The Silvan (Lord of the Rings-Legolas)[Wattys2016]

Chapter 36: Cry From The Other Side

Upon a branch, sat a wren, its beady black eyes resting on Legolas cooly. Legolas smiled at it before continuing along the path. Movement at the base of another tree caught his eye - a field mouse sat upon its hind legs, eyes watching Legolas as he passed by. He smiled again, his anxiety ebbing, for in spite of the nature of this apparently leisurely stroll, it was turing out to be enjoyable, as if Spring were already here, strange though that was, for it was still winter.

He could no longer sense the presence of the lords behind him, albeit he knew they were there, watching his every move.

The wren flew past him then and Legolas stopped in his tracks to watch its merry dance, scowling as his mind asked him how he had known - how he had known it was the same wren he had seen perched upon a branch sometime before. Yet the question did not fully register and Legolas continued to walk, his feet carrying him forward as his mind cast its attention here and there.

A finch, a thrush, a mole and and a squirrel, even a butterfly flitted close to his face and again, his rational mind surfaced for a brief moment - 'it is winter and yet...'

But his joy was too great to listen and he chuckled like a young child in the midst of a flower-laden spring field, opening his arms and turning on his heel, his long hair fanning around him as he tilted his head to the sun and closed his eyes in a rare moment of unadulterated bliss.

On he walked, passing a wooden fence that was only half open. Entering this, more secluded area, Legolas slowed his pace to study his new surroundings. It was darker here and for a moment it felt more like home for the darkness was not attributable to the shadows cast by the trees - it was a different kind of shadow that lived here.

His smile slipped and he closed his eyes. A feeling of dread was slowly settling back in his gut, a sadness seeping through his skin and brushing upon his soul. His eyes registered the overgrown gardens, the shrivelled bushes and the leaf fall that had not been cleared. These gardens were not well kept, he realised. No one came here any more.

Something had happened here...

Legolas turned, his mind tingling with a nascent sense of strangeness, profound confusion - how did he know all this?

Do not approach the tree - the sentinel.

He frowned and his stomach pinched in anguish, for that uncomfortable feeling of dread was back - was his mind talking to himself, or where these the thoughts of others - of the trees?

His breathing accelerated a little as he resumed his slow, now hesitant step, but then his head turned to the side as a strange noise came to his ears.

Distant at first, it sounded discordant, like a tin whistle poorly played. Shaking his head his eyes now darted around him apprehensively, until they landed once more upon a small wren, perched upon the gnarled branch of a sickly oak.

Blood rushed in his ears, and he wandered if the sea sounded like that. His eyes latched onto the tiny bird and the sound that before had seemed to him like ill-played music turned to metal upon metal, louder and louder and Legolas began to breath heavily, resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands.