2Legolas Thranduilion awoke to the sound of drunken men shouting, tuneless singing, and the snoring of an overtired Dwarf. Groaning softly, he rolled over onto his side in an attempt to block out the noise, grinding his hip over the metal buckle of his waist belt causing him to hiss in pain. Sleep was fruitless, so the young Elf Prince sat up on the thin stained mattress that the inn had provided for the night, one hand rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as the other one pushed his hair back. The Dwarf was sleeping on the bed across from his, snoring loud enough to nearly drown out the commotion of morning activities downstairs in the dining area.
"Gimli," Legolas moaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. The Dwarf snored on. "Gimli!"
The Dwarf Gimli snorted once, twice, twisted around in the sheets like he was trying to get up, and promptly fell off of the bed and to the worn boarded floor. The thud that followed shook the floor enough that some curses at the heavy sleeper could be discerned from some of the rowdy men already back at out-drinking each other. A chuckle escaped Legolas' throat in good humor as he stood up, arching his back, feeling his joints creak back into place. The hard mattress had not been kind to his back, but for the money and the quality of the drink, it was good enough for a one night stay.
Legolas and Gimli had arrived in the wee hours of the night, past the time when even the most avid gamblers and competitive drinkers were awake, on foot. Legolas would admit that even he himself, and Elf, was beginning to feel the slightest twinge of fatigue. The kind innkeeper had sent them off to their room as quickly as possible, as soon as Legolas had managed to dig a handful of change from his pocket and set it on the greasy counter. It had been clean a few minutes ago, but another group of men and round of drinks later, it was back to its grimy state.
Gimli growled something indiscernible as he freed himself from the knots of threadbare sheets, a fly caught in the spider's silvery web. His large rust-coloured beard hung in bushy tangles down to his waist, muffling the curses that were spat from his lips.
"Gimli, if you don't mind hurrying along, we need to have our breakfast and then get back on the road. It is but a few miles to the nearest port from where we will set sail," Legolas reminded him.
"They'd better have a worthy meal here, and not just ale," Gimli grumbled as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "And by Durin's beard, why did you wake us up? It is not yet light outside!"
"No, a red sun rises this day. Some say that such skies forewarn of bad sailing weather, although those are only the myths of men from the Olden Days." Legolas walked silently over to the one window in the inn's room that he and the Dwarf were staying in and brushed aside the thick fabric curtain in one fell swoop. Instead of flinching back from the sudden golden brightness that the sun usually brought, the light that did enter the room was a dim crimson, like freshly drawn blood. "But one can see why they feared the redness. It looks like a great battle was fought in the clouds, with the gore of fallen warriors raining down on the lower lands."
Gimli glanced at him strangely. Legolas cleared his throat. "Right then. Let us pack up what little provisions we have brought with us for the journey. And you might want to make that bed, my friend. I doubt that the innkeeper wants to see his fine linens in such a state."
Within a matter of minutes, the two unlikely friends had packed up the few belongings they had taken with them, pocketing sparse change, hastily folding extra outer-garments, and things of the like, when there was a soft knock at the door. Legolas looked up from where he stood, light brown tunic halfway pulled over his head, Gimli still struggling with the belt for his trousers.
"One moment, please," the Elf called out, yanking the hem of his tunic down and quickly throwing the belt around the waist, not even bothering to tie it properly.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by an unpleasant sort of face. It was a man that was at the door, of average height and unmeasured odor. Wrinkling his nose, Legolas leaned casually against the doorframe, observing the stranger. He had wild and dirty hair, dark flitting eyes that held no trust, a nose that was halfway to being classified as a beak, and a beard that needed desperate and immediate care. The untrusting eyes were locked firmly on his own, a sharply contrasting blue that gleamed like water reflecting the light of the stars at midnight. The stranger scowled with slightly yellowed teeth. It was obvious that he had gotten into the rum heavily, as he smelled of filth and the overwhelming stench of alcohol. He wore a dingy brown shirt with a torn leather vest, boots that could stand a good washing, and trousers that hadn't been washed in over a month. At least, that was what Legolas' nose was telling him. There was a general aura of something dislikeable about this stranger.
"They say that yer the Elf Prince," the stranger ground out. His voice was gravelly and his breath was laced with stale smoke. "The one tha' hails from Mirkwood. Son o' Thranduil, tha' one?"
Legolas blinked slowly.
"Let it be known tha' the sea be no proper place fer an Elf, 'specially one who's ne'er seen it before. Ye can't even lay claim to being in one o' them storms, can ye? It's not yer turf."
"And why tell me this?"
"Let's just say between the two o' us, there are some out there without yer best interests at heart, laddie." He ground his teeth and spat next to his right foot.
"And what would your name be, my friend?" Legolas asked, casting a sidelong glance at the glob of spittle on the wood flooring right outside his room door. Gimli tromped up next to the Elf, fully clothed now, wrapped in a ruddy red cloak.
"Yea, who is this cur that shows up at our door little past dawn?" the Dwarf demanded, crossing his arms imposingly over his barrel-like chest, making a daunting figure even at his diminished height. He came only halfway up Legolas' chest and a bit farther on the stranger's, who was a bit shorter than the Elf Prince.
"Folks 'round here call me Crowfoot," Crowfoot the pungent man answered, wiping his lips with his filthy sleeve. Legolas felt his jaw twitch. "I be well known 'round these here parts. I come an' I go as I please, but I know near every face that passes in an' out o' these town gates. But I must say that I ain't ever seen your two faces before. "
"We are not from these parts and have not traveled this way before," Legolas admitted. "We are leaving presently, so if you do not mind, we had best be on our way."
"Headed to where, laddie? There be no work 'round here unless ye want to get into fish 'n tackle." The stranger, Crowfoot, spat again. Something green came out with it this time.
"Then we might just have to keep moving onwards towards the next seaside port. We were only stopping here for the night, although it is kind of you to show some concern. How is the breakfast meal here? If anything, I hope that it is better than the dinner, but if not, we can make do with what we have."
"Since the Ring was destroyed and Sauron defeated, there has been much prosperity amongst the people of Mirkwood and of Erebor, and some have decided to set off on their own adventures to find work and see where the wind happens to take them," Gimli explained, fingering his wild russet beard. "Legolas here is of the Mirkwood Archers and wishes to branch out his services to the other branches and peoples of Middle Earth. I, myself, as a Dwarf, look for stonework. Most opportunity is overseas, Crowfoot, so it would be best for your sake that you did not meddle in the affairs of foreigners."
"I meant no disrespect, Master Dwarf," Crowfoot hissed, like a snake would through its teeth. "I bid ye both a good day, then. Just watch yer backs. No one in this place is how they seem."
Legolas nodded slowly, and the stranger that called himself Crowfoot bowed his head gently, and on quiet yet uneven footsteps left the hall and made his way down the stairs, most likely to drink some more. The door was quickly shut behind him, and Legolas let out a long held breath.
"Well he seemed like the jolly type," Gimli grumbled.
"He is but another foolish drunken man living off of spirits and poor table food," the Elf Prince remarked as he took his hair in his hands and braided the unattended locks in a messy plait that draped like liquid gold over his shoulder. There was no time for neatness and looking as his father would put it, 'presentable'. The salt of the sea breeze had managed to tousle his hair so that it was now undeniably and incurably wavy. Legolas cared very little for appearances, especially when out doing business. It was best to blend in the best that one could to evade the public eye and remain unscathed.
Now he looked the part of a simple commoner, if he managed to avoid looking people in the eyes. His features were undoubtedly those of the fair Elven folk, and his tall stature resembled that of a young tree—tall and lean and nimble-branched yet strong. He liked playing the part of the everyday workman, though. The peace of the simplicity was comforting and reassuring. The only places in the towns and cities of Men that he was not all that fond of were dingy inns and pubs full of drunks, scantily clad prostitutes, jeering, the stench of alcohol and sweat. It was there that he felt the farthest from home, the farthest from everything that he as an Elf of Mirkwood and a member of the Archers stood for.
Gimli was too short to do much about his height, but he wore the garb of a simple traveler as well. Simplicity and ignorance was bliss when no one for many a mile knew you by name.
"Nonetheless…" Legolas trailed off as he slid on his soft leather boots, "…we should consider taking a careful and more hidden path to the ships. Crowfoot himself may be just a messenger. He seems to be the kind that would know others that could give us a bit of trouble."
"Trouble? Trouble for Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Glóin? I think not, you pointy-eared disbeliever!" Gimli's bread bristled in indignant fury.
"Still, we ought to keep our heads low. At least until we get to the ship."
"Why do you wish to go to the sea so much?" the Dwarf asked as he swung his pack over his shoulder. Legolas gazed out the window and into the distance, watching as the scarlet rays of the sun played over the shifting surface of the reflecting waters in the distance.
"Another story for another time, my friend," the Elf said wistfully, grabbing his own pack, as well as his bow which had been stowed beneath his mattress. "Now we must make haste. The boundless oceans await us."
Greetings, readers! Thank you for being so adventurous as to read the first chapter of my story! Please let me know what you think, and give me feedback. I love the constructive criticism, as it not only makes me a better writer, but gives you wonderful lot a better reading experience.
Cheers,
Fiera