Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belong to Tolkien. I promise to return these characters as they were when I am done. Sue me and you will get nothing. Except my thesaurus. But don't sue me. I like my thesaurus.

A/N: This story is an attempt to fill some blanks that were left in Return of the King (at least I felt there were blanks). This preamble is written to set the mood and later chapters will focus on events that are specifically detailed by Tolkien. I have taken some very small liberties where I felt it helped (e.g., did they travel by night or by day? --who cares … did they ride at full gallop all the way? -- I say no … you get the gist.) . So with that said please read, and don't forget to tell me your thoughts.

Chapter One

A Single Pure Note

The lithe creature flitted on the wind, swooping and diving. It’s motion was unique, halting. One moment it was poised, still as an object, frozen in mid-air by nothing but the wind rising beneath it. The next, it would break its repose, coasting upward or downward with a simple gesture of its wings, speed coursing it to where it had not been before.

He froze, transfixed, watching in horror and fascination as this magnificent creature played in the air above him.

He had been riding for a long day and the road before him had been all he had noticed ere then. The landscape about him was desolate, plain, unchanging. The fellows of his company were the only points of interest about him as rolling hills of tall grass stretched out around them. Conversation had grown thin and focus had been placed on the unforeseen that lay ahead. Nothing was there to see save the confusion of dark masses that formed on the horizon about and behind them. And that held no purpose for him. It pursued their trail but it did not pursue them and thus it did not frighten him. It had been a long ride and not much had changed in the course of this travel. So the discovery of the single bird startled him.

And now it was too late… 'too late!' He had promised himself he would be prepared for this. How could he have been caught so off-guard? He raised his hands to his ears, attempting to shut out the piercing wail that escaped the throat of the gull. 'Too late! Too late!' He sucked in his breath, waiting for the inevitable pain to course through his head.

Instead there was nothing. Nothing. No pain. No body. No sense of being. No beginning nor end. Spinning. Whirling. Emptiness. Vertigo pulled him through a groundless world. He had no point to fix on to regain his composure. Light crossed his vision but the shapes it formed had no meaning to him. He floated in a vacuum, unaware of direction or time or place. He seemed to remain there infinitely until all memory of who he was or where he had been disappeared from him. And then the rush of what came hurled him back to earth. He winced at the magnitude of it.

Surging power … unquestionable strength… crushing… roaring… deafening and unrelenting. Yet caressing… tranquil….exquisite… playful…gentle and lulling.

Released from a limbo of nothingness, the multitude of sensations swept through him and sent him off balance. Shocked at the flurry of it, he stumbled. He gasped, inhaling oxygen into his lungs as if he were taking in his very first breath. His chest ached as he drew in the scented air and his head whirled at the sheer ecstasy of breathing again. His memory of time and place before him faded and he fought the confusion that now abounded him. 'What has happened to me?'

Somehow, somehow he had been transported to this place. He shook his head, trying to recollect his arrival. He searched to remember what had pushed him into this new plain. He found no answers. The smells and sounds about him were intoxicating and he had trouble focusing on all but the tiniest minutiae. He felt himself slipping into them.

He pulled himself back. 'This is not right,' he told himself again. 'Why can I not remember?' He closed his eyes to the world around him. Yet in doing so, he found that every detail sharpened itself by the mere absence of sight.

Then, as if by a greater power, he relaxed and his edginess passed. He laughed as the world about him became more and more alive. Opening his eyes, he sought out light and shadow, taste, smell, sound, touch; he relinquished himself to the sensations that emerged from the scenery around him.

Water lapped beneath him and he felt the waves buoying him with each caress of the shore. Foam bubbled on the sand where he stood and receded showing the infinite patterns of changing granules moved by their wake. Rivulets were created where the tide ripped clean and were filled and drained as the water poured itself back into the sea, repeating itself again and again as the waves surged inland.

He noted the colors of the waves. Colors. Had he ever seen so many? He held his breath as the waves glowed in infinite hues: blue, green, amber, cream. All presented themselves in their glorious array as water broke into transparent rows of wave upon wave. A spectrum rode through the water. 'So like jewels,' he thought, 'catching and refracting the light.'

He tasted salt on his lips and marveled at its existence there, that just by breathing it settled itself into him. The smell of it wrapped about him and carried itself on the breeze. He felt the air licking his skin and hair, and was tickled by its tug at his clothing, loosening tendrils of his mane.

He felt he was all things at once and his body had no limits. He bounded in the water, riding freely upon the waves, diving to great depths without hesitation. He rose above and into the air, sailing in the wind as if he were in a dream. He swooped down low and danced in the bubbles drifting out of the deep aqua masses of water crashing on the shore. He coasted with the tide feeling his body pulled in varying directions as he relaxed to it. He drifted with the sand becoming an infinite surface to be molded and remolded by the waves. Joy filled him as he took it all in, rocking him to his soul.

A sound broke his thoughts and he wondered that he had not sensed it before. A song. A simple melody at first. It started out slowly, softly, barely a whisper. Yet his senses were heightened and he found he could follow it. The sound grew as he gave it attention and he marveled at its intricacy. At first it was just a simple, pure note. Then it became two and then a third and a melody began to form. The rhythm of waves chorused in and more notes joined into the emerging foray. As he focused on this lingering melody, it grew with more and more intensity. Notes joined other notes to create a greater song, building, building as more flitting harmonies intertwined. And in the end, he thought there could be nothing more perfect – it was an orchestration of all things. Symphonies danced all about him and he could not tell where their source began or ended. He only knew it was the most magnificent sound he had ever heard and a sob rose in his throat at the unrestrained beauty of it.

He gazed up at the cloudless sky and closed his eyes to the warmth of the sun. Happiness filled his heart and he knew he had never felt such joy before. 'Thank you,' he whispered. Light passed through his shut lids and a red glow filled his eyes mirroring the flush of heat he felt on his face as the music filled his head, his heart, his being.

A shadow passed his eyes, darting smoothly. He felt the quick contrast of its shade to the vigor of the sun and he opened his eyes to see what it was that had cast it. In his vision flew a single bird.

The music stopped.

His heart raced. 'No!' he cried. An ache rose in his chest as the disappearance of the sound took him away. He felt himself being ripped and agony coursed his veins. A part of him was leaving. His soul, his light! 'No!' An emptiness filled the space. All his senses reeled away. He sobbed at the loss, thrashing about, frantically, searching for a way to bring it back. The world left him. A void now remained that sucked life from all around him. It grew and filled, changing everything to a dull, lifeless gray. All reality was now cloaked in a haze. His perceptions dimmed as the breeze which had stroked his face was gone, replaced by a stifling stillness.

A dim sound rose, barely audible. "Legolas."

Flat. Empty. It meant nothing.

His vision settled on a field of brown grass before him. The sky above was dusky, ambling with masses of deep, burly clouds. He winced at the ugliness of this scene. He staggered at his transport to this despair. He felt himself rocking backward awkwardly, losing balance. He was about to fall.

Something took his shoulder and righted him.

Again, a sound was heard. Clearer, slightly louder now. "Legolas!"

He looked up at the sound and saw it had a face. Piercing gray eyes and dark flowing hair. Pale, luminous skin. A man. No, not a man. Something else, a word that escaped him. The bearer was a stranger to him. He fought the foreigners attempt to engage him. 'He thinks I am familiar?'

Words, almost invisible, were being spoken to him, their meaning hidden by his inability to comprehend. The stranger began to shake him. He did not fight. He looked about and saw there were more here. To his side rode another. Again, not a man, much in appearance to the first, but taller. A gray steed hammered its hoof beneath him. Riding at the rear sat a squat man, shorter in stature but with great girth. This stranger was bearded and clothed in a heavy suit of metal. He too was speaking, a look on his deep-set face that betrayed something. 'Concern?' Further off, a fourth man reared up on a dark horse. A dark mantle lay upon him, dark as his features and his appearance was scruffy and tired, as if heavily burdened. The eyes of him were the same penetrating gray as the gathering clouds and they stared without malice. There was something familiar in this person.

"Legolas?"

He recoiled. A wave of memory flooded in. 'Legolas!' That name was his own. He looked wildly about, recognizing what had seemed foreign to him only moments before. Confusion filled him. He fought to regain the memories, seeking a way to go back to that other place. He could not stay here. He had to get away. Panic overtook him.

He heard a cry, a hollow wail and looked up to see a lone gull, swooping in the wind. A sigh released itself from him. 'Of course!' He felt himself drifting again, waiting for the music, the note, to come and carry him away.

Something grabbed him, shaking him, dragging him down to the reality about him through penetrating fingers as they dug into his arms. He pulled back, wishing only to be aloft with the bird. But the fingers tightened and he could not release himself from them.

"No," he cried aloud.

The face that spoke forced itself into his vision. And now he remembered. Elrohir. Brethren elf from Imladris. A companion on this journey. 'Of course. Of course.' He could remember everything now. They had been riding on the plains of Lebennin, closing in on their fated destination in Pelargir. A rising force of specters had been gathering with them as they rode. This was their quest. 'The Paths of the Dead.' Yes, now he remembered. They had taken this route from the gates at Dunharrow, through the mountain paths and down onto the plains. The mass of awakened souls gathered about them at the call of the returning king and men had fled in their wake. A few brave men had joined them, though, and there was rumor that more would follow after the passing of the companies’ gray shadow. Their mission was grim, unheralded and surely deadly as their numbers were marginally small. Legolas grimaced, tensing as his memory returned and the dread of this last onset hit him. He found himself torn as his heart ached for the memory it held of that other place.

Gazing at Elrohir, he started to speak. Tears began to form in his eyes. "How….?" A thousand unasked questions filled that space. Elrohir returned his gaze, looking tenderly at the young elf. No words passed between them. Yet Legolas knew that his friend perceived the question along with his fear and wavering indecision. And Legolas knew in that fleet moment that Elrohir had somehow, in his own dreams, journeyed to that same landscape surrounded by sound. All was conveyed through their searching eyes.

Legolas was struck with awe. 'How has he managed it? And there too Elladan?' He glanced now at the other elf, reading the same thoughts in him. 'They appear so unscathed.'

Elrohir embraced his despairing friend and softly said in Sindarin. "It is in all our race, Legolas. We cannot flee it."

Feeling the beginnings of the younger elf’s quaking sob, he went on. "You will survive this. You will. You must. There is still great need for you in this world."

Drawing back lightly, he looked deeply into Legolas’ eyes, "My brother and I too endure it. We do it as best we can as we were born with it, as all Noldor are. We learn to carry it from early on. We accept it as a part of our being. It is part of our melancholy." Then embracing Legolas again, he whispered softly into the fair-haired elf's ear, his voice traced with sorrow, "And now you bear it too. But you are Sindar. It will be very hard as the lust is greater in your kind. Let us help you. Elladan and I see your agony. It is very grave and we understand it. We wish to give you comfort and will guide you if you should choose."

He paused now, allowing Legolas to reflect on what he was saying. His voice grew grim, "But for now, Legolas, you must heed me. We cannot linger in this place for long. The echoes here will corrupt you if we tarry and your choice will become all the harder still. There is danger ahead and you must find a way to devote yourself that! Our camp is ahead. We should go there and try to recuperate what we can."

Legolas nodded as if he understood though in reality he did not truly. He could not yet perceive his choices. He knew only that his heart cried as if broken and he longed to go back to that secret place. For a last time he looked up at the gull, further out on the horizon, returning to its home, echoing cries as more birds joined it in its mirth. The music. He could almost hear it.

The trance was broken as the silent man who had taken up the rear reeled his horse about. He rushed his steed forward, driving it into a gallop, steering him away from this party and on to join the rest of their host.

"Aragorn?" Legolas cried out. But his friend was already beyond his voice.

Then turning back to his companions, he noticed the dwarf sitting behind Elladan, as if for the first time. It was an odd pairing, Gimli and Elladan. In better times, it would be comic but Legolas wondered at it now. 'Much has happened. The details have escaped me. I must somehow pull myself together,' he told himself. Legolas read the mute stare of his dark friend and saw that it had beheld his anguish. It was unlike Gimli to pass no words. 'He is afraid for me.' Legolas forced a smile, slight, tinted with despair, but enough to lighten the spirit of his friend.

Legolas felt weary. His weight shifted and he realized at once Arod’s presence. He cursed himself for not recognizing that the horse had been there all along. Another detail missed. He shook his head. 'What else have I missed?' He could see that he had been greatly harmed by this day and wondered if he could ever regain himself wholly. The world still seemed to be tinted in an awkward color.

At the edge of Legolas’s awareness, a single pure noted played. He grew aware of it, and pushed it away from his mind. He recognized that it had the power to pull him back. The birds, now gone, were no longer needed to render him under its spell. He wavered in his thoughts.

He needed help, but it was not in his nature to ask. The note came louder now and he knew he had to fight to break its power. Gathering his strength, Legolas spoke. His voice came out weakly, drowned out by the rising pitch of the note. "Friends, aid me please. Take me away from this place. Our skills are needed on the road ahead and I fear my will falters here." It took everything within him to say it and Legolas felt drained at the effort. But he knew he was in the right company to let the words pass and allowed himself to offer this shortcoming. He silently prayed that his setback would be temporary at best.

Without further words, the four riders set off at a gallop that quickened steadily. Elrohir and Elladan rode on either side of Arod lest Legolas, in his lessened state, should fall from his mount. Paying heed to time and place, they matched the speed previously marked by their leader, and hastened to catch the rest of their company. They could no longer be delayed in this place.

 Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's all Tolkien's. Except the turn of this storyline. But it's based on his stuff and the characters are all his.

A/N: For you to-the-letter-nothing-can be-different-from-what-the-master-wrote-type folks, beware. I have taken a few small liberties with this. Minor trifles really. My references to some plot points here come from ROTK and TTT. Don't get lost. Enjoy, and please review.

Chapter Two

The Affliction

All that day, Legolas had insisted they take the rear of the Company, riding with the unleashed specters at their back. He had reasoned that the mortals in their group would be disturbed by the gathering enigma and so offered himself as a buffer between them. Being immortal, Legolas explained, he did not fear ghosts. Gimli was vociferous in pointing out that he, being a dwarf, was indeed mortal, and that he, being seated behind the elf, was actually the buffer to the group, a position he did not appreciate. Legolas scoffed at his friend’s grumbling tones, refraining from pointing out that two others, the elves Elrohir and Elladan, took the trail behind them, and were in fact, Gimli’s buffers. The brother elves did not offer reason for choosing this place in line, and merely smiled at the friendly banter. Gimli was silently grateful for their presence.

"So explain to me, Gimli, what causes a dwarf to have fear for something so lacking in body?" Legolas prodded, seemingly wishing to ease his friend’s tension. " I would think these silly puffs of smoke about us would be familiar to you. Like the wafts that rise from your pipe."

"And yet those that rise from my pipe do not utter murderous threat and come bearing ax or sword or knife," Gimli muttered casting another glance over his shoulder.

"Perhaps not," laughed the elf, "but the airs from your pipe do carry a noxious odor — one that I fear is potent enough to kill off a dozen of my fair folk."

"Then remind me to partake in a quick light of my pipe when next we come to rest."

Their progress had brought them to within a day of the final destination, Pelargir, and the mood of the company had grown introspective as the miles went on. The day seem interminable. Mental strategies were played in all heads and Gimli hoped that before long their leader would call a halt to confer with his captains on the role each man would take. Gimli looked forward to the break, eager to renew himself with food, and to remove himself further from the oppressive gloom. He also silently thought that Legolas could benefit from a break, for though he said nothing, Gimli’s companion was growing ever more tense as they drew on. Yet it seemed to Gimli that an even darker gloom arose from the north. Black clouds billowed in the sky there, and it foretold of Sauron’s might in those lands. Their camp would be short, he knew, for Aragorn was sure to feel it more keenly and would want to make haste.

Legolas stiffened slightly, raising himself higher in his seat. The movement startled the dwarf. "Gimli, do you smell something? I have smelled something for many a mile and I cannot identify it. It is more like taste than smell, I think. It is troublesome to me, and though it was stronger a ways back, I just caught it again on a breeze."

"I smell naught," answered to dwarf, but then his eyes widened, "unless of course you mean the salt."

"Salt?" queried the elf.

"Aye. From the sea. We have ridden near it for many a mile, and we could have seen it had not these hillocks stood between us. But I think now we are riding more inland and we should miss it. From my study of maps, I recall our destination is far from the shore, though it does lie on the Anduin that flows outward. Still, the wind is from the north now, and I will be glad not to breath the sea air again. It tends to make my eyes water," Gimli confessed.

Legolas seemed to relax at that. Speaking quietly to himself, Gimli thought he heard the elf say, "Then perhaps it has passed and I may be spared."

"What say you?" asked Gimli, but Legolas did not speak again. The canter of the horses was the only noticeable sound and they rode like this for several more miles.

****

Legolas breathed a sigh, relaxing now for the first time since leaving the mountain passes. He had been mentally preparing himself for an assault and now, realizing the danger was passing, he felt his tensions wane. He looked now at the landscape around him. The tall grasses and sizable knolls revealed little else but themselves and the sky. Legolas could hear or feel nothing stirring there.

He focused his attention now on the battle ahead, glancing back at Elrohir and Elladan. He looked forward to fighting at their side and had long admired the twins, ever since childhood. Tale of the valiant deeds of the brother elves was legendary among the folk in Mirkwood and Legolas was struck with awe and gratitude at their outward attempts for his friendship. The three princes had bonded quickly, and Legolas made sure to draw Gimli into this circle. But truth be told, Legolas knew there was more to their friendship than just comradery. He knew they perceived his apprehension of the sea and they drew near him as would an older sibling offering counsel. It gave Legolas comfort and was one of the unspoken reasons he had consented to journey this route. ‘I would fear this sea-longing if I were surrounded by only men, he thought, for they would not understand that this is not of my make or control. Elves protect their own and do not perceive this as a weakness, but more as part of our growth. It is painful, yes, perchance even fatal to some, but it is no more an impediment to how we see one another individually than the color of one’s hair. But I need not think on this further.’ He smiled, his relief gathering, and turned his mind now to wonder on the battle scenes they would be upon ere long. No longer paying attention to his surroundings, he was caught off guard when the gull rose up from beyond the dunes.

*****

Gimli had not seen it at first. Shaken from his own thoughts by the slowing gait of the horse, he looked up to see Legolas staring open-mouthed at the gull hovering above and to the right. It was still as a kite, sailing on the breath of the wind. Graceful and motionless it rose, with darting eyes scanning the riders. He was about to comment on the regal animal when Legolas bucked back, drawing his hands to his ears and shaking his head. The gull wailed a teary cry, and Gimli flinched at the most certain pain that came in the elf’s reaction. Legolas sagged forward, gasping for air. Almost immediately, he heard the approach of Elrohir and Elladan galloping forward.

"Legolas!" Gimli cried out, glancing furtively at the other two elves for aid.

Arod snorted in frustration, at a loss for his rider’s sudden lack of direction. Feeling the elf’s sideways turn toward the bird, the horse changed his course to the edge of the path, veering into the tall grass.

"Stop! Stop, you mad beast!" Gimli yelled to the horse.

Elladan dismounted and pulled the horse away, whispering soft words to the confused animal. Looking up at Elrohir, then back at the looming gray mass he said to Elrohir, "We cannot tarry here, brother. It would not be wise to become entangled in that cloud." And then looking up toward Gimli he said, "I would recommend you ride with me for the rest of this course, friend dwarf. For the moment, Legolas cannot assure your safety on his mount."

Gimli would have argued, but also looking back he could see the apparition drawing closer, only a hundred yards off, and it was not a good time to hold debate. In nearly one fluid motion he hopped down from his horse and hoisted himself to the seat of Elladan’s horse. Elladan made quick motion and was mounted before him as Elrohir called to Arod "Noro lim! Noro lim!" All three beasts leaped to a gallop as the gray host drew closer.

Now able to study Legolas’ reactions, Gimli looked to his right. Lost in another world, the elf looked, gazing downward at nothing, his brow lightly furrowed, hunched forward, rocked only by the quickening pace of his horse. Elrohir rode near him, ready to catch him if he swayed back.

Gimli craned his neck to look behind and cried out to Elladan, "They are gaining on us!"

Reacting to Gimli’s panic, Elladan spurred the horse on. Clinging tightly to the prince’s tunic, Gimli closed his eyes, wishing them away.

At a full gallop now, Gimli did his part to encourage the mare on. He was not a horseman, and he had difficulty maintaining his perch. Under normal circumstances, he would have muttered his misgivings to his companion rider and held on tightly for safety. But with his current predicament, he called upon all he knew of horsemanship and applied it, though he still had to cling to the rider before him for balance. Glancing back he looked over his shoulder to see the body of darkening force, looking more and more like mortal forms as the miles grew. Their features were becoming clearer and more hideous as they drew near, and the red glow in their eyes sent shivers up Gimli’s spine.

As they neared the other riders, the ghostly host behind them began to dissipate as if by divine means, dividing to either side and passing to the head of the order. It gave Gimli some peace as he tried to reflect on what had happened to Legolas.

Elrohir and Elladan slowed their paces, bringing the horses to a steady gait before stopping to try to resurrect Legolas. Without dismounting they turned their horses around to fully face their glassy-eyed companion. Putting hands upon hunched shoulders, Elrohir shook Legolas lightly, calling out his name. To no avail. He called again, and this time the fair-haired elf blinked, swaying backward, his head lolling with the motion. Elrohir steadied him and looked deeply into his eyes, trying to gather the others attention. Legolas blinked again, and Gimli now took a turn at calling out his name…

"Legolas…"

The young elf closed his eyes and began to shake his head, as if trying to ward off a bad dream. Opening them again, he struggled to focus and fought off the protective hold of Elrohir, rocking off balance again in the effort. He glanced at the three figures before him with a glazed look, as if he did not recognize them. Gimli felt his chest ache and words left him as he fell into distress for his friend.

Another horseman approached at a full gallop, reigning sideways to a stop as he came near the foursome. ‘Aragorn.’ Gimli felt hope resurrect itself. ‘Surely he can fix this.’ But the dark-haired Ranger only looked on, fixed on the face of the damaged elf. He frowned and his brow creased with concern. He peered intently at the elf, then turned to the elven brothers. "You will attend to him?" he asked.

Elladan nodded as Elrohir called out to Legolas once again. "Legolas!"

Thranduil’s son flinched, cringing as if in pain, and Gimli cried out as if he himself had somehow been harmed. Shaking and with quickened breath, Legolas drew out a soft moan before flailing out fitfully. And then, as if composing himself, he looked upward. His mouth fell open slightly as the look of stupor returned to his face.

Gimli could take no more. He called out, "Aragorn, please! Do something! You must do something!"

Aragorn looked at the dwarf, then back at the elf, moisture filling the rims of his eyes. But he did not move. He looked at Elladan and said, "I have called our march to a halt and we will make quick camp. I expect to unleash our weapons soon. Do what you can here and join us as quickly as time allows. We will be upon Pelargir by sunset."

"No…" Legolas wailed plaintively to no one but his internal demon. Elrohir grasped his shoulders fiercely, blocking out Gimli’s view. Pulling the frail elf into an embrace, Elrohir spoke softly. Gimli did not clearly hear the words but he was nearly certain they were in the elven tongue.

Gimli’s chest felt as if it would explode as his friend, caught in the arms of Elrohir, broke into sobs. He looked again at Aragorn, anger rising in him as he cried out, "Is there nothing you will do for him? Do you not see how he suffers?"

Aragorn paused, the expression on his face so deeply saddened that Gimli gasped at the measure of it. Then the exiled king wheeled his horse around and heeled into its side to spur a hasty retreat.

"Aragorn!" Gimli cried.

Legolas’ brimming eyes peered over Elrohir’s shoulder, catching sight of the rider pulling away. "Aragorn?" he whispered.

Seeming now more aware, Legolas pulled himself upright, gathering strength to compose himself. He looked at the faces of his friends before him, looking last at Gimli with renewed recognition. He smiled and Gimli’s heart leapt with joy.

Legolas looked haggard, as if worn out by the inner battle he had fought. ‘Still fought?’ Gimli wondered. ‘What is this thing that can cause such heartache? It is a mystery to me but I will find a way to help him. I must, for the road is dangerous ahead and he will need a guardian to protect him.’

Looking into the distance to where Aragorn had stood, he pondered their other friend and wondered now of the role he had to Legolas’ troubled soul.

*****

Aragorn could feel the dwarf coming without turning around to look. The earth nearly rumbled at his approach. "Aragorn," Gimli thundered, "you will speak to me!"

The Ranger put the knife he had been sharpening back into its sheath and tucked it into his bag as he turned to face the ire of the solid figure. Gimli’s eyes were fierce with indignation and his nostrils flared as he spouted out his words. "You know what has happened, don’t you? Something occurred out there I would have you tell me! Now! And do not try to deny it! I saw your face! Why do you not try to help him?"

Aragorn raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "What would you have me do Gimli?"

"Cure him!"

"There is no cure for what ails him."

"No cure?!" the dwarf sputtered. "What is his sickness then that there is no cure?"

"You should ask him yourself, friend dwarf."

"Do you think I have not tried?" the dwarf replied. "He will not speak of it. Instead, he curls up like a ball, and says only to leave him be. Nay, you know, Aragorn! Tell me what it is so I may be a friend to him!"

Aragorn pondered the dwarf. "I am sure he will tell you of it when he is ready. But you are correct, you have a right to know. Furthermore, he will need you now, more than ever."

Gimli stepped closer, his mood becoming more sober. "Tell me how I may help him, Aragorn. Is he to die?"

"No," Aragorn said, looking across the camp to Legolas' still figure, "I do not think he will, though the shock of the cuivëar* has been enough to kill some of his people in the past. He is strong and I think he will live."

"Cuivëar? What is the cuivëar?"

"It is the elven word for his affliction. It means ‘sea-longing’. It is what happens to all elves in time." He sighed, wishing more than ever that he could make it go away. "I cannot explain it fully, being not an elf, but it is like being ripped apart by two worlds: the one here in which we live, and the one of the Valinor, where all elves go when they depart Middle Earth."

"I have heard tale of this, yes. But I do not understand. There was no warning: one moment he was fine; the next he was lost, as if in a dream."

"It is like a dream, and as time goes on it will become worse. He will fall more and more into that dream until he has no other choice but to seek sanity on the other side of the sea. I believe it was the gulls that brought it on him. For some it is the sound of the waves, others it is the feel of sand on their fingers. It matters not. It can happen most any time, at most any place. It is unique in this case because Legolas is so young. I would have hoped he could have gone many more years before this came on him."

"The Lady Galadriel warned something of gulls. Do you think she could do something for him?" Gimli asked, grasping for hope.

"No, Gimli, she cannot help him," Aragorn said, putting his hand on the dwarfs shoulder. "The Lady only sent warning to him to stay away. I also warned him but he did not want to heed me."

Gimli drew back, a new thought dawning on him, "So you knew this would happen? You knew this was coming?" And then repulsion filled him, "Aragorn, you asked him to come! I was there as well! You asked that we come of our own free will. But you knew?! You knew! You… you are the instrument of this fate!"

Aragorn felt tremendous guilt in Gimli’s accusation and stepped forward to explain, bending to meet the dwarf's eye level, "Gimli, please, hear me out. When I asked you to come, I did not yet realize Galadriel’s vision. But when I did solve the riddle of her words, I asked Legolas to not ride. I begged him! But he refused to be turned aside. He knew what was coming, but he chose it anyway. I could not turn him back!"

But the dwarf only shook his head in disbelief, eyes accusing Aragorn as he said, "You knew. You could have stopped him. You could have told me and I would have helped you. We could have forcibly held him back. We could have spared him this!"

Aragorn replied almost in whisper, beseechingly, "He would have hated us then, Gimli. Do you not see? We would have lost his friendship then for sure."

The dwarf spit out his next words, "Better that than to live locked in a prison for which there is no escape! You have doomed him!" Then turning abruptly, he stormed away.

 -------- 

* cuivëar -- I made this word up, but used "The Silmarillion" as my guide. Derived from cuivië, which means ‘awakening’ and ëar, which means ‘sea’.

 Disclaimer: You know the routine. None of this is mine. All Tolkien's.

A/N: Well if you were lost in the last Chapter, let's do a little refresher. In "The Two Towers," Gandalf delivered a message to Aragorn and Legolas from Galadriel in which she tells Aragorn to remember The Paths of the Dead. To Legolas she sends warning to beware of the call of the gulls as it would forever taint him. Later, in "Return of the King," Elrond also sends a message to Aragorn to remember The Paths of the Dead. Furthermore, an old prophecy foretold by Malbeth the Seer (dating back to Isildur's day) talked of the exiled king returning to the Paths of the Dead. All of that, plus his vision in the Stone of Orthanc, prompts Aragorn to ask his friends to ride with him. The conflict here is that The Path of the Dead goes along the road south near the shore. Aragorn appears to know this and we assume he would be able to put it together that he is endangering Legolas by asking him to come along. Obtuse perhaps, but it was very apparent to me when I read it. I always wanted to know why Aragorn would do that to his friend. Here's my take on it.

Chapter Three:  Conflicting Paths

Aragaon watched as Gimli stomped away. The dwarf was angry, and justifiably so. His friend had been harmed and Aragorn had had a part in it. Aragorn winced at the dwarf’s fury, shaking at his own loss for words, but pushed it back, trying to justify what had happened to Legolas. 'It was unavoidable. The elf prince had been fully aware of the danger. He undertook this mission of his own free will.' It did not help. Aragorn felt a deep pang of regret. He looked now at the remote face of his normally cheery companion. Legolas’ brow was creased as if caught in some internal monologue. With chagrin, Aragorn thought back to the discussion – argument really – he had had with the elf only days hence. 'If only he would have listened to me.'

***

The elf and dwarf were just a dozen paces ahead. They were preparing to turn in for the night at Dunharrow, a rest the entire company was relishing before the morning ride. They were removing their weapons, placing them at their quick ready should they need them in the night. They bantered the pros and cons of each others weapons as Aragorn stepped forward. It was time. Aragorn could not stall off his conversation with the elf further.

It did not escape Aragorn’s attention that just minutes before, he had been having a similar discussion with the Lady Eowyn. There was a certain irony in the fact that he was about to say nearly the opposite to his friend as he had to her.

Eowyn had come to him in near tears, beseeching him not to take the Paths of the Dead. It wrought her with fear and despair and she mourned their parting for she saw no light in it. Aragorn’s role had been to console her, assuaging her misgivings by convincing her he took this course out of duty and honor. Her path, he reminded her, was paved from the same merits. But she was right in one matter– his companions rode with him more out of love than for duty. Aragorn knew this. Now he must either spurn that love or see a close friend suffer.

He poised himself. "Legolas. May I speak with you?"

"Of course," the elf answered. Gimli gave him a sidelong look as if to say, 'And what is this about?' Legolas responded with a half smile and shrug, as if answering, 'I will tell you later if there is anything to tell.'

The dwarf removed himself to the tent which served as their quarters. Aragorn motioned Legolas to follow, bringing him further away to an area where their privacy was more assured.

Legolas sensed his friend’s tension. He spoke first, "What say you, Aragorn?"

Aragorn sighed, playing the course in his mind as he decided upon the tact to take. Looking up at last, he quietly spoke, "I have been thinking long on this journey we are about to take. It causes me worry and I have need to confess my concerns to you."

Legolas frowned and looked hard at his friend. "How long have you had doubts?"

"When we came upon the Burg and I looked into the Stone of Orthanc I saw the route that I was destined to take. I saw you and Gimli at my side and I asked you then to follow me, and you agreed. My heart was certain then, but as we have pressed on, a dread has been growing in me and now I hesitate. The Paths of the Dead do not bode well to me," Aragorn said.

With a soothing smile and a small laugh, Legolas replied, "As well you should have fear, my friend. Is this why you called me to your counsel? Your hesitation is normal, I think. How could it not be? For were it not true destiny that we followed, would we not be riding most certainly to our deaths?"

"That we would. You see my point then. I fear this is not our true destiny, Legolas. And being that, this journey may well be fateful for some. I begin to believe that the vision in the Stone was a lie," Aragorn answered.

Legolas frowned in confusion. He stared at the darkened face, trying to detect the source of this comment. While he had seen his friend doubt his own path before, never had he been so forthright about it. Legolas’ first impulse was to look for sorcery at play as Aragorn’s words were very unlike his character. He saw nothing that would give witchery credence. Was it possible that Aragorn’s fears were wrought from his own self-doubt? He decided he needed to cast down such reasoning. "I do not understand? What makes you believe the palantir lied?"

"The palantir only reflected the visions that were in my own mind. What I saw was of my own make and choosing," Aragorn answered.

'He is tired,' Legolas thought. 'He needs rest. A night of sleep will ease his uncertainty.'  "So you created in your mind the path we are now to take?" Aragorn did not answer. "Why would you do this Aragorn? I can not believe you would purposely put us on a path of danger unless it need be so."

Aragorn shot a hard look at the elven prince. "I did not put us here so much as I believed that we needed to go here. This idea was planted, long ere I, or even you, were born. I think the falsity comes from its source. I think Malbeth was wrong."

Legolas’ brow furrowed as his eyes grew wide in realization of Aragorn’s words. He nearly scoffed his reply, "You doubt the vision of Malbeth the Seer? For what reason? Has there been a prophecy of his that has not been fulfilled?"

Aragorn turned away, trying to hide the slight smile that edged the corners of his mouth. It was a ludicrous answer but he needed it to bait the other. "There is always a first time, my friend."

Clearly angry now, Legloas retorted, "Do not mock me. No! You are wrong! There is no doubt here, for the seer’s prophecy will hold true! What is this fear you have? You are the appointed one, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur! You must travel this route. It is given to you to fulfill! There is no proof of ill-fate and if there is you must show me greater reason for it than these silly words! The Lord Elrond conferred this prophecy as did the Lady Galadriel. They are not known to advocate false rumor!"

Aragorn sighed deeply. He was almost there. He looked steadily at his fair friend. "So you would counsel me to continue my journey?"

"Yes, I would!"

"Even though it is wrought in a vision long since passed?"

"Yes!"

"Even though there is no proof, other than reputation, that it will come to be?"

"Surely, yes."

"And you trust the confirmation of this prophecy by the word of Elrond and Galadriel?"

"Most especially for that."

That was it. Aragorn saw his opportunity and braced himself for his next step. Laying his hands squarely on Legolas’ shoulders he said, "Then answer me now, when it is you who would advise me to heed the words of an ancient prediction – why do you choose not to heed the words of the prophecy regarding your own life?"

Legolas was taken aback. He had not expected this turnabout and realized now that he had been manipulated into a trap. His head spun at the words being lobbed and he was flustered for an answer. He pulled back from Aragorn’s grasp and worked his mind to keep his dignity intact. He was clearly flustered but feigned ignorance. "I would not know what you mean," he answered.

"Was it not prophesized that your peril was at hand if you followed a path that lead to the sea?" Aragorn said, taking a step closer.

"The two have nothing in common!" Legolas shouted.

"The two have everything in common!" responded Aragorn, his voice rising in equal measure.

Legolas fumed but did not answer.

Aragorn went on. "The Lady of the Wood sent word, specifically to you, Legolas, to beware the calling of the gulls. She said they would be your peril. Do not pretend it did not happen for I was there! You may not have known what the words meant then, but surely now you realize. Loathe that I say it, my friend – the path I take to fulfill my destiny crosses one that you have been warned not to take! Again, I say to you, why do you tempt fate?"

Legolas’ answer came quietly. "You do not know with certainty that this will come to pass."

"With certainty I know the Lady Galadriel does not advocate false rumor." Aragorn said, repeating the elves’ earlier argument.

"There is always a first time," Legolas parried back, snide in his answer and angry at his friend for his betrayal. Then turning and seeing Aragorn wince at the verbal blow, he recognized the concern in his friend’s eyes. He amended the cruelty in his voice. He did not wish to argue. Softly, he said, " What other course do I have, Aragorn?"

Aragorn looked closely at his friend and a brotherly affection rose in him. Truth be told, his motives were selfish. He keenly wanted to keep Legolas from this destiny. Ever since the ill-fated words of Galadriel had been delivered, he had felt their dread. He had not lied earlier when he had said this journey caused him worry. The course of the path he must now take lead directly to the sea. Should he follow, Legolas’ fate was surely sealed. Many times now, Aragorn has seen the effects of the ’sea-longing,’ the cuivëar, ‘For one who lives amongst elves cannot help but to see,’ he thought. He knew it was an affliction, incurable once caught, that could not go long unchecked. There were stories of those drawn to madness by it. Still, others told of elves, so broken-hearted by the ripping of their soul that they died at the mere onset. Furthermore, Legolas was a wood-elf of the Moriquendi: his plight would be doubly worsened, 'Like that of a man exposed to an illness for which he has no immunity.' Aragorn did not want to lose his friend to this malady. ‘Not him too.’ He had seen the effects in his siblings, Elrohir and Elladan, his foster elven brothers. He knew the depths of despair they sank to whence it came on – though being Noldor in descent, they had learned to mask it to all but those who knew them best. It made Aragorn shudder to think of that pain reflected in Legolas, for a part of the beauty in this younger elf was his innocence. Legolas would never be the same. Days, months, perchance years of time would be lost to the private introspection that no other could breech. If the prophecy was met, then Legolas would be haunted through the rest of his days in Middle Earth, held captive by visions unattainable, increasing ere so long he stayed. Many elves fled to their long-appointed home across the sea whence this time came, never to be seen on Middle Earth again. Aragorn mourned this, for very few were there that could master their pain to live long with it. As such, Aragorn prayed that he could turn his friend away from this catastrophic event.

Aragorn allowed a full minute to pass before he answered. He too did not wish to argue. "You could remain here whilst the company departs in the morrow. Theoden King will be returning in yet a day and he will have need for talents such as yours. Your skill as a warrior would not go to waste."

Legolas thought hard on this. He knew what his answer must be, but still he allowed the idea to work itself through his head. He looked up and said, "And what of Gimli? I cannot speak for him, but I fear you may loose his allegiance if I did not go. You would not lose one warrior on this quest but perchance two. Your numbers are small as it is Aragorn. Would you risk the safety of your company by letting your numbers diminish further?"

"If I could do this alone and risk none in my company, I would. Nowhere has it been foretold, but if in losing your presence I risk my success, then I say so be it. I would take these measures to save your soul."

Legolas looked down, grasping the magnitude of Aragorn’s words. "That would not be prudent counsel." Gazing up, he stared into Aragorn’s gray eyes, "Your burdens are great, Aragorn. The fate of many lie with you, and I am certain many will die keeping your honor. But be they man or elf, they would choose it of their own free will. Do not presume to tell me my choice. To be true, one must decide his fate alone, regardless of destiny."

Aragorn knew now Legolas’ decision and he felt heat rise in his throat. "And if I were to stop you?"

"I would find a way to follow, or die trying."

"You choose to succumb to something I do not wish" Aragorn’s voice quavered.

"It is not yours to choose," Legolas replied.

Feeling overwhelmed, Aragorn turned away, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

Legolas went on, coming up behind the dark king and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I can no more sway destiny than you, my friend. I know this peril, and yet I choose to face it. The sea-longing will come, soon or late, whether I will it or not. I will be usurped by it one day, despite all efforts to hinder it."

Aragorn would not be appeased, so Legolas continued. "I cannot heed your advice to stay away. I know my life is in peril. Who amongst us can say theirs is not? But peril has been with us from the first day we set off from Imladris. None has turned back and I do not intend to be the first. Further, there is a place in my heart that tells me my role is not complete and to leave now would be fateful to you. As you would sacrifice your mission to save but one elf, I would sacrifice my soul to save a mission great as yours. Yours has the greater value, can you not understand that?"

Aragorn looked up at the sky though he still did not turn. "I understand, but I do not agree."

Legolas smiled. "Then let us agree to disagree," he said clapping the other on the back. Then standing at his side, gazing also up into the sky, he said, "Do not mourn me, Aragorn. I am not dead, and may not be for a long time yet." Jabbing his friend in the ribs he laughed, "Although we may be soon if we do not seek rest."

Laughing in turn, Aragorn looked at the princely elf, then turned sober, "Do you not have fear?"

A small frown formed on Legolas’ lips as he answered. "There was a time, once, when I considered parting, due to fear. After Caradhras. At the Doors of Moria. My heart hesitated at that dark gate, and I was uncertain of my steps. Yet, I pressed my faith and I pushed onward, though fate was not good to all amongst us. Still, in the deepest depths of that ebony place, I detected the measure of our partnership. It’s value soon became rich to me as it occurred in my mind that our skills were of complement to one another, almost like the voices of a choir. They filled the emptiness of that space and drew away any fears I then had. Since that time, whenever I have felt fear, I need only look upon my companions to feel it diminish and have pride and love resonate in its place. I will not leave my place in this theme we have created, for that sound would be hollow."

With that Legolas stifled a yawn. "It grows late, my friend. I do not wish to think on this further. I recommend you put it from your mind as your concern is noted, but unneeded." He turned and walked away.

Aragorn remained for a time longer, looking again at the stars, saying a silent prayer for the strength of his fair companion.

As he barked out orders to his men, readying them for the battle they were about to undertake, he looked across the camp to where Gimli now stood next to the still figure of Legolas. A running dialogue was streaming from the stocky dwarf as he pretended to sharpen his axe, but it appeared no acknowledgement or motion was forthcoming from the elf.

Aragorn noticed that Elrohir and Elladan also watched this scene from a few paces off, pretending too to ready themselves, tightening their packs upon the horses. It gladdened him to know they were near and aiding his friend, though he had not asked it of them. Shaking his head, he thought, 'If I should live to be five hundred years, I will never figure out elven society.They scorn physical weakness and pain, especially in one of their own. But in matters of the heart they feel tremendous empathy, especially when it comes from one of their own. It is a puzzle I will never unravel.'

Turning now to face the matters that lie ahead, Aragorn called one last meeting with his captains. For now at least, he was assured that Legolas was in good hands.

 Disclaimer: As before. Me nothing. Tolkien everything.

Chapter 4:  Confessions Before Battle

The scene of the camp was unique, for all about them whirled a mass of gray forms coalescing into human shape and dissolving again instantly to translucent nothingness. There arose from this haze a murmur, voiced without form but vengeful in its tone. Angry. An anger unresolved, intent on harm, waiting only for the moment to strike. Within the camp, the men maintained all normal appearance as each readied his weapons, tightened his belt, refastened the harnesswork of the livery. But few were there who did not pause to look upon the cloud and let a shudder pass at the dread it caused.

As the perilous mire drew about the camp and the mood of men fell dim, two elven brothers and a dwarf felt their own anxiety increasing as they witnessed the fall of another troubled soul. Elladan glanced again at the still form of the prince from Mirkwood, frowning in his worry. He had been watching since the company had halted, careful to observe the nuance of Legolas' mood and distraction. The news was grim: Legolas had completely removed himself from the group and had fallen again, it seemed, into his longing state. He and Elrohir had been ever alert to see if he would pull himself out of this predicament alone, or if he would need words to encourage his way. It seemed at first that Legolas had been doing well, as well as could be expected at least, and was fighting off the stupor to the best of his skills. But as the hour pressed on, his will seemed to fail and there were many times when either of the brothers would make haste to create a loud noise that disturbed him from his trance. Gimli had been good to catch the gist of this and had been incessant in interrupting Legolas' meditation with prattle on meaningless topics. At last it had become apparent, to Elrohir at first, then Gimli, and finally to Elladan, that the son of Thranduil was infinitely weary, and they eased their ministrations to allow him a short rest. But now the time was drawing near for their departure and they could no longer wait for the elf to recover himself. They had need to see Legolas prepared for battle, and they must do it now.

"Arise, Legolas!"

The stern voice was startling. Legolas whipped his head up and blinked quickly to recover himself, rising swift to the call. A flash, like the sheen of metal, caught the corner of his eye. With elven reflex, he reached to his belt for his long knife and parried in answer to the sword that was about to hew. The heavier blade drew back and swung again to make its target. Legolas dodged the move and pulled his blade up to deflect a third stroke, whipping his shorter knife over the heavier weapon and lunging forward to turn the defensive move into an offensive one. The attacker leaped back from the charge and lowered his sword in surrender as he belted out a raucous laugh.

"Well met!" cried Elladan.

Elrohir and Gimli also chuckled, in appreciation of both the surprised expression on the elven prince's face and the skill for which he wielded his weapon. Elladan resheathed his sword and smiled at Legolas to let him see the lighter side of the moment. "At least we can be assured that your skill is unhindered."

"That was really quite unnecessary," Legolas said in an angry tone, although a smile nicked the corners of his mouth, belying his mood.

"To the contrary, Prince," Elladan answered, "I believe it was quite necessary." Then putting a hand on the smaller elf's shoulder, he confided, "We intend to help, Legolas. Let us now do what we can. You've been in a sullen state since we halted our ride, and it seemed some measure was needed to bring you back to yourself. My friend, you cannot keep this entirely to yourself. Some comfort may be gained from letting others among us share your experience. It is a very heavy burden you are carrying and it will remain so until you can find a way to lighten it."

Legolas looked intently at the older elf, seeming to weigh his next words carefully, then confided in a small voice, "I slept, Elladan." He smiled meekly at this small confession.

"Ah, a first step. That is indeed good. Rest is very much needed. Believe my words when I say that you should take it as often as you can. My own experience has come to prove that this lament comes hardest when the body is least strong. But you cannot say it was all sleep that you partook, can you Legolas?"

Legolas' eyes cast down, shaking his head. "It is an incessant thing, is it not? I did not realize before now how punishing it can be. How do you manage it?"

Elladan pondered this thought. "I have my brother to share it with, and that is comforting. For when I feel at my weakest, he is at his strongest. And the like in return. We have relied on each other for support through hard times for as long as I can recall. My greatest fear is for the day when we both are weak and must succumb. Then, we will part."

"And yet I have no brother to lean upon in this," Legolas said sadly.

"Perhaps not a brother, but you are not spare in friends," Elladan said, directing his eyes toward Gimli.

Legolas shifted the conversation. "In any case, the ambient noise of the camp somehow lulled me. I must have been very tired. Truly, I thought I might never sleep again for fear of being carried away by that other dream." And then an impish grin lit his face as looked out of the corner of his eye. Speaking in a louder voice, he said, "Of course, I may have slept better if there weren't so many clumsy elves or noisome dwarves about."

Gimli coughed back a guffaw at the remark.

"So I see your spirits are also returning," roared the dwarf, clapping Legolas on the back. "This is a good sign, do you not think?" he asked the other elves.

"Surely it is. Do you feel well enough then to continue this quest? The hour draws near for our departure," Elrohir said.

Legolas looked about him noticing the breaking camp. His heart quickened at what was about to come. "I do. I look forward to it," he answered. For in truth he did. ‘It will be a distraction’ he reasoned, ‘from the persistence of this perpetual sound.’ For while Legolas did indeed feel better for his rest, it had in fact not alleviated his symptoms entirely. The music that had haunted him was still present and he knew he had to be on constant guard to prevent it from overtaking him. 'Is this what I am left with? Will I eventually go mad from the unrelenting pattern of it?'

Elladan laid one hand on Legolas' shoulder and the other on Gimli's. "Then let us plan our strategies quickly as Aragorn prepares now to ride."

"What say the scouts?" Gimli asked.

Elrohir had attended the council of captains and spoke now. "They report that battle is already in full, three leagues nigh on the Anduin. There lies an armada of great ships, many of which are in flame. The brunt of the force comes from the Umbar and Haradrim and also many other Southrons. Their number is great — many more beyond ours. And though the men of Lebennin fight fiercely, Pelargir is falling and we will not wait ere long. Preparations are near complete and a host of men from Lamedon now join us. Small as they be, their numbers are received gratefully. But let us hope our weapon will suffice," he said, gazing out now at the amorphous haze, "for if they do not, we shall surely perish."

"What of our parts?" asked Legolas, keenly alert now and eager to take battle.

"We take the right guard on the first march. Archers make mark forward, followed by footmen. Strider's intent is the first charge to make its mark while he brings up the second. He will release the shadow then," Elrohir said.

"Then let us ride!" cried Elladan.

All four then went to their steeds. Legolas cupped his hands to make a step and Gimli hoisted himself to a seat. Deciding to heed Elladan’s advice to share his thoughts, the elf said, "I need to speak with you, Gimli."

Gimli's relief had lightened his mood considerably with the seeming return of his companion's wits. He was eager to bury the mixture of emotions he had been feeling and to return to their former friendship and banter. Looking to either side and behind him, as if in search of something lost, he said, "Do I tarry elsewhere or am I not present before you?"

The elf smiled at the dwarf's small dig as he mounted Arod himself. He clicked his tongue, alerting the horse to move to a trot as he drove to where their line was now forming. "Forgive me," he said laughing. " It was an obvious remark on my part. It is not an easy thing I need to say." Then Legolas stopped. He didn't know how to broach this subject.

"Well get on with it. You have my ears," the dwarf said somewhat impatiently, his mood beginning to change as hidden feelings began to bubble forth.

"It seems…that I… I hesitate often to speak with you… on matters that regard my…my personal being." Legolas was clearly blushing, and had the dwarf's mood not grown dark, he would have felt it even if he could not see it.

But the dwarf was now reflecting on these words and not taking them kindly. "Hesitate?" the dwarf scoffed, a touch of scorn waxing over his words as his mood changed. "That is an understatement beyond measure, Master Elf!"

Legolas was at a loss. While he had not been very forthcoming in telling the dwarf what was happening to him, he had not strayed far from their friendship either, or so he thought. "Gimli, I have offended you. For that I am sorry. I only wished to tell you of the things that have been troubling me. Should I take these thoughts elsewhere?"

"Ho, nay! That is exactly what you have done from the start," the dwarf said tersely. "Your mood is a territory you refuse to explore with anyone, save yourself. You guard it with a tenacity and determination that could rival Glaurung! A more worthy statement would be to say you are stubbornly, doggedly, willfully, bullheaded and you withhold in all matters that regard your well-being, especially when it can be prevented! And most especially to friends and comrades who would stand at your side through any peril, no matter what the consequences!" His voice had grown louder with each word, and he noticed the stares of some of the other riders. Shaking his head and mumbling to himself, he said, "Hesitate…My mother's axe…"

Legolas flinched. 'He knows I chose this fate. He is angry that I did not reveal it to him.' With this new understanding he conceded Gimli's need to vent and was actually surprised he hadn't received a cuff upside the head for good measure. On reflection he realized it was true: the elf indeed had not been very forthcoming with the dwarf throughout any of their travels. Prior to this moment Legolas had adeptly moved himself out of any conversation regarding matters close to his heart. And now as a result, a rift was forming between he and Gimli. He had need to repair it. Perhaps it was small, but time would make it grow. Even now, Legolas realized the dwarf had been shut out of much of the private talk that had occurred between he and Elrond's sons and the elf had ignored the dejected look in the dwarf's face as he hung back, as if waiting to be invited in. Legolas thought to himself, 'If I must suffer to repair this, I am willing.' "You are right," he said humbly as his cheeks flushed again but a lump now formed in his throat, "but I would like now to try… You have been a close friend, Gimli. I need you now more than ever. Please do not abandon me."

Gimli squirmed. He knew his outburst had been unkind and was most definitely uncalled for. He heard the wavering tone in the elf's voice and he felt instant remorse for his bad behavior. 'He's trying to reach out to me and I, in turn, swat him away.' Contritely he said in a lowered voice, "Truly I would not pry into matters of your personal affairs. It is obvious it is something that torments you. I need not press you more."

Legolas would not be deterred. "But I would want you to know, Gimli, as it may help you understand. And I feel a sense of relief at speaking of it," Legolas confessed, glancing back at his friend, knowing that more than anything the dwarf wanted to aid him in his pain.

Gimli mumbled something unitelligible under his breath, unable to get out the words that were now choking him. He nodded his approval to go on.

"Torment only begins to describe my suffering. It plays in my mind — this thing that haunts me — it calls me in a voice that I can only describe as mesmerizing. I have great trouble resisting it. It lulls me."

"What is it like when you surrender to this 'mood'?" the dwarf asked with concern.

"Strangely it seems, I feel like I am in a place that is truly home and when I am there I am at my happiest. I wish then that I should never leave it," Legolas said as he pictured it again in his head. The note droned on. He shook his head, sending it away, "And yet, I know in my heart that my body exists here as do all I love."

"Your body is like an empty shell when you are in that other place," Gimli added.

"When I try to push my mind back to join it, a terrible pall is cast over everything. I never before had doubt for this world, Gimli, but now I fear that that has changed. It is excruciating! For my love here is as strong as it ever has been truly, but a new love rivals it. I feel like I am being forced to choose, and I already know which one will win the contest."

There was a long pause, and then Gimli said with a husky voice, "Then you will leave?"

Legolas hesitated to answer. He reigned Arod near the front of the company. The horse snorted and stomped in anticipation. The elf glanced to his left to watch Aragorn take his place in the line. He allowed himself to feel pride at his friend's countenance and physical bearing, but caught himself falling into his sadness over the thoughts that passed him in his conversation with Gimli. The note echoed in his ears. He did not want to leave his friends. But slowly he nodded his head in answer to Gimli's question, grateful that the dwarf was behind him and could not see his face. Then he said, "But I will stay for a while longer, I think. As long as our friendship holds."

The dwarf from behind pressed his hands in on the elf's waist. To the casual observer it would look like he was regaining his balance. But Legolas knew it was meant as an earnest embrace.

Then Gimli said, "Legolas?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Why did you allow it?" the stocky dwarf asked with trepidation. "Aragorn said you knew your course and had choice in the matter. Why did you choose this path?"

Legolas stroked Arod's neck absently. Mulling his answer carefully, he said, "Because I could not have lived with myself otherwise."

"And there that elven wall goes up again. Tell me what that would mean," Gimli said in an exasperated voice.

Legolas nudged Arod forward now to take his final place in line for the charge. It was almost time. He looked back and caught Aragorn's eye for a last time. The elf gave a small nod to his friend and leader. A gleam was in his eye as he turned again forward and said, "I follow my heart in this, Gimli, and I may well be wrong, I know. Let us just say that I also possess a sense of foresight. I cannot say what it is, but I feel my part here has a purpose. Ere this day is done, we shall know if my actions were folly or not."

"Let us hope then you are right, dear elf, for I would not see you do harm to yourself without just cause," Gimli said. Legolas smiled as he felt the tug of the dwarf's arms again, and gave a mock cry as he felt his head being cuffed from behind.

Aragorn gave the signal. A battle horn blew announcing the charge.

"Let us fly now, Gimli!" Legolas called. "Fly!" The horse charged forth now, leaping into the fray of battle.

Disclaimer: In regard to rights to characters and such, here's the current score-- Ithilien 0%, Tolkien 100%.

A/N: The rating went up to PG-13. Should it be R? I really don't know how rating systems work, and some of you may think this is may be too bland for a rating that high, but I would hate to be confronted by an irate parent claiming I corrupted their child by not putting out appropriate warning. So let me say it now, there is violence and blood contained in the next chapters. Beware.

Chapter 5:  Of Rage and Fallen Warriors

Any man who has looked into the eyes of another and seen blind fury can attest to the power of it. Fear is the natural product derived from such witnesses and the wise know the smartest course is one of flight. Those not so wise would stand to fight, flailing weakly at an overpowering foe. And those most foolish will cower and wail, ultimately surrendering to death in their indecision to do anything else. Such was that that came of the assault created by the whirling storm of long-pent rage. It was launched upon the army of invaders allied to the Dark Lord on the fields and shore of Pelargir.

The gathering of dark forms that had begun five days hence had taken on new shape. While it had stewed in its malice and black foulness over the course of the journey, it had remained as one of multiple souls, each crying out his lament and plight. But the mire had deepened as the destination loomed near and more haunting forces conjoined into a massive shape as it took on demonic form. The collected mass united itself into a creature of monstrous proportion. In its final state, before its unleashing, it became a being so fearsome that none but the purest of men could look upon it. Each part of it was enough in itself to paralyze the bravest and in its full it was a weapon beyond any ever constructed by evil forces. Its eyes were an interminable fire stoked with hostility and vile contempt of past betrayals. Its body was an ever-changing whirl of chaotic tumult made up of human bodies manipulated into grotesque deformities. And its voice, the most perilous of all, was the rising wail of a thousand deaths screaming in unison in their torment. Such was the weapon released by the Heir of Isildur on that unholy day and he was judged mighty, for his power to control such fury was likened by none.

Once released from his spell, the monster launched itself skyward in its final transformation. It divided itself, and divided again, and again and again until it has dissipated into a host of infinite specters filling the air from horizon to horizon with their girth. And then they soared from their heights, swooping down onto the unsuspecting forces that had rent the field and river plains with sorrow. Each part was equally as terrifying as the whole and they swept like a cyclone creating circling waves of madness in their path. Each demon possessed nightmares of death as their weapon and their voices screeched louder than their victims, bellowing the deafening sound of agonizing pain and suffering. They fell upon the hated forces, bludgeoning and hewing and ripping limbs from sockets, as the enemy in turn ran or fought or cowered. And returning from behind they wielded invisible swords and scythes, decapitating their foes as they passed. Blood sprayed the landscape, covering it in gore as no fell soul was left unspared.

The men who remained standing were of South Gondor; valiant men who had fought to save their families and homes. They were not warriors, but simple men – farmers, merchants, tradesmen, innkeepers, and such. Their lives had been uncomplicated, existing by their means, raising their children, bequeathing their wisdom to the next generation. But then the dark forces of Sauron had entered their sleepy villages and demanded tribute. At first they refused to pay, and for their reward they found their fields burned, their goods stolen, their livestock killed. And when the demand came again and still they refused to pay, they found their children missing, their womenfolk raped, and their homes destroyed. And when there was nothing more that they could lose, the demand came for a third time. And though they refused again, this time it was done with an ire of fearsome resolve, and they vowed to fight to their deaths.

They had not expected to live. Indeed many had died this day. But the salvation that was delivered to those that survived was beyond their imagining. They had been outmanned and outweaponed, yet they saw the destruction of their enemy. New hope filled their hearts as rumor spread from the hills to the river plains that the instrument of their deliverence was the heir of Isildur. The king had returned! And now looking upon their fell rivals they vowed to fight by his side until they could fight no more. So they took up their weapons and played the offensive for the first time, hacking and pummeling as those of evil intent tried to escape the whirling onslaught. They found renewed strength rejoicing as they saw their numbers increase with the fall of their foes.

But all the enemies were not slain. There were some who were passed up by the evil cloud. They were of Southron tribe and they wore talismen to ward off such evil, for they were practiced in the art of witchery and voodoo. Though now becoming quickly outnumbered, they laughed at the receding form of fear.

They were large for men. Some would call them giants, for they stood several heads taller than the normal mortals about them. They bore strange weapons – lances and barbed staffs, as well as an assortment of knives and daggers – and they handled all with agile skill. Their leader was fierce in appearance bearing a headdress of skulls, and his face was painted into a gruesome depiction. His men wore an armor constructed of human bones that covered their chests and trunks and but for the swath of cloth that concealed their groin region, they were naked.

Their leader was shrewd and he saw the change in their fortune. But he would not flee, as the lives of he and his men had been devoted to destruction and ill-will. He had no fear. His religion was dark and he drank the blood of men as a part of ritual. He did not quake at death, and worshipped its onslaught believing it would make him stronger still in his next life. He ordered his men forth to the source of the new weapon. The Dúnedain were far off in the field, but the savage had keen eyes and spotted the source of their ill-turn. He saw in their ranks a noble man riding under the banner of a white tree on a black field. He determined that this was their master. Moreso, he decide, this one should die; for if the Southrons were to fall in battle, so too would the leader of these northern men. He knew his people had little time: soon the fields would be clean of Sauron's might and all that remained would descend upon his tribe. He made his orders in their strange tongue and his men dispersed in a staggered line near the road that led to the shore. And then they all seemingly died, their bodies flung to the ground, mixing with the mud and gore.

***

Legolas raced to the field with the host of the Ranger forces at his side. He had slowed only momentarily, to let Gimli drop and take the rear march. Arod had quickly returned to his pace, knowing from experience as a Rohan horse the course of his rider. The horse snorted as he charged into the thick of battle, free to run openly now that they were off the confining road. Legolas reached and raised his bow, letting arrows fly as they reached the target of fleeing adversaries. He turned his steed to make another loop into the falling army. It was easy work.

A glimpse of something misplaced appeared in the corner of his eye and a feeling of apprehension hit him with sudden force. 'Something is wrong,' he thought. His eyes darted, side to side, trying to locate the source of this sense of foreboding. The horse teetered in its direction unsure of where its master was guiding it. There was something wrong here, but Legolas couldn't place it. He scanned the horizon to determine if there was something that had escaped his attention. The spectacle before him was a chaotic maze and he focused now to catch the details as they revealed themselves.

All before him were the fighting and fleeing warriors of Sauron's men, cast now in a fashion that was truly out of character, their usual muster and bravado gone, replaced with simpering, sullen men, fearful and crying in shame. They ran from the ghostly apparitions that encircled them and some lay down on the field, quaking as their knees gave out. The men of Gondor, fearless now as they saw the gray forms' oblivion to them, ran among them, killing those that fled and gathering those that quailed. Weapons were flung to the ground, littering the field that was covered with torn and rendered bodies. The ground was strewn with carcasses and corpses and other men stealthfully moved about them, seeking out the injured and carrying them away to make-shift hospitals. Further on, riderless horses skittered about, panicked by the deadly cloud, and the plainsmen of Gondor worked to rope and calm them before the beasts could do harm to themselves or others. In the sky above, the last of the shadow host careened, weaving in and out among the gray and black clouds that hung there, whirling in a great spiral as if waiting for its next command. And at the river basin, men ran to and from the array of ships anchored and moored there. Some, immersed in flame, leapt off their ships, attempting to extinguish their burning bodies. Others still moved about, buckets and blankets in hand as they labored to suffocate the fires that overtook many of the tall ships. Smoke from the singed carcasses of smaller craft filtered upward into the still air, drifting onto the field. It was the last of a bloody battle and it was gruesome to look upon. Legolas searched the field and river about him, seeking out a clue in every face or body. But he could not see what it was that worried his mind.

A horn sounded. It was the call of victory. It was repeated again further down the field. Legolas turned, with all the men on the hilly plain that day, to register the source of the sound and his eyes beheld the face of their captain, their king. Aragorn sat on his mount on the highest ridge facing east, looking out on his troops. Behind him was the banner of Gondor, a black flag with a white tree and seven stars and crown. And as if by wiil, for the first time in several days, the clouds broke on the western horizon, and remnants of the setting sun filtered onto the land before him. All who looked on were struck by the majesty of the Dúnedan king, and many cried out their gratitude, tears filling their eyes as they pledged their undying love to him. Aragorn raised Anduril into the light. The sword gleamed red and a mighty voice arose from the throats of all men present as they cheered their new king.

***

The party descended the peak of the winding road, following it as it twisted its way to the river basin. The king was accompanied by all the Rangers of the north as well as Gimli the dwarf, Legolas the elf, and the fair Eldar brothers, Elrohir and Elladan. The horses snorted their appreciation of the slower pace as their fatigued muscles tensed against the sloping road. As the party rode on, they were greeted in places by small gatherings of men eager to set sight on their new king. The fields were busy as larger groups camped on the hillsides, laboring to bring right to their small end of the world. The sky was pitch, and with no moon to guide them, some among Aragorn's party carried torches and lanterns to guide their wary steps. The still air made the scent of blood and smoke linger on the field, and the uneasy horses' ears flicked as wafts of the smell floated past them at each turn in the road.

The long and miserable day was spent and the riders and their horses were taxed. The last mile to the shore seemed almost as an endless journey to them and they longed for this road to end so they could rest and take nourishment at last. The remaining order of the day was to sustain a ship on which to sail. Aragorn made orders to secure their place and he ordered as many ships manned as there were men who volunteered to go forward. He was clear to assure that they would depart at the sun's rise, lest any man be left behind.

Aragorn's eyes were dark as he brooded what lie ahead. True to his pledge he had released the shadow host from its oath and dismissed it as the men of Gondor looked on. It had been a deadly machine, and Aragorn was pleased, and secretly amused, at the turn of fate. For the role of the dead on this fearsome day was one he would have reserved for his enemies arsenal, not his own. Grim satisfaction there was in seeing Sauron's might fleeing in fright. Looking north, he sensed the prevailing battle that loomed over Minas Tirith. He tried to gladden his heart – he was encouraged by the number of men who enlisted their support this eve and made haste to join Aragorn and his men in the final leg of this journey. 'Alas, I fear it will not be enough,' he thought. 'Perhaps, though if only we can make it there before time runs out.' Aragorn frowned. For as much as this day had been good to him, his spirits would not be lightened.

Another in the party was grim. Legolas Greenleaf rode at the head of the company, searching for some sign in the dark. He shook his head, scolding himself. The dread he had felt before had not left him. He felt himself growing darker as the tension drew over him. He reasoned with himself, 'It has been an especially tiresome day. Perhaps our labors wear on me,' he pondered and then immediatley dismissed the ill-conceived thought. Legolas twisted around in his seat to look at Aragorn. His friend's face was lost in thought, worry lines creasing his brow. He had considered telling the Ranger of his fears, but seeing his face he did not want to add to his friend's troubles. It was not something that would aid him, especially since Legolas was so vague on detail. The notes played in his head and the distraction irritated him. 'Then again, this tenseness may be just another symptom of the sea-longing. And if so, will I always feel be burdened with this tension and apprehension? I do not know how I will adjust to that,' he thought dreading the idea of living like this for even another day and feeling shame if this in fact was what was causing his distress. Legolas cursed himself for this mental lapse playing it again in his mind and concluding that his initial impression was right. 'There was something there. I know I saw something. But what?'

Legolas looked now at Elladan and Elrohir. The twin elves took the rear of the pack and Legolas wondered if they had done it intentionally to match his might at the front. Clever they were, for Legolas' spot at the front of the company was by design. While this mood was on him, he reasoned, it would be wise perhaps to take on the role of protector. He wondered if the other two elves in the company perceived the same apprehension he did. He weighed the idea of slowing his horse to match their place in the line, but then opted to pass as a shudder fell over him again.

The sound of Gimli's grumblings at his back broke through Legolas's dark thoughts. The dwarf took his usual seat at the rear of the horse and seemed too to be pondering the day's events. And indeed the dwarf did deliberate, though his thoughts were focused on the somber frame of mind of his companion. He had rejoined the party shortly after the horns had blown, but the elf had shown no signs of rejoicing. As Gimli's sense of something amiss grew, he began to fear again his friend's ailment. The elf was not right, he knew, but he was assured at least that the prince had not fallen back into that other place. If anything the opposite was true, as Legolas seemed more preoccupied and agitated in the present than ever before. Gimli had quietly waited out the elf, knowing that to press him would be to meet with stone silence, or worse yet, an elusive comment that would steer him away from the original inquiry. Gimli had fallen into the trap of the latter many times, meandering for hours in conversational territories of the elf's choosing rather than the place the dwarf had intended to go. It had taken the dwarf a long time to realize the elf often took this tactic when Gimli hit a place close to his emotional core, and he wondered that he had not realized it earlier in their travels as it was plainly obvious to him now. But as the elf's mood was unflinching and the dwarf could not seek Elladan and Elrohir for counsel, Gimli chose to speak. "Legolas, I find I can tolerate your nervousness no more. If you are about to partake in hysteria I am ready to observe it. But in case you have not noticed the battle has been fought. And won, I might add. You can rest now, elf."

Legolas sighed, "I apologize, Gimli. I am troubled and I have not thought much on hiding it." He had not ceased his furtive search.

"You appear to be fighting still, if not on the field, then in your head. Will you not tell me what troubles you, my friend?" Gimli said with due concern.

"I sense not all is right about us. However, if you ask me to tell you why, I will be unable to do so as I can not trace my fear's source," Legolas answered, shaking his head in his frustration

"What do you know?" asked the dwarf, having no reason to doubt his friend. It was his experience that Legolas was nearly always right in matters of sixth sense.

"I know there is more danger ahead. Of that I am most certain."

"Should we alert the others?"

"No, for I cannot perceive when the damage will come. I fear my injury today hinders me in this. The danger could be just before us or days away. I cannot tell. I only hope that diligent eyes will see it in time to make adequate warning," the elf uttered, his voice carrying little in the dark stillness of night.

"Then I will try to aid you to find this hidden danger," Gimli replied. He said no more, but kept his eyes alert to the dark road ahead. From Legolas' back he could feel the dwarf adjusting his weapons.

****

The savage leader now heard their approach. He had been lying in this lifeless pose for hours without so much as moving an inch. It did not bother him. On the arid savanna where he and his men hunted, they could lay in ready for a whole day without taking a drop of water as they awaited their kill. They were trained in endurance and this was small trial. Inside he smiled as the king's horses drew near.

He had been calculating their success for this final assault. They would not have much time. A fleeting moment at best before all the men of Gondor would be upon them. Though his tribe was greatly outnumbered, they were still of a greater number than this troop and their king. He counted the sound of the horses' hooves and judged there to be thirty men in the party. They would overpower the weak northerners, if only for a moment. The savage chieftain knew much could happen in a moment. If fortune was with them the kingly Gondor chief would be dead before it had passed. And now, they were coming!

 Disclaimer: I make no claims to any of the character contained herein. I will take credit, however, for the next scene as it is nowhere in Tolkien's tale and is all mine (evil laugh).

Chapter 6:  Ambush

He saw it out of the corner of his eye, just a twitch perhaps, but it was enough to stir the memory, revealing what lay before them. With an unexplained authority Legolas instantly knew, with dire certainty, that this place on the road was grave! A rush of anxiety washed over him. He gasped as the sudden onslaught of realization came upon him. He had seen this place before! He struggled to put the picture together in his thoughts as the danger pierced him. Swiftly Legolas' mind raced back to the place on the field as he had glimpsed the Southron tribesman advancing to the road. Although their march had been nearly out of his peripheral sight, it still had been enough to set off the alarm in his brain and cause him to turn and look again. He had missed it. Within the blink of an eye they had been no more, and his eye in seeking them out had seen merely bodies laying in the field. 'I am a fool! How could I have not seen their game?'

And now they were riding in the midst of that place! Warning rang loud in his head. He frantically searched the dark fields on either side of the road. His eyes intense, he could see well the bodies strewn there, seemingly dead and waiting for disposal. 'Something moved!' He looked wildly about, searching for the source of the activity. Then his eyes grew wide as fear creased his brow. "Gimli," he blurted, "These corpses breathe!"

"What?" The dwarf gasped.

But Legolas had no time to answer. He turned back to Aragorn and cried out, "Aragorn! It's a trap!" The dark king snapped to life, pulling his sword while shifting his eyes to probe the blackness. His men jerked awake from their trances, their backs stiffening at the call, their hands immediately jumping to their weapons. Legolas spun Arod around, startling the horse with his sudden command. But the animal was sharp and answered quickly. Legolas darted his eyes about, his perception of their enemies greater number kindling his fears. Crying out, "Now! Now!" he spurred Arod to intercept the first of the attackers.

In an instant, the field and the road were alive as the savage men bounded from their false graves.

Gimli nimbly slipped from Arod's back, his axe ever-ready as he swung it in random patterns, hewing and slashing and reeling to create a path through the storm. Elrohir and Elladan, as always, remained near the other. They quickly dismounted and drew their swords as they ran to a position near Aragorn. They fought as one, as long years of practice had evolved their style into a graceful, deadly attack, covering any weakness exposed by the other. The Dúnedain forces responded by instinct, and sword, knife and shield were immediately employed as the men drew in to protect their leader. At the center of the fracas, Aragorn drew Andúril, the blade flickering brightly in the faltering torchlight. He reared his mount as if it were another weapon, using its weight to crush and trample those who threatened his authority.

The horses screamed their terror as the evil warriors dashed about them, spears and barbs flicking against their hides as the tribesmen lunged at the riders.

Legolas drew his bow and rapidly fired arrow after arrow in succession. He tried to count the number of foes in his head but realized the sum was far greater than their own. 'Too many!'

In the penetrating night air, Legolas could hear the beginnings of the questioning murmurs from the men on the fields. He heard them call to each other to see the wavering torches of the company of Rangers and then they cried out as they saw a shadowed mass of bodies rising about the Dúnedain. He heard their gasps as the horses cried and they realized a danger was there, and that the Dúnadan leader was in this hub. He could hear them rising, calling to others still, drawing weapons and running to the king's aid. 'We need only a minute. We must hold them off for that long and then this enemy will be overtaken.'

Legolas worked to draw himself closer to Aragorn, still firing arrows into the large, dark men, their appearance made more ominous by the blackness of night. And then he saw the thing that had launched the plague of uneasy feelings. A dark giant with a crown of human skulls furtively worked his way through the fray. This is what had caught Legolas' eye on the field, and now that he knew him, Legolas had no intentions of letting this being go again. He followed the savage's path through the battle scene to discern his malicious intent. And then as he saw the giant pause he realized the Southron's scheme: he sought to kill Aragorn. Legolas' fear grew ever more as he saw that the Ranger was lost in battle, oblivious to this fate. Aragorn made no attempts to flee the scene.

The tribesman crouched, his lance poised as he judged his best move, pausing as if hunting a beast in the wild. Legolas kicked his heel into Arod's side and charged full speed at the Southron chieftain. The horse sensed his master's haste and cocked his ears back, his eyes wild, as he ran with ever more speed. As the charging animal neared his master's prey, Legolas pulled his short dagger and leaped gracefully from Arod's back onto that of the savage giant. Like a child playing on the back of an adult he looked, so small was he in proportion to this colossus. With elven agility, Legolas clung to the unwitting Southron. Reaching around and working his hand to the Southron's face Legolas drove gouging fingers into the monster's eyes. The tribesman flailed in pain and Legolas used the time to raise his dagger, plunging it deeply into the great man's chest. The brute wailed but did not fall. He reached back and pulled the elf from his back, holding him by one leg as if he were a rag doll, and then he viciously flung Legolas away, hurtling the body to the far side of the road. A loud crack greeted the prince and he cried out as his left shoulder made hard contact with the blackened earth. Rolling to his side, he tried to stand, but pain tore through his shoulder and side and his arm hung limply. With panting breaths, he righted himself, weakly pulling himself to his knees. He looked up as a red haze closed in on his periphery. He saw the fierce Southron pull the elven blade from his chest, tossing it aside as if discarding a thorn. And then the fiend turned away to focus again on his quarry as Legolas swayed and his vision dimmed. The world began to spin in the pervading black night.

The tribal leader reached his lance again and made ready to launch it at the unsuspecting northern king. His fingertips balanced the spear, finding that memorized place on the weapon he had long since grown comfort with, and waited for that singular moment to release the projectile. Watching, watching, quickly now, he saw an opening and drew his arm back to make the spear airborne, to thrust it into the heart of the enemy king. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small man wielding an axe, running full force in his direction, but he knew this small being could do nothing to stop the event in play. 'Now! Now!' the Southron leader's mind sounded. He willed his arm and fingers to hurl the lance forward, but nothing happened as he heard the crisp liquid sound of flesh being hewed. His body quivered and did not respond. His mind told him to turn but instead his body crumbled lifelessly to the ground.

Gimli nearly toppled over the fallen giant's body, so propelled by force was he in his blind run to stop the savage from his desire. He had charged with battleaxe bared and was prepared to hew on contact, but was stunned at the monster's unwitting destruction ere he arrived. The Southron's death was not of his make.

Gimli glanced about him to detect what felled the barbaric force as he saw the men of Gondor gain ground and launch themselves on the remaining tribesmen. The evil warriors collapsed under the weight of bodies pressed on them. Pummeled, hacked and pulverized, the evil hearts ceased to beat. The battle had ended.

Looking up, the dwarf saw Aragorn, Andúril still in hand, fighting off one last attacker while he propelled his horse to the left and right as if it were a part of his own body. The Ranger did not yet seem aware of the killing on this side of the road. Gimli looked off to the hillside and saw Elladan and Elrohir making short work of two more Southrons, a wake of dead bodies before them. Completing his survey, the dwarf turned to his back and perceived Legolas, standing at a distance, his breathing labored, left arm braced in the right as the elf stepped forward on unsteady feet.

Gimli looked down again at the prone form and saw now the instrument of the giant's defeat: an intricately-carven elven long knife was lodged in the base of the huge man's neck. Just then the tribesman's body began to convulse, and the dwarf realized the Southron was still alive. Reaching down, he pulled hard to dislodge the knife which had embedded itself between the vertebrae. Pausing, he balanced the knife in his hand, weighing it as he measured its distance, seeing in his mind the path it had traveled from the elf's hand through a spiral arc to the giant's back. Then reaching down, he lifted the fallen leaders head and slit the great throat delivering this foe swiftly to death's house.

He wiped the stain of blood from the knife onto the grass before he stood. Then turning the blade down as one does in relinquishing a weapon, he stood and began to walk to where the knife's owner stood. Looking up, his heart quickened and his pace increased to a run as he saw his friend falter. Gimli reached out, arms open wide, and arrived at the exact moment required to catch Legolas as he collapsed.

A/N: My apologies that this chapter is a little shorter than the others. I am weighing the idea of combining it with the previous chapter, but rather liked the suspense of breaking the scenes apart like this. Let me know what you think and I will remedy it, if need be, with the installment of the next chapter (which, by the way will be the last one – sorry to disappoint some of you, but this is just supposed to be a glimpse at a missing scene from the book, not an entire book in itself – as it is, this story came out a little longer than I had intended, but it has been fun to write and the words wouldn't stop flowing).

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to any of these characters, places, etc. They are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was made from this tale, and no infringement was intended. This was done purely for entertainment purposes.

A/N: Last chapter, and they should come back to as you know them. I hope I haven't made Aragorn too grim. I always felt there was a growing mood change in him from book to book, and in RotK he seemed more distanced from his friends than ever. I just thought I would consider that as I wrote this chapter.

Chapter 7:  Winds of Change

"Bring that light closer so I can see."

Legolas' brow furrowed at the sound as his eyes fluttered open. He quickly squeezed them shut again as a glaring light flashed before him rendering him blind. The lantern was drawn back and he again attempted to open his eyes as his sight slowly regained itself. However with his returned vision came comprehension of his condition and he quickly became agitated as he realized he was surrounded by faces. He also noticed he was laying on the hard ground. A wave of embarrassment hit him at being the located in such an odd place and being the object of such scrutiny. He struggled to get up and winced as a stab of pain surged into his left arm and shoulder.

A gentle hand pushed him down. "Not so fast," a familiar voice said. Looking up, Legolas saw the haggard but handsome face of Strider at his side. "I have not completed my examination yet," the Ranger said with a slight smile.

They were gathered in the middle of a dirt road. Legolas recognized the site of battle and reoriented himself through the sound of men calling out and weapons being resheathed as horse hooves thumped on the dirt and grass. The night was black and the contrast of it to the light in the arc of the lamp made it difficult to see beyond the circle. Legolas turned his face to the darkness to try to catch sight of his last foe. Lying face down some fifty paces off was the body of the savage Legolas had overtaken. The elf thought on the battle with the giant and he thought of Aragorn and his oblivion to his own peril. He looked into the king's face again and realized the Ranger did not know. 'He is safe then,' the elf thought.

A pair of eyes peered over the Ranger's shoulder and a deep voice asked, "Is he awake yet?"

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder and replied, "Yes, he is Master Dwarf."

Running past the many spectators, Gimli pushed his way to the elf's side and Legolas found himself greeted by the searching eyes of the dwarf. Seeing for himself that his friend was well, Gimli beamed and said, "I am glad to see you still live. You gave me quite a fright."

The Ranger took the lamp being offered and placed it near Legolas' head as he dismissed the man who carried it. Noticing the others milling about, the Dunadan leader said, "Thank you, friends. I think we may handle this from here."

Sensing the need for privacy, the standing men quickly disbursed, and Legolas sighed quietly to himself as he was left only to Aragorn and Gimli.

The Ranger scanned the elf's body and then began his review. He looked into the elf's eyes, checking to see if his pupils were equally sized and reacting to the light. He placed two fingers at the base of his patient's throat as he monitored a pulse. The Dúnedan then helped his patient into a sitting position as the elven prince stifled a groan. The Ranger lightly probed the elf's head and neck, and then he lightly touched the skewed shoulder, pausing at the flinch of pain that erupted from the point of contact. Gingerly, he took the elf's left elbow and tried to maneuver it into a raised position. He was greeted with a sharp cry of pain and tightly sealed elven eyes. Aragorn gave his friend a moment to recuperate before speaking. He looked into Legolas' pained face with a practiced stare.

"Your shoulder is dislocated," Aragorn announced.

The elf looked pleased. 'It is a minor wound.' Legolas sighed relief. His arm was not funtioning. This had troubled him greatly, though his face had not belied it. He relaxed as his tension withdrew. But then he jerked upright as he felt renewed embarrassment come to him. 'It is a minor wound! I fell over a trivial injury!' His face reddened at the humiliation and he struggled to quickly get to his feet.

Again, Aragorn's hand pushed him back down. "It will be easier if you remain seated," he said as he came around to the elf's back. "This is going to hurt."

Legolas momentarily swallowed his pride and nodded his acknowledgement to the healer.

Aragorn gently lifted the elf's left arm. "Ready?" he asked, and when the elf nodded again he quickly pulled the arm and shoulder back into their right position.

Legolas' ashen complexion grew a shade paler as he gasped, closing his eyes to the stabbing pain. Inside his head, his ears rang and a wave of nausea passed over him. He wavered for a moment, caught between consciousness and twilight world, and then he regained his composure. The sparks flashing before his shut eyes cleared gradually and he opened them again.

After a minute passed and he saw the elf's color returning, the Ranger stood. Leaning in to grasp Legolas' good arm, Aragorn helped the elf to a standing position. Gimli sprang up to aid him, bracing himself in case he needed to catch the prince, but stood back a pace when he saw the elf on his own steady legs.

In the effort to rise, Aragorn leaned in close to the elf and said softly, as if he could read his friend's thoughts, "Do not push yourself too hard. Your swoon was not a design of weakness. You received a fierce blow that sent your body into shock. You are lucky you were not harmed more."

Legolas' eyes expressed his thanks, both for diminishing his personal beratement and for treating his wound. He squeezed his friend's supporting arm. Standing fully on his own, he tested his shoulder by delicately rolling it, wincing slightly at the tautness of his swollen muscles. He began to feel pinpricks of life tingling through his arm and fingertips and a smile lightly crossed his lips at the return of sensation.

"It will be tender for a day or two. I recommend sleep while you can get it. I do not suppose I could convince you to let me fashion a sling," Aragorn asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, thank you. This will be sufficient," Legolas answered. Gimli smiled at him for his renewed abilities.

His work done here, the Ranger stepped away, but then stopped. An ache had been growing in him over the last several days and he thought perhaps he may now remedy it. The concern he had been feeling for Legolas had not abated with the elf's return to his senses. He was puzzled by Legolas' injury…it was not a wound typical of battle. He could not say it aloud but he worried that a misstep of sorts had caused Legolas' injury. If this were true, he owed it to himself to know for he would have need to guard himself and the elf against it in future endeavors. He turned back and looked hard to see if signs of cuivëar existed on the elf's face. Guilt rekindled itself in the Ranger's chest for his role to the elf's conceivably diminished state. He said in an inquisitive voice, "Legolas, my curiosity is piqued. I see no slain foes about you, yet you were sundered by a mighty rival. Tell me, how did you receive this injury?"

Legolas hesitated to answer. He saw again the battle–the giant–his friend's distraction, unaware of the danger. His heart wavered on what to say. Could he tell the Ranger of his near fatality, for surely Strider would not allow a short answer of appeasement. He would probe until he could see the scene himself. Something within Legolas told him it would not be wise to share this information. His answer was confirmed when he looked at Gimli's face.

Legolas and Gimli exchanged glances. As if reading each others thoughts, they both recognized that the truth would not do good here, their reasoning that of warrior logic. To tell Aragorn the truth would be to reveal to him his moment of vulnerability at the hands of the savage attackers–that the Dunadan had nearly been overthrown. Legolas had seen that tact taken before and dreaded the results it brought. Experience on the field had proved this true on numerous occasions–many a fine warrior he knew had been overcome by their own self-doubt when a weakness was revealed. The better fighter was one who let his body answer to his practiced skills, his mind unhindered by self-consciousness. When a warrior hesitated, checking his strategy and moves, it was a only a matter of time before he would fail. Legolas did not doubt Aragorn would be grateful to have his life spared, but he was also sure there would be some shame involved on the Ranger's part for not being able to protect himself alone. Though he would not show it outwardly, it would gnaw at him, deep inside. And while Aragorn had saved Legolas' life countless times, and Legolas had done the same in turn, neither had readily acknowledged that fact or discussed it or made a tally of favors to reciprocate those deeds. Legolas did not want to start now and he could think of nothing worse he wanted his friend to endure. The pair, Legolas and Gimli, had they spoken, would most certainly agree that such knowledge could damage the friendship between the man and the elf. With their eyes, the elf and dwarf made a silent vow not to tell.

But now the pressure was on Legolas. The elf held his breath. He was caught ill-prepared and his brain hunted for a speedy response. He had only two choices: hedge or lie.

Legolas hedged. "It matters not how the injury occurred," he said as he fixed a passive smile and spoke casually. "It is minor and elves heal quickly. I expect I will be fine by the morrow." He began to walk past the Ranger as he bent to replace his long knife in its harness. If he could have continued to walk away, he would have.

But Aragorn would not be sidetracked and stayed at the elf's side. He said in a joking way, to keep the mood light, "That would be a fine answer if I had asked how you will fair, but I did not." Turning serious again he said, "How did you received your injury, Legolas?"

The elf looked away distractedly, searching the landscape for something lost. He tried again, "Have you seen my dagger?"

Aragorn would not be deterred and his alarm grew as he misread the elf's attempts to flee him. He followed Legolas to the place where the knife lay and continued his questioning. "Legolas, I have concern for your well-being. Please tell me," he said in a gentle voice, grasping the elf's good arm to stop him from moving away again.

Legolas felt unbalaced. He was trapped. Left with no other choice but to lie, his mouth sputtered. He had no idea what to say. Untruths did not come easily to him. He struggled for words, his mouth knotted and he felt a stammering falsity rising to his lips. "I…I fell."

"You fell?" It did not appear to be an answer that eased the Ranger's mind. "How?"

The elf froze. He did not have a clear answer. His lips mutely tried to find words. "I…Um…I" He fought to make his brain to work.

But before he could open his mouth again, the dwarf blurted out, "He fell off his horse."

Legolas gasped.

Aragorn wheeled around. So intent was he on Legolas' answer that he did not realize Gimli had followed. The dwarf looked as thrown as the elf, his eyes wide with this mild terror. "He fell off his horse?" the Ranger asked.

The dwarf looked as if he had swallowed his tongue. He only nodded.

The color in Legolas' face drained as a mix of humiliation and indignation overtook him.

Aragorn stood fixed, completely shocked and as appalled at this revelation as Legolas appeared to be. He looked from one to the other, first at the elf's horrified expression, and then to the dwarf's mute stare. At last, the Ranger began to chuckle as he pictured the elf splayed on the ground. The pair's facial expressions solidified in his mind and he recognized the folly of such a sight. He broke into a hearty roar and he lost himself in his amusement. His body rocked in the mirth of his laughter. Regaining himself, he realized the dwarf shared equal concern for his friend, and if there was anything to know, Gimli would not hide it from him. "Very well," he said at last, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, "keep your secret. But however you did it, I hope it was worth it." Then waving a hand as if to dismiss them, he walked away to find his mount. Joined by several other men serving as his guard, the king and his men galloped away to the shore and their awaiting ship.

With the Ranger gone, Legolas turned his wrath on the dwarf. "Gimli!" he bellowed.

"The words just flew out," the dwarf said in his own defense.

"But Gimli… my horse?" Legolas cried pleadingly.

"Should I have said you fell out of a tree?" the dwarf answered.

"You should have said nothing."

"But you were doing that so well yourself."

"You have painted me as an inept rider," the elf said angrily.

"He did not appear to believe it," the dwarf said blithely as if this excused his words.

"Yet still…" Legolas said sadly. And then sighing deeply, he shook his head and whistled for Arod to come. The horse winnied its greeting as he galloped forth and stopped to nuzzle his face into his master's chest, as if he too had been fearful for the elf. Legolas forgot himself for a moment and laughed at the steed. Then he said to Gimli, as if all were forgotten, "Come Gimli, let us find our place of rest tonight. I believe a ship awaits us."

Gimli smiled, glad that his rogue tongue could be forgiven. He launched himself onto the back of Arod in the fashion he had adapted since taking up ride with the elf and waited for Legolas to join him. The prince brought himself to the horse's side and paused. A long silence followed. Gimli looked down to see the elf staring at the horse's side. "Legolas?" he asked.

"Gimli…" the elf said in a faint voice, his eyes closed as if to shut out something he did not wish to see.

"What is it, Master Elf?" the dwarf asked with trepidation, fear rising in him.

Legolas hesitated, then leaning his forehead into the horse's hide, he said in a muffled voice, "My shoulder… it is still tender… I cannot mount without aid."

A loud snort escaped the dwarf as his relief sputtered out. He dropped to the ground and cupped his hands as he boosted Legolas to his seat. Legolas glared hard at the dwarf, daring him with his eyes to not make another sound.

The dwarf tried to repress his laugh as he grabbed the proffered good arm and pulled himself back onto the horse. But once mounted, a deep chuckle escaped him and he felt it grow to a full laugh.

Legolas nudged Arod on and reached down to stroke the horse's neck. He sighed a soft word to the animal. By command, the horse bucked his hind legs. Without a tight grip on his companion, the dwarf found himself flying from his seat, and landed in the middle of the dirt road, flat on his back. With justice now served, Gimli's laugh had been silenced and now he could hear the reciprocating mirthful chortle of the elf from his seat on the horse.

*****

Legolas stepped out onto the deck and looked about at the fresh activity that stirred there. Many of the men were below deck, resting still from their injuries and weariness, but Legolas sought out the restorative powers of sun and air. True to his prediction, his body had healed much in the course of one night, and his shoulder pain had diminished to merely a slight ache.

Dawn had come and gone, and the ship had been cast off for their next destination. The air was still and the sky was still clouded, but it did not hold the density of the previous days and Legolas saw a brightening glow in the place where the sun tried to pierce through. His spirits lifted for this new day.

At the rail, as he knew he would be, Aragorn stood. The elf did not doubt that the Ranger had been there to witness their launch at dawn. Standing alone, the lean man gazed out at the waters before them. Legolas walked over to stand at his friend's side. Glancing down, he looked into the deep, lapping river and at the oars that swung in unison propelling the ship against the current. Legolas looked up to his friends profile. Despite a merrier expression worn the night before at the elf's comic situation, Aragorn's face revealed a sadness within him now.

Aragorn saw Legolas looking at him from the corner of his eye. He was glad the elf had drawn near and that he was spared a moment more before he must put on the mantle of responsibility. He watched now the slow progress their craft made and despair filled him that he could do nothing to make their travel speedier. He felt defeat was nearing, and dark somberness fell on him. The mirth he had had at Legolas and Gimli's antics the night before had lifted him. He hoped now that the accompaniment of his friend would help again to lighten his mood. Quiet moments of reflection between the friends had been growing rare and he missed the elf's companionship. The fault was greatly his own he knew–he had been too much inside himself of late and he knew that he had not been much of a friend to Legolas during his dawning of cuivëar. His thoughts had been preoccupied with the need to fight the evil hand of Sauron. It was an immense burden and he wished for some reprieve of it.

He looked over to Legolas' face and wondered now how his friend had been managing. His concern of last night still lingered. He would like to know what effect the sea-longing had had on his friend and if he could help. He searched to see if the elf's disposition had been maimed by it. Finding the words to ask, he said softly, "How do you fair, Legolas?"

Legolas thought about the question. It was simple and easily malleable to interpretation. But reading his friend's face, he understood the implied meaning. His first impulse was to dodge the inquiry, as was his custom, but then he remembered Elladan's words and considered the truth of the matter to his own well-being. Seeing also his friend's sorrow, Legolas decided evading the question would just cause further grief. Aragorn seemed in need of solace and a companion, and his question seemed genuine. The elf said, "I do not know for which you ask, the injury to my shoulder of last night or the injury to my heart as of yesterday, but for either, my answer is the same: I do not suffer much."

"Does it haunt you? The cuivëar?" the Ranger asked with concern.

"Yes, but it is less unsettling to me now. It has become a constant, as if it has always been there, and at times I am almost able to forget," the elf answered as if listening again to the sound. "I still long for it, yet I am not pressed for it as I had been."

Studying Aragorn's face, he hoped that this would diminish some of his friend's agony. From his distance on the vessel, the elf had been watching the man and could not help noting the flurry of direction and specification that sought out the exiled king's attention. 'There are so many distractions,' he thought. From the moment they had boarded the dark, twin masted ship, Aragorn had been occupied. There was the need to assemble the delegations of men from the Gondor field onto the fleet of the tall ships about them. Supplies had to be procured. Horses loaded. Slaves freed. Oarsmen made ready. And so on, a ceaseless list of things to be done, orders to be given, lieutenants to speak to. Of course, there were the other Rangers to consider as well. Many injuries had there been among them, but thankfully, all had been minor, as his had been, and no man had died. But that did not mean the death of Boromir did not still linger in Aragorn's mind. Quietly, the elf also knew the king deeply regretted his own passing into the cuivëar. 'Such heaviness there is here,' he had thought as his eyes had sought out his friend. Legolas knew that if he was going to lean on his friends for support, he should offer them the same. And now he saw his friend in need. He said, "And how do you fair, Aragorn?"

The Ranger smiled wryly at the question, but in equal measure, answered honestly and sadly. "I fear I suffer much, Legolas. Look at us now. This may all have been in vain. For all we have gained, and lost, in one day, we lose to time. Our travel is hastened and I fear Minas Tirith will fall before we can do more. My heart quails," he said as he cast his eyes down.

Legolas searched for a response to give to his friend's lament. He raised his head to the breaking clouds as wisps of sun poked through and he closed his eyes. Drawing upon his elven senses, he listened for the far away sound of the winds that stirred high in the stratosphere. He heard their voice and listened for the direction of their call. He smiled knowingly and said, "It is wise to have an elf for a friend, for I think I may bring you some joy." Gazing fondly at the Ranger again, Legolas said, "Fortune is with us still, Aragorn, and she sends tidings from the south. The winds are changing. May all of Mordor be fearful, for we shall see Minas Tirith ere the next dawn."

Aragorn closed his eyes, attempting to sense what the elf had, but shook his head at his own shortcoming as he opened them again. However, a smile lit his face as he had no reason to doubt the elf's prediction, and he relaxed slightly with the news.

Pondering Aragorn's mood, Legolas chose to continue. "Estel, there is much that bodes within you. The weight of your position is large. Yet I think your misery is more than fear for what may come. What troubles you still?"

Aragorn sighed. "My intentions are good, for if it were my doing I would see freedom and prosperity reign in Arnor. Those that we go to fight would see torment there. My thoughts have been locked on saving all who wish to remain free."

"Your goal is noble, friend," Legolas answered gently.

"Yes, but must I sacrifice my friends for the sake of this responsibility? Time and time again, I feel I have done so of late," Aragorn with a pitying voice. "I feel as if I have betrayed you, Legolas. I fear our friendship will slip because I cannot be torn from my cursed duty."

Legolas shook his head in answer. "I am going nowhere, except to follow you, as has been my choice from the start. I think you will be a good king, Aragorn, for you always seek something more in yourself than what is asked of you. Few men have this quality, I have seen. You have compassion, and you are loved for it," the elf said softly.

"Loved by others perhaps, but there is more I would wish of myself," the Dúnedan said darkly.

Legolas sensed they were at the heart of Aragorn's troubles. He spoke now with authority. "Do not fault yourself because you cannot be more than you are. Your friends are still standing. I am still standing. You have foresaken no one and no one is lost to the good of what you do. We shall persevere and we will be stronger in the end for it."

"Will we? Can a friendship remain if it is not tended?" the Ranger asked spitefully.

"Pity does not become you, Estel. I speak of your duty. Your destiny is greater than all this," the elf soberly responded, motioning his arms to encompass himself, "and I will not allow you to suffer for it more. It harms us more than it aids us and there are no lessons to be gained here." Reaching out, he gently touched Aragorn on the shoulder as he smiled and said, "Your friendship is precious to me. If you regard me the same, I beseech you to cease your search in the shadows of the past. For look, the sun is now shining," he said pointing up, "It is time to awaken and greet what is before us."

Aragorn looked up and smiled wanly. Elven wisdom. He understood Legolas' meaning. He had concluded the same himself – it was time to stop looking backward at his regrets. His friend did not bear any blame. For this, a surge of relief washed over him.

He looked back down into the water again. 'I must move on but how do I do that? Simply, I suppose…focus no further than what is before me. Like the paddles in the water,' he thought as he looked upon them, 'one stroke to follow the next until a greater power propels us on. Propels us forward.' He smiled at his thoughts. And for the first time in a many days his shoulders relaxed a little from the weight he carried.

Knowing there was little more he could say, Legolas turned away and walked to the bow of the ship. Seeing the ample roping of the forward mast, he tested it and then began to climb. Guarding his still tender arm, he made his way upward with confident steps until the rope ladder ceased. When he had reached the place where the topmost sail was furled, he stopped and turned back to look at what was left of Pelargir. So much had happened there. Had it only been a day? As if called by the recollection, gulls appeared on the horizon. He watched as they swooped in and about the great ships. As they neared, he could hear the music of the cuivëar as it began to strengthen with their appearance. Legolas was pleased with himself, for he felt he was learning to master the sound. He knew there would be dark days ahead where his battle with the sea-longing would be intense, but the last day had been a good test of the love he held for this place and his friends, and he knew in matters of consequence the sea-longing could be pushed away. As the gulls flew about him, he considered the music, knowing how easy it would be to slip into it again. He knew this sound would always be with him and he knew now that the only way to fight it was to draw his strength from others. Looking down on the deck, he saw Aragorn standing alone at the rail, waiting for his destiny. 'He will be a good king,' he thought.

As the gulls flew about him, a wind began to blow. Legolas laughed.

Turning away from the gusts, Legolas directed himself north to where Minas Tirith would be. He listened again for the music, but this time instead of pushing it back when it became too strong, he moved it to a new place in his mind and began to work it. He followed the notes as he added his own, entwining them into the sound to create a new song, harmonizing with the music.

From the deck below, Aragorn heard Legolas' gentle tenor voice. The elf sang softly in an unfamiliar elven tune that came out as a sweet melody. It was hauntingly beautiful and Aragorn caught his breath as he listened to it. He allowed the music to lift and carry him, and to his ears it seemed to echo the chorus of the wind and of all the sounds of the world.

END.

 **************

A/N: I would like to thank all my faithful reviewers. Your words helped me when I thought I was alone. Specifically, I would like to thank Gabriel (I'm not going to look, I'm not going to look, oops, I looked) Lawson. You made me laugh. And more importantly, you inspired me. I can't believe you actually noticed me (gulp). Thank you for the encouragement. Thudera, you are my hero. And you too, Jocelyn. Your own works makes this all look so easy, and it is you I was trying to emulate. I can say after writing this, it is not an easy thing to do. And to everyone else who reviewed, thank you for being so kind. I was a much harsher critic than you were, and you bolstered me to keep this going.

And now I go back to just being an observer of this site for awhile. My family will be happy to see me again and to know I have not become completely nocturnal (there have been many nights when I have been glued to my keyboard into the wee hours).

I will probably be back though. I have some ideas for a new story, but I need to do a little research before I begin. Until then…