Shadows Within; Darkness Without (series)
By: Minka

R-Horror/Action/Adventure
What would happen if Legolas approached Boromir about his lust for the 
Ring? 
Disclaimer: I own everything!!!!!! Legolas is my *coughcough* personal 
trainer *coughcough*, Aragorn is my live-in grease monkey, Arwen is my 
scullery wench, while Gandalf is my electrician and lighting 
consultant. The twins reside in my office where they act as bookends, 
Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin of Lothlórien are on chains outside and are 
my guard dogs, Thranduil is my drunken-gold-digging father-in-law, 
Boromir of Gondor is my pincushion and Faramir is my pet rock. Elrond 
is the pizza guy from down the road, Saruman is my fortune teller and 
the owner of; "Saruman's Hotline, how may I see you?" Frodo I use 
instead of a mop, Sam is my cook and Merry and Pippin are my own 
personal stand up comedians. Galadriel is my manicurist, Gimli the 
bouncer of my flashy uptown club, the Ringwraiths are the local door 
to door salesman with heroin addictions and Figwit in the leader of 
the Mary-Sue army that is assembled outside my bedroom window. Sauron 
is the local neighborhood watch while Denethor is the crazy guy who 
lives in a box in the vacant lot next door. The Balrog is the 
substitute that my circus uses instead of a tiger, the army of the 
dead are what the stupid little kids next door are going to become if 
they don't shut the hell up, and the Lord of the Eagles is my personal 
fan. Glorfindel is the horse whisper that helped me after a riding 
accident, Isildur is the person that everybody uses as a punching bag 
when they walk past, Bilbo is the kleptomaniac of the street and Lurtz 
is my hairdresser. I am a man, have a son and am writing this from 
beyond the grave. Now, if for one moment you believe even a word of 
that then I must ask, did you by chance purchase anything small, round 
and tablet looking from nine door to door salesmen within the last 
couple of hours??


DISCLAMER: I own Legolas!!!!!!!!
Then I wake up!!! Damn it!!! Umm, well everything belongs to Tolkien 
and Peter Jackson (the movie parts that I have incorporated) and I'm 
sure they know that, so I don't see why I have to waste my time in 
writing on of these, but I do it anyway!!

A/N: Ok, this is the first chapter of my first serious story, so 
please feel free to tell me what you think. I know that as you read 
further into the chapters you will be saying, "this has been done 
already!" But please give me the benefit of the doubt. I have only 
just recently become entangled in the wondrous web that is Tolkien's 
writing and am yet to get what I want out of my system. I do intent to 
take this story over a very dark path, and have the characters suffer 
a bit (especially Legolas) that is one problem with me, I will read a 
book or see a movie (the movie in this case caused this) and fall for 
one of the characters (Legolas/Orlando Bloom. I mean, can you say 
HOT??????) So how do I settle the wants to know them? I write fan 
fiction. And what is the fan fiction about? I torture the living crap 
out of them to the point of near death. Do they survive? Well, it all 
works out in the end. But how? Well that's a mystery that even I do 
not know as of yet.

"All I see is the beginning and the destination, what lies between is 
a path not yet traveled, and contains moments that have not yet come 
to pass. For even the ending I do not know, I am but a slave to the 
power of my fingers and the un-thought thoughts in the deep recesses 
of my mind."

Please note: thoughts are indicated within // and \\.

Part One: 
Path into Darkness

CHAPTER ONE.
FORMING UPON THE FALLING.

Legolas paced back and forth under the shade of a large golden leafed 
tree. The fellowship's arrival at Lothlórien had done little to ease 
his troubled thoughts and he found that with each passing day, he 
became more and more aware of a dark shadow over the company's heads. 
//Or is it in my imagination? Nay, the feeling of doom is great, and 
seems to linger over Boromir and yet I feel it over myself as well. Or 
is it just over me?\\ As he continued to pace he became aware of a 
presence lurking in the shadows of the forest over to the right. He 
listened harder, and finally making up his mind, he lunged forward and 
grabbed to intruder in a movement faster then the eye could see. He 
pulled the eves-dropper out of the bushes and shoved it against a tree 
trunk and the figure choked as the elf pushed his knuckles in to it's 
throat with deadly force, just short of crushing his windpipe.

"L...o'as?" The stunned figure managed to choke out just as Legolas 
saw who in fact the figure was.

"Gimli? What brings you to lurk in the bushes?" Legolas demanded as he 
dropped his lethal grip on the dwarf. The elf glared at the dwarf 
impatiently, he had no time for the bickering that was bound to come 
and quietly wished that he had indeed crushed his throat. But, there 
was a strange look in the dwarf's eyes that Legolas could not quite 
fathom and he quickly banished all thoughts of ill towards the dwarf.

Gimli looked at Legolas. //Something troubles him,\\ he thought as he 
noticed the frown upon his fair-featured face. As he studied the elf's 
features he became aware of a slight flare in Legolas' eyes directed 
towards the dwarf. Gimli know that his face bore the same expression 
yet it was vital that he talked to Legolas, for the fellowships' sake, 
yet he knew not where to start. "I was not lurking, I was observing." 
He stated with a slight laugh, in hopes of opening a friendly 
conversation.

"Observing what?" Legolas asked, his tone showed that he to was glad 
for the slight change in their attitude. "An elf pacing? You could see 
that anywhere these days."

"Yes, I wished to see an elf troubled. And I could not see it anywhere 
else as I would have been arrested." Gimli replied, keeping up the 
banter that was constantly exchanged between them, yet this time in a 
happier mood.

"Come now master Gimli, that is not the true reason you where here. Be 
out with it." He stated in a commanding tone, yet adding a slight 
jest. "Or would you have us stand here all day and come not to a true 
reason?"

"Oh very well," Gimli sighed reluctantly, "I wished to consult you on 
the actions of Boromir."

At this Legolas felt his senses tense. //How is it that Gimli knows? 
He must have sensed it in Boromir, or in me\\. Legolas thought, hiding 
his first reaction away from the eyes of the dwarf. //What shall I do? 
Do I let him know that I have seen it for some time now, or do I 
pretend that I have no knowledge of the subject?\\ The elf had just 
made up his mind to go with the later when Gimli again spoke.

"Do not try to hide the fact that you know, as it will do no good. I 
may be a dwarf, yet I know of the abilities of the Elves, and that 
since I have noticed it now, you must have know all along." Gimli 
stated, trying to ease his companion's mind. //Why did he tense at the 
mention of the subject?\\ He pondered, //Surely he must know, I have 
felt it so he must have.\\

Legolas' mind worked as quickly as his reflexes had just done trying 
to find the appropriate thing to say. //What could I possibly say? And 
to a dwarf? He would not understand the feeling of dread and the 
warning signs.\\ He soon decided that the best response would be 
anything as long as it was of little words and gave away nothing. 
"What of the subject master Gimli?"

"Fair enough master Legolas," The dwarf replied without the slightest 
bit of mimicry. //Why was Legolas being so secretive? Indeed they 
quarrel, yet it was for the good of the fellowship that he spoke this 
question, not for any self-gain.\\ "If you will not speak of it to me, 
you being the one that knows the greater deal of the situation, then I 
shall not push the subject, only beg of you to say something to 
Aragorn at least." He pleaded, looking at the obviously troubled elf, 
who had been staring out into the distance the entire time. Gimli 
broke his gaze as the look on Legolas' face caused him to worry. Never 
had he seen him so distant and worried, not even in the Mines of Moria 
after the death of Gandalf. //Could he be sick?\\ Gimli asked himself, 
//Nay, as elves do not get sick.\\ He remembered. //Perchance it is 
something worst, like this broken heart illness that I have often 
heard the elves refer to since I have met them. But why? Would not it 
have set in earlier if it had been caused by Gandalfs' untimely 
death?\\ He finally decided to query the elf prince on the subject. 
//The worst that can happen is he gets offended, but its not like we 
are friends as it is. And if I am right than I might be able to help 
him, even if he is an elf.\\ "Master Elf, what is it that ills you?" 
He asked while studying Legolas' face for any hint of the truth, 
knowing that he would conceal what ever it was at all costs. //Elves 
and their pride,\\ he thought, //it will see them destroyed!\\ As he 
awaited for Legolas to tell him to mind his own business, he was quite 
surprised to see a smile form at the corners of Legolas' mouth.

"For someone who claims to know the abilities of the elves, you do not 
know much," he laughed, "my kind do not get ill."

"Nay, I feared it was something else, something I have picked up on in 
my short time in the company of the elves, something that men refer to 
as to die of a broken heart." At this Legolas drew in a rugged breath 
with gave Gimli more reason to be concerned. //Why am I so 
concerned?\\ He questioned himself. //For he is an elf and I am a 
dwarf, his kind are nothing to mine but our rivals. Yet he is a member 
of the fellowship and has proven himself many a time, even in saving 
my life at the crossing of the bridge of Khazad-dûm. There is no way I 
could not be slightly concerned I suppose, if not more.\\ He concluded 
as Legolas' voice came to his ears.

"Nay. It is not that weakness that haunts me, too many of my kind have 
suffered and perished from that." He stated in a weary tone of voice. 
He then turned towards Gimli who was still watching him and Legolas 
picked up on the feeling that he was worried and did not believe him. 
"Fear not for me, as I would not lie about that, even to you. But do 
not tell me that you feel concern for me, as that would be obscene, do 
you not forget our war of wills?"

"I do not forget, but I would like to try," Gimli confessed, and at 
the startled look on Legolas' face quickly added, "For the sake of the 
fellowship."

A slight laugh escaped Legolas as he spoke. "Aye, I to would like to 
forget our differences, even if it is only for the fellowship, which I 
fear needs us too." At this Gimli looked up with a questioning glance. 
//What did he mean that the fellowship needed them to get along? Was 
it in more danger than he perceived?\\ "And yes," Legolas continued. 
"I have been aware of the change in Boromir for a long time now, 
though I fear to say anything as I have had no proof of my suspicions 
and feel that I can not explain them with ease. Even to Aragorn."

"Do try Legolas, for the sake of the fellowship and our new found 
alliance. Try the best you can and we can see what to make of it 
between us."

Legolas pushed his lips together in a thin line, revealing his dismay 
in a show of discomposure unnatural for the elf. Again he stared out 
in to the distance and Gimli saw him draw in a deep breath, and close 
his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. Gimli stood silent and watched, 
eventually turning his eyes on the forest as well not wanting to push 
Legolas to say anything he did not agree to. Finally he heard the soft 
voice of the elf break into his thoughts and he quickly turned to face 
his companion.

"Yes. There has been something wrong with Boromir for a long time." He 
restated. "I fear I have noticed it since we attempted to cross the 
Caradhras and not said anything. I have no idea if Aragorn knows, I 
feel he should but alas I believe that he has many more worries and 
may have overlooked the situation."

"What is it that eats at him Legolas?"

"That is why I have not voiced my thoughts as of yet as I regret that 
I do not rightly know. Yet everything I feel tells my that he is 
burdened by the thing in Frodos' protection, the very thing we have 
been sent to destroy."

"The Rin--" Gimli started.

"Hush Master Gimli, not even here is it wise to speak those words of 
evil. Then something tells me that it is deeper than that, and alas I 
feel." His voice trailed off as he looked over the forest that he 
loved so much. Gimli waited for him to continue, but it became obvious 
that he had no intention to. //Why will he not tell my all he knows? 
Is it that dangerous?\\ He thought, and resolved to probe further.

"You need not hide your thoughts Master elf, as I will share them with 
no other."

"Nay Gimli, its just that--oh I don't know," he started to try to 
explain yet came to a standstill. //How do I tell him that I feel that 
somehow I'm more involved in this darkness than any one of them? And 
how would he react?\\ Legolas decided to come out with it as fast as 
he could. "I feel a darkness over me as well. Something that is some 
how linked to that which hovers over Boromir. I know not how to 
describe it to you as I know not what it is myself, yet I constantly 
feel it there, and more with each passing day." He paused and was 
aware that Gimli was studding him closely, yet he chose to ignore his 
stare and continued. "I know that I do not lust after that which 
Boromir does, and I know that I never would. But it is there non the 
less, even though I know it to be different to that which hovers over 
Boromir, I sense it growing as his grows." He paused for a moment and 
then trying to change to tone of his voice to a happier note said. 
"There, I'm out with it. Do you think I to be not in my mind?"

For some time Gimli just stood there and took a moment to take it all 
in. //What does he mean by this, that there is a shadow over him? And 
what does Boromir have to contribute to this problem?\\ He looked at 
his newly found friend and again noticed the strange expression that 
Legolas had been wearing the last couple of days that was so uncommon 
to the elves. //It must be truly troubling him, he thought, as I have 
not seen him so quiet since I have know him. And one would think that 
he would be very happy in this place of elves and trees, yet he seems 
distant.\\ At long last he spoke, his voice surprisingly quiet and 
calm.

"I know not what you speak of Legolas, and I have no real way of 
seeing it the way you do,. But I feel

even though we have fought most of this journey I know to that you 
would not take the Ring, even though I often clam that the elves 
would, and that I still do not doubt it. But I know you to be true and 
good and would not think of such a dangerous and treacherous thing. 
Yet if you feel something, then alas it must be true." While he was 
speaking he continued to watch Legolas and study his reactions to what 
he was saying, to his surprise the elf barely moved a muscle and kept 
staring into the distance. "If you ask me, I say that it is not that 
you should do something as it is that Boromir may do something to you, 
knowing that your are the likely one to try to stop him." With that 
Legolas finally looked down at the dwarf and a slight smile spread 
across his face.

"I hope you are right." He stated concisely.

"Alas, for I hope we are both wrong, for if I am right than it is not 
only Frodo who has need for concern from the fellowship." Gimli told 
Legolas. After awhile of silence between them it was Gimli that first 
broke the silence. "Come friend, lets not dwell on things that have 
not yet come to pass. We should enjoy the safely and no need for haste 
while we still can."

"Indeed! Let us go." Came Legolas' reply as he turned to Gimli and 
they slowly walked away together as friends for the first time.

*****

Days passed, and as the company left the shelter of Lothlórien their 
hearts once again became heavy. None were aware of precisely how much 
time they had spent there but all felt sorry to leave. The Lady 
Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn had seen them off with a great 
feast and merrymaking. The fellowship was supplied with cloaks and 
hoods, each woven to the size of the bearer. It was hard to say what 
colour they were, sometimes grey and something green and each was 
fastened at the neck by a brooch of a green leaf intertwined with 
silver. For each member of the fellowship the Lady Galadriel had a 
gift: Aragorn received a sheath made for his sword, to Legolas she 
gave a bow fashioned in the style of Lothlórien, such as the Galadhrim 
carried as it was longer and stouter then the one he carried form 
Mirkwood. It was strung of elf-hair and a quiver of arrows accompanied 
it. Boromir received a belt of gold while Merry and Pippin both 
received smaller belts of silver. Sam received a wooden box with the 
rune G upon it's lid containing earth from Lothlórien. She then tuned 
to Gimli and, at his request cut three golden hairs from her head for 
the dwarf to treasure. She finally turned to Frodo and gave him a 
small crystal phile containing the light of Eärendil's star that would 
prove to be light when he most needed it. Sadly the company were taken 
to the three boats the elves of Lórien had provided for them and 
arranged themselves; Aragorn, Sam and Frodo in one, Legolas, Gimli and 
most of the luggage in the last and Boromir, Merry and Pippin in the 
middle boat. And with that they were off again, heading down the Great 
River to almost sure doom.

Legolas, who had tried to keep his heart light, felt stronger then 
ever the unmentionable presence of the shadow that hovered over the 
fellowship, and the warning in his heart told him that it was hanging 
heavily over him as well. Yet to his strange relief he and Gimli had 
been becoming the best of friends and he had kept his promise not to 
tell of Legolas' thoughts and concerns. It was a strange friendship 
indeed, and the others were amazed by their new attitude towards each 
other, and Boromir was happy not to have to be the one to settle any 
arguments that the two used to have. Even the elves of Lothlórien had 
been shocked to see the friendship between one of their kinsmen and a 
dwarf, their rivals, especially after their initial hatred when they 
had first arrived. The entire company was relieved to have peace in 
the fellowship, except Legolas and Gimli knew it was not true and 
rowed on with heavy hearts.

Gimli, while being happy of his new found friendship with Legolas was 
worried about his friend as he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper 
into despair. While he had not mentioned the shadow again, Gimli knew 
that he still felt it and that it was a powerful weight on the elf's' 
mind and heart. But time soon showed that Legolas was not one to be 
fussed or worried over and would not say anything that was on his 
mind.

"What is it that troubles you friend? Is it still as we discussed?" 
Gimli had once asked.

"Aye, `tis and getting stronger." Was all he said.

"Do you think we should tell Aragorn?"

"Nay, as I fear he has enough on his mind. Gandalf's death hit him 
harder than any of us, even if he doesn't show it and now he has the 
role of our leader. I want not to worry him over my foolish 
suspicions." He replied while looking over at Aragorn in one of the 
other boats, he did not want to overburden him with something that he 
could handle himself. Legolas though he looked tired and strained, and 
he could see by the expression on his face that he was still grieving 
for the loss of his old friend.

Yet, unbeknown to Legolas, at the same time he was thinking that of 
Aragorn, Gimli was thinking the same on him, yet the dwarf decided not 
query the elf any further. //I'm sure he has his reasons,\\ he 
thought. //And I should not question them. Yet why do I fear the way 
Legolas talks about this? Because I know that he will not sit by and 
do nothing, that's why.\\ He answered his own question. //And I fear 
that if Boromir knows that Legolas is watching him he might do 
something rash, at least that would explain the shadow over Legolas, 
his doom at the hands of a corrupted man. I fear that it may be too 
big a task for him to take on alone.\\ And with this he made a mental 
note to keep an eye on both Boromir and Legolas.

At the tenth day of their journey the company still followed the 
river, and as the day drew to an end and the darkness of night started 
to creep upon them, on they rowed. Legolas and Gimli were soon in line 
with Aragorn's boat thanks to the elfs' constant stroke and it was 
then decided that they would once again have to rest for the night. 
They pulled on to the West Bank as all along the East side of the 
river they had heard the sounds of Orcs on the move and the hunt. They 
all got out of the boats and lifted them out of the water and carried 
them to a hiding place behind some large rocks. The boats where 
surprisingly light and were easy to handle when out of the water, 
another Elven quality.

As the hobbits carried the packs over to a nice and easy to defend 
place to camp, Aragorn went scouting around the area. Legolas and 
Gimli started to walk over to the right while Boromir went to the 
left, looking for any danger.

"Come Mr Frodo, have something to eat and rest awhile." Sam called to 
his master and friend as he opened his pack to reveal the Lembas of 
the elves. Frodo looked tired and ridden with grief yet he hastily 
obliged.

"If you shall join me then I shall happily embrace food and rest." He 
replied with a smile as he walked slowly over to his three friends and 
they began to talk merrily.

Gimli watched with interest. //Here we are heading into danger and 
possibly death, with Legolas saying that there is something wrong in 
the fellowship and all they can think of is food!\\ A smile twitched 
at the corners of his mouth and was about to turn to tell Legolas of 
this though, but when his eyes came to rest on the elf's' fair 
features he saw a frown. Gimli followed Legolas' gaze and what he saw 
was enough to banish all happy thoughts. Down yonder stood Boromir, 
gazing at Frodo's back, with a look that could kill. //How is it that 
I had not noticed?\\ he questioned himself. Legolas still watched 
Boromir with careful and questioning eyes, and then much to Gimli's 
horror, Boromir turned and caught Legolas' watchfulness. Gimli's eyes 
darted to Legolas' face, who had been caught watching Boromir, and yet 
the prince held the mans gaze. Time stood still and Gimli could see 
the battle of their wills clearly before him, each not wanting to back 
down but each wanting to let the other know of their thoughts. Gimli 
cursed in his head that he knew not what Boromir thought of the 
situation and what he would do. The elf and the man continued to stare 
each other down and the dwarf's mind raced. //Why didn't I keep a 
better look out and watched Legolas' back? Now I'm sure Boromir knows 
that at least Legolas knows about what's going on. What should I do?\\ 
Terrible thoughts ran through his head, thoughts of Boromir turning on 
fellowship, or at least Legolas. //What if he tries to attack my 
friend at night, when we sleep?\\ It was then that he felt the pain 
from his bruised neck from where Legolas had pushed in his knuckles 
and he felt slightly reassured. As he proceeded to watch this battle 
between the two he noticed that Frodo had seen the look on Legolas' 
face and looked around at Boromir nervously. It was then that Boromir, 
still glaring at Legolas slowly started to back away and with one 
quick movement turned his gaze and walked quickly into the bush. The 
elf prince shot daggers into the mans back with his gaze and took no 
notice of Frodo who was trying to catch his gaze.

Gimli on the other hand locked eyes with Frodo, whose eyes desperately 
asked what was going on, yet Gimli made no attempt to say or imply 
anything, keeping true to his word. He turned to ask Legolas what had 
really happened, when it came to his attention the prince was in fact 
no longer standing next to him. A quick glance at Frodo revealed that 
he had in fact done off into the woods in the opposite direction. The 
dwarf went to follow his friend when he remembered that Aragorn was 
not there, and the hobbits should not be left alone. With that in mind 
he reluctantly made his way over to the four hobbits, and with a quick 
look at Frodo told him not to ask anymore so not to alarm the other 
three, who remained oblivious.

Legolas quietly walked among the trees and took in his surroundings 
though they did nothing to ease his mind. It was a horrible mistake 
that he had just made, to be caught by Boromir. He should have looked 
away and not done anything, yet he felt that he had to protect Frodo 
and the fellowship. //Should I tell Aragorn? How could he not know, 
but he is no elf, though sometimes I forget that, and he has his own 
troubles. Yet I can't do this alone. No, I'm not alone, I have Gimli's 
help, but he can not possibly understand what is truly happening. 
Alas, nor do I.\\ He wandered for a long time, trying to conclude the 
debate that was being played out in his head.

He knew not how far he had walked but soon became aware of the fall of 
footsteps, coming his way. He peered into the woods; unable to see 
through the thick trees, so instead he stopped and listened. His 
heightened senses picked up on the fall of light feet, the pounding of 
a heart as it raced, letting the elf know that his `prey' knew of his 
presence. He heard the draw and release of breath, and another sound, 
one that he knew only to well, the sound of an arrow being notched and 
the string being pulled, the bow bending with the force. It became 
obvious that he was now the prey, and with a quick and silent movement 
he notched is own bow. Planting his feet firmly on the ground he 
closed his eyes, as he could see nothing anyway and he found that it 
was a way of enlighten his senses even more. He slowly rotated the top 
half of his body to face the origin of the sounds and drawing back on 
the elf-hair string he silently waited and listened. A faint noise 
came from the direction his senses were focusing on and he was about 
to release the arrow when...he heard the whistling of an arrow flying 
through the air towards him, from the point of the sound.





CHAPTER TWO

OUT OF GRACE, OUT OF THE LIGHT.

//The world runs on a song, a sting of notes that keep everything 
together in both peace and harmony. It is entirely possible to hear 
these notes, as it is also possible to change them, whether it is 
intentional or not, but once changed, once altered there is no going 
back. What is done can not be undone just as what is foreseen many not 
always come to pass. This fragile balance sits upon a never ending 
blade, always going forward, but with one wrong step, one slip, the 
known world can plunge into darkness and despair, forcing the good and 
masters of the song into shadows and away from the light.\\

In a movement quicker than the eye could see he gracefully threw 
himself to the right and, landing in a tumble turn, sprang nimbly to 
his feet to see the arrow stick into a tree trunk that was directly 
behind where he once stood. Luckily it had been slowed down by the 
thickness of the bush or the out come would have been fatal. Yet who 
could disguise themselves so well from a wood-elf? He thought. //Was 
it another elf? Or something more sinister?\\ He stood his ground and 
held his notched arrow in the direction of his would be assassin, his 
forefinger against his tooth to steady his arm. Curse the darkness of 
these woods! //Oh how I long to see the light and shinny greens of 
Mirkwood!\\ As far as he could tell, the hunter was not aware of his 
escape and was making his way to where he stood. The prince stood and 
waited, not wanting to shoot someone with out being certain. //That's 
more than I can say for them,\\ he mused.

The assassin stalked through the bushes, heading to where he was sure 
he had hit his target. As he came out of the thicket he noticed three 
things: his arrow was stuck in a tree, meaning that he had indeed not 
hit his target. A tall, lean figure could just be made out through the 
trees standing with a bow pointed directly at him, and finally that 
most important of the three, was the fact that the figure was of an 
elf. But not just any elf, the elf was Legolas. A flood of relief 
flowed through him at the sight of his friend, standing unhurt and 
very much alive, though he was startled that he had dodged his 
normally deadly aim. //How is that possible?\\ He thought yet the only 
explanation that could come to him was the fact that Legolas was 
indeed an elf and the forest would have warned him of the Rangers 
presence, but still it was amazing he not even injured! He was about 
to call out to the prince when he saw that the elf was in fact already 
walking towards him, bow slung over his shoulder and showing no sigh 
of fear. //Keen are the eyes of the elves\\ he thought.

"Aragorn." He heard Legolas' fair voice calling to him and the Ranger 
stepped out of his hiding place. "Only you could manage to scare me so 
much." Laughed Aragorn. "You were like no other Orc that I have ever 
hunted!" At this Legolas let out a laugh despite himself and the 
troubles that were still in his head.

"Aye, likewise to you good Ranger."

"It is lucky that the elves have such keen eyes or you may have not 
seen my arrow!" Aragorn stated, deeply happy that he had missed his 
target.

"Nay, I could not see a thing for all these trees, I heard you. Your 
breathing and heartbeat made enough noise to warn me when you were 
about to strike!" The elf brushed off.

"Non the less, I am deeply sorry." Aragorn offered, "And yet very glad 
that you are the better of us two, for you did not shoot before you 
saw. Alas, I fear that if you had, I would not be standing here 
talking with you now as I have not your skill." Aragorn took a slight 
bow of gratitude yet with a jesting smile on his face. Legolas tried 
to return the smile but found the incident with Boromir still fell 
heavy on his mind and his ability to make a happy expression.

This Aragorn noticed and he found himself wondering again what it was 
that worried his friend he had known for so long. He had long noticed 
that the normally happy, lighthearted elf was becoming quiet and 
withdrawn. //Such is the way of the elves when they are separated from 
their kind and forests. He told himself yet it does not explain the 
fact that he seemed even more distant in Lothlórien. I would have 
thought that that place would have lifted his spirits. The only thing 
that seemed to get even a little happiness from him was his newly 
found friendship with Gimli, a dwarf. He is a mystery indeed!\\ Was 
all Aragorn could conclude. But recently, within the last few weeks he 
had picked up on something he could only guess at. Was it, or was it 
just his imagination, that he though that Legolas was weary of 
Boromir? //It's insane!\\ He concluded, //why would Legolas be afraid 
of Boromir? Or was Boromir afraid of Legolas?\\ Whatever way it went, 
he was sure that there was some tension between the two and he was 
going to find out.

"Come friend, tell me what it is that troubles you?" Aragorn asked. At 
the mention of this Legolas felt a tremor deep inside. //Did Aragorn 
already know? If so, what do I say? And what exactly happened between 
Boromir and myself only a few hours ago?\\ No matter what he told 
Aragorn he had to say something soon or the Rangers suspicions would 
be confirmed.

"I know not of what you speak." He said pithily, turning away to hide 
his eyes so not to be caught out.

But this movement alone confirmed the Rangers suspicions and he asked 
further.

"Do not play naive with me. You forget that I grew up with the elves 
and not only can I sense things no man could, I can tell when an elf 
is lying." He informed Legolas.

Legolas knew he was right and that there was no point in not telling 
Aragorn, chances were he already knew, but did he know about the 
shadow over him? The elf suddenly realized that Aragorn was watching 
his face closely and wore a worried expression.

"Delay no longer, Master elf, tell me what eats at you?" he commanded, 
then adding in a lighter tone so not to offend his friend. "If I knew 
not any better, I would say you were sick."

"Nay, not sick, just troubled." Legolas replied, wondering why 
everyone thought that about him. //Gimli could be understood, but 
Aragorn of all people should not think that I was sick or that 
something pulled at my heart. But what of the shadow? Was it truly 
pulling his heart into real despair? Nay, it could not! I might not 
know what causes it, but I would know if it were that bad, and its 
not!\\ "Something draws near, I can feel it." Legolas stated brevity.

"Aye! Orcs hunt and gather all around us, mainly on the east bank." 
Aragorn informed the prince.

"Nay, `tis not that." Legolas started, yet tarried to continue.

"What do you mean?" questioned the confused Ranger, not quite able to 
fathom what the elf was holding back on. He noted that Legolas held 
himself differently, a very slight difference, but it was indeed a 
difference, which was not a good sign.

"Surly you must have noticed?" cried a startled Legolas. //This could 
be harder then I thought!\\ "You must have noticed the way that 
Boromir looks on the Ring bearer? The way he craves the power that it 
would bring him and how he has been corrupted?"

"Yes, indeed I have, but obviously not as strong as you. I thought it 
might pass over him, as I am not convinced that he knows what he is 
doing or feeling. But alas, I should have know you would pick it up, 
and I suppose Gimli knows too?"

"Indeed he does, it was the very basis for our friendship! Yet I asked 
him to say nothing for the good of the fellowship, but with each 
passing day the dark cloud gets heavier over Boromirs' head and 
settles with him easier." //This is the moment of truth; do I tell him 
how I feel? How the darkness hunts me also? Nay! I shall not!\\ He 
decided.

"I to have seen this, I only hope that he can control himself, and I 
have no doubt that he can, at least for a little while longer, then if 
it need be I shall do whatever is needed. But for the time we need all 
the help we can get!" He replied. "But for now, do nothing but watch 
and listen, we do not wish to let him know we are on to his little 
game, that is if he knows that he indeed is playing." At this Legolas 
again cursed himself for being caught earlier, but decided not to 
trouble Aragorn any further and remanded silent. "Come now," continued 
Aragorn, "Lets go back to the others and rest."

*****

That night Legolas spent the time in watchful silence, hardly even 
talking to Gimli. In true travelers style they drew blades of grass to 
see who had first watch, and having been decided that Legolas shall 
sit first, the others went to sleep.

In truth the elf like the thought of being on first watch, as it gave 
he time to think, and did not cut into his sleep later in the night. 
He sat on a boulder off to the left of the fellowship, and from here 
he could see into the forest, the east side of the bank and up and 
down the banks of the river. All in all it was the perfect place for a 
sentry to sit.

The time passed slowly as the prince sat unmoving, thinking of all 
that had happened. Thoughts of Gandalf's death came to his mind, in 
truth they never really left but he pushed them back, not wanting the 
grief. But no matter how hard he tried there was this little notion in 
his head, telling him that maybe; just maybe he could have done 
something to help him. That if he had been quicker he might have been 
able to grab him, or at least try like Aragorn did. But he hadn't, he 
had stood there and held back the others, while their to leaders 
risked life and death. //I stood there! I let him fall!\\ Thoughts ran 
through his head, dangerous and dark thoughts, yet he pushed them back 
once more. // Now is not the time to grieve, not now, I must keep 
watch and remain clear in my mind.\\

The hours passed by and it finally came time to awaken the next 
sentry: Boromir. Legolas walked over to the sleeping man without 
making a noise and gently stirred him from his sleep. No words were 
spoken between the two and as Legolas went to take up his position, 
near the trees as it reminded him of home, he caught Boromir's glance 
linger a little bit longer on Frodo than any other of the companies. 
Legolas quickly banished all thoughts off ill, and told himself that 
the man of Gondor was merely checking up on the ring bearer. But why 
did the prince not believe it?

As hard as he tried, sleep did not come to the prince; not even a 
slight form of his dream world showed its self. Instead he lay there 
watching the stars as they burned, ever so slowly coming to there end. 
It was then that Legolas felt the wind upon his face, pushed in an 
unnatural way. //Something moves!\\ He thought, while listening for 
the sound of movement, and then, sure enough, the fall of footsteps. 
Only one set, yet heavy and with purpose. He moved his eyes slightly, 
not wanting to let the intruder know that he heard it. To his relief 
the elf saw that it was in fact Boromir. //But where was he going?\\ 

Boromir was trying to walk quietly into the forest, leaving his post 
behind. The elf waited a few moments and he slightly pushed himself 
off the ground and walked lightly over to the sleeping form of Gimli. 
Having learned from past, almost deadly encounters, the elf restrained 
his friends' right hand and used his free hand as a clamp over the 
dwarf's mouth. Legolas then shook him slightly and as Gimli's body 
tensed, the prince pushed down on his arm. The strength of Gimli's arm 
trying to reach his axe startled Legolas, but it was no match for the 
elf. The dwarf's eyes slowly came open and recognition came over him 
when he saw Legolas looking down on him. Legolas slowly released his 
friends arm and held his fingers to his lips for silence.

"Stay here and keep guard." The elf spoke softly, springing up and 
leaving before Gimli had time to reply.

Legolas reached the edge of the forest and peered in. He could just 
see the colour of Boromir's tunic as he disappeared between the trees. 
With steps that left no print let alone caused a sound the prince 
followed the man, wanting to know what it was that he was doing.

Boromir came to a clearing and pacing from end to end, cursing under 
his breath. Legolas watched, unsure if he should alert the man of his 
presence. Finally he decided, and with a faint sigh, entered the 
clearing.

"Boromir, what is it that you do out here?" he asked boldly, "and why 
is it that you leave your post as guard?"

" Legolas." Boromir let out a sigh, though he did not seem to be 
shocked that the elf had followed him. "Good are the ears of the elves 
if you heard me leave even in sleep."

"Nay. I was not asleep. Again I ask why you left your post?" The elf 
persisted, wanting to know what it was that ate at the man. Boromir's 
eyes flared at the demanding tone Legolas used on him and he fought to 
conceal his facial expressions.

"I only seek solitude Master elf." He said in a sugary voice.

"And you found non while on watch?" Legolas challenged him. Leaving 
the watch was a horrible betrayal, what if they had been attacked and 
had no time to respond?

"Nay, for the feeling that I was not alone in my thoughts." Boromir's 
voice hardened and he glared at the elf, who for the second time that 
day held his stare. A feeling of panic rose inside of the man and he 
grew weary of what was to come. "Come, let us return to camp where I 
shall resume my watch, and you may find sleep." He stated, making a 
move to leave the clearing.

"Halt!" Legolas called, and Boromir could hear the princely tone in 
Legolas' voice. "There has been something I have been meaning to ask 
you for some time now Boromir." Legolas could not believe that he was 
voicing this, especially to the person his suspicions accused.

"And what would that be my Prince?" Boromir asked in a mocking voice, 
angry for being spoken to like an elf under Legolas' command or worse 
a servant. He turned and faced the elf with a look of defiance in his 
eyes. "What is it that you think I would share with you?"

"I feel it Boromir! I feel how the darkness hovers over you and how it 
eats at you from inside. I know what it is that you seek and want, and 
I will not let it come to pass. Nor will I let you be the one to bring 
about the destruction of the fellowship as you can not control your 
self."

Boromir snickered at what the elf had said. "Tell me prince, what is 
it that I seek? Humour me! Look into my soul as did Galadriel and see 
what you can see." Legolas stood motionless and silent, not knowing 
what to say. "What? Can you not see? Tell me what eats at me!"

Legolas strained to hold his compositor, as Boromir had acted unlike 
he thought. With a deep breath he raised his head so that he looked 
down upon the man and began. "I know that you want the Ring, that you 
stare knives into the back of the hobbit. You are waiting for your 
chance; you have been all along. You never once pledged your sword at 
Rivendell, you came only to wait for the moment that you could claim 
what you believe is yours!" Boromir tensed up and glared at the elf, 
and Legolas knew that his suspicions were indeed right. //Now what am 
I to do? It was a foolish idea to come here and do this, I should have 
done as Aragorn has and stayed out of it!\\ "Yet you still fight it, 
the call, that is why you came here is it not? To rid yourself of the 
temptation to take the thing that Frodo carries, to try and block out 
the pull the Ring has on you. Am I not right?"

Boromir just stood there and watched the elf he though he had known, 
the quiet withdrawn being that had accompanied them. He had not seen 
Legolas like this since the council of Elrond. He remembered the look 
that Legolas had shot him clearly.

\\\\"And what does a Ranger know of this land's plight?" Boromir had 
asked, back at the council.

"This is no mere Ranger, Boromir of Gondor!" Legolas had been quick to 
reply, while leaping gracefully to his feet and shooting the man a 
deadly glare. "For he is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, rightful heir to 
the throne of Gondor and you own him your allegiance!" ////

Boromir saw that same wave of defiance and strength in Legolas now and 
knew it was hopeless to deny the accusation. "What? Would you to let 
the Ring be destroyed?" he shot back.

"It must be, for the good of everyone in Middle-earth."

"Ha! An elf talking about others like they matter? You elves don't 
care! I see no army of elves to fight off the Dark Lord, for you all 
hide in your forests and live the lives of self-acclaimed exulted 
beings!"

"Hold your tongue and speak not of what you do not fathom!" The prince 
felt rage build up inside of him and he bite back the urge to say 
more.

"Look around you Legolas! The elves are a dying and forgotten race 
that care for nothing but themselves! And when the Dark Lords comes 
who will Middle-earth turn to for help? The hobbits? Ha! Most know not 
of their existence and even if they were known, they could do nothing. 
Nay, it will be the men of Gondor that the people will cry to. It will 
be Me that they seek, not your people, not anyone else. Me! So why 
des-"

"Nay! It would not be you. It would be Aragorn, the rightful king of 
Gondor! Not you!" The elf's eyes blazed in his hate.

"You kid yourself Legolas, you fill your own head with silly dreams of 
simple folk. Aragorn would never be king, he has not the heart!"

"I would rather fill my head with dreams of what you would call a lost 
cause than that of the words of the Dark Lord himself!" Legolas stated 
clamorously. "And Aragorn WILL be king whether you like it or not, and 
it will be he that we turn to. Not some blabbing man consumed by the 
darkness of the very evil that we are trying to fight!"

Boromir felt anger roar up inside of him and he could not hold himself 
any longer. With that he launched himself at the elf prince, a twisted 
expression of rage on his face. He pulled no weapon, just relied on 
his hands, going for the elf's throat.

Legolas, taken back by Boromir's sudden explosion let out a startled 
cry as the man lunged at him. Legolas quickly jumped to the side, but 
alas, was not quick enough as Boromir connected with the princes 
shoulder, sending them both flying backward to the ground.

Legolas felt the wind knock out if his lungs as he jarred his back 
with the force of the impact. His head had collided with something 
hard, but luckily not hard enough to cause any damage.

Boromir fell face down, on top of the left side of the elf, pinning 
him down. He quickly reached with his left hand to grab Legolas by the 
right, but the elf was to quick for him.

Legolas grabbed Boromir's left arm, and using all his strength he bent 
the mans arm behind his back, causing him need to roll. Legolas then 
shoved himself to the left, switching their positions, nailing Boromir 
to the forest floor, ramming his knuckles into his throat as he had 
done to Gimli. //I seem to be doing this a lot recently,\\ he thought 
grimly.

The man cried out in both pain and surprise, as he had not thought the 
slender elf to be so strong. He struggled under the prince yet to no 
prevail, Legolas' grip held tight and firm. Boromir looked up into the 
elf's eyes and was surprised to see what he though to be a glint 
horror, never before had he seen the elf scared. It then occurred to 
the man that the elf was not paying much attention to him, but focused 
his attention on the surrounding forest.

Legolas had successfully pinned the man down when he noticed a 
disturbance in the forest, one that the trees hated and feared. As he 
listened he was aware of Boromir trying to shrug out of his hold, so 
Legolas pushed down harder on the mans throat.

The forest sang, but not the happy song of that bonded the universe 
together in both life and death, but a song of fear and doom. Slowly, 
Legolas was able to pick up on the notes, to see and hear what the 
trees heard.

Orcs!

Having established this, he turned his gaze back to Boromir. And with 
a look that told the man not to move he hesitantly started to release 
the pressure on Boromir's throat. Legolas leaned down close to the 
mans ear and whispered one word that spread more fear through Boromir 
then that of the elf.

The man looked up startled, and forgetting his hate for a moment 
searched for answers in his betters eyes, yet there were none to be 
found, as he too seemed to be as startled.

Legolas pushed himself off the form of Boromir and stood tall, 
awaiting more news from the trees, yet none was to come. He looked 
down at Boromir and with a gesture of his head the man stood and they 
both started to sneak back to camp.

Just then black feathered arrows flew from the trees in front of the 
company. Legolas and Boromir threw themselves to the ground in order 
to dodge the shafts and, while Boromir unsheathed his sword Legolas 
crawled towards the direction of the Orcs. Cursing himself for not 
bring his bow, Legolas pulled out his two Elven-blades, and holding 
one in each hand, jumped up and flew forward, engaging the Orcs as 
they spilled out into the clearing.



******* Now on with the sto—Oh and thoughts are now indicated in 
Italics! Sorry about the change, but I will go and fix up the last 
chapters soon! *******

PART THREE.

RIVER OF BLOOD, SEA OF REDEMPTION. 



Choices are made all the time, some bad, some good. What we don’t 
realise is, that while our choices shape our own fate, it also 
reflects on those around us, dragging them down a path not chosen by 
them, and when darkness creeps up, tightening its’ hand about the 
throat for a close friend, redemption is sort out. All redemption 
comes at a high price, one that is sometimes too high for one to bare 
and the affected ones fade out of existence and into the stars. 

*******

Gimli sat in silence. What had Boromir gone to do and why did Legolas 
have to follow him? Such thoughts raced through his head as he sat and 
watched the sleeping company. Finally, his head gave into his heart 
and he walked over to awaken Aragorn. As the Ranger came to, they both 
heard the startled cry of Legolas from far off in the woodland. The 
two companions jumped to their feet, which woke the others.

"What is it?" Frodo asked sleepily.

"Shh!" Aragorn hushed them before they could make anymore noise. The 
Ranger looked into the forest listening, since Legolas’s initial cry 
he had heard nothing else, and that scared him. Is Legolas ok? Where 
was he and what ill had befallen him? And more importantly, was it at 
the hands of Boromir? "Nay!" he said out loud. He knew his friend well 
and if by some chance Boromir had tried anything the elf would be 
easily able to win, even if he was distracted. These thoughts brought 
him a glimmer of hope as he started to move to the edge of the forest, 
the others close behind him. Then, a sound came to all of them, one 
that shook the very foundations of their hopes. 

The sound of the Horn of Boromir.

*******

The clearing was fast becoming filled, both of the dead Orcs and that 
of the ones that came to take their place in the fight. Legolas darted 
amongst the Orcs, slashing with his blades, while Boromir stood his 
ground allowing the Orcs to come to him. The two fought bravely and 
killed swiftly but they were out numbered by far.

Legolas was slowly making his way to the archers, wanting to take them 
out of the equation when three Orcs came at him from all directions. 
He ducked a sharp edged sword and stabbed upwards with one of his 
blades catching the Orc in the gut. With his other blade he swiped at 
the legs of another and it fell to the ground, withering in pain. He 
sliced its throat and moved on to the last one and with a graceful 
spin he came in behind it and stabbed the Orc through the back. It was 
then that a welcomed sound filled his ears. Boromir had taken to his 
horn, and a great sound escaped the fine features of the object that 
would be enough to awaken the others. With a quick look over his 
shoulder to where Boromir fought, and a nod from the man Legolas once 
again set off in the direction of the bowmen.

*******

"Orcs!" hissed Gimli.

"Aye! Orcs." Aragorn started to grab two of the packs that lay on the 
ground.

"Hey, what are you going with my pack?" Sam cried while belting on his 
knife and looking on the Ranger as if he were insane.

"Take them. Frodo, you must leave!" the Ranger said while shoving the 
hobbits’ packs at them and pushing them to the boats.

"W-what are you doing Aragorn?" Frodo stuttered. "Legolas and Boromir 
need our help!"

"Nay, they don’t need your help, they need you to destroy the ring. 
You must make hast." And with that he continued to push the two 
hobbits to the boat before they could protest any further.

"What about us?" came Pippins voice from behind. He stood there next 
to Merry and looked on in disbelief. Aragorn shot a glance to Frodo, 
and saw in his eyes that he only wanted Sam to accompany him.

"You will come and aid us in the fight. I want no more question or 
complaints as we do not have the time!" he turned back to Frodo and 
Sam. "Take care my friends and I hope that we shall meet again." With 
that he led them to a boat and saw them off. Merry and Pippin stood, 
looking shocked and not knowing what to do, so they merely waved 
solemnly at their departing friends. With one last look at the hobbits 
rowing over to the other side of the bank Aragorn then spoke. "Come 
now Master Gimli, lets make hast and aid our friends." When there was 
no reply, the Ranger whirled around to find that Gimli was not there 
and the hobbits stood there none the wiser.

*******

Gimli, who was regretting the delay, had decided to go on his own to 
the aid of his new friend. Something hung heavily on his heart. What 
if Legolas was hurt? What if he had been attacked by Boromir before 
the Orcs and was in no condition to fight? As these thoughts came to 
him faster and faster he ran on, pushing himself almost to his limit. 
The sounds of the battle were getting closer with each step and he 
could hear the sound of arrows cutting through the air, their deadly 
heads biting into trees. His heart pounded as his steps rang out 
through the forest. Faster and faster he ran, till he could just see 
movement through the trees, colours that were alien to the greens of 
the forest. The sounds of the fight called to him and echoed in his 
ears. 

It was then that he saw the fight in its full terrifying glory. 
Boromir stood in the middle of the clearing, sword in hand and covered 
in blood, with the bodies of countless Orcs littering the ground at 
his feet. More came at him and he fought them off with both shield and 
blade showing the skill of the men of Gondor. All around the clearing 
lay the bodies of Orcs that had been picked off on by one, showing the 
signs of being killed by a long knife. Legolas! 

As Gimli approached the clearing, he realised two things, one there 
were still many Orcs coming from all directions, and two, was the fact 
that even though the fight showed signs of Legolas, the elf was no 
where to be seen. As he pondered these thoughts he sent his axe blade 
into the chest of one Orc, and turned to face Boromir.

"What happened here?" the dwarf demanded, "And where is Legolas?"

"They caught us by surprise Gimli, there was nothing we could do. 
Legolas has gone to slay the archers." Even as the man spoke, arrows 
flew around them. 

Gimli started to think of the reasons Legolas was after the archers; 
sure it would make the fight easer, but why leave the battle, why not 
just shoot them? Then it hit him and in his minds eye he saw Legolas 
waking him up and walking into the forest. He does not have his bow! 
Dark thoughts started to cloud his mind yet again, this means that the 
elf had gone off on his own, armed only with his Elven blades to try 
and stop a hoard of Orcs! While cutting another attacker almost in 
two, he started to move in the direction of the archers to help his 
friend.

*******

Legolas darted between the trees showing the skill and swiftness of 
his people. His blades sang as he moved them through air and flesh 
with deadly accuracy. All the while he was slowly making his way to 
the archers, but he was aware that it was taking him far to long to 
get there.

The prince had decided that, without the archers, their chance of 
survival was much greater, and he had taken it upon himself to 
eliminate them. But without his bow, this proved to be more difficult 
than he had originally thought.

In order to avoid attention and the hatred of the arrows, he had 
circled behind the oncoming Orcs in order to attack the archers from 
behind. This strategy had worked well enough, but it seemed that his 
foes were expecting that, or at least some form of resistance from 
behind, and he found the path he had chosen heavily guarded. 

Another Orc came at him head on, and, twisting his body in full 
rotation, he sliced across the midriff of the fell creature, only to 
spin again and send both his knives back into the wound and slicing up 
with perfect union, cutting through flesh and bones. Blood splashed 
onto Legolas’ tunic, but he ignored it and continued on, only to be 
met by another opponent. Using an overhand stroke, he sliced the 
throat of the Orc, but not before the beasts’ sword bite into the 
flesh of his left shoulder. Legolas cried out as pain fled through his 
arm, making him almost drop his second knife. 

But on he went, forever on, fighting and slashing his way through the 
foul beasts, his sliver knives gleaming red in the moonlight.

*******

Aragorn quickly picked up his sword Andúril and something caught his 
eye. Lying to the left of the camp was something that should not have 
been there. Legolas’ bow! Aragorn looked around quickly to see that 
his quiver was also sitting there, next to the disregarded bow. 

Aragorn quickly walked over, and slinging the bow over his shoulder 
and strapping on Legolas’ quiver he called back to the hobbits. 
"Hurry, we have no time to waste. Not while three of us are in grave 
danger!" with that said the three set off to aid their friends.

*******

Boromir stood alone, fighting alone in a clearing full of Orcs. His 
shirt stained with blood and his sword sticky with gore. His face was 
splattered with blood and his hair mattered with sweat. More and more 
Orcs came at him, never stopping. No matter how many he fought, no 
matter how many he killed, there was no rest in the oncoming attack. 

Arrows still flew past his head, and he was constantly having to hid 
behind his shield or seek shelter from trees. Dark thoughts clattered 
his mind, many of Legolas, the one he had so recently attacked, the 
one he hated so much. But what if he was dead? This thought pulled at 
Boromirs’ mind more than anything. 

The last time he had seen the elf was as he bravely went off to face 
the archers on his own, armed not with his weapon of choice, only with 
his long knives. Even though Boromir knew Legolas to be greatly 
skilled in most forms of fighting, what kind of chance does a lone elf 
stand against a band of Orcs? Orcs hated the elves more than any 
species in Middle-earth, and here was Legolas, off by himself and 
greatly disadvantaged. 

I must remember that now Gimli is in his wake, he will aid the elf. He 
told himself sternly as his sword lunged and pierced an Orc heart.

He looked up and surveyed the situation. Far to many Orcs for me 
alone. Aragorn? Where is Aragorn? He once again drew his horn to his 
lips and blew. Out came a sound that reflected his horror and dismay, 
but one that triumphed over his weakness.

*******

Aragorn lead the hobbits towards the battle although he feared for 
their safety. They were no fighters and he knew it, but what else 
could he do? Frodo had not wanted to endanger their lives so he bid 
them stay, so I take them to battle. He sighed and turned to the 
hobbits. They were trailing behind his quick pace and he did not wish 
to leave them, even if the battle called to him.

"Hurry!" was all he said, as he turned to run on. Within a few minutes 
the three came across the battle and the sound of the Horn of Boromir 
filled their ears.

Pushing the hobbits in front of him, he drove then towards the sound 
and found their comrade behind a tree.

"You have come!" Boromir exclaimed while slicing his sword across the 
body of another Orc.

"Yes, we are here, and we bring news." The Ranger replied while 
swinging into action. "The ring bearer and Sam have set out to Mordor, 
leaving us at my command. But I fear that Master Gimli has 
disappeared." He looked around and noticed something, "Where is 
Legolas?" He demanded of the man, suspicion and fear in his voice.

"He is well, at least he was last I saw. The elf prince has set off to 
slay the archers though I fear that he has only his knives, not his 
bow. And fear not for Gimli, as he has gone to aid Legolas!" 

Through all this Merry and Pippin kept quiet, knives drawn yet hiding 
behind the men as much as possible. Whenever the chance arose they 
both charged an Orc, stabbing and beating it till it fell, yet they 
could do little else. 

Aragorn, finding it restricting his movements, had layed Legolas’s bow 
against a tree along with the quiver. Boromir had been carried off to 
the left in the flood of the fight, bodies swarming around him. 
Aragorn, seeing this went to aid his friend, called to the hobbits to 
follow him. As the Ranger chopped and slashed his way through he heard 
a sickening thud. One made by an arrow. An arrow biting into flesh.

He looked around wildly. Seeing that the hobbits were ok, it left only 
one that this misfortune could have fallen upon. 

Boromir stood there, a look of horror on his face, an arrow 
penetrating from him right shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly he raised 
his sword and brought it down on the head of the closest Orc while a 
scream of rage escaped his lips.

Aragorn, seeing this, fought harder to get to his friends side, the 
hobbits close behind him. 

The fight was fierce, and as Orc after Orc fell at he hands of the men 
and hobbits, arrows still flew.

*******

Gimli ran on, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the archers by 
the whispers of the arrows as they left their strings. All he wanted 
was to find his friend alive and well, and aid him in his battle. To 
his surprise and had found a defined trail of slain Orcs to follow and 
was grateful that Legolas still fought on.

No Orcs had come to block his way and he was not sure what to make of 
that. Either Legolas had taken them all out, or they held no interest 
in the dwarf and focused all their attention on the lone elf. This he 
could not tell, but he hopped that it was in fact the first of the 
two, as he knew all to well the hate the Orcs had for elves. It was 
one that surpassed even the hate of the dwarves, one so old that all 
knew of the aversion. The elves were all that the Orcs despised in the 
world; good, noble, true and beautiful. One with nature. And the fell 
beasts would stop at nothing to destroy that connection, that beauty, 
and worst of all, they took pleasure in it.

With this firmly in his mind he hurried on, his hopes high, but a 
shadow loomed in the back of his mind.

*******

An Orc ran by, looking for a worthy opponent. But none were to be 
found. The men only delayed the future, their downfall. And the 
halflings were indeed no fight, they merely stood in his way.

But somewhere, somewhere in the mist of the fight there was an elf. A 
being that, while not being able to match his strength, could at least 
put up a fight for a moment. The Orc searched for this member of the 
group, one that he would enjoy tormenting. One that he was ordered to 
find and bring back to his dark master.

It was then that his eyes befell an object. One that he hated so much, 
one that, given any different circumstance he would destroy on the 
spot. But this would aid him in the capture of the elf.

With a weary glance at the two fighting men he reached down and picked 
up the object, and slinging it over his shoulder he ran off in search 
of the elf.

*******

His shoulder pained making his left arm slower then he thought 
possible. But Legolas kept pressing on, he could not fail them, he 
could not let the fellowship fall apart cause was not capable. 

He was aware that he was leaving a trail of dead Orcs behind him, 
which led him to wonder just how many there were in the first place. 
To many! As he ran on, unhindered for the time being, he could hear 
the soft whistles of arrows being released from their notches. Almost 
there, just a bit further. He told himself.

His eyes picked up on the form of an Orc through the trees and he saw 
it release an arrow in his direction. Legolas had only a moment to 
devise a way to dodge it, and he was fully aware of another Orc coming 
close up on his right. 

The arrow flew at him, guided by its black feathers, its metal head 
gleaming in the moonlight, aimed at the left side of his chest.

In a movement quick and swift, Legolas threw the blade held in his 
right hand to his left, catching it with ease. Holding both Elven 
blades in one hand, he quickly turned to the left with his right hand 
outstretched and caught the shaft of the arrow. Using the momentum of 
the once flying object, he continued to spin to his left, turning a 
full 360 degrees. His rotation ended with him sinking the arrow deep 
into the throat of the oncoming Orc. Legolas then kicked the gurgling 
Orc out of his path and ran directly towards the archer, his feet 
light over the rough ground.

*******

Boromir fought on. He was noticeably weaker, but he would not submit 
to the pain. He surveyed the situation, hope leaving him. All is lost! 
Alas, it is my fault, I should have not come on this quest. I knew it 
would take me, but yet I came. His attention was brought to an archer. 
One who have left the safety of the deep forest. 

It notched an arrow, pulling the string back, and aimed. 

Boromir felt another shaft sink into his flesh and he wavered 
slightly. The hobbits cried out and tried to run to the mans side, but 
they were grabbed by two Orcs. Already the loss of blood from his 
first wound had affected him, but this, this was almost to much to 
bare. 

Aragorn saw his friend get hit once again, and he made his way to the 
brave man. Seeing him almost collapse, he reached out to him, 
supporting him from behind. He heard the hobbits cry out, and when he 
looked up despair filled his eyes. For there they were, in the hold of 
the Orcs and there was nothing he could do. Boromir quickly regained 
his composure before the Orcs had the time to close them in more than 
they already were.

The Orcs were running out in numbers, but there were still more then 
the broken fellowship could easily win against. The hobbits cried out 
and protested as they were carried away, kicking and withering like 
fish out of water.

Boromir once again stood straight and resumed fighting, trying vainly 
to make his way to the hobbits. Aragorn stood in front of Boromir 
clearing the path as best as he could for his wounded companion. 

The archer, unhindered, took aim yet again, and this time Boromir was 
not the target. 

What befell next was a moment that, if swayed another way, could have 
changed the very course of the future, the war would have been lost, 
the people forsaken and the darkness the triumphant. But it was not, 
what happened needed to happen, for the sake of Middle-earth.

Boromir saw the archer take aim at Aragorn, the man he rivalled the 
man he believed should not be king. But he could not let this come to 
pass. Summoning the last of his strength, he knocked the Ranger to the 
ground, taking the arrow in the throat.

He fell. Sinking into darkness, shadows clouded his eyes. He was aware 
that a yell of pain and hatred escaped his lips as he fell backwards, 
life fleeting from his body. The screams of the hobbits filled his 
ears for but a moment, then they seemed clocked, as if he was 
underwater, hearing the noise from the surface, but it was distraught. 
The stars faded out of his vision, the last thing he saw before his 
soul left his body, seeking the world of the dead.

*******

Finally! Gimli sighed to himself. He had just caught sight of Legolas 
fighting up ahead. The nimble elf had dodged an arrow, catching it in 
mid-flight and had sent it into the throat of another fell creature. I 
wonder why I thought I had cause to worry? He questioned himself. But 
before he had even finished his line of thought he saw another Orc 
coming out of the woods, from the direction of the clearing that 
Boromir fought in.

Gimli ran towards it, wanting to stop it before it had time to attack 
Legolas from behind but to his surprise the Orc stopped and reached 
behind it’s back, pulling out a bow and an arrow.

And Elven arrow. An Elven bow.

The one that belonged to Legolas. 

The Orc quickly fitted the arrow, resting his middle finger against 
his fang like teeth for support and to steady his hand. He pulled the 
sting tight, tighter, tighter until he could pull it back no more, and 
then he released it and with deadly accuracy it hit it’s target, 
causing Gimli to cry out.

*******

Legolas engaged head on with the archer Orc. The elf had run so 
swiftly that the foul beast had no time to fit another arrow to his 
string, let alone draw a different weapon. The Orc simply lashed out 
at the prince with the end of his bow, striking Legolas across his 
face. 

The force of the impact cause the elf to turn away, so he continued 
the spin, coming back around to face the Orc he used his blades across 
its upper body. His aim was off due to his surprise hit, and, while 
the right blade bite in the flesh of the Orcs face the left was lower 
and hit the steel of its shoulder guard. Legolas gasped in pain as his 
arm jarred under the force, sending a throbbing sensation up to his 
already wounded shoulder. The blade fell from his left hand, and made 
a soft thud as it hit forest floor, it’s hilt shimmering under the 
dull light of the moon. With a quick swipe Legolas slit the throat of 
the Orc with his right blade and it fell to the ground.

The prince then scanned the forest for the signs of the other archers, 
but they had disappeared. He bent to pick up his discarded knife, and 
returned it to its sheath as he was unable to hold it due to his 
wound. Legolas took a step forward but halted when his ears picked up 
on a sound behind him. 

Before he had time to turn two things happened. One was he heard Gimli 
cry out in terror and the other was he became aware of a new and sharp 
feeling in his back.

Legolas felt himself swoon before he was able to put two and two 
together. Gimli must have followed him in order to help, but the sound 
that he had heard was not caused by the dwarf. It was the sound of an 
arrow being fired. An arrow that the elf was now aware of, penetrating 
from his back just to the right side of his spine, near his shoulder 
blade.

Legolas looked down to see that the arrow had in fact gone all the way 
through his body. Blood flowed quickly down his tunic, staining it in 
a rusty red colour, coming from where the shaft had hit him, just 
under his collarbone. Legolas then noticed that he had sunk to his 
knees, his head and vision spinning around him, and, as he looked down 
on the arrowhead he recognised it all to well. It was one of his own 
arrows, one made from wood that he had searched for, wood that he had 
whittled down and fitted with feathers of beauty. A head forged in 
metal, which he had fitted to the shaft, designed to pierce flesh and 
bone alike. My own arrow! Fallen by my own arrow! Thoughts ran through 
his mind followed by a darkness that could have taken his immortal 
soul right there and then if he had not fought it so hard. 

The fellowship has failed thanks to me. 

The prince fell to the ground, gasping for air and as a footstep 
crunched leaves near his head he turned eyes that reflected his pain 
and looked into a face…



******* Oh, and the bit in here that sees Aragorn trying to work out 
what happened is kinda weird. I wanted to get inside his mind and see 
how he, being a ranger, would see the cluse that were left. Obviously, 
not everything that he ‘sees’ (that bit is in italics) is right, so 
please don’t say, "you made a mistake cause that’s not what happened" 
because I know that and have done that deliberately. *******



Part Four

Death is only the Beginning.





…A face he knew almost as well as his own.

"Gimli?" Legolas gasped, struggling for the air that did not seem to 
come to his lungs. The look on Gimli's face horrified the Elf, it was 
one of terror and fear, but above all it was one that showed no hope.

Gimli had wasted no time in rushing to his friend's aid and he had 
quickly forgotten the threat of the armed Orc. When he had reached the 
Elf's side, he had subconsciously thrown his axe away so to lift the 
Elf's head into his hands.

But as he held the shaking Elf, he saw the Orc approach from behind 
Legolas's back. With a movement that was considered quick for his 
race, he reached down and grabbed one of Legolas' disregarded blades 
and threw it up at the large Orc. The blade held true to his aim and 
it would have struck it in the heart if the fell beast had not dodged 
it. Instead, the knife found its way into the shoulder of the Orc.

The Orc still advanced and Gimli noted that it had its heart set on 
killing his Elven friend. The beast approached and lifted its sword up 
above its head, in a position that, after taking another three steps, 
would cleave the wounded Elf in half.

Legolas watched this scene unfold before his eyes, utterly unable to 
do anything about it. The pain in his back and chest was like nothing 
he had ever felt before and he found that his entire right side was 
slowly going numb. Poison! His mind screamed at him, desperately 
trying to banish the affect it had on his body and the panicking 
emotions within his head. My own arrows coated in poison. He turned 
horrified eyes up to Gimli, trying to tell him what was wrong.

The dwarf felt as if the Elf had actually spoken and soon realized 
Legolas' plight.

Yet the Orc still advanced, quickly closing the three steps needed to 
kill the Elf, and Gimli had only one idea. As the Orc pulled its blade 
further past its head, its eyes enlarged at the anticipation it was 
feeling for this kill. The blade embedded in its shoulder slowed down 
its actions ever so slightly, but that was all Gimli needed to grab 
hold of Legolas' waist and haul him off the ground, as the Orc blade 
came crashing down.

The sharp steel bit into the ground at the exact spot that Legolas' 
chest had been only moments before and the Orc growled at the Elf's 
escape. Suddenly, the loss of blood got to the to the Orc and it 
hesitated, swaying slightly while it tried to get its senses back.

Gimli pulled Legolas to his feet, and as the Elf swayed in his arms, 
he vainly tried to pull him along. The fact that Gimli was about half 
the height of the tall Elf made this maneuver even harder, but Gimli 
was not going to give up. He placed the Elf's limp right arm around 
his neck, causing the Elf to double over, while he wrapped his arms 
around his waist and led him on.

Legolas' eyes were slightly glazed over, not really seeing anything, 
and his steps were heavy and clumsy, almost to the point of making 
Gimli look graceful. His blond hair hung over his shoulders, cloaking 
his face and its pain from any that could see.

Gimli dragged Legolas on, forcing the Elf to place one foot in front 
of the other. The Dwarf could hear the Orc's heavy footsteps falling 
on the soft dirt behind him, and he soon realized that there was no 
hope of outrunning the evil beast.

"Ok, crazy Elf, I need some help here." He muttered using the nickname 
he had long given Legolas. The statement was more to himself than it 
was to the limp body of his friend and he was completely shocked to 
hear a rasping voice come in reply.

"How, stupid dwarf?" Legolas choked out through gasps of pain. He 
moved his head slightly so he could see Gimli's face, and in his eyes, 
he saw a glimmer of hope.

*******

Merry and Pippin's cries echoed throughout the dark forest, mingling 
in with the stomping of Orc feet. The two hobbits were each slung over 
the shoulder of an Orc, their hands and feet bound tightly.

Merry had a nasty looking gash along his head from where he had 
struggled with the Orc that held him, and the blood seeped down his 
face, clouding his vision. He could hear Pippin calling to him, trying 
to get a better response than the screams for Aragorn, but he could 
not bring himself to speak. His head hurt him beyond anything he had 
ever felt before and that, mixed with the loss of blood, caused him to 
feel lightheaded.

The Orc that carried him suddenly lost its footing and stumbled 
slightly. Thankfully, it did not fall, but the jerk caused the metal 
plate that it wore on its shoulder to dig into Merry's stomach 
painfully. The sudden impact on his body felt like a kick to the 
stomach and Merry found himself dry retching. His stomach held nothing 
to let pass, but the feeling of a stomach churning was enough to 
aggravate his captor more, and he felt a harsh tug on his feet.

Merry's head sunk low, down to resting on the Orcs back, the coarse 
cloth of its clothing rubbing painfully on his head wound until a 
blissful blackness crept over him.

*******

Legolas lay on the ground in an open clearing, utterly exposed to any 
that came by. His right side was completely numb, yet occasionally it 
went into spasms that he could not control. A cold sweat had broken 
out on his face and the salty substance dripped down into his eyes, 
causing him to constantly blink.

Legolas turned his head to the left slightly, searching for any sign 
of help, but none was to be found. He then redirected his gaze to the 
right, and thus back the way he had stumbled with Gimli. He waited for 
the approaching hunter.

Terror was in his heart, but he knew that he had to keep his head 
clear and concentrate on what he had to do. With a deep breath, he 
closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing shallow and 
unnoticeable. He let his mind wander just at the borders of the dream 
world of his people, granting him a deathly stillness. His face was 
pale and still, no signs of the drawing in or exhaling of breath could 
now be seen. He knew that the wind was blowing his hair around his 
face and it took all his will power to stop himself from twitching at 
its light and teasing touch.

Legolas prayed that this would work "Elbereth, lothron im gar i bellas 
eitæ!" [Varda, may I have the strength to do this!] he pleaded. This 
had to work, too many lives rested on this one moment. If by some 
twist of fate he failed, than all hope would be lost.

As he heard a footstep fall to his right, he tensed inside, being 
careful not to show any signs of movement. A snarl traveled through 
the air to come to his ears, and the only movement he would allow 
himself was to tighten his left hand over an object that was carefully 
concealed by his side.

The footsteps came closer and closer and Legolas found his heart 
beating faster. He desperately longed to draw in a long and fulfilling 
breath but he knew better than to let his fears get the better of him.

So he waited.

Leaves and twigs crunched under the feet of the Orc that he knew was 
approaching him. The same one that had stolen his bow and arrows. The 
same one that had shot him with one of his own arrows. The one that 
had coated the arrow in poison. His mind was pulled forcefully back 
from the pleasant dreams that had diminished his fears, and he dug his 
nails into his clenched left hand in order to keep still.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the heavy steps stopped 
near the right of his head. He could feel the Orc watching him, 
waiting for him to move, to see if the Elf was really dead.

Legolas was holding his breath, not risking even a shallow breath. He 
felt the air move around him as he realized that the Orc was kneeling 
down, and his hand tightened on the object in his left hand.

In Legolas' mind, he was replaying the scene that was to hopefully 
happen. He saw the Orc lean down, coming to check on the Elf's vitals, 
to see if it was worth taking him for whatever sick reason it would 
have. And that's when he would strike. He only waited to feel the Orcs 
breath on his skin, waited for precisely the right moment.

And when that moment came, he was ready.

*******

A figure stood shadowed within the concealment of the trees, watching 
with interest. An Elf lay on the ground in the middle of the clearing, 
not breathing. The Elf's face, while being fair and delicately 
accented by the moon, was deathly pale and still, as was his entire 
body. Blood seeped from a wound in his upper chest that still showed 
the gleam of an arrowhead poking out.

The figure gripped a large tree branch in one hand and a rock in the 
other, ready for anything that would come at it. It kept watching as 
an Orc melted out of the woods and headed straight towards the wounded 
Elf. The fell creature looked on the pale being with disgust, yet a 
slight, twisted smile crossed his face. It knelt down and placed its 
large hand over the Elf's still lips. As the figure watched this, it 
could hold back no more and it came crashing out of the woods with a 
loud yell.

*******

The Orc leaned down to cover the Elf's mouth with his hand, to feel if 
any air was escaping it, and when it felt none, it was utterly 
disappointed.

Legolas kept totally still and bit back the urge to retch when the 
Orc's hand covered his mouth. His heart raced and he only hoped the 
fell beast would not think to feel for a pulse, for if he did, the 
game would be lost for good.

Suddenly, a loud and deep yell filled the clearing, and Legolas felt 
the Orc turn, while still remaining on its haunches. As the Orc 
turned, the last thing it saw was the Elven prince's eyes snap open.

The Orc, caught between facing a new charging foe and the now alive 
Elf just behind him, panicked, not knowing what to do. In doing so it 
stopped it from carrying out anything in the way of an attack as a 
sudden pain hit him.

Legolas heard Gimli's cry and his eyes flew open in an instant. His 
left hand gripped its object harder and, with one swift movement, he 
forced himself to roll slightly onto his right side while pulling out 
the Elven blade he had concealed under his upper left leg. With a 
shout of his own, he sent the silver blade singing through the air to 
come in contact with the Orc's neck. Thick black blood spurted out of 
the fresh wound and fell heavily onto Legolas' face but the Elf 
ignored it as the Orc tuned back on him.

The Orc reared up and let out an anguished cry and began to spin back 
to the Elf. With a strong arm, it knocked against Legolas' inside left 
elbow and the Elf's arm painfully hit the ground. The Orc pulled the 
blade from its neck and threw it aside, while forcing Legolas' hand to 
stay crushed on the ground. With its other hand it reached forward and 
clenched the small visible shaft of the arrow and pushed down on it 
ruthlessly.

Legolas cried out in pain as the wooden arrow was sent through him, 
forcing a slightly different hole, due to his angle. He fought as much 
as he could, but the Orc was far too strong for him. His entire right 
side was numb and out of his control, and his left hand felt as if it 
were crushed within the Orc's grasp. In one final try, using his Elven 
flexibility, he sent his left leg up and came in contact with the 
Orc's head, forcing it to let go of the painful grasp it had on the 
Elf.

Gimli saw his Elven friend whirl into action and he quickened his 
steps. But hope soon fled his heart as he saw the Orc turn on Legolas, 
and, while he was not sure what it did, for its bulky body blocked his 
vision, the cry of agony that escaped Legolas' lips was enough to send 
him mad with hatred. He then witnessed Legolas kick the beast in the 
head as he continued his quick run. Gimli dropped the rock he was 
clenching and gripped the branch with both hands as he neared his 
opponent.

The Orc's head was sent back due to the powerful kick that Legolas had 
sent into its face, and, as it pulled back, it was hit fiercely from 
behind. Gimli pulled the branch back and aimed yet another powerful 
swing at its head, and as it struck again, its head snapped forward 
with a sickening snap, and its lifeless body slumped on top of a 
gasping Legolas.

Legolas let out a moan, half out of pain as the heavy body fell on 
him, crushing his wound more and half out of relief. Gimli wasted no 
time in quickly bending down and pulling the bleeding creature off his 
Elven friend, and after doing so, he went about checking Legolas' 
wounds.

"How are you faring, crazy Elf?" he asked, the concern obvious in his 
husky voice.

"I will admit to having been better," Legolas hissed through clenched 
teeth. "You stupid dwarf, that's the last time I ever listen to you. 
You and your bright ideas." Gimli let out a slight laugh despite the 
worry he had for Legolas. His wound was bleeding a great deal and the 
head of the arrow could no longer be seen.

Before Gimli had helped Legolas to the ground to carry out their plan, 
he had broken the end off the arrow so not to hurt the Elf any more 
than could be helped. But now it was red and inflamed, showing the 
tell tale signs of poisoning.

"Ok, Legolas," Gimli said while slipping a hand under his friends form 
and raising his to a sitting position, "let's get you out of here and 
to Aragorn." Legolas simply nodded in reply, in too much pain to form 
a rational sentence.

With the aid of Gimli, Legolas soon found himself hobbling on his left 
foot and leaning heavily against his shorter friend. When Gimli was 
sure he had a good grasp on Legolas' waist, he started off, helping 
the Elf as best he could.

*******

Aragorn felt his face hit the dirt as Boromir knocked him down. At 
first he was slightly confused as to what had just happened, but soon 
Boromir's pain-filled scream filled the night with a new terror.

Showing his agility, Aragorn used his hands to spring himself up to 
his feet and grabbed the sword that he been knocked out of his hand in 
his fall. Boromir lay on the ground, an arrow penetrating from his 
throat, and with that one glance, Aragorn could tell that the man was 
already dead. As he continued to survey the situation, he saw that 
marry and Pippin's captors were already disappearing over the hill and 
blending into the trees. There was nothing he could do for them yet. 
Luckily, with them went most of the Orcs, leaving him only three to 
fight, the archer not one of them.

One of the Orcs came at him from the right and he twisted his body in 
a full rotation and swung his sword. The blade came at the Orc from 
behind and as Aragorn let it fly, it took off the Orc's head.

The two others wasted no time in both coming at the man with 
surprising speed. The one on the right raised its blade up and brought 
it down to be blocked by Aragorn's. With his left foot, the ranger 
kicked out and caught the other one in the stomach, causing it to 
stumble backwards. He parried off the other blade and turned to the 
Orc on the left and ran Andúril through its middle.

He pulled the blood stained blade free and turned again to face his 
last opponent.

Aragorn stood with his feet apart and his sword held high. Without 
warning, his foe charged at him and delivered blow after blow, which 
Aragorn skillfully deflected. The Orc's attack took the man slightly 
by surprise and he found himself being driven backwards. The Orc 
seized the opportunity and lashed out with his leg, catching Aragorn 
in the stomach.

The man gasped, letting his guard down only to have his feet swept out 
from under him by a skillful leg. He fell to the ground, pain jarring 
up his body and looked up in time to see the Orc raise his sword above 
his head, readying itself for the strike. Aragorn wasted no time in 
thrusting Andúril upwards, sending the blade right through the Orc. 
The man reluctantly let go of his sword in order to roll out of the 
way of the falling body and the sharp sword it still held.

And there he lay for a moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his 
nerves. With a great sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and rolled 
the Orc body over to retrieve his sword and it was then that he 
realized that he was utterly alone. No living thing was in the 
clearing, good or evil, and with sickening realization, he knew that 
that could be the way it really was - Merry and Pippin in the hands of 
the Orcs, Boromir dead to save him, Gimli in search of Legolas. And 
Legolas, what of his dear friend? Aragorn had not seen him since much 
earlier that evening, and the last he had heard was his startled cry 
at Boromir's hands. His heart was most troubled over this friend, and 
while he did not doubt the Elf's strength or abilities, he knew how 
Orcs hated elves. They would swarm Legolas by paying much more 
attention to him that any other of the fellowship.

It was then that Aragorn remembered that he had Legolas' bow and 
quiver, and he quickly set off to find it. But when he got to the tree 
where he had left them, they were nowhere to be seen. He cast his eyes 
to the ground and soon picked up on a set of Orc footprints leading 
straight to them. Aragorn swallowed hard, knowing what might have 
happened, and with one quick look around the clearing and a lingering 
look at Boromir, he set out, tracking the Orc that he was sure had 
taken Legolas' weapons.

*******

Aragorn had been running for close to half an hour when he came across 
a dead Orc. From the bow that lay still in its hand he could tell it 
was an archer, and when he turned it over he saw the signs of two 
small blades, one across its face, the other slightly lower on the 
shoulder. Legolas. Relief ran through him, but he continued to scour 
the clearing. After but a moment of looking, something shiny caught 
his attention and as he stooped to pick it up, Aragorn knew it was one 
of Legolas' blades.

The man's heart fell as he knew that his friend would go nowhere 
without his knives unless it was absolutely necessary. As he continued 
around the small clearing he saw two other things that sent shivers up 
his spin.

One was Gimli's axe, thrown into the bush and obviously forgotten. And 
the other was the worst. In the center of the clearing was something, 
that if Aragorn was not as good a ranger as he was, he would have 
missed. There was something slightly wrong with the way the grass was 
standing.

He slowly made his way over to the area, careful not to disturb any of 
the other evidence that he may not have seen yet. The grass was 
slightly flattened by something that was light, but that had fallen. 
In the middle of the patch, there was a glistening substance, and when 
Aragorn placed his forefinger in it, he soon realized that it was 
blood. Red blood. Blood that was not from an Orc. His heart skipped a 
beat at the realization of the only person it could have been - 
Legolas. He also saw the way that the Elf was pulled back by someone, 
and the deep slice made in the ground where the Elf had lain, and the 
scene was suddenly recreated in his head.

Legolas killed the archer and had not seen a second archer behind him. 
The Elf was then shot, and fell to the ground where he squashed the 
grass slightly and his wound bleed upon the green blades.

Aragorn stood and walked around until he saw a set of heavy yet small 
tracks that led from the bush to the place were Legolas lay.

He could see Gimli coming out from the trees, running to aid his 
friend, throwing his axe carelessly to the side in order to help 
Legolas.

Aragorn then saw the footprints of the Orc, and the cut in the grass 
under the Elven prince's body.

The Orc stepped up to the helpless duo and then -

Then the blade, it was not near the body and cover thickly with Orc 
blood. Aragorn closed his eyes and let his instincts take over.

Legolas threw the blade at the Orc and it connected with some part of 
the Orc's body, somewhere that would have slowed it down, but not 
stopped it. But it kept coming, and as it lifted its blade above its 
head -

Aragorn bent down and inspected the flattened grass again. There was a 
defined shape where Legolas had fallen, but as the body was pulled 
along, it formed a slight arch.

Gimli was nursing Legolas' head as the blade swung towards the Elven 
prince. The dwarf quickly pulled Legolas back and away from the blade. 
Legolas' position changed as he was pulled, and the Elf was more on 
his side, thus creating a flattened arch with his upper body. The 
blade bit into the ground right where Legolas had been.

Aragorn could see where Gimli had pulled Legolas to his feet and half 
dragged the Elf out of the clearing. This meant that something 
happened to the Orc, otherwise they would not have had the time to 
escape. But the Orc did not fall, or did not leave, for its footprints 
followed that of Legolas and Gimli.

Happy with his deduction for the moment, Aragorn set off at a run, 
following the three sets of footprints from the clearing.

*******

Legolas and Gimli struggled on. It was getting harder and harder for 
Legolas to even drag his right side along and Gimli knew that they 
could not go much further.

Suddenly Legolas stopped, causing Gimli to curse under his breath and 
come to a jerking halt as well. Legolas quickly hushed the dwarf, and 
mouthed one simple word. "Orcs."

Gimli froze and listened as well. Sure enough, the unmistakable sound 
of Orcs could be heard to the right, and as he looked into the woods, 
he could make out their shapes, proving just how much danger they were 
really in.

The Orcs were heading right at them, and any hope the two held of not 
being seen was crushed when the lead Orc called out and pointed right 
at the two friends.

Gimli tightened his grip on Legolas and pulled him around, half 
dragging the tired Elf through the woods. But they were soon overtaken 
and the Orcs surrounded them. Each of the Orcs wore a grin of pleasure 
at the sight of the weakened Elf that stood before them. There were 
far too many to even think of fighting and both knew that this was the 
end in one way or another.

Legolas' eyes darted around the group, wishing that he had his bow and 
a full quiver, or at least some control of his right side. But he was 
not that fortunate.

Gimli looked on in terror. Not only was he in danger, but his best 
friend was as well, and probably more then he. He knew that they would 
just kill him, but Legolas…Legolas they would take and make sport with 
until the Elf broke. He pushed the frail Elf behind him as best as he 
could, wishing he had held onto the branch he had used earlier to kill 
the last Orc.

A shrill cry broke through the eerie silence and Legolas and Gimli 
looked to see Merry and Pippin in the grasps of the Orcs.

Pippin had called out to Legolas in fear of the pale Elf that he saw 
leaning over on Gimli. Sadly, the Orcs used this distraction as an 
advantage and jumped the two friends.

Gimli punched the one that came at him, and quickly reached down to 
grab a large rock that was at his feet, but as he did so he was aware 
that Legolas had been grabbed from behind. And when the dwarf heard 
the Elf call his name he spun to help, but was too late.

Legolas had seen the Orcs lunge forward and was too preoccupied with 
the ones that came at him from the front to even pay any attention to 
those that came from behind. He was about to strike one in the stomach 
with his left hand when he felt an iron like grip grab both shoulders 
and pull him backwards. Unintentionally, he called to Gimli as he felt 
a knife pressed to his throat.

Gimli whirled around to see his close friend in the clutches of the 
Orcs, a knife pressed dangerously hard at the Elf's throat. As an 
automatic reaction, he quickly dropped the rock he was holding, a look 
of terror and dismay across his face.

Legolas winced at the sight of Gimli defenseless, and he desperately 
willed his body to obey him just this once. But it was not to be and 
he found that he was slowly sinking within the Orcs grasp, the loss of 
blood and fatigue finally catching up with him.

The Orc let out a slight laugh, one that hurt Legolas' ears just to 
hear, and with a movement of its hand, the other Orcs closed in on 
Gimli. Legolas could see their arms swing back and come into contact 
with what he knew was Gimli and he struggled weakly.

"Gimli!" he yelled, terror in his voice. "No! leave him be!"

"Silence Elf." The Orc held him yelled as yet another rain of fists 
descended on Gimli.

Even if Legolas had wanted to stay quiet he could not, and he 
continued to weakly call out for his friend. "Irlíeg nin min mellon!" 
[Forgive me my friend.]

Gimli could hear Legolas' desperate yells, and wondered what was 
happening to his friend, not caring about the fists that fell on him. 
He knew that what he went through was only small compared to what 
Legolas would soon suffer. But the pain was so great, and he felt 
himself grow weaker with each and every hit. He was aware of the fact 
that he was laying on the ground, and that the fists had been replaced 
with feet. He could also hear the little ones' cries for both he and 
Legolas. As he felt darkness creep over him, his last thoughts were on 
his dear friend, and he vowed he would get him back.

Legolas saw the Orcs cease in their beating of Gimli, but continued to 
struggle with what little strength and control he had left. As the 
group parted he caught a glimpse of his friend. Gimli lay on the 
ground, covered in blood and bruises that were already forming, and 
from his location, he could not see Gimli breathing. He found himself 
still calling out, but his yells were cut short when the Orc that held 
him spun him around.

"You should stop worrying about your little friend and start worrying 
about yourself, my pretty." He snickered, while lifting his arm to hit 
Legolas roughly over the head.

Legolas felt his world plunge into darkness as the screams of the 
hobbits echoed in his ears.





*******  Ok, before you read this chapter, please note: I have altered 
Aragorn's character just a tad. I mean, it is an AU so I can, and 
really it is not that big a deal, I just gave him some extra 
insecurities. Ashbukra (my Orc) is mine and his name means "One Claw" 
(I don't know why I chose that, I mean, he had both hands! Lol) The 
weird looking stuff that is said by the Orcs is actual Orcish. The 
vespers said for Boromir are based off one that I read elsewhere 
(think it may have been in the Silmarillion.) I just thought it was a 
good concept, especially for what I have planned, and then I 
rearranged it, added and subtracted words and then wrote it in a 
different language. Oh, and just to do the right thing; WARNING, 
GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! *****

Part Five From ash we come, to ash we go.



Aragorn ran on, not allowing himself the much-needed rest that his 
body craved for. His legs pounded against the ground just as his heart 
pounded in his chest as his fear for his two friends increased with 
each passing step. He had already passed what he believed to be the 
dead body of the Orc that had chased his friends, and this alone gave 
him a slight glimmer of hope. But hope was something scarce, 
especially when he noticed the large pool of Elven blood that soaked 
the ground and made the grass glimmer in the moonlight. He knew that 
the morning hours were fast approaching but for some reason that 
seemed to disturb him even more.

He was fast becoming desperate, allowing panic to engulf him and he 
was slightly aware that it was hindering his senses. Every time he 
turned a bend, or scaled a hill all he prayed for was to see them just 
up ahead, one helping the other while searching for him or even the 
lost Hobbits.

Merry and Pippin's capture weighted heavily on his heart, as did the 
death of Boromir. Boromir's act of selflessness surprised the ranger. 
If was not that he thought him to be selfish, or even uncaring, but 
there was something about the way he had been acting in the days just 
passed. Legolas had even picked up on it, and, being an Elf with a 
great judge of character, Aragorn had believed what he said.

The thing that baffled him the most about the situation was Legolas' 
startled cry that had awoken him. It had been before the Orcs had come 
onto the scene and yet it had not occurred for any reason. Something 
had happened to the Elf that Legolas was not expecting and Aragorn 
knew that it was not just a matter of something that was said. It was 
the result of some outrageous action, such as an attack from an 
unlikely source.

What disturbed Aragorn the most was the fact that Legolas had warned 
him, and that he had stubbily refused to look into the situation. And 
by doing this careless act Aragorn may have set off a chain of 
unstoppable events that could possibly end only with the death of his 
dear friend as well as the rest of the fellowship.

Deep down inside Aragorn knew that, on some level it was all his 
fault; the death of Boromir, the capture of the two young hobbits, 
Legolas' wound and his and Gimli's disappearance. He had faulted long 
ago, starting with the death of Gandalf the Grey and had only faulted 
more in the days and weeks that followed. He was not fit to lead and 
he had known that - he could barely take care of himself let alone 
several others. At first he wanted Boromir to lead, but then something 
stopped him from asking the man - something about that way that the 
steward looked upon the small hobbit and ring-bearer - and he had 
known that he was not the most worthy of choices.

The next candidate was Legolas. In Aragorn's opinion he could not have 
asked for a better leader as the prince was born to lead, not just in 
title but in strength. Aragorn himself would have followed the Elf to 
the ends of the world if he so bade it. While Legolas had a heart of 
gold he was strong and composed, never letting his emotions get the 
better of him, no matter how much he grieved. He had been a pillar of 
strength in the early days spent in Lothlórien for both the Hobbits 
and Aragorn. It was clear to all that he missed the old wizard as much 
as, if not more than the others and yet he was strong, he refused to 
fall apart, even when he took the others grief upon his own shoulders.

It was there that Aragorn had asked it of Legolas to lead the 
fellowship. It was a big thing to ask as far as favours went, but 
Aragorn could see no other choice else he lead the group himself. Now 
Aragorn thought that he had always known that Legolas would turn him 
and his request down. While the prince knew all too well that he was 
beyond capable to do such a task, he had strongly shown his 
reluctance, claiming that he was not experienced enough. Yet Legolas 
had always been a terrible liar and Aragorn saw through his bad lie 
and knew that what the Elf was really trying to say was that Aragorn 
needed the experience, especially if he was to become the leader of 
all men. Aragorn's first reaction was to be angry, though he did not 
express his feelings to the Elf as to not upset him, but soon, Aragorn 
had come to believe that Legolas was right, that this was something 
that he had to do whether he liked it or not.

From that day on, he had accepted what was, not questioning it in fear 
of convincing himself that he was not worthy or capable. But now, now 
the ring-bearer was on his way to Mordor with only his friend for 
protection, two hobbits were taken by the Orcs, one dead and the 
others missing. He was seriously starting to think that he was the 
only one left and that thought scared him so much more than any other.

He felt a failure as he continued his search. The ranger normally so 
good at keeping track of the time and the distance in which he had 
travelled was completely oblivious as to both. All he knew was that he 
had to find he Elf and Dwarf and that he would keep running until he 
did.

*****

The green of the trees mingled in with the swirling of the dark night 
sky as eyes full of pain looked out at them. The beings body hurt and 
throbbed to the point that even breathing in shallow breaths caused an 
intense pain to burn within their chest.

Gimli lay there, willing his wreaked body to do as he commanded of it. 
He had to go after Legolas and the Hobbits, and even though his mind 
screamed at him to get up and fight the hurt that threatened to drown 
him into unconsciousness he could not bring himself to move. It was as 
if he were paralysed - although he knew that he was not due to the 
fact that he could feel every aching bone in his body.

Luckily for him, his heavy metal breastplate and armour had blocked 
most of the blows that the Orcs had assailed upon him, though some 
were hard enough to get through his protective skin. He had never been 
in so much agony before, had never felt so weak and tired, and all he 
wished to do was to curl into a tight little ball and make the world 
disappear. However, he could not, he had to aid his friends that were 
in the clutches of the Orcs.

He had no idea as to the whereabouts of Aragorn and Boromir, or even 
if they still lived. All he knew was that at this point in time he was 
alone and that Legolas' and the Hobbits' life depended on him being 
about to get up and go after them. 'Twas no good to leave the search 
up to people that he did not even know still drew breath, especially 
if one had previously attacked the Elven member of their group.

Reluctantly pulling himself into a crouching position he made ready to 
rise but stopped in his actions when he heard a footfall off the 
right. Doing his best to look into the darkness that was surrounding 
him, he could faintly make out a shape making its way towards him at a 
run.

*****

"Latvrapog!" [You run!] A bulky Orc screamed into Merry's ear when he 
slowed to an exhausted walk. The Orc poked him forcefully in the back 
with the end of a whip as Merry cringed in repulsion of the foul voice 
and breath of the large being, but picked up his pace again, not 
wishing to draw any more attention to himself. Though he did not 
understand the words, he could understand the intrusive jab of the 
whip clearly enough. The large and still slightly bleeding cut on his 
head and his stinging back were reminders of what drawing attention to 
himself would bring, and he had no care to experience such again 
unnecessary.

It had been hours since travelling with the Orcs. He and Pippin had 
been both forced to run for the last hour or so, ever since the ors 
had tired of carrying them. He had thought it bad before, but now, 
with what had recently happened he knew that what he thought horrible 
was just the beginning.

When he had first seen Legolas and Gimli through the trees, his heart 
had picked up at the prospect of being saved. Then he saw something 
that made him freeze. At the time, he had no real way of telling if 
his thoughts had been true, but it seemed that Legolas was wounded. It 
was the way the Elf had leaned heavily on the Dwarf, obviously needing 
support and aid to stand, the way his head had hung low, even the way 
he seemed not to glow under the light of the celestial objects as he 
normally did. It haunted Merry, made him feel as if he and Pippin's 
position was not of that much importance.

When he witnessed the beating that the Orcs bestowed upon Gimli, his 
heart ached and his voice cried out, no matter how useless it seemed. 
He cried for Gimli, he cried for himself, for Merry, for Aragorn and 
the others he may never see again, and he cried for Legolas. For the 
pain and terror, that the Elf was sure to feel in the clutches of the 
Orcs was sure to outdo that that he would feel.

It had seemed slightly surreal, the happenings of the worst of dreams, 
a nightmare in which he could not escape no matter how hard he tried 
or how many tears he cried.

Since Gimli's fall and Legolas' capture, things had become more 
deadly, more evil; it was now more of something right out of the 
depths of hell. The Orcs were brutal and unforgiving and pushed them 
hard, forcing them to keep pace with what was much faster and harder 
then any the little hobbits had experienced.

Legolas, since his capture had remained unconscious which Merry 
thought was for the best, yet even this had not stopped the Orcs from 
taking pleasure in hurting the Elf in the few moments that they had 
stopped.

The one and only time of rest that they had been granted was of no 
real value to the Elf or Merry. The Orcs, bored with the long and, 
what they would consider uneventful run, took to trying to awaken the 
young prince using their whips. At first Legolas had given no 
reaction, which angered the Orcs even more and when finally, the 
unconscious Elf had started to moan in pain they seemed to greedily 
lap it up as if it were ale. Merry and Pippin had looked on his horror 
as the prince that they looked up to and almost worshiped for his 
kindness was treated with such violence.

Finally, Merry had had enough, and doing something that he knew was 
complete folly, he thrust himself over the upper body of the 
unperceiving Elf, protecting him as much as possible. He could hear 
Pippin's cries in the background and the jeering of the Orcs above 
him, who, for a moment continued to bring the tails of the whips down 
upon his small back

Indeed it hurt and Merry felt his small body convulsing with each and 
every lick of the thick black rope, but he knew that he was doing the 
right thing, that, to some extent he was doing the bravest thing he 
had ever done and would probably ever would do. He was also reassured 
by the knowledge that Legolas would have done the same for him, or 
anyone for that matter. Therefore, he stayed, completely at the mercy 
of the cruel Orcs that towered above him.

Soon, but too late for Merry's liking, the harsh blows had ceased and 
he felt himself getting dragged off of the bleeding Elf. He was 
practically thrown at Pippin, who cooed over him like one would a 
child, but when the Elf was brought to them, they both turned their 
attention to the pale being.

He was pale beyond that which was normal of an Elf and he harboured 
dark rings under his eyes almost making his face look skull like. His 
hair was still surprisingly neat and that alone stayed unchanged by 
the hardships that he had just suffered. His back was a mess to say 
the least. It was covered in welts and bleeding tears as well as an 
inflamed wound from an arrow. It was slightly greenish in colour and 
both Merry and Pippin could tell that it was the result of some poison 
used by the cursed creatures that now forced them across country.

But that had been at least two or so hours ago and now they were on 
the move again. Legolas was still not awake and slung over the 
shoulder of the leader of the Orcs. Merry had the feeling that the 
leader had some form of ownership of the Elf though nothing had passed 
to confirm that suspicion. Maybe it was just the fact that it was the 
leader and that any Elf was a worth while possession in the Orcs eyes 
- whatever it was, it sickened Merry to even think of Legolas 
'belonging' to an Orc.

Deep down Merry knew that he still held the hope that Strider would 
come for them. Boromir was dead, he had seen it himself, but Aragorn, 
he refused to let himself believe that the ranger and leader of their 
group could be dead. Gimli, if alive, was in no condition to aid them, 
and Sam and Frodo would be well on their way to the dark lands of 
Mordor by now. With Legolas captured and wounded that left only 
Aragorn to help him. That hope was the only thing that allowed him to 
speed up at the Orcs bidding and fight the pain in his back.

In some strange way, it seemed almost poetic that their only hope 
should be Strider - Estel - the one called 'Hope' by the Elves. 
Perchance it was some dark workings of fate, that the one entitled as 
such would be the only one to be able to bring such a precious gift. 
That was what it was, a gift, something that should be treasured above 
all in the darkest of times, just like this one. 'Twas Legolas who had 
taught him that, he that told him to never give up hope and to always 
look towards the light of the stars when all else seemed gloomy and 
false. Merry only hoped that Legolas himself would remember that once 
he awoke. That the Elf would remember the words that he repeated to 
himself repeatedly;

"Ælis onam estel, tithen min; gar estel anna n i Elenath sila." [Never 
give up hope, tiny one; have hope as long as the stars shine.]

*****

Aragorn froze. Up ahead, through the shadows of the trees, he could 
make out a figure rising from the ground. It was bulky yet short thus 
suggesting an Orc while also saying nay to the possibility. The figure 
was moving slowly, as if in pain and sooner than Aragorn would have 
liked the figure turned to face him.

Aragorn lifted his sword and taking a deep breath, started to run 
towards the now crouching figure. His feet ate up the distance quickly 
and as he did so, he soon became aware of a shining on the figures 
head that implied a helm.

Realisation hit him almost immediately and he dropped his raised sword 
to his side as he quickened his pace to Gimli's side.

"Gimli!" he yelled as a statement, not a question.

"Aragorn?" Gimli's voice sounded pained and stressed, as if it tore 
his throat when he forced the words to pass his lips.

Aragorn sunk down next to his friend, taking in the full extent of his 
wounds quickly with his eyes. The damage did not seem too bad but he 
knew the pain that such injuries would cause. As long as there was no 
internal bleeding, Gimli would be back to his normal self in a few 
days, but, with the lack of Legolas and the missing hobbits, Aragorn 
doubted that a few days was something that they had.

"What happened?" Aragorn whispered in fear of what he may hear while 
he helped Gimli into a better sitting position. He then reached to his 
side a pulled out a small flask of water that he kept in a leather 
pouch strapped to his belt. Handing it to the Dwarf, he waited in 
apprehension for the explanation that was to come.

Gimli started out slowly, as if the memories were hazy, but soon the 
terrible words flowed from his mouth in a quick rush, as if wanting to 
be rid of them. "And then they, they took Legolas with the halflings." 
He finished, his voice quaking slightly. As he raised the flask to his 
lips again, Aragorn noticed the shaking of his hand and knew just how 
the Dwarf felt. "What of Boromir?"

Aragorn's heart sank. He had yet to tell his friend of what had 
happened to the man and he was somewhat unsure on how to do it, 
especially after all that Gimli had been through. Nevertheless, he had 
a right to know, and Aragorn found that the best way to tell him was 
just as it happened. "Boromir has fallen." He said quietly. "He put 
himself in the way of an arrow meant for me." The ranger's head 
lowered in what he was not certain as to be grief or shame.

Gimli was silent for sometime as he just stared out into the 
surrounding woods. When he did speak it was the last words that 
Aragorn wanted to hear, "what are we going to do, Aragorn?"

Aragorn felt like shouting at him not to ask him such important 
questions. He did no deserve the Dwarf's loyalty and willingness to 
follow him no matter what happened. He had failed, he had not been 
able to stop this - or was it that he had not tried hard enough? 
Aragorn felt more then ever that he was unfit to lead, even to the 
last person that remained of the fellowship, it was just all too much 
for him to handle. "I do not know, Gimli, I just do not know!" he 
finally said, utterly defeated.

Gimli studied him for awhile not really knowing what to say to such an 
admission. He had always thought that Aragorn held all the answers, 
that he alone could be the one to see this quest through. Granted 
that, towards the arrival at Lothlorien, he had the same feelings 
about Legolas, as if he were silently and discreetly helping Aragorn 
lead yet allowing the man the credit. This had not bothered Gimli at 
all - two leaders were better than one - and once he had started to 
give the Elf a chance, he was able to see that he was a born leader.

At first, he had wondered why Legolas did not guide the fellowship 
after Gandalf's fall into shadow, but soon enough, he believed that he 
had the answer. Legolas could lead and what's more, the prince knew 
that he could. Aragorn on the other hand could, but had such 
self-doubts that it clouded his capability. Legolas had wanted to help 
the man, probably prepare him for the day that he would have to 
embrace his fate as King of Gondor and so he did not stand in the way 
of Aragorn leading. Granted that he had helped from the background, he 
had tried to keep out of it as much as possible, but obviously, 
Aragorn was reliant on even that little bit of support.

Finally, Gimli knew what to say, "Aragorn," his voice was soft, trying 
not to freak out the ranger any more then he already was, "what would 
Legolas do in thus situation?"

It obviously worked as straight away Gimli could see that Aragorn was 
thinking to himself, trying to get inside of his best friend's head. 
"He would," he breathed, "he would first see to your wounds, then to 
Boromir - he would not want to leave his body to rot with the Orcs - 
and then he would follow his missing comrades." Aragorn had become a 
little more confident as he spoke; "even if it were to the ends of the 
earth." he finished.

Gimli looked at him the best he could in the darkness and nodded 
slowly. "Come then, let us do as he would. Take me back to where 
Boromir fell and our possessions still lay."

With that said, Aragorn helped Gimli in getting to his feet and the 
two made their way back through the forest as quickly as they could.

*****

The sun was high in the sky by the time they had finished checking 
Gimli's wounds, and, deducing that there was no inner damage, the two 
remaining fellowship members set about cleaning the area. They 
collected up their belongings, and that of their friends which they 
hope to return to them. Then, without a word being spoken, Aragorn 
lead Gimli back to where Boromir had fallen.

The clearing was just as Aragorn had left it; the bodies of slain Orcs 
scattered all over the clearing and Boromir's lifeless corpse was 
still leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree. The two friends 
had already discussed what they were going to do with their dead 
comrade and they silently moved to his side.

Aragorn supporting his head and Gimli his legs, they carefully picked 
the man up and carried him to the banks of the Anduin. As in the 
northern tradition they layed him in one of the small boats that was 
filled with small stick and dried leaves. Placing the man weapons and 
belongings - all except the horn of Gondor as Aragorn wished to be 
able to give it to the man's father - in with him, they then put the 
other boat over the top, forming a coffin. Using a single piece of 
rope to bind the top to the bottom, they pushed it out into the middle 
of the river.

Returning to shore, Aragorn took up an arrow and his bow. The arrow 
had a small section of cloth wrapped around its head, drenched in a 
bit of leftover wine from Lothlórien. While allowing the flames of a 
small campfire to lap up at the cloth until it was burning strongly, 
Aragorn stood and stared at the boat that was slowly making its way 
out into the current of the water.

Fitting the arrow to his bow, he took careful aim, working hard to 
stop his hand from quivering. He kept his back straight and his legs 
planted well apart while his middle finger was pressed against his 
tooth to better his hand. Allowing for the movement of the object that 
he aimed for, he constantly aimed just a little in front of the 
floating coffin. Then, finally, Aragorn released the string.

The loud twang echoed off the surrounding trees and the water of the 
lake as the arrow was released. It stayed true to its target and 
landed perfectly in the small gap between the two boats. Within 
seconds, a bright glow could be seen coming from within the confines 
of the boats, and a few moments after flames licked hungrily at the 
sides of the structure. Soon it was just a floating flame; its 
reflecting dancing in the stream as it picked up speed until finally 
it was no more. Whether it had burnt down or it had disappeared out of 
sight, it was gone and Aragorn felt it customary to say something.

Not knowing what to say for one of his races' fallen, he used an old 
Elven blessing. The words slipped easily and quickly from his mouth, 
yet the meaning behind them was clear. Even Gimli who could not 
understand the Sindar felt goose bumps break up on his skin.

"Olod lith mel tôl; an lith valmet ællan. Lothron lîn erúss na cil a 
le golo uisidh, nin gwanar, nin mellon. Na maes, Boromir." [From ash 
we came; to ash we will return. May your journey be swift and you know 
everlasting peace, my kinsmen, my friend. Be well, Boromir.]

With his head bowed, Aragorn walked off into the tress, Gimli silently 
following him.

*****

Unwelcomed consciousness flooded back to the Elf, his head spinning 
although his eyes were firmly pressed shut. A foul reek filled the air 
and his quick senses automatically put a name to the stench. Orcs. He 
could hear them cursing each other in their loathsome Black Speech and 
the harsh sound of the evil laughter that occasionally escaped their 
lips.

He wanted to be away from the filth that was the Orcs, but he knew, 
even before he tried to move, that he was in no condition to try and 
fight. He could feel the shaft of his own arrow still within the deep 
wound on his shoulder, and the new path that it had forced itself into 
due to the attack of the last Orcs he and Gimli faced. The wound 
burned all the way through, as if a hot poker had been driven into the 
depths of his wound in a feeble attempt to cauterise it. Yet when 
travelling with the Orcs, he knew that any attempt to help his wound 
was just a thought of folly.

His body was still numb from the poison, yet he could feel it slowly 
starting to wear off and the tingling feeling returning slowly, 
starting from his toes. He knew that he was lying on his stomach and 
for reasons that he did not know, he could feel the wind brushing 
gently across sections of his back, which was also stinging. His arms 
were tied painfully tight behind his back till the point of not being 
able to feel the circulation in his fingers.

Allowing a slight sigh to escape his lips, he reluctantly opened his 
eyes and was greeted with the dark colour of the dirt below him. Not 
in any hurry to give attention to his captors, he did not move his 
head, just stared into the welcoming darkness of the soft dirt, 
wishing to be swallowed up by the comforts of nature.

A few moments after there was a slight rustle of movement off to his 
right, followed by a pair of small hands resting on the back of his 
neck. At first this puzzled Legolas but then he started to remember 
the full details of his capture, including the two little hobbits that 
were also taken. Deciding that no matter how much he did not want to 
see the Orcs that surrounded him, he did want to see the little ones 
again to make sure that they were ok.

Turning his head to the right, he did his best to fake a reassuring 
smile. It was Merry who sat next to him, and Pippin was beside him. 
Both were looking down upon the Elf, and when they saw his face and 
his smile, they returned it, despite their own fears.

"Legolas!" Merry exclaimed happily, yet he was smart enough to keep 
quiet. The little one had moved so he was right next to the Elf and 
had started to stroke his hair tenderly.

At this, Legolas just smiled. He did not know what to say, and even if 
he did, he was afraid that his voice would betray his fears and 
worries that he wished to keep hidden from the Hobbits. He knew that 
he had to protect them - not out of duty but out of want - and the 
first step in doing that was not to show them how scared he was 
himself.

"Ashbukra," an Orc called across to who Legolas identified as the Orc 
that had held him throughout the beating of Gimli. "Alag Gologflasug!" 
[That Elf is speaking] it howled with an excited pitch. Neither 
Legolas nor the two hobbits knew what it was that was said, but by the 
way the entire camp turned and faced Legolas, the Elf knew it was not 
good. Every Orc now harboured a sly smile and slowly, the one known as 
Ashbukra started to advance on the wounded Elf.

The hobbits bit back the want to flee in fear and stayed by their 
friend, not knowing what else to do. Pippin reached out behind his 
back and took Merry's hand while the other hobbit continued to stroke 
Legolas' hair. For his part, Legolas had not even flinched even though 
every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run.

The large Orc, flanked by four others continued their approach, evil 
flaring deep within their green-yellow eyes. One of the fell beasts 
reached behind him and pulled out a small curved blade dagger and 
twisted it between his fingers menacingly. Two other Orcs came in 
behind Merry and Pippin and wrenched them to their feet, dragging them 
a small distance away. The two hobbits cried out to the Elf that still 
lay there, unable to move due to pain and the slowly wearing off 
poison. One of the Orcs kicked Legolas in his stomach with a steel 
capped boot forcing the Elf to roll onto his right side. Then Ashbukra 
knelt down and ran his stubby, twisted hands through the elf's golden 
hair. The creature grabbed Legolas' chin between scaly fingers, 
jerking the prince's head up and forcing him to his feet. Legolas felt 
as if his legs were made of jelly and he found himself needing the 
hands of the Orc on his chin as a support else he fall back to the 
ground. Ashbukra walked his fingers up the side of the Elf's pale 
cheek while his other held on tightly to the Elf by the chin. Running 
his hand over the other side of the prisoner's face, he mocked the 
elf's fairness, which was the complete reverse of Legolas' captors.

Ashbukra's blood-shot yellow eyes burnt into the bright blue of 
Legolas' and Legolas met the twisted creatures' gaze squarely. The 
lack of fear in the Elf's eyes angered the Orc, who lashed out at the 
Elf's head with his thick knuckles, catching Legolas in the left 
cheekbone. Had it not been for the Orcs strong grasp on his face, 
Legolas would have fallen with the force to the impact to his face, 
but, if anything, the Orcs other hand just added to the force as his 
head had no where to retreat to after the bow.

In his ringing ears, Legolas could dimly make out the startled cries 
of Merry and the soft sobbing of Pippin off to his right. The Elf 
hoped that the Orcs, as frighting a thought as it was, did not grow 
tired of him so not to turn on the little ones.

Although they tormented any prisoners, Orcs seemed especially fond of 
visiting their cruel attention on Elves and Legolas guessed that it 
was from the fact that the creatures remembered that they used to be 
one of them. One of the light-hearted beings that loved the forest and 
the world so much. They had never forgotten that they had once come 
from the tortured and mutilated descendants of Legolas' people, that 
they had been taken over to the dark and that no one, especially the 
Elves had helped them. 'Twas that reason that Orcs hated and feared 
Elves with a fiery passion. They hated anything that held beauty, 
anything that took strength from the natural word and above all they 
despised Elves.

Legolas had never forgotten that the Orcs were once his people; that 
every time he drew the thick, black blood of an Orc in battle he was 
killing something that had come from his own race - something that 
could have been related to him. He had felt a murderer the first time 
he had found out the Orcs secret. For all of his life he had killed 
them with not even a second thought, as to him they were evil beings 
of the dark. The day that he was told that through the First Age 
Melkor had taken the Elves and twisted them into the horrible things 
that he slew he had not believed it, not wanted to believe it. 
Nevertheless, it soon became clear that he was indeed told the truth 
of the matter and that was even worse. He had found himself felling 
sorry for the disgusting creatures that had once lived among the trees 
and somewhat unwilling to kill them. It had taken him years to get 
over the fact of their heritage and to see the beasts for what they 
were once again. Slowly, ever so slowly he got use to the fact that he 
was killing something that, through a terrible twist of fate, could 
have been him or a friend. He would push all such thoughts out of his 
head and give into the natural need and instinct of survival. These 
fell beasts had no problem with wishing to kill him and so he had to 
have no problem with slaying them.

Legolas felt himself being dropped to the ground, discarded like an 
unwanted rag and he fell limply to the dirt. One of the Orcs that had 
accompanied Ashbukra landed a sharp and heavy clout to his midsection 
followed by another to his shoulder. Legolas curled around his stomach 
in hopes of protecting himself from the angry Orcs but it was to no 
avail.

The Orc that had originally seen the Elf awake pulled out a think, 
black, nine-tailed whip woven with small pieces of metal. Moving to 
behind the Elf, he raised his hand up and let it fall upon the curled 
over back. The whip descended without mercy, tearing at his shirt and 
already torn flesh, burning lines of searing pain across his shoulder 
blades. Legolas' body tensed and jerked as the arched slashes ripped 
the back of his tunic and his tore open his bound arms. The whips 
tails shredded the green cloth of the Elf's tunic and it slowly became 
stained with a glimmering crimson as Elven blood soaked through.

Legolas' golden hair had fallen over his face through the movement his 
body made in reaction to the lashes, and it half concealed the Elf's 
grimaces of agony. Legolas' intake of air came in short, ragged and 
gasping breaths that were often cut short by yet another fall of the 
whip. The archer's lips were pressed into a tight, pale line and his 
brow knotted in pain at ever stroke. Behind him, his bound hands 
balled tightly into fists and he could feel his short nails starting 
to bite into his skin as well as the ropes cutting into his wrists.

Legolas cursed himself for not being able to move, for not being able 
to stand up to them, but in doing so he only succeeded in making 
himself angrier.

Vicious and swift kicks by heavy booted feet again rained down upon 
the Elf as the whip finally let up. Steel boots connected with his 
shoulder, his chest and even a few to his back causing him to whither 
in pain this way and that ere centring painfully on his ribs. Kicking 
him again and again, the Elf knew from the fire tearing through him 
that more than one of them was broken.

Ashbukra yanked Legolas partially upright by his hair although the 
gasping elf tried to remain hunched over his screaming ribs, and 
laughed into the helpless Elf's face.

Holding the Elf tight, the Orcs' forced him into a kneeling position 
on the ground, allowing better access to his back for their whips. One 
of the Orcs pressed Legolas' head to the dirt floor with his boot on 
the Elf's neck.

Legolas could tell that they were angry at his defiance in crying out 
and yet he could also see that even if he did grace their ears with 
his held in screams, they would continue. 'Twas but a game for them, a 
sick, brutal game that they relished playing. They enjoyed causing the 
Elf such pain, and even if he did not shout out, they knew that they 
were doing it, that silently inside the Elf was screaming so loudly 
that it could cause one to deafness.

Again, the whips descended upon the prince only this time they had 
full access to his half exposed back. Boots found targets at his sides 
and one painfully connected with the upper half of his right arm, near 
his shoulder. Legolas had no way of telling if it was broken as a 
white hot fire spread through his whole body, wiping out any 
individual hurts and manifesting them into one.

The Orcs jeered and laughed as lash after lash fell upon the 
bloodstained pale body and tore away cloth as well as skin. Legolas' 
back pained him like he had been struck with summer lighting and he 
could feel the slight movement of the air about him moving in and out 
of the torn flesh.

The archer's breath became even shallower as he forced himself to 
stifle the cries that were catching in this throat, begging for 
release. His crouched position made his ribs scream and burn in a 
hellish fire and he could have sworn that he felt the tattered ends of 
bone sink into the flesh inside him. The boot at his neck kept pushing 
harder and harder, sinking his head down into the blood soaked dirt 
beneath him. Line after line of pain scorched his back; the little 
bits of metal cutting like razors with some lodging themselves within 
the gash they had just made. He hated to be so helpless and to have to 
submit to the beating that the Orcs were inflicting upon him, but 
there was nothing he could do. Increasingly he was wishing that the 
effects of the poison were not wearing off as with each passing stroke 
of the whip his body came further out of the numbness that had 
rendered him unmoveable.

The hobbits were screaming out for their friend although Legolas could 
not hear them. So far, no hurt had been done to them within this 
violent outburst of the Orcs, but they had been forced to watch as the 
Elf that they both adored was beaten within inches of his life. They 
both had tears streaming down their faces as they saw Legolas' weak 
body getting abused repetitively by the foul creatures that hovered 
around the Elf.

Legolas had still refused to give his tormentors the satisfaction of 
his cries and fought hard to control the natural reaction of his body 
as he was beaten. Biting down on his lower lip in an attempt to 
silence his cries, he squeezed his eyes closed and prayed for it all 
to be over. As a club impacted upon his back, the Elf bit right 
through his lip making him grimace even more as the metallic taste of 
blood filled his gasping mouth. Tears of silver snaked down his cheeks 
as he swallowed a mouth full of his own blood only to make him reach 
violently, bringing the thick, red substance back up. He spat it out 
on the other boot of the Orc that held him pinned to the ground by his 
neck only to have another Orcish boot collide with his jaw, 
dislocating it.

It was then that the first and last groan escaped the Elf's pale lips.

The Orcs seemed to be encouraged by the slight noise and they set 
their attention back to the whips that they held, bringing them down 
even harder then the times before their cheers and laughs increased.

Legolas, not allowing his captors to hear his cries again, simply went 
back to biting his already torn lower lip. Squeezing his eyes even 
tighter, he tried to remember the words of Aragorn when they were 
younger after Legolas' mother's death.

*"Gar na le Estel, Laegolas nin mellon. Ælis onha am a ælis eridh ain 
ai Elenath tirpai le. Syd, ir maes ir Im uva n ai an gwend an hae 
athon i Elenath." [Hold to your hope, Legolas my friend. Never give it 
up and never forget that the stars watch over you. They, as well as I, 
will be there for you. Hold that in remembrance as friendship is far 
beyond the stars.]*

Legolas' lips moved quickly as he repeated the last few sentences to 
himself in a silent plea to his friend of old. Even as the Orcs 
volleyed lash after lash upon his welted and bleeding skin, these 
words held hope and meaning to him. Hope that Aragorn was all right 
and that he, Gimli and whoever else remained would come and the 
knowledge that their meaning was true: friendship was beyond the 
stars.

A hard kick came in contact with his arrow wound and Legolas felt the 
shard get pushed deeper into his skin. His vision was starting to blur 
and white spots flashed before his eyes upon the dirt. As more blows 
were directed at him, he knew that he was quickly loosing the battle 
to keep consciousness and for once in his long life, he did not fight 
it. He welcomed the overpowering blackness that consumed him and left 
him submerged in the cold, lonely world of dark dreams.

*****

Fire, it was everywhere, burning and destroying everything in its 
path. The trees, the animals, homes and people, they all perished, 
none able to escape the inferno that bore down upon them.

He stood there, unable to do anything, unable to move. In the 
distance, he could hear the frightened call of a mother, looking for 
her lost child. In his eyes, he could see the child burning, setting 
fire to everything that it touched. He knew the small child to be 
dead, lying there engulfed by the red and orange flames, but it was 
the cause of the fire, the source of the pain and destruction.

Then, before his very eyes, the child turned to a man. He was tall, 
with dark hair cut to his chin, his eyes flaring as if possessed. He 
had the look of a mad man, one who had long since given up the 
capability of rational thought. He could see it, mirrored in the man's 
eyes was a small golden ring, words of flame twisting around it's 
band. It hovered in the man's sight, just as the shadow hung over his 
head, and as he burst into flames, he stepped forward, stretching out 
a hand of flame, trying to reach the being that watched him.

The watching form took a step backwards, staying out of grasp and as 
the man crumbled into a pile of ash, he saw another figure approaching 
from the north. This one was also tall; he had longer hair, down to 
his shoulders and with a slight wave. Piercing grey eyes stared 
blankly in front of him, not seeing the Elf that watched.

He seemed in a daze, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He had 
no goal or destination and yet he still struggled on. Soon, his eyes 
became alive, looking left to right, as if searching for something. He 
came closer, placing one foot in front of the other and gradually his 
step became more purposeful as his eyes continued to search 
desperately for what he was looking for.

The fire was raging now, it surrounded them, burning everything but 
the two beings that stood unharmed by it. Slowly, the Elf made his way 
to the man, peering through the harsh glare of light, trying to 
determine the face and its features.

Relief flooded through him once he saw whom it was, and he yelled out 
to the man, begging him to stop. However, the roaring of the flames 
drowned his voice out and the man walked past with deaf ears.

The Elf stared at the fleeting back of his last hope. Every part of 
him cried out to run after the man, but for some reason, he knew he 
could not. Looking down at his feet, he now saw the bonds of flame 
that surrounded his ankles, rendering walking impossible. He tugged 
frantically at them, wanting them off so he would be free to follow 
his friend, but they would not budge.

In what he believed to be a last desperate hope, he started to jump 
towards the figure, feeling the heated fingers of the flames close in 
around the back of his neck and squeeze. It was no use, and soon he 
was forced to his knees in submission, letting go of any hopes that he 
still held. He was beaten, forced to yield and relinquish to his 
betters and captors. He was unable to go after the man, unable to go 
after Hope.



***** There a few basic Sindarin words used in this in a description 
form and because of the way that they are used, I have not included 
the translations, but most of you would know them I think. They are as 
follows. Ilthil - moon Elenath - starry host Anor - sun Fuin-menel - 
night sky.

The constellation that Legolas talks about is made up off the top of 
my head and has no real connection to anything at all, just made to 
look good on paper! *****



Part Six.

Body Crumbles.

Aragorn woke with a start and jumped out of his blanket. His heart was 
racing and the ranger could feel the beads of sweat drip slowly down 
his face and into his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he brushed the 
perspiration away and looked around their makeshift camp. All was dark 
and even with Aragorn's keen eyesight, all he could see were the basic 
outlines of the shapes that he remembered from a few hours ago. His 
pack was in the same place, the remains of a fire were still there and 
Gimli was sitting against a tree on the other side of the doused out 
fire, watching him with concerned eyes. Even without being able to see 
the look upon his companion's face, Aragorn know that he had given the 
dwarf a shock for the second time that night.

The dwarf had been on watch and was surprised to see the ranger spring 
up out of the supposed deep sleep that he had fallen into a few hours 
ago. It was the second time that Aragorn had woken in such a matter in 
that night and as far as Gimli knew, it was only the second time since 
the beginning of the journey.

Only a few hours ago at the most, had seen the ranger shoot up in his 
bed, awake and sweating as if he had been sitting in a hot spring for 
too long. It had taken Aragorn almost an hour to settle back down and 
drop off to sleep again and that was what Gimli thought to be that 
last of the strange happenings of the night. But he was soon proven 
wrong as Aragorn was now sitting again, wiping the sweat from his eyes 
and panting as if he had run all the way from Rivendell.

Concentrating on returning his breathing to normal, Aragorn tried to 
ignore the worried look that he knew Gimli was sending him. Knowing 
that he would not be able to get back to sleep that night, and also 
knowing that he did not wish to, Aragorn rose and walked towards his 
friend. Sitting beside him without so much as a word, he leant his 
head back against the tree and stared at the stars. Legolas always 
loved the stars, he told himself and felt his heart sink a degree 
lower. What if his friend would never be able to look upon them again?

It was only the first night since their capture, but he already knew 
that some ill had befallen their missing comrades. Both he and Gimli 
had run the entire day though, after the funeral of Boromir of Gondor, 
and had only stopped when it was completely necessary. Aragorn would 
have liked to have kept going, but he knew that Gimli needed rest no 
matter how much he claimed that he did not, and he also knew that if 
Gimli could say that he did not need rest, that he was probably doing 
the same. As much as Aragorn would have like to think he did not need 
the rest, he knew that deep within himself he was craving for it, that 
his soul was calling and begging him to stop in his frantic run and 
seek the recuperation that was vital to their success.

It was also far too hard to search for clues on the trail in the 
darkness of the moonless night, and the risk of missing something was 
too great to run. And so, with a heavy heart, Aragorn had called for a 
stop for the night, and when Gimli had offered to take first watch, he 
did not argue.

Keeping his eyes fixated on the constellation that he knew that the 
Elves used as a guide if they ever became lost, the ranger failed to 
notice Gimli's watchful gaze. Gimli had often heard Legolas talk about 
the constellation that Aragorn was currently staring at, 'I Raindir 
Calen' it was called, 'The Wanderer's Light' in the Sindarin tongue. 
It was a favorite of the prince's as he said it always reminded him of 
home and that, even in these dark times, some things still remained 
unwavering and true, non-deceptive. Gimli had first heard of it when 
Legolas was pointing it out to the little ones', as Boromir had called 
the hobbits, when they were suffering from the loss of Gandalf in 
Lothlórien.

Gimli, as well as Aragorn, who was also there, could still remember 
the words that the Elf had told the sobbing hobbits while holding them 
all to him.

*"Do you all see that constellation over yonder?" he had asked while 
taking a hand off Pippin's shoulder to point to the stars in question. 
When he had received all the positive nods that he sort for, he 
continued. "In my realm, we Silvan Elves refer to it as I Raindir 
Calen - The Wanderer's Light - as it is constant and forever true. No 
matter what season or what ill befalls the land, it hangs ever over 
the woodland realm of Mirkwood - or Greenwood the Great as it was once 
named - and will guide any traveler who knows what to look for to the 
Halls of the Elven King - my father. There one will find rest and 
safety, no matter what burdens lay upon their hearts and souls." At 
this he squeezed the Ring Bearers shoulder encouragingly but without 
taking his eyes from the stars that all four hobbits were looking at 
in awe. "Remember that, my little friends', know that you are always 
welcome to follow that light to me and my home, and if any ill shall 
fall upon us on this quest, and we become separated, know that I will 
look for you on the road to my home."

Legolas had then made them promise that if they were separated by some 
cruel twist of fate, that they would use those stars to get to his 
home where they would be safe and where either he, or Aragorn would 
find them. All the hobbits seemed eager to agree to Legolas' words and 
promises and it seemed to lift their spirits a little at the chance 
that they would never be isolated.*

Even Aragorn had felt inclined to believe such words from the Elf that 
had been more then a pillar of strength to them all at such a critical 
time, pushing his own suffering aside to help the others. Yet now, now 
Legolas was the one that was lost and in need of help and no one was 
there for him when he needed it most, and Aragorn knew that the 
through of it was slowly killing him from deep inside. He had let his 
friend down in the worse possible way and what if, after all Legolas 
had said in comfort for others, no help or comfort was to be given to 
him?

"The Wanderer's Light," Gimli said quietly, disturbing Aragorn's 
thoughts and causing the man to jump slightly from the break in the 
silence, "do you remember what Legolas told the hobbits?"

Aragorn squeezed his eyes closed, not wishing to relive it for the 
second time that night, and merely nodded his reply to Gimli. Again 
both sat in silence; just looking to the stars for an answer that they 
longed for, praying that it would shoot across the sky like a shooting 
star or arch like a rainbow to lead them to their lost friends'.

After a few minutes, it was again Gimli that broke the slightly 
uncomfortable silence that had befallen them again. "What did you 
dream of?" he asked concerning the startled waking of Aragorn both 
times that night. He had never seen their leader plagued by horrors of 
the night, not even after what had occurred in the dark, hellish world 
that had become Gimli's once beloved Moria.

Aragorn fought down the urge to bark at Gimli and inform him that it 
was none of his business, but he knew that to do such was folly and 
that Gimli was only concerned. Swallowing deeply, Aragorn tried the 
best to sort out the images that he had been so effected by in his own 
head before attempting to put them into words.

"It was horrible," was all he could say at the moment and he was 
thoroughly relieved that Gimli asked no more questions and just waited 
for him to continue at ease and in his own time. Images of fire and 
pain came floating back to him, as if he had cast them out into the 
sea on a windy day, only to have them be brought back by the ever 
rolling waves that broke against the shore.

"There was fire," he continued slowly, "and Boromir was there. He was 
burning, setting fire to all that he touched and destroying all that 
was in his path."

Reaching over to his side, Gimli pulled out his water skin and handed 
it to Aragorn, who gratefully took it and a long drink, trying to 
douse the fire that seemed to lap up his throat. Re-screwing the lid 
on top, he placed it on the ground between them and yet could not get 
himself to let go. He clung to it as if it was the only thing that 
could save them from the fire that was deep inside his heart and 
reflected in his head and mind, that scorched his memory with the pain 
that he knew Legolas had experienced.

"He - Boromir - was trying to engulf Legolas, trying to reach out to 
the Elf and burn him as well, and yet he could not, not before he 
fell. And then I was there, I was there, Gimli, and I could see the 
whole thing and yet I could not make my eyes look at Legolas, even 
when he called me, when he begged for my help with his own eyes I 
could still not look at him." Aragorn was well aware of the air that 
Gimli had sucked in, in shock at his words, and the ranger could feel 
Gimli's eyes piecing his cheek through the dark of the night. "Then - 
then I walked on, I left him behind and with the Orcs that I could 
sense at my back. I could hear him, Gimli, not out loud, but as if his 
voice was in my head, and he was calling for me, calling for you and 
the protection of the Valar as the Orcs overcame him and forced him to 
yield. It was horrible."

Laying his heavy head in his hands, Aragorn refused to say anymore 
even though he knew that there was much more to tell. There was the 
beating that he had witnessed his Elven friend receive - lash upon 
lash and boot upon boot sailed down to impact painfully with the slim 
Elven body, colouring the skin and staining the ground red with blood. 
He had heard the cries of the hobbits as they too watched terror 
struck as one of the fellowship was beaten into submission and 
darkness, knowing that there was nothing that either of them could do. 
Aragorn knew that they cried inwardly for him to come to them, to save 
them and their Elven friend from such bleak torture and darkness, such 
fury that could not be let out but must be kept in if they wished to 
live.

His dream had held an odd feeling, as if it were not really a dream 
but another twisted form of reality in which he was forced to sit idly 
by and watch. To be helpless and useless to his friend that seemed to 
be so close and yet was leagues away and completely out of reach. To 
look on as one of the kindest beings that he had ever met was treated 
in a way that nothing should be. Not even Orcs deserved such cruelty; 
although Aragorn knew that now, after what Legolas had been through, 
or at least what he dreamt Legolas had been through, it would never be 
the same. That now they would suffer at his hands, as well as Gimli's 
and that they would never grant them a moments pity or sympathy.

Sighing, Aragorn once again lifted his head to the bright stars that 
burned in the dark recesses of the Fuin-Menel. Once again 
acknowledging that he would not go back to sleep even if his life 
depended upon it, he turned to Gimli and smiled in the darkness. "Go 
get some rest, my friend, I will keep watch."

Gimli studied him for a moment, and then, as if he had read Aragorn's 
thought, nodded and stood. When he was over at his bed he cast one 
last look at his friend and leader ere flopping down and pulling the 
blanket over himself. "We will find them," he said, half to reassure 
Aragorn, and half to reassure himself.

"I hope you are right," Aragorn replied without taking his eyes off 
the stars.

"I'm always right!" Gimli said in jest, hoping to get Aragorn to 
smile.

The effect of his statement was not lost, and as Aragorn looked upon 
'The Wanderer's Light,' a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth 
and he felt that somewhere, deep, deep down, that all would be well. 
That Legolas and the hobbits would be all right and survive until he 
and Gimli came for them and that they would all be able to find the 
hope that they needed until such time.

*****

Pippin cast a worried glance to Merry, who was lying on his side 
watching over Legolas with the other small hobbit. Pippin was sitting 
up against one of the few trees that dotted the plain that they had 
been traveling over the past day, while Merry was only a few inches 
away on the ground. With the help of Merry, Pippin had maneuvered 
Legolas' head into his lap after the Orcs had returned the Elf to them 
after the beating that they had bestowed.

The night was in its prime and yet even with the twinkling stars, 
neither could find any comfort. Again and again they retold each other 
what Legolas had told them about the stars and that one constellation 
that would always lead them to the Elf's home, but with every telling 
it seemed to have less and less meaning as still the Elf in question 
had not woken.

Pippin was fretting over both of his friends who had been so harshly 
treated by their captors. He knew that Merry's back was causing him 
more trouble that what the other let on, and that it pained him with 
every movement. He could see it upon Merry's face, the pain and hurt 
that came with each and every breath and even the way he grimaced when 
the wind would occasionally blow his torn vest and shirt over the 
wounds.

Though that was horrifying enough, Legolas was much worse for wear. 
The usually half-glowing Elf was deathly pale, almost cadaverous with 
his dark ringed eyes and bruised face. His lip was still seeping blood 
from where he had bitten through it, and his jaw, though back in its 
place, was swelled up and a sickly brown-blue. The rest of the Elf's 
body closely resembled his face, all swelled and bruised, cut and 
bloody and even Merry and Pippin could tell that there was more then 
just a few broken bones. Legolas' breathing was labored and both small 
hobbits could tell that he was in pain with every intake of air into 
his lungs. In truth, Merry was surprised that Legolas was even alive.

It was through their quiet watch of the unconscious Elf that they 
first started to see signs of Legolas' stress. The Elf started to 
thrash about, angering his wounds and causing fresh blood to ooze out 
and onto Pippin's vest. Soft muttering came from the Elf in his native 
tongue that, with both Merry and Pippin's knowledge put together, they 
could only understand a few words. Among all the fluent dialogue, they 
were both shocked to hear Aragorn's name mentioned more then once, 
along with Gimli, Boromir and the rest of the fellowship.

Sending Merry and horrified look, Pippin tried to comfort the shaking 
Elf with his words and by placing his hands upon the Elf's face, being 
as gentle as possible so not to hurt him. Both were beyond worried as 
their friend shrieked out into the night, calling to a salvation that 
they did not know was even coming.

As Legolas' cries got louder, the Orcs' started to turn their 
attentions towards their captives, evil glints in their eyes. Ashbukra 
stood from his place by the fire and moved over to the three that were 
placed far from the comforting warmth that the flickering flames 
provided. Simply standing above them for a time and watching the Elf 
wither and sob in his sleep, Ashbukra only laughed. He relished in the 
fact that the Elf was finally giving into the pain and hurt of his 
broken body and was allowing the cries that the Orcs' had been denied 
only a few hours back whilst they had beat him.

Another of the Orcs', the second in charged called Gilakpis, came over 
and stood near the leader, leering down at the Elf, but Pippin and 
Merry could detect something else in his hollow eyes. It was unease, 
maybe even fear that shone in the bright yellow centers as he looked 
down on the thrashing Elf.

"Armaukdaggog. Mabullumnalt!" Gilakpis screamed at Ashbukra while 
thrashing his arms vigorously at Legolas and stamping his feet. 
Ashbukra turned his eyes on Gilakpis and a small growl passed over his 
lips.

"Pakenbartasmir!" he shouted back while spitting in the other's eye. 
He too looked enraged, as if he had been slapped across the face by 
the younger Orc and as he continued to glare at Gilakpis his top lip 
curled up in a snarl, revealing his long, pointed fangs. However, 
Gilakpis stood his ground and growled back again in his own tongue. 
Ashbukra barked back and lashed out with his left claw and caught 
Gilakpis across a scaly cheek but before the wound could seep its 
black blood, another group of Orcs' came in and stood behind Gilakpis 
in silent support.

All the while, Legolas had still kept to his cries of distress no 
matter what Merry and Pippin did to try and clam him down. The two 
hobbits could see something bad coming of all this and it made them 
more desperate to silence their friend, for their own sake as well as 
his. Especially his.

Turning his attention back to the quarreling Orcs', Merry saw that the 
others had beaten Ashbukra in the argument and that the leader was now 
turning back to Legolas with a horrid snarl on his lips.

"Latmabullumnalt!" it screamed, its harsh words aimed at Legolas. The 
sound of the fell voice worked to hush the Elf slightly but not 
completely and the Elven prince still muttered and gave the occasional 
shriek. "Latmabullumnalt!" Ashbukra yelled again, this time closer to 
all three and almost in Legolas' ear.

"Nor an Udûn!" At the loud and uninvited noise, Legolas yelled out the 
loudest he had done all night, and from what Merry knew of the 
Sindarin tongue, Legolas was telling him to go to hell. Inwardly Merry 
smiled to himself, glad that Legolas had not given in yet and that he 
still seemed to have some wits about him.

"Lat! Mabullum! Nalt!" Gilakpis had joined in the yelling match now, 
much to Ashbukra's dismay. When Gilakpis looked to Pippin, who was 
still stroking Legolas' sweaty brow in an attempt to keep him quiet, 
and repeated the same words, Pippin looked to Merry in helplessness.

Plucking up his courage, knowing that it would be something that 
Legolas or Aragorn would do in such a time, Merry tried to reason with 
the Orcs'. "We do not understand," he said as loudly as he dared and 
when all green-yellow eyes turned to him, he sincerely wished that he 
had not spoken up. "We do not understand what you are saying!" Merry 
tried again, hoping that within this rabble, at least one would speak 
the Common tongue.

"Lat! Mabullum! Nalt!"

Looking to Pippin in frustration and fear, Merry gave up, not knowing 
what else to do. As more and more Orcs' gathered around and glared at 
the hysterical Elf, Ashbukra reached down and, before Pippin could do 
anything, grabbed Legolas by the hair and hurled the unconscious Elf 
into the air.

Shaking him a few times, it soon became apparent that Legolas was not 
about to wake up, and, with not even the blinking of an eye, Ashbukra 
sent his fist hard into Legolas previously dislocated jaw, knocking it 
back out of place. Letting the now silent Elf crash back to the hard 
ground, Ashbukra turned, growled at Gilakpis and his supporters and 
stalked off in the direction of the fire.

Exchanging a quick glance, both Merry and Pippin wasted no time in 
crawling over and, as gently and best as they could, dragging Legolas 
back to Pippin's lap.

The Elven prince was once again silent but for the occasional whimper 
that came from his throat, and, as sad as it was, both Merry and 
Pippin were glad that he was now silenced, and that he had gotten off 
with only that one injury. When, after a few moments, Legolas turned 
over slightly and grabbed hold of Pippin's small waist in his sleep 
and burrowed his head in further to the small being, Merry could not 
but help smile at his friends'. At least they had each other and that 
was something to be thankful for.

*****

Aragorn watched as the first glimmering rays of sunlight streaked the 
darkened lands. It was a strange sight to witness after such a dark 
night and even stranger still to think that Anor would still rise no 
matter what happened. That slowly, she would peek her way over the 
horizon and bless the land with a glow that out lit even that of the 
stars. All this, while somewhere, within her range of light, three 
beings where held against their will by the foulest creatures of 
Middle-Earth - the very place that Anor stretched out to touch.

And yet the world continued on, night gave way to the day, and at 
sunset, just like the thousands of nights before hand, going back all 
the way to the beginning of the Great Song that had shaped the world, 
Ithil and the Elenath would once again dominate the Menel. It was a 
terrible feeling, that while others suffered the world would go on and 
pay no never mind to them and their plight and that he, like the stars 
and sun, was forced to go along with the great cycle that was every 
day.

Gently massaging the knots out of his neck, Aragorn looked to where 
Gimli was still fast asleep. The dwarf had had no problems during the 
night; no nightmares of their friends' at the hands of the Orcs', not 
so much as a startled cry in the middle of his slumber.

Getting up and feeling the cramps of the night spent sitting upon the 
hard ground fully; Aragorn started to pack up his baggage quietly. 
Doing the same with most of Gimli's pack, he delayed waking his friend 
for as long as possible.

Finally, when there was nothing else to be done, the ranger made his 
way over to the sleeping dwarf and shook him gently.

"Awake, Gimli," he said as Gimli's eyes slowly started to blink their 
way open. "We must not linger any longer - we must be away!"

Nodding somewhat groggily, Gimli slowly struggled to his paining feet 
and hoisted his pack to his back. True they had left most of their 
belongings behind after the breaking of the Fellowship and were 
travelling light, but it was still no encouragement to have to lift 
even the lightest pack onto his aching shoulders and pained back. The 
bruises from the Orcs had not really even began to heal yet and still 
every small movement caused white hot fire to shoot up and down his 
body. However, though this pain, Gimli had made the promise that he 
would not let it get in the way of their quest to save their missing 
friends, who, chances were, were in much more pain and suffering more 
torment than he had with his beating.

Handing Gimli a piece of Waybread, Aragorn took a small section for 
himself and took note of the provisions that they had left. He was in 
possession of one and half cakes of the Elven food, and he knew that 
Gimli had one left within his pack. Both had a very limited water 
supply, even with the others' bottles that they had taken with them 
from Parth Galen, and, as far as Aragorn knew, there was not much in 
the way of accessible water until the Entwash, which was a good day's 
journey from their current position.

Trying not to dwell on the hopelessness of the situation, Aragorn 
turned his head towards the West and looked over the land that lay 
before them. It was a plain; flat as any that he had seen and dotted 
with only the occasional tree.

Looking back for Gimli's consent and receiving a nod, Aragorn set off 
at a slow run, making is way down from the small hill that they had 
rested on at the base of the Emyn Muil.

Disregarding the need for rest or for vitals they kept to their pace, 
stopping only when both felt as if they would collapse, and even then, 
resting only for a few minutes, both knowing that every fleeting 
moment in time was essential for their friends' swift and safe rescue.

Minutes blended into the next, hours formed and passed them by like 
the very essence of time had failed to stay the same and was now 
making its own rules of day and light. The Anor rose higher and higher 
in the arched sky, lighting more and more of the land as with each 
laboring footstep fell, another second passed into the minutes that 
were left far behind. Dust rose at the backs of the two hunters' 
ankles, only to settle back to the ground in a matter of moments, a 
few inches from where it once resided. Other than that, nothing was 
left of their passing, just the whispers upon the wind of two seeking 
a band of Orcs' and lost friends.

*****

Gilakpis had taken it upon himself to awaken the sleeping trio by 
applying a harsh kick to each stomach and an extra one to Legolas for 
good measure. Merry and Pippin had come around all to quickly, and yet 
still Legolas would not, or could not, wake up.

Gripping his head tightly in his clawed hands, Gilakpis pulled the 
unconscious Elf to his feet and, tilting his head back, poured a 
thick, black liquid into Legolas' forced open mouth. Even from where 
they still lay, Merry and Pippin could smell the fell reek of the 
Orcs' draught and needless to say, it woke Legolas almost immediately.

Legolas' normally, clear ocean-blue eyes had blinked open, covered in 
a thick film that almost created the effect of blindness. His look of 
shock did not go unnoticed by the Orcs' and only proved to pull more 
and more gruff laughter from their twisted mouths. As Legolas 
struggled aimlessly with the large Orc who held him so tightly, the 
full effect of the liquid started to take effect on his body.

Slouching forward, his legs no longer able to support him, Legolas had 
found himself falling right into the Orc's arms, his head spinning and 
his stomach lurching. As the Orc pushed Legolas to the ground, the Elf 
felt the world spin as if he were about to black out and pass back 
into unconsciousness and yet found that he was not able to. Coughing 
violently and bring the oil-like substance back up his throat, Legolas 
could not help himself from gagging at the fell taste and smell. He 
could feel it, pulsing through his veins, mingling with his blood and 
slowly clogging his senses.

Legolas' hearing almost immediately become hindered, as if he were 
listening to things that were miles away through deep fog, or under 
the crashing waves of the sea. With each and every cough that racked 
havoc upon his body, he felt the pains of his wounds intensify and his 
head pound as if hit with a blunt object. A new taste appeared in the 
back of his mouth, and as he coughed yet again, he soon found the 
source. A large glob of dark-tainted blood passed through his lips and 
onto the ground just in front of where he lay convulsing aggressively.

Eyes widening in surprise, Legolas could start to feel an almost 
burning in the pit of his stomach, as with every cough that followed, 
more blood came forth to taint the ground.

His previous wounds hurt him more then anything that he could ever 
remember and he was still painfully aware of the burning within his 
right rib cage, suggesting more then a few broken bones. His jaw was 
tight and barely moveable, making the process of coughing all the more 
hurtful and uncomfortable. In short, he felt as if he had been staked 
spread-eagled to the ground and a herd of wild horses had been set 
loose to run over him, trampling every inch of his body and turning 
him into a moving bruise.

Nonetheless, he would still not allow himself to give in, not now, not 
ever and especially to these fell beasts.

Raising his eyes so the Elven prince could look directly into the 
cold, heartless ones of Gilakpis as the Orc leered down on him. The 
Elf felt helpless and weak, defeated by the fell beasts and battered 
into submission. The very thought of it sickened him. He was the 
prince of Mirkwood and yet here he was, forsaken, useless and used as 
a toy to amuse a band of Orcs.

The liquid that had just been poured down his throat seemed to be some 
form of Orcish poison and the Elf could feel the weakening effect that 
it was having on his already inefficient body. His limbs seemed to be 
loosing all ability to move, let alone all their feeling, and his head 
felt as if it had been shrouded in a thick cloud, fogging up his 
senses and all rational thought. Through all this, he could also tell 
that the draught was not designed to kill like most of the Orcs' 
potions, but it was used to enfeeble and force prisoners into obeying.

Casting his eyes about the camp in order to evade the taunting gaze of 
Gilakpis, Legolas could not help but notice that Ashbukra, the one 
that had so openly displayed his leadership the day before, was 
sitting to the back of the camp, sulking while watching Legolas' 
sickness unfold. He had long noticed that Ashbukra had seemed to have 
placed some form of claim on him and that alone made him what to hurl 
- he belonged to no one, especially an Orc! No matter how much he 
hated it, Legolas was forced to acknowledge that there was nothing 
that he could do to right the situation, not yet at least. And yet 
now, Ashbukra seemed to have been overruled in his command by the 
disgusting beast that stood before him, laughing at his discomfort.

Even now, as the new leader of the Orcs' looked down on him as if he 
were a steed that was to be brought or sold at a market, Legolas felt 
that twang of defiance that was now forever present.

"Latnalt!" the Orc yelled in his face while allowing a drop of saliva 
to hit the Elf's cheek. Not caring and knowing that it made no 
difference if he had such a substance on his already defiled face, 
Legolas left it there, not giving the large Orc the satisfaction of 
seeing him wipe it away.

"Latnalt!" it yelled again, this time a little louder. Legolas had no 
way of knowing what it was saying and so he sat there, never breaking 
eye contact with the beast that towered above his broken form, even 
when he coughed and more of his own blood slipped past his lips and 
down his chin.

Not once since he had regained consciousness had Legolas allowed the 
Orcs' to see how much he hurt or how scared he truly was - again, that 
was a satisfaction that he would not grant them.

"Latnardaggog? Lat! Nalt!" not even given the time to even half work 
out what the Orc was implying with his ostentatious arm gestures, 
Legolas found himself grabbed by his hair and pulled roughly to his 
feet, the tearing of a few golden strands gone unnoticed by both Elf 
and Orc.

Not being able to stand on his own wobbly legs, Legolas was forced to 
half hang by his hair while using his feet on the ground as much as 
possible to brace himself. He could feel the slow tearing of his scalp 
as the skin was stretched far beyond its natural allowance and with 
much effort, he schooled his face into not betraying any of the 
tingling ache that was now spreading across his entire head.

Forcing his legs to comply with his wishes, he managed, with a lot of 
effort, to stand upright even as the Orc continued to hold his hair. 
Both stood there, glaring each other down for the longest imaginable 
time, neither willing to submit to the other. However there was no 
possible way for Legolas to win in such a situation, and, as he 
continued to stare into the beasts eyes, Gilakpis raised his right 
hand and sent it with immense force across the Elf's cheek, forcing 
him back to the ground.

"Molvafushaum! Rendjashat!" Gilakpis yelled at the other Orcs', who 
immediately started to pack up the small camp and get into a rough 
order for the long run of the day.

Casting a look full of hate towards the still crumpled Elf, Gilakpis 
made his way slowly over to the two hobbits. Seeing this, Legolas 
tried the best he could to regain some form of control over his 
agonized body, and, crawling at first, slowly started to force himself 
to his feet, no matter how painful.

Merry and Pippin, seeing the treatment of Legolas, had sunk back as 
far as they were able to considering their situation and the tree that 
grew directly behind them. When Gilakpis approached, both had wished 
that they were in a forest such as the Old Forest where Old Man Willow 
was able to swallow them up.

Reaching for his cousins hand, Merry gave it a reassuring squeeze, 
fighting desperately within himself to try and control his fear of the 
monster that was now standing right over them.

Seeing the courage of the two small hobbits gave Legolas a renewed 
strength as he came up to his knees, attempting to get to his feet 
without alerting Gilakpis of his ability to move and slow advancement.

Gilakpis laughed at the two little ones' intertwined hands, and, 
moving quickly before anyone could react, grabbed Pippin by his full 
head of curly hair and hauled him to his feet. Although the hobbit 
barely reached his waist, the Orc, still had a small amount of trouble 
keeping the withering being in his grasp as Pippin kicked and thrashed 
about, crying out for the help of Merry.

Merry found himself grabbed from behind and restrained as his cousin 
was taken from him, and with the terrified cries and sobs of Pippin, 
Merry's heart beat a thousand to one.

Neither had noticed Legolas slowly getting to his feet behind the 
large lump of an Orc, and the Orc that was holding Merry was too busy 
with his own squirming bundle to care less about what was happening. 
All the other Orcs' of the camp were already in formation, waiting for 
their new leader to rejoin them and to give the order to move out.

Pulling Pippin's head back and using a claw in the hobbits mouth to 
force it open, Gilakpis made ready to pour some the same drought that 
he had administered to Legolas down the hobbit's throat. Unplugging 
the small, twisted, black vile, he slowly lifted it to the now quiet 
mouth and placed the thick rim on Pippin's bottom lip.

Merry looked on his horror as the entire scene unfolded in front of 
his tear filled eyes. First Legolas, now Pippin. Knowing that he was 
next was no constellation either but at the moment he only had eyes 
for his terrified friend. It was through watching with a morbid and 
unwanted fascination that Merry saw a slight glint of colour from 
behind the Orc. Trying not to draw any attention to where he was 
looking, Merry peered cautiously over Gilakpis' shoulder to see 
Legolas standing somewhat shakily to his feet. It had been his hair 
that had called out for Merry's attention as it almost sparkled in the 
sunlight of early morning.

Legolas, in his determination not to see the little ones get hurt, had 
managed to get to his feet, if slightly unstably and slowly cover the 
gap between him and Gilakpis. Thankful for Pippin's sobs and cries, no 
matter how terrible they were to hear, Legolas covered the ground as 
best as he could, trying not to make any noise that exceeded that of 
Pippin's and Merry's.

Making one last attempt to keep the foul smelling draught out of his 
mouth, Pippin clasped his teeth down on the scaly claw of the lead Orc 
and held on, even when the sickening taste of the Orc's black blood 
seeped between his teeth.

Crying out in rage, Gilakpis literally shook his hand until the hobbit 
was shaken right off. On his part, Pippin had been rather hard to get 
off, even as his head rattled around with the vibrations of the Orc's 
waggling.

Merry, knowing that Legolas was going to try something that a somewhat 
rational person would consider folly, continued to struggle with the 
Orcs that held him, causing a rather nice distraction for the beast. 
While he did not like the thought of what was happening to his cousin, 
he hated the thought of Legolas getting hurt more due to trying to 
protect them, but, at the same time, he also know that there was 
nothing that he could do to stop the Elf. Realizing the only thing he 
could do was to keep 'his' Orc busy so it would not notice the moving 
Elf, Merry did just that, struggling and biting at the hands that 
tried to restrain him.

Looking frantically about him, Legolas knew that he needed a bit more 
of a plan then just to walk up and tap the Orc on the shoulder. Now 
that he was moving and putting his non-existent idea into action, the 
Elven prince was starting to think that it was not such a good idea 
after all. However, he could not let the little ones' suffer, not 
while he still had some sort of strength left.

As he continued his search for someway to overpower the fell beast, 
Legolas' eyes fell upon something that seemed to glow under the light 
of Anor. Smiling slyly to himself, Legolas resolved what he was going 
to do in his mind and ran a quick plan through his spinning head. The 
key to what he was about to do relied on speed and strength, two of 
the things that he had very little left, but he knew that there was no 
other way. Summoning up all of the vital abilities that he could, 
Legolas reached forward, ready to do whatever it took to save the 
little hobbits.

*****

Aragorn turned his face towards the sun. It was fast becoming hot 
under her harsh rays even though the day had not progressed all that 
far. Turning back the way they had come, he saw Gimli laboring along a 
few meters back. It was obvious that his wounds were causing him pain, 
especially a nasty bruise that was on his side that had been hindering 
his ability to breath properly whilst running. Yet no matter how much 
Aragorn suggested that they rest, even though it was against his 
better judgement of the situation, Gimli refused, saying that there 
would be time enough for him to rest when the hobbits' and that 'folly 
Elf' were returned. Aragorn too could see the sense in that, but it 
was the fact that a wounded Gimli would be no real asset in a fight if 
one should arouse, and with Gimli's wounds they were travelling at a 
much slower rate than he would have liked.

By the time the sun was half way to its zenith, they had reached and 
passed the West Cliff, heading steadily to the Entwash that snaked its 
way through the flat plain of the valley.

When Gimli finally caught up with him, Aragorn looked the dwarf up and 
down. He looked as if he were about to collapse were he stood and his 
breathing was shallow, quick, and deeply concerning for the ranger.

"Gimli, come," Aragorn said gently, "we must rest for a moment." Just 
as he had expected, Gimli automatically started to protest, claiming 
that he was fine and just in need of a sip of water.

Sighing, Aragorn sent Gimli a deadly glare and flopped down on the 
ground, crossing his legs underneath him. "I am tired,' was all he 
said while reaching into his pack to pull out a water skin. He had 
made it quiet clear that he was not moving for at least a little while 
and as he continued to stare at Gimli, a small smile crept upon his 
face.

Almost startled as it was the first true smile that he had worn since 
the departure from Lothlórien, Aragorn let the smile creep further 
upon his face, reaching his eyes. "Sit Gimli," he said finally at the 
weird look that he was receiving from his companion, "It does one 
good."

"I swear by the very hilt of my axe that you grow stranger with each 
fleeting day, Aragorn - Strider - whoever you are." Gimli said with 
his own smile while carefully lowering himself down to the ground.

At his comment Aragorn could not help himself and a soft chuckle 
passed his lips which soon turned into a full-hearted laugh.

Still looking on at his friend as if he were slowly losing his grip on 
sanity, Gimli was rather surprised to find that the smile was 
contagious, and, before long he was holding his sides as he to laughed 
for no apparent reason.

Neither knew why they were in the thralls of laughter, but neither one 
questioned it. It just felt good to be carefree even for that one 
second in time. To give themselves up to the little hope that had 
bloomed within their hearts, praying for it to flourish into something 
that would hold true and aid them when the true horror of their search 
came upon them.

They sat there for close to half an hour, resting, recuperation and 
telling tales of amusement, all the while gracing the surrounding 
territory with a sound that it had not heard in many years.

*****

Gilakpis sent his bleeding fist into the side of Pippin's face, making 
the hobbit's world spin and, had it not been for the Orc's grip, he 
would have collapsed. At this Merry cried out, trying relentlessly to 
slap away the hands that held him so he could get to his friend.

Taking the opportunity for all that it was worth, Legolas continued to 
stretch his hand slowly forward, praying that he could be able to do 
this and that his head would clear soon and allow him the ability to 
think straight again.

When his hand had reached its destination, he curled it around the 
object that his eyes stayed fixated on, and, with one last prayer to 
the Valar, pulled the curved dagger from Gilakpis' belt as fast a 
lightening.

What unfolded next happened so quickly that, looking back on it, it 
all seemed like a blur to Merry. He knew that he saw everything but 
whether it was his traumatized state or the fact that Elves really 
could move like the wind, he did not know. All he knew was that, no 
matter the cause, it had worked and for the he was thankful.

Pulling the dagger out as swiftly as he could, Legolas did not wait 
for Gilakpis to give a reaction. Instead, holding it tightly in both 
hands, he raised it above his head and sent it slamming down into the 
soft spot between the Orcs unprotected shoulder blades, pulling a 
shrill, horror filled scream from the beast. Acting as quickly as his 
tired body would allow, Legolas moved to the side of the beast to 
avoid one of the steel tipped elbow guards, both of which supported 
large spikes, and grabbed Pippin by the shoulder.

Near ripping the hobbit from the enraged Orc's grasp, Legolas half 
threw Pippin behind him, the hobbit hitting the ground with force that 
surprise him due to Legolas' weak state.

By now, the Orc that was holding Merry let the hobbit go, forgetting 
about the little being and charged towards the now standing and armed 
Elf. Merry scrambled to his feet and over to Pippin, trying to avoid 
the trampling feet of the Orc as it ran.

Gilakpis' eyes flashed in unconcealed anger as he looked upon the Elf. 
But before he could so much as draw the large sword that hung from his 
side, Legolas quickly stepped right up against his body and ran the 
blade straight across the Orc's thick throat as hard as he could, 
splitting skin and spilling forth more of the creatures' black blood.

With one last screech, Gilakpis collapsed to the ground, clutching at 
his throat in horror. Legolas was left standing there, the curved 
dagger still in his raised hand as he watched the sticky substance 
that was the Orc's life trickle down his arm and drip on to the dirt 
beneath his feet. A pool black as night began to spread from the dead 
Orc's throat and back, slowly coming to elope Legolas' light boots and 
stain the soles in its foul colour. Still Legolas just stood there, 
looking at the blood covered blade that was grasped so tightly in his 
hands that his knuckles had turned ghost white with hollow eyes, not 
even trying to step out of the way from the river of blood or stop it 
from traveling further down his arm.

The entire camp had turned to watch as their new leader perished at 
the hands of the Elf that they were in possession of by the use of his 
own dagger. It seemed to Merry and Pippin that they were in shock for 
all had just stood still, not moving an muscle, even the one that had 
been so eager to help only a second ago. They looked like grotesque 
statues displaying a gruesome scene for all to look upon and remember.

It had all happened so fast, so unexpected and it seemed to have 
effected everyone, even the uncaring Orcs'. Merry and Pippin were 
sobbing quietly and between fussing over each other, they continued to 
cast worried looks at Legolas who seemed transfixed by the blood that 
stained his arms. The Orcs' seemed to be slightly uncertain of the Elf 
now, not knowing what to do with it or what should happen next. None 
wanted to openly approach the Elf that seemed immobile for the weapon 
that he still held within his hand, and it was with slight amusement 
that Merry relised that they were now frightened of Legolas.

On his part, Legolas was stunned and yet confused as to why. It was 
not as if it were his first kill, and it was only an Orc's life that 
he had taken, but at the same time he could feel some foreign emotion 
slowly escalating its way up inside of him. Words from his childhood 
played out in his mind, telling him that it was wrong to murder, to 
take life unnecessarily and yet it had not been murder at all. Indeed 
a life had been lost, but it was in defense of his friends and to 
provide them with safety.

Or was it? Maybe, on some level that had only been an excuse that he 
had given himself for his actions, that really, it was not for the 
hobbits' at all. Maybe it was revenge that had made him struggle to 
his feet and towards the Orc. Revenge that made him pull the deadly 
blade from its sheath and push it through the Orc's flesh, draining 
its life with each drop of blood that spilt from his own hand's 
actions.

Words of Wisdom from the elders on the evils of extracting revenge 
raced through his all ready spinning head, only aided in making him 
all the more dizzy and yet none of the sayings were complete. He saw 
Aragorn's face in his mind's eye, looking at him in disgust, Gimli 
turning away from him and the little hobbits' that he cared so much 
for fleeting from his touch.

Moving his left hand up to his head, he pressed the palm hard against 
his temple, trying to block out everything that was swirling through 
his mind like the dancing people of his race around a bonfire on the 
night of the great hunt for the white deer.

So caught up in his own world of horror filled images was he, that he 
did not notice his peril until it was too late. Not hearing Merry and 
Pippin's shouts of his name, Legolas still stood there, unaware of 
Ashbukra, the newly claimed leader once again, coming up behind him 
with his sword raised.

A heavy footfall was all that alerted Legolas to his appending doom, 
and, turning just in time to see the hilt of the Orc's sword come down 
at his head, he fell unconscious to the ground, the blade that he had 
previously held tossed into the bushes that were at the base of the 
tree that the hobbit's had been near all morning.

***** Ok, here is a little timeline that I am working on for this 
story to make it easier to follow. Now, keeping in mind that I fucked 
up in the very first chapters, I have had to move everything forward a 
day or at least a few hours. so, for the purpose of this AU forget 
everything about the timeline in the back of The Return of the King.

Timeline for Shadows Within; Darkness Without - Chapters' five to six. 
Year 3019 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth February. 26 - early 
morning (dark). Boromir killed instead of Aragorn, Merry and Pippin 
taken by the Orcs, Frodo and Sam off to Mordor alone, Legolas wounded 
then later separated from Gimli and taken by the Orcs. 26 - morning. 
(Still dark) Aragorn finds Gimli in the woods and sees to his wounds. 
26 - afternoon. Legolas whipped, Merry covers him and is also hurt. 
Aragorn and Gimli burn Boromir and set off in search of the missing 
Fellowship members. 26 - night. Aragorn and Gimli forced to rest. 
Legolas beaten by the Orcs and shares his dream of the fire with 
Aragorn. 27 - early/mid morning. Aragorn reaches the West Cliff. 
Legolas had a fretful night and Ashbukra overruled by Gilakpis and his 
supporters. Administration of the Orc drought and death of Gilakpis 
(wow, he lasted long!) *****



Chapter Seven

Invisible Threads are the Strongest Ties.



"There comes an hour of sadness, At the setting of the sun, Not for 
sins committed, But for the things I haven't done."

*****

The day had been long and hard for both Aragorn and Gimli. Their 
earlier mirth was lost in a sea of misery, despair and shattered hope. 
Upon noon they had come across the first vital signs of their friends 
and it did not look good at all.

They had been running for many hours, Gimli again refusing to rest and 
claiming that they had lost too much time already, when Aragorn' keen 
eyes and sense of smell had picked up on something that was not an 
ordinary feature of the land.

Calling Gimli to a stop, they both surveyed the clues the land 
presented to them and, now a hour later, that was where they still 
were, looking upon the ground with heightened fears and the hints of 
tears brewing at their eyes.

For there, for all to see among the filth and trampled ground left by 
the Orcs', was a pool of now dried blood. Red blood - Elven blood. It 
had that tinge to it that made it, even in its ghastly way, beautiful 
as it almost glittered under the sun, even in its dry state. There was 
no mistake whose blood it was and that weighed heavily upon both 
Aragorn and Gimli's hearts.

Knowing that it was at the most a day old did little to lift their 
spirits. A day could be like an eternity as an Orc's prisoner, 
especially for Elves. The entire situation was frightening and Aragorn 
felt the now familiar sense of uselessness and failure wash over him, 
almost consuming him in his own self grief.

It reminded him of Elladan and Elrohir's anguish at the loss of their 
mother due to the Orc's treatment of her when she was once captured. 
Granted that she did not perish from it, it was emotionally scaring 
enough to force her to leave her husband, home and beloved twin sons' 
and daughter to flee over the sea. Aragorn had never met her, but by 
the way that the twin sons' of Elrond had spoken of her and the love 
that Arwen so openly displayed, proved that she must have been a 
wonderful person.

And now here it was, happening to Legolas, someone that he knew and 
that he cared about and he was forced to trail behind, picking up the 
small and horrifying clues as to what was happening to him a day too 
late. He could understand the blind fury and hate that both Elladan 
and his younger brother shared for the fell Orcs' and the thing that 
drove them on to kill all that they saw.

Aragorn knew what that thing was now, that thing was revenge and that 
was what he would have upon these Orcs'.

*****

Merry felt as if his little legs were about to fall from his body in 
their exhaustion. They had been running since early morning and at a 
cracking pace that was far beyond that that he was used to. With 
little to no substantial food or drink, it was even harder to keep a 
level and unwavering head then it was to keep with the harsh pace that 
they were forced into by the Orcs' whips.

Poor Legolas, Merry thought as he looked over to his friend who was 
attempting to run next to him. Never had Merry witnessed such cruelty; 
it was as if he had been awoken from the blissful daydream world that 
he used to live in and forced to see the truth of things that happened 
and that were out of his control. And yet, at the same time, never had 
he seen such a display of fearlessness in such a terrifying situation. 
It was remarkable how Legolas was still able to run with them, after 
all that the Elven prince had been through. Even the fact that still, 
when any Orc looked upon the archer, Legolas met their stare with an 
even glance, not allowing them to bully him into showing his fear - 
only his hatred.

That morning had been a bad one, for both little hobbits and 
especially for Legolas. Ashbukra, who was now parading around as the 
reclaimed leader, had carried Legolas for most of the journey and even 
when the Elf had woken, he continued to haul him like he was a 
carcass. It was only when Ashbukra had tired that he released the Elf 
to run on his own, which, in Merry's opinion was worse then being 
carried, even if the Orcs' did stink.

It was now close to nightfall and still things were getting worse; 
they were now near just near the great forest of Fangorn that both 
Merry and Pippin had been told housed great evil. Legolas had not 
spoken all day, not even in the few resting stops that they had 
received when both Merry and Pippin had tried to lift his spirits at 
least a little. All he did was stare out onto the plains, eyes hollow 
and yet dashing from horizon to horizon as if in search of something.

In fact, Legolas was desperately seeking out something, something that 
the wind had whispered about and warned him of. A thing that would 
prove all deciding in how the future was to play out; for him, the 
hobbit's and all of Middle-Earth.

For some time now, Legolas had been steadily aware of another presence 
on the plains. All the while he had been hoping that it would be 
Aragorn and Gimli, for he had been informed by the two hobbits' that 
Boromir had perished. But now he was certain that it was not the 
remaining fellowship members that made their way across the land. 
There were too many of them, the people that were coming, and they 
were all on horses. The ground told him of the great troop that were 
making their way over the great flat land, careful not to get to close 
to the Orcs' and yet at the same time they seemed to be tracking the 
band.

At first Legolas was confused by this new turn of events, but then, 
after a lot of thought, he started to think that he knew what was 
going on. They were in Rohan, that much he knew for sure, and were 
steadily making their way to what he assumed was Isengard yet cutting 
close to the edge of the forest for shelter. Thus, the only possible 
explanation was the fact that the people of Rohan had been alerted of 
the presence of the Orcs' and had come to turn them around or 
slaughter them - whatever side of this war they were on.

Since he had worked this out, Legolas had been plotting and planing, 
running ideas over in his head to try and get a grasp on how he could 
actually use this to his advantage. It was obvious that the Orcs' had 
no clue as to the company that were, at one point trailing behind 
them, but now steadily making their way ahead just out of the line of 
sight of the Elven archer. The fact that Legolas did not know if they 
were friend or foe was an unfavorable one, but one that, while being 
important, was not at the same time. The way he saw it, it was either 
death and torment in the hands of an Orc or the same fate at the hands 
of someone else. Besides, he was going nowhere.

"Listen up," he said, shocked at the harshness of his own voice. It 
had been so long since he had spoken that both hobbits' almost jumped 
out of their skins in surprise and shock.

"Legolas!" Pippin exclaimed excitedly, a large smile creeping upon his 
face. A smile that Legolas was all too happy to put a stop to.

"Silence!" he snapped, and yet he automatically regretting it when 
Pippin's face fell. Tightening his jaw, Legolas mentally slapped 
himself. He had to stay to this plan, he could not afford to let the 
two that he cared for crumble his resolve. Besides, it was best this 
way, for all three of them. "Now, say not a thing but listen and 
listen well," he informed them, again deliberately putting as much 
hostility into his voice as possible. For once he almost thanked the 
foul Orcish draught that had burnt his throat as it gave him a more 
commanding and menacing tone then he ever could have managed by 
himself.

Merry and Pippin looked at him as if he were an Orc himself. Never had 
they seen him so uncaring or acrimonious in all the time that they had 
known him and it frightened them a little. Both knew that Legolas had 
suffered a lot, both physically and mentally, especially the latter 
that morning, but never had they dreamed that it would make him like 
this. However, no matter how different he seemed at this time, they 
knew and trusted him with their lives, and for that reason alone, 
Pippin bit back the hurt and nodded his head in silent agreement that 
he would listen and not speak.

"Good," Legolas replied while stealing a quick, fugitive look about 
the camp. None of the Orcs' were paying them any attention, which was 
rather odd considering the happenings of that morning, but Legolas 
just figured that he now looked as he felt; barely able to stand. 
"Now, listen," he continued, 'there is a band of riders just over the 
horizon - they have been there all day and have been tracking the 
Orcs'." He paused as an Orc walked by to get something out of a large 
pack that was thrown carelessly over to the side of the makeshift camp 
and Legolas only continued when he was well out of the way. "They are 
not far from here, towards the North- West, and will soon be past us."

"What are you saying, Legolas?" Merry asked in a low tone, but at the 
look that Legolas shot him he knew that he should have kept his mouth 
shut.

"Hush!" the Elf hissed, making sure to mask his emotions well. "Do not 
speak! Now, what I am saying is that we are going to make a run for 
it." Knowing Pippin's reaction before it even happened, Legolas leaned 
over with his bound hands and placed one over the hobbit's mouth 
before he could shriek out a 'what?' With a pointed glance, Pippin 
controlled himself and Legolas removed his hands placing them back in 
his lap.

"I said that we will make a run for it," the Elf continued using his 
most princely manner and answering the unspoken question. "Now, this 
is how it is going to work; I will cause a distraction while you two 
run for the forest,' again Pippin was about to protest, but Merry 
covered his mouth with his own bound hands.

"What about you?" Merry asked, not caring about the angry look that 
Legolas sent his way. He would not leave the Elf here, even if he were 
acting weird.

"I will be right behind you once I have given you two enough time," 
Legolas informed them as if it were the most obvious thing in the 
world. "I want no questions, only responses. When I say to go, you 
will go and you will not look back! Do you both understand?" Both 
merely nodded, knowing that Legolas did not want them to talk.

"Good," Legolas sighed, most of his malice now gone and he once again 
seemed to be the kind Elf that they all looked up to.

Smiling down at the horror struck faces of the hobbits, he moved over 
and in turn stroked a small cheek with on of his hands, trying to 
reassure them the best he could. He had no clue as to whether they 
would make the dash alive, but he also knew that to be locked in 
Orthanc and be the prisoners' of Saruman would be worse for them so it 
was the only amiable option.

"All will be well, I promise," he told them, "Gar na le Estel, nin 
millon. Ælis onha am a ælis eridh ain ai Elenath tirpai le. Syd, ir 
maes ir Im uva n ai an gwend an hae athon i Elenath." [Hold to your 
hope, my friends'. Never give it up and never forget that the stars 
watch over you. They, as well as I, will be there for you. Hold that 
in remembrance as friendship is far beyond the stars.] Repeating the 
words the Aragorn had once said to him, Legolas was able to force 
himself to smile despite the physical and mental pain that it caused.

Merry watched Legolas with interest as he sat there, talking to them 
softly in his own tongue and stroking their faces. It was an odd 
transformation from the harsh being that he had just been back to the 
kind one that they had come to trust and love and it was that that 
weighed on his heart. What was wrong with Legolas and why was he 
acting like this was the last time that he would see them?

Suddenly it hit him, Legolas was not expecting to come out of this 
alive, he was prepared to give up his own life to save the hobbits and 
had no intention of following them. It was a scary thing to learn and 
Merry did not wish to let it happen, but then, just as everything as 
of late, things were out of his control and without so much as a 
warning, Legolas put his plan into action. Looking back on it, it was 
as if Legolas had sensed that Merry knew what he was about to do and 
for that reason had decided to hurry things up a bit.

"Get ready," was all Legolas said as he tensed in his crouched 
position. Knowing that he had only one chance, just as he had had only 
one chance that morning, he waited perfectly still, watching 
everything that went on in the camp and waiting for the right moment.

When most Orcs' were busy in conversation or some form of chore, he 
knew it was time. Placing his hands to his broken ribs to help take 
off some of the force of his movement, he struggled to his feet as 
best as he could and started to inch away from the hobbits'.

When he was a good couple of meters and still unnoticed, he sent a 
glance at Merry and Pippin, warning them to be ready. He saw the way 
they tensed, ready to jump up and run when he gave the order, but he 
also saw the look of horror on their faces and what he could only make 
out as understanding on Merry's. Ignoring it as much as possible, 
Legolas prepared to make his scene.

"Aye!" he cried out at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of 
all the Orcs' as he pointed off into the distance. "Tithen gaer arphen 
ithron telio ain nan ambenn, le ninbin-Yrch!" he screamed at the 
confused Orcs'. Like he had hoped, all turned to see where he was so 
fretfully pointing to, and once they did that he shot a razor sharp 
glance at the two hobbits'. 'Go' he mouthed, and, to his utter relief, 
both little ones got to their tired feet and ran in the opposite 
direction to where the Orcs' where looking, straight to the safety of 
the forest and hopefully the kind riders.

Turning his attention back on his own situation, Legolas missed the 
worried look that Merry shot over his shoulder as Pippin half dragged 
him out of the camp while whispering to himself that everything would 
be all right.

Legolas knew that his chances of surviving this were slim to none, but 
it had been the right thing to do to get the hobbits out of this 
place. He only wished that he had not had to be so harsh to them in 
the last moments together, but it was important for them as, 
hopefully, they would remember that last mood and would not feel so 
guilty.

However, doubt still played upon his mind, taunting him with words of 
revenge and murder, of uselessness and his own personal failure to 
keep in control of himself that morning. No matter how much he tried 
to push the voices out, they stayed, as if secured on with the ever 
thick, strong spider-webs' that wound their way through the trees of 
his beloved home. Fighting them long enough to turn his attention to 
the task as hand, Legolas tried to concentrate on what the Orcs' were 
doing and tried to anticipate their next move.

By now some of the Orcs' were turning back to him and he was aware 
that now the real test began. Now he had to keep the Orcs' attention 
on him and that direction for as long as possible, while staying alive 
to be able to do it, in order to buy the two cousins' time to get out 
of sight.

As the first lot of Orcs' started to approach him, Legolas once again 
focused his eyes of the far away distance and pointed. "Tiri! Tiri!" 
he shouted while waving his bound arms painfully in the air towards 
the general direction. But this time it had no effect and the Orcs' 
that were already approaching him kept on coming. Panicking for the 
first time since he had thought of this little idea, Legolas stumbled 
to his left, moving further in the direction opposite the one in which 
Merry and Pippin had fled.

Keep them busy, keep them busy, he told himself. His bound hands made 
the situation harder as well as his aching body that he continued to 
force it into doing things that he should not even be attempting. His 
ribs were burning in his chest, making him feel as if someone had set 
him alight and he was withering in flame. His arrow wound, that was 
once again starting to make itself known over the pain of his other 
injuries, felt as if something was boring right through him. Which, 
with a little sad inward smile, Legolas reminded himself that it 
probably was; working its way through his body with the movement and 
flow of blood.

Ashbukra was now moving towards him as well and Legolas was not too 
happy about that. While all the other Orcs' seemed to have become 
slightly afraid of him since that morning, Ashbukra was as level 
headed as always, never forgetting who had the real power in this 
situation.

Stepping back, Legolas lost his footing on a large stone that lay on 
the ground and fell backwards. The impact did little to aid his wounds 
as he felt a sharp prang in his right rib cage and realized that his 
intake of air was rather short and labored. Ashbukra pushed another 
Orc out of the way and came up to Legolas, glaring at him with glowing 
yellow eyes.

Legolas could see in the creature's eyes that he was furious and it 
was with much panic that the Elf found that he was trapped. The Orcs' 
were circling him in and with the fall that he had just taken he found 
that he no longer had the strength to move let along get up and fight. 
The only thing that he could half take joy in was the fact that with 
his current position, none of the Orcs' had noticed the missing 
hobbits as they were too busy with his act.

It was the worst moments of his life thus far. Lying on the ground and 
holding his rib as he tried to get his breathing to return to normal 
and not pain him every time he took a gulp of air, while waiting in 
apprehension for what was to happen and knowing that he was powerless 
to stop whatever Amarth would deal out.

Praying for a salvation that would never come, it was with a heavy 
heart that a startled yet angered cry rose through the camp, causing 
Ashbukra to turn away from the Elf that he was stalking towards. The 
word had got out - the hobbits were missing and now it was time for 
Legolas to face the consequences.

After a few moments, Ashbukra came back, the hot anger burning in his 
eyes as the very surface of the sun. He was beyond angry, beyond 
enraged and with a sinking heart that made his breathing even further 
hindered, Legolas knew that that hate and anger was directed towards 
him.

Looking into the fuming eyes of the Orc that stood directly above him, 
Legolas could not help the small smile that came across his face. A 
number of Orcs' were grabbing weapons and heading out of the camp in 
all directions, obviously to search for the small hobbits, but at 
least the hobbits had a good head start. Sighing inwardly, Legolas 
tried the best he could to make peace within himself for he knew that 
this would be easier to bear if he could retreat to his own world of 
dreams.

Yet, to his distress, every time he closed his eyes he saw his hands, 
arms and a twisted blade, dripping with black blood that slowly 
transformed itself into that of red. The blood of a human or an Elf 
staining his hands, spilt through vengeance without cause or 
justification. And as the now red pool soaked into his boots and 
covered his toes Legolas knew that he would find no peace within 
himself just as he would find none without. It was over.

*****

Merry and Pippin ran faster than they ever thought possible, all the 
while making a b-line for the shadowy darkness of Fangorn. Hearts 
racing and minds blank from fear, it was all they could do to stay on 
their feet and stick true to their course to the trees.

Despite the warnings that Legolas had bestowed upon them, both 
franticly and frequently looked over their shoulders, praying to see a 
streak of golden hair carried on the wind behind them. While Pippin 
kept his hope alive, always expecting to see their friend running up 
to them every time he turned, Merry knew better.

Sadly, he knew.

Merry had known when looking into Legolas' eyes that the Elf knew of 
what would befall him once the hobbits were free. Legolas had known of 
his fate and yet he had walked right up and embraced it in hopes of 
saving the two small hobbits and that was something that Merry found 
hard to believe. He had always known Legolas to be self-sacrificing, 
but not to such an extent that he would so calmly condemn himself just 
so Pippin and himself would escape.

Looking ahead he could see the large trees of the forest only a matter 
of minutes run from them, and yet, with each step, they seemed to be 
getting further and further away. Every time one hairy foot touched 
the ground, all Merry's mind screamed was Legolas, Legolas, Legolas. 
He could not help but feel that they should go back, that they were 
fellowship members and that they should stick together. None should be 
given over to death so that others may live unless it was to protect 
the ring bearer. They were formed to protect each other, to stay true 
to each other and to hold together so that Middle-Earth may be saved. 
What's more, they were friends. Fellowship be damned, rules be damned, 
but they were friends, and as far as Merry knew, leaving a friend in 
danger was the worst treason and betray that could possibly be 
committed. And yet here they were, two hobbits running away and 
leaving an Elf, fellowship member and friend at the hands of the cruel 
Orcs'.

It was not right.

So caught up in his thoughts was he that he did not notice that he and 
Pippin had safely made it into the line of trees and were fast heading 
towards the deep of the ancient forest. It was not until Pippin cast 
himself upon the ground and proclaimed that he could run no further 
that Merry really noticed just where they were.

Sighing and throwing himself upon the mossy ground, Merry placed his 
head in his hands and rubbed his temples gently. The battling of his 
conscious was really starting to give him a headache, and yet, in a 
way he did not wish to make it stop as it was the thing that told him 
that he was alive, that he was still a thing that breathed and moved 
and that he still had feelings. Moreover and most importantly it was 
the thing that told him that he was a coward for leaving his friend 
behind and that he deserved to feel such pain in his head for his 
choices and for abandoning his friend.

"Where is Legolas?" Pippin's voice bounced off the trees even though 
it was spoken in a low tone.

They were the very words that Merry did not want to hear. Where was 
Legolas? How could his cousin not see what had transpired back at the 
makeshift camp of the Orcs'?

"Merry? When is Legolas coming?" Pippin asked with a slight hint of 
fear in his voice. Merry still had not taken his head out of his hands 
and as Pippin spoke, he was massaging his temples faster and harder, 
trying to block out the dark thoughts that formed there.

"When's Legol-"

"He is not coming!" Merry interjected harshly, his fear finally 
getting the better of him. "He is not coming, do you get that? He 
sacrificed himself for us and is probably dead by now!"

As soon as the surly words had left his mouth, Merry regretted them. 
It was not Pippin's fault and he had no right to speak to his cousin 
in such a way. Still, he could not see how Pippin had not seen what 
would happen and what the major flaw was in Legolas' plan.

Pippin had fallen silent, obviously thinking on what Merry had said 
and the horrible meaning that his words had held.

"I am sorry, Pippin," Merry practically whispered yet he knew that his 
friend could hear him. "I'm sorry, I just-" sighing to himself and 
rubbing his sore eyes, Merry's words trailed off. He wondered what 
Pippin was thinking, whether he was as grieved about the situation as 
he was, or if he was in a way relieved that they were free. He wanted 
to look into his cousin's head and see what he felt, to be able to 
know exactly what troubled him so he could supply the right comfort.

When Pippin finally spoke, it was not the words that Merry would have 
expected in a thousand years. "We must go back for him!" Pippin stated 
with the utmost confidence and resolve in his voice. "We must go 
back."

Merry turned huge eyes on his friend and looked him up and down as if 
Pippin were insane. "Pippin," he tried to console his companion but 
Pippin would hear nothing of it.

"Nay, we must go back. It is what he would have done for us." The 
determination in Pippin's eyes was almost enough to convince Merry 
that what he was saying would work.

"I agree that he would do it for us," Merry said slowly, "but what are 
we to do? We are not warriors. If he can not get out then what chance 
do we stand to help him escape?" The turmoil within Merry's head was 
enough to make him feel as if he was going insane; one part of him 
told him that Pippin was right, and yet the other told him that such 
actions were folly. "In my heart I know what you speak of is right, 
yet in my head it seems to be absurdity."

"Then what? You would leave him there then?" Pippin could not believe 
that Merry even doubted his suggestion. In his eyes, Merry had always 
been the brave one, the one that would give himself so someone else 
would not suffer and he had proved that within the last few days. And 
yet he was deceiving, as now he was hesitant to do what could possibly 
save their friend.

"No, we do not leave him there," Merry replied, ignoring the harsh 
tone that lay with the words that Pippin had muttered. "But rushing 
back like fools is not the answer. Legolas did this to get us free and 
the last thing that he would want is for us to come back on our own 
accord and make all that he worked for and suffered a waste of time."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I say, we tarry here no longer and indeed we do head back, but not to 
the Orcs'. We search for Aragorn who will, without a doubt, be looking 
for us at this very moment. Or we see whom these riders are that 
Legolas spoke of, see if they will help us for surely they would not 
want the wrath of Mirkwood brought down upon them if it got out that 
they did not help their prince." Merry looked over at his cousin for 
the first time since sitting down and saw the glimmers of hope shining 
in his eyes. "Aye, we must do something, but going back there is not 
the answer - we must seek out help from elsewhere."

Moments passed in silence as both pondered on what such an act would 
involve and if it was the right thing to do. If it were to succeed, 
they would have to do so in haste, as both knew that Legolas would not 
be faring well with the Orcs', and then there was the question of 
where was Aragorn? If he were too far away then it would have all been 
in vain and Legolas would not have any hope of salvation. Besides, 
what of the riders? Were they friend or foe, warriors or travelers? 
There were too many things being left up to chance but no other 
options to choose. All they could do was head back in the direction 
that they had come, avoid the Orcs' and hope to find someone who would 
help them and Legolas.

Looking once again to Pippin, Merry saw him nod his head and start to 
stand. So it was decided, they would go and try and help Legolas the 
bast way they could, even if it was indirectly. With that in mind, 
they turned their heads to the South and, with one last look at the 
safety of the forest, they made there way back through the trees to 
the plain tat stretched out in front of them.

*****

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as yet another whip fell upon his back, 
leaving a line of searing pain in its wake. The pain was unbearable 
and as a lash licked across the open wound left by the arrow, he cried 
out, casting his stubborn pride into the mid-afternoon wind.

The Orcs' seemed to be greatly satisfied by the strangled wail that 
passed through their captive's lips and much to Legolas' grief, they 
seemed to be encouraged by it. Another well-aimed stroke fell upon an 
open and welting cut that was only recently made and again Legolas 
could not restrain the moan of agony that formed in his throat. A 
burst of laughter from the beasts that loomed over him told him that 
they had heard and that yet again they enjoyed the pitiful sounds that 
he was making in his pain.

This abuse had been going on for sometime now, ever since the Orcs' 
had discovered that the hobbits' were missing, and Legolas had 
completely lost track of the time that had passed since then. It had 
started with a few vicious kicks to his stomach with special 
concentration on his already broken ribs. After that, much to the 
Orcs' delight and Legolas' displeasure, the Elf found himself in too 
much pain to even move. Even if the small hobbits lives had been 
threatened at that very moment he still would not have been able to 
get up.

He was lying on his stomach with his right arm under his chest 
cradling his broken rib or possibly ribs. He had his face pressed into 
the grass on his own accord as he had long given up trying to catch 
glimpses of the blue sky or trees through the legs of the standing 
Orcs'. He felt defeated and broken, a shadow of what he once was and 
once stood for as he lay there at their mercy.

Now the Orcs' turned to their cruel whips to further torment the 
pained Elf, and Legolas found himself powerless to even stop the 
majority of the blows. It was a terrible feeling, the weakness and the 
uselessness, but he still found comfort in the fact that the little 
ones' would now be safe in the confines of Fangorn forest. Even as 
whips turned to clubs, to feet and then back to whips he knew that he 
had done the right thing, that he had saved the lives of two beings 
that did not deserve to be treated as they were.

The disconcerting thing was the fact that, through all this abuse of 
his body, he still could not find the peace that he sort in his world 
of dreams. Still, after all that he had now been through, he saw the 
blood spreading out about his feet, slowly making its way to him.

He knew that he was in trouble with his own dreams turning against 
him. It was unlike anything that he had ever heard of in his entire 
life. Elves had the power to control their dreams at all times - that 
was why they could retreat to them when in turmoil or in need of rest 
whist still being technically awake. The plain of dreams was a place 
that all Elves were blessed with so that they would always be safe and 
so that they could escape whatever pains their body went through.

And yet he could not even go there. He was trapped within his abused 
body with nowhere to go and no way to hide from the pain.

A sudden extra amount of weight was added to him and he quickly 
relised that Ashbukra was kneeling upon his thighs. Panic flared up 
inside of him as he felt the Orcs hands run up his lacerated back, 
digging its nails into his cuts and wounds as he went. A soft growl 
emerged in the throat of the beast that pinned him to the ground as he 
let his claws tear down the reddened skin of the Elf normally pale 
back.

Legolas' heart beat faster then it had in his life as he felt the Orc 
moving its clawed hands up and down his back. The weight on his back 
and legs shifted and Ashbukra leaned forward for what, to Legolas, was 
still an unknown purpose.

A harsh sucking at his shoulder told him why the weight had been 
changed so and he could not help but screw his face up in disgust.

Ashbukra had seen the wound from the arrow that was lodged within the 
skin of the Elf and the slow seeping of the blood enticed and 
mesmerized him. Leaning forward, he placed his cracked lips to the 
wound and sucked up the blood, relishing in the feel of the warm 
liquid sliding down his throat. It was unlike anything that he had 
ever tasted before; the Elf's blood was almost sweet as he continued 
to suck it from the wound, not satisfied with what had seeped out onto 
the skin.

Legolas squirmed the best he could underneath the heavy beast that 
straddled him yet with every movement a new pain shot through his 
body, whether it be from his ribs, his torn back or the weight that 
drove his lower back into the ground.

His stomach lurched, threatening to spill whatever little substance 
that remained there as Legolas felt the Orc's wet tongue poke into his 
wound in an attempt to get more of the life-blood of the Elf. He could 
faintly hear the cheering of the other Orcs' as they watched their 
leader tasting the Elf with envy. The tongue probed further into the 
wound until Legolas could feel the arrow shaft being pushed further 
into his shoulder. It was such a repulsive feeling, feeling the 
course, wet tongue of the Orc inside his shoulder and running over the 
concealed flesh.

Hopelessness spread through Legolas as he felt the sucking at his 
shoulder intense. There was nothing that he could do to stop this 
feral act that he was being submitted to and he fought hard to stop 
the beginning of tears from leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He would not cry. He could not cry.

He had cried only once in his life at the loss of his mother when the 
grief overtook him, yet, even then he made sure that no one knew of 
it. Even though he always suspected that Aragorn knew as the ranger 
had become very protective of him at that stage in his life and had 
repeatedly told him that it was all right to cry out his fears and 
hurts.

However, now was different, now it was deadly to give into such 
reactions and he would have to work hard to keep his own personal 
disgust at the display to himself.

Just as he resolved he would not break that easily, the sucking 
stopped yet the weight of the beast was still there. Holding his 
breath, Legolas squeezed his eyes even further closed and begged of 
the Valar to let it all be over with and to release him from his pain 
and terror.

Listening to even the slightest of sounds, Legolas could have sworn 
that he heard a blade being pulled free of its sheath. Tensing up when 
he felt Ashbukra shift upon him again, Legolas waited in silent 
apprehension of what was to come. He hated not being able to see what 
was going on as it made the fear worse and his head unclear from all 
the emotions that he was trying to sort out.

Something scrapped against the back of his neck and he soon felt his 
hair being swept aside to fall over his left shoulder. Panting softly 
into the grass, Legolas frantically searched for a way to get free or 
to at least be able to work out what was happening.

His head was pushed to the left, following the movement of his hair 
and his first rational thought was that the Orc was about to slit his 
throat and that at least it would be over. He then relised that the 
Orcs' had no desire to let his life end just yet, especially after how 
he had tricked them and robbed them of two valuable captives.

The cold touch of fashioned metal brushed past his shoulder wound, 
enticing a shudder out of the Elf, again, much to the Orcs' delight. 
For a few moments the blade stay still, pressed lightly against the 
arrow torn flesh. It then was moved down his back, making sure to slit 
a constant line all the way down and through his other welts and cuts. 
Legolas could feel the blood seeping from the new injury and it 
gradually making its way though the torn cloth of his tunic to trickle 
down his sides and onto the ground.

As the blade moved back up his back in the same cut, making it deeper, 
Legolas worked hard on keeping his breathing even and not moving from 
the pain else he make it worse.

The tip of the dagger was removed from the cut and slid up to the very 
base of his throat, drawing a line in the Elf's own blood to mark the 
daggers path. There it stayed, allowing the drips of Elven blood to 
land on the pale neck of Legolas and slide down each side, one to meet 
with the ground the other with his blond hair.

What happened next came as a shock to the Elf and it was executed with 
such speed and accuracy that he had no time in which to prepare.

Ashbukra suddenly reached down and grasped the Elf's chin, angling his 
head up and his chin to the right. His fingers crept up the side of 
Legolas' cheek until they came to rest on the top of his head, 
slightly to the right side. The feel of the blade had completely 
disappeared from Legolas' skin and yet he still felt the tingle of 
where it had just been resting. Then, in a movement fast for an Orc, 
Ashbukra grabbed the tip of Legolas' right ear and pulled it up, 
stretching it. With the blade in his right hand, he then quickly 
placed it in front of the tip and pulled back with all his might, 
severing the pointed tip.

A startled, pain filled cry came from the Elf under him as Legolas 
felt the blade slice through the cartilage of his ear. Almost 
immediately he felt the splash of his blood on his face as the point 
of his ear came right away while the laughing of the Orcs' rung in his 
ears.

A mouth closed in upon the bleeding tip of Legolas' ear and he felt as 
if he were about to be sick as Ashbukra once again went about sucking 
at his flowing blood. The Orc sucked hard, forcing more blood to pass 
through the wound and Legolas could feel the sharp teeth of the 
creature grazing against his throbbing ear.

The pain was intense and took his mind off all the other hurts in his 
body; even his ribs and back. As the sucking continued, the Orc 
wrapped his claw in his hair and pulled Legolas' head back allowing 
the fell beast better access. Hairs tore and ripped out into the claw 
like hand as Legolas struggled to be free of the creature's mouth and 
grip.

Ashbukra growled as the Elf tried to squirm out from underneath him, 
and with a quick decision, he brought the hilt of the dagger down on 
the crown of the Elf's head. Legolas' eyes fluttered closed and he 
lost himself in a world of blood and orange mist while Ashbukra 
continued to suck on the Elven prince's bleeding ear with the other 
Orcs' laughing in the background.

*****

The afternoon sun beat down with no mercy as Aragorn and Gimli 
continued their hike across the land of Rohan.

Taking a drink from his bottle, Aragorn tipped a small amount over his 
head ere placing the cork back in the neck of the flask. His head was 
pounding with an unknown pain - one that he had never felt before. It 
was unlike any headache that he had ever experienced due to the sun 
and yet he did not know what else could have caused it. Slinging his 
water skin back over his shoulder, he turned to where Gimli was doing 
the same.

Giving the dwarf a small smile the ranger once again turned his back 
to his friend and set off in the direction that they had been 
traveling ever since their friends were taken.

Minutes passed by and, it seemed to Aragorn, that with each step the 
pain in his head intensified. It was a constant dull throbbing that 
hammered against his ears, eyes and temples and no matter how hard he 
tried he could not ignore it.

Taking another weary step, Aragorn felt the world rush past him and 
the ground tip. Closing his eyes to try and stop the spinning, he 
could faintly hear Gimli yell out his name just as he felt himself 
come in contact with what his mind could only register as the ground.

*****

He stood there, shrouded in flame lit mist, the oranges and reds of 
the thick air swirling around his blond head. It was thick, so 
unbelievably thick that even he could not see through the haze to the 
things beyond.

All around him he heard horses, horses' hooves thundering upon the 
ground as if they were the cause of the great claps of noise in 
storms. The vaporous mist that covered the land as a blanket would a 
child magnified the noises making it so loud that it almost hurt his 
ears. It pounded in his head, at his temples and his heart pulsated in 
time with the quick beat of shooed feet.

Feeling the earth shake and move beneath him, he looked down to see a 
sea of green grass that stood out completely and looked out of place 
in such a dark land. A glimmer of movement caught his eye and he 
turned his head to the right to gain a better view.

There, moving over the land as would a snake when approaching its 
prey, was a pool of black blood. It oozed its way towards him, 
covering the grass of light green with its sickening colour and 
tinting the soil.

The pool moved steadily forward, never getting thinner or less from 
its spreading, only growing as if it were a living thing. Soft pops 
and sucking sounds reached his ears as the substance came ever closer.

Taking a step back, he found that he was pressed against an invisible 
barrier that prevented his retreat. Turning around in pure panic, he 
found that he was fenced in and unable to move in any direction. He 
was stuck, trapped and caged like an animal that was used to its 
freedom.

And still the substance moved ever closer.

Pounding with his fists upon the wall of mist, he started to feel the 
sickening feeling of fear form in his stomach and he could taste the 
acidic bile as it traveled up his throat.

And still the substance moved ever closer.

As the first river of blood touched the toe of his boot, he could see 
that the black receded and left the same substance behind it, only 
red. Preparing for the strange squishy feeling that would soon come 
betwixt his toes, he closed his eyes in silent prayer that it would 
leave him be.

When the feeling that he was anticipating did not come, he opened his 
eyes slightly and looked down, thanking the Valar in the process. Yet 
any words of thinks were swiftly forgotten as he saw with terror in 
his heart that the substance had not in fact seeped though his boots 
but was snaking its way up his legs in long tentacle like shapes.

Attempting to stamp his feet in hopes of ridding his legs of the foul 
substance, he found that his cage of mist had shrunk further still and 
would not let him even move his arms. It was as if the mist itself had 
twined around his limbs to hold him still and render him immobile.

Watching in morbid fascination, the blond watched as the blood moved 
higher up, slowly covering the entire surface of his legs and yet 
still moving as ripples on a wind tossed lake. Soon his waist was 
submerged in the growing liquid and he could feel the warmth of it 
upon his fingertips. Once it reached his palms, he found himself 
moving his hands up to his face against his wishes.

The blood moved faster now that it had accesses to his hands and 
before long it was all the way up to his shoulders. Without willing 
himself to do so, he raised his hands to his face and placed one on 
each cheek. Moving his hands in small circles he spread the blood 
across his cheeks, moving to his forehead and chin respectively. He 
could feel the blood twirling its way up his hair and coating his 
neck, moving down his chest and across his pain laced back. It pushed 
its way though his lips to slither across his tongue and down into his 
throat while it also went up his nose, making itself the only sent 
that he could pick up.

It was everywhere. It was everything. It was him and it was all that 
he knew.

And still the substance moved ever closer.

Still the substance grew and it covered all that lay in its path.

He could feel it grow heavy upon his brow and he closed his eyes just 
before the liquid sealed over his sockets, completely cocooning him in 
the still moving blood that gleamed red in the fire lit mist.

And still the substance moved ever closer . . .

***** "It doesn't matter what it costs, it's worth paying the price. 
You can't live cheap and you can't live for nothing. So pay the price 
and be proud you've paid it." "Ellie" from "Darkness be my friend," by 
John Marsden. ***** Timeline for Chapter Seven.

27 - afternoon. The day passes uneventfully for Legolas, Pippin and 
Merry as they continue across the plains of Rohan. Aragorn and Gimli 
find the blood from the whipping that Legolas received the afternoon 
before. 27 - near dusk. Legolas senses riders overtake the Orcs and 
causes a distraction so the hobbits can escape. Merry and Pippin run 
to Fangorn only to turn back the way they came to try and find 
Aragorn. Legolas punished for his actions - loss of ear tip. Aragorn 
passes out and again witnesses Legolas' dream. *** Dedication: to the 
Darkness and Shadow group – you all know who you are. May the darkness 
forever live I your hearts and may you never go without the pain of 
others! Very special thanks to: Lady V for the wonderful help that you 
gave me! It would have taken me another three weeks to update if it 
were not for you. As you can see, I used most of your suggestion, 
added a bit, changed a bit, but, all in all, it was you that did it 
for me. Thank you! and I know that I said I would have it up last 
night, but I kinda fell asleep, which is a heaven sent for me, so you, 
Carpe Diem! Lol. Also, for the sake of doing the right thing, this 
chapter carries a STRONG WARNING!!!!!! - if you thought that the 
bloodsucking thing last chapter was bad, than look out. It is very 
graphic and rather disturbing plus quite violent. But, I can safely 
say that, while things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before 
they get better, they will be getting better very soon. (Lady V, don’t 
kill me!) *****



Chapter Eight:

Of Darkness and Light.



"Then wise Penelope spoke to Odysseus again, saying ‘Stranger, there 
are certainly dreams that are useless, Senseless stories that hold 
nothing for men. There are two gates for our intangible dreams: The 
doors of one gate are wrought of horn, And the other are of ivory. The 
dreams which pass through the gate of carved ivory, These dreams are 
deceptive, since they portend nothing real. But the dreams that pass 
out through the polished horn, Those dreams hold true deeds to be 
accomplished, Should a man be able to perceive them.’"

Homer’s ideas of the meaning and conception of dreams, published in 
the Odyssey, Book XIX, lines 559-567

*****

"Aragorn!" Gimli raced to his friend, calling out his name in 
desperation. One minute Aragorn had been fine, the next he had 
crumpled forward and fell to the ground.

Reaching where Aragorn still lay perfectly still, Gimli turned his 
friend over gently so his face was no longer buried in the dirt. 
Aragorn’s eyes were closed and fluttering slightly as if he were 
entranced within a dream and his breathing was slightly labored, yet 
other then that it looked as if the ranger had merely fallen asleep on 
his feet.

"Aragorn?" Gimli questioned whilst shaking his friend’s shoulders, 
trying to rouse him. It was such an odd occurrence and the entire 
situation had left Gimli with an undeniable sense of forbidding; it 
was not a natural situation and seemed to reek with the smell of evil. 

Pulling out his own water bottle, Gimli uncorked the neck and poured a 
generous amount over Aragorns' face in an attempt to wake him yet the 
action was in vain – Aragorn showed no signs of waking anytime soon or 
by any means that were not his own. It was as if he had given up hope 
and let himself fall into a deep sleep that he could control at will. 

Sighing and crossing his legs, Gimli settled himself next to his 
unconscious friend. The sun continued to burn in the sky and there was 
nothing that Gimli would not do to be in the cool confides of a cave, 
surrounded by the cold rocks with little rivulets of water dripping 
down their rough surfaces. He longed to see the ways the fire light 
played upon the cracks of the stone and made the precious jewels 
glisten from the walls of the many passage ways that snaked their way 
through the mountains of his home.

Pulling his helm from his head, as it was growing unbearable hot, 
Gimli set it to his side and took a long drink of water. Glancing back 
at Aragorn, who showed no signs of improvement, Gimli pulled out his 
sharpening stone and started to run it rhythmically along the blade of 
his axe. 

Willing his apprehension to flee with each stroke, Gimli tried to calm 
himself and get used to the terrifying fact that they were now forced 
to stop in their search. 

Precious minutes ticked past and still Aragorn showed no sign of 
waking or even movement; it was as if he was dead. Panicking slightly 
at the thought, Gimli reached over and pressed two fingers to Aragorn 
throat, and only when he felt a pulse did he turn back to his axe. 

They would have to stay there until Aragorn recovered from whatever 
ailed him, and in that time, the dwarf would just have to hope that 
his Elven friend and the two small hobbits’ would be all right. 

*****

Heavy. It was so heavy and seemed to be growing in its weight as it 
tugged at the chain about his neck. Frodo sighed in exhaustion as he 
and Sam continued their way down Emyn Muil towards the east and the 
Dead Marshes. 

From the very beginning of their journey, Frodo knew that it would be 
hard and dangerous, but now, with each and every step that he took 
leading him and his friend closer to Mordor, it became worse. The Ring 
was always whispering in his mind, calling to him to take it for his 
own. But he would not, he could not – he would not let everyone that 
had sacrificed so much down, as he could not keep the Ring at bay.

It was harder now, without Aragorn and the others. They had all been 
so strong and supporting that it was only because of them that he 
pressed himself to keep going. 

Aragorn had been an excellent protector, always making sure that he 
and the others were safe and all right. He was so strong and knew what 
had to be done, but he was also unapproachable. From the very first 
time that they had met, Frodo had felt slightly intimidated by 
Strider. He was not afraid of him, at least he was not once he grew to 
know him, but he still felt that, on some level, he, Sam, Merry and 
Pippin were a hindrance to Aragorn and that he did not want them 
there. 

Boromir he had never trusted. The day of the council when he and 
Legolas had engaged in their first of many fights, Frodo wished upon 
wish that the man would not be a member of the fellowship. The hobbit 
could see something in Boromir’s eyes, something that he knew if he 
looked in a mirror now he would see in his own. That thing was the 
Ring, its small band turning in the pupil of the eye as the voice 
called out to the holder to keep it and use it for their own reasons. 
It was for these reasons that he did not want the man to accompany 
them, but now, now it did not matter if the man was part of the 
fellowship or not as it was just him and Sam now. 

The delegate that he had felt most at ease with was Legolas. The Elven 
member had been easier to talk to than any of the others, as he seemed 
to have an air of innocence about him despite his age. He had also 
been one that would help the small hobbits anytime that they needed it 
and he seemed to be able to tell when they needed reassuring of some 
sort. Even if the Elf had an on going fray with Boromir and Gimli, he 
seemed the most approachable of all and the nicest of the fellowship. 

It was with these thoughts that Frodo found the courage and the 
strength to continue on with his quest. With Sam by his side, talking 
merrily of better days and the Shire, the entire situation became 
slightly easier to bear. 

But the Ring still called, and still, it grew heavier. 

*****

A slight gasp stirred Gimli from his half-dosing as Aragorn started to 
come around. The ranger had sat up and was now holding his head, a 
look of confusion in his eyes. 

Even with his eyes open and cast upon the spotted grass green ground, 
Aragorn could still see the blood changing from black to red, moving 
in and concealing his friend while all the while he stood, pressed 
against an invisible barrier that blocked his path. He had called and 
shouted to Legolas time and time again in the dream and yet the Elf 
was deaf to his cries and did not even respond in the slightest. 

He had no clue as to whose dream it was, whether it was what he feared 
had happened to Legolas or if it was what Legolas feared, but he knew 
that somehow, he had been there, watching his friend and being so 
close that he could see him, but not close enough to reach. That 
pulled at his mind, whispering to him of his own failure. He should 
have been able to get to his close friend, he should have been able to 
break though the barrier and save Legolas from what they both feared, 
and yet he could not. He was forced to stand idly by and watch as 
Legolas panicked within his own boundaries of reality. 

"Aragorn?" Aragorn jumped at the sound of his name having forgotten 
all about Gimli’s presence. "Are you well?" Gimli persisted after 
Aragorn had nodded his head in recognition. 

Shaking the last of the haunting images that had followed him from 
sleep out of his head, Aragorn just smiled at his companion. He did 
not wish to trouble Gimli with such strange things as it seemed folly 
even to him that he had somehow gained access to Legolas’ world of 
dreams. 

"I am well," he lied, trying to make his own head believe what he had 
just uttered.

A humph was all his answer as Gimli reached into his pack and handed 
over the ration of waybread that he had kept for Aragorn once he woke. 
"Here," he said while handing it over to the grateful human, "eat this 
and lie no longer. I know something is wrong and that not all is well 
for ‘tis not everyday that a ranger would collapse from the heat. Now 
be out with it."

Aragorn gave his friend another smile, torn between being pleased at 
his observations and being angered at his bold intrusion. Yet he had 
to tell him for the matter concerned him just as much as it did 
Aragorn for Legolas and Gimli had formed a somewhat strange 
friendship. Taking a bite of the food that the Elves of Lothlórien had 
supplied them with, Aragorn pondered on the best way to tell Gimli 
what he had seen in his dreams.

*****

Legolas woke, gasping for breath as the feeling of the blood blocking 
his senses lingered from his dream. Panic rose in his stomach as he 
could detect the tangy taste of blood on his lips and for a split 
second he thought that his nightmare was coming true, that he really 
was being drowned in his own blood. 

Slowly his heartbeat returned to normal – or at least the fast beating 
that he now took for normal since being with the Orcs’ – and the last 
remains of his dream disappeared into the fogy mist that seemed to 
cloud his mind. 

Taking a quick moment to calm himself down completely, he looked out 
over the camp, making sure that none of the Orcs’ had been alerted to 
his wakefulness due to his panic attack. 

It had been the worst dream that he had experienced in his entire 
life, the only other nightmares being after his mother had died, and 
he could still feel the warm, slimy touch of the blood as it slipped 
over his skin, making its way up to his face. Yet the strange thing 
was that, throughout the entire dream, he could have sworn that there 
was another presence, standing just behind him on the other side of 
the barrier that denied him an escape from the approaching blood. It 
had felt familiar, as if he had known the person that seemed to be 
standing by and watching as he was consumed, and his first rational 
thought was that it was Aragorn. Though now, in the relative safety 
and clarity of mind that came to him in the real plain, he knew that 
it was impossible, for Aragorn was no Elf, he had no access to the 
world in which Legolas traversed in his sleep. Besides, why would 
Aragorn have just stood there, not even attempting to help him? Unless 
Legolas’ worst fear was true, that Aragorn looked down upon him for 
the revenge that he had extracted from that Orc and the lust for the 
kill that still pumped through his veins. 

Pushing all thoughts of Aragorn, dreams and blood away, Legolas took 
to studying the camp further. It was now night, sometime after the 
moon and reached its zenith in the starry sky and, if anything, closer 
to dawn. Already the air held a heavy, sticky feeling to it that 
Legolas had grown used to identifying with the early morning dew that 
fell upon the ground and the people that walked upon it, yet the night 
was still black and held no signs of the rising sun that he so longed 
for.

The Orcs’ sat huddled around a large fire, soaking in the warmth that 
the flames offered to them. Even though Legolas could not feel the 
cold or heat, he longed to be next to his own fire, inhaling the sent 
of burning wood and listening to the soft crackling of the logs as the 
flames swiftly lapped up, sucking the moisture out of them. 

The Orcs’ seemed restless, uneasy, as if something that even they 
feared was approaching and the entire situation only put Legolas more 
on edge. Anything that was able to frighten the Orcs’ was not bound to 
be good. The riders had long since disappeared from the plain and 
Legolas was now sure that they were probably some servants of 
Isengard, thus explaining why they did nothing to stop the Orcs’ path. 
The Elf only hoped that the hobbits’ were not so unlucky as to have 
met the riders after now knowing who they probably were. 

A sudden chill came into the air, one so cold and unnatural that even 
Legolas could feel. The night turned quiet, even the crackling of the 
flames were soundless as the Elf strained to listen to what was 
whispered upon the wind. Something drew nigh; something that had 
disturbed all that dwelt in the night and sent all the small, plain 
animals into hiding. The air seemed to crackle with energy as a fierce 
wind blew up, sending dried grass and dust into the air alike. A loud 
crack like that of a burst of lightening sounded in the otherwise 
quiet night and a single white flash upon the outskirts of the camp 
also suggested a storm, though Legolas knew better. 

Peering into the gloom, he could just make out the Orc’ doing the 
same. The Elf kept his eyes trained on that one single spot past the 
ring of light cast by the fire, and, as time slowly wore on, a figure 
could just be made out, coming slowly towards them.

As the stranger came into the light of the Orcs’ cooking fire, Legolas 
could now make out the features of the man’ garb. The figure was 
stooped low, leaning upon a staff, a full length grey cloak rustled 
and floated in the wind that still blew across the prairie and a 
large, wide-brimmed hat sat upon the person’s head.

Legolas’ heart skipped a beat as he saw the man walking slowly to the 
camp and thoughts of Mithrandir formed within his mind. Was it 
possible that the old wizard had somehow survived his fall in Moria? 

As the man came closer, Legolas’ hope rekindled and he almost shouted 
out for the man the only thing stopping him from doing so, the white 
that he saw flicker under the folds of the cloak.

It was as if all his nightmares had come true, it was Saruman, he knew 
that much, and here he was, tied and beaten, helpless upon the ground 
whilst the evil wizard was in his bow’s reach. 

The man walked into the full light of the fire and any doubts to his 
identity were quickly forgotten. A long white beard could be seen 
hanging over the front of the grey cloak and a good few inches of 
white robe could be seen under it. 

The figure went straight to Ashbukra, again showing that it was not 
Gandalf, and started to converse with the beasts in the Black Speech. 
After sometime and a few raised words from Saruman, the wizard turned 
his eyes on Legolas, and once again his heart skipped a beat. The eyes 
were dark and evil, full of hate and vengeance and lacking all light 
just as his smile was wicked and cruel. 

The wizard straightened himself up and walked towards Legolas, the 
evil sliver of a smile widening as he took in the Elf’s appearance. 
Deciding that he did not like being upon the ground at such a time, 
Legolas struggled to his knees, also raising his head in a sign of a 
strength that he did not feel. 

The wizard came to a stop just in front of Legolas, "if it isn’t the 
young prince of Mirkwood – if indeed there is an Elf under all that 
grime!" Saruman exclaimed while looking down on the now kneeling Elf. 
At his words, Legolas’ eyes widened in surprise at his knowledge and 
at the same time they flared at the insult, "you think I would not 
know the ones that dare stand to oppose me? Yes, I know everything 
about you and your little idealistic friends," the man concluded with 
a smile and a slightly inappropriate chuckle.

The laugh chilled Legolas to the bones and as he shuddered, he began 
to tug and struggle vigorously with the rope binding his wrists. The 
struggles seemed to light a spark in the hollow eyes of the wizard, 
and the smile broadened. Ignoring the harsh bite of the cords upon his 
scared wrists and newly made wounds, Legolas continued to struggle 
while never taking his eyes off the wizard before him.

"It is with great interest," the wizard bit out, "that I hear you 
played a major role in the loss of my other two captives." He paused, 
as if waiting for a reply from the Elf before him, and when none came, 
he continued. "I do not think you realise how important they were to 
me!"

A smile of his own swept across Legolas’ dirtied features as he vowed 
not to let the wizard get the better of him. "I think I have a rough 
idea of their importance," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

A nervous murmur travelled through the Orcs’ that stood watching the 
confrontation between their sport and their master and Saruman’s face 
turned a dark and malevolent shade of red. At this reaction, Legolas 
straightened himself even further, ignoring the pain that swept 
through his body and cried for him to crumple back to the ground. 

"Do not play with fire, Elf, especially when you know you can not 
possibly win!" Saruman snarled out between his teeth. "’Tis humorous 
to think that such a pitiful creature like that which you have become 
can still think themselves strong. That one so obviously put in their 
place as yourself could be so disillusioned and foolish."

"Nay, it is not me that is foolish or disillusioned, Saruman," Legolas 
shot back against his better judgement, "that is you in thinking that 
you can betray Gandalf and the people of Middle-Earth and still seek 
to stand against the power of Sauron. You are the disillusioned one 
here, not I."

Saruman’s eyes blazed in his anger, and Legolas could have sworn that 
he saw fire flick through the pupil of the dark orbs. "You will pay 
for your insolence, little prince." His voice cut through the tension 
on the air like a blade would tender skin and Legolas inwardly 
flinched, not allowing himself to show such emotions on the outside.

Looking up at the appealingly old man, Legolas felt as if something 
was forcing its way into his mind, searching for something. With a 
clarity that surprised him, he realised what it was, and pushed all 
thoughts of Frodo, the ring and Mordor out of his mind and away from 
Saruman’s inquisitive search. 

"Tell me," the wizard inquired, "why is it that you Elves are so hard 
to break? You know you can not win this and yet you continue to 
aggravate me and hide what I seek," the last word was spat out, 
defining his point as Legolas felt the probing within his mind 
continue. 

You can not win this. You can not win this.

Legolas repeated the words over and over in his head, making them the 
only thing that the wizard gained access to. He had known that he had 
spoken out of heedless pride and not wisdom and as he continued to 
repeat the wizard’s sentence, he started to wonder if it was in fact 
true.

Frustrated, Saruman gave a savage cry and Legolas felt the presence 
leave his head and, for a split second, he thought it had gone, but a 
sudden pain in his chest revealed that not to be true.

The pain felt as if it were caused by a hundred daggers, all poking 
into him at once, and he lost his balance, falling to the ground 
gasping for air. He knew enough of the dark arts of the world to tell 
him what was happening; Saruman was trying to force the light out of 
him, drag him into the darkness that the wizard and his minions lived. 

Closing his eyes, he fought what was possibly the most important fight 
of his life: the fight for his soul. Battling against the invasion and 
the pollution of his soul, he closed his mind and his heart he best he 
could, trying to force Saruman’s evil presence from his body and back 
into the night. 

"Elves, so hard to break yet so easy to destroy their light and turn 
them to darkness," the man said, the Orcs’ behind him erupting into 
laughter. 

It became harder and harder to keep the invading darkness out of his 
being and as another wave of what felt like pure evil swept through 
him, he screamed out in agony unwillingly. He could not let this 
happen, let Saruman take everything that he loved from him when he had 
already suffered and survived so much. 

Drawing on all his strength, he raised his head from the dirt and 
opened his eyes, locking them with Saruman’s own. "No," he choked out, 
satisfied with the started look upon the wizards face. "No," he said 
louder and more confidently as he glared at the shocked wizard, "you 
will not have my light and you will not see me broken!"

Shocked at the Elf’s resistance, Saruman lost his concentration, his 
power withdrawing from the Elf in the process. 

Letting his eyes close in peace, Legolas smiled to himself. He had 
done it, he had defeated the wizard’s intentions. 

Saruman was in a rage, his eyes flickering with their hate and 
vengeance. How had such a battered and worthless excuse for an Elf 
been able to stop his wraith – it was unheard of. Focusing in on 
Legolas again, he tried to renter the Elf's soul in another attempt to 
squash the light from him yet he met a barrier. 

Legolas’ smile broadened as he felt the wizard seek entrance to him 
again, only to be blocked. He had succeeded, and through his will and 
light, had managed to keep the now drained wizard from attempting to 
turn him again. 

Realising that he could no longer gain access to the Elf’s light, 
Saruman snarled at the Elf that lay now at his feet. "You will pay," 
he said between breaths, "have no fear of that, little prince, for you 
will pay. No Elf, prince or no, defeats me, especially one that is no 
longer one in appearance or thoughts. You think I did not see what 
goes on inside you? Your doubts, your fears and your questions of what 
you really are. I saw them all! And I tell you now, Elf, they will be 
your demise."

Legolas lay there, barely hearing what the wizard had to say in his 
angered rambling’s. To him all that mattered was that he had defeated 
him, he had won this battle and preparing for the next or the 
consequences was not his top priority. 

He was vaguely aware of the presence of Saruman leaving the position 
that he had taken above him, and he could hear the slight, startled 
murmurs of the Orcs’ about him as Saruman walked up to Ashbukra.

"Make him regret it," the wizard said coldly ere walking slowly out of 
the camp to disappear in another flash of blinding white light. 

It took only a moment for the Orcs’ to register what their master had 
commanded and Legolas could almost see their evil minds ticking over, 
thinking of ways to make him suffer more then he already had. 

One of them yelled something at Ashbukra who responded by sending a 
harsh slap into the face of the aforementioned Orc, sending him 
wheeling back. More cries sounded about the camp as Legolas looked on, 
wanting to run yet knowing that he would not be able to. 

When Ashbukra finally turned towards him, the look in his eyes made 
Legolas cringe, again wishing to be swallowed by the ground and taken 
away from such an evil place.

The lead Orc came closer and Legolas concentrated on making his face a 
mask of indifference, not allowing the panic that rose in him to reach 
the surface. Ashbukra held a small, black handled knife in his right 
hand, the hilt of it fashioned into a snaring face that closely 
resembled a warg as it was about to attack. Legolas had no clue as to 
what the blade was made for, as it certainly was not one designed for 
fighting as it was too flimsy and almost dainty looking. The Elf tried 
to think of anything but the Orc that strode confidently over to him, 
the thin, gleaming blade held in his hand.

Flashes of his life came to him, as if he were about to die as the 
human always put it. It was strange, he could see his home, his father 
and mother sitting upon the green slops of the palace gardens, his 
first visit to the water boarded lands of Rivendell and his meeting of 
little Estel. He saw the man grow up and the first hunting trip that 
they had gone on together, along with Elladan and Elrohir. The 
fellowship setting out, the beating that was bestowed upon Gimli for 
trying to help him and the little, hope filled faces of the hobbits 
that had also been captured. 

So much came to him in those few seconds, his eyes still open and 
staring blankly at the Orc, and yet he felt no emotion. Nothing as he 
saw the face of his mother that he had not looked upon for many years, 
nothing at the sight of the hobbits’ and Gimli’s defeat. It was all 
there and yet he felt as if he were a shell, a fragment of his former 
self that was incapable to feel anything but pain, self-doubt and 
loneliness. 

Before he could get himself back to the present and know what was 
happening, he felt rough hands grab him from behind and keep him 
pinned to the ground. He felt a hand press onto each of his shoulders, 
one right on his previous arrow wound, in an attempt to keep him flat 
to the ground and Legolas could not help but wonder what the Orcs were 
thinking.

Bucking against the restricting grip, the Elven prince squeezed his 
eyes closed against the pain of his shoulder as he tried desperately 
to get himself free. 

A clawed hand wrapping itself around the base of his right foot took 
him by surprise and his eyes flew open, staring straight into the 
yellow fire that was Ashbukra’s. With a cruel smile, Ashbukra held the 
knife up in the air, right in front of Legolas’ face, waving it from 
side to side as he taunted the Elf with the weapon. Flicking his 
tongue over his scaled lips, Ashbukra quickly turned Legolas’ right 
ankle to the Orc’s left and raised the blade over the part of the 
booted foot that was soft and tender, holding no bones. 

Sudden realization swept through the Elf as he looked on at the blade 
held high in the air and whilst every bone in his body told him to 
fight, he could not even bring himself to move as fear clenched 
tightly at his heart. 

Ashbukra leaned in towards Legolas’s bruised face, nipping out his 
tongue to grab a small stream of blood that ran from a small cut on 
Legolas’s cheek. The Elf jerked his head away as best he could, and 
Ashbukra drew back and slapped him hard, before walking around behind 
Legolas to where even the Elf’s eyes couldn’t see.

The blonde prince felt his ankle being taken back into Ashbukra’s 
hands and the Orc started to taunt him, holding the knife so the cold 
steel was just barely touching his boot, while the other Orcs looked 
on and laughed. Legolas clenches his eyes shut in fear as the pressure 
of the knifepoint was taken away from his foot for only few seconds. 

It seemed like time had stopped as Legolas waited in apprehension, his 
eyes squeezed firmly closed. 

Then Ashbukra rammed the blade into the Elf’s skin.

It slid in, a cold, hard and unwanted presence under his skin and it 
was with a slight laugh from the Orc that held it, that the blade 
turned in the wound, opening it up for Valar knows what purpose. 
Gasping in shock, Legolas once again tried to school his features into 
not allowing the beast to see just how much such an act really hurt 
him, though he could not stop the quiet sobs that hiccuped up his 
throat.

No longer could he hold in his cries of agony. He had been through so 
much, felt so much more pain then anyone every deserved, and all the 
while he had not cried out his anguish, yet no more. He could no 
longer fake his resilience to the pain that was forced upon him and 
before he knew it he was crying out, disturbing the night air with his 
tortured voice.

"ARAGORN!?" the name came easily to his lips having been on his mind 
from his past dream and yet he felt that it was something deeper, 
something more powerful that made him call out his friend’s name. He 
cared not if any of the Orcs’ recognized it as the name of the lost 
King of Gondor, only that it was his friend’s name and title, and that 
it was he, if any, that would be able to sense his turmoil. 

As the pain increased, Legolas found himself almost chanting Aragorn’s 
name into the air, feeling as if it lifted some of the pain in some 
sort of way. "Aragorn?" 

As he felt the Orc’s hand move to grab his other foot, a strangled sob 
escaped his cracked lips. His right ankle felt as if it were on fire 
and yet at the same time he could feel strangely nothing, though he 
knew that it would hurt just as much for his left. 

It was, without a doubt, the most horrifying thing that the Orcs’ had 
put him through in all his time with them, no matter how short it had 
been. Legolas had no real idea as to how much time he had been in the 
clutches of the Orcs’ but he knew that it had not been even close to a 
week and yet he was broken already, a twisted form of his former self. 

Without any warning, the Elf felt the blade pressed to his foot and 
the weight of the Orc on top of him increase. In one swift movement, 
Ashbukra pierced his blade through the flesh of Legolas’ ankle, 
mirroring what he had down to the right.

"Aragorn?" no longer being able to cry out as loud as he once had, 
Legolas settled with merely sobbing in defeat as the blade did its 
work. No matter how hard he tried, he could not block out the pain or 
the snickering of the Orcs’ that stood all around him, laughing at his 
agony and surrender. 

As the blade was pulled from his foot, he felt it scrape against the 
bone of his ankle, making him arch up in agony and thrash against the 
beasts that held him. All his valiant attempt succeeded in doing was 
make the blade scrape further along the bone as it slide out slowly, 
the Orcs’ laughing at the being, enjoying the torture that the Elf put 
himself through with his folly attempts of avoiding the blade.

Ashbukra reached behind his back, and, to Legolas’ horror, he produced 
a short, think length of cord much like the ones that the Orcs’ used 
to fashion their whips. Squirming against his captors, Legolas tried 
desperately to gain his freedom having predicted what was to be done 
with the rope.

Taking one end of the cord in his right hand, Ashbukra grabbed the 
Elf’s right foot in his other claw. Rubbing the cord in the blood that 
trickled steadily down Legolas’ boots, he made sure that the ends were 
taught and straight so he could easily thread it in through the wound. 

Ashbukra started to slide the rope through the hole in the Elf’s foot, 
but suddenly withdrew and said something to his comrades in the Black 
Speech. Legolas shuddered at the laughter that followed, knowing that 
it could only mean more pain for him, and he was right in that 
assumption. 



Ashbukra, instead of putting the rope through his maimed foot, put his 
finger through instead. Legolas’ back arched in his pain, and along 
with his sobs came whimpers and gasps. The clawed finger moved about 
in his foot, pushing against flesh and bone alike and all the while 
making Legolas’ soft noises increase to louder, more audible ones. 

Ashbukra then pulled out his finger, moved into Legolas’ range of 
vision and the Elf’s eyes widened as he saw the Orc's index finger 
dripping with his own blood. The merciless Orc touched the finger to 
Legolas’ lips ere grabbing the pale jaw, forcing Legolas’ mouth open. 
Smiling down at the terrified Elf, Ashbukra forced his finger into the 
princes’ mouth, wiping the blood off on Legolas’ tongue. 

Gagging at the taste, Legolas tried desperately to rid his mouth of 
the substance and the finger, only to have more of his own life-blood 
forced down his throat. It was still warm as it slid down, coating his 
mouth with the foul taste and any attempts to bite the finger were cut 
short by the cutting hold of the Orc’s other hand.

Once Ashbukra was finished, he removed his finger from the gagging Elf 
and returned it to the bleeding right ankle, pushing it in again to 
re-coat it. Bringing it back to Legolas’ face, the Elf forced his lips 
closed, biting lightly at the inside of his lips, refusing entry. Only 
Ashbukra had other ideas, and dragging it across the Elf’s face, 
covering parts of Legolas’s features with the Elf’s own blood, he went 
about licking it all from the pale skin, not caring that the Elf 
sobbed and struggled weakly.



When the Orc was done, leaving no drop left upon the smooth face, 
Ashbukra went back to Legolas’ foot and picked up the rope once more, 
positioning it to move easily through the hole in the Elf’s body he 
had just created. Lifting the foot, he slowly started to thread the 
coarse rope through.



Legolas cried out when the rope first entered him, feeling small bits 
of the metal woven rope break off and get lodged inside him. The Orc 
holding down the distressed creature laughed all the more at his 
struggles, while watching as their leader pulled the rope from the 
other side of the foot, having successfully threaded it through. As 
the rope went through the other ankle, the Orcs’ amused themselves 
with how the Elf bucked in pain simultaneously to when the rope was 
put in or pulled out of one of his ankles.



Holding the two ends of the rope in his hands, Ashbukra inspected the 
job that he had done with a proud look upon his face. Looking up at 
the pain-ridden face of the Elf, an idea came to him and a sadistic 
smile crept upon his face. Keeping his eyes locked onto Legolas so he 
would see the pain and not just hear it, he began to pull the rope 
back and forth, through Legolas’s skin whilst never letting one side 
get all the way out.



Legolas’s sobs redoubled as he jerked madly against the hands that 
held him to the ground, wishing it to cease and be over. 



Once the rope was bright red with the Elf’s blood, Ashbukra decided to 
finish what he had started. With one last snicker, he tied firm knots 
in the ends of the rope, allowing little to no movement of the Elf’s 
feet and stood up. Barking out an order, he kicked Legolas with a 
heavy boot as he walked past. The Orcs’ quickly scattered at his shout 
and even the one that had held the Elf in place left, leaving the 
miserable Legolas on his own as the Elf curled up in a ball, his eyes 
staring out into space. 

Not caring of the nightmares that he knew would come, he willed 
himself into sleep, hoping that, though suffering through his dreams, 
he would leave the pain that he felt far behind. Yet, he did not fall 
into the world of darkness that he had become so used to whilst 
closing his eyes without whispering one last time into the wind, 
"Aragorn?"

*****

Over the next hour Aragorn, as best as he could, filled Gimli in on 
the vision like images that he had seen after his collapse and 
answered any questions that the dwarf brought up with his limited 
knowledge.

"And so you believe that it is he trying to reach you?" Gimli asked, 
somewhat disbelieving. 

"No," Aragorn said strongly, "we have not been in contact of any sort, 
but it is as if I have intruded in on his dreams and he knows it not." 
Even to him, Aragorn thought he sounded like a wandering fool that was 
shunned out of village after village for his thoughts and words that 
consisted of nothing but lunacy.

"Well," Gimli finally concluded, "it is a far fetched idea at that, 
but not one that should be easily brushed aside nonetheless. So, until 
anything else may be found out about this theory of yours, I say we 
keep searching else the dreams prophesize doom by not returning."

Sighing, Aragorn nodded his head again in a sign of approval at 
Gimli’s words. "Very well, we shall be on the move again," he said 
while looking out at the way that they were to go wistfully. He wanted 
to get to Legolas as soon as he possibly could but still felt strange, 
as if had had too much Elven mead. 

Seeing that Gimli had already stood, Aragorn grabbed his pack and 
slowly raised to his feet once again. 

"ARAGORN!?" 

Aragorn whirled around to face Gimli, his features showing his concern 
and confusion. "Gimli, what is it?" he demanded of the startled dwarf.

"What do you mean, Aragorn?" Gimli asked slowly as if the man were 
mad.

"You called my name, did you not?" by now Aragorn was seriously 
starting to doubt his own sanity. He knew that he had heard his name, 
but he could have sworn that it sounded like Legolas’ voice that had 
called it. But that was impossible.

"I did no such thing," Gimli replied, still as if he were talking to 
someone who was emotionally unstable.

Frowning in confusion, Aragorn just smiled at his friend and shrugged 
his shoulders. "My mistake," he said quietly whilst grabbing his pack 
that he had dropped in his surprise. Yet he knew that he had heard it, 
he had heard someone call out his name – it had not been in his head.

Seeing that Aragorn was still in a daze, Gimli started out, taking the 
lead down the small hill that they had been camped upon. 

"Aragorn?" the voice shouted again so loud that it almost deafened 
Aragorn’s ears. Spinning around again he looked behind him, searching 
for anyone that could possible be trying to get his attention yet 
there was nothing. Nothing behind or forward, nor to either side, and 
yet he would swear on his mothers grave that he had heard it.

"Aragorn?"

Gasping in shock, Aragorn dropped his pack once again. He knew that 
voice, his first suspicions were correct. "Legolas?" he whispered just 
loud enough to draw Gimli’s attention to him. The dwarf stood there, 
watching his companion with a worried look plastered across his face 
as Aragorn just stood still, as if listening for something that he 
would normally miss.

"’Tis Legolas, he is in trouble – pain." Aragorn said, his voice still 
in a hushed tone. At this Gimli’s eyes opened round, not even trying 
to hide his shock at what the human was telling him. How could Aragorn 
possible know what was happening to Legolas?

"Aragorn?" it was more of a sob now, one that was brought forth from a 
choked throat. Placing a hand to his head, Aragorn applied pressure to 
his temple, trying to block out the quiet sobs that he could hear as 
clear as day within his head. There was no mistaking it for anyone 
else but Legolas, even if Aragorn had never heard his friend in so 
much distress. He sounded terrified and riddled in agony and worst of 
all he sounded as if he had given up all hope.

"We have to get to him!" Aragorn exclaimed whilst picking up his pack 
for the third time. Motioning for Gimli to take the lead for the time 
being, he fell easily into line behind the dwarf. 

The lead was not a place that Gimli was comfortable with, but seeing 
Aragorn’s condition he thought it best that he was leading, even if it 
was only for a small while. It was not until Gimli heard a small cry 
and Legolas’ name whispered into the wind that he turned around, 
already expecting the sight that met his eyes. Once again, Aragorn was 
sprawled upon the ground, his eyes closed, only this time he looked as 
if he were in great distress. 

Walking quickly over to the man, Gimli tried once again to rose him, 
with no success, and so it was once more that he sat down next to his 
friend and sighed, cursing their bad luck and praying that the Elf and 
hobbits would be alright. 

*****

Aragorn walked forward in a daze. He could feel the world all around 
him and yet at the same time he felt as if he were in a place that did 
not exist. It was completely dark and yet he knew that, if anything 
were to come near him he would be able to see it. The ranger could 
hear sounds all around him and yet at the same time all was quite just 
as he could smell things that he knew were not there. The ground was 
not visible, but he knew that he tread upon a surface like that of 
granite.

"Aragorn?" upon hearing his name he spun around, looking over his 
shoulder to the way that he had come. Peering into the gloom, a figure 
started to emerge from the shadows and his eyes grew wide in both 
terror and joy.

Legolas made his way slowly forward, as if hindered by something to do 
with his feet or legs. 

Taking the first shaking step forward, Aragorn kept his eyes locked 
onto those of Legolas. As he saw the lightless orbs of his dear 
friend, Aragorn found the courage and strength to go forward. His 
unsure steps turning into the quick, light steps of his run as Aragorn 
covered the ground between them in haste. 

Reaching Legolas he stopped and looked up into the Elf’s eyes again 
and was rewarded with a small, insecure smile. Stretching his hand out 
to touch the pale cheek of the prince, Aragorn was alarmed to find 
that Legolas flinched away slightly. Repeating his action, only this 
time slower, Aragorn lay the curled knuckles of his fingers upon the 
unusually cold cheek of his friend, and, while keeping eye contact, 
went to pull the Elf into a hug. 

In a movement that was slow for the Elf, Legolas pulled away and took 
a step back before he allowed Aragorn to get too close. Swallowing 
hard, the Elf searched for the words to say to his human friend. 
Coming up with nothing better he softly whispered, "it does me good to 
see you, my friend."

Creasing his brow with a frown, Aragorn slowly stepped forward again, 
only to have Legolas draw back once more. "Legolas?" the human asked 
gently and when Legolas made no effort to acknowledge his unspoken 
question that accompanied the said name, Aragorn continued. "What has 
happened to you?"

A small and almost hysterical smile appeared upon the Elf's pale, dirt 
covered face at this inquiry. "There is too much to tell here, 
Aragorn." He said in a stern tone that almost cloaked the hidden trace 
of laughter that was in his voice. 

Aragorn’s frown grew even deeper as he saw no reason that Legolas 
should have held laughter in his heart at a time like this, and it was 
not until the human looked right into the now dark eyes of the prince 
that he realised. Legolas was not well, not just physically, but 
emotionally. He had suffered through far more then any normal Elf 
would or could ever have endured and yet he still had not cut his ties 
with the world; he still held hope in his heart – somewhere. 

"So be it," Aragorn told his friend, "yet when I find you, and I will, 
you will talk to me about this."

"If you find me," Legolas said solemnly, "I know not where I am myself 
– where is this place, Aragorn?"

Aragorn cast a quick glance around himself again, still seeing the 
same darkness as before. "I know not, I was hoping that you would have 
known the answer to that."

"I have no answers anymore."

"Do not give up hope, Legolas, I, and Gimli, will find you and we will 
get you free." Aragorn took another step to Legolas and was overjoyed 
when the Elf did not back away. Gently taking hold of the Elf’s upper 
arms, Aragorn quickly checked Legolas’ back for the wounds that his 
torn tunic showed were there, and yet, he found nothing. Looking 
straight into Legolas’ eyes he asked his unspoken question.

"There are there but just not present in this place, wherever it is." 
Legolas answered his friend’s gaze and by the look upon Aragorn’s 
face, Legolas could tell that he had only further confused the human.

"Yet you still feel them?" the ranger questioned, the worry evident in 
his voice.

"As if they were to be seen, but fear not, you could not hurt them 
further for I do not believe that is entirely possible." Again 
Aragorn’s eyes enlarged in fear for his friend and yet he pulled 
Legolas to him in a comforting embrace. "I saved them, Aragorn," 
Legolas whispered into Aragorn’s chest, "I got the little ones’ out of 
there, but they are on their own now and I fear for them. They are too 
innocent, Estel."

Aragorn gently stroked his friend’s hair and placed his chin upon 
Legolas’ head, "They will be all right and you must not worry for 
them, you saved them, you got them to safety and they will be able to 
look after themselves until we find them."

"But-"

"No!" Aragorn said in a stern yet gently tone, "you must worry about 
yourself now, not them. You have done all you could so it is now time 
to worry about getting yourself to safety. You must be ready when 
Gimli and I come to get you."

"And if you do not find me?"

"I will find you, my friend. I promise you that. I will find you."

*****

Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, waited patiently in 
the bushes near the edge of Fangorn forest with his eyes trailed upon 
the camp occupied by Orcs’. His men had ridden out of their hometown 
of Edoras two days ago against the orders of the king in search of 
these very Orcs’ that they now watched. 

The sun was fast rising in the east and it was at this time that Éomer 
had told his men that they would attack. The Rohirrim were all, like 
himself, still upon their fast steeds yet hidden in the shadows of the 
forest, waiting for the first rays of sun to peek over the distant 
horizon. 

Rasing his clenched fist high above his head, Éomer made ready to 
command his men forward. Watching the slow creeping of the light 
across the land, Éomer let his fist fall in the signal to go, and, as 
one, the entire group of one hundred and five kicked their horse’s 
sides and rode down in a mad frenzy towards the Orcs’ camp. 

*****

The Elf suddenly tensed in his arms and started to pull away. Aragorn 
fought to hold on to his friend and to reassure him that it was all 
right, but Legolas would have nothing of it. 

"I must go," Legolas said in a panicked voice while his eyes darted 
about the darkened space fearfully. 

"What? No!" Aragorn exclaimed as the Elf finally broke away from him 
with a slight hiss of pain. "Legolas, where are you going?" Aragorn 
called as Legolas started to walk off quickly in the direction that he 
had come.

"Something is wrong – something is happening!" Legolas called back, 
the fear so clear in his voice that it made Aragorn shudder. 

"Come back!" Aragorn yelled as he quickly made his way after the Elf.

At Aragorn’s request, Legolas slowly turned to face him, causing 
Aragorn to gasp in shock. Legolas’ face was covered in blood and dirt 
while his eyes were sunken and blackened. His tunic was shredded and 
hung about his shoulders, like the scattered remains of a wispy 
cobweb, while being stained with his own blood. A large river of the 
red substance flowed down the side of his right face and Aragorn 
automatically panicked for the well being of his friend. The blood 
that ran from a wound in his shoulder had trickled all the way down 
his chest and breaches, and it was while following them that he saw 
the reason that Legolas’ walking had been hindered. Through the back 
on the Elf's ankles, a rope had been threaded through and tied off, 
rendering the Elf unable to walk.

Horror was in Legolas’ eyes as he looked down upon himself with 
Aragorn following his gaze, and as he lifted his eyes, Aragorn could 
see the hints of tears playing at the corners of his half-closed 
eyelids. Aragorn wanted to run to his friend and help him, to cut the 
ropes that bound both ankles and hands but, even as he took a step 
forward, Legolas began to fade in front of his eyes. 

"Legolas!" he yelled as the Elf grew dimmer and dimmer, as if he were 
but a mirage and was shimmering out of his sight and mind. "Legolas!"

Without so much as a word, Legolas was completely out of his sight, he 
had just vanished out of being and Aragorn was once again alone in the 
darkness that he was now once again aware of. 

Screaming in rage and frustration, Aragorn kicked out at some fragment 
of his imagination, pretending that it was one of the Orcs that had 
done such a thing to his friend. He craved to get his hands on them, 
to make them feel some of the pain that they had inflicted upon the 
Elf that he thought of as another brother. There was no doubt in his 
mind that what he saw was real, it had to be real. He had spoken with 
Legolas, somehow, and he had seen what the Elf had been through.

A strange sensation started in his feet, and Aragorn looked down to 
see himself dimming and slowly vanishing out of sight. For some reason 
he did not fear what was happening, and it was with the knowledge that 
Legolas was still alive and that he would have his and Legolas’ 
revenge, that he willed the disappearing act to be over with quicker 
so he could continue his search. 

*****

A sudden cry forced Legolas’ eyes open and his mind out of his 
disturbing dreams. The camp was abuzz with movement, chaotic, 
unorganized movement as Orcs’ ran to and fro, shouting out to each 
other in their harsh tongue that Legolas had grown to hate and fear at 
the same time. 

Something was happening that the Orcs’ had not expected, and Legolas 
felt a slight glimmer of hope rise up in his stomach. He knew from his 
last dream that it was not Aragorn as he was not near but he also 
remembered the riders that he had sensed the day before. Maybe, just 
maybe, they were not followers of Saruman. Perhaps the hobbits’ had 
found them and warned them of Legolas’ plight or even if they had not, 
hopefully the riders were here to slay the Orcs’. 

Lifting his tired and heavy head, Legolas looked over the camp with 
interest. Orcs’ were everywhere and yet none paid an ounce of 
attention to him, for which he was thankful. He saw Ashbukra run up to 
an Orc and bark an order in his ear and as the leader of the Orcs’ 
passed him, the Elf could not hide the shiver of fear that passed 
through his body. As much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified of 
that Orc. The others he feared at times as any Elf would in his 
situation, but Ashbukra, he was different. He was ruthless and 
unmerciful and every time Legolas lay eyes on him, he could not get 
the picture of his sucking his blood from his still breathing body out 
of his head. And after last night, which he still felt the intense 
pain in his ankles and could not move them in the slightest, he had 
even more reason to shrink back whenever the Orc came near him. 

However, this time Ashbukra did not even look in Legolas’ direction as 
he ran past, shouting out more and more words that Legolas could not 
understand at the Orcs’ that ran about the camp.

"Naltdrepa! Naltdrepa, Naltlat lul gijak-ishi!" the last bit he yelled 
into the face of an Orc that was sitting upon the ground, doing 
nothing. Immediately the Orc leapt to his feet, his face full of anger 
at whatever Ashbukra had said, and scampered off to grab a sword. 

Legolas watched with fascination. He had never seen these Orcs in such 
a frenzy before and his mind was racing with possibilities. 

As it was, he only had a moment or two to think of what was happening 
until a sudden cry went up through the camp that was not of the Orcs’. 
Looking quickly from left to right and then back again, Legolas soon 
saw that it was indeed the riders that he had sensed the days before.

*****

Aragorn woke with startling clarity this time, and it only took him a 
minute to throw his things into his pack and to tell Gimli, who had 
remained on watch, to do the same. Jumping to his feet, he was already 
half way down the hill before Gimli even had the time to ask his 
question.

"What is it, Aragorn? What has happened?" the dwarf demanded as he 
followed his leader down the hill he had attempted to lead Aragorn 
down only an hour before. 

"Hurry!" Aragorn called over his shoulder while not stopping his brisk 
pace. "Things have gone bad, Gimli, things have gone really bad. We 
must make haste else we have no reason to continue at all." 

That was all Gimli needed to spur him on in his trek as his mind 
started to speed ahead of himself in the silent quest as to what 
Aragorn could have seen that would make him this scared and angry. He 
had seen the flare in the human’s eyes as soon as he woken up and it 
had momentary stunned and shocked the dwarf. 

"Hurry!" Aragorn called again as the human ran across the ground, his 
large steps that had earned him the name of Strider eating up the 
ground under foot in his desperate need for speed. 

Sighing and looking to the early morning sky, Gimli quickened his pace 
until he was just behind the fleet footed human. They would hurry, 
they would go night and day if need be as long as they found their 
friends.

*****

The yells of the Orcs surrounded him completely and yet none came near 
the lone Elf. Lying upon the ground, Legolas watched all that unfolded 
with a morbid fascination as the riders literally swooped thought the 
camp, hewing and chopping from their horses, severing heads and limbs 
before the Orcs could even set up proper defenses. 

A thunderous noise approached him and Legolas found himself flattening 
to the ground in order to avoid the hooves of a horse that jumped 
right over his head, the rider obviously blind to his presence. The 
man and horse rode on, paying no attention to him whatsoever, for 
which Legolas was thankful. 

Another rider came his way, only this time the Elf was pretty sure 
that the man knew of his presence. As the rider came closer, a twang 
sounded through the air only noticeable to Legolas due to his higher 
degree of hearing then the humans that surrounded him possessed. 
Looking swiftly in the direction that it had come, he saw an Orc 
standing there with a bow, now empty as the fell beast reached for 
another arrow from the quiver on his back. Before he even had time to 
look back, Legolas knew where the arrow had hit as the sound of a 
horse rearing up and neighing filled the air. The man that was on the 
hose that was coming towards him shouted in his own language as his 
horse collapsed to the ground, rolling over itself. The young man 
threw himself to the side, just in time to avoid being squashed by the 
rolling animal, and landed in a graceful roll of his own. Springing 
back to his feet, he grabbed his own bow and loosed an arrow in the 
direction of the Orc archer, his target falling moments after. 

On the whole, Legolas was quite impressed with the man’s skill and 
grace, especially for a human, but he reminded himself that he was not 
in the best of places to ponder over technique. All over the camp, 
Orcs, men and horses fell alike, neither side looking as if they were 
prepared to back down and neither looking as if they were winning.

A footstep near his right side drew his attention from the mêlée that 
had swooped upon the camp, and Legolas turned to see a man standing 
over him, sword raised and pointed at his throat. Legolas’ heart beat 
faster and faster, what if these men did not know an Elf when they saw 
one and if they did, what if they were not friends of the fair folk? 

The man seemed startled to find him lying among the dying Orcs and the 
trampling feet of the horses and he seemed somewhat unknowing as to 
what to do. He still had the sword pressed right against Legolas 
throat and the man’s shaking hand gave Elven prince cause to worry. 

Suddenly, the man looked over his shoulder and called out in a 
language that Legolas did not understand. "What do I do with this 
one?" he yelled to who was obviously his leader, and Legolas 
recognized him as the one that had jumped from his dying horse. The 
man was tall with a white-topped helm that sat over blond hair and he 
was constantly in the thick of the fray. 

"Leave nothing alive," the leader shouted while allowing his sword to 
pass through the stomach of one of the Orcs’ that Legolas recognized 
as the one that had pressed his head down through one of his first 
beatings. 

Having not understood anything that the riders had said, Legolas had 
to rely on the look in the man’s eyes to tell him what had transpired 
and it did not look good. In the conversation, Legolas had taken the 
opportunity to move slightly to the right to be away from the tip of 
the blade that threatened his life and, searching the man’s eyes he 
saw that it was a wise move. 

The man looked slightly stunned when he turned back to see that his 
prisoner was not in the same place as where he had left him, but he 
was relieved that the strange looking person had not strayed too far. 
He knew that the being in front of him was not an Orc, and it seemed 
strange that any other beast would be travelling with a group of 
Orcs’, but orders were orders and he would follow his captain no 
matter what.

Lifting his sword, he was about to move it into position over the 
being’s head so he could carry out his command, when he saw something 
flash in the being’s eyes. Without any further warning, Legolas’ tied 
hands where around his right knee, pulling forward with all his might. 
The man lost his balance as the Elf put all his strength into his 
effort, and, as the rider fell forward, Legolas forced himself to 
slide across the ground in the direction the man had came, skillfully 
missing the falling blade. 

Rolling over to his left side, Legolas saw the man getting his senses 
back, and, with a movement that was painfully slow for the Elf, he 
raised his bound hands and sent his left elbow into the face of the 
rider, successfully knocking him out cold. 

Looking around wildly at all the beings’, both human and not, fighting 
for their lives, Legolas knew that he had to find a way to get out of 
his situation, and fast. It was only a matter of time before someone 
stronger then him in this state would find him and attempt to add him 
to the pile of the dead that was starting to form at everyone’s feet. 

Turning his gaze to the man that lay beside him, Legolas did a quick 
visual search of the man. Seeing what he was hoping to find tucked 
into the man’s left boot, he reached over and took the small dagger 
into his bound hands. 

Placing the leather covered handle into his mouth, Legolas angled his 
head to he could see his hands off to the left of his vision. 
Concentrating hard, he angled his hands so that they were in line with 
the blade and, with a deep breath through his nose, he slide the blade 
to were his thumbs touched each other. Pushing his hands up so that 
the blade ran down the rope, he tried hard not to let the commotion 
going on around him become a distraction. Repeating the process over 
and over, he finally felt the ropes slacking from the severed threads 
that were woven to make the strong Orcish rope. 

As the last few strands broke under his pull, he sighed happily at the 
feeling of being partly free and the circulation returning to his 
hands and fingers. Rubbing his hands over the small cuts that he had 
made in the process, Legolas once again checked the man beside him to 
make sure that he was nowhere near waking. 

He used his hands as a brace and pushed himself up into a sitting 
position, still holding the dagger tightly in his right hand. His ribs 
were burring at even that slight movement and his head felt as if it 
were the only still thing in a revolving world. Looking down at his 
feet, his heart sunk as he saw the extent of the damage the Orcs’ had 
done. 

Chewing on his bottom lip to stop the cry of pain, the Elven archer 
leant forward with the knife still in hand while drawing his knees up 
to his chest. Tasting the blood that was now seeping from his bitten 
lip, Legolas moved the knife slowly back and forth over the thick rope 
that was threaded through the flesh of his ankles. He still wondered 
if he would ever be able to walk again let alone move with the grace 
of an Elf. Pushing such dark thoughts out of his head, he continued to 
work at the bonds until they too frayed and split apart. Placing a 
hand on the knot in his right foot, Legolas attempted to pull it out 
yet was overcome with such great pain that he felt as it he were about 
to pass out. 

Punching the ground in frustration at his own weakness, he decided to 
leave the rope in for the time being, at least until he was somewhere 
safe were he could afford to drop into sleep. 

Knowing that he had to move soon as the battle was starting to come to 
a close, Legolas rolled onto his stomach, preparing for an undignified 
crawl to safety. As he passed the man that he had knocked out, a 
sudden idea came to him, and, reaching over, he pulled off the helm 
that the man wore and placed it on his own head. 

His crawl was long, hard and pained him with every inch of ground that 
he covered. Every millimeter of his body complained and yelled at him 
to stop his insane attempt of fleeing, yet he would not and scorned 
himself every time the want to stop overcame him. He could not sit 
around forever and wait for Aragorn or someone else to help him – he 
had to do it himself. 

After what seemed like hours he found himself, alive and unharmed in 
the escape, at the edge of the camp near where some of the Riders’ 
horses were. Seeing the opportunity of a faster escape, he forced his 
body to comply with his command to sit, and searched through the few 
horses’ with his eyes. Upon seeing one that he though he could handle 
in this condition, Legolas let out a shrill whistle to get the horses 
attention. 

"Tôl,’ he whispered into the wind for the horse that he had chosen to 
hear. "Tôl an anim!" The horses snorted and, before the mare that he 
had chosen could respond, a white charger came over to him. It was a 
wonderful steed; pure white bar the grey speckled socks that stretched 
up most of its legs and yet it looked fiery, restive and quite 
untamed. Yet the Elf could see no other choice as this horse had 
chosen him so he made his mind up; he would make do and hope for the 
best.

"Tôl dad," he commanded gently of the horse and was rather surprised 
when it complied, bending its knees and kneeling down in front of him. 
Smiling gently to himself and the horse, Legolas used his hand to pull 
himself up onto the horse’s back. The thick leather saddle was a 
hindrance but he would have to deal with it as he was in no condition, 
let alone place, to worry about unsaddling a horse solely for comfort. 
Letting his feet hang free of the stirrups, Legolas took a small clump 
of the horse’s mane and in his right hand and wrapped the reins around 
his right knuckles, ensuring that he would not fall off. 

Once settled, the horse stood on its own accord and, with a whispered 
word from the Elf on his back, set off in the direction of Fangorn 
Forest without so much as a backward glance at its friends and 
previous rider.

Relief was in the Elven princes’ heart as he felt the horse speed up 
in its gallop towards the forest. He was finally free of the Orcs’ and 
their harsh treatment. And yet, at the same time fear rose within him 
for now he was truly alone and wounded far worse than he had allowed 
himself to realise whilst with the Orcs. No small hobbits’ would be 
there to help him or to simply make him laugh, no one but the horse 
that he was riding upon. 

It was a scary thought, racing away from one danger to another. The 
warning the Celeborn had given them in Lothlórien was still fresh in 
his mind and it was even more disturbing to be going there alone. The 
archer knew that he could not hope to turn and head back in the way 
the Orcs’ had brought him for at least a day or two, so to avoid the 
riders and any of the Orcs that may have escaped the slaughter. 

With a sigh, he muttered to the horse to hurry up and, whilst the 
horse’s hooves speed across the ground, he tried to relax and calm the 
inner turmoil that raged through his heart. 

He was going to be alright, he had to be.

*****

Squinting his eyes and placing a hand upon his brow to block out the 
glare of the sun, the lone soldier looked out over the large body of 
water that stretched before him. Tightening his hand upon his sword, 
he waited for the strange object that he had spied to come closer. 

He had seen it once it had rounded the bend in the river, and now that 
it was coming closer, his curiosity increased. It was floating upon 
the surface of the glass like water and yet it was not all that high 
from the water level.

As the current slowly pulled the object closer to him, the soldier 
soon saw that it was in fact the remains of a boat that coasted down 
the river towards him. The sun played upon the water and it was as if 
the rays all focused on the lone floating object, bathing it in a 
heavenly glow of gold. 

Wading into the water to meet it, the man caught the tail end of the 
boat and was rather shocked to find the reason that it sat so low in 
the water. The boat was not whole and it was only the bottom half that 
bobbed up and down in front of him. The new top edges were uneven and 
charred; the result of burning and further to concluded his 
suspicions, a pile of ash lay spread across the entire bottom of the 
small, wooden remains. It was as if other planks of wood had been 
place on the top as it was burned and that the ashes were their 
remains. 

Looking in the small shell something caught his eye. Reaching down in 
to the far corner of the once boat, the man pulled out a soot 
blackened sword that he recognized all too well.

"Boromir!" he muttered under his breath while turning his eyes back to 
the boat. There lay the bottom half of Boromir’s shield as well as one 
of his gauntlets – of the remains thereof. Casting his gaze back on 
the sword that he held in his hands, realization came over him.

Steadying himself the best he could in the current, the man grabbed 
hold of the end of the boat and towed it back towards the shore. Once 
there and the boat was securely run upon the shore, the man collapsed 
to the ground, hugging the sword and burnt gauntlet to his chest and 
heart. 

He stayed there for a long time, not crying but in a state of shock, 
rocking back and forth, all the while muttering; "my brother, not my 
brother."

*****

He rode on, not daring to stop even though his body screamed at him to 
do so. He could not afford to stop, not with the riders still on the 
plain and the threat of Orcs’ still in the air. His only plan, or 
really lack there of, was to get as deep into the woods as possible so 
that he would have sufficient cover if chance should deem that he 
would need it. 

So it was with that in mind that he pushed his horse on faster, 
ignoring the branches that swept back and stung his face after his 
swift passing.

He had been riding for close to half and hour now, and was well into 
the woods of Fangorn. It had taken him little time to cross the rest 
of the way of the plain and reach the first dotted lines of trees that 
would eventually lead into the thick forest that he was now inclosed 
by. All the way he had searched for the tiny prints of the hobbits’ 
that he had risked everything for, but he saw nothing, whether it was 
due to the fact that they had not come this way or his unclear head he 
knew not. All he knew was that he had to get to shelter before, by 
some unlucky hand dealt by fate, someone looked up and saw his 
fleeting form as even a human could see all that passed between the 
forest and the place where the Orcs’ were massacred. 

He rode on in this hurried pace for nigh on an hour, slowly losing 
himself in the thickness of the dark woods and the swirling of the 
many shades of green leaves as he breezed past. 

It had been an uncomfortable ride for many a reason. The saddle was 
more of an impediment then a help and he seriously wondered how any 
humans’ could ride on such things. It blocked and restricted his 
control and contact with the horse, making it harder to feel what it 
needed and wanted as it traversed over the land. It also made it 
harder to move with the horses’ natural rhythm, which, in effect, made 
his wounded ribs and back thump with each and every step. Once again 
his breathing was labored, and he had the slight inkling that one of 
his ribs was slowly being forced into his lung, stopping his lung from 
drawing in it’s full potential. 

With each passing minute he became more and more worried. For what was 
the point of surviving all that he had, for living through captivity 
with a band of Orcs’ and not allowing himself to cut the ties that 
held him to the world if he was doomed to die alone, in a strange 
forest from his wounds. It was bitter irony that built up in his heart 
and made him think of all the terrible outcomes that his escape could 
have upon him and he hated it. Forcing himself to look on the bright 
side of all that had happened, he reminded himself that at least he 
had freed Merry and Pippin, and he himself was free, and if he was to 
die, at least he would do it in the comfort of a forest, surrounded by 
the trees that he loved.

Knowing that he could go no further, he leaned forward towards the 
horse’s ears and whispered to him in his own tongue. "Dar-nin mellon. 
Æ an ir hae ir metuva noro!" 

At his words, the horse stopped straight away. It’s graceful white 
head moved left and right, looking for something that Legolas did not 
know, and, once it found whatever it was searching for, it started 
walking slowly to where its eyes were fixated on. 

The horse stopped in front of a small boulder, flat on top and 
standing only as high as half of its bottom leg. Folding its legs 
under itself again, the horse lowered itself to the ground while being 
next to the rock, providing Legolas with an easy step to slide into 
from the horse and a shorter distance from the rock to the ground then 
what the horse’s back offered. 

Smiling to himself and saying a word of thanks to the horse, Legolas 
easily slid from the saddle to the rock and then to the ground. 
Looking back down on his feet, he found that he did not have the heart 
or the courage to try and relieve his ankles of the rope at the 
present moment. The horse had wandered off to graze at the far end of 
the clearing and it was with shock that Legolas saw two thick lines of 
blood down the horse’s sides, obviously having come from his wounded 
ankles throughout the ride.

Wanting something better to rest upon, Legolas decided that now was as 
good a time as ever to try and walk. Using the rock as a brace, he 
slowly pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, feeling the 
weakness in his ankles and the shaking of his legs as he tried to do 
something that he had not done in over a day. 

It was hard, but he seemed able to stand, and with grim determination 
he lifted his right foot and moved it forward to place on the ground, 
though it never made it. His left leg buckled under his weight and, 
with annoyance and a little fear, he fell back to the ground, landing 
heavily on his backside. 

Sighing, he placed his head in his hands, willing himself not to 
scream out his anger at the entire situation. He had long given up 
worrying about how much it all hurt and now solely concentrated on the 
fact that this rendered him useless. It was easier to bear if he dwelt 
on the anger and hate instead of the pain and fear as it kept him 
going, kept the blood pumping through his veins as his mind sort out a 
chance for redemption. 

A slight nuzzling at his shoulder drew his mind out of the reserved 
state that he had slipped into and he turned to see the horse standing 
next to him, pushing gently at his shoulder. The horse flicked its 
head, forcing the reins over its head, and, for a brief moment, 
Legolas flinched at the motion and sound, his mind being dragged back 
unwillingly to the times that he was whipped without mercy. 

He could see the whip, deadly in its owner’s hand, as it flew through 
the air, coming to rest upon his already reddened skin. His back 
prickled against the small remainders of his shirt as the lash in his 
mind snapped against the skin, leaving a line of searing pain and red 
welts in its wake… 

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Legolas forced himself back to 
the present to find that the horse was watching him with interest. 
Smiling at the steed, he allowed the animal to move its head in such a 
manner that it looped his right hand in the reins. As if the horse had 
spoken to him, Legolas understood what it was implying with its 
movements, and, seeing no other option, he allowed the horse to pull 
him to his feet by turning slightly which raised the reins that 
Legolas clung to. Placing both arms over the horse’s saddled back, 
Legolas braced himself for what was to come. As the horse took its 
first step, Legolas followed, putting most of his weight upon the 
horse’s back while standing on his feet as little as possible.

It took them a few minutes, but, in this fashion, the horse managed to 
escort Legolas over to a thick tree trunk where he could safely and 
easily rest. Using the reins and the trunk, Legolas lowered himself to 
the ground and when the horse did the same beside him, he was rather 
puzzled. After a few minutes of wondering, the Elf finally saw a water 
skin attached to the saddle and a blanket that was rolled up on the 
back of the seat. Taking both, he used the blanket as padding between 
the bark of the tree and his torn back, and drank deeply of the water. 
The horse once again stood, seeing its job done, and went back to 
graze on the grass of the forest, only this time a little closer to he 
Elf. 

It was only after making himself comfortable that Legolas could feel 
eyes upon him, watching him from the shadows of the gloomy trees that 
surrounded him completely. Though the gaze sent shivers up his spin, 
Legolas felt as if it were not evil or a threat and it was with that 
in mind, and the knowledge that even if he wanted to he could not go 
another step let along get himself back up onto the horse, that he 
tried hard to ignore it as he settled against a tree trunk. Even as 
his eyes grew stiff and hard to move, indicating the coming of Elven 
sleep, he could not have cared if the being watching him jumped out of 
the woods and proclaimed itself an enemy. 

It was as the last stages of darkness crept into his mind that he 
heard it, a slight "Hrum, Hoom," and the approaching footsteps of a 
large beast of some sort. Yet, in his weakened start, he simply gave 
himself up to sleep, telling himself that everything would work out 
alright if he could just get some rest.

Once the Elf was fast asleep, lost in his land of dreams that no other 
being that lived could access, the creature made itself known. It had 
been many an age since he had seen an Elf, especially in these parts, 
and if it was not for the previous show of horsemanship and whispered 
words he never would have recognized the blood and dirt covered figure 
as one of the fair folk. 

Moving slowly through the trees of the clearing, the large, tree-like 
figure approached the sleeping being, and, sensing its discomfort, 
made his mind up as to what to do with the Elf before him. Smiling 
down on the being, he gently stretched forth one of his branch-like 
arms and scooped the Elf up in his equivalent to fingers. Placing the 
Elf on his large shoulder, he made sure that the sleeping being was 
stable and secure in his branches by folding them around the figure, 
creating a little cradle padded with his own leaves for the Elf to 
rest in. Covering the crib with a few more of his smaller branches he 
made sure the Elf was warm and safe before digging his roots into the 
ground a little way, preparing for the sun’s rising. 

***** Timeline fore chapter eight. 27 – night. Frodo and Sam still 
making their way to Mordor. 28 – early morning. Orc encampment visited 
by Saruman who is angered at the hobbits’ escape. Legolas is crippled 
by the rope through his ankles. Again shares a dream with Aragorn.

28 – sunrise. Éomer attacks Orcs, Legolas crawls away in the confusion 
and steals a horse (Arod) and rides to Fangorn forest. 29 – early 
morning (dark). Legolas can go no further and collapses. Is found by 
Treebeard and taken into his branches to rest. Faramir sees Boromir 
funeral boat. ***** 

tbc