𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

They were running once more.

The Orcs had caught up to the Fellowship and were raining down arrows on them. Dodging them would have been easier without the emotional distress, but luckily, none of them were hurt any more than was already the case.

After days in the darkness of Moria, the sun hit Robb’s eyes with an intensity that almost blinded him and he stumbled, blinking away the tears from his eyes.

The company stopped a few meters outside the gate. The four Hobbits immediately collapsed on the ground, sobbing and hugging each other. Grey Wind came to a stop next to them, whimpering and nudging them with his snout in what Robb knew to be an attempt at comfort.

“Legolas, Robb, get them up,” Aragorn said, running a hand over his face.

Boromir made a disagreeing noise. “Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!”

“By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien.”
Robb put a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. Softly, he said, “Five minutes aren’t going to make too much of a difference, Aragorn. And it is barely noon.” He gestured towards the sky. “We can even run for a while to make up for the lost time, if you insist. But four crying Hobbits trying to keep up with us will do no one any good.”

Aragorn’s shoulders sagged and Robb shot Legolas, Gimli and Boromir a worried look.

“Alright,” Aragorn sighed. “Five minutes, and then we leave.”

❄
The Fellowship passed the lake Mirrormere quickly, only stopping to let Gimli look into it for a reason Robb could not discern. After the last few horrid days, however, Robb did not begrudge him this small bit of joy and comfort.
From there on, they followed the river—called Silverlode or Celebrant, as Aragorn told Robb—which would lead them directly to their next destination: the Elven realm of Lothlórien.
When night fell hours later, the gate of Moria was far enough away that Robb felt confident no Orcs would catch up to them while they rested.
Rest, of course, was relative in his case. While Robb fell asleep fairly quickly, his nightmare returned once again and with full force. He was grateful when Legolas nudged him awake for his watch.
Over the next day, the terrain evened out more and more until finally, around dusk, they reached the treeline of what had to be Lothlórien.
The trees were unlike any Robb had ever seen. Tall, smooth trunks with silver bark split up into branches of that same colour high above. Their leaves were golden and while the shape of them reminded Robb of beech leaves, they were significantly larger than their green siblings.
Legolas, next to Robb, reached out and flitted his fingers over the bark. He had a smile on his face and looked lighter than Robb had ever seen him.
Robb stayed near Legolas as the Elf explained how unique these ‘mallorn’ trees were, what with their leaves not falling in autumn but turning gold instead.
It was still an entirely new and fascinating concept for Robb, the yearly cycle of seasons. It was winter now, or so he assumed from the golden leaves, but it certainly did not feel like it. During the only winter Robb had experienced, he had been a small child and his memories were vague, but he certainly recalled much more snow than there was here in Middle-Earth.
To be fair, that amount was easily surpassed, being approximately none.
In fact, the forest floor was full of grass, moss and small, yellow flowers, as if to mock Robb’s understanding of how nature should work.
In any case, Robb relished in the new knowledge he could gain from Legolas about this world, and listened to his almost lyrical ramblings with interest.
Behind them, Gimli was the perfect opposite; a picture of mistrust and nervousness. He kept the Hobbits close to himself and muttered something about an Elf-witch casting spells on unsuspecting travellers.
Robb furrowed his brow and slowed down to walk beside them. He did not think Aragorn would bring them here if there were the slightest chance of an ambush, and Legolas too seemed entirely unworried, but…
Robb shuddered, rubbed his chest to relieve the phantom pain that reverberated in the place where his biggest scar resided.
Well, worse things had been known to happen at happier occasions, was all.
“An Elf-witch?” Robb asked quietly.
“That’s what the tales of my kin say!” Gimli affirmed. “All who look at her are bewitched by her terrible power and are never seen again.”
Had Robb not seen such a horrible thing as a Balrog a mere day ago, he would have disregarded it like he had Old Nan’s stories. Now, he was less sure and resolved to stay on guard.
Frodo stopped suddenly, his eyes wide.
Robb’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword even as Gimli walked on.
“What is it, Frodo?”
“I— there was a voice—”
Gimli was still talking. “...have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!”
Elves emerged from the woodwork all around them, some even dropping down from above. All were armed, training their incredibly sharp-looking arrows on the Fellowship.
Robb started to draw his sword, but Aragorn’s hand was suddenly there, curled around his arm. Robb looked at him, his eyes wide, and Aragorn shook his head.
The sword slid back into its sheath with a quiet shhk but Robb’s hand did not leave the hilt.
His eyes flew back to the arrows pointed at him, capable of killing with a single hit, he knew. Robb wanted away from here, from this standoff. Dodging arrows on a battlefield was one thing, being aimed at suddenly and surprisingly, without a chance to escape or fight back… that was quite another.
The blood was pounding in Robb’s ears when the Elves finally lowered their bows.
Robb swallowed and slowly let go of his sword. He flexed his hand, cramped and hurting, and tried not to let his panic show. He felt something nudge his arm and glanced down to see Grey Wind beside him. Robb smiled weakly and buried his hand in Grey Wind’s soft fur. He exhaled, a bit more grounded.
Lifting his gaze, Robb saw a few of the Elves casting apprehensive looks at the both of them. He sighed, able to guess what would follow shortly.
Nevertheless, Robb picked up his pace to catch up with the rest of the Fellowship, his hand not leaving Grey Wind.
The Elves led them through the woods reliably, never once faltering or losing their way, even though to Robb, every tree looked the same. He supposed it was to be expected, though—this was their home, after all.
An unknowable amount of time later, they reached a river; the Silverlode, if Robb remembered correctly. He realized that the Elves with their superior hearing must have simply followed the sounds of the river, and almost wished to smack himself for not coming to that conclusion earlier. Had Aragorn not led them along that same river for the majority of their way here?
Shaking his head, Robb refocused on the situation at hand. There was a rope leading across the river, its end fastened to one tree on either side. The leading Elf hopped onto the rope and walked along its length nimbly, crossing the river in mere seconds. Then he turned around and gestured for them to follow.
Robb had a sudden vision of himself slipping and falling into the water, or worse, slipping and falling onto the rope balls-first. He grimaced. This, he thought, was not what he considered a good way to cross a river. Robb preferred bridges, thank you very much.
But alas, there was nothing he could do short of spontaneously sprouting wings, and so Robb faced the music, stepping onto the rope and trying to hold his balance as best he could. Luckily, the rope was incredibly taut and barely moved at all, allowing Robb the chance not to embarrass himself in front of these strange Elves quite so early on in their acquaintanceship.
Grey Wind, on the other hand, had it much easier. He simply did as he had done before in Moria and jumped over the obstacle in front of him. Then, he cast an almost mischievous glance at Robb, as if knowing his fond exasperation, before licking his hand. This, of course, forced Robb to immediately forget any envy that may or may not have existed, which he found quite rude, actually. Grey Wind really was a manipulative bastard sometimes, Robb thought, petting his head.

Once all of their companions were safe and sound on the right side of the river, they continued on.

When night fell, the Elves led them up into the trees, to platforms where they could rest. Grey Wind remained on the ground, fairly unbothered by their sudden ascent.

Robb rummaged in his pack until he finally found the last bits of food he had. Before he could start eating, he heard Aragorn call his name.

Robb looked up, a bit confused as to why he would be needed, but complied when Aragorn waved him over to where he was standing with the Elven leader.

“This is Haldir,” Aragorn said. “He has something to ask of you.”

Haldir placed a hand on his chest in greeting and Robb inclined his head in return.

“I am pleased to meet you, Haldir. My name is Robb Stark. What seems to be the problem?”

“Your wolf,” Haldir responded, and Robb could not even pretend to be surprised. “We do not trust it. We ask that it stay out of Lady Galadriel’s lands.”

Robb sighed. He’d foreseen that this conversation would come hours ago. If anything, he was impressed it had not happened earlier.

“Of course,” he answered, bowing his head once again. “I understand your fear, as I know of this world’s history with wolves. You have my word that Grey Wind shall not enter your realm.”

Naturally, Robb was not happy to be parted from Grey Wind once again. The last time a host had asked the both of them to be separated, they had both been murdered. These Elves and their ways, though understandable, did not inspire a feeling of safety in Robb’s heart.

Grey Wind’s reassuring, soothing effect on Robb would be missed deeply, as well.

But what Robb also understood was that this mission to defeat Sauron was more important than any personal grievances, especially ones that had nothing to do with this world and—Robb wanted to smack himself—that he should really get over as soon as possible.

And so Robb agreed, as any sensible man would have done.

He supposed he should be glad Grey Wind was not in chains, this time.

“Right,” Robb sighed again, “I’ll just…” He pointed over his shoulder, indicating the ladder.

Aragorn slapped him on the shoulder and Robb turned to leave. He quickly made his way down to the ground again and kneeled in front of Grey Wind.

The direwolf was curled up at the base of the tree and opened one eye with an almost annoyed huff.

Robb snorted. “What, have you had enough of me? What have I done?”

Grey Wind only yawned and shook his head.
“Woke you up, didn’t I?” Robb quirked an eyebrow. Then his smile softened and he stuck out his hand to scratch Grey Wind behind his ears. “Well, I’m sorry for that, but I come bearing news.”

Grey Wind tilted his head.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave again, my friend. You have to stay out of these woods; the Elves don’t trust us.”

Angling his ears forward, Grey Wind slowly got to his feet. Robb continued to stroke his fur.

“Now, I don’t like it either, but this is more important than our feelings on the matter, alright?”

Grey Wind nudged Robb’s forehead with his nose, which Robb decided to interpret as agreement. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“There may be some Orcs yet after us that you could hunt if you become bored,” Robb went on. “And we’ll see each other again soon, I promise.”

Grey Wind nudged Robb again. They both looked at each other for a moment more before Grey Wind slowly turned around and trotted away.

Robb stayed unmoving until Grey Wind was out of sight. Then he got to his feet, brushed the dirt from his breeches and made his way back up the ladder.