Glîngroth entered the dimly lit room and silently made his way to the ranger’s sleeping form.  His honey-dark face looked up at the slender golden Elf already standing beside the bed, and he contemplated Legolas’ troubled profile.  He glanced back down to Strider and quietly asked.

          “Has he awakened yet?”

          Legolas continued to stare at Strider’s pale face although he was aware of the small Elven being beside him.  “Briefly.” 

          He gently relinquished his hold upon Strider’s hand and then wearily returned to the chair alongside the bed and literally fell into the seat.

          “How long will he remain like this?” he asked as he massaged his aching temples.

          The small darkling turned his attention to Legolas and his concerned frown noted that the Elf looked terrible.  It was quite evident that he had not rested properly, nor had he eaten, although a brimming platter of food, as yet untouched, sat upon a side table.

          “He will sleep until the potion has thoroughly cleansed his body of the poisons.  It will take longer and will be much harder on him each time he transforms into the wolf and then back to his former self.”

          He moved to stand directly in front of Legolas and now that the taller Elf was seated, he was able to stare at him eye to eye.  He analytically studied the blond Elf as if taking his measure and Legolas found the smaller Elf’s scrutiny distinctly unpleasant.

          “You have something you wish to share with me?” Legolas irritably snapped at the little Elf.

          Glîngroth’s disconcerting black eyes continued to fix upon Legolas’ face and finally he said.  “There will come a time when you will have to chain him… for his protection as well as your own.”  He watched Legolas’ sensitive face intently as he continued.  “Can you do this?”

          Legolas looked away.  Could he? He asked himself. Could he chain Aragorn up like some wild, rabid animal?

          Glîngroth’s small dark hands clutched Legolas’ slender shoulders and forced him to look up.  “Can you do this for him?” he asked again in a harsh, demanding whisper.

          Legolas glared back at the irksome little Elf.  “Yes,” he hissed.  “If I have to I will.”

          Glîngroth nodded, satisfied, and released Legolas’ shoulders.  “Good,” he replied and a slight smile came over his dark features.  “You are all that he said you were; a true friend to him.”

          Although his face remained impassive, Legolas’ expressive eyes could not hide his inner turmoil and painful guilt.

          “I am neither,” he whispered.  “I should never have let him come here.”

          “And just how would you have stopped him?” the dark one asked.  “He is a grown man.  His decisions are his own to make.”

          Legolas glanced up ready to counter with a scathing retort, but stopped when he saw the dark Elf’s compassionate face.  The small creature was extremely unsettling and he found himself feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable whenever those penetrating black eyes delved too deeply into his heart.  And so instead of answering in anger, he simply looked away, his pained eyes staring at something that only he could see.

          “I should have gone with him,” he finally replied in a voice so paper thin and brittle it was barely audible.

          Glîngroth moved over to the table and thoughtfully surveyed the platter of food and finally selected a shiny, red apple from the dish of fruits and cheeses.

          “Perhaps,” he agreed as he rhythmically tossed the apple from hand to hand.

          He returned to Legolas and offered him the apple, his determined look indicating that he intended to stand there holding it in his outstretched palm until Legolas accepted it.  When he did, Glîngroth continued.

          “There is no way for you to know what might or might not have happened had you done so.  The shifting cosmos of the Valar has too many variables within it that may or may not come to pass.   It is not for us to shape as we please, for we are mere players in the Song of Life.   We have only but to live out one reality at a time and face each challenge as it arises,” he paused, his disturbing eyes holding Legolas mesmerized.  “When it arises.”

          Despite himself, Legolas brought the apple to his lips and bit into the crisp fruit; the first succulent taste confirmed his ravenous hunger and his body’s dire need for nourishment.  As he chewed, he watched the dark Elf move back to the plate of food.  With a sweeping gesture of his graceful brown hand, Glîngroth indicated the tray.  His dark face was grim and he boldly addressed Legolas in a tone not unlike that of Lord Elrond at his most formidable.

          “I suggest you eat heartily and replenish your body, Elf prince.   You will need all the strength you can manage.   The journey ahead will be difficult for both of you, but it will be your tenacity to survive that will ultimately see Strider through the darkness ahead of him.  He will need you now more than ever before.  Do not fail him.”

          Before Legolas could reply, Strider stirred upon the bed and both Elves turned as one and moved to his bedside.  Like an unseen phantom, Glîngroth discreetly began to unlock the chains that bound the human while Legolas gingerly helped the ranger up into a sitting position.  Once the metal restraints had been removed, the small Elf moved aside and then quietly slid out of the room, leaving the two friends to their own private reunion.

          At first, neither human nor Elf could speak, each too tense and overcome to utter a sound, and then both started to speak at once.  Nervous, frightened laughter issued from both and an awkward silence hung over them until finally Strider placed his hand upon the Elf’s forearm and tears misted at the corners of his silver eyes.

          “I knew you would come, Legolas.”  His voice was thick and shaky with emotion and then his eyes lowered.  “I prayed you would come.”

          Legolas realized that he, too, found it difficult to speak, and that his eyes were over bright and shining with unshed tears.  He sat down on the bedside next to his friend and placed his arm around the ranger’s slumped shoulders.

          “I am here, mellon nin,” the Elf murmured.  “I should never have allowed you to leave Mirkwood.  I should have….”

          He took a deep, anxious intake of breath, and would have continued in like manner but he remembered Glîngroth’s earlier words and his racing heart calmed.   He slowly drew Aragorn’s dark head down to rest upon his shoulder.

          “It is no matter.  I am here now and I will not leave your side.  Together we will see this through.”

          “Ahhhh, Legolas…”  Strider’s disconsolate sigh nearly broke Legolas’ heart.

          The ranger’s dark head shook sadly and then he felt the Elf’s gentle fingers combing through his tangled hair, soothing him.  “I hold out no false hopes, Legolas.”

          He looked up at the Elf and Legolas could see that this horrifying nightmare had already taken a great toll upon his friend’s spirits.  Aragorn’s silver-grey eyes were haunted and on the edge of madness.   He forced a smile of encouragement upon his lips and held the ranger tightly against him, shoulder to shoulder, head to head.

          “We shall defeat this evil, Estel,” he whispered.  “You must believe that.”

          Strider slowly nodded.   There was so much more he wanted to say to the Elf sitting beside him; about the journey ahead; about the horror of what had happened to him; about their friendship.  But he could not find the words, and yet somehow he knew that Legolas understood.   They were truly brothers in spirit; two halves of the same coin and each made stronger by the sheer will and determination of the other, and somehow they would prevail.  

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Legolas secured yet another bundle to Astalder’s saddle harness and then affectionately patted the horse’s flank when the steed whinnied in protest.

          “It is only until we can acquire a horse for Aragorn,” he murmured to the stallion.  “You are gracious to carry these burdens like a pack mule.”

          Astalder shook his regal head and snorted and Legolas chuckled lightly as he bent down to gather up more supplies.  True to his word, Glîngroth had found the grey Elven steed and had coaxed him through the coastal sea caves that hugged the coastline along the mountains and through the tunnels and passages to this wide cavern of safety.  He had also given Aragorn a detailed map of all the Dwarf tunnels that were located throughout these mountains, and suggested that they use these underground passages rather than trek back along the sea and then around the mountains as they started out on their long journey to the Forests of Druadan.

          Legolas was not particularly excited about traveling through Dwarvish pathways and dark warrens, but until they could secure another horse for Aragorn, both had agreed that it might be best if their presence in Rhûn was kept hidden from the view of any prying and unwanted eyes.   And, too, the gaurhoth still prowled the mountain slopes, awaiting their chance to turn Strider to Shadow and forever make him a permanent member of their pack.

          According to the dark Elf, there was a small human settlement located on the outskirts of the Brown Lands at the base of the mountains near Rhûn’s western borders.   There they could procure a sturdy horse from one of the numerous mercenaries or marauding bandits who frequented this town.

          The Elf glanced up from his horse when he heard Glîngroth and Aragorn walking through the passageway and into the cavern.  Legolas frowned when he saw Aragorn’s tired and haggard face.  Upon waking from the debilitating aftereffects of the transformation, his friend had slept little and when he did, it was fitful and restless at best.   Legolas knew this was not a good sign and having weathered some of Strider’s grumpier moods because he lacked sleep, he did not relish traveling with an overtired and sleep-deprived human.

          As he rechecked the straps that secured the supplies upon Astalder’s back, he sensed that the small Elf was near and looking to his side he saw the odd little creature approaching.  Glîngroth halted beside him and surreptitiously handed him a large leather bag.  At Legolas’ questioning look, the darkling spoke quietly and for his ears only.

          “The chains,” he murmured and he quickly glanced over at Strider, but the human was busy with his packing and did not look up.

          Legolas flinched as if he had been struck and turned his face away, but finally he nodded his head and then turned back to face the little Elf.  Reluctantly taking the unwanted bundle, he placed it atop the other sacks and bags near his saddle and secured it tightly.  When he was finished, he turned back to Glîngroth and with a twinge of resentment still marring his serene face, extended his forearm to the dark-haired Elf.

          “I thank you for Aragorn’s life and the courtesy you have shown me.” 

          Although his words were cool and aloof, they were nonetheless sincere and heartfelt.   The black-haired Elf looked up at Legolas with a tilt of his head and gave the prince an equally haughty smirk.  Then his dark eyes blazed with a wild fire that reminded Legolas of the ancient Avari warriors in the deep woods of his home.   Suddenly the little creature seemed to have grown in size and stature and his slim brown arm crossed over his chest.   His head bowed forward slightly and he saluted Legolas with a soldier’s formal farewell.

          “Aá i Anor nuava pân anann na lle adel, a i calad ned lle cothrim henea*.”       

          Legolas was stunned by the unexpected tribute and returned the gesture in kind and he, too, nodded his head, confirming his respect for the dark Elf and his gratitude for the knowledge and wisdom he had openly shared with them.  “Namaarie, pen tithen.**”

          Strider came up behind Glîngroth and as the dark creature turned about to face the ranger, he knelt down and swept the small Elf into his arms, squeezing him to his chest in an all too human and emotional embrace.  The unforeseen hug startled the dark one and he emitted a nervous squeak, but his slight arms slowly encircled the human’s shoulders and he held the man to him in return and then grinned up at the ranger with dancing, shiny eyes.

          Strider’s intense silver eyes shown brightly and he slowly released the little Elf and then pulled back away from him so that he could look into his darkly handsome face.

          “I owe you my life, Glîngroth,” he stated.  “I shall not forget it.”

          Glîngroth raised his graceful brown hand and placed it gently to Strider’s cheek.  His black eyes saddened as he stared into Strider’s tormented and careworn face and his grin faded away, leaving his own expression somber and troubled.

          “Be well, Strider,” he said.  “I am sorry your quest for The Two was in vain and that this terrible tragedy befell you instead.”  His eyes lowered from Strider’s face and he voice lowered to almost a whisper.  “I would not have it so.”

          Strider’s eyes closed briefly and he swallowed thickly, as the tremendous weight of everything that had happened here crushed down upon him again and he was bitterly reminded of his doomed fate.  But he squared his shoulders and lifted his head and then gently placed his hand under Glîngroth’s chin, lifting up his brown, child’s face.

          “Hannon le,” he whispered in return and forced a smile to his lips as he stared back at the enigmatic little being.  Then he rose to his feet and looked to Legolas, and nodded that he was ready to leave.  The Mirkwood prince nodded slightly in return and gathered up Astalder’s reins and walked the horse forward to join the ranger.  Together they headed toward the Dwarf tunnels and the beginning of their journey through the mountains.  

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          It had taken Strider and Legolas five long days to travel through the caverns and tunnels deep within the Mountains of Rhûn and finally they emerged from the stone and darkness into the lower foothills at the range’s southern rim.  The trip had been tiresome and uneventful and for the most part spent in silence as both Elf and ranger had brooded with his own troubling and fretful thoughts.

          Legolas, never comfortable when forced to spend time under tons of rock, had been anxious and tense and without the light of the stars overhead to cheer his spirit, had been particularly dour and moody and Strider had given up trying to appease him.  For his part, Strider had been restive and on edge throughout the trip.  He could not seem to find sleep and his disposition had grown surly and bad-tempered.  For both, the fresh air and sunlight was a welcome relief and almost immediately their bantering humor returned.

          As they left the tunnel behind, the foothills spread out before them and the border town could be plainly seen off in the distance ahead.  However, the few crude buildings and small lean-tos visible could hardly be considered a town.  Strider turned to the Elf beside him and nodded in the direction of the outpost.

          “I think it best if I went down there alone.  You stay here and stay hidden.”

          Legolas was only too happy to comply.  He had no wish to become the target of any unwanted attention.  “Try not to get into trouble,” he grinned.  “I do not wish to venture into that hell hole to rescue you.”

          Strider chuckled and shook his head.  “I will not be long.”  His grin faded.  “Stay alert.”

          The Elf nodded and led Astalder into the shelter of the outcroppings and boulders and was soon out of sight.  Strider pulled his hood up over his head and drew his cloak about his chest.  With a final backward glance to make certain the Elf was out of sight, he started walking toward the town below.

          When he reached the outbuildings some time later, Strider boldly walked through the ramshackle posts that served as the main gate and headed straight for the largest building in the grouping.  Dozens of rough and dirty looking men milled about the town talking to one another or engaged in spurious business dealings.  Several eyed the ranger, but none tried to stop him as he continued through the small crowd and entered what served as the town livery.

          A large, well-muscled man with skin blackened by the sun was hammering out shoes on an anvil and barely looked up as Strider entered the building.  When the ranger halted in front of him, he glanced up, but said nothing.  Strider casually opened his cloak to reveal his sword and the Elven blade at his belt and calmly waited for the man to acknowledge him.  At the sight of the weapons, the man stood up from his work and set his hammer aside.

          “What’re ye wantin’, warrior?” he asked.  His tone was sour and made clear his reluctance to be of much help to Strider.

          “I need a horse,” Strider replied.

          “Don’ have any,” the man answered and picking up his hammer, returned to his work.

          “I’m willing to pay a fair price,” Strider continued as if he had not heard the man’s comment.

          The farrier looked up angrily.  “I tol’ ye….”  His words cut off with sudden fear as he stared into Strider’s red, glowing eyes.  An animistic snarl curled the corner of the ranger’s lip and for a fleeting moment the man thought he saw a wolf’s head appear before him.   The man blinked several times, and shook his head and as his vision cleared, Strider’s silver eyes were calmly staring back at him.  “I…mean, I,” he stammered.  He dropped the hammer and stumbled backward a step.

          “A horse?” Strider pressed.

          The man quickly nodded, pointing toward the pens outside.  “Take yer pick.”

          Strider nodded his thanks and moved past the bewildered and frightened man and went out to the enclosure at the back of the building where several horses and mules were corralled.  He spied a magnificent black horse with a proud head and slowly moved toward the animal, greeting it with soft Elvish words.  The horse willingly came over to meet him and nuzzled the ranger’s chest.  He chuffed softly and then sniffed his hand, searching for a treat.

          Strider glanced back at the man within the doorway and said.  “I’ll take this one.”

          “He’s yers,” the outlander hastily agreed.  “Fifty gold pieces.”

          Strider had already slipped a halter onto the horse’s head and attached a lead.  “I’ll give you thirty.”

          The man started to protest, but one look from the ranger changed his mind.  “Thirty it is.”

          Strider handed the man a sack of coins and then swung up onto the horse’s bare back.  He nodded slightly to the flustered smith, and tapped his heels to the horse’s flanks.  The black steed eagerly jumped forward and they were soon cantering toward the town perimeter.  Strider rode out without a backward glance, but as soon as he had cleared the outer reaches of the village, he urged the horse to greater speed and put as much distance between himself and the town as he could.

*May the Sun be always at your back, and the light in your enemies eyes.

**Farewell, little one.