Title: The Wrong Path

Author: White Wolf

Genre: Angst/Action/Adventure

Rating: PG-13

Timeline: Pre-FOTR

Summary: After apparently taking a wrong turn in a mysterious forest, something happens to Legolas. Aragorn doesn't know what's wrong or what to do, so he takes the elf to his father in Rivendell, however Elrond has no answers either.

Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own anything J.R.R. Tolkien created. I couldn't compete with him even if I was silly enough to try. All I can do is borrow some of his creations and write my own pale imitations. I'm certainly not making any money from this offering. It's just entertainment (hopefully).

Chapter One

Elrohir, youngest elven son of Elrond, the Lord of Imladris, stood at the window of one of the libraries in his family’s home. From this window, the elf could see the courtyard. His mind was on nothing in particular, when he saw two horses on the far horizon. He squinted, trying to make out who might be approaching Rivendell. When the horses got a bit closer, his elven eyes made out the fact that one horse was dark and the other was gray.

The elf smiled. Estel and Legolas were finally returning and only four days late. That had to be some kind of record. He continued to smile and watch as the horses got closer still, moving at a fairly quick pace. He then noticed something that wiped the smile from his face. It was replaced with a frown of concern. There was only one rider. There was no one sitting on the horse that followed. Elrohir was just about to turn away, when he realized that the gray horse carried two riders, not one. He stood and stared a moment longer to confirm that fact.

Elrohir quickly crossed the carpeted library and ran out into the hall, yelling for his father. His heart was racing. Had he stopped to look, he would have seen his hands shaking. His long black hair flew out behind him as he raced down the corridor.

Elrond and his eldest son, Elladan, were in the elf Lord’s private study, going over a new book of healing that Elrond had just acquired from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. They were deep in research and discussion, when they heard the shouting. They both looked at the door simultaneously and then at each other. A look of foreboding passed between father and son. Elrohir’s shouts were bordering on panic.

Elrohir was running past the study door, still yelling, when Elrond and Elladan hurried out into the corridor. “Elrohir,” Elrond called out in a stern tone. “What is all the shouting about?” Were they under attack?

“Ada, Elladan, they are back, but...” his previously excited voice trailed off into silence. The look in his eyes made his father and twin brother cringe. It was not the first time they had seen that look. They knew what it meant; something was terribly wrong with either Estel or Legolas.

Elrond knew he didn’t want to hear what his son might say, but, he had to hear it, so the elven Lord squared his shoulders and asked, “Which one?” He knew Elrohir understood perfectly well his meaning.

Sadness had overtaken panic for the moment, and Elrohir’s breathing was a bit rapid. It was then that he did notice his shaking hands. He put them down and pressed his palms tightly against his thighs, but it didn’t help much.

“They are both on Legolas's horse,” Elrohir said at last. It’s all he could manage to say.

“Then, it is Estel,” Elrond breathed. “Come. We must hurry. He will likely need immediate attention.” He started off down the hall toward the courtyard, his blue silk robes swishing, and his twin sons in his wake.

All three elves were standing at the foot of the steps that led from the courtyard into The Last Homely House. All three were staring toward the open gate and the small section of road leading to it that was visible from where they stood.

Elven eyes went wide in surprise, as the first horse came in to view. It was Legolas sitting in front, not Estel. The human had his left arm securely around the elf, whose head was hanging forward and swaying slightly with the motion of the horse.

Elrond let out a sigh of relief that his foster son was apparently not injured or ill. However, his heart clenched to know that Legolas was clearly in dire need of attention. *Just once, why could they not both return whole and healthy?* he thought.

After Aragorn pulled his horse to a stop, Elrond stepped forward. He shuddered to see the limp body of the elf and the haggard look on his son‘s face. Aragorn looked exhausted. “Let Elladan take Legolas,” Elrond instructed gently.

Aragorn shook his head. He slid from the saddle and pulled Legolas down into his arms and began to carry him up the steps. He said not a word nor was he in the kind of rush that usually accompanied the two friends’ return from one of their adventures. This fact alone did not bode well.

The three elves left behind all looked at each other. “Estel?” Elrohir called after his foster brother. Then, he looked at his father, “What has happened?” he asked, though he knew Elrond didn’t know any more than he did. With a look of horror, Elrohir suddenly started shaking his head rapidly. “No. No. Tell me Legolas is not dead.” There was a stricken look on the younger twin’s face.

“I do not think so. Estel looked grim but not grief-stricken,” Elladan said, trying to convince himself as much as his brother. There had been no sign of tears. Elladan only hoped he had analyzed the situation correctly. He spun on his heel and began to run after his human brother.

When Aragorn turned down the corridor to the left, Elladan, who had just caught up, asked him, “Why are you going this way? The House of Healing is that way.” He was pointing to the right.

With a flat voice, Aragorn said, “He isn’t wounded.”

Chapter Two

Aragorn continued down the corridor with his best friend in his arms. He mounted two more flights of stairs toward the family’s private wing of the house. His father and brothers were keeping pace behind him. They each knew they would all have to wait until Estel was ready to talk to them before they would get any answers from him.

When Aragorn reached the room Legolas always stayed in while in Rivendell, Elrohir rushed ahead and pushed down on the gold handle of the large oak door, which swung open on silent hinges. He then ran across the room to the glass doors that led to the balcony on his right. He grasped the hunter green velvet curtains and pulled them aside, flooding the room with bright sunlight.

The elf then pushed on the balcony doors, opening them until they lay back against the wall on either side. Legolas couldn’t stand being closed in even by curtains and clear glass doors. He was only comfortable when he could not only see the sky, but listen to the trees and feel the breezes as they blew into his room. Thus, both curtains and doors were only closed when the elf prince was not in residence.

There was a light breeze blowing inward just now, and the room was soon filled with the fresh scents of Spring.

Meanwhile, Aragorn lay Legolas on top of the bedspread, whose leaf-pattern was the same color as the curtains and the carpet. The room had been decorated with the leaf pattern and dark green color especially for the woodland elf.

Aragorn carefully made sure the elf’s legs were straight, and then with his hands behind Legolas's head, he gently lowered it to the fluffy feather pillow that rested at the base of the ornate wooden headboard.

Elrond noted with trepidation that Legolas hadn't made even the slightest movement nor did any sound escape his lips. He was totally limp and unresponsive. Elrond moved up beside Aragorn and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

It was then that Aragorn turned the saddest expression a human is capable of making toward his father. With the shake of his head he repeated the words he had said to Elladan just moments before. "He isn't wounded."

Elrond had already noted in a quick visual inspection that there was no blood on the archer. Nor was there any other mark that he could see without a thorough examination. Aragorn was also a healer and would have checked Legolas before bringing him home. He would know if a wound was present. Elrond trusted both his foster son’s skills and his judgment.

Very softly, he asked, "What ails him?"

"That's just it, Ada. I don't know," Aragorn said helplessly. With that he turned toward the bed and removed Legolas's belt. Then, he began to undo the elf’s outer tunic. There was a gentleness in his movements, but at the same time, he seemed to move almost too deliberately. It was painfully obvious that he was working very hard to keep a tight rein on his emotions. One crack and they would all come flooding out. He couldn't afford that indulgence right now. His best friend needed him.

Elrohir pulled Legolas's soft suede boots off and set them together on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then, he stood silently and watched his two brothers undress their friend.

Elladan had crossed to the far side of the bed, with his back to the balcony and was helping Aragorn pull Legolas into a sitting position. Together they removed his tunic. Elladan had to put one hand under Legolas's chin and grip it firmly to keep his head steady. They then pulled his leggings off, leaving him wearing only his long silk shirt. Aragorn lifted the elf up while his oldest brother pulled the bedding back. When Legolas was lowered back down, the covers were pulled up to his chest. Aragorn pulled Legolas's arms from under the cover and crossed them gently over the elf's stomach.

Aragorn still held onto one of the archer's hands as he sat down on the side of the bed and leaned forward. "I'm sorry, mellon nin. I'm so sorry." There was both infinite sadness and a large measure of guilt in those words.

Elrond picked up on the guilt he heard but decided that now was not the time to discuss it. He would have to ask about that later. "Estel, let me look at him. Perhaps, I can find what the trouble is."

Aragorn didn't move or say a word at first. He just stared at Legolas's face. Then, he slowly nodded his assent and stood up. He knew if anyone could help Legolas, Elrond could, though he had the deep-seated feeling that even the power of the elf Lord would do no good in this case. It had nothing to do with his father’s abilities, it was.... He didn’t know what, and it was that lack of knowing that scared him as much as anything else.

After half an hour, Elrond had made a thorough examination of every inch of the elf’s body. He even undid Legolas's braids and examined his entire scalp. Finally, Elrond stood up and faced his three sons. "I know not what is causing this." There was a note of apology in his voice and a look of heartbreak on his ageless face.

Aragorn sat back down on the bed, gripping the elf’s hand once more, and then he closed his eyes. Those words from his father confirmed his own feelings of despair. All along he had the feeling that there was something evil involved that was behind what was wrong with his friend. If his father couldn’t find a physical reason, then Aragorn was terribly afraid he was right. But, he wasn’t ready to speak of that just yet.

Aragorn was pulled out of his thoughts, when Elrond said, “I will find out.” The elf Lord’s firm voice reflected his attempt to be as reassuring as he could. It was far too early to give up hope. To continue, though, he needed details.

“What can you tell me about what happened? Was he attacked by someone or something?” That seemed the most logical place to start.

“I can’t answer any of your questions,” Aragorn said somewhat harshly. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ada. I’m just so worried.” He kept to himself that he was also so tired he could hardly move. That fact, he knew, they were all very aware of. An elf was much better at hiding weariness and much better at detecting it in others than any human. The look of concern in his father’s eyes was also for him, as well as Legolas.

He looked up at Elrond. “I have no idea what happened. We were setting up camp for the night. Legolas tended the horses, as usual, and went off to hunt for dinner while I set up the camp. When he didn’t come back in a reasonable length of time, I went looking for him. I found him lying in the grass just as you see him now. I couldn’t rouse him, but I couldn’t find anything wrong, either.” He laughed bitterly and waved his hand toward Legolas. “Unless you consider this condition as being nothing wrong.” More softly he said. “There’s no physical clue as to why he’s like this. You saw that for yourself.”

The tears that Aragorn had been holding back threatened to spill out, but he managed, with a great deal of effort, to keep them from falling. “What can we do, Ada? How can we help him, if we don’t even know what’s wrong with him?”

Elladan wanted to know the answer to those questions himself. He came around to the side of the bed where his foster brother sat. He steeled himself for the argument he was sure was coming. “Estel, Legolas is safe. He is in no immediate danger. You need to get some sleep before you collapse.”

“I have to stay with him.” Aragorn whispered tiredly.

“ Not if it means you make yourself sick,” Elladan replied firmly. “I promise that Elrohir and I will not leave this room until you wake and return here. I am sure Ada will be hard at work, looking for answers, in his books of healing.” He took Estel’s free hand. “Please, for all our sakes, if not your own, get some rest.” He looked toward Legolas. “He will need your strength later.”

Everyone was surprised when Aragorn nodded. It was proof that he was too exhausted to argue. Aragorn reluctantly let go of Legolas's hand, as Elrond took him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. He gave a small smile of encouragement to his weary son.

Aragorn gave his brothers as stern a look as he could muster. “Promise me you’ll come get me, if there’s any change, no matter how small.”

“We promise,” Elrohir said, nodding.

Elrond had his arm around Aragorn as he guided his son from the room. The intricately carved door closed softly behind them.

Elladan looked out of the open balcony doorway and noted it was about mid-afternoon. He pulled one of the two chairs in the room up next to the bed, and a moment later Elrohir did the same.

They sat down to wait.

Chapter Three

Aragorn woke up groggier than usual. He opened bleary eyes and looked around him. It took a few seconds for him to recognize that he was in his own bed, in his own room, which he felt sure was in his own home. It was hard to be positive, though. His mind was acting like a thick fog was swirling through it.

The ranger sat up, a move that took a great deal of effort. He quickly lowered his head into both of his hands. He hadn’t felt this out of it since he had overindulged with some questionable wine that time he and Legolas were...

At the thought of the Mirkwood prince, Aragorn cried out, “Legolas!” All the memories of what had happened to his friend came crashing in and almost swamped the tenuous grasp on the senses that he clung to. He wanted to believe that it had all been a horrible nightmare, but he knew it was all too real.

It took him mere seconds to get to his feet and slide into a pair of soft slippers that sat just under the edge of his bed. He grabbed a long, cream-colored robe from the back of a chair near the door. While doing so, he took note that the sun was just now rising, as it peeked over the far garden wall. He was dismayed to realize that he had slept the entire night, not to mention the better part of yesterday afternoon. He sprinted down the corridor to Legolas's room, managing to get into his robe as he ran.

Aragorn burst into the room and rushed over to the bed. Legolas was lying as still and quiet as the ranger had left him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He was so hoping that he would be greeted by an alert, smiling elven prince, who would chide him for sleeping so long. The ranger dropped down dejectedly onto the bed in the same spot he had occupied earlier.

It was only after satisfying himself that the archer was still breathing and had no fever that he allowed his own breathing to slow to a normal rhythm.

Looking up, he noticed that the two brocade-covered chairs by the bed were empty. “Empty?” Aragorn exploded. Distraught and shaking, he said aloud, “They promised they wouldn’t leave him!”

“Nor did we,” came a very familiar voice from across the room.

Aragorn spun his head around and found himself staring into the face of Elladan, standing in the balcony doorway. The dark-haired elf had his arms folded over his chest. Aragorn saw his brother’s stern expression.

“We do not break promises, Estel,” Elrohir said from behind him, speaking a bit more harshly than he intended. He walked around the bed and sat down in one of the plush chairs, placing a large leather-bound book in his lap.

It was immediately obvious to Aragorn that, considering the direction Elrohir had just come from, he had been getting the book from the set of shelves behind the door and hadn‘t been seen when the ranger burst in. “I’m sorry,” Aragorn said contritely. “I didn’t mean to accuse either of you. I’ve evidently been sleeping rather hard for hours, and I‘m a bit groggy and...” He paused, then admitted, “No excuses. Forgive me.”

After exchanging glances with his twin, Elladan said, “You are forgiven.”

“We never could stay upset with you for very long, Estel. You know that,” Elrohir commented. He had a small smile on his face.

Elladan said, “And by the way, Estel, you have been asleep for almost two days.” He grimaced, preparing for the inevitable explosion.

“Two days!” Aragorn wailed. “Are you telling me that I went to sleep the day before yesterday?” When a nod from Elladan confirmed it, Aragorn’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“You were almost out on your feet, when you arrived. You obviously needed it, or you would not have slept that long.” Elladan said logically in a calm voice.

“I told you...”

“You told us to come get you, if there was any change,” Elladan interrupted in the same calm tone. “There has not been.” The elf walked over and stood beside his younger twin, resting one hand on the high back of the chair Elrohir sat in. He looked down at Legolas. “Sadly, there has been no change at all in his condition. He is still the same.”

“Ada has been here several times to check on him,” Elrohir added. “And, when he has not been here, he has been holed up in his study, searching through his books of healing.”

“But, he’s found nothing to help Legolas, has he?” Aragorn asked dejectedly, already knowing the answer. He almost said he could have told them that would probably be the case. He was now convinced more than ever that some kind of evil had befallen the elven prince. But what and from where, he had no clue. And, if he was right, he also had no clue as to whether Legolas was the intended victim or was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up paying the price for it.

Aragorn looked at his twin brothers. It was then he noticed that Legolas's unstrung bow was propped up in the corner of the room next to the bookshelves. He looked around the room and spotted the archer’s quiver of arrows and his twin long knives lying on a table next to the wardrobe.

Elladan realized what Aragorn was looking at, so he explained. “One of the stable boys removed them from Legolas's horse after the two of you came home, and he gave them to Glorfindel, who brought them up here. Yours are in your room.”

Aragorn nodded. He had to admit he hadn’t given any of the weapons a thought since arriving, although he did seem to remember Elrond taking the ranger’s sword belt off of him just before he collapsed into bed.

“Have you eaten?” Elrohir asked, sure that his human brother had come straight in here from waking. He had no idea how long before Estel had arrived that he had eaten. It was most likely days.

Aragorn shook his head. Emotionally, he didn‘t care to eat anything, but his body was telling him quite the opposite. He felt sure that if he even attempted to say he wanted nothing, both of his brothers would hold him down and force him to eat. “Just something light. Fruit, maybe, and honey tea. And cheese. And some bread and maybe a few sausages.” He looked toward Legolas. “And a piece of Lembas.”

Elrohir looked at his foster brother; the solemn atmosphere that permeated the room and the reason for it being the only things keeping him from laughing out loud. He couldn‘t, however, keep a bit of humor out of his voice. “Just something light he says.”

“I noticed,” Elladan agreed.

Coming to an unspoken agreement, both twins quietly left the room, making not a sound, as was the way with the Firstborn. The ranger’s attention had gone back to the unconscious elf in the bed, so they were sure Estel hadn’t even taken notice of their departure.

Aragorn sat alone with Legolas, whose seemingly lifeless body tore at the ranger’s heart. “Please, open your eyes, mellon nin. Please.” He squeezed the elf’s hand. “We need you back with us. I need you back.”

*This was all my fault. If only I had...*

Aragorn shook his head, banishing that silent thought. It would do no good to dwell on his guilt now. It wouldn’t help Legolas in the slightest, and at this point in time, that was his all-consuming concern. “I’ll make it up to you, Legolas. I promise. Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

After Aragorn finished the breakfast that Elrohir had brought to him, he looked down at his elven friend. “It's time for me to take care of you.” *That’s all I can do for you right now.*

He set the food tray on the table near the bed. Elrohir had brought him everything he had requested, and Estel’s starving body had not let him stop until he had eaten every bit of it. Only the Lembas was left. He had plans for that.

Aragorn broke off a small piece of the elvish waybread and set it down into a small bowl. Then, he picked up the cup he had left some of the tea in, and he carefully poured it on top of the Lembas in the bowl. He set it aside to let the waybread soak.

In the meantime, he went to Legolas's dresser and got out a clean nightshirt and took it into the washroom. He gathered two large towels, soap and a wash cloth and put them on the stand beside the polished wooden tub.

When that was done, he went back into the bedroom. Pulling the covers back, he lifted Legolas into a sitting position and slid in behind him, pulling the elf back against his chest. He picked up the bowl and, stretching his arms out in front of the elf, took a spoon and began mashing the waybread up with the tea until it became the consistency of a slightly thick broth.

Aragorn took a deep breath. “This isn’t going to be easy for either of us, my friend, but you have to get nourishment into you somehow.” The ranger took the spoon, got a little of the mixture into it, and, holding Legolas's head back, he opened his mouth and poured the mixture from the spoon into it. He began to massage the elf’s throat to try and bring about a reflexive swallowing motion.

Nothing happened at first, but then the elf began to swallow. He had a small coughing fit at first, until with subsequent tries, Aragorn lessened the amount of the mixture he put in the spoon.

When Elrohir came to get the food tray, he was very pleased to see what Estel was doing. Then, the ranger explained about the bath, so the elf personally hauled buckets of steaming water into the washroom and filled the tub, confident the water would cool down enough before Aragorn needed it.

Elrohir volunteered to help, but Estel said he would handle everything by himself. The elf didn’t argue with him, knowing it was something that Estel felt he needed to do. Elrohir left the room.

It took a while, but eventually Aragorn got all the Lembas and tea into Legolas. He followed that up with a small amount of plain water from a nearby pitcher.

Aragorn sighed deeply with satisfaction. He knew the accomplishment was a big victory, because now he knew the archer would not starve.

During the remainder of the morning, Aragorn bathed Legolas, changed his nightshirt, washed, dried and brushed his hair and put him back into a bed that had been fitted with fresh, clean bed linen while the bath bad been in progress.

Aragorn once again sat down by his friend’s side. And, as he sat, he looked out through the balcony doors. The sun was shining brightly, bathing everything in its golden glow. He could hear the birds chirping merrily outside in the trees, as the branches swayed gently in the warm spring breeze.

With another deep sigh, the ranger thought to himself that Legolas shouldn’t be in here confined to this bed. He should be out in the sunshine and the open air. That’s where the woodland elf belonged.

It was then that Aragorn hit upon an idea.

He got up, and with a bit of effort, moved both chairs out onto the balcony, each half facing the other. Then, he went and picked Legolas up and set him in the chair that would allow him to fully face the sun. He put the feather pillow behind the elf's shoulders and titled his head back so it turned up to the sun. Aragorn draped a light blanket over his friend's bare legs and feet and rested his hands in his lap.

Aragorn sat down heavily in the other chair, letting his arms hang down beside the arms of the chair. Being a mortal, he couldn't converse with the trees, but he fervently hoped they would hear his plea. "Please, send your strength to Legolas. Renew his spirit, so he can come back to us---and to you."

A single tear made its way down his cheek.

Chapter Four

It had been back on the fourth day after Estel’s and Legolas's return that Elrond had mentioned contacting King Thranduil and telling him of Legolas's condition. Aragorn, despite understanding the right the elf king had to know about his son, had argued vehemently against it. He had insisted that Thranduil would either come himself or send one of his other sons to get Legolas and take him back to Mirkwood. There were no healers in the woodland realm, who had anywhere near the healing ability that Elrond possessed. Aragorn had argued all this, despite the fact the elf lord hadn’t as yet been able to do anything for the prince. The ranger had gotten so upset that Elrond had relented---for the time being, at least.

He and the woodland king were already less than friendly. They had clashed more than a few times in the past. So, having to face Thranduil’s fury, when he finally did learn of all this, would hardly be a new experience. Still, it was not something Elrond was looking forward to. As always, however, he could well hold his own.

~*~*~

Aragorn's life became strictly regimented, something of his own devising. Every morning, he got up and went immediately to Legolas's room, relieving whomever it was that had stayed the night. It was usually one of the twins, but Elrond also stayed occasionally, as did Glorfindel.

The ranger would feed Legolas, bathe him, wash and brush his hair, and change his nightshirt. He would then lay the elf out straight on top of the bed and carefully massage his muscles back and front to keep them firm. It didn't replace normal activity, but it would help keep them from wasting away---for a time anyway. Next Aragorn would put the elven prince into the chair out on the balcony in the sun. It was only then that he would eat his own breakfast.

The ranger would sit in the other chair and talk to Legolas, as if the elf was capable of listening, which was something Aragorn had wondered about. In fact, he had even asked Erond if it was possible that deep down Legolas could hear and understand everything that was done and said around him. Elrond didn't know, but told his son it couldn't hurt to talk to Legolas, in hopes something he said or the sound of his voice might get through to him.

These same tasks were performed day after day, one following the next with no deviation until they became like a ritual. There was no light or dark in the ranger’s life as it existed now, only a dull shade of gray. He sometimes despaired, and he sometimes cried, but in his heart, he never gave up hope. And, he never resented what he did for the elf. Legolas was his best friend in the entire world, and his heart was too full of love, loyalty---and guilt---to ever allow that to happen.

Legolas, however, remained unresponsive, and Aragorn remained determined to bring his friend back from wherever his spirit had fled to. For that is exactly what the ranger came to believe. There was no evidence of a physical reason for the elf’s continued unconsciousness, so Aragorn became more convinced, as the days advanced and he had much time to think on it, that some truly horrible evil had befallen the elven prince. He could see no other reason for his courageous and stubborn friend’s spirit to retreat. Whatever had caused this had somehow driven the elf to seek sanctuary deep inside his own mind. Or perhaps, it was forced into retreat against the elf‘s will. All of this sounded logical to the human, but he still had no way to reach Legolas except through what he was already doing, hoping against hope, something would eventually work.

~*~*~

On the morning of the ninth day, Elrond had gone out on the balcony and pulled Aragorn back into the room and steered him over to the far side of the bed. He quietly insisted that Thranduil had to be notified. This time the Lord of Rivendell refused to give in to Estel's protests. The elven king would be told what had befallen his son and that was that.

After Elrond left the room, Aragorn began to panic. He knew the king would take Legolas away to Mirkwood, and he might possibly never see his best friend again, especially since he was sure Thranduil would blame him for everything. *Even though it is my fault.* He had steadfastly refused to discuss his deep sense of guilt with his father or his brothers. Even Glorfindel, who had always been a confidante and mentor to the young human, couldn't get him to speak of it.

All of this turmoil was taking a toll on Estel. Everyone saw it, though no one outside of the family, Glorfindel, and several of the servants ever laid eyes on Aragorn during this time. If the people of Rivendell hadn’t known about Legolas's condition, a fact that had spread quite quickly, they would have assumed the two friends had left again. When the human son of Elrond and the Mirkwood prince were together in Rivendell, everyone knew it, especially if the twins were with them.

The ranger had been steadfastly holding himself together through all of this. Now, with Elrond's decision to contact King Thranduil, it was almost too much for the young human to bear.

The day after Elrond had said he was notifying the King of Mirkwood, Aragorn was sitting glumly on the balcony with Legolas, as usual. He looked around and his eye was caught by the delicate blue flowers that grew in the large wooden flower box that sat at one end of the balcony. The flower resembled a day lily, only smaller. It had a strong fragrance and was Legolas's favorite. These flowers bloomed for only a short while in Spring. Wanting to be close to them while they were in their glory was why Legolas had them near his room. He had planted them himself, tended them lovingly, and they always bloomed hardily for him.

Aragorn picked one. Then he went over and knelt down beside Legolas. He held the flower up under the elf's nose, waving it slowly back and forth, hoping that the rich fragrance would somehow penetrate his subconscious. Estel knew it was probably a futile gesture, but he had long ago vowed that he would continue to do whatever he could think of to try and rouse the unconscious elf.

After a few minutes, Aragorn sighed. It wasn't working, as he had really believed it wouldn't. With a sad smile, he put Legolas's hands together, palms up one on top of the other, and gently laid the flower there. He shook his head to think that if Legolas were awake, such would be the power of the elf’s love for Nature, that he would be totally delighted and yet awed by the simple beauty of this one single flower.

He could almost hear Legolas's laughter floating on the wind.

It was suddenly more than the ranger could bear. Right then, he couldn't bear to see the elf's fair face upturned to the sunlight, when he wasn’t even aware of it, his loose hair cascading over his shoulders and down his chest. He couldn’t bear to see his friend’s eyes closed, hiding the light that should be shining there. He couldn't bear....

Aragorn stood up, emitting a strangled cry, and ran into the room, intending to keep going. But, he couldn't abandon his friend, even as grief overtook him. So, he stopped at the door, leaned his head against it and sobbed, tears overflowing and shoulders shaking with the emotional outburst.

So it was that he didn't see the forefinger on Legolas's right hand jerk. Nor did he hear the soft moan that accompanied the movement. What he did hear was a blood-curling scream.

Aragorn whirled around and ran back to the balcony. When he reached the open doorway, he stopped dead in his tracks. What he saw horrified him. Legolas, eyes still closed and head still tilted back, was clawing at his open mouth with fingers that were now covered in blood.

Chapter Five

Aragorn stood transfixed and wide-eyed by the horror of what the found himself staring at. His mind was screaming at him to move, but he couldn’t get past the horrendous scene before him in order to give his body the command to do so.

He quickly snapped out of his lethargy, rushed to his friend and fell to his knees beside the chair. He grabbed both of Legolas's wrists and pulled his hands away from his bloody mouth.

The elf fought the move, pulling hard against Estel’s grip to try and get his hands back to his mouth. He jerked his head from side to side, sending blood flying in all directions. He was trying desperately to break free from whatever was holding him. Whether it was Estel’s hold on his wrists or something within the elf’s mind, the ranger couldn’t tell. Legolas showed surprising strength, considering the long time he had been inactive. All that messaging had worked, Aragorn thought grimly.

“Daro!” Legolas screamed with heartrending terror in his voice. “Daro! Car al car nad sen!” <Stop. Stop. Do not do this thing.>

“It‘s all right, Legolas, It’s me, Estel. Calm yourself. Please, don’t fight me,” the ranger pleaded, trying to speak gently yet firmly. He knew he needed to get through to the obviously frightened elf. Yet, he certainly wanted to avoid upsetting him further, though it was hard to think the archer could get any more upset than he was already.

Aragorn was taken by surprise, when he was almost hit by an elven hand that suddenly shot out toward his face. He managed to stop the blow an inch short of his nose. The elf’s legs began to kick, but Aragorn was well out of the way of those potential weapons.

“ADA!,” Aragorn yelled, hoping desperately that if Elrond didn’t hear him, someone else would. He couldn’t handle Legolas like this on his own, not as long as his friend continued to fight him. He couldn‘t let go of his wrists to do anything else for him, as the elf‘s body started writhing in his effort to get free.

A gurgling sound caused Aragorn’s heart to lurch as Legolas, with his back arched and his head now all the way back, was beginning to choke, as blood ran down the back of his throat. The human let go of one wrist to try and grab the elf’s head and pull it forward, but Legolas immediately jerked forward himself and put his free hand, fingers curled into a claw, in his mouth and began raking his fingernails back and forth. More blood spilled out and ran down his chin. It then continued down his neck and began to spread, as it encountered the edge of his lavender silk nightshirt. He then jerked his head forcefully back against the pillow. Aragorn had no choice but to grab Legolas's hand again and pull it away from his mouth.

“ADA!” Estel yelled out frantically once again.

A few seconds later, Elrond, who had heard Legolas scream, came rushing in and moved around to the far side of the chair. “By the Valar!” the elf Lord exclaimed. He quickly put his hand behind the younger elf’s neck and pulled him forward, tilting his head down slightly. With his free hand he pulled the blood-stained pillow from behind the archer and pressed the elf against the back of the chair. He tossed the pillow in the general direction of the other chair, not caring where it landed.

With more surprising strength, Legolas once again threw his head back, pulling it out of the grip Elrond had on his neck. A violent coughing spell erupted. Blood sprayed outward, hitting both Elrond and Aragorn in the face and splattering their clothes. A spray of crimson fell once more upon the archer’s blond hair, on his nightshirt and on the blanket that had become wadded up in his lap.

“He’s choking on his own blood,” Aragorn said, his voice still holding a tinge of horror.

Just then both Elladan and Elrohir came running into the room and onto the balcony. They, too, were shocked by what they were witnessing, staring in mute horror. They unconsciously grabbed and held each other’s hands.

Elrond, who was facing them, said, “Elladan, stand behind the chair and put your hands on each side of Legolas's head and hold it steady. Keep it tilted forward.” He wanted to make sure no more blood would go down the elf prince’s throat.

“Elrohir, get me two towels and a basin of water.” When there was no sign the elf had heard his father speak to him, Elrond called his name more urgently. “Elrohir.”

Elrohir snapped out of his trance. “Sorry, Ada.“ He sprang into action and ran into the washroom. When he returned, he handed a fluffy towel toward his father, leaving one draped over his arm. He held onto the basin, waiting until he was asked for it. He stood motionless and watched what was unfolding before him. There were tears in his eyes to think of the fear and pain Legolas must be going through.

Once Legolas's head was secure in Elladan’s grip, the elf Lord took the towel Elrohir offered and put one small part of it in Legolas's mouth to soak up the excess blood. He exerted a small amount of pressure to staunch as much of the blood flow as he could. He repeated the process over and over, each time using a clean part of the towel, until there was no signs of fresh bleeding. Most of the white towel he held was splotched with red. He handed it to Elrohir.

Legolas had quit struggling, however, his body was jerking with uncontrolled spasms, accompanied by low moans. At least, he was able to breathe, Aragorn thought, trying to find something positive in this horrible situation.

As Legolas calmed further, Aragorn and the elves began to relax slightly, though they remained alert to a possible repeat of what had just occurred. The ranger cautiously let go of Legolas's wrists. Small tremors still ran through the elf’s body.

Elladan continued to hold Legolas's head, as Aragorn took the water basin from Elrohir’s hands. He then took the other towel, dipped it into the water and began to clean the elf’s face, neck and hands. He also wiped as much blood as he could from his hair.

Elrond frowned. He had seen many a bizarre behavior in his long years, but never had he seen anything quite like this. “What happened, Estel?”

Feeling shame, the ranger didn’t want to admit his temporary abandonment of his friend simply because he couldn‘t control hjs own emotions. Unable to look his father in the eye, he kept his head down, as he began to clean the blood from under Legolas's fingernails. “I was in the room, when I heard him scream. I ran back out here and found him clawing in his mouth. He looked like he was trying to dig something out of it. It was so sudden and violent. I can’t imagine what caused him to do something like that.”

Just before Legolas went completely limp, he uttered one word. A word that only Elrond fully heard and comprehended. “Lhûg.” <Serpent>

Elrond , already on his knees, fell backward onto his heels. There was a sharp intake of breath from the elven Lord. The look of utter disbelief on his face was disturbing to all who saw it. No one saw anything happening right at that moment that could cause such a reaction from the normally composed elf Lord.

“Ada, what is wrong?” Elrohir asked, concern clearly showing on his face. He made a move to go to his father, thinking he must have suddenly been afflicted in some way.

Elrond held his hand up and gave a small wave to indicate he was all right. His expression, however, didn’t chance. The elf Lord shook his head. “It cannot be. I missed it.” Elrond looked stunned. He lowered his head. “I never thought to look there.”

When he raised his head again, he saw three pairs of eyes starting at him. His sons couldn’t imagine what he was talking about or why he now looked totally distraught. No one spoke.

With a concerted effort, Elrond pushed aside what he had just experienced and, to all outward appearances, returned to the efficient, in-control elf Lord they all knew. He gave no explanation.

Elrond got back up onto his knees. He opened Legolas's mouth, and using gentle hands, began to inspect it. It was assumed that he was checking to see what damage Legolas had done to himself. In truth, he was checking for something far different. He could find nothing other than the slashes and gouges that Legolas's fingernails had inflicted. “Destroyed,” Elrond whispered almost under his breath.

Even without elven hearing, Estel heard the word clearly. “What’s destroyed?“ His eyes suddenly went wide. “Do you mean he’s destroyed his mouth?” He knew that was extremely unlikely, and the question sounded ridiculous, but it was the first thing that came to mind, so he had blurted it out.

“No. His mouth is damaged quite badly, but it is not beyond repair. I was speaking of something else.” For a second, Elrond’s mind seemed to move far away. With a jerk, he shook off the dark thoughts that had taken momentary hold of him. “It does not need to be spoken of just yet. Right now, we must get Legolas back into bed.” The tone of the elf Lord’s voice gave no room for argument.

Aragorn pulled the blanket from the elf’s lap and handed it to Elladan, who released his hold on Legolas's head. He carried his friend back into the room and set him on the bed, holding him upright as he told Elrohir to get a clean nightshirt. Once that was changed, Legolas was put under the covers.

It was only then that Glorfindel’s presence was discovered. Like the others, he had come running in when he heard the scream and ascertained where it had come from. Upon his arrival, he had seen that the three elves and the human had the situation in hand, so he kept back out of the way.

His presence was acknowledged but no one spoke at first. Then, Elladan said, “You saw what happened?” At Glorfindel’s nod, the younger elf said, “Do you know what may have caused this?”

Before answering, Glorfindel caught the warning look in Elrond’s eye. Since, in truth, he had no answers, he simply shook his head sadly. He would definitely have to have a talk with Elrond, because the Lord of Imladrs knew something he didn’t want discussed, at least not in front of his sons. The older blond elf was determined to find out what it was.

Elladan remained out on the balcony as he held the blanket up to fold it rather than leave it a wadded up mess, when he noticed something fall out of it onto the balcony floor. He bent down and picked the object up. He found himself staring at one of the blue flowers from Legolas flower box. The little flower was splattered with blood. Knowing how Legolas felt about this particular flower, he couldn’t bear to just crush it up, so he set it gently on top of the balcony railing.

Elladan laid the folded blanket on the chair and turned away and so didn’t notice that the wind picked the little flower up and sent it flying toward the garden below. It landed on a patch of new Spring grass. No one was a witness, as its petals waved gently in the air current.

In the room, Elrond was telling Estel to go in the washroom and clean himself up. When the young man returned, he handed his father a damp towel and watched as Elrond wiped his own face and hands. He looked down at his now blood-stained blue robe. The robe itself didn’t matter. It was the reason behind the robe’s condition that saddened his heart.

The elf Lord began to address everyone, who were now standing around the elf prince‘s bed. “Someone must stay right at Legolas's side at all times. Therefore, two of us will always have to be with him, so if one needs to leave or take a break, Legolas will not be alone. We cannot take the chance that this may happen again, when someone’s back is turned.”

Aragorn’s shoulders slumped, as he hung his head. Elrond put a hand on his son’s arm. “No one is blaming you, Estel. You have done more for him than any of us. Do not take yourself to task. It could have happened to anyone who was here.”

Aragorn felt only marginally better by what his father said. His head knew the words were true, but would he ever be able to convince his heart?

~*~*~

Many miles away from Rivendell, a tall figure dressed all in black stood in a dark forest and stared toward the north. Mordraug couldn’t see the woodland realm he looked toward, but he knew all too well exactly where it lay.

An orc, somewhat large for his kind, approached. “Will he come, Master?”

“Oh yes, Grug. I have seen to that,” the tall figure replied, very pleased with himself. An arrogant smile appeared on Mordraug’s face, as he stroked the head of the slender black snake that was wrapped around his left arm. “He will come.”

Chapter Six

Legolas remained still and quiet, since being settled back into bed after his terrifying outburst. He was again as unresponsive as he had been all the previous days, since he and Aragorn had returned.

Elrond had prepared a bowl of hot water containing athelas leaves, and now that the leaves had steeped a sufficient length of time, he dipped a cloth into the bowl and wrung out the excess liquid. He sat on the bed and leaned over Legolas, as he applied the cloth to the inside of the younger elf’s mouth. Only a small amount of still oozing blood came away on the cloth.

By the time the mixture in the bowl had cooled completely, the elf Lord was satisfied that he had made enough medicinal applications. He sat up straight and handed the bowl and the cloth to Elladan. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That should be quite adequate for now.” He looked at his eldest son. “Every couple of hours repeat what I have just done.” Elrond stood up. “We can only hope that Legolas's natural healing ability has not been damaged by whatever has happened to him. However, it may well have been. That is why I want several applications of the athelas to keep the healing process continuing.”

Elladan nodded. “I will do it, Ada.” He took the bowl and the cloth and set them on the stand next to the bed. He would take them away when it was time to replace them for another treatment. Right now, he wanted to hear what his father might say.

Elrond looked toward Glorfindel. He almost wished he hadn’t. The fair haired elf was looking at him with a stern expression, and he knew there was no way he could avoid the discussion he felt sure was coming. He didn’t mind actually. It would be good to talk to someone about what he suspected, though Glorfindel would not be the least bit happy with what he would have to say. No one would, when all the details finally became known. However, the time was not yet right for that bit of news.

Elrond left the room without another word. Glorfindel was right on his heels. Just as Elrond closed the door, he saw that Estel had sat back down on the bed and taken Legolas's hand in his. It had become a common sight. Having physical contact with his friend seemed to lessen his son’s burden, at least in part. He knew, however, that having Legolas wake up was the only thing that would truly bring joy to Estel’s heart. And, he had to hope that Legolas would somehow know that Estel was there with him.

Glorfindel followed Elrond down the hall and into his private study. An assortment of books of all sizes and colors, the majority of which were leather-bound, lay all around the room, stacked on table tops and on chairs. The long sofa that was set against the wall on the right side of the room and on which Elrond sometimes slept was covered with the tomes. The large wooden desk that dominated the far end of the study was piled high with them, some opened and some closed.

Only when Elrond was determinedly searching for answers to puzzling mysteries did the room look this disheveled. It was usually extremely neat and tidy, though the desk itself was never without an abundance of papers spread out upon it. So many books were scattered around that there were large gaps in the many rows of books that lined each wall floor to ceiling.

As Elrond sat down behind the desk, Glorfindel moved a pile of books on the seat of one of the chairs that helped to furnish the room and set this stack on top of another on the corner of the desk. He pulled the chair up so that when he sat down, he’d be looking directly across at his friend, whom he now stared intently straight at. “You know what has happened to Legolas, do you not?” Glorfindel tried to keep his tone neutral. He didn‘t want to sound accusatory.

Elrond sat with his elbows on the desktop, lacing his fingers together. He put them against his forehead, as he bent his head forward, and then he sighed. He placed one thumb on each temple and began to move them slowly in a circle, trying to message away the pain that was beginning to make itself felt there.

He decided there was no point in stalling. After another moment of messaging his temples, he looked up, placing his hands on a scroll, yellowed with age, that was rolled up and sitting in front of him. “I have no proof, but yes, I believe I know what has happened to Legolas.”

Glorfindel eyed the scroll and waited, but when Elrond said nothing further, he asked, “What is it?”

The elf Lord directed a look toward his friend that Glorfindel swore bordered on fear. “Mordraug.”

Glorfindel’s eyes went wide, and he couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped his lips. He averted his eyes, when he saw the fearful expression on his friend’s face intensify. It was quite clear that Elrond dreaded even having to say the name. He couldn’t blame him. Staring at his own hands, Glorfindel shook his head and said, “It cannot be. He was destroyed almost a thousand years ago.”

“That is what we were led to believe. Now, I am not so sure. You did not hear what Legolas said just before he went completely limp again.”

No, Glorfindel had to admit, he hadn’t heard Legolas say anything at all. “What did he say?”

“One word---lhûg.”

For the second time in a few short minutes, the blond elf’s eyes went wide. “No,” he whispered, despite now knowing Elrond was probably right about the reason for Legolas's condition. “Not again.” He looked up. After the shock wore off a little, he asked a question that only appeared to change the subject. “When will Thranduil arrive?”

“In four days, if I know him. As you know, I notified him yesterday. It is a long journey, but he will surely push himself and those with him very hard where his son is concerned. Despite all his faults, he loves his children, as much as I love mine.” *If only he was easier to deal with in every other aspect of his life,* Elrond mused.

“I am glad it is you and not me that has to give him this news,” Glorfindel said, feeling only slightly guilty at the cowardly admission. Being Elrond’s friend had put the elf on the Mirkwood King’s enemy list. No one sided with people Thranduil didn’t like and stayed his friend. But this time, instead of butting heads, which he was fully prepared to do should the need arise, Glorfindel would do all in his power to help the woodland King, if only Thranduil’s pride didn’t cause him to refuse that help. He knew Elrond felt the same.

Glorfindel suddenly realized what Elrond meant, when he had looked in Legolas's mouth and said the word, “Destroyed” and why his inspection seemed so much more intense than the situation warranted. “You were looking for evidence to back up your suspicion, but there was too much damage to confirm it.” It was a flat statement and not a question.

The Lord of Imladris nodded. “It just never occurred to me to look there. If I had...” He understood the feeling of guilt that Estel was experiencing, though he still didn’t know what his son believed he had done wrong.

“You had no reason to consider looking in his mouth.” Glorfindel said, as he tried to defend Elrond’s actions and ease his friend’s conscience.

Elrond suddenly felt very weary and very old. “I should have considered it,” he whispered so softly that Glorfindel barely caught it.

“Elrond, all the others died within days, some within hours. They did not linger the way Legolas has. You had no reason to connect what happened then with what is happening now.”

“Perhaps.” Elrond’s remark still held a note of guilt, because he still wasn’t ready to absolve himself entirely from the fact that the answer had been within his grasp, if only he had gone back into his memories. They were memories that he had forcefully buried long ago. It mattered not to him that what Glorfindel said was reasonable, and Elrond could not have logically made the connection. Still....

In a normal tone, Elrond said, “These next weeks are going to be extremely hard for all of us, especially Legolas and Thranduil.”

“Can Legolas be saved?” It was a blunt question. The answer, be it one way or another, needed to be faced.

Elrond shrugged. “You know Mordraug and what he is capable of, as well as I do,” was his only reply. He was going to let Glorfindel come to his own conclusions, because he had did not want to think of Legolas's possible fate, though he truly feared for the woodland elf. The young prince had hung on far longer than any other of Mordraug’s victims. But, whether that was due to the elf’s stubborn determination to survive or whether it was by Mordraug’s design, he knew not.

Elrond stared at all the books that lay around the room, knowing full well that all the research he had been doing in them night and day had been a complete waste of time. Only the scroll meant anything now, and it held no secrets, no answers that weren’t already known. *How can we go through this again?* If the elf Lord had been given to tears, now would have been the time to shed them---for Legolas, for Thranduil, for them all.

A deep silence descended between the two friends, each lost in his own thoughts and memories of a horror from the past that was coming back to haunt them.

~*~*~*

Aragorn and the twins had been too unnerved by what had happed to Legolas out on the balcony to question what Elrond’s words had meant. For his part, the elf Lord hadn’t expanded on those cryptic words, because he knew it would all be laid bare soon enough. Aragorn had even forgotten that King Thranduil was on his way and would soon be arriving in Rivendell.

Aragorn now refused to leave Legolas's side even to sleep in his own room. It didn’t matter that the twins agreed, once again, to stay with the Mirkwood elf. More than once, the ranger had fallen asleep sitting on the bed, Legolas's hand encircled within his.

Elladan and Elrohir brought their brother food, which he hardly ate, despite their urgings and threats. They finally gave up arguing but continued to bring trays to the room, hoping that with each one, Estel would change his mind. The trays always went back barely touched.

Legolas's mouth had swollen somewhat, even with the athelas applications that Elladan administered, so Aragorn was afraid to try and feed him. He did continue to bathe his friend, wash his hair and change his nightshirt. Yet, even with the beckoning sunshine and warm Spring breezes, he couldn’t bring himself to put Legolas back out on the balcony.

Finally on the third day after the incident, Legolas began to stir. It started with soft moans, and then the elf started to shift his body, the way most waking beings do. It was only small movements at first, but then he became louder and more active.

Aragorn, who had been dozing, woke up immediately. He looked intently at Legolas and then up at Elladan, who was the one with him this day. The expression of joy on Estel’s face went far beyond a mere smile, and pure happiness shone in his eyes. “He’s coming back to us.”

So long had they waited for just such signs that Legolas's was waking up, and so long had it been since a smile had graced his human brother’s face, that Elladan couldn’t contain a broad smile of his own. He didn’t even try, because his own heart was overflowing with happiness.

Elrohir, who had chosen just that moment to come into the room with a lunch tray, was sent off to get Elrond, as Aragorn and Elladan practically held their breaths.

Aragorn moved closer to Legolas and began to call to him softly. “Mellon nin, you must open your eyes. Come to the light, Legolas. Come to us. We’re here waiting for you.” His eyes never left the elf’s face. Estel squeezed the elven hand tighter, as he placed his other hand, palm open, against Legolas's chest over his heart.

Chapter Seven

Legolas suddenly became aware of his own existence. He looked around him and saw only darkness. He sensed no walls nor did he sense open air. He focused his hearing but could detect no overt sounds. There was nothing but a deafening silence, so palpable it was like a distant muffled roar in his ears. He had never experienced such a phenomenon before, and he almost laughed to think that total silence could be so loud.

Where was he? He had to think hard to try and recall how he came to be here, wherever ‘here’ was. *Why do I not remember?* Legolas felt himself rapidly growing frustrated.

He noted with anticipation that the darkness was beginning to fade. But, instead of revealing his whereabouts, his eyes were met with a world of swirling gray. He shook his head, but he couldn’t feel it. Nor, he realized with dismay, could he feel his body. He looked down, but saw nothing. He held his hands up in front of his face, at least that was the command he had given to his brain. There was no sense of movement and nothing to see. His mind seemed to be suspended in space, yet there was no sensation of floating. *How very strange,* he mused.

As he pondered the implications, a feeling of panic began to crawl through his mind. *Am I dead?* He dismissed the thought almost immediately. *This cannot be the Halls of Mandos. I should be seeing others of my kind waiting for me.* He thought of his mother. Surely, she would be there to welcome him. And his grandfather, Oropher, as well as friends he had lost to battles fought during his lifetime. This was nothing like what he had been led to believe the Halls would be like. Had he done something to cause himself to be condemned? Was that what he couldn’t remember? Was this gray nothingness a place of punishment where he must wander alone, without a body, for all eternity?

Legolas made a conscious effort to banish those dark thoughts and try to come up with an alternate possibility. *Perhaps, I’m not dead after all.* Before he could gain much comfort from exploring that idea, he thought, *Then, why am I not able to see or feel my body?*

All the questions with no answers were only adding to his confusion. “I do not understand any of this.” He was startled, when he realized he had spoken out loud. A grim smile touched his lips, as it then dawned on him that at least he could hear his own voice. He again looked down to where his body should be in the hopes that it had made itself visible. No such luck.

He looked up then and saw a form moving in this gray world. It was only a shadow at first, just something indistinct that was only slightly darker than the gray color all about him. The shadow undulated, disappearing from sight and then reappearing a few seconds later only to vanish once again, making Legolas doubt he had really seen anything at all. Staring hard into the grayness, he saw that there definitely was something, and it was coming toward him. It became larger and darker and took on a more definite shape as it neared. The elf stared, mesmerized by the rapidly solidifying apparition.

Legolas may not have been able to see his body, but he suddenly felt it quite plainly. His heart almost came to a full stop, causing a jolt within his chest, and his breathing became shallow and rapid, as he saw what was approaching him. The form had finally coalesced into a huge black snake, rising up and hovering menacingly above him, yellow eyes gleaming and fangs extended. It radiated an evil that he could almost taste.

Without warning, it lunged straight down toward his upturned face. He heard a blood curdling scream and knew it was his own.

Then, awareness fled, as he was enveloped in a coccoon of nothingness.

~*~*~

Legolas became aware of his own existence once again. There was no way to tell if he had been unaware for a minute or a millennium. He struggled to open his eyes, expecting to see either the darkness or the gray world he remembered. He was certain there had been something else, too, an evil form of some kind, but he couldn’t place what it was. The memory vanished before he could grasp it. He only knew that the thought of it made him shiver.

The elf Prince was surprised, when he found himself in a world of light. Very bright l