Element of the Heart - A Lord of the Rings/Legolas Fanfiction

Chapter 4: The Ranger

        Ten years later...

         Legolas regretted listening to his father. Ten years ago, he searched for the Dúnedain to find the young ranger, this son of Arathorn. It took a few months to track them down, but he had found them. He also had discovered that it was easier to stand in a pit of orcs all day than to pry answers from the Dúnedain. While it was true that they were a noble group of men blessed with long age by the Valar, they were also secretive. When encountered by a lone elf questioning about the younger generation of their group, they were silent.
        Legolas understood. There is no reason for them to trust me. They know not who I am. However, he did not want to name his heritage and title. It did not feel right. This was his own quest, and he did not want to drag his father's name and Mirkwood into it. He abandoned his search, convincing himself that there was nothing else he could have done. Besides, if the older and wiser of the Dúnedain distrust me, who am I to expect the trust of a younger member?
        Returning to Mirkwood was not an option. Tauriel was still there. Legolas did not think ill of her, but her rejection of him hurt. Seeing her in pain after the death of the dwarf she loved hurt. Knowing that he could not take away her pain was unbearable. He decided to travel, to observe the lands to the west of Mirkwood away from the elves.
        In the towns of men, life appeared as it should have been. Trade was good and businesses were successful. But Legolas could feel the shadows that were not yet present. They were there at night, and they were there during the day. They held back, but they grew. The world is changing. If not now, it will soon. Time passed and no news came of war, dragons, or armies, but there was a sense of unrest, of things unfinished, that hung in the air like a lingering fog. Legolas was uneasy. I must do something to learn more of this. But who will believe my premonitions?
        Gazing out to the lake from the dock, Legolas sighed. It matters not. Few in Middle Earth own this type of knowledge anyway. Disappointed with the direction of his thoughts, he settled for watching the glimmer of the noon-day sun across the waters.
       Two men, unaware that the cloaked figure next to them was an elf, approached the dock in conversation. One of them, a fisherman, laughed hoarsely before shaking his head. "You wasted your time on that one."
       A thirty-year-old man, a blacksmith by the callouses on his hand, shook his head. "I should say not!" He lowered his voice. "The man paid me a whole week's wages to have his sword done. Said he was to leave in three days. Three days! If he had asked anyone else, there would be no chance. Took me morning, noon, and night, but I had it gleaming and strong as a king's by the end."
       The fisherman nearly recoiled in shock. "A week's wages! Do..." he glanced at the cloaked figure faced towards the lake. Unable to see the elf's face, he judged that he was a harmless daydreamer. "You think he was one of them? A Dúnedain?"
       "I've never mistaken them before." The blacksmith smiled at the sky, seeming to thank his fortune. "May they always be as noble and generous as he was to me."
       "You think he'll come around again? Might want to offer a catch." In his slight jealously, the fisherman returned to his casual humor.
       "Nay. He was headed North. Probably meeting with others."
       Although the men changed subject to the secrets of their trades for newcomers, Legolas' attention was perked by word of the Dúnedain. North. He thought for a moment. North of Bree. Bree was a well-known town. Legolas had noticed that in many towns near Bree, such as the one he was in, people referred to it as a center point. I should try speaking with them again. If there is any wisdom amongst them, perhaps they are at least aware of the shadows that threaten to spread.
       Legolas entered the first town north of Bree. It was midday. Women gathered into the streets to sell their homespun cloths and merchants from other towns came to trade unique items. A few fishermen also came to sell their most recent catch. One house was larger than the others and bore a distinct crest. Legolas stepped up its tall oak doors and knocked. A minute passed and no one answered. Certainly the mayor is not sleeping at this hour! Legolas knocked a second time, only a bit harder.
       An old woman carrying a basket of wool watched him. "Those doors aren't going to open."
       Legolas glanced at her from the corner of his eye in surprise. Most people seemed too busy to notice him. And all the better for them. Few elves have cared to travel to these areas. "I have need of his aid," he responded.
       The woman swept her hand towards the market crowds. "He is likely somewhere in this mess, giving away our tax money for some rare jewel or statue. Why are you looking for him?" Legolas did not respond. The woman shrugged, a bit irritated. He could at least turn around. "If you hold a grievance, you are more likely to have it settled between you and whoever..." She spotted a metal blade beneath the Legolas' cloak. For some reason, she did not feel that he meant any ill will. There was a softness in his voice that did not belong to the mal-hearted. "If an injustice has been done to you, I know of men who can help."
       Legolas turned to her, revealing his face. "Have you heard of the Dúnedain?"
       Startled, she dropped the wool she held in one hand and nearly dropped her basket. "Why does an elf seek them?" She looked behind her to make sure no one was listening.
       Legolas firmed his lips and cast down his gaze. I will not force her to tell me if she is unwilling. He began to turn away.
       The woman grabbed his arm. "Wait. Are you familiar with the Lord of Rivendell?"
       Legolas nodded. "Lord Elrond?" Now it was his turn to be curious. "You know him?"
       "Not me. But I know one of the Dúnedain who does." She shook her head. "They are the only ones who care about us, and about others. I do not know how it is with the elves, but here, one town could burn, and the one next to it would respond like a passing bird." She sighed. "I pray they never leave us."
       "Do not lose hope." Legolas picked up the fallen spool of wool and placed it in her basket. If they are as kind as she says they are, perhaps there is a way to gain their trust and find the son of Arathorn.
       The woman let out a shaky breath and placed a thin arm on his shoulder. "Go to the smaller towns farther northeast. It is where their leader, a man named Strider, has been claimed to be seen."
       Legolas thanked her and took his leave.
       Three days later, he stood in a tavern. He did not need sleep, but he did need something to eat. He approached the master of the inn from behind. "Two loaves of bread and some wine."
       The broad man turned around. "Eh? Wine! You think you're royalty and that every man ought to give away his last source of comfort? And to an elf no less!"
       Legolas grimaced. The man smelt much like an orc and almost looked as disgusting as one. His face was drenched with sweat and oil and his beard and hair were matted together with rotted meat and drink.
       The innkeeper raved on. "No wine, no bread. You may take your leave, you stinking piece of..." He stopped when he saw the sleek elvish blade pointed at him.
       Legolas smirked. "Fine. I'll go. But first, a little information."
       The innkeeper put on his best money-making face. "Eh? Well, what sort of information?"
       "I am looking for a man named Strider."
       "I've seen nothing but a stinking..." the blade slightly poked his fat stomach.
       A heavy hand fell on Legolas' shoulder and cloaked figure leaned close to his ear. "Peace, friend. Calm your storm!"
       Legolas looked at the uncomfortable innkeeper a little longer. Anyone who stood up for such an annoying creature was certainly not ordinary. He turned around. "And who might you be?"
       The closing door to the inn indicated the man had already left. Legolas darted out of the tavern and looked into the night. He could not have left that quickly. That must mean- His instincts spoke before the whiz of metal through the air. Legolas whipped out his sword to block the man's blow. Their blades met with so much force that it knocked the man's hood aside, revealing wavy dark hair and stormy grey eyes, traits of a Dúnedain. The man was strong, stronger than any mortal Legolas knew, but he was still no match for an elf's unearthly strength. Legolas could have used his bow, but he did not want to return the attack.
       "Why are you looking for Strider?" The ranger demanded.
       "Maybe I'm trying to find out what he is looking for."
       The ranger broke sword contact. "Well he isn't looking to fight an elf tonight. Who are you?"
       Legolas returned his sword to its sheath on his back. "I am Legolas of the Woodland realm."
       "How did you know where to find me?"
       "An old woman in a large village about three days south from here."
       "Mairona," Strider rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well, she must have seen something that made her trust you so much."
       "How did you come to meet her?" Legolas asked.
       "She nursed me to health when I was a sick child." Strider reached into a nearby bush, pulled out a hunter's bow and slung it over his shoulder. Without another word, he walked away into the woods. Legolas followed.
       Legolas and Strider stopped at a stream. They had traveled a whole day in complete silence, neither speaking a word to the other. Legolas did not mind. Strider obviously knew where he was going. Legolas plunged his hands into the cold, refreshing water that came straight from the Grey Mountains. When the ranger removed his gloves, a glimmer caught Legolas' eyes. Encircling his index finger was a ring that he had heard of, but never seen. Snaked across the golden band were two serpents with glimmering emerald eyes, circling a large emerald. One was devouring, the other was crowned with golden flowers.
       Legolas recognized it immediately. The Ring of Barahir had traveled through many lines of the kings of men. Isildur was the last one he remembered to have the ring. Without a doubt, this was his heir.
       Strider finished washing and got up to continue their journey.
       "Why did you not tell me your name?" Legolas asked.
       Strider continued to rinse his hands in the stream.
       "Son of Arathorn."
       Strider halted. "I may have if you had told me," he turned around, "why the prince of Mirkwood is searching for Isildur's heir."
       Legolas' eyes widened. If he knew all this time, why did he not say anything? There was only reason he could think of: Strider was observing him, testing him to see whether he was worthy of trust or companionship.
       "Tell me, mellon. Whatever you decide to say will be of more help than women's tales at an inn."
       Legolas looked back at the stream. It would hurt to bring up his loss, but there was no reason for him to hide his story. He had begun to trust this Ranger of the North, and there was no turning back.