Gandalf seemed least affected. He had argued against treading this path before, but since it was clear that they had no other choice his rather optimistic nature had emerged again. Aragorn on the other hand was as withdrawn and quiet as he had been since this journey began, and not even now, while the man was sitting next to the wizard, both of them smoking their beloved pipes, did he seem able to completely relax. And Boromir, like usual when he was not joking around with Merry and Pippin, kept to himself.
But the being Gimli was worried most about was the wood-elf. As a rule he felt no love for the fair folk, but still, Legolas had proven to be trustworthy, and normally he had a fine sense of humour. But not so now. Since they had entered Moria Legolas had gone quiet, his earlier merriness had vanished as if it never had existed. His movements no longer were as light as they had been while he was hopping nimbly through the trees or dancing on top of the snow. Now he sat with slumped shoulders, back pressed against the wall, his hands tightly clasped around the bow in his lap. At first Gimli had thought it was simply the fact that as an elf Legolas was out of his elements so deep under the ground, but now he no longer was sure that this was the only reason.
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... dark shadows were moving towards him... darker and darker it got... it became difficult to breathe, and he felt how his heart raced... and then the walls moved. They were closing in all around him, there was no escape. The walls would kill him... slowly squeeze him to death, and there was nothing he could do. Now they had almost reached him... already he could feel cold stone at his back and on the palms of his hands, which he had raised in a desperate but utterly useless attempt to fend the walls off...
With a strangled cry he woke up. A dream. It had only been a dream. Slowly Legolas came back to reality, when he suddenly felt the concerned eyes of Aragorn on him. Instantly the elf sat up. He knew his friend worried, but the mortal had a lot of things on his mind, and Legolas did not want to add to that burden. He was supposed to be the anchor to the man, and not the other way around. He had not forgotten how not only Elrond, Arwen and the twins but also Glorfindel and even Erestor had come to him during the days before they had set out of Rivendell, to ask of him either directly or with hidden messages to look out for the mortal.
His ludicrous childhood fears of being suffocated by moving walls were not worth the attention of a leader of men, whose duties now were to hold daily councils with Mithrandir, or to console the frightened ring-bearer, Frodo, who still was overwhelmed by the depth of responsibility that suddenly rested on his small shoulders. Legolas had lived almost a thousand years, and managed to control his fears and bad dreams, he would not break now, and certainly not from something as stupid as old resurfacing nightmares.
Besides, even if Aragorn knew, there was nothing the man could to. To further discourage the ranger, who still was observing him, he made a hand sign, indicating that he was fine and now would keep watch, so that the human could sleep. And for a second it looked as if it would work, Aragorn made ready to lie down, but then he changed his mind, and came over, to sit down next to the elf. Quietly, to not awaken the others, Aragorn spoke: "Did you have a bad dream, my friend?"
As calmly as he could Legolas answered: "I am well. Do not concern yourself with me."
But Aragorn obviously was not willing to let it be: "Would you tell me if something were the matter?"
For a moment Legolas faltered. Maybe he should confide in his friend. He decided on a compromise, and said: “You know I am not comfortable in caves. I will be well once we leave these depressing mines.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
No, Aragorn, there is not, and well you know it. But Legolas only thought it, he did not say it. Instead he made light of the situation: “Bring me a tree to sleep in, and I will be the happiest elf on Arda.”
Like he had hoped the mortal laughed, and for the ranger’s sake Legolas smiled as well. The elf hoped he had convinced his friend that he was handling things well enough, and to Legolas’ relief Aragorn went to his bedroll to lie down.
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Again they had walked for hours, the only light coming from Gandalf’s staff. Legolas stayed as close to the wizard and his luminous staff as he possibly could, next came the hobbits, then the dwarf, and the two humans brought up the rear. Gimli was once more thinking about Legolas’ depressed mood, and if there was anything he could do to help the elf to overcome it. And then he had an idea.
With a smile he tapped Pippin, who was just walking in front of him, on the shoulder, and murmured: “Young friend, I am wondering. As you have proven during the last weeks the hobbits are great story tellers, but I can not remember one of you ever having shared a ghost story with us.”
Pippin exchanged a look with Merry, before he answered: “Oh, we have them, but to be honest they pale in comparison to the frights that walking through Moria give us.”
And Merry added: “We could tell some though, Sam is best at them. Just maybe could we wait until we are out of these caves before we do that?”
Frodo, who obviously had heard them, now piped up: “What about dwarven ghost stories, Gimli? Do you know any?
Gimli lowered his voice conspiratorially and said: “Aye, I know some, and let me tell you, they are most frightening. My favourite is about attacking trees and…”
“Attacking trees? You think that is material a ghost story is made of?”
Pippin had interrupted Gimli rather loudly, and the dwarf scowled at the youngest hobbit, but secretly he was glad. Hastily the dwarf threw a glance ahead. Yes, his guess had been right, the mere mentioning of trees had captured the attention of the elf; Legolas was listening, he even had fallen back a few steps behind Gandalf to not miss a word. A bit louder than before Gimli went on: “Oh yes, trees can be very scary. One of my worst childhood memories is about falling off a willow. And my cousin, his biggest fear as a young dwarf had been to be buried alive by leaves. In one autumn he even did not dare to go near a tree for a few weeks.”
For a moment the hobbits were stunned into silence, but then they talked almost all at once.
“But buried by leaves…, that is nonsense, leaves can do no harm…”
“Will you tell us the story about the attacking trees…?”
“… maybe trees are for dwarfs what spiders are for us…”
And Aragorn, who obviously also had listened, said: “Some fears do not follow rational thought. Still they are there, and they can not simply be denied, or else they grow.”
Sam next asked: “Gimli, how did your cousin overcome his fear of the leaves?”
Grinning to himself the sturdy dwarf again lowered his voice slightly: “Well, it was with the help of a friend, who gave him a secret weapon to defeat the leaves.”
Expectedly Pippin was first to speak up, after it was clear the dwarf would not continue: “But what was the secret weapon?”
Gimli could hear one of the men softly snicker behind him, even before he could answer: “Well, Master Hobbit, it would not be a secret weapon any longer, if I told you.”
All laughed, even Legolas, and contently Gimli stroked his beard. And then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced back, and saw that the hand belonged to Aragorn, who now gave his shoulder a squeeze, and him an approving nod. Then the ranger again had fallen behind, to guard their back.
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Again they had made camp in one of the dark caves. This night it was the turn of the hobbits and Gandalf to keep them safe, and Legolas knew he should sleep. But he could not. He was frightened of what would happen once he tried to enter a restful state. With a sigh he glanced around, and for a moment his eyes met that of the dwarf. And the elf felt his lips twitch, the memory of the conversation he had overheard between the dwarf and the hobbits earlier that day – and the images inspired by that – still amused him, and actually lightened the burden that was heavily weighting on him.
And then he remembered Aragorn’s words, and he sighed again. He was not dealing with his fears; he simply was trying to suppress them. But how should he deal with them, here, alone. He had no friend with a secret weapon. And in that moment he again felt the worried eyes of the ranger on him. Maybe there was no secret weapon, but there was a friend.
He looked up and met Aragorn’s soulful eyes. And this time he did not try to hide his anguish. A moment later the mortal had come over and was sitting down next to him, his shoulder almost touching Legolas’, but this time the man kept quiet, instead waited if the elf would speak. But Legolas again remembered all the good reasons he had to not bother the future king. So he lowered his head and murmured: “I did not want to worry you.”
Aragorn gently answered: “I worry since we began to journey these accursed mines. Will you not allow me to aid you?”
“There is no aid you can give, Estel.”
“How can you know that, if you do not even share your fears with me?”
Angrily now the elf hissed: “If you must know: I have nightmares about the walls suffocating me, killing me… It is an old fear, and I thought I had overcome it long ago, but here…”
Legolas trailed off, ashamed of his outburst as well as his unreasonable fear, his eyes cast to the ground. So he did not see what the human did next, but suddenly he felt a weight on his back. Startled he looked what it was. Aragorn’s worn cloak was hanging around his shoulders. With a frown he fingered it and said: “What is this? I do not get cold, but you need it here in these freezing caves.”
For a moment the ranger did not answer him, and Legolas’ frown grew deeper. Then, very quietly, almost hesitantly at first, but more firmly towards the end, Aragorn said: “It is not for warmth, but for protection. No wall, no cave, no stone can hurt you, while you are covered by it.”
The elf’s first impulse was to tell the human he had lost his mind, and his second was to laugh. But before he could do either Aragorn continued: “Shhh... Do not speak. Just rest now.”
The ranger was looking so serious, and yet so young again, that Legolas kept his mouth shut. And when the man softly ordered the elf to lean against him Legolas just complied, and let his eyes go out of focus. Almost without conscious awareness he pulled the cloak more tightly around himself, made sure with hesitant, almost shy movements that he was covered by it as much as was possible. And before he even could try to rationalize his own behaviour he had fallen into a deep refreshing sleep, his head pillowed on the shoulder of is friend.
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Gimli knew not what had woken him, but since he was awake already he thought it would do no harm to have a look around. So he sat up and let his eyes drift over his companions. Everything looked well in order, even the elf… especially the elf. He was leaning against his friend, deep in sleep, his face peaceful, and his fingers wrapped tightly into the ranger’s dirty and smelly old cloak which was covering him almost completely. Human and dwarf shared a smile, and then Gimli contently lay down again. Obviously ranger and elf had found the secret weapon that gave Legolas the power to defeat his fears.