𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Nineteen: The Golden Wood

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With the forest of Lorien before us and Fangorn in our wake, we at last came into sight of our destination. After weeks of travel, and waiting, and torture, my relieved eyes fell upon the clear water of Mirrormere, received plentifully from the Silverlode river. A single totem pole rose before the great pond, and as we neared the calm water, we noticed the stars that scintillated gently atop its glassy surface, in spite of it being midday at best. Trees climbed up the incline of the Mountains that rose like pillars on our left. The sun beat against their facades as it descended past the very highest of trees in the Golden Wood.

My eyes flitted away from the entrancing beauty of Mirrormere, drawn to the incline of a Mountain, and when my eyes landed on it, my breath hitched. The gate of Moria.

An image of the Fellowship emerging at this very moment and sharing with us a happy reunion materialized in my mind, but I shook it away. I wasn't stupid enough to believe we'd actually meet in Mirrormere. In fact, they were likely in Lorien by now. If they'd gotten out at all.

The thought of them, still trapped within the Mountain, created a sickly feeling in my stomach, one that felt like heavy rocks weighing my spirit down. And then I spotted something on a nearby boulder, laying so neatly it could not have been left by accident. Legolas followed my gaze, his own landing on the object of my fascination. A pipe.

Aragorn's.

My fingers clasped around the lacquered briar-wood, and I drew it nearer to my face, inspecting it. Overturning it revealed that the bowl had collected water-rainwater-that had likely been there for days considering the time of the last rainfall. By now there was no doubt in my mind that it was his.

I remembered that night, that seemed now to have been ages ago, when he and I sat up around the fire, our breath hanging idly in the air as we smiled and laughed together. I turned the pipe in my hand again and again, excitement growing in my chest. My legs, my hands, my fingers. The blood that coursed through them seemed to flow faster, more readily than before. I would soon be reunited with him. With all of them.

After half month, we would be together again.

"They've gone to Lorien," Legolas said, his eyes fixated on the distant forest.

"Do you think we've the time to make it there tonight?" I glanced between Legolas and the setting sun.

"We've the time to distance ourselves, at least, from Moria. I don't care to meet any of the Goblins that have taken up residence in its walls."

I nodded, pocketing the pipe in my jacket, before sparing one last parting glance at Mirrormere, reflecting a myriad of warm colours that converged into a blinding white, a reflection like a careful painting of the evening sun.

And with that, we turned, Orthanc and Moria behind us, and Lorien before us. The Fellowship before us.

✶

When we'd covered half the distance to Lorien, and the sun had at last been sucked down to whatever lay below the horizon, we stopped to make camp for the last time by ourselves. We ran through the routine of lighting a fire, gathering wood, and scouting the area in no time at all, and were soon seated around the fire's gentle light. Legolas stared into the flames, and I, in turn, watched him. My mind returned to when we'd first been separated from the group. The first time Legolas and I had camped on our own. Then, to the first time he'd kissed me. And the second. I blushed when I recounted the way his hands felt, his lips, his body against mine. I knew it was wrong, I knew I was in no position to even think about things like that, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't bring myself to say no. The want and desire dwelled just as strongly within me as they did in Legolas.