Shadows Over Lasgalen

Chapter One – First Meeting

Author’s Notes: This is set in the Third Age, 2951

Legolas was weary as he finally crossed the bridge that led into his father’s palace.  He was tired, footsore, and travel stained.  The guards at the gates saluted him, one exclaiming, “Welcome back, my Lord!  Your father was becoming concerned.”

Legolas returned the salute.  He had been getting worried, too.  He was returning from a long, solitary patrol that had gone badly wrong.  There had been times when he wondered if he would return at all.   “Thank you.  Will you go to my father, and tell him I have returned?  Tell him that I am well, and will be with him just as soon as I have eaten.”

He continued down the corridors to the kitchens in search of food, a warm fire, and a cup of wine.  To his surprise, there was another traveller there, a messenger from Imladris.  “You look tired.  Where have you been?” asked the stranger.

Legolas looked at him for a moment before replying.  Oddly, the messenger was a young human, no more than perhaps twenty.  But there was something about him that Legolas felt he could trust. 

 “I went down to the south – perhaps further than was wise, as I was alone, but I had received reports that I needed to investigate.  I had stopped briefly for the night when something spooked my horse, a lone wolf hunting down a deer.  The wretched creature disappeared, so I had to return on foot.”  He paused for a drink of the clear spring water, and the stranger regarded him oddly.

“I thought Elves were supposed to have a way with animals?”

Legolas laughed shortly. “Not this one!  My own horse was lame, so I had taken one from the stables.  It was only after an hour or two I realised why it was still in the stables.  It tried twice to throw me, and left at the first opportunity.  It would not come back, even for me.”  He sighed.   “It deserved better than to fall victim to spiders or wargs, though.   But has been a long time since I saw a man in the halls of Lasgalen.  What brings you here?”

The stranger was wary.  “I bear a message from Lord Elrond.  My name is Estel.”

“From Elrond? So why are you his messenger?”  Legolas was curious about this man.

“I was raised in Imladris.  I recently started travelling alone, serving Lord Elrond.”  

As Estel described the journey he had had, including an encounter with a band of goblins, Legolas laughed.  It was most odd, but this human reminded him strongly of Elladan and Elrohir, friends whom he had not seen for many years. “You are like me, my friend!  We are both wanderers.  There are few who do so now, the land is perilous.  Perhaps one day you could journey with me through Lasgalen?  There is much I could show you.”

His meal finished, Legolas rose and stretched.  “Forgive me.  I have been travelling for many days, and I still have duties to attend to.  I will see you tomorrow.”  As he left, Legolas heard the young man ask,  “Who was that, who just left?”

The cook replied in some surprise.  “That was Legolas.  Prince Legolas.  King Thranduil’s heir.”

When he reached the library, Legolas knocked and entered. After embracing his father, he remarked, “I just met with Elrond’s messenger.  He seems an unlikely choice.  But I like him, I think.”

“Elrond sent you a message,”  Thranduil told him.   “He asks that you take the time to get to know this Estel.  He would not say why.  But I can grant you leave for a few days, if you wish.”

Legolas nodded his agreement, wondering at the strange request.  Nothing Elrond did was without reason, and over the years Legolas had come to trust him implicitly.  Who was Estel?

~~**~~

The next morning Legolas was up early, exercising his archery skills, shooting arrows into a series of targets.  After a while, the style of practice changed.  Another Elf threw thin discs of wood high into the air, one after the other,  often two or three at once, in a never ending stream.  By the time each hit the ground it had an arrow straight throughout the centre.   It was hard work, and Legolas was breathing hard by the time he finished.  At the sound of applause behind him, he  turned swiftly, raising a hand in greeting.  “Good morning!  Will you be ready to leave today to travel through Lasgalen with me?  You will find it very different to Imladris.” 

They made their way back to the halls of Lasgalen, where Estel had already packed.  He preferred to travel light, and had only a little food, a blanket and a warm cloak.  He also took his short bow, a quiver of arrows, and his sword.  As they left the Court, they skirted the grounds, heading west along the Forest River.  As they travelled upstream the trees changed, fading from beeches to chestnuts, and then to oak.  Birdsong rang in the air about them, and they saw butterflies with wingspans the size of a hand.  Squirrels raced among the trees, not the sinister black squirrels seen further south, but a russet red, with tufted ears.  A pair sat scolding them as they approached, from the safety of a high branch.  Estel laughed.  “Lasgalen is a lovely realm.  I had thought it a dark and shadowed place, especially with the name Mirkwood, but this is very different.”

Legolas was silent for a moment.  “We do not call it Mirkwod, it is an evil name. I remember it was once all like this.  It was called the Greenwood then.  There were many birds and animals, and the glades were bright with sunlight.  In the summer we lived among the trees, and seldom used the halls and caves.  There were always a few of the great spiders, but they lived near the mountains, and rarely troubled us.   But when the Necromancer came to Dol Guldur, the shadow came, and darkness spread like a cloud over the land.  We fought it for many centuries, but many were lost to his evil.  The White Council finally drove him out only ten years ago, but I fear -  something  - has returned.”   His face was sad, distant, as he recalled the evil which had slowly poisoned the once beautiful forest that was his home.

As they moved deeper into the forest they left the river, travelling north towards the Grey Mountains.  The first night they camped they did not light a fire as the night was mild.  Even here, only a day’s journey from Lasgalen, they set a watch.  The next day it rained, a thin drizzle that penetrated even the elven cloaks both wore, soaking their clothes and gear.  They saw no animals, everything with sense being safely sheltered from the weather.  By evening the rain had stopped, but the ground was soaked, and drips fell incessantly from the trees. That night they lit a small fire, enough to heat their rations and ensure at least dry bedding.  They sat by the fire long into the night, talking. 

Estel began to tell a little of his story. “I told you I was raised in Rivendell.  Lord Elrond is my foster-father.  And – my true name is Aragorn.”

Legolas nodded slowly in understanding.  “Aragorn.  I see.  That explains much.  So you know Elladan and Elrohir?  And Arwen?”

“Yes.  I only met Arwen recently.  She had been away in Lothlorien for a long time.  She’s – very beautiful.”  There was a look of longing on his face.

Legolas gave him a strange look and hid a smile.  “She is.  My father and Elrond hope we will become betrothed one day.  It will strengthen the ties between our lands, and also make an alliance with Lasgalen and Lorien.”

Aragorn looked at him in shock.  “You - and Arwen? But I thought – but she didn’t say anything – and she promised – oh, I knew I was foolish to hope.”  His voice stumbled to a halt as the Elf’s laughter rang through the trees.

“Fear not.  Arwen is a dear friend, I love her like a sister – but not, I think, the way you love her?”

“But – what of your betrothal?”

“It is wishful thinking by my father and Elrond.  We are not lovers – and never have been,” Legolas added to reassure Aragorn, who still looked stunned.  “It grows late.  We should get some rest.”  Once again Legolas took the longest watch, sitting silently next to the fire for most of the night while Aragorn slept. 

It was on the third day of their journey that they became uneasy.  They had turned west, planning to re-cross the Forest River, loop south, then travel east back to Lasgalen.  At times the land rose, or the trees thinned, and ahead they could see the peaks of the Misty Mountains.  The forest was silent.  No bird sang.  No fox barked.  The trees grew thickly here and little light reached the forest floor.  At his side, Aragorn became aware that Legolas grew more and more tense with each step.  They halted in a small clearing.  The silence was overwhelming. When the Elf spoke his voice seemed loud in the oppressive stillness.  “Something is wrong, but I do not know what it is.  I have felt evil in Lasgalen before, but not here – and never anything like this.  Stay close. Be careful.”

Aragorn nodded, surreptitiously checking his bow, and placing one hand on his sword. Gradually they became aware of a soft sound heading towards them.  It was a rustling, padding sound, and now came from all sides. 

Legolas took a step away from the human, giving them both room to move, and instantly had an arrow ready to fire.  He gave a cry of warning. “Wargs!”  It was a pack of wolves, the biggest and fiercest Aragorn had ever seen.  As the first ones came through the trees, Legolas loosed his bow.  One, two, three of the creatures fell dead, each with an arrow buried deep in its chest or eye.  Aragorn’s own bow sang in unison, but he did not have quite the Elf’s speed.  Switching to his sword he hacked and stabbed at the crowding wolves, their growls and howling cries chilling his blood.  Hearing a snarl behind him he whirled, sword raised, to see two wolves springing on him together.  Desperately he swung at them, beheading one – as the other fell dead with an arrow through its throat.  With barely time to react, he gave a nod of gratitude to Legolas, then returned to the desperate fight.

The attack lulled then, and they both repositioned, checking weapons.   Legolas’ knife was stained with blood to the hilt – and he had only a few arrows left.  Snatching what he could from the bodies around him he thrust them back into the quiver.  The wolves had only paused to summon re-inforcements.  Howls from the surrounding trees were answered by many others nearby, and a cacophony of growls and snarling broke out.  The howling of the wolves was now all around them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off.  Several wolves at once burst through the trees, and Legolas reverted to his bow, trying to drop the wolves before the creatures reached them.  Even he was unable to keep them all at bay, and more and more were now surrounding them. 

A wolf larger than any they had yet seen launched itself straight at Legolas.  As he moved his stance he stepped back onto the body of a wolf – and fell.  Even before he hit the ground his long knife was in his hand, thrust before him to impale the wolf as it jumped.  It never reached him.  It fell at his feet, Aragorn’s last arrow in its side.  As the Elf scrambled to his feet he called desperately to the man.  “We cannot fight them!  We have not enough arrows, and there are still more coming!”

“What do we do?”

“Run!”  They turned and raced through the trees, dodging roots and branches as they went.  Gradually the sounds of pursuit faded.  Suddenly they came out of the trees and found themselves at the top of a steep bank that dropped down into a stream – a tributary of the Forest River.  Sliding down the bank they splashed into the water and paused, breathless.  There was silence apart from the water.  There were no sounds of the wolves following them, and the forest’s natural sounds had returned.

Bloody, muddy, and soaked, they stared at each other.  Both Legolas’ Elven dignity and Aragorn’s pride were severely dented.  Aragorn waded to the opposite bank, then turned and looked back at Legolas.  “I thought Elves were supposed to have a way with animals?”

To be continued.

Chapter Two  - Departures

When Aragorn and Legolas returned to Lasgalen following the debacle with the wolves, there was a message from Imladris for the young human, carried by one of the messengers who travelled between the three elven realms.

Aragorn read it quickly, then threw it to one side.  “I will have to go home soon.  It seems there are trolls again near Imladris.”  He sighed.  “I thought Mithrandir said he’d dealt with them ten years ago.”

Legolas was intrigued.  He knew the old wizard well, but had not heard that particular tale.  “Mithrandir?  Ten years ago, I thought he was occupied with the White Council.  But we were rather busy ourselves.  What did he do?”

Aragorn laughed.  “He tricked them into the daylight, so they turned to stone.”

Legolas smiled. “That sounds typical of Mithrandir.  I remember trolls near Imladris, long ago, in a small wood there.  I wonder if they were the same ones?  You should take Elladan and Elrohir with you - they would love to go troll hunting.”

“Why don’t you come too?  Come back to Imladris with me.  When did you last visit?”

“Not for far too long,” sighed Legolas.  “I cannot.  Not now.  I was unable to get close enough to discover what had happened at Dol Guldur on my last journey, so I will try again.   This time, though, I will be taking a patrol.  Come and see!”

Aragorn followed him to the area where Lasgalen’s army trained.  As they toured the practice sessions, as Legolas commented on an individual’s progress, as he intervened to demonstrate a particular move or suggest an alternative, and from the respect with which he was greeted, it became clear that his rank of Army Commander was not merely an honorary one, a sop for the King’s son, but had been earned purely on merit alone.

In one corner of the grounds, near the stables, the patrol Legolas had chosen was checking weapons and gear.  He had hand picked them, all seasoned warriors, selected for particular skills that would be needed for this venture.  Two had been out riding the borders and had only returned the previous day.  Legolas had decided to delay and await their return, rather than go without them - hence his trip with Aragorn.   Aragorn was mildly surprised to see two females in the group.  One of them, Taniquel, was an archer.  She was firing at a group of targets that looked impossibly small and far away.

“She’s as good as you are” commented Aragorn to Legolas.

Taniquel glanced over her shoulder.  “Nearly,” she said with a laugh.  “I have not beaten him yet, but I will one day!”

Legolas nodded. “I think she is right, she will.  It keeps me alert, though!”

Next they went into the stables.  It was a long, low building; light and airy.  There was a sweet smell of hay and horse.  As they entered, one or two horses came forward to investigate the newcomers.   Several others turned their heads curiously.  A big grey stallion butted his head at Aragorn, imperiously demanding tit-bits.   Legolas pushed him aside with a laugh.  “You are far too greedy, Fanuidhol!  Go away, do not tell me Alfiel never feeds you.”

At the sound of his voice, another horse came forward, whickering softly.  He was a beautiful pale gold, with a creamy coloured mane and tail.  Aragorn looked at him in admiration.  “What a beauty! I’ve never seen that colouring before.”

Legolas patted the horse on the nose affectionately.  “This is Pavisel.  He is mine, a gift from my father.  I wish I could have taken him south with me last time - I trained him to fight with me, to use his hooves in battle.  He would have been a lot more use than the other poor beast!”

From outside the stables, voices could be heard calling.  Legolas gave Aragorn an apologetic look.   Before he could speak, Aragorn said  “I must return to Imladris tomorrow.  I need to prepare, so I’ll see you later.”

As Aragorn went back across the practice grounds, Legolas rejoined the rest of the patrol for a final briefing.  As he approached them, he watched them carefully, consideringly, weighing up their various skills.  Elthan was an archer, and a talented healer.  Hopefully his abilities would not be required, but on a mission such as this it was reassuring to know he was there.  Alfiel was Legolas’s second in command, skilled in all forms of combat, but most importantly, a trusted friend as well. 

He could equally well have picked Tirnan instead, for all the same reasons, but as he had chosen Eléntia to join the patrol, it would not be a good combination.  Eléntia could be very prickly and difficult to work with, and Tirnan, frankly, could not stand her.  However her abilities as a scout were legendary, and her knack of moving silently phenomenal even for an elf.

Taniquel was much easier to get along with.  Her archery skills very nearly matched his own, and he could see her promoted to Captain in the not too distant future.  Finally there was Math’rin.  The oldest of the group, he had fought at the Last Alliance, long, long, ago.  He was deadly with a sword, but gifted with a harp.

After outlining the mission ahead of them, they discussed the task they faced, then Legolas finished with:  “Remember, this is a surveillance mission.  We need to find out what is down there, learn as much as possible, and then return here to report back.  We avoid entanglements with orcs, or anything else, unless there is no alternative.  I do not want to alert Dol Guldur to our presence.  Be careful.”

They left at dawn the next day.  Aragorn rode with them for part of the way, before turning west to follow the track which led towards the Misty Mountains.  He drew away from the patrol for a last word with Legolas.  “I wish you a safe journey.  If you can, will you send word to Rivendell of what you find?  I think Elrond and Mithrandir will wish to know of this.  I know Mithrandir thinks we haven’t seen the last of the Necromancer.”

Legolas agreed readily.  “All the wise should know if the shadow has indeed returned.  I will send a message to you and Elrond as soon as I return to Lasgalen.  Ride well, my friend.  Namárië!”

With a final farewell, Aragorn turned his horse, and rode into the dim green light of the elf path.  The path twisted, and soon he was lost from sight.

Alfiel gazed after him.  “I hope there will be nothing of importance we need to report,” he said.  “But the sooner we reach Dol Guldur, the sooner we shall know the truth.”

They rode south through the forest, following narrow paths that other eyes would not have seen.  As they reached the Mountains of Mirkwood, running west-east across the forest, they veered right, ascending a narrow pass through the mountains.  The trees had changed to pines on this higher ground, and the air was cooler.  It was only early evening, so Legolas hoped they could cross the pass and descend towards the old Forest Road before full night fell.  In this time of early summer twilight lasted long, and full dark rarely fell.

The moon was rising as they crested the pass, dropping down into the southern forest.  In a clearing of pine trees they halted, tethering their horses and settling for the night. 

In this relatively safe area they lit a small fire, and over a meal talked about their journey.

 “I like your new friend,” commented Alfiel.  “He seems to know a lot about our ways, for a mortal.”

“He grew up in Imladris,” explained Legolas.  “He knows Elrond and his children.”  He did not go into further detail - Aragorn did not want his background generally known - but he trusted this group implicitly, and they were naturally curious.

Taniquel was looking speculative.  “I think he is very good looking.  I wonder - ”

Legolas laughed at her.  “No, Tani, he has already been spoken for!  Besides, what would Tirnan say?  I think it is just as well he did not come on this trip – he would be jealous!”

Taniquel shrugged dismissively.  “Tirnan?  We are not even engaged yet.  A little competition would never hurt him!  If you like, I can take the message to Imladris when we return from this mission.”

Eléntia spoke up.  “That seems a very good idea.  But I think you should not go alone, Taniquel, the forest can be very dangerous.  I think maybe I had better go with you.”

Alfiel and Legolas laughed at them.  “That is most generous of you both, but I plan to go myself,” said Legolas.  “I have not seen Elladan or Elrohir for a long time.”

Eléntia leaned over to Taniquel.  “Do you think he would like us to go with him?” she murmured.

As they settled for sleep, they drew lots for the first and final watches that night,

and Legolas, as was his custom, took the middle, most difficult watch.

Math’rin had the first watch, and the others fell asleep or rested lightly to the sound of his harping.  He played late into the night, sending flurries of harp notes drifting into the dark forest.  After two hours, Legolas roused himself, sending Math’rin to rest.  The moon was nearly full, and he lifted his face to it, letting the light shine on him.  He had lost count of the nights he had been awake and watchful, either alone or guarding a patrol, but it was a useful time to plan the day ahead, or review recent events.  He reflected on his meeting with Aragorn.  They had had an adventurous few days, but he felt that the foundations of a lasting friendship had been built.  When this mission to Dol Guldur was over, he hoped they would be able to travel together again. 

He sat in silence, the quiet of the night broken only by the crackle of the fire, the soft sound of the horses grazing, and the gentle breathing and movements of the others of the patrol.  After a few hours he awoke Eléntia.  She grumbled at him, but he fell asleep, safe in the knowledge that they were in the mountains, and guarded.

The next day they crossed the Old Road and travelled deeper into the darker reaches of the forest.  The elven paths they used grew more impassable, and thick strands of spider webs were more apparent.  At one time webs blocked their path, and rather than cut their way through and enrage the spiders, they left the path and bypassed the webs.  It was a more prudent move than blindly hacking at everything which stood in their way, but refinding the path proved difficult.  The trees grew thickly here, thickets of bramble grew everywhere, and the cobwebs were thicker than ever.  Long strands hung down from the trees, ensnaring cloaks, hair, and bows.  Casting wary glances upwards, they continued, hoping to avoid an encounter with the giant spiders, which would be dangerous and time-consuming.  A single bite rarely proved fatal, but had been known to kill; and even a single bite left the victim in great pain and delirium for several days.  Legolas had been bitten once before, long ago, and had no wish to repeat the experience.  Besides, it was a delay they could not afford to make. 

As they moved further south, Eléntia left the group to explore the surrounding land more and more often, leaving Bahnfrei, her horse, with the others.  Her extraordinary skills as a scout and tracker were well suited to her solitary nature.  While the rest of the patrol kept to the forest tracks, she would range through the trees to the east and west, alerting them to occasional orc patrols, or spider haunts.  She would rejoin them at intervals during the day, unexpectedly; waiting for them as they rounded a bend in the path, dropping from the trees in front of them, or hailing them from the top of a rock outcrop she had climbed for a better view.  At other times they saw no sign of her from dawn to dusk.

They continued in this way for several days.  Progress was slow, as the tracks twisted and turned, and sometimes disappeared completely.  Picking their way through the forest, skirting vast clumps of bramble, fallen trees, and negotiating sudden, unseen ravines that crossed their path, they had already been away from Lasgalen for nearly a week.

They moved steadily to the south, and were about half a day’s journey from Dol Guldur when they came to an open area of forest.  It was mid morning.  Eléntia had gone off at dawn when they broke camp, but had not yet returned.  Legolas had come this way once, long before, and remembered that a short way ahead the land rose, ending in a sheer cliff from which there was a clear view of the forest far to the south, and all around.  He signalled to Alfiel.  “I want you to stay here, while I climb up to see what may be ahead.   Take Pavisel for me.”

Leaving his companions concealed in the trees and watering the horses, Legolas scrambled to the top of the escarpment, dropping to the ground as he approached the edge so he was hidden from unfriendly eyes that might be watching.  He gazed first southwest.  From this height he could see the forest spread out before him.  The fresh green of beech mingled with the darker green of oak, and merged imperceptibly with ash, birch, and pine.  Bright sunlight gilded the leaves and treetops.  Far to the west he could see the line of the Great River, Anduin; beyond that the trees of Lothlórien shone golden in the sun.  Beyond Lórien the peaks of the Misty Mountains rose, partially veiled in mist and cloud as befitted their name, and stretched south and far to the north. 

This was a part of Lasgalen he rarely saw, and despite the influence of the Dark Tower and the Necromancer, it was still beautiful. In the distance he could see the tower, seemingly shadowed as if the morning sunlight did not reach it.  Dark specks circled all around.  Birds.  Spies for whatever dwelt there. Now more than ever convinced that a new evil had indeed returned to Dol Guldur, Legolas finally studied the forest to the east and west, and back to the north from where they had come.  There seemed to be a creeping darkness moving through the trees from the west.  He waited as it drew nearer and seemed to spread out.  He looked more closely and swore quietly.  It was an army of orcs and goblins, and it was heading straight for them.

To be continued

Chapter Three -  Capture

Moving carefully away from the cliff, Legolas turned and ran back to where he had left the rest of the patrol. He slid down the slope, dropping silently at the edge of the clearing, startling Taniquel so much that she had an arrow aimed at his head before she recognised him, and lowered her bow with an exasperated sigh. "Valar, Legolas! I nearly shot you then! Give some warning next time."

"Sorry, Tani," he said breathlessly. "There are orcs heading our way. And goblins. We need to get out of the way."

In seconds there was no sign anyone had been in the clearing. The elves faded into the trees, well camouflaged, and waited for the orcs to appear. The first foot soldiers passed by and Legolas started to breathe a sigh of relief, when the next wave approached. These were larger and more evil looking than the goblins he had encountered before, and they seemed to sniff as they went, snuffling and snorting as they passed by. Before long one halted, peering into the undergrowth.

It paused, sniffing suspiciously, squinting at the trees.  "I can smell something, Snurluk! Something 'orrible. Elf, I think!"  Behind him, Legolas could hear the patrol backing away from the path, silently, leading the horses deeper into the trees. He almost laughed as he saw Elthan's indignant expression, and would have done,  had the situation not been so serious.

"All right, you lot! Spread out! Find it!" commanded the orc captain.

The elf patrol retreated further into the forest. Even the horses moved silently through the bushes, but as the orcs spread out, several headed in their direction. They retreated again, away from the orcs, but again the orcs turned towards them. Legolas cursed silently. It was proving remarkably difficult to elude the orcs, and all the time they were moving away from the path they wanted to take. As they retreated further and further, the orcs kept turning in their direction. The creatures were calling to each other, hacking at the undergrowth, and as they continued to spread out the elves were in danger of being surrounded.

Finally Legolas stopped. "This is no good. We are not getting anywhere," he whispered. "I have to stop them."

"I think they are not tracking us," breathed Alfiel. "I think it is just bad luck. But surely they will blunder into us soon."

Legolas nodded. "We need to head them off. I can lead them away from our position, take as many as I can persuade to follow me. You can deal with the ones left."

Both Alfiel and Math’rin disputed the plan.  "No, Legolas, that would be far too dangerous!”  Alfiel hissed.  “You know we should not engage them. Besides, I do not think we should split up. Stay together and keep low."

"But they could stumble on us any minute. Then we would have no choice but to fight all of them. There are far too many, especially with Eléntia away. I can lead them off, lose them in the forest. We can regroup later.”  Legolas paused, then added,  “Alfiel, if I am not back in four hours, carry on to Dol Guldur with the others. I – I will try to meet you there."   

Without pausing for further argument, or to be told he was taking a foolish risk, Legolas leapt onto Pavisel and silently urged him away. It was dangerous, he knew that. It was also the best plan he could think of - he could not risk the group being caught, which seemed certain if the orcs continued to follow them as they had. If he succeeded in drawing off the main group, it would give the others a much better chance to reach Dol Guldur, no matter what happened. He turned, gave a brief wave, and disappeared into the forest.

Alfiel gazed after his friend. The logic was sound, and realistically he knew it was the best plan, but it was fraught with danger - especially for Legolas. He just hoped nothing would go wrong.

"There are  over a hundred of them! What on earth does he think he is doing? How is he going to distract their attention from us without them suspecting something?" Math'rin wanted to know.

Alfiel shook his head in mock sorrow.  Math’rin may have been a skilled and experienced warrior, but he was not a strategist. "Orcs are not too bright, Math'rin. Listen and learn. Be ready. I do not know how many will be left for us to deal with."

They waited tensely to see what would happen. The orcs had slowed, and seemed to be listening. Alfiel prayed they had not heard the whispered debate, or suspected anything. While it was true that orcs were not very intelligent, some of this group seemed brighter than most.

After what seemed like an eternity, shouts and loud neighs broke out, some distance to the west, along with the sound of snapping branches and something heavy crashing through the undergrowth. It sounded like an entire cavalry, not just one elf and a horse.

With cries of glee, the orcs tuned towards the racket. "I told you I smelled elf! Come on, you maggots! They're over that way - don't let 'em get away. And don't kill 'em all - I want one to play with!" The two leaders rallied their troops and headed off in pursuit.

The few orcs who remained looked at each other uncertainly. "I ain't going after them! Sounds like there's an 'ole army out there! We'll stop 'ere for a bit, and 'ave a rest" said a small orc with straggly black hair and a chipped tooth.

"Yeah. Be safer. I ain't chasing no elf army - let Snurluk's lot do that!"

With an appreciative grin at the tactic, Alfiel crept forward so he could see how many were left behind. There were only about twenty left, now sitting or sprawling on the grass, which would pose no problem. He turned to Math'rin. "You see?  It is simple.” He moved into position. At his signal they fired on the orcs. Four fell before the others even realised they were under attack. They reacted swiftly, but by the time they drew their own weapons there were only six left. One, braver than most, raced towards Alfiel with a drawn sword, but he never even got close. Soon all had fallen to the elves' arrows.

They dragged the orc bodies into the undergrowth, out of sight, then paused to listen for any sounds of pursuit. The crashing, shouts, and wild neighing, and the cries of the pursuing orcs could still be heard, but it was growing fainter. “It sounds like he is having fun," said Math'rin. "But it seems a dangerous game he is playing. There must be almost a hundred after him. I hope he will be all right."

Elthan laughed. "I would have no worries. And that beast of his is well trained. It sounds like Pavisel is using his hooves well."

The ruse had worked, even better than they had hoped. The orcs had been lured far away from their position. Eventually the sounds of pursuit faded even more, and the elven patrol began to relax a little.   It was ill-timed.  Suddenly there was a different sound, a loud scream of fear and pain from a horse. It could only be Pavisel.

The shouts and crashing stopped abruptly, and the cries of the orcs turned jubilant, exultant. Alfiel looked at the rest of the patrol in horror. Had Legolas been caught?

They moved south of where they had killed the orcs, then quickly debated their best course of action. "I know what he said, but this is no good, I cannot leave him" said Alfiel. "Taniquel, stay under cover with the others. I will go to see what has happened. I have no wish to separate again, but I do not know what else to do. I must find out!"

Reluctantly, Taniquel nodded. "All right. This is madness, Alfiel, but I know why you have to do it. Take care."

Alfiel turned and disappeared into the forest with Fanuidhol. She sighed. "I hope they both know what they are doing. Because I do not want to return without them and have to face the King!"

They were near an overhanging ledge. She moved the horses to the shelter of the cliff, then pulled branches across. There was a clump of gnatweed growing nearby, and the pungent smell would mask the scent of the horses. From only a few paces away they were completely concealed, even if orcs passed right in front of them. Sending Math'rin to keep watch, she and Elthan sat down wearily. It had been a long and eventful journey. After nearly an hour Math'rin called a low warning. "An orc patrol is approaching. About ten of them. They will pass your position, but do not seem to be looking for anything. Just keep still!"

A few minutes later the patrol came into sight. They walked noisily, talking in their guttural voices, making no attempt to conceal their presence. This close to Dol Guldur they did not fear anything. They had come from the north, so were presumably not the ones that had gone after Legolas. Word of the chase and capture, however, had reached them. By listening carefully to the harsh speech, Taniquel could make out what they were talking about.

"Get a move on, Moghar!”  the leader snarled.  “I want to get back soon as possible, to see the fun. What is it they've got, anyway?"

Another orc shrugged, giving a low, sneering laugh. "Dunno. Some elf, I think. Morluk said they'd had to shut it up, it was fighting so hard. The Masters want to question it, anyway - and I want to watch, too! Move your arse, Moghar!"

As the orc patrol continued their way south to Dol Guldur, they were speculating on what might be in store for the captive. Before they finally went out of earshot, she could hear them laying wagers on how long the prisoner would last before succumbing to the 'Masters' questioning. Taniquel looked at Elthan. There was a stark fear in his eyes. "They have caught him.  Now what are we going to do?!"

Taniquel shook her head numbly. "I do not know. We should wait for Alfiel, he might know more. Math'rin! Did you hear?"

Math'rin appeared behind them, descending from the tree he had been in.  "I heard. Alfiel left you in charge, what are you going to do?"

She swallowed, her mouth dry. The fate of any elf caught by orcs did not bear thinking about, and Legolas was a friend, as well as army commander. That was bad enough. But most of all, she did not want to be the one to tell the King that his son had been captured by the orcs of Dol Guldur.

To be continued

Chapter Four - Dol Guldur

Legolas walked Pavisel some distance away from where he had left his companions. When he judged he was far enough away to distract the orcs without endangering the others he let out a loud yell. Shouting in a mixture of Sindarin, Quenya and Westron; together with Pavisel’s neighs and whinnies, they made a very satisfactory noise. For good measure, he set Pavisel to kick with his rear hooves at some of the trees they passed, and rode straight through the undergrowth.

Accustomed to moving silently, even Legolas could not quite believe the din they made, although it broke his heart to cause such damage to the forest. Behind him he could hear the orc patrol start to chase delightedly after him. It sounded as if most of them, nearly a hundred, had fallen for the trick. Still yelling a variety of war cries, curses and insults, even snatches of songs and poetry, he led the orcs deeper into the forest. He kept Pavisel’s pace slow enough for the orcs to keep pace, so they would not lose interest and give up, but fast enough that they would not get too close.

He particularly did not want them to realise that the army they hopefully thought they were pursuing was in fact one lone elf. They could know nothing of his people, nothing, if they thought even an army of elves would make anything like this racket. Pavisel alone sounded like a herd of wild horses. The orcs were firing wildly now, blindly shooting through the trees. They could not see him, so were focused on the noise he made. Few arrows came near, but one or two - more by luck than judgement - were too close for comfort.

At last, one of the orcs got lucky. As he pivoted Pavisel to lunge through a thicket of dry, rustling branches, a stray arrow caught the horse by his foreleg. With a shrill neigh of pain and fright he reared high, flailing with his hooves against the sudden pain. Legolas wrapped his hand in Pavisel’s mane and gripped tightly with his knees. With another whinny of fear, the horse reared again, his rider still clinging to his back like a burr, until finally, whispering soothing words, Legolas was able to calm him. He could hear the orcs pursuing him screeching delightedly - they must know they had hit Pavisel, at least; and no doubt hoped to find the pair of them injured and helpless. It was time to leave the orcs, and head back to the rest of the patrol.

He slid off Pavisel’s back, and with a glance over his shoulder led him away to the left, heading south of his original direction. Suddenly he froze, and pulled Pavisel into a thicket of hazel trees. Standing motionless, he watched as one of the groups of orcs following him passed within feet, harsh voices in full cry, still intent on the chase. Their booted feet trampled the undergrowth, crushing plants and saplings underfoot. If they had known their quarry was so close, he would not have stood a chance, but they continued on, oblivious.

When all sounds of pursuit had faded he inspected Pavisel’s wound. The arrow had  not penetrated very deeply, but had torn the muscle badly. He just hoped it was not poisoned. With a swift movement he pulled the arrow out, causing the horse to snort and toss his head. Murmuring softly to him, Legolas took out a small pouch on his belt and tipped a little fine brown powder into his hand. There was no water available, so he spat into it, mixing a dark paste. He smeared it over the wound, causing Pavisel to twitch his shoulder as it stung.

“All right, my beauty, you will do for now,”  Legolas reassured him.   “Now we just have to get back and find the others.” With one hand on Pavisel’s mane, he moved soundlessly to the south, before looping back towards his companions, using the cliff he had climbed earlier that day as a guide. He was about halfway there when he became aware of something coming towards him, moving silently.  It was certainly not an orc, but it did not sound like a forest creature either. Stealthily, moving behind a tree, Legolas waited until it came into sight.

“Alfiel!” he hissed. “What in the name of all the Valar are you doing? I thought I told you to stay where you were, with the others!”

Alfiel turned, startled, and gave a sigh of relief.  “You told me to deal with the orcs. I have. I came to find you, I feared something had happened.”

“It did. One of their arrows, an unlucky shot, hit Pavisel.  It does not look too serious, but I would rather not ride him.”

“No matter. Come up behind me on Fanuidhol.” Alfiel leaned down and extended his hand. Gripping his wrist, Legolas vaulted up behind him. He turned to Pavisel.

“Come now. Follow us.” Obediently, limping slightly, Pavisel walked after Fanuidhol. With a soft command, Alfiel urged Fanuidhol forward, back to where he had left the rest of the patrol.

When they reached the clearing, Taniquel stepped forward. She looked drawn and extremely worried. “Alfiel, thank goodness you came back!” She sounded frantic. Then she noticed Legolas, seated behind him. A mixture of emotions – relief,  joy, then fear and worry again flitted across her face. “Eléntia” she said softly.

“Eléntia? What about her? Has she returned?” queried Alfiel.

Taniquel shook her head regretfully.  “An orc patrol came back past us a while ago. They spoke of a captive, taken to Dol Guldur. Legolas, we thought they had caught you, but it must have been Eléntia.”

Legolas dropped off Fanuidhol’s back, glancing around at the rest of the patrol.  “We go after her, now,” he said decisively.  “I will not leave her there. Are you sure?”

Taniquel nodded unhappily. “They sounded delighted. They said ‘it’ would be questioned by the masters - whatever they are.”

“Very well. Dol Guldur is about a half a day’s journey from here. Eléntia left us just after dawn. If the orcs you heard knew about it, she must have been taken soon after. There was certainly no sign of her when I went off with Pavisel. Elthan, Math’rin – ”   Legolas paused, considering his options.  “I think perhaps we should not all go after her.  I think it best if you stay here as back up if we need it.”

Alfiel shook his head. “No. I think not. When we split up things go wrong. We should keep together and all go - when we find Eléntia we will need to get out of there quickly - there will not be time to come back here and regroup.”

Legolas considered his words.  He valued Alfiel’s judgement, which was why he had come on this mission. “Very well. You could be right.  I shall take Bahnfrei - I do not want to ride Pavisel yet if there is no need to.”

In a matter of moments they had collected weapons, gear, and supplies, leaving no sign of their passage. Swiftly, silently, they rode out - each deeply concerned for Eléntia; and for what they would find at Dol Guldur.

~*~*~*~*~

As Eléntia regained her senses, she rather wished she had remained in the gentle oblivion of unconsciousness. She was slung like a hunter’s kill around the neck of a foul-smelling orc, her head resting intimately on its shoulder. She stayed limp, listening, absolutely furious with herself for being taken like the greenest recruit.

She had been scouting along a path the patrol could take to the south when she had stumbled on a group of orcs standing on the path. They had been waiting for her - even before she had fired at the orcs in front of her she heard others move from the trees behind. They had laid a trap for her, and she had walked into it like a novice.

Firing two arrows simultaneously at the orcs ahead, she drew her knife and managed to finish two more that rushed at her. Waving her knife threateningly before her as a warning to the others not to get too close, she reached behind with her other hand, seizing a handful of arrows. With a movement like lightning she sheathed the knife and fired again at the orcs surrounding her. She managed to fell several more of the creatures before they overwhelmed her. A harsh blow on the back of her head sent her to her knees, stars dancing in her vision. A second blow dimmed the stars and they faded into the dark of night.

Now, down over the centuries, as clear as a bell, she heard the voice of the captain who instructed the army recruits in battle techniques. They had been learning of the less glorious outcomes of battle - injury, death, and capture.

The captain’s first words had been simple - “There are only three rules to remember if you get captured by orcs. The first rule is: don’t.”

The trainees had all laughed nervously, confident that none of them would be careless enough for such a fate.

“The second rule is: act stupid. Do not let them know we understand some of their speech. Do not let them know you are conscious if you can help it. Listen. Observe. Learn as much as you can, about where you are, what they are planning. Your information could be vital. Remember, you could escape, and your companions will be doing everything they can to free you. Many captives we do rescue.  Rule number three,” he paused then, looking at them all sombrely. “You might not escape. Sometimes, no matter what, nothing can be done. You might be alone, far away from Lasgalen. The odds might be too overwhelming. Or there may be no companions left to rescue you.” He gave the trainees a moment to consider that, then finished with: “Remember that, before you become too overconfident, and think it can never happen to you.”

Over the years she did indeed meet elves who had been captured and lived to tell the tale, but not many. She also learnt more than she wanted to about rule number three - graphic detail of torture and mutilation, whole patrols taken, where there was no one left to raise the alarm, whose fate was forever unknown – or  sometimes whose fate was all too well known.

Now, the orc carrying her shifted its grip, and its claws dug into her leg. She bit her lip hard to stifle a gasp of pain, but must have made some slight movement, which an orc to her left noticed.  “ ’Ere, Fagnor, you didn’t ’it it ’ard enough! It’s waking up!”

The orc carrying her chuckled.  The sound sent a shiver down her spine.  “Just in time to meet the Masters, then. We’re nearly there.”

Eléntia, still limp, wondered what the Masters might be. She clung both to the fury she felt with herself, and the curiosity – it  helped to keep at bay the utter terror that lurked in her mind.

By slitting her eyes open she could see they were approaching Dol Guldur. They had left the trees and were crossing a stretch of bare, barren ground that lay before the tower. When they reached it, the orc flung her on the ground. “Filthy elf! You can carry the next one!” it protested.

As it dropped her, her head fell back against the wall striking the place where she had been hit before, and she blacked out again.

To be continued

Chapter Five – Eléntia

Author’s Notes:  Warning, much angst and elf torture in this chapter.

By riding hard, the elf patrol reached Dol Guldur by late afternoon. The tracks had become hard and stony, and thickets of savage brambles crossed the path. The thorns scratched the horses and the legs of the elves even through their clothing. As they drew closer, they came across felled trees, many of them. Mighty oaks hundreds of years old, beautiful birches and elms lay where they had fallen, and by the pools and streams graceful willows had been cut down. The destruction seemed wanton and purposeless, for no better reason than that the trees had been things of beauty.  The forest pools themselves were choked and stagnant, cluttered with debris and filth. The stench from the fouled water was nauseating. Legolas stopped in shock.  He could feel the suffering of the trees as a physical agony deep in his soul, and shuddered. “They are poisoning the forest. Destroying it!”

Spoil heaps polluted the clearings, piles of litter, food waste and excrement. Huge flies buzzed slowly through the air, and there were signs that rats had gnawed at the rubbish.  The very air seemed oppressive, thick with the shadow of evil.

“I came down here long ago when the Necromancer was here,” said Alfiel. “It was never like this, never! It must be the work of the orcs.”

“They delight in despoiling the land. I fear it will grow worse as we approach the Tower.” Legolas shook his head in pain.  The bond he had with the forest – though nowhere near as strong as his father’s – made him feel ill at the carnage they could see.

At length they approached Dol Guldur. They had still not caught up with the orcs, who had pressed ahead tirelessly.  They halted at the edge of the forest, concealed by the few remaining trees and their green and brown clothing, and gazed at the desolation before them.  The land surrounding the tower had been cleared of trees, the ground left bare and barren.  Even the grass was withered and brown. Dol Guldur was about a furlong away, in the centre of an area of open ground nearly four acres in size. There was no hope of approaching unseen, not even by night - the full moon would flood the clearing with light.

Roughly halfway to the tower, strung out around the clearing, orc sentinels ringed the tower, facing outwards to the trees. They were the larger creatures they had seen earlier, and were armed with spears, swords and bows. Nearer the fortress were nearly a hundred of the smaller goblin soldiers from the Misty Mountains. They had no idea how many more might be inside - or what else might be there. It was clear that any rescue was going to be very, very, difficult.

Eléntia had been dragged to the base of the tower, and her wrists and ankles manacled to rusty chains hanging from the walls. Her head was bowed. Her hair had come loose and was falling over her face, and they could not tell if she was conscious or not.

“How do we get close enough to rescue her?” breathed Elthan.

Legolas shook his head. “I do not know yet. Maybe at nightfall, before the moon rises. We need to think.”

~*~*~*~*~

This time Eléntia was not out for long, because when she came round the orcs were still chaining her wrists to the tower walls, using heavy, rusty chains that looked like they had seen years of use. She stayed limp, head down, feigning unconsciousness, listening to the orcs’ foul speech.

“What’re we going to do with it? Do you think we can ….” asked one suggestively.

“No, none of that!"  retorted another.  "Keep your filthy hands off it! I’ve got orders - questions first, don’t harm it yet. But after - ” it gave an evil chuckle, sending shivers down Eléntia’s spine - “after, well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

The orc quoting its orders - and who would give orders to an orc? Who would dare? And who were the Masters? - moved away, and the ones who had captured her muttered resentfully.

“Fagnor, I’ve had enough of this! Wake it up, let’s get a move on!”

One of the orcs, she thought the one who had been carrying her, picked up a spear from the ground and jabbed it viciously into her side. She could not prevent a cry of pain, and lifted her head. She spat at the orc, and gave vent to her anger, fear and disgust with a torrent of abuse. The orcs could not understand what she said, but could surely judge it from the tone of her voice. One - Fagnor? - came closer. She recoiled, but the movement made the chain on her ankle clank. It was loose. Taking the opportunity, she kicked the orc as hard as she could, right between its legs. The pain that shot through her foot was nothing compared with the satisfaction she felt as it gave a roar of pain and hobbled off, hunched over in agony. The others laughed in derision, and infuriated, it turned on her with a knife. For one incredulous second she thought it was going to kill her there and then, but instead it slashed repeatedly at her, cutting her across her arms and chest. She screamed, she could not help it, hanging limply, the chains around her wrists dragging at her arms.

Suddenly the slashing stopped and she heard the orcs growling at one another in warning. She stayed motionless, panting, the cuts burning like fire, trying to suppress sobs of agony and hopelessness. Slowly she managed to stand, and lifted her head, hair falling lankly about her face. There was a stir of movement among the orcs surrounding her as a figure, cloaked in blackness, approached. A wave of pure evil seemed to emanate from him, and the terror she felt intensified a hundredfold. She tried to back away, but was held fast by the chains.

The figure turned away from her, seeming to look across the waste land to the forest. It spoke in a low, hissing whisper. “I see you. I see you watching your friend.  Come closer, so that you may see what we do to her.”

With a sudden spark of hope, she followed its gaze. Hidden by trees at the edge she could see the rest of the patrol. All of them. They had come for her, they had not abandoned her. No matter what the orcs or this other being did, she was not alone.

As the black figure finished the litany of its plans for her, her spirit quailed again, but the flame of hope could not be quenched. Eléntia lifted her head, looking straight at the others. Across the distance that separated them, as clear as words, her message was unmistakable. Help me.

Now the black robed figure turned its attention back to her. It raised one hand, the sleeve falling away to reveal a bony, skeletal hand. She pressed herself back against the wall of the tower, as it extended one finger to touch her, a feather-light caress. She had time for only one thought. “Ai, Elbereth, help me!”

~*~*~*~*~

While Legolas and his companions watched, one of the orcs surrounding Eléntia prodded her with a spear. Her head rose, and she spat a curse at it, a stream of invective that impressed Alfiel. The chains on her ankles were still slack, and her foot rose, kicking the orc, hard, between the legs. It howled and staggered away, taunted by the jeers of its fellows. She paid a high price for her defiance. Enraged, the orc spun round and slashed at her again and again with a long black knife. She screamed and sagged in the chains. Taniquel flinched and looked at Legolas. “We must do something to help her, and soon!”

As the orc raised its knife again, one of the others grabbed its wrist. “Don’t kill it, remember. The Masters want it alive. They want to question it. If you’re good, he might give it to us after to play with.” Scowling, the orc lowered the knife, satisfying itself with a heavy kick at Eléntia.

Suddenly the orcs fell silent and backed away, cringing and cowering. A tall figure, much taller than even an elf, emerged from the tower. It wore a long black cloak, with the hood pulled forward so nothing of the face could be seen. The five elves watching felt a sense of deep dread fall on them. “What - what is that thing?” mumbled Elthan. There was no response. They all seemed transfixed by the dark figure. It raised its head and stared straight at them, but still only darkness could be seen beneath the hood. Legolas felt a cold fear grip him, and somehow a chill of recognition.

“I see you,” it hissed in a sibilant whisper. “I see you watching your friend. Come closer, so that you may see what we do to her.  Or do you fear to come closer? Do you fear to see what will become of her? She will stay here as our prisoner. Do you know what slow torments we can inflict, so she will tell us everything she knows about your defences, your realm, your pitiful King? Do you recall how orcs were bred from elves, long ago? My orcs will welcome fresh new blood to breed with. She will serve us for a very long time - for you will never free her!”

Crouching in the undergrowth, those listening felt a chill of horror. They all knew what orcs did to captives, who were tortured until death was a release, had heard stories of elves taken by Melkor, maimed and mutilated until they were bound to his will. There were dark tales of females enslaved as brood mares, propagating the foul race. Elthan caught his breath on a note of terror, but Alfiel was gazing at Legolas steadfastly.

“We have no choice. You know what you have to do” he said softly.

Legolas shook his head in desperate denial.  “No! There must be something we can do! Wait until nightfall, take them by surprise - just one or two of us, slow and stealthy - ” he broke off, aware that Alfiel was shaking his head sadly, Taniquel was looking at him with pity, biting her lip, and that Elthan and Math’rin would not meet his eyes. “I cannot do it.  We have to try something.”

“You know what you must do” repeated Alfiel. “You are her captain, her prince - and the best shot of all of us.”

Stricken, wordless, Legolas stared numbly at the other four members of his patrol, at the expanse of cleared, barren ground, and finally at Eléntia.  He wished someone else would take this burden from him, but it would be an intolerable request.  This was his responsibility.  It would be his action, his arrow, his nightmare.  His failure.  Slowly, with a sigh, Legolas nodded, accepting the inevitable. “I know.”

The dark figure had turned from them, back to Eléntia. She raised her head and looked straight at the hidden watchers, fear and pleading in her eyes, as the hooded shape stretched out its hand and touched her, almost gently, on the forehead. She gave a long wailing scream of pain, loss and despair, and those listening flinched. “You must do it now!” pleaded Alfiel.

“I know!” he cried. Hands shaking, Legolas rose to his feet, fitting an arrow to his bow. As he sighted along the shaft he became still, focused, intent. He drew a deep breath and held it. Motionless, he breathed a silent prayer to Elbereth and loosed the arrow. ‘Forgive me, Eléntia.’  It flew true. Eléntia slumped between the chains, the arrow embedded deep in her chest.

~*~*~*~*~

As the creature touched her, Eléntia felt fire sear through her head, obliterating all coherent thought. All hope, memory and love were gone. She gave just one terrified scream as despair, hopelessness and utter terror engulfed her in darkness.

Then fresh pain, clean and purifying, pierced her heart, bringing in its wake calm, stillness and peace. Pain and terror fled, as silence opened and welcomed her.  The darkness was gone, and there was only light.

~*~*~*~*~

Quicker than sight, Legolas sent another arrow into the black robed figure, then another. Both passed straight through, and struck the wall of the tower behind it. The orcs wailed in dismay, but the black figure gave a high keening cry of anger and fury that chilled those listening and watching to the bone. “You missed him!” exclaimed Taniquel in disbelief.

Legolas shook his head. “No. I did not miss. I hit it, I know I did. We should go.” He sounded shaken.

The figure reached forward, and ripped the arrow out of Eléntia’s breast. It inspected it, then with a brutal gesture snapped it in half, throwing the pieces to the ground. Legolas heard a hiss, then the cold voice cried, “Do you think to harm me? I know you, Elf! The royal house of Mirkwood, of Oropher and Thranduil. We will hunt you and all your kind down for this! Begone!”

To Be Continued

Chapter Six - Flight

Author's Notes:  Warning, more grief and angst in this chapter!

The other elves stared at Legolas in horror.  “What is that thing?  How does it know you?” gasped Alfiel.

Legolas shuddered.  “A Nazgûl.  I remember Elrond and my father telling me about them once – it is one of the Ringwraiths of the Dark Lord.  My father and Oropher - my grandfather - were part of the Last Alliance.  It must recognise the insignia. Come, we must leave here!” Turning, with a last sorrowful glance at Eléntia they moved away, deep into the forest and away from Dol Guldur.  Whatever happened to her now, she at least was free from pain and torment, but the other five were deeply shocked by the horrific events.

They had completed their mission and discovered the evil that had taken possession of Dol Guldur, but they had paid a terrible price, Eléntia most of all.  Then Alfiel wondered if it was not Legolas who had paid the highest price.  All Elven warriors knew they could be called on to do what he had done, and all prayed they would never have to.  They also prayed it would be done for them if needful.

“What now?” questioned Taniquel.

“We go back to Lasgalen.  I must tell my father the nature of the evil in Dol Guldur, and send word to Mithrandir” said Legolas tonelessly.

Greatly saddened, but immeasurably relieved to be leaving, they mounted and rode through the trees.  There were no sounds of pursuit, a fact which both puzzled and alarmed them.  Alfiel glanced at Legolas.  He was silent and withdrawn, caught by horror.  He was in no state to lead them just now. 

“Ride hard.  I want us to get as far away from this accursed place as possible by nightfall.”  At Alfiel’s command they rode northward through the forest to the outskirts, and continued northeast, riding just inside the borders.  The trees were thinner here and they could gallop the horses, crouched low.  Legolas was again on Eléntia’s horse, leading Pavisel.  The wound did not seem to be poisoned, which was fortunate, but Legolas did not want to strain the horse by riding him if not absolutely necessary.  The brilliant moonlight cast bright bars of light and shadow between the trees along their path, producing an ethereal flickering effect. 

The elves rode far into the night, anxious to put as much distance as possible between them and Dol Guldur.  At last, when the horses were stumbling with weariness, they halted by a small stream.  Allowing the animals to drink, they settled for what remained of the night, performing their routine tasks in silence.

After a few minutes, Alfiel went to Fanuidhol and searched through the bags.  Finding a small flask, bound in leather, he uncorked it and offered it first to Legolas.  He took a sip, then looked at Alfiel in surprise.  “Miruvor? Where did you get this?”

Alfiel gave a brief smile.  “Elrohir traded me three bottles for a wolfskin a while ago. I usually carry it.  I thought we could all do with some tonight.”  He passed the flask around the group and they each took a small sip of the revitalising liqueur.

Alfiel took watch, while Elthan and Math’rin lay down wearily.  Legolas sat to one side, still, silent and withdrawn, gazing blankly at the night.  Alfiel felt great sympathy for him, but decided not to disturb his thoughts just now.  He would probably need time to himself in an effort to come to terms with what he had had to do.  None of them had said more than a few words since they stopped for the night, the normal conversation and banter noticeably absent.  Alfiel could tell that none of the other four elves were asleep.  Legolas still sat motionless, at one side of the clearing.  Elthan and Math’rin were silent, but were both lying awake, lost in thought.  He could hear Taniquel crying quietly, her back to the others.

Alfiel himself felt an overwhelming sadness. Eléntia’s death brought back vivid memories of a patrol he had been part of long ago. They had been caught in an orc ambush and had had to fight their way out. One of his companions, Rowarth, had taken a sword thrust into his stomach and chest. Seeing him dying, crying in pain, the patrol leader, Jepsonth, had been given no choice. A dagger to the heart, a subtle twist, had ended Rowarth’s agony in seconds, mercifully, but had given Jepsonth a lifetime of guilt. Ultimately, in an effort to assuage his guilt, he had taken such reckless risks he had been killed at the Battle of Five Armies, needlessly, leading a charge which had achieved nothing.

With a start, Alfiel jerked himself back to reality, reminding himself that he was supposed to be on watch, not lost in memories of long ago.  

The night was very quiet, just the trickling of the stream, the shuffling of the horses.  Taniquel still sobbed softly to herself.  Eventually she got up and went over to Legolas.  Wordlessly, she sat down and slipped an arm around him.  She said nothing at first, just offering comfort and companionship, but after a while said: “You did what you had to.  She knew we were there, that we had not abandoned her.  Thank you for what you did for her – I think I would not have had the courage to do it.”

Legolas looked at her in surprise.  “Yes, you would.  I know I could trust you to do it for any of us.  I just hope - ”  he paused.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“That I never, never, have to again,”  he admitted in a low voice.

“I know.  So do I.  Do - do you think she knew?”

He was silent for a long time, his face turned away. Then: “I do not know,” he said at last. “I do not know which is worse - that she died in fear of those creatures, or died knowing that - that it was my fault.  That I had failed her.”

Taniquel made no reply, searching desperately for the right words, a way to end his torment. “Look at it this way,” she said carefully. “If it was you, would you rather it ended in pain and fear, or would it be better knowing that Alfiel or I had - ” she could not bring herself to say ‘killed you’ but went on: “stopped it.  And you did not fail her.  If we had left her there, or if we had attempted rescue and been killed, or captured ourselves – we would all have failed her.”

She could tell from his slow nod that her words had had at least some effect, but his face was still averted. She continued to sit by him, silently supporting, and after a while he drew a shaky breath.

“Tani? Thank you. It helps.”

She stood, and offered her hand to help him to his feet. “Go on, get some rest. It must be time I took over from Alfiel.”

Legolas lay by the fire, wrapped in his cloak, gazing up at the night sky.  The full moon had dimmed the stars, but he could make out Eärendil shining brightly.  Unable to sleep, the events that day preyed on his mind.  ‘Forgive me, Eléntia.  I should have tried harder.  Forgive me.’   He had a sudden vision of Eléntia’s fate if he had not acted.  Raped, abused, her body and spirit broken, but retaining enough awareness to know utter despair, and to know that she had been abandoned by her companions.  He could not help wondering if they should have tried harder to rescue her, although he knew, realistically, that any such attempt would certainly have ended with them all dead, or worse, sharing Eléntia’s fate in captivity.  The last outcome was the most likely one.  Either way, news of the new inhabitants of Dol Guldur would never reach Lasgalen, and his people had to be warned.

At length he rose and went to where Taniquel stood keeping watch.  Sending her to take what rest she could, he sat silently while the moon sank below the trees and the stars faded before dawn.  As birds started calling with the new day they broke camp and continued north, still riding as swiftly as they could.  They all wanted to leave Dol Guldur as far behind them as possible, reach the safety of Lasgalen, and report what they had found.

They had abandoned the stealth of their outward journey for speed.  They made only one brief stop at midday to allow the horses to rest and drink, then continued, riding long into the night. When they reached the turning for a narrow track they halted for what remained of the night. They set off again at dawn.  The track led north-east through the forest and joined the old Forest Road close to the pass over the mountains.  There was still no sign of pursuit, a fact that disturbed Legolas, given the Nazgûl’s threat.  They had to move more slowly along the track, and Legolas, after checking Pavisel’s wound, rode him again, leading Bahnfrei behind him.  By the afternoon they came to an area infested with spiders.  Cobwebs were thick here, and they rode warily.

They were riding in single file, keeping a sharp lookout for the spiders, when there was a rustling sound off to their left.  They peered through the trees, trying to see if they were being pursued, when a huge, black spider dropped out of the trees above them directly onto Alfiel’s back.  Hearing his cry of alarm, Legolas turned in time to see the spider falling to the ground, legs twitching, a dagger embedded in one multi-faceted eye.  Taniquel, riding immediately behind Alfiel, had thrown one of her knives in the instant it landed on him.

“Are you all right?  Did it get you?”  Taniquel stood over the spider,  and bent to retrieve her knife.  She wiped the black blood off it fastidiously.

Alfiel looked down at her.  “That was quick work.  Thank you.  It did not even have time to bite me.”

“Are you sure?” she insisted.

“Quite sure.  I was only ever bitten once, but it was something I knew about, believe me.”

“Nice work, Taniquel.” Legolas called back to her.  “We had better be extra vigilant.  They seem to be getting more cunning.  I have never known them to try that before.”

They continued along the path, but although they saw spiders in the webs near the track, no more attacked them.  They camped for a third night near the end of the track, planning to reach the Forest Road and cross the mountains the next day. 

By early morning, they were riding slowly down the Road.  They were weary now, exhausted by sorrow, the pressure of the long flight and the unending gloom. The Road was no longer kept clear, and was overgrown with weeds, stray saplings and brambles.  The surface was uneven and muddy. They had nearly reached the path that led to the pass over the mountains when a sudden volley of arrows flew around them.  Math’rin’s horse, Barandir, screamed as an arrow sank deep into his chest, and he fell to the ground.  Math’rin’s cry of anguish as he rolled clear was the last sound he made.  Two further arrows struck him in the back, and he lay lifeless among the weeds that choked the path.  They had ridden into an ambush. 

Orcs lurked on both sides of the Road, firing arrow after arrow at them.  Excited by their success, they shot wildly, but by a miracle no more hit the patrol. The four remaining elves returned fire grimly, and cries told them they had felled some of the orcs.  The volley of arrows stopped, but then dozens of orcs rushed at them from the trees, armed with short swords and spears.  Many fell before they reached the group, but soon they were too close for arrows to be of any use.  Legolas slashed and stabbed with his knife, while beside him Pavisel reared, striking with his hooves at any orc foolish enough to come too close.  With a snort, the horse lashed out with a back leg at one who tried to creep up behind Legolas.  The creature fell back, its face smashed. As more orcs crowded him, Legolas bent, snatching up a sword beneath one of the orcs he had killed and fought two-handed, knife in his right hand, the sword in his left.  Taniquel habitually fought with two knives, and Legolas saw her fighting desperately.  In one swift movement she stabbed one orc, ducked beneath the sword thrust of a second, and straightened up to simultaneously stab both it and a third orc through the neck.

Elthan also fought with a knife, and Alfiel used a rapier-like sword, wielding it two-handed with a grim intensity, sweeping the head off the orc nearest him.  The horses, all trained in battle, used their hooves, kicking out at the onslaught.  Sensing a movement behind him, Legolas stabbed backwards with his knife, whirled to slash another orc across the throat, then turned back in time to impale two others who thought to use his distraction to finish him.

At last all the orcs lay dead.  Legolas went first to Math’rin, but it was far too late.   It looked like he had been killed by the first arrow that hit him, lodged deep in his heart.  Barandir was also dead. 

He turned swiftly at a sharp cry behind him.  Alfiel and Taniquel knelt beside Elthan.  He lay on the ground, a deep crimson stain on the front and side of his tunic.  Legolas dropped to one knee at Elthan’s side, as Alfiel pulled the material away.  Elthan gasped in pain.  There was a deep sword cut on his side and across his chest, laying bare flesh and bone.  “I – I am sorry,” he panted.  “It crept up on me.  I saw it too late. You must go, get back while you still can.  There are too few of us left now.”

“It will be all right.  There are no more orcs.  Let me get the bandages from your pack.”  Legolas went to Lithuin, Elthan’s horse, and searched swiftly for his medical supplies.  He knew the wound was mortal.  It was likely Elthan knew it too, he was a healer.  But he would not, could not stand by while yet another of his companions died.  When he returned Alfiel had raised Elthan up, resting against his chest, easing his laboured breathing.  A glance at Taniquel and Alfiel made it clear that they too knew there was no hope, but like him, they had to try.

Placing a thick pad over the wound, Legolas started to bandage it.  Elthan gasped with pain again, then started to cough convulsively.  Bright red blood frothed at his mouth.  His hand reached out blindly to Legolas, who took it gently.  “I am sorry I failed you, Lord.  At least they never took me alive.”  Elthan’s head fell back against Alfiel, and his eyes slowly closed.

Heads bowed in sorrow, they knelt by Elthan, Legolas still clasping his hand.  He released it, then looked at Alfiel and Taniquel.  Taniquel had tears in her eyes again.  She asked: “We cannot take them back with us, can we?”  It was not a question.  Alfiel shook his head, and turned to the grass at the forest’s edge.  The leaf mould was deep and soft, and it was easy to dig a shallow grave.  Math’rin and Elthan were laid together.  There was nothing they could do for Barandir.  Legolas murmured a prayer to Elbereth over the grave, then they gathered their weapons to move on again.  As she bent to collect stray arrows, Taniquel winced in pain.  Alfiel looked at her sharply.  “Are you hurt?  You should have said something!”

There was a deep slash across her shoulder.  She looked at it in surprise.  “I did not notice it.”  She yanked the neck of her tunic down to look.  “I think it does not seem too bad.  Give me one of those pads.”

Legolas pushed her hand away.  “Let me see.”  As he reached out to inspect the wound, Taniquel caught at his arm.   The sleeve was slashed and stained with blood, and there was a long, deep cut on his arm from elbow to wrist.

“What about you?”  In the heat of battle, and the aftermath, neither had noticed the wounds.  Fortunately they were not serious, and the orc blades did not seem to have been poisoned.  Alfiel bound both injuries, smearing on a salve against the possibility of poison just in case, and they picked up arrows to replenish their supplies.  Legolas examined Pavisel.  When he had kicked the orcs, the wound by his leg had opened again, and was bleeding.  He would have to ride Bahnfrei again.  

They were about to turn off the Road when suddenly a black shadow fell across the path.  A chill fell on them, like that they had experienced at Dol Guldur, and they looked upwards apprehensively.  A huge, dark creature, winged like a bat, flew overhead.  But instead of a soft, furred body, this had dark scales, feet that ended in claws, a long, whip-like tail, and a hideous head.  A figure in billowing black robes could be seen on its back.

“What is that?” breathed Alfiel.  “Is it a dragon?”  The other two did not reply, staring at it in horror.  There was a harsh cry, and a second creature wheeled into view over the trees.  Suddenly Legolas drew his bow, and with a deep breath, loosed an arrow.  It flew high into the air, straight towards the creature.  It gave a shrill, croaking shriek, and plummeted towards the forest, disappearing from sight.  He had already fired again, and the second monstrosity fell from the sky.  They waited tensely, but nothing else appeared. 

Taniquel gave a sigh of relief.  “I think those things had come to pick up any prisoners,” she said.  “We should be thankful there are none.  We need to get back before anything else comes after us.”

Legolas looked at the sky apprehensively.  He could not be certain, for the creatures had appeared above them very suddenly, but unless he was imagining things, the winged beasts had come from the north, over the mountains.  From Lasgalen.

“Alfiel.  Taniquel.  Did you see where those things came from?  Which direction?”

Alfiel shook his head apprehensively.  “I could not tell.  They were just - there.  Why?”

“I cannot be sure, but I think they came from the north.  We need to get back, quickly.  If they have been to Lasgalen….”  He did not need to finish the sentence.

The three of them, leading Pavisel and Lithuin, left the Road and headed towards the pass into the mountains.  Behind them, trodden unnoticed into the mud and weeds, Math’rin’s harp lay, smashed and broken.

To Be Continued

Chapter Seven - Lightning From a Clear Sky

At Lasgalen, concerns were rising.  The patrol, which had departed several days ago, had not returned, and were now two days overdue.  While not that unusual, it did not augur well. Tensions were mounting.  Tirnan found it difficult to concentrate on the minutiae of reports and duty rosters, and by now very anxious,  went up to the lookout point.  The caves of Lasgalen were built into the side of a hill, crowned by a rocky outcrop, bare of trees.  It made a perfect vantage point to view the forest, and there was always a sentry on duty.

Tirnan made his way up the hill, and hailed the guard.  “Is there any news?”

The guard saluted him.  “There is still no sign of the patrol, Lord Tirnan, but I can see a lone rider, approaching from the west.  I sent a messenger down.”

“Show me.”  As he looked in the direction the guard indicated, Tirnan could see a magnificent grey horse and a rider, wearing a cloak and a pointed hat.  He did not recognise the horse, but the rider seemed vaguely familiar.   “I think I know who it is.  I will ride out with Mithrilyn.  Keep a watch on the south and west.  Report any further news immediately.  Anything.”

Tirnan went back down the hill, looping round to the stables to find Mithrilyn.  The horse looked up at his call, and whickered softly.  Mounting swiftly, Tirnan rode out towards the western borders.  The rider he had seen was about two miles away, riding slowly.  They should catch up with him before he got much closer to Lasgalen.  

As Tirnan rode out under the beech trees, he wondered if the traveller would have any news.  They could hear him coming long before they could see him, for he sang - not very well - as he rode.  Tirnan halted Mithrilyn and waited for the singer to come into view.

“Mithrandir!  I thought it might be you!  We have not seen you here for nearly ten years.  It is good to see you again.”   Tirnan smiled as he greeted the wizard, now a rare visitor to Lasgalen.

The wizard raised his head and gave a nod of acknowledgement to his escort.  “Tirnan.  The last time I saw you, you had taken an arrow through your shoulder at the Battle of Five Armies.  I must say, you look better now than you did then.  What news is there of Mirkwood?”

Tirnan’s face was grave.  “We fear one of the Necromancer’s minions has returned to Dol Guldur.  We sent a patrol out over a week ago to investigate, but they have not returned yet.”

Mithrandir sighed.  “Alas, I feared there was a new shadow on the forest.  I came to find out what you knew of it.  Is there no news of your patrol?”

Tirnan shook his head.  “None.  They are two days overdue now, and I feel uneasy in some way.”

The wizard was silent for a moment, deep in thought, then looked back at Tirnan.  “I must greet Thranduil, and you can tell me everything you know of this shadow.  Will you take me to him?”

~*~*~*~

The three remaining members of the patrol crested the pass and began to drop down into the northern forest.  Ahead, in the far distance, they could just see the tall oak trees that marked the boundaries of Lasgalen.  As they descended, they left the bare pass, studded with pine trees, and came into mixed woodland.  About two thirds of the way down the line of hills they came to a point where there was a clear view out over the forest.  They gazed out over the trees, relieved that they were nearly home. 

As they moved off again, Taniquel noticed a flicker of movement and light far below, then another, off to the right.  She called a low warning.  “Look!  Down there!  What is it?” 

They looked at the area of forest she indicated.  Far off, but on both sides of the path they must take, and converging on it, companies of orcs gathered.  “They got in front of us,” said Taniquel unnecessarily.  “Any ideas?”

Alfiel looked thoughtful.  “Do you think we can outride them?”

Legolas sighed.  “We will have to.  It seems to be either that, or - ” he turned and looked up at the pass behind them.  “Oh,” he said expressionlessly.  “We will have to” he repeated.

In the cleft of the pass, silhouetted against the skyline, they could see the shapes of orcs crossing the path behind them, cutting off their retreat.  They rode the horses as swiftly as was safely possible down the remainder of the hills into the forest.  As soon as they cleared the steep, stony ground, they urged the horses into a gallop.  Pavisel and Lithuin, both riderless, were just as swift, sensing the menace behind them.

Taniquel glanced back over her shoulder at the pursuing orcs.  “How did they get in front of us?”

Legolas glanced at her.  “I think it was those things we saw, the flying creatures.  They must have been ferrying the orcs over the mountains, waiting for us.”

Desperately they rode through the trees, heedless now of spiders and the other perils of the forest.  Alfiel felt sticky strands whip his face, but brushed them aside.  In places brambles crossed the path, barbs snatching at them, raising angry red weals.  Taniquel had a long scratch across one cheek, but barely felt it.

Suddenly Mennaty stumbled on an unseen hole, and Taniquel, unprepared, went flying over her head.  She landed breathlessly, rather dazed, but had already picked herself up when Legolas and Alfiel swung back for her.

Alfiel dropped to the ground, helping her to her feet. “Tani, are you all right?  Is Mennaty?”

Taniquel nodded, panting.  “We both are.  She was not hurt.”  Her wrist was wrenched where she had landed on it, but it would not stop her riding.  She scrambled back onto Mennaty and they resumed their desperate flight. They were nearing Lasgalen now, but the orcs pursuing them were closing in, moving faster than the elves had ever seen them.  Now the orcs lining the path were getting closer, moving ahead, trying to cut them off.

Legolas realized, with a sense of futility, that they might not make it.  If the orcs managed to block the path, they were finished.  And the horses were tiring …

He hoped fervently that the lookout at Lasgalen had seen the orcs and the pursuit, and would raise the alarm so that the warriors were at least prepared.  If Lasgalen was taken unawares by the orc assault, the entire realm could be destroyed.

~*~*~*~

Mithrandir refused to speak any more of the threat until he and Tirnan returned to Lasgalen.  Instead he told his escort of his latest journeys and the strange places he had seen.  He had come from Rivendell, and had paid a visit to Beorn, who lived in an isolated house near The Carrock, a tall rock in the middle of the Anduin.  Tirnan had only seen him once, but now heard rather more than he wanted to about Beorn, his home, and his marvellous animals.  After a while Tirnan stopped listening, wondering what had befallen the patrol.  The danger of Dol Guldur must be even greater than they feared if Mithrandir had come himself to investigate. 

In frustration, he wished he had gone on the mission himself, or that they had sent a larger patrol.  He knew there was nothing he could do that Legolas and Alfiel could not do just as well, but still…

Reluctantly, Tirnan acknowledged that his restlessness was because he felt totally helpless, an unfamiliar sensation.  If there was still no news, then tomorrow he would take out a search party.  He would need Thranduil’s permission, for it would leave Lasgalen without any of the three senior commanders - but somehow he doubted it would be refused.  Having made the decision, he relaxed a little, and listened to the end of Mithrandir’s long, rambling tale.

At the gates Tirnan delegated a groom to look after the horses, then led Mithrandir to the great hall, which Thranduil used to greet his guests.  Tirnan turned to the steward, Tionel.  “Find the King.  Tell him Mithrandir has arrived.  I hope he will be able to help us.”  Tionel nodded and turned away.

Tirnan poured the wizard a cup of wine, but he had only sipped it when Thranduil entered the hall.  “Mithrandir!  Welcome back to Lasgalen.  We have not seen you since you and your - companion - rode with us back from the battle.  We are honoured by your presence.”

The wizard inclined his head in greeting. “Thank you, my Lord.  But I fear I come on a grim errand.  Tirnan has already confirmed my fears that something, some dark shadow, has returned to Dol Guldur.  I was hoping to find out the nature of the threat.  You have sent a patrol?”

Thranduil looked grim. “A scouting party of six.  My son leads them but they have not returned.  They should have returned two days ago.”  He drew a breath.   “Mithrandir, can you help us?”

“That is evil news indeed, but I will do what I can.”  The wizard knew that Thranduil must be deeply concerned.  Proud and strong willed, it was not in his nature to ask for help.

From outside the chamber, a shout could be heard.  Tirnan went to the door, and there was a hurried conversation.  He turned back to Mithrandir and the King.  “There are orcs approaching, very many of them.  They have come north of the mountains!”

Thranduil’s whole attitude changed.  His concern was replaced with decisiveness, as he gave a stream of commands to prepare Lasgalen for battle.  “Tirnan, rally the army.  Put your captains on alert to prepare a defence.  Then come to the lookout point with me.”  He turned to Tionel.  “Find Tirana, and tell her to gather her helpers.  I fear we are going to need the healers, all of them.”

In mere seconds, those in the hall had left to follow their orders.  Tirnan found two of the army captains just outside the halls - they had heard rumour of war and had already come to find him.  He gave rapid instructions and dismissed them, then, with Thranduil in the lead,  they left the halls and climbed up to the hilltop, where several others joined them.  Tirnan gazed southwards.  Beside him stood two of the lookout guards, but judging from the horror on their faces they did not wish to be the ones to relay what they saw.

Behind him stood Thranduil and Mithrandir, both trying to see what was happening, but he knew that the wizard would not be able to see that far, and that the King was no longer as sharp eyed as he had been in the past.  The attacking army of orcs was still several miles away.  Fleetingly, through the trees, he could see horses riding hard for Lasgalen.  Behind them, trampling everything underfoot, came the orcs.  Hundreds of them.  They had spread out and managed somehow to get ahead of the patrol, and were about to surround them and cut them off.   The army captains were already leading out riders and archers, all that could be mustered at a moment’s notice.  The rest of the warriors were deploying to defend Lasgalen itself.  But it was painfully clear that the reinforcements would not get there in time.   Tirnan sighed and began to relate what he could see.

“I can see the patrol returning.  Five horses.  The orcs are pursuing them, they seem very close.”  Then, after a moment or two, he added, “There are only three riders.”  Silence followed his last report. Questions raced through Tirnan’s mind.  *Only three?  Who were they?  What had happened to the others?  Where was Taniquel?  Where was Legolas?*  He strained his eyes, desperately trying to see more, to identify the three riders.  There was no mistaking the pale gold and cream of one of the approaching horses.  Very reluctantly, he added, “One of the riderless horses is Pavisel.”  Apart from one or two gasps, the silence that followed was even more intense. 

Tirnan risked a glance at Thranduil.  His face was stony, impassive, but there was a deep anguish in his eyes.  The King returned his gaze steadily.  “Tirnan, keep watch.  Tell me what happens.”   Then he turned and left abruptly.

Tirnan’s gaze returned to the south.  The pursuing orcs had nearly reached the fleeing elves.  They halted their horses and turned to face their enemy for one last, desperate stand.

~*~*~*~

As more orcs appeared in front of them, the three halted the horses, drawing into a defensive circle:  Legolas, Taniquel, Pavisel, Alfiel, and Lithuin. This time they were surrounded, and hopelessly outnumbered.  Taniquel moved closer to Legolas.  “Any ideas?” she murmured. 

He shook his head in despair.  “Not this time.  But I will not go down without a fight.”  He raised his bow, ready to fire, but never got the chance.  A searing bolt of light arced down from a clear sky.  It struck the ground in the middle of the path, leaving a black, smoking hole.  They were deafened by the concussive blast, dazzled by the brilliant flash.  Lithuin reared high in terror, as did Mennaty and Pavisel.  Legolas, by some miracle still clinging to Bahnfrei's back, spared a glance at the sky.  It was cloudless, with no sign of storm or thunder.  This was some new devilry of the Nazgûl.  There was no thought for any of them to spare for the two riderless horses, it was all they could do to stay on their own.  They still struggled to control the panic-stricken animals when a second flash, even brighter than before, lanced down, stunning them all and throwing them to the ground.

After a long moment of complete confusion, his head ringing, Legolas became dimly aware that he was on the forest floor.  It was difficult to breathe.  Faintly, as if from far away, he could hear the horses screaming.  With an immense effort, he managed to turn his head fractionally and could see Taniquel and Alfiel nearby, unmoving. He tried to lift himself, and crawl to where they lay, but nothing worked.  The blast had caused a creeping paralysis, leaving him unable to move.  The ringing in his ears was quieting now, and the stars dancing in his vision were blurring and dimming.   All senses were fading, and his final coherent thoughts were of total, utter, despair.  They had failed.  They had come so far, and were so close to Lasgalen, but he had failed.  He had failed his task, his companions and his people.  He had failed his father.  There was also a faint surprise - he had always thought death would be brutal, but this was peaceful, so very peaceful …

He sank into darkness, silence, and deep oblivion.

To Be Continued

Chapter Eight - Return

Thranduil made his way blindly down the hill, his soul in despair, finding his route through the instinct of long years.  Tirnan’s reluctant words reverberated in his mind. ‘One of the riderless horses is Pavisel.’  That meant that Legolas was missing; either captured, or – or killed.   Thranduil knew, with bitter certainty, that this latest loss was one too many for him to bear.  He had faced death and grief too many times in the past, but always before there had been something, someone, left; something for him to live for.  When his father died, there had been Telparian, and the challenge of kingship.  When Telparian and Lissuin died, there had been Legolas.  But now, if Legolas was dead – there was nothing left, nothing but memories.  And it was not enough.

He did not even have the luxury of grief, not yet – all he wanted to do was to lock himself away, far from the well-meaning sympathy of his people, to rage and weep at the Valar for their cruelty.  But he could not even do that – Lasgalen was under attack, and despite his personal turmoil, the realm had to be defended.  Tirnan commanded the troops with skill and expertise, but people looked to their king for leadership at times like these – and they would find it.  Summoning every scrap of his legendary iron will, Thranduil thrust aside his torment and despair and turned his mind to battle plans and tactics.  The time for grief would come later.

~~**~~

On the hill top, Tirnan watched in despair as the three remaining members of the elven patrol made their final, hopeless move.  They stood their ground defiantly, but it was obvious that they were vastly outnumbered.  Beside him, Mithrandir raised his hands and murmured something.  A blinding light blazed forth from something hidden in the wizard’s right hand, flooding the scene with brightness.  A sharp crack split the air, and the orcs fell back in dismay.  Some cowered on the ground.  Mithrandir moved his hands once more.  The light came again, but this time all those caught in its flare fell.  Tirnan caught his breath and turned to the wizard.  Before he could say anything, Mithrandir whirled and barked: “Go after them, now!  Bring them back!”

Completely confused, but operating on instinct, Tirnan obeyed.  He retained enough wits to snap rapid orders at his warriors. Taking several others he galloped to the battle scene, following in the wake of the reinforcements.  On the way, his thoughts whirled in a confused haze.  What had Mithrandir done?  While he had obviously meant to defeat the orcs, what effect had it had on the patrol?  And he had still not been able to identify the three riders, other than the fact that Legolas was one of those missing.   His concern deepened.  What had happened? He just hoped that the three he had seen would be able to explain what had occurred.  *Please, let Tani be there,*  he begged soundlessly.

As he drew nearer he could hear the sounds of battle.  The remaining orcs, who had escaped Mithrandir’s lightning bolts and were now fleeing in terror, had met with the warriors, who were dealing with them very efficiently. The orcs were so panic stricken that all discipline had broken down.  They fought haphazardly, for themselves alone, and were no match for the elves.  None of them would remain to take word back to Dol Guldur.

 Bypassing the battle, Tirnan at last reached the place where the patrol had been attacked.  All was ominously still.  The orcs, some much larger and more evil looking than those he had just seen fleeing, lay where they had fallen, dead.  The three remaining members of the patrol lay motionless on the forest floor, at the centre of a ring of dead orcs.  Tirnan’s heart sank.  Had Mithrandir killed them as well?  Their horses stood nearby, calmer now, but still trembling, heads hanging low as if they were exhausted.  Pavisel stood protectively over one of the figures on the ground, pushing at him with his nose.

As he drew nearer, Tirnan could recognise all three.  He had to believe -  he had to! - that they were presumably safe, unharmed, but could scarcely bring himself to find out.  His frantic gaze went first to Taniquel, he could not help it.  ‘Oh, thank you merciful Elbereth!’  At least she was there.  Without her - he broke off that thought, unable to contemplate it, and turned instead to the other two figures, still unmoving, identifying both with a sense of deep relief.  ‘Legolas.  Thank the Valar.’  He had feared the Prince was missing.  If anything had happened to him, Lasgalen was surely doomed. 

And Alfiel.  His friend, vital in the realm’s chain of command, one of their greatest warriors.  All three were safe, the three he had feared for most had returned.

In sharp contrast to his relief was an overwhelming sorrow for those still missing, tinged with guilt over Eléntia.  He had never particularly liked her, but was desperately saddened that she had not returned.

Some of the elves who had escorted him went immediately to the horses, calming, soothing them, moving them away so that those fallen could be tended.  Healers were already attending to the three still figures.  There was no obvious sign of injury, so Tirnan hoped that Mithrandir had deflected whatever he had done to the orcs.  The vermin were all dead, scattered about the clearing.  He left them there, kicking a body aside as he went to Taniquel’s side.

“All right.  We head back to Lasgalen.  You five, take the horses.  Use these.”  He threw rope halters to Rohyn so that the animals could be led, then turned to Tirana.  “Are they injured?”

She looked up, her expression far less concerned now than it had been.  “They seem unharmed, but I cannot wake them.  We need to get back.”

“Very well.  Is everything ready?”  Directing two others to take Alfiel and Legolas, Tirnan carefully lifted Taniquel, holding her close.  She was limp in his arms, breathing shallowly, long lashes dark against her cheek.  Her hair, worn in two long, rope like plaits, hung loose over his arm.  He felt anxiously for the pulse in her throat.  He could feel it beating, slowly, steadily, and breathed a sigh of relief.  Several others had now arrived, and he indicated the orcs behind him.  “Deal with that, please.”  

Nudging Mithrilyn with his knees, Tirnan rode carefully back to Lasgalen, carrying Taniquel before him.  He turned to Rohyn, riding behind with the horses.  “Rohyn?  I want you to ride ahead, as fast as you can, and find the king.  Tell him that Legolas is alive.”  Tirnan had seen the bleak expression in Thranduil’s eyes, and could at least relieve his concern over his son.

At length they passed the tall oaks, standing like sentinels at the boundaries of Lasgalen. The first part of the grounds they reached was the practice field.  Benches were pulled forward and the three laid down gently.  There was a stir among those crowding round and Tirnan looked up to see Mithrandir approaching.  Anger and anxiety boiled over, and he turned on the wizard.  “What have you done to them?”  he demanded furiously.

“I saved their lives,” replied Mithrandir, testily.  “Would you rather I had done nothing?”

Tirnan drew a deep breath and sighed.  He could not let his concern and frustration overflow into anger at Mithrandir.  There was a long pause before he spoke. “No.  No, of course not.   But what did you do?”

“I killed the orcs,”  Mithrandir pointed out, as if it should be obvious.  “I shielded these three, but there was a backlash.  They will awaken soon.”  He sounded confident, but Tirnan had known the wizard for a long time.  He never admitted to any uncertainty, even when the outcome was far from sure. 

This time, though, Mithrandir’s optimism seemed well founded.  There was a murmur from those around as Taniquel stirred.  Her dark lashes fluttered and suddenly lifted.  Her eyes moved around the faces looking down at her.  She held out her hand and Tirnan helped her to sit up.  She gratefully accepted the cup of water which he offered.  Drinking it, she looked at him curiously.  “What just happened?” she enquired.

Tirnan knelt on the ground next to her, watching her anxiously, his hand just barely touching her face.

“I was hoping you could tell us that,”  he told her gently.  “Math’rin, Elthan and Eléntia are not here.  What happened to them?”

Taniquel’s face clouded.  Then her eyes lifted, searching the crowd surrounding them.  At the edge, she could see Elthan’s wife, turning away, crying.  “I should not tell you yet.  Wait.”  She twisted around, looking about her. “Where are Legolas and Alfiel?”  She relaxed, the tension leaving her as she caught sight of them beside her.

As Legolas returned to consciousness he was aware that he was surrounded by people, crowding all around him.  He tensed momentarily, but then realised there were no orcs, just his own people.  He opened his eyes,  and saw a canopy of beech leaves above him.  He was home, but how? The last thing he could remember was  the orcs closing in on them, and a sudden blinding light. 

He tried to sit, still disorientated, and welcomed the eager hands that helped him up. Taniquel was just in front, and Alfiel lay to his left, just beginning to stir.  He looked at the anxious, relieved faces all around him.  “Is my father here?  I need to report to him.”  He stood, a little too suddenly, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness swept over him.  He saw the wizard at the edge of the crowd, looking almost worried, and made a sudden  intuitive leap.  “Mithrandir!  I did not think to see you here!  I take it the fireworks were yours?  Thank you for your aid.”

Over the heads of those clustering around, he could see another familiar figure approaching.  He moved forward to greet his father, aware that everyone had moved away, giving them privacy, although Mithrandir had joined them.  As Thranduil approached his gaze flicked over those who had returned, lingering longest on his son.  They clasped hands, wrist to wrist, in a formal greeting, and Thranduil’s hand touched Legolas lightly on the shoulder, in a gesture that spoke volumes.  “I am glad to see you safe, little one,” he murmured very softly.

Legolas returned the greeting with a tired smile.  “My Lord, we have discovered the nature of the evil in Dol Guldur, but I fear Eléntia, Math’rin and Elthan were slain,”  he said without preamble. 

“And what is the nature of the evil?” asked Thranduil, heavily.

Legolas looked away, scarcely able to watch his father’s expression as he related his dreadful news in a succinct report.  “It is worse than we feared.  Nazgûl.  At least two, that we saw.  There may be more.  They have many orcs, and some are much larger than the goblins we have seen before.  The Nazgûl ride hideous winged creatures, the size of a young dragon.  I killed two of them, I think, but it is likely there are others.”

“Nazgûl.” sighed Mithrandir.  “That is evil fortune.  And you prevailed against two of them, and their orcs?  You have done well indeed.”

Legolas looked bitter.  “No.  Not so well.  Three were lost, and I fear we would not have returned at all if you had not helped us.”

The wizard snorted.  “It was the only way to get your news.  I fear Tirnan was not best pleased with the nature of my help.  Tell him next time I may not bother!”  He sounded displeased, but Legolas knew him very well indeed.

“Well, you have my news now.  I wish it were better.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to deal with.”  He gave a slight bow and left.  He did not relish the next encounters.  Although word would inevitably already have reached them, he would have to talk to Eléntia’s brother, and the wives of Math’rin and Elthan.

~~**~~

Much later that evening Legolas joined his father at supper.  He had bathed, and changed out of the soiled clothes he had worn for the last few days.  He felt deeply weary.  The meetings with the families of those slain had not been easy.  They had not blamed him; indeed Eléntia’s brother had seemed almost grateful for what he had done, but he could see the unspoken question in their eyes, ‘why?’  Why Eléntia, Math’rin and Elthan, when the other three had returned safely?  He had had no answers for them.

They dined alone in his father’s rooms.  As he entered Thranduil offered a cup of wine, but then put it down and instead pulled Legolas into a rare embrace.  “Welcome home, elfling.  When Tirnan said you were not riding Pavisel, I feared - I feared the worst.”

Legolas drew back a little, and studied his father’s expression.  “He was injured, so I rode Bahnfrei instead. That was all.  Were you worried?”

“Worried?  Aye, just a little.  Pavisel was injured? How?” 

As Legolas described his wild ride through the forest, with the orcs in hot pursuit, his father laughed.  “Then Alfiel came to help, but when we returned we found that Eléntia had been captured.  We followed the orcs south to Dol Guldur.”  He paused, then slowly described everything that had happened at the tower, and the ambush that had lead to the deaths of Math’rin and Elthan.

Thranduil said nothing, letting Legolas pour out all the grief, guilt and  anguish of the last few days.  Then, as the flow of words finally stopped, he said,  “I see.  Mithrandir was right.  You did well to return at all against those odds.   And we know at last that the shadow has indeed returned, and its nature.  With this knowledge we can guard ourselves against it.”   Unable to help himself, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears, he added:  “You did what you had to.  You showed great courage in what you did.”

Legolas made no response.  There was silence for a while, while Thranduil pondered the threat of Dol Guldur.  Hundreds of orcs from the tower had been killed that day, either by Mithrandir’s thunderbolts or by the desperately fighting patrol.  That, coupled with the loss of the two winged steeds Legolas had shot, would surely severely weaken the shadow.  However, he could not afford to be complacent.  His own father had made that mistake, and had paid dearly for it.   Patrols would be increased, the lookout extended, beacons placed along the Mountains of Mirkwood.  He could strengthen the boundaries of Lasgalen to deter invaders even without one of the Elven rings of power.  And he would ask for help from Mithrandir, Elrond and Celeborn if it became necessary.  Mirkwood had been isolated for too long. 

Despite his resolve, his concern lingered, but now wandered in a different direction.  What effect would Eléntia’s death have on his son?  Thranduil knew, all too well, that Legolas would never completely lose the sense of guilt, but over time the feelings should diminish, and he would learn to come to terms with what had happened.  Thranduil could recall vividly the battles of the Last Alliance, after Oropher had fallen, when one of his first acts as King had been to end the life of a young warrior who should never have been in Mordor in the first place.  His name had been Malgalad...

The fire was dying now, crackling gently, and the room was in near darkness as the flames died.  Legolas was nearly asleep in a chair by the fire, his eyes glazed.   “I nearly forgot,” said Thranduil.  “While you were away I had a letter from Elrond, and there was a message for you from Elladan.  I put it in your rooms.  Elrond said something about trolls, and asked for your help.  Why in the world would he ask you to help him hunt trolls?”

“I have no idea.”  But Legolas had a reminiscent smile, and Thranduil guessed there was a lot he did not know about.  He wondered if he really wanted to; it would probably be better for his sanity if he did not find out about some of the escapades his son had got up to, especially where Elladan and Elrohir were involved.  Those he did know about were bad enough  …

To Be Continued

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Chapter  Nine - Aftermath

By the time Legolas finally bade goodnight to his father, and returned his rooms, it was very late.  The window shutters were open, as they were in all but the foulest, coldest weather, and the cool dark air drifted in, along with the sounds of night. 

He changed quickly into a light night robe, but did not retire immediately, despite his tiredness.  He looked around the room, gaze lighting on familiar possessions – books; histories of the ages and legends of different races. A carved cedarwood chest containing clothes.  The writing desk, the unread letter from Elladan still waiting for him.  A work table, littered with tools and papers and a small, sharp, silver-hafted knife he used for fletching arrows.  There was comfort in the familiar items.

There was a long seat fitted under the window - a simple opening cut in the wall - and he sat there, gazing unseeingly out over the forest, slowly relinquishing the tension that had driven him since his first abortive attempt to reach Dol Guldur.

He was alone at last.  Since his return there had been interminable questions from Tirnan and the army captains, and reports made to his father and to Mithrandir.  Mithrandir especially had wanted to know every last detail of the Nazgûl who had confronted them; his appearance, every word he had spoken.  In particular he wanted to know everything the three survivors could recall of the winged creatures they had seen.  Legolas had the distinct impression that the sudden appearance of the beasts had caught the wizard by surprise.  Although the wizard always had an air of knowing everything before it had happened, this time he seemed startled and dismayed.

But now every last detail had been discussed and debated, and he was finally free.  He sat alone, revelling in the blessed solitude, while around him the night deepened, and the peace and tranquillity of the forest surrounded him.

He finally stirred from his silent reverie, aware that it was very late.  The halls of Lasgalen had fallen silent, and there was no sound from the kitchens or dining halls, no hum of voices, no bursts of song, no muffled laughter.  Everyone, apart from the guards ceaselessly patrolling the perimeter, and the sentries on the main doors; was asleep.

Legolas found exhaustion sweeping over him like a wave, and he crossed to the bed wearily, and slept, the first true sleep since he had left Lasgalen.  However his mind still raced with all he had seen and done, the horrors he had witnessed, and he dreamed.

The patrol was back at Dol Guldur, but still struggling to cross the last few yards of forest to the edge of the clearing.  Savage brambles blocked their way, deep crevasses opened in front of them, and impenetrable spider webs covered paths previously clear. Despite the urgency, they struggled in vain to move forward.  A cloaked, black figure rose up in front of them, further blocking the path, mocking them in a peculiar hissing whisper.

Its arm lifted, and a white, skeletal hand reached from the darkness of the sleeve.  Although the figure was some distance away, its hand reached endlessly towards him, a bony finger stretching out to touch him.  He tried to back away, but was held, unable to move.  Beside him, Alfiel and Taniquel watched, immobile.  The finger grew closer, and closer …

With a start, he jerked awake, heart pounding, looking around fearfully.  Then he drew a deep breath, feeling foolish.  A nightmare, nothing more, but something he had not experienced for many, many, years.

Slowly, he relaxed, and slept again, but was plunged straight back into nightmare.  This time he saw Eléntia.  She looked at him reproachfully, her eyes shadowed.  As if over a long distance, he heard her voice, crying in despair, her fear, and he relived everything his imagination feared had occurred before their arrival at Dol Guldur, everything they had witnessed, the brutality and the terror.

He lived again and again Eléntia’s final moments, her pain and fear, and the worst of all -  the moment he had shot Eléntia, reliving his guilt and sense of failure.  He watched as the Nazgul wrenched the arrow from her.  They turned their backs on her, and behind them, unseen, unheard, she gave a cry of agony and straightened, blood pouring from the wound.  She was at the mercy of the orcs and their masters, forgotten, abandoned, left for dead, and he had left her there.  He saw her face, cut and bloodied, her eyes wide and clouded with pain.  She called to him endlessly, repetitively, her tone pleading.  “Why did you leave me here?  Come back, come back for me, help me, please!”  Her voice finally died away on a wail, and there was silence, an ominous, waiting silence.

The Nazgûl was there again, reaching out.  Legolas shrank away from it, turning his head in a vain, futile effort to escape.  It was no good.  This time it touched him, first on the arm, then he could feel the brush of its cold fingers on his face.  With a gasp of pure terror he fought the deadly paralysis that gripped him, and with an immense effort of will struck out, knocking the hand away.

“Legolas, stop that!  Wake up!  What is wrong, ion nîn?”

Breathing hard, he sat bolt upright, his eyes wide.  Thranduil stood beside him, staring at him in concern.  His father’s hand was still outstretched, a red mark showing on his wrist.  As recognition returned to his eyes Thranduil added more gently:  “You were dreaming.”

He did not reply at once, still shuddering with the aftermath of the dream.  “Why are you here?” he asked his father.

Thranduil sat at the edge of the bed, now level with him, and answered slowly.  “I awoke, I felt there was something wrong.  I could sense your distress, so I came here.  I heard you call out.  When I came in and tried to wake you, you did not seem to know me.”

Legolas looked at his father, calmer now.  “Forgive me, father.  It was a bad dream.”

“There is nothing to forgive – this is not the first time I have comforted you after a nightmare.  It was about Eléntia?”

“Yes.  And the Nazgûl.  I dreamt that she was still alive when we left, calling for help.  And then that - creature - tried to touch me.  I could feel its fingers on my face..”  he stopped and drew a deep breath.

Thranduil made a soothing noise, and placed one hand on Legolas’s shoulder, drawing him closer.  “That must have been when I tried to wake you.  No wonder you fought me!”

“Fought you?  What did I do?”

“Nothing.  You just pushed my hand aside, that is all.”

Legolas looked away, feeling self-conscious, and slightly ashamed of his reaction to the dream.

Thranduil continued:  “You are not the only one to be thinking of Eléntia, I think. I saw Taniquel earlier, in the library.”

“Taniquel?  Is she still there?  I should go to her.”  He slid out of bed, pulling on a loose robe.

“No, leave her.  Tirnan was with her.  Legolas, wait a moment.  About Eléntia – I want to ask you something.  Do you regret what you did?”

Legolas looked at his father in surprise.  The question was not what he had expected, but he considered it carefully before answering.  “No.  I regret that it was necessary, would give anything to have been able to rescue her.  But I had no choice.  I do not regret what I did.  It is not easy to live with, but to have done nothing, to have left her there – that would be impossible to live with.”  He realised that the answer was nothing but the simple truth – for the first time, he did not regret what he had done.  “Thank you, father,” he said very softly.

Thranduil released him, and stood with a smile.  “You are still tired, elfling.  You need to sleep.  Goodnight.”  He leaned forward, kissed him, and left. 

Legolas knew he would be unable to sleep again, and did not want to risk sinking into the nightmare again.  Instead he dressed swiftly, and left silently.  He headed for the stables, and there found Pavisel, head down, half asleep, but more than ready for a pre-dawn ride.

They left the boundaries of Lasgalen and rode east, along a wide logging trail built by the men of Laketown. Pavisel could gallop here, and the smooth ground would not strain the half-healed wound. Before long they reached the borders of the forest. Here Legolas halted, looking out across the distant lake, still shadowed by night. The ride had blown the fatigue and fears of the night away, and driven the cobwebs from his mind.  

Times would still be difficult,  for him, his father, for the other members of the patrol, and most especially for the grieving families, but the first measure of healing had started, and for now he was content to stand here quietly, watching as dawn broke, and the first rays of sunlight shone over the still lake.  He watched, tranquilly, as the sun rose, reflecting off the water.  It was going to be a beautiful day.

The End

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