hold."

Raping the ground is not enhancing it.

"But what if you could extract it from the earth without causing damage to the surrounding area?"

A Dwarf would say such a thing, but I know better.

"You have seen my home, Legolas. You know I would do nothing to harm that beauty. If you hired the Dwarves to mine the mithril, we would keep the calm of the earth and the environment intact. You could trust in my word on that."

I know of your home, Gimli, but I have also seen the way Dwarves will cast aside beauty for wealth.

"Not I, my friend. Wealth no longer interests me as it does many of my kind. I would bring only those who could be trusted to take only what was needed."

Ah, but you do have a price? I know no one who would do such a thing on goodness alone.

"Of course there is a price! Dwarves always demand something! But I would be fair with you. A percentage of the take we would ask. A small percentage."

But that still does not negate that it is not mine to even give.

The Dwarf laughed. "You are going to have to travel halfway to see this through. Aragorn would certainly gift it if you would only confess your troubles to him. Perhaps there would be a small percentage to be paid to Gondor as well, but the man has your best interests at heart. He would not let you fail and he would not turn his back on the Elves of Ithilien." Gimli shook his head, realizing for the first time that he was speaking aloud. When had his words become vocalized, he wondered? He sighed. "Ai, Elf! Surely I am going mad, for even when you are not here I argue with you!" Then he pulled out a small twig and again used it to mark his trail as he had the others before turning back in the direction for which he had been headed.

He started to step, forgetting for a moment to use his crutch. A shock of agony slid up his leg and he nearly collapsed on the floor in his pain. He hissed a slice of anguish, and the sound carried through the dark. It seemed even this small spell in his journey had caused his ankle to seize up and he could feel that the swelling was increasing within his boot with even that short step. His heart's throbbing in the pained injury was apparent from where he stood, and he was beginning to think he may have misdiagnosed himself.

He grimaced. His head suddenly ached as well with the reminder of his other hurts, and he paused for a moment to collect his wits. He suddenly felt ill with the shock of his returned pains. The world coiled around him and he had to pause for the tumbling feeling to pass. Cold sweat broke out on his brow, and wiping a hand over his face, he realized his skin was of a heated condition. Fever? Slowly the flow of harm subsided from his foot, and he felt well enough for the moment to stand aright, though one hand balanced him by claiming the wall.

"I am not ill," he proclaimed, and he willed his hurts from his mind. He pushed the feelings of nausea and dizziness away, and he focused on his next steps alone, refusing to think further beyond that goal.

Crutch beneath his armpit, halberd thrust ahead, he took a hobbling move forward, and paused. The pain was excruciating in his foot, and he winced once again. Such an ache! It had not been this bad before! Yet he knew he could not stop. Earlier his agony had eased when he had moved through the pain, but he was not so plagued then with other ill feelings. Still, he mustered his fortitude to step again. It was easier this time. Quite painful, but easier and the hurt worried him. He had not stopped in this cavern for all that long, mere minutes in fact, unless his mind had deceived him. Yet his ankle had worsened dramatically in that time.

He sensed what this meant. His body was tiring, and his foot needed recovery,. But the Dwarf dared to not heed his hurts. Not now. Not after this discovery. Were the circumstances normal, he might indeed have given his foot and head a day or two to rest. However, the events of this day were not even close to normal. He knew if he stopped yet one more time, he might not be able to walk or rise again. Now he had finally admitted that he was aching and tired, but he knew also that he had to go on and he wondered if he could. For the first time in this journey in the dark, his morale sank. Could he survive in this cave? Could he make it from here back to where his friends should be? It had not even occurred to him to have doubt about his ability to navigate his way to find the world again. Now, he was not so sure.

He spoke, more to assure himself than to really debate the issue. "You would enjoy that, wouldn't you Elf to see me lost in the dark?"

The voice of his friend rang in his mind and it was comforting. You underestimate me, Gimli, as always. It is not that I would find mirth in your predicament of losing yourself in a dark cave, but that you ever found yourself there in the first place. Are you not supposed to be hunting?

Gimli smiled. "I will turn the question back to you then. Where are you, my friend?" he said aloud. "Shouldn't you be looking for me by now? I have left you a trail. Even you should be able to find it."

You know I do not like caves.

"I know. But I know you care more for me than to simply allow yourself to succumb to your fear of black, closed places."

Silence greeted that thought and he wondered if indeed the time of day warranted such a search. He had been below ground for many hours, and by his reckoning he thought it might be getting late. The light jab at Legolas to come find him tumbled back at the Dwarf. Should his friends not be seeking him out by now? He had worried for Aragorn before and that then had been the impetus for his forward motion. His concern did not waver. If anything, it was now growing stronger. There was no sign of anyone following the Dwarf's trail, and that was more than a little disconcerting. A new thought occurred to him and he voiced it. "Are you in trouble, Legolas?" he asked his imaginary friend.

There was no answer in his mind, and for the first time, Gimli began to very seriously worry. Time had passed, this he knew, and his roiling stomach was telling him it was later than the dinner hour. The Elf should have begun searching for the Dwarf by now. Granted, Gimli had moved on, but he was walking with a disability, and his gait was not quick. Too, the path he had led was a fairly straight one. He should be hearing sounds from behind of the Elf's coming. Or someone's coming. He had half-expected all along to see and hear signs of Legolas and Faramir searching for him, but something inside of him told him that would not be happening. A sickening feeling, beyond nausea, crept into his stomach. There was trouble about, and with sudden dawning his anxiety over the witch and the gypsy camp came back to his mind. Yesterday seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet what had happened in that small village remained fresh in his mind. The danger was real, and he could not ignore his fears. Legolas was in trouble, and most likely so were his other friends. He knew this. He did not need to be above ground to confirm it. It was there in his heart. Gimli would not desert them or deny their need for rescue.

"Have no worry, Elf, I am coming," he said, conviction echoing off the walls and meeting his ears. With that his pace increased, and he ignored the pain in his foot and the sweat on his brow and the ache in his head. It was not important compared to the wave of nervous fear that gathered in Gimli's brain. Like a droning drumbeat, his heart pumped the words into his mind. I must help them. I must help them. I must help them. . . somehow.

****

Faramir had no desire to stop running, but he knew he must. Kattica was wheezing and holding her side, her face contorting into a grimace. Studying her rounded form, a thought seized him and he panicked. "What is it?" he asked. "It is not . . ?" He could not bring himself to say the words. He considered her state delicate, and this light jog could not be helping it.

She held out her hand as if to barricade such a thought while she panted out. "Nay! Nay! I just need a moment to rest. Aren't we nearing the river yet?"

Faramir looked up, startled that he had not noticed it before. The sound of rushing water was close by. He could hear it, yet he had not noticed it until her words drew his attention to it. He shook his head as if to chase away cobwebs, grumbling to himself about this misstep and the betrayal to his years of training as a Ranger. Despite Kattica's help, his mind still seemed somewhat rattled. He supposed it was just an aftereffect of the drug but that did not relieve him. He wanted to think swiftly on his own again, but he knew he must find comfort in the small steps towards progress. At least he could now think, even if his thoughts were a bit loosely constructed. That was an improvement.

He answered, "The river is just a hundred feet ahead, I think. There will be shelters along it where we might hide."

"I do not want to hide," Kattica said abruptly. "I want to find Mattias. He said he would rejoin me where the stream met the river."

Faramir nodded. "So it seems we have found the river. Your brook is most likely further downstream."

Kattica smiled at him, for this was an obvious statement. They had not crossed a stream in their journey, and the one near the gypsy camp had been on the south side of that circle while he and Kattica had escaped from the north. Faramir realized his words sounded foolish, but it had not occurred to him that they would until after they had flown from his mouth. Embarrassed, he answered for her, guessing the sarcasm of her thoughts for it was certainly in his, "It is more likely there than upstream, I suppose." Then again he felt ridiculous for having uttered this silly nothing as well. Why was he even bothering to speak? His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth once again, trying to remedy the inept quality of what kept passing his lips, but she cut him off before he could further the damage.

"Say no more," she laughed. "I know what you mean, Faramir."

He jumped slightly at the name, so unexpected was its sound. It was the first time she had said it in conversation, and it startled him to hear her use it with ease. He addressed his thoughts on this. "Odd it is to hear my true name spoken through your voice. I had grown accustomed to being referred to as 'Anborn'."

"You were wise to conceal your real name though," she answered. "You know that, do you not?" She leaned back into a tree and observing him and he saw the relief wash her face at the release of her ache. She did not address her pain further though, only continuing her thoughts on the witch. "No doubt Bregus would have kept you in closer check had she any idea of your nobility. Then again, had she really known, she might have tried to steal the body and heart of your other friends, Aragorn and Arwen. A King and an Elf. Her aspirations could go no higher. Be happy that did not come to pass. She has no qualms in following her ambitions, for had she known she could take the role of wife of the Steward, or even the wife of the King, she would have grabbed the opportunity without even thinking. Had it come, then the danger you face would have been that much more grave."

"The danger is bad enough on its own without that fueling it. I still do not understand why this is happening," he sighed.

"It is either coincidence or fate that brought you to her. Only you know where your beliefs stand. I can say this: had you come a week later, none of this would be," Kattica stated with a shrug.

"Do you really think she would have failed without us?" Faramir asked.

"That I cannot say. But your appearance made many things possible for her. She was able to fully plan my demise with your arrival, that is certain, though it seems she had conceived that idea a long time back. The key ingredient now, however to make this all become a reality for her was finding an Elf. She already had the visions of your cave. And Bäla has been playing through her mind for his resurrection for a time as well. Had she been delivered an Elf, little could have stopped her. The desire to be young and immortal is very tempting for her and that is what this incantation will bring her if she succeeds. She is terrified of her own death." Kattica frowned, breaking her random monologue. "So many paths have been presented and still exist, despite our escape. If she had succeeded in casting her spell, even with you gone, Mattias surely would have followed the path upon which you were taken if only to assuage her loneliness. You were chosen because you bear resemblance to Bäla, as does Mattias. That is the only reason she had for wanting to possess you. She misses her dead husband too much to want to go on forever without him, though from what I know of him, he is was a terrible man. I suppose of all people though, he understood her. He was her confessor. He knew things of her I cannot even begin to imagine."

"But why? I still do not understand it. Why choose strangers upon which to rain hardship?" Faramir asked with a scowl.

Kattica arched and pressed a hand upon the small of her back, standing again with her feet squared beneath her. "You assume she must suffer guilt. She does not. She cares nothing for you. She cares nothing for my people. She cares only for herself. Her heart is nearly as cold as the stone in your cavern."

Faramir watched Kattica's wearied movements, and like his mind, he recognized she was not nearly recovered in body from her ordeal with the witch. He could see her discomfort and remembered Eowyn's pregnancies. He knew this to be a very uncomfortable period, growing progressively worse as the weeks went on. Kattica was not enormously large, yet with her small frame and the slight limp in her walk, he knew that even the slightest of weight gain must pain her. She looked rather miserable at the moment, and Faramir realized more rest really was required. He understood her desire to meet up with Mattias again, for he felt the same about finding Legolas. Yet Kattica's health was an issue he could not ignore it. Furthermore, he thought it might settle his own mind if he could find a brief spell of quiet to ease him.

"Come," he said. "I think I recognize this place. There is an overhang in the rocks ahead where we might take shelter from seeking eyes." Her gaze conveyed her displeasure at this plan, but he allayed it by saying, "We will not stay there long," to which she sighed and reluctantly nodded.

Within minutes he had found the place he had sought and he was pleased at least to know his mind was functioning well enough that memory was attainable and falling into the right places.

His hiding place was a deep rut in the cliff-side. An overhang from above jutted out over the rippling water while greenery trailed down from the perch, somewhat concealing the room beneath it. It was damp within walls made perpetually moist by a dank atmosphere, but that was a benefit as it made the quiet room cool, despite the fact that it was not completely closed. It was open on one side and they could see beneath the curtain of long summer grasses and leafy ivy cascading from the earthen shelf the rush of water pass before them.

Faramir settled Kattica on a small, flat boulder that merged into the incline and she lay back on it, sighing as she took comfort in the leaning seat it provided. It was cool to the touch and he supposed that also aided her, for her skin was feverish with the exertion she had put forth from their flight. For his part, he nestled himself near the water's edge, sitting on a smaller rock some few feet away. Small pebbles lined the shore at his feet, and crystalline water bubbled merrily before his eyes. Looking closely, he could see many small fish darting about in the slowed current below and he thought the hunting in these waters might be easy enough. Had they the desire to do so, they could make camp in this place for it was stocked with sustenance and comfort, though fire would be difficult to coax in the moist air. Though I suppose if I raised it with stone beneath, like a grate, wood might grow hot and catch fire, he thought. Then immediately he abandoned the idea. He had no means to make a fire with him, and he had no intention of staying here. Suppositions were pointless when reality was so harshly screaming at him. Again he realized his mind was loosely scattered and he reminded himself of their intent. They would move on in a few minutes.

His thoughts raced ahead as he enjoyed what he could of this small respite. He had not heard the sound of the dogs for nearly a half hour, and he wondered if they had abandoned their hunt. Their silence both pleased him and worried him. It seemed he and Kattica were safe for the moment, but what of Legolas? He did not like being separated from the Elf, and worry plagued his mind for what could be happening in other places within the forest. If the dogs were not chasing him and Kattica, were they now in pursuit of the Elf? He did not want to think this, for it had appeared that Legolas had gained a friendship with the hounds. He did not think they would turn against the Elf, yet he had seen how quickly loyalties could be shifted under the elderly witch's guidance. He began to doubt the dog's unwillingness to do harm to his friend.

Kattica's voice interrupted his thoughts. "We should go to find Mattias."

He wanted to agree, but her face still looked flushed and he could see the fatigue dragging her. "We have only arrived here. Rest a bit longer. We are safe."

She protested. "I want to find Mattias."

"I know," he conceded, "but he will not be pleased if you were so worn upon your reunion that you could not travel further. Once we find him, we must make for the hiding place in which my group camps."

"The cave beneath the waterfall?" Kattica asked, and Faramir blinked. Was his mind still addled? She had knowledge that place? It had been guarded so long against anyone discerning its presence that he found he was astonished to learn she knew of it. He could not recall speaking of it. "That would not be a safe place for us to go," she concluded, interrupting his shock.

"You know of it?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

"She knows of it. She saw you and your wife standing before it and watched you disappear into the door concealed in the rocks," she answered, as if drawing upon a visual memory as she spoke.

"How ?" he asked, suddenly feeling as if he had somehow been violated. Had the old woman read it in him when she had touched him before? He had fought hard against her prying then, and felt certain he had kept much from the old hag. Had he failed? Trepidation ran its course through his heart.

She looked at him consolingly. His personal blame must have been readily visible on his face, for she said words to comfort his guilt. "I know not how she found it out, but it was there in her mind when I broached her. She had a visual memory which tells me she visited that place in person," the girl answered, shaking her head for the dark menace the elder held.

"Eowyn," he murmured suddenly. "She is not safe!" Up until that moment, he had not considered his wife to be in any danger. Now, knowing no information was securely kept from the witch, he felt their steps must quicken. Gathering his needs, he began to rise. "Hurry, we must get to her before Bregus does!"

A smile lit Kattica's face in amusement. "Now who pushes for speed. Peace, Faramir. You do not know your wife is in danger. She may well be safe."

However, Faramir knew his face conveyed his terror. A kind light returned to Kattica's eyes. "Peace, please. I understand your plight and your fears. I will not stop us. We will be on our way." She began to rise, then suddenly gasped and fell back to her seat. Her eyes were wide in surprise.

New fear and dread assaulted his mind. "What . . . what is it?" he mindlessly asked though he was certain he already knew the answer.

She squeezed her eyes shut, head bowed low. Slowly she exhaled and let the dreaded words come. "I . . . I felt a pain," she choked out, and he could feel the fear in the words.

In an instant he was at her side, assuring and consoling. "Nay, nay, it is not true. It is nothing. My wife had three babies herself, and there were always small pains at this point in her internment. I am sure all is well. You are fine."

"It is too early yet," Kattica lamented, tears in her eyes, grabbing at his hands. Panic guided her words. "My baby cannot come yet! It is too soon!"

"Hush, I tell you. The baby will not come. It is a phantom pain, nothing worth fearing," Faramir said, his voice sounding certain. "Lay back now and rest. You just need a few minutes more and all will be well." Despite his assurances, he felt terrified that perhaps it might not be. In his heart he was torn, horrified by the baby's poor timing and also the need to rush to the aid of his wife and his friend. Looking at the girl though, and the drawn fear on her face, he knew he could not leave her to try to escape to the others. If the baby should come, and he were not there to aid or console, he could never forgive himself.

Ai, Eowyn, Legolas, he silently cried, wherever you are, make haste! Please! I cannot come at the moment, but know this: the witch will not be easily satisfied and the two of you are poised for great danger should she find you. Flee! Flee now!

****

The golden rays of the sun shimmered calico light through the masses of greenery overhead, making sparkles of rainbow-colored auras dance before his eyes. The rustle of foliage sang small choirs of nature's melody in languid, joyful notes. Soothing rhythm lulled him while the boughs and branches of the trees hummed trills of amber song in his eager ears. The melodies took physical form and stirred the air, mixing with the visuals the light played for him. So restful and placid the sight was. It thrilled his heart and made him delight in the casual mystery of their formation. He let his mind go and he accepted them, singing along in earnest pleasure for the gratification and mirth such imagery brought him. Without apology, he no longer wanted to notice anything of the reality that flung itself before him. He was lost, but happily lost, in a world that resembled nothing of what he had known, only of what he relished.

The tune of the trees shifted, and his brow furrowed. The undertone of minor notes playing into the song reduced his cheer. His mood was altered, going from pleasure to anxiety driven only by sound, but that aural stimulus had a profound effect. The light moved, as if a cloud had suddenly enfolded the sun with unhappiness, and the sparkled light of the leaves emanations died to a dull shimmer. Light wind touched his skin, sending shivers of trepidation through his body. It was as if the changed pitch of the melody was now attempting to awaken his heart to something different.

Legolas' reverie was broken. The cries of the trees warned him, and he realized his need to come alert. Regretful for the loss of the beautiful light, he heeded the song all the same. All the voices of the wood were calling to him, and though he was hard put to shake himself from their silvery murmurs, he recognized the urgency with which they tried to rouse him. Slipping in and out of his dawning memory of the heightened meditations like slowly waking from a glorious dream, Legolas was very much uncertain as to what was happening. So difficult was it to comprehend the tree's notes. The deeper meaning of their words could not reach him, and he had to blink back his befuddlement.

He listened, but the sounds were foreign to his ears. He was trying so hard. Too hard. He realized this and he attempted to quiet his mood so he might relax into it, and find meaning by simply allowing the sound to happen. The light no longer danced, and the melodies no longer seemed pleasant. Fear came up on him as the words slowly began to register.

Dark bird! Owl! Trouble draws near! Hide, now, friend Elf! Hide! The bird is searching!

He was confused as to what he should do. An owl? What harm could an owl wreak upon me? But the trees were his friends, and he opted to heed their warning.

Unfortunately something was wrong with his natural grace and physical poise. It seemed a great deal of effort was needed just to stand properly, so off-kilter did he feel, and he realized that the tree he had been propping him aright all this time. This rather disconcerting conclusion did not make it easier for him, for his legs and his torso did not seem to recognize one another and acted as if determined to find their own balance separately. He pushed away from the tree's trunk, resolved to make good his own way without support of cradling branches, but he wobbled, nearly toppling. Protective limbs rustled about him, and gratefully he accepted them as he realized his shortcoming. The Elven trait for physical prowess seemed to have faded somehow, and he felt crippled by his inability to make his body move as he might like.

Still, the trees' worries cried out. Hide now! Hide now! It draws near! So close! Legolas could feel his heart hammer within his chest. Fear tasted sour in his mouth. The smells of the forest, combined with the constricted blood vessels in his nostrils, fed the disagreeable flavor at the back of his throat. Eyes searched, darting the sky and trees, looking to find the creature tracking his path.

His mind wreathed a sequence of memory, spiraling inward to a place where he had previously been pursued and caught. Nightmarish was his recollection. He remembered. He could not recall an owl in that place, only prior warnings from the trees of such a thing. However, the pieces fit together in the slippery regions of his brain, and he realized why he should hide.

Hugging the tree more closely, he looked up and down to see if he might make better his perch. His current location was visible from high above, and he knew he had best resolve this or too easily would he be seen. A density of foliage he saw in higher branches, and he chose that path even though he could also see other hiding places lower down in different trees. He did not trust his body to carry him elsewhere, so he opted instead to stay in this tree and merely travel upward.

The tree, sensing his wariness, aided him as best any companion could. Footholds jutted out where there had barely been anything on which to stand. Branches twisted as if pulled by a gust of wind, reaching out helping hands to guide the Elf prince to his nest. He had never felt so incompetent in his footfalls before, and he hoped this effect of his illness might soon pass. The echo of those positive aspects of his condition still taunted him, and the songs and light teased him to fall back into his playful trance. The call of danger was more prevalent, however, and he ignored the temptation to experiment with color, light, and sound as he tried to remain focused.

The owl was approaching. He must remember that.

In due time, he made it up to the place he had seen earlier. It was not so nearly private as he had expected, and he chastised himself for such a hope, for he knew from much experience with hiding in trees that a spot might appear ideal from the ground yet prove to be otherwise. Still, he put his trust in the fact that the tree would hide him as best it could. He nestled more snuggly in its grasp, laying across the offered bough like a cat reclined in the limbs.

It was coming.

Legolas did not need to see it to sense it. The owl swooped from above, making ring-like patterns in the air. The light whisper of air cut by strong wings caught the Elf's ears, and in his heightened state of awareness, he could practically see the owl's passage in his mind.

Dark bird. Dark creature. He pondered the mystique of this animal. Trained to hunt by night through instinct alone, this one had been taught greater arts in its time. To seek out prey by day was the sign of a more desperate animal. Owls were not comfortable, for the most part, using sunlight as a vantage in hunting. Their eyes, though keen both in day and night, served them better in the darker hours. Yet this creature apparently ignored those traits, hunting instead like a hawk, and using its speed and acute sight to go after prey much larger than it might normally.

He considered what he knew of owls. In his experience, they were mild creatures, trackers of small quarry like rabbits and mice. However, in the further reaches of Mirkwoods forest he had come to know of owls which served as agents to the menace of Dol Guldur. Spies to the darkness that dwelled in those holds, owls were preferred companions to the Elves enemies. Though no such threat existed in the woods of Ithilien any longer, Legolas well understood the hesitance of the trees to let this prejudice go. It was founded in reality and, unfortunately, he feared that in this case they were right.

From above, he knew the secret of his hiding place was well-kept. Heavy clusters of leaves met the light, but nothing was visible of what was beneath them, and his clothing aided in this camouflage. However, from certain angles below he might be seen. This was what worried him, and his hope remained that the bird would not choose to search for him from the lower heights.

A leaf caressed his cheek and he was startled by it but then relaxed, realizing that it was almost as if the tree was offering solace for his fright. He breathed a whispered word of thanks back to his friend and kept glassy eyes focused on only what he could see below.

His mood was one of terror, and he concentrated on his breathing to try to calm himself. This was a very difficult thing to accomplish, it seemed. While he had amazingly precise use of his senses, almost to the point of being overwhelmed, he was having a horrible time gaining control over his body. It seemed disjointed and odd to him that he could not get his arms to move as he might like, and only when he stopped concentrating on making a limb react as he chose did it actually do so. He decided he needed to give up being proactive in his movements and allow his body to react by instinct. Such thoughts were more easily considered than done, as his place was a precarious one, and if he could not hide from this bird, he might well have to move again. Legolas was not sure he could do that.

All thoughts of taking action were immediately driven from his mind however when he felt again the soaring movement of the bird from above, and without conscious consideration, his grip on the bough beneath him twisted, knuckles and wrist scraping on the bark as his hands tightened around the limb. He ignored the pull of fabric from his tunic bunching about his arms just as he ignored the yank on the cord of the amulet at his wrist. His eyes shot upward, as if looking to see if the bird could be visible to him.

With a lurch, he realized the bird swept down and dashed into the tangle of branches of the trees. Legolas' heart pounded faster, the sound resonating loudly in his ears, and he feared, only for a moment but long enough at least to let a deep tremor stir his body, that the owl might hear the rapid beat. The sound of that throbbing organ alone might drive the creature nearer in finding him! Involuntarily his grasp shifted, and again he paid little heed to the snagging of hairs in the charm's cord. He verily did not notice when the amulet came loose from his arm and hung by light threads to the bough. All his attention was driven instead to the animal.

His fears were not allayed. He saw the owl beneath him. As if tracing his invisible steps through the trees, the bird honed in on the vicinity in which Legolas hid. Sensing it as well, the trees seemed to hover in closer to their Elven friend, and Legolas was entirely grateful. Still, the owl swooped and turned, weaving in and out of the trees with the grace of a dancer. It had not however flown upward, and Legolas thankfully realized the only way the creature might find him was by turning and spotting him at the precise moment it moved. Judging from the closeness of branches below, he saw such a maneuver might not be easily accomplished, and for the first time he felt he might get away. His place, despite his earlier fears, really was quite cleverly kept.

Still the bird searched, circling through the trees. Legolas held his breath as the creature neared, and he was gladdened at least that instinct was taking command. And slowly, so slowly, he saw the animal was withdrawing, moving on, leaving him in peace in the trees. Though it still hovered near, it was not so close as to be directly below any longer.

The release of air from his lungs made a light sigh past his lips, though nothing so loud as to call the attention of the owl. He felt freer somehow, and his rattled mind rejoiced. Innocently he pushed himself up to a better seated position. His leg brushed against the branch as he righted himself. That was when he saw the flaw in his comfort. It had not been much, that motion, but it was enough to disturb the amulet hanging from the tree.

Knowing for the first time that the charm had broken free, he saw it twist and fall, a feather light object grasping a current of air. He swooped to retrieve it, nearly toppling in the attempt, but too late did he try. The amulet fell away, dancing pirouettes as it sailed noiselessly to the ground so far below. Like a leaf it tumbled and fell, and for a brief second he hoped it might be mistaken as one. He prayed that the golden cluster of hair that had been stolen from him and fashioned into a device for his safety would be ignored, unnoticed, that it might continue to protect him though the magical quality of it was no longer needed.

He did not need to see the owl to know his place had been detected. A shrill series of hoots cried out, and the creature he had once associated with solemn apathy was suddenly there, in the trees at eye level, bounding at him with all the advantages of flight.

Three notes more from the bird's throat confirmed his position, and in the distance, Legolas heard the dogs' barking as if in answer. He had no time to consider the meaning in that message. He only saw the bird coming at him, tail feathers sweeping down, razor-sharp talons thrusting out. All prior disorientation was gone as adrenaline and survival instinct kicked the Elf into action. He raised one arm to shield his face, striking blindly to halt the owl's progress. A flurry of screeches pierced his ears as he pelted the animal each time it came near.

He clung to the tree, knowing the tree was doing its utmost to protect him. All the while the bird shot forward and back, upward and down, always in flight, always at advantage. Claws grazed knuckles. Blood was drawn. An arm shot out and pummeled into a light body, sending the bird wobbling in mid-flight. Then the owl was away again to regroup.

Legolas took a quick gulp of air, remembering suddenly the knife he had tucked in his boot. Reaching down with measured control, he grabbed for the blade. Blindsided, talons scratched at his face, and he shrugged away, dodging aside. The motion sent him off balance, and he grabbed again for the tree. Grappling with thin branches, he used his strength to counter his awkwardness.

Such actions left him vulnerable, and the bird was quite sensitive to weakness. It dived in on the struggling Elf, stabbing at flesh with bared talons while pecking at areas exposed, beating great wings so that it might blind him. All three attacks dealt out simultaneously had the desired effect. Legolas lost his hold on the tree.

But not without retribution do such things happen lightly. Flailing for something solid to anchor him, Legolas' hands found solid comfort in the legs of the owl.

Slowly he experienced it, as if the meaning of time was lost, and nothing was left but to ponder his fall at a lethargic pace. At a glance, he saw the bird panic, the first signs of real emotion he had seen in those killing eyes. Wings flapped fruitlessly as the Elf's weight carried it down. Above him and around him he could hear the trees cry. Very briefly he regretted that he could not tell the tree this was not its fault and that he truly appreciated the effort made to save him. Wicked branches lashed out in his descent, scratching and bruising flesh as he brushed past them as a hard limb cracked into the skull of the bird. Somehow he knew he should be curling into a protective ball, but again instinct and action were warring for control, and Legolas felt helpless. Wind rushed past him, and he knew the entirety of this happening must have been no more than a second, perhaps even less. But the time allotted to consider the outcome made it ever the more gruesome.

A loud crack reached his ears at the same moment that an explosion of white torment shot through him. Breath escaped him in a sound of hurt, but it was barely the noise he would choose to make. Surprisingly mild was the cry for the anguish that vanquished his reality. Pain! Pain! Rivers of it throttled him in a manner he had never before known. Fervent agony wracked his core as a white, hot knife of piercing abuse ran over his spine. Nerves riddled his soul with wretchedness, and sickness immediately fell upon him. He knew neither the beginning nor the end of this writhing affliction. Had he the will, he would have screamed out, but sound would not come. The misery of this malady was so extreme that voice could not be given it.

His body flipped over the obstruction, as there was no chance any longer for a graceful end to his journey, and like a limp doll, he lifelessly fell the remaining dozen feet or so. He splayed on the forest floor, twisted in an awkward jumble like the roots of the tree. His body convulsed but he had no control over it as aching grief met his mind and soul. A sob passed his lips but he knew not that he had made it. Nausea, black weariness and disquieting darkness trod over him, pummeling him in inextinguishable hurt even as his conscious world slipped away.