“Where are we now?”

He said, although he did not return the smile to Maggie - - he tone was softer, kinder than its rugged delivery only moments ago.

Mighty branches and trees - - something he was more than familiar with.

He picked a small snag of branch from his shoulder, that feeling of transportation left a sort of airiness to his feet. As if the ground beneath them was a stranger. It was, for now.

But the cursive and 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑠 of lettering was almost like that of the woods.

He placed his hands where he had been told to, and awaited the others next move.

He understood - - as best he could. Such magic was not 𝑛𝑒𝑤 to him, having grown with the Elves. But such transportation magic, yes 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 new. He would not say it frightened him, no. But more so opened his world, and 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑.

It was not a language he knew, or even could fathom to know.

“It matters not.”

Aragorn cleared he throat, standing straighter now - - perhaps 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟. “If there are others, we must find them. Such darkness like this can only be faced 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.”

“I’ve met it too.” He whispered. “I try myself for not attempting to slay it then. .had I known its chaos and malice - - I. .” But it was worthless, worthless to continue to 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 back upon mistakes. And he realized he’d likely only be bringing the party 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛.

He was quiet - - possibly too much. Many times Aragorn would go 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡, just when he thought. When action was needed more than 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, but here now it may be the opposite.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 that would help, carry weight, or something that wouldn’t feel so. .𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒.

“Perhaps we stay here, for the time being.”

His voice is low, calculative —- a single pat to Brego’s chest. “The Sundrinker moves fast, maybe too fast for us.”

Brego comes to a slow, there is frustration and anger built within the heart of Strider. Something so disappointing of being so close yet so far —- reminded of his hunt for Gollum.

He points ahead to a clearing of trees, one that seemingly make a circle that could defend them on all fronts.

“Lead, if you will. But remember, I am a hunter, and I will not be turned from my prey.”

With that, Strider drew his cloak about him, the leaf-clasp at his throat glinting faintly in what light pierced the Mirkwood’s gloom. His voice dropped to a whisper, harsh yet resolute.

“Gollum is near. Closer with each breath. Keep your brood at their feast with Orc-flesh, lest they lose patience and turn upon my quarry. He is mine to take. Mine to guard.”

“I have borne it these many years. Roots and shadow alike will break beneath my step, but they shall not halt it.”

Turning, he fixed her with that keen Ranger’s look, the kind that saw beyond veils and glamour alike, and spoke lower, as if binding the words to the mist itself.

“The Silvan folk are tireless hunters, silent as owls in the dark. If their paths can be trod, then so too shall I take them. From above, his spoor will show the clearer.”

His hand brushed the gnarled bark of a root half-sunken into the loam, and his mouth curved in a grim half-smile.

He lifted his gaze to the canopy at her bidding, the faint gleam of Elven craft glimmering high among the branches. His heart stirred, though his voice remained steady.

Strider was long-accustomed to walking beside voices both fair and fell, and weighing each by the weight of truth he could wrest from them.

**

Unbelievably sorry that happened, started my first ever corpo job last year and have still been learning every day