Strider could not be sure when first he realized there were Elves within the treetops and that he was being tracked as he rode through the foothills toward the Mountains of Mirkwood.  That he had not been consciously aware of their presence until now made him inwardly cringe.  He had always prided himself on being completely and totally aware of his surroundings and his relationship to them and this obvious lapse in his attention was testament to his jumbled and troubled thoughts and his eagerness to reach the Gates of Lasgalen.

          The Elves had made no attempt thus far to halt his progress through their realm, apparently signifying that they knew his identity and for now were merely keeping track of his movements through the forest.   He felt certain they had also sent runners ahead to alert the palace of his imminent arrival.  As more and more familiar landmarks came into view, Strider judged that he would reach the gates of the Elvenking by late afternoon if not sooner.  His swift passage through the woods was due in large part to Hodoer’s steady pace.  The sturdy stallion had easily covered ten to twelve miles each day, resting only when Strider had halted for water and food or during the night when he made camp.

          As he slowed Hodoer’s pace to ford a shallow creek, several Wood Elves silently dropped from the trees before him and spaced themselves across the forest trail ahead of him, blocking his path.  Hodoer slid to a halt, his front legs rising from the ground and pawing at the air, then thudding back down upon the forest floor.  The Elves made no move to stand aside and Strider nodded toward them, his thumb and forefinger touching his lips.

          “Mae govannen, Tawarwaith.” *

          A shrill whistle sounded within the treetops, followed by two short yips and several more Elves materialized out of the forest greenery to either side of Strider.  The ranger took note of their numbers, but made no move to turn his gaze away from the stares of those standing before him.  The leader of the scouting party stepped forward and brought his right arm across his chest, his head nodding slightly toward the ranger.

          Strider easily slid from his saddle and moved to Hodoer’s head.  He patted the animal’s neck and held the horse steady, his left hand grasping the bit strap and then he formally returned the Elf’s salute by crossing his own arm over his chest, his palm resting upon his heart.   His dark, tangled hair fell forward into his face as he lowered his head.  Strider did not recognize the Elf standing before him and started to give the warrior his name, but the Elf held up his hand, halting his words.

          “You are known to us, Strider.  However, your approach to our realm from the southeast and through the regions of Shadow gave us cause for concern.  I am glad to see you are unharmed.”

          “Forgive me.  My intent was not to arouse suspicion.  I have journeyed of late through the lands to the south and made my way across the Brown Lands to your borders.  I only wish to pass through Mirkwood on my way east and if it is convenient, to visit for a time with Legolas, your prince.”

          The Elf captain’s eyes flickered with hesitation and misgiving at Strider’s mention of travel to the east, but he merely nodded.

          “Very well, Strider,” the captain replied.  “You have leave to pass.”

          At their leader’s spoken sanction the Elves upon the roadway parted and rejoined their companions, flanking Strider’s horse to either side.  Strider bowed his head to the Elf and remounted Hodoer.  When once again he glanced up, the Elves had vanished, but he knew they were close by and would undoubtedly keep watch over his route to ensure he arrived at the Halls of King Thranduil as stated.  The ranger lightly touched his heels to Hodoer’s flanks and the stallion sprang forward.  The horse easily covered the few remaining miles to the home of the Wood Elves and seemed as eager to reach the palace as his rider.

          As the sun darkened to a deep orange and its last waning rays cast ever deepening shadows across the forest floor, Strider at last rode up to the great carved gates of Lasgalen.  The very sight of Legolas’ home made his heart lift with joy and a smile creased his travel weary face.  His arrival had indeed been expected and he was waved through the gates without hindrance or delay by the sentry on duty.   He cantered through the outer courtyard to the stables and practically leapt from his saddle in his eagerness to reach the palace.  But his elation turned to harsh disappointment when he learned from the stable master that Prince Legolas was not in residence, but off on a diplomatic sojourn at the behest of his father, the king.

          “Not here?!” Strider questioned.  His deep dismay was evident and the totally dispirited expression upon his face touched the Elf greatly as he sadly shook his head.

          “I am sorry, Strider,” the Elf replied.   He gently touched the ranger’s arm and looked into the human’s sad, grey eyes.  “He has been gone for several weeks, but should be returning some time tomorrow.”

          At these words, Strider’s face brightened.  “You are certain?”

          The Elf shrugged helplessly.  “I was not told the exact details of the prince’s itinerary, but yes, we are expecting his troop to return on the morrow.”

          Strider grinned broadly at the Elf.  “Thank you for this news.”

          The stable master smiled and nodded and would have said more, but an anxious groom appeared at his side and he was forced to return to his duties.  Strider turned his attention from the two Elves to securing a stall for Hodoer and arranging to have him fed and groomed while he remained in the stables.  Then he hurried to the palace to see the Steward about a room and to garner more information about Legolas’ return.  

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Strider awoke with the dawn and stretched lazily, reveling in the soft comfort of his bed and the fact that it was a bed and not the ground upon which he lay.   He yawned sleepily and then swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly rose to his feet.  Stretching again like a languid cat, he groaned softly as bones cracked and muscles drew taut, then he silently moved to the side board.  He quickly plunged his hands into the basin of clear, cold water and lowered his face to the bowl, splashing the liquid over his face and head and shuddering slightly as the icy water spattered against his skin.  The jolting shock of the cold water swept away any traces of sleep from his eyes and he quickly toweled his face and beard dry.  He gazed thoughtfully at his reflection in the mirror hanging upon the wall over the wash basin and picking up his brush, tried in vain to run it through his dark, tangled hair.  Giving up, he moved back to his bedside and reached down for the satchel containing his clothes.

          As he rummaged through his belongings he noted that what few clothes he had were all well worn and rumpled and in dire need of a good cleaning.  Sighing heavily as his mind recalled Legolas’ chiding remarks concerning his lack of cleanliness, he donned a shirt and tunic that were at least free of mud and then slid into his leather trousers.  Said trousers were not free of dirt, but he was able to brush most of the caked grime away from the suede so that they at least outwardly appeared presentable; then he hurriedly pulled on his boots.  He was anxious to see if Legolas had arrived with the sun’s rising.

          After checking in with the Steward the evening before, Strider had met Legolas’ father in one of the grand hallways.  The elder Elf was returning from a council meeting and although brusque and preoccupied, had been cordial enough to the weary ranger, insisting that Strider use one of the rooms in the family residence rather than those normally reserved for guests.   The king had summarily issued orders to his Steward indicating the change in arrangements and Strider had been given a room close to that of the young prince.   Strider had hoped that Legolas might return some time during the night and had kept his door slightly ajar in order to listen for his friend’s arrival, but it was not to be, and disappointed, he had eventually fallen into an exhausted sleep.

          He was tossing the remainder of his possessions into his leather bag when the door to his room unexpectedly flew open and slammed into the wall.  Having grown up within an Elven household where all was quiet beauty and grace, Strider had come to associate any Elven abode with serenity and peace.  The sudden and explosive sound of the door hitting the wall of his room gave him a terrible start and he whirled about, heart racing.

          Legolas burst into the room like a whirlwind.  He had obviously come straight from the stables as his clothes were uncharacteristically disheveled and still carried the dust and dirt of travel.  His lush, long hair and intricate braids, normally pristine and silken, were windswept and tangled and fanned out over his shoulders like a cloak.  He was tugging off his riding gloves even as he covered the short distance from the doorway to the bedside where the ranger was standing and tucked them hurriedly into his belt.

          “Legolas!” Strider beamed at the Elf.  His grin slowly diminished as he saw the perturbed expression upon the Elf’s handsome face.

          “Leaving!” cried Legolas.  “How can you be leaving?  They tell me you only arrived late yesterday.”

          Strider laughed as he clasped Legolas’ forearms and squeezed them tightly.  “Good to see you, too,” he said.

          Legolas’ deep blue eyes shone with a radiance that lit up the room as his gaze traveled over Strider’s rugged face as if tracing an old and well used map that he had not seen for some time.   His expressive eyes finally sought the human’s silver ones and a broad smile slowly swept over his face and his musical laughter rang throughout the room.

          “I am remiss in greeting you properly, Aragorn,” the Elf grinned.  “Welcome to my home, mellon nin.”  His strong, slender fingers gripped Strider’s arms in return and the friends grinned at each other like fools until both began talking at once and eventually dissolved into more laughter.

          “You first,” Legolas insisted and a more serious note entered his voice.  “What is this nonsense about leaving?”

          Strider’s smile faded as well and he glanced away for a moment.  “I’m afraid it’s true.  I must leave this morning.”  He nervously snatched up the few articles of clothing still remaining upon his bed and began stuffing them haphazardly into the leather bag.

          Legolas moved around to the ranger’s side, his keen eyes narrowing as he stared at Aragorn’s profile.  The Elf’s flawless brow wrinkled with consternation and he placed an anxious hand upon Strider’s forearm.  “But why?”

          Strider turned to face his friend and a weary sigh escaped his lips.  There would be no easy way to tell Legolas what he planned to do and where he must go to do it – and that he was determined to do it alone.

          “I travel to Rhûn,” he answered.

          “Rhûn!” Legolas exclaimed.  “Are you mad?  What could you possibly have to gain by traveling to the Land of the Easterlings?!”

          Strider slumped down upon the side of the bed, his hands resting upon the tops of his knees as he tried to formulate his thoughts into words before speaking.  Legolas moved to the bedside and sat down opposite his friend patiently awaiting his answer.

          “Have you ever heard of the Blue Wizards?” the ranger asked.

          “Blue Wizards?” Legolas echoed Strider’s words.  “No, I have not.   The only wizards known to me are Mithrandir and Curunír.  Who are these wizards of whom you speak?”

          “Alatar and Pallando,” Strider replied.  “Together with Saruman they traveled to the East sometime around 2759.  Only Saruman returned.”  He paused briefly as his gaze fell down to his hands, now clasped between his knees.  “Gandalf wishes me to try and find them.”

          Legolas pushed off the bed and began pacing about the room.  He had acquired this irritating habit from watching Aragorn range back and forth across a room like a caged beast, but it did seem to help sort out his thoughts.  He finally halted in front of the seated ranger.

          “No one knowingly travels to Rhûn, Aragorn.  You do not know the Easterlings.  I vividly recall the Invasion of the Balchoth.  They were a plague upon this land until their defeat upon the Field of Celebrant.  The Easterlings are a ruthless and vile race of men and a sworn enemy of Gondor.  Their allegiance is, and always will be, to Mordor.   You place yourself in needless peril without reason by venturing into their lands.”

          Strider gave the Elf a grim, yet determined smile.  “You have little faith in me, mellon nin.  I am no fool.  I have traveled to many lands, alone and unaided.   I shall do so again.”  He raised his hand to ward off the Elf’s as yet unvoiced but impending protest.  “I will only stay as long as I must.  I will try to find out what information I can about the wizards and then I shall return.”

          He rose and placed a firm hand upon Legolas’ slender shoulder.  “If they do indeed live, I shall try to find them and speak with them.  If they are but a myth, I shall swiftly return.”

          Legolas was not assuaged.  “If you are adamant about pursuing this folly, then I insist on coming with you.”

          Strider shook his head vigorously.  “You cannot, Legolas.  As you have said, it is extremely dangerous for any man to travel to Rhûn.  For an Elf….” He let his voice trail off, allowing Legolas to form his own dire conclusions.

          Legolas stared back at the ranger with an angry scowl.  He knew Aragorn was right.  It would be suicide for an Elf to journey into Rhûn; even a warrior as skilled as he, but that did not mean he had to agree with Aragorn’s decision to go there without him.

          “I need you here, Legolas,” Strider’s eyes pleaded with the Elf.  “I need to know that there is someone here I can trust; someone who can see to my rescue should it come to that.”

          A flicker of fear and dread for Aragorn’s safety darted in and out of Legolas’ eyes, but he slowly nodded his head.  “Very well,” he answered, “but if you have not returned at the end of four months time, I shall come searching for you myself.”

          Strider smiled slightly, his eyes conveying his gratitude and thanks for his friend’s understanding.    “I will be fine, Legolas.  You’ll see.  I will be back before you have time to miss me.”

          Legolas was not so readily convinced that this trip would be the same as any other the young human had undertaken.  A shadowy sense of foreboding was tugging at the outer reaches of his mind; a feeling he had come to trust and heed.  But he knew that he would not be able to dissuade Aragorn from completing this mission into the forbidden lands of the east.

          Instead he picked up Strider’s much worn and well used saddle bag and handed it over to his friend, a soft smile forming upon his lips.  “You can at least allow me to accompany you to Lake Town.  We can spend a few more days catching up with one another on the trip down river.”

          Strider accepted the bag from the Elf with a grin.  “I would like that very much.  But first let’s break our fast.  I would dearly love to eat some of those berry muffins that only your cook can bake to perfection.”

          Legolas chuckled and shook his head.  “Your stomach,” he laughed.  “Always thinking of food.”

*Well met, Forest Elves.