Fan Fiction ❯ The Breaking ❯ Chapter 3

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

At last they took their leave from the Riders of Rohan. It had been uncertain enough a meeting at first, as upon contact they had been surrounded, encircled by men upon their great war horses with long spears aimed at the Three Hunters like the spokes of some giant wheel. And if this was not a bad enough thing already, Gimli had done quite a job offending Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and Aragorn had done well to step in once Legolas had aimed an arrow at the son of Éomund before anyone could blink an eye. The ranger's words had safely eased the tension, and at length they had been lent horses of some of the Rohirrim's fallen men. Hasufel, a great dark grey beast, became Aragorn's mount, and a lighter but still fiery steed, Arod, had come to Legolas. The elf had sent both saddle and bridle away with the men of Rohan, and had leapt lightly up without use for such things to find the horse tame and eager beneath him. Behind him rested Gimli, who had not wished to borrow nor be bothered with a horse, and so sat gripping the elf, ill at ease as if certain it meant life or death.

Away they galloped, covering ground quickly, and soon the group of Rohirrim were but a small, dark motion fading rapidly in the distance. The horses were fast, and they sped toward the banks of the Entwash and the trail of which Éomer had spoken like ghosts of the plain. The tracks of the riders that hastened back from the Wold were much easier to follow than the sparse evidence that remained of the group of Orcs as they had fled in front of the mounted pursuit. They hurried east along the trampled ground and toward the Wold, careful to keep enough distance from the trail to avoid marring it with the hooves of their own horses. Many times Aragorn would ride ahead and dismount, approaching the path and inspecting the ground -- crawling over every disturbance that caught his eye. Legolas found himself more often than not watching the ranger work, though rising beneath the admiration for the man's tracking skills was something that made him frown darkly, something he could not yet label. At last it became easier to follow a sparse trail of fallen Orc bodies than to keep up with the sights of marked earth and bent grass. Here and there along the way were twisted corpses, more often than not with grey feathered arrow shafts protruding from neck or chest.

Afternoon wore on and still they rode, more hopeful now as the horses ate up the land in huge strides, and the distant mark of shadow that was the Forest of Fangorn came to be large enough to discern the presences of individual trees. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, rolling darkly and obscuring the sun, though rain did not fall. Because of this the light seemed to fade early, and more quickly than usual, but it was about this time they reached the edge of the old forest. In a large glade they discovered a pile of smouldering ashes, the remains of the Orcs that had been slaughtered in the recent battle. Nearby lay a pile of bruised and battered gear of war: cloven shields, broken swords and cracked helmets. In the centre of this pile, overlooking the smoking dead, was the head of a goblin impaled upon a stick, its empty eyes watching the burning bodies and looking after the departed soldiers that had earlier slain him. As well, not far from there, near where the Entwash poured from between the trees, was a mound of freshly tilled earth surrounded by fifteen spears -- the fallen Rohirrim.

The riders dismounted, Aragorn stepping deftly out of the stirrups. Gimli had more trouble with this task, and despite the attempt by Legolas to assist him, the dwarf ended up tumbling to the ground and writhing on his back for a few moments. "You, my friend, remind me well of a stranded tortoise," the elf said with little, or perhaps no, attempt at concealing his amusement. Gimli struggled and righted himself before springing to his feet, shooting his fair haired friend a glare that might have struck a lesser being dead on contact and then strode away, mumbling something about 'fell beasts' and cooking. Legolas gave one last chuckle and shook his head as he slid effortlessly from the back of his steed.

Leaving the horses picketed, they set to scouring the land as the light finally abandoned them completely, leaving them swimming in darkness once again. No trace of the little ones had yet been found, and each of the company could not help but feel somewhat heartsick as the possibilities of Merry's and Pippin's fates narrowed. It was with lowered eyes they came to make camp beneath the eaves of an old chestnut tree, whose dried leaves whispered softly in the encroaching night. Between the chill air and Gimli's insistence, they decided to build a fire, and the dwarf set out to gather wood.

"'Tis not safe to cut from the living trees," Aragorn warned with a wary glance into the deep dark behind the populous trunks of the trees. "Make sure only to gather wood already dead for the fire, and do not wander too far." He settled himself with his back against the trunk of the old chestnut tree, hearing the leaves shiver slightly above him. There was no argument from Gimli, who was out of all of them the most suspicious of the ancient wood, and insistent upon keeping his axe at his side.

Legolas stood not far from Aragorn, looking out across the Wold and into the eastern night. No stars joined them this evening, hidden stealthily in the pitch that stretched forever overhead. After some time, he turned toward the forest, peering keenly into the obscurity of the trees, and seemed to be listening to the distant calling of voices. Gimli was out of sight, busy collecting kindling, and the only disturbance in the air was a muted groaning that sounded as if it hailed from far over the hills in the depths of Fangorn, wafting down the slopes and busying the elf's ears. His mind left the sounds of the forest behind after a while; his skin had not crawled so heatedly under scrutiny since before their encounter with the Rohirrim, but he now discovered the uneasy feeling had returned to some degree. With a slight grimace marring his otherwise placid features, Legolas turned his head in Aragorn's direction.

The ranger was lost deep in thought, else he might have taken notice of the elf's movement much sooner. A pair of penetrating blue eyes met his, and the seconds stretched on much longer than he would have liked, he thought, before he was able to rip his gaze away and banish it instead to the ground before his boots. Indeed, aside from discussion pertinent to the quest before them, there had been few words exchanged in the past day -- less, even, than the quiet days that had preceded that. Aragorn did not know if he expected the elf to speak, but no words came to his ears. Though he could feel the other's eyes seeming to pin him to the trunk behind him for such a long time, he found himself scowling and was nearly brought to say something himself. Even as he looked up again the feeling disappeared, and Legolas was now looking back at the woods. The rustling of leaves and the soft scrape of boot over rock signalled someone's approach, and but a few seconds later, Gimli appeared from the shadows with a bundle of wood piled so high in his arms it obscured half of his face.

Their sheltering tree appeared to enjoy the warmth of the fire Gimli built, its higher boughs drawing downward and seeming to rub its leaves together like old, dry hands. As Legolas commented on the strange behaviour of their plant companion, they fell into a lengthy discussion of the ancient forest, and Gimli once again made known his aversion to its peculiar presence. The light haired elf passed on Celeborn's warning not to push too deeply into the heart of the wood, and the others nodded their approval.

"You might be safer without an axe," Legolas pointed out rather cheekily to the dwarf, without a second thought to entering the forest unarmed.

Gimli's eyes widened slightly as if he were appalled, and one side of his mouth twitched before he spoke. "If I didn't know better," the dwarf said, "I would swear you were trying to get me killed, elf." His voice was light-hearted but for a small tone that undercut it with a seriousness that proved his aversion well.

Legolas flashed him a sympathetic smile, and they drew lots for watches. The first fell on Gimli, and Aragorn reminded him once again about taking only the dead wood for the fire, and to let it burn out rather than stray too far in search of more fuel. At last, the ranger and the elf each settled in their places and fell quickly asleep. The elf's eyes remained open and staring, almost unseeing, mixing dream world and waking world as his kind were want to do, fair hands folded across his chest. Gimli sat alert, his axes at the ready, listening, but for now the only sounds aside from the soft crackle-pop of the fire was the rustling of leaves all around.

As the night wore on, suddenly there appeared a cloaked man, face hidden by the wide brin of his hat. Gimli started, but was unable to utter a word straight away. His stirring, though, roused the others as well as any words might, and Aragorn and Legolas both sat up to stare at the newcomer. The ranger rose to his feet and invited the stranger to warm himself by the fire, but the man disappeared without a trace beneath the moonless sky as soon as Aragorn had taken a step. It was at this point that Legolas cried out at the departure of their mounts, who had pulled themselves free and had perhaps gone the same way as the strange visitor, for they, too, were out of sight. The only sign of the horses was a distant whinnying from far off, and the three stood troubled before this new stroke of foul luck.

The passing of the night was slow, after that -- they had decided it must have been the work of Saruman and there was nothing to be done for it at the moment. Gimli was relieved of his watch by Aragorn, and the dwarf headed readily to find sleep, though his hands never left his axe. Legolas resumed his place on the ground and rested open-eyed and motionless.

The old man did not reappear during Aragorn's watch, and his only company was the wind and the branches that shifted and whispered, singing softly behind him. He wondered, though, how much of the noise was caused by the breeze. The fire burned steadily, and while he watched the blue and orange flames lick at the dry wood, he bent his knees and rested an elbow atop one of them, his fingers entwined in his dark hair thoughtfully. His line of sight drifted, moving toward Legolas's prone form, and though he was unsure how long his gaze remained there he felt suddenly as one who was falling. Having to drop both arms to his sides, he placed his palms flat on the ground to steady himself. He felt dizzy, and cursed silently under his breath.

Reaching out then, and unsheathing Andúril, Aragorn withdrew also the whetstone from a buckled pocket on the scabbard. He held the sword pointing straight out from him and watched the fire trail bright lines over the gleaming metal, the light tracing in sharp arcs in an inconstant dance over the blade. He began to sharpen it slowly, so as to not make too much noise. His insides felt unsettled, as if they shifted in anticipation of something he could not yet fathom. It was not the hunt for their hobbit friends, and it was not the parting of Frodo in the days before. It was not the loss of any of the Fellowship, and it was not, for once, the path that fate seemed it would have him walk. He chanced a glance once again at the elf, and gritted his teeth before returning his attention to his watch, and to the task he had set himself to while away the time.

The wind picked up briskly, carrying with it a sharper bite and threatening the fire. The ranger tossed a few more pieces of wood into the thirsty flames and watched the sparks that wound themselves upward in lazy loops on the heated air. For the time the fire flared up, much more of the area was visible around him. Though the shadows shifted with the movement of the flames, giving things a sense of false motion, he could see Legolas had woken, and was watching him with a look that might send him bursting into flames, or freeze the bones within his flesh -- he could not decide. Aragorn shifted under the weight of the stare, and, and he placed his sword slowly back into the scabbard. Replacing the whetstone as well, glad for an excuse to keep his hands busy, he exhaled heavily and finally let his weapon fall to the ground beside him. "My watch is over," he said, a question though it was phrased as a statement.

The elf stood and took a few steps toward the fire. Seating himself across from the ranger, he did not break eye contact just yet -- at least, he was still focusing on Aragorn's eyes even if the ranger was avoiding his. If the ranger felt he could look at him in such away but not hold his ground when it was returned in kind, so be it. Above them the clouds began to blow away, trailing into ever thinning wisps and allowing a few stars to peek through in front of a field of black. "No," Legolas said smoothly, the firelight shimmering over his hair in much the same manner as it had danced over Aragorn's blade. "You are quite contemplative, my friend," he added softening his eyes though there was a light in their depths that remained sharp and unexplained. "And I do not believe your mind wanders to any paths we have so far taken, nor to any we might take in days to follow." Letting his forearms rest on the knees of his folded legs, he continued, "I know you will try to convince me otherwise."

Aragorn straightened, feeling the bark press uncomfortably into his spine as he leaned against the tree. He drew his knees up a bit higher, crossing his arms over them to hide the bottom half of his face as he chewed a lip. "Then I will not," he conceded, and his brow crinkled in unspoken confusion. "Though did you not say --"

"I said I would not again request that you reveal your reasons for silence, Estel," the elf interrupted, yet he made even this ill mannered move seem gracious. "But that is not my intent this night. I wish to know your reason for watching me so." His request was rather brazen and artless, and it threw Aragorn off more than a little. He was not used to such forthcoming from his elvish friend.

"I --" The ranger found himself unable to respond, and he was forced to consciously stop his jaw from working in silence. He returned his hand to his hair, and his eyes hardened as he found a suitable rock toward which to direct his frustration. Realisation was slowly dawning on him, day by day, but that brought understanding no closer to his grasp. For this moment, he decided to be as truthful as his mind might allow. "I find myself wandering much, of late," the man said after a long stretch of silence. "I would ask your forgiveness; you must think me less capable of the wit and provision required for such a journey as ours."

The corners of Legolas's mouth turned down slightly. "I do not think you unfit," he replied, remaining still across from his companion. "These days have set all our minds to trouble, immersing us in replaying the past or attempting to gauge the future. I do not find your preoccupations to be keeping you from the task, as without you we certainly would not have come this far, and still retain enough hope within our hearts." He finally released Aragorn from his gaze, but did not completely avert his eyes.

The man could do naught but nod, relaxing his arms enough to let his hands come to rest on his knees. The jewel in his ring glittered harshly in the shifting light, and he thought he could see it reflected in the elf's eyes.

"It was your eyes I saw last night behind the flames, shining as something, some/one/, I could not know, and so at first thought them belonging to some strange beast or demon behind the reins of Sauron." Legolas had restored his gaze to Aragorn's eyes now, waiting for the man to look up.

Aragorn tensed, every muscle seeming to quiver in protest as his body went rigid. His chin snapped up, and he aimed a darkened look toward the elf with eyes that suddenly appeared ragged and red-rimmed. But his glance faltered once burnished grey eyes locked with icy blue. For a moment, his look became haunted, and he could not bear for it to show so he turned away again. Legolas had to say no more than this; it was clear it explained much to the elf. It came to him that his friend had complained not at all of feeling watched since that night, and for good reason. Aragorn had set himself the purpose of avoiding even looking at his friend once it had become a forethought for them all. He was certain that the strange occurrences and ill fortune in these lands did much to add to these experiences a sort of exacerbation, and it did much to lend reason to the extremity to which Legolas had reacted the previous eve. In truth, the ranger had been sitting quietly, considering the darker places that had made small homes in his soul when he realised that having his friend near somehow made them better, and yet worse all at once. He had been regarding the elf through the flames when Legolas had finally turned and called out.

His silence seemed to be taken as an affirmation, as a voice at last reached his ears that he could hear above his rushing blood. "It is my watch, now. You should rest." So he offered no more words, merely stood and moved to the side where he had previously unfurled his bedroll, and lay down once again. He turned his back to the fire and he lowered himself to the ground, and behind him he was sure he heard Legolas's voice very quietly in the dark.

"Ú-moe edaved."

As the ranger had taken his shift on watch to sharpen his weapon, Legolas set about using his own time alone to fletch some new arrows. This was something he could do in his sleep, but he found himself taking longer than usual and putting an aggravated force behind each of his actions. When he had damaged a third feather with a violent motion, he sighed heavily and thought it wise to put it off, at least until he had cleared his head. As he took Aragorn's place in front of the tree, he leaned back and suddenly felt that ever present knot in his stomach twitch. He could not, however, tell if it was tightening or loosening, such was the ambiguity of the feeling. So he did his best to ignore it. Legolas set his eyes and ears to the lookout, and spent the rest of the night in stillness, letting the fire burn itself out.

The pale wash of dawn greeted them with a bitterness that left even the green of Rohan feeling barren. Aragorn was awake when Legolas finally stood, and the elf was quite certain his friend had not slept since their talk during the night. Sparing Gimli a kick this dawn, Legolas instead placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder and shook him lightly; he was feeling overly gentle this morning, even if it was only because he felt quite distant. This method of rousing earned the elf a curious look from Gimli, but he was not questioned further, and was rather glad for it. Instead they quietly set about fixing a small breakfast with their remaining supplies. It was not as rejuvenating as lembas, but it was a welcome difference, and still allowed their stomachs to feel full and their hunger to be sated in a more rewarding fashion.

They deliberated on the loss of their horses, and the elf thought it was not the fault of the cloaked man the night before, even if that had been Saruman. The animals had sounded as if they had not run in terror, rather in joy, as if they were off to a reunion with an old friend. There was still nothing to be done about it, however, and they accepted that they would return to proceeding on foot, unless the beasts returned of their own accord. They would have to search for them later, as they had left an oath with Éomer to return them at the outcome, no matter what it might be, of their quest.

Gimli was as silent as the others as the sun rose without offering much warmth to the land. He appeared quite aware of the strain that had tightened further over the course of his companions' watches, and he wished not to disturb anything that might lay between them. Instead of attempting conversation, he resigned himself to be contented lending what assistance he could in the search for more signs of the hobbits.

Aragorn began at their encampment, starting to circle outward from the dead fire and making his way back in the direction of the location that had seen the battle of Orcs and men. As the day began to progress, none gave voice to the fears they all shared that the bodies of their small friends lay mixed forever in the pile of charred remains. The higher the sun rose, the slower they began to move, as if fighting something within themselves that arrested the movement of their limbs and turned their minds again and again to the rubble that had still not ceased smoking. A yolk rested heavy over their hearts as the ranger drew nearer the knoll of the battle, and Legolas let himself lag behind to search other areas. He was certain Aragorn must have heard the words tumble from his lips while the stars had still shone in the sky, as he had seemingly been powerless to stop them. It angered him, that sudden inability to keep himself in check, and, more than that, he was furious that he could not explain it, even to himself. Presently, he paused, standing to his full height and moving one graceful hand to settle atop the handle of the white knife in his belt, and let the other come to rest over his abdomen, fingers listing over the material of his soft over tunic.

Before he had much opportunity to delve into his own thoughts, his introspection was cut short as a shout came from the distance; Aragorn was bidding his friends to join him at his side. Without hesitation his nimble feet carried him over the hill, Gimli's path meeting with his own along the way. As they crested a small rise they saw the ranger examining closely a spot of well worn ground. He had discovered something. It was not long before traces of a hobbit were found; it must have been one of the halflings, for despite the muddled footprints there were, beside a severed rope and a knife that must have cut it, crumbs of waybread. Only a hobbit would have paused in the midst of a chaotic battle for a bite to eat. The evidence suggested at least one had escaped, and they followed the trail toward the brink of Fangorn Forest, seeing where it disappeared beyond the trees. There was little to discuss; there was great need to follow, and follow they would.

It was at once easier and more difficult to track within the darkening confines of the wood, but Aragorn kept the trail as they wound around trunk and under limb and over rock and branch. The air was thick and the bark of the trees a murky charcoal with strange patterns of lighter moss the grew reminiscent of curling smoke. Legolas was sure the outer edges of the forest were of no danger to the party, though the trees still shook fretfully with anger and sent hisses back and forth above the heads of the company. Although it had been their intent to avoid the deeper places of these woods, they had no choice but to follow each sign that was unearthed as it lay a path ever inward, and finally to a hill covered in strange tracks.

From this hill, atop a great piece of stone they again caught sight of the old man in a tattered grey cloak and hat moving amongst the foliage below. Gimli gave great urging for Legolas to dispatch the man before he could approach, but Aragorn countered his words. Of a sudden, the stranger approached with great steps toward the hill, and climbed it to look up at them from the base of the rock. The three attempted to draw their weapons but found after doing so they were unable to hold onto them. It was with great despair Legolas watched his bow and arrow clatter to the ground as his arms willed themselves to his sides. With mighty leaps the man scaled the stone and stood before them, speaking as if he knew their names yet he did not give his own. When Gimli discovered he could again lift his axe, the dwarf prepared to strike the old man, and as the man and elf retrieved their weapons, once again they lost control of them. Gimli dropped his axe, Aragorn's sword burned in his hands and fell to the ground, and as the man cast aside his grey cloak to reveal shining white robes, Legolas at last shot an arrow high into the tree tops before crying out, "Mithrandir! Mithrandir!"

It was Gandalf.

The three hunters were awestruck, unable to believe their dear friend had come back to them. Legolas felt his heart swell and Gimli could barely contain himself. The reunited group set to exchanging tales, and the company marvelled at the wizard's story of his battle with the ancient Balrog. The wizard, in turn, mourned the valiant loss of Boromir at the Falls of Rauros. But all of their hearts were lightened further by the news that Merry and Pippin were safe in the care of old Treebeard, upon whose hill they now stood. With this good news, and the knowledge that the fate of Frodo and the ring was out of their hands, they decided with haste to turn to Rohan, and to give aid to the ailing King Théoden.

The group, now numbering four, eagerly trekked back though the paths of Fangorn, though none quite so eagerly as Gimli. Once they reached the plains of the Wold, Gandalf summoned a great white horse, Shadowfax, to the astonishment of the others. Perhaps the only thing more surprising than Gandalf's alliance with this great steed of the Mearas was that their missing horses came running back at the heals of the white stallion.

It could not be helped that the faces of the elf, dwarf, and man were all split with mirroring smiles. Their friends were safe, Gandalf had returned, and the horses had not been lost to them. Forgetting himself in the joyous moment, Legolas clapped a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and turned toward him, wanting, without giving it thought, to share his happiness. The ranger instantly looked back, but as their eyes locked, both smiles faded ever so slowly; their gaze held fast for a moment, though it appeared as though lightning might dash between them so charged did the glare become. The elf drew his hand back almost as if he had been burned, and, letting his gaze linger only a second longer than was appropriate, he turned away swiftly and stepped to Arod's side. Gimli was too busy speaking cheerily with Gandalf to take notice of the exchange that took place behind him.

As Legolas swung himself adeptly onto the horse's back, he beckoned his shorter friend it was time to get going. Hasufel came to Aragorn at the ranger's call, and he climbed into the saddle, spinning the steel grey horse around to face Gandalf, who was in the midst of swinging himself onto the back of Shadowfax. The elf and man avoided each other's eye and set their concentration to the task at hand with no little ease.

Aragorn's hands sweat lightly on the reins and he clenched his jaw. Legolas felt his hands slip just a small amount over the strands of thick mane he held in one hand. But such fortunes gave them renewed strength, and with hearts lighter than they could recall, they prepared to make off with speed toward Edoras and the halls of Meduseld.

--------------------- ** Ú-moe edaved. -- 'There is nothing to forgive.'