Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Legolas and the Rangers ❯ “Oh What A Pleasant Journey!” ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 3

 

“Oh What A Pleasant Journey!”

 

`Would you stop that!' growled Blaen. The ranger felt as if his back was one huge gaping hole into which Legolas eyes had bored for the last several hours. He appreciated the Prince's concern but not being watched like a wayward child.

 

Legolas arched an eyebrow at his companion. `One would think you would be grateful to have the company of another with whom you may converse and be aided by in the event of battle.'

 

`Well as much as I do appreciate it, you have yet to speak Legolas Thrandullian. All I hear is silence and I do not know the extent of your skill in battle. How am I to know if you can be relied upon or if you are a coward and would run at the first sign of trouble?' demanded Blaen.

 

Legolas stared at Blaen in shock. `How dare you,' he hissed with fury. Turning smartly on heel, the Prince disappeared into the brush leaving the ranger alone.

 

Blaen snorted and resumed his journey. Now that the words had been said he regretted them but he was not about to get overly worried. What was done was done and at least now, he could walk in peace.

* * *

 

By the time the sun was setting, Blaen was starting to look for a campsite for the night. He shot a rabbit while he searched for a good place to camp and found that place only a minute later.

 

It was a small overhang of rock on a little hill with a stream flowing right past it. Blaen was pleased to find that there were no spiders or beasts under the overhang. He was not particularly fond of either.

 

Soon he had a merry little fire crackling and a pot of stew cooking. He wondered what the others back in the ranger group were doing and whether one person in particular, had made it back to camp.

 

Blaen had been constantly worried about his father for days, ever since he'd woken up. He and his father had always been close. Blaen's father was one of the older men in the troop and often spent his time being a mentor to any new troops that came in. He had always been a reliable soldier but that didn't stop the young ranger worrying about the only family he had left.

 

While lost in thought, Blaen had managed to finish the stew so he methodically cleaned up the mess, banked down the fire and turned in for the night.

 

* * *

 

Blaen awoke slowly, his body heavy with sleep as he tried to figure out why he had woken up when the stars where still out and implied that Blaen still had roughly two more hours of sleep before first light.

 

His eyes come to rest on the fire which was still alight. It should not have been so at this hour of the day he realised. It seemed that the light from the fire had awoken him.

 

His eyes strayed away into the darkness further back in the overhang where he spotted a shadow. He scowled, `I can see you back there.'

 

Instead of moving into the light however, Blaen was startled to see a soft glow suddenly illuminate the figure. It was Legolas. The elf was calmly watching him.

 

`How long have you been there?' growled Blaen trying not to sound irritated. `Not long,' came the answer before Legolas' elven glow faded leaving him in darkness. Blaen sighed, `I didn't need that fire relit you know.' `I thought you might be cold,' came the soft reply. `Get some sleep,' suggested Legolas, `I will keep watch.'

 

Instead, Blaen sat up in disgust. `I don't think I'll be getting much sleep anyway seems as you've woken me up.' `Suit yourself,' said Legolas getting to his feet, the soft glow once again making itself apparent.

 

`How do you do that?' asked Blaen rolling up his bedroll. `Do what?' responded Legolas as he dowsed the fire in dirt. `Glow,' answered Blaen.

 

Legolas chuckled. `Don't you humans know anything?' Blaen's glower was all he received in reply. Legolas sighed and continued, `the elves retain the light of our ancient homeland Valinor. It is where the Valar dwell in the West. We have not forgotten the lights of the Two Trees of Valinor before their destruction at the hands of the dark lord, Morgoth. The remnants of the light of those trees are only found in the elves and the Silmarillion jewels crafted by Fëanor, of which we have lost.'

 

`Oh,' replied Blaen. `Well I have heard only a little of Valinor and even less of the ancient dark lord and Fëanor.'

 

All traces of the camp at last removed, the two left the overhang and began their journey forwards again. Legolas' willingness to share his tale had softened Blaen's annoyance with the elf but it had also piqued his curiosity about him.

 

`Tell me Legolas, why is it that you and your father look so different to all the elves in Rivendell?' asked Blaen. Legolas shot a sharp glance at Blaen. `Why the sudden curiosity?'replied Legolas with a question of his own.

 

`Isn't it obvious?' answered Blaen. Legolas sighed. `I am of the Sindarian and Silvan races, the Woodland elves that dwell in the forests of Greenwood. Few men have set foot in the woods of my fathers and fewer still have met a Wood elf. You should consider yourself privileged.' Blaen directed an annoyed look at Legolas before returning his attention to the road.

 

`Now I believe it is my turn to ask you a question,' said Legolas. Receiving no reply, Legolas questioned, `why did you call me Glorfindel?'

 

I did?' said Blaen startled. `Aye,' responded the elf. `It was when you woke up briefly during the night.' `Oh,' replied Blaen as realisation dawned. `Do you know Glorfindel personally?'

 

Blaen shook his head. `Nay, in times of battle against orcs and the likes, he often appeared and aided us. This has occurred for as long as I can remember which would only be eight or so years. It wasn't until roughly a year ago that he actually began to walk amongst us and share our meals. He still didn't say much but he is by far and away the greatest warrior I have ever seen.'

 

Legolas chuckled, `aye he is a powerful warrior but I have yet to see him show his true colours as a warrior. It is said amongst my kind that the last time this was so was when he fought and threw down a balrog in the fall of Gondilon. He died apparently, yet one day a golden haired elf came to the halls of the last high king, Gil-galad and called himself Glorfindel. No one knows if he actually is the legendary Balrog Slayer of age but many believe it including I. There is no mistaking the power and courage he wears like a cloak nor the gleam of determination and things unseen by others in his eyes.'

 

Blaen nodded as he digested the information Legolas had given him.

 

He was about to ask another question when all of a sudden the ground groaned beneath his feet. Before Blaen quite realised what had happened, something slammed into his back throwing him forward. He came to a crashing halt against the edge of a vast hole, the lower half of his body dangling against the side of it.

 

For a moment he hung, stunned as he tried to gain back the breath which had been knocked painfully from his lungs. Remembering the push however, Blaen desperately scrabbled out of the hole and turned around so that he could look back into the hole.

 

There was no sign of Legolas. It appeared that Blaen had somehow opened a vast, underground stream which was roaring past at the bottom of the pit.

 

A cold dread settled into his stomach as he realised what had happened. Somehow, the Prince had knocked him aside to safety but in turn, had fallen to his own death.

 

Blaen crouched there for a while, not really knowing how much time passed as the shock continued to hold him firmly in its grasp.

 

It was the warm sun that first roused him. Glancing up, he realised that it was nearly noon. How long had he crouched there, beside the pit?

 

All of a sudden, the real panic set in. Someone had just died to save his life, someone who was a Prince, an elven Prince and worse, someone who had helped him to survive an arrow which might have killed him.

 

Rapidly his mind flew over and over what had happened. There was no doubt about it, he was in real trouble. Options buzzed in his mind but they all sounded more ridiculous that the first.

 

He could run but that would mean spending the rest of his days as an outlaw, a man in exile. He could return to the elves but he doubted that they would ever aid the rangers again. He also doubted that he'd ever see the light of day again. True, it wasn't his fault but Blaen did not trust the elves enough to think they would believe his account of the events.

 

In his current situation, Blaen only saw one solution: to go and find his father, whose counsel might help him solve this terrible state of affairs.

 

His mind made up, Blaen took a few deep breaths and wiped his face on his sleeve, realising he'd been crying.

 

Standing took a lot more effort. Blaen realised that the underground stream had to come out somewhere but who knew where or how far away? `Besides, no one could survive that even if it was only for a league or so,' thought Blaen as he looked at the water thundering past below.

 

Remembering his current predicament, Blaen shivered and turned away. He highly doubted that this incident would not haunt him for the rest of his life. He wiped his face again as he once more realised that he had been crying. It was time to move on he told himself firmly. Crying would not help anybody.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Blaen began to walk once more, his step noticeably heavier.