Irrefutable Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and Tolkienverse do not belong to me.

A/N: Iamsosorrythisissolate!

Back to the Beginning

Chapter Fourteen

Of Plans and Pursuit

Galadriel seemed so disappointed at the thought that Sataressë would leave immediately that the Maia asked [read:commanded] that Harry stay for a few days. So Harry reluctantly kept far away from the control panel as the uncomfortable girl talk ensued. Granted, it was far from normal girl talk, considering the two "girls" were thousands of years old. In fact, it was actually a bit morbid.

"So Oropher died during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. He was not so unpliant as I thought."

"But Mirkwood marched ahead without waiting for Gil-galad's command, and he was slain for it." Galadriel shook her head.

"Ah, Gil-galad. When I left, he had built a Ñoldorin Kingdom for himself. Such a promising elf he was. Now barely any Ñoldor remain in Arda. And Gil-galad perished in the Last Alliance?"

After an hour of listening to how mutual acquaintances had met their untimely ends, Harry drifted to sleep. Unlike the history lessons with Legolas, how certain elves and their descendants died wasn't something Harry likely needed to know. If something that concerned Sauron came up, he was sure Sataressë would tell him of it. Or at least wake him up to hear it.

And eventually Harry did wake up.

But it was not to the talk of Sauron.

It seemed an infinitely more terrifying sight: he was sitting and looking up at Celeborn. If Sataressë hadn't still been in control, he would have hyperventilated at waking up to such a scene. From his excellent peripheral vision, he could see Galadriel sitting and smoothing out her skirts.

"So you have returned, Leithiatar." The Lord of Galadhrim was calm.

Dangerously calm.

Sataressë too, was calm, but smiling serenely. "Come, come, Celeborn. You must have suspected as much when you heard there was a Maia in the Company. How many other Maia clad in flesh do you know of?"

"Elrond named you as Niphredil." Celeborn countered.

"And most of the time, she is who I am." was the reply. As a member of the third, or rather, second-and-a-half, party, Harry thought it an accurate, if not cryptic, statement. After all, he was at the control panel most of the time.

It barely registered in his mind that Sataressë had referred to him with the incorrect pronoun.

Meanwhile, as if he knew that he wouldn't receive an answer if he questioned such an ambiguous statement, Celeborn changed the vein of his questioning. "Why does the Fellowship think you dead?"

Nonchalant, Sataressë shrugged. "Mithrandir assumed me dead and told the rest of the Fellowship his assumptions. Then they simply took it for the truth." Slightly sardonically, she added, "And who would ever doubt Mithrandir?" It occurred to Harry that perhaps Sataressë was still a bit irritated over being forced to apparate to Mandos' Halls due to Gandalf's temporary demise.

"So you are deceiving them." Celeborn sounded faintly disapproving.

Raising an eyebrow, Sataressë asked, "Surely you do not think I let the Company think me departed for no reason, Celeborn the Wise?"

This silenced Celeborn for a moment. Finally, the Lord of Galadhrim asked, "Then what will you do now, Leithiatar?"

Galadriel cleared her throat significantly. "She will stay in Caras Galadhon for a few days."

Celeborn shot his wife as close to a withering look as any elf's could get.

Sataressë (or was it Harry?) snorted at the sight in amusement. "Being her spouse, Celeborn, you should know better than I that once Galadriel has set her mind on something, nothing short the destruction of Arda will deter her." The Maia informed the disgruntled silver-haired elf. "You will have to put up with me for a few days, but no longer." Regarding Celeborn thoughtfully, Sataressë tilted her head. "But I must say," she expressed, "you are much altered in your manners toward me. What brought forth the change? I do not believe it to be the tides of time."

Resentfully, Celeborn said, "You abandoned Arda in a time of need."

"Celeborn!" Galadriel cried out reprovingly.

"Is that what you truly think?" Sataressë said sharply. Harry could feel the thrum of Sataressë's anger humming through his veins. "Though I may have been Mandos' companion at one point, I do not share his burden of foresight. Had I been privy to the fact that Sauron would rise again, I would not have left." Sataressë whipped around, turning pointedly away from Celeborn. "Come, Galadriel. It seems that your husband the Wise needs time to sort out his thoughts."

Shooting her husband a look somewhere between exasperation and pity, Galadriel looped her arm through Sataressë's and they walked away, leaving Celeborn to his thoughts.

…

Mealtimes with the rulers of Lothlórien were tense affairs, with Celeborn's subtle jabs at the unknown whereabouts of Sataressë during the past six millennia from Arda and Harry's rapidly decreasing patience, for Sataressë had retired from the control panel on the second day, her reason being, Harry suspected, that she was weary of tolerating Celeborn's ire.

From Sataressë's memories, Harry knew that Celeborn despised deception in any form, a trait that he shared with Harry himself. But keeping Sauron's big flaming eye off the Fellowship was something only he could do, and if deception was necessary, then so be it.

After spending some time observing Galadriel behind the veil of Sataressë and as himself – Galadriel could tell who was who quite well by now – Harry knew what had changed in the ancient elf; if he'd imagined that Galadriel had looked a shade paler after her encounter with Frodo and the Ring, he was sure of it now.

Sataressë had seen it many a time before in other Eldar and Galadriel showed the same symptoms; Galadriel was fading.

Harry was worried despite himself. Nenya would stave off the fading process for a time, but the one Ring had to be destroyed, and once the deed was done, the magic in the Rings of Power would rapidly diminish.

Harry knew better than to confront Galadriel about it. Instead, he confronted her husband.

"Galadriel is fading."

Celeborn turned around sharply. "What?" he snapped.

If not for the gravity of the situation, Harry would have rolled his eyes. "You heard me the first time, Celeborn." After a moment of silence, Harry continued, "I assume Galadriel did not want you to worry, but she will have to sail shortly after the Ring is destroyed."

"If the Ring is destroyed." Celeborn countered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know it must be destroyed. Really, I wonder at your title, Celeborn the Wise. At times like these, 'Celeborn the Wishful' better suits you." Tone becoming more candid, Harry continued, "As I am now, Galadriel will not listen to me," 'Since she knows that I am not the Leithiatar she respects,' Harry added silently, "so as her husband, it falls upon your shoulders to persuade her to leave as soon as possible."

Celeborn looked torn.

Harry took out his Invisibility Cloak. "I believe my job here is done. Give my well wishes to Galadriel in my stead." Harry gave the silver-haired elf a warning look. "Do not leave anything out." After a thoughtful pause, Harry said, "Tell her… I will see her again in the Undying Lands." Sataressë shifted within him at the promise of going to Valinor once more, but Harry ignored it as he threw his cloak around his shoulders and disappeared.

The Fellowship

As the Company had traveled down the river, many times Gandalf exercised caution – he'd learnt something from the Balrog – while Aragorn chomped on the bit. After butting heads several times, eventually, they came to a compromise: starting in the early mornings and stopping as soon as it got dark.

Though the Fellowship felt a lot safer with Gandalf, they still sorely missed Holly's presence: and not just because of her magic. Her good humor and wit – albeit somehow odd – were among the other things they missed. She had carried with her a fierce protective presence.

The younger and less sensible hobbits [read:Pippin] lamented the fact that food was running low, even in the seemingly bottomless bag.

During the daytime, Legolas was determined and relentless, and during the nights, he was in low spirits, clutching desperately at the elfstone he had given Holly.

Aragorn, seeing the drastic mood swings in the normally imperturbable elf, placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss."

For the longest time Legolas said nothing, and resigned, Aragorn made to leave.

"I loved her."

Aragorn was not surprised at the sudden confession; anybody with half an eye could see the feelings Legolas had harbored for the Maia.

"But she trusted me with Frodo's safety. I will see Frodo destroy the Ring."

Aragorn eyed the Elven prince before prompting, "And afterwards? What will you do after the Ring is destroyed?"

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. Most likely I will return to my own Elvenkind. Among the wood elves, where I belong." There was some truth to that. He did not know what else he could do. He had honestly not thought beyond getting Frodo safely to Mordor, no matter what the cost.

As if Aragorn knew Legolas' growing recklessness, he cautioned, "Do not do anything you will regret."

Legolas smiled, "Worry not, Estel." He clenched the elfstone tightly, thinking grimly to himself, 'There is nothing more to regret.'

At length, Aragorn retreated to where Frodo lay awake. "It is not your turn to watch, Frodo. Get some rest."

With Frodo too, Aragorn got a shake of the head. "I can't. I'm worried. Lady Galadriel's mirror – "

Aragorn held up a hand to stop Frodo from speaking any further. "Dwell no more on those visions. They are mere possibilities, and show the past as much as they do of the future."

But Frodo could not hold back, "So when I saw Holly fighting with a sword, was it showing the past?"

Aragorn was at a loss for words. Holly had most definitely been abysmal with a sword before he'd taught her… then again, Frodo had only witnessed her fight after she had been taught how to properly wield a sword. And to Aragorn's knowledge, Holly had never gone out of Bree during her stay there. Against his better judgment, he queried, "Did she look awkward when she fought with the blade?"

Frodo looked confused. "No."

Aragorn frowned. "What blade was she using?"

Not knowing where these questions were headed, Frodo answered unsurely, "I'm not entirely sure, I think the blade's hilt looked different…"

Furrowing his brow further, Aragorn asked, "What was she fighting against?"

Confusion likewise furthering, Frodo answered, "A dark figure, I think… but I'm not sure."

"And did she have an elfstone – an emerald – in her hair?"

"I…" Frodo desperately tried to remember. "Her hair was flying all over the place, and the mirror was so small. But I don't think so."

Aragorn's head was spinning. One thing he knew for sure was that Legolas should never get wind of this. He would gain hope, possibly in vain, and if the vision proved false, Legolas' heart would be broken, perhaps beyond repair.

In a low voice, Aragorn said, "Frodo, listen to me carefully. Tell Gandalf if you must, but never repeat this to anyone else, especially Legolas. Can you promise me that?"

Frodo too, had become aware of how much Legolas had cared for Holly. "So you think that it's a vision of the past?" The hobbit's hopes sank with every word he spoke. She'd returned Gandalf to them, at the cost of her own life.

Shaking his head, Aragorn said, "It does not matter. It is not for us to dwell upon the workings of Maiar. If she didn't reveal herself to us, it means she is otherwise occupied or that she had her reasons not to." He considered a bit before adding, "That, or the vision will never come to pass."

Though Frodo could not reconcile Holly with Aragorn's views of Maiar, he could understand the very real fear of the last reason: Legolas would be devastated.

Harry

It was near impossible to apparate to a location that he'd recalled from Sataressë's memories; the landscapes had altered too much. In the end, he'd simply apparated to the foot of the northern mountain – mountain of Angmar – where he'd first encountered Aragorn and the other Dúnedain Rangers.

To Harry's knowledge, apparating was a magical "beacon" that would draw Sauron's eye; though it would also alert Gandalf, Harry trusted the old wizard to have enough sense to keep it quiet from the rest of the Fellowship. And even if he couldn't keep it a secret, the Maia-in-disguise couldn't well drag the Fellowship to the area he was apparating; that would endanger the whole Fellowship, not to mention compromise the whole mission.

Now, all he had to do was apparate every few meters…

…and after a day of apparating and starving (when would he ever learn to bring food with him when he was far away from civilization? He still acted before he thought, Harry reflected ruefully) it was back to fighting an army of what looked like orcs, but these were rather larger and uglier. And more intelligent.

Having picked up Black Speech in the dreams that Sataressë had oh-so-generously imposed upon him, Harry found out that these were a newer and nastier breed of orc called Uruk-hai.

Brilliant.

Whoever had created them – it couldn't be Sauron, who was simply a flaming eye with no corporeal body at this point – had a grotesque mind. These creatures looked like still-wet paper mâché made from swampy trash. And smelled like rotten eggs blended with spoiled meat.

As he reduced one Uruk-hai to ashes, Harry's mind dwelt upon possible culprits; and having dismissed Sauron from the list, there was only Saruman left possessing the knowledge and motive to create Uruk-hai. Saruman, Ring Maker, of Many Colors. He wondered which of the Valar had sent Saruman. There was Morgoth himself, a former Vala who had powers of creation greater than even those of Aulë, but he was safely chained away in the center of Arda. Harry knew that Sauron had been a Maia under Aulë.

Judging by the pattern, Harry suspected that Saruman had also been sent by Aulë; there seemed to be a tendency of creativity going terribly awry.

Well, Gandalf had now taken Saruman's place as The White Wizard, so there were no worries on that point.

Though it was definitely a plus to have drawn Saruman's attention, as of the moment, Harry's primary goal was to draw Sauron's singular, flaming eye's attention onto himself.

He needed to get closer to the eye.

Without causing collateral damage.

It was time for phase two of his plan.

Harry transfigured himself into a bird. A big, white, swallow-like bird that would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the dark birds that were Sauron's spies.

He'd draw their attention, and by proxy, Sauron's attention.

Legolas

Legolas suddenly cocked his head as he heard a flock of birds nearby, and looked up. Gandalf and Aragorn looked up as well; they knew to heed the senses of an elf. Sure enough, a murder of crows flew past them, heading north.

Gandalf looked slightly disapproving for some reason, and Aragorn looked worried. With an unsettled face expression, Frodo asked, "Those are the Enemy's spies, aren't they? Why are they headed north?"

"Valar knows." Gandalf still seemed faintly disgruntled. "But we'd best take advantage of their distraction."

And so they drifted downstream, until the Anduin became wide, rushing rapids.

At this indication, Legolas was the first to react and paddled to the left, making for the riverbank. The others followed suit until they were all safely settled on land.

"I believe we now have a decision to make." Gandalf declared.

Aragorn and Boromir respectively made expressions of dread and anticipation. Legolas understood Aragorn's doubt; he was a man of his word, and had promised to protect Frodo. But the heir of Elendil also had an obligation to Gondor. To lessen Aragorn's hesitation, Legolas murmured, "Worry not, Estel. I will stay by Frodo's side until the very end."

Aragorn did not look as comforted by Legolas' words as the Elven prince would have thought.

Gandalf declared, "I am inclined to stay with Frodo. Aragorn, it is up to you what path you take from now."

Aragorn looked torn, and it was only after Frodo assured him, "Go to your people, Aragorn. They need you, and while I can't say your presence won't be missed, I'd much rather you follow your heart than your word to me," that the Ranger looked less conflicted, and finally nodded.

"I am sorry that I cannot keep my word – "

Frodo smiled understandingly. "Like I said, I'd much rather you keep true to your heart than your word."

Legolas looked to the uncharacteristically quiet dwarf. "Gimli?"

The dwarf spoke to the hobbits. "You cannot all four of you travel together. That would be too dangerous, now that the Fellowship will be splitting up. It would be better if you split up as well."

The hobbits looked to one another, troubled. Sam was the first blurt out, "I go wherever Mister Frodo goes."

Boromir attempted to convince Frodo once more, "Frodo, Gondor is not that much out of the way to Mordor. Are you sure? We could all travel together safely, without having to break any words or obligations."

Legolas saw a glint in Boromir's eyes that belied the Gondorian's true intentions, however, so he swiftly intervened, "The sooner the Ring is destroyed, the better." The elf turned to the hobbits as well. "But I do agree with Gimli; it would be better off if you split up. Forgive my saying so, but I believe it would be rather difficult protecting all four of you."

Frodo, who seemed to have been deep in his thoughts, roused from them and addressed Merry and Pippin. "I want you two to go with Aragorn and Boromir to Gondor. You'll receive protection there, and perhaps be able to go back to the Shire – I'm worried for our home… it may not be as unaffected as I thought."

Merry was the first to be able to voice his thoughts coherently. "Are you sure you'll be all right, Frodo? We promised to go to the end with you as well."

Pippin echoed Merry's thoughts, albeit in a different way. "You'll have that Gollum at your tails, you will! You need us!"

Legolas looked to Gandalf, who indeed made the final decision. "Frodo is wise to send you both to Gondor. And you shall go if," he glanced sharply at Boromir, "Boromir allows it."

Boromir crossed his arms. "I will do anything to protect the hobbits. But I will have you know that I am still against the Fellowship splitting up."

"You would be." Gandalf muttered under his breath, and had he not been an elf, Legolas would not have heard it.

So it was with many hobbit sniffles, hugs, and promises that they would meet again, that the Fellowship split into two, four headed down the Anduin once more, and five headed to Mordor through the Brown Lands.

Aragorn

Two weeks later

Aragorn and Boromir each ferried Merry and Pippin respectively, one man silent with worry and the other with discontent. The rapids were now too loud to be able to hear each other over, but thus far they'd agreed with each other when it was too dark to continue ferrying.

Once on land, Merry noted, "It's been a while since I've seen the Enemy's creatures about. Do you think this is good news?"

Aragorn did not, in fact, know, and he said as much. "A good omen for us four, but we know not whether they have espied Frodo's party."

Merry fell into solemn silence, and Pippin looked crestfallen. They had taken the separation quite hard, and Aragorn felt quite sorry for them, but he knew it was safer for both parties if the hobbits were separated.

Aragorn approached Boromir, who was kindling a fire. "We cannot travel along the Anduin any longer. The rapids are growing."

Though Boromir did not look Aragorn in the eyes, he agreed. "Yes. We will have to go through Rohan soon."

Sitting down upon a rock, Aragorn demanded, "Boromir, are you still dwelling the separation of the Fellowship?"

Stabbing rather vehemently at the fire with a stick, Boromir answered sardonically, "What on Middle Earth gave it away?"

Aragorn laced his fingers together. "Let it go. We couldn't have used the Ring anyway."

Boromir became defensive. "Who said anything about the Ring? Even though we could have used it against the enemy, what good is it now? I merely wanted to protect the hobbits for as long as I could!"

"We are protecting Merry and Pippin, is that not enough for you?"

Said hobbits looked up at the mention of their names. "Did you say something?" Pippin asked blearily.

Boromir's eyes softened. "No, we were just discussing the watch. Remember, you're after me." He said mock sternly, and smiled a bit as Pippin gave him a half-hearted salute before slumping down again.

Merry, however, alerted to the fact that the two had, in fact, been arguing about the hobbits, walked over to the two men. Planting his behind on the ground, he declared, "I know we're burdens. We eat too much, are half the size of you tall folk, and we can't fight." He met their gazes squarely. "But what we lack physically, we make up in merriness of spirit. You're going to battle, yes, but you don't have to act like it." He paused, slightly intimidated by their silence, but bravely plowed on, "Holly was always carefree." He left them with those words, ambling off to his watch again.

After a moment of silence, Boromir remarked, "He's a wise one, that Merry."

"Aye. That he is." Aragon agreed. Before another silence threatened to overwhelm them, Aragorn cut to the chase. "There is an oliphant the size of a several Balrogs in the room, and we must address it before we travel any further." When Boromir made no move to answer, Aragorn continued, "With Gandalf no longer in our party, the subject would first be to plan our course action."

Boromir dismissed, "We are similar, you and I. Thus far, we have agreed on most things, and everything concerning battle and travel. Why make things uncomfortable between us?"

Aragorn gravely looked into Boromir's grey eyes. "Because we are no longer traveling along a set course. I would like for us to get mounts, and Rohan is the best place for such an endeavor."

Boromir frowned. "Do we have the leisure? And will the King of Rohan even welcome us? Gandalf mentioned he had been practically chased out of Rohan when he had gone there for a steed."

"And that is precisely why I would go; Theoden is not a man of pettiness. He has no cause to treat Gandalf that way. I suspect there is more at work within Rohan." Aragorn insistently made his case. "And Rohan would be a powerful ally."

Thoughtfully, Boromir considered for a few moments before relenting. "Alright. But if there's the least indication of sorcery, we pull out. We no longer have that power on our side."

Yet the possibilities of Holly still being alive lingered in Aragorn's mind.

Harry

He was tired.

He was hungry.

He was in bird form.

Harry would have eaten rats, had there been any in sight. After all, Sirius had done the same for him. But he had instead (gladly) settled for fish, a more palatable choice, if only for his psyche than for his avian palate. He could pretend it was sushi. Uncut. And not deboned.

If it had been anyone else that spent half a month in avian form, he or she would have never flown again, but even as he ruffled his blood-stained once-white feathers, Harry knew with a certainty that he would fly again; after all, no matter how injured he was, flying was always calming.

Sauron's spies had landed some cuts on him before he remembered that he could still use Nessa's song in this form. He was pretty sure he'd garnered Sauron's attention; the only question was keeping it. His Maiar eyesight had already spotted the Fiery Eye, directed his way, bigger than he had ever expected it to be. A part of his mind empathized with the poor bloke, reduced to just an eye, no matter how feared, he couldn't do anything but look; it reminded him of when he had lost his body.

Then he remembered the 'poor bloke' had massacred armies of elves and men and was a Dark Lord.

Right.

Now for phase three of his plan.

Slowly, painfully, Harry flew to a safe place before transforming back into his regular form.

He examined himself, and saw that in his Maia form, the injuries weren't as bad as he'd imagined. Besides, they'd heal soon anyway. Next, he examined his clothes: as he was now, in a tunic and trousers, his attire was completely unbefitting of the once-great Maia figure that had been the Sataressë who had garnered so many titles.

Harry recalled that in every dream he'd had, Sataressë had worn a dark green dress edged with a lighter green. Women would call it a forest green edged with a… spring green? Well, no matter what the colors were called, it was still a dress. Though the dresses did vary from plunging necklines to turtle necks depending on the season, more for appearance than for comfort, as Maia didn't mind most temperatures.

Shaking his head in resignation, Harry conjured the dress. The things he did for the people he loved.

But there was still his messy hair to contend with, and for nth time, Harry's thoughts turned to how Legolas was doing. He had regretted his deception until the last moment.

Sighing heavily, Harry transfigured his shoulder blades to become wings as well. And that turned his thoughts to Legolas as well. Though at first thought, wings seemed advantageous, should they be injured, Harry didn't know how Legolas would bear the pain. Harry could simply get rid of the wings, but Legolas could not get rid of and bring back his wings on will. He would have to bear the injury. Harry cursed himself, though he didn't know whether it was from the pain of growing wings or at his thoughtless actions concerning Legolas.

As the last feather sprouted and Harry flexed his wings, he bit back a choice swear word; he saw no feasible way to put on the dress.

This was going to take some creativity.

Legolas

"We are nearing the end of the Brown Lands." Legolas observed. "Thus far we have been lucky enough to escape any notice."

"Lucky indeed." Gandalf grumbled, and Legolas frowned in confusion. He had known that Gandalf had possessed a rather short temper before, but these last two weeks, the Istar had been positively ill-tempered. Even Gimli was tiptoeing around the wizard.

Clearing his throat, Legolas continued as if he hadn't heard, "Soon we shall come upon the Dead Marshes."

At this, Gimli shuddered and muttered something in Dwarvish, following up with, "Are you sure there is no other path to Mordor?"

"You'd think a Longbeard Dwarf would have more courage." Gandalf rebuked the dwarf, harrumphing and thumping his white staff irritably against the ground.

Immediately, Gimli balked. "Being a Longbeard has nothing to do with it!" He lowered his voice to a hush as if they were already in the marsh. "Tales of those foolish enough to go through these Marshes have traveled far, and they all end the same: none ever return."

Judging from his expression, Sam seemed to share the same sentiment as Gimli.

"Well, no matter how ominous the name, we have Gandalf with us, don't we?" Frodo tried to smile reassuringly. "We'll find a way somehow."

Fingers reflexively twitching toward the pouch where he kept the beryl, Legolas could not quite suppress a resentful thought back to the events in Moria, where they had lost Niphredil. But Gandalf was the wisest among them, and they had no choice but to follow his judgment, if not trust him.

"All will be fine as long as you don't touch the lights." Gandalf murmured.

"Lights? What lights?" Gimli seemed alarmed.

"You shall see when we get there." The Istar said with dark amusement. Legolas got the impression that Gandalf was enjoying himself in scaring the wits out of the dwarf.

Legolas himself had only heard of the history of the Dead Marshes. The land where the Battle of Dagorlad – a battle between the Last Alliance and the forces of Mordor – had taken place, had turned into a swamp over the ages. Midwives' tales rarely reached the forests of Mirkwood, but stories of bodies seen floating in the water were told. Legolas did not fear the dead, nor their bodies.

It was safe to say that he no longer feared much of anything, besides a Balrog… but even toward those creatures he now harbored more anger than fear. He could no longer afford any such fears. And he certainly didn't fear the creature Gollum that had been tailing them on and off since Moria. He had discussed with Gandalf what he should do with the fugitive. Gandalf had said to let him be, and Legolas was inclined to agree, for he showed no signs of aggressive behavior. But he was still on the alert, as any self-respecting Wood Elf would be.

Grim he may have been after Moria, Legolas couldn't suppress a bit of amusement at the almost distressed look on Gimli's face when they finally arrived at the Dead Marshes.

Gandalf impatiently motioned them forward. "What are you waiting for? Hurry before the candles appear!"

Apprehensive and bewildered, Sam questioned, "Candles? You mean those lights you were talking about earlier?"

Gravely, Gandalf answered, "Yes. They will bewitch you, so beware. Do not attempt to touch the corpses in the water!"

Peering into the water, Frodo asked in confusion, "Corpses? What corpses?"

"They only appear when the lights appear." Was Gandalf's reply, which served to frighten the short folk. For the first time in a long time, Legolas' lips twitched into a smile as he waded through the swamp.

"Come along, now, nothing to fear." Legolas encouraged, and it was that precise moment when he saw lights flicker to life.

They were bewitching indeed, Legolas mused. He reached out to touch a light when he remembered Gandalf's earlier warning and snatched his hand back. Instead he looked into the water, to see that there were indeed corpses now appearing to float within the depths.

"Mister Frodo, no!" Sam's voice cried out.

Legolas looked back at the others, slightly alarmed and Frodo, who had been wandering off the path and into deeper waters, seemed to awaken from his stupor. As Frodo got a scalding scolding from Gandalf on the way, the hobbits were much more careful, and Gimli gripped his axe tightly as if to strike out at anybody outside their party that so much as breathed too loudly.

Just when it seemed the travel through the marsh could not go at a slower pace, the marsh abruptly ended and a fell creature swooped down on them all.

A/N: I'M SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT HOW OVERDUE THIS IS!