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.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Chapter 20 ~ * * * * * “Remind me why we’re here again?” Merry couldn’t really say he wasn’t expecting the question… it’s been asked to him every couple of minutes since they had gone through the Dark Gates, after all. Still, it took him several seconds to answer it. Mostly because it wasn’t easy to tame the urge to smack his cousin silly.
Merry counted up to ten in his head, then did it again – just to be sure. Then, peeking up from behind his ever-present –and massively heavy- book, he proceeded to give Pippin the same answer he’d got for the last several days. “Because, *Lórien* was under attack, *we* wouldn’t be able to hold a weapon even if lunch depended on it, and *so* Lady *Galadriel* thought it better to send us away from *danger*.” “And into a dark and smelly tunnel?” Pippin replied, wiping yet another spider-web from his hair. “Better than one pack of Orcs, I reckon.” Sam piped up, fishing for something in one of the bags the Lady of the Golden Woods had readied for them. “It’s not like we aren’t accustomed to darkness and tunnels, if you see what I mean. Most of the tunnels of our Headquarters back in Morfëataur aren’t much better than this one. I’d rather walk this one tunnel, dark and smelly but with a dead flat floor and a ceiling high enough not to bump our heads, than most of those that are back hom--Ah! Found it!” Sam pulled out a small sack from the impressive huge bag. Inside was several Lembas, Elven cakes that restored both body and spirit. Quickly he grabbed some and split them in half, offering the pieces around. Most of his companions dived on the cakes gratefully, being fairly famished after the long, straining march. Frodo bit unto his half thoughtfully, squinting his eyes to see something in the darkness.
The Hobbits, Aragorn, Legolas, Lascaran and Gandalf were all huddled around the small campfire they’d built, with Arwen polishing her daggers intently not too far away. Elladan and Elrohir had gone scouting quite some time ago, and Boromir had thought it best to follow, knowing that the twins couldn’t really stay away from troubles for more than one handful of minutes. Why Éowyn was with them as well was another matter altogether. Since they entered the underground route she had all but glued herself to Elladan, and when he’d stood up to go scouting, she had attached herself to his legs, whimpering about the darkness in a way they would have expected Legolas to do. Try as they might, they couldn’t pry her away. In the end, after a good dose of prompting, whistles and wiggled eyebrows, Elladan had just hauled her to her feet, clasped his hand firmly around hers and –with a sigh- dived into the darkness, Elrohir in tow and Boromir just behind.
They hadn’t come back yet, and thought it wasn’t long enough to start worrying, Frodo felt a distinct lump in his throat and a weight on his chest. Considering it had passed long days since he’d gotten drunk in Lórien, long hours since he’d eaten something and loooooooooooooong minutes since Sam had moved from their (brotherly, only brotherly!) embrace (meant for comfort… and maybe some warmth… really… just that…), there was only one way to explain those puzzling sensations.
Something was out there, watching them… and, whatever it was, it didn’t like them in the slightest.
Frodo couldn’t help it – he began chewing worriedly on his nails, scanning the surrounding darkness with wide eyes. When long moments of search proved nothing other than Hobbit eyes weren’t as good in the dark as could have been –say- Elves’, Frodo forced himself to focus on his companions. He gazed on unseeingly as Pippin grabbed what should have been his tenth half-lembas.
For the longest moment the younger Hobbit did nothing but stare at the cake, expression sullen. Then Lascaran crawled out from his pocket, all dressed in black – as to blend with the darkness and result invisible. Slowly, it crept worm-like across Pippin’s white shirt and towards his hand. Once in position, the Squirrel made a dive for the cake, but unfortunately for him Pippin noticed him, send the little thief flying across the tunnel and against a wall, before pursing his bottom lip out at Sam as nothing had happened. “But… there are *spiders* here, Sam! Ugly little things, with all those furry legs, and those lidless eyes!”
Albeit muffled by Aragorn’s shoulder, the sound of Legolas’s laugh was still clear and lovely. It -like it did back in Morfëataur- enchanted all the Hobbits, so that they all gave one wistful, breathless sigh. Even Frodo was able to see some hope again, and smiled, albeit it was difficult to say in the scarce light. “Spiders, Pip?” Said the blonde Elf, shuffling a bit to cast a glance at the Hobbit. “You must see the spiders we have in Mirkwood! They’re bigger than you, my friend. And dare I say it, even their appetite is bigger than yours!”
Currently, Legolas was perched comfortably within Aragorn’s strong arms, sitting sideways between his bent legs, with his cheek placed over the Man’s beating heart. Said Man did not like it in the slightest when the Elf made as if to squirm out of his arms to talk with Pippin; therefore he promptly held the Elf to him, helping him turning so that his back was against the Man’s chest. Then, bending his head until the two of them were cheek-to-cheek, Aragorn gave a contented sigh. Almost on its own volition, his hand slid down to Legolas’s own and stroked the ring of Barahir softly, as if to make sure he’d not just dreamed giving it to the Elf.
“An appetite bigger than---?! What are they, *monsters*?” Pippin shrieked, quickly shoving into his mouth five or six lembas, unwrapping them just barely before swallowing them whole. He looked about, almost expecting to see hordes of Giant Spiders crawl toward him with forks and knifes in hand – well, leg- and white napkins around their necks – if the had necks. Honestly, he saw nothing and no one, but you may never know… even if he didn’t saw them, those blasted Spiders could still be around, aiming for his food… better be sure to hide it all.
With a battle cry he dived head-first onto the closest bag, crying out in aguish when Merry and Sam went to the food’s aid, holding him back as Lascaran – who was still annoyed at the whole plunge-the-poor-Squirrel-against-a-wall episode – hastily attached himself to one of Pippin’s flaying hands, sinking his sharp little teeth into the Hobbit’s thumb. The consequent yelp and jump sent the Squirrel rolling across the camp and against the same wall as before, so that a new bruise stood out now proudly from his head.
Aragorn barely suppressed an amused laugh when Pippin scrambled to his feet to chase Lascaran in circles around the camp. In fact he gave them only two seconds of his time before he went back to his favourite pastime, and began nuzzling the white, long neck of the Elf in his arms. “Spiders, love?” he asked. “Hm-hm. And pretty huge, too. And venomous… or at least most of them are.” “Do they scare you?” “…no, not really.” Legolas said after one moment to consider. “I admit I’m not fond of those creatures, but I can handle them better than I do darkness.” “Hmmm… that’s a shame.” Aragorn rumbled, lips still moving back and forth against Legolas’s sweet, pale skin. “H-How so?” Legolas asked, trying hard to keep his heartbeat at a resemblance of normality. “It’s just that, if you don’t fear them…” the Man said huskily, “I can’t expect you to throw yourself at me each time we see one… or can I?” Legolas chuckled, then stiffened when Aragorn started to nibble gently the point of his ear. Ignoring the comments thrown at them about ‘going to get a room’ Legolas answered him, a little breathlessly: “As… aah… tempting as it sounds, I can’t really do that.” “Why?” It’s astonishing how, when discontent, Aragorn morphed from a proud and fearless man into a sulking kid in the blink of an eye. “Well, it’s a matter of pride. I can’t really show fear, fake or real, in front of a Spider. Everyone in Mirkwood is trained to handle those creatures since childhood. After all it’s simple… with most of them, the trick is scratch their bellies, or that spot just behind the head – it always works. Coming to think bout it, there’s but one person in the whole Mirkwood that has a terrible case of arachnophobia--” Legolas’s words were interrupted by a ominous, piercing scream, that was along the lines of a resounding: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Followed by a blurred form dive-bombing into the camp, behind Arwen, and under one pile of blankets in only one fluid and incredibly quick motion. Legolas grinned apologetically up at his love, and shrugged. “—guess who?”
“Éowyn?” Arwen said softly. Knives forgotten, she
turned to the shivering heap of blankets at her side. “Are you all
right?” “Éowyn, you’re safe here.” Arwen began to caress the shivering bundle, and her voice was gentle and soft. She was rewarded when the lump underneath the blankets shifted a bit, and one wide blue eye peeked up at her. “I hate spiders…” Éowyn said quietly. Arwen smiled, offering the other woman a hand to hold on to. When Éowyn grabbed it and squeezed tight, Arwen thought she distinctly heard the noise of bones crackling. Thanking the Valar, Elves’ capacity to heal is truly remarkable. “And they hate fire. They won’t come anywhere near the camp.” Arwen managed, trying hard not to let the pain in her hand show on her face. “Promise?” “I promise.”
With that, Arwen proceeded to gently remove the blanket from Éowyn’s shivering form… …only to have her jaw drop to the ground when she saw a slightly grey-faced Elladan lie under Éowyn and with his neck squeezed in-between her arms. Arwen blinked. Éowyn blinked. The Fellowship blinked. Boromir and Elrohir, jagging into the camp, stopped short of the trio and blinked. Elladan gasped for air. “É…o…wyn…!” “Oh my gosh! El-hon!” she hurriedly moved away from him, helping him to sit up and checking if he breathed correctly… only to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze the air out of him *again* when she saw he was all right. “Oh, I’m so sorry, El!” “Ell—ghh---adan!” Elladan dodged Éowyn’s fist with practiced skill. “No, *way*! Everyone heard you tell me to call you El!” the Elf massaged his throat sulkily. He wasn’t really looking forward to another “you cheated me into that”, “who cares, you still said it” –session, so he just folded his arms over his chest, leaned back, and gave Éowyn a sulky “Hmph”. She grinned impishly at him and patted his head. “That’s my El.” “What exactly happened back there, that explains why you flung yourself at me, almost strangling me, and then dragged me back here?” “There was a Spider…” “*What*?” The one on Éowyn’s face was far too cute a blush. Elladan tried to keep on glaring, but just then one pack of passing-by butterflies decided that the insides of stomach would be quite a nice home, and wouldn’t stop fluttering around madly as they arranged their belongings. So much for trying - his glare faded like snow under the sun.
“I… don’t like spiders…” Éowyn said meekly, lowering her head and glancing up at Elladan through her lashes. Her blush reached the tips of her ears in no time, no time at all. “Not since one as big as my whole self, all black and flurry and sticky, decided it would be fun to jump into my cradle and on my face, when I was a babe.” “*Ouch*.” “Exactly my point.”
Insert a moment of sympathetic silence here. Now, imagine that Elladan broke the aforementioned silence with one of his well-practiced ‘big sighs’, opening his arms to Éowyn. Next imagine her dive-bombing into the offered embrace… yup, exactly like that. At this point picture Elladan’s arms closing about her, his hands sliding comfortingly down her hair… It goes unsaid that it took only one couple of seconds for the ‘sympathetic’ silence to turn into a more ‘I’m amazed, I’m curious, I’m not sure when they became an item – should I ask?’ one.
Now you know why Elladan immediately released Éowyn, sprang up to his feet and dashed to a shadowed corner to check the supplies of water, inanely hoping his blush wasn’t making him shine neon in the darkness. =)
Most of the others began looking back and forth from an embarrassed Elladan to a slightly confused Éowyn. Frodo didn’t. He was still chewing on his nails. Actually, as giggles and whispers rose from the Company, he attacked his left hand, having already gobbled up all the nails in the right one. “Something is watching us,” he blurted out at last, clamping both hands against his mouth immediately after. Glancing at his companions, he regretted opening his mouth at all. The others had all grown tense, like cats on a hot tin roof, and were looking about in the looming darkness, their weapons at the ready.
Slowly, when it seemed that all the members of the Fellowship had decided nothing was about to pounce at them from the shadows, Gandalf pulled his pipe from his lips and puffed out some spider-shaped smoke rings. “Oh, so you noticed it, too.”
* * * * *
Okay, it was simple. He’d done it before. Several times. First one hand, then the other. Right foot up, left down. Okay. He was doing it. He conceded that walking in the dark wasn’t easy, but –uh- he was managing just well, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been swallowed whole in any chasm, nor had he accidentally walked over some foul creature’s tail. And so far, he hadn’t even—
*BANG*
--collided with a wall. Great.
He raised one slimy hand to rub his offended forehead and used the other to feel the ground before him. Wall. Wall. Wall. Boulder. Wall. Wall. Tunnel! Found it! Eagerly, he dived onto the tunnel, mentally giving himself a hand-shake. Ah, you’re sssso sssmart, preciousssss!
Right. Left. Right. Left. Alert! Giant Spider droppings at 12.00. Jump it. Good. Now go right. Left. Left. Left again. Up. Down. Mind the wall. Up. Up. Up. Get into the huge grotto from which start many tunnels. Good. Now, it’s easy from here – just follow that faint light down there and this smell of ex-animal spiced, trimmed, roasted and charred, complete with a sub-smell of something that could most probably be vegetables -potatoes?- on the side. … … … … … …hold everything!
Ex-animal? Meat? Roasted and *with* potatoes?! In other words, FOOD?! F_O_O_D??? Calm down. Calm down. Think. It must be a trap. It just *must* - uh, yeah. Sure. Can’t go throwing yourself head-first on the food. Yeah. Can’t. Must be a trap. Hm-hm. Probably it’s poisoned, anyway. … … … …uhm… nope, doesn’t taste like it’s been poisoned. Does it?
“GET HIM!”
All of a sudden a net of elvish rope covered on him, and the harder he struggled, the more tangled he got in the damned thing.
*Told* you it was a trap. Uhm, well, but the food was so delicious… Right.
“I didn’t think it would be so easy to catch him.” Stop pocking precious with that staff, Whitebeard! Precious fragile! Precious side hurts! “Ah! Got you, you sneaky, little thing! Now confess! What are you and what were you doing, limping into the camp like that?” “It burns… It burns us! Take it off?” replied he, stretching his arms as far as he could toward the scary woman towering above him, fluttering his eyelashes at her. Uh, wait, that glimmering in her grin were canines, or what? Scaaaaaary… Time for drastic measures here, he decided.
That’s why he began wailing. Long. And loud. Hear-splitting, to be precise.
“Oh, shut up! Every foul creature in miles will hear this racket!” roared the blonde woman. “I suggest we tie him, gag him and leave him here.” Said the whitebeard. The use of the magic words stopped the wail – it was as thought it had never existed, so deep was the silence. “That… that will kill us… kill us…!” He smiled goofily this time, hoping that picturing one bight halo over his head would make it appear and him look like a innocent, blameless, innocuous, lost little creature. … …he was so *not* any of the above... Wait, wasn’t that a pitiful look, from that little creature with big blue eyes? Okay, this could prove useful. Keep smiling. Ugh – my mouth hurts. Keep smiling, I said!! How--? Long enough to find a way out, at least. Great. Do you realize how pissed off *she* will be if we’re late for dinner? “I say we should eat him, like he ate our last meat.” This. Woman. Scares. The. Hell. Out. Of. Us. Period. Ehm… heeeeeeeeeeee~eeeeeelp? Anyone??
“Oh, I can’t believe you! Gandalf! Éowyn! How can you enjoy torturing this poor creature?” Suddenly, he was free, and nestled in the arms of a cute –check that, EXPLOSIVE- blonde Elf. It was so… nice. Warm. Precious felt safe. He could easily get used to those arms around him. Hm. Hm.
“Legolas! That ugly thing was spying on us!” Valar! He was right! That woman *did* have sharp canines!! ...Or it was just a trick of the scarce light? Better be sure and put some distance between us and her. Right.
With a very un-lady like growl, Éowyn trekked forward, baring her teeth at the skinny, slimy little thing that was seemingly trying to fuse with Legolas, pressing himself to the Elf like that. “This *cute* *little* *creature*,” Legolas remarked, cupping the back of the shivering creature’s head protectively, “Was just famished. Can you really blame him for jumping and the only available food he could possible find down here?” The creature on his lap shivered harder, remembering suddenly all his hunger, and Legolas looked down at him. The Elf’s eyes were deep and kind, and almost shining in the dark. The little creature smiled goofily up at him. So nicccccccccce that Elf was. Yes. Nice nice.
“What’s wrong?” Oh… what a silky smooth voice! Nice! “Poor thing… I know Éowyn may look scary, but don’t worry: she would never hurt anyone – unless it’s Elladan, of course.” Elladan snorted in assent from his shadowed corner. And dodged Éowyn’s punch only by sheer luck. The creature on Legolas’s lap nodded. Even the Elf’s hands were smooth and kind. Precious liked how they patted his head affectionately. “What’s your name? You can talk, can’t you? I’m Legolas.” “Ooooh… precious! Yessss! Precious! Gollum! Gollum!” Oooh… and listen to the Elf’s laugh… like shiny rivers coursing on fresh mountain tops, it was. “Is it Precious? Or is it Gollum?” “Gollum! Gollum!” “Gollum it will be, then.” Legolas smiled, and Gollum went all goofy and dazed again. The blissful look on his round face was disturbingly similar to those that always, *always*, appeared on Aragorn’s own face whenever Legolas touched him. However, a spare glance at the aforementioned man’s face would reveal none of that bliss, goofiness or dizziness. He looked like he couldn’t decided between one look of naked jealousy and one of his trademark childish pouts. Just to be sure, he wore both.
Gandalf threw a sympathetic glance at the Man. This time the Wizard*did* puff out from his smoke a miniature of Legolas that (once Gandalf had put the final touch and covered it with smoke-jewels and VERY revealing smoke-clothes) swayed sensually towards Aragorn. Not that the Man noticed. How could he, while the real Legolas was inches from him, fondling that little creature like that? Ai, how he longed to be skinny, huge-eyed and in Legolas’s lap, right then…
“Niiiiiiiice!” Gollum purred loudly as Legolas patted his head. Then he smiled sleepily, before turning to one side, rewarding Legolas with an even louder purr when the Elf scratched him just in the right place behind the ears. “Nice!”
There was a moment of silence. Then, Pippin looked up from the last remains of their dinner, bottom lip quivering and face painted with sorrow. Lascaran was standing at a respectful distance from the Hobbit, his hat in his tiny hands, and sombrely threw a flower over the food scattered all over the dirty floor. “That was our last meat *and* potatoes!” The Hobbit hollered, teary-eyed. “What do we do, now?” “We can survive of just lembas. Only one bit of those cakes gives enough energy to walk for days. And we’ve bags upon bags filled with lembas.” Elrohir reminded with a shrug, still bent forward to catch a good look of Gollum’s face. No luck. Pippin sniffled. “No, we can’t! Not us Hobbits! Not me! And we have so few lembas left… they will never be enough!” He knew *he* had eaten them all, but… but… it was Lascaran’s fault! (He’d picked up this strange habit of blaming everything that went wrong on the little thing. Maybe it was somehow correlated to the fact that it was the first time he met someone younger and smaller than he was?)
Rubbing at his eyes harshly, Pippin threw an angry glance at Lascarn, who had –strangely enough- reached the safety of Legolas’s arms and was wrestling with Gollum for the right to be there. It wasn’t so much of a smart thing to do to stay away from Pippin when he was in one of his “it’s all Lascarn’s fault”-phases. The Hobbit was known to use torture to prove his point – like tickle Lascaran to tears, lock him into one bag, famish him… “Oh, surely you can resist eating just lembas for a few days. Can’t you?” Legolas said softly, picking Lascarn up and dropping the little thing into his pocket. Safety! At last! “The question is, how many of them are left?” Pippin counted quickly in his mind for some minutes, his companions’ hopes raising with each nod of his head.
Needless to say, their hopes all crumbled down like castles of sand when he finally spoke.
“Approximately… uhm… two.” He said, trying to look guilty and adorable. It wasn’t a fair fight since he *was* guilty and adorable, but he got some murderous glares anyway. Legolas just blinked. “Then we’re dead.” He said, composure personified.
“*Two*?! Two lembas for –how much?” Elrohir exploded, his quest to see Gollum’s face momentarily forgotten. “How long it is before we get out of here? We don’t know the way, nor can we risk using much light to scout around! We’ve been inside here for days and managed to get lost countless times! How will we ever --?!” He trailed off, dropping onto the ground with his head in his hands. “Great. Just what I always dreamed – die in a smelly tunnel with my hair and clothes all messy and spotted!” “As if someone will ever find us and *notice* that you have *one* tangle!” Came from somewhere within the Company. It could have been Éowyn, seeing the way how Elladan was clamping her mouth shut, while trying to make her disappear behind his (slightly) larger frame. Wait, was that a blush on his face? Remember me to investigate on it later.
Another moment of silence followed (we’ve full of those, today), until Gollum pawed at Legolas chest, like a cat demanding attention. “Gollum guides you. Yes-yes, he does.” “Do you know the way to the surface?” “Yes.” Some enthusiastic nodding. “You’ve seen the city of Edoras?” “The ruins? Yes! Yes! The shiny ruins under the yellow eye! Gollum gollum!” “And you could get us out in a few days?” “Hours! Gollum! Hours!” Legolas seemed to consider this a little, then, nodding, moved his arms from around Gollum. (much to Gollum’s eternal displeasure and Aragorn’s relief) “Then lead us to Edoras, Gollum. Please.”
* * * * *
The following hours of journey were terrible.
No, no, it’s not like they were attacked, wounded, or got lost. Nothing of that sort… It’s just that… It wasn’t easy to follow someone that barely reached your knee in the thickest dark. Especially since said someone hopped, skipped and bounded around, going back and forth along the same tunnels over and over without apparent reason, all the while singing in a voice that would make dead birds drop from the trees, had they been on the surface. It was headache-inducing, to be mild about it. Actually, Boromir’s supplies of athleas lessened drastically during those few hours. And to think they say Elves are not effected by headache.
We’ll indulgingly skip the part were Gollum forgot to tell the Fellowship about a wall that stood in front of them, with the result of most of the others splattering against said wall in a large pile. Just as we will forget to mention the part where Elrohir got his head tangled in a giant spider-web and refused to go on unless someone (namely Boromir, whose arms the Elf had jumped in, in his panic) carried him. And the author thinks it wise to overlook how Éowyn and Legolas whined until Elladan and Aragorn carried them like Boromir was doing Elrohir. Not that we can call it ‘whine’ in Legolas’s case, since the moment he opened his mouth he found himself in Aragorn’s arms. Yet you can imagine how much Éowyn had to sweat (and yell) before Elladan agreed to carry her. (And I’m not blushing, Elrohir. No. I’m red in the face because I’ve got sunburned. What does it mean, “yeah right, in this darkness?” I have! …what? “Elves don’t get sunburned, anyway?” Who told you that? Oh, yeah. Eh-eh. You *are* an Elf. It kinda slipped my mind. Well, I can. How? Uhm… ergh… I’ll tell you when you’re old enough. Let’s go.)
Anyway, skipping all this, let’s jump straight to when the Fellowship camped down, mindful of the Hobbits’s justifiable weariness. Four or five hours had passed since Gollum had begun leading the way, yet there was no sign of an exit. The light hadn’t grown, nor had the air become any fresher. They were sure of the road they’d taken only because they’d been going steadily upwards. They were close to seeing the sun again, or so they hoped with all their hearts.
This hope wasn’t enough to quench the natural wariness most of them felt towards Gollum, anyway. The twins looked at him with open mistrust, and often fingered their weapons. Gandalf eyed him warningly, as thought he knew Gollum was up to something, and the Wizard was readying himself to react as quickly as possible to his mischief. Éowyn’s only regret was that she couldn’t pound the “ugly thing” (as she called him) into a wall each time he touched Legolas. The Hobbits were too famished to think anything about anyone.
But, as peculiar as those reactions were, none was more puzzling that Arwen’s. At least not in Boromir’s eyes. Whenever the Elven Lady looked at Gollum, bittersweet sadness wafted by her eyes; and even if she would smile at the sight of Gollum, she looked much closer to tears than mirth. Could it be, Boromir thought, that whatever Arwen had foreseen in her dreams, concerned Gollum? He was determined to find out. That’s why, when they decided for a well-deserved stop he made sure to remain close to her and at a safe distance from the others. But the most he got from her was this: “The White Tower of Ecthelion, your dream, is so close now. It stands as a beckon in these dark times, shining like a spear of silver and beckoning to you, even as we speak. Do you remember the lullaby I sang to you so often, when you were a child? Then please, when you first set eyes on the Tower again, sing it - sing it for me.” And he tried to tell her he could not sing, and that it would be thousand times better if it was her voice –oh, her lovely, lovely voice!- to herald their arrival in Minas Tirith. But she caught his eyes then, and the look on her face surprised him. She was smiling softly, the kind of smile that she used to have only for him when he’d been but a child – a smile filled with utmost love and pride. But there was a lingering pain in her grey eyes, that didn’t sparkle quite right, when she asked him again. What else could he do then, other than give his word?
What? What about Aragorn, you ask? Well, Aragorn had (by some miracle) gotten rid of his jealousy and, like Frodo, the more he looked at Gollum, the more he pitied him. How long had that poor thing lived in the depths? How could have he survived long, identical days of darkness and loneliness? Years spent without light, without friends, and with barely some nourishment? What kind of horrors had he faced? And who *ever* was his tailor? That loincloth he wore was ugly beyond words! (no wait, that was something that Elrohir said. My mistake - must have messed up their lines).
The truth is that, deep inside, the Prince of Men was playing with the notion of taking Gollum away from the shadows and to the safety of Gondor. And -unknown to Aragorn- Legolas’s thought mirrored his own. The blonde Prince of Elves wouldn’t stop fussing over Gollum, asking him if he was alright, if he was hungry, if he needed anything, and patting his almost-bald head fondly. He felt a deep sympathy for that poor creature, and hoped that they would be able to help him, somehow.
Oh, and they would. Gollum was sure of that. Only, it won’t be in the way Legolas thought. No, not at all.
TBC
Does that count as a cliff-hanger? *scratches the back of her head* I hope you’re not mad – it took me weeks to upload, and then I leave you at a sort-of cliff-hanger, too. And I bet most of you already guessed what’s wrong with Arwen, right? As I planned it, next chapter will have more Aragorn/Legolas cuteness and more Gollum. And hopefully, Shelob. =) See ya in the chapter 21!!!!!!!! ^_^
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