Fan Fiction ❯ The Breaking ❯ Chapter 2

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

Chapter 2


His cry seemed to dissolve. There was but a vault of blackness enveloping the frigid fire which was carving, into the orbs behind it, a deep contrast of amber and gold. Legolas was not about to allow himself to become transfixed at such an ethereal sight -- the fate of the Wood had long since accustomed him to the dangers the Darkness had wrought upon this world. In less than an instant he had drawn and knocked an arrow, aiming steadily in the space between those burning eyes. Scarcely a second had passed, but it was enough to set the elf's skin crawling with some foreign heat just beneath the surface; at last he was confronted with the source of his recent ill-ease, and he was determined to put and end to this now. In one smooth motion he increased the tension on his bow, careful to keep the path of his arrow true, as he stepped around the campfire so he might see beyond it.

Legolas's focus was cleaved in twain by a sound that came scattered from his left, and he was forced to rely on his finely tuned reflexes to shift his balance, retreating backward to widen his field of vision. In the sparse moments these movements took, the sound had turned to a growling, and the small flames ahead of him came to the verge of burning themselves out. Vanished were the eyes before the elf's piercing gaze. He did not lower his bow.

"What is it now?" The query came thickly, almost in a roar, and between the shadows Legolas could see Gimli rising swiftly from the ground, alert though he had just been heavy in slumber. His call to Aragorn must have woken the dwarf, but that Gimli had been roused in the middle of the night was not his immediate concern; his disquiet rested in Aragorn's direction, and it was there he turned his attention, his eyes fraught with worry.

"Aragorn!" he repeated more fiercely this time, uncertain as to whether he had come to any harm. But the man was already climbing to his feet, pushing himself upward in a nimble motion with one arm and drawing his legs beneath him as his free hand reached for his sword. He was up only a breath after Gimli and casting a furtive glance around him for any present dangers, rubbing his jaw along his free arm's sleeve. When he saw nothing which posed a threat, he turned back to the elf with an eerily penetrating stare, the shadows thrown from the light at his feet exaggerating the angles of his face, making his eyes seem sunken and rimmed with black.

"What is it, Legolas?" he asked, his voice sounding strained almost to the point of breaking. His grip flexing on the leather of his sword handle, causing the leather to protest slightly, and he recovered to the point his voice sounded only gritty, perhaps from sleep. "Do you sense something near?"

"Did you not see it?" the elf asked with more than a hint of incredulity, finally lowering his weapon, though he did not relax the tension that placed his arrow at the ready. He lifted his chin toward the area between the fire and the ranger's bedroll. "It was just before you, nay, right on top of you I should guess, and you were unaware?" Without moving his head, Legolas let his eyes wander to the left and then the right before hastily looking back to Aragorn.

The man cast his own eyes downward as if to look for signs left by this thing of which the elf now spoke. He was somewhat taken aback by the outburst, and the soles of his boots rustled the sparse grass as he shifted his weight. "What is it you saw?"

Gimli, who had armed himself without hesitation upon standing, cleared his throat. "I saw nothing, nor heard nothing," he said, providing each of his companion with a curious look as he searched their faces. His words hung in the air until the elf finally tore his gaze from Aragorn to look at him.

"And you, have you not felt as if something were watching us these last days?" If there was any panic driving the frustration evident in his voice, Legolas was not letting on. But it was obvious enough the fair haired elf thought something amiss.

A deep frown marred Gimli's features, and he reactively turned in place as if he might now sense something to which he had so far been oblivious. "No," he said carefully once his eyes had fallen again on Legolas. He watched the elf for a moment, sparing Aragorn a surreptitious glance, and wondered if in fact his own senses might be failing him -- perhaps there /was/ something out there and he was too focused on one task to notice it. "What do you see, then, elf? My eyes are keen, but they have spent much time in darkness this evening, and my ears in quiet." He placed the head of his axe on the ground and rested both hands atop the end of the handle.

For a moment Legolas appeared as if he could at any moment launch into a string of unwholesome curses, but his composure did not break, and instead he merely set his jaw with lowered eyebrows and stared hard into the dying fire; slowly he removed the arrow from his bow and slid it back into his quiver. Something was terribly wrong here, and he refused to consider that he might be losing his mind. Nay, it was not possible. "Then it must be nothing," he said finally, lifting his head and turning to take a few steps away from the group. "A trick of the eye, a mixing of exhaustion and inconstant firelight. The same black forces at work all around us which begin to plunge this land into shadow, and take with it all those that inhabit its borders." He was well aware how similar his statement sounded to the one given by Aragorn only a few hours earlier, but he desired not to let himself be forced into any other explanation. No, not now.

"Perhaps some rest, then," Gimli ventures in earnest, though he held high doubts that the elf would take his suggestion with any measure of sincerity.

"You take yours, Gimli, it is well deserved," Legolas said absently. "I will rest as soon as we have completed this quest, and Merry and Pippin rest safely within our guard." His voice was stronger now, but the eyes staring stoicly off over the plains were not shining with hope as they had in days previous. He breathed the night air deeply, letting it fill his chest and work to calm him. Wanting to put some distance between himself and the experience, he paced off beneath the light of the remaining stars.

A half growl of protest was aimed at Legolas's back -- the dwarf wished, it seemed, to say something else, but had thought better of it and returned to his place beside the flickering flames. He settled himself on the ground, but did not expect to sleep again before the sun rose.

Aragorn had not said anything after the elf's well delivered parry. Its meaning was certainly not lost on him, and, had their circumstances not been so dire, the idea of the elf saying he was addled by exhaustion might have made him laugh. All he could do now was offer a nod to the dwarf as his friend set out on a search for the dream world again; but he did not relax. His shoulders were strung more tightly than Legolas's bow had been, and he stood, turning his eyes to watch the last flame flicker out and curls of smoke spiral into the darkness that now surrounded them. As the elf retreated out of sight, the last of the smoke dissipated into thin air, and Aragorn felt a wave of nausea wash over him, strong enough to force him to his knees. He nearly fell to the ground as he crossed his legs, hitting the earth heavily and feeling some of the air leave his lungs. Resting his elbows on his knees, he sat in silence until the sun rose.

The dawn broke without song, and the thought came unbidden to Aragorn that Legolas had made no sound he could hear in the hours since the incident. As the light began to pour over the land like a slow wash of tide, he could see his friend some ways off, standing facing the north and west, unmoving. He took in the scene with a little pain, and finally gathered his feet beneath him and pushed himself up. His joints groaned softly in protest; he had not moved since he had succumbed to near sickness earlier. He kicked at the mound of charcoal before him with a boot to see if it might flare up again, but it was too cold, and the remaining wood disintegrated into a thick black powder at his touch. Gimli had finally fallen asleep again an hour before, and his hallmark rasping breath was drifting up and down on the breeze.

Aragorn grimaced, running a calloused hand roughly through his hair as if he might drag out whatever weighed so heavily upon him with such a simple gesture. He was no longer unwell, but a ghost of the feeling remained, as if he had received a fierce blow to the stomach and the pain had faded, leaving only a mark in its place. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, folding his arms across his chest and breathing slowly in and out. Finally, he stepped away from the camp, dropping his arms to his sides and slowly approaching Legolas.

"I do not think you mistaken," the ranger ventured as he drew within several paces of the elf. His words were slow and considerate, as if it took great effort to form them and allow the sound to escape past his lips.

Legolas did not turn, but held up a graceful hand instead. "We all hold our secrets, Estel, some buried deep enough it feels as if we might never unearth them. But there are those which would allow the Shadow that so readily tries to engulf the world to swallow us more easily." It was then he turned, his even-eyes like ice yet not unkind, for they were rendered dark with worry. "Something is amiss, my friend, and though I will trouble you no more after this unless I hold good reason, I ask you again to grace me with the reasons behind your strange silences and all the glances that fall askance." After a pause, in which Aragorn remained composed but silent, he added, "Do you think it so strange for one to find cause for concern when his friend will not meet his eye?"

Aragorn could not help but feel somewhat shamed at this. He felt compelled to reach out to his friend, but kept his hands still by his sides, and somehow managed to avoid wringing them, or crossing his arms. "Of course I do not think it strange." He straightened his back but stood motionless otherwise, getting lost in the smell of fresh grass and distant rolling waters. At length, he lifted his chin. "I cannot say." Legolas's brow drew downward and he frowned, but he held the ranger's gaze. "No -- I mean it not that way." Aragorn hissed softly in frustration. "In all honesty I can tell you I know of no secrets I keep which would be cause for such regard. And if I know of none, either my mind serves to keep them from me, or else none exist." And it was truth, but he feared the possibility of the former, as his mind did seem to be playing at some unknown game.

Often did his heart leap to beat hard within his breast, as if it might at any time burst though his rib cage, and more and more did his eyes rove to places he'd never before lingered a glance. It angered him, with visions of losing others as he had Boromir or Gandalf before him had been lost. He was no stranger to death or pain and had borne witness to more than enough atrocity to steel himself for anything. He could not corner the source of cold sweats and sleepless nights, and he feared it would get worse.

All the sounds of the valley could be heard, and the rushing of the distant Entwash suddenly seemed deafening in the quiet that followed. It was clear the elf remained unconvinced, and perhaps had even taken some small injury at the words, but if he did, he was not about to dwell upon it. Aragorn found he could no longer keep his hands still, and reached out toward Legolas to put a hand on his shoulder. To his astonishment he found his wrist caught by a nimble hand, and Legolas took a step closer, his eyes reminiscent of a stalking cat. The ranger inhaled a bit too sharply as he avoided wincing at the surprising pressure being applied to his arm, and awaited whatever harsh words that waited to fall from the elf's lips.

But none came.

Rather, the blue eyes under the stern line of the elf's forehead were ripped from his and he felt them roving over his face, resting now and then before moving on. The entire thing lasted but briefly, and then his arm was all but thrown back at him and Legolas was gone, striding back toward Gimli.

He balled his fingers into fists and clenched them so tightly his battered nails left half moons on his palms, and would have drawn blood had they been just a fraction longer. A defeated snarl escaped his clenched teeth and he shook his head in an effort to clear it. He had little luck in this venture. Legolas had not accepted his answer -- the elf would remain true to his word, but Aragorn knew he could not evade this forever. What did his friend expect? The recent months were no secret, the weight they each bore was shouldered between them all and attempting to unearth the things that might lay beneath the surface could do as much to weaken as to strengthen. Aragorn's anger flared at this thought, despite his knowledge he knew he was merely hedging the undeniable. His problem lay in his inability to decipher precisely what it was he fought to deny.

A pain in his jaw brought him back to the present; he was grinding his teeth. It was a recently obtained habit, and one he should stamp out soon enough. A raucous curse split the air, and though he might have stood there forever, Aragorn made his way back to the camp, where Gimli was standing indignantly and attempting to stare down Legolas.

"I would do the same to you," the shorter one said, glowering, "if I weren't sure your ribs couldn't handle it!" This earned naught but an arched brow on the part of the elf. Legolas acknowledged the man's arrival with no more than a locked gaze, and gave a wide berth to Aragorn's belongings. The tension was stronger than the new wind blowing in from the east, and Gimli eyed his companions as he quietly situated his throwing axes.

While Aragorn belted his scabbard around his waist and sheathed Andúril, the dwarf attempted to divert the tension. "You, elf, need to calm down, unless you plan to run circles round the Uruks until they dizzy and pass out from exhaustion."

For a moment it appeared to be a one sided exchange, but after a hard stare Legolas shook his head and laughed. "Better me than you!" was all he said before he took off over the grass. "Come, Gimli!"

The dwarf gave an exasperated shake of his head which was easily countered by a good natured chuckle. Seeing that Aragorn was ready to be on the move, he hoisted higher the axe he carried and started after Legolas. Without pause, the ranger readjusted his quiver and took up his place in another arduous day of travel, chasing down the enemy. Another day yet of running, running: on without end. But today, it was not long before they found themselves outnumbered by scores, and surrounded with razor edged steel at their throats.