Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Thirteen

Amaruil was startled from her conversation with Arwen by Bilbo running down the path as quickly as he could – which was not particularly fast at all – his hair bouncing behind him like a little tail. “You will never guess what!” he cried excitedly when he reached the two elves who were looking on in amusement.

“What is it Bilbo?” asked Arwen.

“My nephew’s here! Frodo’s here!” he shouted happily, very nearly jumping up and down on the spot as if his excitement could not be contained.

“Frodo’s here?” exclaimed Amaruil interestedly.

“Glorfindel brought him here from Weathertop,” whispered Arwen into her ear, “he was stabbed by the Witch King.”

“No!” breathed Amaruil, her eyes still on the ecstatic Bilbo who was not paying the least bit of attention to them as they conversed, being too busy celebrating. “How bad is he?”

“The Black Breath very nearly succeeded; he was barely in this world when he arrived, but my father has gone to heal him. I was about to tell you that before Bilbo here interrupted us,” Arwen said, the trace of a smirk back on her face. “I fear it will be hard for the others he said were left behind though, for there were at least five there.”

“So we can only assume that they were being followed… but why? What do they want with a Halfling?”

“I know not. Perhaps when Frodo is healed he will be able to lift the shadows from our eyes,” Arwen suggested hopefully.

“I will be intrigued to know the rest of the tale though,” admitted Amaruil. “It is a grievous and dangerous thing to happen to a Halfling.”

“I know but I feel that perhaps the time has come when these Halflings will encounter more danger than we can imagine.”

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One night Amaruil was walking in the forest, winding between the trunks of the trees, turned silver by the light of the moon. Her thoughts were completely occupied by worry for the Halflings and fear of the danger which she could feel approaching, like a predator prowling in the darkness. She unconsciously turned a corner and saw an elf leaning against a tree, his hair nearly glowing in the moonlight. “Forgive me,” she murmured quietly as she turned to leave.

“Amaruil?” whispered the voice behind her, startling her into twisting round slowly to face him again, dreading who she might see. “Yes?” she asked quietly.

“It is you! Truly?” he exclaimed as he approached her, happiness illuminating his features better than any amount of moonlight could, and Amaruil felt her stomach sink at the same time that her heart soared, every feeling she believed that she had locked away after all the years returning more powerful than ever.

She tried to control herself but it was so difficult, so unfair that he had reappeared in the one place she thought herself safest and after all this time. She ought not to care about him, she should not feel such joy spreading through her body at the same time as a crippling pain, but she could not stop it. She had wrongly believed that, after all these years, she had forgotten him and the way he had made her feel, when in reality she had only buried her feelings beneath an unstable image of normality. “Legolas,” she said coldly once she had eventually pulled the fleeing parts of her mind back into one piece, “what are you doing here?”

Legolas’ face fell and he frowned slightly. “I must admit I was expecting a friendlier reception, for we have not seen each other in many, many years. It is nigh on forty years since last we met in Lórien; it is thirty eight to be exact.”