Title: Né fredä l (Unafraid)

By: Chloe the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, also being the 3^rd of the “Write Sisters” ;)

Rated: PG-13 (for MAJOR angst, violence, and MORE major angst*) This is NOT A SLASH FIC! Nooo no no no! If you’re here to read slash, read SOMETHING ELSE! I can’t stand slash.

*please re-note the ‘angst-loving’ part of my full-name. ;)

Summery: Estel is gone. Left with a confused mind and aching heart, Legolas continues to stumble through his life. But as he lives to miss his dearest friend, the shadow of danger grows darker as Bengwiil eases its way back into Mirkwood. Will Legolas let go in time to save his people? And what of Aragorn? Will he *never* be back? (sequel to Erfiér)

Spoilers: Only for the other two stories in the “Bengwiil Saga”, Istón, I know, and Erfiér, Only Mortal. Other than that, no, don’t think so. :)

Disclaimers: Aragorn, Legolas, Thranduil, Mirkwood, Rivendell and any other recognizable people or places are the sole property of JRR Tolkein, and I do NOT have permission to use them. I’m not making any money, of course, because a. nobody’s dumb enough to pay me to write and b. nobody ELSE is dumb enough to pay me to write. At any rate, please don’t sue me. ;)

NOTE: You will NOT get this story a BIT unless you’ve read the other two stories in this series:

If that doesn’t bug you, then it’s no problem. Just thought you should no, in case you start reading this and immediately think: WHAT is a Bengwiil…? ;)

Marks: // marks are elvish translations. Example:

Nefredal

//Unafraid//

* marks are italics

Dedication: To Sarah, Hannah. Cassia, Siobhan, and ALL my faithful readers who have hung around while I was tardy over finishing this. Thank you ALL for your patience! I hope it’s worth it. :)

Né fredä l

(Unafraid)

You think denying it's no good

I know

But if for a day, an hour, I can pretend

That he's not gone, that our times will

not end

I do not ask for lies, my friend, and yet

If I cannot run tomorrow, tonight I may

forget

Shortly I will miss him, see the holes he left behind

For this evening, just to close my eyes, and rest my

tired mind

It will help and though inside I still will know...

Just for now, if you could say it

isn't so.

Chapter 1

Without Hope

The clouds hung heavily over the Mirkwood trees, for they had been threatening the great forest with rain for almost four days. The trees were uncharacteristically green in the dim light, and they swayed slightly in the humid breeze.

It is well that the trees were so lovely, for many stared at them this day. With nothing but pain to see and feel in the Halls of Thranduil, many of the Woodelves spent their day outside, in the heavy air of Mirkwood.

None could stand the atmosphere of the Halls anymore. Their king, Thranduil, had not left his room for the two days since the night. The fearful night that none discussed in the open, for fear of reliving the nightmare they had experienced that evening.

All of the elves on the lower floors could remember it all-too-vividly. It was deep into the night, and many had gone to pace the stone balconies, or retire to wander in dreams. None had expected what happened next…

Since that night, none had gone to the second floor except by necessity. At first, the only sound from the dark room was Legolas’ soft voice singing the ‘Old Walking Song’ which carried an extra memory from his perspective, but was only a little mournful, for such a song is too innocent to carry much weight.

But now, the soft elvish song that came from that shut door for hour after hour was just too much for any elf to listen to. It may be hard to understand for one who has never heard elfsong, but even a simple melody carries a certain beauty that expresses more than any of the words in it can. The music that Legolas sang for hours from that dark room was just such a melody, and carried all the memories of his dearest friend. Along with the sorrow of these memories being reduced to memories alone.

But no matter how the elves tried to avoided it, the music echoed about the stone halls, and many wished they did not have such keen hearing. It seemed to be a constant reminder that everything had become even darker in the lands of Mirkwood.

**********

“You can try, Edren, but I do not think it will do any good.”

“Well I *must* try, Daurré. He cannot be doing well with nothing to eat, and besides. He needs me.”

“Istón, Edren. You are right.”

Edren smiled slightly, and gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. Turning from him, he began towards the staircase leading to the second floor. A tray of food was balanced on one hand, and he carried a mug of tea in the other.

For the past two days, he’d been trying to bring Legolas’ some food and drink. The prince hadn’t left that dark room, and Edren knew that even though he *was* an elf, no one could live without at least *some* food. Besides, Legolas hadn’t eaten the last day of Aragorn’s life either. He’d neither food nor drink for three days, and so Edren did his best to give him both.

He quietly made his way to the bedroom door, wincing slightly when his ears picked up the high, elven song beginning again.

“Wen uuye giri na gwaew

//friendship does not waver at a wind//

Na wen mav-am ui-brono

//and a friendship like ours lasts forever//

Brono mav-altelu liikuma

//forever like an everlasting candle//

Pant-estel galad thinth-al”

//a hopeful light fading never//

Edren leaned towards the doorway, and setting the tea mug onto the tray for a moment, knocked softly on the wooden door. The song continued as though nothing had happened to interrupt it. Edren knocked a little louder, but still the song went on. Legolas should have heard him…he was ignoring him instead. He sighed. “Legolas, please, let me in.”

The song stopped a moment. Then, “The door is not locked, Edren.”

Edren didn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious as he pushed the door open, and stepped in. He hated what he saw. Legolas knelt beside Aragorn’s bed, holding both the man’s limp hands, and lying his head on the human’s still chest. When he looked up, there were faint rings under his eyes, half from lack of rest, and half from constant tears. His face was almost as pale as his still friend’s, and his normally bright eyes were dull with confusion and exhaustion.

He soon looked away from Edren, and began to sing again. The elf had never realized how sad the song was before now. Standing next to the singer himself, beside the cause of this desolate melody; Edren felt drained of all cheer, as Legolas made a valiant attempt to strengthen his voice.

“Tama liikuma naur, mellon

//Keep the candle burning, friend//

Tama nar-estel naur

//Keep the flame of hope burning//

Garonach im, mellon nin

//I'm holding onto you, my friend//

Kuin im, kuiv, na naeg im

//I'm alive, awake, and I'm hurting//

Wen uuye-”

//friendship does not-//

“No,” Edren cut him off before the prince could make it through the first line again. “No, Legolas. Please stop.”

Legolas shrugged slightly, cocking his head to the side as a sign of indifference. He then turned his eyes back on Aragorn, and sat in silence. Edren had to speak.

“I brought you some bread, a bit of meat, and cup of tea.” No response. “My dear friend, you haven’t eaten or slept for three days. Come. Have a little? I believe it will make you feel better.” Edren studied his silent friend a long moment. He’d grown up with Legolas, and fortunately knew him well enough to find something to entice the sullen prince. “At least the lembas bread I brought?”

Legolas looked up as if in slow motion, and nodded. Edren fought not to smile in relief. Legolas had enjoyed lembas even more than water growing up, and it had been a rare treat for the Woodelves to receive that way-bread of Ló rien. Edren knew this all too well, and was more than excited when he found they had little stock of the food left. Perhaps it was the only thing that could regain Legolas’ strength for him.

As the prince took the square loaf of way-bread from his friend, he almost smiled himself.

“You look so tired.” Edren sighed, sitting down in a chair near Legolas.

“It is how I feel.” Legolas responded faintly.

“You should rest then. Lie down, free your mind.”

“I have slept some.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. But neither did it rest me, nor free my mind. I only drift away into my memories, and wander in my dreams.”

Edren cocked his head to the side. “Well- at the least, you should leave this room.”

“Hm,” Legolas sighed, shaking his head. “I shall not leave Aragorn. I promised I would not.”

Edren licked his lips nervously, as he searched for tact. “Legolas. Aragorn…he is-”

“Dead.” Legolas looked up at Edren blankly. “You think I do not know this?”

“Yes, I- well no, I know that you know this.” Edren shook his head miserably, and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

Legolas stared at nothing for awhile, and seemed to drift away to a distant thought. “I see him, you know.” Edren’s head came up slowly. “I see him. I hear him in my dreams. I- I awake in the night, thinking- hoping that he will be before my eyes.” Legolas shook his head and closed his eyes. As he did so, a tear coursed down his smooth cheek, covering the tracks of old tears. “But I know better. I know he is gone. But it’s just too much to accept.”

“It’s hard, I know it is.” Edren sighed, sliding off his chair to sit beside Legolas on the floor. “But take courage. Aragorn’s last words to you were ‘do not despair’. You must heed him, Legolas, for that is what he wanted for you. He wanted you to live on in joy, despite loss.”

Legolas shook his head expressionlessly; as though he’d thought these thoughts so many times, he had them memorized. “His last words to me were ‘don’t forget me’. And I don’t intend to.”

“But you can remember in peace, Legolas. You needn’t, and shouldn’t remember him like this.”

Legolas didn’t respond for awhile. He shook his head over and over, making no sound. Finally he spoke, his throat chocked with tears. “Oh Edren…Edren, I miss him so. Will he *never* be back?”

He lifted a tired face to look Edren in the eye. His whole self explained more than any words could. It was pain, it was confusion, and a desperation to except the unacceptable. It took Edren a moment to realize it, but finally, his mind settled on the right word: His friend looked lost.

Edren’s could only think to respond in one way; in action. He quickly moved forward, gripped his friend around the shoulders, and pulled the prince to him. Legolas relaxed in the embrace, and felt the familiar tickle of tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I would deny his death, if I thought it would do you any good.” Edren whispered kindly.

Legolas nodded against his friend’s chest. “I have often wondered if that would relieve the pain. But I would have to come back to reality, and I know the blow of truth would finish me. For as it is, I am fading.”

Edren pulled Legolas back from him so he could look him in the eye. “Legolas, you mustn’t say such things.”

“I have naught to live for anymore, Edren. I am fading with my broken heart, and I know I shan’t live out the many days I was meant.”

“Legolas, please. I don’t think-”

“Edren, no. Not now. I wish not to speak of it now.”

Edren slowly nodded, and pulled his friend closer to him.

“Lir anem?“ Legolas asked weakly, as though he were a child, begging to be asleep after a nightmare.

//sing for me?//

Edren smiled sympathetically. Quietly, he began to sing in comfort, glad to hear any tune other than the one Legolas had sung continually.

"Tulum an ilman

//Take me to the stars//

Nyarim lindeler

//Tell me of their song//

Enyaarem hanya lir

//That I may learn to sing//

Laitar narquelion”

//Their praise to fading sun//

On and on Edren sang, and slowly, Legolas’ shoulders began to shake with tears. The prince’s friend continued his melody, gently massaging Legolas’ trembling shoulders. Edren would likely never know why the song he chose to sing that night was so perfect, yet so heartbreaking for Legolas to hear. And as the prince listened, he could almost hear Aragorn’s voice rather than Edren’s singing the song from that night. That night so long ago, when Aragorn had sung Legolas into a peaceful sleep.

“Meralam ilqua harma

//I want not all these treasures//

Maralam uuva haran

//I want not to be king//

Eram mere kana ilman

//I only want to see the stars//

Eram mere lir!”

//I only want to sing!//

Chapter 2

A Foolish Endeavor

Edren closed the door silently, and shook the tears from his eyes. Legolas had finally consented to finish the food and tea that had been brought for him, but still refused to leave his friend’s side. Edren found the whole thing unsettling and emotionally exhausting. But despite that, he was determined to help his friend and his prince. Legolas was so alone right now, and he could only begin to understand that, but Edren knew he could help, if only a little, by just standing by, and showing his friend how much he was there for him.

Edren walked silently down the corridor towards the stone staircase. He was lost in his own thoughts, when a young elf came dashing towards him. “Larhink, Daurré!”

//calm down, Daurré!//

he sighed, gripping his chest, and breathing heavily. “You frightened me. What is it?”

“Edren. After you left to speak with Legolas; to bring him his food, I went to talk to Prestomin. I thought that he may know what to do to help Legolas more than anyone, since he is a Healer, and one of our best at that. But I could not find him. And when I spoke to Tirniel, to find out where he may be, he would not tell me. If he even knew, I do not know, but he *did* seem to conceal something.” Daurré shook his head, and tried to catch his breath.

“What is so wrong with that, Daurré? Perhaps it is cause for concern, but certainly not panic.”

“But that is not all. When Tirniel refused to tell me anything, Nyarin, the poor elf who has been in the Healers so long, he said that his brother, Anwé , was missing as well. And one of Raustal’s friends, Fenan, was the last person seen with him. I asked around about Fenan, and found that none have seen him recently either! I don’t know *what* can be going on…”

“Daurré, calm down,” Edren soothed, placing a hand on the panting elf’s shoulder. “I am sure it will be all right. Perhaps they have only gone out hunting.”

“But Anwé and Fenan were seen but two days ago, when Estel…” Daurré shook his head. “They would not leave their prince at such a time as this.”

“No, they would not,” Edren agreed. “But we do not know for sure that they are missing, nor that if they are, it is anything to be worried about.”

“Yes, Edren, you are right. I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” Edren smiled, and gently steered Daurré to the stone stairs. “Why don’t I try speaking with Tirniel and Nyarin,” he suggested, as the two made their way down the staircase. “Perhaps I can find something you could not.”

“Yes, Perhaps,” Daurré agreed, and smiled gratefully.

The two elves went swiftly to the Healers, and upon reaching it, Edren didn’t hesitate before pushing the door open. “Tirniel?” He called, as he and Daurré approached the closet-sized room that was used as an office. Tirniel was at his writing desk, and looked up quickly when the two entered.

“Quiet down, will you? The sick need their rest,” he sighed, and rose from his seat. “Forgive my anger. I have much on my mind now.”

“Why is that, my friend?” Edren asked gently.

“You would not understand.”

“Let me try.”

“No, Edren, for I do not wish to tell you.” Tirniel pushed past to two elves, and stepped beside one of the many beds in that large room beyond his office. “It is too much for me. I cannot handle all this- this pain. This devastation. And yet…I would never leave.”

Edren and Daurré followed him to the bedside silently. Edren stared down at the occupant of the bed, and shuddered. The normally fair face of an elf was marred by cuts and bruises. A long gash ran from his forehead to his cheek, crossing his eye in the process. Edren looked sorrowfully up at Daurré. The elf nodded. “Nyarin,” he confirmed, and looked away.

Edren looked anxiously up at Tirniel. “Does he live?”

The healer nodded slowly, then shook his head. “Barely. He will not last long, and since his brother left on that foolish journey, he’s become worse.”

“Foolish journey?” Edren demanded in bewilderment. “Where? Where did Anwé go?”

Tirniel shook his head again, and sat down on the edge of Nyarin’s bed with a sigh. “I cannot say.”

“You don’t know?” Tirniel didn’t respond. Edren shook his head, and knelt down in front of the Healer, so he could look him in the eye. “Where is Prestomin, Tirniel? Where is Fenan? Where is Anwé ? Talk to me Tirniel, you *know* where they are!”

“They are gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Away.”

“Tirniel!” Edren groaned, rising to his feet. “You *must* tell me this, at the least. Do you *know* where they are?”

Tirniel looked as though he were not going to answer, and then, he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Hannon le,” Edren sighed, kneeling in front of the healer again. “Now. Where are they, Tirniel?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Why not? Please, you must tell me.”

Tirniel shot to his feet. “Because I’ve been commanded *not* to. All right, Edren? I am not permitted to say a word on the matter. Leave me be, please! I beg you to leave me.” Tirniel sighed, and sat down on the bed’s edge again.

“What is the matter, Tirniel. Why are you so upset? It was merely a question, you could have simply told me that Thranduil has commanded you not to speak of it.”

“It is not the question, nor the king’s command…that is not what disturbs me.”

“Then what is it, my friend? Please tell me.”

Tirniel rose to his feet slowly, and moved to stand by Nyarin’s side. “It is pain. It is death. I have seen more elves die these past days than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Edren moved quickly from his kneeling position, to his feet, facing the back of Tirniel’s head with an alarmed face. “What? Who has died? H-how?!”

Tirniel’s head shook slowly. “Maranos, Haithin, Rhinthûr and Meliim. All from that hunting trip to find the Bengwiil. Raustal may have been the first to go as a result of the attack, but he was not the only one. And now five elves, and a mortal man lie dead as a result of Bengwiil. Legolas was right, Edren. He has been the only right one all along, save one other. Bengwiil is altogether evil, and should never have been excepted in Mirkwood a second time. I am so sorry it took five deaths to realize that. And one shall not even have the hope of Mandos awaiting him.” Tirniel shook the memory of Aragorn’s death out of his head, and looked down, and stroked Nyarin’s golden hair gently. “And likely, the number shall soon rise to five that now reside in those halls.”

The healer stood silent awhile longer, and then finally turned to face Edren’s pain-filled eyes with a similar expression. “So now perhaps you can understand why I act so, Edren. I am sorry that I have been so distant, and perhaps even cold to you. I just- the burden of these deaths weigh so heavily on me. I only wish that Prestomin and Harain were here. That way, I may not feel all the blame is my own. But I know it must be, for I am the only Healer left in these halls, save for Áryto, who does not know enough of Healing to be much assistance...though he tries so.”

“But where *are* Prestomin and Harain?” Daurré asked quietly from his position by the office door.

Tirniel appeared as though he weren’t going to answer, so Edren stepped in with a different question. “Why were we not told when these elves died?”

“The king ordered it. He didn’t wish anyone to know, I know not why.”

Edren shook his head sadly. “What of Haithin’s sister Átniir? And Meliim’s father? And Maranos’ brothers, did they not even get to say goodbye? Did you not even tell these elves’ families of their beloved’s death?”

“Of course we did, to those who we believed could handle it.”

“And those who couldn’t?”

Tirniel shrugged sadly. “They shall find out soon enough.”

Edren’s jaw nearly dropped. “You mean to tell me that these elves lie cold in their death, wandering in the Halls of Mandos, and their own families do not know it yet?”

“Only a few of them. Rhinthûr’s father and mother do not know as of yet, and only one of Maranos’ brothers have been told.”

Edren shook his head, and pushed the whole matter aside. He knew there was nothing that Tirniel could do as far as this matter was concerned, as long as Thranduil deemed it permissible.

But he couldn’t help wishing that the Healer had done more, so that at least the families of these poor elves, if not their closest friends, could have said goodbye. It didn’t seem logical to keep it from them, and then suddenly tell them that their beloved ones were gone for good. It made Edren wonder why Thranduil had establish such a rule.

“Tirniel,” he sighed at length. “We need to know where Prestomin, Harain, Anwé , and Fenan are. They could be in danger, if not others we do not *know* are missing. Please, you cannot possibly *not* understand this.”

Tiriniel didn’t respond for awhile. But finally, he sat down on Nyrain’s bed again, and began to speak slowly. “Dyraed, Edärsta, Gwèdelôs and Talaèr.”

Edren shook his head. “What of them?”

“They are with the others you search for.”

“But- where *are* they?”

Tirniel shook his head. “I cannot tell you.”

Edren half-rolled his eyes in frustration. “Have they gone somewhere dangerous? We know at least they are up to something important enough for Thranduil to command it a secret. Tirniel, what if they die? Strange things are about in Mirkwood these days, now that Bengwiil has made its name known again. It is too dangerous for any to be up to secret things in the woods. For that is where they must indeed be. They are certainly not in these Halls any longer.”

Tirniel didn’t move through the whole speech, as though he hadn’t heard a word. “I cannot tell you, the king commands it,” he said flatly, and rose from his seat. “Go, Edren. Trouble me no more, I beg you.”

Edren sighed, and finally nodded. He put a hand to his chest, and drew it away in the elven farewell, bowing his head slightly to the Healer, and then he and Daurré went swiftly out the door, and away from the pain-filled atmosphere of the Healers.

“Now what shall we do?” Daurré asked quietly, turning to Edren. The elf was walked silently beside Daurré , and he looked to be in deep thought.

“Edärsta is Meliim’s father,” he said slowly.

“Yes?” Daurré asked, not understanding what the point was.

“And Dyraed is one of Maranos’s brothers, as is Gwèdelôs.”

“What are you saying, Edren?”

Edren stopped mid-stride, and turned to his friend. “Daurré , don’t you understand? All the elves that are missing, save the two Healers, are friends or relatives of these departed elves.”

Daurré thought a moment. “What of Talaèr? He has no brother nor son among those elves.”

“But was he not a close friend of Haithin’s?”

Daurré slowly nodded. “I believe you are right. But I still do not understand, what does all this matter?”

Edren sighed. “I know not. But perhaps someone else does.”

“Who?”

“The one friend or relative of these elves that is not missing.”

Daurré paused a moment. “Are you sure you wish to bother her, Edren? She’s been upset for a long time, and now we know why, I can understand. She’s been mourning her brother’s loss all this while. I doubt she wishes to be bothered about it all.”

Edren shook his head. “It’s the only plan I can think of, Daurré . Let us go have a talk with Haithin’s sister, Átniir.”

**********

“Are you even sure she is still here?” Daurré asked quietly as the two approached Átniir’s room door.

“Yes, she and my Thernäd have been spending much time together these past days.” Edren knocked softly on the oak door, but nothing happened. Not a sound could be heard within, even by elven ears. After a long moment, Edren called, “Átniir? It is Edren. Will you not let me in, I wish to speak with you.”

Silence ensued for a few more minutes. Daurré was about to suggest they leave, when they heard soft footsteps approach the door. “Edren?” came a quiet voice.

“It is I, Átniir. And Daurré as well.”

“…what do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you about Talaèr.”

Silence a moment. Then, “Why don’t you come in.”

Edren pushed gently on the oak door, and found Átniir standing not far behind it. She was a lovely elf, as all evles were, but there was an uncommon but understandable look in her blue-green eyes. Her very presence was weary, and she looked as though she were fatigued by tears. It was a look Edren knew well now. A look he’d seen on Legolas’ face.

Noticing all this, put a sudden thought into mind. “I am very sorry about Haithin, Átniir. I did not know till this morning, for if I had, I would have spoken with you sooner, and helped if I could.”

“I know you would,” she responded quietly, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her pointed ear gingerly. “Thernäd was here for me, and it did help. You should thank her for being such support for me, now you know that she was.”

“That I shall,” Edren nodded.

“And if I can do anything, Átniir, I shall be glad to,” Daurré put in softly.

“You are very kind,” Átniir smiled, and then paused, and turned to Edren again. “Now what about Talaèr, Edren?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I was wondering- seeing he was a friend of Haithin’s, if you know where he is.”

Átniir stood a moment in thought, and then looked up slowly. “Why?”

Edren’s heart raced. She knew, he could see it in her eyes. She knew something she did not wish to tell. He didn’t know whether to be excited or worried. “Well, we have reason to believe that he, and perhaps others we’ve not seen recently as well, could be in serious danger.”

“What sort of danger?”

“Well, the woods aren’t a friendly place at this time. Not after the attack on the hunters. There could be orcs, wargs, or worse out there. Not to mention this resurrection of the name of- well, you know of-”

“Bengwiil?” Átniir said softly, sinking into a well-stuffed chair, and offering the couch across from her to the companions. Edren nodded gratefully as he and Daurré took a seat.

“Yes, Bengwiil.”

“I doubt that Talaèr will encounter any of that horrid plant in the woods.”

“So that *is* where he’s gone? Who else is there with him, Átniir? Why are they in the woods?”

“Hunting,” Átniir responded briefly, though she looked as one who’d just told their first lie.

“Átniir,” Edren said sternly, leaning forward to look her in the eye. “You know what they are up to. I *need* to know. It could mean everything. A lot of elves died last they ventured into Mirkwood alone. I don’t want to lose anymore lives over this.”

“Over what?”

“Bengwiil! You can deny if you’d like, Átniir, but this *must* have to do with Bengwiil. There is no other explanation.”

Átniir was silent again, and she stared at nothing a long while. Presently, she raised her gaze to Edren’s, which had not left her since his last comment. “They said they would sooner kill any interferers then turn back.”

“I care not, Átniir. Please, just tell me. Won’t you tell me what you know?”

Átniir finally nodded, and half-smiled. “I suppose I’ve nothing to lose anymore. Very well then, Edren, you are right. They have gone into Mirkwood.”

**********

**********

Átniir shook her head, and focused on Edren once more. “That is all I have to tell. They left the next morning, and I’ve not seen nor heard word of their whereabouts since.”

Edren was silent a long moment, still reflecting on what Átniir had just said. Finally, he spoke. “I am grieved indeed to hear this.” He rose from his seat, and paced slightly across the wood floor. “We must go after them,” he said at length.

Átniir shook her head again and sighed. “It is no use. You cannot dissuade them.”

“I do not intend to,” Edren responded simply. “I intend to help them.”

“Help them?” Daurré ’s face was a picture of confusion. “I do not understand. You are going to *join* them in their search for Bengwiil?”

“No, my friend, of course not. If no one else, I at least should know that retrieving Bengwiil will only hurt Legolas more than he has been.”

“Then what *do* you mean?” Átniir asked quietly.

“I think they are in trouble, and if so, I mean to send them aid.”

“You jump to a fairly hasty conclusion, Edren,” Átniir pointed out. “What, pray, makes you so sure that they are in trouble?”

“Well, anything having to do with Bengwiil is bad news, that’s just one reason. Also, Raustal and his company set out late in the night to retrieve Bengwiil, and returned the following night. Fenan, Anwé , and their company have been gone for two days now.”

Átniir sighed, and sat back in her chair. “I still think that is quite an assumption.”

“And perhaps it is. But it is better to be cautious, and perhaps over-apprehensive, then to lose eight more lives to the Halls of Mandos.”

There was silence awhile, and finally Átniir spoke. “If that is your conclusion, Edren, so be it. But how will you ever get permission to send such a party into the woods *alone*? I have no doubt that Fenan will be in trouble with his majesty, if Thranduil finds out he’s taken seven elves into Mirkwood with him. Whether they went of their own accord or not. They had not permission to do so, and neither do you!”

“I doubt that Thranduil cares much anymore,” Edren sighed, sitting down beside Daurré once more. “Seeing that he has commanded Tirniel to keep it quiet.”

“Edren, he is our *king*,” Átniir said softly, looking fixedly at the elf before her.

“What king? We *have* no king!” Edren shouted, rising to his feet once more, and looking down at Átniir in frustration. “Until Thranduil realizes that he cannot rule Mirkwood from the darkness of his room, we have no king.”

No one spoke. Daurré cleared his throat nervously, but said nothing. Finally, Edren spoke again. “I am sorry, Átniir,” he sighed, sitting down beside Daurré for the final time. “I understand what you mean, and I do owe Thranduil my allegiance, despite his own actions. You were right to correct me.”

“But I know what you feel,” Átniir responded softly. “I cannot deny the same thoughts go through my own head.”

“And mine as well,” Daurré put in regretfully.

Átniir smiled at him and nodded. “But despite all this, Edren, you will need his consent to take even Daurré into Mirkwood, and search for these missing elves.”

“Istón,” he replied quietly, and held back a frustrated sigh.

“Worry not,” Átniir told him kindly, rising to her feet, as Daurré and Edren quickly did the same. “You will get his consent, I believe. Even a distant king has concern for his people.”

Edren and Daurré put their hands to their chests, in a farewell, and walked out the door Átniir opened for them. “May the Valar give our king wisdom to hear you,” she called softly after them, and closed the door.”

Chapter 3

Meduí Nä mariè

The tears I cry, have turned to rain

I feel alone, I feel the pain

The light has gone, many tears I weep

I cannot be strong, the pain is too deep

Darkened clouds, fill the skies,

Leave me be, let me cry

I want to run, far from these fears,

They will never stop

...the silver tears.

“Try one more time.” Daurré suggested quietly.

Shaking with rising frustration, Edren knocked on the wooden door one last time. Still no sound came from within. In desperation, the elf leaned close to the door, and said softly but clearly, “Your majesty, it is Edren. Daurré and I must speak with you, please.”

Silence lasted awhile longer. Then, “What do you want?”

“There are some elves missing from your Halls, my lord. We wish to go into Mirkwood to find them.”

Nothing.

“They have gone after Bengwiil.” Something within the room was suddenly knocked over, and there was an earsplitting crash. “Your majesty?!”

“Should we go in?” Daurré asked, his eyes wide with worry.

Edren nodded, and began to push on the door. “It’s locked!” He shook the door handle, and called once again, “Your majesty?”

Finally a voice came. And though it was Thranduil, it did not sound right. “When they come back? They shall put the Bengwiil in the cellar. And they shall bring some to me.”

“But- your majesty, we are afraid they shall *not* come back! We need to find them, and make sure that they are well. Otherwise they will not live-”

“Don’t say that! Don’t speak it!” Thranduil ranted from just behind the door. “Of course, they shall bring me Bengwiil, of course.” To both elves surprise, their king let loose with a high, airy giggle. “We are bringing Meltha back, my friends! Meltha is to return to us!”

“Meltha?” Edren responded, his voice full of quiet fear. “Meltha, you’re majesty?”

“Back, m-meltha’s coming back!” Thranduil began to chuckle again. Then silence fell.

“Your majesty?” It was Daurré this time who spoke worriedly into the door’s thick wood.

“He shall be no use.” Edren whispered. Daurré turned to look at him, and saw that Edren’s face had grown quite pale.

“Edren, what is it?”

“Meltha,” was all the other said in response. Edren shook his head, closing his eyes with a sigh. Daurré realized he was trembling. “It is worse than I had imagined.”

“Please, mellon nin, will you not tell me what is wrong?”

Edren shook his head. “I cannot now, Daurré . I’m sorry. But I can tell you this, Thranduil shall be absolutely no help to us.”

“But- we cannot go without consent of the king! Especially if he is in this frame of mind! I have no wish to get on his wrong side at this point, Edren.”

“Nor I.” Edren responded quietly.

“Then what shall we do?” Daurré leaned against the door in frustration, and looked up at his superior friend for help.

Edren sighed. “I have an idea. I do not know how successful we can make it, but if it works…if it works, we could solve two problems at once.”

Daurré shook his head. “What is it?”

**********

Daurré followed his friend in silence as they walked down the long stone hall. He’d been silent ever since they’d gotten close enough to Legolas’ door to his mournful elvish. He closed his eyes against the sorrow as the two got closer and closer to Legolas’ room.

“Edren, where-” but the other shook his head for silence, and Daurré unwillingly complied.

The song suddenly ceased as they stopped in front of their prince’s door. Without another word, Edren knocked on the thick wood.

“Come in, Edren,” Legolas’ quiet voice murmured, and the two stepped in.

The tray that had had Legolas’ food on it was in front of the door and empty. Edren stepped past it, and approached the prince himself. Legolas was beside Aragorn as usual, but this time, he was in the process of unwrapping the bandage around the human’s arm.

“It isn’t bleeding anymore.” Legolas answered the unasked question quietly, and proceeded to pull the thick, red-tinged cloth away from Aragorn’s cold forearm. He held the fabric close to him, as though it were a precious memento, and then put it aside, and went for the bandage around the ranger’s knee.

“Legolas?” Edren began timidly, walking towards the prince, and sensing Daurrè closing the door behind them. “I must speak with you.”

“Then speak,” Legolas said indifferently. “And please, sit down.”

Edren sank uneasily into an armchair just behind his friend. “You see- well, we- Daurrè was…” The elf shook his head angrily. “Legolas, listen. There are several elves who have recently passed to Mandos without our knowing. The other hunters that journeyed with Raustal. They are all but a few dead.”

Legolas didn’t respond, but Edren could tell by the way he slowed the unraveling of Aragorn’s bandage that he was listening.

“They have journeyed into Mirkwood for one reason: They are out to find Bengwiil, and bring it *all* back.”

Legolas pulled the blood-spattered cloth away from his friend’s half-healed knee, and set it aside. “Do you come to speak of Bengwiil again, Edren? To bring to surface the thing I most loathe to hear about?”

“No, Legolas. I come for your consent. I come for permission to go into Mirkwood and bring these elves *back* before they either kill themselves, or return with more damage than we ever asked for.”

Legolas turned around slowly, looking blearily at Edren. “Ask my father’s consent.”

“We tried. He has very nearly lost his mind, and would not even let us in. He is *for* the Bengwiil being brought back!”

Legolas sighed. “That does not surprise me. And it is not proof of insanity.”

Daurré rose from the floor, where he had been sitting, and faced Legolas eagerly. “But he said something over and over, didn’t he Edren? Something that he was very glad about.” Edren shook his head quickly, but Daurré didn’t catch the warning in time. “He said ‘meltha is coming back!’.” The elf finished and waited excitedly for Legolas’ response. Edren waited as well, but in silent concern.

At first, Legolas did nothing. Then, he sat down hard on the bed, beside Aragorn. “Oh Valar,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight. “He is indeed senseless then.”

“I am sorry, Legolas.” Edren whispered, rising to his feet, and sitting beside his friend. “I did not want to bring it up.”

The prince shook his head. “I care not. It is a feeling that has long-since died away from me.” Legolas turned to look at Aragorn’s still form. “At least it was never as painful as this. I had not known- I was very young,” he finished, looking down at the floor silently.

Daurré stood awkwardly before the two, looking from Edren to Legolas with wide eyes. “What- did I say something wrong?”

“No, Daurré ,” Legolas told him kindly. “It was not you. It is my father who has said something- something very, very wrong.”

“Meltha?” Daurré sat back down on the floor in confusion. “But what is so wrong with that, your highness?”

“Nothing I care to explain at present.” Legolas half-whispered, looking away from the elf swiftly. Uncomfortable silence filled the air to the brim, until Legolas finally spoke again. “Well, that is that. I can do nothing for him now. Perhaps we could ask Lord Elrond to come and see to him.”

“Yes, perhaps. Though we will need his consent for that as well. Or,” Edren continued, moving closer to Legolas so he could look him in the eye. “The next best thing.”

Legolas sighed. “Then if it means much, you have my permission to send for Lord Elrond. Though I am still unsure as to whether it will do anything for you or not. My father is still the king, Edren, despite his clear insanity.”

Edren nodded. “I understand that, Legolas. And- about the hunters in Mirkwood?”

Legolas closed his eyes slowly, and shook his head. “I cannot permit something I know so little about. And I will not risk your lives for this, Edren.”

“I should not worry about us, Legolas. It is the ones who are already in the woods that we should be concerned over. There are many creatures in Mirkwood at this time that shall be driven out by the rain, when it chooses to fall. And now there is talk of orcs and wargs in among the trees.”

Legolas sighed deeply. “It is not from these I fear your demise, my friend. It is the Bengwiil itself. Once you see it, smell it, feel it, will you not be tempted by its fabled healing powers? I have already lost one friend to Bengwiil, Edren.”

“You do not trust us to keep an open mind?” Edren began, and then shook his quickly. “No, I am sorry, Legolas, you’re right.”

“I trust you, Edren, and Daurré as well. But you will surely not go alone, and we need not have more elves infected by the Bengwiil’s lies. You have no idea what it can do.”

“But-” Edren tried again. “But, perhaps if *you* came with us. You would hold us back, and as a prince, they would listen to you.”

Legolas shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows as though in pain. “I will not- I *cannot* leave Aragorn, Edren. I shall never leave him.”

None spoke. They were afraid that they would say what they were *truly* thinking now. At length, Edren stood up, and faced Legolas. “Legolas, stop. You mustn’t *do* this to yourself! For hours and hours you sit in this dark room, reliving the last moments of his life.”

“It hurts-” Legolas choked desperately, turning to look down at Aragorn’s still body.

“I know it hurts.” Edren said, somewhat gentler. “Ne, lasto beth nin. Please listen.” Legolas only nodded slightly, and made no sound. “There are other things besides this. There are- there are other people. People who are *alive*, and need their prince. For they have no king right now. There is no use giving up life for the dead. But using your life for a life, there is honor and reward in this! You will never be at peace again until you sacrifice tragedy for hope.” Edren sank to his knees before the elf in front of him, and looked at him in desperation. “Please, Legolas. Will you not help?”

Legolas didn’t respond, and all Edren could see of him was the side of his head. He appeared to make no sign emotion at first. As Legolas turned his head towards Edren at last, his friend could see fear and pain shining in the prince’s eyes.

Legolas stared at his life-long-friend for a long moment. His heart felt torn in two. Every word Edren had spoken he knew to be completely correct. But he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t leave Aragorn! But as he turned and looked at the still human again, he could almost hear the ranger’s words in his ears.

Legolas’ breath quickened, and he shut his eyes tight. Reaching out for Aragorn’s hand, he could feel the words flowing through him, and knew the truth in them.

Over and over he heard the words in his head, and held Aragorn’s hand even tighter.

Finally, his eyes opened again, and he could see his friend lying still in front of him. And the memory of his friend’s last words were so vivid, that he half-expected his friend to begin repeating them. But no. Aragorn was as still as he had been every time Legolas looked down at him desperately. The truth, Legolas finally realized, could no longer be avoided. Aragorn wasn’t coming back. And the longer Legolas despaired over it, the harder it would be to finally face reality…and let go.

And Aragorn had asked him not to despair. If nothing else, that should have driven Legolas out of his tears days ago.

Legolas finally turned his face towards Edren again. He could feel silver tears sliding down his cheeks, and the lump in his throat constricted most speech. But the prince did his best to swallow it, and nodded. “I will help you.”

Edren smiled slowly, and laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Hannon le, mellon nin. More than I can say.” The elf stood from his kneeling position, and seemed eager to take Legolas from this dark room.

“But-” Legolas stopped him mid-way. “I would like a few moments with Estel. T-to say goodbye?” Legolas seemed ashamed of his weakness. The very fact that he wished to say last words to a dead man- a dead man whom he had been speaking to for several days -shone through as bright as the sun in the prince’s cheeks.

But the look of desperation, and yet-remaining heartache was so apparent in the young elf’s eyes, that Edren could only smile, and then nod to Daurré for them to leave. Legolas smiled sadly, but appreciatively as the two went swiftly from the room, and he was left alone with Aragorn.

*****

Maybe

I need to see the daylight

Leave behind the half-life

Don’t you see I’m breaking down?

Oh, lately

Something here don’t feel right

This is just a half-life

Is there really no escape?

No escape from time

Of any kind?

*****

Slowly, he slid off the bed, and knelt beside it instead. Reaching out for Aragorn’s hands again, he pressed them tenderly to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Aragorn.” He whispered, through rising tears. “I should not have despaired. But I am going to try again, and live a good life. Find a new light, and ever be searching for hope. But- it means leaving you, and I said I never would.” Legolas stood up slowly, letting go of Aragorn’s hands, and running his fingers through the ranger’s messy hair instead. “And so, I never shall. I will take you, your memory, ever with me. And may Ilúvatar bring dreams of you into my nights again and again. I- I shall never leave you, Aragorn. For you have left too great an impression on my life to forsake it.”

Legolas nodded, half-satisfied, and turned to walk away. But he couldn’t leave. His feet slowed as he reached the doorway, and he turned one last time. “But you cannot ask me to ever find a friend as-” He fought awhile in his mind, searching for a word that could possibly describe Aragorn’s undying friendship. But finding none, he concluded, “A friend as you. You, Aragorn, are unlike any other that shall ever be. And you could never be replaced, nay, even matched.” Legolas nodded slowly, and took one last, long look at his friend. “You are right, mellon nin. Hope remains. But I shall never find Estel again.”

And as the words fell from his lips, he turned unwillingly to the door, and walked out, feeling Estel’s everlasting hope leave with him, as well as the remaining echoes of his last words to his friend of friends.

In the room, the last sound was the door sliding shut, and soft footsteps walking away from the dark room. Aragorn lay peacefully on the bed, and despite the darkness, the hope fostered by his own heart all his life shone bright against the dark walls, or so it seemed. On his face was a look of peace, marred only by a strand of dark hair lying across his eyelid, and down to his cheek. But a breath of wind swept it away, leaving the human’s face virtually flawless.

A breath a wind? But it was impossible. For the window was closed, and there was no breeze in that room.

Chapter 4

Mist of Memory

Walk away

Something’s telling me to leave

Cause I can’t pray

And I’m too tired to sleep or grieve

Moments come now

For reprieve

And I’ll stay right here

Waiting for you

I’ll stay right here

Waiting for you now

Please, please

Bring peace

Edren whirled around at the sound of Legolas’ door closing. The prince stood there, looking pained, but a just a little less pained.

“Ready?” Edren asked kindly, approaching the elf carefully. Legolas only nodded, and looked down at the floor. Edren laid a gentle hand on the elf’s shoulder, and began walking down the hallway. “Daurré has gone to call on Átniir again.” Edren said lightly, fixing his friend with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Legolas returned the look weekly.

“You know, I have always thought that-”

“That he didn’t give up hunting because he’s afraid of wargs,” Edren chimed in, causing Legolas to laugh lightly. “I know, it’s true. Pity that Átniir is so fond of the creatures of the wood. Daurré would have made for a skilled hunter.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed. “But I must admit, meleth is more important than hunting.”

“Love and hunting,” Edren shrugged. “I’ve managed to balance both, lucky one that I am.”

Legolas smiled again, and then sighed. “Where are we going, Edren?”

“I’m taking you to my room,” Edren told him softly. “My Thernäd and I would be more than happy to make room, for we’ve plenty. And I don’t think you want to return to yours and certainly not Aragorn’s room.”

“No,” Legolas responded quietly. “Hannon le, mellon nin.”

“Don’t mention it,” Edren responded kindly, giving the prince’s shoulder a squeeze. “But seriously, don’t. Thernäd doesn’t much care for guests who aren’t thrilled to the point that they overlook thanks.” And Legolas could only smile.

Finally, they reached a tall, oak door. Edren pushed it open slowly, looking around inside the room, before ushering Legolas in.

“Edren, what-”

“Sh!” Edren hushed, pushing the door quietly shut.

“What are you doing?” Legolas whispered this time.

“Oh,” Edren blushed slightly. “Well, I didn’t think that I’d actually get you out of your room, see, and so- well, Thernäd doesn’t-”

“Edren? Is that you, love? Who are you talking to?”

“…doesn’t know you’re coming,” Edren finished, and his cheeks turned crimson. Legolas had only a chance to raise his eyebrows, before a candle was lit, and revealed a tall, fair elf, standing in the doorway. Her blonde hair reached just beyond her shoulder in length, and was half-tied in a flower stem.

“Suilad, Thernäd.” Edren tried to smile, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Legolas.

“Suilad,” The other responded, half-annoyed, half-amused. But mostly amused, though she tried to hide it. “And what are you doing sneaking around your own home, Edren?” Thernäd finally sighed, the control over her smile beginning to slip.

Edren shuffled nervously back and forth on his heals. “Well, I was- I went to talk to the king…and uh…I found some things out, and- yes. Yes, and then- well, then I went to see Prince Legolas, and I…well, he…was…darling, are you really angry?”

Thernäd’s smile could no longer be concealed, and she even laughed lightly. “Well, meleth nin, if I were to be angered every time you do something strange as this, I should be a *very* unhappy being.”

Edren sighed in relief, and smiled. “Yes, I- I had guessed that…well, I thought…but yes, you- I am glad you’re not angry.”

Thernäd’s smile widened, and she then fixed her eyes on the other companion. “And who, Edren, have you brought with you?”

“Oh!” Edren turned around, and found himself facing the back of Legolas’ head. The prince was shaking all over. “Legolas?” He turned the elf around quickly, so he could see what was wrong. Legolas’ lips were pursed together in an attempt to keep from laughing. But a dimple was appearing in the elf’s left cheek, and his eyes shone with half-hidden merriment.

“Legolas!” Edren cuffed him on the shoulder, hardly able to keep from smiling himself. “Darling, it is Prince Legolas.”

Thernäd put her hand to her chest, moving it away again swiftly, in a greeting. “Welcome to our home, your highness.”

Legolas returned the gesture. “Hannon le-” He cut himself off, remembering what Edren had said about thanks. “Hon le pedo Legolas nin? Mav-le garo mi?”

//will you call me Leoglas? As you have always done?//

Thernäd smiled, and nodded, but not before giving Edren a hard, but amused look. “Very well, Legolas. It is good to see you again. Here, come back this way,” she said gently, and walked across the living room towards a room on the other side.

Legolas followed silently, but not before sending one last grin in Edren’s direction. The look was met with hostility, which only made it widen, and Legolas finally looked away so he wouldn’t laugh. But as he did so, Edren couldn’t help smiling at the back of his retreating head. And as the prince disappeared after Thernäd into the next room, Edren whispered aloud: “He smiled!” and he raised his eyebrows in incomparable surprise.

“Here, you may stay here as long as you need.” Thernäd led Legolas to the simple queen size bed, in the corner. Beside it was a nightstand, and across from that was a small dresser. It wasn’t a big room, true, but Legolas felt instantly at home.

“It’s not big,” Thernäd began to voice Legolas’ first thoughts, so he quickly followed up with the rest of them.

“But it is comfortable, and friendly. And restful.” Smiling, he took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my friend.”

Thernäd smiled back, and nodded in a ‘you’re welcome’. Edren finally appeared in the doorway, and nodded towards the bed. “I’m afraid we have but two spare pillows. You are, I know, accustomed to having much more than that.”

Legolas smiled, and sat down on the bed. “Alas, I am indeed, but it does not follow that I appreciate it, only that I’ve grown accustomed to annoyance.” He reached over for one of the overstuffed pillows, and hugged it to his chest. “One shall be more than a enough for me.”

Edren smiled down at his friend, and put an arm around Thernäd’s shoulders. “Then we shall leave you in peace. Maer fuin, Legolas.”

“Maer fuin,” the other replied, and managed to keep a smile while the two left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Their voices could be heard in the hallway, as the two went to their bedroom.

“I am sorry that I did not tell you of Átniir, love,” Thernäd whispered. “I found from her today that she told you everything.”

“Worry not, Thernäd,” Edren responded softly. “If you will forgive my inviting Legolas without your knowledge?”

“Forgiven, and quite forgotten. I am glad you asked him to stay with us again. Though…”

“What is it?”

“You gave him the ‘she can’t take thank you’s’ speech, didn’t you?”

And laughter was easily heard, until it was smothered by a loving kiss, and then muffled by a closing bedroom door.

Once they were gone, Legolas’ façade fell away. Gripping the pillow with all his might, he swallowed the growing lump in his throat, hoping it would keep the tears from his eyes. No matter how hurt he felt, no matter how long he cried, and no matter how convincing his smiles were, he couldn’t change a thing. Aragorn was simply not coming back. And as Legolas looked down at the pillow in his arms, and the distant memory it brought surfaced in his aching mind, the thought of losing his best friend completely was almost too much to bare.

He lay down on his one pillow, pulling his feet up on the bed with him, and letting memories echo in his head.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling at the memory. It was so vivid, it could have happened yesterday. It only lacked a few details…

Legolas sat upright, his eyes dancing panicked about the room. The sudden realization had hit him so hard, he voiced the worry aloud. “What did his laugh sound like? How did Estel laugh…” His mind whirled. He couldn’t remember.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to breathe evenly. “Calm down,” he commanded his tense body. “Ea na gwiil…think. What did his laugh sound like?” He fought hard to concentrate, and yet he still couldn’t grasp the Ranger’s familiar laugh. Biting his lip hard, he lay back down, and sighed shakily. “It matters not,” he tried to tell himself. It didn’t work. And tears came reluctantly through his thoughts.

Legolas shut his eyes, and shook his head. “I will *not* cry,” he told himself quietly. But deep down, the never-ending pain of losing a dear friend, the longing to hear Aragorn say ‘maer fuin’ to him tonight, the constant loneliness of knowing no matter the wait, no matter the longing or loneliness, no matter the tears, it wouldn’t change this. Nothing could bring Aragorn back. All this put together brought a tide of tears to the surface.

But though he didn’t sob, he didn’t attempt to stop the salty tide either. Opening his eyes again, he let them slowly become unfocussed, and prayed in his heart that the Ilúvatar would grant him peace in his dreams. “Peace and Estel,” he pleaded of the night, as his mind turned to wandering in mist of dreams. “Just peace and Estel. Please…I want to hear him laugh again…I just want to hear him laugh.”

*****

I really want to see you

I really want to touch you

If only I could hold you

In my arms again!

“Legolas?”

It took Legolas several moments to realize where he was. Finally, in the fog of nothing, he saw walls appear slowly before him. Dark curtains appeared as well, and then he saw a bed. He was kneeling before it, his head lying on the mattress and his hands clutching the blankets. He blinked.

“Legolas!”

He sat up suddenly, and looking at the bed before him, realized that there was no one in it. But- how was it possible? Where *was* he? Standing to his feet, he looked about wildly. “Aragorn!”

“Legolas?” The voice was distant and haunting.

Legolas turned to the bed again, and though saw nothing, felt what was sitting there. But this nothing, this vapor, this air, moved from the bed suddenly, and vanished beyond the doorway.

“Aragorn no!” Legolas ran to the doorway, and felt the feeling stay where it was, and it did not continue to the stairs. “Wait, don’t go,” he pleaded, backing up some so he could try to focus on the nothing.

A sigh echoed off the walls around them, and the vapor turned to fog that swirled and slowly made a shape. The shape became being, and the being colored. Finally, Legolas was looking into familiar blue eyes.

“Aragorn,” Legolas whispered in relief, and reached out his arms.

Aragorn shook his head sadly, and held up a hand to stop the prince. “You know you cannot touch me, Legolas. You know I am gone.”

“But- no.” Legolas shook his head angrily. “I want to *hold* you again!”

“Legolas.” Aragorn’s voice was soft but stern. “Hauta han.”

//stop this.//

“Stop what?” Legolas asked quietly. “Is it wrong to want you back?”

“No,” Aragorn said simply. “Legolas, why do you despair?” he asked at last, his voice soft and sad.

Legolas felt a pang of guilt shake his heart. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss you so badly.”

“Oh, Legolas, I know,” Aragorn whispered, and he shook his head sorrowfully. “I never meant to hurt you, and I didn’t want to leave. I wish I could make you feel better.”

“You can do that without touching me,” Legolas told him quietly. “You’re here now, so don’t leave. Just stand here, speak to me, and don’t go. And I shan’t wake up.”

“No, Legolas,” Aragorn told him sternly. “You cannot live this way. It can hardly be said that you live at all. You must go back.”

“I don’t want to,” Legolas admitted, sinking to the floor, and pulling his knees to his chest. “I just want to stay as close to you as I can. That’s all I want anymore.”

Aragorn sighed and sank to the floor as well. “Legolas, I asked you not to despair. Don’t you understand? I don’t wish you to live this way!”

“Istón.” Legolas shook his head. “Oh, Aragorn, I am so, so sorry. I know what you asked of me, I see the truth in it, and I *do* honor your wishes! I do! And I don’t *like* being this way. I don’t *like* realizing that I don’t remember our fondest of memories as clearly as I remember your death! But- I cannot help it. You can’t ask me not to miss you.”

“Oh…Legolas,” Aragorn sighed closing his eyes. “I never asked you not to miss me. I know how strong our bond was. I could *never* have expected you to let go of me. That is why I asked you not to forget me. There is a midway point, my friend. Between despair and hope. You can remember me without despairing for my passing.”

“I know this, I just-”

“No, no.” Aragorn made as if to put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, but stopped halfway, and held it midair instead. “If you still have doubt in your mind, you do not understand.”

“No, I have no doubt,” Legolas whispered, looking longingly at his friend’s outstretched hand, wishing to clasp it in his own. “I just don’t think I can do it.”

“You are in control of your own emotions, Legolas. You can *make* yourself let go. And I am not only asking you now, I am telling you. Legolas?” Legolas only nodded, and looked up to meet Aragorn’s eyes. “Do not despair.”

Legolas’ throat closed up, and he looked down at the floor to keep the tears away. “Are you staying?”

“No.”

His head jerked up. “But- Aragorn, you must! I need-”

“Legolas, I am no longer with you, but that does not leave *you* lifeless as I. Go. Go and do not forget me.”

Aragorn’s shadowy form began to look more and more like fog. Soon, he was only a glowing mist, and he began to float away.

“No! No, Aragorn, come back! I will not despair, I promise! I will do whatever you say, I will find a new hope! I swear it-” Legolas’ throat constricted further speech, and tears began to run freely down his cheeks.

“Aragorn!” Legolas felt a calm hand clasp his own, and he looked about his room wildly.

“Sh…ea na gwiil, Legolas.” Thernäd’s voice came softly through his consciousness.

“No! No, Aragorn’s leaving. I must find him!” Legolas pried Thernäd’s gentle fingers off his arm, and he began running from the room.

“Edren!” Thernäd cried, trying to hold Legolas back by his shoulder this time. “Edren, help me!”

“Let go,” Legolas whispered in uneasy calm. “Let me go!” He gave Thernäd a push, landing the elf on the bed again, and without a backwards glance, he dashed out to doorway. Looking about frantically for the door, he ran to it, and jerked it open.

A hand landed on his shoulder firmly. “Legolas!”

“No! Leave me! Aragorn’s leaving, I must go find him!”

“Legolas no!” Edren pulled the prince back into the entryway of the room, keeping Legolas from entering the hallway. “Hauta han!”

//stop this!//

Legolas’ eyes grew wider, and Edren realized they were unfocussed. The prince was not fully awake. Without another word, Legolas shoved Edren as well. But his friend was not as light as Thernäd, and he was only thrown back a step. But it was enough.

Like a wild animal, Legolas ran down the hall, and swerved towards Aragorn’s bedroom. “No, Legolas! Don’t go back in there!” Edren cried, running down the hall with a silver pitcher clutched in his hand. But Legolas began wrenching at the door handle anyway, as though he hadn’t heard him.

Just as the door was swinging open, Legolas whispering Aragorn’s name all the while, it was pulled shut again. “Edren no!” Legolas tried to push his friend away again, but Edren gripped him firmly around the waist, and hoisted him away from the door.

Before Legolas could respond, Edren swiftly poured the contents of the silver pitcher over his head, and letting the pitcher fall clattering to the floor, held him firmly by his shoulders. “Legolas, lahrink!” He said shaking him lightly. “I am not your enemy. It is Edren.”

Legolas shivered slightly, blinking ice water out of his eyes. Slowly, he focused on the elf before him. “Edren?” he whispered brokenly. “I- I…” He cut off in a choked sob, and blinked tears from his eyes along with the water. “Aragorn…” he whispered.

“Istón, mellon nin.” Edren pulled his soaking friend into a quick embrace. “Sh…Istón.”

“I’m s-s-so sorry.” Legolas whispered, his teeth beginning to chatter from the cold water combined with the night air rushing through the windows around them.

“Ú -moe edvad, Legolas.” Edren soothed, massaging his friend’s back comfortingly. “You cannot help your pain.”

//there is nothing to forgive, Legolas.//

“N-not just this. Everything. I- I have despaired for s-s-so long, I’ve f-forgotten you, and father, and-and even Estel. I was too busy despairing over Estel, I’ve forgotten everything he told me.” He sighed shakily, and then pulled back from Edren so he could look him in the eye. “I saw him.”

Edren swallowed hard. “You did?”

“He spoke to me. He told me not to despair, and reminded me of my life. He- he had to go…” Legolas’ eyebrows creased into a look of confusion. “H-he left…I wanted him to s-stay…”

Unexpectedly, Legolas’ knees gave out, and Edren only just managed to catch him under the arms. “Easy, my friend,” he whispered, supporting the prince to his feet. “You have not slept or eaten much in days. You’ve now officially exhausted yourself, and it is not good for an elf to feel thus.”

“No,” Legolas admitted. “Thank you, Edren.”

“Ea le govonnen,” his friend responded, smiling, and grabbing the silver pitcher, before leading Legolas down the hallway once more.

It took them a little while to reach the room again, with Legolas only barely staggering on his feet. But finally, Edren pushed the room’s door open again, and they were back. Thernäd rose from where she’d been told by Edren to stay until he returned with Legolas.

“Thernäd,” Legolas whispered through chattering teeth. “I’m s-sorry-”

“Istón,” Thernäd whispered, moving to Legolas’ side, and throwing a blanket over his shoulders. “Come,” she said softly and smiled, leading to two to Legolas’ room once more.

Legolas lay down on the bed, and pulled the covers over him. “Hannon le,” he whispered drowsily. He hated to lie down and just sleep after such an escapade, but he knew his body was tired, and after being emotionally drained for so long, sleep was nothing short of blissful release.

And as Edren and Thernäd whispered encouragements he was too tired to catch, he allowed his eyes to become unfocused once more, and begged Ilúvatar silently. “I don’t want to see Estel this night. Please. Not until I have done as I’ve promised, and finally forsaken despair…”

Chapter 5

A Final Fall

Every night in my dreams

I see you, I feel you

That is how I know you

Go on

Far across the distance

And spaces between us

You have come to show you

Go on

Near, far

Wherever you are

I believe that the heart does go on

Once more

You open the door

And you’re here in my heart and

My heart will go on and on…

Edren crept silently into Legolas’ room, trying hard not to wake him. But upon opening the door, he found him already awake. Legolas sat on the edge of his bed, the blankets and pillows put neatly in their place behind him. When he looked up at the elf before him, his eyes shone ever so slightly in the morning sun, and Edren knew that he was feeling better.

“Are you well?” Edren asked quietly, sitting down beside the prince.

“Better, now,” came the soft reply.

“Did you see Estel again last night?” the friend pressed anxiously.

“No,” Legolas answered, and to his companion’s surprise, smiled. He sighed and shook his head. “I am quite disappointed with myself, Edren.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“What’s *right*?” Legolas countered, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, and resting his chin on his hands. “Aragorn put everything in black and white for me, moments before he died. He set us apart by race, and reunited us by friendship. He acknowledged that I would miss him, and told me not to despair, but to remember him with hope. And look what I’ve done.” He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I’ve done just the opposite of his wishes. I’ve pushed my aching heart beyond the brink of despair, and have forgotten all that was good and hopeful about him. And this is where it’s led me.”

Silence fell. Edren didn’t know what to say. Mostly everything Legolas had just told him were things he knew, and had wished to tell the prince himself, at one time or another. But he didn’t have to think of a comment, for Legolas sat back, and kept going.

“I’ll admit, I’ve tried to let go. When I left Aragorn’s room, I thought I *was* letting go. But I still hung onto the pain of loss, and I carried it here, and I took it deep into my dreams to where I was made to meet Estel again. Face-to-face with my dearest friend, I felt the weight of my despair so heavily.”

Finally, Edren thought of a hopefully distracting question. “Did you not dream at all last night?”

“Of course I did,” Legolas responded, a look of fear and guilt crossing his face as he looked down at the floor. Edren wasn’t going to push him, but the prince spoke up of his own accord. “I wandered to where I’d last seen Estel. But he was not there. So, I wandered farther, and for some reason, found myself beside a small stream that does not exist in Mirkwood. I looked into it, and knew it had been set there for one purpose alone. Me. I saw my reflection, and yet…it wasn’t me.”

Legolas paused, and looked guiltily around the room, trying to keep the tears down. “I suppose you *know* what I saw, Edren,” he said softly, looking anywhere but at the one he was addressing. “I suppose it’s what you’ve seen on my face for a long time, these past days.”

He closed his eyes, trying to recreate the dream in his head. “I was dark. Not in lighting, but just- dark. My eyes, they were so full of tears, but when the tears fell, they hit the water, and the ripples created more tears in my reflection. And on my face- it was a look of deepest despair. Despair that ran *so* deep, I could feel the look in my chest. And- and then, I leaned forward to get a better look…” Legolas’ hand moved unconsciously to his chest, and he slowly massaged the place where his heart was beating. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and shook his head as he faced Edren. “I am so utterly ashamed of myself, Edren. It never should have gotten this far, no matter how broken I felt. Can you ever forgive me?”

Edren blinked, too stunned to respond. He had not expected to hear any such revelation this soon. Legolas had only just let go. How could Edren have expected him to see truth and hope through it all? Suddenly, he realized what his blank expression must look like, and he quickly got his mouth moving. “Of course, my friend. Of course. I- I had not expected such words from you. Not now.”

“I am sorry,” Legolas repeated, but his eyes were bright with relief at the elf’s quick forgiveness. “I’m going to try and make this whole situation better. Granted, I still miss Estel deeply. But- I cannot let that be the cause of my life. I need a higher goal, than to suffer over his death.” He tried to speak with conviction, but Edren could see the struggle remained.

“I understand,” was all he said.

“And I wish I did not go deeper than this.”

Edren shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“All this despair. All this shadow. It didn’t start with Estel’s death.” Legolas took a long sigh and tears were once again forming in his eyes, as true disappointment struck him. “I gave up on him, Edren. I should have tried so, *so* much harder. If he didn’t want to go to Rivendell, I should have put him on the horse, and forced him there.”

“Legolas, no one could have made Aragorn’s decisions for him. You did what you felt needed to be done, as far as his wishes went.”

“But they weren’t his wishes!” Legolas shouted, tear-chocked, as he rose from the bed, and stalked a foot away. “I, who have experienced the full horror of Bengwiil should have realized that he was not speaking through his own lips. He was speaking through his Bengwiil-infected mind. He would have known better, and gone to Rivendell, had he been in his right mind.”

“But had you forced him, Legolas, you would have scarred him. You know this. It would have remained a true memory, even once the poison was gone. A nightmare, where his best friend turned against him.”

Legolas nodded slowly, and returned to the bed, sitting down, and drawing his knees up to his chin. “But that is not all…I…I feel the blame for it all. I never should have let it happen. Despite what you say, Edren, I still feel I could have stopped it. And I should have fought harder for Estel’s life.”

“Why do you feel it must be your fault alone?” Edren whispered softly, desperate to understand the prince’s reasoning. Legolas pressed his forehead against his knees, and exhaled gently. The gesture made him look like a lost one, and it hurt Edren to see his friend so vulnerable.

“Because Aragorn was right. Because he’s a human, and I’m of elven kind. And for that, I was responsible for him. He was younger. He was weaker. To me, he was a friend, but really, he was but a boy.” Legolas shook his head. “A human, Edren…just a little boy.”

“I know that, Legolas, I know. But he was strong, even for a human.”

“Not strong enough,” Legolas whispered.

“It is in the past,” Edren promised, laying an arm around the prince’s shoulders. “You cannot help it now. You begin to despair again, Legolas.”

At this, Legolas’ head shot up, and he wiped his tears away hastily on his sleeve. “Istón, my friend, forgive me. This will be harder than I thought.”

“It is all right, Legolas. I will help you, if you would like.” Edren smiled encouragingly, and brought his right hand around to his face. Placing the knuckle of his thumb between his eyes, and holding the rest of his fingers in a fist, he brought his thumb down his nose, in a long, sweeping arc, and held it out to the prince.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling, and returned the gesture, wrapping his thumb around Edren’s when it reached that point. The ‘handshake’ or sorts had been concocted by Legolas when he and Edren were boys. He’d found out from his father that to slide one’s thumb down their nose just that way was the sign for oliphaunt among the Haradrim. He and Edren had thought it just the funniest thing, so Edren had helpfully suggested connecting their thumbs at the end of it, and it became their ‘secret handshake‘. Though secret it was not, for upon creating it, they just *had* to tell all in the Halls!

Legolas pulled his thumb back, and shook his head in laugher. “I cannot believe you remember that, mellon nin.”

“Well,” Edren shrugged. “It became an old habit.”

“Of course.” Legolas tried to hide his smile, but it didn’t work.

Edren only smiled in return. “So…what are you going to do?”

“That is a good question.” Legolas sighed, smiling even broader. He was suddenly so relieved to realize, he had his life now. What *was* he going to do? “Well, I think I shall start by moving back to my bedroom. If that is all right with you and Thernäd.”

“Of course!” Edren smiled. “I don’t mind in the least. But remember, you are always welcome in our home.”

“Istón, mellon nin,” Legolas smiled in return, and rose from his bed. “I think I shall go now, so I can get my bearings again. Perhaps, on the way, you can fill me in, with greater detail, as to what Átniir told you and Daurrè.”

“Very well, Legolas.”

**********

“Oh my.” Legolas sighed, rubbing his forehead. He and Edren had stopped in the hallway awhile ago, so Legolas could better take it all in, rather than continue walking to his room. When he heard about Fenan throwing the door open, to hear Legolas’ song, the prince stopped dead in his tracks and closed his eyes.

Now, as the tale was complete the two stood in silence awhile longer. “Oh. My.” Legolas repeated, this time firmer, and with less surprise, and more horrified understanding. “All this,” he whispered. “Is my fault.”

“No.” Legolas was surprised by the stern and sudden response, and realized his friend had been expecting such a comment. “No, Legolas, don’t you *even* try to blame this on yourself. Bengwiil, defiantly. Mornaeg, yes. Fenan and Anwé, probably. Your father…maybe. But you are *not* the one that this falls upon.”

“But the tears- the song…I wasn’t there for my people, when my father was gone. That is what a prince is *there* for!” Legolas gritted in an irritated voice. “I can’t believe I was so blind! I can’t believe I let it go so far!”

“Legolas.” The prince was pulled back from his outburst by the quiet word. Yes, his anger was understandable enough, and fostered by pent-up frustration and pain. But Legolas knew as well as his considerably calmer friend that it would do no good.

He couldn’t help smiling. “Forgive me.” And the smile widened.

Edren shook his head. “What is so funny?”

“Something I once told Aragorn.” Legolas whispered softly, the memory flooding back into his mind like a breath of cold air.

He shook his head silently, and looked at the floor. “I miss him.”

“I know,” was all Edren could respond.

“But- it is better now.” Legolas looked up, a new light in his eye. “Did you know this is the first time I’ve recalled and welcomed a pleasant memory of us since he left? For so, *so* long, all I could remember was his death.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and let the smile that had begun to fade become apparent once more. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to remember that.”

Edren smiled in his own relief. “Come, let’s keep going.”

“Ah, yes!” Legolas nodded, and pushing his elbows against the wall he’d been leaning on, came to standing position in the middle of the hall once again. “Come.”

They continued down the hallway, both feeling just a bit better. Legolas believed that if only he could still picture Aragorn’s smiling eyes, the memory of the apology conversation would be perfect. As they reached his door, he was pretty sure he had a good picture. He just wished he knew it was the right one.

“Legolas!” Legolas jerked out of his silent revelry to find Edren looking at him intently. But somewhere, Legolas had sensed something was wrong already. He wished he’d acted.

Catching himself on the handle of his room’s door, Legolas steadied his feet on the slippery substance he’d landed on. “Sorry,” he muttered, annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner. Slipping was certainly not a very elven mistake.

Shrugging it off for the sake of a more pressing matter, he looked down at his feet, to figure out what it had been. He shuddered. Blood.

“Whose?” Edren asked quietly.

“I don’t know…” Legolas murmured, looking at the door, where a bloody handprint lay. “But I’m going to find out.” Silently, he pushed the door open to a grim sight.

Blood. It lay everywhere. All over the floor, desk, chair, bedposts, blankets, pillows…Legolas shook his head in disgust as he took in the gruesome sight.

“Who would *do* this?!” Edren demanded, looking around at the mess hotly.

Legolas didn’t need to guess. He knew. “Mornaeg.” Glancing around the room, he moved in to get a closer look. It appeared the loathsome elf had dragged his bloodied leg all over the floor, walls and furniture. He seemed to make a special point of kneeling over each blanket and pillow.

Legolas reached for a bloodstained pillow, and shook it angrily. “My friend is *dead* Morneag,” he whispered, and in a burst of anger and frustration, threw it at the wall. “And even now you torment me in what is left of him!” he shouted furiously, and threw another pillow. “Why must you do this?! What did I do?! Why did I deserve to lose my dearest frie-” Choked, he sank to the bloodied floor boards, and covered his face with red-tinged fingers.

“He can’t take Aragorn’s memory away,” Edren told his friend softly, moving beside him on the reddened floor. “Nobody can.” Edren didn’t understand the significance of the pillows, but he *did* know that it clearly struck Legolas deep.

The prince shook his head, and rose to his feet. “I’m not going to cry…again.” He was surprised to hear the words he’d thought so long coming from his own lips. He wasn’t ashamed. He was too busy thinking about something else right now.

“Come,” he told his friend, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

“What are you doing.” Edren’s voice was uneasy. He didn’t like the look in the elf’s eye.

“I’m going to the tower room,” Legolas responded flatly, and turned out the door, and began following the blood trail outside his door.

*****

You're kissing the dark
You're courting your pride
You wonder is it greener on the other side
But they have nothing to offer you!

All you're missing is a heartache
A disillusion for a keepsake
A life of living with your own mistake
All you're missing is a heartache!

****

“Legolas, wait!” Edren called for the umpteenth time. He’d been a little slow on full realization. Once it struck, Legolas was already halfway up the stairs. The elf had hastened to follow his friend, but it wasn’t quite quick enough.

Frantically, Edren chased his friend’s footsteps up the staircase, doing his best to avoid the slippery blood on the dark steps, and trying to call him back the whole while. “Legolas!” he called again. “Legolas, hauta! Hauta na nin!” he tried, but to no avail.

//wait for me!//

Finally, he caught a glimpse of the prince’s golden hair disappearing around a bend. By the time he caught the elf, he was standing in front of the door, preparing to push it open. Edren quickly snatched his hand away from the door handle. “No! Legolas, wait. Talk to me, what are you going to do in there?”

“You know, Edren.”

Yes, Edren did know, or at least, he was afraid he did. But perhaps, if he could make Legolas *admit* it…would the prince realize how crazy it was? “Legolas, listen. If you kill Mornaeg, you will only make this worse.”

“It is the only way to avenge Estel,” Legolas responded quietly, thumbing his arrow carefully. He seemed to be completely gone, and yet, as he lifted his gaze to Edren’s again, his friend could see confusion and uncertainty behind the look. He was still trying to figure it out. There was hope yet to change his mind.

“You don’t really want to avenge Estel, do you? You miss him, you want him back. But this won’t make it happen.”

“But it *will* recreate what happened to him. Maybe…if I could see it. Maybe I wouldn’t miss him so much. If I could better understand what happened; I’ll see it happen with Mornaeg. It’s the only way.”

“Legolas, you can‘t-”

“Aragorn suggested if I knew more about Bengwiil, I could defeat it. He’s right. And if I knew more about Aragorn’s death…” He nodded, a frightening amount of crazed certainty seeping into his face. “I’ll recreate it. Every scratch, cut and scar will be exactly as they were on Aragorn.”

“What madness is this?!” Edren demanded angrily, shaking his friend by the arm. “Why do you wish to *see* that misery all over!”

“You’ll see. Mornaeg will regret his hate.” Legolas pushed the door open.

“So will you!” Edren pulled his friend back a step. “Legolas, don’t you know what you’re *saying*? Think! Are these not the words of Mornaeg? What makes you different from him, if you kill him as he has killed Aragorn? What would Aragorn say if he knew what you are *doing* to yourself?”

Legolas locked his jaw, trying not to listen. But then…cruel, evil words seeped into his mind…

They were the words of Mornaeg…he was speaking *just* as Mornaeg. And then…his own words reverberated in his head…

His gaze rose to Edren’s and he realized: Hadn’t his friend said those very words not two minutes ago? It was frighteningly familiar.

“Edren,” he whispered, so quietly, he could barely hear it. “I can’t- I don’t believe I’ve already fallen into my despair so soon.” He shook his head slowly, and looked up at the rafters above them. “I am glad Aragorn can’t see me now.”

He soon felt a finger press lightly against his chin, and slide his sight back to the elf standing in front of him. Edren’s eyes were bright and full of promise as he whispered: “He would be proud of how you have tried. You cannot be asked or expected to hold on for so long, only to let go so quickly. It’s going to take time. But you have time, Legolas. Don’t rush yourself. Please.”

Legolas held the other’s gaze steadily a long moment. “Aragorn was right,” he murmured at last. Edren cocked his head to the side in question. “Estel remains. I’m watching it. Right now. I see it in your eyes, Edren.” Legolas’ silver gaze jumped from Edren’s right eye to his left and back in rapid secession over and over. He finally smiled. “I never thought I’d see that glint again. I only wish I could have shown it myself.” He shook his head, and looked down at his bloody hands. “I disgrace Aragorn’s memory by all I’ve done since he passed.”

“Not all,” Edren corrected kindly. “Not just now. Not when you acknowledged the parting words of your friend. ‘Estel remains’. Don’t you think he’d be proud to hear that?”

“You’re right,” Legolas sighed. “But if it’s all right with you…I think I’d prefer to not think about him right now.”

Edren nodded. “I understand completely.”

“I knew you would.” Legolas gave a half smile, and stepped through the doorway.

“Legolas-” Edren jumped at the sudden movement, and was surprised to see Legolas doing what he’d just resolved not to. “What are you doing?”

Legolas turned back around, and shook his head. “True. I would be more than wrong to take Mornaeg’s blood. But that does *not* mean I’m leaving him unpunished. He will find judgment with my father, and all that abide in Mirkwood.” Legolas shook his head, and looked down at the floor. “He will surely be banished from this realm,” he added, trying hard to look as though he did *not* relish the thought.

Edren looked upon his friend with a worried eye. He didn’t like the way the prince was discussing the evil elf. But he didn’t have time to mention it, for Legolas walked into the room, and Edren had to quicken his pace to make his entrance simultaneous with the prince’s.

As they walked in, they realized that there had been an accident, or something. Paper swirled all over the floor, ink spread to the four corners of the room, blankets were ripped, pillows slashed, and the bedposts missing junks. Everything appeared to have been shredded by a knife at least once. Even the floor and walls held signs of a blade.

The writing desk was the only thing still standing, and even it was missing chunks of wood. The chair, however, had been reduced to sticks and splinters that lay in a growing pond of green ink.

Protruding from the writing desk’s surface was an arrow. Legolas ran to the desk, and jerked the arrow free. Briefly inspecting the fletching, he realized it was his own. The one he’d shot Mornaeg in the knee with, no doubt.

Dropping the arrow, he quickly grabbed the note it had been pinning to the desk. The letters on it were written in an all-too-familiar shade of red. The bloodlike ink Mornaeg had poured over his tunic to cover Aragorn’s blood, that night he attacked the helpless Ranger.

Shaking with rage at the very sight of the ink-ink that still sparkled from recent use-Legolas read the ominous letters carefully.

Uuvam rim ad, Lindo, ea datha mi Mandossea im.

Legolas’ fingers closed slowly, the paper crumpling beneath the pressure. Edren studied the elf carefully. Did he know? He couldn’t. Not after all this. Mornaeg had gone too far this time. He was going to undo everything at this rate…everything he’d done, he’d sacrificed.

“Legolas?”

The prince shook his head. “It’s terrifying.”

“What is?”

“It’s seems so…familiar to me. But I don’t remember it. That’s what is so terrifying. It’s like…like when you wake up in a…”

“…in a dream,” Edren finished unconsciously. Realizing how obvious he’d been, his head shot up. Had he noticed?

“Yes,” Legolas nodded, and didn’t notice Edren sigh in silent relief. “When you wake up from a daydream, and fight so hard to remember it. And yet- yet you don’t quite want to, because why should you? It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen.”

Edren closed his eyes against the words. Right now, Legolas had now way of knowing his friend was feeling the same familiarity pain. Please stop. He thought quietly. Please, Legolas, before you remember too much…

Legolas shook his head, and looked around the room once more, trying to push those thoughts away for now. His eyes caught the window, where slashed curtains hung, like a collection of dirty rags. Mornaeg’s demented knife strokes hadn’t spared a thing. Not even the rich curtains.

Legolas ran to the windowsill, and found a bloodied knife-perhaps the one that has caused so much damage-lying on the floor. He didn’t stoop to pick it up, he knew whose it was. Leaning reluctantly over the sill, he saw what he was afraid he would.

An elf caught in a tree. He lay, pale and limp, and covered in blood. Legolas closed his eyes. “Oh Mornaeg…” he whispered. The elf had indeed thrown himself over the windowsill, and Legolas knew he was probably staring down from Mandos as the friends stood by his death place.

“Namä rié , Tiro Lim.”

Edren’s head shot around, until he was looking intently at Legolas. “Why do you call him that?”

“I don’t know…he said it in the note, and…it felt right.” Legolas’ eyebrows creased with confusion. “I’m sorry, my friend, I just- I don’t understand any of it.”

Edren sighed. “I know.”

“You-”

“Don’t get me wrong, mellon nin, I don’t pretend to understand what is going on any better than you. But- I know that…that it must be hard.”

Legolas shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

Edren sighed. “It’s hard to- to have Mornaeg in your past for so long, and not know…I’m just sorry he went this way.” Edren cocked his head to the window, and tried to smile. “But, at least he will never hurt another as he has you.”

Legolas tried to feel encouraged by this, but somehow…now that Mornaeg was gone, he felt a great hole somewhere inside of him. Why did he care? He was all set to kill the elf himself not long ago. He glanced down at the note once more, reading the last line.

Uuvam rim ad, Lindo, ea datha mi Mandossea im.

“I will *not* join you in Mandos, Mornaeg. You are wrong. I am not like you.” Legolas grabbed the arrow that he’d shot Mornaeg with, shoving the note back onto the pointed end. Stringing his bow with it, he aimed out the window, and sent the arrow flying over Mirkwood. It soared over the treetops, and then, with a birdlike dive, disappeared amongst their shadowed leaves.

“Goodbye.” He said flatly, and turned from the window.

Chapter 6

Meltha

“We should inform my father of Mornaeg’s death,” Legolas murmured quietly as he and Edren journeyed back down the dark staircase. Legolas didn’t even stop at his door, but moved quickly down the hall, and up a familiar flight of stairs. Turning abruptly, he marched to his father’s door. Not even pausing, or waiting for Edren, he lifted his fist to the oak door, and rapt it quickly.

Nothing.

Legolas didn’t bother knocking again. “Father? Father, it is Legolas!”

Nothing. Of course.

Legolas sighed, and as if in frustration, kicked at the doorpost beside the locked door. Edren thought at first that the prince had broken it, but then he realized the piece of wood that fell away from the doorpost was a perfect rectangle.

Legolas automatically stooped down, and pulled from the hole the broken piece had left, a small, silver key. Standing up again, he shoved it into the lock, turned it easily, and then put it back into the hollow post. As he was placing the wooden piece into it’s place again, he glanced up at his friend. “Oh…” he murmured, as though he’d only just noticed Edren standing there. “Uh…you…didn’t see that.”

Edren nodded. “Understood,” he grinned.

Legolas smiled briefly, and then turned the unlocked doorknob, and swiftly walked inside. “Stay here, Edren, please.”

“Of course.” Edren nodded, knowing how conversations between Legolas and his father could get.

**********

“Father?” Legolas closed the door quietly behind him, and widened his eyes in the darkness, trying hard to see through the gloom. A loud crash startled him, and it took him a few moments to realize that he had been the one to cause it. Righting the side table he’d walked into, he kept walking through the dark room.

Finally, he realized his father’s great bed was before him, at knee level. “Father?” Legolas repeated, squinting down at the blankets, trying to see if his father lay there. But looking up, he finally saw that Thranduil was standing at the window, looking through the heavy curtains.

“Father, I must speak with you.”

“What is it,” came a soft reply, that sounded quite unlike Thranduil.

“I need to tell you about-”

“What *is* it?!”

“Edren and I were-”

“What is it, and where has it gone?!”

“Where is- what is *what*?!” Legolas knelt on the bed, looking intently at his father, fear piercing his heart. These strange comments that so often fell from the elfking’s lips were beginning to frighten him.

“The feeling. I don’t understand it, I don’t know where it is! I want it back, find it Legolas, bring it back!”

“I- Father, I do not know of what you speak! I cannot help you, unless you talk sense.”

Thranduil didn’t answer, he only turned back to the window. “Then you are no use to me. Leave.”

Legolas sighed. “Listen, Father. Mornaeg is dead.”

“What? How?!” The elfking demanded, whirling about.

Legolas paused only a moment. “He jumped out of the window in his tower room. Soon after he came in Aragorn’s bedroom before…Aragorn went.”

Tranduil looked out the window again, shaking. The room had been silent before, but now, the silence was so deafening and purposeful, it hurt Legolas’ ears. Thanduil was shaking, but not with tears. As he turned, Legolas could see anger etched on his face.

“So…you weren’t satisfied with killing Minaeg, you had to kill his brother as well!”

Replies like: “That’s not true!” or “You’re wrong!” or “What are you talking about?!” came like a flood through Legolas’ mind, but none seemed to express the utter confusion and rage he felt boiling in him, so he kept silent, as his face vaguely portrayed what he was feeling.

Thranduil seemed to take his silence as assent, as he crossed away from the window, and approached his bed, where Legolas knelt. “Why must you destroy everything I love?! What will you leave me with?!”

Legolas still couldn’t speak. His mouth had gone dry in fear. Slowly, he began to crawl backwards off the bed, but Thranduil lurched forward, grabbing his son by the forearm, jerking it angrily. “I am speaking to you!” Legolas’ arm flew out from under him, and he fell sideways out of his crawling position.

His head contacted hard with something glass. Looking around as best he could, with his father still holding his arm and whispering incoherently, he found himself face-to-face with a glass tankard. Turning his head to the other side, he realized that there was an empty and broken casket sitting beside the bed.

Cold fear took hold of him as he looked up at his father once more. As the king muttered on, Legolas caught a trace of wine on his father’s breath. “Father?” he asked quietly, trying to ignore the growing pain in his captive arm. “Father, why have you been drinking? It is still spring…you save the wine you have opened till fall, to celebrate the Hunting that begins then.”

The king just looked blankly down at him. “What are you saying. That a king cannot drink his own *wine* now?!”

“No,” Legolas murmured gently. Fond as he knew Thranduil was of wine, he also knew that the elfking seldom got drunk on the special drink, especially wine as strong as this, unless for celebration…or just the opposite, which was the reason Legolas suspected his father was drinking it now. To forget.

“Father…why are you drinking?”

Thranduil finally seemed to focus on his son, and his grip on the prince’s arm relaxed a bit. “Because…because…I hate myself. Because it’s all wrong. Because I cannot find Meltha!”

Legolas shuddered a the words. “You do not hate yourself. And we can make this right again. Please, let me talk to you.” Legolas’ silver eyes searched the matching ones above him. “Let me be your son. Please.”

Thranduil was silent a long moment. Finally, “I d-don’t want a son. I want Meltha! I want Meltha back, Legolas.”

Legolas swallowed hard at the rejection as well as the latter comment. “Naneth isn’t coming back, Father. You know that. Please…don’t dwell on it.”

The king’s face was still resistant, but he seemed to relax just a bit more, and Legolas finally pulled his arm back, rubbing it ruefully.

“But you don’t understand, Legolas. I have *seen* Meltha again.”

Legolas shook his head in despair. “It is the wine, Father.”

“You don’t know what I know,” Thranduil excused easily, and smiled a smile that was strange and eerie on his fair face. Sighing, as if in forgiveness of his son, he added, “What have you come to tell me, fion nin, I cannot remember.”

Legolas bit his lip. “Mornaeg is dead.”

Thranduil looked up at the prince suddenly, and something in him seemed to snap. Legolas caught it, and quickly made a duck off the bed, but wasn’t quite quick enough. He had almost made it away from the mattress, when he felt sudden pain in his head, and was pulled backwards by his hair.

Landing on his back, sprawled on the bed once more, he found himself looking up at Thranduil again. “You’ve ruined everything!” the king shouted. “You’ve killed him!”

“I have not-”

“Ea diinen!” his father shouted furiously, lashing out with the hand that wasn’t clutching his son’s hair.

//be silent!//

Legolas’ hand flew to his stinging cheek, and memories of that night when Aragorn had first been poisoned by Bengwiil came flooding into his mind…

There was no sign of this guilt anymore. Something in Thranduil had gone just too far. The king’s breath shuddered. “You do not know what you have done.”

Legolas felt a cold shiver run down his body. No, he couldn’t listen to this again! The same words from his dream, long ago, it seemed, echoed in his head. Had that been a vision? Had his dream been a look into the future? But it was impossible…his father had known what words had been spoken in the dream…

It could *not* have been a vision. But- why was it in his dream? It all seemed…familiar…

Legolas stared up at the elfking, wondering, fearing what he may do. For a moment, he did nothing. Then, as if in a spasm, he hurled the prince forward, letting go of his hair midway, and allowing him land flat on the floor. Legolas pushed himself up, and tasted blood.

He stumbled to his feet, and whirled around in time to duck the tankard that was hurled at his head. “Father, stop!” he cried desperately, as he tried to get behind the king to catch his flailing arms, so he couldn’t throw anything else.

Thranduil caught the maneuver too quickly, and swiveled around, hitting his son hard in the face with his elbow. Legolas was sent sprawling once more, this time, into another barrel. The scent of wine fill the empty air to the brim, and Legolas found himself thrashing in the sticky liquid, trying to pull out of it’s overbearing odor.

Finally free of the crimson puddle, he dived over the bed, and grabbed his father’s robes. The king tried to shove his son away again, but Legolas heaved backwards, dragging his father across the bed with him, and landing him hard on the huge mattress.

Legolas scrambled for his father’s hands until he gripped both wrists tightly. “Father!” He shouted down at the elfking. “Lasto beth nin! It is I, it is Legolas! It is your son! Hauta han!”

//listen to me!…stop this!//

Thranduil stared blankly up at the fair being above him, as if he stared down a stranger. “Why do you care…I have killed Aragorn with my Bengwiil, right? I have hurt you, right? I have been drunk and foolish. I have not been the father you wish me to be. I have not been Elrond to you, have I, Legolas? Have I!?”

Legolas swallowed back his tears. Had he not thought these very words before? He knew that he had been less than satisfied with his father. But no. No, he refused to let himself believe that. “I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“Yes you do,” Thranduil whispered, seeing unconscious agreement in the prince’s eyes. “Then be it so, I do not care. I will not be your father, then. And I have no son.”

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. “Father, you do not know what you speak.”

“I do know! I know that if you despise me as your father, I cannot be so! Nay, I *will* not be so. I want Meltha! I want Meltha to be back! I hate you, leave me!” With a sudden burst of energy, the king threw Legolas off him, and sent the prince soaring backwards away from the bed.

Legolas had a few second to think, before he felt his body slam against the wall, and slump to the floor. Everything was vague and forgotten for several moments. He suddenly felt himself being jerked upright. His father held him around the waist, just barely keeping him on his feet. As Legolas’ throbbing head reeled back, Thranduil looked into his eyes, and demanded: “Where is Meltha?”

“I don’t-” Legolas forced out.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know! Where is she, Legolas, what have we done to her?!”

“We haven’t done a thing to her!” Legolas snapped back, feeling ire rise in his chest, giving him the strength he needed to respond. “She is gone, Father. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s not our doing. She’s just gone.”

Thranduil was shaking his head already. “No, no, I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her, Legolas. She’s coming back, she told me…we need her.”

“Istón,” Legolas whispered, pulling his feet back under him, and standing straight in his father’s grip. “But she’s go-”

“She is not gone! She is not gone! She is my Meltha! Beloved! I *need* her back!”

“Mother’s not coming back!” Legolas shouted, pushing away from his father at last, anger burning silver in his eyes. “She’s not coming back! Stop tormenting me, Father, I do *not* need someone else to miss! I’ve all ready lost Aragorn, I don’t need to lose Naneth *again*.” At last, his tone softened, and he saw the anger dissolve into all it was underneath. Hurt. “Hauta han,” he sighed. “Ea us er nin.”

//stop this. Just leave me alone.//

Thranduil sank to his bed, silent, as Legolas inched away from him. Neither knew what to do. Legolas wondered if he should turn and run, but he couldn’t make his feet go any faster. He seemed mesmerized by his father’s pain.

Slowly, Thranduil raised his head again, and fixed Legolas with a weary stare. “Don’t you even miss her?” he begged, longing for sympathy.

“Of *course* I miss her,” Legolas sighed, looking with bewilderment into his father’s eyes. “But I’m not willing to let go of everything else, so I can miss her some more.”

Silence touched the air once more, and Legolas finally finished what he’d come to start. “Mornaeg is in a tree outside his tower window. I suggest we cut him down, and burry him as soon as we can. But- you cannot ask *me* to, Father. I am sorry. I can’t.”

Thranduil said nothing. Silently, he leaned over his knees, covered his face with his shaking hands, and wept softly. Legolas could not bring himself to say anything. He could no longer understand his father. All he could hope to do is be there when the king became himself again.

Legolas, giving his father’s shaking back a last glance, turned and left the dark room without a sound. When Thranduil looked up, there was no one there. “Fion- fion nin,” he whispered, but there was no response. The tears rushed in afresh, when he realized what he’d done. “Legolas!” he cried. “Legolas, what did I say? What happened?! What did I s-” His throat seemed to seal itself, leaving only enough room to gasp through his tears.

He sat there a long time, trying to answer his question. But hard as he tried, the king couldn’t recall the conversation he must have had. All he remembered was: “Mornaeg is dead.” and Legolas’ frightened face.

No… he thought miserably not again…did it happen again…?

Chapter 7

Voice in the Night

Edren paced nervously, his hands shaking with barely controlled restlessness. After he’d heard the crashes in Thranduil’s room, he almost ran into the dark bedroom anyway, despite what Legolas had said. But he’d controlled himself, and now waited anxiously for his friend’s return.

Finally, the door swung back, and Edren went to it quickly to see his friend. Legolas walked wearily out from behind the door, and fixed Edren with tired eyes.

“Legolas!” Edren jerked his cloak from off his shoulder, and threw it around the prince. Legolas half smiled.

“I am well, Edren. Do not worry.”

Edren’s eyes flashed over the young elf’s bruised cheek, bloodied lip, and bleeding forehead, and then swerved smoothly to observe the prince’s wine-sodden clothes. “You are not hurt, but you are not well,” he surmised flatly. “What happened in there?”

“Father, he’s…been…he thinks he saw Naneth. He keeps crying for Meltha.”

Edren knew as well as Legolas that Meltha had been Thranduil’s personal nick-name for Legolas’ mother. It was the Sindarin word meaning ‘beloved’. Legolas always called her simply Naneth meaning ‘mother’. But no matter what he called her, the pain of not having her was there, apparent, and had come at the worst time possible.

“It was familiar…again,” Legolas sighed, rubbing his forehead softly.

Edren’s eyes snapped to attention at this, and he stared a long moment at Legolas. “What seemed familiar this time?”

“Father, he…he’d had too much wine, and was a bit…a bit rough.” Legolas shuddered. He didn’t want to come out and say that Thranduil had in fact attacked his own son in his drunken state. But Edren knew, and he was watching Legolas more intently than the prince would have been comfortable with, had he chanced to look up. But he did not.

“He blamed me,” he continued. “He blamed me for Mornaeg’s death…and it- it was as if I had already killed him. As if I was getting blamed for his death…twice. Why would I have felt that way?” Legolas somehow felt that Edren held the answers, though he didn’t know why he would. Somehow the feeling of understanding, a feeling Legolas was sadly lacking, seemed to emanate from elf’s stare.

Legolas looked his friend in the eye a long moment. “Edren…if you know anything, I’ve a right to know as well.”

Edren shook his head. “I know nothing,” se assured hastily. “It is only strange.”

Legolas clearly didn’t buy that, but Edren hadn’t expected him to.

“And then he said- he said the words I heard only in my nightmares. The ones that I had while infected by Bengwiil. He said: ‘You do not know what you have done’.”

Edren shook his head. “It was not your fault, Legolas, that Mornaeg died. Do not blame yourself.”

The prince could only blink. He hadn’t *been* blaming himself for Mornaeg’s death. Edren had completely overlooked what Legolas had said.

Edren sighed angrily. Legolas had *just* gotten over Aragorn, and only barely. Thrandiul had *no* idea how much he was messing this up. And *he* had told Edren in the first place…now look what he’d done. Edren put these thoughts away, and turned back to his friend. “Come, we’ll go back to Thernäd and my room.”

“Your room?” Legolas asked, furrowing his eyebrows in almost drowsy confusion.

“Well, thanks to Mornaeg, we can’t use your room until it is cleaned up. I’ve asked Daurrè to find someone to help with that. I hope you don’t mind, I got a bit restless waiting for you, so I went and got Daurrè.”

“No, no, of course I do not mind. And- hannon le.” Legolas shook his head as he said the words, as though he wasn’t sure what to say.

Edren only smiled.

The two went steadily down the hall, Legolas looking about him like he’d never been to the Halls before. Edren had to shake him more than once when the prince would stop dead in his tracks, and look over his shoulder, as if in a trance, at his father’s door. Once or twice, he would even murmur. “It’s familiar, Edren…it is…”

Finally, Edren could see the door to his home near the end of the hall. “Come, Legolas, we are almost there.”

Legolas nodded numbly, and then stopped, transfixed.

Edren shook him again. “Come, Legolas, just a bit further. You need rest-”

“It’s open,” came the haunted reply. Edren looked over at his friend. Legolas stared, horrified, at an open doorway. “It’s open…why is Aragorn’s door open…”

Edren looked where the prince was looking, and realized that, yes, Aragorn’s door was swinging wide open. “Legolas, please…” Edren tried to turn the young elf away, but Legolas moved away from him, still staring wide-eyed at the open door.

“Aragorn…” he breathed, and a look of both recognition and confusion crossed his face, as he took a few trembling steps towards the doorway.

“Legolas-” Edren watched the elf helplessly. “Legolas- don’t go in there again!” But it was too late.

With a burst of energy Edren thought Thranduil had drained from his son, Legolas sprinted into the doorway, and stood in the dark room, panting. His eyes darted about the room, until they settled on the bed. There lay Aragorn…with a blanket over him. On either side of him stood two, confused-looking woodelves.

“Your highness.” One bowed slightly to Legolas, but the prince did not notice him. He was still looking at the burlap blanket that covered Aragorn.

“W-what…wh-” But he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t move. He could only hear…

He vaguely felt Edren rush up behind, and then beside him. “Legolas don’t-” It was then that Edren noticed the two elves standing clueless on either side of Aragorn’s covered form, and he was quick to ask the question Legolas’ hadn’t been able to get out. “What are you doing?”

“His majesty King Thranduil has commanded that the human be sent back to Rivendell to be buried. He believes it is Lord Elrond’s wish it be done so,” one of the elves responded, looking a little uncertainly at Legolas’ shaking form, as his eyes danced over the prince’s wounds and drenched clothing.

When Legolas heard this last comment, his eyes snapped up. “No!” he shouted suddenly, rushing forward, and placing himself between the elf and Aragorn’s bed. “No, you can’t take him!”

“Legolas-” Edren rushed forward as well, and tried to grab the prince, but Legolas dodged as he’d done in the hall. Edren held back rather than reaching for him again.

“I won’t let you take Estel!” Legolas shouted at the bewildered elf.

Finally, the other elf responded, coming around the bed, and trying to get between Legolas and Aragorn. “It is your father’s command, your highness. You may be prince, but he is king!” he shouted almost angrily.

“I don’t care, I don’t care what he said, he is out of his head! Just leave Estel alone!”

“Legolas, we have to send him back.” Edren tried to be gentle as he pulled the angry elf away from the prince a little ways. “Think of Elrond. Think of his sons. Don’t you think they want to see Estel again too?”

“Istón!” Legolas shouted, ripped between conviction and confusion. “And they shall! But not yet…not yet, we must wait…we must…” His voice trailed off in a slight sob. Not knowing what else to do, he sank down until he was sitting on the bed beside Aragorn. His eyes danced fitfully over the floor, as if he were listening to a conversation he didn’t understand.

Edren finally turned to the two elves. “Please, give him some room. Why don’t you come back later.”

The angered elf took a resolute step forward. “We have been given orders by King-”

“King?” Edren spat. “We *have* no king, Garaer. Legolas is right…he is out of his head. He’s drunk.”

Garaer looked taken aback for only a moment, and then retorted, “You *dare* to speak so of the king?!” Turning hotly around, the ire that runs in the woodelves’ blood rising to the surface in full, he marched to the bed and without a word, hoisted the limp form of Aragorn over his shoulder and made for the door.

Legolas’ head jerked upright, and a cry of pain escaped his throat. “H-hauta! Please, don’t!”

“Garaer!” Edren swung around, and landed himself between Garaer and the doorway. “I won’t let you!”

“Then stop me-”

Edren was clearly not waiting for permission to do so, for before the words had finished falling from Garaer’s mouth, he’d leapt around behind the elf, and held a small, elven knife to the his back. “Put the human down, Garaer.”

“Edren, have you-”

“I said now!”

Slowly, Garaer complied, laying the covered human on the floor, and slowly standing up. “You will regret your treachery, Edren.”

“Good,” responded the other, putting his knife back in it’s sheath, and walking around in front of Garaer. “Go tell our ‘king’. Perhaps then you will listen to Legolas and I.”

Without a word, the other turned abruptly, and fled the dark room.

Edren sighed, and turned to the other elf, who still stood transfixed and confused. “Here, my friend,” Edren sighed, kneeling beside Aragorn’s covered body. “Will you help me?” Slowly, the other nodded, and moved up next to Edren, slowly lifting Aragorn with him, and together they put him back on the great bed. “Hannon le,” Edren sighed, and laid a hand on the helper’s shoulder.

The elf did not respond at first, and then sighed, “I am with you, Edren. I have spoken to Thranduil.” His eyes widened with fear, as he looked at Legolas again. He turned abruptly back to Edren. “Is that the king’s doing?”

Edren glanced over Legolas’ wounds again, and then nodded. “I am afraid he’s quite gone.”

“Clearly,” the elf shuddered. “Well, anyway. I will speak to Garaer.”

“You may if you wish, my friend, but I do not think he’ll listen. He’s never cared much for my opinion.”

And with that the two nodded respectfully to one another, and the elf left the dark room. Edren watched him go, and sighed. Turning back to Legolas, he found the prince looking down at the floor in confusion.

“Legolas, I’m sorry that happened. It is all right n-”

“Sh…” Legolas hush trailed off as he continued to unconsciously scan the floor. Finally, he raised his head, and looked around. But not at Edren. His eyes flashed to where Aragorn lay, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. He stared at the limp form of Aragorn a long time, his eyes dancing back and forth once more. After a long pause, he whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Edren demanded, wondering why Legolas was acting so strangely. But the prince did not answer, only kept staring at Aragorn. Edren shook him gently. “Legolas?”

Again, the prince made no response, as a look of pain and guilt fixed itself on his face. Then, his eyes shut, and he smiled once more. He shivered with excitement. “Istón…istón…” he whispered, and leaned his head back.

Finally, he opened his eyes again, and raced to the doorway. “Where-” He stopped. Listened. Nodded. “Estel…” And with a shuddering sigh, he collapsed to the floor.

“Legolas?!”

*********

“Come, Legolas, we are almost there.”

Legolas felt himself move. A nod was it? He was too numb to tell. Shaken visions of his father’s anger and violence reverberated around his head. He couldn’t understand why- oh, but it all confused him too much to even think about it. For a moment, his tired mind stretched to it’s darkest corners, and it found a hopeful thought which it warmed him to toy with. What if Aragorn wasn’t dead? What if he was waiting behind Edren’s door, ready to reach out and touch Legolas again. What if Thranduil had been wrong when he said Aragorn would not awake? What if-

He stopped. He’d heard- no, he’d felt someone speak. Someone reach out and touch him invisibly. He stopped and stared. He thought he heard Edren murmur something, but he couldn’t hear it. He could only see.

“It’s open.” The words meant only a little, but they carried reality with them. Legolas didn’t know if he’d said them, or only thought them. Edren made no reply; he did not answer the question, so Legolas went on. “It’s open…why is Aragorn’s door open…”

He stood a long time, not even realizing he was still standing. He seemed to be still, steadied, and yet, not quite on his feet. It was like slipping through a dream.

The feeling hissed through him, around him, and echoed soundlessly off the walls. He didn’t understand it…and yet, he knew…something about it was warm and familiar. And through sluggish lips, he breathed the answer. “Aragorn…”

Still in a trance, he felt himself moving unsteadily to the open door. Something within called him, beckoned him…and almost frightened him.

“Legolas- don’t go in there again!” Edren’s words faded from the prince’s mind, and with an unconscious burst of speed, he made it to the door.

He found himself in Aragorn’s room, sure enough. But as he looked around, he dimly noticed the form of his friend covered with a burlap blanket, and two elves standing with confused faces on either side of the corpse.

“W-what…wh-” He tried to speak, but the words drowned in his throat, and he suddenly heard another beckoning call.

His eyes darted to the bed. Aragorn?

He vaguely noticed Edren pushing past his shoulder, saying…something. He watched numbly as Edren addressed the two elves. He caught little at first. Then, “His majesty King Thranduil has commanded that the human be sent back to Rivendell to be buried. He believes it is Lord Elrond’s wish it be done so.”

“No!” The word seemed to fly from his mouth freely, as though his lips had been apart for so long, the sound just escaped. Running once more, the only thought in his head being Aragorn, he whirled around, putting himself between the elf and his friend. “No, you can’t take him!”

Random thoughts shot through his head. He shouted a bit more…about not letting them take Estel. He didn’t know what he was saying. He couldn’t hear his own voice in his head. Only another…

His father. He was speaking about his father. “…he is out of his head!…” he heard himself say. His eyes darted about, searching for something…the source of this voice.

Edren was speaking of Elrond and his sons. Something…Legolas couldn’t tell. “Istón!” he shouted, not really knowing why…he did know the essence of what Edren was saying…for the most part.

He felt his lips forming the words he’d heard in his head moments ago. “Not yet, we must wait…we must…” but he didn’t understand the words. Frightened and confused, he felt his knees give way, landing him on Aragorn’s bed. A warm feeling rush over him.

There was sweet familiarity about the words. Mellon nin. How long had it been since he’d heard these words said just that way? He realized suddenly he missed them. He looked off to nowhere, and tried with all his might to grip them. To hold onto them.

Suddenly, Legolas felt the bed shake, and realized that one of the elves was taking Aragorn.

A cry wrenched itself out of Legolas’ throat, and this time, he could hear his voice. “H-hauta! Please, don’t!” His words seemed to burn in his ears. He screamed them as loud as he could. What could he do? He *had* to do something. He had to keep holding on…he didn’t know…he couldn’t understand…

Staring helplessly, he saw the elf carry Aragorn to the door.

The begging voice ripped his heart in two, and yet, he couldn’t make words come through his throat. He wasn’t breathing anymore. His eyes darted between Edren and Garaer in confusion. What? The question rang in his head. A question of utter confusion and a desperation for understanding. What?

Finally, he realized Garaer had gone. Edren and the other elf were putting Aragorn back where he’d been. Legolas didn’t watch Aragorn. Somehow, he wasn’t there…not yet. Instead, he looked down at the floor, trying once again to place the voice in his head.

Legolas continued to look down, bewildered. Where?

Edren began to speak again. Legolas suddenly caught his name, and realized his friend was speaking to him. “Sh…” He pleaded, straining his ears for sound once more.

Slowly, Legolas turned, and upon seeing Aragorn’s covered form, he felt himself nod vaguely. “Yes.” was all he could say. Somehow, he *did* know. Yes. It was all that could be said.

No. He didn’t. But he was desperate to. Quietly, motionlessly, a warm, shapeless hand reached over his lap, and massaged the place where Legolas’ heart was beating.

Legolas felt fear and regret pierce him like an arrow, and almost shoved the gentle hand away. But it kept massaging, warming, moving…forgiving. He was forgiven. Somehow.

He suddenly felt a warm breeze on his face. He closed his eyes, and felt a faint smile touch his lips. Slowly, love, joy, and hope wafted through him, filling him to the brim with emotions he thought he’d never feel again.

//I will always be your friend, Legolas//

Legolas’ head fell back, and he leaned into the feelings that gently overwhelmed him. “Istón…” he felt himself respond. “Istón…” Familiar memories flew through his head. Memories of the night they’d left the halls of Gabil Gûndu. They struck hope into his heart once more. He was there. Somewhere, somehow, he was still there.

Legolas’ eyes snapped open, and he realized that the feeling, the warmth, the joy was drifting out the open door. He leapt to his feet, and ran to the doorway as well. “Where-”

The words entered Legolas’ mind like a clear breeze. Yes. Again, it was the only word his mind responded with. Yes. It was all that could be said. Yes.

And since that was the only word Legolas could hear anymore, he stared into the nothingness for a few long moments, and nodded. Yes.

“Estel…” But he couldn’t make himself believe it. It was too much! But…yes. And he sighed deeply. Truth. He was looking at pure truth. And the thought made him dizzy.

Before he realized what he’d been thinking, his knees gave out, and he heard someone calling his name.

Dark.

“Legolas! Legolas, please not again, wake up! Legolas?”

Legolas’ eyes opened to find Edren kneeling over him, his fingers pressed tightly against the prince’s neck, feeling out his pulse. Legolas blinked. “Estel…”

“It is Edren, Legolas. Are you well?”

Legolas felt Edren pulling him into a sitting position as he fought to remember the confusing battle he’d just fought. What had he heard? What had he felt? What had touched him? Quietly, he looked around the room, and his roving eyes settled on Aragorn once more. “Ara- no. Estel.”

Edren shook his head silently, unable to respond.

“Estel…” Legolas sighed softly, trying to remember what had caused him to faint. “It is not too late…” he recited the only words he could remember quietly, and then began to speak them as his own. As a statement and un assurance, rather than a quote. “It is not too late to fight it.” His eyes finally rested on Edren, and they were burning with the light of estel. With hope bright as Eärendil.

“Aragorn…” he finally whispered, breathless in his understanding. “He is alive!”

Chapter 8

The Traitor

Edren felt his throat close up, and for a few moments, he couldn’t respond. “Legolas…” he said at last. But he could not continue.

Legolas seemed just as confused by his revelation, but a look of determination to understand was stamped permanently on his face, and he seemed to cling to the knowledge that was in truth uncertain. He didn’t respond to Edren’s attempted comment for a long time, but finally, he spoke. “I should have known. Should have fought. But there is no time for regret. Edren, fetch Tirniel and Harain. Daurrè may wish to help as well, and I would be grateful if you’d ask him. Please, we’ve little time…he told me.”

“Legolas- I can’t understand what you’re talking about. I can’t help you unless you make sense!”

“You want to help me?”

“I do.”

“Then please, do as I ask.” Legolas’ eyes were pleading, though his mind was racing. Edren searched his face for a long moment. Somehow…yes. It was the only answer he could feel. Yes.

“I will do as you ask.” He said at length, and rose to his feet. Legolas rose as well, and turned to leave. “Where are going?” Edren demanded, confusion evident in his voice once more.

Legolas only smiled. “I shall be right back.” Estel continued to shine in his silver eyes, and Edren couldn’t help but let him go. Slowly, he turned, and ran to find the Healers and Daurrè.

**********

Legolas made it easily to his destination. His feet knew this rout almost as well as they knew the one to Aragorn’s bedroom. He stepped quietly onto his favorite balcony, and searched around, wondering if he’d feel, hear, or see anything.

He saw nothing. He heard nothing. And yet- he felt someone touch his shoulder. When he looked, there was nothing there, but the warm feeling remained. And though he heard no voice, the wind that blew against his face carried a small thought with it. He closed his eyes, and inhaled the cool breeze, and the thought seemed to sail straight to his mind.

And he nodded. Turning, he walked back inside, and the warm feeling left his shoulder.

*********

Legolas seemed to have sat there for hours. He dearly hoped that Edren was really getting Daurrè and the Healers as he said he would, but he was beginning to wonder. Edren had sure looked uncertain when he’d agreed to go…perhaps he’d changed his mind according to his better judgment? But he would have come back and told Legolas…right?

Questions battled themselves in the elf’s worrying head, but just as he had so many times before, he now refused to leave Aragorn’s side. If there was any chance he was alive, he had to take it.

Legolas couldn’t bring himself to lift the cover off his friend’s face. He wondered what would happen if he saw that pale face again. Would his tears return? Would he pass out? Things had gotten so crazy lately, he didn’t know what to think anymore. But he still didn’t risk pulling the blanket away.

Finally, to his indescribable relief, Edren came quickly into the dark room, Daurrè, Tirniel, and an assistant Healer at his heals.

Legolas looked up expectantly, and almost smiled. Edren, however, looked uncertain and almost apprehensive. “I have brought them as you asked,” he said at length, still searching Legolas’ expression. For sanity, Legolas thought to his disappointment.

But the prince approached his friend, and finally asked what he’d been planning to for the last moments of waiting. “Edren…would you lift Aragorn’s cover away?” He’d practiced that request in his head so many times, but had been unable to keep the quiver from his throat. He was frightened and he couldn’t hide it. But he didn’t have to.

Edren saw at a glance, and had really known from the start that Legolas was not looking forward to seeing his friend’s pale face again. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing what would happen to the prince if he saw Aragorn again either, so he remained where he was, trying to figure out what to do.

“Edren, please,” Legolas begged, seeing the hesitation. “I am afraid to lift the blanket myself…but this feeling, this nagging feeling that Aragorn may yet be alive; it outweighs whatever fear I carry. I will lift that cover myself, if you will not do it for me. I am that determined. But…” And again, the unwanted fearful quiver slipped into his words. “I think it would be easier for me if you would do it, mellon nin.”

Edren didn’t seem to react to the words at first, but at long last, he reluctantly walked towards the bed. With a final glance at Legolas, he reached down with a shaking hand, and gently pulled the blanket away.

Legolas stood panting, and had to bite back a cry when he saw the pale face again. But he wouldn’t close his eyes, and suddenly, all the feelings he’d left behind when he last departed from the dark room, came flooding back.

“Aragorn!” he cried, and rushed forward to the bed, throwing himself down on the floor. Kneeling beside the bed, he reached for the human’s sweaty forehead with one hand, and gently grabbed his friend’s hand with the other. He sat in silence awhile, simply feeling his friend…sweat? Yes, Aragorn’s head was quite clammy…but how…?

“Edren…” His voice came softly as he scarcely dared to believe what he was feeling. “Edren, he is sweating. He is sweating!”

Edren bit his lip. “Yes…” he agreed. “But that does not necessarily mean…” He didn’t have the heart to go on. How was he going to pull the prince out of this one? He was thoroughly convinced that Aragorn still lived!

Legolas’ hand moved about Aragorn’s forehead, wiping away the perspiration like it was the most precious thing he’d seen. As his hand roved about, it fell across the human’s closed eyelids. A cry of surprise jerked free of his throat, and he rose to his feet.

“What?!” Edren demanded, as the two uncertain Healers came forward, as well as Daurrè.

Legolas stood still a long moment, then leaned over his friend once more, feeling his closed eyelids. He gasped, and then smiled, still breathing hard in surprise and relief. His proof. He *wasn’t* crazy. “Edren. Feel.” Was all he said, and he stood back for his friend.

Edren reached out a hesitant hand, and lay his thumb and forefinger gently over Aragorn’s eyelids. His eyes went wide, and he looked at Legolas. The prince nodded. “You feel it.” Edren nodded, and probed a little closer with his finger. Yes. Aragorn’s eyes were moving rapidly back and forth underneath their lids.

Legolas almost laughed. “He is dreaming.” he breathed. “Somewhere in there…he is alive.”

At this point, Tirniel came forward, and hurriedly, Edren pulled his hand back so the Healer could feel. Tirniel closed his eyes, and concentrated on the rapid movements under the human’s eyelids. “He was right…” he breathed.

“Who?” Legolas questioned, perplexed at the strange reaction.

The Healer’s eyes opened once more, but he ignored Legolas’ question. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well…” Legolas was taken aback. “That is why I asked Edren to get you. I thought perhaps you would know what to do.”

“I don’t.” Tirniel’s voice was surprisingly impatient, and his face was a mixture of frustration and fear. As if he blamed someone else for his being unprepared.

Legolas’ mind worked furiously. Now what? If not even the Healers could handle it, who could? Surely he could not. Surely…

He looked to Edren for help, pleading for advice. But his friend was blinded by the unexplainable. By Aragorn still being alive. He was lost as to what could be done. He didn’t even understand what was happening.

Legolas tried to find a clue in the other Healer, in Daurrè. Finally his eyes fell on Aragorn once more. He found himself dieing to see the eyes open, and hold the hint he was looking for. What can I do? he wanted to ask. But he knew he would find no answer.

It was then that Legolas realized. He and Aragorn were the only ones with the understanding needed to save the Ranger’s life.

Aragorn wasn’t here. That left him. That left Legolas. And he suddenly felt frightened. He was the one who had to make the decision now. For so long, he’d counted on Aragorn being there to tell him what to do. To show him where to turn. What would he do without him?

But Legolas knew, through the cold voices of confusion, he knew one thing; if Aragorn were here, he would be telling him to think. To keep a clear head. To not lose hope. Yes. Once more, it was all his mind would tell him. Yes.

So Legolas made himself think. Without noticing Aragorn’s pale face, Edren’s bewildered glances, nor any of the others in the room, he began to blindly stumble through his thoughts. What could he do?

Then, sluggishly, a thought trickled into his mind. An idea. A last resort. A desperate voice that cried: “Bengwiil! We need more Bengwiil! It is the only way, I am sure of it!”

“Bengwiil.” The word fell dead from the prince’s lips, he seemed to speak in a dream. But when he focused on Edren, and saw the look of utter disbelief on his face, he knew that he’d said it aloud. “Bengwiil,” he repeated. “It is the only way…I am sure of it.”

His eyebrows riveted in confusion, but his eyes were blazing with certainty. At long last, Edren shuddered, and began to speak quietly. “Legolas…you mean to tell me you wish to use Bengwiil?”

“It is the only way,” Legolas repeated, now the doubt was gone, and his mind was working freely again. His voice began to speed up with excitement. “It is Bengwiil alone that keeps him alive. It gives him artificial strength. I know, because I’ve felt it. This fake strength is the only thing that’s keeping his blood flowing, his heart beating, his pulse throbbing.”

Edren’s fingers moved to the Ranger’s clammy neck, and he waited a few moments before shaking his head. “Legolas, I feel no pulse.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed. “It is too faint to feel through the skin, but his eyes would not be moving, he would not be perspiring, if not for the fact that his heart is still beating.” Legolas nodded, and set in his decision he rose to his feet, for without knowing it, he’d fallen to his knees again. “The only way to wake him up is to give him enough Bengwiil to excite his system to the point that he can come back.”

“I see,” Tirniel said too quickly to have even considered the revelation. “And *then* what? Wait for it to wear off so he can die again?”

Legolas thought a moment. “If we could wake him up, keep him alive on Bengwiil, we could then take him to Lord Elrond. He can remove the poison from his system, I know he can. Then…” Legolas sighed, and tripped blindly into the next ludicrous words. “Aragorn will be brought back from the dead.”

Edren shook his head, but at last, he stumbled across something to bridge the silence. It was the only thing he could think of that would make Legolas feel better, but at the same time, safely remain something he meant. “What have we to lose?”

Legolas nodded breathlessly. “Yes,” was all he said, and then turned to Tirniel. “Where is the Bengwiil?”

“How should I know,” Tirniel demanded dully.

“You are a Healer. You, if anyone, should know where my father is keeping the Bengwiil that Raustal, Nyarin and the other hunters brought that night Aragorn was attacked.” Legolas’ voice rambled through his sudden uncertainty. “Father could not have possibly used all that Bengwiil up so quickly, he must be hiding it!”

“And what makes you think *I* know where he is hiding it?”

“Because- because I just *said* why! You are a Healer-” Legolas couldn’t help letting a sigh of frustration shake him at Tirniel’s lack of cooperation. With a burst of anger, he whirled around, and faced the window, feeling his Sindarin temper rising in him. He tried to breathe it down, but it was a full three minutes before he turned to face Tirniel again.

“Tirniel, if you really don’t know where the Bengwiil is, please just tell me. We must find it someway, and I have to know if you are that way.”

Tirniel made as if he were going to answer, and then looked away. He wasn’t going to help them.

Legolas only sighed, and tried to keep his temper at bay. He had to think again…what…who could…he looked up at Tirniel, Daurrè, and the other Healer…“Harain.” His mind whirled. “Harain,” he said with more conviction. “Harain was there with Tirniel the night Aragorn was first given Bengwiil. Wasn’t he, Tirniel?”

Tirniel didn’t reply.

“Surely he will know…” Legolas thought excitedly, while the confused were still silent. At that moment, his excited mind stumbled across something else. He didn’t know where Harain was. But who did? “Tirniel…” he murmured, turning to the Healer again. “It seems no matter what happens, we’re going to need your help.”

Tirniel shook his head. “D-do not ask me about Harain, Legolas…don’t.”

“Why? Do you know where he is?”

“N-well…no…I…” Tirniel began to sweat, and looked nervously about the room. “He isn’t here,” he said at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he is gone from these halls. Forever. There’s no point in searching him out.”

“Wha-” Legolas shook his head. “What are you talking about, Tirniel? Where has Harain gone?”

“He was exiled!”

“What?!” Legolas’ breath caught in his throat. It had been his only chance… “Whatever possessed my father to exile one of his best?”

“I…well, your father loves you, highness.”

Legolas’ jaw locked. Whenever the Healer resorted to the title ‘highness’ rather than his real name, he knew he was trying to lie well. It wasn’t working. “Why, Tirniel, tell me. I’ve a right to know as much as even my father.”

Tirniel sighed, and shook his head. “Very well, Legolas…though…your father will be greatly angered if he knew.”

“Well I shall be the last to tell him of your involvement in the knowledge, all right?”

That didn’t seem to make the Healer feel any better, but he continued anyway. “Well, it was that night Estel nearly died…”

*****

“…and you haven’t seen him since?”

Tirniel shook his head.

Legolas sighed, and looked as though he were containing himself. Then: “How *could* my father do such a thing?! Harain was right! He was right, my father was wrong! Why does he never *listen*?!” He whirled, his emotions trampling good sense once more. “And now Estel is gone…” He chocked, gripping the windowsill with all his might.

“Legolas…” Edren said quietly, placing a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “There must be another way. We’ll find the Bengwiil.”

“Yes…” Legolas sighed, and shook his head. “I know what I have to do, though.” Legolas turned and started to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Edren asked quickly.

The prince kept going a few more steps, then turned. “To my father again. He has Bengwiil in there somewhere…I know he does.”

“Legolas, no. He’ll attack you again for sure!”

“I don’t care, Edren,” Legolas shrugged, glancing over at his friend. “I have to save Aragorn…”

Edren slowly nodded. “Then I will go with you. I can’t risk you getting hurt again.”

Legolas smiled. “Very well, mellon nin.”

Chapter 9

Come Back

Legolas slid the sliver key back into it’s hiding space in the wall, and then glanced at Edren. “Here we go.”

Edren nodded, and Legolas pushed the door open.

It was silence. The air was heavy with the lack of noise. It was stuffy and dark.

“Ea diinen,” Legolas whispered to his friend, and the other nodded.

//be silent,//

The two crept around the dark room, and began to silently look through the scattered things on the floor, all the while, keeping an eye out for Thranduil.

“Legolas, here!” Edren whispered from the other side of the room.

Legolas went quickly to his friend’s side and looked where the elf pointed. There, on the wall by the bed was a small latch. Legolas pulled on it, and immediately, a small compartment opened in the wall. It seemed too easy…but Legolas reached for the stack of papers that lay in the compartment.

He blew the dust off the first page and gasped. “What?!” Edren pushed urgently.

“Neneth…” Legolas chocked. Edren leaned over to see a beautiful elven queen staring up at him from a dust-blotted parchment. Her eyes were clear and familiar, as well as the slight curve of her lips. Beneath the picture was an inscription, but Legolas didn’t need to read the name to know the figure as his mother.

He went quickly for the next page. On this one was an even more familiar face. His eyes were drawn black-and-white and yet you knew they were blue. His hair was long and wavy and carried ‘gold’ as a clear description even without being painted in color. Legolas must’ve been fairly young when the drawing had been done of him. Perhaps as a special gift to Thrnduil during yé n.

He turned to the next one and sat back hard on his heels. “Not again…” He stared down at the dark eyes and amused tilt of the head…all of it so familiar. “Minaeg,” he murmured, and his fingers brushed the Bengwiil leaf at the base of the page.

“Is it Mornaeg’s?” Edren asked quietly.

Legolas shook his head. “There is a leaf at the foot of this one…there was only a shadow of one on Mornaeg’s. This leaf is ancient though…” His finger flew around the corners which had curled in on themselves, and the center of the little scrap of nature was a deep black-brown. It was old and long-since dead…there was no way this leaf would help them.

*click*

Legolas jumped. There was something under the bed! Quickly, he shoved the papers back into the compartment, and shut the door. He felt Edren’s hands grip his shoulders, and pull him away from the bed, and against the opposite wall.

*creeeeeack* protested a hinge.

“What do we do?” Legolas asked quickly over his shoulder. “It is father, surely…”

“It’s all right,” Edren promised. “Just stand still.”

Slowly, a hand appeared from the underneath of the bed, and then a second hand. Finally, a blonde-headed elf pulled himself out. Thranduil.

The king looked around as if in a daze as he continued to pull himself from under the bed. His eyes landed on the small latch, and he crawled over to the compartment. Had he not seen the elves in front of him? Legolas assumed not, for the king appeared to be out of his wit still.

Thranduil pulled the latch, and the papers fell out in front of him. Sitting back on his heals, he started to rifle through them. When his eyes landed on the drawing of the queen, he stopped, and began to laugh. “There, Meltha. I’m glad you’re here…I have missed you love…I don’t know…you’re wrinkled.”

Legolas’ heart stopped.

“You’re wrinkled, Meltha…your corner is wrinkled…” Thranduil stood jerkily up, and shook the paper as if it would cure it of the huge crease in the corner. He dropped the page on the floor, and turned.

He stared.

“Legolas…what are you doing here?” His voice was dangerously low.

“I- was…”

“Have you come for Bengwiil?”

“Yes!” Legolas said at once, realizing that for once, Thranduil might be put in a good mood. Sure enough, the king smiled.

“Good, good, I’ll get it.” He crawled a little ways under the bed, and came up with a burlap sack. “I brought a whole bunch up today!” Legolas nodded, pretending to be pleased. “Let us enjoy it, shall we?” Thranduil pulled out a piece of flint rock, and struck it against the side of his bed, holding the sack next to his bed as well.

A loud *crack* sounded, and the flint rock broke as the burlap sack caught fire. “We’ll burn it all!” He cried joyously.

Legolas was lost in his disbelief for only a moment, and then he acted. Rushing forward, he stomped on the bag repeatedly, trying to avoid the flames directly.

“Legolas, you’ll ruin the fire!” Thranduil hopped onto the bed, and grabbed a tankard.

“No, majesty- no!” Edren tried to call, but it was too late for the king to care.

When the rich wine hit the burlap sack, the entire thing went up in blazing flames. Edren rushed forward and pulled Legolas away as the prince started to choke on the smoke around him. “Legolas!” he vaguely heard someone call.

Blinded by smoke, and chocked on the hot air, he could only tell he was lying on the floor in pain. Where was the pain? He couldn’t feel it out.

“Legolas, roll!”

What? Why? He couldn’t move, how was he going to roll? Someone was jerking him around the floor. “Majesty, help me!”

Someone was laughing…someone was calling…someone…he could smell it. Bengwiil. It flooded the room.

Aragorn was dieing…someone help Aragorn! Don’t let Estel die! Don’t, please don’t…not when you can stop it…don’t…don’t let him die…not him…not Aragorn…not my only Estel…not now…not yet…

“Legolas…Legolas, please say something! Legolas? Can you hear me?”

Someone was carrying him. Putting him down. Shaking him. “Legolas, talk to me!”

Light flooded into the prince’s vision, and he could see Edren. “Don’t let Aragorn die…” he felt his mouth force out. “Not my Estel…not my only friend…not Aragorn…”

“Legolas, are you all right? Oh, I’ll hang your father for doing this to you! He’s lost his head, for sure! Setting fire to a sack of Bengwiil right beneath you.” Edren’s eyes blazed. “Legolas, are you okay?”

“Fine…” he slurred quietly, finding his voice and seeing clearly at last. He found himself on the floor of the hall outside his father’s room. Glancing at the door to the dark room, he saw smoke hissing underneath the door. “Father…will he be all right?”

Edren rolled his eyes. “He slipped beneath his bed again, and said he’d be just fine, thank you. I was too busy trying to get you out of there, I didn’t have time to go after him-”

“He’ll be fine,” Legolas assured unexpectedly. “It’s- a secret place. A s-safe place.” He wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Oh, well, now I don’t know what *I’m* saying,” he sighed at last.

Edren managed to not react, and simply shook his head. “It’s a wonder we got that fire out, no thanks to him. I had to douse it with his wine-barrel. Luckily, it didn’t catch fire, and it was heavy enough to kill the flames. It sure is smoky in there though.”

Legolas forced himself to sit up. “What happened…”

“The sack caught fire, and I pulled you back from it. But your clothes had caught fire, so I tried to get you to roll over. You were stunned, so I rolled you around as best as I could. It finally killed the flames. I tried to get you up, but you were out.” Edren shook his head gravely. “I was sure I’d lost you to Bengwiil. But you were still conscious, so I picked you up, and swung you over my shoulder.”

“Thank you,” Legolas smiled faintly. “I thought I was lost as well…mostly because I couldn’t think at all. I was hearing voices I didn’t understand. I lost myself to myself I knew…” he shook his head. “I can’t put it in words.”

“That is well.” Edren assured, and offered a hand to Legolas. His friend was about to take it gladly, but he paused. “The Bengwiil…we failed.”

“No, my friend,” Edren smiled. “When you tried to stomp out the flames, you ripped the bag from the top with your stomping. Part of the reason you passed out, I suppose. But there were leaves flying everywhere.” Edren reached into his tunic, and Legolas flinched, knowing what would be there. His friend nodded understandingly, and withdrew his hand empty. “I have it,” was all he said, and he reached his hand out to Legolas again.

This time Legolas grabbed it. “Thank you my friend-” He cut off with a hiss, and sank down to his knees again.

“What?” Edren sank down with him, and looked into his wincing face.

Legolas sat down, and reached towards his leg. Slowly, he pulled the burnt cloth of his leggings up to his knee to reveal a hideous burn on the side of his right leg.

“Legolas, we need to heal that. I shall get some Nanegro-”

“Edren. We must save Aragorn first.” Legolas forced himself to stand again, and wincing, held onto Edren’s shoulder. Supporting his weight the whole way, Edren led Legolas silently back down the hall.

**********

“We have it,” again, it was all Edren said when the two reached the room again. The other elves watched blankly as Edren eased Legolas onto the bed so he was sitting beside Aragorn. Then, he turned. “Did you get the boiled water, cloths and mug?”

Daurrè answered for the other Healer by nodding. “Edren, what-”

“There’s no time, Aragorn is slipping. I can feel that, as can you.” Daurrè nodded slowly. It was true, he could feel the weight of mortal death creeping over them. Perhaps that’s what scared him so.

“Legolas…” Edren turned to the prince slowly. Now for the hard part. “You’ll have to leave. We can’t risk you getting hurt through this.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, Edren, I will never leave. You cannot make me.” The words were so frank, so straight, they didn’t even carry fear among them…Edren could only nod as he slowly asked Daurrè to close the door and bolt it.

Legolas moved into a sitting position, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed, and pulling Aragorn’s head and shoulders into his lap. I’m coming. he almost whispered. I’m coming, Estel…

“Á ryto.” Edren turned to the assistant Healer. “I need you to take the Bengwiil, and crush it.” Edren reached into his tunic. Legolas shut his eyes tight, and held Aragorn close. He was scared to death inside. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to smell it.

The sound of it crinkling and then breaking filled his ears as Áryto crushed the Bengwiil and let it fall into the steaming basin of water. The smell filled the air to the brim. Stop it! Stop it! he wanted to cry, but bit it back.

The air felt unbreathable. As Legolas eased his eyes open, he almost saw that it had turned green. It smelled green. Not like the light, forest green, but a dark, murky, shadowed green. He shut his eyes again as Tirniel approached.

“Legolas.” Edren was at his shoulder. “Tirniel is going to give Aragorn the Bengwiil.”

Legolas shook inside and out uncontrollably. He only nodded. A light trickling sound echoed in his ears as he felt the Healer tip Aragorn’s head back. They were pouring Bengwiil down his friend of friend’s throat…

Oh Valar… Legolas thought quickly as sickness crept over his awareness. Make this right…bring Aragorn back…make this right…make it work…

“It’s gone. He’s finished it.” Tirniel’s voice was surprised, and the undertone of nervousness was too apparent for Legolas’ comfort.

Everything was a blur. Legolas could tell his senses were dulling as the Bengwiil overpowered his mind.

“Hiro îth…ab 'wanath”

Legolas’ eyes snapped open when he heard his memories turn to reality. “What do you mean?” he demanded of Edren, realizing the elven words had been real and not a part of his thoughts.

“Legolas…” Edren shook his shoulder lightly. “I just told you…it is not working. He’s fading away. He will not awake. I…am sorry.”

Legolas looked wildly at the other elves in the room. Their faces made it plain. It had not worked. “Give him more,” Legolas said slowly.

“Legolas-”

“No, Edren! Aragorn- he is alive! I will not sit back and allow him to die! Give him more, we must give his body a second chance!”

Legolas felt his own body shaking as Tirniel and Áryto complied. He didn’t *want* to use Bengwiil, he wanted to run. He wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to be on that hunting trip in Mirkwood that had started out so wonderfully and ended in the rediscovery of Bengwiil. He wanted Aragorn back. Did that have to be so hard?

Tirniel approached slowly, holding a second mug full of Bengwiil-water. Legolas forced his eyes to stay open as he poured the horrid poison down the human’s throat. Aragorn’s body accepted it without the man’s consent, and the Bengwiil had safely made its way into his system.

Tirniel’s fingers moved to the human’s throat, searching for the pulse. “It’s quickening…” he whispered excitedly. Legolas pulled the Ranger closer to him, and lay hand over his shut eyes.

“His eyes are moving rapidly…” he added, the same anticipation in his own voice. “He is waking!” Legolas couldn’t believe his own words!

Tirniel nodded, but stopped mid-motion. “It’s going away…“

Legolas’ heart stopped.

“…it’s fading…no. It’s gone.”

“No…no! No, it- it’s not gone! No, Aragorn, you can’t be gone!” Legolas felt pent-up emotions push their way to the surface as he slid out from under the human. “No, Aragorn, no…” He lay down next to his friend, and wrapped his arms around the human’s still shoulders frantically. Give him more. More Bengwiil. he thought desperately, but he knew it just wouldn’t work. And his throat closed painfully over any words.

Closing his eyes tight, his mind whirled.

Ilúvatar… his heart cried out desperately. Anything…I shall give anything…and everything. The light of hope that Estel himself has planted in me…all the love of my father and kin…the light of my mother…all that grace has given me…everything. My own life. Let it pass to him. Spare his life, I beg. Spare his life.

Legolas lay his head brokenly on Aragorn’s still chest. Sweet tears fell silent from his cheek to the human’s tunic. “Estel…” he whispered, and closed his eyes again.

His hand was warm. He began to feel hope flood him…he was falling. This is what eternal sleep was…he was glad it did not hurt…

“Legolas…”

Life rushed through his veins…Legolas opened his eyes. He was met by a deep, blue gaze. And a smile.

“Oh…Legolas.”

“Estel?”

Chapter 10

Estel

Legolas was awake.

Aragorn was alive.

For a minute, Legolas thought he was going to completely fall apart. Die, perhaps. But instead, he threw his arms around Aragorn, and felt tears he didn’t know were there erupt. Tears of joy.

“Aragorn! Oh, Aragorn! Aragorn, Estel, mellon nin! You’re alive! You’re alive…alive…at last…you’re back.” Legolas felt dizzy. He was sure he was going to pass out, but he held Aragorn close to him, and cried into the human’s shoulder instead.

He felt a tender hand touch the back of his head as Aragorn adjusted his weight beneath the prince. “Sh…” Aragorn soothed. “Yes…I’m back…I’m back, Legolas…”

Legolas could hear tears in his friend’s voice as well which only drove his own tears harder. He couldn’t steady his breath. He could only let go, and lean against his friend. His friend. Estel. Who was back. It was almost too much for him.

Finally, he forced himself to sit back. Aragorn was very pale, and his limbs shook from lack of use. But he was alive. And he was shining with familiar hope.

“Oh, Aragorn!” Legolas erupted again, this time realizing how much he had to say. His mind overflowed, and he didn’t know where to start. So he blurted: “I’ve been despairing! You said not to, but I did! I couldn’t help it, I missed you so- but I despaired, I almost died of a broken heart! I did! And you said that was the last thing you wanted, and I did it anyway! I am so sorry! I am, I am sorry…”

To Legolas’ immeasurable surprise, his friend was grinning, and his eyes were twinkling quite visibly.

“What?” Legolas demanded, taken aback.

“You’re apologizing again, Legolas,” he answered in would-be seriousness, still smiling.

“Aragorn-” Legolas’ eyes darted from Aragorn’s left eye to his right, dancing back and forth between the two, burning the image of his smiling face into memory. “Could you…could…”

“What is it?” Aragorn shook his head, watching Legolas with a concerned look.

It seemed so silly, but at once, Legolas realized that really didn’t matter. “My joy would be complete…if I could but hear you laugh?” These last words were a question and a request.

And so Aragorn did. Possibly at the request, Legolas didn’t care why. At once, it struck a cord of memory. There was a way it rang- not crystal like an elf’s. It was strong and sincere…like hope and joy at once. Tears came streaming afresh down Legolas’ cheeks, as he realized; I remember it now. And a sob escaped his throat.

“Sh…” Aragorn smiled, pulling Legolas to him again, and letting the elf burry his face in the Ranger’s coat.

“I missed you so…” Legolas gasped. “You have no idea…”

“Istón, mellon nin…I missed you too. I feared for you.” Aragorn’s throat constricted, and he said no more, but the reunited friends stayed in each other’s arms for a long time before letting go.

Legolas ran a tired hand over his eyes, trying in vain to wipe the tears away. His eyes danced over the elves who stood clueless around the bed with various expressions on their faces.

Daurrè and Áryto looked a bit frightened, and Tirniel was nothing short of terrified. Edren, on the other hand, looked as though he could walk through any sorrow with a smile. His eyes seemed to reflect the shadowed moonlight outside the window, and his face shone with relief and satisfaction.

Legolas smiled back. “Hannon le, mellon nin. I could not have done this without you.”

Edren made a half-nod and knelt down by the bed. “How are you, Aragorn?”

Legolas’ heart gave a leap. “Of course, you’ve been barely alive for almost five days now! How are you? How do you feel?”

Aragorn moved his arms loosely, feeling about his neck and chest. “I think I’m all right…” he shrugged. “a little dizzy…”

“The real test will be getting you on your feet.” Edren pointed out smilingly.

“Oh. Well, all right…” Aragorn started to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“No!” Edren, Legolas and Áryto shouted at the same time. Aragorn froze.

“You need rest,” Áryto persuaded quietly, moving Aragorn back onto the bed. “You’ve been nearly dead for almost *five days* my friend, as Legolas has said..” and the Healer smiled. “Not many go through that.”

“Legolas has,” Aragorn interjected, returning the look.

Legolas tried to glare, but he couldn’t, so Aragorn gladly lay back on his pillows. Legolas pulled the folded blanket away from the end of the bed, and lay it over the human, pulling the folds up to his forearms. “Sleep.”

“Yes, father,” Aragorn mumbled, rolling over.

“Legolas, I must go to Thernäd,” Edren whispered.

“Tell her-” Legolas glanced Aragorn’s way again before looking back to Edren. “The news for me?”

Edren nodded. “Of course.” And with that, the friend slipped out of the dark room with a heart as light as air, and a handful of leaves to throw away somewhere.

“I must retire as well. To meet Át- well, I said I’d- I hope you don’t mind if I tell a few of this good news?”

Legolas laughed. “Yes, Daurrè, best not keep Átniir waiting, feel free to tell.”

Daurrè blinked with surprise, and then turned to go quickly. Legolas only smiled, and looked up at Tirniel. “What shall we do for Aragorn tonight? There must be something…”

“He was right.” Tirniel shook his head, looking Aragorn up and down. “He was right.”

Legolas sighed. Aragorn was back and *still* the Healer intended to act strange? “Tirniel,” he insisted.

“No- no…” The Healer shook his head and began to back away. “No- he couldn’t have- who has died?! Who has died? Who…” He continued to shake his head and back away, until his back hit the doorway. “No, they were- they were dead! They were dead!” And he ran from the dark room.

“Áryto…” Legolas spoke softly.

The Healer shook his head. “I don’t know…” When he turned to look at the prince again, his eyes were full of worry. “He has been acting quite strangely…I don’t know what…” He shook his head again, dismissing it deter idly. “But it’s no use now. You should get some rest, your highness.”

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn-”

“Worry not, I shall keep a watchful eye on him this night.”

Legolas nodded, and walked over to Aragorn’s bed, where he lay propped up on pillows, still staring at the doorway where Tirniel had run out.

“Aragorn, you should get your sleep,” Legolas chided, pushing the human down into the mass of pillows. “Rest.”

“What was he talking about, Legolas? What’s wrong with Tirniel…”

“Sh…don’t think on it tonight, my friend. I shall tell you all tomorrow.”

Aragorn nodded, and closed his eyes. Legolas quietly pulled a folded blanket from the end of the bed, and spread it over the floor.

“Legolas…” The prince made no response to Áryto’s reprimanding tone, and lay down on the blanket. The Healer sighed with the air of a mother whose child is being willfully disobedient.

“I’ll sleep,” Legolas promised, smiling unconvincingly.

The Healer finally smiled, and sat down in an armchair in the corner. “Mear fuin…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes became unfocussed. But not entirely. They still moved rapidly this way and that, proof that he was still alert.

Satisfied that Aragorn would be safe through the night, Legolas lay down. But he couldn’t rest. Aragorn was alive. He was breathing not a foot away from the elf…how could he sleep now? How could he ever believe what he’d seen himself? *How* could Aragorn be back?

“Don’t you want a pillow?”

Legolas rolled over, and found Aragorn staring down from the bed at him.

“Well, actually…I’m used to having nigh on thirty pillows.”

“Oh thirty you say? Well, I just may have that amount…actually, I may have that many for you and I. And Áryto. Are you elves suspicious of a pillow-shortage?”

Legolas couldn’t help grinning. “No, but if ever there was one, we shall be able to stock Middle Earth and gain a good name for the elves of Mirkwood.”

Aragorn laughed quietly. He was so weak…Legolas tried to smile again, but he couldn’t help feeling the mood dampened. What if Aragorn never regained his strength? What if Elrond could not heal him? What if he died again…Legolas would surely die if Aragorn left him for good.

You are moving with the wind again, Legolas. It’s blowing you to worry, and you’re letting it. Legolas sighed at the sound of the voice, knowing it could only be reason speaking to him, but he couldn’t really help his worry…

“Don’t look so sad, Legolas. I am well…really.” Aragorn smiled.

Legolas returned the look. “Well I’m not. I thought you were going to give me a pillow.”

“And that I was, but I’ve grown far too attached to them all. Maer fuin.” And with that, his face disappeared, and a small rumble of sinking pillows reached Legolas’ sensitive ears.

“Oh, well that *is* kind of you,” he grumbled good-naturedly, rolling over on his side again.

*whump*

Legolas sat bolt upright, the offending pillow in hand. “Strider!”

Aragorn was laughing. “I’ve been *waiting* to do that to you, I hope you know.”

Legolas shook his head and chuckled. “Grudges die hard, don’t they?”

At that, Aragorn smiled faintly. “So do we.”

Legolas paused, then put his pillow on the floor and lay down. The faint crumple of bedding and mattress showed that Aragorn did the same. For awhile there was silence. Silence that lasted so long, Legolas considered drifting off, figuring Aragorn to be asleep.

But then, “I’m back, Legolas. I’m alive.”

“Istón,” Legolas responded sighing in final relief.

And then the silence continued unrippled, and when Legolas sat up to check on Aragorn, the human was fast asleep, his arm draped over his closed eyes. “Maer fuin, Estel.”

And Legolas looked into a blank wall of sleep, and ran away into a dream happier and gentler than any he’d had for five, long days.

**********

Dark. It was still dark. Legolas sat up slowly. Something had awoken him. What? What was it? He looked around the dark room, and found Áryto still sitting, half asleep in the chair by the window.

He stood up, and looked down at Aragorn, who still lay in the bed. At first, he appeared to be peacefully resting, but then- he jolted to one side as if in a spasm, and groaned.

“Aragorn?” Legolas whispered gently, sitting down next to the human.

“Legolas…” the other responded, his voice low, and distant.

“Aragorn, I am here.”

“Legolas…Legolas, I hear you…I hear you.”

“That is good, my friend. Now rest-”

“No! Don’t say- don’t speak such things! No, I am here! I- here, Legolas- ple- las- please no!”

“Aragorn!” Legolas shook his friend who was *clearly* not awake, trying hard to bring him out of this dream.

“Legolas…please, don’t! I am here! I am still here!”

“Aragorn, ea na gwiil!”

“Legolas! Legolas- I beg you!” The human thrashed around the bed, trying to reach for something unseen, and nearly rolled off the bed. Legolas quickly caught him, and pulled him further onto the mattress.

“Legolas- don’t! Don’t, Legolas! Eal lin layaa kuil!”

Legolas’ heart stopped. He couldn’t speak. His body froze with fear, and for a long moment, he just stared at the sleeping Ranger. What- he *couldn’t* know! It was impossible! His mind whirled.

But finally, he spoke. “Aragorn…are you awake?”

The human tossed to the side. “Lib ta...in sikil...please, Legolas…please don’t.”

Legolas still couldn’t move. How? How could he know? “Aragorn…you- you couldn’t-”

“In sikil! Eal lin layaa kuil! Legolas, please! I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“Aragorn, no! No, stop, you can’t- you didn’t hear! You didn’t! Ea le firn san! Firn!” Legolas’ voice rose in fear. “Ea le firn san!”

Aragorn lay still for a long moment. But then, his eyes fluttered open, and he slowly focused on Legolas’ panicked face. “Legolas…”

“Ea le firn…” Legolas repeated achingly.

“Maem, Legolas,” Aragorn soothed with surprise. “I am well. Worry not…rest….rest…” Aragorn’s eyes slowly shut again, and he was still and quiet.

Legolas was still shaking. rest… the command tempted him greatly, and so he slowly lowered himself onto the floor again, and let his weary body and tired emotions run from him. Slowly, the terrifying words spoken began to feel like a trifle problem. And the more he thought about it, the more that tiny problem became a distant memory. And that memory, a dream.

And soon, his dreams claimed him once more, and he was freely carried to peace.

For now.

Chapter 11

Death, Life, Mystery

Morning. It was morning. The sun shone clearly through the window in the once-dark room. Legolas slowly sat up, and squinted into the suns new rays. His eyes were soon relieved as a great, storm-cloud stepped over the warm light.

Legolas sighed, and looked around the room. What had woken him? Yawning, he sat up, and looked over at Aragorn. The human’s eyes were closed, but he didn’t appear to be asleep. Legolas pulled himself onto the bed, and sat down beside his friend.

Aragorn’s eyes opened slowly, and he smiled faintly when he saw Legolas. “Suilad,” he greeted, yawning. The yawn made Legolas yawn as well, which garnered a laugh from his companion. “Did you sleep well?” he asked stretching his arms.

“I did. You?”

“Slept like the dead.” Aragorn responded, grinning.

Legolas rolled his eyes at the pun. “It’s not really a joking matter for me…”

“I know, Legolas. But…well, I wanted to see you roll your eyes.” And Legolas shook his head in wonder at the human’s choice of comedy as he laughed to himself.

“Very well, you win,” he conceded. Looking slowly around the room, his eyes fell on Áryto. The elf still sat, eyes closed, beside the window. “He will sleep through *anything*!” Legolas laughed. “He even slept through your-”

Memory hit the elf like an arrow in the heart. “…your dream.” He closed his eyes, waiting for Aragorn to ask- to say anything of it…

“You mean- your dream?”

His eyes snapped open, and he looked over at the young Ranger. “My dream?”

“Yes. You awoke last night, beside me, saying: ‘Ea le firn san!’ I thought you were having a bad dream of when I had died. I told you I was fine, and said to go back to sleep. Don’t you remember?

Yes, Legolas *had* been saying that…but didn’t Aragorn- “But…did you not dream last night?”

Aragorn thought a moment, looking at the ceiling for memory. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t remember. I don’t think so. Why?”

“I-” Legolas shook his head. He didn’t want him to know anyway. Just let it go away, Legolas, let it go now. “I guess it was part of my own dream, forgive me.”

Aragorn nodded slowly in a way that betrayed his disbelief. Legolas sighed. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone who knew him *this* well around. It made it impossible to lie! But it was a relief to know that Aragorn hadn’t been changed in the least through this near-death experience.

“But, anyway.” Legolas smiled, looking over at Áryto again. “He slept through my dream last night, and as you know, I was making a lot of noise.”

“You were indeed *yelling* as I recall,” Aragorn nodded, glancing at Áryto as well.

“And yet he did not awake-” Legolas froze, taking in Áryto’s appearance again. He was sitting by the window, eyes close, and face peace- eyes closed… “Áryto!” Legolas sprung off the bed, and ran to the Healer, pressing his fingers to the cold neck for a pulse. He shook his head slowly in fear. “He is dead.”

“What?” Aragorn crawled towards the end of the bed, a look of utter confusion on his face. “How?”

Legolas began to inspect the cold body. He looked over the neck, the chest, and the head. “I don’t understand…he *looks* fine!”

“Perhaps he walked his own way to Mandos?” Aragorn’s voice was low and saddened.

Legolas shook his head. “He was a content elf…he would not have given up with despair…I *know* he would not. And yet- his face looks peaceful. He went painlessly…perhaps you are right, Aragorn. Though, I should like to believe otherwise.”

“Shall I get Tirnniel?”

“Would you?” Legolas looked over his shoulder at Aragorn. “I would appreciate that, he will want to know…and I should like to look over Áryto a little more.”

Aragorn nodded, and swung his legs over the bed.

“Goodness, no!” Legolas said all at once, spinning around, and sprinting back to Aragorn. “Stay in bed, you are not well!”

“Indeed, I am.”

Legolas shook his head with a faint smile. “No, you’re not.”

“Indeed, I am,” Aragorn repeated, and placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “It is the Bengwiil…it is artificial strength, and it’s not right or natural…but it *is* strength. I shall get Tirniel.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “Very well.” And watched sadly as Aragorn sprinted out of the room. He *had* to get the man back to normal as soon as possible. They would journey towards Rivendel as soon as possible.

Turning around again, he let his fingers slide around Áryto’s face, feeling his clammy forehead and damp cheeks. He then searched the neck for a sign of a dart or something. But he found none. As he inspected the body, he had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t alone in the room. He kept looking up for the presence he thought he’d felt. But every time, he found himself alone as ever.

He kept reaching for Áryto’s chest or neck, trying to find a heartbeat or pulse. But he couldn’t feel it, and he was forced to keep searching for a sign of murder.

Legolas was checking the Healer’s knee, where he thought he’d seen a pressure sore or something, when he felt that eerie feeling again. Someone was in the room. He looked around, trying to find the source of the feeling.

As he turned his head back to Áryto, he was caught in a deep, hazel gaze.

“Áryto?”

The eyes blinked.

“Áryto, you’re alive!” Legolas stood up, and looked the elf straight in the eye. “I thought- I thought you were dead!” He smiled with amazed relief. “I’m so…Áryto?”

The elf continued to stare past his shoulder, his eyes shifting over the room around them. “Wh-where…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve sent Aragorn to fetch Tirniel.” Legolas responded calmly, inadvertently answering the question Áryto had really been asking.

“Tirniel…?” His voice shook. “Tir- no! Don’t let him come!”

“Áryto, ea na gwiil, mellon nin!” Legolas hushed gently, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was sweating all over. It didn’t make sense…an elf? With a mortal fever? But at any rate, he was sick somehow.

“No! No, no…” Áryto was shaking his head fitfully, and looking blearily from Legolas to the room beyond him, and then to the door. “No, no…not- not Ti- Tirni…iel…iel…” He shook his head again and again, and blinked as though trying to get dust out of his eye.

“Áryto, stop.” Legolas said firmly, trying to hold the other’s gaze for a few moments straight. “What is wrong? Why do you not wish to see Tirniel?”

“H-he…he…h-h-he…” Áryto swallowed hard past his fear, and Legolas waited patiently for him to finish his sentence. “…he…w-will…w-willl be angry!” He shouted at once, as if suddenly remembering a thought with indigence.

“Angry?” Legolas shook his head. “Are you referring to last night?” he inquired gently, remembering when Áryto had looked worried and even a bit frightened when Tirniel had left abruptly, leaving the younger Healer to watch Aragorn that night.

Áryto nodded vigorously, finally focusing on Legolas’ face with relief. “Y-you know what is wrong with h-him? It’s t-the this- th-the only way…”

Legolas shook his head. “He isn’t angry, Áryto. He’s just- he’s confused by Aragorn’s return, that is all. I was as well, almost frightened.

Áryto’s face contorted with pain and disappointment. “No! It is not that, highness…n-not Aragorn, the-the…”

“Then who is it?”

Áryto’s eyes unfocussed. “Who? Who is…who is dead…who…” his voice trailed, and he seemed to see these same words of Tirniel’s scrawling across his eyesight. “Yes…”

Legolas felt cold fear grip him as he watched the Healer in a panic. He looked completely mad! “Áryto! Áryto!” He shook the other’s shoulder, trying to catch his eye again. “Áryto! Lasto beth nin!” But the Healer moved limply with the shaking, and refused to come out of his thoughts.

“Legolas!” The prince looked up quickly to see Aragorn come breathlessly in with Tirniel in-toe. The human stopped dead in his tracks. “Why are Áryto’s eyes-” but before he could say ‘open’, Tirniel rushed forward.

“Áryto! Oh, no, Valar, Áryto!” He fell to his knees by the elf, and shook him. “Áryto…”

The elf’s eyes flickered, and he fixed Tirniel with a blank stare. “He is fading!” he exclaimed, anguish in every syllable.

Legolas could tell by the way that Aragorn’s eyebrows shot up that the human had informed Tirniel of Áryto’s *death*. But it appeared to come as no surprise to Tirniel to find that his companion was indeed *almost* dead rather than already dead. This perplexed Legolas greatly, but he didn’t have time to think it over, for Tirniel rose to his feet.

“I shall take him, I know what to do.” And hastily, he pulled the Healer out of his chair, and swung him over the shoulder. Before Legolas or Aragorn could really react, he had dashed out of the room, Áryto swinging limply from his right shoulder.

“I-” Aragorn circled the bed to Legolas’ side. “I thought Áryto was dead!”

Legolas shook his head. “As did I…” he sighed. “I suppose Tirniel knows what he’s doing- I…oh, it all confuses me, nothing makes sense anymore.” He laughed. “And I always had thought you’d remain the *only* thing I’d never understand.”

Aragorn returned the laugh, and sat back on his bed. Legolas grinned and sat down next to him, flopping down on his back the next instant, and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. “I can never, never express how wonderful it is to have you back, Aragorn,” he murmured at length.

Aragorn’s smile faded into quiet understanding. “Legolas…I was wondering…when do you plan to tell me about everything that happened since I- well, since I nearly died…that night so many nights ago?”

Legolas’ eyes opened slowly, but he did not look at Aragorn, and instead focused on the bleached-stone ceiling. At length, he sighed. “Aragorn, I don’t know if I can bare to relate everything I’ve done wrong while you were gone. All the tears- the despair…nearly giving up so many times…”

“I want to know, Legolas…I want to share whatever it was with you. It’s the only way you shall ever get rid of it. I- feel I *have* to know. And if you tell me everything…*everything*…I will tell you all I can about while- while I was gone.”

Legolas slowly nodded. He knew this would come eventually, but every time he had thought of it, he’d push away, giving some excuse for why he could forget about it. He didn’t look forward to it…but, Aragorn was right. He *had* to tell his friend.

And anyway…he trusted Aragorn more than anyone.

“The night you went away, I- I started to sing the moment my tears settled a bit,” he began quickly, hoping that he could speed through the entire thing as if it didn’t hurt him to think about it. But it didn’t take long for his tone to slow. At times, he felt tears creeping back into his voice.

“…Edren tried to comfort me that day…even began to sing Lennathon, which- which just-” he shook his head for the right word. “Tore my heart to hear,” he said at last. “But I told him- I said I was fading…I said-” his voice began to fill with hesitance once more. “I said- I didn’t want to keep living…” he shook his head, and kept going…

As the story continued, Legolas didn’t see any of Aragorn’s reaction, but stayed staring straight at the ceiling. Had he been watching, he may have been a bit nervous. Every once and awhile, Aragorn would act really strangely.

“…I began to sing the song again…Kuin im, kuiv, na naeg im.” He quoted from the song, and shook his head. Had he been watching Aragorn, he would have seen the human’s eyes switch with a snap to Legolas’ face, and crease his forehead. But Legolas, of course, was inspecting the cracks in the ceiling instead.

The harder parts came when explaining everything he’d heard about Tirniel and the other Healers, as well as Átniir and everything involving Thranduil. But Legolas did his best, and tried to make it understandable. This, of course, was virtually impossible, because he barely understood it himself. But he made his way through it, and simply hoped that Aragorn understood.

In much less time than he’d expected, Legolas realized his tale was drawing to a close.

“…I said I’d give anything…I said I’d give everything, even my life, if you could come back. If you could live once more. I promised my everything for you if only Ilúvatar would spare you…then I felt you touch my hand. I felt your life flow through me. I opened my eyes…and I saw you…and I thought I was dead myself, really. When I realized at last that you, Estel, my dearest friend were alive once more…I almost died, I think.” Legolas shook his head, and took a long, deep sigh, as though he’d been saying the whole story in one breath.

At last, he looked over at Aragorn. The human was staring closely at the bed’s covers, and nodding.

“So…” Legolas sighed again, sitting up at last, and turning to look Aragorn in the eye, and as he did, Aragorn looked up at him.

“So…?” the human repeated, vaguely.

“Aragorn, it is your turn. I told my story,” and Leoglas added with an incredulous look, “and it wasn’t easy to recount. It’s your turn.”

Aragorn sighed this time, and swung his legs onto the bed, and sat cross-legged, rubbing his eyes slowly with the tips of his fingers, as though trying to relieve a headache. “It’s so hard- to put in words.”

Legolas nodded. “I know.”

Aragorn looked up at him, and began to nod as well. “But it’s different than yours- it’s…it’s so strange.” He took another breath, and sat straight. “All right, let us start with this. I knew I wasn’t dead the moment everything went dark. I don’t think I was entirely *awake* I couldn’t hear you anymore, I couldn’t see *anything*. But when I faded, I felt a sudden rush of surprise. I wasn’t dead! I was almost- thrilled, actually. But when I realized that it meant you were living thinking I *was* dead, I felt frightened. What would happen to you? But I tried not to think about it.

“There was really no time. I couldn’t feel it passing, if there was. The strange thing was, I kept hearing a soft melody. One I *knew* I had heard…” Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut, accessing his memory, and began to hum a faint tune.

Legolas nodded, joining in with the words. “The Road goes ever one and on,” he sang.

Aragorn’s eyes snapped open. “That was it! Of course, hearing it- wherever I was…in my mind, the way back of it…I couldn’t recognize the words, but I knew that the song was mine, as well as the singer, and I felt comforted in my thoughts.

“But then…then the song stopped, and it did not return. It was instead replaced by a different sound. The sound of hurt and pain. The sound of- of tears and hearts breaking. Of lost loved ones, of broken friendships. Of sorrow and despair. Of death. And as the song continued, I felt what there was of my life slipping away. I felt dark. I-” Aragorn bit his lip, not willing to meet Legolas’ gaze. “I think that was your song, Legolas. I think that was…‘kuin im, kuiv, na-’” He shook his head, and looking up, he saw Legolas close his eyes in pain, and shake his head. Aragorn decided to move on.

“Then it went away. I think that I could hear sounds- I felt them at least, I felt essence, but could not hear words. The memories are so vague, but sometimes, when I sleep, I can see them again. I can remember every vague feeling. It makes me wonder if every memory of that life in limbo was meant to be left in the world of dreams.

“But this I do remember. That all at once…just as the song had gone, so I could not feel you, I felt suddenly so- so lost. I felt that someone I loved very much had abandoned me. I wallowed unfeelingly in my thoughts or lack of thoughts. I just- was. That’s about all I knew. I was. And I hated it.

“Then I felt you near me. I felt that you were back, but you were passing me by. I wanted to call your name, but I knew I couldn’t. I wanted you, I even tried to call out. But I couldn’t make my body work. I felt you come nearer, I could almost hear you calling my name. I was *sure* you’d returned.

“Then someone was reaching for me, but it was someone I didn’t know. They think I’m dead I thought, and I was so scared I almost fell away into death once more. But I’m not dead! my mind kept frantically reminding me. Not yet, they must wait!”

Legolas was silent. He began to slowly remember these same words in his head that day he’d seen Aragorn’s door open. So somehow…Aragorn’s feelings had reached him? How was that possible?

“I felt myself begging for you to come and rescue me. I knew I needed you, and yet, I could feel you getting further away,” Aragorn continued shakily. “I felt things- settle a bit, after a dark moment of panic, I realized I was still all right. I could still feel you. Don’t be confused, I wanted to say, I’m right here.”

Legolas bit back the erg to say, ‘you *did* say that’. It wasn’t yet the time to explain to Aragorn the voices he’d heard while despairing for the human. Aragorn had to finish his side first.

“I could feel your confusion. I wanted to- answer…your questions,” Aragorn murmured, closing his eyes and trying hard to concentrate. “You know who I am,” he whispered as though in a trance. “You know I’m alive. But you- you didn’t know where…” he said slowly. “You didn’t know where I was anymore. I tried to tell you…I’m here…right here. And I tried to reach you-” Aragorn cut off abruptly, as if just remembering a key point of some dream. “There was a- a struggle…there were tears…a farewell…”

His eyelids tightened, and he rubbed his lips together pensively. “In sikil…”

Legolas froze.

“In s-sikil…lib ta…sikil…eal lin-” Aragorn broke off with a heavy sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath, and panting slightly, he opened his eyes again. “I can’t remember it. It’s so hazy- I don’t know if I really felt it, or if it was just a dream. Just a bit of my imagination…” He paused. “Legolas, are you all right?”

Legolas was still staring fixedly at Aragorn, daring him to remember any further. But now it was clear memory of it all was a distant memory. “Ea mae im.” he dismissed quickly. “What else do you remember?”

//I am well.//

“It- this thing…the struggle…it was all f-forgiven,” Aragorn said distantly, looking a bit annoyed at his confusingly incomplete tale. “But I could grasp one thing, and that one thing I remember clearly. I am your friend. I will always be your friend. That’s all I needed to know, and so I felt myself begin to drift. I was fading. But I couldn’t just leave, not without saying goodbye. So I reached out for a familiar place. Somewhere I understood. Somewhere you could always find me. And I left you. I knew I had gone, and drifted…somewhere else familiar. Somewhere where you were not, but I could still feel you. It must have been a place you loved and knew well.”

My balcony, Legolas thought, though he continued to watch Aragorn.

“At one time, I was sure you’d returned, I could feel you there. I wanted to reach out and touch you, but all I could try to convey was, It’s not too late to save me. It’s your second chance. And then I felt you drift away again.

“Things became dimmer and dimmer. I knew that I was still fading. Then, for now explainable reason, I felt lifted. I was flooded with green light, the brightest light, and yet- the murkiest shadow hung in it.” Aragorn paused, searching Legolas’ face for any sign of confusion. Surprisingly, he found none.

That was the Bengwill, Legolas thought positively, and a shudder took him unaware.

“The Bengwiil,” Aragorn echoed his friends thoughts, nodding. “Then the light was gone, and I kept slipping. Farther and farther away. At once, the light returned, but this time it frightened me. I didn’t- I couldn’t stand it. I hated it, though I don’t know why. It frightened me cold. But then it disappeared again, and I slipped away just a bit farther. Now it was so dark, I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I didn’t know what was happening outside of me, and I think I drifted away in a dream more distant than my half-dreamt reality.

“But just as things became so deep I knew I wasn’t returning, I saw-” Aragorn smiled slightly, looking out the bright window, a tear glistening unshed in his deep blue eyes. “I saw Eärendil. I saw the crystal light of the star of hope. I saw our friendship, I saw my hurt and my memories, my tears and my joy…I saw you, Legolas, everything you are, shining in the light of Eärendil.

“That, Legolas…that was your sacrifice. I am sure of it. When you pleaded with Ilúvatar for my life. That was that shining light of hope, that is what saved me. I am more certain of that than any other thought or feeling I thought of felt while nearly dead.

“And then…I opened my eyes.” Aragorn shrugged. “You know the rest of it.”

Legolas was silent, which was the reaction Aragorn had expected. At long last, the elf’s eyebrows rose a millimeter or so. “Oh,” he said.

Aragorn couldn’t help laughing, and Legolas had to admit, it was a humorous response considering the tale he was responding to. “Well, I don’t know what else to say,” the prince sighed, as Aragorn stopped laughing. “I think this is one of the strangest things we’ve been through, mellon nin.”

“I think that is an understatement,” Aragorn grinned a little lopsidedly. “But now we must turn from this matter, Legolas. There is much we’ve yet to figure out.”

“Such as…?” Legolas prompted, unable to think of anything more important than figuring out his and Aragorn’s emotions.

“Well, my life for one. You’ve saved it, but we have yet to figure out how I am going to keep it.”

Legolas thought a moment, trying to grasp what Aragorn was getting at. “You’re back,” he said at last. “What else need we know?”

“I’m living on Bengwiil, Legolas.” Aragorn’s face creased in slight disgust. “I can’t keep living that way. Eventually, Bengwiil will kill me again, and this time, I doubt there will be a return for me. I was very, very close to death this time. Another dose of that poison…” Aragorn shuddered inwardly. “I won’t be able to live through that.”

“Well-” Legolas shook his head. “We need to get to your father, we need to get you to Lord Elrond.” He nodded, positive of his decision, and stood up off the bed.

“And what will Adda do?” Aragorn asked quietly, looking up at Legolas in patient questioning.

“What he did for me. He can- well, he’ll call the poison out!”

“How? Will he cut a slit in my throat and bring it out of there? Like you?”

“How should *I* know, but he’s the only one who can heal you, Aragorn, of that I am certain.”

“Well, I suppose…I suppose there is wisdom in asking him what he thinks is best, but we have little time. Bengwiil’s energy only lasts so long, and if-”

The conversation was broken by frantic pounding on the door. “Your highness! Prince Legolas!” a tear-chocked voice screamed. “Your highness, please! He-he’s dead!”

Chapter 12

Into the Forest

Legolas went quickly to the door, Aragorn leaping to his feet behind him. As the prince threw the door open, a young elven maiden fell against him, sobbing. As Aragorn approached behind Legolas, his eyes went wide at the crying elf. He looked questioningly at Legolas, who’s eyes were as confused as his own.

“Átniir?” Legolas asked, massaging her shaking shoulders. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Átniir continued to sob a bit more, than chocked, “H-he’s dead!”

“Who, who is dead?”

“Haithen!” she cried. “Haithen is dead, he’s dead!”

Legolas remembered that name… Haithen had been Átniir’s brother. The one who had died after the hunting trip Thranduil had sent him and the other elves on. “Átniir- I know he is dead.”

“H-he rode up on his horse, he’s full of arrows!” she sobbed, clutching Legolas’ tunic and burying her face in his shoulder.

“Sh…” Legolas soothed, rubbing her back.

“Isn’t he already-” Aragorn asked quietly.

Legolas mouthed the words, “Go check,” and Aragorn nodded and ran to the stables.

“I shouldn’t have…s-should have listened, and just done it!” Átniir moaned.

“Sh…” Legolas repeated. “It’s all right, it’ll be all right.”

“No, b-but it’s not all right!” Átniir pushed away from Legolas, her eyes wide with fear and further tears. “You don’t understand!”

“What don’t I understand?” Legolas asked calmly.

“Daurrè!” she cried. “H-he said he’d avenge my b-brother, said he’d avenge Haithen.” she whimpered between hiccups. “H-h-he saddled his horse, a-and rode for Mirkwood b-but moments ago!”

Legolas’ limbs went cold.

At that moment, the steady patter of feet came flying up the hall, and Legolas looked to see Aragorn running towards them, a gnarled black arrow clutched in his fist.

“It is true,” he breathed with a slight cringe. “Haithen is dead. Look.” He turned the arrow over, showing a bloodied arrowhead. It was crudely cut, and jagged at the point.

“Yrc,” Legolas swore, and Aragorn nodded. “I should have known. There are many, many orcs roaming Mirkwood.”

“You must find him, your highness, you must!” Átniir’s sobbing jerked Legolas back to her presence, as well as her last piece of information.

“Find who?” Aragorn demanded, looking at Legolas with renewed worry.

“Daurrè,” Legolas sighed, pressing his fingers against closed eyes as though in a headache. “He has ridden off into Mirkwood, alone, to avenge-”

“No, no *not* alone.” Átniir shook her head rapidly, tears forming in her eyes again. “He said that he could try to keep Daurrè from going. He said he’d go with him if only to bring him back. Oh, your highness, he would have told you- but there was no time!”

“Who?!” Legolas demanded, unable to take Átniir’s random mumblings any longer, and tension making his voice harder than it was meant to be.

“Edren, highness!” Átniir wailed, and flung herself on Aragorn, Legolas’ harsh tones obviously the cause for the change of comfort. Aragorn patted her kindly on the back, and tried to soothe her, while looking worriedly at Legolas.

“Edren…” the prince whispered. “No. Oh please, not Edren.” He turned and met Aragorn’s eye. “I must go, Aragorn, I have to. I won’t let anything happen to Edren. I can’t.”

Aragorn nodded readily. “Of course. And I go with you.”

“Aragorn-”

“I go with you,” he repeated, and in his eyes there was no room for argument.

“Of course.” Legolas nodded slowly, and then almost smiled. “Hannon le.”

“Ea le govonnen,” Aragorn responded with a slight nod, and pulled Átniir off him. “Átniir?” he said kindly. “Legolas and I plan to ride into Mirkwood and search for the both of them. Worry no more, all right?”

Átniir swallowed and looked over at Legolas, who smiled reassuringly and nodded, and then back at Aragorn. “All right,” she said, barely over a whisper. “B-be careful? Don’t let him…please don’t let him…”

“Go rest, Átniir,” Aragorn told her softly. “Go rest.”

“Hannon le,” she chocked out weakly, and turned down the hallway and towards her room.

“I shall saddle Horthor and Lint, and you had best go inform your father we are-”

“I shall saddle Lint,” Legolas interrupted. “My father doesn’t know the difference between fire and ale anymore. He will not know I am gone.” Legolas’ voice was slightly bitter, but Aragorn could understand that. After all the battles he’d had with Thranduil, it was a wonder Legolas was still alive.

“Let us be off,” Legolas said swiftly, breaking into Aragorn’s thoughts. “We have not an instant to lose.”

**********

“Mirkwood looks somehow- murkier since I was last here…” Aragorn mused. His voice made Legolas jump slightly, mainly because neither of them had said more than three words since they’d left the Halls of Thranduil.

“It’s the clouds,” Legolas sighed. “Mirkwood’s been threatened by rain since we got back from Rivendell.”

“Hm,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas sighed again, and shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me figure out which way…” he knelt down by his horse again, and searched the dented earth, Aragorn doing the same beside him. “I think it’s only about an hour old…”

Aragorn ran his fingers along the hoof-print’s wall. “The dips and curves are still sharp,” he murmured, more to himself than the elf beside him. “There is no sign of wind over it…nor dew.”

“So what do you think?”

Aragorn nodded. “I think it’s either Daurrè’s or Edren’s. It has to be.”

“But wouldn’t there be signs of two horses? They are surely riding together, if Edren is going under the pretence of being with Daurrè all the way.”

“True, but it is hard to say how many prints there may be. There could be five horses but one set of prints, as long as they were of elven riders. With such light step, and such quick travel?”

“I see your point,” Legolas nodded. “Then we follow these prints on.”

They rode after the hoof-prints for almost another hour, before Legolas pulled Lint to a halt once more. “Did you hear that?” he whispered urgently to Aragorn.

The young Ranger listened carefully to the air, and shook his head. “I haven’t elven ears, my friend, I hear nothing.”

Legolas shook his head. “Perhaps I just-” He froze, and this time, Aragorn heard it too.

“Legolas! The Bengwiil…Legolas!”

Legolas leapt off of Lint, and felt Aragorn dismount from Horthor at the same time. The two crashed through the brambles, and after many scratches and cuts, found themselves standing before the source of the voice.

“Prestomin!” Legolas exclaimed, kneeling down by the elven Healer. He was covered in mud and blood, and his arm lay at an unnatural angle to his side. Legolas swallowed hard. It was broken. “W-what happened?” he asked, bewildered.

“Yrc,” Prestomin hissed through bloodied and swollen lips. “I went for the Bengwiil, long before everyone else. Just after your human friend was cured of the injuries that unknown elf inflicted on him, I left. I wanted to find that Bengwiil and use it as a cure for everyone.” He coughed dryly and closed his eyes in pain. “I was wrong…so wrong…Bengwiil, it is poison, Legolas! It is poison! It burns it freezes and it kills as it brings to life.” Prestomin shuddered, and his eyes opened and shut rapidly. “I left Tirniel to handle it all on his own…I s-shouldn’t have…I…it is poison…”

Legolas shook the Healer. “Prestomin? Prestomin, lasto beth nin!” But Prestomin shuddered once more, his eyes unfocussed, and then closed. As his body went slack, Legolas let him sink to the earth.

“Hiro ith…ab…ab-weneth.” Legolas felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It is not too late for Daurrè and Edren.”

Legolas nodded and looked gratefully up at Aragorn. “Yes.”

And so they left Prestomin in the growing shadow of Mirkwood, along with yet another piece of mystery.

So yet another hour passed with no one speaking but the wind. At long last, Legolas made his dry throat open, and whispered the thoughts he couldn’t hold back any longer. “We never should have told my father what happened. We never should have told him about Bengwiil.”

Aragorn too was quiet for a moment, and then he sighed and shook his head. “We couldn’t have known. And you were right to inform your father of everything. It is your father who is wrong. Not you.”

But Legolas still stared fixedly at his horse’s mane, and looked as though he hadn’t heard Aragorn. “Bengwiil has ruined everything. So many lives lost, and perhaps more to come. And what is it all due to? Bengwiil and greedy mistakes.”

“Legolas, I sure hope you do not blame yourself for these things.”

Legolas was taken aback at Aragorn’s impatient tone, and turned to look at him. The human stared steadily back at him, and there was a look of almost frustration.

“Legolas, I forbid you-” Legolas laughed, knowing what words would follow, and Aragorn smiled in return. “I am serious, my friend,” he said, still smiling. “Do not blame yourself for your father’s, Prestomin’s, Daurrè’s, Anwé and Fenan’s, Bodruith’s, nor anyone else’s mistakes. They are *their* mistakes, and you and I shall try to the death to fix them.”

Legolas stared at the ground a feet beneath Lint’s saddle, taking in every word in full meaning. At last, he nodded, and gazed back at Aragorn. “Hannon le, mellon nin.”

Aragorn only smiled, and turned his eyes back to the forest ahead. “It’s so good to be with you again, Legolas Greenleaf.”

The prince’s smile nearly beat Aragorn’s in cheer. “Oh, Aragorn. You have no idea how-”

Legolas’ hand went to his bow, an arrow already notched, and Aragorn but milliseconds behind him. But it was too late. With a cry, Legolas pulled the black arrow from his thigh, while Aragorn sent his arrow into the underbrush.

The screech of an orc sent Horthor rearing, and Lint suddenly jumpy. Aragorn leaned forward on his horse to keep from falling off, and patted him reassuringly on the neck. Legolas sent a volley of arrows into the bushes around them, while whispering elvish comfort to Lint, so to calm him.

Aragorn had just settled Horthor back to the ground, when the full barrage of what had been hiding in the bushes exploded into the clearing. Orcs came spilling from the undergrowth, screaming and brandishing jagged knives and gnarled arrows.

Wide-eyed, Legolas shot his notched arrow, and thrust his bow into its quiver, pulling his twin elven knives from his back in the same movement. Aragorn threw the bow he’d been shooting into a slit in Horthor’s saddle, and pulled out his sword, thrusting it into a near orc immediately.

Stabbing and slicing, they fought their way towards the end of the clearing, trying to get some space to ride off. Aragorn had taken a knife-point through his boot, piercing his foot, and leaving the offending orc with an anger-driven execution. Legolas had stopped several arrows that had been flung his way, but not unscathed; he had several cuts across his sleeves, and one slice left by an arrow that had swung a little too close to his neck.

But all in all, they seemed to be winning, if they could only escape the piles of orcs by their horses’ feet. “Legolas!” Aragorn called over the commotion. “Jump them!”

Legolas nodded and on a mental count of three, they urged the horses to a leap, and flew smoothly over the orcs’ heads. As they landed, taking out several more orcs under the beasts’ pounding hooves, they both shouted, “Noro lim!” and Horthor and Lint tore off into the forest, hoping to escape the frightening screams of orcs.

Legolas and Aragorn turned in their saddles, and stowing their blades, pulled out bows and arrows once more. Volley after volley flew into the orcs running behind them, until they could no longer see any in their wake, but dead ones.

Aragorn was about to turn back to face the upcoming forest, when Horthor reared up and screamed in fear. “Horthor! Ea na gwiil!” Aragorn cried, leaning over to calm the horse. But as Horthor’s feet hit the ground again, his legs crumpled beneath him, and he sank to the forest floor, throwing Aragorn off his back and sprawling backwards onto the ground as well.

“Aragorn!” Legolas leapt off his horse, and ran to his friend’s side. Aragorn rolled over, and worked his way to his knees.

“Ea mae im,” he murmured dazedly.

//I am well.//

Legolas went to Horthor’s side next, and searched the horse for an explanation for his strange behavior. “Salab?” he said, curiously inspecting the darts he pulled from the horse’s chest and rump.

“Where would orcs get Salab darts?” Aragorn asked, looking around the clearing for a sign of activity. There didn’t appear to be anyone…

Legolas looked up as well, searching the surrounding undergrowth once more. “Perhaps there-” in a lightening move, he notched an arrow and shot it into the bushes. After a piercing scream, a filthy orc tumbled from the bushes, what looked like a tiny crossbow clutched in his hand.

Legolas ran forward to grab the tiny crossbow, knowing it was a Salab dart bow, but just as he approached, the bushes seemed to rip apart before him, and another hoard of orcs came bursting forward. Legolas ran backwards, shooting arrows as he ran, until he was standing back-to-back with Aragorn.

The two stood together, shooting arrows in every direction possible, until a particularity big orc came hurtling towards them, a fire-arrow strung in his tree-like bow.

“Get down!” Legolas cried, turning to pull Aragorn out of the way of the flaming arrow. It hit a tree not far behind them, and as the two friends stood up again, the tree came crashing towards them, its dead bark crackling with the flames.

Aragorn leapt one way, Legolas tore the other, and the flaming tree fell where they’d once stood. Aragorn stood up, and bit back the panic of having a flaming tree between him and his friend. Stowing his bow, he unsheathed his sword, and headed for the oncoming orcs.

Legolas too was a bit worried for his friend being that far away from him, but he hadn’t the time to call out to him. Putting his bow away as well, he pulled out his elven knives, and began swinging at the orcs around them.

Aragorn backed away from the five orcs trying to surround him, thrusting out with his swords as he went. With as quick a movement a he was capable of, he flew at three of them, and took them down, stabbing all the way. But he hadn’t accounted for the other two having presence of mind enough to attack him while he did this.

He felt one fling onto his back, and the other rush at him with his knife brandished. Aragorn rolled out from under the orc on his back, just as the filthy beast grabbed the shoulder of his tunic to try and hold him down. The end result was Aragorn coming to his knees with his sleeve torn away. The orc with the knife eyed the scar leading from Aragorn’s shoulder to his wrist. That wound that Mornaeg had given him in the tower room so long ago was still healing, and as the orc stared greedily at it, Aragorn felt a shiver go up his spine.

“Dintrok!” the orc cried, whirling about to where several more orcs came rushing up. “Hold the human! He is *mine*!”

Aragorn thrust his sword forward, aiming for the one with the knife, but another orc stood in front of that one, and Aragorn’s sword went straight through him. The orc coughed black blood, and leered. Aragorn tried to pull his sword out, but it had gone straight through him, and appeared to be stuck.

The human let go of it and went for his knife instead, but the orc that had been on his back, as well as several new ones, leapt onto him, and drove him to the ground. The one with the knife sprinted forward, and clutched his weapon, staring hungrily down at Aragorn. The young Ranger struggled to get out from under the pile of orcs holding him down, but the one with the knife was quicker.

Legolas took two orcs down at once, and leapt over them for a third. He’d been doing pretty well, but the nagging thought that Aragorn was alone on the other side of the clearing still worried him. He jumped high, and landed on an orc’s head, smashing him into the churned-up mud and knocking down one of his companions as well.

A cry of agony rent the air, and everyone, even the orcs paused a moment. “Aragorn!” Legolas tore across the clearing, the orcs crying with glee in his wake. To his bewilderment, they ran ahead of him instead of attacking him from behind. They ran as though they didn’t want to miss something really special.

“Not another step, elf!” Legolas froze in his tracks, his eyes wide with horror.

Aragorn was on his knees, holding himself up with one arm. His other arm was being pinned behind him, and was bleeding freely. Legolas shuddered. The evil beasts had reopened his wound.

Three orcs stood about him. Two held his arm painfully behind him and the third held his stringy hair with one hand and dagger pointed to his throat with the other. “Not another step,” he repeated. “I *will* kill him, if I have the excuse.”

“What do you want?!” Legolas demanded, pain making his voice angry.

The orc grinned, showing spiky and rotted teeth. “Your cooperation.”

“What do you want,” Legolas repeated dangerously.

“I want you to put all your weapons on the ground.”

Legolas gritted his teeth, but not wanting to play games with Aragorn’s life, reached to his shoulder and undid the strap to his quiver in which his bow, arrows and knives were. Ever slowly, he set them on the ground. Several orcs dashed forward and scooped up the weapons, whispering excitedly.

Legolas had to keep himself from strangling them as the rushed past him. “Now what?” he demanded loftily.

The orc continued to leer, but the look slipped slightly to annoyance as Legolas continued to be the proud Mirkwood elf they knew he was. “Now I want you to answer a question.”

“What,” Legolas asked, uninterested.

“Why was your stupid, mortal friend, so stupidly easy to capture? Is it because he’s stupid, or mortal?”

Legolas felt heat rise solidly to his awareness. He was seriously considering making an about-face and snatching his weapons back, when the large orc who’d had the fire-arrow kicked his legs out from under him. Or at least he tried to.

Legolas sank to one knee, but managed to keep the other from tripping. He was about to spring to his feet again, when with a *THHHONT* burning pain began to spread from the Mirkwood prince’s knee to his toes. It took the Salab dart milliseconds to work, and before he could think, the elf’s leg was too numb to raise, and it too sank uselessly to the forest floor.

His hand groped for the dart, fighting to pull it out of his knee so the numbness would die off, but just as he did so, his arms were both wrenched behind him. Unwilling to give up without a fight, and hoping the daggered orc had forgotten the upper hand he had by holding Aragorn hostage, Legolas twisted around, only slightly disoriented by his deadened leg, and made a grab for the offending orc behind him. *THHHONT*

Legolas’ fingers flew to the Salab dart in his neck, and he tore it out frantically. But it had done enough of its job, and unable to feel his shoulders, he sank limply to his hands and knees.

The orcs piled around him almost immediately, and Legolas dimly felt his arms being pulled behind him once more. He looked up, just barely enough feeling in his neck to do so, and saw several of the foul beasts tying Aragorn’s hands behind him too. Now that the daggered one had pulled his weapon away to assist, Aragorn was able to speak. But he didn’t appear to want to.

“Are you all right, mellon nin?” Legolas demanded, eyeing the gash in Aragorn’s arm furiously.

Aragorn nodded slightly, wincing as his wounded arm was treated callously behind him. “I- I’m sorry, Legolas…“ he said at last, his voice audibly chocked. “I didn’t- t-there were so many of them-”

“Sh…” Legolas hushed, closing his eyes and creasing his forehead to keep himself from hissing as feeling came back to his wrists, letting him know that the ropes binding him were much too tight. He didn’t want to make Aragorn feel even worse. “It is all right, there were too many for me as well. It wasn’t just you.”

Aragorn nodded, trying to look reassured. “But- well, you put up a good fight, considering there were too many…I- gave up too quickly…but n-not next time…I’ll try- I won’t let you down again, I- I promise…”

“Aragorn,” Legolas whispered sharply, grief creasing his eyebrows together again in a look of the greatest of pity for his friend. “You did well, we were tricked. We were drawn into a trap.”

“I- shouldn’t have given up…could have tried h-harder…”

“Aragorn?” Legolas was no longer listening to the human’s words, but watching him instead. The human was shaking all over, and his eyes were glassy. “Are you all right?”

“I’m s-sorry…sorry I’m a human…I let you- let you down…I…Erfiér.” With a gasp, Aragorn’s knees crumpled beneath him. The orcs, surprised by this sudden change of events, let go of him, and let the human fall limply onto the forest floor.

“Aragorn!” Legolas cried, lunging forward. Several orcs, also surprised but unwilling to be tricked, held tight to Legolas’ shoulders, holding him to his still-numb knee. “Aragorn!” Legolas struggled against the orcs. “What have you done to him?!”

The daggered orc stood over Aragorn, and kicked at his still form curiously.

“‘That’?” the one called Dintrok murmured in the other’s ear.

The daggered orc nodded slowly, and smirked. “So even a mortal…”

“Better then. Much better. But we need a name, he would like that.” Dintrok smiled cruelly. “What do we do now, Gimdag?”

The other looked up and searched the forest around him. “The horses!” About two dozen orcs screamed with glee, and took off towards the burning tree, and then over it.

Legolas stared miserably at Aragorn’s still body. “If you’ve killed him…” he whispered dangerously to Dintrok and Gimdag. The two began to laugh mockingly.

“Oh, will the elf attack poor Gamdag?” the orc sneered. “Poor, frightened Gamdag, the tied elf will attack him!” Gamdag stumbled back wards and did a gurgling imitation of chocking, and Dintrok let loose with strangled guffaws. “I suppose then, you’d rather I not do this?” Gamdag sent his booted foot into Aragorn’s knee, sending the right leg flying over his left.

“Oh, but can’t I do this?” the orc took a step back, and sent his booted heal into Aragorn’s cheek, snapping the young Ranger’s head to the side.

“Hauta han!” Legolas cried, tried to push his finally feeling leg underneath him.

//stop it//

“The elf is cruel!” Gamdag hollered. “He speaks a language we orcs cannot understand. Poor, poor Gamdag can’t talk to the elf.”

“Don’t be rude,” Dintrok echoed. “What did you say?”

“Hauta han,” Legolas repeated, meeting Dintrok’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Don’t disrespect me!” Dintrok struck Legolas across the face angrily. “What did you say?! What is ‘hanta han’?”

Legolas licked at his bloodied lip, and looked Dintrok in the eye once more. But before he had to answer, the panicked whinnying of a horse split the air, and Legolas looked up to find a hoard of orcs pulling a frightened Lint into the clearing.

“We pulled the barbs from the human’s horse, but he won’t stand!” one of them spat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gamdag stepped forward and leered at the white beast. “The elf-horse will be faster. Brog!” The massive orc still standing behind Legolas approached. “Ride the elf-horse with the human. We’ll keep the elf in front.”

Brog grinned, bearing his pointed teeth, and climbed onto Lint’s back faster than the horse could react. But the moment Lint realized what was riding him, the beast began to buck and shake his head. “Calm it!” Brog cried, gripping onto the flowing white mane with his gnarled fingers.

Legolas steeled his jaw, and watched Lint’s work with a satisfied glint in his eye. Boiling at the arrogance of the elf, Gamdag made a lunge for Aragorn, his dagger clenched tight in his fist. Legolas, catching this in a split second of horror, jerked his back towards Lint. “Ea na gwiil, sadroner!”

Gamdag stopped, and turned a pleased eye on Legolas as Lint settled his feet uncertainly on the ground. His eyes were wide, and he snorted wildly, jerking his head about, but he kept a careful watch on Legolas, and trusting him, settled a bit.

“There,” Legolas said bitterly.

“Well done,” Gamdag responded calmly, causing Legolas to grit his teeth. “The human!” he called over his shoulder.

About five orcs crowded about Aragorn, and hoisted him off the ground. They sprinted him easily to Lint, and lifted his unconscious weight over their heads. Brog grinned again, and reached down beside him, wrapping two massive arms around the young Ranger’s waist.

In one swift motion, he pulled Aragorn from the other orcs, and settled him so he was sitting in the front. Brog reached around Aragorn’s chest, and stretched his dirty fingers through Lint’s pure mane. “Ready!” he called, grinning.

Legolas’ heart gave a lurch to see Aragorn trapped on that horse with Brog. He looked so small in comparison to the gigantic orc, and his head lolled helplessly onto Brog’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, and yet his unconscious face was creased in pain. And blood was dripping from the cut in his cheek to stain his tunic shoulder.

Legolas shuddered at this last sight. He should have said something- he shouldn’t have let Dintrok and Gamdag hurt Aragorn. “‘Hauta han’ is ‘stop it’!” it wouldn’t have *killed* him to say that!

“On your feet, elf.” Gamdag spat the word like a curse as he stood over Legolas’ shoulder, and several others were pulling on the prince’s bound arms. Legolas got his legs under him, and finally stood up. His knees trembled, and at first, he wasn’t sure they’d hold him. But after a few moments, he was steady on them.

“Go,” Gamdag hissed blandly, and sent a fist into Legolas’ back, almost stumbling the elf. “We’ve got a long way to walk.”

Chapter 13

“I don’t want to go back…”

Dimly, Legolas felt his knees hit the damp earth again. He was entirely exhausted, and yet he didn’t fall from fatigue. It was those blasted orcs! If only they’d stop shoving him this way and that, he could stay on his feet. He put his still-bound hands that he’d worked over his head and out in front of him on the damp ground before him, and rested on hands and knees for a few precious moments.

But this time, he didn’t feel rough hands pull him up again. All had come to a halt, and were staring around, looking for something.

“Uruk thrack-uk snaga!” Gandag shouted triumphantly. Legolas winced at the Black Speech, and doing his best to stay on his hands and knees, rather than collapse into the soft dirt, tried to move away from the orc speaking the black words.

“Skai!” came the response from somewhere in the undergrowth.

“Bú rz ash!” Gamdag shouted, turning around and gesturing to some orcs over his shoulder, who rushed forward with something between them. To Legolas’ surprise, Aragorn was thrust into the mud beside him, looking dirty and bedraggled, but not too hurt, and very much conscious.

“Ea le mae, mellon nin?” Legolas whispered.

//are you all right, my friend?//

“No…” Aragorn shook his head, and didn’t look at Legolas.

“What-” but Legolas was cut off as hair was seized by gnarled fingers of Gamdag, and the elf was hauled from his hands and knees to his knees alone.

“Agh ash sha-hai!” he shouted proudly, reveling cruelly as Legolas shied away from both his speech and the growing pain in his head. He would have struggled, he wanted to get away and killed the orc. It wouldn’t have been hard, all he needed was a decently sharp stick, and he could kill Gamdag in a strike.

But he knew that there were a few Salab darts aimed at him, as well as Aragorn, and he wouldn’t risk Aragorn’s safety.

“Well, go on elf,” Gamdag spat. “Say something! Prove to Tatra that I have brought back an elven prisoner!” Legolas steeled his jaw, causing Gamdag to shake the elf’s head painfully. “Say something!”

“Ea le brand feredir, hiril im,” Legolas hissed.

Before he’d time to think, he felt a painful shock go through his head, and his cheek hit something cold and trembling. He pushed himself up off of Aragorn’s hand, and glanced up at his friend’s curious look. At that he laughed, causing Gamdag to pause in his continued Black Speech.

With another snap, Legolas felt his head hit another time, and this time sprawled full on top of Aragorn, flattening the Ranger. “For your arrogance, elf,” Gamdag snarled, using Legolas’ race as a curse.

Legolas pushed himself off of Aragorn, allowing the human to rise shakily to his knees again, and sat back on his heals.

“Gamdag, enter!” shouted a graveled voice echoing with impatience. Proof he’d been repeating these words a few times.

Gamdag still stared at Legolas. “Do not laugh, impudent one. There will be nothing to laugh over soon, I assure you.”

“I laugh because I’ve just complimented you, good lady, on being such a noble hunter. And yet you strike me?”

Gamdag made another aim, but Leoglas’ reflexes were too much for him, and the elf ducked just as the blow flew towards him. Gamdag suddenly found himself turned around, his back to Legolas. Legolas didn’t dare take this opportunity to aim a kick at the orc’s unprotected back, knowing he would quickly endanger Aragorn, but he greatly enjoyed every moment of his temporary triumph.

“Gamdag!” Tatra shouted for a fourth time. “Are you bringing them or are you not?!”

Gamdag hissed with quiet rage. “Thrak-ul,” he muttered to the ones over his shoulder, and they rushed forward to grab hold of Aragorn and Legolas. But at once, the orc seemed to have an idea and waiting till Legolas was in a firm grip, he approached the elf, smiling cruelly. “You had better behave yourself. I might just give that human of yours another strike with my knife…and you know, that knife isn’t just any knife.”

Gamdag reached to his belt, and pulled out a jagged knife, waving it under Legolas’ nose. The elf recoiled into the orcs holding him as far as he could, a sudden tidal-wave of memories threatening to crush him along with the over-powering smell of Bengwiil. “Get it away from me!” he shouted, sending a knee into the orc’s elbow, and knocking him back a few paces.

Gamdag didn’t seem to mind as he waited for Legolas to recover and realize the full truth. It didn’t take long. “You…” the elf’s voice was suddenly small and frightened. “You stabbed Aragorn with that- that poisoned knife? You gave Aragorn Bengwiil?”

The orc licked his lips and nodded delightfully.

“Le ulund!” Legolas cried, lunging at the orcs’ grip. “I- I shall kill you! I shall *kill* you!” Gamdag stepped easily away from the thrashing elf, and looked over his shoulder.

“Brog?” The gigantic orc who’d been on Lint with Aragorn slid off the horse’s pure back and ambled over to Gamdag, eyeing Legolas hungrily. “Seems we’re having trouble keeping that elf down.”

“Sure,” Brog grinned, and advanced towards Legolas. Having very little time to think, Legolas waited for the split-second where neither the orcs retreating behind him nor Brog’s hands were on him. Clasping his bound hands together in a united fist, he lurched forward and sent his fists into Gamdag’s chin, sending the orc backwards by at least a few feet.

But his victory was short-lived. At once, there was an iron grip on his shoulder the jerked him back to his knees where he’d been standing before. “What d’you say we get those hands back behind you, elf?” Brog leered.

Taking their cue, a few eager orcs latched their hands onto Legolas’ waist, shoulders, and one even his neck, holding him in place. Struggling as usual, but helpless to their overwhelming strength, Legolas only clenched his teeth as Brog reached over his head, and grabbed his bound wrists.

Slowly, grinning toothily the whole time, the enormous orc pulled Legolas’ arms over his head and towards his back. Half-way through, unable to keep quiet, Legolas cried out in pain, feeling his shoulder was about to dislodge.

“Hauta han!” he shouted, struggling frantically at their grip, and even knocking a few of the smaller ones off. But Brog only tugged harder on the elf’s arms, trying to force them back behind his back. Legolas worked madly with his wrists, trying to twist them around, to align his arms the way they were supposed to be, rather than twisted to the sides.

At last, a bend of rope gave just a little, and Legolas’ right wrist twisted around, allowing his right elbow to twist out to the side, lying evenly against his back, and relieving the sharp pain in his right arm. Hearing the elf sigh in relief, and taking that as a sign that they were done, Brog pushed Legolas’ forward by his bound arms.

With a sickening *CRACK* hot pain shot through Legolas still crooked left arm as it was pressed bent to his back. With a cry, he flew forward with the force of Brog’s push, and fell limply, bent double with the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

“Get him up!” Gamdag shouted gleefully, and Brog, a bit shocked, stumbled forward and snatched Legolas up by his shoulders. A cry ripped from Legolas’ throat, and he thrashed about, trying to get out of the rough hold.

“Hold still!” Brog shouted, shaking him. “You’ll make it worse, elf!” To Legolas’ surprise, he heard fear in the orc’s voice. He held still and panted for breath, doing his best to collect himself and ignore the pain. As his eyes swept the darkening clearing, a thought struck him.

“W-where is Aragorn?”

“What? Oh, the human.” Brog looked up at Gamdag and sneered slightly. “Tatra took him up while you were having trouble with your elf, Gamdag.”

A look of utter disgust over-took the orc’s already hideous face. “Take the elf in then,” he muttered, and Brog easily complied, a whole herd of orcs at his shoulder.

Legolas didn’t even want the chance to bolt. Deep down, he hoped that Brog’s grip on his shoulders didn’t loosen, just so he wouldn’t be tempted to make a break for it. He hurt all over, and desperately wanted to know where Aragorn was.

He trembled slightly at the thought of them poisoning his friend with Bengwiil. Where had they even found it? Well, it was no wonder Aragorn was acting so strangely. Legolas wondered distantly what Bengwiil did to Aragorn exactly. Legolas’ greatest fear was losing the ones he loved, and that is why he dreamt his father was dieing before him and that Aragorn hated him when he was poisoned with the plant.

But what was Aragorn’s greatest fear? What did he see?

“Down,” came the gruff order of Brog over his shoulder. Numbly, he realized Brog had pushed him to his knees in front of a large tree-root sticking out of the ground. Brog moved to Legolas’ side, and slipping one hand out to grasp his dislocated shoulder, he lay the other over the back of the elf’s neck. As the orc pressed Legolas’ forehead against the tree root, the prince felt Gamdag slice the ropes from his wrists.

Pain and relief rushed up Legolas’ arms at the same time, but it didn’t last long. No sooner had the cords fallen away, when another length of rope was twisting around his left hand. He felt a determined tug on the rope before the feeling went completely from his left hand, and at once, Brog let go of his neck. He kept his other hand on Legolas’ shoulder, but now moved the one that had been on the elf’s neck to his chest, allowing him to sit up on his heals a little.

Gamdag moved quickly in front of Legolas, and bringing his tied left hand around in front of him, looped the rope tight to the tree root. Bringing up the end, Gamdag soon had Legolas’ right hand tied as well, and the two orcs stepped back satisfied.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Gamdag assured, surveying the rope that tied from Legolas’ left hand to the root, from the root to his right hand, and from his right hand back to his left. And the two walked off, muttering.

Leoglas’ first thought was, Why didn’t they leave a guard? but that was pretty obvious. There were orcs everywhere. As torches began to light all over the darkening camp, Legolas realized there were hoards of them, and there was really no chance of running off without someone noticing, especially since the tree appeared to be directly in the center of camp.

Unable to get off his knees, Legolas rose as high as he could with his hands bound so close to the earth, and looked around. To his surprise, he found someone tied not a few feet away form him.

“Aragorn!”

The human looked around, and when he saw Legolas only a few feet down the tree root from him, he smiled, and whispered something that sounded like: ‘Thank the Valar.’

The root that Legolas’ hands were tied to appeared to dive under the earth and then reemerged a few feet away where Aragorn was tied. But unlike Legolas, Aragorn hadn’t sat up as far as he could. In fact, he was sprawled out, slightly to the side, and his head rested on his bound hands. He looked uncomfortable, and yet he didn’t seem to notice.

“Aragorn, are you all right?”

The human shook his head only slightly. With considerable effort, he turned his head to the side, and to Legolas’ horror, there was a Salab dart buried in the back of his neck. “I heard you cry out, and I tried to run to you…I was so afraid, I wasn’t thinking- I felt a sting in my neck, and next I knew, I couldn’t move and Tatra and Dintrok were standing over me…”

“Sh…do not worry, I’ll get it out.” Legolas licked his lips, trying to think of a way. With no other better ideas, he began to hoist himself onto the tree root which appeared to be no more than a foot thick. Balancing his weight on it carefully, he inched backwards towards Aragorn as far as his hands, still bound to the tree root, would allow him. As he moved he could smell the deep and damp scent of sweet oak filling his nose, making him almost dizzy.

As he touched the ground again where the root ducked under the soft earth, he felt his arms straining. Reaching out with his foot, he did his best to look back to see what he was doing. He was in the right spot now, just barely at the end of where he could reach. Sliding his foot between where the dart protruded and the ground, he counted silently in his head, and in one, strong motion, he kicked his foot up in the air, and tore the dart from his friend’s neck.

Aragorn, of course, didn’t feel it, seeing the whole point of the dart was to numb him, but he jumped slightly at the sudden motion. Legolas crawled haphazardly back to where he wasn’t straining his arms anymore, sitting on his heals once more. He glanced worriedly over at Aragorn, but fortunately, there wasn’t too much blood trickling from the wound, and the little flow there was soon ceased.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Well, I’m only just *starting* to feel.”

Legolas smiled. “I mean, inside. Deeper. They said- they gave you Bengwiil?”

Aragorn nodded. “I was- terrified, but, well, I don’t feel it anymore…the Bengwiil. I don’t see what I was seeing or feel what I was feeling before. It’s gone.”

“It is?” Legolas was bewildered. “But it wasn’t earlier, when I asked you if you were all right, you said ‘no’.”

“It’s true.” Aragorn shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe I’ve had too much Bengwiil for a poisoned cut to do a whole lot.”

“Perhaps.” Aragorn’s mention of a ‘poisoned cut’ made Legolas remember the human’s previous wound. He glance nervously at his friend’s torn arm. “Try and keep your other wounds concealed, my friend. I would hate for any of them to open more wounds than they already have.”

Aragorn also glanced over at his shoulder, and then switched to look at Legolas. “You are the one who must concentrate on concealing yourself, Legolas. What will happen if they find out who you are?”

“Me?” Legolas snorted lightly. “I am the prince of Mirkwood, Aragorn. Big deal. It’s not as if they’ve ever been the kind to much care about hostages, deals or ruling. All they want is their mindless, malicious enjoyment.”

Aragorn shook his head. “I can’t help but feel they want us alive, Legolas. And- that barricade of them we ran across? That was no accident. They were waiting up for us. And this campsite is well-used. They’re doing something.”

“I got that general impression myself. But I can’t imagine it’s all that much to worry over. Orcs are by nature disorganized.”

“Maybe it’s not just the orcs.”

Legolas shrugged with a sigh, and did not respond. He was silently working at his ropes as the two had spoken, and he began to realize that unlike most orc-ropes, they did not bite into his wrists as he worked at them. Looking down in bewilderment, he realized something that sent a cold chill down his spine. “Elven,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked, sitting up a little ways, as feeling had come back into his body, reminding him of the pain in his arm.

Legolas looked up quickly. “This is elven rope.”

Aragorn looked down at his own bonds, and realized that they were not dark and coarse, but smoky-gray and gentle. The fine weaving did not hurt Aragorn’s sore wrists, but held them firmly to the tree-root all the same.

Legolas groaned. “There is *no* way to break the strands of elven rope. Orcs are clumsy, but the elves-and especially the fine craftsmen of Lorié n, from whence we receive most of our ropes-they are careful and sure. But- there must be another way…”

Aragorn looked down at the his hands. “Could we not break the root?”

Legolas tested the idea against his ropes, tugging at them and wiggling the root just a little. “It is a foot thick, my friend, it will barely move, let alone break.”

Aragorn shook his head. “Can you maybe-”

A loud scream of agony slashed the air, and the friends both looked up in shock. “No!” someone cried from across the encampment. “No, not- not more, I’ll tell you- I’ll tell you! Get away from me, I’ll tell you!”

An orc’s laugh curdled Legolas blood, as he realized that the screaming voice was that of an elf.

“You *will* tell me all I want to know, or I can simply-”

“Get away from me, please! Ask- ask me, anything, I’ll tell you anything!”

“But we were hoping to give this another test, you know…”

“No please- kill me then, kill me but don’t- please don’t!”

“Very well…”

The voices became quieter, and Legolas alone could catch words here and there. Aragorn’s human ears could only pick up the vague idea of speech over the camping orcs around them. But it didn’t take long for the orcs to get bored of taking their captive quietly, and soon the voices were loud and in ear-shot once more.

“I tell you, he’s the prince!”

“You’re not just saying that to make us happy?” an orc purred maliciously. Legolas realized suddenly, now that the voices were loud again, that the commotion was coming from just around the tree they were bound to. Leaning back as far as his bound hands would permit, he craned his neck around the side of the trunk.

All he could see was the elf, but he was too shadowed by the flickering light to be recognizable. His arms were bound behind him, and about a dozen orcs surrounded him, pushing and shoving him towards something he did not want to get any closer to. It didn’t take long to realize that it must be the orc who’d been taunting him.

“No! No, of course I’m not, I tell the truth, he *is* the prince!”

“Well,” crooned the orc. “Shall we ask Little Whimper? Oh, I forgot.” Legolas heard a leer emanate from the unseen orc. “He’s dead.”

The elf’s fight settled, his body slackened somewhat, and Legolas watched piteously as his head hung slightly in obvious grief. “Ulund. To take my friend from me…” the words were so low, so drowned-out by the jeering crowd of orcs surrounding the imprisoned elf, that only Legolas caught the soft words of anger and hurt. He felt a strange sense of recognition, and fought to think of who of the Mirkwood elves would be here at this time.

With a sting of pain, an awful thought struck him. Edren. But no, the elf standing among the orcs was definitely not Edren, for Legolas knew his friend too well to have not recognized him right off. Daurrè? Horrified, Legolas hoped to Ilúvatar that it was not. What if the dead one he spoke of was Edren?

He pushed the thoughts away, bringing his concentration back to the struggle before him.

“I don’t know,” the elf was pleading softly.

“You know, if you know the prince you now his friend, who is the human?!”

“I swear I do not know! He is a human of the prince’s acquaintance, that is all!”

Legolas flinched along with the elf as the orc struck at him, coming at last into view. He looked huge and strong like Brog, but whether it was him or not it was impossible to tell, seeing that most orcs looked alike.

“You lie!” the orc cried.

“I swear I do not! I swear on the Valar, on my dear friend passed to Mandos, I do not lie!”

“I shall get the truth out of you, elf,” the orc spat. “A prince makes no friends among common mortals! Who is he?!”

“I tell the truth, he is but a-”

The orc’s hand was swinging back once more, almost in slow motion, it seemed. Before he could think, words were spilling from Legolas’ throat. “He tells the truth, filth! Estel, the human with me is but a friend among mortals, and think not the elves too high to make allies among such beings. At least think *me* not so, for he is who my elven friend says he is, and I am indeed Legolas prince of Mirkwood.”

The orc turned, his hand falling limply to his side. Legolas had his attention, as well as everyone else’s. “Legolas…” it was Aragorn, a note of worry stringing its way through his voice, but Legolas could pay it no heed, not while he still had the orcish audience captive.

“Touch that elf but once more, and I swear by the fair woods of Lorié n that I-”

“That you’ll what, Lenglas?” the orc spat, remembering Legolas’ admission to his rank and name only vaguely, and thereby getting it quite wrong. It almost made Aragorn laugh to hear his friend’s name mispronounced by someone trying to be forbidding. “You’re tied up, don’t forget.”

“Ah, and if I have a chance to run away, I shall take it gladly. No matter what you do to me. In fact, I do believe I’d prefer forcing you to kill me as I run, for that alone shall stop me!”

“You *wish* me to kill you for trying to get away?” the orc demanded coolly.

Legolas stared back at him, his own gaze just as icy. “If I must. Leave him alone, or you will be forced to kill me.”

“No, I doubt very much that I’ll *have* to do anything. And really, I’d look forward to killing any elf, and you have no proof of who you say you are. Can you *prove* that you are Lolas of Mirkwood?!”

“No,” Legolas responded flatly. “And I can’t *prove* that I am Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood either. But then there is chance in everything, and this is one that you will have to take. Have you ever glanced upon King Thranduil?”

The orc growled something to his companion, who nodded and sped off into the darkness. “We will have this cleared up soon enough,” the orc drawled, clearly bored with the entire situation, and wanting only to have blood.

It didn’t take long for the orc to come back, another much taller, much sneakier-looking orc coming up behind him. “Maklu!” shouted the orc who’d been speaking with Legolas. “You alone would know what the prince of Mirkwood looks like, don’t you?”

Maklu shoved past the orcs around him, and approached Legolas slowly. Catching the elf’s chin between his grimy fingers, he tipped Legolas’ head back till he was looking directly into his deep blue eyes. Legolas glared up at Maklu who only smiled darkly, his red-orange eyes crackling with satisfied flames.

“It is their prince,” he confirmed, pushing Legolas’ head away from him, and sending the prince sliding to the side. “Well done for calling me, Kuur. This is just what we need! He shall be our key to Mirkwood’s king!”

Legolas felt his throat go dry as the orcs around him cheered. Aragorn was right, and as Legolas made his way to his knees again, he heard the human whispered something akin to: ‘Uh-oh…’

Kuur seemed to be taking pride in notifying Maklu, but was still looking a bit disappointed. “What of the *other* elf, Maklu? May we kill him?”

“No,” said Maklu, almost lazily surveying the shivering elf held among the orcs. “We need something to keep our *prince* in-line, and the more elves, the better the chance of taking Mirkwood. Kuur’s face fell in disappointment.

“Wait! Maklu, wait!” Gamdag pushed towards the front of the crowd. “*I* am the one who caught the prince, as well as his friend! What is *my* reward?”

“What do you want, Gamdag?” Maklu demanded sourly.

“I stand with all on this- I want blood!”

A cry rose from all the orcs assembled, and several began to chant loudly, “Blood! Blood!”

“You shall have your blood then, Gamdag.” Maklu cried over the crowd, and the entire horde cried the louder in delight. Maklu called over his shoulder, and Gamdag and Brog both happily jumped to his side.

Legolas moved over as far as he could, and tried to hear what they were saying, but the crowd had become so deafening, he couldn’t only catch a few words like, “both elves” and “don’t need him” and several times, “he said so”.

Before Legolas could react, Brog had blundered forward, and grabbed at the root Aragorn was bound to. Jerking it with amazing strength, it came snapping out of the ground, sending damp woodchips flying at Legolas, and causing the elf to duck to avoid getting them in his eyes.

When Legolas looked up again, he was met with a horrible sight. Brog had snatched Aragorn up off the ground, the broken root still hanging from the human’s bound wrists, and the orcs were beginning to throng around the two. Gamdag leapt in, screaming about how it was *his* reward, and snatched Aragorn’s stringy hair in his claws.

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried, pushing against his captors.

“Hold!” Maklu hollered, and the crowd’s wild screams bubbled to a half-stop. “Brog, Gamdag, here.”

The two came to the front of the crowd, Aragorn still clutched between them. Brog quickly forced Argorn to his knees, and the young Ranger only barely caught himself on his bound hands.

“This is your last words time,” Maklu sneered, obviously getting more pleasure out of the emotional pain than the human’s blood itself.

Legolas looked deep into Aragorn’s eyes, trying to find a way out. His hand were working furiously at the ropes, and yet they wouldn’t give, and he was losing all feeling he’d had in them to the struggle. All he could see in his friend’s eyes was fear trying to be brave.

Legolas felt a hopeless panic rising in his chest, seizing his breath up with every inhale. “Don’t go…” he begged, looking hard at Aragorn as though trying to burn his face into his memory. “Don’t go, not again.”

“I don’t want to go,” Aragorn promised. “Legolas, I don’t want to…It is better this way. It is better that you don’t- that you…” Aragorn’s lips began to shake as fear started to take him over. “That you don’t have to see me die.”

“Oh Aragorn,” Legolas’ breath was sobbing, and it made speech nearly impossible. “I don’t know what I’ll do…what’ll I do without you? I don’t want to go back to that dark place…not again.”

“Legolas, you *know* what to do.” And for the first time, Aragorn smiled just a little. But it was a distant, sad smile. “You know.”

Legolas shook his head. “No- no please…no I don’t want to…I don’t want-”

“Do not despair.”

Legolas was crying softly.

“Hold onto hope, Legolas. Keep Estel alive.” And then the smile vanished, and Aragorn’s face was left looking lost and pleading. “And…and don’t forget me?”

Legolas couldn’t feel his wrists anymore, and was beginning to lose feeling in his arms altogether. He couldn’t save Aragorn. He couldn’t save his friend. It was the same thing all over again. Aragorn was going to die, and leave Legolas in a half-life. A thought whispered coldly into his mind, and he moved forward a bit, trying to get closer to Aragorn. “I can’t hear you laugh…” a tear slipped silent down his cheek.

A smile tugged unwillingly at Aragorn’s lips, but he shook his head. “I can’t do it, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded. “Aragorn…” but the name fell silent from his lips. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t dare to believe that Aragorn was leaving him. With no doubt of his death this time.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. something in his head whispered. This is your second chance. The second chance you’ve always wanted. But it’s slipping away…

Aragorn was being dragged back from him, the orcs were crowding about once more, and Maklu was smiling maliciously down at him. Some orc drew a knife from his belt, and another shouted. “The cave! To the cave! We’ll do it there!”

“Estel…” the name fell dead on the air, and Legolas felt left behind and broken.

“Aragorn!” Legolas cried, his voice breaking with heartache. “Aragorn! I will not despair! I will keep hope! I will hold onto hope, I will keep Estel alive! I promise, Aragorn! I will *not* despair! Aragorn!”

Leoglas got as high on his knees as he could, and searched the crowd. He could only just see where he thought Aragorn was. Several of the orcs had quieted down, surprised by Legolas shoutings, but Legolas could only hope that Aragorn could hear him.

“Wen uuye giri na gwaew, Aragorn! Na wen mav-am ui-brono! Brono!”

//friendship does not waver at a wind, Aragorn! And a friendship like ours lasts forever! Forever!//

Legolas caught only one last look at Aragorn. There were tears streaming down the human’s face, mixing with blood trickling from his cheek. He looked so small and frightened, it rent Legolas’ heart in two. But then Brog pushed his way to Aragorn, and Legolas could no longer see the human as the hoard disappeared into the murky mist.

Chapter 14

Lost and Found

The night was suddenly much colder. Much darker. Legolas felt as though Mirkwood had never been murkier in its entire existence. But he’d been wrong.

A great cry of pain, a shout of agony came screaming from the dark of the forest around them. It wasn’t a bodiless cry, there was a single word put in the midst of the smoky pain. “Hauta!” it screamed, crying out for someone to not only hear but heed.

“Aragorn!” Legolas heart fell like it was going to burst. But there was no one to hear his own cry. The night was suddenly still and stable as a crack in glass. Unchangeable, and needing something claimed of it. Cold. Dark. Unfair.

The calloused cheers of orcs echoed around the gloom, turning the glassy silence to ice.

“Estel…” Legolas shook his head, unaware that he was feeling anything. “No. No, Estel…no.”

“Ooh, dear, dear. Are those tears in the noble elf’s eyes?”

Legolas jolted unwillingly out of his grief to see Maklu’s leering face. He realized at once that the orc was right, there were tears streaming down his face, but he was anything but ashamed of them. “You have destroyed something dear and innocent,” he hissed through his trembling lips.

“Oh, I know, but the younger they are, the louder they scream,” Maklu pointed out knowledgably, and grinned down at Legolas.

“You didn’t have to kill him…” he whispered.

“But it was so fun, Lindo.”

Legolas eyes snapped to Maklu’s face, but the orc didn’t react to the look. “That *is* your name, isn’t it?” Before Legolas could answer, Maklu turned and trotted off towards the forest where the hoard and Aragorn had disappeared.

Confusion and grief still throbbing in his chest, Legolas felt vaguely that this would be the best and only time for his escape. He couldn’t stay here another moment, and the least he could do now was save the other elf who was still being dragged around by the bored orcs.

He looked around for any means of escape, when his eyes fell on the torn dirt where the root Aragorn had been bound to was ripped away. Woodchips still sat everywhere, those and the raked earth the only hint at what had been there once. Legolas moved his fingers over the root he was tied to, and found woodchips there as well, and picking up a piece between two fingers, inspected it carefully.

It was soft and smelled faintly dank; rotten. Legolas could recall when the root snapped out of the ground, it seemed to send clods of dirt as well as bark flying. Looking around, he realized there wasn’t much of a hole where the root had been, which could only mean that the clods of dirt came from inside the foot-thick root. It was rotten to the core.

With no time to lose, knowing that the orcs would be back and plotting their overthrow of Mirkwood, of which he would be an unwilling but key part, Legolas slid over the root, bending his arms carefully, and ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

Too blinded by inner grief, he didn’t care how much the outer pain hurt as he twisted his wrists towards him again. At first, nothing, but finally, a thin crack began to spread over the root, accompanied by the steady sigh of splintering wood.

*SNAP*

The elven rope had proven itself and bitten straight into the hollow root. Sure enough, it was only an inch of shell around rotted oak chips, a bit of dirt, and some vine-plant that appeared to be living off the rotten chips.

There were many orcs still around, even though most of them had run off to ‘the cave’ with Aragorn, and Legolas knew that at least one of them were bound to notice that he’d cut himself loose. He glanced around and found, to his chagrin, that the other Mirkwood elf was being bound to tree-root just as Legolas and Aragorn had, not several feet away. Legolas could see by the sheer number of orcs that there would be no saving this other elf without reinforcements. He would have to leave and come back with some of his best marksmen.

Once the orcs were done jeering at the other elf, they would be sure to come after Legolas. The prince had little time. Jumping to his feet, he didn’t bother to look around, but made a straight run for the clearing he knew they’d been dragged from upon getting here. Surely Lint would still be there?

He heard mingled orcish cries, and it didn’t take long to begin feeling Salab darts flying around his head. He burst into the clearing, unscathed, and to his surprise and relief, found his horse still there. “Lint!” he cried. “Ea na gwiil, sadroner.”

But Lint, just as he was approaching his master, heard the scream of orcs, and the whistle of Salab darts taking flight. He reared with a frightened roar. “Ea na gwiil!” Leoglas cried, swinging closer to his steed, and with no time left to spare, he made a grab for the horse’s white mane.

Holding on as best as he could with his hands still bound, he leaned forward towards Lint’s perked ears, hoping that his own melodic voice would outweigh the screams of orcs around them. “Noro lim, Lint,” he begged, but the horse needed no further beckoning. With a screaming neigh, he took off into the forest just as about a dozen orcs burst into the clearing.

At first they raced over the path Aragorn and Legolas had been marched down by the orcs not several hours ago. But Legolas soon realized that like-as-not, the orcs knew the path well, and perhaps unknown territory would be a better idea.

Turning his horse abruptly to the side, Legolas rode off through the thick forest siding from the path. It was a mistake. He’d cut too far to the right, and the orcs, using cleverness Legolas didn’t think they had, ran from the path as well, cutting through the forest, and quickly gaining on the where Legolas rode to the side, directly across their path.

Before the prince could think, the orcs had burst out of the undergrowth around him, and were aiming all kinds of weapons at him. He rode on, hoping to avoid being halted by them, seeing he had no weapons.

*TTTHONT!* Legolas felt a stinging pain in wrist, soon covered up by numbness. He looked down to find a Salab dart protruding just barely from the ropes around his wrists. It had sunken past the rope and found its mark in Legolas’ hand.

Trying to hold onto Lint with just one hand while it was still bound to a limp one, Legolas steered Lint around to ride ahead of the orcs instead of beside them. Lint let out a scream, and Legolas had only moments to realize there was a Salab dart in the white neck, before the horse came to a blinding halt.

Caught unaware, and clinging to the beast with only one bound hand, Legolas was thrown over the horse’s head. He only briefly realized that he was seeing the sky from an angle he couldn’t recall seeing it before, and then he felt the terrifying reality that he was going to land.

His body hit the damp ground with a dull thud, and he felt himself rolling down some kind of embankment. The crackle of breaking weeds filled his ears, until at last he stopped his descent. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling the night had become even quieter.

Sitting up gradually, he looked around him. He was tangled up in weeds and there were grass stains all over his tunic. He sighed in relief that he didn’t appear to be seriously hurt, aside from a slight headache. The next thought to enter his head wasn’t as welcome.

“Aragorn-” but he shook his head, and put the thought away. No. No, not now, and not ever if he could help it. He’d taken his last words to Aragorn to promise that he would not despair. He wasn’t going to break that promise now.

But the lump that rose into his throat was automatic, and nothing he could help.

He tore at the weeds around him as best he could. His bound hands were the hardest to dislodge from the mass, but eventually the weeds let go of the elven ropes, and Legolas could finally stand up. He looked around, surveying his surroundings. He could still hear the distant shouts of orcs, and the frightened neighs of Lint as he was dragged back to their camp. But Legolas had fallen far enough that they would not find him, he was sure of that.

With a weary body, and a weakened soul, he pressed off into the forest, hoping he was still aligned with the path somewhere above where he’d fallen. It was his only idea of which direction he was going, and as well as he knew Mirkwood’s realm, he didn’t know the deeper parts of it too well, and that was exactly where he seemed to be in the middle of.

But surely he could find help. Surely it wasn’t too late to save at least one life. Surely.

**********

But one step was one too many. He’d wandered for hours- what seemed like days through the dark of Mirkwood. With his hands bound, it was impossible to pull the Salab dart from his wrist, and so the numbness was spreading through his shoulders, and had only slowed it’s progress when it began working its way down his back. But he still felt too weak to walk.

He realized he was counting his footsteps by old habit…

“Six hundred twenty-four, my friend,” Legolas said aloud, trying to cheer himself. “And that- six hundred twenty-five. And this makes six hundred twenty-six…that makes six two six. Six two seven. Six two eight…oh Valar help me…six two nine. Six- six…six hundred twenty- six hundred…six three. Six three zero. Thirty.”

He didn’t feel his fall, but he knew he was going to hit the earth with his head. That was all right. He was tired anyway…

**********

He heard pounding. His head? No, it was vibrating through his entire body, but it didn’t originate from his head, he was sure of that…there was the loud scream of a horse, and the pounding slowed.

“By the Valar!” someone shouted. “What is that?”

“A body,” the other replied slowly and sadly.

“If it is another slaughtered by those orcs-”

“Calm yourself, my friend. Oh Ilúvatar, it *is* an elf. Let him not be dead!”

More pounding. Someone’s footsteps- no, more than just one person. Two perhaps.

“Does he look familiar to you?”

“Hold on a minute…Ilúvatar help us! Legolas!”

He was being lifted off the ground- or at least part of him was. His head and shoulders. “Legolas, my dearest friend, Legolas!”

“Legolas!” the other voice cried. “Legolas, oh how in Middle Earth did he get out here?! And in such condition too!”

Legolas at last forced himself to open his eyes. He was lying in someone’s lap. Someone he knew and cared for. He turned his head slowly, and gazed into misty gray eyes. He smiled. “Edren.”

“Oh, Legolas, thank the Valar you are all right! What are you- how did you get- oh, never mind, questions later. Why are you bound?”

Legolas’ eyes drifted to his tied wrists, and he remembered everything in a flash once more. “Orcs.”

“I figured as much…” muttered the other voice. “Where are they, Legolas, I swear I’ll kill them all.”

A soft sigh exited Edren’s mouth as he began to work at Legolas’ ropes. “Daurrè, calm yourself. There is no good you getting uptight again.”

Daurrè only glared off in the direction he thought the orcs were. “I’ll kill them…” he muttered, nodding slowly to himself.

“What is- Legolas, you have a Salab dart in your hand.” The friend’s tone was worried.

Legolas looked up at Edren. “Yes, I know. It happened during my escape. I’m afraid with my hands tied I could not get it out. I cannot feel anything too well at the moment, I’m afraid…”

“Sh, I’ll get it.” Legolas watched blankly as Edren pulled the dart out of his hand, and cast it aside bitterly, turning once more to the knotted ropes around the prince’s wrists. At last, with the elf’s skilled fingers, the ropes fell away, and Edren began to rub feeling back into Legolas’ hands.

“Thank you,” Legolas almost whispered.

Edren stopped at the chocked tone, and looked down into Legolas’ eyes. Slowly, he ran a tender finger across the prince’s split lip. “Oh Legolas, what happened?”

“Yrc,” Legolas hissed flatly, meeting the careful gaze above him, a tale of pain evident in his eyes.

“I know. Tell me what happened, Legolas. Please. Why are you here?”

“Átniir begged me to come after Daurrè, and when I found that you had gone as well, Edren…I couldn’t bare to lose another friend.”

A look of sincerest sorrow filled Edren’s eyes as he took the words in, and surveyed Legolas’ many scratches and wounds. “You came after me?” his voice cracked as he spoke, and he bit his lip to hold in emotion. “Legolas, you shouldn’t have done this for me.”

Legolas shook his head. “Edren, I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you. I came of my own will, and for Daurrè as well.” Legolas shifted his gaze to Daurrè. The elf was looking at him, eyes slightly wide, and mouth slightly ajar. The prince looked back up at Edren. “I had to come.”

“But- where is Aragorn, Legolas?” Edren asked at length.

“I hope,” Daurrè put in with light-heartedness he didn’t feel. “That you have left him in the Halls for the rest he so needs. It is a wonder you left him though. Or that he allowed you to leave him.”

Legolas swallowed hard, and looked up at the sky for strength. “It would have been better if I had, Daurrè…”

Edren stared into Legolas’ glazed eyes. “Legolas-”

“I suited the orcs’ purposes. They planned to use me as a hostage- or something. Their key. A weapon against my father, as well as another elf there. Aragorn- he…he did not suit their proposes.” Legolas throat ached, and he felt his words trembling slightly. “They wanted blood…”

Legolas looked back at Edren at last, just as the elf closed his eyes with a great sigh of deepest regret. He pressed his lips together, and shaking his head slightly, opened his eyes. There were tears glistening in them. “Legolas…I am so sorry, my friend…I-” he shook his head again, and closed his eyes once more.

Legolas bit his lip hard. He was trying so hard not to cry…he’d promised. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t despair. He wouldn’t! A tear slipped unwillingly from the corner of his eye, and down the side of his head, patting Edren’s knee silently.

Edren felt it, and opened his eyes again. “I am sorry, Legolas, truly I am…Aragorn was-”

“I know,” Legolas interrupted almost bitterly. “But there is nothing we can do now. He is gone, and at least I didn’t have to see him- see him d-” he shook his head fervently, and blinked away any further tears. “But it is not too late to save the other elf.”

“Who was the other elf?” Daurrè asked timidly, afraid of asking anything else that would hurt his friend, and feeling suddenly responsible for the entire escapade. Edren had come with him to keep him from killing himself. Legolas and Aragorn had come after Edren. If only he hadn’t gone.

“I know not his name, but he was of Mirkwood, he told the orcs my identity.” Legolas stared hard at Daurrè, and seemed to catch what he was thinking. “It is all right, Daurrè, do not blame yourself. We would have had to come here and fight this fight someday. The orcs seem to have barricades all over Mirkwood.”

“Well, then we better get a move on.” Edren forced himself to look away from Legolas’ pained eyes, and nodded resolutely. “Can you stand?”

“If you will help me,” Legolas sighed.

Slowly but surely, Edren pulled Legolas to his feet. Legolas stood no longer than a few moments, when with a cry of pain, he sank to his knees, clutching at his left arm. Apparently, the Salab dart had done more good than he realized; it had taken away any pain he’d have felt running through the forest with an injured shoulder. He vaguely felt Edren’s fingers probing around the sore spot, and after a moment or two, Legolas answered the thought himself. “It’s dislocated.”

“I can see that,” Edren replied, almost cheerfully, but his face was frowning. “We must set it before we ride off, there is no way you can ride with your arm injured so thoroughly.”

Legolas gritted his teeth. “I don’t want-”

“I know you don’t *want*,” Edren lectured good-naturedly. “But you must.” He turned away from his kneeling friend, and found the discarded Salab dart lying a few feet away. He picked it up between two fingers, and looked at Legolas steadily.

Legolas sighed. “It will help, I think.”

Edren only nodded, and with no warning, thrust it into Legolas’ left shoulder. There wasn’t a whole lot of Salab left in the dart, but it was enough to dull most feeling in Legolas shoulder and upper back, as well as relax the tensed muscles.

“Daurrè?” The elf responded automatically to Edren’s call. “Could you hold Legolas down for me?” Daurrè nodded, and as Legolas sat back on his heals, Daurrè massaged his shoulders to keep the rest of the pain away.

Edren carefully pulled Legolas’ arm to the side in the angle he wanted it to it to be, and then, holding Legolas’ wrist in one hand, he put his other hand against the prince’s shoulder. “Ready?”

Legolas shook his head as he began to feel a bit sick. Edren only nodded, and as Daurrè pressed down on Legolas’ shoulders, Edren gave the prince’s arm a firm pull. Legolas bit back a cry as pain snaked its way past the Salab’s effect. Edren jerked his arm down, and then to the side, swinging it in a half-arc, and then forcing it down again.

With a thick *CRACK* the shoulder reset itself, and Legolas was left gasping and shaking slightly. Edren pulled the Salab dart out of his shoulder and cast it away once more, kneeling down beside him as Daurrè continued to massage his shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Legolas nodded mutely, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “We should get moving-”

“No you rest a bit. We need to wait up anyway.”

“For what?”

“Well, Daurrè and I-” but just at that moment, there was a sudden pounding sound accompanied by the crash of undergrowth. “Ah! Here he comes now.”

Legolas looked up to see two horses galloping into the clearing, but only one had a rider. An elf. “Nyarin?” Legolas shook his head in disbelief as the elf dismounted and approached him.

“Prince Legolas Greenleaf!” Nyarin put his left hand to his chest with a slight bow, drawing it away in the traditional elven greeting. He then came to his knees beside Edren, and smiled. “How good it is to see you! But- what has happened to you? You look awful.”

Legolas blinked. “I- long story. But why on earth- who cured you? I’d last heard you were so near death Tirniel had given up on you!”

“I am well now, aside from one obstacle…” Nyarin’s fingers flew over the scar that ran from his upper forehead to his cheekbone, crossing his left eye in the process. The eye was open, but it was a blue paler than any Legolas had seen before…he realized that Nyarin was blind in one eye.

“I am sorry, my friend.”

“Do not be!” Nyarin cried joyously. “I am alive, and that is the important thing.”

“But *how*?” exclaimed Legolas shaking his head. There was sudden and obvious hesitancy from the three of them, and Daurrè’s messaging became more insistent. “How?” Legolas repeated, looking instead to Edren.

“Bengwiil.” The word seemed to slip rehearsed from his friend’s lips.

Legolas felt the breath sigh from him. “Then Tirniel uses this as a magic cure. He will bring it back into acceptance, and what happened years ago will happen all over again…until someone else dies.”

“Legolas, it was the only way.” Nyarin lay a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “I would have died, but Bengwiil is keeping me alive long enough to find an antidote for it. And believe me, Legolas…it is not as easy a cure at it seems, even in the short run, not to mention the long one. I see-” but he shook his head and slid his hand from Legolas’ shoulder. “I think- that I can better understand how you felt when infected with Bengwiil.”

Legolas’ eyebrows creased together in confusion. “How on earth do you know of that? I’ve only yet told my father.”

Nyarin’s face paled. “I- news travels, you know. And the king, forgive me my disrespect, but he has lost his mind.”

Legolas nodded uncertainly, and then shook his head. “But- why are you here?”

“I came with Harain.”

“Yes,” Legolas nodded as though he’d just remember a question he’d planned to ask of Nyarin. “And that is another thing, I thought Harain was dead as well!”

“Well- he wasn’t,” Nyarin answered simply. “Upon hearing about the ‘foolish venture’ that was to be made in vengeance of the dead, and obtaining of Bengwiil, Harain and I both rode out to dissuade them or at least keep them alive.

“Well, unfortunately, on our way there, we ran across a barricade of orcs. Just when we thought we’d escaped them, another hoard came bursting out on us. We rode hard, and I though Harain was behind me. But when I next looked over my shoulder, he surrounded by orcs and being tied to his own horse’s reins.” Nyarin shook his head slowly. “Well, I was determined to help him, but knowing I could not afford to fight the orcs myself, I rode hard for the Halls to get help. Unfortunately, only a few of the barricades of orcs had been stumbled across so far, so there were well-organized ones everywhere, just waiting for some elf to run into them. That is why it took my so long to get back towards the Halls, it was very slow-going.

“When I had almost reached the Halls, I ran into Edren and Daurrè on their way to the same place I was. Daurrè said that he and Edren were the only ones who weren’t scared to death of avenging the dead elves, so I agreed readily to join them in that avenging. I was-” Nyarin paused, looking distant for a moment. “I was very grieved to find what sparked this venture of theirs…Harian was a good elf. A- a Survivor.” He smiled humorously to himself as if at an inside joke.

“Of course,” he continued with an attempt at a light-hearted tone. “It was only after that that I realized Edren actually meant to dissuade Daurrè from going through with his plan, and he started trying to talk me out of it as well.” He grinned.

Edren only sighed. “For all the good it’s done.”

Nyarin laughed. “I suppose we should get a move-on, then.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed, now that his shoulder felt just a bit better. “Though- oh dear, I shall have to share a horse-”

“No need!” Nyarin jumped up and sprang to where his horse stood beside the deep chestnut beast that had ridden in beside him. “We found this fellow abandoned in a clearing, Salab darts in several places, poor fellow.”

“It appears the orcs have discovered a stock of Salab darts,” Legolas nodded as Daurrè and Edren helped him to his feet.

“Or have learned to make them,” Nyarin put in.

“But- how is that possible? Even few among the elves have the skill for such a delicate weapon.” Legolas shrugged. “I’ve been making arrows since I could spell the word, and even I cannot handle the meticulousness of their making.”

Nyarin shrugged back. “Perhaps they’ve found a more primitive way of doing it.”

Edren shook his head slowly. “No, I think not. That dart that I pulled out of Legolas, it was very well-crafted, expertly fletched.”

Daurrè and Nyarin simultaneously mounted their horses, Nyarin still speaking. “I have no idea, maybe they’ve just pulled them off some unsuspecting elves through Mirkwood.”

“Such as the one Legolas saw during his captivity?” Edren put in, leading a still worn-out prince to his horse.

Nyarin’s face lit up. “Elf? Oh, so Legolas was captured- by orcs?” He shook his head. “I appear to have missed an important conversation. But- an elf, you say? Who? Did he say his name or did you see his face?”

“I fear I received neither pieces of key information,” Legolas sighed. “But I got the impression he hadn’t been there that long.”

Nyarin nodded slowly. “Perhaps- perhaps it was Anwé…it is possible, did it look like my brother?”

Legolas shook his head. “I am sorry, I could not tell if it was your brother Anwé.”

Nyarin nodded a bit quicker this time. He seemed unwilling to let go of the blind hope that Anwé was still alive. “Very well, let us be off! Edren, forgive my delay, but I’ve stumbled across another orc-path!”

Edren nodded. “Very good, Nyarin, thank you. We shall turn to the right, then, and follow it.”

Edren went to his horse, leaving Legolas by the spare one. It was then that Legolas got a good look at the beast Nyarin had loaned to him. “Horthor…” he whispered hoarsely, running a gentle but shaking hand down the dark animal’s long nose. Horthor jerked his head slightly, his great eyes searching the clearing hungrily, a look that could only barely be interpreted as confusion on his dark face.

Legolas bit his lip. “He’s not here, Horthor…he’s-” the horse’s eyes swung over to Legolas, dark and probing. The elf couldn’t finish, his own emotions translating themselves as pity for the horse, which seemed silly enough to Legolas without adding tears to the already difficult situation.

“Well met,” he murmured, patting the horse half-heartedly, and climbing abruptly onto his dark back. The beast wavered a bit uncertainly underneath the prince at first, but he stood still at length, and Legolas rubbed his mane kindly. Looking up, he met Nyarin’s confused eye.

“Do you know the horse-”

“You still have not told me why you are so determined to join Daurrè,” Legolas interrupted quickly.

“Oh, well I had been hoping to save Harain…though that is impossible now. But- I must know the fate of my brother, and I shan’t rest until I do.” Legolas nodded. “So- do you know who the horse belongs to, your-”

“We shall ride to the path, then, Nyarin. Soon as possible!” Legolas looked over at the interruptor gratefully, and Edren nodded slightly in a ‘you’re welcome’.

“Of course, off we ride, Daurrè!” Nyarin cried, and reined his horse in towards the undergrowth off into the dark of Mirkwood. Without a word, Daurrè, Edren and Legolas followed as fast as they could ride.

Chapter 15

A Voice in the Dark

“Halt! Everyone halt!” Edren cried, and all listened, reining all their beasts to a stand-still at the command. Edren slid off his horse, and Legolas followed.

“What is it?” the prince whispered.

“I am sure we’re close…can you not hear the orcs?”

Legolas paused, listening closely to the open air. “Yes…I believe I can.”

Nyarin and Daurrè, who had dismounted as well, approached quietly behind the two. “That didn’t take long, finding their lair…” Nyarin’s breath hissed in Edren’s ear.

“No, but we were looking for it, that helps. So far, all the ones who’ve been caught were looking for something else entirely when they stumbled across the orcs. That group of elves were looking for the cave of Bengwiil, and Legolas and Est…Legolas was looking for Daurrè and I.”

Nyarin nodded, not even catching the abrupt halt of Edren’s words. Legolas caught it, and almost smiled in the darkness. Dear Edren.

“What is our plan?” Daurrè asked.

“No entirely sure…Legolas, does any of this look familiar to you?”

Legolas went forward a few steps, probing the darkness with wide eyes. “I see firelight, I think. If we could only get around some of these thicker trees and see past the fog…”

“Very well,” Edren nodded. “Leave the horses here, we shall continued this way. Keep it quiet, all of you.”

They silently agreed and snuck almost noiselessly past the gnarled trees and tangled roots. At last, they broke through enough to get a look at the clearing past them. Sure enough, there were campfires and torches set all over the clearing. Orc lounged over the ground, slumped against trees here and there, as well as several who appeared to be having some sort of tussle. They didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.

“Is it familiar, Legolas?” Edren whispered from just over his shoulder.

Legolas’ eyes landed on a stiff tree somewhere in the middle of the campsite. A great root spilled from beside it, ducking under the ground and coming out the other side. It was snapped in two places, and sitting on it, a tall lazy orc picking his teeth with a stick. Maklu.

“Aye,” he whispered back. “Very familiar.”

“Where might we find the other elf?”

Legolas’ eyes snapped to where another stout tree stood feet away from the first one. He couldn’t see around the trunk, but orcs were standing all about it, laughing and shouting. “There, by that tree.”

Nyarin nodded resolutely. “Daurrè can make a commotion from over here, Edren and Legolas can take up positions to the far right and the far left of Edren, and shoot from the sides. When most of the orcs have come over here, I’ll fight of the rest around the tree, and free the elf.”

Edren nodded slowly. “Just avoid being seen as much as possible.”

“Right.”

“Be careful, Nyarin!” Daurrè whispered, as the other disappeared into the undergrowth.

Legolas nodded at Edren, and swung around to the right as Edren took off towards where Nyarin had gone to the left, leaving Daurrè where he stood. Legolas pulled to a stop when he felt he’d gone far enough, and took up a position on a midlevel branch in an oak tree.

Stringing the bow Edren had lent him, he aimed down into the camp. He could still see where Daurrè stood, the elf’s light glow his only hint. He gazed over past Daurrè to see the strung bow of Edren pointing just a little out of the undergrowth.

Then, instantly it seemed, four orcs were dead down by Daurrè’s position. A cry arose from the rest of the orcs who sped towards Daurrè’s hiding spot. Orc after orc fell dead with arrows in them. It didn’t take long, however, for them to come a little too close to Daurrè’s position, and soon, Edren was shooting arrows from the left.

Even more orcs, almost and endless supply of them, rushed to the battle, this time splitting off towards Edren’s position. Then, when they came too close to Edren for Legolas’ comfort, the prince began a volley of arrows down at them. Now, they were all in an uproar, so much so that even the jeering orcs around the captive elf bagan to run off towards the shooting elves.

Legolas soon found himself shooting directly down at orcs instead of across the clearing at them. Taking a few precious glances towards Edren and Daurrè, it appeared he wasn’t the only one who’d been seen by the enemy. So much for staying unseen.

“A ghost!” one of them cried, staring up at the elf’s faint glow. “It’s a ghost!” a few back by a step or two.

Taking advantage of the silly fear, Legolas stood up on the tree branch, and aimed two arrows down towards the retreating ones. “Ea-al! Us-ulund, ea-al!”

Several screamed and turned, while several others shouted in anger at hearing elvish, and started to hack their way up the tree. Legolas began to shoot non-stop into their seemingly endless midst.

“A ghost!” the orcs were screaming through the clearing. “A ghost!”

“Not a ghost! It’s not a ghost, you fools!” Maklu’s voice shrieked. “It’s an elf! Kill the filthy elf!”

Legolas shot down as many orcs at a time as he could, several times piercing one through another. Once, he shot down one who fell back, loosing his own arrow on accident, and shooting a companion. Every once in awhile, Legolas was sure he felt a slight rumble beneath his feet, but he ignored it, battling on, and hoping Daurrè and Edren were doing as well.

*CRACK* the tree beneath him snapped, and he realized too late, that the rumbling had been orcs working at the tree trunk with their little axes. As the oak tree tumbled uselessly towards the ground, Legolas made a leap from the branch, flying over the orcs’ heads, and towards the clearing. He hit the small incline on his way down, and rolled the rest of the way into the clearing. Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he started to run as fast as he could.

He was running out of the firelight, and off towards the darkness. Knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance with orcs in the dark, he grabbed a torch from the campsite. His feet seemed to almost glide over the dark grounds, and the torch fluttered so much in the rushing air, it almost went out.

At last, he pulled to a stop. Gasping for breath, he looked around him. He was alone. Why had they not followed him? Perhaps they were waiting for him to double back so they could spring on him? What could he do?

He looked around for an answer, and realized his back was resting against a hard-packed wall of rock and dirt. Holding the torch out in front of him, he walked around the wall, until he found an opening. It was a great, yawning opening. It was a cave.

He shivered all over, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He felt like something was fluttering about in his stomach. “I shan’t go in…I couldn’t bare it, I know I couldn’t…” His feet moved him a pace or two into the cave. The torch only reached so far, and it looked like it was a huge cave that couldn’t be illuminated by a torch alone.

He looked down at his feet, and saw something that made his stomach turn upside down. Blood. The ground underneath him was covered in it. It was spattered here and there, and even against the opposite wall. He could feel his skin growing cold. Leave. something whispered to him. Leave this horrible place. but he couldn’t leave. The yawning emptiness of the cave seemed to call him. It beckoned to him, and asked that he come in. Just a little farther. A little farther more.

Suddenly, Legolas came to himself just enough to realize that something was brushing against his ankle, exposed by the tear in his leggings. Slowly, he looked down.

A leaf. It was green, green as the grass after rain. Green as poison. It was shaped like an arrowhead, rearing it’s pointed end up proudly at a diagonal angle, allowing it’s pointed sides to fall beside it. It was like a great bird who flew high as she could, and then, tipping her head back to look up at the sky she never reached, allowed her wings to fall sprawled to the sides, useful for nothing but making her graceful fall more majestic.

At its stem, two like-shaped leaves, though much smaller than their bird-like top, curled leafed fingers about their stem, trying to touch the top leaf with pointed ends, but failing to do so, and reseeding into the ground along with the thick, furry stem.

It was an unnerving site, that plant making its reach for the sky. The pointed end of largest leaf atop the plant flickered this way and that along with the flickering torch-light, as slight breezes crept in and out of the cave. As the leaf flexed and wavered on its stem, it seemed to greet Legolas, trying to reach up and touch his ankle again.

Its light, baby-green smiled at his eyes, as if it were a small, innocent plant. A still-young plant. As though it had not been here for years and years and ions and ions. As though it had walked through the cave with Legolas and wanted to converse with him about what was to happen next. As if it were friendly, and only wanted to touch the prince’s ankle.

It seemed to whisper poison into the air and all its surroundings. Like ruler feigning innocent ignorance of what he has done. I’m just here. I’m just down here by your foot. I’m just small. Walk past me, I don’t care…it’s your life, I shall not hinder you. I shall not hinder you…for you do not know what I am. You don’t know what I can do. I shall not hinder you.

But Legolas did know. Legolas did know what it could do. Legolas knew…he knew…

“Bengwiil.”

The world spun around him, his feet felt unsteady, and the torch was forgotten though the light remained. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the leaf. The great leaf that reached out to touch his ankle again.

Look around, Legolas. Where are you? he nodded, and finally tearing his eyes away from the plant, listened to his better judgment and looked around. Raising the torch high, he realized something that made his whole body summersault, it seemed.

Bengwiil. It was everywhere. It was far beyond the one he’d been staring at, stretching in clumps and ankle-deep forests into the cave. It was growing up the walls, dangling from its vines from the ceiling. It was behind him as well. He’d waded through much of it already. He was trapped in the midst of it.

“Calm down…” he told himself aloud, and tried to probe his mind for where he was. It was then that a distant memory came to him. One he was sure he’d never purposefully remember…

Bodruith’s voice rang as clear as day in his memory, and it made him tremble all over. So this was the cave. This was the old spiders’ cave that Bodruith had found a “small cluster” of Bengwiil in. Well, it appeared that small cluster had become much bigger, or else the elves had been very ignorant to miss this mass of it.

This was the cave. This was the Bengwiil Bodruith’s crop of Bengwiil came from. This is what had nearly killed Legolas as well as Aragorn. Right here. At his feet. This plant. It hardly seemed possible.

He began to back up slowly, still staring wide-eyed at the plants around him, when he felt something tickling the back of his ankle. He turned to look, and found a thin Bengwiil root sticking up out of the ground. He jerked his foot to free it.

He didn’t know he’d tripped until he was on his stomach amidst the short sprouts of Bengwiil. He mentally kicked himself for being so jumpy about the Bengwiil that he’d become clumsy, and then realized something…he didn’t really react to it at all. With a sigh of relief, he realized that the plant had to be burning or torn for him to smell it. As long as the leaves grew where they were, they were covered by a protective casing that held their aroma inside. But something was still wrong…

It took him a moment to realize, but once he did, it was too late. The torch had landed feet away from him and the Bengwiil had taken to it instantly. The cave was sudden filled with light as the flames licked up the vines climbing the wall, and burned slowly along the Bengwiil’s leafy fingers.

Now that there was light, Legolas pushed himself to his knees and looked around. The cave seemed to yawn into the hillside forever. He had to get out of there before something worse happened. His mind was whirling. He couldn’t seem to grasp the idea; he was in a cave full of Bengwiil.

He shook his head, closing his eyes a minute. He had to think straight. Get out of there, Legolas. he nodded. Yes, out. He had to get out. He was afraid of what he might see here…the blood only reassured him of something he didn’t want to know.

What if he stumbled across Aragorn’s dead body? He was sure he couldn’t keep his promise to Estel then. He staggered to his feet, trying not to look at the Bengwiil.

Perhaps- had they fed Bengwiil to Aragorn when they took him to this cave? Was that why he cried out and then was suddenly silent? Maybe they gave him an overdose, and if that was the case…maybe Aragorn wasn’t actually dead-

Legolas froze. What? He glanced around him, trying to figure out who it was that had spoken. He was alone, save for the waving plants and the playing fire. “Hello?” his voice echoed eerily off the walls around him, calling back into the deep of the cave, repeating the question to places he didn’t know and couldn‘t see through the dark. Hello?…Hello?…Hello?

He strained his ears. What had he heard? Someone calling him? No, it couldn’t have been that. He was alone, wasn’t he? He felt a shiver run down his back as he squinted into the dark of the cave once more, biting back the erg to call again, afraid of hearing the word played with in the empty cave. He had to go. He had to leave this strange place.

He couldn’t help it anymore. “Is someone there? Hello?!” Legolas walked just a step or two forward, afraid to believe his own mind. ere? Hello?!…er? Hello?!…er? Hello?!

Legolas broke into a run, allowing himself to be swallowed in the deep of the cave. “Aragorn! Aragorn, I’m coming!”

Chapter 16

Néfredäl

Legolas ignored the panic that rose automatically in his chest at running blindly to the back of an unfamiliar cave. He had to get back there. He had to find Aragorn. “Estel! Estel, can you hear me?” The whispers to his mind had ceased. What did that mean? Was Aragorn alive or dead?

His hands were stretched out in front of him as he ran, and a vague thought in his mind told him he probably looked ridiculous, but there was nothing Legolas cared less about at this point. Finally, his hands struck rock, and he stopped. “Aragorn?” he called softly, hearing his words bounce off the wall in front of him, but with no echo. “Aragorn, are you there?”

Legolas felt along the wall, moving slowly to the left, and working his way across the cave’s width. Suddenly, his foot struck a great rock. He was at the end of the cave, at the farthest corner. Reaching around in the darkness, he felt around the rock. It appeared to fairly large and jagged.

Curious, Legolas tugged on it, jerking it slowly back away from the wall. When at last he’d pulled it a fair distance away, he clambered over it, to find he was standing by a great hole in the ground. It had been covered by the rock, and small wonder, for from the hole was emanating the orange of firelight. Heart racing, Legolas climbed down into the hole.

It was a short drop, not much longer than Legolas was tall. He found himself in a small underground pit only about four feet wide and five feet long. But in the fading light of the single torch in the pit, Legolas saw Aragorn.

He was huddled on the floor with his ankles bound and his hands bound behind him. Blood trickled from his cheek where the wounds Mornaeg had given him so many nights ago had been reopened. His shoulder was still torn and bleeding, and the wound left in his knee by Mornaeg appeared to have been opened as well.

Legolas rushed forward, falling to his knees beside the human, automatically tearing at his friend’s bonds. “Estel, please wake up…” he whispered, unknotting the ropes around his wrists. “Please, Estel? Please.”

A soft sigh hissed from Aragorn’s lips, and his eyes fluttered open. “Legolas?”

“Aragorn! Aragorn, I’m- I’m so…I was so afraid, I was afraid I’d lost you again!” Legolas wanted to embrace his friend. “I- well…I thought-” He wanted to tell him everything he’d felt. But he knew there was no time, and overjoyed as he was, he had to keep working with Aragorn’s bonds. “I- I’ll get you out of here…” he promised, finishing up with the human’s hands, and moving to his ankles.

Aragorn smiled. “I told them you’d come through the Bengwiil to find me.” His voice sounded strange in Legolas’ ears. Like he was talking around something. “They didn’t believe it, but I knew…I knew you wouldn’t lose hope.”

“Aragorn, are you all right? You sound different…”

Aragorn thought a moment. “Oh!” He reached a now unbound hand into his mouth and pulled out a silver band with a great green gem set into it. Legolas knew at a glance that it was the ring of Barahir. “I didn’t want them to take it, and I knew they would. I thought that if I kept it in my mouth, not only would they not find it…but well…I wouldn’t be as prone to cry out.” He sighed distantly, drying the ring off on his shirt and sliding it back onto his finger.

Legolas continued to work at the human’s ankles, trying not to look at the reopened gash in his knee. “Did they hurt you a lot?”

Aragorn didn’t respond at first. “I’ll be fine,” he said at last. “Don’t worry.”

Legolas nodded, but felt a his heart throb with anguish. “You’re free!” he announced, pulling the last of the elven rope away from Aragorn’s ankles, and stowing both lengths of rope in his belt. “Can you walk?”

“If you’ll help me,” Aragorn responded smilingly, pressing his aching body up off the ground.

Legolas moved quickly to help him up and until the human was on his feet, leaning against his elven friend for support. “The hardest part will be getting back up that hole,” Legolas murmured, looking up at the ceiling. “I can push you up and climb out, or I can climb out and pull you up. What do you think would be less painful?”

“I think if you went first and pulled me up it would be less strain on my knee, though it may hurt my shoulder.”

“All right, then, that may be easiest anyway.” Legolas wrapped his fingers around the edge of the hole, and pulled himself easily out of the underground pit. Lying on his stomach, he turned around and reached down into the hole again. Aragorn wasn’t there. “Aragorn?”

Silence. Then the human came back into view, something clutched in his hands. Legolas sighed. “Don’t do that to me.”

“Sorry,” Aragorn apologized sheepishly, and then pushed the object up through the hole. “Maklu hit me over the head with it and then sent it flying. In all the commotion I managed to cover it with some loose dirt and hide it. I’m afraid Maklu still has your quiver and knives, though.”

Legolas ran his fingers over the smooth bow, and smiled. “Thank you, my friend. A warrior doesn’t realize he is used to one weapon alone…until he must use someone else’s.” He slung the bow of his shoulder where Edren’s bow, which had been dropped along with the torch, had once hung.

“I know,” Aragorn sighed. “Which is why I plan on reclaiming my sword, once I find Gamdag.”

Legolas smiled and reached down into the hole once more. “We’re not out of here yet, my friend. Can you reach?”

It seemed to take a long time, and Legolas was afraid every step of the way that he was seriously hurting his friend’s already bleeding wounds, but finally Aragorn knelt on the dirt beside Legolas, panting slightly, but smiling nonetheless.

“What is that light, Legolas?” Aragorn asked slowly as the two journeyed slowly down the great cave.

“Fire,” Legolas murmured. “I fear I dropped my torch when I-” he glanced at Aragorn. “What is it?”

The human’s eyes were big, and he was looking worriedly at Legolas. “Legolas- if Bengwiil is burned…well you know what it does to you…”

“I will be all right, Aragorn, we’ll just have to go quickly.” But once they came near enough, it was apparent it would be that easy.

The Bengwiil had taken well to the fire, and now the walls, ceiling and especially floor were ablaze with hungry flames. Legolas felt fear rise automatically in his chest.

“Try not to breathe, Legolas, don’t breathe it in too much…” Aragorn murmured. He too had trouble with the plant, Legolas knew, but with concentration, it didn’t hurt him nearly as much as Legolas.

They waded through the ankle-deep Bengwiil that was not burning, approaching the ones that were. Legolas wanted so badly to run, but he knew that Aragorn could never go fast enough to do that. They’d have to pick their steps carefully through the burning ones.

His lungs were starving for air. He had to breathe! He held back the erg as long as possible, but finally gasped for breath.

“Legolas!” Legolas was on his knees, and Aragorn, having no support anymore, had fallen down beside him. They were only a few feet away from the Bengwiil that was burning, and lost in the forest of the Bengwiil that was not. Aragorn rolled over in the leafy plants, and grabbed Legolas by the shoulders as the prince went down, falling onto his elbows and then rolling over on his back. “Legolas, lasto beth nin!”

“No, Aragorn! N-no!”

“Legolas, lasto beth nin!” Aragorn shook the prince as he stared blankly up at the cave’s ceiling, lost in his memories. For a moment, he almost focused on the human’s face. Aragorn took the opportunity as quickly as he could. “Legolas! Legolas, Bengwiil shows you what you fear most. It shows your fear! You can’t be afraid, don’t be afraid and it cannot hurt you! Legolas!”

“Aragorn, please!” Legolas was muttering to himself more than calling out to anyone. “I do *not* hate you! I am your friend, I shall always be!”

Aragorn winced at the memory as it tried to make its way into his own head. He shook Legolas’ shoulders. “Legolas, you cannot be afraid! Don’t be afraid and Bengwiil cannot harm you!”

Legolas faintly realized he was looking at Aragorn. The human’s eyes were deep blue and pleading. “Legolas, fear is of the unknown, but death is not unknown to you. You’ve lost me twice, you needn’t fear losing me again! Legolas, don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid!”

“Legolas, do you hear me? Legolas, don’t be afraid!”

“Don’t go…don’t go…not- not now, Aragorn-”

“I’m going nowhere, Legolas. Don’t fear, I’m going nowhere. Legolas? Legolas, nowhere! Legolas?!”

“Aragorn…I’m sorry…I’m sorry I despaired- I gave up.”

“Legolas, I don’t care.”

“I’m s-so sorry…”

“Legolas!” Aragorn pulled the elf into his lap, and shook him. “Legolas! I am alive, I am not dead! You know this! Ea le isto? Ea le isto, Legolas?!”

//do you know? Do you know, Legolas?!//

The elvish seemed to penetrate the prince’s memories, and he blinked slowly.

“Ea néfredäl! Ea néfredäl!”

//be unafraid! Be unafraid!//

“N-néfredäl?” he shook his head. “Néfredäl?”

“Ea néfredäl, Bengwiil uuye le-naeg.”

//be unafraid, and Bengwiil cannot hurt you.//

“I- I…”

“Estel…don’t go, don’t leave me in the shadow…I don’t want to go back! I don’t want to go back to despair! It’s dark there- it’s dark!” He started to twitch and thrash as though trying to get away from something.

Aragorn looked up to find the flames licking away closer and closer to them. He lifted Legolas‘ head and shoulders up into his arms as best as he could with the prince’s struggling and thrashing, but could not lift him any further without white pain biting up his wounded knee and shoulder. His friend was fighting his way away from Aragorn’s arms. “Legolas! Legolas, do you hear me? Ea néfredäl! Please!”

He had Aragorn’s love. Aragorn’s hope. Aragorn’s trust. Aragorn’s forgivness. He had Aragorn’s undying friendship.

“Legolas?” the voice came softly, and from far away. “What do you fear, Legolas? Tell me- what do you fear?”

Legolas opened his eyes. He was on his knees, his body pressed up against the cave wall. He was panting for breath and trembling head to foot. His tunic was drenched in sweat. Aragorn knelt several feet away from him, a pleading and frightened look in his eyes. Legolas blinked.

“Ea néfredäl im…”

The cave seemed to go still.

“Ea néfredäl im,” Legolas repeated, standing slowly, and not looking at the Bengwiil burning around him. “Néfredäl. Néfredäl! Néfredäl- Aragorn, quickly!” In a swift motion, Legolas had Aragorn swung up off the ground, half in his arms, half over his shoulder. With a running leap, Legolas flew gracefully over the blazing Bengwiil.

He soared out of the cave’s flaming mouth, and twisting in midair, landed solidly on the ground. His feet hit the dirt first, and he then flew backwards, landing eventually on his back, but managing to cushion Aragorn’s fall with his own body.

Aragorn rolled off Legolas’ chest, and slowly, the two sat up. “Mae pant, mellon nin,” Aragorn gasped.

//well done, my friend,//

“Hannon le,” Legolas responded with a slight groan as he felt along his sore body for anything broken. He appeared to be a little scratched up, but that was it.

“Do you realize,” Aragorn murmured after he’d somewhat caught his breath, for his heart was still racing with emotions that he’d only just gotten over. “That this is the third time you have defeated Bengwiil?”

“Is it?” Legolas asked quietly, rubbing his sore neck.

“Remember? First you defeated it in Bodruith’s underground realm of Gabil Gundu, when you shouted ‘istón’ against it. And then, when we rode to Rivendel, and I begged my father to heal you, you nearly died and yet- you clung to the words of friendship, and defeated it again. Now you have conquered your own fear, and by doing that, you have conquered Bengwiil again.” Aragorn sighed and lay a hand on Legolas’ knee. “You know, it really doesn’t have any power over you.”

Legolas was quiet a long moment. “It was nearly the end of me when it took you, though.”

“Perhaps, but that really had nothing to do with Bengwiil itself, did it?”

“I suppose not.”

“And anyway, Legolas, that’s here and gone. Like a bad dream.”

“Aye…” Legolas nodded slowly. “A- bad dream. Just a dream…”

“Legolas?”

He turned his head with a snap. “Hm?”

“Are- are you all right?”

“Uh, yes, I just- something you just said, it struck familiarity in me, that is all.” He sighed deeply, rubbing his index fingers into closed eyes. “Oh, Aragorn, I am so *sick* of hearing the word ‘Bengwiil’. There was a time I would hear it and wince, but now- I just loathe it. I just hate it. I just want it to be gone.”

“I know. But- Legolas, you are much stronger than it is. It- it’s just a plant, you know? Just a plant.”

Legolas laughed humorlessly, flicking at a rock by his ankle. “Yes. Just a plant. Too bad that I become practically hysterical when around it, seeing it’s just a weed in the ground.”

“You shall conquer it, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “I believe I shall, Estel.” He looked up. “Thank you.”

A smile was his ‘you’re welcome’.

“Well, we had better get going,” Aragorn sighed, doing his best to get on his knees. “As it is, I don’t know how we’ll get out this. Unless you’ve found where they are keeping Lint or have stumbled across Horthor-”

“Oh, great Valar, Horthor!” Legolas sprang to his feet, pulling Aragorn up as well.

“What?” Aragorn demanded, holding onto Legolas’ shoulder for support as the elf started off as quick as he could down the dark forest path leading to the orc’s encampment.

“Edren, Daurrè and Nyarin, that is what!”

“You mean you found them? What do you mean, Nyarin? I thought he-”

“More like they found me.” Legolas explained his entire escape as briefly as possible as the two ran down the forest path. By the time he was saying, “You know the rest,” they had reached the clearing.

Orcs were running everywhere, some fleeing, most trying to find something to fight. Arrows came non-stop from the trees around them, as well as in the clearing itself. It appeared that Edren, Daurrè and Nyarin had done pretty well for themselves, but were being steadily outnumbered.

Nyarin burst out of the trees not far from where the two friends stood. He looked over at them wide-eyed. “There you are-” his head snapped around in time to see an orc string his bow. “Legolas, get down!”

Legolas pulled Aragorn into the undergrowth just in time. The hiss of an arrow echoed above his head, and he sighed with relief. “Aragorn,’ he said quickly into the human’s ear. “Stay here and stay down. I’m going to help.”

Aragorn looked crossly up at him. “You want me to hide while you fight.” It wasn’t a question. “I don’t want to be any trouble, I want to help!”

“Aragorn, I would rather have extra trouble on my hands than you dead in my arms.”

Aragorn couldn’t help smiling. “You enjoy quoting me.”

Legolas returned the look. “Aye.” He gave Aragorn’s shoulder a squeeze, and without another word, took off into the clearing, bow strung with Edren’s arrows which still hung in a quiver at his back.

“Be careful, Legolas,” Aragorn murmured, and ducked into the underbrush.

Chapter 17

To Laugh

Running as fast as his feet could take him, Legolas joined the madness with arrows already flying out in front of him. He took down every orc in his path and sidestepped the ones who tried to come at him from the sides. He soon found the source of all the arrows coming from inside the clearing, and wasn’t a bit surprised when he did. “Edren! Are you all right?”

“Legolas! Thank-” he shot off an arrow just ahead of him, and leapt back several feet. “Thank the Valar you are all right, we couldn’t find you!”

“Aragorn is alive!” Legolas cried joyously, sending off a volley of arrows into the oncoming hoard.

“What? Are you-” he cut off with a gasp of pain, and jerked the Salab dart from his knee, sending an arrow into the offending orc’s neck. “Are you sure?”

“I got him out of the cave. They didn’t-” another volley of arrows. “They didn’t kill him after all!”

“By Ilúvatar, Legolas, that is good news to be sure!” Edren shook his head in wonder, ducking a thrown dagger just in time.

“Edren, we have to get out of here, there is no way we can defeat them on our own, even with Nyarin and Daurrè shooting from the outskirts!”

“What do you suggest?”

“A retreat!”

“Legolas, they’ll-” he shot an orc that had been trying another Salab dart. “They’ll chase us down for sure! They care not about rest!”

“Edren, we cannot stay here. We must find a way to safely retreat! But first-” he shot down two orcs simultaneously. “Where is Maklu?”

“Who?”

“The big, tall one.”

“Oh goodness, Legolas, they all look the same to me!”

Legolas sighed, and sending a constant stream of arrows ahead of him, he probed the clearing for a sign of the orc who’d taken his weapons. He couldn’t see him anywhere.

**********

Aragorn could smell the strong scent of crushed pine filling his nose. He appeared to be is some sort of Elderberry bush. He was aching all over, and worried sick about whatever was going on around him. He dared not sit up again, for last time he did that, he had nearly gotten his head shot off by a nearby orc.

Nyarin had moved further along the clearing, and so Aragorn was left with no protection whatsoever except his own hiding place. As long as no one figured out where he was-

“Get up.” He felt the cold steal of a dagger pointed at the back of his neck. “I said get up, human. Really slowly.”

Aragorn did so, rising to his knees as slowly as he could, the dagger remaining tight against his neck the whole time. The weapon moved abruptly to his throat instead, its point tipping his head back slightly. It was Maklu.

“Nice to see you found your way out of that cave. It’s really too bad, I wanted to kill you and be done with it. But no, I’ll let you live. When your friends are all dead, though, I think I’ll put you back in that hole, you know? Let Gamdag have a little more fun with you before we lock you up again. Won’t that be nice?” he sneered, running a none too gentle claw along Aragorn’s torn cheek.

The human stared panicked up at Maklu’s grinning face only a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell limply into the Elderberry bush once more.

**********

Legolas was still looking for an idea. He had been killing orcs nonstop, and knew that he was running out of arrows. Surely there was something else…

*TTTHONT* the prick of a Salab dart stung Legolas’ thigh. His fingers flew to the spot, where he ripped the dart away, rubbing feeling back through the numbness as Edren covered him with extra shots. Legolas looked up gratefully at his friend as he regained his own composure.

“You all right?” Edren called.

“Fine!” Legolas responded, looking down to see if his thigh was bleeding. Then his eye caught something he hadn’t noticed before. The elven rope he’d taken off Aragorn in the cave. It was then that a strange idea crossed his mind.

**********

Maklu was muttering still. “I never asked…stupid human…can’t he just…never should have…”

His voice kept going up and down in pitch, so it was hard to catch all he was saying as he hoisted the limp Aragorn off the ground and slung him over his shoulder. It appeared that Aragorn’s faint had been realistic enough after all, because Maklu was starting to walk off with him to the cave.

He opened his eyes, now that he was slung over the orcs shoulder, and looked around. To Aragorn’s surprise, he found himself face-to-face with a very familiar looking quiver. A quiver which had a very familiar elven knife protruding from it.

Aragorn reached out slowly for the knife’s handle, hoping Maklu wouldn’t notice.

**********

Legolas looked around until he spotted the right orc; one that had a sword hanging from his hip. The elf smiled coldly. “Edren, cover me!” he cried, and made a dash across the clearing.

He felt Edren’s arrows zinging over his head as several orcs saw his dash as an opportunity to attack him from the side. Just as an orc almost as big as Brog was about to crash right into him, he made a leap for the sword-carrying orc, and skidded along the ground till he was at the beast’s feet.

Before the creature could react, Legolas had the elven rope tied in a lasso around his ankles. Leaping to his feet, Legolas held tight to the rope, and backed up several paces, pulling the surprised orc off his feet, and dragging him backwards as well.

And before any of the other orcs could shoot him down, Legolas started to spin to the side, dragging the orc along the ground. At first, he only rolled over the ground, tripping up a few confused orcs, but mostly just kicking up dust. Slowly, Legolas began to spin faster and faster, pulling his hands and the rope into the air as gradually as he could. Slowly but surely, the orc lifted off the ground and started wheeling through the air.

It was very affective. As the orc flew through the air, he either knocked the towering orcs over, or scared them back. Legolas was spinning an empty circle around him, and as the spinning orc screamed, Legolas’ twirls became faster.

**********

Just a little farther…just a little. There. Aragorn’s fingers closed triumphantly around the handle of Legolas’ dagger. There was noting for it. He jerked the knife out of Legolas’ quiver, and stabbed it deep into Maklu’s back.

The orc screamed, and clawed at the human. As his nails found Aragorn’s hair, the young Ranger soon found himself being hurled off the other’s shoulder, landing hard on the rocky ground. Maklu was clawing at the dagger in his back, but suddenly, his eyes grew wide, and he held up the other elven dagger, the one he’d threatened Aragorn with before.

“Think you’re so smart. Think you can outsmart me, do you human?”

Aragorn sat up, brushing the gravel from his bloodied arm, and stared defiantly up at Maklu. “You’re going to die,” he said flatly. “I’ve killed you. I’d say that is indeed rather smart.”

“If I but had a bow, you would pay for this with your elf’s own weapons, and I-”

*TTTHONT* Aragorn cried out in surprise, trying in vain to pull the Salab dart out of his back. But it was just behind his right shoulder blade, a place he couldn’t reach with his right hand, and it was too painful to reach behind him with his left, because of the wound in his shoulder. Numbness began to creep coldly over his body.

Maklu sighed with a hideous grin as black blood trickled from his mouth. “Thank you, Tatra, I knew my loyal servant-”

*SHWOONT* Maklu fell forward, dead with Tatra’s arrow in his throat.

Tatra kicked at his dead leader uninterestedly. “Too long have you been a mindless leader. Now you are a mindless dead one.” He smiled at that and then looked up at Aragorn. The human was on his back, unable to sit up through the numbness overtaking him. “Poor human,” Tatra chuckled, kneeling down beside Aragorn, and pulling out a length of rope. “I suppose you’re scared, are you? Well, that’s all right. No need to be scared, you know.”

He crossed Aragorn’s limp arms over his chest, wrapping the rope around the arms, across the chest, and around behind his back, pulling it tight again. “I won’t kill you, I can’t. I have to keep you, because he needs you. But don’t worry, we’ll still have some fun, even though we can’t torture you to death itself. But we can come pretty close…as you already know.”

“You don’t frighten me, Tatra,” Aragorn hissed bitterly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. In truth, Tatra did not scare him. The orc had done his part with dagger and whip, but the fact was Legolas had been smarter than all of them. He had found Aragorn and saved him from the cave.

But vulnerability was a fact he could not ignore, and the numbness of Salab was making him feel twice as vulnerable.

Tatra finished binding Aragorn’s arms to his chest, and pulled the knot so tight, Aragorn could almost feel it through the Salab’s effects. “What do you say, human? Shall we call Gamdag over and- take you back down into the cave?” His gnarled fingers moved to the whip coiled at his belt. “I am not as kind as Maklu.”

***********

“Edren, get down!” Edren obeyed quickly, and Legolas let some slack into the rope he was still clutching. The flying orc’s arc became even wider, knocking all the orcs who’d been attacking Edren down as well. Legolas had managed to clear a fairly large circle around him and Edren.

Nyarin and Daurrè had disappeared from the woods, and Legolas hoped that they had gone to lead the horses around to the forest path just behind him and Edren. The path he had taken to escape last. The path he hoped Lint was on somewhere.

It was time to grab Aragorn and get out of here. Slowly, he reeled the rope in towards him, and with a powerful jerk, he landed the flying orc painfully on the ground. Kneeling next to him, he tore the belt from the other’s waist. Lifting the scabbard that hung from it, and patting the sword hilt tenderly, he looked down at the orc. “This is not yours, Gamdag.”

Before the orcs could rush on him again, he grabbed the rope once more, swung Gamdag high in the air, and let go of the rope. Fastening the belt around his own waist, he called, “Edren, to the clearing! Set Lint free, should you find him!”

“Legolas-”

“Go! I must get Aragorn!” And without another word, Legolas ran off across his cleared circle, avoiding orcish arrows, and making a break for the cave-path.

**********

“So, human, shall we defeat you again? Would you enjoy that?”

“No,” Aragorn muttered darkly. “Not in the least.”

“That is unfortunate, for I had an idea of how to relieve your pain this time. I happen to have found some- herbs?” Tatra pulled from his overcoat a handful of arrow-shaped leaves. They were green as poison, and pointed as daggers. “How about some Bengwiil, eh human?”

“No…” Aragorn whispered, struggling against his numbness and his ropes. “No- no please! Stop, no get it away from me! Get it away!”

Tatra laughed darkly, holding the leaves closer and closer to Aragorn’s mouth. The human couldn’t move. He was numb all over and tied too tight to struggled anyway. Tatra was coming nearer and nearer, Bengwiil approaching Aragorn’s shut lips like an excited adversary knowing victory was at hand.

Ea néfredäl Bengwiil uuye le-naeg! His own words to Legolas echoed in his ears. Do not fear, and Bengwiil cannot harm you! Ea néfredäl! He had controlled himself in the cave. He could do it now. He could be unafraid. But the smell was so strong…so suffocating. Panic was weakening him.

He felt blank, and things began to go dark. Maybe because of fear, probably because of Salab taking its final toll and knocking him out.

“Now you’ll be much more fun to torture,” Tatra sneered, but then stopped. He looked up. “What in Mordor-”

The creak of a bow being pulled taught echoed in Aragorn’s fading hearing. But there was no need for whoever stood there with a bow. At that instant, a screaming orc came crashing into Tatra’s head, sending both orcs flying off over the embankment beside the path. A rope that appeared to be tied to the newcomer’s ankles was the last thing Aragorn saw before everything was dark, and his eyes closed on him.

“Where did *that* come from?” a voice cried from somewhere behind Aragorn.

“I know not, but it saved me an arrow. Look at all the dead…oh what a gruesome site. Let us go.”

“But- battle is on through those trees just there, should we not assist?”

“Often is Mirkwood trampled by the battles of orcs. Now, we must continue.”

“But Adda-”

“It is not our fight, fion nin.”

“…yes Adda.”

There was a pause.

“What is it?”

“I thought I saw something down there- I felt something alive…but they are all dead. Orcs and their prisoners alike…I thought maybe the one down there who is bound- but no. He- is covered in blood, and he’s not moving. And why would an orc keep their captive alive? It is clear the one I nearly shot held no weapon…“ the voice faded a moment in soft wonder. “I am shamed for my hope, I fear. He is indeed dead.”

“Ilúvatar help the innocent.”

“Ineed, my son.”

“Can we not go? I do not wish to see the dead now…it continues reminding me-”

“Aye, we must make haste for the Halls.”

“Thank you, Adda.”

“Noro lim!”

“Estel? Aragorn, wake up! Are you- oh thank the Valar, you’re breathing, Aragorn do you hear me? It’s Salab, isn’t it? Let me see…is it…oh good, there, I got it. I got it out. Mellon nin? Please, say something!”

Aragorn’s eyes opened slowly. Legolas was kneeling over him, and in his hand was a Salab dart, which he cast away when the human’s eyes had opened. “Oh, thank the Valar, you’re all right. What happened? Why are you bound?”

“The voices…”

“Sh…never mind it, I’ll untie you.” Legolas pulled an arrow from Edren’s quiver, and sliced away the clumsy orcish rope Tatra had bound Aragorn with. “We must get out of here.”

“Your weapons, Legolas,” Aragorn whispered. “Maklu is dead over there.” He tried to point but his hand only fell limp beside him.

“Take it easy, Aragorn. Thank you, I shall get them.” Legolas disappeared from sight temporarily, and came back with his elven knives stowed, and his quiver strung around his shoulders. He appeared to have put the last of Edren’s arrows in his own quiver, and simply disposed of Edren’s old one.

Aragorn looked around and realized he wasn’t where he had passed out. He was down the embankment a ways, just a few feet down from where Maklu lay dead. That would explain why there were no orcs shooting at them from all sides, they were well hidden in the undergrowth.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Aragorn,” Legolas whispered quietly.

“But we have time,” Aragorn murmured sluggishly. “The orcs don’t know we’re here-”

“But they will, they’re only distracted because someone’s killed their leader. But disorganization is a fact of life with them, and they will not take long to recover. They’ll be after us soon enough, come on, we mustn’t be seen.”

Aragorn expected Legolas to try and hoist him onto his feet again, but instead, the elf lay down on the ground beside him, and wrapping his arms around the human’s chest, he rolled off down the hill. As they tumbled down the deep slope, as painful as it was, having all his injuries constantly jarred, Aragorn realized that it was actually a very good idea.

Crackling weeds, crumbling earth, ripping grass, and smashing leaves were the sounds that filled the air over the next few milliseconds. Aragorn could only tell his head was throbbing as it hit the earth again and again, and he and Legolas rolled over top of one another, the prince never once loosening his grip around the human’s chest.

*WHUMP* they were at the bottom of the hill. Aragorn opened his eyes slowly to find Legolas letting go of his shoulders, and rolling over onto his back.

“Well!” he shouted triumphantly. “Wasn’t that fun.”

“Oh, extremely,” Aragorn groaned, rolling onto his stomach and rubbing his aching head. “Salab’s wearing off, as is adrenaline.”

“Good,” Legolas grinned.

“Not good,” Aragorn corrected. “It’s just now letting me know I’ve got an awful headache.”

Legolas’ grin broadened. “Oh, come now. I’ve had worse ideas than *that*.”

“Oh?” Aragorn sat up gingerly, and cocked eyebrow at his friend. “Do tell.”

“Well,” Legolas thought a moment. “Meeting you, that was a pretty bad idea. Look at all the trouble you get me into!”

“I shall say.” The two jumped, and turned around.

Legolas grinned, and reasoned softly, “That was not entirely kind, Edren, just so you know.”

“Thank you,” replied the other. “I’ll make a note of that. Good grief, Legolas, you look like something the Ranger dragged in!”

“I would like to mention that *he* dragged *me* this time,” Aragorn commented loudly while he carefully brushed the dirt out of the cut in his knee. “And he hasn’t apologized yet.” He added with a lopsided grin.

“Now children, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not out of the cave yet,” Edren pointed out, looking around the dark forest.

Legolas blinked blankly up at Edren. “I hate caves,” he stated simply. “I never, never want to see another cave as long as I or Aragorn lives.”

Edren smiled. “So does that mean you’re going to get off the ground and come get your horse?”

“In fact,” Legolas put in, looking over at Aragorn now. “I hate caves more than I’ve *ever* hated caves. I hate caves so much, I would rather *die* than go willingly through the mouth of another revolting, dank, dirty cave!”

Edren moved to Aragorn’s side, and helped him to his feet. “Well, we can ride away at least. I think Legolas would much rather sit here and reflect on the evils of caves.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Legolas leapt off the ground, and gave Edren a hand with Aragorn.

In the clearing beyond them, Nyarin sat on his horse with the captive elf in the saddle in front of him. Legolas nodded. “Suilad, Fenan.”

Fenan was silent a moment. “I- forgive me, your highness, I’ve led your people into disaster and death. It is my fault, I should not have gone on that foolish venture after Bengwiil, I-”

“Let us not think on it now, all right, Fenan? It will be well. I promise you.” Fenan only nodded back.

“Here, Aragorn.” Daurrè knelt down in front of him, a small, sage-green leaf. It was fairly wide, with a pointed head, and small strings of leaf reaching out to the point from the sides. It looked like a flat and opened tulip, although green.

Salab.

Daurrè tore it in half, rubbing on half against Aragorn’s knee, and handing the other half to Edren who rubbed into the human’s shoulder. “This will numb it up enough for you to ride, I think,” Daurrè told him, smiling, and throwing the leaf away. “But it’s not enough for you to lose feeling anywhere else.”

“Thank you Daurrè.” Aragorn smiled, as his hand fell to where Legolas was fastening a belt around his waist. He found himself looking at his sword hilt once more, and his smile became wider as dirty finger ran over the smooth design work.

There was no need for him to say thanks, and the reassuring squeeze on his shoulder relieved Legolas the trouble of responding a “you’re welcome”.

“Your horse, Estel,” Nyarin called, gesturing to Horthor.

Aragorn let go of Edren and Legolas’ help, and limped slowly to the dark beast. Horthor’s eyes were reassured, and comfortable. He gazed softly as Aragorn pulled his weary body onto the horse’s back. “Mae pant, sadroner,” he whispered, and patted the horse calmly on the neck.

Legolas felt his throat closing. He could still remember when he’d climbed onto that horse, sure Aragorn was dead. But now- everything was going to be all right. Everything was going to be just fine.

He sighed, his joy feeling so complete it made his chest hurt. He moved quickly to Lint’s side, glad to see the pure-white horse standing before him, his own to ride once more. He hated every moment of Brog on that horse with Aragorn.

He pushed the thoughts away. Never again, he thought, will I live in the past. Never again. Nodding resolutely, he slid onto Lint’s back, and reined him around to face the rest of his friends.

“Where are we off to, Edren?” Nyarin asked expectantly.

“To the Halls, for sure,” Edren nodded, giving Legolas the briefest of a sidelong glance. Legolas knew what he meant; Thranduil was unstable, and goodness knew what he was doing right now. “But it is so dark,” Edren continued, looking at the forest around them. “I cannot tell which direction to go.”

“Well then,” Legolas sighed, looking up at the sky. “We must follow Eärendil.”

Edren shook his head. “Legolas, the sky is full of dark clouds.”

“Oh, I know you cannot see it,” Legolas said good-naturedly, closing his eyes, and breathing the evening air deep into his lungs. “But you can feel it. You can always feel it, Edren. And it will lead us home.”

He urged his horse into a gallop, and Lint obediently took him the rest of the way down the hill, and off towards the trees on the other side of the clearing. “Hope will lead us home, my friend,” he called. “Estel will always lead us!”

And Legolas laughed. And he realized it had been so long since he truly laughed, and it felt so good, that he kept laughing. His high, elven laughter trickled through the trees, and seemed to send little breezes across their thinnest branches, as he rode spiritedly into the dark of the forest.

“He’ll get himself lost,” Edren sighed, shaking his head, and swinging his eyes to Aragorn.

The human was watching the faint glow amongst the trees that marked where the prince rode. “Probably,” he consented, and a smile touched his face. “But- I don’t think he cares.”

“Come and be happy once more, Strider!” Legolas’ voice echoed from somewhere in the forest. “Let me hear your laughter once more that it be ever in my memory!”

And so, Aragorn did. And it was true, and full of light and spirit. Fully of happiness. Hopeful.

“Come, Edren!” he cried, riding off down the hill. “Let us follow Eärendil then!”

Nyarin, Fenan and Daurrè cried, “Noro lim!” in one voice, and took off down the hill after Aragorn.

Edren lifted his eyes to the heavens where the stars should be. “Ilúvatar help me,” he muttered in a long-suffering tone, and then he took off towards the forest himself, doing his best to search-out the scattering elves he was trying to keep track of.

And to his surprise, it was not hard finding Legolas amongst the trees. For even as Edren rode into the thick of them, a lighthearted, and innocent melody, punctuated by quiet conversation, floated from somewhere ahead, marking where both Legolas and Aragorn rode side-by-side.

“The Road goes ever on and on-”

“Do you suppose that would be as beautiful in Elvish, Legolas?”

“I doubt it. For it was, and always shall be, a song of the Halflings. A song of the innocent.”

“Aye- but perhaps we could at the least create harmony for it.”

“Strider, it is well as it is.”

“You are right, but it would be interesting to try…”

High laughter. “Shall we sing, or shall we not?”

“Indeed, indeed! It was but a thought. So which place had we last sung?”

“But the first line; you interrupted.”

“Ah. Yes.” And a voice rose up clear and windy. “The Road goes ever on and on,” and it was then joined by a sweet ringing of a voice, “down form the door where it began…”

The combination of the voice of a human, and that of an elf made harmony entirely unnecessary. It wasn’t breathtaking, nor was it flawless, but as one of them missed a word, and they broke off in laughter, rediscovering the lyrics, it was clear to listening ears that there was no way to make a song more complete or correct.

“But Estel, is it not ‘Where many paths and places meet’?”

“I thought it was- hang on…was it not ‘Where many roads and paths do meet?’ No, but that doesn’t make sense…”

“I was fairly certain the last word was ‘meet’, because it rhymes with ‘feet’, the last word of the other line.”

“Though, could it be ‘Where many friends and-” oh something, I can’t think of it, but maybe it ended with ‘greet’?”

“Perhaps…”

“Hang on, it was-” The human’s voice lifted clear in the air. “Where many paths and errands meet!”

“Aye, that was it!” Again, laughter rose quietly and privately from the place the friends rode beside one another.

In the dark, Edren smiled. Oh, he thought, how good it is to laugh.

The dark clouds stretched over the scene below, absorbing the sound underneath them. They expanded all the way from the journey’s beginning to it’s end…and they overlooked what lay at the companions’ destination. It was going to be a dark thing that waited up for them when they reached the Halls of Thrnaduil once more. Bengwiil was not defeated, though Legolas was fining his way out of it. And what *had* Thranduil been doing in their absence? For Legolas had indeed made the mistake of leaving, with no mention to his ill father.

No, it would indeed be a very unhappy destination.

But, oh, right now? The Road went ever on and on for them. And sure enough, they were following the hidden light of Eärendil. Light of hope.

Estel.

The End…no…

But it is the Beginning.

Ranî mä r

At last, at long last, the breathy sound of an elven voice trickled into existence. “Edren, I came here to ask something of you.”

Aragorn said nothing, waiting almost as eagerly as Legolas for the reply.

“And what is that?” It was clear Edren knew, or was afraid he knew. After all this. All this, and it would end here. He didn’t know if he was relieved or afraid. It felt more like fear.

“I want…” Another pause. At last, he would ask. Now. “I want the truth, Edren. All of it. Lindo, Arasen, Tiro-Lim, Bioren…” Legolas shook the old piece of paper in his hand. “I need to know, Edren. I must. Please.”

Edren sighed solemnly, taking the paper from Legolas’ outstretched hand, and smoothing the wrinkles out of it. “You needn’t push the matter nor worry of convincing me, Legolas…for it has been long that I’ve wished to tell you of this. So long.”

“Then you will?” Legolas was unashamed of his pleading tone.

“Yes,” Edren said at last. “Yes I shall. But understand, Legolas…it won’t be easy, it-” He shook his head. “Never mind, you’ll find out soon enough.” He was quiet a moment longer, searching his thoughts and memories. “So many things to say,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But where to begin…”

“Why not the beginning?” Aragorn put in quietly.

Edren nodded slowly, and then fixed gray eyes on the young elf in front of him. Legolas met the intense gaze with his own silver one, ready to lose himself in mystery.

“Prince Legolas Greenleaf. Lindo. The Little Sparrow…”

And so Edren began.