Fan Fiction ❯ The Breaking ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Three days and nights now he'd felt it; a pressure so real that if he was not sure of his own sanity he might expect to find someone's hands pressing into him, reaching through cloth and flesh to lean heavily into his insides. This was not the sort of thing that could escape his notice, and neither did he overlook the difference between the chill he would have expected and the way this feeling so often left this skin feeling branded. He was being watched. Lifting his elven eyes toward the encroaching false dawn glimmering with faint, dark hues over the horizon, he carefully upturned some soil and slid it over the last remaining embers of the small fire. It was one of the few times there had been both a need for warmth and a lack of danger -- while the cold affected his kind not at all, the night had brought an unusual chill and a wind slicing earnestly between the dagger-like spires surrounding them, cutting more easily into his companions than usual.

The lack of threat was not entirely rationalised in his mind, though neither the dwarf nor the man showed any awareness of the eyes he so constantly felt burning into him. No -- as far as the others were concerned, this time they were not the prize.

As the last elements of glowing charcoal disappeared beneath a heavy spray of loose earth, he turned his back on the cooling mass and immediately lashed out with one foot. The deep, soft snoring that had previously seemed almost an icon of the landscape was abruptly cut short by a grunt of surprise and a throaty grumble. "Up, Gimli," he ordered, stepping off toward his unused bedroll and kneeling to collect his things. "Dawn arrives and we fall farther behind our quarry." Before the dwarf could utter even an incoherent syllable of discord he added, "Aragorn will be waiting," and slung his quiver onto his back, pausing to run a set of slender fingers over his bow. All was in order.

Paying little heed to the garbled sounds of protest behind him, some of which should have at least garnered a raised brow in a show of amusement, Legolas shifted his gaze to the west, into the rocks and sparse trees that were too thin now to call a forest. A barren field of grey and brown stood gregariously in stark contrast to the sound of rushing water he could still hear floating on the wind from the east. It was but a moment before he caught sight of a figure in the distance at the crown of another rise; he had heard Aragorn depart while the stars had still been dancing brightly overhead, undimmed by the procession of the rising sun ready to force its way over the shoulders of the world.

He was not sure whether to call the man impatient, or the dwarf lazy, but if he were to choose the former he would have to apply it to himself as well, for he did not want to stop moving until the last of the Orcs had been slain. They had not taken even half a night's rest, and Gimli was really the only one who had taken advantage of the short respite. They must continue on keenly; the creatures they tracked showed no signs of slowing, and if they were to find the trail that had been lost sometime before the arriving dawn they could not compromise their fierce pace.

The elf shot a glance behind him, brows drawn downward in a show of impatience, although there was some humour behind his glare. "Gimli --"

"Right, right," the dwarf said darkly, slipping a last throwing axe through a thick leather hoop over his armour. "Can't fall behind, can we?" A gloved hand twisted part of his beard back into place, and he heaved a growl of a sigh before setting his feet into motion. Gimli was about to offer a few choice words about that lunatic of a ranger, but Legolas was already on the move, striding smoothly even in this labyrinth of tricky stone. And in truth, he would not have really agreed with his own words. Despite his inclination to take advantage of the dark hours for rest, he was as anxious to overtake the enemy as anyone else. With a grunt, he closed his gloved fingers around the handle of his double-headed axe and took of with steady, albeit much shorter strides, his bulky square boots crushing or tossing aside whatever plant or stone happened to fall in their path.

The terrain of the Emyn Muil was sharply undulating, rock and hill joining forces to great effect at slowing progress and often forcing one to spare a second thought for the placement of each step. Legolas could hear the dwarf's heavy footfalls some distance behind him, landing heavily on the ground and accompanied by various disdainful grumbling about this hill and that. He did not for a moment consider slowing -- if dwarves could live in those sunless mountain caves of theirs, surely they could see by the pale pre-dawn light whose blue hues were steadily being driven away by the hint of red and orange flames licking delicately at the indigo horizon. Above them the stars had begun to recede, fading softly into the night behind them, and the elf sung quietly to himself; it would not be long before they would reach the top of the large rise upon which the still silhouette of a solitary man stood, one knee bent and his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

Legolas suddenly narrowed his eyes and cast a piercing glance into the shadows surrounding him. His flesh tingled at the sensation of eyes upon him, skin crawling beneath the heat of some unseen stare. He nearly broke stride, but as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, leaving him to feel somehow chilled. But the cold was brief --- so brief in fact that he was unsure whether he had felt it at all, especially without having ever truly experienced such a sensation before. The corners of his mouth tilted downward, but he pushed on until his feet carried him up the last rise and he came to a halt near Aragorn.

For a moment the man did not acknowledge him, rather stood motionless and lost somewhere in the grey distance, his eyes searching something that was not there. "Are you sure one of us should not carry Gimli?" the elf asked just loudly enough for the breeze to carry his voice back to the ears of their short companion. "The dwarf may have admirable stamina, but his legs appear to be of little use on such a swift journey as ours." At this his frown transformed into a smirk, but after a moment his mouth settled into a line and his brow lowered pensively. "Estel?"

The ranger's lack of surprise indicated he was well aware of his surroundings, however deep in thought he might appear. His expression was heavy, but somehow blank, which suggested there was more on his mind than just the trail laid out before them. Silence hung delicately in the air for a long moment before the echo of a deep sound of frustration snatched it from the air as a leaf caught in the wind, scattering across the hills and meeting their ears. It was then Aragorn turned, giving a laugh that was more of a forced breath than anything, but letting his lips twist into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He might have answered at last, but the stout shape of a running dwarf appeared and ambled towards them.

"I'd like to see the princeling try it," Gimli said gruffly, his voice sounding as if it had been scraped over as many rocks as the his boot soles. His jaw was set, but his eyes twinkled slightly beneath his helmet.

Legolas was about to retort when the sun finally broke into the eastern sky behind them, sending glittering deep golden rays to loosen the shadows' hold on the world, burning them out of crevices and corners. There was much to ponder this hour, as Aragorn indicated his discovery of a slaughtered group of orcs, some of whom appeared to hail from the north. Careful examination, however, yielded no clues as to the direction their game had taken, and Aragorn returned to scouring the land in ever widening circles looking for evidence. His sharp eyes were strangely unfocused as they took in every bent stem of grass, every depression and rise of dirt, the pattern of each scattering of rock. The smooth skin at the edge's of the elf's eyes barely crinkled as he watched the man, whose behaviour was not lost on him. He was used to his friend being somewhat stand-offish at times, even overly serious, but there had been a strange cloud over his face for the last day.

Boromir, perhaps; it had been only a short time since Gondor's son had fallen, since he had redeemed himself from the weight of the ring and given the very last thing he had to give in an attempt to prevent the shattering of the Fellowship, and save Merry and Pippin. He had borne himself valiantly out from under the spell of Isildur's Bane and paid with his life. Legolas had watched his last breaths with Aragorn at his side. He had been witness to their exchange of words, and it had been a heavy moment, the air filled with uncertainty and despair and more than a little anger, even if it had not entirely been a surprise. The ring might have taken them all had the Fellowship not broken as it had. But such things are hard on the heart and no less easy on the mind, especially when one was falling into step with his own fate, as was Elessar.

It was not long after Legolas spotted an eagle flying so high it was beyond the sight of any of his companions that they caught a glimpse of their quarry trampling across the hills in the distant fields, barely a smudge of motion on the horizon. With renewed energy, the group set about to discover the path the Orcs had taken out of this cursed place of razor sharp rock.

He could hear the dawn arrive in full, although its song was muffled by a cry to his right. Giving up his own scrutiny of the landscape, Legolas turned just in time to see Aragorn slipping off to the north -- he must have made a discovery. In an instant he was running after the ranger, catching up to the dwarf, who stood scowling. "He's found the way out," his shorter companion nearly growled before offering a keen-edged grin; if anything could get Gimli running, it appeared to be the promise of a chance to sever various body parts from the Orcs. Returning the smile, Legolas passed the now sprinting dwarf and headed up a water channel, seeming for a second to lead nowhere, until suddenly it deposited them without ceremony at the edge of Emyn Muil.

Before them, the earth appeared to drop off, tumbling downward in the form of a cliff wall that perhaps even the most skilled climber could not scale. But presently Aragorn discovered tracks leading down a narrow, stream crafted ravine. Rock and dust tumbled down after them, the sounds of their collisions echoing smartly off the solid stone walls. A few curses reached the elf's ears as he heard Gimli nearly take a fall, but the dwarf had righted himself he could see as he gave a quick backward glance. It was not long before the crags suddenly disappeared, and the grey of old weathered stone gave way to something much more alive.

Indeed, it was as if they had stepped from night into day as the desolate scape they now left behind was lost beneath a tide of thick, rolling green meeting the base of the cliffs -- the eastern border of Rohan. His face split into a grin as if he were breathing life for the first time, the elf glanced toward Aragorn. His intent to approach the man about his worries was out of time, here; talk of darker things could wait until a time when it would not mar such good news as the trail they saw laid out so blatantly before them. The grass of the fields was so thoroughly damaged it was blackened and nearly gone in places. Legolas took a few steps ahead of his companions to survey the fields. As soon as he had advanced a few paces, he shivered: there it was again, that burning feeling he knew should have been cool. His eyes closed almost to slits, he spun back to face the others, looking again the Aragorn. "Estel --"

"We should continue directly," the man said; his voice was hard and deliberate, as if he had just forced his jaw to unclench. "Come." Leaving no room for protest, Aragorn took off at once, eyes dark and cast downward at the trail spreading in a wide swath into the distance. Gimli seemed unfazed and followed without hesitation, determined to overtake the Orcs as much to destroy them as to save the little ones. Only Legolas lingered for any amount of time, a hand on one end of his bow while the other tip rested in the long grass. Perhaps Aragorn had felt it, too. Or perhaps he was not in the mood for conversation, it was hard to say -- but something was obviously troubling his friend. With a flick of his wrist, Legolas caught the bow by the middle and set off in pursuit with strides that easily brought him up to run alongside the others. The man would not meet his gaze, and he knew they were in for a longer journey than he had expected.

Through the day they ran on, their progress coming more easily on the open land with little worry of missing the trail. They ran on as the sun circled lazily overhead and fell into dusk, and set now in front of them as their path had turned westward. Estel had found the Lórien cloak pin of one of the hobbits, surrounded by tracks that indicated he'd managed to get away from his captors for a short time. With renewed hope which in turn gave them new strength, they took bites of lembas and kept running, sprinting, until the world was painted orange and purple and it felt as if they were passing through a dream. Until the purples calmed to blues and greys and made the landscape seem drenched in black and white. Until finally all the colour disappeared completely, and they only had the company of the stars and the waxing moon to see them through. Legolas sang the stars out in his native tongue as he did so many nights, making them seem to shine all the brighter. It was not until the moon set that they paused, watching the world go dark around them.

It was finally decided they should stop and rest, for fear of losing the trail or missing signs the hobbits might have once again escaped. Aside from Gimli, who seemed quite happy to stop for the evening, they made camp with reservation in the shelter of a jutting boulder atop a small hill. It was warmer within the valleys of the Riddermark, so there was no fire. Legolas watched Aragorn quietly as the man and Gimli prepared for sleep -- he was keen to go onward, but something strange was causing their hearts to weary, and in this way their bodies, too, wearied. It was not long before the familiar snoring of the dwarf indicated he was fast asleep, and the man finally turned to look at the elf.

"I will take watch. You rest, my friend," Legolas said, though he knew it was not necessary. He did not need sleep, and he would not take it this night. If he needed it at all, he might let his mind wander to home and along dream-paths even as their steps carried them farther across the plains.

Aragorn nodded, his eyes almost black beneath the shadow of his brow, and he tore his gaze away to lie quietly on his bedroll. He knew he would not sleep well, so he folded his hands over his chest and watched the stars for a while. The elf's voice drifted to him on the wind, and he was not surprised none before the elves had ever sung, for this sound could make all others in the world seem like some terrible cacophony. His chest rose and fell heavily as a sigh escaped him, but he closed his eyes and let the sound lull him into a fitful rest he had not seen since the start of their journey.

As his song ended, voice fading and rising up toward the sky as if it intended to take root with the sparkling stars, Legolas drew his knees up to his chin where he sat on the boulder. He let the wind carry its stories from the western valley and wash over him. Breathing deeply, he savoured every scent that was shared with him on the breeze, and closed his eyes. He heard nothing but the distant call of some birds and the rustling of foraging creatures. And the breathing of his companions. He eyed Aragorn as the man tossed in unquiet nearby, gaze growing sharp. The knot which had been building in his belly for the past few days tightened, and he found himself annoyed that he thought he should go wake the man and tell him he must only be dreaming. He was sure this ache in his gut was only the disintegration of the Fellowship; he did not let the others know of the depth of his sorrow for the events which had unfolded the previous day. Frowning, he lifted his gaze once again to concentrate on his watch. It was not long before he heard stirring below, and the scraping of thick leather over stone.

"Are you certain you require no rest?"

He was not startled by the voice, but did turn towards it. Aragorn had joined him on the stony outcropping, but did not move to sit. Legolas offered a soft snort of mock offence and turned away again. "Certain, yes," he said, a smile evident in his voice. "If I begin to feel tired or faint," he continued lightly, "I will merely take a sip of miruvor, and you will not have to worry about needing to come to my rescue." He waved absently with a slender hand.

It was the ranger's turn to snort, although beneath the amusement in the sound, Legolas sensed something coursing deeper. Indeed, Aragorn said nothing after this, rather stood in silence watching the fields for a long time. Watching, but not entirely seeing them. It may have been a long while, but measurements of such things as time are relative, especially to an elf, but at length Legolas felt a hand on his shoulder, its fingers tense but not gripping tightly. "Hannon le," and the hand and the source of the words were gone. His head pivoted only far enough to see his jerkin remained uncrumpled where the hand had rested, as if it had not been there at all, but he could hear Aragorn's steps as the man departed, even if he did walk like one of his kin.

Legolas frowned and climbed to his feet while smoothly dusting himself off. The rustle below told him the dwarf was also awake, and he navigated the drop off the boulder with a nimble leap and joined them. He was surprised to find Gimli nearly ready, and for a moment was disappointed he hadn't been able to kick his friend awake again. The thought manifested itself in a smirk that did not escape th dwarf's attention.

"Thought you might get to carry me?" he asked the elf as he secured an axe into straps across his back.

Instead of answering, Legolas offered a cutting but humourous smile and a mock bow. Gimli chuckled at this and then jerked his head in the direction of Aragorn's departing back. "A bit quiet, isn't he?" He lifted a hand to smooth his beard absently before turning back.

Making a non-committal sound, Legolas nodded and followed Gimli's gaze, running a thumb and forefinger down the string of his bow. "It is curious." But he said no more, for a falter in Estel's stride indicated he'd overheard them. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes and looked back to Gimli, mouth pulled to the side somewhat. "A bit /loud/ aren't you?" he asked good-naturedly, although his expression was creased with worry.

"Oooh," came the grudging reply that was more grumble than word. "Let's go. Or are you going to stand around all day singing?" He lifted his axe in one hand and headed after Aragorn, a guffaw winding its way back to the elf's ears. Legolas stood where he was and pondered Gimli's form for a moment -- from the back he appeared not unlike a large, trotting pony. He flashed a grin that went without witness and ran off to catch them up, sparing a wide eyed glance at the disappearing stars sinking into the deep blue field above, and began singing once again in a voice that carried just far enough to be heard by his friends. Gimli smiled to himself; he could not deny the sound of the elf's voice was something he enjoyed, and he was certain, or nearly so, one could tell evil from good by whether or not a creature fled before its sound.

The night fell heavily on a day of little talk and less food, though the lembas truly was a blessing. This night, as the others, they were forced to pause in their pursuit lest the cover of darkness disguise some sign of importance. Always the one to take advantage of such moments, Gimli was quickly adrift in slumber. Aragorn lay still enough to appear sleeping, but his breath was ragged and uneven.

"What troubles you?" Legolas asked suddenly, keeping his face expressionless, his voice soft enough so it did not disturb the quiet of the field, rather seemed as if it might belong. With a graceful motion he bent his knees and settled down across the small fire from Aragorn.

The sound of breathing ceased, and one might have wondered if it was going to begin again so long was the air still. "'Tis nothing but the toils of our journey, Legolas," the man finally replied, one arm lifting up so he might run a hand through unkempt hair. After a moment he shifted on the ground and pushed himself up to mirror the elf. "You have seen the way something in these lands works against us, and gives those creatures some strange advantage of speed over these hills." Absently he ran a thumb along his ring finger, feeling the cool metal band and sliding it over his skin.

Legolas kept his eyes on the ranger's though Aragorn refused steadily to meet them, and instead insisted upon staring into the fire. "You are too quiet my friend, ever since we left the Anduin behind us."

Without looking up, Aragorn replied, "Where Boromir was lost and Merry and Pippin taken? Where the Fellowship was destroyed leaving us with barely enough shards to wonder if indeed we have strayed far enough for hope of defeating Sauron? Do you expect something else?" His voice was throaty and game barrelling out through his teeth. He glanced toward Gimli, but his voice had no disturbed the dwarf. He doubted much could, right now.

The elf frowned -- there was anger in the undercurrent of so many of the ranger's action of late. "You sound as a man without hope to drive his heart," he said after many minutes.

"It is nothing, Legolas." Aragorn made as if to lie down, but again changed his mind. "I am just letting this weariness get to me."

Legolas nodded. "Then get some sleep. I will take the watch." With as smooth a motion as he had dropped to the ground, the elf once again stood and turned from the fire. His breath hitched, then, and his shoulders stiffened under the heat of skin feeling as if it were being ever branded. He felt someone's eyes boring into him once again, like fire in a forge onto cold steel. Spinning around, he thought he saw the last of the slowly fading embers mirrored in a pair of eyes in the darkness beyond. But then it was gone, and Aragorn was already shifting on his bedroll with his back to the dying flames. The next time, he was going to ask Estel whether or not he'd felt it even if the man had found his most restful sleep in years.

Well before dawn the sleeping pair woke to find Legolas again ready to be on the move. The elf's eyes held a distant somberness, and as they gathered their things beneath the red dawn and set off once again at top speed, it soon became clear they were at least a day and a half behind now. They had lost much time even though it appeared their quarry had rested a while, and though Gimli was weathering such a gruelling quest as well as his friends, he indeed felt a heaviness upon his soul that bent his back and made his strides shorter. Aragorn's face was drawn, and his own stride seemed weaker. Only Legolas seemed to be as fleet and light as before, leaving no footprints behind him as he ran. But they kept hoping, and so kept moving.

The insistent roar of the Entwash could be heard to the west, and as the day grew late the tracks became more sparse, nearly disappearing over ground, which had become much more solid and riddled with stone, holding fewer things for the Orcs to blacken and destroy along the way. Near the ending of the day a dark swath on the horizon became visible, and they stopped once more in sight of the dark jutting peaks of the Mist Mountains and th darker slab of Fangorn Forest below it.

A cold wind carved its way down from the snowy peaks that lay hidden in heavy bellied cloud to the north, and so Aragorn and Legolas went about collecting wood for a fire. It was in the shadows of the dark evening that the elf called out suddenly. "Aragorn!" He dropped his bundle of kindling and before it his the ground had drawn an arrow to his bow.

A quiet haunted the air, and within it a moment that, if one were listening for it, all the night's creatures seemed to cease their speech. In another moment to short to measure a voice broke the stillness. "Legolas?" came the call as the shape of a man approached, sword at the ready.

"I must ask you, Estel," the elf said gravely and not without some impatience, "have you felt as though we are being watched?" His boots made no sound over the grass and leaves as he slowly turned a circle and squinted out into the surrounding landscape.

Aragorn's jaw tightened until it nearly popped, and he dropped his hand from Andúril, curling his fingers instead into a fist. "Do you sense something, Legolas?" he asked slowly, allowing himself to turn and stare off into the deepening dark when the elf finally looked in his direction. "I have neither seen nor felt anything since we left the Falls of Rauros behind us, save for those we chase."

The elf did not overlook the hand that was now missing from the sword, and the corners of his mouth turned downward to match the movement of his brow. "Tell me what it is, friend," the elf said slowly, but steadily, not yet ready to loosen the tension on his bowstring. Now was not the time for games, and the Aragorn he knew was not the type to play them. There was something the man kept hidden behind those eyes, and it grew stronger the more they removed themselves from the ring.

"There is nothing," Aragorn insisted a bit too harshly. "Perhaps it is the same thing which works to tire us so, yet harry the Orcs." His excuse was a weak one, and he knew it, but he hoped it was enough to sate the elf's sudden curiosity. In truth, he would not know what to say anyway.

His answer drew a nod from Legolas, who decided not to press the issue for the time being. Again, he felt a knot in his stomach as he watched the ranger return to his wood gathering. Still, he could not tell from where it came, nor its reasons for settling itself so heavily in his gut.Maybe this chase was affecting them all more than they realised, or could understand. Watching the night swallow his friend, he nearly scowled. The elf stood for a long moment before finally scooping up his discarded pile of sticks and branches, and finally headed back to camp. Gimli was already snoring soundly.

With a shake of his head Legolas said, "I do not think he would wake even if the enemy came thundering back over him."

Aragorn had already gotten the first sparks of the fire going, and was feeding the smaller twigs and branches into the hungry flames before finally adding the thicker tree limbs. "I would call it a draw," he replied with a hint of a smile, "between sleep and slaughter for that one." Standing up, he brushed the remnants of dirt and splinters off his hands and stepped back. "You will take watch?" he asked in a moment of wry mirth that seemed so rare these days as he arranged himself for sleep.

With a nod of his head, Legolas narrowed his eyes a fraction while he studied Aragorn. "Of course," he said simply, not realising he'd lifted his hand and placed it supportively against his abdomen. The man broke eye contact and set off in search of rest, while Legolas was left to turn his attention to the sky. He spent his time walking the land and singing softly to himself, but in the back of his mind, he realised the knot in his stomach was getting tighter still, and he set to trying to unravel it.

Time passed quickly, and for once Gimli appeared to have as much trouble finding the dream world as Aragorn. Often they would wake and watch the elf as he paced to and fro, creating melodies and spinning them off into the night, and for the most part ignoring them. It was only towards morning when he was certain beyond all measure that there was someone there. He turned, glaring, behind him, eyes glistening and aimed toward the circle around the campfire, where his friends were sleeping. The fire bathed things in sharp relief, and his gaze was at last met, again a pair of intense eyes flickering orange and gold as a mirror of the burning wood before them. Mirrors which were, behind the flame painting, a steely, grey blue.

"Aragorn."