Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 24
- 25
- 26
Chapter 25 - The Entwood

Legolas awoke with a start. Arod was irritably snorting and neighing softly with caution. The elf had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but he knew it was much longer than he intended. Someone was approaching the ancient cottage. He got up from his bed, though his body was reluctant. Everything was sore, but at least the wounds did not burn or itch any longer. The healing cream seemed to be doing its job, and a sound healing sleep helped too, but at what cost.
Legolas went to the doorway and looked out. He could see nothing, but he sensed movement in the distance. He closed his eyes and listened … horses approached, two perhaps from the sound of it.
“Not Eomer,” he said, thinking that his friend might luckily be patrolling the area. If it were Eomer and his men, there would be more than just two horses. No, it seemed Grima’s men had finally caught up to him.
“Damnit,” he cursed in elvish, knowing he’d spent too much time here. He should have been gone hours ago, but he’d fallen into a deeper sleep than he had expected.
He quickly gathered what few belongings he had, and gave a quick glance at the pile of discarded uniform, “I’m no longer a soldier of the Mark,” he said disappointedly.
For years, he’d worn the heavy chainmail and leather armor, the metal helm and thick breeches. Now, he looked down at his state of attire—his elvish clothes— lightweight yet durable boots, a soft white undershirt, and a moss green tunic with matching leggings. At the very last, he decided to keep his cloak, created by the older Rohirric women. It was made of heavy brown wool with a metal clasp to attach it at the throat, good for protection against cold or rain, as well as camouflage when an enemy came too close. Besides, he wasn’t ready to shed Rohan from his heart, and the cloak reminded him of the warmth and safety of his adoptive home.
Legolas left the cottage, tied his bag to Arod’s saddle, and leapt onto his horse. He still had a bit of the cover of darkness to help hide his escape, but the sky was beginning to lighten to the east. Soon there’d be enough light for the men to see him. He knew they would check the old house, and find his tattered clothes, the hearth still warm from last night’s fire. They’d probably track him. There was nowhere to hide now … or was there?
With the rising of the sun, Legolas could just make out in the distance, a line of trees belonging to a great forest. How far had he come yesterday? Further than he thought, and if his calculations were correct, that tree line was the edge of Fangorn Forest. Legolas smiled to himself, and smacked his forehead for not thinking of it sooner.
Fangorn Forest, called The Entwood by the Rohirrim, was just the place he needed right now. Men of the Mark, as well as Dunlendings, orcs, and most other races, would not step foot into the dark wood, for fear of the great beings that patrolled there.
“I have always longed to see the ancient forest,” he said, patting Arod on his neck. The horse seemed to protest with a snort of reluctance, and Legolas laughed, “Don’t worry. I would not take you anywhere that I myself did not think safe.” His elvish voice and soothing rhythmic words always calmed his beast, but this time Arod did not take easily to the idea. Animals had a sense for danger, but Legolas knew Fangorn Forest would bring them no harm. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he’d felt something once. As an elfling, traveling with the Woodsmen, they had passed within sight of the great forest. The men were wary, even at a distance, but Legolas felt a welcoming sensation emanate from the far off trees. Had he been alone at the time, he would have answered the call. Now he would finally get to satisfy the bit of curiosity that never quite left him.
* * *
Legolas rode across the open plain, the edge of the forest coming quickly into view, as Arod kept a steady pace. They had traveled without incident, leaving any trackers far enough behind. When he had awakened in the predawn hours, there had been a light frost on the ground and the dry grass. They had left a very noticeable trail marking their direction. Now, the sun was high enough that any trace of moisture had dissipated. The air was cold and dry, but luckily there was no wind. It was a typically crisp day for late January. Legolas inhaled deeply, and realized how long it had been since he was out in the open fields of the Riddermark. He felt most of his strength return, glad to be away from the dark confining cells beneath Edoras. His chest tightened as he thought of the mess that led up to that horror, but he pushed his anger aside. Nothing would interfere with his feeling of freedom and sense of rebirth. Dressed in his elvish attire, out in the open, alone and on his own, he felt at peace even with the threat of pursuit. He started to relax a bit, shedding the layers he had developed in order to live amongst humans. It was something he hadn’t known he had done until now.
The edge of the dark wood was close. Legolas could sense an ominous presence, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He hadn’t expected this, but then he could not expect a welcome party either. As curious as he had been, Fangorn was still a dangerous place, and he started to question his desire to come. It was too late to change his mind now, and it might be more perilous to remain on the plains with scouts out looking for him. Best to take his chances with the tree herders, he thought.
Arod was reluctant to get too close, so Legolas led him along the length of the forest, slowly trotting along as he tried to see past the dark spaces between the trees. This was a very strange place, he observed. He was used to the small forest that stood just outside of Edoras’ walls, where the terrain gradually changed from grass plains to bushes, and then to smaller trees that grew at the outer edge of the tall, more mature ones. Here, at the edge of a flat grassy plain, stood an abrupt wall of thick growing trees, taller than those near Rohan, looming high above. They almost seemed to be watching him, if that were possible, even leaning towards him as he moved along their outer edge. He could hear wood creaking, like that of old men moaning from aching joints. He might not have found that so odd, but for the fact that no wind made the trees move and bend. No, the trees were moving on their own somewhere beyond the edge of the forest. They knew he was there; he sensed their wariness.
Arod was getting agitated once again, but this time not from the forest. Riders were approaching. Legolas could hear the thundering of hooves in the distance. Once more, he hoped it was Eomer and his men, but Arod’s nervous whickering made him doubtful. Still, he waited, keeping his horse calm. He would know as soon as he saw the first rider.
They poured out from around an outcrop of stone and rock, not Eomer’s men, but Southrons. “What are men of Harad doing here?” Legolas wondered aloud. There was no mistaking them. Their dress alone spoke of their heritage. They wore robes of vibrant red, trimmed with a gilded collar, and garish armor overlapping in spikes. Black turbans covered their heads and face so all that could be seen were their eyes peering out from darkened skin.
Legolas had waited a moment too long, and the man riding out in front of the group saw him, “There’s another one,” the dark man shouted, “Don’t let this one get away.”
“Another one?” Legolas wondered briefly. What did he mean by that? He didn’t have time to think about it as a large army of Southrons charged towards him. There must have been a hundred men at least, and all of them running towards him. The only place to go was into Fangorn. Legolas turned Arod towards the forest and commanded him to go. There was only a short distance left before they were at the foot of the forest. The problem was that the trees grew too close together, and Legolas could not find a place where Arod could pass inside. They rode left and then right, a stray branch whipping the elf across his cheek from time to time. The Haradrim were closing in on them.
Legolas remembered the sound of moving trees, and now recognized that they had been closing off any entrance into the woods. He himself might be able to squeeze in somewhere, but he would not leave Arod alone to be captured by the Southrons. With the approaching men, the trees became tense with anger. They trusted no one to ride into their home, and protected themselves by interweaving branches and vines, anything to make a barrier.
With only moments to spare before the Southrons were upon him, Legolas jumped down from his horse and stood facing the great trees. He spread his arms out and tilted his head back, showing his subservience to the enchanted forest. With a thick elvish accent, he called to them, “I come to you peacefully, and ask for harborage from these wicked men. They are my enemy, as well as yours, but I cannot fight them alone. Please, let my horse and I pass.”
The trees creaked and moaned in such a low voice that Legolas felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. Some of the smaller trees looked as if they were bending to allow him passage, but the larger trees between stood firm and unmoving. Then there was a booming voice from inside the tightly woven trees, and Legolas was amazed to find that he understood the language as though he had spoken it his whole life.
“Oak and Beech, move aside and let the elf enter. He is a friend, one of the First Born, don’t you know?”
Legolas observed the trees untangle their limbs, roots burrowing back into the earth, and vines recoiling into the canopy. An area of the tree line gave way with enough room for him and Arod to enter.
The grey horse protested with another snort through his nose as he stared at the forest. He was checking for danger for himself as well as for his rider. “You cannot stay out here alone,” Legolas said, understanding Arod’s gestures and quiet nickering. “Forward!” he commanded, but Arod refused to take a step closer. The trees were still angry, and the approaching Southrons were the cause of their mood.
Legolas, however, rested his head against his horse’s cheek, and ran a gentle hand along the muscled neck, “Do not trouble, Arod. I may lead you many places, but never somewhere that I fear might we not return.”
Arod snorted loudly, making Legolas’ hair fly up. The grey horse stomped a single foot, a signal to his master that he would go, though reluctantly. Legolas leapt upon the horse’s back and they stepped into the forest before the Southrons got too close. Behind them, the trees closed off the entrance and the light dimed a bit, but it was not dark. It was still illuminated at the inner edge of the woods. The canopy was not yet so full that it blocked out the sun. Rays of light shone down to the forest floor like slanted columns, illuminating small bits of dust and insects as they traveled in and out of the silver beams. The ground was thick with leaves from seasons past. The air smelled damp and musty, of rotted matter and wet dirt.
Legolas looked around, but there was no sign of the speaking tree, “Hello,” he called, and there was no answer. He felt rather unnerved by the abandonment, but perhaps the trees did not trust him just yet. They were waiting and watching.
He caught the sound of shouts outside of the trees. The Southrons had finally caught up. They had seen him go into the forest and were looking for a way in.
“He can’t have gone far,” one man called out.
“Probably dead by now, if he went in there,” said another.
“We could send out a few scouts to look for him,” suggested someone.
“It’s not worth losing any of my men over,” said their captain, “Move on then.”
Legolas waited, holding his breath as the men went on their way. When he was sure they were gone, he nudged Arod in his sides, and they continued further into Fangorn Forest, looking for the Ent who helped them. One of the Southrons mentioned another getting away, and Legolas wanted to know who this person was.
As they went deeper into the woods, the scenery changed drastically. The trees were massive, their roots snaking along the surface of the forest floor. The lower branches were gnarled and bare of leaves, looking more like arms and fingers rather than boughs. There were no sounds of birds, squirrels or other creatures, yet the forest was not quiet. The low humming noise grew louder and seemed to pass from tree to tree. Wood cracked and groaned all around him, but if he listened, he could hear their language. Legolas was amazed at how easy it was to decipher their words, long and slow to pronounce.
“They are discussing whether we are friend or foe,” Legolas said to Arod, “Some know I mean no harm, and they are anxious to speak to me, but they have forgotten how to communicate with anyone but themselves. Those are not the ones that I am worried about. There are trees here that are dangerous. Their thoughts are savage.”
Arod snorted and thrust his head up and down, sensing the danger that Legolas spoke of. The horse’s muscles were very tense, and the elf decided to take a moment to calm his loyal beast. “It’s alright, Arod. They have no fear of the creatures that walk on four legs, only those who walk on two. They do not mind having you here.”
Deeper into the forest, they walked. The air grew thick and the light diminished, giving the place an eerie vibe. Legolas felt many sets of eyes upon him, watching his every move. He suddenly heard the creaking of wood behind him and turned quickly. Nothing moved. The forest was still, though some of the low branches seemed to be pointing in a different direction than they were before. He faced forward and nudged Arod to continue. A little further, the trees seemed to have drawn in, closing around the only path suitable for Arod to walk. Legolas could see that the ground was becoming rather dangerous for his horse’s step. He worried that Arod might trip and hurt a leg, and decided to get down and lead his equestrian friend. Just as he was about to dismount, there was a swooshing of air and he caught a glimpse of a rather large branch swiping past his head. Legolas ducked in time, and the branch missed him, but it was close enough to disturb his hair. He looked in the direction of the tree that tried to knock him off Arod and began calling out in Sindarin, “I mean you no harm. I come to you as a friend.” As he finished speaking, he dismounted and stepped away from Arod, “Please, if you will just tell me where to find the Ent that helped me earlier, I will—”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence before a large vine curled around his ankle and up his leg. It pulled him to the ground and started dragging him. His head hit a rather large root. That would hurt later, he thought. As he passed another root, he grabbed it with both hands, and stopped himself from being lured away by the feral trees, but the clinging vine kept pulling. Legolas made an anguished face as he desperately clung onto the root, “Let me go! Please!” he yelled.
Arod was there instantly, rearing up on his hindquarters, and stomping on the vine that held his master. He screamed in a loud roar of rage, eyes wide with panic, and desperately tried to help Legolas escape. Legolas yelled at him, demanding that he stay away, but Arod would not listen. He was a horse of Rohan, trained to stay at his master’s side no matter how dangerous. Loyal to the end, Legolas remembered Théodred telling him once, and now he was seeing just how true that was.
His hands were slipping. He was losing his grasp on the root. Once he let go, there was no telling what the trees would do to him. They felt threatened by his presence. Nothing he could say would change their frenzied minds. He might possibly be thrashed to death, and Arod might be sacrificed as well.
From deep in the forest, came a loud bellowing call, and the trees began to calm, though they did not release their grip on Legolas’ leg. The ground beneath him shook as something large approached. There came another long deep roar, echoing through the dark woods, and when it stopped, everything was deathly quiet.
“I demand you release him,” called the booming voice, “Did I not tell you earlier? He is a Child of Ilúvatar, and from what I can gather by his language, he is akin to those who taught us to speak. We owe him our service, not our wrath.”
Instantly, the vine uncurled from Legolas’ leg, and slithered back into the tree from whence it came. The elf sat up, slowly stood, and brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes. Arod, was still agitated, his head bobbing up and down, and his lips curling back to show his biting teeth. Legolas brushed his hand along the massive neck, and purred in elvish. Arod calmed immediately. All of this the elf did before he brought his attention to his rescuer.
The tree herder was extremely tall—maybe 25 feet—with a wide spreading crown of branches and dark green, elongated leaves. Amazingly, his bark was smooth and silvery grey, almost like human skin. He had two legs with multiple roots that acted as his feet and toes, two long branch-like arms with five knobbed fingers on each, and a surprisingly handsome face—for a tree, Legolas added as an afterthought. His eyes were silver, matching his skin, and he smiled with lips make of loose papery bark.
Legolas laid his hand over his heart and bowed. The tree herder bent his head in response, the leaves of his crown rustling as he moved. Legolas stood straight again, and gazed up in disbelief at the giant, “You are one of the Onodrim … an Ent?” he asked enthusiastically.
“I am indeed. My Ent name would take much too long to say, but you may call me Beechbone.” As he finished speaking, one of the rooted trees creaked, and Beechbone turned his attention to it.
“Yes,” he said in answer, “and if the others were here I might give my proper name, but since they aren’t I shan’t.” Beechbone turned his eyes back to Legolas and gave a youthful smile, “He says I am much too hasty, and that I must speak properly.” The giant tree paused and sighed, “Ah, they say it is my youth.”
“You do look young for an Ent,” Legolas complimented.
“For an Ent, yes, and I must agree that I have not the patience of the older Onodrim.” He bent at the knees and narrowed his eyes as he peered down at Legolas, “And it’s a good thing I am quick too. Now, might I know your name, young master elf?”
“I am Legolas, elf of Mirkwood, adopted son of Rohan,” he said proudly.
Beechbone straightened and his eyes widened with surprise, “Mirkwood and Rohan? Now, that is something I have never heard before.”
Arod whinnied and stomped a foot, and Beechbone switched his attention to the horse, “That is a fine beast and most loyal.”
“Arod is a descendant of the Mearas, and my friend,” said Legolas, smiling.
Beechbone was about to continue the conversation, but he gasped and raised his knobby hands to his face, “Oh what am I thinking? Here I am making introductions, and I have forgotten about—” He stopped mid-sentence and started to walk away. Then he turned back to Legolas, “Uh, are you missing someone from your traveling party?”
“No,” said Legolas, shaking his head, “I travel alone. But the men … I heard them say something about pursuing another. Is there someone here?”
“I thought you might have been traveling together, since you both entered the forest relatively close to the same time. She’s been injured, and I left her alone when I heard the ruckus going on here,” said Beechbone, turning back to his course and walking away.
“Wait!” Legolas called, “I’ll come with you.” He leapt onto Arod and they followed Beechbone at a careful pace. When they caught up to the Ent, Legolas questioned him, “You said ‘she’. Is it a woman?”
Beechbone took another long stride before answering, “Why no, she’s an elf … like yourself.”
Legolas’ mouth dropped, and he couldn’t think of what else to ask. An elf, but from where, and who, and why and—
“You said she’s an elf like me. Do you mean she is a Mirkwood elf?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking this. Of course she wasn’t from Mirkwood. None had survived besides him. But just the thought of merely seeing another elf was excitement enough. It had been years since he’d spoken to one of his own kind, not since his uncle … since Elhadron.
“Well now, that I would not know. She is an elf, and that is all I can say for sure. Tell me, young master Legolas, have you knowledge of your medicine?” Beechbone spoke without stopping between sentences, but his wording was rather slow and precise, and Legolas had to pay close attention.
“Medicine? Yes, I have some knowledge of it, but it is not extensive. What kind of injuries did she sustain?”
“Hmm, well, if she had termites or burrowing beetles I would know what was wrong, but I’m afraid I know nothing of flesh and bones.”
Legolas thought for a moment, “Is there any blood, you know, red seeping from the skin?”
“Oh yes, there is that for sure. Is that bad?” asked Beechbone, clueless.
“I’d say you better direct me to her so that I may get to her quickly. Your strides are great, Beechbone, but you still travel much too slow,” said Legolas with anxiety lacing his words, “Sometimes haste is needed, especially in a situation like this.”
“Oh, right then, here’s how you go,” said Beechbone, and he told Legolas where to go and what to look for in order to reach the wounded elleth. Legolas waited as patiently as he was able, and took off on Arod before the Ent could finish. The tree’s voice traveled though, and Legolas caught the end of his directions as he rode away.
* * *
Legolas followed the path as Beechbone directed, and came upon an unusual area of the forest, a place like an open glade. The sun shone down bright, and the dankness of the forest disappeared with a crisp January air. The smell of conifers awakened Legolas’ senses with refreshing surprise. The grass here was a muted green, dormant for the winter months. Arod took it upon himself to look for the more succulent pieces and grazed leisurely, no longer apprehensive about his surroundings. Legolas had dismounted upon entering the enchanted glade. As much as he wished to close his eyes and absorb the freshness of this place, he knew there was a more serious matter to attend to.
He searched the area with a sharp eye, looking for the injured elf, and finally found her beneath a very large beech growing on the opposite side. The roots at the foot of the tree spread out above the thick leafy ground, and she was nestled between a set of these moss-covered anchors. Legolas cautiously went to her, keeping back a ways before approaching. She lay on her back, stretched out in a long line with her hands folded upon her chest. Legolas had seen men positioned like this as they were placed into their death barrows. He felt a jolt of panic when he thought that maybe she too was dead, but the slow rise and fall of her chest eased his fears.
Legolas took another step and observed her closely. Her hair was deep brown, long, and with a slight waviness. It contoured her face and flowed along her shoulders. Long dark lashes fluttered ever so slightly. Was she deep in elvish dreams, he wondered. She looked so peaceful, he almost forgot she was injured, and started searching for signs of injury. Legolas couldn’t see with her body covered by her grey cloak, so his attention went to her face once again. She was very lovely, he noted, with smooth skin, lithe in form, very elegant looking in her slumber. He wanted to talk to her, to know of anything she could tell him. She was the first elf he’d seen in years, and the first elleth he could remember since the servants who watched him as an elfling. Her clothes were different from his, though very much elvish in style, but not wood elven. Of course not, he thought. Where had she come from … Rivendell … Lothlórien? And why was she alone?
“I see you found her,” said Beechbone, finally catching up to the elf, “How is she?”
“I haven’t examined her yet. I’ll have to remove the cloak to get a better look,” answered Legolas, “How was she when you found her? Was she unconscious like she is now?”
“Oh no, master elf, she was walking and speaking, though what she was saying I dare not repeat.” Beechbone made a tsk sound, “Such language I’ve not heard from an elf.”
Legolas looked at her again, and cocked his head, “She doesn’t look the type to speak with a foul tongue.” He crouched down, one knee on the ground, and bent over her, reaching out to touch a piece of her wavy hair. As soon as he disturbed the soft tendril, the elleth’s eyes flew open and she gasped. In an instant, she was sitting up, grasping Legolas’ arm and twisting it most uncomfortably. If she had looked peaceful a moment ago, she was anything but that now. Legolas tried to grab her arm to stop her from twisting his, but she latched on with her free hand, twisting both of his wrists so that he thought they would snap.
“It’s alright, my lady, I’m here to—” Legolas started to say, but she wrenched his wrists into an awkward and painful position.
“You’ll take your filthy hands off me!” she demanded, eyes flashing wildly around as she tried to comprehend where she was.
Legolas winced, but found his voice, “I believe I should be the one demanding release,” he said painfully.
“You’ll not take me, you sand-dwelling, black hearted, cock sucking bastard!” she shouted.
Legolas could see that she was not fully aware of what was going on, “She thinks I’m one of the Haradrim,” he called to Beechbone as he tried to wriggle from her grasp. She was very strong, he noted.
“I am not your enemy. I’m only trying to help you,” he pleaded. Then yelling to Beechbone, he said, “A little help, if you don’t mind.”
As Beechbone spoke to the elleth in his baritone voice, trying to reassure her that they were indeed helping her, she cried out in pain and released Legolas’ wrists, doubling over in pain. Her face screwed up and her body curled into a fetal position, “It burns in my veins, like fire spreading through me.”
Legolas rubbed his wrists, which were red from her grip, but dismissed it quickly and knelt next to her, “Where are you injured?” he asked, but she was moaning and could not speak.
Her body stretched out abnormally, and her hands grabbed the tree roots on either side of where she lay. Then she cried out as her back arched off the ground. Whatever was wrong, it was getting worse. Just as quickly as it came on, it stopped and the elleth went limp. Legolas feared he had just seen her die, but found it hard to believe after playing victim to her unusual strength a moment ago. Her eyes were closed and her full lips were parted. He watched for a moment, afraid to touch her again. He didn’t want to upset her, if she was still alive. Then she finally took a breath, and he released the one he had been holding.
“What is wrong with her?” asked Beechbone, hovering above and casting a shadow upon the elves.
“I think she’s been poisoned,” Legolas replied, and pulled the edge of her cloak away from her body. Finally, he could see where she was bleeding from her side. There was a small slice in her shirt, and blood had soaked through all around it. “And she’s been stabbed, I believe.”
He pulled the edge of her silver shirt up over her midriff and found a stab wound in her side. The skin was red and swollen around the entrance sight, and a bit of yellowish foam bubbled at one end of the cut mark. Legolas knew a thing or two about the different kinds of poison used. This had likely been intended to paralyze her until the Haradrim could restrain her. Without the proper herbs to reverse the immobilization of the poison, her body could start shutting down, and she could die.
Legolas looked up at Beechbone, whose ancient face was marked with concern, “I can help her, but I’m going to need some herbs, and I’m not sure they grow in these parts.”
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll know where to find them,” Beechbone said eagerly.
Legolas gave him the names of the plants that he was sure would reverse the effects, and Beechbone hurried off as quickly as an Ent could manage. Then he turned back to the injured elf, and looked at the wound again. Remembering the healing salve Eowyn had given him, he got to his feet and rushed to where Arod stood, quietly grazing on a last patch of tender grass. He retrieved the jar from his saddlebag and opened it. There wasn’t much left, but he had no use for it now. His own injuries were healing, and though the salve would insure no further complications, the elleth needed it much more than him. It wouldn’t help to reverse the poison, but at least it would cleanse the wound and prevent infection.
She was breathing slow and deep in a healing sleep, her body trying to protect itself from the poison. Legolas hoped she would not wake and attack him again as he applied the salve. He’d never known such strength from a woman before. She was an equal match to his own physicality, something that took him by surprise.
Legolas eased the shirt up, exposing the nasty stab wound. He couldn’t tell how deep it was, but it was a clean cut, and the bleeding had slowed considerably. He was far from being an educated healer, but he could keep such injuries from becoming worse with the plants and herbs he found growing in the wild. He’d done it numerous times during his days patrolling the borders with Eomer and Théodred. The salve that Eowyn had given him was her own special concoction, and very potent, as was evident from his own healing wounds. Now he applied the salve to the elleth’s cut mark, moving carefully and hoping not to hurt her. The healing cream gave the effect of an icy burn when first administered. He waited a moment to see how she would react. When she not so much as flinched, he continued spreading the cream around the lacerated skin, using up the remainder of the contents of the jar. Now he needed to seal it somehow, and he plucked one of the elongated leaves from the beech tree. Legolas pressed it to the wound and held it there a moment.
The elleth’s eyelids fluttered and she gave a moan. Legolas prepared to jump away from her if she woke up with violent intent like earlier, but her muscles weren’t tense as they had been before. She blinked a few times, her eyes trying to focus on the tree canopy above, and then they fell upon Legolas. Her mouth opened and her lids went wide as though she was seeing something unexpected. She mumbled, trying to form words. Funny, he thought, she’d had no trouble finding the crudest insults when she thought he was one of the Haradrim. She had also used Westron then. Now she was speaking Quenya, or trying to.
“Ai! Co— Condo … Condo, Ar— Aryon,” she sputtered incoherently. She repeated the words several times, as if desperate for him to understand.
Legolas understood the words, but not the reason for her to say them to him. She was under the influence of a strong mind altering poison, though. She must be hallucinating, thinking he was someone else. He drew his dark brows together and shook his head slowly back and forth, “You mistake me for another, my lady. I am no prince, nor am I an heir.”
She continued to call him these things, looking at him, but seeing through him, not completely in reality, and still hallucinating. Then her face contorted as the pain from the poison coursed through her body. After that, she became silent, closed her eyes, and drifted back into a deep sleep. Legolas took her cloak and covered her again, but as he did, he became aware of the familiarity of her clothes. He’d seen them before when he was an elfling traveling with the Woodsmen. As he passed Lothlórien, he had glimpsed the elven sentries keeping watch over their docks along the Anduin. They wore clothes of the same fashion, abundant cloaks over gray loose flowing tunics, which hung below the knee, a fitted long sleeve silver shirt and black leggings beneath the multi-layers of seemingly heavy gray material.
“So, she is a Galadhrim, an inhabitant of Lothlórien,” Legolas said, reciting all of his information, “. . . presumably a member of their army. She speaks Quenya and curses in Westron, and she has mistaken me for an acquaintance of hers … and a prince no less.” As far as he knew, there were no princes in Lothlórien, but perhaps she was speaking of someone from her past. He would just have to wait until Beechbone came back with the herbs he needed to cure the poisoning, and then find out exactly who she was, and what she was doing here alone and so far from her home.
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The Last Wood Elf