I run ahead of the group. The wind bracing against my hair. Something is going on with me. I cannot explain it in words but... there's a fire burning in me. A fire that feels... strange. Not bad. Good? Am I falling... no. That's impossible.

Legolas.

I look around. There's a voice in my head. A sweet voice sweet and sticky as honey. It's you.

Hello again old friend.

You're speaking in my...

Head? You claim that is a bad thing.

What's wrong with me?

Nothing. We will see each other soon.

How soon?

Soon. The clock is ticking. Soon the hand will fall down onto you.

What are you speaking of?

Wargs. 

Wargs? From Isengard?

Yes. They will rain down on you soon.

How do you know this?

I have lived for more than you. I know the hand of Saruman much better than you do.

<0> <0> <0>

"Gimli?" Eyowen asks.

"Um no! I couldn't!" I hear Gimli yell.

I look up. Eyowen approaches me. 

"I made some soup. It's not much but it's hot." She smiles.

She hands me a bowl. I nod respectfully. I look at it. There were blobs of... mush? I have to eat it. It is respectful. I take a blob and eat it. It almost burns my throat. It's bitter. It's overwhelmingly salty. It tastes like a mouthful of seawater. 

"Mmm. It's good." I lie.

"Really?" She smiles.

She turns. No way can I swallow anymore of this foul liquid. I start pouring it out.

"My uncle Theoden has told me a strange thing. (I pull the soup back as it burns my fingers.)" Eyowen says.

I look up at her.

"He said you rode to war with my grandfather." She says.

"He was a strong king. I'm surprised he remembered when he was a mere boy." I say.

"Well then you must be at least sixty." She comes to her knees.

I let out a scoff. Older.

"Seventy?" She guesses.

Older.

"You cannot be eighty." She stands up.

"Eight-seven." I say.

Her eyes widen.

"You were one of the Dunedain. Descendants of the great elf Numenorean, you are blessed with long life." She says.

"Yes." I say.

"Please eat." She says.

I let out a breath.

"Alright." I say.