The healer (Legolas love story)

Chapter 19: Rohirrim

They were running after the Orcs for three days now and had only a little rest. They were passing Emyn Muil and it was a while they had lost the track of their enemy on the hard ground, until Aragorn told them to stop. He had laid on the ground with closed eyes, listening to something that only he could hear. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes. "Their pace has quickened." He said and stood again. "They must have caught our scent. Hurry!" he said and ran again. Nestarel heard a sound and turned and saw Gimli rolling down a hill. She couldn't hide her laughter.

"Come on, Gimli." Shouted Legolas and ran after Aragorn. Gimli stood and followed them. "Three days and nights pursuit. No food. No rest. And no sign of our quarry, but what bare rock can tell." He nagged while running. 

They ran for a few hours again. The trail led them north along the top of the escarpment, and at length, they came to a deep cleft carved in the rock by a stream that splashed noisily down. In the narrow ravine, a rough path descended like a steep stair into the plain.

At the bottom, they came with a strange suddenness on the grass of Rohan. After running in barren plains for days, it was like reaching the gates of heaven. Nestarel let the fresh smell of the grass fill her nostrils. She wanted nothing but to let her body fell on that soft-looking green mattress of grass and let her body relax after running for so long on hard and barren lands.

Legolas took a deep breath, like one that drinks a great draught after long thirst in barren places. "Ah! the green smell!" he said. "It is better than much sleep. Let us run!"

"Light feet may run swiftly here," said Aragorn. "More swiftly, maybe, than iron-shod Orcs. Now we have a chance to lessen their lead!"

They went in single file, running like hounds on a strong scent, and an eager light was in their eyes. Nearly due west the broad swath of the marching Orcs tramped its ugly slot; the sweet grass of Rohan had been bruised and blackened as they passed. "Those cursed creatures love to destroy everything beautiful on their way." Nestarel said angrily. "They have enjoyed crashing the grass under their heavy feet."

Suddenly Aragorn gave a cry and turned aside. "Stay!" he shouted. "Do not follow me yet!" He ran quickly to the right, away from the main trail. 

A few minutes later, Aragorn ran back. "Yes," he said, "they are quite plain: a hobbit's footprints. Pippin's, I think. He is smaller than the others. And look at this!" He held up a thing that glittered in the sunlight. It looked like the new-opened leaf of a beech-tree, fair and strange in that treeless plain. 

Nestarel gasped and put a hand on her mouth. "The brooch of an elven-cloak!" she cried.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," said Aragorn. "This did not drop by chance: it was cast away as a token to any that might follow. I think Pippin ran away from the trail for that purpose."

"Then he at least was alive," said Gimli. "And he had the use of his wits, and of his legs too. That is heartening. We do not pursue in vain."

"Let us hope that he did not pay too dearly for his boldness," said Legolas. "Come! Let us go on! The thought of those merry young folk driven like cattle burns my heart."

"Less than a day ahead of us. Come." Said Aragorn and ran with new hope, followed by the others. They had run some distances. Gimli was clearly tired. He was running at the end. "Come, Gimli! We're gaining on them!" said Legolas, trying to encourage him.

"I'm wasted on cross-country. We Dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances." Said Gimli who was panting hard. 

Nestarel would have laughed at his words if she was not that nauseous. She was worried sick for the two defenseless little Hobbits in the hands of ruthless orcs. Were they even alive? She could only hope. She clenched her fists. If they would reach the orcs, they were going to pay badly for everything, especially Boromir's death.