.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 9

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* * * * *

Legolas had lost track of time as he stomped through Morfëataur, muttering darkly under his breath as he went. It could have been hours as well as mere moments – enraged as he was he surely hadn’t cared to count the minutes. He steered mindlessly through over-grown trees and dangling lianas, navigating through tree-roots and bushes as though racing against wind. Quick he was, yet his steps weren’t light and soundless as one would expect – and his vocal chords weren’t idle either. The two things together resulted in a clamour that could wake the dead, but that still hadn’t fulfilled its primary purpose – allure the Spirits to him so that he could give his brain and body something more constructive to do other than yelling and tramping around aimlessly.

“Show yourself, oh Mighty Spirit of Morfëataur! Are you scared of one of those very Elves you’re rumoured to eat? Come out and have a taste of my flesh, I dare you!” He yelled even as he shoved a low branch out of his way rather violently, the leaves upon it rustling and quivering as if scared of him. Birds and little animals that usually would search his company ran away as he drew near, sensing it wasn’t clever to approach a fuming Elf as he, especially if he was looking for something to vent his rage –Sadness? Hurt?- on.

“Come out, dammit! I’ve a human to teach a lesson to!” As soon as he’d voiced the very reason of his anger and frustration, Legolas’s fists clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his every thought focused on the abovementioned human.

Okay, Strider was engaged. So? Life still went on. The Moon still gave way to the Sun at dawn to come back and dominate the sky at night. Still, it stung. And to think that Legolas had been so close to kiss him… The Elf’s fists clenched, and his lovely voice raised of yet another octave. In truth it wasn’t all that lovely raised to an angered cry as it was, but to his account we must admit it usually was adorable.

“That… that… that… human scum! How dares he deceive me?! He’s engaged, the jerk… ENGAGED!” He snapped at an innocent squirrel who had made the mistake of not stepping away from his path in time. The poor thing bowed profusely in apology before dashing away as fast as it could, all a quiver with fear. Legolas flipped his hair angrily from his shoulder and stomped forward, an angry flush on his cheeks. “Ah! But I’ll teach him! No *one* plays tricks with me and walks away unpunished. NO ONE!” He fumed, then snorted, pausing briefly to choose his route as the road diverged into two separate paths. Option one: gay and merry clearing bathed in Moonlight on the right or, option two: an obscure patch of dark trees, whose branches intertwined and melted in a dark ceiling far too short for comfort, on the left.

Obviously, Legolas choose option two, and stomped noisily onto the dark tunnel.

“I can’t believe I almost kissed him! I hate him! I can’t stand the very sight of him anymore! … … … I could *never* stand it to start with! Umph. I’ll teach him, I will. Ah! He thinks he’s so clever he can deceive me, right? I’ll show him who’s the clever of us! I’ll find the Spirit and drag it to him just as I told him! He’ll have to drop on his knees and beg forgiveness! I’ll make him realize that I’m ten times better than him or that cursed fiancée of his, and then we’ll *see* if he *won’t* love me back---” Legolas stopped abruptly in mid-step, swallowing convulsively. He remained in silence for a small eternity, eyes round. He did not dare to move, not even to place his foot on the ground and finish his half step and just swallowed again, his breathing brisk. He hadn’t said what he thought he had… had he? He ran that sentence through his mind again. It was still the same the second time round.

“…Oh, *no*…” he groaned at last, finishing indeed his step and feeling his shoulders slump. That wasn’t happening… not to him… not now… *not* Strider, damn it! He plopped down on a near rock, head bowed low, and all the animals who’d ran away before exited their refuges. Sniffling and gazing at him as they went they huddled around Legolas and stared. The scared-looking squirrel from before scampered onto the Elf’s back and patted his shoulder reassuringly, his minute lips pushed forward in a sad look, but no one else moved. The animals all listened as the Elf groaned, their petite heads tipping from one side to the other and back, before sharing quizzical glances. The Elf was moody and loud, not to mention an intruder; and one who had disturbed their sleep, destroyed many of their houses’ entrances while stomping around, and scared most of their cubs at that. Yet he was a pretty thing, a true delicacy to the eye – and that alone made them decide that they could catch a nap the day after; that the half-crumbled entrances of their houses looked trendy and not half-bad; that their cubs needed some strong emotions from time to time, if they were indeed scared; and that yes, they definitely should help such a babe. The problem was, anyway, *how*. But seeing how lost the Elf was in his thoughts, they should have time to come up with something.

Presently, Legolas’s thoughts ran along the lines of, “This isn’t happening”, “Why me?”, “Why him?”, “Why now?” and “Elbereth, I’m a fool.” We’re inclined to agree with the latter, but just because, lost as he was pitying himself, Legolas didn’t notice the dark fog surrounding him and the animals all scampering away in fear until it was too late.

* * * * *

Elladan and Elrohir spotted what they thought would be their only shield and salvation from, virtually, miles. As soon as they reached the rings of trees surrounding the camp, they lunged for it; and the ‘it’ in question was no other than Boromir (who was, the twins noted detachedly, walking toward Arwen tentatively, yet wearing the determined look of one walking to his last dinner before death). Elladan and Elrohir grabbed each one of his arms and hid behind him, the one they knew could tame Estel’s wrath some, and looked around in quiet panic. Noticing them Arwen approached the three quietly, a glint in her eyes.

“You got Estel angry at you, didn’t you?” Elladan stopped swirling his head around long enough to nod at her, and then cowered behind Boromir when a noise came from the surrounding woods. Luckily (or maybe unluckily: the jury is still out on that one) it wasn’t Aragorn, but Éowyn, who, waking up to see the twins attached to Boromir, seized the occasion to attach herself to the man as well.

“Where’s the danger? Uh? Uh? Uh?” she demanded, whipping her head around in time with the twins’ as she jumped on Boromir’s back and squeezed his neck. The Man groaned, a hand on his forehead, and Arwen, (ELBERETH!) did nothing else but chuckle a little, covering her mouth politely behind her hand. Boromir looked at her through his lashes, the wonderful Elf with the name and light of the evening star, and found his throat run dry. She noticed his discomfort and smiled at him, head tilted.

“What?” She demanded softly, as Boromir gathered every ounce of his courage to finally clear *what* bounded them.

“Arwen,” the Elven Lady tilted her head to the other side, blinking up at the Man in wonder. It had always been ‘Milady’ before. “Arwen, I--” he began, only to stop abruptly when a fourth weight landed on him, yelling and brandishing his sword wildly in the air. Boromir *tried* to wave his arms and regain the equilibrium so suddenly lost. He *tried* not to trip and fall down. Just as he *tried*, when he felt himself fall, not to drag Arwen with them. The result of all his trying was that Boromir landed at Arwen’s feet, with the twins on top of him and a very, very, very, *VERY* pissed off Estel above them, all of them tangled in a cursing heap. Well, one success out of three – a good result, if you ask me.

“Say your prayers to the Valar, because I’m sending you directly to Valinor!”

“Aragorn wait! We can explain!”

“Of course we can! It’s all-” he pointed a finger to his brother’s face “-Elladan’s fault!”

“ELROHIR!!”

“What?! It’s true!”

“It’s not!”

“Of course it is!”

“I don’t care whose is the fault! I *kill* you both!” the twins and Aragorn kept wrestling, yelling and rolling around, using Boromir very much like a combat ring, as the Man let himself be stomped upon, his face still against the ground. What had he done to deserve this, he wondered. He ran all the Valar’s name in his head, and when he couldn’t find any he could have annoyed of late, he merely ran the list by his mind again and again and again, sure that there *must* be something he was guilt of, if he was being punished in such a way.

“…I just wanted to ask her…” he groaned in the grass.

“What about?” Came the sweet voice, and suddenly Boromir found his hand held loosely in both Arwen’s as she tried to help him up. Boromir’s head snapped up, and his mind went in sudden shortage, allowing him to do nothing more than stare. Rolling her eyes, but doing so good-naturedly, the she-Elf kneeled in front of him, grinning at the funny imitation of a fish he made but smart enough to keep her laughter at bay. Boromir took a deep breath in, counted up to ten, breathed again, decided he’d better count up to ten again (just to be sure) and opened his mouth.

“Arwen…”

…but just as he said it, Éowyn (who had rolled off the Man’s back when Aragorn had pushed him on the ground) appeared next to Arwen, elbowed the other woman away, and pursed her lips at the Ranger who had interrupted her idyll. Boromir fell face-first in the grass again, groaning lowly. Seeing the results he got, maybe he’d better stop trying. Living in exile somewhere in the wilderness for having disrupted the relationship between Estel’s two homelands had never been one of his secret dreams, but he was sure he could cope – he was a strong man after all. A good escort of athelas by his side and he became, virtually, invincible. *Virtually*.

“I *hope*,” the fake Princess said irritably whilst wrenching Arwen’s hands away from Boromir’s own in a rather rough manner, “That you can explain the reasons of your rude behaviour, Ranger.” Aragorn looked up from where he was pulling Elrohir’s hair, and froze Éowyn in her spot with a flaming look.

“Of course I can, Milady.” He replied, grabbing a strand of Elladan’s hair and pulling the other twin to him as well. “These two idiots made Legolas run away-” He barely finished saying it that Elladan had disappeared from his grasp, being now pinned to the floor by a hopping mad  Éowyn, who had grabbed the Elf’s tunic in her hands and was shaking him up and down as she straddled him.

“I’ll kill you, I will! Where *is* Legolas?!” Before Elladan could reply or die of lack of oxygen (but when he had already turned an amusing shade of grey), his salvation came. The bad part was that what saved him was an enemy attack. Or at least something that looked like, but was not quite, an attack.

With an hissing sound dark fog rose from the ground in pillars. It surrounded them, black and sluggish, obscuring the sky and sneaking through their feet like dark water. The air became humid and heavy, suddenly smelling like rotten fruit and wilting flowers. The hissing sound escalated to shrieking highs, bubbling and roaring like the falls of Rauros. It was soon joined by the noise of leafs rustling, which came from all directions at once. Immediately Aragorn and the twins sprang apart and readied their weapons, keen eyes scanning the darkened greenery. The three instinctively placed themselves around Éowyn when she gave a small cry of alarm. Her attention was not on the attack or her safety anymore, though: she had spotted Legolas’s bow abandoned in a corner, which meant the lost Prince was probably defenceless.

Small footsteps clattered on the ground around them from all directions, growing closer and then retreating without so much as a glimpse of the creatures surrounding them showing. Éowyn had just enough time to grab Legolas’s bow and a handful of arrows when the real attack began. Flying rocks probably, but whatever it was, Ellladan was hit between his shoulder blades, while Boromir, who was bravely shielding the weapon-less Arwen, was hit on his thigh. The fog became denser, making it impossible to see the ground or the sky. Hasufel and Arod whinnied in fear, Aragorn’s stallion rising to his back legs and flailing his front hoofs wildly in the air. Elrohir made his way to the beasts, but just then something sneaked at their feet, small and incredibly quick, and he and Arwen both got their legs injured.

“What in the name of Ilûvatar is *this*?” Arwen asked, placing a hand on Boromir’s shoulder to steady herself. The responding growl made her ashen.

“The Spirits of Morfëataur.” Aragorn cursed, backing away by reflex until Éowyn was hidden safely between his back and a huge tree – crush on Legolas or not, she was still his betrothed. She was not unable to protect herself though, and the proud stance she was in, bow drawn and arrow ready, proved it. She cursed quietly when she found no target, and her thoughts flew briefly on the Prince she should have protected.

“Where are them?” She hissed, and Elladan was quick to answer her this time, even if no help came from his words.

“All around us.” He started. “Yet, no one’s here.” Elrohir nodded.

“I sense tens of enemies around us.”

“And yet none.” Arwen finished. Éowyn just muttered another curse, casting a quick, jealous glance at Arwen – how come the she-Elf got to press herself against Boromir’s back while she had to stand the annoying Ranger and the idiot Elf who’d made Legolas run pressing up against *her*? That wasn’t *fair*!

The attacks continued, exhausting and stressing them to their limits. Then, suddenly, all was quiet. The leafs stopped rustling as if the invisible wind stirring them had died down. Then a small voice, like that of a child, came.

“Go away, and we’ll spare your lives.” It said seriously.

“Never!” Aragorn growled, and raised Andùril just in time to block the rock thrown at him from an unknown direction. Again steps resounded around and amongst them, but no enemy came into sight, much to Aragorn’s (and Andùril’s) displeasure. The voice came again, and intimated them to retreat, but this time, to their astonishment, it did so in the sweet Elven tongue, softly. Aragorn growled again in response, slashing some bushes through with Andùril.

“What do you want with us?!” The voice merely sneered at him.

“Ah! You won’t trick me into admitting we wish you to leave Morfëataur before you can discover its secret!” Beat. “Damn.” Aragorn would have dropped Andùril and hid his face in his palms at the utter *idiocy* of their opponents, hadn’t he needed it to parry yet another flying rock. The upcoming result of the battle seemed inevitable: stressed and annoyed the two male Elves had ran out of arrows or lost their knives, while the two Men were just an inch from dropping their swords in exhaustion. Arwen was unable to help without her daggers and bow, and Éowyn became useless as well as soon as she shot her last arrow to the nothingness.

*This*, Aragorn thought angrily, would be the point where back up *arrives*.

He though it, it happened. Simple as that.

Just then Gandalf dived into the dense fog (which surrounded their camp and that spot alone), and waved his staff above his head, his eyes flashing.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor!” He yelled, a ruby brilliance sprouting from his staff. “Go back to the shadows!” After his shouting and the explosions of fireworks, the tongues of flames and bright sparks it had generated stopped, the members of the Company got up cautiously, eyeing the now quiet staff carefully, ready to flee if even just a red sparkle fizzled upon its head. Oblivious, Gandalf rubbed his beard with self-satisfaction and stared at the fogless clearing, undisturbed by the steaming heaps that once were trees or by the fact that his little show had scared the horses (with all their provisions of food and water) away. He smiled at the Company, and then lit up his pipe for what must have been the fortieth time since morn.

“Did something happen while I was away that I should be aware of?” Aragorn gave a gasp, and so did Éowyn, all but throwing the Elf who was still shielding her with his body onto the surrounding bushes. As he picked himself up, Elladan made a mental note to stop trying to befriend or protect her altogether.

“It’s Legolas!” Aragorn bellowed, gesturing in badly concealed panic. “He ran deeper into the woods before the attack!” He rushed into the woods in panic, Éowyn hot on his tracks, both crying Legolas’s name at the top of their lungs. Arwen, still squatted against Boromir’s back, let her head fall, her forehead bumping against the Man’s shoulder.

“We’re dead.” She muttered, knowing just too well *who* Thranduil and Elrond would deem responsible and *what* exactly would be done to them if so much as a paper cut was to be done to Legolas. Boromir shook his head and handed Arwen a small sack over his shoulder even as they began walking after Estel.

“Athelas?” was all he said.

* * * * *

Teary eyed and quivering like a leaf, the little squirrel smashed himself against Legolas’s cheek, holding the Elf’s face as best as he could with his tiny arms. Legolas started at the sudden contact – that or he had finally noticed the icy smoke lapping at his feet. He sprang on his feet as soon as he felt the dark fume curl around his leg like a squashy tentacle, anyway. As if provided with a will of its own, the fog seemed to search for its lost prey and wavered. Something deep inside him made the Elf leap onto the rock he was using as a seat, one hand curled protectively around the almost bawling squirrel. After a moment’s hesitation Legolas poked the fog cautiously with one toe, half-expecting to see it coil up around his leg. It didn’t, but Legolas decided it was better not to move from his advantage spot, anyway – prudence if the first rule of survival.

As Legolas scanned the darkened greenery the squirrel pressed himself further back into the softness of the Elf’s face, gripping onto it now with both pairs of limbs, and quivering as if wind-wracked. Mindful of the little one’s justifiable apprehension, Legolas patted him gently and stood upright, sure by now of what was happening.

“Spirit of the Forest!” he cried out. “Show yourself to me, for I wish to gaze upon the face of my attackers when I battle!” The squirrel swooned- had it not be for Legolas’s hand he would have been lying on the forest floor by now. The little one made a mental note to add something to list of the Elf’s qualities he and his friends had done before: they’d forgotten to put in that he was crazy.

Out of his mind, beyond help kind of crazy.

A moment of silence passed, and then something akin a drum’s noise slashed the air.

“Ergh*thump* *thump* *thump* how does this blasted thing…?! *thump* *thump* Uhm… one, two, three… *thump* *thump*” Legolas rose an elegant-shaped eyebrow as a noise like someone blowing deeply came. What_the_hell? A dull thump came then, and after that came a muffled cry of pain, followed by what sounded suspiciously like, “Stop it! They *can* hear you, Pip!”

“Uhm… hello?” Legolas said uncertainly. A deep, ricocheting chuckle answered him, diametrically opposed to the soft, almost child-like whispers from before.

“'Ere you, getcher arse up and leave *my* forest, or I’ll kick it ‘til yar outta here!” Legolas crossed his arms, looking around and then settling for glaring defiantly up at the sky, where it seemed the voice was coming from.

“My, aren’t we *polite*.” He snorted, ignoring the squirrel gesticulating and shaking his head madly on his shoulder. Was this Elf ignoring him, stupid or *what*?! “Are you the Spirit of Morfëataur?”

“’fcourse!”

“Good.” Legolas replied, hopping back onto the ground. “This is what I call luck. And it was easier to find you that I thought it would.” Soft murmuring and muffled whispers followed this statement, and for no small amount of time the Spirit stayed silent.

“Y’mean y’were searchin’ fer *me*?”

“Sure enough.” Legolas nodded.

“I could kill ya.” A nod.

“I know. But a…” Legolas gestured vaguely with one hand, still staring skywards. “…friend of mine believes you’re a fairy tale. I’d very much like to show him you’re real. Won’t you come out and show yourself to him, maybe?”

“Fer cryin’ out loud, kid! Ya shouldabe runnin’ ‘round in panic fer th’ damn darkness *an’* my presence!” Legolas couldn’t help the shout clawing its way up his throat.

“My name is Legolas, not *kid*! *LEGOLAS*! L_E_G_O_L_A_S! It isn’t that difficult, is it? Then why can’t anyone seem able to call me by_my_name?!” He slumped back down on the rock, gesturing wildly. “Aurêl here, Aurêl there, Morning Star here, Morning Star there… And I’m not a kid, damn it! Why can’t you or him get it? Oh, why does he treat me like a child, watching my every move and reprimanding me?” he sighed, head popped on his cupped hands.

“Err… kid?”

“I don’t ask for much! Why can’t I get him to like me? He never finds me good enough for anything; even scouting is something I can’t do without him following me! Does he really think I’m so weak? He must find me useless… and after what I’ve done to him by the pond, he surely *hates* me now…Oww…” with this brilliant (and inaccurate) conclusion of his little speech the Elf fell back on the boulder, arms spread, and sighed. “Kill me, eat me, kick my arse ‘til I’m outta here, I don’t care.”

“Uh? You jes’ gonna surrenda like ‘at? Whassup whit’chu?”

“Dunno, er, I don’t know. I’m probably dying of grief already.” He tried to shrug, but the motion was hard to accomplish, sprawled on the rock as he was.

“Y’know, can’tchu go and die so’where else?” Legolas glared at the sky contemptuously.

“No. I like it here: it’s a good place to die.”

“Yeah, unfo'tunately. Well, ya still might find a betta place an’ save me all-a th’ trouble.”

“No, *thanks*.” Legolas hissed back. The Spirit mumbled something in reply and then gave a gasp. Its voice became suddenly muffled and sounded like if addressed to someone else. Answering whispers soon came, and then the Spirit cleared its throat.

“Yo. Die o’ *grief* I b’lieve y’said, kid?” Legolas leaped to his feet, the squirrel holding on a strand of the Elf’s hair for dear life.

“It’s Legolas!”

“Yeah, yeah, Legolas. Ya mean yar n’Elf?” Legolas folded his arms across his chest, gave the sky one of his ‘are you stupid or what?’ looks and pursed his lips sullenly.

“Of course I am. Can’t you see it?”

“Err, no, but a’m workin’ on that.” Legolas purposely forgot to ask. “Listen, I dun think yar an Elf at all, but I can’t take th’ risk and let an Elf die o’me.” Legolas’s eyebrow twitched, but the Elf managed to tame it before it could curve upwards, somehow.

“You *kill* and *ate* Elves on a daily routine.” He reminded wryly. No small amount of cursing later the Spirit managed to splutter out a resounding “WHAT?!” and Legolas hunched briefly, on impulse.

“…I gather you don’t?”

“*NO*!” Unrepeatable curses followed, and soothing whispers rose on the background in a vane attempt to hush them. It was to no avail, and Legolas understood soon he had been all but forgotten. With an annoyed sigh he leaned back against a tree, and found that to be the mistake of the year.

The tree split in two like a malicious maw, and Legolas fell backward into a dark void. The world spun as he felt himself fall down a small, slippery tunnel, ending up in an Elf-heap on what felt like a bed of leaves. Massaging his head he rose to a crouched position, muttering lowly. And when he looked about him, only one eye cracked open, he found unbelievable blue eyes blinking down at him only inches away. He started away, and got a good look of the creature studying him in awe. It looked like a human child, no older than nine Seasons, and he was currently having fun by poking the Elf with a long stick. Looking up as he heard a tiny crackle Legolas saw three other children in the cave (for he just realized he was in a cave) all frozen in front (or inside) some strange looking machineries of wood. They were all looking at him with awe mixed fear, immobile, and the only thing that told them from exceptionally realistic dolls was the quiet movement of their chests, raising and falling with each breath. Behind them, swearing and clutching a funnel-shaped… … …‘thing’, in a crushing grip was a fifth character, stouter and shorter, and suspiciously similar to a Dwarf. The Elf gaped. The squirrel on his shoulder swooned and fell on the floor, out cold. Had he not lost consciousness then he would have fallen anyway, because Legolas tried shaking his head to banish the strange image in front of his eyes.

When he was done, it was still there.

One of the children-like creatures (who, Legolas noted, was in  front a *huge* hearth exhaling black fumes) cleared his throat soundly, making everyone start.

“Err… C’ptain Gimli, sir?” The Dwarf gave another curse.

“Whaddya want?”

“There’s an *Elf* in here.” Another child provided slowly.

“Pointy ears, blonde hair and everything.” Another said, clutching to his chest an over-sized book, eyes and mouth wide.

“And very cute, too!” Exclaimed the stick-holder child.

“Stop sayin’ nonsense an’ keep moving yar feet!” The Dwarf shouted, and the three children who weren’t poking Legolas reflexively began pedalling, setting to motion all the strange machineries crowding the cave. The Elf could little else than stare and gasp out.

“Oh, my…” Mistake two of the day (just *two*?): upon hearing him the Dwarf swivelled on Legolas and gave what could be described only as a battle cry before…

…

…fainting?!

What the *heck*…?!

TBC

Exceptionally long chapter… ^_^ My personal way to thank you for all the reviews you’re sending me! *drops on her knees* More than 100 reviews… this is… a record! A Miracle! A gift from the Valar! *distributes chocolate cookies* I love you all, I truly do… *-*