Author: Sam

Story: The Forest Breathed: 1 of ?

Series: n/a

Characters: Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Elrond’s sons (and Elrond), and other various O.C. Elves.

Rating: T: Blood, possible Language, Violence

Summary: On a trip to Rivendell, the Hobbits discover these times of peace aren’t so peaceful.

Spoiler: This spoils the entire series of Lord of the Rings for any who have not read or seen it, as it takes place after the series ends. If you do not want the ending of the series ruined, do not read this, please.

Category: Fantasy; Drama

Disclaimer: LotR is a trademark of JRR Tolkien and his surviving children. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story... and most likely not a story Tolkien would have written, had he had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment, and that of free entertainment to a select group of friends. Thank You.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Setting: Rivendell: Fourth Age 0003, five years after the end of the War of the Rings.

Note: I have checked every book I could find and find no mention of brothers or sisters for Legolas, thus I took liberties and created a family other than his father. As I said, these are not mentioned in any of Tolkien's works, including *The Lord of the Rings*, *The Hobbit*, or The Silmarillion.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

Peaceful.

That was the thought that came to Sam with his first step among the age-old trees. He could feel it emanating from the very earth under his bare feet, good and clean and rich. The trees swayed in a light breeze, music through the leaves whispering a peaceful, sleepy tale of time and beauty. Birds and insects sang their songs of life. The sun speckled the ground in patterns seeming at once mysterious and welcoming; even among the shadows safety called.

It had been a long if uneventful journey from Hobbiton to the edge of Rivendell. The three Hobbits, astride their ponies and leading a fourth with supplies, looked forward to the end of their trek. Good food, fair friends, and flowing song would greet them upon their arrival to the Elven stronghold. It was only minutes away now, and all three companions couldn't resist smiling and letting out sighs of relief and anticipation.

"We'll have a feast," Pippin, Peregrin Took, stated happily.

His cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck, also known as Merry, agreed with a hearty chuckle. "Of course. And songs and stories to tell and be told. A much needed holiday, that's what this is."

The third Hobbit didn't speak. Samwise Gamgee was too intent on enjoying the trees all around him. A gardener by trade, and one could even say by nature, Sam enjoyed himself most when surrounded by living green things.

Neither of the others seemed to note his preoccupation in their excited chattering. They commented on everything and anything, pleased simply to be back in a place they considered a haven of friends. Looking forward to the greeting they felt they would receive, Merry and Pip made enough noise to alert even the most careless of watchers.

They were some distance into the woods when Sam hushed the other Hobbits, sliding from his pony. "Listen…" He seemed to listen intently, hands stretched out from his sides partway, palms down. His chubby body was held incredibly still as his gray-green eyes stared into the shadows to their right. The gardener took a single step then froze once more.

Pippin and Merry glanced at each other, puzzled. Neither made noise, however, their memories of danger still too near for either to carelessly ignore a warning. No indication of abnormal sound or movement drew their attention, though; all seemed peaceful and secure.

Finally, Sam warily relaxed just a bit, his eyes still scanning the distant shadows. He shook his head, strawberry-blond curls bouncing with the movement. Relaxing a fraction more, almost as if disappointed for some reason, he turned to his companions. "I thought I heard someone cry out."

With a small smile, gray eyes worried, Merry slipped from his own pony and touched Sam's shoulder. "If someone has been hurt, Sam, the Elven watchers will have seen and helped. Come along. You need rest as much as Pip and I do." He tried to gently guide Sam back towards their path.

Pulling away absently, Sam shook his head again. "There are less Elves now, Mister Merry. Fewer guards are posted and more are assigned restoration work." He took a few steps in his own chosen direction. "I'd like to see for myself that nothing's amiss, if you catch my meaning." He was frowning.

A sigh escaped the other blond. He turned to his dark-haired cousin with a shrug. "Looks like Sam's set, Pip. We should go with, just to keep an eye on him for Rosie."

"Right. Let's go then," Pip responded cheerily, not in the least disturbed by their change in plans. He could wait a few extra minutes for his feast… as long as it *was* only a few. The youngest of the Hobbits climbed from his pony and stepped after Sam, instinctively quiet, as only a Hobbit or Elf could be. The trio made their slow way deeper into the trees, off the common paths they called familiar. Their ponies remained behind, cropping grass contentedly in the warm afternoon sun.

It was Merry who first saw the blood.

"Oi! Would you look, Sam? You were right." He knelt down, hand carefully lifting away fronds to expose the spattering of dark red-black fluid. "It goes on, as well..."

Pip's eyes widened and he pointed, "Oh! Merry, look, broken branches."

"Looks like something was drug through here, as well. And see? Prints from heavy boots. Heavier boots than Elves or even Men wear, Sam. What do you think?"

The oldest of the companions frowned in thought, taking in the comments and sights, but not revealing his own mind. He started following the suspicious trail. Silently the others followed, but Sam ignored them completely, intent on his discovery. Finally, he stopped with a gasp, then darted unexpectedly forward, startling his friends.

Merry bolted after him, followed by the slightly slower Pippin. "Sam! Hold up, Sam, don't go throwing yourself into danger!" His voice was a low hiss, trying to communicate without being overheard by the wrong people. The pair had to stop suddenly, crowding up behind Sam whom had halted at the edge of a clearing.

It was a naturally growing clearing cushioned by ferns and other ground growing plant life. Great trees, centuries old, ringed the clearing, forming an almost protective barrier around that small bit of open land. Flowers of varying shades dotted the grass. It wasn't the beauty of this glade, which had put an end to the Hobbits' flight, however; it was the pair of Elves lying inside.

The Elves were of the Eastern branch, lithe and blonde. Both lay still, surrounded by what seemed to be their own blood, slowly pooling in the rich grass. Their faces were downward as if they had fallen there… or crawled. Sunlight glinted off translucent golden cloth and opalescent skin, sparkled along the male's mithril worked pendant, which had slipped to his back on it's delicate chain, and raced along the blood spattered blade of the Elvish sword lying at the female's right hand. A bow of Lothlorien lay half under the Mirkwood-born male.

"Are they dead?" Pip's voice was a horrified whisper, breaking the unearthly stillness of the trio and sending Sam bolting into the clearing. Merry gasped and followed, Pip on his heels.

Skidding to a kneeling position by the female, the gardener slid his hand to her neck, feeling for that throb of life: it was erratic, but amazingly strong. With relief, he turned to the male, feeling a pulse, fainter but still present. Sam reached to turn him over in order to tend his wounds.

A cry rent the air, fierce and defiant. The female Elf reached weakly for her sword, apparently having been awake through the entire ordeal. She was bent on protecting the other Elf, not recognizing the Hobbits as friends. Her strength gave out before she could retrieve her weapon and she collapsed, breathing shallowly. The only sign of her continuing awareness was a low, feral-like growl emanating from deep in her throat.

Merry knelt down and started wiping the blood from her face with his kerchief. "Here now, Ma'am, we're going to help you. Easy now… Pip, get Master Elrohir. Hurry, take a pony and ride quick now." As Pip ran off to accomplish his errand, Merry turned back to the Elves. "What's happened? Who attacked you?"

Assured that he would not be attacked, Sam again reached out, carefully turning over the male Elf. He gasped in shock. "Legolas!"

With a start, the Brandybuck looked over, wide-eyed. He forced himself to take his eyes from his friend, tending the female with care. His voice shook, however, as he asked, "Is he alive?" His hands shook just as much, and the Hobbit had to exert a great will to stop them.

"Yes... he is that, Mister Merry. I'd say swords did this work." Sam looked up at his companion then back down to his injured friend. It was a mark of just how much the gentle Hobbits had seen in the War of the Ring, five years past, if Samwise Gamgee could identify the wounds as having been made by sword, rather than another weapon.

The female started speaking, faint but discernable. "Yrch." She blinked open pale blue eyes, pain etched in every movement. "Rogue Yrch followed us. I knew not that any had remained alive." She coughed, but fortunately no blood emerged, thus a lung injury was less probable. "Who do we thank for assistance?"

Sam glanced over at the polite request, answering softly, "Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and Samwise Gamgee. We're Hobbits of the Shire, come to visit the Lords of Rivendell." He flushed a bit, then added, "We also claim friendship with Prince Legolas."

A groan issued from the male Elf and Sam turned to check him once more. He smiled as Legolas roused briefly, confusion in his changeable blue-brown eyes. Speaking softly in Elvish, the prince closed his eyes and drifted into, if not a restful at least a less restless, sleep. The Hobbit sighed.

"Ho! I've returned."

"That was quick, Pippin." Merry stood and hurried to his cousin's side. He smiled as perhaps half a dozen Elves on steeds rode up. "Found a hunting party, did you? Hello, Master Elrohir."

The dark-haired Elf looked faintly amused, giving his head a decisive shake. "Elladan, but close enough." He turned, quickly ordering his group, who dismounted and fashioned stretchers for their two wounded kindred. "You've a tale for us, I've no doubt. But if I recall Hobbits, you'll want a supper to go with that tale. We've found your ponies. Up you climb and we'll be off for the Last Homely House."

He waited, patiently smiling, as the Hobbits wiped their bloodstained hands on the thick grass then climbed their ponies, settling as they might. The entire party followed the stretchers, each born between two Elven steeds, slowly heading for the house of the Lords of Imladris, or Rivendell in the Westron tongue. It was many long minutes before they arrived.

Before the Hobbits could slip from their ponies' backs, several other Elves hurried forward to grab reigns and unquestioningly assist with the wounded. No words were exchanged, but the newcomers seemed to know just what to do, and soon Legolas and his companion were carried inside, away from Hobbit sight. Lord Elladan finally turned and nodded to the dismounting visitors.

"It is good you chose to walk through the woods. From what I see, the pair would not have lived half an hour more without aid. It will be close, but they will receive the best of care." He smiled and gestured expansively. "Come, rest and eat. You are most welcome here."

The Hobbits followed their host inside, their emotions varying between concern for Legolas and delight at the prospect of a good meal. Naturally, Pippin was all but skipping in his joy. True, the past years had sobered him a bit, with their horrors and trials, but any mention of a large meal and a lot of talking couldn't fail to raise his spirits… and he was certain the two wounded Elves were in very capable hands.

Upon entering the grand dining chamber, the Hobbits were guided to sit at the table and fill their plates and bellies. None of the Elves interrupted the grand feasting. Perhaps an hour after the meal had begun it ended, with the Hobbits being granted permission to smoke while they relaxed and answered any questions presented them. Conversation flowed freely among the friends.

Finally, they finished their tale with the chance discovery of the two wounded Elves. Nearly as an after thought, questions about the two Elves and the attack flew, along with an almost overshadowed question as to why the pair was dressed in "see-through gold clothes".

Elladan, the more relaxed of the twin Lords of Ilamdris, nodded and added the missing information the Hobbits sought. "As you know, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood is one of the injured. The other is his young sister Zehavi. They were traveling to Ilamdris for Princess Zehavi's wedding to one of our people…" He smiled at Pippin, adding, "that is why they dressed in such clothing. They are the wedding apparel of Mirkwood Elves." The smile slipped away and the Elf Lord sighed as if greatly burdened. "According to Princess Zehavi, Yrks… Orcs... attacked them along the path."

The trio gasped, eyes wide in round faces. Merry shook his head, stubborn chin jutting out in seeming defiance of what they'd been told. "I thought Orcs were gone with that Dark Lord five years ago."

The Elf nodded, sadly. "As did we, Master Meriadoc. However, we have recently had suspicions that they are once again on the up-rise. Today, we have the final proof." He frowned severely at that point, memories of lost loved ones flooding him. It had been five years since he'd been on a murderous vengeful rampage against the Orcs, in memory of his deceased mother.