Ringspell

Chapter 10.


The Herd...


(or: Wood-Elves r so cool...)


It was mid-afternoon, when the company again passed through the wall of Dol Guldur, no one willing to suggest that they stay another night in the old, dark fort. They walked briskly down the wide path that led away from Saurons' old home and it was not until they had left the building far behind them, that they began to relax. No one spoke much, and the tension was thick between them, as the Fellowship wrestled with the facts about their Elven companion. Aragorn stayed close by Legolas, eager to reassure the young Prince, and the rest, that he still had a friend. Though he did not speak, the Elf did throw the Ranger a grateful little smile, when he stepped up beside him.


Travel became difficult again, once the path they followed abruptly came to an end, and it was not long before the company had to stop, night falling in the forest the way it always did, swiftly, and without warning.


It was a nervous night, that began with Gimli firmly stating that he would not sleep, under the watch of 'that spy'. Aragorn immediately jumped to his friends' defense, but Gandalf would have none of it, declaring that if Gimli did not want to sleep, he could keep watch himself. Gimli agreed, and spent the night propped up against the tree, snoring loudly, under the watchful eye of the silent Prince.


Though Aragorn desperately wanted to speak with Legolas, he did not want anyone to think he was keeping an eye on the Elf, so he deliberately removed his sword - though he laid it close beside him - and wrapped himself up in his blankets. But, he could not sleep, and like so many of his companions, he tossed and turned restlessly and felt like he had not slept at all, when light crept silently back into the forest.


In the morning, they set out again, tempers considerably worse than the day before. By the time they stopped for lunch, they were almost at each others throats.


"We cannot go on like this Gandalf." Boromir complained. "The hobbits can barely walk on this mess."


He kicked at a tree root.


"I hate to say it, but Boromir is right." Aragorn agreed. "We either need to find a path or ease off the pace a little, or we will never make it as far as the river."


"I could find us some horses."


They turned to Legolas, who had been silent, since the meeting the day before. Boromir threw the Elf a withering look.


"Why did you not say so before?" He asked. Legolas shrugged.


"We were not so close to the eastern edge of the forest before. Mounted Hunters are far more lethal than those on foot, but there is little grass in the forest to feed their mounts, so many of my people's horses graze the fields to the east of here." He explained. "Most are quite easily ridden."


"Most?" Gimli asked.


The Dwarf had never been comfortable on the back of an animal. Legolas smiled down at him.


"Fear not, Gimli." He said. "I will choose gentle mounts for us."


Gimli still looked unconvinced, but Gandalf agreed that horses would not only make the trip easier, but also save them a great deal of time. They made a sharp turn to the right, and in just a few short hours, broke through the eastern wall of the forest, to find themselves looking out over an endless plain, that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The blanket of grass was mostly brown in color, dull and unhealthy looking but, despite the seemingly meagre food supply, thousands of horses dotted the landscape, some frolicking in the distance, most with their heads down, grazing. The herd was massive, scattered in some places, and in others, a heaving mass of dark flesh, undulating across the plain. Aragorn had never seen so many horses, in his life.


"Well," Gandalf said, impatiently. "Let's have a look at them."


Raising his long fingers to his lips, Legolas let forth a powerful, ear-splitting whistle; a series of short, sharp crescendos. As one, several thousand heads were raised, ears pricked in their direction. Then, the mass of horses began to move towards them, slowly at first, then faster, urged on by another loud whistle. Wonder turned to fear, as the wild horses charged across the plain, their hooves filling the air with the sound of thunder, the ground shaking beneath them.


Aragorn looked nervously at Legolas, who was gazing down at the oncoming stampede, something like self-satisfaction on his exquisite face.


"Will they stop?" Aragorn asked.


Legolas smiled.


"Of course." The Elf said, sounding totally convinced.


The herd drew inexorably closer, galloping at full speed now, pushed on by sheer momentum and it seemed that those in the front could not possibly stop in time. Unconsciously, the company backed up towards the tree-line, some almost breaking and running for the nearest tree. At what seemed to be the last possible moment, - as Legolas would be reminded often, in the days to come - the Elf raised his hand toward the leaders of the herd and spoke to them, in Elvish, raising his voice, to be heard above the stampede.


What he said to the horses was unclear, but it seemed the mere sound of his voice was enough to bring the animals to a grinding halt before him. The horses in the front row almost slid over the top of the Elven Prince several times, pushing back with all their strength, as the rear of the herd ploughed into them and for several minutes the wall of horse-flesh surged and retreated like the tide.


At last, the herd settled and began milling around the edge of the forest, some of the horses now making their way to the front, to greet the Elf who had called them, and these Legolas spoke to fondly before gently leading them into the forest, away from their herd.


"We will choose mounts from these." The Elf explained to his companions, and returned to the edge of the trees, to move the rest back out onto the field.


When he returned, he set about a thorough inspection of the horses he had cut from the herd, checking each hoof and mouth for soundness, and immediately sending many on their way, dissatisfied with their age or their health. When he had finished, ten horses remained and the Elf pronounced them all fit for the journey ahead.


"So who gets to ride which horse?" Sam asked.


Legolas looked appraisingly at the hobbits for a moment, then gave the same look to their assembled steeds before shrugging his shoulders.


"Only one way to find out." He replied and approached one of the horses, a small chestnut, reaching out and stroking its neck as he came to stand beside it.


The horse barely acknowledged his presence, seeming completely at ease under the Elfs' ministrations. Then, without warning, Legolas took hold of a fistful of the horses mane, and gracefully leapt onto the animals back.


The horse started, skittering sideways over the treacherous forest floor, and it became instantly apparent why these particular horses were ridden by the Hunters of Mirkwood. They were not particularly large specimens, small in stature and fine-boned. But they were incredibly agile, and moved with fast, fluid grace, never seeming to have all four hooves on the ground at once.


The little chestnut soon calmed, under the Elfs' weight and he trotted it around in tight circles for a few moments, reminding the animal what it felt like to be ridden. By the time he was done, the horse was as placid as Bill had been, and Legolas told them it would be suitable for any one of them to ride.


He repeated this procedure with each of the remaining horses, most proving as quiet as the first, while some obviously had more spirit than the others. By the time they had decided which animals to take and which to send back to the herd, night had fallen, and the company decided to sleep there, at the edge of the forest and set out on their new steeds in the first light of morning; they would travel on the plain, and follow the tree-line north, to the Forest River.


It was dangerous territory, Gandalf had said, beyond the borders of Mirkwood, but everyone agreed it was worth the risk, to so greatly shorten the length of their journey.


To be conitnued...