Title: Cold Wind

Author: White Wolf

Genre: Action/Adventure/Angst

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I made an attempt to claim ownership of a certain el and a certain ranger. I was promptly kicked to the curb. No money came my way, either. :o(

Summary: Aragorn joins forces with a mysterious stranger, who is tracking a rogue elf he says is possessed by an ancient evil. The elf turns out to be Legolas. Can Aragorn destroy the evil without killing his friend? Or will Legolas kill him first?

A/N: Greetings. This story is AU, involves character death and is dark in nature. Anyone not liking this kind of story, should drop off now, no hard feelings, although I would love to have all of you stay with me. I’ve read a number of great AU/CD stories, so I hope this one measures up.

The prologue for this story by itself would have been too short, so I have also included a short first chapter. Enjoy!

Prologue

The seven robed and hooded figures stood in a circle in the glow of the torchlight that surrounded them. There was no moon and no stars on this overcast night. The world, to these beings, did not exist beyond their own vision.

With arms raised toward the heavens, their chants were carried on a strong wind that lifted the corners of their hoods, teasing but failing to reveal the faces within. Anyone who might have been able to see the shadowed faces would have seen that these creatures had once been human but were now twisted by evil almost beyond recognition.

In the center of the circle stood a smooth stone alter no more than three feet high and perhaps two feet across. On it sat a black obsidian rock. It was slightly oval in shape and barely a foot in height and perhaps half that in circumference. The flat-sided crystals that encrusted it reflected the torchlight, making a thousand tiny fires dance upon its surface.

The eyes of the leader of the group burned with an inner fire that rose from a soul as black as his robe. His chant, which rose above the voices of his followers, called upon an evil so ancient, no one, not even these beings, knew its age or its origin. Neither did they know how the evil had come to be imprisoned in the rock before them. All they knew was that whoever could pierce the rock would possess the power of the evil within it.

Many had greedily tried to gain that power, but all had failed. The rock could not be shattered, split. or broken in any way. It had to be pierced with a sharp metal blade. That secret had been discovered and fiercely guarded by the black-robed leader. He and he alone would finally obtain the evil’s release.

So complete had been his hold over his followers that none had ever dared challenge his right to claim the power. However, they would not go empty-handed, for they believed that, as his servants, they would bask in the radiance of the power, being protected by it and rejoicing in the reflection of it.

The leader, his heart pounding at the thought that he was about to possess such incredible power, held a long slender dagger in both hands high above his head. His eyes glowed within the hood. Now was the time he had been waiting for.

Just as the blade began its descent toward the black rock, a red feathered arrow pierced the leader’s back. Shock momentarily replaced the fire of madness, and then the light went out of his eyes.

After a moment frozen in time, the dagger fell from the being’s lifeless fingers, and his body crumpled to the ground beside the alter.

The other hooded figures began to scatter, screaming in terror. None got more than a few feet away, as each was caught by an arrow and died as their leader had.

The one, who had killed these black-robed figures, moved out of the shadows into the light. He was tall, robed in midnight blue and also hooded. He stepped over the leader’s body and gazed down at the black obsidian. He felt the evil inside it pulling at him. He reached for his knife, knowing that all he had to do was pierce the black core, and untold power would be his. He gripped the knife lightly and began to pull it free of its sheath but then hesitated, never completing the move.

Resisting the seductive call of the ancient evil was the hardest thing he had ever done, But he succeeded, because he knew something no one else had known: The evil would not be possessed. It would do the possessing, and he did not wish to surrender his soul to it.

The being picked the rock up, turning his head away as he felt the power vibrating beneath his fingers. He dare not look upon it while he held it nor could he hold it for long. He could not take the chance that its power would overwhelm his resolve.

Since, the rock itself could not be destroyed, it had to be sent far away from any habitation so the evil could never be released to someday seek an innocent to use for its own ends. So it was with a chant of his own, drowning out the evil’s call, that the being flung the rock as hard as he could into the night.

With a screaming hiss, the obsidian sailed high into the heavens, streaking to the far north, where hopefully it would be buried in the earth and never found.

The rock continued on its journey until it finally crashed to the ground among the saplings of a young forest in a land that would one day become a realm belonging to the first of Ilúvatar’s children: The elves. A small crater was dug deep into the soft loam by the impact, and the rock rested at its bottom.

Over many millennia the forest grew, burying the black rock ever deeper, as the earth built up over it. But as time continued to turn, and the earth, eroded by weather and the twisting of tree roots, the rock began its rise toward the surface of the now ancient forest.

By the latter years of the Third Age of Arda, as time was determined in Middle-earth, the rock rested just under the surface of the forest floor at the base of a large sheltering tree. The evil within the rock sensed its time would soon come. It waited eagerly to be set free to roam the land in the heart of the one who would release it, killing or corrupting all it touched.

*~*~*~*

Chapter One

Legolas and three of his elven friends, all warriors of Mirkwood, moved on foot swiftly through the forest. They had been returning to King Thranduil’s mountain stronghold after scouting near the western edge of Mirkwood.

They were intending to report to the king that they had found nothing amiss, when Galáril, oldest and most experienced of the group, had come to a sudden stop and held his hand up to halt his younger companions. He dropped down to examine the ground, and Legolas crouched down beside him. The tracks they found themselves staring at were decidedly orcish in nature.

"Yrch," Galáril spat disgustedly.

Arondo and Coron, the other two elves, quickly intensified their attention. They stood on either side of Galáril and Legolas, keeping their keen senses trained on their surroundings. All four had been carrying their bows in their left hands, and now the two standing warriors put arrows onto their bowstrings, ready to draw and fire in an instant.

Legolas ran his fingers lightly over the churned up earth and frowned, angry at the damage he saw. This area had relatively soft ground, and the heavy-footed orcs had trampled the grass, tearing free large chunks of it.

Galáril, a scout with many centuries of experience, soon deciphered the tracks. "There is probably around ten of them, a dozen at the most," he remarked.

"It is most likely a scouting party," Legolas said, adding his own thoughts on what they were seeing. "That does not bode well." It meant that there was a much larger band of orcs somewhere right outside Mirkwood‘s western border, waiting to find out if it was prudent for them to attempt an attack against the elves inside the woodland realm.

Finding and killing a scouting party, even one that outnumbered them three to one, was no problem in the elves’ minds. They had done it more times than they could count in their lives as warriors. They knew, however, that four elves, no matter how skilled or determined, could defeat a large band of orcs.

A normal patrol of the realm consisted of at least twenty warriors, but often much smaller groups, consisting of four or five warriors, were sent out on special scouting missions. It was their responsibility to cover various parts of the forest, while the regular patrols for those areas were elsewhere in their territories. These four elves were one of those special scouting parties.

The distance the orcs had traveled in Mirkwood was not really far, considering the size of the forest as a whole, but having them set foot inside the realm this far north, and this close to the palace, was unacceptable.

Coron, though older than Legolas by several years, was still far less experienced as a warrior, not having begun his training until after he came of age. The young novices he had trained with had often good naturedly teased him about it.

He was aware that the more questions he asked, the more he was likely to learn. "How did they get this far without being spotted?" His tone reflected his bewilderment.

"They must have made their way in while the western patrol was busy elsewhere," Galáril replied, knowing that there had been reports of several large colonies of spiders in the vicinity to draw the patrol‘s attention.

Still, Galáril was none too happy about these orcs entering Mirkwood unnoticed. He wondered if perhaps there were several bands of orcs running around to deliberately cause the warriors to miss some of them, knowing the elves couldn‘t find them all.

"That is why we are here," Legolas remarked, interrupting Galáril’s thought. "We take up the slack, when our regular patrols have their hands full." The prince did not want to admit out loud that the warriors of Mirkwood were spread much too thin, though that was a consensus opinion and hardly a secret to anyone.

Legolas, like Galáril, was not happy. His father would not take this news well. The Shadow and its minions were increasing. Unfortunately, they seemed to be growing faster than Mirkwood could turn out warriors to combat them.

The little group was determined to stop these orcs before they could gather any important information and escape back to tell the main body of orcs what they had learned. Finding out that the scouts had penetrated the forest without being discovered would only encourage them to attack.

It didn’t take long for Galáril to rise to his feet, his lips in a straight line of grim determination.

Legolas, who had risen when Galáril did, thought of his older brother, who was the captain of the warriors patrolling the most dangerous southern reaches of the realm. That patrol was battling one enemy or another almost daily. He hoped Quenon was well. "Let us put an end to the threat these foul creatures pose to our home."

Galáril nodded in total agreement. "Good. My thought exactly." He was old enough and had been a warrior long enough not to become overly excited even at the thought of killing a hated enemy, but he could not deny that his heart still pounded a little faster at the prospect.

With no more time wasted in talking, the four wood-elves began moving at a steady jog in the direction of the palace, knowing full well they would find and engage the enemy long before they reached it.

*~*~*~*

It took less than half an hour for the four warriors to locate the orc scouting party.

Crossing a small rise, the elves first heard and then saw the orcs jogging along in a line three abreast. At first glance, they looked like they were just out for a nice, casual run in the forest. A closer look revealed they were constantly scrutinizing their surroundings, clearly on the lookout for something, in this case one of the elven patrols that dotted Mirkwood‘s territory.

Seeing these hideous spawns of evil always turned Legolas’s stomach. Seeing them moving through his home like they owned it made him furious. But as usual, he quickly put that emotion aside, training all of his senses and his thoughts on the enemy and the task that lay ahead.

In a flash, all four warriors were in the trees, so they could sneak up on the creatures without the risk of being spotted by chance.

When it became apparent that the orcs were not going to veer away from their chosen path, the elves ran ahead of them and arranged themselves so that the orcs would run under and between the four of them.

In mere moments, four of the scouting party lay dead with elven arrows embedded in their throats or chests. The remaining orcs began yelling and scrambling around in disarray. It was this chaos that saved them, for the moment at least, because even the swift-firing elves could not keep their targets in their sights through the thick branches long enough to loose accurate arrows. And since they were not willing to just fire blindly, hoping to hit one of the creatures, they soon had no choice but to drop to the ground and continue fighting there.

By the time the elves landed on the soft earth, their bows had been returned to their backs. Galáril, Arondo and Coron had their swords held out in front of them, ready to face the enemy.

Legolas, though good with a sword, preferred to fight hand to hand with his twin long knives. They were an extension of his hands so completely that whatever thought he had in mind to do, they carried out flawlessly. His moves were so fluid, it was as if he was performing a graceful dance---a very deadly one.

The four elven warriors had quickly broken into two pairs. The older Galáril and the relatively inexperienced Coron stood back to back, while Legolas and Arondo did the same.

The orc leader had finally taken control, and the remaining orcs were now organized and eager to kill these disgustingly fair creatures, who had already killed several of their number. They yelled and charged in from all directions, aiming to decapitate these silvan enemies.

The elves waited for contact.

TBC

Chapter Two

The orcs came at the four elven warriors with their scimitars raised and a yell upon their twisted lips. As soon as they were within reach of their enemy, they started swinging.

It didn’t work out quite the way the orcs had planned. Even with four dead companions reducing their ranks, they outnumbered the elves and thus believed they would ultimately win this confrontation.

Amid slashing blades on both sides, orc bodies piled up, and the desperate battle soon ended. All eleven orcs lay dead, covered in their own foul black blood. Likewise the elven blades were covered in that same blood. Only one orcish scimitar showed any smear of red on its surface. That was the result of a shallow cut on Coron’s right arm.

In less than an hour, the bodies of the orcs had been thrown on a pile of dead wood and set on fire. The elves hated the idea of orc ashes swirling through their forest, but they hated even more the idea of the forest being fouled by leaving the corpses to rot.

Legolas looked up and offered his apology to the trees for the affront. They were not offended and did their best to relieve the prince of any guilt he bore.

Satisfied with what they had accomplished, the elven warriors moved away from the flaming pyre to avoid the acrid smell of burning flesh that was being carried in the thick smoke billowing through this part of the forest.

When they reached a tranquil place that would allow them to find rest, they dropped down on the grass, more weary than they wanted to admit. Here they would clean their blades and properly tend to Coron’s wound.

Galáril took hold of the younger elf’s arm and began to scrutinize the cut. “There is no evidence of poison. I think you will live,” he pronounced confidently, working to hold back a grin.

“That is good news,” Coron replied. “I was worried there for a while.” He was only half teasing, because in truth, he had feared the orc blade that cut him might have been covered with a poison the orcs were known to sometimes use.

Legolas shook his head and smiled. “I am glad to hear it, as well. It took Coron long enough to decide to become a warrior. I would not wish to lose him after so short a time, not to mention the time and expense the realm has spent training him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Coron replied to his prince in a teasing manner, his head dipping slightly in respect. “I am glad to know I am so valued by the royal House of Oropher.”

“We are short of warriors,” Galáril said totally straight-faced, in an attempt to bring the younger elf back down to reality.

Coron merely made a face at him.

Sitting near the base of a large sheltering tree, Legolas laughed softly and then prepared to clean his knives. There was no stream nearby, and he wanted to conserve what water he carried with him, so he would do what he always did in that circumstance: He would use dirt.

Taking the knife in his left hand, he plunged it down into the earth. When he pulled it free, all the orc blood that had covered it was gone, except for a small bit that remained against the guard between hilt and blade. Using a small piece of cloth, he cleaned first the blood and then the dirt that clung to the engravings in the metal. In just a few moments, the blade was as clean and shiny as it had been before the fight.

Replacing this knife in its sheath on his back, Legolas then plunged the other knife down between two roots beside his right leg. He heard a crunching noise as the knife met some resistance.

An instant later, he felt a tingle travel up his arm, causing an involuntary shudder to run through his whole body. ‘I must have hit a buried rock,’ he surmised, though he was not able to figure out why he had shuddered. The jolt of hitting the rock was the conclusion he came to before dismissing the incident.

When he withdrew the knife from the ground, he cleaned and then examined it carefully. He saw no scratches or nicks on its surface. Satisfied that no damage had been done by the hidden rock, he sheathed the knife next to its mate and turned his attention back to his friends.

Galáril waited only a short time before rising and saying, “Two of us must get back to the palace and report this to the king, while the other two try to make contact with the western patrol. I fear there may be other orc scouting parties in the area.”

Legolas looked at his friend. “You think these were not the only ones?”

“I hope I am wrong, but I believe the main orc band would send more than one party of scouts out, if they intended to do something as important as attack us in our own forest.”

“They would never be successful against the palace. It can become an impenetrable fortress at the first sign of trouble.” Legolas reasoned.

“I do not fear for the king or his house,” Galáril replied. He glanced briefly at Legolas and then looked away. Out here, the prince was not as safe as the king would wish, however skilled his son might be. “I fear for those who live in the forest settlements too far from the palace to reach it quickly in an emergency. They could be overrun very quickly.”

“My father worries about that, as well. Yet he is reluctant to force all of his people to live within easy reach of the palace‘s direct protection.”

Legolas knew that Thranduil, trying to balance his people’s cherished freedom with their need for safety, believed that it might be just a matter of time before a move was forced to take place What had just occurred with the orc scouts might push that decision even closer to the forefront.

“Arondo and I can go to find the patrol,” Legolas volunteered. He saw a grin on Arondo’s face at the idea.

“And stay there to help, of course,” Arondo added.

Officially, Galáril outranked Legolas when it came to military matters and could give him orders and expect to be obeyed. But in all other matters, he was outranked, because when all was said and done, Legolas was still his prince, though he never felt that Legolas took advantage of his royal position.

Galáril took Legolas’s remark as an attempt to offer himself and Arondo as volunteers for the task rather than any form of demand that they be sent. He knew the king would rather his son be home, but Galáril would not demean Legolas‘s warrior standing by making an exception for him. “You anticipated my idea perfectly, Legolas, I will report to Thranduil and make sure that Coron sees a healer.”

The elder warrior and his younger companion headed straight away to the east, wasting no time in getting word of the orc band to the king.

Legolas turned to Arondo. “The tracks Galáril and I found earlier indicate that the patrol is north of us.“ He grinned. “Shall we?“

Arondo nodded and grinned back. “After you, my lord.” He swept his arm forward and bowed, almost doubling over. He loved teasing his friend. The only time he was ever really serious about calling Legolas ’My Lord’ was during formal occasions or in the presence of the king. His grin widened.

Legolas straightened his back, squared his shoulders and raised his chin a little higher than normal. Summoning all the royal arrogance he could muster, the Prince of Mirkwood started forward, flicking his hand in dismissal of this annoying subject.

After a moment, both of them burst out laughing. It was an old, familiar ‘game’ between them. The two friends began to run, mindful that despite this bit of humor, a serious task lay before them.

Legolas had gone no more than twenty yards, when another shudder shot through his body. It felt as if a cold wind had blown across his soul. At the same instant his vision darkened. The forest dimmed, as if night had suddenly fallen. He shuddered yet again, only this time it was deliberate. He was trying to shake off the strange feeling that seemed determined to settle over him.

He had never felt anything like this before in all his years. Perhaps the foul smoke from the burning orc bodes had affected him. Unusual, since he had been exposed to orc-burnings many times, but he could think of no other reason for it.

He continued walking, and soon his vision cleared, and he now felt physically normal. Luckily he was ahead of Arondo, so that his friend could not see the perplexed expression on his face.

*~*~*~*

At Galáril’s insistence, Coron had gone off to be seen by a healer. So it was that only the elder elf was ushered into King Thranduil‘s presence.

The dark-haired elf bowed his head and made a fist over his heart in respectful salute to his king. He raised his head but kept his hand in place until he was acknowledged.

Thranduil nodded and waved his hand, putting Galáril at ease. He looked at the elf, who had been his friend, since he and his father, Oropher, had first arrived in Greenwood. The king’s face was impassive, but his eyes were questioning.

Galáril easily read the king’s look. “I sent Legolas, along with Arondo, to find the western patrol.”

Knowing there had to be a very good reason for doing that, Thranduil asked, ““What have you found?”

Before Galáril could answer, Fuinor, the elf who handled the day-to-day operation of the realm‘s security, entered the room from a side entrance to the left of where Thranduil sat.

“Excuse my tardiness, my lord,” he said, bowing to the king. “There was a matter I could not avoid.” He hated being late for any type of meeting, even informal ones, but he and Thranduil had worked together for so long that there was no need for embarrassment on his part. He gave a small nod in greeting to Galáril.

Thranduil nodded to Fuinor and turned back to Galáril. He did not repeat his question verbally but raised his eyebrows in an inquiring gesture.

“We found a small band of orcs, my lord,” Galáril replied. “We believe them to be scouts for a much larger band.”

Thranduil’s face darkened. He knew full well what the presence of orc scouts in the realm meant. “You destroyed them?”

“Yes, my lord. We were able to kill them all with little trouble.” Galáril wasn’t boasting. He was merely stating fact. Besides, Thranduil knew exactly how proficient his warriors were in handling enemies whose forces were larger than themselves.

“Do you have any idea where the main band of orcs is right now?” Fuinor asked. In matters of security, he was permitted to question anyone who might have information he needed without gaining Thranduil‘s permission first.

“Not yet. We do believe that they are outside the realm’s borders. Legolas and Arondo will find the western patrol, and I believe they will be able to locate the orcs’ precise location.”

Thranduil sat silent for a moment, looking down at the floor while he pondered. Finally, he raised his head. His face was again impassive, but there was a fire in his eyes. “I do not like the idea that an orc scouting party, much less several, have entered the realm. However, I know how hard it is for the warriors we have to cover every foot of the forest. Even so, I do not think a large band of those foul creatures could enter unnoticed. So you are surely correct that they are outside our borders.”

The king turned to Fuinor. “How many warriors can you spare from the northern and eastern patrols to send west?” He was not surprised at the look of dismay on his chief commander’s face.

Fuinor immediately changed his expression to one of resignation. Thranduil had not asked him if he could do it. He had asked for a specific number. Fuinor took a deep breath.

“I know what I am asking, Fuinor,” Thranduil said. “But I am sure you must be awae that it must be done, if we are to protect our people as well as the forest.”

“I know, my lord.” It was plain that Fuinor was trying to figure in his mind what he could do to accomplish what needed to be done. Finally he said, “I can take four warriors from the home guard, three from the northern patrol and three from the east. We dare not draw any from the south.”

“No, I do not want the southern patrol touched. They have their hands full.” Like Legolas before him, Thranduil thought of Quenon, his eldest son, also hoping he was well.

With reluctance, Galáril said, “Legolas and Arondo will stay with the western patrol.”

He avoided looking at the king‘s face, knowing what he would see there. He quickly added, “Coron and I will go, as well, so there will be a total of fourteen added to the patrol’s strength.”

Thranduil‘s voice was neutral in tone, though his emotions were right under the surface. “See to it, Fuinor,” the king said, nodding his head in dismissal. He wanted his commander to start on reinforcing the western patrol that he was sure would be in a desperate battle before long. He only wished that there could be more warriors sent to help fight it.

*~*~*~*

The orc scouts were not the only ones, who had entered Mirkwood unnoticed. A tall figure in a midnight blue robe stood in the shadows at the edge of the forest.

Through the millennia that had passed since he, Begrin, had sent the black obsidian rock to what he had hoped would have been its permanent hiding place, he had kept part of his intuitive mind trained on the evil power he knew as Saeragar. No matter where he had gone or what he had been engaged in doing, he was always aware of Saeragar.

As fate would have it, he had been traveling between the western border of the great forest, now known as Mirkwood, and the Misty Mountains, when he felt the call of Saeragar. Begrin had felt its exhilaration of imminent freedom growing and increasing in intensity. That could only mean that the rock was so near the surface of the land, its discovery was only a matter of time.

His overriding hope was that no one had discovered the knowledge to pierce the rock with a metal blade. Hopefully that would force Saeragar to stay where it was.

As the feeling grew stronger within him, Begrin slipped into the trees, slowing his pace and focusing his senses even more.

Suddenly a pain shot through his head, and he crumpled to his knees, panting for breath. He was free! Saeragar was free!

“This cannot be,” the robed figure said aloud in disbelief. Someone had found the key to freeing the power. Begrin shook his head, as the enormity of the devastating implications hit him.. “Saeragar has found a sentient habitation.” He looked eastward into the thick trees of Mirkwood. There was no doubt in his mind: Saeragar had found an elf to do its will.

Begrin rose to his feet and began running. He had no time to waste. He must reach the one Saeragar now possessed before it was too late.

TBC

Chapter Three

It was the sound of clashing blades and muffled yells rather than any special tracking skills, that revealed the location of the western patrol to the two elves that were seeking it.

By the time Legolas and Arondo reached their fellow warriors, the battle was over. In fact, the brief sounds they had heard had been just about the entire length of the fight. Battles didn’t tend to last too long when elven warriors outnumbered their enemy.

Legolas and Arondo entered a familiar and pleasing scene. A dozen orcs lay dead on the ground, elven arrows in the majority of them. After removing the arrows, and keeping those that could be reused, most of the warriors began to pile the bodies into a large heap, while others gathered dead wood for the pyre.

Hebrilith, captain of the western patrol, and his lieutenant, Urgal, stood off to the side. They appeared to be engaged in an intense conversation.

Legolas and Arondo, having been spotted some yards away, approached. They both waved to the warriors, who looked up from their work to see who the newcomers were. Each of them returned the greeting, some with waves and some with nods. All wore smiles.

Arondo had served with all of these elves in various patrols and knew them all well. Everyone was happy to see him.

Legolas was not only popular with all of the realm’s warriors, but he was respected by them as a leader, as well. He had captained most of them, and had proven himself quite capable: smart, courageous and always concerned for the well-being of those he served with. He was also regarded with great affection as their prince.

Hebrilith saw the two elves first and held his hand up in greeting. "Legolas. Arondo. What brings you two way out here?"

"We came to help, but you all seem to have taken all of the fun for yourselves," Legolas replied, a smile on his face.

Urgal, a capable warrior and second-in-command, but lacking anything resembling a sense of humor, frowned unhappily. He took things much too seriously for most warriors’ liking. Completely missing Legolas humor, Urgal said, "We do not consider killing orcs as fun, Legolas. It is a serious business to vanquish the enemy before he vanquishes you."

Legolas merely nodded, trying not to let Urgal‘s glumness dampen his own spirit. At times, Legolas wanted to grab the brown-haired elf by the shoulders, shake him and tell him to lighten up. It would not only improve his personality, but it would offer a chance to make lasting friendships, something he had rarely been able to do.

No matter the dire circumstance the elves of Mirkwood often found themselves in, they always made the time to enjoy life, if only for a moment. None of Legolas’s helpful advice---or anyone else’s---had done anything to change him. Urgal was simply a dour elf and apparently always would be.

Getting right to the reason for the visit, Legolas said, "We came to warn you of the strong possibility hat a large band of orcs wait just outside the western border of the realm, most likely planning to attack us."

Hebrilith nodded. "We also thought that was a possibility, since these," he swept his hand in the direction of the orc bodies, "were probably scouts."

"They are not the only ones," Arondo said, speaking up for the first time.

If possible, Urgal’s frown deepened, "What do you mean?"

Arondo looked to Legolas to answer.

"Arondo and I, along with Galáril and Coron, followed orc tracks a good ten leagues south of here and came across another scouting party." Legolas’s nose wrinkled at the smell of burning orcs, as the flames suddenly leapt into the air and smoke began billowing. "Galáril and Coron are on their way to tell the king. Fuinor will likely send you more warriors than just the two of us."

"I hope he sends many more," Urgal stated. "We will need many more warriors, if we are to defeat a whole horde of those creatures."

Legolas held his tongue at Urgal’s sour attitude. An argument now would benefit no one. Besides, Urgal was right. Still Legolas couldn’t just let it go completely. "Fuinor will send as many warriors as he can spare." Turning to Hebrilith, Legolas asked, "Is there anything Arondo and I can do in the meantime?"

Surveying the scene, which had now been cleaned up except for the pyre that dominated the clearing where they stood, Hebrilith shook his head. "I have already sent out our own scouts along the border north and south, to find anything out about our unwanted guests that they can, so until they return, let us move away from this pile of foul carcasses to a place where we can rest and wait."

Urgal snorted. He did not want to just sit and wait. He was not overly tired, and he didn’t think the other warriors were, either. However, he was a good enough leader to know there was nothing to be done until the elven scouts returned. Even more important was needing to wait for the additional warriors before going off to see if a battle with a much larger foe was in the offing.

*~*~*~*

The scouts sent out by the patrol returned just before dark. Those that had been sent out to the north of the patrol’s current position reported that another orc scouting party had been spotted. The scouts, who had gone south, had found no signs to indicate more orcs were in that area.

A fourth of the patrol had been sent north to kill and then dispose of all but one of the orcs. Hebrilith wanted one orc spared, if possible, and brought back to the patrol’s camp to be interrogated.

Hebrilith knew that orcs were unpredictable. He had seen some, who begged to be spared and thus told all they knew in hopes of being sent on their way unscathed. Others died with the secrets they carried dying with them. He hoped that this time, they would get lucky and capture one, who valued his life enough to tell the elves what they wanted to know.

When a lone orc had been brought back, Legolas came just short of insisting on questioning him. It was Hebrilith’s decision, of course. Though slightly surprised at Legolas’s vehemence on being the one to do the interrogating, Hebrilith saw no reason to deny the younger elf that privilege, so he consented.

Legolas grabbed the orc by the back of his collar and shoved him forward into the thick trees until they were lost to sight.

*~*~*~*

The instant that Saeragar had been freed from the rock and transferred into a living being, he had felt exhilaration. It had lasted only a brief time. While spending countless millennia inside the obsidian rock, his power had been primarily dormant. That had been by his choice, since railing against his imprisonment would have gained him nothing. He had, however, kept part of himself attuned to the outside world, waiting for his chance to escape the black crystal that encased him.

Whoever it was he had been released into was someone with incredible senses. Even for that instant of total awareness, he had truly felt alive. It could only be one of Ilúvatar’s children, someone he had sensed but did not know. It could only be an elf.

The elf, not having any idea what had happened to him, had not been prepared for the internal assault. Yet he had a strong will that overcame the invasion. That had actually impressed the powerful entity.

Saeragar had been too weak to assert himself---for the moment, at least. He had only possessed the ability to hide his presence from the elf, a hard task that took more strength than he would have believed but not unreasonable, considering the intuitive power of the elf.

Now Saeragar had to build his strength to overcome the elf’s strong will and replace it with his own. Then his only limitations would be the physical ones of the being he inhabited. As irritating as that might be for someone used to total freedom, it could have been far worse. At least he now had the body of the most superior of the races of Middle-earth.

Once he reached his full potential, Saeragar believed that with his own incredible powers and the innate heightened senses, physical strength and speed of the elf, he could do anything he wanted. There would be no stopping him. Middle-earth would be his, and all of its inhabitants would fall under his control---or die in their defiance.

Saeragar had been resting, but now he suddenly became aware of the hatred that was flowing through this elf for the creature that walked before him. Saeragar fed on hatred. He also fed on fear, and that emotion was fairly bursting from the ugly creature in front. It would be easy now to use this combination of hatred and fear to fuel his efforts to regain his strength much faster.

Searagar held himself ready to exploit whatever was about to happen next.

*~*~*~*

After little more than fifteen minutes, Legolas returned alone. He was wiping black blood from one of his knives as he approached. There was an almost feral look on the blond elf’s face before it quickly vanished and was replaced with a look of confusion.

Gathering himself and shaking off his bewilderment, Legolas reported that the orc had confirmed their idea that a large band of his fellow orcs were staying in the caves at the base of the Misty Mountains southwest of this camp. They were waiting for information about the strength of the elves in this part of the forest before launching their main attack. The orc swore there had been only three scouting parties sent out. If he told the truth, and Legolas believed he had, then all of the orc scouts had been destroyed.

The orc captive had also revealed that another large band was about to attack the southern end of Mirkwood to keep more warriors busy and keep reinforcements from being sent here.

Hebrilith had to send word to Thranduil and Fuinor about the orcs’ plans.

Hebrilith sent the least experienced of his warriors to deliver the message to the palace. When he turned back around, another warrior was approaching him.

"What is it, Amarthgûl?"

The young warrior hesitated slightly before saying, "Captain, I just found the body of the orc Legolas questioned."

"And?"

"He was dead. Left out of sight under a tree."

"I did not expect Legolas to bring him back here once all the information he had was obtained. He was an orc, who would have liked nothing better than to see every elf in Middle-earth destroyed. The fact he gave us information does not negate that fact." Hebrilith was confused as to why this warrior was concerned over a dead orc.

"It is not that he was killed. I would have done that myself. It was the manner of his death. Captain, his throat was cut."

Hebrilith stared at Amarthgûl. He was tempted to ask Amarthgûl if he was sure. But of course, it was hard to misinterpret a slit throat and the copious amount of blood that resulted.

An elf had no compunctions about killing orcs in a number of way with a number of different weapons. It was a necessity. But cutting the throat of anyone was highly unusual. That was simply not the method that elves used to dispatch their enemies. They felt it was a coward’s way of killing and would demean them as warriors.

"Thank you, Amarthgûl. Say nothing of this to anyone." He didn’t explain nor did he need to. He was the captain of the patrol, and as such, he sometimes kept the workings of his duties and the information he received to himself until or unless it became a matter of needing to share such knowledge with others.

Amarthgûl understood and simply nodded and left his captain to deal with the situation, if indeed that is what it was.

He had never known the warrior prince to act in such a manner, but perhaps things had changed while Legolas had served in the southern patrol. Things were much more desperate down there. It had been many years since Hebrilith himself had been anywhere near Dol Guldur, and the Shadow had grown much worse since then, so he did not feel that he should judge anyone who had lived and fought so near to that seat of evil.

For the moment, Hebrilith would let it go, preferring not to question Legolas about the way he had chosen to dispatch the orc.

Hebrilith turned and walked toward the center of the camp, where Urgal was currently inspecting his sword. It was time for the elves to make a few plans of their own.

*~*~*~*

Arondo’s concern for Legolas had been growing more intense since he and his friend had arrived among the warriors of the western patrol. It had been only a day and a half, but even so, Legolas’s moods were constantly changing. The normally cheerful prince, always ready for a joke and a friendly discussion, was at times, growing into someone Arondo hardly recognized.

Twice Legolas’s dark-haired friend had approached him only to be rebuffed and told in harsh tones that he wanted to be left alone.

At other times he was his old self, happy to be in the company of his friends. The other warriors had noticed the drastic changes, too. They never knew whether to approach him or not, because they were never sure which Legolas would show up. They asked Arondo what the matter was, but Arondo did not know.

Legolas did not know, either. He was acutely aware that he was not himself. Yet he couldn’t figure it out, despite the long hours of contemplation on the subject. More than a few times he had experienced the same shudders and darkening of his vision that he had when he and Arondo had started off to look for the western patrol‘s location. At times he had found himself becoming angry for no apparent reason.

What worried him more than anything was the lapses in memory he suffered. There were times when he had been in one location and suddenly found himself in another without any recollection of how he had gotten there.

Once he had noticed that the sun had advanced a full hour, when the activity he had been involved in had lasted only ten minutes.

The questioning of the orc was a prime example of these lapses. He had threatened the orc, obtained the information he needed and then... The next thing he was aware of he was walking back to camp, not having a clue about what had taken place after the questioning. He assumed he had killed the orc. ‘So why do I not remember doing it?’ he wondered silently.

Losing portions of one’s memory was decidedly unelvish, and it did more than just puzzled him.

For his part, Arondo had decided that he would talk to Legolas after the evening meal. He was too worried about his friend to simply let the matter drop and hope Legolas’s uncharacteristic mood swings would improve.

*~*~*~*

A little earlier, Hebrilith had received word that a dozen warriors were being sent by Fuinor to bolster the patrol’s ranks, and they would be arriving in three groups at three different times, depending on how far they had to come from their regular patrols.

That should have been good news to Legolas, yet his mood had once again become almost as sour as Urgal’s usually was.

Legolas, not wanting to be around anyone right then, another thing that puzzled him, told Hebrilith he was going to do some scouting on his own.

The captain believed it might do Legolas some good to get away from camp for a while. Scouting took a great deal of concentration, but it could also provide some time to think. Legolas seemed to need that right now.

Hebrilith also believed that there would be no immanent attack from the orcs outside of the forest. But before he agreed, he asked, "Legolas, is there anything I can help you with?"

Legolas shook his head.

"Very well. Just know that I am willing to listen should you change your mind." When no comment was forthcoming from the younger elf, Hebrilith said, "You may go but do not go too far and return by the time the last of the reinforcements are due to arrive."

With a nod, Legolas took one of the patrol’s horses and left, riding toward the southwest.

Hebrilith stared after him, wondering if maybe he should not have let Legolas go off alone. It was sometimes hard, as a captain, to treat his warriors be mature and capable and try to keep them safe at the same time.

When Arondo saw his friend leave, he quickly sought out Hebrilith and asked the captain if he could accompany Legolas.

Hebrilith wasn't sure if Legolas would welcome any company, but since he had already begun to have doubts, he readily granted Arondo's request, feeling somewhat relieved. If anyone other than his father and brother could help Legolas, Arondo could.

Arondo took another horse and headed after his friend.

As he rode, Arondo felt a sudden fear for Legolas that he couldn’t explain, but it made him send his horse into a full gallop. Something was dreadfully amiss. He felt that Legolas was in danger, and he needed to catch up to him...now!

TBC

Chapter Four

Legolas had been riding swiftly through the forest, though it was his horse that was actually setting the pace. The elf was too deep in thought to care how fast he was traveling. “What is wrong with me?” he asked aloud for the dozenth time, shaking his head, as if he could fling the confusion from his mind.

The archer looked up just in time to duck under a low-hanging branch. Had he not, the resulting contact against his forehead would have likely killed him. He couldn’t remember when he had been so careless. ‘Even elflings know to be more vigilant‘, he chided. This was all getting to be much too unnerving.

The sound of hooves behind him caused him to bring his mount to a sudden stop. His horse’s determination to meet his master’s request causing a straight-legged halt. The move was jarring, but Legolas kept his balance. In an instant he had his bow in his hands and an arrow laying across it with the end of the shaft fitted to the string.

“Legolas!” came a shout in a very familiar voice. “Wait up.”

The prince returned his bow and arrow to their proper places on his back. “Arondo, why have you followed me?” Legolas demanded and then frowned at the sharp tone of his voice. He certainly did not mean to sound as if he was scolding his long-time friend and fellow warrior.

Arondo took a deep breath. He knew he was taking the chance of alienating Legolas with his next words, but it was the main reason he had come to find his friend, so he felt it had to be said. “I know how proud you are, mellon nin, but you must accept help. You have not been yourself lately. Even you have to admit that.”

Legolas’s eyes flashed and then narrowed. “I have to admit nothing of the kind. You think I have become someone weak who needs your aid? What faith you have in me.” The tone was pure sarcasm, and the words were almost a snarl.

Arondo wasn’t sure how to respond. Legolas had never spoken to him like that before, even in the rare heat of an argument. That only further proved that Legolas needed his help.

There was nothing to do but lay it out between them. But first Arondo wanted to sit down as friends, not mounted as potential adversaries. “Come. Let us sit and discuss this.”

He dismounted and looked up at Legolas, who let out a quick breath that sounded showed his irritation. However, after a moment of consideration, the prince also dismounted.

When Arondo sat down beneath the foliage of a large beech tree, Legolas joined him, unsure of why he felt that this was going to be a waste of time. He had no idea what his friend had in mind, but he made up his mind that he would listen to whatever Arondo had to say.

The older elf looked closely at his friend and prince. He knew he would only have a few seconds of such scrutiny before Legolas became upset with him for being stared at.

When Legolas turned his face toward Arondo, the brown-haired elf almost gasped. There was a look in Legolas’s eyes that plainly frightened Arondo. His friend’s normally bright blue-gray eyes were as dark as storm clouds. There was also a look totally foreign to the youngest of Thranduil’s sons.

A chill went through Arondo, but he forged ahead. Now was not the time to become faint of heart. “What has you so upset that you have...behaved so badly toward your friends, Legolas?” There. He had asked the question. Arondo braced himself for the angry tirade he thought might be about to erupt.

To Arondo’s surprise, Legolas lowered his head in shame. “II do not know, Arondo. I feel as if these foul moods just grab hold of me, and I cannot control them. It is as if I am two different people, or perhaps someone else has suddenly inhabited my body and taken over my thinking.” He paused a moment to stare out into the forest. Then he continued. “I am also losing time. I find that I have done things I do not remember doing. Often time has passed that I cannot account for.”

The look on Arondo’s face said it all. He had never heard of such things happening, yet he did not doubt what Legolas said. There was a long silence before Arondo finally said, “It stared around the time of the fight with the orcs. You did not sustain a cut of any kind, did you? One you told no one about?” He knew Legolas’s penchant for not always revealing injuries or wounds he had received.

“No. Not a scratch.” That, at least, was true, and Legolas had to grin in spite of himself.

Arondo was sure for once that Legolas was not being deceptive. “I thought perhaps a small amount of poison on an orc blade had entered your body and might account for what is happening to you.”

“Believe me I have thought of that, as well. I have thought of everything I could, but I have no answers as to why this has befallen me.”

Another even longer silence fell between the two elves. Then both of them felt a change in the trees’ song. The normally serene flow of joy from them had suddenly shifted to one of fear.

“The trees are afraid,” Arondo whispered, looking upward into the greenery that was quivering, though there was no breeze stirring to cause it.

“As well they should be,” came a deep voice that both did and did not sound like Legolas’s.

When Arondo looked at his friend face, he saw the prince’s eyes had changed yet again. Now they were black. No white was visible at all. It was a startling sight. The same fear that had gripped the trees now did the same to Arondo. As he continued to stare at those unblinking black eyes watching him, he became terrified of and for his friend.

Arondo jumped up and began backing away from Legolas. The absurdity of doing so suddenly came to him and almost made him stumble, but it was quickly pushed aside. The golden-haired elf before him had abruptly become someone he knew he should not be close to. Yet this was his friend. The older elf could not just walk away from him. So with a shaky voice that pleaded in a last ditch attempt to help, he said, “We can work this out together, Legolas. Whatever is wrong I will not abandon you.”

“You elves are so arrogant, thinking you can solve anything, if you just put your minds to it. You, who are tucked away in your precious forest, really know so little of the outside world, though you think you are so enlightened. The world has many more hidden and dangerous things lurking in it than you elves can possibly imagine. You are so pathetic, little elf.”

Arondo was dumbstruck. He couldn’t understand what his friend meant. Legolas spoke as if he was not one of the Firstborn but someone else entirely. Yet logic, as well as his own vision, confirmed that the person before him was not only an elf but a member of the royal family that ruled the realm. “Legolas...”

Five minutes later, the Prince of Mirkwood was once again mounted and riding in his original direction, southwest. No one followed him. He was alone and confused. He clearly recalled Arondo arriving to talk to him. They must have spoken, though he remembered no such conversation taking place. How long ago had that been? And where was Arondo now?

Legolas finally shrugged. Perhaps Arondo had returned to the patrol. Yes, that must be it. They had spoken, and then Arondo had ridden back to the western patrol’s camp.

Legolas smiled to think that his good friend had followed him out here to talk to him and to offer his support. Arondo had always been an elf who cared for his friends and wanted to help them in any way he could. That was one of the reasons he was so well liked by the warriors of Mirkwood in general and Legolas in particular. The prince knew just how lucky he was to have a friend like Arondo.

*~*~*~*

Saeragar knew he was getting stronger. Yet every time he had asserted himself, he had been forced, after a while, to relinquish his hold on the elf, whose will was stronger than he had anticipated. Even with the elf not knowing of his existence, it was hard to force his own will on the fair being. That would change soon, he knew.

On the positive side, each time Saeragar took control, he felt his strength increasing. Soon he would be in total control, and this elf would no longer be needed.

*~*~*~*

Begrin, too, sensed the increasing strength of Saeragar. He felt his heart grow even more fearful at the knowledge, though it was not a surprise to him. He knew all too well the power that the evil being possessed. Even he could be overcome, if he didn’t keep his vigil sharp.

He had been headed north to try and intercept Searagar, but the evil being was on the move and had changed directions several times. He stayed in constant psychic contact to keep from losing track of Saeragar. It was a wearying endeavor but an extremely necessary one.

Begrin felt that Saeragar probably had not sensed his probing mental presence as yet, but he knew that sooner or later the evil power would gain enough strength to do so. That is why time was a critical element now.

Begrin was traveling toward where he sensed Saeragar was currently heading, when he saw something that momentarily stopped him in his tracks.

Lying several yards ahead of him, he saw the body of a sorrel-colored horse. He rushed to the animal’s side but found that it was dead. Judging from the wound, it looked as though its heart had been pierced, most probably by an arrow. The deadly bolt had been ripped out and was nowhere to be seen.

Who would have killed a horse like this? Begrin began to search but saw no tracks that indicated anyone other than an elf had been in the area. It made no sense. Elves loved horses, more so than most of the sentient races of Middle-earth.

Then he saw something that froze his blood. He ran over to another body, only this one was not a horse. It was a brown-haired elven warrior. His throat had been cut.

A quick look around told Begrin that this elf had not drawn any of his weapons. Since it was highly unlikely an enemy could have come upon him unaware, the obvious answer was that the body Saeragar had taken over had been someone this elf knew and trusted. In that context, the death he was looking at had been virtually inevitable. It saddened him to think that this elf had probably died not understanding why a friend was killing him.

Begrin thought briefly of going to Thranduil’s palace and warning the king of the danger that existed in his realm. However, Begrin was not willing to abandon his search and lose mental contact with Saeragar, who was too close. Besides Thranduil would surely send out warriors to do battle with the elf that the evil being was inhabiting. That would be the logical reaction, but Saeragar could not be destroyed by a simple frontal attack, even by superior forces, and attempting to do it that way would only result in slaughter to those warriors.

It was left to Begrin to stop Saeragar, just as he had always known it would be. With a sigh he gently carried the elf’s body over to a tree and laid it against the trunk. He lamented not only the elf’s tragic death but also the fact that he had to leave him unattended for the moment. Perhaps he would be able to alert someone of what he had found, if he encountered an elf of the realm other than the one he was searching for.

*~*~*~*

At the same time that Begrin was finding the bodies of Arondo and his horse, a human ranger was entering Mirkwood. He was known to the elves of the forest as the best friend of their youngest prince.

A few did not approve of an elf having any human as a friend. Most, who had given the man a chance, knowing that Legolas would not have developed such a friendship with anyone who was not trustworthy, had been rewarded. Aragorn had proven himself to all, especially when he had fought beside them, and those who did not approve of the friendship, were eventually forced to give him at least a grudging respect.

Several warrior sentries saw the man enter the realm. They did not reveal their positions in the trees, even to him, but simply let him pass unchallenged. He, of course, knew they were there. Aragorn waved his hand over his head in acknowledgment and continued on his way, mot speaking to them.

He had come to Mirkwood for a surprise visit to Legolas. He hadn’t seen the elven prince in over a year and had not corresponded with him in almost two months.

The ranger couldn’t be sure that Legolas would be free to go on a hunting/camping trip with him, but it was worth the effort to find out. Even if Legolas was committed to a patrol assignment, the man would at least be able to see his friend. He had no idea that the royal archer had just crossed the border of Mirkwood south of his position and was heading down toward the Anduin River.

The anticipation of being with Legolas again made the ranger smile. In fact, he laughed to think that he had packed extra medical supplies for the inevitable time one or both of them would be in need of treatment.

It was almost dusk when Aragorn approached the camp of the western border patrol. He was greeted warmly by most of the warriors, who were gathering around the fire to eat their evening meal before those on night watch went out to take up their posts.

Hebrilith, one of the elves who like the human ranger, approached him. The two clasped arms in a warrior’s greeting. “Mae govannen, Aragorn. I have not seen you in much too long.”

“Mae govannen, Hebrilith. It has been a long time.”

During the greeting, one of the younger elves removed the pack and saddle before taking the ranger’s horse off to be taken care of. Pack and saddle were set near a tree several yards from the campfire.

“I guess I do not have to ask what has brought you here.” A smile on the ranger’s face was all the answer he needed. “Legolas is not here.”

The man frowned and looked at Hebrilith. “Has he gone to another patrol or did he go home?”

Hebrilith was shaking his head. “Legolas is with us for the time being but...” He didn’t think the prince had any secrets from this man, but he was still hesitant to reveal what had been going on with Legolas.

It didn’t take more than a second for Aragorn to realize that something was wrong. “Tell me, Hebrilith. Has something happened to Legolas? Has he been hurt and sent home to heal?” He refused to even entertain the idea that something worse could have happened to his friend.

The concern on the ranger’s face, wiped away all of Hebirlith’s doubts. If Arondo had not been able to help Legolas, perhaps adding Aragorn to the mix would be much more beneficial to the young prince.

With a sigh, Hebrilith began to tell Aragorn about the things that had been happening: the orcs, Legolas’s strange behavior and the mood swings he had been experiencing since joining the patrol.

Aragorn listened, becoming more and more worried the more Hebrilith said. Elves didn’t get sick the way mortals did, so if he hadn’t been wounded or injured in some other way, he could think of nothing that might account for his friend’s odd behavior. His mind was eased a bit, when Hebrilith mentioned that Arondo had gone after Legolas.

“If any elf can get through to Legolas, I believe Arondo can,” the elven captain stated.

Aragorn nodded. “I believe I can help him, too.”

“I agree. I do not like to say this, but I fear that Legolas will need a great deal of help, and I do not have the faintest idea why I think that.” Hebrilith was too concerned to be bothered with the notion that it was hard to admit the normally strong-willed warrior prince was in such a vulnerable position.

Aragorn’s stomach was warring with his emotions. His stomach finally won out, and he ate the evening meal with the warriors of the western patrol. He needed to keep his strength up.

In contrast to his appetite, he did not sleep well that night. The few times he drifted off, all he did was dream about Legolas being in mortal danger. Most of the time he just lay awake, fretting for the archer’s well-being.

Morning was not coming soon enough to suit the ranger. He was anxious to be off in search of Legolas and Arondo. After what Hebrilith had said, he was sure he would be needed.

TBC

Chapter Five

Just before sunset, Legolas brought his horse to a stop. He had been riding at a gallop through the trees, his eyes forward, when he had looked down. The sight that greeted him was startling. His hands were covered with dried blood. So was the front of his tunic. How had that happened? The fact he didn’t remember something like that worried him greatly.

He slid from his stallion’s back and surveyed himself. His clothes were not torn. There were no cuts or gashes in his flesh. He felt no pain. He came to the conclusion that he had not been wounded or injured, therefore, the blood was not his. The most disturbing part was that he knew the blood was elven.

Legolas sat down on the ground, his legs crossed in front of him. None of this made any sense at all. It spoke of some kind of violence. How could elven blood, and lots of it, have gotten on him without his remembering the incident?

Thinking back over all that had happened in the last couple of days, the young archer became even more puzzled. If it weren’t for the fact that the blood of an orc was black and so was that of the giant spiders that inhabited Mirkwood, he would have believed he had tangled with one of those creatures. Surely that would not have slipped his memory. He was an elf, and elves did not have faulty memories.

He held his hands up before his eyes and stared at them, as if doing so would coax them to reveal the mystery of where the blood had come from.

The elf knew of a stream only half a league away from where he now sat, so he decided to go there and wash the blood off of himself. In addition to hating the feel of it on his skin, and the stiffness it caused in his clothes, he knew that there were creatures in the forest who were attracted to blood, sensing it might belong to potential prey.

Remounting, Legolas rode toward his destination. He slid to the ground and walked over to the bubbling stream that flowed from left to right in front of him. He knelt down and dipped his hands into the cool water.

However, it was not Legolas, who watched the blood flow from the elf’s hands and swirl away in the current. A twisted smile came to the elven features, though it was Saeragar who was behind them. It gave him a thrill to know that the blood represented the end of an elf’s life. ‘Stupid elf,’ the evil being said to himself, ‘thinking he could get rid of me.’ It didn’t matter that Arondo had not known anything of Saeragar’s existence. He had wanted to help Legolas, and that was enough.

Searagar would have preferred to leave the blood on Legolas’s tunic. Unlike the elf, the evil being loved displaying blood, because it represented a mark of triumph. It spoke of his prowess and his power. But with a sigh, he realized that anyone seeing this elf covered with it might raise an alarm. He did not fear confrontation with those who would pursue him, but he preferred to travel undisturbed until he was ready to reveal himself.

Thinking that the elf and all he possessed now belonged to him, Searagar took off his outer tunic and began the mundane task of washing it in the stream.

Darkness had descended by the time he was finished, so he decided to stay where he was and make camp for the night. When he was at his full power, he did not need sleep. However, this elven body he was inhabiting did need it. He curbed his impatience at the delay and settled down until the morning, when he would begin again.

*~*~*~*

The dream that came to Legolas after he fell asleep was both vivid and frightening. He shifted restlessly but did not wake.

Arondo was backing away from him. There was a look of horror on his face. Why? Legolas wondered. Why would his long-time friend be afraid of him, for the look of horror was born of fear. “Legolas, what is happening to you?”

“The body you see before you is that of your friend, but he is not here.”

The brown-haired elf had stopped moving away from the prince, but he was still wary. “I do not understand, Legolas. You are right in front of me. How can you not be here?” Arondo’s confusion was more than evident; it was pervasive.

Saeragar sneered. “I thought elves were sooo intelligent.” Emphasizing each word, he said, “Your...friend... is...gone. I have destroyed him, as I will do to all of those who do not bend to my will.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Arondo insisted, shaking his head. The words he was hearing made absolutely no sense. He thought that somehow Legolas must feel that he was not himself. The strange behavior verified that. Gently and in a completely non-threatening tone, Arondo said, “I only want to help you, Legolas. Please let me.”

“Perhaps it is just as well that you do not understand, little elf, for I think that you would never surrender to me,” Saeragar said, sounding neither angry nor regretful at that fact. “You, and all of those like you, would rather die than submit. And since I cannot afford to let you go and raise an alarm, you will get your wish.”

He stared at the elf for a moment, and then without the slightest warning of his intentions, Saeragar drew both of Legolas’s long knives and dove forward, crossing the blades over each other against Arondo’s throat and then jerkiing them violently free until they separated, leaving behind a gaping wound. Blood spurted outward, splashing over Legolas’s hands and covering the front of his tunic.

Arondo may have been afraid, but he never believed Legolas would actually attack him, so he did not react until he felt the bite of metal in his flesh. By then it was far too late. He tried to utter the word ‘Why?’ but was unable to force even that short word out of his torn throat. However, his eyes spoke the question his voice could not.

Saeragar laughed, a scoffing, grating sound of pure hatred. It was the last sound that Arondo heard, as he fell to the ground. convulsed once and then lay still.

Legolas woke up screaming and sat up with a jolt. It took a moment of hard breathing to get himself under control. He frowned in confusion. Why would he dream about murdering one of his closest friends? He was aware that his whole body was shaking. It occurred to him that this was the kind of dream Estel called a nightmare. He fully understood now why the man had said that the fear created by such dreams lasted beyond waking up.

Again Legolas asked himself why he would dream about such an act of betrayal toward someone he cared about, when he knew he could never do such a thing. He had no answer, because dreams like this were not experienced by elves. At least, none that he had ever heard of.

The elf looked down at his hands. They were trembling uncontrollably. Then he remembered the blood he had seen there and on his tunic the evening before. He looked toward the tunic, lying nearby on the grass to dry. His eyes went wide with the horror of what that represented, yet he was not willing to give the dream credence. The horrid event it depicted could not be real. It simply could not.

Legolas sighed. He readily admitted he had been acting strangely the last couple of days, but that could not turn him into a murderer. The very idea that such a thought had even come into his mind shook him to his core.

Legolas tried to push the dream out of his thoughts. It was but a dream, scary but false.

What he could not push away was the tiny voice in his head that insisted that it was more. “You were talking to Arondo, and then there was blood, a lot of blood, all over you. Arondo was nowhere to be found, because you killed him and left his body. You killed his horse, as well, so it would not run home and alert others that something was wrong. Face it, Legolas. You murdered your friend.“

“No. No,” Legolas refuted. He sat hugging his knees to his chest, as he was forced to accept the truth. His heart ached at the realization that his mind was not playing tricks on him because of the dream.

There had been one other reason for Saeragar to let the elf sleep besides rest: he would be induced to dream, and when he woke up and accepted what he had done, he would be devastated and thus easier to dominate when the time came. Saeragar’s plan had obviously worked.

”Oh, Arondo,” the archer moaned, “what did I do to you?” Legolas put his head down on his knees and wept bitterly.

*~*~*~*

Every time Begrin sensed Saeragar’s location, the feeling vanished, and the connection was broken. It was plain that the evil being was still not strong enough to take full control of the elf and thus remain dominant. However, these episodes of dormancy were becoming fewer and fewer.

He had lost touch with Saeragar’s presence shortly after dark and had guessed that the elven body he had taken over needed rest. He himself, though possessing special powers, also needed rest. He took this opportunity to get it now. He would start again early the next morning.

*~*~*~*

Aragorn rose with the dawn. He knew he had not gotten the rest he should have, but he was too worried about Legolas to think about that now. He saddled his horse, bid the night guards farewell, telling one of them to thank Hebrilith for his hospitality. In a matter of minutes, the ranger rode away, heading in the direction he had been told the prince had gone.

The man mulled over in his mind all that Hebrilith had been told about Legolas since the elven prince had arrived at the western patrol’s camp.

Aragorn was a practical man. That wasn’t always easy, considering he lived in a world where magic tended to pop up at odd and unexpected times. The lives of most humans were often as ordinary as a blade of grass, but then one day the appearance of a wizard or a dragon or an elf, all with powers beyond the norm, would throw the mundane ‘out of the window‘, to quote a phrase Glorfindel was fond of using.

The ranger tried to think of various possibilities for Legolas’s behavior. He wondered if something had happened during the orc battle he was told Legolas had engaged in. A poisoned orc blade, perhaps? He shook that thought away. Poison made the recipient ill or sometimes killed them, but alter their behavior? No, he was sure that was not the answer.

Had a spell been cast against Legolas? Not likely. His time had been accounted for. Except for the orcs, he had been around no one other than elves. Orcs did not possess the ability to cast spells. Their only chance of overcoming an enemy was purely physical. No magic there.

Aragorn could think of no type of plant that could cause such a reaction. Even if there were, Legolas would likely not have been the only one affected.

All the man succeeded in doing was confuse himself more. He would just have to wait until he found Legolas, hopefully with Arondo, and talk to them. He made up his mind that no matter what was responsible for the problem, they would all solve it.

He rode on, feeling that soon he would be with his friends.

*~*~*~*

Begrin heard the hoof beats of a horse, moving at a steady gait. He quickly jumped behind a tree wide enough to completely hide him from the view of the one who approached.

He debated whether to reveal himself to the rider. He could easily circle the tree, as horse and rider moved past. Begrin was good at concealing himself, when the need arose.

Seeing that the figure on the horse was a ranger, he made up his mind to expose his presence. He stepped out in front of the ranger, causing him to bring his horse to an abrupt halt.

“Hail to you, ranger,” Begrin said easily, being careful to keep his empty hands where they could be seen with one glance. He noted that the ranger’s eyes did indeed check out his hands before doing anything else. His inquisitive and searching eyes roamed over the robed figure with a practiced eye, used to keen observation.

Begrin had the distinct impression that had he attempted to hide something from this man’s intense gaze, he would have had a hard doing it successfully. Most of the rangers Begrin had come in contact with over the years were good at what they did. He knew he was now facing one of the best of them.

Noting again the robe the figure wore, Aragorn said, “And hail to you, stranger.” There was no staff in evidence, yet he couldn’t help but ask, “Ate you an Istar?”

“I am not a member of the noble Wise Ones, but I do travel with the blessing of the Valar.”

Mirkwood was not Aragorn’s home, and he had no real authority here. Yet because of the orc attacks and the fact that Sauron had a number of different kinds of allies, Aragorn felt he should protect the forest as best he could, when he was here, so he boldly asked, “May I ask what business you have here in Mirkwood?”

It was now that Begrin’s well-honed judge of character spoke to him of this man’s integrity. He knew instinctively that the ranger could be trusted. Smiling, he said, “Dismount and let us talk, and I will tell you my purpose here.”

TBC

Chapter Six

Begrin was not the only one, who was a good judge of character. Aragorn, too, had a talent for it. It was not that he hadn’t been fooled on occasion by people, or would not be again, but this time he believed he was in the company of someone good and honest. He sensed no evil coming from this person. Aragorn would remain cautious, but he would listen to what this stranger had to say and the manner in which he said it before he made his final judgment.

After letting his horse move away to graze, the ranger stood and waited for the tall, robed figure to sit first, and then he joined him, sitting cross-legged under a beech tree. The man appeared human to Aragorn’s eyes, ruggedly handsome with a long angular face. He had long brown hair and piercing green eyes. The ranger judged him to be in his late forties or early fifties.

Begrin smiled to himself, recognizing the look of scrutiny. The man also projected an air of caution. ‘Good’, Begrin thought. ‘I would not trust a man, who is too quick to give his trust to another.’

"My name is Begrin."

"I am Aragorn."

Begrin immediately recognized the name. That one word opened up to him the entire history of this man’s lineage. However, there was not a flicker of this knowledge in his eyes. It might put Aragorn off or raise his guard even more, if he knew that he, a stranger, knew all about who the man was. It was best to let him do the revealing about himself, if he chose, when it came his turn to speak.

"You asked my business here. I shall tell you." Begrin proceeded to tell Aragorn everything. He began with finding the black obsidian rock in the hands of the now ancient cult and its leader, who was about to release the evil within the rock and ended with his mission to find the elf that Saeragar inhabited. He made clear his intention to destroy the evil being before he could fulfill his desire to ultimately rule Middle-earth. He ended by saying, "Make no mistake, Aragorn. Saeragar will do anything to reach his goal. He cannot be underestimated."

Aragorn was a rapt listener for the most part. He had interrupted only once. When Begrin told about finding the dead elf in the forest. His thought had immediately gone to Legolas, and his heart skipped a beat.

Trying to control his near panic, Aragorn asked, "What did this elf look like? What color was his hair?" Most silvan elves had dark hair, and if the elf that had been killed had dark hair, Legolas would be eliminated as the possible victim.

"His hair was brown, not unlike my own." When Begrin saw the immense relief on the ranger’s face, he suddenly realized that the man wouldn’t be here in Mirkwood unless he was an elf-friend. And it was most likely that he was the friend of an important elf, probably a royal one, for him to be allowed movement here in the forest unescorted.

Aragorn had thought next of Arondo, who had been heading in this direction, looking for Legolas. ‘Please’ he thought, ‘do not let it be Arondo.’ Like everyone else, he really liked the elven warrior and knew him to be a very close friend of Legolas’s.

Aragorn had no way of knowing, of course, whether Legolas knew of Arondo’s death, but if he did, he would be devastated. He would also need another friend to share his sorrow with.

Aragorn knew he had to find the prince. Added to that was the thought that Legolas might be in danger from whoever or whatever had killed Arondo.

Despite his increasing concern, the ranger listened to the rest of Begrin’s story. It was plain to him now that the stranger was not human, or at least if he were, he had been changed into an immortal one, probably by the Valar he said he served.

When Begrin asked Aragorn about his being in Mirkwood, the ranger took his turn to do some revealing of his own. He explained not only his friendship with the realm’s prince, but the reason he was seeking Legolas right now.

Begrin’s heart sank, when Aragorn began telling him of Legolas’s strange behavior. The fact it had started at the time that Begrin first felt Saeragar’s release from the rock only added to his growing trepidation.

By the time the ranger had finished his story, Begrin was certain that Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, was the elf that Saeragar now possessed. No wonder the dead elf had been taken unaware and had not drawn a weapon in his own defense; he hadn’t thought he was in danger.

Begrin looked sympathetically at Aragorn. From the instant he had found out who the being was that Saeragar had taken to be his host and the connection that being had to this man, he knew this moment would come, and he dreaded it. He took a deep breath before saying, "Aragorn, I believe, no, I know, that your friend, Legolas, is the one Saeragar has taken over."

As expected, Aragorn shook his head. "I don’t believe that. Legolas would never kill Arondo no matter who tried to make him do it. He would never kill a horse, either, unless it was too injured to survive without suffering. You are mistaken."

"Think about it, Aragorn...."

Before Begrin could continue, Aragorn raised an angry voice and said, "I do not need to think about it! I know Legolas as well as I know myself. He would never do something like that."

"What you do not understand is that it is not Legolas, who has done this. It is Saeragar. He has taken over your friend’s mind and made his body do things Legolas, in control of himself, would not do."

Aragorn was shaking his head again. "You do not know Legolas or how strong he is. He would not allow himself to be taken over by this Saeragar."

"He would have no choice, Aragorn. Saeragar is more powerful and more dangerous than you could ever imagine. No one can stand against him."

"Then why are you here, trying to do it?" the man asked, his tone infused with sarcasm.

"If he possessed my mind, as he does Legolas’s, I could not survive, either. He can be stopped, and I am probably the only one to do it." The statement sounded arrogant, but Begrin knew his own powers and was simply speaking the truth, as he knew it to be.

When he saw that Aragorn had opened his mouth to offer what he was sure was another defense of his friend, Begrin quickly continued. "I have no doubt the prince has a strong will and would fight for dominance, but he does not know what is happening to him. His awareness has been put to sleep, if you will." Begrin was using simple terms, trying to make the man, who knew nothing of Saeragar’s true nature, understand the situation.

"Transferring from the rock into Legolas has weakened Saeragar. That is why I must find him quickly. Once he gains his full strength, Legolas’s spirit, his very essence, will be crushed, utterly destroyed, and he will cease to exist. Then all of Middle-earth will be in danger."

Aragorn stared at Begrin. The emotional war within the man was evident on his face. On one side was the undeniable fact that he believed Begrin’s story. On the other side was the unshakable belief that Legolas would somehow escape Saeragar. The archer was just too strong-willed to give in. Just as Begrin was searching for Saeragar to destroy him, Aragorn would have to find Legolas to offer whatever aid he could to help his friend gain his freedom from the evil being.

Begrin hid from view the pity he felt for this man, who was trying so hard to continue believing his friend would survive. Aragorn would only take the pity and use it as fuel for his anger. Begrin admired the ranger’s loyalty, but it would only cause him a great deal of pain in the end.

It was knowing the ultimate outcome that made Begrin certain such pain would be unavoidable. He regretted that he would not have the chance to get to know the elf who elicited such faith and devotion from this ranger.

Not wishing to provoke Aragorn any further, at the moment at least, Begrin finally said, "We will search for Legolas together. Hopefully, he is not too far ahead of us."

Aragorn regarded Begrin with a critical eye. "You told me you could feel Saeragar when he was in control. If you don’t know exactly where he is now, that means Legolas is probably in control. Right?" He didn’t wait for an answer but gave Begrin a triumphant smile. "I told you Legolas would not let Saeragar win."

"The battle is far from over," Begrin stated with a sigh. He was glad that the ranger did not continue the argument. Until the man accepted the truth, there was no point in continuing to exchange words about it.

Getting to his feet, Aragorn whistled for his horse. "We can ride together," he stated tersely. Anger that Legolas could be so easily dismissed by this man, who didn’t even know him, had suddenly filled the ranger, so he said no more. He, too, felt that more words were useless. He believed in Legolas. That was all there was to it.

They both mounted and continued on their quest to find the Prince of Mirkwood.

*~*~*~*

The object of Aragorn and Begrin’s search had ridden away from the place where he had spent the previous night.

Legolas’s tears had long since dried, but his heart remained heavy. He had accepted what he knew to be true, yet he could not figure out what had gone so terribly wrong within him to make him kill one of his closest friends. Thinking about it ceaselessly did not give him any answers. What it did give him was a headache. ‘To match my heartache,’ he thought, not even attempting to push either of those pains away, thinking he deserved the suffering they caused.

He could not remember the actual killing, but he was sure it was a close match to his dream. No matter whether his eyes were open or closed, he kept seeing the fear in his friend’s eyes and then all that blood---Arondo‘s blood.

Deep inside the elf’s mind Saeragar waited. This elf, he noted, was about as emotionally low as he could get and would be ripe for destruction. Soon. Very soon now.

The voices of children caught Legolas‘s attention. Looking along the path he followed, he saw two adult elven males, one adult female and three young elflings.

He suddenly stooped his horse. If he could kill Arondo without being aware of it, he could certainly kill these elves that he did not even know. ‘I must turn away before I put them in danger.’

Saeragar realized that now was the time. If he was to fulfill his perceived destiny to rule Middle-earth, he should start here in this land with these elves.

When the lone rider rode up to the small group, it was the image of their prince they saw. Smiling happily, the three adults bowed respectfully. "Mae govannen, my lord prince," the older male elf said.

Saeragar did not speak Sindar, nor did he know the customs of the elves of Mirkwood. However, since he occupied the mind of the prince, he had assimilated his knowledge. Everything that Legolas knew, Saeragar now knew. "Mae govannen," he replied with a smile.

Saeragar dismounted. By the time he had done so and walked to the stand beside the head of his horse, the children had been rounded up and were now bowing to show the respect they had been taught to show for any member of the royal family they might encounter.

All six elves stood quietly, waiting to see what would be required of them. They did not think the prince would have dismounted otherwise.

Saeragar approached them. He stared intently at the children, who were quickly rendered motionless, transfixed by the gaze they found themselves staring into.

Saeragar was rewarded. These small beings were easy to control. One intense gaze, and they were rendered immobile, thus they would be out of the way while he dealt with the adults, which he thought would be harder minds to manage.

When he turned that gaze on the two young adults, his eyes flashed and turned black. The elves shrank back in fear. But before they could move too far away, the evil being grabbed each of them by the shoulder. "Do not fear me." When he felt them relax, he said, "You will serve me." He spoke softly, though the command in his voice was penetrating.

"Of...of course, my lord," the younger male stammered. "We have always...served you...and your father, our king, with loyalty."

Saeragar intensified his gaze. "You know that you will have to do whatever I order you to do."

"Yes, my lord," the female said. Her voice had taken on an unnatural monotone.

"No matter what it is I require."

"Yes, my lord," the two elves replied together.

Movement caught Saeragar’s eye. He turned and looked at the elder elf, who he thought might be the father of one of the two he still held. He was surprised to see the elf jump forward, grab Legolas’s arm and try to pull it away from the she elf’s shoulder.

When Saeragar turned his black gaze on this elder elf, he saw defiance staring back at him. He did not like it.

"Let my daughter and her husband go," the elf demanded.

"Adar," the female said in horror. "Do not speak to the prince that way."

The father snorted. "No son of Thranduil would talk to his people in such a manner. He is not Prince Legolas."

Startled stares greeted that statement.

Saeragar became furious. How could this ordinary elf figure that out when the elven warrior he had killed, who had known the prince personally, had not? It made no sense to him.

He ignored the elf‘s command and instead asked, "Why do you stare at me?"

The word ‘stare’ suddenly gave him the answer. The eyes! Somehow Legolas’s eyes must have changed with the attempt to dominate these people. ‘That is why they stare at the prince’s eyes so hard.’

Saeragar had never before inhabited a solid form like this, so he had no idea that doing so would cause a physical alteration.

He turned his head away and took a deep breath. When he turned back to face the elves, blue-gray eyes shone out from Legolas’s face, though they still held a hard edge.

The two younger elves did not seem to notice the change. The elder elf’s anger rose. "You cannot fool me. I do not know who you are or how you have taken control of our prince’s body, but I know for sure you are not Prince Legolas."

Saeragar had the feeling that the elf would have run from him, if not for his daughter and her family. He looked at the couple, putting every ounce of his own will into the look. "Kill him!"

Both elves blinked. "Kill my father?" The words were spoken with an even tone, not one of horror as would be expected of such a command. It sounded more like she was asking for confirmation for the unusual request before taking action.

"You said you would serve me. It is my command. Kill him."

Just as had been the case with Arondo, the elder elf looked frightened but did not for a moment think that his daughter and son-in-law would obey such an unthinkable order.

With no emotion whatsoever, the couple turned as one and attacked the older elf. His son-in-law wrapped his hands around his neck and began choking him while his daughter kicked and punched him.

It was a dreadful scene that would have horrified Legolas almost as much as knowing he had killed Arondo had.

When they finished, the elder elf was lying dead upon the ground at his family’s feet.

Saeragar stood and laughed. This was going to be much easier than he ever imagined. His arrogance was such that he never had a single doubt he would accomplish his goal.

The elves now stood in front of him, apparently waiting for further orders.

Pleased with the outcome so far, Saeragar said, "Go back to your home and tell others that Prince Legolas is now the leader to be obeyed in this realm, and they are to wait for orders from me. Do not allow dissention from others. "

The elves bowed and walked away, paying no attention to the three elflings that stood quietly by their grandfather’s body.

"Go," Saeragar said somewhat harshly, waving his hand toward the retreating backs of the children’s parents.

Saeragar took a deep breath. He realized that as long as the king of the realm lived, Prince Legolas would continue to occupy second place, and whatever he, Saeragar, said could be overridden by the king. That was not acceptable.

It now appeared that a slight alteration of plans was in order. Instead of turning the realm’s elves to him and then eliminating King Thranduil, his original plan, the ruler would have to be eliminated first. So deciding, the evil being inside of Legolas mounted his horse and turned toward the palace in the northeastern part of the great forest.

*~*~*~*

Begrin became aware of the change in Saeragar’s direction and the increase in his strength. With mounting fear, he said to the ranger sitting in front of him, "Head for the palace, Aragorn. We must save the king."

TBC

Chapter Seven

Hebrilith was a detail-oriented elf, in both his personal life and as a patrol captain. He did his best to leave nothing that was within his control to chance and though the unexpected could always be counted on to pop up, he was not a worrier by nature. However, right now hewas worried. Legolas should have been back by now. So should Arondo. Whether Arondo had been able to help the prince, Hebrilith did not know. But either way, they should have, at the very least, come back together.

Galáril, who had arrived at the western patrol’s camp that morning with Coron in tow, was himself becoming concerned. He had expected to find Legolas and Arondo with the patrol where they had gone to wait for the extra warriors that would be needed to handle the large band of orcs outside Mirkwood‘s border.

Galáril frowned when he looked around the camp and saw Hebrilith staring off into the forest in the direction he had been told Legolas and Arondo had gone. The captain had his left arm stretched out, as he leaned it against a beech tree.

Galáril approached and put his hand on Hebrilith’s shoulder. “They will return before we leave camp to find the orcs, mellon nin.”

Hebrilith, younger than Galáril by many centrues, wanted to nod. He wanted to reassure both the other elf and himself that all was well and the two missing warriors would be showing up at any moment. He wanted more than anything to be able to laugh at his own trepidation. But he couldn’t. A feeling of foreboding had settled in his stomach, and no amount of trying was able to force it out of the churning knot it was trying to form.

Galáril took a deep breath, as Hebrilith said, “Do you really believe that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

The elder elf couldn’t meet the probing eyes of the younger captain. The answer to that question, which he hated to admit to, was too easy to read there. His renown for honesty was taking a back seat in his effort to spare his friend more worry. He knew as well as Hebrilith that it wouldn’t work.

Hebrilith gave a short, mirthless laugh at the silence that followed. “That is what I thought.” Then he spoke the words that he knew was also on Galáril’s mind. “If anything has happened to Legolas, Thranduil will...”

“Nothing has happened to Legolas,” Galáril interrupted more firmly than his inner feelings warranted. “If he has met with any trouble he cannot handle, Arondo will look out for him.”

‘If he is able to,’ Hebrilith thought to himself. Out loud, he asked, “Where are they, Galáril, and why have they not returned?” The situation must be dire for two experienced and dependable warriors not to do what they had said they would do. As the son of the king, Legolas took his responsibilities as a warrior very seriously. Arondo was no less so.

“I wish I had the warriors available to send after them and determine what the problem is.” Just the same, Hebrilith was on the verge of doing just that. After all, Legolas was not just an overdue warrior; He was a prince of the realm.

Galáril seemed to read his mind. “Is it not our duty to protect our prince?” He looked at Hebrilith with an amused grin. “Would not our king demand it?”

Hebrilith smiled. “So you intend on going after Legolas, and Arondo, too, of course.”

“I consider it my duty,” Galáril replied. “Thranduil did not tell me to come here just to fight orcs. He sent me here to lend my help. Is finding his son, who may be in some kind of danger, not helping?”

The wily old warrior was good at taking words that sounded like they meant one thing and giving them his own unique interpretation. Thranduil often used Galáril’s talent, knowing he would get the result he wanted openly or, more often, covertly. The two, king and warrior knew each other very well, having worked together since Thranduil and his father, Oropher, had first come to Greenwood.

“Be sure you do not get yourself lost,” Hebrilith warned with a smile, as the elder elf turned to find his horse.

A wide grin aimed graced Galáril’s face, as he turned his head back toward the captain. Since his gear had not yet been unpacked, he was on his way in less than three minutes, determined to find the missing warriors.

Coron watched Galáril ride away, anxious to know why the old elf was going off on his own but aware that he was too new and inexperienced to go and question the patrol’s captain about it.

*~*~*~*

The words Begrin uttered sent a chill down Aragorn’s spine. His first thought was the same as this mysterious stranger’s: If Thranduil was in danger, they needed to hurry to the palace to warn him.

Then he realized that Begrin was implying that Legolas was headed there to kill the king. He shook his head. The idea that Legolas would kill his father was ludicrous, possessed or not. Yet despite that, Aragorn did not slow his horse nor did he try to argue with Begrin. Why? Why did he not defend Legolas as he had done earlier, as his heart begged him to do again?

Saeragar had taken over Legolas’s mind and body, and it was Saeragar that had killed Arondo. It hadn’t been Legolas committing that horrible act of violence. That’s what Begrin had told him. The obvious conclusion was the one that Aragorn had been trying so hard to push away in denial. Legolas could not stop the evil power within him from killing one of his best friends. He wouldn’t be able to stop Thranduil from meeting his demise at the hands, if not the will, of his own son.

Aragorn realized that both Legolas and Thranduil had to be saved---and quickly. Legolas would be devastated enough when he found out about Arondo. If he killed his father, he would be destroyed just as effectively as being shot through the heart with an arrow.

Aragorn increased his horse’s speed. He and Begrin were riding double, so the pace had to be carefully controlled, something the ranger was finding hard to do now that he understood the truth and the dreadful events that it implied.

*~*~*~*

Legolas easily recognized the forest area he was traveling through. He was headed for the palace---his home. He frowned, wondering why he was here. Had Hebrilith sent him back home, perhaps to deliver a message tot he king? He hadn’t seen the western patrol captain in... He couldn’t remember how long it had been. What message was he supposed to deliver? He had no idea.

Legolas pulled his horse to a stop. He had lost more time, much more by the look of it. Something was happening to him, correction, something had happened to him, and he had no idea what.

‘I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to my father.’ Legolas had always been able to discuss both his concerns and his joys with Thranduil. Father and son, even in the worst of times, loved and respected each other. No secret was held back by one from the other for any length of time. In short, Legolas needed his Ada.

Firmly making up his mind, Legolas urged his horse into a full run, hoping to reach home and see his father as quickly as possible. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that whatever was affecting him would cause irreparable damage, if he didn’t hurry.

*~*~*~*

Galáril found the body of Arondo’s horse, lying under the trees just ahead of him. He jumped down and made a quick examination. Scouting around with fear in his heart, he soon found Arondo’s body, sitting propped up against the tree where Begrin and Aragorn had left it.

The elder elf was shocked and greatly saddened at the sight. He took only a moment to pay his respects to the young elf he cared a great deal for before turning his attention to a more detailed investigation of the area.

It didn’t take him long to find the spot where Arondo had died. The ground was saturated with dried blood. There were no drag marks visible. He thought that whoever had done the killing would have simply dragged the body out of sight, not carried it and carefully set it under the tree. So Arondo had been moved by someone who cared for the elven warrior. Had it been Legolas? Galáril could tell that the prince had definitely been here.

Galáril shook his head. Who had done this terrible murder? Surely it had not been another elf. Yet there were no orc tracks, or any other creature capable of doing this, anywhere in the area. What he did find were the tracks of two humans.

The elf was sure one set belonged to the ranger, Aragorn. Galáril knew him fairly well, since he was Legolas’s good friend, and thus was sure he knew the tracks the man made. The other set of tracks were strange to him.

Had this stranger killed Arondo, taken Legolas prisoner and was now being followed by Aragorn? That made sense, except for one thing: It looked as if both Aragorn and the stranger had mounted a horse and were now riding together. Was the ranger a prisoner also? It was time to find out.

Galáril bid a sad farewell to the murdered young warrior, vowing as Aragorn had, that he would notify someone to come and take Arongo home to his family. He mounted his own horse and rode off after Aragorn and the stranger, which he hoped would ultimately lead to Legolas.

*~*~*~*

Thranduil was not happy at having to remain in the stronghold. Every year, at this time, he took time out of his busy schedule to visit the elven settlements within several leagues of the palace. He couldn’t cover them all at one time, so he visited the settlements from due west to the south and the next year from due west to the north. Thranduil felt it was important that the king of the realm show himself where most of his people lived and worked. Thranduil could not abide holding up in a mountain while his people went on with their daily lives never once laying eyes on him. He wanted to be more of a hands-on ruler.

The king’s advisors were never happy to let him roam around the forest, even with guards accompanying him. Since the Shadow had spread from Dol Guldur, the forest had become just too dangerous. However, Thranduil was strong-willed and had continued the yearly journeys to see and talk to his people in their own element.

Now with the news that orcs were not only gathered outside the western border but had actually entered the forest and caused trouble, the advisors had their excuse to all but demand that Thranduil stay in the palace.

Thranduil almost pushed the advisors’ concerns aside, so he could do what he planned on doing. This time, however, he finally came to concede the prudence of not putting himself in unnecessary danger. If he was caught out in the open or even in one of the virtually undependable settlements by orcs, wargs and the like, there was always the possibility that he could be gravely wounded or even killed.

His warrior heart hated giving in, but he knew that doing otherwise was pure selfishness on his part. When his father had been killed, and he became king, Thranduil had assumed responsibilities far beyond himself and what he might wish to do.

The king may not be able to venture far, but he was not going to spend all of his time in the stronghold. He would go riding in the forest. The majority of his time was taken up with the business of the realm. Each day, weather permitting, he took the time to spend time among the trees. Their song soothed him, and he often found answers there he could find no place else.

Some of his warrior guards were sent to aid the western patrol in their dealings with the orcs. However, to quell any arguments from his advisors, he agreed to take four guards with him instead of the usual two he took on these daily rides.
So it was with a sigh, a fluid swing up on his stallion’s back and the four warriors in tow that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, rode into the forest.

*~*~*~*

Half an hour later, Thranduil was about to turn back toward the palace, when he heard the sound of a single horse’s hooves hitting the ground at a high rate of speed. He was soon surrounded by the guards, who all had their bows drawn with arrows fitted to the strings, although none had raised them as yet.

It was hardly surprising that Thranduil was the first to recognize Legolas. He held his hand up to stay any hostile motion the guards might be intending to make. “It is Legolas,” was all he needed to say. He waited somewhat less than patiently for his son to reach him.

Legolas had spotted his father and the guards at almost the same instant that Thranduil had spotted him. He didn’t want his father to think there was a physical threat, so he slowed down to a gallop. As he neared, he could tell by the look on Thranduil’s face that his father was more than a little alarmed. Legolas came to a stop, facing Thranduil.

“Legolas, what has happened?” the king asked anxiously. He glanced behind his son to see if there was anyone in pursuit. “Have the orcs entered the forest? Have you come to request more warriors?”

“No, father. I am sorry. I did not mean to alarm you.”

Thranduil did not look fully relaxed.

“I need to speak to you. It is...of a personal nature.”

The distress on Legolas’s face was evident, so whatever he had to say must be important. Without saying another word he motioned for Legolas to dismount. He did the same. Putting his arm around his son’s shoulders, he turned his head to the warrior in charge of the guards. “Mariath, remain here.” ”

“Yes, my lord. We prefer you both to stay within our sight.”

Thranduil nodded. “We will not go far.” He took Legolas about twenty yards off near a cluster of beech trees. Removing his arm from Legolas’s shoulders, he faced him. “Tell me, ion nin. What has you so upset?”

TBC

Chapter Eight

Legolas stood and looked into his father’s eyes. It was obvious that the king was concerned. Even had he not been seeking his father’s help, Legolas knew it would have been impossible to hide from Thranduil the fact that something within him was not as it should be.

Now that Legolas was facing the one he had sought out, how did he begin to explain? How did he tell his father, the one who had such faith and pride in him, that he had murdered another elf and not just any elf, but Arondo?

Thranduil could see the confusion in his son’s eyes and behind that, the pain. He wanted so much to grab Legolas in an embrace and tell him that no matter what the problem was everything would work out for the best. That was his heart speaking. His head told him to be patient. “I am here to listen, Legolas.” By way of encouragement, Thranduil gently squeezed Legolas’s shoulder but said nothing more.

Legolas continued to look into his father’s face and then he shivered. It was the cold wind blowing through his soul again. He had felt it just before the time lapses had begun, and it frightened him that it was happening again.

Thranduil both saw and felt the tremor that ran through his son’s body. He also became frightened. “Legolas?”

As the young elf watched, the concerned face of his father faded until there was nothing but darkness. He ceased to be conscious of what was happening around him.

Thranduil witnessed the change take place in his son’s eyes. It occurred so fast that he wasn’t sure what was happening. In a flash, he felt the connection to his son vanish. The king was mystified. He was looking at Legolas. He was even touching him, since he had not removed his hand from the young prince’s shoulder, yet the being that stood before him was no longer connected to his spirit, as only a child could be. This was not his son. This was not Legolas.

The elven ruler jerked his hand away from the figure before him. The eyes he was looking into now were cold and filled with malice. Their color had gone from their normal bright blue-gray to the almost-black hue of a summer rain storm. The how and why of it stumped Thranduil, but he managed to say, “Who are you, and where is my son?”

“I knew from your son’s mind that you are perceptive.” Saeragar sneered in obvious triumph as he said, “Your son is dead. His body lives, as you can plainly see, but the essence of who he was is gone.”

Thranduil was stunned beyond measure. Despite the break in the connection with Legolas, he, like Aragorn, refused to believe what he was being told. “You lie!”

“Do I? Then tell me, King Thranduil, why do you no longer feel the presence of your son’s spirit? Why do you feel as if he has been snatched from your own soul?”

Thranduil could not answer. Not only was his mind reeling, but he could not answer the questions he was being asked.

“Do you not hear the trees weeping? Would they weep for a silvan elf, who is still here among them?”

The eyes of the king widened. He had not heard it before, but now that he had been reminded of the trees’ song, he listened. They were indeed weeping. A sorrowful song of lament flowed through the forest in all directions. This could not be true! It could not. There had to be another explanation. Thranduil grasped at the idea that the trees must be lamenting whatever was wrong with Legolas, not his death, though the depth of their sorrow was profound.

Saeragar smiled at the emotions that were flickering across the elven king’s face: fear, confusion, denial, anger.

“You lie,” Thranduil repeated. He knew what he heard from the trees. He knew the sundering from his son that he felt. Yet his heart would not allow him to believe.

Even though he wanted to savor the moment, Saeragar knew he could not take the time. He had to do what he came here to do and then proceed to the palace stronghold to announce the demise of the king and his guards. And then, as Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, he would ascend the throne and take control of the realm.

Beyond becoming king, the evil being thought only in grand terms. He would secure Mirkwood and then spread his reign to other realms until he would eventually rule all of Middle-earth. He did not care for details, since he was convinced he was too powerful for such things to be any kind of stumbling block to his desires. No one could stand against his will. He decided what he wanted and everything would fall into place with only a minimum of effort on his part. If anything unexpected came up, he could, and would, handle it.

Saeragar looked at Thranduil. His eyes turned as black as a crebain’s wing, just as they had done when he had met the elven family in the forest. Saeragar knew this king was much more powerful than any ordinary wood elf, but he also had supreme faith in his own abilities to control whoever he chose.

Saeragar now put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder and stared into the king’s turmoil-filled eyes. “You are mine, Thranduil. You cannot escape my control.” Saeragar felt resistance, but he continued. “Your son is gone, and you have no one left to love. Your life has become useless. It is time to say goodbye to the life you knew.”

Thranduil could feel the cold grip of fear invade his heart. As he stared back at the features of his beloved son, he saw quite clearly that Legolas’s face had been contorted by hate and an evil he could only guess at. Legolas did not possess the ability to project such evil. It was not in him.

Thranduil’s thoughts returned to the focus that Saeragar intended. ‘My son is gone. Legolas truly is dead.’ Those words to himself stung as painfully as any mortal wound could have. More so even than that. Had he been burned alive, he didn’t think he could suffer such pain as he did at the thought that his beloved child was lost to him.

Perhaps it was better to let go and sink into the oblivion that grief provided for any elf willing to embrace it.

Control over his own thinking was so minimal, at this point, that Thranduil never even entertained the idea that this creature might be defeated and Legolas rescued.

Saeragar felt the weakness of grief growing in the king, and it was that moment of weakness that the evil being seized upon. He was not willing to let Thranduil get the chance to change his mind about his son‘s demise. A battle of wills with this wood elf would take too much out of him. He would be forced to let Legolas take over again, and once Thranduil was reconnected with his son, the battle would be a monumental one to win.

Thranduil knew the moment he lost control of his will. He had been so upset about Legolas that he had given this evil creature the opening he needed. He was dismayed when he heard the command, “Dismiss your guards.”

Woodenly, Thranduil’s voice replied, “They will not leave me.”

The reply was angry. “You are the king. They will do as you say.”

“In this they will not. Their only duty is to go where I go and protect me. They swore an oath on their lives. They will not leave.”

Saeragar became even angrier at the explanation. “Then they will die!” he spat.

The king’s eyes widened. He wanted to yell a warning, but he could not get the words past his throat. He screamed in his own mind not to kill them, but he knew that even if the words had been shouted for all to hear, the guards would not listen. They would run toward him, not away, and they would die trying to protect their king and their prince.

Thranduil stood in complete immobility, his heart constricting in horror as he watched his son, or the being that he had been forced to regard as his son’s killer, make his way toward the guards, entice them all to dismount and then slaughter them without mercy before his very eyes.

Just as with Arondo, none of the four warriors had any idea they were not in the presence of Prince Legolas. And just as with Arondo, Saeragar was able to fool them, get close and then attack.

Mariath, the lead warrior and the last one standing, found it hard to react to the violence. Surely the prince was not the one he was watching commit murder against his fellow warriors.

Mariath defended himself as best he could, but his training and experience as a protector was so ingrained in his being that he could not bring himself to seriously attempt to stop Legolas by killing him. He did try, unsuccessfully, to disarm the young prince, using every trick of hand-to-hand combat he could think of. As he did so, his mind kept telling him over and over that there had to be some mistake in what he was witnessing. He died believing that.

Saeragar couldn’t help but gloat over what he had just done. He could have simply taken over the warriors’ wills, as he had done earlier with the elven family and with Thranduil. However, he had wanted to kill these elves. He loved killing. He loved blood, especially that of his victims. He observed the four bloody bodies with a smug expression. He wanted to remain a while and enjoy his kills, but now it was time to continue with his plan.

In the time it had taken Saeragar to walk back to where Thranduil waited, he had come to the conclusion that maybe it would be best not to kill the king just yet. There may be things the king needed to do that perhaps Legolas knew nothing about. He had no doubt that if the king died suddenly, there were rules in place for the succession of the prince to the throne. Still, if the transition could be made easier by gaining more knowledge, lessening the chances for suspicion and thus lessening the chances for opposition, then why not do it that way? It would quicken his ultimate goal. Thranduil would simply be eliminated later.

Saeragar told Thranduil to mount his horse. He then did the same. As the two headed for the palace, Saeragar told Thranduil to tell him everything that he needed to know to become the new king. There was no resistance to this request.

*~*~*~*

Galáril saw the horse almost directly ahead of him. He did not recognize the robed figure, but it took only a second for his keen sight to spot the fact that the person whose back he was seeing was riding behind another. He saw a dark head with shoulder length hair and an arm clad in black leather, holding the reins. Neither rider was elven.

Knowing he could not get too close before they heard his horse, Galáril decided to stay back until he could make out who rode in front. It didn’t take long.

As the elf watched, the rider in black turned his head to speak to the robed figure. “Aragorn,” Galáril said aloud. Keen observation told him the ranger was not being held against his will. The elf was happy to see the man and urged his horse forward at a run.

Both Aragorn and Begrin heard the approaching horse at the same time. The ranger pulled his own horse to a stop and turned it toward the sound of the hoof beats. In only a few seconds, Aragorn recognized the approaching elf.

“Do you know him?” Begrin asked.

“Yes. He is a seasoned warrior scout for Thranduil, and he has known Legolas all of his life.” Aragorn paused and then added, “He will be reluctant to believe your story, as much as I was.”

When the elven warrior reached the two riders, he stopped next to them. “Mae govannen, Aragorn.”

“Mae govannen, Galáril.”

Galáril gave an appraising look toward Begrin. He then looked at the ranger, obviously waiting for an introduction.

Aragorn nodded toward the figure sitting behind him and said, “This is Begrin. He, uh, works for the Valar.” The statement would have brought a laugh under other circumstances.

Galáril hid his surprise well and inclined his head to the stranger. Ever the warrior intent on protecting the realm, said. “I can use your help, Aragorn. I fear that Legolas may be in trouble.” Again looking at Begrin, he added, “And your help also, if indeed you do the Valar’s bidding.”

Aragon took a deep breath before saying, “Galáril, Legolas killed Arondo.” Even as Aragorn said the words he had a hard time accepting it.

The look on the elder elf’s face was indescribable. Shock and horror were the dominant expressions. “I found his body, but I cannot believe Legolas did such a thing.”

“It is not Legolas,” Begrin said without the slightest hesitation at interjecting himself in the conversation. There wasn’t time for the niceties of being a stranger. “We must get to Thranduil quickly.”

The implication was unacceptable. Galáril glared at Begrin. “Are you saying that Legolas is going to kill the king, his father?”

Momentarily ignoring the elf, Begrin put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “We must leave---now. We can explain to Galáril as we go.”

With a nod, Aragorn turned his horse around and continued the interrupted journey to the palace.

The warrior was instantly beside them, easily matching their pace.

Between them Aragorn and Begrin told the elf what they knew, and as expected, Galáril found it impossible to accept. He was being asked to believe that Legolas had killed Arondo, by cutting his throat no less, and was now evidently planning to do the same to the king.

Begrin realized that this elven warrior was making the same mistake that Aragorn kept making: They kept thinking that it was Legolas that was doing all of this. Once again he was impressed by the high level of loyalty that the prince inspired among those he knew. Once again Begrin turned to a doubting person and said, “You are right. Legolas is not committing these crimes. It is Saeragar that is the killer.”

Without commenting on Begrin’s words, suddenly Galáril pulled his horse to a stop and held his hand out for Aragorn to stop his.

“What is it?” Aragorn quite naturally asked.

“Someone comes.” He paused and then added, “Two horses.”

The three were soon hidden from the approaching riders by a group of four trees growing close together. They did not dismount but peered through the small spaces between the trees.

Many yards away rode Thranduil and Legolas. They seemed to be in deep conversation. At least Legolas was. He was the only one talking.

They were too far away to be heard, but their demeanor was plain, even to the less keen-sighted ranger.

The fact that Thranduil rode straight-backed was no surprise. However, now he appeared to be stiff, almost wooden. His face was a blank mask, as he stared straight ahead. No one, not even the elf, Galáril, could clearly see his eyes. But judging from his face, his eyes were most likely just as blank.

Begrin frowned. “The king is under Saeragar’s control.”

“Thranduil is too powerful to succumb,” Galáril said flatly. “He has the strong will of a wood elf king.”

Begrin only shook his head. “Look at him,” was all he had to say.

It was only after a closer inspection of the king, who was getting nearer to their position, that Galáril was forced to consider Begrin’s words. He was not ready to admit the truth of it just yet, but he was smart enough to weigh all the possibilities, no matter how improbable they seemed. Doing so had often saved his life.

Aragorn wanted nothing more than to ride out to Legolas and assure himself that the hope for his friend’s recovery was still a possibility. However, he knew that was a move that might have very bad results. He wasn’t willing to risk failure just because he couldn’t control his anxiety about Legolas’s welfare or that of the king. Biting back his anxiousness and letting practicality tale over, he turned to Begrin. “Should we confront them or follow them?”

TBC

Chapter Nine

Begrin had been contemplating the choice to be made even before Aragorn had asked his question. There were only three of them, so if they confronted Saeragar now, would they have a chance against the powerful being?

Would waiting and following Saeragar and Thranduil be any better? Once they reached the palace, there would be countless allies for the pair. All the elves there would think their king and prince had returned, and all Saeragar, as Legolas, would have to do was tell the elves that Begrin, a stranger, had corrupted Galáril and Aragorn and turned them against the royal family. The three would soon find themselves in the palace dungeons never to be heard from again. That could not be allowed to happen.

Begrin’s vision refocused, when he felt Aragorn pulling on his sleeve insistently. He realized that the man had done it more than once.

When Begrin came back to the present, Aragorn was staring at him. "Well? What do we do?" he whispered.

"There would be too many allies for Saeragar, if he and Thranduil reach the palace," Begrin explained. "We have to make our stand right here."

That was the answer that Aragorn and Galáril were waiting for, but before either of them could remark, Begrin said, "We have to be totally committed to what we must do. As I’ve said before, Saeragar is very powerful. We cannot afford to end up succumbing to his will as the king and his son have done. We must be resolved to do whatever needs to be done to stop Saeragar. Are we agreed?"

Galáril would not have believed that giving in to the evil being Begrin talked about could happen, however, he would never have believed that either Legolas or Thranduil could now be so easily controlled, either. "We will do what we must," he said.

"Stopping Saeragar is the main goal here," Begrin informed him. "But even if we defeat him, there is no certainty that we can rescue Thranduil from the state you see him in now. It depends on how deeply Saeragar has gone into the king’s mind and damaged it."

Galáril did not like the sound of that. The very word damage made him shudder.

Begrin saw the unhappy looks on his companions’ faces, so he attempted to ease their minds. "Thranduil has not been under Saeragar’s control very long, so the chances are good that once Saeragar dies and Thranduil is released from his hold, the king will be well." He believed he was right in telling them that. Usually damage occurred after long exposure to the kind of mind control Saeragar used.

Aragorn was glad about that but was not happy that Begrin had not mentioned rescuing Legolas. He did not question him, because he didn’t want to be told yet again that his friend was lost to him. Once the evil being was defeated and freed from the prince’s mind, Aragorn was sure Legolas would return to them, as would his father. He nodded to Begrin and echoed Galáril’s words, "We will do what we must."

Legolas and Thranduil were passing their position and moving toward the palace. "This has to stop now," Begrin said as he watched the retreating backs of the two royal elves. "Let us go."

Each of the three sent up a prayer to the Valar to help them succeed in what they were about to do. How long it would be before they knew the answer they didn’t know, because they had no idea how long the struggle to defeat the evil being known as Saeragar would last. They rode forward to find out.

"Saeragar!"

The evil being froze at the sound of the all-too- familiar voice that called his name. "Begrin," he spat. He leaned over and told Thranduil to stop his horse. The king obeyed immediately but did not react to the sound of a strange voice in his kingdom.

Aragorn, Begrin and Galáril rode up to within a few feet of the king and his son, or at least, the image of his son.

"I should have known you would show your face and put your nose into my business. You will not be any more successful now than you have ever been." He eyed the human and the elf warrior. "They cannot help you, either."

"That remains to be seen," Begrin said calmly, though he would not have liked any of the others to see how in knots his stomach was. He couldn’t let Saeragar mistakenly suspect he was intimidated, nor could he let the elven warrior and the ranger suspect it. Too much was at stake, and they needed every advantage. Showing absolute nerves of steel was a step in that direction.

Aragorn was shocked as he stared at Legolas’s face. It looked as Thranduil had observed earlier---contorted. The fair elven skin was darker by far, in stark contrast with the golden hair, which now seemed dull and lifeless. He looked as if he had aged, an uncommon occurrence in elves.

The elf’s eyes were dark, almost the color of the inside of a deep cavern. That comparison made the ranger shudder, especially considering how much Legolas hated any cave deep enough to hide the light of the entrance. The ranger also noticed that Legolas’s hands seemed gnarled, like those of a very old person who had labored long and hard all their life. Even the elf’s shoulders were slightly hunched.

It all tore at the man’s heart, as he searched those dark eyes, hoping to see some spark in their depths that would tell him that Begrin was wrong. The ranger had come to believe Begrin that Legolas was gone. Now, even seeing what he evil being had done to the once beautiful elven body, Aragorn could not help but believe that his friend still lived.

All elves had a place deep within their minds where they could go to find a restful peace and sometimes to escape the ravages of intense pain or overwhelming grief while they healed. Legolas retreated into a green forest of such unmatched beauty that he was sometimes reluctant to leave it. He had described it to his human friend on several occasions, regretting that the two of them could not go there together. It was to this inner forest that Aragorn believed the elf had now retreated until he could be rescued from the evil that had taken control of his mind.

Galáril had his own eyes trained on the king. Thranduil, to the elven warrior’s dismay, sat so stiffly upright it looked almost painful. He stared straight ahead of him, though it was plain that he didn’t really know what he was looking at. He showed no emotion nor recognition of the newcomers in his midst. Galáril’s anger rose, but he knew he couldn’t act on that anger---at least, not yet.

Saeragar sneered at Begrin. "Do not think that I am not aware of what you are planning."

"If you mean we plan to defeat you, you are right," Begrin replied. His voice never wavered, and his gaze was steady.

Saeragar sneered again. "You should know by now, Begrin, that you cannot defeat me. You have tried often enough in the past and always failed miserably."

"But there is something you do not understand, Saeragar. While you have been imprisoned in that black rock all these millennia, I have been roaming the earth and learning many things."

"If your vaunted Valar could not help you defeat me before, nothing you have learned will aid you now. Admit it, Begrin, you have no knowledge of how to win. You never did."

Begrin smiled, as Aragorn said, "If the Valar didn’t help him all those millennia ago, how is it you ended up spending the time form then until now imprisoned in a black rock?" He knew he words would provoke Saeragar, but he wasn’t able to hold back the sarcastic remark.

Aragorn flinched as Saeragar jerked his head to face the ranger. The eyes that now glared at him in anger were not those of the elf he loved as a brother. They were so full of cold loathing that Aragorn couldn’t suppress a shudder that Begrin, sitting behind him on the horse, felt.

The ranger felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and knew that Begrin was offering strength and support.

"You, human, are not involved in this," Saeragar scoffed in dismissal.

"You are wrong. That is my friend’s body that you inhabit, and I want it back!"

Immediately, Aragorn felt another squeeze on his shoulder, only this time it was a warning not to lose focus. He took a deep breath, but his tense body relaxed very little.

The gesture did not escape Saeragar’s notice. Interpreting Begrin‘s gesture, Saeragar scoffed, "Do as you are told, human."

Galáril frowned. He had no idea what had transpired or what Saeragar was talking about, but he knew enough not to lose control of his feelings, though he understood exactly how Aragorn felt. He wanted both his king and his prince back.

To everyone’s surprise, Saeragar dismounted and commanded the king to do the same. Thranduil quickly obeyed, as usual. The horses were sent off out of easy reach.

Saeragar did not seem bothered by the fact that he, being on foot, appeared to be at a disadvantage to those that were still mounted. "Come down and join us," he beckoned, pulling the king close to him and placing his left hand around Thranduil’s neck.

Begrin knew that with the elven strength that Legolas’s body possessed, at the first sign of an attack Saeragar would break the king’s neck before anyone could stop him. The robed figure slid off the horse and nodded for Aragorn and Galáril to follow suit. They did.

The ranger did not like what was happening, but decided that Begrin knew what he was doing. He didn’t know how long he could go along with the mysterious man, but if it ended in success, he would be more grateful than he could ever begin to repay. However, if things looked like they were getting out of their control and Saeragar was winning, he would take matters into his own hands.

If it came down to a choice between stopping Saeragar or saving Legolas, the man honestly had no idea what he would do. He prayed fervently that no such choice would be needed. He had the feeling that either choice would bring consequences he was not prepared to live with.

Saeragar, with his hand still firmly around the king’s neck, and Begrin, Aragorn and Galáril stood facing each other.

"What now?" Galáril asked. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was getting tired of waiting for it. He was an elf who thrived on action.

"Kneel," Saeragar said to the three facing him. When no one moved, he shouted the order again. "Kneel!"

All three of those facing Saeragar and Thranduil knew that if they ended up on their knees before this evil being, they would either never rise again, or if they did, they wouldn’t be themselves.

"We will not comply," Begrin said defiantly.

Saeragar did not seem surprised. He twisted Legolas’s mouth into a cruel smile. "The king will die, if you do not obey me."

In a flash, Aragorn lunged forward. He did not leap straight at the two figures in front of him, but aimed his body to the side. As he passed, he grabbed Legolas’s hand and with his momentum doing the work, pulled the elf’s fingers away from the king’s neck. In doing so, Saeragar was jerked around sideways.

Begrin and Galáril, both reacting quickly, jumped forward and grabbed Thranduil, pulling him away from Saeragar. The king then stood quietly nearby, as if nothing had happened.

Screaming in rage, Saeragar lashed out with his foot and connected solidly with Aragorn’s lower back, knocking him forcefully to the ground. The ranger rolled over twice and then lay still.

Completing the turn that Aragorn’s move had started, Saeragar spun back to his two remaining opponents. He locked eyes with Galáril and focused all of his attention on the elven warrior.

Galáril was forced to his knees by the sheer intensity of Saeragar’s will. He felt his mind falling away from himself. His last conscious thought was that this must have been what Legolas and Thranduil had experienced. The elven warrior remained on his knees, arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes focused straight ahead, physically seeing but not mentally processing the scene before him.

Saeragar grabbed Thranduil from beside Begrin and shoved him aside, ordering him to stay where he was. He then faced an angry Begrin. "So it comes down to just you and me."

"That is how it was always meant to be, Saeragar," Begrin replied.

The two rushed at each other, locking their hands around each other’s neck. They spun; they fell, rolling across the ground; they rose, kicking and punching. Neither could get a commanding hold of the other. At no time would Begrin look into Saeragar’s eyes, knowing that if he did, he would meet the same fate as Thranduil and Galáril.

The battle was desperate, each knowing that whoever lost the tenuous balance they had established, would not win the battle. It was that simple.

However, Begrin knew something that even Saeragar did not. Should whatever body that Saeragar found himself inhabiting ever die and no living one was within ten yards of it, Saeragar would have no host to slip into and would also die. It was for that reason that Begrin forced the two of them farther and farther away from Aragorn, Thranduil and Galáril. He knew that once alone with Saeragar, he would have to die at almost the same instant to prevent his own body from being inhabited and used to fulfill the evil being’s grand scheme of conquest.

Tjey both had to die. Begrin was prepared for that. He had known it would probably come down to sacrificing himself ever since the Valar had revealed Saeragar’s only weakness to him when he started roaming Middle-earth in an attempt to keep his senses tuned to Saeragar and search for him should he ever be set free.

Twenty yards away, Aragorn groaned as he came to his senses. His back hurt abominably. It felt like he had been kicked by a troll, at the very least, if not an oliphaunt. He heard the sounds of a fight not far off and lifted his head to look. It was then that everything that was going on hit him in a rush.

The man got to his feet slowly but once upright, he gained his balance and headed toward the sight of Legolas and Begrin in deadly hand-to-hand combat.

Begrin caught a glimpse of movement off to his right and ventured a glance in that direction. When he saw Aragorn making his way toward him, he shouted for the man to stop. "Aragorn, do not come any closer."

Aragorn was confused. Why did Begrin not want him to come to his aid? Weren’t they supposed to stop Saeragar? And didn’t they have a better chance of doing that, if they fought him together? When Begrin yelled, "Get back!" the ranger reluctantly obeyed. Again he thought that Begrin must know what he was doing.

He instead turned to look at Thranduil and Galáril. He gave them a quick exam, which neither of them reacted to, and saw that beyond their mental state, they appeared unharmed.

When he looked back toward Begrin and Saeragar, his heart clenched. Saeragar was now standing over Begrin with a knife held high over his head. Aragorn knew that, if Begrin was killed, they were all doomed. There would be no rescue of Legolas, or Thranduil or Galáril. The man knew he would be next, thus allowing Saeragar to proceed to the palace and take over as the prince who would become king. Aragorn could not bring himself to think beyond that.

The ranger quickly grabbed the small hunting bow he carried on his back and nocked an arrow, pulling the string back to a full draw. "Saeragar, put the knife down."

Saeragar looked up, and seeing the image of the human standing there and aiming a puny wooden shaft at the beating elven heart that sustained him, he actually laughed. "That will not kill me, human. Besides, you will not shoot your friend."

Begrin hoped that Saeragar was wrong. He closed his eyes. ‘Please, Aragorn, you have to shoot, but do not do it too soon. I must die when Saeragar does.’ It was a silent prayer, but he hoped the Valar would speed it to Aragorn’s ears.

The ranger shook his head, as the thought did indeed reach him. "I cannot let you die," he said aloud.

‘You must,’ came another thought. ’Kill him as I die. It is the only way."

When he felt reluctance on the man’s part, Begrin understood that it was not only because Aragorn did not want to let him die, but he also did not want to shoot at Legolas. ‘Legolas is gone, Aragorn. I did not lie to you about that. Sparing his body will not change that.’

"But if his body dies, he will never be able to get back." Aragorn was still not willing to let his dearest friend go.

‘He is not coming back, Aragorn. Do what you must do. Legolas would not want his body used as an instrument of evil.’

It was at the instant that Begrin’s last words reached Aragorn’s mind that Saeragar roared in rage and plunged the knife down into Begrin’s heart.

With a strangled cry and a pain so deep he knew he would carry it in his wounded soul for the rest of his days, Aragorn released his arrow.

~End~