Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The small company rode through the Shire in quiet haste, the silence of the road broken by bursts of song and laughter from the inns they passed, and by occasional barking dogs. Gimli could not relax, looking from shadow to shadow, oppressed with worry.

“It will come on us in some dark place far from help, unseen.” Legolas drew his horse next to Gimli’s pony. “We must be ready.”

Gimli considered all the long and lonely miles between the Shire and Rivendell, weighing them next to the horror of the wraith’s first brief attack in Dol Guldur. He shuddered. “If only Gandalf or the lady were with us now!”

“We will wish for them many times in the coming days, I think.” Legolas hesitated, tidying his horse’s mane, and Gimli realized the elf could not meet his eyes. “Gimli, do not believe anything it says of me.”

“It will say nothing true of me, either.” Gimli stared straight ahead, his cheeks flushing. “The shadow has nothing of truth in it, only lies and deceit. It will try to tear our company apart in any way it can.”

“That is wisdom. As a dwarf and elf journeying together, we represent a weak point it will seek to target.”

“Then we will not let it.” Gimli reached up, offering his hand, and the elf clasped it to seal their bargain. He looked on Gimli again, his eyes warm.

“I am uneasy about following the road.” Aragorn called to them. “I think the wraith, finding us gone from Bag End, will try to stop us when we cross the Brandywine. We should cut across country. Is there a ford or ferry, Bilbo?”

“Bucklebury Ferry, but that is a long trek through woods on uncertain paths.”

“Nevertheless, let us try it.”

“Where will we leave the Shire?” Bilbo protested. “The High Hay will keep us in, and if the bridge is watched, the Hay Gate will not be safe, either.”

“The Brandybucks have cut ways through the High Hay that we may use. Elves pass through them when they do not wish to be seen on the east road.”

They left the road, meaning to cut across the upper part of the Woody End toward Woodhall, crossing the Brandywine and traveling through Bucklebury and on to the High Hay without incident. Gimli began to believe they had eluded the wraith-- or possibly young Hamfast Gamgee was possessed of an overactive imagination.

“This wood is watchful,” Legolas said, his voice echoing in the brooding quiet. “It does not like any who go on two legs. Much less those who carry an axe. We must be wary.”

“It has a bad reputation among the Bucklanders.” Bilbo nodded agreement. “The trees are awake, it is said. Once they encroached on the hay, and Brandybucks entered the forest with axes and fire to drive them back. Since then it is worse, by all accounts.” Gimli was surprised and pleased to see the halfling rouse from his sulks and speak with enthusiasm and authority.

“Yes, it would be,” Legolas nodded. “There are huorns here-- trees who are half-awake. They are dangerous, with long and bitter memories, and in this place they have no tree shepherds, no onodrim, to guide or govern them. My people do not come to this wood." He looked sober. "I can hear the huorns singing; they would lure us from our way and onto dangerous paths. Let me guide us so we will not go near them.” Legolas passed Aragorn and led the party through the wood, listening with care.

“How may trees be half-awake? Or move from where they are rooted?” Gimli asked the elf, not much liking the notion.

“Trees may come entirely awake and walk as they will.” Legolas’s answer did not put him at ease. “They may even speak with you, if you have the fortune to meet a tree-shepherd. I have never done so, for they left the Greenwood before I was born, after the shadow rose in the south.”

They left the forest without having to camp beneath its shade and traveled on to Bree, taking the east road for a time. “Better not to cross the Barrow Downs,” Aragorn said, but he would not say why.

Legolas seemed troubled as they neared the town, gazing around them with constant watchfulness. “The wraith is watching,” he said when Gimli inquired of him. “It will come after we pass beyond this town.”

They were not troubled in Bree or in the Chetwood, but as the marshes closed in about them, the party drew close together, sensing a malevolent will bearing down upon them, as yet unseen.

“Bilbo. Gimli. Mount up and ride upon the horses with us,” Aragorn directed. “We will move faster if the ponies go unladen.”

Neither protested, and Gimli found himself glad to ride behind the elf once more. Though they did not always ride together, Legolas still kept his hair always braided for Gimli’s convenience. Gimli took comfort in studying the golden strands as he rode, feeling the elf’s familiar waist warm and solid beneath his hands.

The sense of an unseen watcher persisted through the day, and the brooding regard strengthened as night drew near, closing in about them until Gimli felt his skin crawling, as if the wraith crept through the mist at their heels, just far enough away they could not see it, almost near enough to touch.

It was a terrible, creeping horror, a foul presence that crept around them amidst the rising vapors of the marsh, keeping the fine hairs raised on his arms and at the back of his neck. Bilbo clung close to Aragorn, his eyes closed, his brow pinched in a scowl.

“We will stop now and light a fire.” Aragorn spoke when they reached a long-toppled copse of dead tree trunks that formed a meager shelter. Dusk drew near, and a mist had begun to curl up from the marshy ground. “We must get whatever rest we can.”

"What is this thing that pursues us?" Bilbo dared ask at last, his eyes darting about in fear.

"A <i>nazgul</i>. A minion of Sauron," Aragorn answered him. "It will come in the guise of a man cloaked in black, yet it is not alive. It would strip the bodies from our spirits if it could and drag what remains before its master in the void to endure his torment."

Gimli found he could not bear the thought. His instincts insisted stopping would allow the horror that pursued to catch them up and he feared then it would overwhelm them. However, the bright orange tongues of flame rising from their fire-pit made him feel a little better, keeping a circle of night at bay. Aragorn stared into the dark, his eyes glittering with reflected firelight, and Gimli knew he too felt the smothering fear of the wraith.

Bilbo’s manner concerned him even more. The little halfling hunched with one hand in his pocket, muttering the word "nazgul" soundlessly to himself as though arguing with a foe unseen. He ate little and spoke to none of his companions.

Legolas alone seemed undaunted, though Gimli could read the signs of tension in him as he looked in all directions through the mist.

“Sleep near by me, with your hands on your weapons,” he told them. “I will know if the wraith comes close, and I will rouse you to fight.”

They did as he bade, Bilbo curling up right at the elf’s feet. Gimli and Aragorn propped themselves against the trunk of a tree at Legolas’s side, and he began to sing softly as they settled.

Gimli’s heart followed the song, which wandered beneath trees tall and fair along sunlit paths and green fields filled with golden flowers, leading him down into sleep. If he knew that serpents lurked among the tree-roots or beneath the stones he passed, he also knew the elf was there to keep them at bay.

So went the first night of the wraith’s attack, passed in discomfort on sodden ground, propped against the knotted bole of a fallen tree.

The next night proved worse. Deep in the heart of the marsh, they could locate no shelter and found little dry wood to burn. Without a fire, the shadows pressed in against them, twining about as if to choke them with fear, and the mist from the ground rose so thickly it covered the moon and stars. Even the insects were silent, driven away by the wraith’s brooding fear. “Why does it not come?” Gimli muttered. “Then at least we could fight!” The foul sensation of the wraith’s presence crawled over him, making him want to writhe away from his own skin.

“It means to wear us down before attacking. When we are sleepless, weary to exhaustion, and despair is near, its power will be all the stronger.” Even Legolas had begun to look worn as he stared fruitlessly into the darkness, the whites visible around his eyes.

Bilbo fidgeted, clutching something against his chest with both trembling fists.

“Do not give in to the wraith’s call,” Aragorn set his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “It wants you to do as you are thinking.”

Bilbo swallowed hard and set his jaw. “Right.” He did not loosen his grip, and Aragorn stayed close by him, as if to comfort-- or defend.

They found little sleep that night, sing though the elf might, and they departed wearily the next morning, though they had found little rest to ease their minds and bodies. The sun rose, but mist lingered about them, and they could see nothing other than grey wreaths of vapor curling about twisted stumps and lonely, hissing grasses appearing slowly out of the mist at their feet while they walked. The wraith could be anywhere-- everywhere.

When night came, the company all but fell to the ground where they stood. Even the horses shivered and pressed close together, whickering with nostrils flared, rolling their eyes, too frightened to flee. They would not eat until Legolas calmed them.

“We will not make Rivendell at this rate,” Gimli murmured to Legolas. “If each night is to become so much worse--!”

“They will indeed grow worse,” Legolas said softly.

Despite the horror of the encroaching dark, sleep claimed Gimi-- and with it, a thousand bleak imaginings. The wraith, clever enough to know a warrior born to Durin’s line would not fear death, did not bother with such petty threats. It twined itself into his mind, extracting his deepest fears with a surgeon’s craft: no longer the fear of rape, or even servitude, but still concerning the elf.

Gimli envisioned Legolas, all raised chin and flashing eyes, grimacing with disdain when Gimli spoke his heart. After, the elf drew away with disgust when Gimli touched his hand or rode behind him, his shameful secret revealed. The elf gave Haldir his glorious shining hair to braid, laughing with the march warden of Lothlórien over the foolish, pitiable dwarf who presumed to think him beautiful and venture words of love. The two of them together told the tale of Gimli’s folly to Galadriel, who laughed also, and summoned other elves to hear the tale so all might laugh and mock him.

Though he knew the lady would not invite others to mock him, there was enough potential for truth in the visions to set great misery brooding in Gimli's mind nonetheless, and they left him with a deepened fear of his foolish, tender feelings.

It was bad waking the next morning to find the marshes about him, but it was worse to see Legolas avoid his eyes. He could only wonder what ugly visions the wraith had sent to the elf.

however bad it might be, Gimli knew the next day and night would grow darker still.
NOTES: Huorns: Trees that are half-awake and who hate forest intruders that go on two legs. Nazgul: Ringwraiths A comment response thread for this story can be found at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62310-review-replies-for-nothing-gold-can-stay-by-tafkab/ !
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Nothing Gold Can Stay