PART 6

"A week," said Tauriel, not wholy believeing what she was saying. "It has been a week, and we still have not found a trace."

A group of elven rangers was sitting in the shade of an ancient beech, and listening to their leader in silence. Their tired faces were a picture of sadness and resignation.

"But we were everywhere," Tauriel continued, "The basins of Forest River and Enchanted River, the Old Road, Spider Nests, the Narrowing... He couldn't have just disappeared!"

"Maybe the prince left the forest," one of the scouts suggested. "Unlikely, but possible."

"That does not explain why the trail stopped at that stream," another noted. "I think he just doesn't want to be found. We all know that none of us can match him in navigating the forest."

"And yet we did find a lot of tracks at first."

"Because he was confused and did not care for such things. He must have calmed down and went... wherever he did."

Tauriel turned to the third Ranger who stood a few steps away and stared into the forest. "Altharis, what do you think?"

The elf was silent for a time. Finally he spoke. "There is a place we have not looked..."

"No." Tauriel stated. "Don't even suggest that. It's not possible for Legolas to have gone there. Nobody in their right mind..."

"And if he did?" Altharis turned to his companions. "What if he was taken there by force? What if there is something we don't know?"

"Let us assume, for the sake of the argument, that the worst have happened," Tauriel said angrily. "What are we to do? Tell the king to muster an army and march for Dol Guldur? Because we suspect that his son might be there, even though we have not a shadow of an idea as to why?"

Altharis looked at her, expression serious. "They might have lured him there somehow. Maybe even capture. Tauriel, even Legolas is not invincible, especially when he has just received a serious wound. Anything could have happened."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Is it not obvious? Go to Dol Guldur."

Tauriel stared at him for the longest time. The other two Rangers nervously waited for her reply.

"Captain," one of them finally spoke, "you can't be considering that seriously. They say that evil has returned to Amon Lanc... And there are but four of us."

"Still too many." Altharis said. "I'll go alone. Orcs will not notice a single, well-trained scout. I'll approach as close as I can... and I'll watch."

Tauriel waged an internal battle with her thoughts. Finally, she reluctantly nodded. "Fine. You two, return to the palace and tell Thranduil what we suspect.

"What about you?"

"I... am going to Dol Guldur."

~.oOo.~

Smashed stonework littered the floor around broken columns. Withered ivy clung to the walls. Grave silence filled the air... full of the sweet smell of release.

Come to me, elf. I await you.

The labirynthine corridors filled Legolas with disgust. The corrupting influence of the Enemy emanating from this place was tangible. Darkness crept out from everywhere; filled every nook and crany, crawled up walls, spilled out of gorges.

Do not stop, elf. You are already there.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed his head. He could not focus. Everywhere around him, shadows seemed to be alive, surrounding him, whispering...

"What do you want from me?" he shouted desperately. "I came here. You invaded my mind. What else do you want? Come out! Come out and show yourself! Who are you? Who in the Valars' name are you?"

The sound of armor moving came from somewhere to the right. His eyes shooting open, Legolas spun around and made to grab for a sword, freezing as he remembered he left the palace unarmed. An orc stood before him, cocked crossbow pointed at his heart.

"The Valar won't help you here," he jeered. "Try again."

Legolas gritted his teeth, fear slowly turning into cold hatered.

"I will not be slain so easily by a band of dirty freaks," he spat, spreading his hands wide. "Shoot, dog. We shall see if you manage before I break your neck."

The orc showed his blackened teeth in a wide, animalistic grin.

"You have no idea how much I want to see you drawning in your own royal gunk," it growled. "But I have orders. Forward, elf. And no funny business."

Legolas looked around quickly. He wanted to find a nave, or broken masonry he could use to climb up the wall and fall onto the confused orc... But the shadows swirled suddenly... He felt anger, alien, overwhelming malice, and understood that he will not kill the orc. He will walk with him, as the voice commands, a voice that waited for him, that beaconed him...

He didn't notice when he started walking again. He realized with difficulty that he is going down, descending deeper and deeper into the dark... All around him he heard growling, the clash of steel, jeering. Orcs of Dol Guldur, he thought with difficulty. And I can't do anything. Even stop and curse them. I can only walk on... And so he went. And went... And finally this strange journey ended. Legolas stood in a large, black room, at the end of which a cold stone thrown jutted from the floor. The Darkness emanating from it was terrifying. Terrifying and overwhelming. Overwhelming and wonderful...

The dark lord stood from his throne, beautiful and terrifying. An iron crown covered his shadowy brow, black cape covering the body that wasn't. Legolas's eyes widened in shock. He understood now, whose the voice was. The voice that, he was sure, wanted to destroy him. The Prince of Mirkwood looked into the void that was the face of the Witch-king od Angmar.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil," the king of the Nazgul said. "You came at my request."

He heard the orcs laughing as if through fog. They were here, hidden in the darkness which shadowed the world. They looked upon his despair and humiliation. The Witch-king unshethed a sword and brought it up, to a spot where an iron gountlet ended and the fabric began; where a forearm should have been. The elf watched as the blade moves in the air, a black stain appearing on it. A stain? No, it was something more. It was a black blood, pouring out of an invisible wound. He had seen it before. On a crossbow bolt... But that was not important. What was important was the color, the way it run down the blade, its smell... With the last of his willpower, Legolas slapped himself across the face with all his might. The room became more focused. The whispering shadows disappeared.

"What is happening to me?" he asked, trying to stop the queavering of his voice. "You have me, wraith. You've won. I am ready for death."

The orcs started laughing. Only now did he see them clearly. They stood at both ends of the room, watching this terrible meeting.

"The death of a Sindar is a beautiful thing," he Nazgul spoke, "but we shall not be watching it today. Come, elf."

This time, Legolas could not resist even for a second. He came to the base of the throne.

"On your knees."

He wanted to say that he will never do that, that he will die first rather than bow to a wraith, but before he opened his mouth, he was already kneeling on the cold stones of the floor. He lowered his head, trying not to listen to the orc jeering.

"Elven dog has a new master!"

"Good Sindarin worm's afraid of the master."

"The king will be proud of his bastard!"

Shame burned inside him. He could not even stand, to throw himself at these abominable creatures and fall in combat. Suddenly, the Witch-king lifted his arm, and the laughter ceased.

"Drink," he said.

Legolas slowly looked at the black blood seeping from the blade. It was what he sought the whole time. He knew that if he so much as tasted a drop, he would not be able to stop until it fills his veins. Only then will he satiate the overwhelming all-encompassing thirst. But at what cost? The prince weakly turned his face away.

"You are strong," the Witch-king hissed. "Good. Mordor does not need weak servants."

Then he repeated: "Drink."

This time Legolas could not stop. As soon as his lips touched the ice-cold blood of the Nazgul, he forgot about his royal pride, his own will and sense. He drunk the black thing, lapped it, not caring that the room fills back with shadows; darker, deeper, more pronounced than only a moment before... But the prince could no longer think clearly. He felt well for the first time in days. He was so... wonderfully cold, colder, even if for a second he wondered if it was very bad... And then the shadows moved, weaved, converged and swallowed him whole. And there was nothing but the shadows. The world was filled with blackness.