The Sons of Durin

Attack in the Dark

As noon came on the second day, Fíli and Legolas were drawing near to the western edge of Mirkwood. From time to time Fíli drifted in and out of consciousness, partly because he was weary and partly because he was still in much pain (from the waist up, anyhow; he still couldn't feel his legs at all). He disliked the fact that Legolas had tied him onto Voronwer's back, but he decided not to make any objections. Despite the blow it gave his pride, he knew that he would have fallen from the horse's back long ago had it not been for the securing knots that held him in place. Legolas had said very little to Fíli, and when he did speak his voice carried a mixture of condescension and absentmindedness, as though he did not really consider it worth his time to inform Fíli of what his plans were. As far as Fíli could tell, they were still following the Forest River, and he guessed that when they got out of the woods their course would probably turn southward and run parallel to the Misty Mountains for a time, until they reached a place where they could pass over to the west side of the mountain range.

In the meantime, Fíli knew that their journey was likely to be long and arduous, and he did not relish the thought of traveling like this for hours... that would stretch into days... and weeks... and perhaps months, depending on what route Legolas chose. It will be so long before I return! And when I do return, it will not be with the guidance of my companion, for he has business elsewhere. I shall be forced to find my way back to Erebor alone... if I am healed at all! What if the Elves in Rivendell cannot help me, after all? What if their magic is not strong enough... or what if they simply have no desire to help me, me being a Dwarf and all? With these thoughts on his mind, he grew more miserable with every passing moment, and began to fear that he had not made the choice of a responsible king, after all, but the choice of a egotistical young fool whose only desire was to protect his own pride. Maybe it would have been better (more beneficial for my people, that is) to stay, crippled or no, and do what I can to help kinsmen in their time of distress.

But at the time it had seemed of the utmost importance to represent the Dwarves of Erebor as well as possible, which meant that a disabled king was out of the question.

I just want to be the kind of king that Uncle Thorin would have been... but I may as well give up on that. I will never be like Thorin. I will never be as brave as he was, or as strong, or as majestic. I'm only a poor copy of what he was, a ridiculous caricature. He sighed, and wished that there was some activity to which he might apply himself. But there was nothing to distract him from the doubts that assailed his mind. He had never thought of himself as a great worrier, but he realized now that he was: the only thing that had kept his concerns at bay for so long was the ability to act against them, to take precautions against the disasters he imagined. And now there was nothing he could do but sit on the back of Legolas's prancing white steed and think of everything that had gone wrong, and of everything that might now go awry in his absence. And then, just when Fíli would be certain he could bear this anxiety no longer, he would fall mercifully into unconsciousness, and for a while would be unaware of his pain.

In the evening Legolas halted Voronwer and made camp, and Fíli could tell that the Elf was displeased with having to stop. Miserably, he supposed that neither Voronwer nor Legolas were truly weary, and that the Elf-prince might be stopping only for the benefit of his troublesome Dwarf companion.

"Don't be stopping for my sake," Fíli said. He tried to make his voice sound strong, but instead it sounded flat and dead.

Legolas barely glanced at Fíli as he lifted him off the horse's back. "Think not that I stop for you, Dwarf. Voronwer needs watering." His voice was not harsh, as a reprimand, but it was cool and distant. Fíli knew by his tone that the conversation was over, and he allowed himself to be taken down from where he sat and set on the ground. Legolas propped him in a sitting position against a stump, using a folded blanket from his pack to add a little padding between the knobby wood and Fíli's very sore back. Then he took the few things he had packed off Voronwer, and allowed the stallion to wander of his own accord to the river's edge, where he drank his fill.