35: It Begins (Edited)

                                    

                                          

Legolas couldn't think clearly. In the midst of war, it was typical for one to feel restless, to remain awake at nights and feel suffocating worry in the day. But this was different, he knew, for every second felt as if someone was watching him, and that person was whispering threats and premonitions to him. The pendant on his neck burnt whenever these whispers came, his skin perspiring as he touched it and looked to the sky. 
I pray that she is fine.
Aragorn, Gimli, and he had been travelling with the Rohan army for days, not ever stopping. Aragorn had feared that Rohan would not answer Minas Tirith's call, but fortunately, Theoden kept his vow. Every day, droves of soldiers and Rohirrim joined their main forces, and by the time they reached the White Mountains, their numbers had grown to thousands. 
But these were not enough.
Varilerin was right. They needed to tread the Paths of the Dead. 
Legolas glanced at Aragorn, who, after arriving at the White Mountains, had been silent. He understood that Aragorn was fearful of the Oathbreakers and their dwelling, which in the blanket of darkness appeared more menacing than one could wish for. He could only sense Death, but perhaps Aragorn sensed even deeper. Perhaps, if Varilerin was there, she could discern what it was which truly frightened Aragorn. 
"You have never looked this grim, lad," Gimli remarked as they sat by the fire. 
"I can say the same for you," Legolas said, without looking at him. Gimli paused and stared at his ale. Around them, the horses neighed restlessly, their eyes glued at the cramped valley which led to infinite darkness. Legolas rubbed Varilerin's jewel, which shone radiantly in the light of the fire. "I am sure she will be alright. She is strong and you know that."
"I believe in her strength," Legolas whispered. "But I fear that this evil is too great for her. I have seen her walking on a thin line between darkness and the light. And this Vrasari... He disturbs my mind." 
Gimli was about to sneak in some jokes regarding this Vrasari when suddenly a horn blew. To the Dwarf, this was simply a random horn, but Legolas, who had traversed the lands of Dunedain before, recognised it instantly. He ran, as fast as he could, so he would be the first to greet the people who had just arrived.
Seeing the faces of their new guests felt like an answer to his prayers. Before him stood three of his kin, and behind them a long line of rangers bearing the six-pointed star on their cloaks.
"Legolas Thranduilion," greeted Elrond. Legolas promptly bowed, remembering his place. Beside Elrond, his two sons Elladan and Elrohir smiled softly. "It seems you are well, as I have seen in my visions." 
"Lord Elrond," Legolas said. "What are you doing here?" 
"To give the King what he deserves," Elrond answered, gesturing to a sword he held, wrapped in the finest leather. Legolas immediately recognised the weapon, and hope reawakened within him. "And to offer you some aid. The Dunedain rangers have banded together under one banner to help Aragorn in his walk to the Paths of the Dead."
"Aragorn is his tent further inside the camp," Legolas said. "I shall escort you to him." 
"I also have a counsel for you, Legolas, about Varilerin," Elrond informed him, his voice suddenly grim. Legolas stood still, cold suddenly sweeping past him. Behind the ellon, Gimli arrived, panting heavily as usual. Even without Elrond explaining where he had gotten this counsel, Legolas knew. 
"What did you see?" Legolas whispered, trembling. 
Elrond did not breathe when he said his next words.