Frodo was happy to set off early the next morning, for he felt the fears of the journey ahead of them more acutely in the long night hours. But when they walked all together in the day, he would feel the comfort in knowing that these strong and fearless warriors were close by to defend him, and that Gandalf was there to lead them with all the knowledge and wisdom of his years.
Over the last few days, there had grown a trust and warmth in their companionship, which helped ease his mind. Aragorn was stern and spoke little, but his face softened into a smile from time to time, and Frodo thought that the ranger had a renewed steel in his eye since they had begun their new journey, as if he saw his destiny closer and clearer than he had ever done before. Gandalf, always a little irritable even at the best of times, would sometimes lose his temper with the younger hobbits, but Frodo could have no real fear of him. He knew that the wizard was there to help him when he needed it, and his trust in him was absolute.
The tall young man from Gondor, Boromir, was also a reassurance. He impressed the hobbits, for out of all the people they had seen, he seemed most like a warrior of old. He was strong and forthright, with a rugged and handsome face, and his tall and muscular frame was strong over the punishing distances. Indeed, they had been a little wary of him at first, for he had stared at their small statures with curiosity and not a little amusement. But it did not take long to discover that Boromir was gruff but kindly, and that he laughed easily, even at himself. For him they were grateful, especially Frodo, for he saw that the man kept a special eye on the two younger hobbits to make sure they were safe.
If there was any discordance, it was between the elf, Legolas, and the dwarf, Gimli. They did not really see eye to eye, with Gimli being crotchety and the elf rather disdainful. Frodo was himself rather in awe of Legolas, whom he remembered well from the time they had sat at the council of Elrond: a tall, strikingly beautiful figure who had spoken out in his own language. He looked as if he could be both gentle and deadly, and Frodo was shy of speaking to him. He was about to turn to Sam and ask him what he thought of their companions, when Aragorn stopped very suddenly and lifted his finger to his lips.
"What is it?" whispered Pippin under his breath.
"Will you look around for us, Legolas?" said the ranger, turning to the elf, who immediately walked to higher ground and scanned the landscape with his bright, keen eyes. Frodo nervously looked at his sword, but the edge was dull and plain, with no warning of nearby orcs. But Legolas came back to them swiftly with a nod and a gleam in his eye, his hand on his bow.
"Wargs," he said softly. "They are close. I do not know many, but I know their scent."
Aragorn sighed. "I thought as much. Look -" and here he gestured to the ground, where feathers and bones marked with teeth were strewn. "We must be very careful, and very quiet, and keep on the move."
But no sooner had he said this, then a low and horrible growl came from behind them, and in a rush of fur and snarling jaws, the wargs attacked.
The beasts numbered thirty at least, and they came at them all together like a roll of thunder. Frodo barely had time to cry out before he was knocked aside by the sheer force of the onslaught: he dived to shelter behind a rocky outcrop and watched in terror as hooked teeth met the clash of steel. Gandalf beat back the creatures with his staff and Aragorn brandished his sword high, as one by one his attackers fell writhing to the ground. The hobbits jumped nimbly from rock to rock, out of the reach of those snapping teeth, while Boromir cut them down with heavy sweeps, and everywhere was full of their jabbers, yelps and roars. In the noise and confusion, Frodo ran from here to there, desperate that everyone should remain safe. But he slipped and fell to the ground, and in the blink of an eye, a warg was upon him.
There he was, flat on his back, staring into a pair of glowing eyes as the creature slavered with anticipation. He could not breathe for fear and for the reek of the mangy fur. There could be no escape – he looked from left to right in a panic, but his muscles were so paralysed that he could not summon the strength to roll away, let alone scramble to his feet. He could not even force himself to scream, as the large head loomed above him and blocked out the light.
In an instant the warg howled with pain and surprise, and fell heavily to the ground beside him. Hot drops of its red blood spattered across Frodo's jacket. He was too sick with fear and shock to move until strong arms hoisted him up and dragged him away.
"You have had a lucky escape, young master!" said a clear voice, and he looked up to see Legolas fitting another arrow to his bow. His last had hit the warg in the back of the throat.
"Thankyou!" was all Frodo could manage. The elf merely nodded and smiled, and leapt once more to help the others.
Shivering from where he stood, Frodo watched him in battle with mounting wonder. Boromir may have been strong and powerful, and Aragorn fought with keen skill, but the elf had a fearless grace that made him utterly lethal. His sharp eyes hunted out the weakest spots of his enemy, and in a thrice, his slim fingers would hold another arrow taut to the bow and send it soaring to hit its target. So quick were his movements that the hobbit could barely see how he manipulated the weapon to such effect. And he was as light and lithe as a dancer, leaping high in the air and swinging his knife so effortlessly that it seemed haphazard: but every stroke would meet its mark. Wherever there was need for him, the elf would be there, his aim and motion never failing.
And then, from high in the sky above them, a shrill scream pierced the air. Even in the midst of the chaos, they looked up, and saw nine shrouded figures flying fast against the clouds.
"The black riders!" cried Merry. "They are in the sky!"
"They must have set these beasts upon us!" said Aragorn, furious, and it was with a sinking feeling that they all saw their progress tracked by those terrible spirits.
"Let them circle us, and send their dogs! We will show them how to fight," exclaimed Legolas, proud and bold as always. Indeed, it was almost as if the Nazgul heard his words and were angered by them, for now they swooped low and swift towards them, diving down at the company from all angles and bellowing their horrible cries. But they had underestimated the courage of these travellers: little by little, the wargs were beaten back, and the Black Riders, enraged with the failure of their ploy, retreated into the skies. It was not long before the chief of the wargs fell, and the survivors fled from them, their barks and howls finally fading into silence.
Sam flopped in exhaustion onto his back. He could have done with a mug of beer, or maybe several.
"What do you think they will do, Gandalf, now they have seen us?" asked Aragorn. He was talking, of course, about the Nazgul. They had struck more fear into him than any warg, no matter how sharp its teeth.
"Follow us, of course. There is nothing we can do about that. But let us keep on the move, now. I think our fighting spirit took them by surprise, and they will not return until much later."
The men cleaned their swords on the grass, while Legolas went from here to there to retrieve his arrows. Even the broken ones he took back, for he could fashion them anew into darts. And at every carcass, he would stop for a moment, and murmur some elvish words.
"What are you doing?" called Boromir, noticing this strange ritual. He did not answer until he had finished at the last one.
"Saying blessings for the departed."
"For the wargs?" He was incredulous. "I hope they rot."
The elf looked at him steadily.
"Every living thing deserves some respect, however vile. Sometimes I have to kill, but I do not destroy any creature gladly."
Boromir shrugged.
"Well, each to their own." Privately he thought he might have gone round the bodies himself, but only to give each one another stab to make sure it was dead.
"You fought bravely, elf," he said after a while, as if to apologise. The courage and flair of the warrior had not escaped his eye, and he admired it instinctively. Legolas smiled in response.
"I have had practise," was all he would say.
Later on, as they made their way ever further east, he had cause to speak again. It happened that their path took them through a grove, and the elf breathed in the air deeply, looking at the leafy trees with clear approval. He turned to Aragorn beside him.
"You must be staunch-willed, to have travelled so far and wide. For years you have not seen your homeland, and lived in the forgotten places of the earth. But I have not been from my home for less than a month, and yet I yearn to be in Mirkwood again! Each wood and forest we pass through reminds me of my birthplace."
"You are a wood-elf, and it is only to be expected. You gain your strength and spirit from all that grows and blossoms. But we humans are different. We may be weaker than the elves in many ways, but we are resilient, and resourceful – and we can learn to live wherever we find ourselves."
"Yes, I see it. I have lived so long that I believed the knowledge of any human no better than a child's. And yet I am astounded at your world, and of how you live! I have much to learn. I wish now that my father had not kept me so close."
"He was thinking only of your safety, Legolas. It is not wise to let a prince out of your sight for long. Especially one such as you." He said it with a glint in his eye, and Legolas laughed, because he knew that Aragorn had heard the stories of his upbringing. He had been high-spirited as a young elfling, often landing in trouble and mischief, and it was no wonder that the king had been unwilling to let him go far.
"But I have grown up now," said Legolas. "I have learnt my royal duties, and I have followed the traditions of my House in all ways. Honoured as I am to be in my position, I would have liked to have seen more of the world, and to have had more freedom."
Aragorn nodded. He understood the feeling, and they both knew it. "But I thought that perhaps you might have made Rivendell your home," he said shrewdly. Legolas coloured immediately.
"Elladan is a wise and noble elf, and I was flattered by his proposal."
"But you decided not to be his consort, and take your place at his side?"
"It was many years ago, Aragorn. I was not ready for such a responsibility. Everything in good time." Aragorn nodded, accepting that Legolas did not wish to talk about it any more. Gandalf then called the ranger to the fore, and he left Legolas to ponder. The elf was uncomfortable talking about his private life, even to his friends. So many men had sought to make him their own, that his demeanour in front of them was often reserved and diffident, a contrast to his natural vivacity. Because he was embarrassed, he turned away for a moment, and it was then he saw Boromir behind them. The man had cut himself a stick as he went along, and he was lazily thwacking the trunks and branches as he passed.
"Don't do that," said Legolas, with a sharp note in his voice.
"Why not? They can't feel it," he replied, giving the next tree a hefty strike.
"Stop it. What do you want to do it for?"
"No reason," he shrugged. And indeed, there was no reason, but Boromir was a stubborn man, and if someone told him not do something, he was likely to do it anyway.
"You should have some respect for the things that grow around you."
His contemptuous air annoyed Boromir. The elf had been proud and disdainful from the beginning, and now he was telling the son of the steward of Gondor what he could and could not do. Boromir had been itching for a while to take him down a peg or two.
"I am sorry I do not share your respect for every living creature, but you would do well to show me some respect by not always strutting about so high-and mighty."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You seem to be more concerned with dead wargs and a few trees than you are with your fellow companions, that's all. Barely a word you've chosen to speak to me since we left Rivendell."
"What nonsense," said Legolas, and he was about to leave.
"I'll remember to apologise the next time I need to relieve myself against a tree, then, shall I?" called the man sarcastically.
The elf turned around and looked at him with disapproving eyes.
"You should not talk of such things so lightly. The trees of the earth have lived for many more years than you, man of Gondor. Their roots are deep. Mock them if you will, but do so out of my hearing."
"There are things in this world that I cherish greater than leaf or branch, elf. And I will speak in whoever's hearing I please."
Legolas shrugged.
"Then do so. But it is your own pride and folly."
He turned and walked away, following Aragorn along the path. Behind him, Boromir whispered in Gimli's ear:
"Look, there comes another copse ahead. I believe we should all go and embrace the trunks, to show how sorry we are."
The dwarf tried to hide his guffaws.
"And then you and I will make him a wreath of leaves as a gift."
"Oh no," said Boromir sternly. "That would never do. How could he wear it? It would spoil his lovely long hair."
They both started to laugh.
"He must wash and comb it each night like a woman, when we are all asleep!"
"He has no need. He never sits near the dirt, like the rest of us."
"These elves are all the same. They look down on us simple folk."
"And how can we blame them? When we are so rough and uncouth. The very smell of us must drive them to distraction."
"Ah, but he preens himself so that the men come panting after. Do they not say that about the elves?" said the dwarf knowledgeably.
"Say what? That no man can resist their temptations? Well, for myself I say this. He is a pretty little thing to be sure, but I will not decide until I see his body stripped bare."
"I can assure you, gentlemen," came a scornful voice, "that you will wait long for such a pleasure." They stopped laughing at once. Legolas had heard their words with his sharp eleven ears, and now he stood staring at Boromir defiantly.
"Is this how you talk in your palaces and at your banquets? I had thought better of a man in your position. But perhaps I should expect nothing more from a line that rules as if it were king, and yet has no royal blood."
This last comment rankled, and Boromir, ashamed at being caught out and at the same time furious at the insult, replied in a sudden blaze of anger.
"I want no royal blood, if it makes me as vain and haughty as you. You may think yourself better than all of us, because you are elfkind, and because you are a prince. But that means nothing, for all your airs and graces. You don't know anything about the world, or how people really live. You've never known true suffering, or seen your comrades fall in battle beside you. You're pitiful! You may be honoured in your own lands, but you know nothing of me."
"I know enough," came the immediate and furious retort. "Your name is not unheard of, even in Mirkwood. And let me tell you this – it does your reputation no great service."
Boromir stared at him open-mouthed. Legolas nodded grimly. "Your servant boys may fawn on you and lavish you with their attentions, but I am not one of them." With that, he turned and strode away.
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