Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien. I only toddle along in the master's footsteps, clutching at his coat-tails. There is no money being made. Note: This story follows the novel pretty closely in certain respects, including an incident which did not appear in the film; however, where the two are in direct conflict I go with the film (e.g., a mention of Arwen at the ford instead of Glorfindel).
And yes, I know some names and elvish words don't have the proper accents. But this site ate my formatting over the past few years, and I'n just putting in the minimum to make it readable again.
Light of the Most Beloved Star
by Lizardbeth Johnson
Outside the sheltered bounds of Lothlorien, the sky was grimly overcast and the air was chill as the Seven Walkers returned to a land where the winter still held its grip. Lady Galadriel was there to see them off and present gifts to each. Legolas couldn't help a smile of surprise when Gimli startled them all by requesting a lock of her golden hair which she gave him. But by far the most precious and most needed gift was the one she gave him: a crystal vial in which the light of Earendil shone brilliantly. Merely holding it in his hand eased the struggle in his spirit.
As the group were drifting away in their three small boats, he heard her voice in his mind: Remember, Legolas of Greenwood, you do not journey alone. You carry the blessings of the Ainur with you, for you are of the Firstborn and our people are their most beloved. You have the strength of spirit of your noble house, kinsman of Elwe, and it shall sustain you through the long dark road to come. You carry the hope of us all, son of Thranduil. Do not surrender.
His gaze met hers, where she stood on the small promontory overlooking the river and it took very little effort to answer her: I shall not, Lady.
Though she seemed briefly surprised, she lifted a hand to him, as the current caught the boat, and her voice returned to his mind: Until we meet again in Aman, Legolas, farewell.
He raised his hand to her in return and then he faced the south to guide the boat into the larger river. What was done, was done, and the refuge of Lothlorien could help him no more.
The group only had to paddle to steer once the boats entered the broad Anduin. The river swept them along, and they saw only the trees hugging each shore. Legolas heard few sounds of wildlife in those woods, only the very occasional bird.
Conversation lagged among the group, though the river flowed quietly enough they could have spoken even between the three boats. But during the grey daylight hours, the oppressive stillness seemed to capture them all. Within each boat there was little more discussion, particularly in Legolas' own.
Legolas had surprised himself, as well as everyone else, by inviting Gimli to share his boat.
The dwarf was solid and strong, capable of managing the boat if Legolas couldn't, where the hobbits would find it much more difficult. Since Legolas knew a problem was likely because of the ring, he thought it was wise to have help. It would be ironic to die stupidly if the boat foundered against a rock while he was insensate, fighting the ring.
But the whispers in the back of the elf's mind said that if Gimli tried to take the ring, it wouldn't be so terrible to kill him. He was, after all, a dwarf, and dwarves had not been friends of the Sindar since dwarves had murdered Thingol in the halls of Menegroth.
Legolas tried to ignore the whisper, knowing it came from the ring, but he also kept his knives on him at all times.
No one was going to take the ring from him.
Almost the moment they left the boundaries of the elven wood, he felt another presence following them. Keen elvish eyes caught sight of a figure in the water, clutching a log in the gray water of the overcast skies. The sense of it was of something slimy that did not belong to life, like oil on water. It was the same feeling he'd had in Moria, though now stronger.
Gollum.
But Legolas said nothing, knowing that their boats would soon leave the creature behind. Yet the sense did not leave him, and he knew that Gollum still followed as the days passed.
That evening, he accepted his portion of dinner from Sam with a nod of thanks and perched on a rock to eat the leg of rabbit. Bringing it up to his mouth, he stopped and his nose twitched at the smell. Something was wrong. He sniffed at it cautiously. Yes, it smelled sour. He touched his tongue lightly, and his gorge rose.
He flung it into the river. "Don't!" he said sharply to the others, who were going to eat theirs. "Don't eat it. Something's wrong."
Aragorn frowned at him. "You sure?" He sniffed at his own portion. "It smells all right."
"Tastes like rabbit," Pippin said, around his mouthful.
Legolas just looked at them for a moment, dumb-founded. "What are you talking about? It smells as though it's been dead a week!"
Gimli sniffed his. "Smells good." He bit off a piece and chewed it. "Tastes good."
"And everyone knows that dwarves have such fine senses," Legolas sneered.
"Legolas -- " Aragorn intervened before the two could fight.
"I didn't pick up carrion," Boromir insisted, offended that the rabbit he had killed was being doubted.
"I know you didn't," Aragorn said. He sniffed the rabbit again and bit off a small piece cautiously. He glanced at Legolas. "It seems fine. Are you sure you didn't get a scent of something else?"
When even Aragorn disagreed, Legolas was no longer entirely certain. He had confidence in his senses, all of which were sharper than humans', but if they chose not to believe him there was nothing he could do. He shrugged slightly. "Perhaps."
"Here, you can try a piece of mine," Sam offered, holding out his knife with a piece of the cooked meat on it.
Legolas leaned away as his stomach roiled queasily. "Thank you, Sam, but for the moment I will stay with something plain." He made himself an oatcake in Sam's skillet, and managed to eat it, even though his stomach didn't seem to care for that either.
Later, he was watching the water for Gollum, when Aragorn came up to him. Voice low so the others couldn't hear, he asked, "Are you all right?"
"I should be asking you that," Legolas returned. "You ate it, not me."
Aragorn shook his head. "There was nothing wrong with it."
"That you could sense," Legolas insisted stubbornly.
"Are you sure it was... real?" the ranger regarded him, eyes narrowed in concern. Legolas took his meaning immediately. Had it been illusion wrought by the ring? Or perhaps it was his sense of Gollum, still following them -- the inky stain of his presence fouling his senses?
Having asked the questions, he had to admit to Aragorn, "I am sure of very little, my friend."
Whether it was Gollum, or the ring, or some other cause, over the following few days the problem grew worse. All the food he tried to eat after leaving the elven refuge tasted progressively more foul, even simple food like oatcakes and fresh greens. He refused everything when they camped on the fourth day. The smell of the roasting partridges made him ill so he moved upwind, to a place on the river bank, looking across the water.
Aragorn came up behind him. Softly, in elvish, Aragorn said, "My friend, you must eat and keep up your strength."
Legolas shook his head. "No. It tastes... rotten," he explained haltingly. "I know it is not, but I cannot stomach it."
Aragorn looked at him, frowning in concern. "You have to have something. Here," he held out a lembas for Legolas.
The elf shook his head and did not take it. "Those are for emergencies. When we cannot stop to hunt and our supplies have run out."
"Legolas, if you can't eat what we hunt or from our other supplies, what else is it but an emergency?" Aragorn demanded in exasperation. "Elves need more than starlight to live on."
"Well, actually --"
"No, I don't want to hear it," Aragorn took the elf's hand and put the leaf-wrapped packet into it, closing his fingers around it. "I know you haven't eaten anything for two days. Eat it."
When Legolas still hesitated, Aragorn sighed. "Look, this stretches the supplies for the rest of us. Just do it, please?"
Reluctantly, Legolas opened the leaves and broke off a piece of the way-cake. He touched his tongue to it, worried that it too would have the same tainted taste, but to his relief he tasted only sweet honey. Under Aragorn's watchful eye, he nibbled half of it, trying not to show how hungry he felt, and then re-wrapped the rest and put it in his belt pouch.
When Aragorn looked disapproving, he said, "Truly, this is enough. More would be wasteful. Thank you for the thought."
Though the man still looked suspicious that Legolas was putting himself on half-rations, he accepted the explanation with a nod. "I'm glad. Now come on back. Pippin was just asking about the story of Earendil, and you tell it better than I do."
Legolas put a hand to his belt pouch where the vial of water rested that shone with the light of Earendil. The touch and the first susentance in days made him feel stronger and his spirit lightened. He smiled. "You are the one who grew up the house of Elrond, not I," he teased. "You should know the tale well."
"I do know it," Aragorn retorted. "I said that you tell it better."
"And how would you know?" Legolas challenged. "I have never sung it in your hearing before. And besides, tales of the Noldor are not especially welcome in my father's court."
Aragorn folded his arms and glowered at the elf. "Legolas, I will eat my boots if you don't have the tale of Earendil and Elwing memorized. Your father saw the fall of Ancalagon the Black, you told me so once. Now come on back and tell the story, you exasperating elf!"
Legolas laughed and returned to the camp fire, glad to have successfully needled his friend.
Later, as the night was nearing that transition to first light, when it was cold and dark, he was drifting in sleep. He held in his mind the restful image of the peace of the forest in winter, when the snow was an untouched blanket beneath the silver columns of the trees, and he gained strength from the clear memory. Yet without his will and in total disregard for the truth of the remembrance, gradually the snow turned grey and the sun vanished behind dark clouds. A warg sauntered into view and turned, so his yellow eyes seemed to stare right at Legolas.
The elf started awake, one hand reaching for his bow automatically. He listened to the night, testing it on his senses. He even got to his feet and, so silently the watching Boromir did not notice, made a circuit outside the camp. But he found nothing amiss.
Yet he knew that if it was not yet here, something dark was coming... Something of evil worse than Gollum was now hunting the ring.
He reached up but held himself back from taking the ring out from beneath his tunic.
Shadows within and without, shadows surrounding him... The looming shapes of the low shrubs and scattered willows seemed suddenly ominous. He felt chilled and returned to camp, seeking the warmth of the fire and companionship.
He purposefully made noise as he walked into Boromir's view so the Man wouldn't be too startled by his appearance. Nonetheless his glance back at Legolas' empty place by the fire betrayed his belief that the elf still slept there, and Legolas half-smiled.
The man took his hand from his sword and let the elf come to him in silence. "Is something wrong?" Boromir asked softly.
"Many things are wrong. But nothing immediate," Legolas reassured him. "I will take watch until dawn. I will sleep no more tonight."
After making certain that Legolas meant the offer, Boromir wrapped himself in his cloak and soon fell asleep.
Legolas remained near the fire, a little too close for keeping a proper watch since the firelight affected his night vision, but his ears were alert for any unusual sounds in the cold before first light. The soft sounds of his friends in sleep were comforting, and their presence even more soothing to his heart. He watched the movement of the stars, with one hand holding the vial of water to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while.
In the morning, he pulled Aragorn aside and told him that the company had to beware. Aragorn just nodded, then tried to tease him, "I just can't get used to that, how you elves know when evil is near."
Legolas tried to match his mood with a smile, which he knew had to be a fragile and sickly thing, when Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"By the grace of the Valar, I will come to Orodruin," Legolas said, which both realized was really no answer at all. But it was all the answer Legolas had, since he was not 'all right', by any stretch of the meaning.
Aragorn let it go with just a squeeze and got everyone in their boats to continue down the river.
The following days he could feel the darkness gathering. His gaze haunted both shores, seeing nothing yet, but knowing it would come.
The lands changed, in keeping with his mood. The trees gave way on the eastern shore to the Brown Lands -- vast desolate hills of withered brown grass and weeds, with not a tree or blade of green to soften the view. Legolas found it hard to look on that bank of the river, but the western bank was little better, being flat and swampy with towering reeds. Beyond, more distant hills were crowned with green grass but no trees and on the horizon were the gray peaks of the Misty Mountains.
Legolas and Aragorn hunted water-fowl with their bows, handing off the birds to the others to cook and clean for dinner. On the sixth day of their journey, disdaining the easier shots of the ducks in the water, Legolas ran at them, stirring them into flight, and fired into the air. With the more powerful longbow from Lothlorien, his arrow had slightly greater speed and he was able to hit one above the trees. It plummeted like a stone into the shallows upstream. The hobbits applauded and whistled.
Aragorn muttered, loud enough for Legolas to hear, "Show off."
Legolas smiled to himself as he went after it, peering through the tall reeds to find where it had fallen.
He found it and knelt to pick it up, disregarding the water soaking his breeches from knees down to his boots. Bracing the duck on his knee, he pulled his arrow free. Intending to wash the point in the water, his hand froze. His eyes fell on the arrow and he couldn't look away.
Dark red blood glistened on the arrow.
One droplet slid down to the point, gathered slowly, and then fell. His other hand moved, seemingly without his will, and caught the drop on one finger. He raised that finger to his mouth and couldn't stop himself from tasting it.
Sweet fire bloomed on his tongue and made lembas taste like ashes by comparison. A rush of pure pleasure wracked his body, shuddering through him and leaving him weak but wanting more. For the first time in days, his gnawing hunger diminished. The ring against his chest felt warm.
No. He stared at the bloody arrow and his hand trembled, wanting to lift it to his mouth and lick it clean. He needed to taste it again.
No. I won't do it. It felt as though he were throwing his child into the river to drown when he forced himself to pitch the arrow as far out in the water as he could. The sense of loss was a physical pain within him.
Valar, help me. His gaze sought the night sky, while he knelt in the water and shivered in the chill breeze. He's changing me, Elbereth. I can't stop it. I don't know what to do. Please, give me strength enough to get through this.
"Legolas!" Aragorn called, interrupting his desperate plea. "Legolas, where are you? Did you find the duck?"
"I'm here," Legolas straightened from the reeds which hid him. "I have it."
While others ate their roasted duck, he forced down his tasteless lembas ration and tried not to remember the blood on his tongue. After he ate, he sat near the fire and cradled the water of Earendil in both hands. But neither fire nor light penetrated to the cold within him.
After that, he still hunted for the company but he enlisted Merry and Pippin to retrieve anything he hit and had them clean the arrows before giving them back. They were glad to help and though Aragorn looked at him strangely for the change, Legolas felt better having temptation kept out of his sight. He ate his lembas that tasted like sand and drank water and he refused to remember.
After Sam reported also seeing Gollum in the water, Aragorn decided that the company would paddle more, journey by night as the clouds cleared away, and hope to lose the creature behind. They were helped by the narrowing river, as the banks rose and closed in on either side, becoming bramble-covered stony ridges.
Though it would seem they had more cover, Legolas knew that the group was approaching the Emyn Muil, where Sauron's forces could already be waiting. It had been more than a week, nearly two, since Sauron had learned that the One Ring was heading in his direction. Though Galadriel had kept the Eye away from Lorien, the Dark Lord knew there was only one direction the Ringbearer could travel. Emyn Muil was where anyone would have to leave the river, to go overland the shortest distance to the Morannon.
Aragorn sought his advice on the eighth day. "I have never travelled this portion of the river, but I know we're approaching the rapids. The river is already growing rough, and may be dangerous at night, but I'm worried that the banks are no safer to spend the night."
Legolas glanced out at the river and then to the opposite bank. It seemed to make little difference to his sense of encroaching evil, because he now believed that sense had more to do with his inner struggle. "Let us make haste," he said finally. "The night is clear and bright. When we reach the rapids, we will have to portage and go by day."
Aragorn nodded. "One more night then."
The Ranger took the lead, with Sam in the prow to watch for rocks, and Boromir and the other hobbits took the rear boat, bracketing Legolas in the center. The stars and moon glimmered on the water.
Only a few hours later, Legolas realized that he had made a terrible mistake. The river was sweeping them toward darkness so deep that he couldn't sense the other side of it.
"Aragorn!" he shouted to the boat in the lead. "We have to get off the river!"
But it was too late. Dark shapes loomed ahead as Legolas heard the on-rushing sound of fast, swirling water. They had found the rapids, a day too early.
"Rock!" Sam called in sharp warning. "Go left!"
"No!" Legolas yelled and strained with the paddles to turn the boat.
But the deep channel was a current that none of them could fight, sweeping them around the stone to the east bank of the river. There were more stones, standing in the water like giant teeth, and the water churned around them.
"Aragorn!" Boromir called when his boat struck the Ranger's. "We must make for the banks! It's madness to attempt the Sarn Gebir at night!"
"West bank!" Legolas yelled. "Gimli, help, we cannot -- "
The twang of bowstrings silenced his words and a moment later, arrows whisted overhead, splashing into the water. One struck Boromir's boat with an audible thump, and one passed through Aragorn's hood.
Legolas saw a fletched sliver of black heading directly for him, barely four paces away. He ducked, and the arrow brushed past so close he felt the wind of its passage in his hair.
"Orcs!" Gimli cried. The dwarf took up the other set of paddles and together, elf and dwarf, struggled to pull against the current that wanted to throw them into the arms of the enemy. On the banks, the orcs jeered and snarled in eager anticipation.
All the company's straining won out in the end, and although the orcs sent more flights of arrows, none came so close. All of them, including the hobbits, worked the paddles, despite being bounced about in the rough water, until at last, the boats nudged the western bank. Gimli's strength being greater than the halflings', his and Legolas' boat found the bank first.
Legolas leaped from the boat to the grassy edge, bow in hand. He had an arrow nocked to the string before he turned around, and looked for a shot to give some protection to his friends. But here the river was too wide with too many rocks between him and the enemy.
But still he did not lower his bow. Dread lay tightly coiled in his heart, even though he should feel safe on this side of the river. There was something else out there, not just the orcs on the far shore.
The orcs gave a shrill cry and abruptly fell silent.
A chill crept up Legolas' spine, and he turned his gaze up to the sky, not knowing why he should. Up there.
A wave of cloud boiled up from the south, wisps sliding across the bright stars and hiding the moon behind shadow. Another dark shape like a cloud, yet too low and moving faster than the clouds, came out of the black night and drew darkness behind it.
Legolas' fingers grew numb and in his left hand a terrible cold burned, even as he saw the great winged creature and knew what it was. He had seen it before in the Mirror of Galadriel. A Nazgul rode the wind upon a beast of nightmare, headed directly toward them. The company was frozen in fear, staring upward even though Legolas doubted they could even see it or knew what it was.
Aragorn recovered first and fumbled to restring his bow, knowing he wouldn't be in time. "Shoot it! Legolas, shoot it!"
But Legolas couldn't move. The pain in his hand grew, travelling up his arm to lodge in his heart, like an icicle spearing him in the chest. The arrow slipped from his fingers and plummeted to the ground.
The beast opened its great maw and let out a shriek. It extended its talons, as it dove at the wraith's command, straight for Legolas.
He saw it coming. Could sense the utter absence of light on its back -- the cold of the evil of the wraith that echoed within him. The ring felt like a millstone around his neck, pinning him to the ground.
And he could feel the shimmering power that linked his ring with the ring of the wraith. He wondered, the thought seeming idle and slow, and perhaps not entirely his own: If I were wearing the ring, could I command the Ulairi?
Could I fly that beast upon the winds? If I could control it, the path to Orodruin would be short. The quest would end.
I could rest. By Elbereth, I'm so weary...
His left hand had started to lift toward the ring, when a heavy weight tackled him from behind. "Down, Elf!"
Gimli slammed him into the ground, as the shadowbeast let out another scream, joining the thwarted shriek of the wraith. A noxious wind of dead and rotting things was left in the creature's wake as it passed by overhead with a great rush of wings.
Then pounding feet drew near. "Move, Gimli," Aragorn ordered harshly and shoved the dwarf off Legolas. The release of the weight from his back was welcome, but that just made Legolas again aware of the pain in his left hand. It was burning as though in flames, and the non-existent finger was nearly unbearable white heat. Thoughts of flying beasts and wraiths dropped out of his mind, and he curled, holding his damaged hand with the other, praying that the pain would stop.
"We've got to get to cover before that thing comes back." Aragorn said and suddenly, Legolas felt himself lifted by the back of his tunic and shaken angrily. "Have you gone mad, Legolas? Why didn't you -- " he stopped and his tone changed to alarm. "What's wrong? Did it strike you?"
Legolas shook his head, but he couldn't stop cradling his left hand in his right against his chest. "It hurts," he whispered. "Oh Valar, it hurts."
"You can make it. Come on." More gently Aragorn pulled him to his feet and kept an arm around his shoulders. "We need cover. Gimli, bring his bow. Let's get to the trees."
The company stumbled in the nearly impenetrable blackness. Gimli led the way, as the best able to see in the dark, seeking the stunted trees that they had seen by moonlight higher up the shore.
Across the river, the chilling Ringwraith's shriek cut through the night again, and Legolas stumbled. A whimper escaped his lips as another wave of pain radiated up his arm. Aragorn's grip kept him from falling. "It's okay, my friend, I've got you," he murmured. "We're almost there."
As if from a great distance, he heard the rustling of leaves and the crackle of breaking branches.
"Down here, this way," Pippin whispered urgently from down at his feet. "There's a clear spot."
Aragorn lowered him down, and friendly, small hands brought him into their shelter. "Here," Sam whispered. "We've got you, Legolas."
Trees. He sensed trees. It was really more a thicket, but there were trees among the scrub and high weeds. The sense of trees let him push the pain back. As his mind cleared, he realized that his head was propped against Sam, who was holding him with an arm around his chest. Merry had a hand on his shoulder, and Pippin was a vibrant presence on his other side. Gimli was like the roots of a great tree behind him, and Boromir felt like a tall, proud oak near the mouth of the thicket. They were all gathered around him protectively. All but one.
"Aragorn?" he called.
"Hush," Aragorn ordered softly, his voice carrying from outside the shelter.
Legolas began to tremble as the feel of darkness approached again. "It's coming back," his teeth chattered uncontrollably. But he had to warn them. "It's coming."
Sam's hand tightened around him. "It'll be okay," he whispered. His sweet attempt to reassure would have been more believable if Legolas hadn't known a Ringwraith was up there, stalking him. "Please, rest easy."
That terrible burning cold sliced through his hand again. "It's here," he whispered.
The bird-thing shrieked, its cry echoing in the narrow riverbed and joined by the cries of the orcs on the other bank.
But above it all, Legolas heard the distinctive creak of his bow being pulled and knew that Aragorn was going to attempt what he had not been able to do. But it was too risky -- Aragorn didn't know what was riding the beast. And if he shot the beast on this side of the river...
He struggled to sit up, but the hobbits held him down. "No! Aragorn, don't shoot it!" he cried desperately. For an instant he thought that Aragorn would heed him -- there was a dreadful silence that seemed long and stretched.
The longbow of Lothlorien sang and an arrow whistled through the air. Legolas tensed, not knowing if he should be praying for a miss or a hit, since he couldn't tell in which direction the creature was flying.
It screamed in pain, seemingly directly overhead. The sound seemed to pierce Legolas' skull and left it ringing. The noxious wind of its wings rattled the branches of their hiding place.
It crashed to the ground, ripping up bracken and scrub as it went, no more than one hundred paces to the north.
Legolas threw off the hands holding him and surged upright to a crouch. "We have to get out of here." He fumbled out the vial of water from his belt-pouch one handed and held it up so its brilliant, yet soft silver rays lit up their warren. The frightened, dirty faces of his friends looked back.
"The arrow struck it, whatever it was," Boromir offered in attempted consolation. "We're safe now."
"We are not safe. A Ringwraith was riding that beast," Legolas started to push his way out of the bracken. Terror was binding his chest, making it hard to breathe. He hadn't felt such panic facing the Balrog.
If you can master a Balrog, surely you can master a Nazgul.
The thought blind-sided him -- not seductive whispering, just a simple statement of fact and all the more tempting because of it. It sounded like his own thought.
But it wasn't.
He felt suddenly trapped, snared by the ring in his mind and the Ringwraith on the outside. There had to be a way to escape. He shoved back the last foliage to emerge into the open air. By the light of the vial, he saw Aragorn, frowning at him.
"I told you not to shoot!" Legolas cried before the Ranger could speak. "Why didn't you listen to me? A Nazgul was on that beast. The fall won't have hurt it. We've got to get out of here."
Aragorn shook his head and grasped Legolas' arm. "Legolas! There's nowhere to go! We cannot take the boats. We have to fight it."
"No!" Legolas pulled free. "You can't. It won't die! It can't die, Aragorn." He was trembling now, the vial shaking. "It will just keep coming and coming --"
"Legolas!" Aragorn took him by both shoulders and shook him once. He said sharply in elvish, "Son of Thranduil, you are stronger than this! Stop listening to the ring. I've fought them off before, and so have the halflings. Arwen sent them fleeing back to Mordor. We can do this." Under the strong gaze of his friend, the elf's trembling stilled and the fear eased. "We can do this," Aragorn repeated and did not let go until Legolas nodded.
"We need fire," Aragorn ordered. Sam immediately fumbled at his fire-starting kit in his pouch and knelt to start sparking the tinder. The others drew their weapons, and stood ready facing the north.
Legolas watched Sam and held up the light for them all to see by, drawing no weapon. Arrows and knives would be of little use against a wraith. When the vial's light flickered slightly, he felt a deep chill pass through him. But he felt no fear. There was no more fear left in him. Aragorn was right -- he should be stronger than this. He was stronger than this. Very calmly, he turned.
In the shadows at the edge of Earendil's light stood another shadow. Tall, cloaked in black and darkened metal, it filled the clearing with its fell presence. It drew its sword and Legolas recognized the hilt-markings. They matched the banner of Angmar, which he had battled a thousand years before. That meant this wraith was the Witch-king, lord of Minas Morgul, and war captain of Sauron.
The Witch-king hissed, like dry bones on stone, "Give us the ring, elf."
Legolas stood there, shining silver vial held aloft in his right hand. "Never." Stating the word so plainly gave him courage and he repeated, more firmly, "Never." The vial brightened and the Witch-King flinched back.
He realized that Galadriel had given him a weapon of more potency than possibly even she knew. He stepped forward, ignoring his friends' warning whispers.
"Tell your lord," Legolas glared at the Witch-king. The dread of that presence slid away at the edge of the reflection of the Silmaril's light and did not touch him. Power flowed through him, similar to the power of the ring, but this was pure, called by the light from within his own heart. "I will not surrender. No matter how he tries to change me or corrupt me, he cannot touch my spirit. He cannot make me other than who I am."
The vial streamed silver, lighting the western bank of the river and forcing the Witch-king to cower back, his sword forgotten in his grip. Legolas walked forward, head held high.
"Hear me: I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of the elves of the Greenwood. I am kin to Elu Thingol, beloved of Melian. And most and above all, I am Eldar, Firstborn of the Children of Iluvatar. Long after your master has been chained outside the circles of the world, I will live on in the gardens of Valimar. He cannot take that from me, no matter what he wills. Since the ring came to me I have been sick unto death with fear, but tell your master, I will fear him no more. I have my own strength, and it will defeat him."
Even the other members of the company had to look away as the vial grew so bright it seemed Legolas held a star in his hand. The Witch-king held still now, bound by the power.
The cloth and metal of the wraith's outer cloak began to fade and grow insubstantial, so the brilliant light streamed through it. The true shape of the Ringwraith was visible -- a skeletal white form wearing a high crown with dead, depthless eyes.
"Go, lord of Minas Morgul," Legolas ordered, looking fearlessly back into the Witch-king's black gaze. "Be my herald to your master. Tell him that I come. In my footsteps is his doom, for I will destroy him and all his works. Begone!"
But just when it seemed the light should absolutely overcome the dark and the Witch-king would dissolve like a mist at the touch of the summer sun, the Witch-king smiled. Even wrapped in the power of the elves, Legolas felt dread at the malicious grin.
The wraith's shadowed form grew tattered and transparent, nearly gone, but still Legolas could see what he did next, and it filled him with horror.
The lord of the Nazgul lowered himself to one knee and bent his crowned head to Legolas. As the wraith vanished into nothingness, Legolas could hear his final word.
"Master."
Legolas' fingers went numb in shock and the vial of Earendil slipped from his hand. As quickly as he moved, he was too late to catch it.
The crystal vial shattered. For a moment, glowing droplets sparkled across the stones and grass at his feet, like a reflection of the night sky. But one by one the lights went out until all was darkness. His only weapon and only protection lay in shards at his feet.
"You won!" Pippin exclaimed, his voice sounding incredibly loud. "It's gone!"
The irony of Pippin's words was too much for Legolas to take at that moment, so he did the only thing he could do.
He started to laugh. He laughed until Aragorn's hand slapped him across the cheek, silencing him immediately. "It isn't funny, Legolas."
"Oh, but it is, my friend. The Ainur laugh even now." Legolas reached up and pulled the ring off his neck, and swung it idly by the chain. It was so clear now, what he had to do. His other hand pulsed with pain, but he ignored it. The ring could not stop him.
"Sam, come here."
The hobbit glanced at his friends before approaching the elf warily. "Yes, Master Legolas?"
Aragorn darted forward and his fingers came down around Legolas' hand tightly so he could not relinquish the chain. His grey eyes were intent and slightly desperate. "You can't do this. You know what Lady Galadriel said. If you give the ring away, you'll die."
Sam gasped and stepped back, tucking his hands behind his back in refusal.
"It should not have come to me," Legolas said through gritted teeth. This was hard. He could not fight the ring and his friends too. "I just destroyed my only weapon. We are still five hundred leagues from Mount Doom, and I am changing, the ring is swallowing me. Better I should die as myself, than lose my spirit to Sauron."
"You sound like Frodo," Aragorn said. "You heard him in Moria, Legolas. And you heard what Gandalf told him as well. It is not up to us to decide how long we have, only what we do with the time given us."
Legolas shook his head adamantly. "I will not be the first elf to serve the dark, Aragorn. I will not."
"Then why are you surrendering so soon? After all you've suffered? Have you forgotten your oath already? You told the Witch-king to tell the Dark Lord that you were going to destroy him. Were you lying?"
"No!" Legolas tried to turn away but Aragorn wouldn't let him. "No, I meant it. But I felt strong, powerful -- I had the light in the water -- "
Aragorn's tone softened. "That power wasn't the water, Legolas. That was you. And you know it was, if you would listen to your heart instead of the ring." He let go of Legolas' hand, which dropped back to the elf's side, chain hanging limply.
"I'm just so tired," he whispered. He felt fragile, almost as though he were made of crystal himself. He rubbed at his eyes.
"Then let's make camp, get something to eat and rest," Aragorn suggested. "I have a flask of miruvor that Lady Galadriel gave me. I think we could all use some after this night."
"I'll gather some kindling," Boromir offered. But before he did so, he clasped Legolas' shoulder. "In the sunlight, everything will seem better."
Sam then came up to him, tugged the ring from Legolas' hand and pulled him down by the tunic, so he could put the chain around Legolas' neck. "It belongs to you," he announced. "And I think Master Frodo would be very proud. You fought a Balrog and a Ringwraith."
"Aye, you're very brave," Pippin agreed, nodding. "I couldn't have done it."
"And I'm not so sure Frodo could have either," Merry put in. When the other two hobbits looked at him, he shrugged defensively. "Well, I'm not."
Legolas found a little smile for them. "I don't feel very brave."
"Well, take it from me, Master Elf," Gimli told him. "You are."
"Stupid," Aragorn teased, shaking his head at his friend. "But brave. Come on, everyone. We need to make camp. We'll go on in the morning."
Later, surrounded by his friends and warmed by the fire, Legolas felt more at peace than he had for some time. He was still weary, but wanted to sit and bask in the starlight visible in the breaks between the clouds before he slept. The hobbits were already sleeping, and Gimli and Boromir were quietly discussing the orcs across the river. Aragorn sat beside Legolas. His calm presence was a great comfort to the elf, and Legolas was grateful to have such a friend who had the strength to call him back when he strayed away from who he was. Yet he missed the shining vial and wondered how he would be able to complete the quest without it.
In answer to his unvoiced prayer, the starlight brightened. He glanced up and smiled. There, high above, shone Earendil, limning the near clouds with its silver-blue light.
Aragorn followed his glance. "Even when the clouds cover it, Legolas, the star is always there."
"All the stars are always there," Legolas replied. Saying so he realized it was true. He did not need a vial of water to remind him of the greatness of Earendil or the power of the lady who had given the stars to the elves to comfort them in darkness. He whispered reverently, "Elbereth Gilthoniel."
Then, not knowing exactly why, only knowing that he could, he held his hand up toward the star. Soft strands of silver light twined around his fingers, pooled in his palm and streamed in a gentle fall to the ground.
Aragorn's jaw dropped.
Legolas felt the strength of star-light, a quieter but potent power, filling him. This was not a power of conquest and death like the ring, but of courage and wisdom. "I am of the Eldar, blessed of the Ainur," he whispered. "To us is given the gift to never walk in darkness. I will not forget again, Lady, I promise."
The light faded, but Legolas knew that he could recall it if he chose. The power was within him, strong enough that the whispers of the ring were muted.
Perhaps it wouldn't last. Perhaps this was a brief grace from Elbereth to light his path and give him peace.
But for now, it was enough.
fin.