Dark Horizons 
Author: Littlefish
littlefish59@hotmail.com

PG-13  - Action/Adventure/Suspense 
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own any of these characters except 
a couple I made up on my own. All the main characters belong to 
J.R.Tolkien. I wouldn't mind owning Legolas though.

This story takes place roughly half a year after the Return of the 
King. Some small details may be different than the book, but not very 
much. Actually, the whole last chapters about the Shire and Frodo 
leaving, never happened in this story. Also, Aragorn and Arwen haven't 
gotten married yet. O well... writers prerogative. I hope to focus on 
all characters equally, but Legolas is my favorite, and I may show it!

Summary: The Fellowship is reuniting for the marriage of Aragorn and 
Arwen, unaware that a new evil is hunting them all. Please R&R

Chapter 1 Tidings in Blood

A quiet peacefulness settled over the forest of Mirkwood, as the sun 
dipped beneath the horizon, sending out bright rays of gold, orange, 
and pink to light up the sky. The last rays of sunlight played through 
the leaves and branches of trees, to land dancing upon the forest 
floor. A cool breeze, smelling of life and freshness, swept across the 
land rustling and whispering through the trees.

This was Legolas's favorite time of day, and he couldn't have asked 
for a more beautiful evening. He lay peacefully beneath a giant birch 
tree, hovering half way between wakefulness and sleep. So quiet and 
still was the elf, that a curious squirrel perched on a branch only 
two feet away and studied him, before turning away and continuing to 
hunt for nuts, totally unconcerned.

Many more minutes of peaceful silence followed, and the air was dim 
with the foreshadow of night, before Legolas stretched and sighed. The 
squirrel dashed away in fright, then tuned a few yards away and 
commenced to scold the fair elf in a loud, angry voice. Sitting up, 
Legolas watched the furry creature, and then let out a soft laugh.

"Peace little friend. I did not mean to startle you, and I assure you 
I will be leaving shortly. But do not begrudge me of my chance for a 
little peace and quiet, for it has been long since I have had 
opportunity to enjoy it."

At the sound of the elf's fair voice, the squirrel stopped his 
scolding and cocked his head.

Legolas stretched again, then leapt gracefully to his feet. He was 
loath to leave this calm glen, for it had indeed been long since he 
had rested so peacefully. It had been only a little more than six 
months since the destruction of Sauron and the end of the war, and 
Legolas had spent the first half of those months in Minas Tirith, 
helping the men of Gondor to pick up the pieces left by the terrible 
war, and also helping his friend Aragorn to settle into his new 
position as king. When he had finally left Gondor, it had not been to 
return home, but instead he had traveled the last several months with 
his friend Gimli, visiting some strange and wonderful places in Middle 
Earth in response to oaths the two had made before the war began. It 
had been only two weeks since the two friends had parted company, each 
to return to his separate home for some long awaited rest and 
relaxation. Legolas had only been home for a week, and he found that 
most of his time was spent telling and retelling the tale of the 
`Fellowship' and attending different meetings and gatherings in his 
honor. This evening had been the first he had managed to slip off and 
just revel in the joy of being home.

"And they will be expecting me back shortly, if they have not already 
sent someone looking," Legolas said out loud as he reached down to 
retrieve the bow and quiver of arrows that had rested next to him on 
the ground. These weapons were never found far from the elf, and in 
fact seemed to be an essential part of him, almost like a second skin.

Legolas bid the suspicious squirrel goodbye, then began to jog quickly 
and silently back towards the city. He wondered whom he would be 
expected to dine with tonight. He wished he could just have a quiet 
meal with his father and brothers, but he seriously doubted that would 
be a possibility until the elves of Mirkwood had gotten their fill of 
the prince's story, and that seemed as if it would not be any time 
soon

Legolas sighed once more. He was truly glad to be home, for there was 
no place he loved more than Mirkwood and he had missed his father and 
all his brothers. But now he found that he missed his other friends. 
Friends who had been forced together through circumstances and yet had 
formed a bond of love and trust that could never be broken. Perhaps 
most strange was the bond between Legolas and Gimli, elf and dwarf. 
And yet the two had been practically inseparable during the long 
travels of the fellowship and afterwards, and Legolas already missed 
the steady dwarf. The only thing that comforted the elf was the 
knowledge that it would not be long until he saw all his friends 
again.

A letter had arrived the previous day from Gondor. An invitation to 
the grand wedding of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, to the 
beautiful Elvin lady Arwen, daughter of Elrond.

Before leaving Minas Tirith, Aragorn had procured promises from all 
the remaining members of the fellowship that they would return to 
Gondor for the wedding. Legolas looked forward to the occasion and the 
chance to strengthen friendships under better circumstances. He 
planned on leaving for Gondor within the week, even though the wedding 
wasn't for another month and he would probably be the first to arrive. 
He knew that Aragorn would welcome him, and Legolas wanted to check up 
on his friend.

Legolas entered the city and continued to jog up the main path toward 
his father's home. Many elves hailed him along the way, and Legolas 
waved, though he would not stop. He was anxious to be home now, 
anxious to get whatever special evening that had been planned for him 
over with.

Legolas had just reached his father's home, and was reaching out to 
open the door, when the door swung open on it's own. Terandu, his 
father's steward, reached forward, grabbed Legolas's tunic front, and 
all but yanked the startled elf into the front hall, slamming the door 
behind him. Legolas hadn't even gained his balance yet when the 
shorter elf turned on him and demanded, "Where have you been? I've 
been turning the whole city inside out looking for you!"

Legolas was about to reply that he hadn't been in the city, but 
Terandu didn't give him a chance. "Quick, you must hurry. Your father 
has been waiting hours for you. Something dreadful has happened, 
simply dreadful!" Yet the elf would say no more about what had 
happened and why it was so dreadful. He merely half dragged, half 
pushed Legolas down the hall towards his father's study.

Legolas allowed himself to be dragged along until they reached the 
great double doors that led into Thranduil's study. There, he stopped. 
Terandu continued to pull at him, trying to urge him on, but Legolas 
firmly placed his hand on the elves's shoulder. "Easy friend, I am 
here now and will go to my father with all haste, but I know the way, 
and can walk it on my own." Terandu flushed at the reprimand, and let 
go of Legolas's tunic front. Legolas straightened the wrinkles and 
smiled kindly at the older elf. "I have been in the forest since 
earlier today, and I am a bit hungry....."

Terandu bowed, "Of course lord, I will bring you something right away, 
for the others have already eaten. But please, do not wait any longer, 
for you will wish to know what has happened!"

Legolas watched Terandu hurry away down the hall before turning and 
opening the great doors and entering the room.

A great fire was burning in the hearth, casting away the evening 
chill. Several chairs had been placed in the room in a half circle. 
His father sat in the largest chair at the head of the room, leaning 
forward and looking at something he held on his lap. Legolas's 
brothers sat next to their father, also looking at the object held in 
the king's hand. There were several other elves in the room, some that 
Legolas recognized and knew, and some that he could not name. Upon 
entering, all eyes turned to him, and Legolas felt a sense of dread 
settle over him, for the faces turned toward him were grave and lined 
with worry.

His father half rose out of his chair when Legolas entered but settled 
back down with a sigh. A look of intense relief flashed over his face 
and then was gone so suddenly that Legolas wondered if he had really 
seen it or not.

"Legolas, I am glad you have finally arrived. We have been waiting 
many hours for you." Thranduil motioned for Legolas to sit in a seat 
that had been left empty next to his brothers. As Legolas made his way 
forward, he scanned the faces of the other elves present. Many met his 
eyes briefly, before dropping their gazes, as if afraid to give 
something away. By the time Legolas had taken his seat, all the elves 
seemed intent on looking at something, anything, besides him. All, 
that is, except his father and brothers. They stared at him openly and 
their faces looked calculating, thoughtful, and definitely worried.

"What has happened, for I sense that terrible news has reached this 
council while I was away."

"Terrible news indeed," Thranduil answered, never taking his eyes off 
his son. "And all the more so because it involves you, Legolas."

"Involves me?" Legolas asked, startled. "How so? Please explain 
yourself, for I feel a dread here that leaves my heart cold!"

Thranduil nodded towards a tall elf that Legolas recognized, but did 
not know the name, and the elf stood and faced him.

"I am Calwick, in case you do not remember me, and I am afraid that it 
is I who brought news of this dread here. Two days ago, I was leading 
a patrol along the Northern borders of our forest. We had been 
patrolling that sector since before your return, my prince, and my 
patrol were weary, but in high spirits, for our replacements were on 
the way, and we were looking forward to returning here to rest. Alas, 
that was not to be, for as I lay in a clearing, resting, one of my 
scouts came to me in the night. He was shaken and pale, as one who has 
just left a deathbed, and he could hardly speak to me. Instead he led 
me to a clearing a few miles off. There, I was met by a sight that I 
will carry with me forever."

At this point, Calwick paused, and cast his eyes down. Long seconds 
passed before he again looked up, glancing towards Thranduil, and then 
continuing.

"I came upon the remains of a small Elvin hunting party, only ten in 
number." Again he paused, then looked up and met Legolas's gaze full 
on. "They were all dead, my lord, all of them!"

Legolas's eyes widened slightly, but Calwick continued with his story.

"It was very strange my lord. I have the entire clearing pictured in 
my head, and I will try to pass on to you what I saw. They were lying 
all about the clearing, each on his back, staring towards the heavens. 
At first I believed them to be only sleeping, though I thought the 
position very strange, but as I came closer I found the truth. They 
had many cuts and bruises upon their body, and their faces all showed 
shock and pain. Each had a black arrow, one such that our own archers 
use, only blacker, sticking from their chest, all in the exact same 
spot. It was the arrows that killed them, although they had other 
injuries, and the arrows did not pierce their hearts, but their lungs. 
I thought it strange that they had died so obviously horrible deaths, 
and yet lay so composed and organized. And yet, that was not the 
strangest thing. What caught my immediate attention and caused my 
great confusion was the fact that none of them had drawn any of their 
weapons. Their bows lay at their sides, and not an arrow was removed 
from their quivers. Their knives were still sheathed. It was as if 
they had been attacked, and done nothing to defend themselves as they 
were being slaughtered! I do not understand it." Calwick stopped and 
dropped his head, as a great, sad sigh escaped his lips.

"Alas, neither do I." Legolas cried. "But please tell me, you said 
that this involved me, and I do not understand how."

Calwick nodded. "There is more to the story, my lord. Upon exploring 
the rest of the clearing, I came upon a leather parchment. It was half 
buried under one of the fallen elves, and I pulled it free to look at 
it. As soon as I realized what it was, I dropped it and was loath to 
even look at it again."

"Then what was it?" Legolas asked, curious at the complete distaste on 
the elves's face.

"It was a message, written in the blood of those slain. The runes and 
lettering were unfamiliar to me, but I felt a darkness settle on my 
soul just looking at it. The message was very long, and as I said 
before, I did not recognize the language, so I could not discern what 
it said. That is, until I reached the bottom. Then I saw something 
that chilled my blood and sent fear through my heart."

Thranduil stood, and raised his hand to show that Calwick should stop. 
"I think that it is at this point that my son should see for himself 
why it is that this involves him."

Thranduil turned to Legolas and handed to him the item he had been 
holding in his hand. It was an old weathered parchment, and Legolas 
felt his stomach turn as he took it from his father. The parchment was 
covered in scratches and unfamiliar runes that glittered black in the 
dim light. He remembered what Calwick had said, "a message, written in 
the blood of the slain." He couldn't help the shiver that ran down his 
back, and as he scanned the unfamiliar writing, coldness settled over 
his entire being. These were indeed evil words he held, of that he was 
certain, although he could not understand their meaning. Evil words 
full of hate and malice. Legolas looked up to find that the entire 
council was looking at him expectantly. He looked back down at the 
parchment and began to study it more closely, despite the evil 
emanating from it. He had almost reached the bottom when he let out a 
yell of surprise "Gimli! What is Gimli's name doing on this foul 
letter?"

Thranduil only continued to stare at his son, so Legolas returned his 
attention to the message once more. What he saw caused his breath to 
catch and his hands to shake.

The last two lines of the message were written in the common tongue. 
The words were bold and clear, and somehow darker than the rest of the 
letter, as if the writer had been especially intent when writing them. 
Legolas read those words out loud. "Gimli son of Gloin, Aragorn, son 
of Arathorn, Gandalf the White, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, 
Perigrin Took, Merridock Brandybuck, and......." The elf trailed off, 
then looked up at his father. ".......and Legolas Greenleaf.





CHAPTER 2  DREAMS

Legolas sat back in his chair and let out a sigh. Closing his eyes he 
let the noise of the council's continuing discussion wash over him. 
Early morning was beginning to peek through the window; a testament to 
how long the meeting had been going on.

Everyone in the room had their own opinion as to what the parchment 
meant, and what should be done about it, and everyone wanted to be 
heard. Calwick and most of the others in the room were in favor of 
taking out a force of elves to hunt down whatever creatures had 
murdered their fellow elves and dared threaten their prince. That was 
one thing everyone seemed to agree upon. The message of blood was 
definitely a threat or warning aimed at the remaining members of the 
fellowship.

A couple of elves were in favor of finding the meaning of the entire 
message before any action was taken.

Thranduil seemed not to take sides with any of the arguments. He only 
kept repeating that they were dealing with something they knew nothing 
about, and should proceed with caution.

As for Legolas, he had known from the start what he must do, and all 
this argument was just delaying the inevitable. He planned to travel 
to Minas Tirith and tell Aragorn of this new threat. Aragorn would be 
able to send messengers to the other members of the fellowship, 
warning them of the possible danger. Legolas had not mentioned his 
plan to the rest of the council. That discussion was for his father 
and him alone, and he only hoped he could manage to convince his 
father that this was the only course of action he could take.

The council went on for some time more, and the sun shone brightly in 
the mid-morning sky, before Thranduil finally rose and called a close 
to the meeting. "There is still much to discuss, but I am weary, and 
feel that we will make more progress after we rest and eat."

With these words, the council broke up, its members rising and filing 
out of the room. Legolas rose also, and as each of his brothers passed 
him they gripped his shoulder lightly, or offered words of support.

Legolas was the last to leave, and was slightly surprised when his 
father joined him and began walking with him towards his quarters. 
Neither one of them said anything as they walked through the vast 
halls of the house. Both recognized the others' need for silence in 
order to organize their thoughts. When they finally reached the doors 
to his room, Legolas turned to his father, trying to think of the best 
way to tell him of his plans to travel to Minas Tirith.

"Father..."Legolas began, and then faltered.

Thranduil, who had been looking gravely at his son, suddenly laughed. 
"I can see you struggle for words, Legolas, but there is no need. I 
suppose you will wish to leave as soon as possible, and I have already 
ordered Terandu to prepare a pack for you. The journey is long, and I 
guess that many days will pass before you arrive at Minas Tirith."

Legolas was so startled; he could only stare, speechless, at his 
father.

"Come now Legolas, do you think you could keep your thoughts hidden 
from me? I know you better than you think, my son." Thranduil's voice 
held compassion, and he placed his hand on his son's shoulder as he 
spoke. "From the moment I set eyes on those foul words, I knew the 
path you would take."

"Then you agree with my decision?" Legolas asked.

"I agree that you should do what your heart tells you. I agree, but 
that does not mean that I like it." Thranduil squeezed his son's 
shoulder gently, before dropping his hand back down to his side. Then 
he added with a laugh, "Of course, whether I agreed or not would have 
made little difference to you. You would have done what you wanted 
anyway. Of all my sons, you are the most stubborn. You should have 
been born a dwarf, with all your rock-headedness!"

It was Legolas' turn to laugh. "My dear friend Gimli, would be very 
delighted to hear you say that."

Thranduil suddenly became serious. "I will say my farewell now, for I 
fear that Calwick will keep me busy until well after you have gone. I 
have agreed to allow him to put together a searching party to go after 
these evil creatures, whatever they are, but I fear it will do little 
good. Even Calwick admitted that his men searched the clearing and 
could find no trace or track to lead to the guilty party." Thranduil 
sighed heavily. "Whatever breed of creature that can slay ten elves 
without a fight, and then disappear without a trace, will not be easy 
to find, even if they still lurk within Mirkwood. Be cautious, for 
even now they could be waiting for you to venture from the protection 
of this city."

"I will keep my guard up," Legolas promised quickly. He was afraid 
that his father would change his mind about letting him go so easily, 
or insist that he take a party of elf guards with him. Legolas knew 
that he would travel faster and quieter on his own.

"Then it is with a heavy heart that I bid you farewell, so soon after 
you have returned home." Thranduil embraced his son warmly, and then 
turned and walked away. Legolas watched him for a moment, and then 
turned and entered his room. He hoped to get a few hours rest before 
beginning his journey.

Part 2

Legolas tossed and turned on his bed, his troubled thoughts making it 
hard to find sleep. His mind kept going through the things he would 
need for his journey, as well as the fastest route he should take to 
Minas Tirith. But that was not all that kept him awake. Something had 
been bugging him all through the council meeting, and was now growing 
and tugging at the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

All the elves present at the council seemed to think that it was a 
group of evil creatures; followers of Sauron that had not been 
destroyed in the war, that was responsible for the murder of the elf 
hunters and the grotesque message. But for some reason, Legolas did 
not agree. He could not help but think that this threat came from not 
many, but one creature of evil. There was no way that he could explain 
why he felt this way, and so he had mentioned nothing to the others, 
not even to his father. However, the more he thought about it, the 
more certain he became that he and his friends were dealing with only 
one evil and malevolent mind bent on their destruction. But if this 
were true, how powerful must their enemy be, to attack and kill ten 
armed and trained elves without a fight.

Legolas realized that he was getting nowhere with this train of 
thought, and so put it from his mind. When he reached Minas Tirith, he 
would explain his suspicions to Aragorn, but until then, there was 
nothing to be gained by worrying about it. He turned over in his bed 
and relaxed his mind, and sleep soon followed.

~Legolas knew immediately that he was dreaming. He was standing on the 
rim of a bowl shaped hollow, watching a wind that he could not feel 
shake the leaves of a group of trees clustered at one end of the 
hollow. It was night, and the stars were hidden by high clouds, and 
yet the elf could see everything in acute detail, even beyond the 
abilities of his elf sight.

As he stood watching, a group of horsemen entered the hollow and 
dismounted, preparing to set camp. In his dream, Legolas stood up 
taller in excitement, for he recognized the riders. They were an odd 
assortment. The leader was a tall man with a regal bearing, and 
surrounded by a guard of ten men. Legolas smiled, for it was Aragorn, 
and next to him, slipping off of a horse he had been sharing with one 
of the guards, was Gimli. Behind them both, dismounting from four 
short ponies, were the hobbits Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, all 
laughing gaily. The only ones missing from the scene were himself and 
Gandalf.

Legolas tried to run down into the valley and join his friends, but 
his feet would not move, and he could only stand and watch as the 
company started setting up camp. Suddenly, darkness seemed to sweep 
over the hollow, and a coldness Legolas could not feel, settled in his 
bones. Down in the hollow, a gust of wind swept through the makeshift 
camp, and Aragorn straightened from his task and looked off toward the 
cluster of trees. Legolas followed his gaze, and shivered as he saw a 
form standing tall, just at the edge of the trees. He squinted, trying 
to make out the form better, but it was as if a shadow lay over the 
figure, blocking it from the elf's view. A cold fear and dread fell 
over him, and he tried to call out a warning to his friends below, but 
he could not get his voice to work. Once more he tried to move, to run 
to his friends, but it was as if his feet had a will of their own, and 
he could not move.

In the hollow, Aragorn called something out towards the shadow, and 
then suddenly stepped back, his face registering fear and shock. The 
other members of the company cried out in alarm, and reached for 
weapons with fumbling hands.

At last, Legolas could move, and he raced down the rim of the bowl, 
already knowing he was too late. Even as he ran, calling out his 
warning, he saw a black blur shoot from the shadow and head straight 
toward his friend's chest. Even without seeing it, Legolas knew it to 
be a black arrow. A black arrow that would pierce Aragorn's lungs, and 
end that heroic life. "No!!!!!!" he screamed, but it was too late.~

"Noooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Legolas jerked upright in his bed, his last cry echoing through the 
room. Yet even as he came fully awake, he became aware of another 
presence in the room with him!

...................................................................... 
.......... A giant THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed. It sure makes a 
girl feel good, as well as pushes me to get chapters out faster. This 
is my first Fanfic, so please keep reviewing. Any advice or 
encouragement is mega welcome!





Chapter 3  Journey to Minas Tirith

Legolas jerked upright in his bed, his last cry echoing through the 
room. Yet even as he came fully awake, he became aware of another 
presence in the room with him!

With cat-like quickness, Legolas sprang from the bed, reaching out 
blindly into the darkness. His hand came into contact with cloth and 
flesh. Without thought, he grabbed hold and yanked back, moving his 
own body sideways at the same time.

There was a cry, and then a small thump, as whoever it was crashed 
into Legolas's bed. Legolas whirled around, his entire body tensed and 
ready to attack.

"My lord, my lord! It's just me, Terandu! Please my lord, I meant no 
harm!"

Legolas felt all the fight drain out of him. As his eyes adjusted to 
the dim light, he could make out his father's steward, lying spread 
eagled across his bed.

"What are you doing in my chambers unannounced?" Legolas stood over 
the elf, and his voice was firm. "If one of my knives had been near at 
hand, I could have killed you before I realized who you were. You 
should have knocked."

"But I did knock, my lord, several times, and then I heard a shout and 
thought you were in trouble. I meant no harm."

Legolas sighed. "I am sure you didn't, and if any harm was done, it 
was not by you. Are you hurt?" He reached down and helped the shaken 
elf to his feet.

"No, my lord, I am unharmed and extremely grateful that you gave up 
sleeping with your knives upon your return home."

Legolas smiled at the older elf, trying to hide the fact that he was 
still shaking from his dream. "Tell me, why have you come to wake me 
so early, for I feel that I have just laid down to rest."

"But that is not so, my lord," Terandu responded gravely. "It was 
midmorning yesterday when you retired, and you slept all that day and 
through the night. It is now nearing sunrise once again."

Legolas stared, aghast at the steward. "How could I have slept so 
long?"

Terandu shrugged. "Perhaps you are catching up on all the lost sleep 
during your adventures abroad."

"That is no excuse," Legolas cried. "I should have been gone hours 
ago!"

Terandu nodded. "Your father seems to think the same thing. He was the 
one who sent me to wake you."

"I will leave at once," Legolas said as he began pulling a fresh tunic 
over his head.

"Soon, my lord, but not until you have eaten some breakfast. It may be 
the last decent meal you will have for quite some time. I packed your 
bags lightly, for your father said you would wish to travel quickly."

For the first time, Legolas became aware of the sweet smell of baked 
bread and honey permeating the air. He glanced toward the table in the 
corner of the room, and saw a tray full of food sitting next to a 
small pack. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him of how long it 
had been since he had eaten.

"It seems that I owe you much, Terandu," Legolas said as he went over 
to the table and broke off a piece of steaming bread.

Less than an hour later, just as the sun was peeking it's giant head 
over the horizon, Legolas set off on his journey. He left the city 
swiftly and quietly, with no fanfare, for the people of Mirkwood were 
unaware that their prince was leaving once again.

Legolas planned on traveling southwest until he reached the river 
Anduin. From there, he would travel almost directly south, through the 
fields of Rohan, and then over the mountains into Gondor. From there, 
it would be a straight trek to Minas Tirith. If the weather and his 
strength held out, Legolas hoped to reach his destination in little 
over a week.

The first few days of his journey went by with no incident. Legolas 
passed out of Mirkwood and then reached the banks of the Anduin on the 
afternoon of his second day of travel. He followed the river a few 
miles downstream, until he reached a narrower section of the river 
where he could cross. Finding a large piece of driftwood, Legolas 
placed his pack on it to keep the contents dry, and then plunged into 
the icy river. Holding onto the edge of the wood with one hand, he 
began to swim strongly with the other towards the center of the river.

Legolas was a strong swimmer, but he did not press himself, instead 
allowing the river's strong current to carry him for several miles 
downstream. When Legolas was finally able to drag himself onto the far 
bank, the sun was hanging low in the afternoon sky. He rested for a 
few minutes on the other side, regaining his strength, and eating some 
of the lembas he had found in his pack, before setting off again. And 
so it was, that on the evening of his third day of travel, Legolas 
came to the borders of Rohan.

So far, his journey had been eventless, almost boring, and Legolas 
found himself beginning to relax. He was making good time, and 
expected to travel even faster through the plains of Rohan. He settled 
down for the night on a high hill, overlooking those very plains. From 
this vantage point, a person could see quite far, even without the aid 
of an elf's long sight. Legolas settled back against the trunk of a 
small tree and scanned his surroundings. First, he looked directly 
south, the direction he was planning to take. All he saw was rolling 
hills of grass all the way up to the distant mountains. A herd of 
horses grazed leisurely on top of one of these hills, but that was the 
only sign of life that Legolas could see.

He glanced west, and then suddenly jerked upright, his body tensed. 
Jumping to his feet, he ran to the edge of the hill. "It can not be," 
he said out loud, although there was nobody to hear him. Peering 
intently forward, he tried to focus on the objects in the distance 
that had caught his attention, but the setting sun sent it's bright 
glare across the plains, and the distance was great, even for his 
eyes. He stood, like a statue for several long minutes, but whatever 
he had seen had disappeared into the shadows of the approaching night.

Legolas finally returned to the tree, and sank down. "It can not be," 
he repeated once more. "Merely light and shadow playing with my eyes." 
And yet he could not shake the feeling of foreboding. Settling back 
against the tree, Legolas closed his eyes, and tried to rid his mind 
of the brief sight he had seen. The sight of dark, hoary, creatures, 
running swiftly across the land.

The vision of orcs on the plains of Rohan!

Part 2

The following morning, Legolas was still unable to get over his 
feelings of unease. He decided that he would travel southwest, hoping 
to come across tracks or some other sign as to the nature of what he 
had seen. The new route would delay his mission, and slow him quite a 
bit, but if orcs were indeed running loose on the plains of Rohan, 
Aragorn would want to know.

After the war, most of the orc bands had been destroyed. The few that 
remained had gone into hiding, finding dark caves and tunnels to 
disappear into. None dared poke their ugly faces out of the dark holes 
they had climbed into. At least, that was what Legolas had thought up 
until the previous evening; now he was not so certain. Ever since 
leaving Mirkwood, he had been unable to shake the feeling that 
something evil was about, watching and waiting. Now the feeling only 
intensified, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Legolas made good time that day, moving swiftly over the hills, and 
not stopping, even for meals. Instead, he chewed on some dried meat 
and lembas as he walked. He felt very little weariness, and often 
broke into a jog for several miles, always keeping his eyes peeled for 
signs that anything unusual had passed before him. The only tracks he 
came upon were those of horse and wild beast, and there was no sign of 
orcs anywhere. Legolas began to think that perhaps he had been 
mistaken. He hoped so, but would not believe it until he was sure.

Legolas traveled until nightfall, and then made camp, afraid to go on 
in case he missed something in the dark. He laid down to rest in the 
shadow of a large hill, and immediately fell into a light sleep. He 
was awakened in the middle of the night by an ominous rumble. The air 
had turned cold, and a brisk wind was tearing through the grassland. 
The smell of rain hung heavy in the air, and lightning lit up the sky 
to the south. Even as Legolas pulled a heavy cloak from his pack and 
swung it about his shoulders, the first drops of rain fell to the 
earth. Legolas shook his head at the ill fate. The storms of Rohan 
were legendary in their ferocity, and Legolas knew that any tracks 
would be wiped away before this storm blew through.

True to form, the storm was still raging full force come morning, and 
now Legolas was faced with a difficult choice. Should he continue on 
his southwest course, hoping to come across some sign not completely 
washed away by the torrential rains, or should he turn south, and thus 
reach Minas Tirith earlier. Legolas was torn. He was loath to give up 
his search, and yet despaired of finding anything. At the same time, 
he was also eager to get to Aragorn as soon as possible and tell him 
of the events at Mirkwood.

At last, Legolas turned south, and began trudging towards the 
mountains, the rain soaking through his cloak and chilling his skin. 
He ignored his discomfort, and instead focused on what he would say to 
Aragorn when he finally reached Minas Tirith.

The rain lasted for two days, slowing Legolas's progress and making 
the days uncomfortable and the nights unbearable. Legolas was 
extremely grateful when the sun finally broke through the clouds and 
the rain lessened to a drizzle and then stopped completely. The 
mountains separating Rohan and Gondor loomed up before him, the mists 
from the rain giving them an ethereal look. He was on the last leg of 
his journey, and expected to be within the walls of Minas Tirith in 
two days, if the weather didn't give him any more surprises, and the 
mud brought from the rain did not make the pass through the mountains 
impassible.

The pass was extremely muddy, and the footing unsure. Legolas's 
clothes were still damp, and the tall cliff faces on either side of 
him cast his path in shadow and kept the sun's warm rays from reaching 
him. It was dusk when Legolas finally came down out of the mountains 
into Gondor. He was tired, but not unbearably so, and decided to 
travel on into the night. The moon rose bright, lighting his path, as 
well as his spirits. The closer he drew to Minas Tirith, the lighter 
his feet seemed to fall and his weariness left him. He traveled 
several hours in the darkness, the moon rising high into the night 
sky, but he still felt no need to rest. His mind was traveling forward 
to his reunion with Aragorn. He was looking forward to seeing his 
friend again, despite the ill news he carried. He felt bad that he 
would be the bearer of ill tidings on the eve of his friends wedding, 
but it was unavoidable.

Legolas's thoughts were on these things, as his path led him deep into 
the heart of a large copse of trees. His excitement over the nearness 
of his destination, as well as his thoughts on what he would say to 
Aragorn upon his arrival, caused the elf not to pay enough attention 
to the path before him. If he had, perhaps he could have avoided what 
happened next, for suddenly, as he rounded a bend in the path, Legolas 
found himself face to face with a group of orcs!

The blame could not be put entirely on the elf, however, for these 
orcs had traveled with unnatural silence, foregoing the usual loud 
arguments that marked the path of their kind.

Legolas was unsure who was more surprised. The leader of the orcs, who 
had almost walked directly into the elf, stumbled back into his 
companions, letting out a loud yell.

Legolas was the first to recover from his shock, and before the orc 
captain could even regain his balance and untangle himself from his 
followers, he fell dead with one of Legolas's arrows through his 
heart. The rest of the orcs recovered quickly after that, and with a 
shout, they rushed the lone elf standing in their path. Legolas 
dropped several of them with his arrows before they even reached him, 
then had to drop his bow and draw his knives as the remainder 
converged upon him.

The orcs had quickly gotten over their surprise, shock being replaced 
by hate. They ran at the elf, howling with malicious glee, expecting 
to quickly overrun and destroy this single hated enemy. Their howls 
quickly turned to those of anger and dismay as they discovered that 
this elf would not die easily.

Legolas was a blur of motion, his knives sweeping through the air and 
dealing death to any orc who ventured too close. Soon a pile of dead 
orcs surrounded him, making footing dangerous, and soaking the ground 
with their dark blood. And yet, Legolas knew he was fighting a losing 
battle. There were simply too many of the dark creatures. Where one 
fell, another took its place, hate driving them on. They were quickly 
overrunning the elf with sheer number, and Legolas was tiring fast. He 
knew that if he did not escape soon, there would be no escape.

Legolas ducked the swing from one orc, then spun smoothly and 
disemboweled the creature with an upward thrust of his dagger. Jumping 
back, he turned, just as another of the creatures charged him. 
Twisting out of the way, Legolas tripped over the body of a dead orc, 
and momentarily lost his balance. With a howl of victory, the orc 
attacked again, slashing out with a long knife. Legolas blocked the 
blow, finally regaining his balance. He pressed forward, knocking the 
orc to the ground and ending its life with one blow. Yet even as he 
jumped back, another orc attacked from behind. Legolas whirled to meet 
it, then felt a flash of pain as the creature's long knife slashed 
deeply into his left forearm, almost causing him to drop his own 
knife. Keeping his grip by sheer force of will, Legolas killed that 
orc as well, and then looked around him. He was completely surrounded 
by orcs, with no escape.

Legolas looked up desperately, catching sight of a branch hanging 
perhaps six feet above his head. He spun, knives outstretched, and the 
orcs jumped back, giving him the momentary reprieve he so needed. 
Stooping, he snatched up his fallen bow, then sheathed his knives 
smoothly and jumped with all his might. His hands caught hold of the 
branch, and ignoring the pain in his left arm, he swung his legs, and 
then let go of the branch to land smoothly outside the circle of orcs.

The creatures were surprised into momentary immobility. One moment 
they had an elf standing in the middle of them, and the next he was 
gone. By the time they realized what had happened and turned, Legolas 
was already racing away from them through the woods. With a howl, they 
gave chase, but Legolas was much faster and quickly outdistanced them. 
He hated running from the foul creatures, but his message was too 
important to be lost because of a moment of carelessness. Legolas ran 
until he was out of sight of his pursuers, then quickly climbed a 
tree, gritting his teeth at the pain in his arm. He hid himself in the 
dense foliage, and tried to still his heavy breathing. It made little 
difference however, for his pursuers were making so much noise in 
their search for him, that Legolas could have whistled a tune without 
them hearing him.

He waited until they had passed under him, and then pulled the pack 
off his back. Rummaging through it, he brought out a clean piece of 
cloth, and began examining the cut on his arm. It was deep, and was 
bleeding heavily, the sticky wetness dripping from his fingertips onto 
the bole of the tree. Legolas winced as he pressed the clean cloth 
firmly against the wound. ‘Well, it is the least I deserve,’ he told 
himself firmly. ‘Perhaps it will teach me not to be so careless, 
especially when I carry so important a message.’

He remained the rest of the night in the tree, making sure the orcs 
had indeed gone before climbing down in the morning. Minas Tirith was 
close, just over the next ridge, and Legolas expected to reach it by 
mid-afternoon this very day. And yet, to the tired and wounded elf, 
the city seemed impossibly far. Resolutely, he adjusted his pack and 
bow and began the last leg of his journey.

...................................................................... 
..........

I know this chapter isn't as good as the others, sorry. But it's hard 
to make a simple journey interesting. Also, the majority of this 
chapter was written while trying to puppy-set our 12- week old 
Pomeranian puppy. And if you think that writing a story while taking 
your dog out to pee every half hour is easy, then you've never tried 
it. I hope to keep the chapters coming at a pretty regular rate, but 
this next week may be different. I have school, work, and also play 
practice for my high school's spring play. Anyway, I hope to get the 
rest of the fellowship into the next chapter. YEAH. THANK YOU, 
everyone who reviewed, and please keep reviewing. It helps me a whole 
lot!







Chapter 4   A Black Arrow

The sun was setting low in the afternoon sky of the following day, 
when Legolas finally reached the great gates of Minas Tirith. He was 
allowed to pass through quickly and with no questions asked, for the 
guards knew of him and had been told to keep watch for his arrival. He 
swiftly made his way up the stone streets of the city toward the 
castle, relieved to finally be finished with his journey. The few 
people still out on the streets stared as the elf passed by, and many 
called out a greeting.

News of his arrival raced before him, and when Legolas at last reached 
the castle gates, Faramir was waiting there to greet him. "Welcome 
friend elf. The king has been awaiting your arrival for quite some 
time."

Legolas returned the greeting, and then smiled at the Steward's words. 
"Has Aragorn become so impatient? The wedding is still a month off, 
and I have actually come sooner than I expected."

"Even so, you are the last to arrive, save Mithrandir, and you know 
how the wizard is. We will not know that he is here until he appears 
before us!" As Faramir spoke, he led Legolas across the courtyard and 
through the massive doors into the castle.

Legolas's head came up at the man's words, and his voice was full of 
excitement. "The others are here already? I expected to be the first 
to arrive."

Faramir nodded, grinning widely. "The hobbits appeared on our doorstep 
over a week ago, and have since commenced to emptying our larders. And 
yet I am glad, for I have not seen my king in such high spirits for 
quite some time, and indeed, the merry folk seem to bring joy wherever 
they go."

Legolas laughed despite his weariness, as he pictured the four 
hobbits, feet propped up on a stool, smoking their weed and eating 
everything in sight. "And my dear friend Gimli? When did he arrive? We 
only parted company three weeks ago, and I assumed he would wish to 
return to the Lonely Mountain for a time before traveling again."

"Master Gimli arrived only three days ago. He did return home, but 
only briefly, and only to let his people know he still lived." Faramir 
led Legolas up a wide flight of stairs and then through a vast maze of 
hallways, all brightly lit and with colorful tapestry lining the 
walls.

Legolas sighed and let the light flow over him, allowing tense muscles 
to relax. "I am glad to hear that they are here, and arrived safely, 
for the message I bring involves all of us." Legolas reached back to 
push his quiver and bow back into position on his back, his movements 
shifting his cloak about him. He had taken several more steps before 
he realized that Faramir had stopped. Turning, he saw the man staring 
with dismay at the blood soaked bandage wrapped about his arm.

"You are hurt! And quite badly from the look of it, and yet I failed 
to notice until now." Faramir reached forward and touched the blood 
soaked bandage wrapped around the elf's arm.

"The cut is deep, but will heal. But more important than the wound is 
how it was attained. Of this, I must speak to Aragorn immediately."

At these words, Faramir looked even more distressed. "Alas, my lord is 
away, or surely he would have greeted you at the gate himself.

"This is foul news indeed," Legolas cried out, weariness pressing down 
on him once more. "I had much need to talk to him of a very important 
matter. Tell me, where has the king gone, and when do you expect his 
return?"

Before Faramir could respond, another voice spoke from behind them. 
"The king has gone south, to Linhir, and he is not expected to return 
for several days."

Legolas and Faramir turned as Arwen joined them in the hall. Faramir 
bowed low, for he had not gotten over his awe of the beautiful elf 
princess. Legolas smiled and greeted her quietly in the language of 
the elves. Arwen returned the smile, but it quickly faded as she took 
in his travel stained clothes and bandaged arm. She reached out and 
gently touched the soiled bandage, much in the way Faramir had just 
done, her eyes lifting to meet Legolas's gaze. "I sense there is more 
to your presence here than a mere visit." Her voice was soft, yet full 
of question.

"Indeed there is, my lady, and I have traveled long and hard to come 
here, only to find that Aragorn has left the city. My heart is very 
heavy, for I had much need to speak with him."

"Aragorn wished to remain here and wait for your arrival, but two days 
ago he received rumor that orcs had been sighted outside Linhir. He 
could have sent others to investigate, but chose to go himself, taking 
Gimli and the hobbits with him.

Faramir, who had been standing silent, suddenly broke in. "Aragorn and 
the others left yesterday morning, along with ten guards. They were in 
no hurry, for Aragorn believed little truth to be in the rumors, and I 
must agree. The orcs are dead or scattered. It will be quite some time 
before the vile creatures dare poke their noses out of their holes, 
and even longer until they dare pass the borders into Gondor!"

"If only this were true, Faramir," Legolas replied, "but I fear that 
you are wrong. The creatures have dared to leave their holes, and have 
even dared to wander within the borders of Gondor. I was attacked by a 
group of the foul creatures less than a day's ride from this city. The 
battle was great, and I barely escaped with my life."

Faramir stared at him in disbelief. "How can this be?" he asked, his 
voice barely above a whisper.

Legolas shrugged, and then cast a glance towards Arwen. "I do not know 
the answer to your question, Faramir, though I guess that I may hold 
at least a piece to this puzzle, the very reason that I have traveled 
here."

"Then I ask that you share this piece with me, if only that I may 
understand a little better!" Faramir's face was firm, and he looked as 
if he was ready to ride into battle immediately.

"I am interested in hearing your story as well, Legolas," Arwen added, 
"But not here. There is a room nearby where we can sit. I will tend to 
your wound and you can eat and drink to regain your strength."

Legolas nodded, and Arwen led them to a room a short way off, stopping 
a young servant girl along the way to ask for food and wine, as well 
as a bowl of water and fresh bandages to be brought to them.

Legolas spent the next hour retelling his tale, starting from the 
moment he entered his father's house. Faramir and Arwen listened 
without interruption. As Legolas spoke, Arwen cleaned out the wound on 
his arm and re-bandaged it. When Legolas finally came to the end of 
his tale, Arwen sat back and let out a small sigh.

Faramir shook his head, not able to fully digest all that he had just 
learned. "I hope that Aragorn returns soon, for I do not like the 
sound of this letter of blood. Perhaps this trip to Linhir is nothing 
but a trap!"

"I have thought of this possibility myself, and that is why I have 
decided to ride out after them this very night." Legolas stood and 
turned to Faramir. "You said that Aragorn was in no hurry when he 
left. I will ride with great haste, and if luck and speed remain with 
me I will overtake his company before he reaches Linhir."

"But you have just arrived, and I can see that you are weary. Let me 
send another messenger to him and you can stay and rest." Faramir had 
risen also, and now faced the elf, his voice earnest. "I would go 
myself, but in the king's absence I am the leader of this city, and 
duty binds me here."

Legolas shook his head. "I would find little rest this night, even if 
I were to stay. Darkness has settled on me, and it will only be lifted 
when I am again reunited with my friends. I am indeed weary, but not 
too weary to finish the journey I set out on."

"Then I will not try to dissuade you, for I can see that your mind is 
made up. But at least let me choose a company of men to ride with 
you," Faramir asked.

"I will go swifter on my own," Legolas replied. "I intend to ride 
without stopping, however long it may take. I will need a mount, your 
swiftest and strongest, if he can be spared."

Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "Our best horses left the city with the 
king's company, but I am sure that we can find you a worthy mount from 
the ones that remain."

Arwen spoke up for the first time. "The men of the Mark brought a herd 
of horses here several weeks ago, a gift to Aragorn from Eomer. They 
are all young and strong, the finest Rohan has to offer."

Faramir nodded. "What the lady speaks is true, yet I cannot see how 
they can be of use to you. The horses have yet to be trained to saddle 
or bridle."

Legolas thought for a moment, then turned to Faramir. "Are the horses 
of the Mark kept far from here?"

"No, not far at all. They are in a field right outside the city, but 
as I said, they are yet untrained."

Legolas looked at Arwen, then smiled. "Take me to them."

Part 2

Aragorn sat tall and proud on Roheryn's back, letting the cool evening 
breeze ruffle through his hair and whip his cloak out behind him. The 
sun was setting in a great orange ball before him, its last rays 
lighting up the land and turning his face a golden hue.

It had been three days since he had ridden from the gates of Minas 
Tirith, heading toward the town of Linhir. Aragorn had enjoyed every 
second, reminded of his time as a simple ranger. There were moments 
when he felt a pang of yearning to return to that time. Yet that life 
was behind him now, and he did not allow himself to dwell upon it for 
long. He was the king of Gondor, and his life was no longer his own. 
Instead, it belonged to his people. Perhaps not the life he would have 
chosen for himself, yet fate had put him here, and he was not one to 
back away from his responsibilities.

Now, as the sun sunk below the horizon, Aragorn scanned his 
surroundings in search of a good place to set camp. Ten riders 
surrounded him, all dressed in the colors of Gondor, with swords 
strapped to their backs. He wondered ruefully if they were supposed to 
be an honor guard or his protectors. A voice to his left distracted 
him from his thought, and he turned and smiled at Gimli.

The dwarf really did look comical, perched in the saddle in front of 
one of the guards, in full armor, axe across his knees. Gimli was 
glaring down at the saddle and grumbling loudly.

"Comfortable Gimli?" Aragorn asked innocently, and was rewarded by a 
sharp glare from the dwarf.

"I am not sure which I hate worse," Gimli declared in a loud voice. 
"Riding in one of these dreadful saddles, or riding without the 
saddle, as that dratted elf insists upon doing."

"Technically you are not riding at all, but are only being carried," 
Aragorn pointed out. "You would be much more comfortable on your own 
mount, especially if you would take off all that armor."

"I would be much more comfortable if I were on foot," the dwarf shot 
back. "I do not like, or trust, horses. It may take longer to reach 
your destination on foot, but at least you are sure to get there in 
one piece. I fear that I am beginning to split in two from all this 
riding."

"Hardly likely with all that metal surrounding you." Aragorn held up 
his hand in surrender as it looked as if the dwarf were going to start 
an argument. "Come now, Gimli, help me look for a place to camp. It 
will help keep your mind off your backside."

"My lord," one of the guards broke in. "I am from around these parts, 
and I happen to know of a very nice place, sheltered from the wind, 
where we can camp for the night. It is but a couple more miles ahead."

"A couple more miles," Gimli moaned. "I do not think I shall be able 
to survive one more mile."

"You have said that every night, and yet you are still with us. The 
wind is a bit cool tonight, and I would not mind sleeping in some 
shelter. One more night camping beneath the stars, and then we will 
reach Linhir with a real bed upon which to sleep. Cheer up my friend."

"And what exactly do you intend to do when we reach this town? Knock 
on every door and say, `excuse me, but we are looking for orcs. Big, 
ugly creatures, with long black hair, that are supposedly lurking 
somewhere around here.' Not an innkeeper in his right mind would allow 
us to sleep under his roof, king or no!" The dwarf's voice was 
sarcastic, and he shifted uncomfortably on the horse as he spoke.

Aragorn laughed. "We will just have to wait and see when we arrive. 
Knocking on doors doesn't sound like a bad idea."

Gimli glared at him, then threw up his hands, almost loosing his axe 
in the process. "Tell me again why I came with you?" he demanded.

"I do not know, for I offered for you to stay behind. It was you who 
insisted upon coming, remember? I have been wondering why, myself."

Gimli fidgeted in his saddle, and then grumbled, "Someone had to come 
along and take care of the hobbits, in case you really did run into 
orcs or something."

Aragorn looked at him in surprise. "You do not think that I could take 
care of the little people if trouble did arise?"

"Not in your present condition," Gimli replied.

"My present condition?" Aragorn was confused.

Gimli nodded. "Yes, condition. For that is all that I can think of to 
name it. Do not think that you can hide it from me, for I know you too 
well."

"I do not know of what you speak." Aragorn replied honestly.

"Let us just say that if you were attacked by a band of orcs, you 
would most likely stop in the middle of the battle and begin to sing 
of a certain elf princess who awaits your return at Minas Tirith. Then 
you would be slain and the halflings would have no one to protect 
them."

Aragorn looked at Gimli in amazement, and then began to laugh. His 
mirth came just as much from the look of askance upon his guards' 
faces, as the dwarf's words.

"I have seen you riding along, perfectly normal," the dwarf continued, 
"Then suddenly you will be grinning like a polecat. It does not take 
an Ent to figure out what you are thinking about. If this is what love 
does to a great warrior, then you can be sure that Gimli the dwarf is 
never getting married!"

"I look forward to the day when I shall see your heart fall captive to 
a beautiful dwarf maiden," Argorn laughed.

"That will never happen," Gimli said quite seriously. "If Legolas can 
last over a thousand years without getting married, I think this dwarf 
can do the same!"

"In any case," Aragorn said seriously, "I am sure the hobbits would be 
most grateful for your sacrifice on their behalf."

Aragorn glanced behind him to where the hobbits rode on short, shaggy 
ponies. The four had fallen some way behind the company, and yet 
seemed totally unaware of it. Merry and Pippin seemed to be having a 
serious discussion. Pippin was waving his arms and Merry kept shaking 
his head emphatically. Next to them, Frodo rode, propped awkwardly in 
his saddle. One leg was drawn up and actually draped down the opposite 
side of the horse, giving Frodo a twisted look. He held a parchment 
and pen in his hand, and an inkbottle tottered dangerously upon his 
thigh. He was paying absolutely no attention to where his pony was 
going, instead allowing the creature to pick its own path. His head 
was bent toward his parchment, and he was scribbling furiously in the 
dying light. Sam rode beside him, and kept reaching out a hand, as if 
expecting to have to catch his master.

Aragorn pulled Roheryn to a halt, the others stopping with him, and 
waited for the hobbits to catch up. As they drew closer, he could make 
out what they were saying. Merry and Pippin's argument seemed to be 
about the best place to grow the hobbit's weed, while Sam seemed to be 
begging Frodo to put up his parchment.

"Now Mr. Frodo, if you`re not careful, you're going to fall off your 
pony's back and break your head open. Then Aragorn will have to leave 
us behind. Do you want that Mr. Frodo? Why don't you wait until we 
stop for the night? You can do all the writin' you want then, while 
I'm sleeping."

"But I am almost finished Sam...Oh alright, the light is getting too 
dim anyway." Frodo reached to put his parchment and pen in his 
saddlebag, but his movements caused the ink jar to waver, then start 
to slide off his lap. Frodo made a wild grab for it, but the movement 
threw him off balance, and he would have toppled face forward off his 
pony if Sam hadn't reached out and held him, allowing him to regain 
his seat.

Merry and Pippin had temporarily put off their discussion as they 
approached the others. Pippin rode up to Aragorn and looked at him 
questioningly. "Why the big grin?" he asked curiously.

"And why the big scowl," Merry added, as he looked towards the dwarf.

"I have just learned," growled Gimli, "that we must travel several 
more miles this evening until we reach a camping sight that suites the 
king." He shot a glance towards Aragorn, who was still smiling widely. 
"It will be well past midnight before we stop, if certain hobbits 
cannot manage to keep up!"

"He is afraid he is going to split in two if he keeps riding for much 
longer," Aragorn put in.

"Hardly likely with all that armor to hold you together," Pippin 
assured Gimli.

"Precisely what I told him, Mr. Took, but I do not think he believed 
me." Aragorn's face was completely serious, hiding his mirth. "Yet he 
is right, we have quite a ways to go, and it is almost dark."

"We can't help it if we fall behind." Sam had finished helping Frodo 
adjust himself in his saddle, and now he joined the conversation. "Our 
ponies have to take three steps to Roheryn's one. If we were to keep 
to your pace, we would be trotting the entire way to Linhir, and then 
we would have a real reason to complain, if you catch my meaning." At 
this last sentence, Sam shot a look at Gimli. The dwarf only snorted 
and did not reply, lowering his head to hide his smile.

"I don't know, Sam," Pippin said doubtfully. "Right now I'd be willing 
to trot as far as Aragorn says, just so long as there is a good meal 
waiting at the end. I'm starved!"

"Then let us hurry on," Aragorn replied. "Put your ponies in front of 
us, and perhaps Roheryn and the other horses can push them on to a bit 
faster pace."

The hobbits did as Aragorn suggested, and as Frodo passed him, Aragorn 
called out to him. "You have been very quiet my friend. Is something 
bothering you?"

Frodo jumped at Aragorn's voice, then smiled self-consciously. "No, 
nothing is bothering me. I am just thinking about my book. Bilbo has 
been pressuring me to finish it quickly, and I am afraid that I have 
had little else on my mind. It is hard enough to relive the memories 
from the safety and calm of the Shire, and here, so close to where it 
all happened...." Frodo trailed off, then let out a big sigh.

Watching him, Aragorn felt a pang of sadness for his friend. He could 
see a weariness in Frodo that no amount of sleep could do away with - 
a weariness of the spirit. "If I could give you a suggestion?" Aragorn 
asked quietly.

"Of course," Frodo replied, surprised.

"Put away your book, at least while you are here. Relax and enjoy 
yourself during this visit, for you deserve it. Allow yourself to see 
the light and new life of this land, instead of dwelling on the 
darkness that once covered it."

"You are right," Frodo sighed. "And I shall do as you say." He looked 
around him, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. "It is easy 
for me to forget my troubles when I am surrounded by such great 
friends."

"Indeed!" cried Aragorn. "The joys of friendship make all burdens 
light, even those of a king!"

Part 3

Legolas rode like the wind, the land a mere blur that sped past him. 
He had ridden hard all night and all day, and night approached once 
again. The pace he had set would have killed an ordinary horse. But 
the blood red bay beneath him was no ordinary horse, as Legolas had 
known from the moment he saw him, standing separate from the other 
horses of the Mark.

Even in the dimness of evening, his coat had seemed to glow, as if on 
fire. Long, muscled legs ran up to a perfectly shaped body, and his 
eyes had glowed with intelligence and youth. Legolas had entered the 
enclosure and called out to him, and without hesitation, the horse had 
gracefully trotted up to him. Legolas had named him Shandarell,* 
meaning wildfire in the common tongue. After only a few minutes of 
talking softly to him, Legolas had sprung onto his bare back, the 
horse handler's faces showing their awe.

Now Legolas was glad of his choice, for Shandarell ran without tiring, 
his pace never slackening. His nose thrust out into the wind, perhaps 
remembering running free through the vast fields of Rohan.

Night was fast approaching, yet Legolas finally felt as if he was 
nearing his target. He had come across a camp sight only a couple 
miles back. He believed that it was quite recent, perhaps the very 
place his companions had stopped earlier that day for lunch. A few 
more hours and he would catch up to them.

As if sensing his rider's urgency, Shandarell put on a fresh burst of 
speed, his shrill cry tearing through the stillness of the evening. 
Legolas laughed and threw back his head, closing his eyes and letting 
the fresh, clean air sweep over him and whip his long golden hair out 
behind him.

Another hour passed before Legolas finally slowed to a trot, then to a 
walk, allowing Shandarell a brief rest. It was dark now, high clouds 
obscuring any light offered by the sky. Using his keen elf's eyes, he 
scanned the ground around him for any sign that his friends had passed 
before him. He had gone for several minutes, when he spotted a pile of 
fresh horse manure lying in the path before him. He was close, very 
close.

Squeezing his legs lightly against Shandarell's side, Legolas asked 
for speed once more, and the great horse responded immediately.

He had gone for several minutes, when the ground began sloping steeply 
upward. Once again, he brought Shandarell to a walk in order to spare 
the horses strength. When he reached the peak of the climb, Legolas 
realized that he was actually on the round rim of a series of hills 
that looked down into a bowl shaped valley - a very familiar valley.

Legolas felt his heart race as he looked down into the valley, into a 
scene straight from his nightmare!

Part 4

It was already several hours into the night, when Aragorn and the 
others reached the intended camping sight. They found themselves in a 
narrow valley, surrounded by high hills, which effectively blocked the 
wind. A clump of trees clustered at one end of the valley - a large, 
dark shadow in the night. Aragorn was pleased with the camping sight, 
and also relieved to have finally arrived. He was tired and hungry, 
and had been forced to listen to the hobbits and Gimli's complaining 
for the last hour.

The company rode to the center of the valley, and then dismounted. The 
hobbits immediately set to building a fire and cooking up something 
for supper. His guards began tending the horses, one of them coming 
and taking Roheryn's reins from him. Aragorn could have tended his own 
horse, and actually preferred to, but he allowed Roheryn to be led 
away, and then made his way over to Gimli.

The dwarf looked truly miserable. He was walking gingerly about, a 
look of pain on his rough face. Aragorn felt a momentary flash of 
guilt.

"Why not take the armor off now. You would feel much better."

Gimli nodded, his discomfort finally winning out. He began to strip 
out of his armor, Aragorn lending him a hand.

A sudden gust of wind swept over the hills, and Aragorn felt a shiver 
run down his spine. Something caused him to look up, and he quickly 
straightened as he caught sight of a figure standing just on the edge 
of the firelight, silhouetted against the trees. The figure was 
swathed in a black cloak, the hood pulled up, and Aragorn 
unexplainably felt another shiver run down his spine.

Gimli, noticing his friend's sudden alertness, followed Aragorn's 
gaze. He too immediately straightened, and his hand went to his axe. 
Aragorn touched his shoulder. He did not know who this stranger was, 
but he didn't want Gimli to attack a helpless traveler who had 
stumbled upon their fire.

"Welcome, stranger," he called out. "Please, come join us by our fire, 
for it is a cold evening."

The others jerked upright at Aragorn's call, looking in the direction 
he was staring. The guards shifted uneasily, hands on sword hilts, and 
the hobbits froze in whatever task they had been doing. All eyes were 
upon the stranger.

Aragorn tensed, as the cloaked figure moved, but all it did was reach 
up and throw back the hood, revealing his face.

Aragorn gasped, for standing before him was an elf!

He looked a lot in appearance like their own friend Legolas. Long 
blond hair flowed down around a bronze face. Yet this elf was taller 
than Legolas, his face more rough. He held a bow before him, which had 
before been hidden beneath his cloak. A quiver of arrows hung from his 
back. There was something about this elf that sent a feeling of 
intense cold throughout Aragorn's body. Something was wrong, though he 
could not say what it was. The shadows seemed to cling to this elf, 
almost giving the appearance of a second cloak draped about his entire 
frame.

Composing his feelings, Aragorn called out his greetings once again, 
this time in the language of the elves.

The elf turned towards him, staring directly at him, and Aragorn felt 
a wave of evil so strong that he stumbled back, a cry of alarm frozen 
in his throat.

The elf laughed, but the sound was all wrong, not fair and beautiful 
like the laughter of other elves. This laugh was low and dry, like 
dead leaves rubbing together.

A stillness seemed to fill the air. All stood frozen, barely daring to 
breath as they waited for what would happen next.

Then the others cried out in fear, as the elf reached back and lifted 
a black arrow from his quiver. Aragorn was unable to move or call out, 
even as the elf lifted his bow, aiming the arrow directly at his 
chest.

Time stood still, the only sound was of his heart, thundering in his 
ears, and Aragorn knew that he was about to die.

...................................................................... 
..........

Is it just me, or is there a lot of dialog in this chapter. Sorry 
about that. I hate writing a lot of dialog, but sometimes it is 
necessary. I would have had this chapter out earlier, but after 
writing part 1, I suffered from a severe case of writers block. I knew 
what I wanted to say, I just didn't know how to say it! I HATE THAT! I 
mulled through it somehow, and I hope it came out o.k. Anyway, this 
chapter was supposed to be short, and look what happened. Oh well. I 
have read this series at least twice, but I am by no means an expert. 
If a few things are different from the book, please continue reading 
and forgive me.





Chapter 5   Fight in the Night

Aragorn was entrapped in a wall of ice. His hand still gripped his 
sword hilt, but it was as if iron bonds held him, and he could not 
move, or tear his eyes away from the black elf that stood before him. 
He was aware of the other members of the company around him, Gimli 
right at his side, yet they seemed to be frozen as well. Watching in 
horror, yet unable to help.

`Not this way! Not like this!' A voice screamed in Aragorn's head. 
`Fight it. FIGHT!'

Yet even as Aragorn's mind tore desperately at the invisible bonds 
that entrapped him, the dark elf drew back the bowstring and released 
the arrow.

...................................................................... 
..........

Up on the hilltop, Legolas watched in dismay as Aragorn first noticed 
the stranger and called out a greeting. However, unlike his dream, 
Legolas remained inactive only for a second before sending Shandarell 
charging down the hill.

The camp at the other end of the valley seemed impossibly far, yet 
Shandarell, as if sensing his rider's urgency, ran faster than ever. 
His hoof beats were muted, and he seemed to be flying more than 
running over the uneven ground.

Legolas watched as the dark shadow threw back its hood, and a shudder 
ran through him as the creature was revealed. Yet he did not hesitate, 
reaching back and grabbing his bow and a single arrow.

Even as the elf-creature lifted its bow, pointing it at Aragorn, 
Legolas raised his own, ignoring the pain in his arm. Beneath him, 
Shandarell slowed, as if sensing the great evil that was before him. 
Legolas urged him on with legs and voice, and the brave horse 
continued forward, although his speed continued to slacken.

The dark elf was taking his time, toying with his frozen prey, and 
this allowed Legolas the precious seconds he needed. He knew he would 
need to get very close in order to make the shot in the nighttime 
darkness.

Two drawstrings were pulled back, and a black arrow was released, its 
purpose to bring pain and death. Yet only a heartbeat later, another 
arrow was released, this one with the purpose of life and hope.

Both arrows were shot with deadly accuracy, speeding toward their 
intended target. Yet only one struck true.

Legolas's shot slammed into the black arrow, sending it careening into 
the night, a mere foot in front of Aragorn!

Legolas felt a thrill of victory, but it was short lived. With 
startling speed, the dark elf spun and released another arrow, this 
time at Legolas.

Shandarell screamed and swerved, and Legolas threw himself sideways, 
off the horse's back, and away from the deadly path of the arrow.

He hit the ground hard, all the air leaving his lungs, his bow flying 
from his suddenly numb hand to land several feet away. He immediately 
tried to rise, but his body wasn't cooperating, and his vision had 
been replaced by a thousand sparkling dots.

As for Aragorn, the moment the dark creature had turned away from him, 
the invisible ice surrounding him seemed to shatter. He stumbled 
forward, gasping for air to fill his starved lungs. Beside him, Gimli 
fell to his knees, his own harsh breathing filling the air.

Aragorn felt a strong desire to join the dwarf on the ground. A great 
weariness washed over him, robbing him of all his strength. He looked 
up just in time to see Legolas fling himself from his horse's back, a 
black arrow narrowly missing the elf's head.

Pushing the feelings of weakness from him, Aragorn gathered his 
remaining strength. Drawing his sword, he leapt forward to his 
friend's aid.

*****

Aragorn's movement brought Gimli back to his senses. Gritting his 
teeth, he pushed himself to his feet and drew his axe. Behind him, he 
heard the ring of metal as the guards drew their own swords. Gimli was 
about to rush forward and join Legolas and Aragorn when a cry from one 
of the hobbits caused him to turn.

The four halflings had not been unaffected by the dark elf's gaze. 
Pippin lay on the ground, a completely dazed look on his face. Merry 
and Sam were both little better off, though they had managed to make 
it to their knees. Frodo alone remained standing, and he swayed as if 
he were about to fall over any second. It was he who had cried out, 
for he had drawn his blade, Sting, which now shone brightly in the 
dark night.

Frodo met Gimli's eyes across the flickering flame of the campsite, 
the same thought running between the two.

"Orcs!" The word had barely left Gimli's mouth when they attacked, 
swarming out of the shadows, and down off the hills, their howls 
chilling the blood. Gimli hesitated, torn between the helpless hobbits 
before him, and his desire to go to Legolas. His hesitation lasted 
only a second, before he leapt forward. He grabbed Pippin and yanked 
the shaken hobbit to his feet. "Stand up, for we have a fight before 
us!"

Frodo helped Merry and Sam up as the rest of the guards circled round. 
They formed a small, pitiful island against the wave of orcs charging 
them.

"Stay together," Gimli shouted. "Do not let them separate us! And stay 
close to the camp fire." He tried to glance over to where he had last 
seen Legolas and Aragorn, but at just that moment the first wave of 
orcs reached them. Gimli stuck out with his axe, the force of his blow 
knocking down two of the creatures. Beside him, the hobbits clustered 
back to back, striking out at any orc that strayed too close.

Gimli realized that the only thing that saved them from being 
completely overrun was the fact that the orcs had not stopped to group 
together. If they had, the little company would have been quickly 
overcome. As it was, the orcs' attack was scattered. Still, they came 
upon them in waves, and fight was quickly becoming desperate.

Gimli yanked his axe free from the chest of one orc, then spun and 
decapitated another of the foul creatures with one blow. All his 
previous weariness was gone, replaced by the fire of battle. He knew 
he would not likely survive this battle, yet he intended on taking as 
many of these foul creatures as possible to the grave with him. 
Bellowing his war cry, Gimli charged into a group of orcs, his axe 
hacking left and right.

The hobbits were faring quite well. They hung behind the first defense 
line formed by Gimli and the guards, taking care of any orcs that 
managed to break through. The dark blood of the creatures muted 
Sting's bright glow, but Frodo didn't have the time or inclination to 
wipe the blade clean.

Beside him, Sam suddenly cried out, dropping to his knees, his hands 
going to a deep cut above his left eye. The wound was already 
beginning to gush blood, turning the side of the hobbit's face 
scarlet. The orc who had dealt the blow lunged forward, intent on 
finishing the job. The three remaining hobbits leapt to Sam's aid, and 
so fierce was their attack that the creature fell back from them, 
before Pippin's blade ended its life. Sam stumbled back to his feet, 
holding his sword resolutely in his shaking hand.

Another, larger wave of orcs crashed into the small company, sending 
them stumbling backwards, yet somehow they managed to stay together. 
However, time was quickly running out for them.

******

After Aragorn had broken free from his prison of ice, he had 
immediately drawn his sword and raced to aid his friend.

He reached Legolas's side, and knelt down next to the fallen elf. His 
friend was conscious, but seemed to be struggling for breath. His 
shoulder was bent at an odd angle, and his eyes were glazed and 
unfocused. Aragorn looked up to the place where his enemy stood.

The dark elf had lowered its bow, and now stood regarding him, an evil 
smile playing across his face.

As Aragorn once again looked upon the creature, he felt the wave of 
evil and intense cold try to entrap him a second time. Yet he had 
broken free once, and he refused to be bound again.

"Has the little elf fallen off his horse?" The question was cold and 
mocking, and the voice low and full of evil. "I hope he is not hurt 
too bad. It will take all the fun out of torturing him later on!"

Aragorn rose and met the creature's gaze full on. They were several 
yards out from the light of the campfire, yet Aragorn somehow still 
noticed that the dark elf's eyes were completely black, with no sign 
of pupils. "You will have to pass me first!" he declared, his voice 
firm and with no hint of fear.

The dark elf merely laughed, the evil sound sending cold fingers of 
ice down Aragorn's back. Vaguely, he became aware of harsh shouts 
behind him and the sound of metal clashing against metal. He paid 
little heed, however, for he was in his own battle, and might as well 
have been in another world for all the attention he gave to his 
surroundings. Raising his arm, he lunged forward; his sword sweeping 
around in a perfect arc aimed at the creature's head.

The elf-creature moved with the speed of a cat, darting out of range 
of Aragorn's sword, and causing the blade to sweep through empty air.

Aragorn was too good of a swordsman to be thrown off balance by such a 
simple and expected move. Using his forward momentum, he pivoted on 
the balls of his feet, spinning smoothly, before coming to rest facing 
the dark elf. His feet were spread wide, his sword raised before him, 
his entire body the perfect picture of strength and grace.

Once again, the dark elf laughed, the sound low and mocking. Long 
seconds passed, as the two merely stared at each other, then the black 
elf reached beneath his cloak and drew out a long, black sword. The 
weapon seemed to swallow all the light around it, blending into the 
dark creature behind it.

"And now, let us find out how long you can stand against me!" With 
these words, the dark elf sprang forward, quicker than lighting, 
slashing out with his sword. Yet Aragorn had expected such a move, and 
his own blade came up, meeting and blocking the blow. For an instant, 
the two were locked together, face to face, and the evil Aragorn felt 
emanating from the creature made his stomach turn.

The two flung apart, then came together again in a great flash of 
ringing blades, before separating once more.

Anyone watching the fight would have had to compare it more to a dance 
- a wild dance of strength and grace. Aragorn's movements were 
perfectly timed and perfectly executed, and for a time, it seemed as 
if he had the upper hand. After the first attack, the dark elf had 
gone on the defensive, seemingly completely absorbed with fending off 
Aragorn's attacks, and not mounting any of his own.

Yet no matter how hard Aragorn pressed him, the elf matched him move 
for move. Several minutes passed, and sweat soon covered his body, 
despite the cold night wind. It took all his strength to keep his 
movements even and smooth as his tired body began to rebel against the 
abuse it had taken this day. His breathing was harsh, and echoed in 
his ears. Yet even as Aragorn tired, it seemed as if the dark elf 
gained new strength. His movements became faster and faster.

Then suddenly, without warning, the dark elf switched to the attack, 
and Aragorn found himself hard pressed to keep that deadly blade away 
from him. His sword always came up a split second in time to block the 
other's weapon.

Suddenly, Aragorn realized the truth. The creature was much faster 
than he. In truth, much faster than anything Aragorn had ever faced 
before. The dark elf was only toying with him! 

`He could finish me anytime he wants,' Aragorn thought, even as once 
more his sword blocked a blow only a split second before it reached 
him. He was exhausted, every muscle screaming in protest to the 
slightest movement. `But I will not allow him to have his way! He will 
not win with me.'

Even as the thought finished running through his head, Aragorn moved. 
Not away and back from the creature's sword, but instead, he pivoted 
forward, right into the path of the dark blade.

The dark elf was so surprised by the daring move that he hesitated 
slightly, his sword wavering just for an instant. It was just what 
Aragorn had been looking for. He continued his pivot, gritting his 
teeth in pain as he felt his enemy's sword cut deeply into the flesh 
of his ribs. Yet Aragorn had done what he wanted. The dark elf's sword 
was now on the wrong side of him, and there was nothing between his 
own blade and the hated creature's unprotected chest.

Aragorn thrust upward with all his remaining strength. Too late, the 
creature realized his error, and tried to dodge the sword thrust, but 
for the first time, he was not quite fast enough. Aragorn's blade bit 
deeply into the dark elf's chest, and the creature stumbled back, 
hissing in pain, dark blood bubbling out and down its chest.

Aragorn also stumbled backwards, gasping in pain as he felt his own 
blood soaking his shirt and flowing down his ribs.

Aragorn stared at the dark elf, waiting for the creature's next move. 
Although he had not managed to kill the creature, he believed that he 
had managed to grievously injure it. He could only hope he had caused 
more serious injury than he himself had attained.

The dark elf's next action took Aragorn completely by surprise. The 
creature began to laugh! At first, just short chuckles, but then it 
escalated into a full-blown bellow of mirth. Aragorn watched in 
disbelief, his heart sinking and all hope leaving him, as the wound on 
the elf began to close, mending itself until all that remained was the 
spots of blood on the creature's chest.

The dark elf's laugh cut off suddenly, but he continued to grin evilly 
as he looked at Aragorn. "Do you hear that?" the elf asked softly.

Aragorn once again became aware of the sound of fighting; yet he 
didn't even have the strength to turn and find its source. All his 
remaining strength had left him at the sight of the creature's wound 
closing in on itself.

The dark elf took a step closer. "That is the sound of my orcs, 
attacking your pitiful company. I am sure the battle will be over 
soon, and your friends will be nothing but meat for my hungry army's 
belly.

Aragorn tried to shake his head in denial, but his rebelling body 
would not even allow that small show of defiance.

"I think I will kill you now," the dark elf continued. "I will do it 
slowly, for you have caused me great inconvenience. And when I am 
finished with you, I will allow my orcs to have your little elf 
friend. I think they would greatly enjoy that, and they should have a 
reward for their deeds tonight.

"No," Aragorn finally managed, but his voice sounded weak, even to 
him. He sank to his knees, too weary and hopeless even to remain 
standing.

"Oh yes. I wonder how long it will take for my creatures to break him. 
You can ponder that thought as I end your pitiful life." The dark elf 
raised his sword above Aragorn's head, a malicious smile upon his 
face.

At the last, Aragorn felt a last stirring of defiance inside himself. 
If he were going to die, he would at least die on his feet, not 
kneeling in front of this creature of evil. He gritted his teeth 
against the pain in his side, and attempted to push himself to his 
feet.

Yet even before he had managed to rise half way, a great light flared, 
temporarily blinding him and flooding the entire valley with its warm 
glow. Aragorn fell back to the ground, and the creature above him let 
out a shrill cry. It was as if midday had somehow miraculously come to 
the valley in the dead of night!

Dropping the sword, the dark elf used both his hands to cover his face 
and eyes against the glare of the bright light. The entire valley was 
silent, the sound of battle completely gone. Then the silence was 
shattered by an ear-piercing shriek. The cry still tearing from his 
lungs, the creature turned and fled into the forest, away from the 
light.

The last thing Aragorn saw as he slipped into unconsciousness was a 
figure, standing tall on one of the hills surrounding the valley. The 
figure was dressed completely in white, that billowed and swept about 
him in the wind. The light that filled the valley emanated from a 
single point in the staff held in the figure's outstretched hand.

...................................................................... 
..........



Chapter 6   Awakenings

"Is he dead?"

"No, his chest is moving. But he's awfully still."

"Maybe he's just sleeping."

"Don't be stupid. If he were sleeping, his eyes would be open!"

"No need to get snippy! I just forgot that's all."

A pause...

"Should we try to rouse him?"

"I'm afraid to touch him. I don't know how badly he's hurt."

Legolas's mind floated on the brink of consciousness. He was aware 
that the conversation over him had been going on for quite some time. 
The voices were familiar, and he vaguely realized that they must be 
speaking about him, yet he could not seem to muster enough strength to 
respond. His entire body was numb, and he did not have the energy to 
force his eyes open. He was tired, so very tired, and he just wished 
the voices would stop screaming in his ear and let him return to the 
comfortable blackness of oblivion. His thoughts were fractured into a 
thousand pieces that danced and twirled just out of his reach. A spark 
of resistance deep inside was the only thing keeping him from slipping 
completely into darkness. This spark screamed that something was 
wrong, that he must awake, that danger was near! Yet the spark was 
small, and was quickly being drowned out by an overwhelming weariness.

"Do you think that dark elf-creature managed to hit him with an 
arrow?"

"I don't see anything. He doesn't seem to be bleeding at all, except 
his arm, and I think that is an old wound, for it already has a 
bandage."

"Then what's wrong with him?"

"How would I know? I guess we just have to wait until he wakes up and 
tells us himself."

At the mention of a dark elf, the spark of resistance within Legolas 
flared and he surged once more to the brink of waking. His mind began 
to function once more, and slowly his thoughts gathered and his 
memories started to return. He could remember Aragorn bending over him 
with concern in his eyes, and then everything had gone hazy. Now, he 
could sense the presence of others near him, yet he was still unable 
to force his eyes open. The smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the 
air, along with the unmistakable (at least to an elf) stench of orcs. 
He continued to struggle against the weariness that attempted to drag 
him back into darkness, and at last he broke free.

Merry and Pippin were both leaning over Legolas, searching for any 
clues as to what ailed their friend. They both nearly jumped out of 
their skins when, without warning, the elf's eyelids flew open, 
revealing slightly glazed gray eyes. Pippin gave a squeak of surprise.

"Merry? Pippin?" Legolas's voice sounded weak even to him, and his 
eyes were having trouble focusing on the two blurry figures above him.

"It is us," came the somewhat strained response from Merry.

"You scared the curl right out of my hair!" Pippin cried. "Next time, 
warn us before you do that!"

Legolas frowned, confused. He had done nothing but open his eyes. He 
quickly put the matter away, as more important things entered his 
mind. It was still night, and Legolas did not think he had been 
unconscious for very long. "What happened?" he asked as he attempted 
to sit up.

This was a big mistake. The numbness fled, replaced by sharp, searing 
pain all down his left side. With a gasp, he fell back to the ground, 
every breath sending slices of pain across his chest.

Merry and Pippin gathered close once more, concern written across 
their faces.

"Perhaps you shouldn't try to move until Gandalf has had a look at you 
and can see if anything is broken," Merry suggested.

Legolas closed his eyes and nodded, and then the hobbit's words sunk 
in and his eyes flew open once more. "Gandalf!?"

Merry and Pippin nodded down at him. "He arrived just a few minutes 
ago, and it's a good thing, too. If he hadn't shown up when he did, 
none of us would be here." Pippin seemed to think about this for a 
second, and then he shook his head. "Actually, we would probably still 
be here, we would just be dead, and it wouldn't matter to us whether 
we were here or not because we wouldn't know the difference and..."

"Shut up, Pippin!" Merry exclaimed, sending an annoyed glare toward 
the younger hobbit. Pippin returned the glare with an indignant one of 
his own, but Merry ignored him and turned back to Legolas.

"What Pippin was trying to say is that we would all be dead right now 
if Gandalf hadn't shown up to save the day. As usual."

"I said that," Pippin mumbled in an injured tone.

Merry continued to ignore him, squatting down next to Legolas. "This 
has been quite an evening for surprises. First, you ride in and save 
us all from that elf-creature, and then Gandalf shows up and saves us 
from the orcs."

"Orcs?" Legolas asked, still trying to organize his scattered 
thoughts.

"Yes, orcs," Merry replied. "Big, ugly, mean ones, as if there are any 
other kind. They attacked shortly after you rode in. There were lots 
of them, and they just kept coming. I think even Gimli was getting 
tired, but we just kept fighting. Then Gandalf shows up and scared 
them all away with this bright light.

"Where is Gandalf and the others now?" Legolas made another attempt at 
rising, and this time he was ready for the pain. The hobbits reached 
forward and helped him into a sitting position. Legolas was glad of 
their support as a wave of dizziness hit him. He would have fallen 
back to the ground if the hobbits hadn't held him upright. He tried to 
take deep breaths to clear the nausea, but this proved even worse, as 
sharp pain lanced across his chest at every breath. He realized that 
he must have seriously cracked, if not broken, some ribs. His left arm 
hung uselessly, a burning pain making itself known at his shoulder.

Merry was the one to answer his question. "Frodo and Sam are back at 
camp with what remains of Strider's guard. Sam has a nasty gash on his 
head, and Frodo has a couple cuts and bruises, but otherwise they're 
fine. Strider is missing, and his guards wanted to go look for him, 
but Gandalf wouldn't let them. I don't think he wanted a bunch of us 
running around in the dark, especially if the orcs and that other 
creature are still about! He took Gimli, and I think he went in search 
of Strider himself, after he asked us to look for you."

"Asked us?" Pippin joined in. "Don't you mean he told us! I was still 
trying to get over my shock at the orcs all running away, when in 
strides Gandalf, shouting orders left and right. He sees me standing 
there, and does he stop to greet an old companion, `Hello, young Took! 
Glad to see you! It looks as if there was quite a battle you fought 
here. Good to see you still alive!' NO! Instead he tells me to stop 
standing around gawking and to take Merry and find you. Then he grabs 
Gimli and practically drags him away in search of Strider, and Merry 
and I are left to wander around in the dark, and it's a good thing 
Merry tripped over you, or we would have walked right by and 
then......" Pippin finally trailed off, having run out of things to 
say or breath to say it. Legolas was not sure which. He did not think 
he would ever get used to the hobbits' strange ability to ramble on, 
without stopping or even seeming to breathe. He finally decided the 
only thing the hobbits were able to do as well as eat, was talk.

Pippin's long tirade had allowed him to recover enough that he 
believed he was ready to stand. He was worried about Aragorn and 
wanted to help find him as soon as possible. His keen elven eyes and 
senses would be a great aid in the search. Legolas knew that he would 
need the hobbits help in rising, a fact that galled the pride of the 
young prince almost as much as falling off the horse in the first 
place. `I should have rolled when I landed!' he berated himself. He 
had never fallen from a horse before unless it was on purpose. The 
fact that he had been injured and knocked unconscious, unable to help 
his friends in their battle made matters even worse. Now, however, he 
would not let his injuries keep him from helping in whatever way he 
was able.

"Merry, Pippin, if you would aid me, I think I will try to stand now." 
Legolas tried to make his voice strong, but the hobbits were not 
fooled.

Pippin frowned, and Merry even went so far as to shake his head. "I 
really think you should wait for Gandalf," he said once more. "I'm 
sure he will find Strider soon and then come and find us. I cannot 
really tell in the dark, but I think you look a little pale, and if 
you should pass out again..."

"I won't." Legolas cut him off. "I am fine, and Gandalf and Gimli may 
need my assistance in finding Aragorn." At these words he began to 
struggle to rise, and the hobbits had no choice but to aid him.

It took them three tries before Legolas was standing, albeit a bit 
shakily. He closed his eyes, and was pleased when the dizziness passed 
more swiftly than before. He was in pain, but not unbearably so. Too 
much time had passed when he should have been doing something. The 
company's original campsite lay off to his right. Orc bodies littered 
the ground, and here and there among them, the bodies of some of 
Aragorn's guard. The campfire, which had been nothing but a small 
flickering flame when he had ridden into the valley, was now growing 
larger as two small figures, one stumbling, ran about and added more 
firewood.

Looking away from the fire, Legolas began to scan the shadows that had 
not yet been reached by the light of the growing bonfire. It did not 
take him long to spot what he was looking for.

Perhaps fifty yards away, two figures knelt hunched over another form 
on the ground. A sense of dread swept through Legolas, and he 
immediately started making his way towards the trio. He stopped after 
a few paces, when he came to his bow, lying forgotten where it had 
landed. Merry reached down and retrieved it for him, and then they 
went on.

The hobbits were unable to see were he was headed, but they had 
traveled with him enough that they trusted his elven senses 
completely. They walked on either side of him, and looked as if they 
were ready to catch him should he fall.

Legolas was forced to keep his movements slow, a fact that annoyed the 
elf in his desire to reach his comrades. He was sure that it was 
Aragorn lying on the ground, and if the great man was dead, Legolas 
did not think he would ever forgive himself!

Pippin was startled when he heard something sounding suspiciously like 
a curse come from above him. He had never heard Legolas swear before, 
and the sound just didn't fit the elf.

"Do you always get this angry after a fall?" he asked timidly.

Legolas glanced down at him and grimaced, whether in pain or at the 
hobbit's words, Pippin was unsure.

"I do not usually fall!" was the elf's curt answer.

Merry thought he noticed a hint of strain in the elf's voice, which 
had nothing to do with the pain he was undoubtedly in. He was curious 
about this, and couldn't help wonder what was upsetting his friend so 
much.

Pippin failed to notice the tension in Legolas. All he saw was that 
his friend was upset and needed cheering up, and he set himself to 
this task.

"Don't worry about it, Legolas. I've fallen from ponies many times, 
and that is saying something, since I don't ride often. I prefer my 
own feet. Why, once I fell off one old beast and cracked my head open 
and had to stay in bed for a week. And of course, we ride in saddles. 
It must be twice as hard to stay mounted riding the way that you do, 
and its no surprise you fell, riding as fast as you were. It's a 
wonder you haven't come off a thousand times before now. I would have 
to practice for years to be able to ride the way you do and........"

"Pippin!" Merry cut him off. "I do not think you're helping any, and 
it may be time for you to practice keeping your mouth shut!"

Pippin glanced up at Legolas's face and decided that, for once, Merry 
was probably right.

Legolas was glad for the silence. He knew the hobbits were meaning 
well, but right now, their endless chatter was just giving him a 
headache. He was nearing the place where Gandalf and Gimli knelt over 
Aragorn, and at the sight of his friend's still, pale face, he 
quickened his pace, ignoring his own discomfort in his worry over 
Aragorn.

Gimli glanced up as they approached and then began to rise. Legolas 
quickly motioned for him to stay were he was. He could tell the dwarf 
was worried about him, so he gave his friend a reassuring smile and a 
nod of the head. Gimli was not going to be put off that easily, and 
his eyes narrowed as he began to look the elf up and down, but he did 
settle back down to the ground. Legolas remained standing behind 
Gandalf, looking over the wizard's shoulder and feeling tremendous 
relief at the sight of Aragorn's chest rising and falling. The wizard 
had pushed the man's shirt up and was now intently pressing a clean 
white cloth against a hidden wound.

"How is he," Legolas asked softly, not wanting to disturb the wizard's 
work. On either side of him, Merry and Pippin both looked down at the 
still warrior, and for once they remained silent, their faces grave.

Gandalf let out a tired sigh, the sound causing Legolas's fears to 
rise, but the wizard's next words soothed his worries. "The wound is 
deep, and he has lost much blood, but he is strong and will recover 
soon. Even now he is waking."

The words had barely left the wizard's mouth when Aragorn let out a 
small moan, shifted slightly, and opened his eyes. Gimli leaned 
forward and Legolas and the hobbits stepped closer, Legolas catching 
Pippin muttering something about Aragorn at least knowing how to wake 
properly. However, he was too intent upon the waking warrior to pay 
the hobbit's words much attention.

Aragorn's eyes showed the same confusion Legolas had felt upon first 
waking, and when the king of Gondor tried to push himself upright, the 
result was once again the same as his own had been. The only 
difference was that this time, Gimli and Gandalf were there to reach 
forward and catch the man, helping him into a sitting position.

"Take it slow and easy," Gimli urged, still supporting Aragorn's left 
side. "Take a moment to catch your breath before we try to get you on 
your feet."

Aragorn nodded, taking deep, even breaths. Now that he was sitting, 
Gandalf finished tying off the bandage and lowered the blood soaked 
shirt back down over Aragorn's chest. Aragorn smiled his thanks to the 
wizard, and then turned his eyes to Legolas and the hobbits. "It seems 
the fellowship is together once more," he said weakly, then frowned 
and started looking about him.

Gandalf was the one to answer his unspoken question. "The other two 
hobbits are alive and safe back at the camp sight, though I think Sam 
will have quite a headache for a while. You also may find that the 
number of your guards has been greatly reduced."

Aragorn sighed and closed his eyes. "At least the battle is over." He 
opened his eyes once more and looked first at Gandalf, and then 
Legolas. "But there are two here to whom I owe my life, and I must 
think of a way to repay them."

Legolas smiled down at Aragorn. "I did not rescue you in hopes of 
repayment, although I may have something in mind."

"As do I," Gandalf said, "but the time for thanks and talk of 
repayment will come later. If you have regained your wits, let us be 
getting you on your feet and return to camp."

Legolas was surprised at the urgency and wariness in the wizard's 
voice, and he studied the man closely for the first time. He could 
only see the side of Gandalf's face, yet it seemed to him as if the 
wizard looked older and more tired than Legolas ever recalled seeing 
him.

From the small frown on Aragorn's face, Legolas guessed that he had 
noticed this as well. Aragorn said nothing however, except to ask 
Gimli for help in standing. With Gimli on his left side and Gandalf on 
his right, Aragorn managed to make it to his feet on the first try.

Gimli and Gandalf kept a steadying arm around Aragorn's waist, until 
he assured them that he could stand on his own.

Legolas shook his head at the picture they made. Aragorn, flanked on 
each side by a dwarf and a wizard, and then him, with his own two 
small escorts. He smiled down at Pippin, and the hobbit returned the 
smile, relieved that the elf seemed to be feeling better and in a more 
pleasant mood.

Gandalf turned and looked at Legolas. "How bad are your own injuries?" 
the wizard asked, looking him up and down.

"Not so bad that they cannot wait until a better time to examine 
them." Legolas glanced toward the campfire, just making out two small 
figures standing at the edge of the light and peering into the 
darkness. "I think it best if we return to the camp now, before Frodo 
and Sam decide to come looking for us."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, we should return now, and then prepare to move 
out as soon as possible."

"Move out!" Pippin exclaimed. "Tonight!? You mean we're going to 
travel on tonight?"

"Yes, young Took, that is precisely what I mean, and unless you wish 
to be left behind, I suggest you keep up with the rest of us." With 
these words, Gandalf turned and strode toward the campfire. With a 
shrug, Aragorn started after him, and Gimli followed in case Aragorn 
should need support.

"I do not think he likes me very much," Pippin mumbled to himself.

Legolas looked down at him in surprise, but Merry spoke before he 
could even muster a reply.

"Don't be foolish. He loves you and you know it. Now come on, before 
he turns around and returns to skin the hide off the both of us!"

Both hobbits looked up at Legolas expectantly, and with a shake of his 
head he started off after Aragorn and Gimli. The two had stopped a few 
yards off to wait for them, and both wore concerned frowns as they 
watched Legolas make his way over to them. Legolas knew that his 
movements were somewhat less than his usual gracefulness. Each step 
was made awkward by the pain from his ribs and shoulder, and yet 
Aragorn looked little better. The man's face was as white as a ghost.

"You should have let Gandalf look at your injuries," the dwarf 
grumbled, eyeing Legolas shrewdly. "I think you are in more pain than 
you let on."

"I am fine," Legolas repeated. "We should be heading to camp now, for 
I think Gandalf truly intends to leave as soon as possible."

"I wonder what all the hurry is about," Gimli mused as the five began 
moving towards the campground once more. "Does he believe that the 
orcs and that creature will return once more?"

"From the looks on their faces when he appeared with that light, I 
think they are probably still running." Merry put in.

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not believe we need worry about another 
attack tonight, but it is obvious that Gandalf knows something he is 
not sharing with the rest of us."

Legolas nodded. He had gotten the same feeling from the wizard.

"Is that anything new?" Gimli muttered under his breath, so low that 
only Legolas heard him.

Part 2

The return of Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and the two hobbits to the camp 
was met with great joy from Frodo, Sam, and the three remaining 
guards. There was a few minutes of complete confusion, as everyone 
shouted greetings to everyone else, all at the exact same time. 
Questions and exclamations began to fly through the air, and everyone 
seemed to be talking at once.

Gandalf stood a little apart, watching the chaos. He could not stop a 
small smile from lighting his worn face, for it was quite a sight.

Aragorn and Legolas stood side by side, their faces mirroring dazed 
confusion, as they were surrounded by four hobbits, one dwarf, and 
three men, all of whom were shouting at them in their attempt to be 
heard over the others.

Gandalf could not decide whether the hobbits were asking Aragorn and 
Legolas questions about what had befallen them, or whether they were 
trying to tell their own tale. He finally decided that it was both. 
Gimli, hands on hips, seemed to be having a one sided argument with 
Legolas, who was looking desperately around him, trying to decide who 
to respond to first. Gandalf did not think he had ever seen the elf so 
flustered. To top it all off, the three guards were attempting to push 
pass an immovable dwarf in order to reach their king. A loud buzz 
filled the air, and nobody seemed to be able to hear what anybody else 
was saying.

Gandalf raised his staff in the air, hoping to bring some order; but 
in the confusion, no one noticed him. Frowning, he tried loudly 
clearing his throat, a sound that in the past had caused kings to shut 
up and listen to his council. The sound was lost in the noise, and no 
one even glanced in his direction. The noise level was getting louder 
and louder, and Aragorn looked as if he was about to fall over any 
second. Legolas looked little better.

Frustration rising, Gandalf let out a very undignified shout.

Immediate silence.

All eyes turned toward the wizard, and even the hobbits quickly shut 
their mouths at his frown. "Now that I have your attention," the 
wizard began, running his eyes over each member of the company before 
him. Most dropped their gaze under the wizard's fierce scowl, and the 
guards shifted uncomfortably and looked as if they wished to be 
elsewhere.

"I know you all have questions to ask and stories to tell." Gandalf 
eyed the hobbits, and then shifted his gaze to Legolas. The elf looked 
startled under Gandalf's scrutiny, but met his eyes squarely. 
Something passed between the two, and Legolas nodded slightly. Gandalf 
looked away and continued addressing the group. "However, now is not 
the time, and this is not the place. Your questions will have to wait 
until later, for I intend to have left this valley far behind by 
morning. Gandalf whirled suddenly, so that he was facing the three 
guards straight on. "You!"

All three men jumped slightly.

"I want you three to round up as many of the horses as you can without 
straying too far from the fire. Bring them in and begin to prepare 
them for our journey."

"And you." He turned to the hobbits.

"Sam and Frodo, you are in charge of the packs. Pack them swiftly and 
then bring them over to the horses. Merry and Pippin, go and find some 
large branches that can be used as torches. Each of us will have a 
light when we ride from this place. Gimli, aid the hobbits. And hurry, 
all of you."

The company split, each person running to do their assigned task. 
Legolas and Aragorn both let out a relieved sigh, and then turned and 
smiled at each other. "That was interesting," Aragorn said with a bit 
more cheer than he felt.

Gandalf snorted, still standing a few paces off and eying them both up 
and down, and they soon began to fidget under the wizard's intense 
stare. Finally, Gandalf nodded to himself, and then turned first to 
Aragorn.

"I want you to sit down and rest until time to go," he ordered 
Aragorn. "You have lost much blood, and you need to regain your 
strength, for it may be needed ere this journey is over."

Aragorn looked as if he wanted to argue, but the wizard's reasoning 
and his own weariness won out. He gratefully sank down onto a log and 
closed his eyes, letting out a long and tired sigh.

After making sure that Aragorn was going to stay put, Gandalf turned 
to Legolas. He examined the elf fully, even taking off the bandage and 
looking at the old cut on Legolas's arm. He decided that Legolas had 
merely cracked his ribs and not broken them, and he bound Legolas's 
chest tightly with some cloth, then began to examine the elf's left 
arm. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that Legolas's 
left shoulder was dislocated, and would need to be put back in place.

"I am afraid this is going to hurt," Gandalf told the elf gently, as 
he placed his right hand above the injured shoulder, and used his left 
hand to grasp Legolas's arm. Legolas did not make a sound as the 
wizard worked on him, but the blood drained from his face, and Gandalf 
worried that the elf would pass out.

But Legolas remained conscious, and when Gandalf was finished, he 
place the elf's arm in a makeshift sling, and moved him over to sit 
next to Aragorn.

"You will be unable to use your bow for quite some time, I am afraid. 
But if you take care, and do not over do it, I believe you will 
recover swiftly."

Legolas nodded and thanked the wizard weakly. Gandalf smiled at him, 
and then rose, intending to go and check on the progress of the 
others. He stopped, however, when Aragorn called out to him.

He turned to the ex-ranger, arching a questioning eyebrow.

"I was just wondering," Aragorn said curiously, "why you are in such a 
hurry to leave? We have a camp already set up here, and it will be 
morning in a few hours, unless I miss my guess."

"Two and a half hours," Legolas said drowsily from beside him.

Gandalf studied them both for a second, then stooped and sat down.

"Perhaps it is simply that I have no wish to spend a moment longer 
than necessary in this graveyard." Gandalf's voice was casual, and he 
looked about him pointedly at the scattered bodies of dead orcs.

"Perhaps," Aragorn returned. "But I do not think that is your reason, 
at least not entirely. You know something that you are keeping from 
the rest of us. What is it?"

Gandalf shook his head. "You may be right, son of Arathorn. But if 
that is the case, then I choose to keep my own council, and I assure 
you that you will know what you must, when you must."

By the look on his face, it was obvious that Aragorn did not like this 
answer very much, but he merely shrugged and met Gandalf's eyes. "As 
you say, but I wish to put the dead to rest before we leave. I did not 
know them well, but they died because they accompanied their king on a 
mission, and I do not think they should be left to rot amongst the 
corpses of orcs!"

Gandalf nodded. "There is no time to burry them tonight, but we shall 
carry them with us until daylight, when we can send them properly to 
their peace."

Aragorn agreed to this, and then he only had one more question to ask. 
"Where is it that you will be leading us?"

"We must go in all haste back to Minas Tirith," the wizard replied.

"Is the city in danger?" Aragorn asked worriedly.

Gandalf shook his head. "It is not the city, I fear, that is in 
danger." With these ominous words, Gandalf once more rose. "Regain 
your strength, for we will be leaving shortly." Then he turned and 
left them.

Aragorn and Legolas sat silently for a time, each lost in their own 
thoughts. Suddenly, a loud scuffle across camp drew their attention.

Two of the guards were struggling to control one of the horses. A rope 
was around the beast's neck, but whenever one of them tried to 
approach with a saddle, the horse would rear and paw the air, letting 
out a shrill whinny.

Legolas immediately recognized Shandarell, and he rose painfully and 
began making his way toward the horse. Aragorn also rose and followed 
him.

Legolas reached the guard who held the noose about the great horse's 
neck. Reaching forward, he took the rope from the man's hand and 
stepped close to the horse, whispering softly and gently. Shandarell 
immediately calmed, stepping forward and laying his head against 
Legolas's chest. He stroked the smooth, strong neck, pulling the noose 
over Shandarell's head and freeing the horse. The second guard, seeing 
him calmed, stepped forward with the saddle, but Legolas shook his 
head.

"He will not take saddle nor bridle," Legolas explained to the 
confused man. "He is alright now, and I will take care of him." Both 
guards shrugged, and then turned and left to complete their tasks.

Legolas continued to stroke Shandarell, and the horse started to 
ruffle his tunic with his soft nose, snuffling and snorting with 
contentment. Aragorn came up beside the elf and reached out to stroke 
the horse's side. Shandarell looked at him suspiciously, but allowed 
Aragorn to continue touching him.

"He is truly a magnificent animal," Aragorn said softly. "I have not 
seen his like since Shadowfax. Where did you come by him?"

Legolas looked up at Aragorn and smiled somewhat guiltily. "Actually, 
he comes from Rohan. He was part of the herd sent to you as a gift 
from Eomer."

Aragorn's eyes widened, and he looked at Shandarell once more. "It 
seems it is quite a gift Eomer has sent me, if this beast is any guide 
to the rest."

"He was the best of what I saw," Legolas admitted softly. Shandarell 
had lifted his head and begun nuzzling his neck.

Aragorn laughed as he watched the horse begin to play with Legolas's 
long golden hair. "Would I be correct in my guess that this is the 
repayment you spoke of earlier?" he asked.

"Only if you will be parted with him," Legolas said simply.

Aragorn grew serious. "You would be gaining a great beast...." A 
sudden smile broke out on his face. "I must admit, I do not think this 
is my choice to make. Indeed, it appears as if Shandarell has already 
chosen you, and so he is yours, not by my choice, but his own.

Legolas returned the smile, and opened his mouth to thank Aragorn, but 
the words never left his mouth, for at that very moment, Shandarell 
chomped down on a clump of Legolas's hair and gave it a firm tug.

...................................................................... 
..........

Sorry, there is not much to this chapter. I just kept rewriting it and 
rewriting it, until I finally decided to post it and move on. I hope 
you enjoy it! I know you are all wondering when Legolas is going to 
tell them his story, and what Gandalf is hiding, but you will just 
have to wait for the next chapter. ha ha ha. My computer is a piece of 
junk!!!! The last part of this chapter is written in loving memory of 
Marvel. There is no horse I will ever love the way I do him!





Author's note: This chapter was mostly derived as I was sitting in a 
hotel room, chewing ice, and hoping for inspiration to strike. 
However, I think I left my muse behind when I traveled. I hope you 
enjoy and please review when you are finished!





Chapter 7   Gandalf the White

A brisk wind blew across the lands, bringing with it the clean and 
fresh scent of rain. In the east, the morning sun struggled to rise 
and break free of the dark clouds that where slowly massing on the 
horizon, like a dark army prepared to attack. Even as the sun 
continued to climb into the sky, the clouds spread out and seemed to 
grow even darker. The breeze, which had been cool and pleasant to 
begin, became bitter and sharp, carrying the ominous whisper of 
distant thunder.

Muttering under his breath, and pulling his cloak closer about him, 
Gandalf studied the skies before him, trying to figure out when the 
storm would reach them. Beneath him, his mount shifted and began 
tossing his head, picking up on his rider's anxiety. Gandalf patted 
the creature's neck and soon the horse calmed. Not for the first time, 
the wizard wished that he had Shadowfax with him, but it was not so 
and wishing for it would do no good. Shadowfax had been set free to 
roam as he pleased near the great elven city of Rivendell, and Gandalf 
had not had the time to summon him when he had been forced to leave 
the city and travel to Minas Tirith in all haste.

Now, Gandalf was glad of his decision not to wait, for he had barely 
reached the company in time. This dark line of thought caused the 
wizard to sigh and shake his head. Truly, the upcoming storm was not 
the darkest problem this company would face. Although, judging from 
the sound of the swiftly approaching thunder, it possibly would be the 
next.

Gandalf turned to assess those riding behind him. The company had been 
traveling for several hours and yet there had been little 
conversation. An unspoken agreement had passed between them all that 
the time and place for questions and answers would come later. Now, 
everyone seemed content to keep to their own private musings.

Aragorn, upon Roheryn, rode directly behind Gandalf, and following him 
was Legolas and Gimli on Shandarell. The four hobbits, upon their 
ponies came next, and the guards brought up the rear, leading the 
extra horses that carried the dead. Every face was tired and haggard, 
but there had been little complaint from anyone, even the hobbits.

Gandalf studied Aragorn and Legolas a bit closer than he had the 
others. Both sat tall and proud upon their mounts, and a casual glance 
would have shown nothing wrong. Gandalf, however, gave them more than 
a casual glance, and his penetrating gaze missed nothing. Aragorn was 
far too pale, and an unnatural strain marred Legolas's usually smooth 
features. 'Another problem that will need to be dealt with soon' 
Gandalf thought to himself. A loud role of thunder interrupted his 
thoughts, and he turned to glare at the menacing clouds.

'First things first. I shall take care of one problem at a time and 
hope that they do not all come crashing down upon me at once!'

Gandalf grunted, then turned once more to face those behind him. 
"Legolas," he called out against the wind. The elf glanced up, and 
then spurred Shandarell forward, coming alongside the wizard. "I am in 
need of your assistance."

Legolas's eyebrows rose slightly, his only sign of surprise. 
"Anything," he said immediately.

Gimli grunted and shook his head. "I strongly suggest that any task 
you may have should be given to one of the others. Legolas is not 
well, and though he may be good at disguising it, he cannot fool me!"

Legolas glanced down at the dwarf and frowned. He seemed about to 
reply when Gandalf interrupted him. "I am perfectly aware of Legolas's 
condition, master dwarf. I merely wished to ask him about the 
weather."

"The weather," Gimli repeated, nonplussed. "You called us up here to 
chat about the weather?"

Gandalf ignored him, directing his questions to Legolas. "When do you 
think the storm will reach us, and how long will it last?"

Legolas studied the dark clouds for several minutes. He seemed to be 
listening, as if a small voice that only he could hear rode upon the 
wind and whispered secrets into his ear. His long golden hair whipped 
about his face in the strong wind, yet he ignored it, completely 
intent upon his task. Finally, he turned to Gandalf. "The storm will 
strike before a hour and a quarter has passed. It will be quite 
fierce, but I do not believe it will continue long. It will release 
its force all at once, but will quickly wear itself out."

"Before nightfall?" Gandalf asked, trying to make his voice casual.

Legolas sent him a sharp look, but he only nodded. "Yes, before 
nightfall."

Gandalf nodded. He had guessed much along the same lines, but now he 
was sure.

A call from behind him caused him to turn. The others had all crowded 
close behind in their effort to hear what was being said, and it was 
Pippin who had called out to the wizard. "Gandalf, it has occurred to 
me that I cannot remember the last time I have eaten. I think that my 
stomach is starting to gnaw on my backbone. I don't suppose we could 
stop for a spell, so we can grab a bite to eat?"

This simple statement had a huge effect on the other hobbits. They 
immediately all sat up taller and began adding their arguments in 
favor of a stop. The rest of the group held expressions of doubtful 
hopefulness.

Gandalf chuckled to himself. He had been expecting this for quite some 
time, and considered it surprising that they had gotten as far as they 
had. He raised his hand, immediately silencing the flow of pleas 
coming from the hobbits. "There is a copse of trees a short way ahead. 
We will stop there and eat and rest. The storm will be upon us soon, 
and so we will wait out the worst of it there, and then continue when 
it passes on."

All faces showed happy relief at the wizard's words. The hobbits 
immediately began discussing various stews and soups that could be 
made with their meager supplies, but Gandalf soon dashed their hopes 
by telling them he would not allow a fire to be built. Even this news 
could not keep the hobbits down for long, and they began to plan on 
the best way to prepare a grand meal out of dried meat and bread.

Gandalf glanced at Aragorn and Legolas. Both seemed relieved that they 
would be stopping, and Gandalf was glad he had made the choice. Though 
the delay could prove costly, he knew that the only way the two would 
regain their strength would be rest and food. He also knew that their 
strength could very well be needed before this trip was over.

part 2

The copse of trees that Gandalf had spoken of was more like a small 
forest made up of giant oak and elm all set close together with their 
branches interlaced as they reached toward the sky. The large group of 
trees looked oddly out of place on the bare and rolling hills. The 
only other trees to be seen were lone sentinels, standing tall and 
proud on their lonely watch. As the company approached the stand of 
trees, the hobbits fell silent, casting wary glances toward the 
towering branches. The little light that was able to penetrate the 
dark clouds seemed to be swallowed underneath the dark boughs, giving 
the trees a dark and sinister appearance. Everyone was reminded of 
what had come from the last group of trees like this. Only Gandalf and 
Legolas seemed unaffected by the dark appearance of the trees.

Riding slightly behind Gandalf, Aragorn peered into the deep gloom 
beneath the swiftly nearing trees, searching for any sign of movement. 
He knew his actions were unneeded, for Legolas had been studying them 
since they first came into view, and the elf would have warned the 
others long ago if he had seen anything. Yet still, Aragorn could not 
shake the feeling that orcs, or something worse, was about to leap 
from the trees and attack the small company.

Frodo rode his pony up beside Aragorn and then spoke quietly to him. 
"I do not like the looks of those trees. Anything could be lurking in 
their shadows, and it is as dark as night under there."

Looking down at the top of Frodo's head, Aragorn shook off his own 
feelings of misgiving and attempted to cheer up his companion, who had 
far too many worries as it was. "Do not fear what lies ahead. Legolas 
would have warned us long ago if there was any danger." Even as he 
said the words, Aragorn felt a pang of guilt for his own doubt in the 
proven abilities of his elven companion.

"I know," Frodo said quietly. "And yet, I cannot help but remember 
last night and..." he trailed off mid-sentence, still eyeing the trees 
that now lay only a few strides ahead.

"Do not think on those things," Aragorn admonished gently. "We were 
caught unaware once, but it will not happen again. Think only on the 
shelter these trees will offer from the approaching storm."

"I am not sure that I would not rather rest in the rain," Frodo 
muttered softly beneath his breath.

Aragorn caught the mumbled words, but did not reply as the company 
moved into the shadows of the small forest. It was as if a blanket had 
been thrown around them, suffocating all light and sound. The almost 
continuous noise of thunder now seemed muted by the interlocked 
branches high above their heads, and the dim light grew even darker, 
giving the appearance of dusk instead of merely mid-morning. A 
closeness and menace seemed to surround them, causing everyone to 
tense.

The horses, affected by the dread they sensed from their riders or 
perhaps from the surrounding trees, began to shift restlessly. Two of 
the guards mounts began sidestepping, snorting in displeasure while 
their riders fought to keep them under control as well as keep hold of 
the nervous pack horses. The hobbit's ponies seemed to spook at every 
noise or role of thunder, and Gandalf's mount stomped his foot and let 
out a shrill neigh that seemed to be swallowed by the oppressive trees 
about them. Roheryn was too well trained to do anything more than toss 
his head slightly and let out a soft snort. Shandarell alone seemed to 
be unaffected by the other's nervousness. His ears flicked back and 
forth, and he looked to be studying the trees with complete 
nonchalance.

'He seems as at home as Legolas in these woods,' Aragorn thought 
wryly. 'They truly do make the perfect pair.'

Aragorn was beginning to wonder if Frodo might have been right, and 
the company should have braved the rains rather than come into this 
oppressive wood. On the other side of Gandalf, Legolas reached out 
with his good arm and gently touched the trunk of one of the big 
trees. He murmured something softly in his own language, and then 
suddenly he began to sing. His voice was low and soft, and yet seemed 
to penetrate even the darkest shadows of the wood. He sang in the 
language of the Sindarian elves, and all who heard felt a strange 
stirring within their breasts. The horses calmed, pointing their ears 
in the direction that the elf rode, and even the trees seemed to be 
listening.

Aragorn found himself relaxing and suddenly the trees did not seem 
quite so threatening and oppressive. The elf's words seemed to bring 
their own light with them, wrapping around the surrounding giants, and 
bringing out the fresh scent of the trees themselves. Aragorn took a 
deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of life and freshness.

Legolas sang on for several more minutes, and when his song came to an 
end the following silence seemed loud and empty. Frodo sighed 
contentedly, all of his former tenseness gone. "I think I know why 
Bilbo chose to go to Rivendell when he left the Shire," Frodo 
whispered, almost afraid that speaking would break the spell formed by 
Legolas's song. "I could listen to the elves sing all day."

Aragorn could only nod, looking at the surrounding trees with a new 
awe and respect.

"I could only catch a few of the words," Frodo admitted. "But I 
believe it was a song about trees."

"Yes," Aragorn answered. "It was the story of the elves first 
awakening the Ents. It was filled with great joy and great sadness, as 
all the elven songs seem to be. I have not heard it sung before, and 
though there is probably many elven songs I have not heard, I believe 
that Legolas created this one himself."

"You mean Legolas made up that song?" Frodo asked, amazed. He glanced 
over to where the elf rode, a new respect on his face. "It was so 
beautiful! I bet it took him forever to come up with it all."

"I doubt it," Aragorn answered. "The elves do not have to think about 
their songs the way that we do. The words merely come to them when 
they need them."

The company had reached what Aragorn suspected to be near the center 
of the group of trees. Gandalf called a halt, and everyone began to 
gratefully dismount. As Aragorn's feet hit the ground, a sharp pain 
flared in his side and a wave of dizziness hit him as he was forced to 
carry his own weight.

Waiting for the pain to pass, he took the opportunity to look at their 
camping spot. Two giant oaks spread a wide canopy above the ground, a 
natural shelter for when