CHAPTER 18:  BONDS UNSEEN

Brûyn felt as if he had hardly closed his eyes before the elf was shaking him awake. 

“Time to move on,” Legolas said.

The man opened his eyes slowly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He squinted at the muted light of late dawn that had managed to pierce through the roof of the forest and paint a dull orange glow on the walls of the cave, and he knew that he had not slept for very long. Despite the glow, a chill permeated the cave, for the fire had been put out, embers and a thin wisp of smoke being the only evidence that there had been one. He felt sore from sleeping on the hard floor of the cave and stiff because his restraints had not allowed much movement of his limbs throughout his sleep, but he grudgingly acknowledged that even though his limbs were securely tied, the cords were not so tight that they cut off his blood flow; they merely made him uncomfortable.

Elves are strange beings, they do strange things, but even when they bind their prisoners, they inflict much less pain that Sarambaq would, he fleetingly thought.

As he stretched as much as he could, a yawn escaped him.

The elf, however, showed no such signs of sleepiness or discomfort. He looked as fresh and alert as he did since they set off, while Brûyn felt like a rag. The elf rolled up the blanket and cloak as soon as Brûyn had stood, and walked to the horse to tie them to the saddle. The animal had been brushed and cleaned and looked as fresh as the elf did, even in the wilds.

Brûyn felt his stomach growl and decided to risk a question: “What about breakfast?”  

Legolas pointed to a water skin and white wafer lying on a leaf wrapping that he had already placed on a small rock near the cave wall.

“Not the dry bread again?” the man groaned, but all he received from the elf was a frosty look that told him to either eat it or starve. The elf does not waste words, he thought with some irritation. Muttering, he picked up the lembas that had been their only form of sustenance since they left. It was not the kind of food he was used to, and neither was it particularly palatable to his human tongue, but he had to admit that it filled him, even though he did not eat much of it.

Elves and their ways are stranger than a cat with five legs, he thought.

They were soon mounted again, and the elf led the horse away from the cave. Brûyn could not tell where they were exactly, for they had entered the forest in the dark. But when he looked at the sun, he saw that they seemed to be heading away from it, the way they had come. He guessed at the elf’s intentions but needed confirmation.

“Are we going back the way we came?”

“Yes,” came the calm reply, although the elf seemed worried about something. “Back to the edge of the forest. You could not see where we entered the forest last night. You cannot guide me further unless we return to the edge of it so that you can point out the right trail.”

The man nodded. It would indeed be quicker to backtrack than attempt to find the way from where they were. He stole another look at the brooding look on the elf’s face, then sat quietly as the elf led the horse out of the forest.  

Legolas had another reason for retracing their steps, but he did not reveal it to the Adhûnian.

After they emerged from the trees, Aérodel quickly cantered onto the plain, and Legolas saw how vast and flat the land was that they had traversed the night before. Across the plain, his far-seeing eyes could perceive just a faint glimpse of the dark patch of forest they had left at sunset.

After a short distance, Aérodel turned around to face the forest again. In the early light, Legolas could see that the land here was higher and that they would probably have to cross a rise in the forest on foot. Warmed by the young rays of a morning sun, the forest did not look quite as daunting, but the trees were still huddled closer together than the woods just outside Ithilien. Gnarled branches reached out from trees like greedy fingers. The Wood elf was quite at home in friendly forests, but it was if these forests had been stained by the presence of Sarambaq’s men who had traveled through them.

“Where do we go from here?” Legolas asked the man.

Brûyn turned his head several times to the right and left, looking for familiar objects that marked the route he and his companions had traveled several times before.

“Go over there,” his tied hands gestured to the left. At Legolas’ bidding, Aérodel trotted slowly in the direction the man had indicated. After they had gone about thirty yards, Brûyn called for them to halt.

“There,” he said, his hands pointing towards a tree with a huge girth, taller than the rest. Two branches left its trunk about twelve feet up, pointing north and south like two open arms, so that the tree looked much like a sentinel welcoming sojourners into the forest.

“Are you certain?” Legolas asked cautiously.

A sarcastic reply was on the edge of Brûyn’s tongue, but he thought better of it and said simply: “Aye.”

At a click of the elf’s tongue, Aérodel trotted to the tree. Legolas saw the signs of a path that had been trodden on recently, and by many feet, he judged. The man appeared to be telling the truth; there had been no nervousness or hesitation in his voice.

Legolas dismounted, and stood studying the large tree from top to bottom, much to the puzzlement and impatience of the human.

But before long, he was mounted again, and the elf, the Adhûnian and the horse moved into the darker reaches of the forest.

Aragorn had been on the move since dawn, taking only a cold breakfast of lembas and fruit he had found on the way. A wet gray mist blanketed the forest, plastering damp strands of the man’s hair against his forehead and cheeks as he tried to ward off the chill by pulling his coat and cloak tighter about himself. He had to lead his horse on foot from time to time so that he could bend closer to the ground to observe the signs he was following. Wet leaves scrunched beneath his feet or that of his horse’s hooves as the tracks gradually led them slightly north. He was depending largely on the tracks left by Legolas’ horse now, grateful for the enhanced eyesight that allowed him to discern them.

The tracks gradually led him slightly east, and as he went on, the trees became less close, suggesting that he was moving out of the forest. The open plain that Legolas had ridden across the previous night soon greeted him. He vaguely recalled what he had seen on a map Faramir had dug up from the City’s archives. It did not have much detail, but it did indicate open space – the old battle plain – between two forests. Aragorn guessed that was where he was now. He must have moved past the southern edge of the Reclaimed Lands while he was still in the thick of the woods.

A quick calculation of the distance he had covered told him that Legolas would have reached this point around twilight yesterday.

What would Legolas have done? Aragorn paused to consider. His long friendship with the elf provided the answer. He would have traveled under the cover of trees in the day and crossed open space under the cover of night.

The mist was clearing rapidly, and Aragorn looked across the plain, trying to see how far it went. He did not have the eyes of the elf and could not see the forest on the other side. But if the map was right, and if Legolas had ridden across the plain as he guessed, the elf would have reached the next patch of forest some time after midnight. He could not have gone on then, for his guide was no elf and would not have been able to see the route himself.

So you camped in the forest for the night, my friend, and somewhere near the edge of it, Aragorn imagined with some confidence. The elf would not have tarried overlong, he knew. You too would have risen with the sun. Still, you cannot have ventured too far into the forest yet.

At that realization, the Ranger’s heart quickened with urgency and anticipation. Aérodel’s hoof prints were still clear here, and Aragorn lost no time in setting off in the same direction. He soon increased his speed, heading for the sun and keeping an easterly route, his damp hair drying in the wind. He was aware that if he went too fast, he might miss the signs, which was easy to do on a vast grassy plain, but if he went too slowly, he might not reach his friend soon enough. He chose speed, for vegetation was scant and there were hardly any trees to obstruct their run, so that his horse was able to ride at an encouraging pace.

Halfway across, however, the Ranger found that he had lost sight of the hoof impressions and wondered if he had strayed from the trail Legolas’ horse had taken. He slowed his own horse and trotted first to the right, then back again to the left, trying to regain the correct course, but – he realized incredulously – he seemed to have lost it.

He cantered to a halt, a hiss of frustration issuing from his lips. Aragorn squinted but could yet see nothing beyond the plain.

Haste has been a foolish choice, he reprimanded himself. Am I still headed in the right direction?

Running a hand through his hair, he scanned the land around him with worried eyes.

Where are you, mellon nin?

For a few moments, he merely sat still, pondering. Then, in response to a voice within him, Aragorn looked down at his horse. Abruptly, he dismounted, unrolled his blanket, and from within the folds, withdrew Legolas’ cloak that he had brought along. Running his hands over the material, he contemplated.

It still held the scent of its owner – the scent of wood and blossoms and sun, briefly comforting the Ranger like a warm memory.

He turned and walked to the front of the horse. Speaking soothingly in the elvish tongue, he placed the material against his palm and gently caressed one side of the stallion’s face with it before holding it softly under and against its nose, letting it breathe in the essence of the elf. He felt a little sheepish, for this was no bloodhound. But then, this was no ordinary horse either. It had been bred and raised by the Horse Lords of Rohan, no less, and trained at the hands of the elf prince himself. And sometimes, the strength of unseen bonds that tie one living being to another is greater than that of fibre or metal, defying understanding and explanation. What did he have to lose by trying?

Placing the other hand on the animal’s long neck, he whispered to it.

Good Rallias, help me find him. Follow the lead of the one who taught you to tame your spirit. Find his scent and the scent of your companion Aérodel. Take me to them, my friend.

Aragorn waited as Rallias stood unmoving.

Then, ever so lightly, it nudged its master’s shoulder in response, lifted its proud head and snorted, stamping a foreleg. It continued to hold its head high and its nostrils flared as Aragorn remounted and placed the cloak securely before him on the saddle. Strong equine muscles rippled beneath the rider as the horse turned its noble head slowly from one side to the other, before reorienting its body in a direction slightly to the north.

For a few moments, it remained still in that position, and Aragorn held his breath. A tingle of anticipation ran through the Ranger as he felt the horse tense in preparation, and his fingers closed around the reins, clutching tightly. 

One moment more, the horse stood still, poised for flight.

Then, with a spurt of power that threw the rider in a backward motion, the magnificent stallion shot forward like an arrow, breaking into a smooth, confident run, its mane a stream of silk in the wind, its head never wavering from the yet unseen target for which it headed. 

Aragorn’s own excitement grew with the horse’s, as he trustingly allowed the intelligent creature’s bond with his elf trainer to lead him whither it would. Faster and swifter they went, the rider bent forward now, without a single fear as to where they were going, letting the call of love be their guide. The land flowed beneath them in a blur of green and brown, measured not in distance but in heartbeats as man and horse glided over it as one entity.

The Ranger felt a wild rush of exhilaration from the swiftness of the ride, his ears hearing only the whipping breath of the wind, his body aware only of a smooth forward movement, propelled along a journey not to somewhere but to someone.

And then, despite his anxiety for his friend, before he could control it and not wanting to control it, a burst of exultant laughter loosed from his lips and set his heart soaring as it had so long ago, before his life was tied to kingly duties and hemmed in by stone walls, when he could roam and run and ride with the careless freedom of a young man, when fewer fetters held him from seeking the company of the very elf he was pursuing now so that they could taste their lives as passionately and uninhibitedly as he did at this moment.

The rush of emotions washed over him and overwhelmed him – this Ranger of the North, this King of Gondor and Arnor, this man, this friend – so that his heart was laid bare and his breath came in unashamed sobs with only the land and the sky as witnesses. His tears mingled with his laughter, warm wet pain upon cold cheeks, drying in the speed of the wind even as they fell unbidden and unchecked.    

With the image of a fair face gracing their vision and the feel of elven fingers plucking gently at their heartstrings, Man and beast rode on the notes of their soaring song of pursuit, lost in a crescendo of devotion that grew with each heartbeat. On they went, borne on a melody of love and loyalty, till at last, in the distance, a green line of trees came into view, beckoning patiently like a long closing curtain to their performance.

Never would he forget this ride, Aragorn thought shakily, nor the raw emotions it had called forth from the depths of his soul, both invigorating and drowning him. He wished with all his heart that Legolas could have experienced what he did as he rode across the plain himself, but he knew the elf could not have, being burdened with a captive. Wistfully, he swore to himself that he would take time to taste such pure joy again and to share it with those he held dear.

As the line of trees grew clearer, Aragorn reluctantly let the passion of the ride subside, slowly, slowly, till all that was left was a warm, tingling reminder of it flowing through his veins, and he released a shuddering sigh as he felt their feet touch the earth once more.

The sight of the forest ahead sobered him again and reminded him of the task yet to be achieved. Yet, the sight was as hope to Aragorn, for it meant that he was headed where the map had indicated he should be, were he bound for Adhûn. He had no such intention of going there, however, nor would he allow his friend to go that far if he could help it.

Surely, with all the speed Rallias poured into the ride, we must have closed the distance between us, he hoped.  

The thought spurred him on. He made no effort to try and identify where in that long line of trees he was supposed to be headed, still letting the horse choose the path.

The man’s trust in Rallias was not in vain, for presently, horse and rider reached the same tree that marked the beginning of the trail Legolas and Brûyn had taken. Rallias slowed down as it neared the edge of the forest where the trees were closer together and great roots formed obstacles to speed. But the horse seemed confident as it trotted closer to the tree and prepared to pick its way around the roots and past the great silent sentinel into the forest.

Casting his eyes around, Aragorn suddenly reined in the horse, bidding it to halt. His eyes were fixed on the ground at the foot of the tree. Dismounting, he walked quickly over to where his sharp eyes had seen something that had quickened his heartbeat, and he bent down for a closer look.

Fingers trembling with hope and excitement, he reached out.

The man’s smile widened suddenly, and he gave a small whoop of delight even before his eager fingers picked up the object that held greater value for him now than mithril or gold.

It was a simple mallorn leaf, tucked snugly in the narrow crook between two roots. The creases on the leaf indicated beyond a doubt that it had only recently held lembas, waybread of elves and of Prince Legolas.

And just as surely, the elf prince had left it there as a subtle sign for elven eyes, or for the only human ones he trusted not to miss it: the eyes of the Ranger Aragorn.