LOTR || ⤜𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙩 → [Legolas x OC]

⤜ 14 → the Garden of Galadhon

That night the Company slept upon the ground in the pavilion. Haldir had left an hour ago, speaking words of peace before disappearing behind the tent screen.

I was currently spread amongst the silk cushions on the ground, my bedroll sighing beneath me as I shifted. It was the dead of the night, but I lay wide awake. Nothing had settled me. The world seemed to be moving so fast, matching the pace of my thoughts.

It was only when I felt a phantom breeze brush my cheek, that I pushed myself onto my elbows and finally sat up.

Then I waited.

I did not quite know why.

Through the silent darkness of the tent, my eyes could faintly make out the figures of Gimli and Aragorn sprawled across their bedrolls. Legolas's side was empty - his sheets neat and without a crinkle as though he hadn't even sat down at all.

The quiet was interrupted by a mighty snore erupting from the dwarf.

It was a sharp contrast to the serene slumber of the forest, and it temporarily cut off the whispers inside my head. Gimli snored again, but this time the voices were louder and fouler, shrieking at me like a banshee. Then I was falling... falling... into an abyss of flames. I heard somebody scream, each cry fierce enough to rip their throat raw. But the noises were far too broken and distant. My head felt as if it was submerged in freezing water. And then I was falling into the flames again.

The room spun around me. The walls pressed in and I felt sick to my stomach. Numb fingers curled around my throat in an attempt to ease the suffocation. They were my fingers, I realised. yet they were so so cold. And I was trembling.

But when the voices began to sound almost too real, I felt it.

A silent tug – like that of a magnet. It pulled me to my feet before I could think, drawing me up like a puppet. I peered at the floor where a labyrinth of discarded items lay before me; the sheath of a sword; some travel-worn armguards; one of Gimli's upturned boots and a leather pouch I had seen fall from Aragorn's cloak earlier. I stepped over them one by one, following the invisible pull to the entrance of the pavilion. I paused before it.

Freedom – freedom from the suffocation was what lay on the other side. And the only thing obstructing me was the heavy fabric of the tent, which I hastily threw apart before stumbling into the night.

The forest greeted me – crisp and striking against the shadows of twilight. Trees glimmered softly under the last glow of faelights, and a gentle breeze weaved through the branches, carrying the faint scent of vanilla.

I heaved in a deep breath, at last relieved of the heavy suffocation. My fingers slowly uncurled around my throat as I took in the view with intent eyes. Yet even out here, my body remained as rigid as a statue. The voices had vanished, however, leaving me feeling somewhat bare as the night-kissed wind snaked under my wings.

My cloak was still inside tossed somewhere beside my bed. But I was surprised to realise that I did not wish to retrieve it.

I glanced around the glade. Not a single soul was out here...

The wind snaked around me again, trailing icy fingers down my spine. And in answer a line of goosebumps rose in its wake. I shuddered, my blood thrumming with exhilaration.

A challenge – that was what it felt like.

Stretching my wings wider, I let the wind run freely through the feathers. It felt good – to have them out like this and not cramped up inside a small cloak all the time. Aragorn had suggested it wise to keep them hidden until he figured what to do. I had no idea what that could be, but for now I pushed the thought away and began treading through the trees over a path of white stone where I followed the invisible tug deeper into the dark.