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As Legolas plunged into the river, the roaring water closed over his
head. The bitter cold made him gasp, and he drew in a mouthful
of icy, dirty water. Choking, he spat it out again,
coughing as it caught in his throat. Struggling desperately, he
tried to break free of the raging current, but was pulled down again by
his water-logged clothes, boots and cloak.
Legolas had no idea how far he was carried by the torrent. He was
dragged under the water repeatedly, tossed and turned by the flood,
whirling along like flotsam. At length he was able raise both hands to
his throat, releasing the clasp, and his cloak, made of a thick, warm
weave, was snatched away into watery oblivion. Relieved of the
weight, eventually he could kick to the surface, gasping for air.
Unable to see for more than a few yards upstream or downstream, he
struck out towards the western shore, somewhere on his right, as the
current carried him ever further from the ford. At last he was close
enough to grip the reeds that grew thickly by the edge of the river,
and slowly pulled himself into shallower, calmer water, and then,
finally, to the bank. On hands and knees, he crawled away from the
water’s edge, coughing painfully against the water in his lungs, then
lay on the bank, heart pounding. He closed his eyes, drifting into
semi-consciousness as he struggled to breathe.
At last, the burning pain in his chest subsided and he returned
to full awareness. He found he was able to sit up and take stock
of the situation. To his amazement, he was unharmed apart from
scrapes and bruises – though his hands were cut from the sharp edges of
the reeds – but was soaked, chilled, and exhausted. He still had the
knife on his belt, his quiver – which amazingly still had a few arrows
in it – but his bow was missing.
Legolas knew that his best course of action was to find what had
happened to Pavisel. A conception-day gift from Thranduil several
years before, they had been through much together, and Pavisel was a
valuable asset in border patrol skirmishes. He was more than just
a horse, he was a companion and a friend, and Legolas grieved to think
he was no more. But he had to be practical. Even if the horse had
not survived, he might be able to salvage the packs Pavisel had
carried. First, though, he stripped off his outer clothes down to the
thin under-tunic. That would dry quickly and be less hampering and
chilling than the wet things.
At length Legolas got to his feet and started back towards the ford. He
kept close to the water's edge, looking, watching for any sign of
Pavisel, the baggage, or his bow. Dusk was falling and he was stumbling
with weariness when he glimpsed something lying half submerged,
entangled in the reeds by a curve in the river. It was longer,
thicker, and shaped differently than the straight reed-stems. He stared
at it without recognition for a moment, but knew it was
important. Carefully he waded knee-deep into the water to
retrieve it - a long, curved piece of wood, carved into intricate
designs, supple and flexible. It was his bow. Breathing a prayer
of thanksgiving he inspected it. It was clogged with mud; the
string was broken, but it was intact.
Back on the bank, he pondered what to do next. As night fell, it would
become more and more difficult to see anything washed up by the river
and he could easily miss something important. Besides which, he was
more tired than he had been in a long time, even after the return from
Dol Guldur. Reluctantly, he decided to stop overnight and wait until
daybreak before continuing.
From the reed bed he was able to gather several dead, hollow stems and
many dry leaves, together with clumps of driftwood washed up by
previous floods. The debris underneath was relatively dry, so he set
about building a small fire. His outer clothing was by now fairly dry,
and he sat by the fire, eating the dried fruit and nuts from the
emergency rations in his belt pouch, and feeling more at ease than he
had any right to expect. He did not dare to sleep properly,
despite his exhaustion, but sat upright, feeding the flames, drifting
lightly into a doze.
A slight sound in the distance brought Legolas fully awake again. He
kept low, his heart racing, peering into the night, trying to identify
the noise. It came again, a soft thud, together with the breathing of a
large animal. Not quite daring to believe his luck, he called, the
shrill sound of a tawny owl. There was an answering snort, and the
thudding came closer, sounding irregular. He stood, waiting. Pavisel
walked into the circle of firelight, hobbling slightly, and stopped by
Legolas. He rubbed the soft nose, elated at this good fortune,
and swiftly felt Pavisel’s legs for injury. The cause of his
limping gait was immediately apparent and Legolas gave a soft
laugh. One of the packs which had been strapped to his back had
slipped down and hung under him like a misplaced pregnancy. He quickly
undid the straps and removed the pack, allowing Pavisel to move more
freely. Carefully he checked again for injuries, but Pavisel seemed to
have escaped as lightly as he had himself.
He leaned against the horse's neck, revelling in the warmth and
familiar smell, and the companionship of another creature.
He was not sure how long he stood there, murmuring softly, while
Pavisel blew warm, grass-scented breath at him. At last he sat by the
fire again, checking the contents of the pack. There was a cloak, a
thick wolf skin rug - a gift for Elrond - and half of the food he had
carried. His spare clothing and the rest of the food had been in the
other pack, but it was enough. Spreading the rug on the ground, he
wrapped himself in the cloak and slept deeply – trusting in his
own instincts and Pavisel's senses to warn if danger approached.
Shortly before dawn Legolas awoke and stretched. The fire had died, but
it was not totally dark - the clouds had cleared and the sky was
lightening. Pavisel was nearby, grazing contentedly. When he had
repacked the baggage, he and Pavisel rode to the north, back towards
the ford. From this higher vantage point Legolas could see more of the
river. The water level had not dropped at all; if anything it seemed to
have risen further, and continued to roar south to the Gladden Fields.
Some way downstream he could see the other pack, but it was on the far
side of the Anduin. He left it there and rode on, moving away from the
river now, where the land was a little higher and drier. By midday they
had come to the track that led to the ford – amazingly, the near
disaster had only cost him one day. With only half the supplies, the
week-long journey would not be comfortable, but Imladris was at the end.
After two days of uneventful travel, they reached the foothills of the
Misty Mountains. A further day brought them near the High Pass, which
led over the mountains and down into Eriador. It was cold at this
altitude, but he did not light a fire at night in case it attracted the
attention of any wandering orcs. As they crested the pass Legolas
paused and looked back the way they had come. He could see the line of
the Anduin and, beyond that away to the east, the dark smudge of
Lasgalen stretched to north and south as far as he could see. The Emyn
Duir marched in a line away from him, and beyond them lay his home. Far
to the south he thought he could see a darker shadow on the forest
which marked Dol Guldur, but perhaps that was only imagination.
He turned to face forward. To the west lay a green country of rivers
and hills, gentler looking than the land behind him. Somewhere below,
hidden from sight, lay the valley sheltering Imladris, and journey's
end.
As they descended once again the air became warmer. The mountains were
not so steep on this side and the going was easier. Legolas rode
through resin-scented pine trees, needles creating a soft carpet on the
ground that muffled Pavisel's hoofbeats. At length the land levelled.
Ahead lay a high, windswept moorland, purpled with heather, and gilded
gold with gorse. As he finally approached the hidden valley where
Imladris lay, he became aware that he was being watched. He could not
see the concealed sentinels that guarded Imladris, but could sense them
following his trail, watching his every move.
Suddenly a figure dropped out of the trees ahead of him, causing
Pavisel to start and give a snort. Simultaneously two elves
materialised out of the forest on either side of the track, arrows
drawn and pointed at him. Legolas froze, then addressed the elf before
him in exasperation. "Ellahir! Is this the way you normally greet
invited guests?"
The two guards, on hearing the unfamiliar name, drew back on their
bowstrings. Elladan stepped forward and pushed both bows down, with a
soft word of reassurance. He looked up at Legolas. "We can never be too
careful when a traveller comes down out of the mountains. Especially
one who appears not to know the names of the sons of Elrond." He
grinned. "It is good to see you again, Leg'as." He turned to the
archers. "Go back to your duties. There is no cause for alarm, this is
the son of Thranduil of Mirkwood." Looking a little confused, they
turned and disappeared back into the trees.
Elladan gave a soft whistle, and a tall, grey horse moved forward out
of the trees. He jumped lightly onto its back, and together he and
Legolas rode down into the valley of Rivendell. As they dropped lower,
Legolas found himself remembering the sights, sounds and smells of
Imladris. The glimpses far below, seen through the slightly misty
valley, of Elrond's halls, formed of living wood and stone. The rush
and babble of the Bruinen, the roar of the water as it fell over rocks,
into deep and mysterious pools. The scent of the trees, of damp earth,
and of wet, mossy stones. He inhaled deeply and gave a sigh. "It feels
good to be back. It seems a long time since I was last here. Tell me,
did Aragorn arrive safely?"
Elladan nodded. "About three weeks ago. He told me he had met you
at Lasgalen, I hoped you would be there. That was why I sent you the
message."
"He said something about trolls. How bad is it?"
"The worst we have ever seen them. Mithrandir got rid of the last ones
about ten years ago, but they keep coming down from the mountains."
Elladan sighed, shaking his head.
Legolas paused, remembering. "Were they the same ones Elrohir and
I tried to go after?"
"Havens, no. They would never live that long. They are not usually too
bad, just taking the occasional wild pony or goat, but there are five
this time, and much more cunning and dangerous than usual. They
discovered travellers are easier prey, and often attack people riding
alone or even in pairs. Most have escaped, but they killed two
messengers from Bree last month."
Legolas pondered what Elladan had told him. During their conversation
they had ridden down through the valley and were now not far from the
halls of Imladris. Questions and strategies raced through his mind. "Do
you know where they come from?"
"No, it proves impossible to find their lair. Even if we do, it seems
equally impossible to harm a troll!” Elladan sounded frustrated. “They
have immense strength and hides like stone. I know you have experience
in fighting orcs, goblins, spiders - and wolves - so I thought you
might have some ideas."
Legolas gave Elladan a sharp look. "Have you been talking to Aragorn?”
Elladan smiled. "He did mention something about an encounter with
wolves. Among other things."
"What sort of other things?" asked Legolas suspiciously.
"That you told him you were engaged to Arwen."
"That was not what I said! Well, not exactly!" protested Legolas
indignantly.
"So what did you tell him?" queried Elladan, with a gleam of malice in
his expression.
Legolas described the conversation he had had with Aragorn. Elladan
gleefully demanded every nuance of his foster brother's reaction. As
they rode under the archway that led into Imladris, Elladan added
casually, "I think he was not entirely convinced though, because he
asked Arwen about it when he returned here."
Legolas stopped dead, nudging Pavisel to a halt. "Arwen knows?"
Elladan now wore an expression of pure innocence. "Yes. I think
she said she wants to see you when you arrive."
Legolas closed his eyes, his lips moving in a succinct, inaudible
curse. Arwen had a formidable temper when roused.
A flight of wide, shallow steps led from the courtyard into the
entrance hall. Elrond stood at the top, Elrohir at his side. There was
no sign of either Arwen or Aragorn. After exchanging warm greetings,
Elrond welcomed him to Rivendell, and Elrohir took Legolas to the guest
rooms. As always, a hot bath had just been drawn, steaming and
fragrant.
"Supper will be in about an hour. Join us in the Hall of Fire when you
feel ready." As Elrohir turned to leave, Legolas called him back.
"Elrohir! My father was wondering why you and Elladan thought I
would want to go troll hunting. Did you ever tell Elrond about that
particular trip?"
Elrohir laughed and shook his head. "I did not tell him, no. I suspect
he guessed, though. There were always some things he said he would
rather not know."
"I am scarcely surprised. I find it hard to believe we did that, we
were lucky. They could easily have killed us.”
"We were young and foolish. I think we both learned our lesson.
We would never do anything so irresponsible now.”
Legolas, remembering the chase with the wolves he and Aragorn had had,
was not entirely sure, but agreed, at least aloud, with Elrohir.
After Elrohir had gone, he washed and changed. There was a gentle tap
at the door, and then Arwen opened it, walked in, and shut the door
behind her. Legolas was surprised to see her in his room, but greeted
her warmly. He was a little wary of her reaction to the news of their
`betrothal', but had no intention of mentioning it until she did.
"You need not worry about me being here. It would be quite proper. We
are engaged, after all." Her voice had a definite edge to it, and her
expression was cold.
Legolas sighed inwardly. She sounded even more annoyed than he had
feared. "Arwen, I – I apologise. That was not quite what I said,
anyway. It was just .... "
She was no longer listening, but interrupted him: "Why, by the Valar,
did you have to remember that ridiculous idea of my father's? And why
tell Aragorn about it? What other bright ideas have you had?"
"Arwen, I am sorry," he said again. "Truly. I did not mean to
upset either of you. I did explain to him ..... " he stopped again,
recalling Aragorn's stunned and shocked expression, his stumbling
words, and could not prevent a grin at the memory. He tried to hide it
from Arwen - it would annoy her even more - but then realised that she
was struggling to suppress a smile of her own. He glared at her. "Why
am I apologising to you?" he demanded. "You think it just as funny as
the rest of us!"
She was laughing now, abandoning her attempt to scold him. He hugged
her, laughing as well. "Arwen, it is wonderful to see you again, it has
been far too long. It must be..."
"You came to the last Lórien Council instead of your father.
That was about fifty-five years ago. I have seen nothing of you since
then."
Arm in arm, exchanging news, they went downstairs together to the Hall
of Fire to join the rest of Elrond's household for the evening meal.
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