"THAT'S MORTALS FOR YOU,
Death continued.
THEY'VE ONLY GOT A FEW YEARS
IN THIS WORLD AND THEY SPEND
THEM ALL IN MAKING THINGS
COMPLICATED FOR THEMSELVES.
FASCINATING."

― Terry Pratchett, Mort

21. You Would Die Before Your Stroke Fell

"It is a red dawn." Legolas was up before sunrise, as usual. "There are strange things waiting for us... Good or evil, I do not know, but we are called."

It was the fourth morning of their journey, but the days had become so uniform they began to blend together. They ran, and ran, and then they ran some more. It reminded Kat of when Forrest Gump jogged back and forth across America.

As she had for the past two days, Kat mostly slept fitfully in Legolas' arms, not even in the mood to entertain him with funny stories. The bleak conversation they had the day before yesterday still hovered over her like a mental raincloud, and thoughts about her friends killing orcs haunted her. Of course she knew they were just doing what soldiers everywhere have always done, but her heart did not listen to her brain.

The others did not talk much either, except for the odd comment about the distance to the orcs, and whether they would be able to catch up with them or not. With every passing day Aragorn and Gimli had grown increasingly exhausted, but to their dismay, the orcs seemed driven by an invisible power and were gaining on their pursuers.

At one point the Hunters reached a trampled spot where the orcs had rested, but according to Aragorn it was many hours ago – a day and a half at least. It was disheartening, to say the least.

The surroundings were exceedingly dull, with nothing but grass to look at in almost every direction – a view which only Legolas seemed to enjoy. Aragorn said there used to be herds of horses grazing here, but now everything was deserted.

In the afternoon, they finally started to see something else; a dark shade at the horizon. They were nearing an old forest called Fangorn, which the orcs had to pass by on their way to Isengard. It was something to rest their eyes on at least, though only Legolas could see it clearly.

When dusk came, the forest was still far away. As usual Legolas did not want to stop, but seeing how weary his comrades were he had to concede. Like the earlier nights, the man and the dwarf instantly fell asleep while the elf remained awake and restless. He walked about, watching the stars, sometimes singing softly in his own language – melancholy tunes, mostly.

Kat was not tired after sleeping in his lap all day, and watched him in silence for a while. Then she resolutely made him company. It was time to dispel both her own troubled thoughts and his; they needed a conversation about something other than orcs and captive hobbits.

How long can an elf go without sleep? she asked.

Hm. Good question. Days at least; a week perhaps. I usually enjoy sleeping and dreaming, so I never stayed up long enough to test it.

Back home, I could have been so effective if I needed that little sleep. I could correct tests well into the night, and then have huge amounts of spare time. A teacher's wet dream!

Wet dream? What is... Oh. Never mind.

Kat peered at him. Now I'm so curious what elves dream about.

I bet you are.

And?

And what? He sounded innocent, and before she could press him more, added: Tell me of your work.

Kat tried her best, and while explaining about schools, classes, grades and faculty meetings, found that she actually missed all that. Most of all she missed the children; their uncomplicated view of the world, their trust in her and other adults, and the feeling that she could actually make a difference in their life. She could be that person who saw them, especially for those who did not get that from home.

She had a purpose here too, but that was still so diffuse. She could comfort her friends, be a fluffy pet to them and someone for Legolas to talk with in dark places, and she would try to save Gollum if they ever caught him – but her purpose back home had been so much more obvious and her task easier.

Interesting. So basically, in your world, the children and adults are separated most of the time?

In a way, yes.

I think, if I had an elfling, I would not want to part from it. I would teach it myself.

If elflings are anything like children, you would probably enjoy some alone-time. She grinned to herself, remembering the relief in some parents' faces when they dropped off their kid the first day of school after the summer vacation.

I have met too few elflings to know what they are generally like.

That's odd. How come?

Elves rarely beget more than one or two elflings, and even then, only if the time is right. Now, the world has been troubled for a long time. I was born in an era of relative peace, but since then my homeland has grown dark.

Kat recalled that she had only ever seen adult elves in Lothlórien. How interesting! But how could they manage to get only two kids with no birth control? Or had they birth control here? This was exactly the kind of topic which would make Legolas blush, she figured, and a good way to make him forget his worry over the hobbits.

So, elvish couples don't have much sex then? She regarded him closely. Was he blushing? Darn darkness.

Even if I wanted to know – which I do not – they would not discuss that with me.

It must be so boring, though! For thousands of years you live with this gorgeous partner and can't come near them after your second elfling is born.

Why do you assume they must abstain from... intimacy? He sounded surprised.

Because if you get a baby every two or three years, with your long lives, that would mean thousands of kids per couple, right? You would take over the world! Like Spanish slugs or mosquitos, but pretty.

Oh. He suddenly grinned. I forget you are human. Begetting an elfling is an active choice with us.

Wow! So you can do it like rabbits with no consequence at all?

It would not result in elflings, nay. Even in the darkness, he could not hide his blush this time.

Kat smirked. Wanna know how we avoid pregnancy where I come from?

Nay, he replied firmly.

Of course, Kat told him anyway, and smugly noticed he listened with obvious curiosity though he pretended otherwise. But he seemed too embarrassed to reply, so after a while she mercifully changed the topic. Were you an only elfling, or do you have siblings?

No siblings. My mother died giving birth to me.

Oh... I'm sorry about that. My father's also dead. It still hurt to think about, even after so long.

Legolas must have sensed her feelings, for he placed his hand on her back comfortingly. I am sorry too. When did it happen?

Kat told him, and that led her into the situation with her mother's dementia – which in turn brought on the subject of her parents' relatively old age, and that she was adopted. To her surprise, she soon found herself pouring out her life story in a way she never had before.

I'm probably boring you with all this. I don't know what's gotten into me.

Not at all. Your life is fascinating. Different from mine – but also curiously similar.

Similar – how?

Just like you, I was very sheltered. You said your parents would not let you stay out late at night, or travel alone with your school friends during the summer, or ride two on a... I forget what it was called.

Moped.

Right. And in my case, it was battles and border guarding. I have always been a good archer and I wanted to prove myself, but Ada forbade it. He changed his inner voice to a deeper one, mimicking his father, presumably: 'Son, you are my heir. I need you at the palace.' I think that was only an excuse for keeping me safe; he was afraid of losing his last remaining family member. Smiling faintly, he added: I am fairly certain he would have said no if I had asked him permission to go on this quest.

But you're thousands of years old. Your dad can't control you, can he?

Nay, but as my king he can command me.

Ouch.

Indeed. He smiled wryly.

For me, their protectiveness made me lonely, Kat thought after a while. I don't think I ever had a best friend.

Define 'best friend'.

One I could share everything with. Like, personal things. She tried to explain how her colleagues and other friends had never been that close to her. She would only talk about everyday matters with them, and if a more serious topic came up Kat would usually make light of it. Joking it away.

She wanted to add that she had a best friend now, and that it was him – but that would probably sound cheesy, so she abstained.

Legolas had been sitting while they spoke, and now he leaned to lie on his back in the grass, gazing up at the starry sky. Kat followed his example, stretching out next to him. The night was cool and very still, with an almost disturbing lack of sounds. Even the insects kept quiet.

I used to be lonely as well. He sounded thoughtful. Voluntarily so; I always avoided attachment, keeping others at a distance. Never sharing anything personal with them, just the way you described.

Why?

Because I saw what it did to my father. He talks about his loved ones in Valinor often – his wife and parents, his close friends – as if part of him lives in the future, counting the years until he can join them. But I want to live in the present.

You don't seem to keep Gimli at a distance. Or me, she thought to herself.

That is different. When he dies, he will not be reborn like us elves; he will be truly gone, and therefore I can move on and let him go. He shrugged. I know how pragmatic that must sound.

Kat smiled weakly. It does, but I understand what you mean. It's like with Mamma. I can't mourn her because she's still alive, but yet the mother I remember is gone. There's no closure.

A silence ensued. Legolas' breathing was growing heavier; despite the urgency he was drifting off. Then came a final, sleepy thought: I never knew we had so much in common. He sounded pleased.

Kat remained awake, nestled close to his warm body, wondering if he considered her a 'best friend', and if he might ever consider her more than that.

/\_,,_.,
(O _ o)

It was still several hours until dawn when Legolas rose again and resumed his restless pacing, and shortly afterwards the others woke too. Silently, the four of them watched the arrival of dawn in the eastern sky.

When the sun finally emerged, they prepared to continue, turning northwest in the direction of the orc-trail.

Suddenly Aragorn started. "I see something!" He dropped to his knees and put his ear on the ground, apparently listening intently. Legolas meanwhile shaded his eyes with his hands, looking intently at the trail.

"Riders!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Aye. One hundred and five, with yellow hair and bright spears. Their leader is very tall."

Aragorn grinned and patted Legolas' back. "Your eyesight is uncanny, my friend."

"Nay, they are not far away."

Not at all, thought Kat sardonically, peering nearsightedly at the distant blur.

"Should we try to escape?" asked Gimli.

"We will wait," decided Aragorn. The riders came from the direction the orcs had gone; perhaps they knew something about them or their prisoners.

"I see three empty saddles on their horses, but no hobbits," said Legolas.

They waited impatiently as the company came closer.

"What do you know of these people, Aragorn," Gimli asked, seeming a bit nervous at seeing the many spears gleaming in the morning sun. "Are we waiting for sudden death?"

"I used to live with the Riders of Rohan for a while," the other replied. "They are brave, stubborn, true-hearted. Not very refined or learned, but not stupid either." He added that it was a long time ago he met them, however, and he did not know who they were allied with now. It used to be Gondor, but with Saruman breaking bad, who knew?

But it was no use pondering over it; soon enough they would know.

The sound of thundering hooves grew louder, accompanied by male voices, snorting horses and a cloud of dust in the air. They galloped at an incredible speed.

Their elven cloaks hid the Hunters well, it appeared, for the horsemen passed them by without noticing them at first.

Standing between Legolas' feet, Kat stared wide-eyed at the large creatures. She did not know much about horses, but she could tell these were unusually big and strong, and yet they were elegant with their finely sculptured heads and flaring nostrils. Their manes and tails had been braided like before a show jumping competition, and the blond men straddling them had long braids as well which cascaded from their gleaming helmets.

Aragorn dramatically flung his cloak aside. "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" he cried.

Without a sound, the horsemen skilfully turned their steeds on the spot and began to circle him. In no time the four were surrounded by a dense mass of horses with a score of spears pointing at their faces.

The tall leader came forward. He had a white horsetail on his helmet, and apart from his fair skin and hair, he reminded Kat of someone from Julius Caesar's army.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" His voice was sharp and commanding, and his face grim.

"I am called Strider," said Aragorn. For some reason he kept his real name to himself.

The horselord seemed suspicious. Drawing his sword, he walked closer, scrutinizing Aragorn while he stated that it was a strange name, and in addition he and his companions had strange clothes which could hide them from sight like that. Were they elves?

Aragorn said that only one of them was, but explained that Galadriel of Lothlórien had given them the cloaks. This, however, made the man even more suspicious. He seemed to think she was a witch, and that they were sorcerers.

Hearing him speak that way of his beloved, Gimli glared at him, flushing with anger.

The man narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. "Why don't you speak?"

Gimli's scowl deepened and he hefted his axe threateningly. "Give me your name, horse-master, and I'll give you mine."

The man angrily stared down at him. "I am Éomer son of Éomund, the Third Marshal of Riddermark."

"Well then, Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark. I'm Gimli the dwarf, son of Glóin, and you speak of things you don't understand. But perhaps you lack wit, and that's the reason."

An outraged murmur spread among the riders surrounding them, and the spears came closer.

Pink spots had appeared on Éomer's cheeks. "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," he sneered.

Legolas nocked an arrow. "He stands not alone. You would die before your stroke fell!"

Éomer furiously raised his sword, and Gimli his axe, and Legolas' drew his bow taut. The three of them stared at each other, neither of them willing to budge a millimeter.

A/N:

Never speak ill of a dwarf's love interest!

Image Credits:

Screenshot from The Lord of the Rings movies.