I did not create Middle Earth/Arda, Green Wood the Great/Mirkwood, Imladirs/Rivendell, Glorfindel, Elrond, Estel/Aragorn, or Legolas. I did create Mellolaes, Mellolaes' father Arathrad, Mellolaes' brother Sadorchyl, Mellolaes' twin cousins Anduant and Adulas, and Filiton.

This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)

Hey guys, sorry it had been a while. This is going to be one of the longest chapters of this story, and one of the darkest from Mellolaes' side. Just a friendly warning. :)

It was not wise. All of them knew it later. The dying woods stretched on for what would be weeks of journeying for a man . The elves were trying to transverse it in a little over three days. They had started late beneath an already risen sun that soon passed over them.

Few creatures of darkness had bothered them at first. Then the chocking, twisted forest growth became thicker and foul creatures were able to hide in its shadows. These hissed, growled, and chuckled taunts at the elves. Ignoring foes is more tiring for a warrior than fighting them. However, all of those guarding the elleth knew the folly of even swiping at their tormentors from the safety of the path.

That was how it started. Staying on the path while attempting to slay something off it only sounded easy. Like flies buzzing a mortal's head the wargs came close, then darted back. The orcs teased like fishermen flicking bait over the surface of a lake so the fish beneath would jump from the water and bite.

The elves remained silent and walked straight ahead. The orcs' taunts grew nastier. Mellolaes heard words and phrases she never had before in over two millennium of life.

Song could have helped drown the taunts and drive the taunters away, but the stench and air were heavy in the jungle-like terrain. The evil was so thick even breathing was an effort for the elves. Body and spirit struggled to move forward, to think. The spirit and mind of an ordinary man would have been driven mad within hours. Even Mellolaes felt like crying, but it would have been too much effort. Their main distraction was catching each other beginning to swerve in their steps. It seemed hard to remain awake, let alone alert.

Then the sun set before them. The stench lessened. Breathing became easier. The elves sensed the stars their race had been born under shining above the gap-less canopy. Legolas and Filliton began to softly sing.

Within less than an hour, the air went from oppressive too chilling. The damp atmosphere soaked their hair until it dripped down their backs. Their clothes became five times heavier with the weight of dew. Even their elven flesh began to shiver. Yet, their relief was not overshadowed by these things. It was the sudden onrush of enemies that did that.

The sides of the path became thick with them. Soon the elves could not hear themselves sing over the din of their foes teasing. The travelers went on like beasts of burden plodding forward at the end of a weary day. After several hours of darkness, the crowds snarling at them thinned, and then disappeared. Mellolaes glanced about as fast as she could move her heavy head. Her spirit was not soothed, but alarmed by this change.

Then Legolas stopped. Arathrad nearly ran into his back. Their guide spun around with a weary grin.

"The territory surrounding us belongs to the great queen spider. It is overrun and overseen by the monster and her offspring with the permission of her dark lord. Neither warg, nor orc, nor goblin dares enter her kingdom for they then become the lawful prey of the queen and her spawn. She forbids the taunting of travelers, for they are more likely to end up in her webs if left alone to wander from the path and into this seemingly peaceful place. Here, on this stretch of the path, I always rest during my travels through the dying woods."

Arathrad's form had grown stooped during the day's march. Now it straightened. His eyes flashed.

"We cannot rest until we reach the western border."

Legolas frowned.

"You have not traveled to it since the darkness fell so deep into our Kingdom. It is too far off for us to reach it in our state. Onward our foes will become thick again and less hidden. Their hideous forms alone will keep us awake then."

Sadorchyl muttered without bothering to lift his half-closed eyelids.

"Not even that will be able to keep me moving much longer."

Mellolaes raised her bowed head. It fell backward like a bag of rocks as she looked up.

"Ada, we are all weary. Filliton and the twins especially need their rest."

Anduant and Andulas' heads shot up. Their eyes flew open, brows furrowed, and hands went to their hips.

"And who says that is so?"

Arathrad ignored his son, daughter, and nephews, continuing to scowl at their guide.

"The dying woods are not safe."

Legolas spread his hands.

"Neither is staying awake and walking along this path until your mind is gone."

Arathrad remained silent. Legolas crossed his arms as well.

"The wearier we become, the more likely we are to stray. I will not take you farther until we all have had rest."

Arathrad's brow furrowed deeper. The affects of the steam and heat from earlier and exhaustion of the moment clouded his mind. But he knew, he knew he had sworn to himself not to let Mellolaes sleep in the dying woods. Yet, he could not now recall why. He felt a hand touch his leg. The elf looked down. His daughter's green eyes were filled with un-shed tears.

"Ada . . . please . . ."

Arathrad's shoulders sank. His elfling looked like a wood flower beaten down by hail. The ancient elf sighed, sat down, and wrapped an arm around her.

"Let us surround our charge then."

. . .

Elrond worked on his third scroll of the night. He sighed, set the pen down, and reached for the cup resting on his desk. With the twins gone and Glorfindel guarding the Valley, he and Erestor had been spending an unusual amount of time with Estel.

Not that his adoptive father begrudged the manling a moment, but less entertaining work did not disappear because he spent half to a full day with his son. His steward's schedule was busy, so Elrond had been having to do just that. The Lord of Imladris had, therefore, spent most of his manling's sleeping hours doing what he had not been able to during the day. The Half-elf took a sip of the dark liquid in his cup, grimaced, and set it back down.

Elrond could work without sleep far better than a mortal. Still, he appreciated this beverage his brother's people had discovered during their time exploring the south. The liquid was bitter as cyanide. However, it did not kill, but kept his mind sharper than it would have otherwise been going on seventy-two hours without true sleep.

A knock came at the door. Elrond sighed, set his cup back down in its saucer, rose, and answered the summons. Erestor stood outside.

"Excuse me, my lord, but the patient has made a turn for the worse. Your presence is requested."

Elrond nodded and stepped past his steward.

"Make no apologies for health emergencies, Erestor."

. . .

Less than an hour after The Lord of Imladris left his office, Estel entered the study door. The elves had left it cracked. He came looking for his ada, because he had experienced another bad dream. No one had come to wake him up from it, so he had woken himself up and now searched for comfort.

Unfortunately, he found none in the empty office. The manling sighed. Then he crawled up into his ada's chair to wait for him. This brought the child up to eye level with the saucer and the tea cup resting in it.

Estel was used to receiving a nightly glass of warm, sweet, new milk. Every night it was delivered to him in a cup just like this one. His nerves still racked, the manling thought something warm and sweet sounded nice.

The youth reached up, grasped the handle with one hand and reached the fingers of his other as far around the cup's opposite side as they could stretch. Then he lifted the container, tilted it towards his mouth, pressed his lips to the rim, and downed the contents without ever seeing them.

. . .

It came when the travelers were in a sleep as deep as that of men. All were lying on their backs. Their hands were pressed over their hearts in the position their people sleep in, but their eyes were shut. Their minds were sunk in oblivion rather than drifting free. If they had been doing the latter, the elves would have noticed it sooner.

It started as tendrils of mist. Like living creatures the fingers of fog crept along the ground, met each other, overlapped, and thickened into a coverlet. The coverlet became a cloud. Hissing laughter was absorbed by its thickness. The entity then rolled over the path itself, and the sleeping elves.

. . .

The scream wakened her. Mellolaes sat up. Her eyes opened, but focused on nothing. A thin film obscured their dark centers and green circlets. She cocked her head in the silence. The elleth drew a sharp intake of breath as another cry pierced her heart. Yet, Mellolaes' elven ears heard not the creaking and cackling of a dozen spiders watching her.

The elleth rose to her feet and took a step right over her father. Arathrad's own brow was furrowed. Open, milky eyes peered at something not in front of his face like his daughter's foot was. Sadorchyl was a few body lengths away. Filiton was panting where he lay. His nails dug into his shirt, yet otherwise he did not move. His captain should have heard his gasps, but something else drowned out the sound, something that made Legolas hands fly up and cover his ears. Mellolaes alone moved on without resisting, listening hard to what called her.

. . .

Elrond walked back into his office, looking far more tired than he had when he left. He walked straight toward his saucer and the cup resting in it. He had raised it up beneath his nose and almost pressed the rim to his mouth when he realized the container was empty. His mind turned more sluggishly than usual, but the elf knew it had not been empty when he left. There had been at least another swallow at its bottom. Who in Middle Earth would . . ?

The eyes of Imladris' lord widened.

. . .

Anduant whimpered. His soul felt torn in two from the screams of an elf he had exchanged jokes with and been soaked by in a water fight. An orc was tearing his fellow warrior to pieces. Inside the core of his bones, Anduant knew he must stay where he was. He could not remember why. He just knew he must not move. He shivered at the other elf's screams and hated himself.

The Silvan soldier felt like a small elfling again. When he had needed reassurance back then there was a short list of those he would go to. He reached out for his cousin. Mellolaes was nearby, He felt her. He stretched out his hand towards his kin. His fist closed on air. What? She had just been there.

Mellolaes was moving! His eyes flew open. No! No! NO! No one should be moving now!

The elf sprang up. In a moment he saw and felt the fog. The form less than an arm-length from him was just visible through it. His cousin was not in the center of the path. She was half a stride from stepping off it! He flung himself upon her.

"MELLAS!"

His twin sprang up. His uncle did the same beside him as did his other cousin. Anduant's fingertips brushed Mellolaes' clothes as he reached for her.

She turned and swiped her nails at him. Anduant sprang back and gaped. Never before had he seen the expression of a snarling warg on Mellolaes' face. He did now. All the elves froze and stared in horror upon their charge.

. . .

Elrond flung the bedroom door open. The heir of Isildur was bouncing upon his feather mattress. He did not stop at his ada's entry. Instead, wide-awake eyes laughed at the solemn elf. There was something unnatural in the energy buzzing from the mortal.

The elven lord's shoulders sagged. The manling would not fall asleep for six hours at least. Why had he not added cream to the cup tonight?

Elrond's thoughts were blown away by his son's next action. No longer satisfied with jumping straight up and down, Estel leapt onto and then from the bed's baseboard.

"Catch me, Ada!"

Elrond nearly yelped as he dove forward.

. . .

Arathrad cursed himself and Elrond. He grabbed his daughter's swiping arm and pinned it behind her back. Her head thrashed back and crashed into his face. The shock of pain spread out all the way to the back of his skull and neck, but he did not release her. He spun his child away from the path's edge and shoved her a step further toward its middle. She pressed her feet over the paving stones and flung herself backward into their father. Sadorchyl grabbed his sister's kicking legs.

The twins could not help incapacitate their cousin. They were still standing frozen, staring at the elleth they had known all their lives and now knew no more. Animal-like growls, hisses, and spittle left the elleth's clenched teeth. Her chest heaved with the effort of the fight. Legolas seemed almost as shocked as the twins, but he took a step towards Mellolaes and grabbed her free arm. Filiton stepped forward and spoke to his old nurse, while reaching for her face.

"Mella . . ."

The elleth went limp. The elves froze. Arathrad made the mistake of loosening his grip. Mellolaes suddenly thrashed like a fish. She planted her feet in the chest of her brother. He fell back. Filliton sprang forward.

"Mella, No!"

The Half-Sindar reached out to the healer. The elleth twisted her head around and closed her teeth over his fingers. The elf gave a shout.

. . .

Elrond's reaching hands closed around his son's armpits. He lifted the grinning manling up to his face.

"Estel! Have we not had many discussions on the topic of jumping about, especially on furniture, and when grownups are not nearby?"

"But you're here now!"

The child's grin refused to disappear. Elrond's eyes slid shut. He lifted his face towards the ceiling and the stars of Elbereth beyond them. Valar help him. The nurse could not arrive soon enough. A giggle rumbled up from the chest beneath the half-elf's fingers.

"I'm not sleepy Ada. Can I stay up with you?"

The elven lord sighed and nodded. There was no use fighting it now. He pulled the youth up to his chest.

"Yes, you may, Estel."

Little arms wrapped around his neck.

"Thank you Ada."

A corner of the Elrond's mouth curled up into a quarter grin. After all, the opportunity to spend more hours caring for the child by himself was an unforeseen blessing. In a decade and a half the mortal would be grown and leave. And the nurse would arrive within only a few days.

. . .

It was the shock of pain from one so familiar and dear that woke her. The world she thought herself inhabiting and the real collided. Mellolaes blinked.

She stilled. The taste of elven blood washed over her tongue. Nausea gripped her stomach. She almost threw up. Her less-glazed eyes met the widened ones of the elf staring back at her.

One of his hands was gripping the fingers of the other. The scent of blood came from them. Another wave of nausea and horror swept through the healer.

"Filiton!" A shudder coursed through the elleth, followed by a sob. "Filliton, what did I do?"

The Half-sindar swallowed. He gave a small smile of reassurance. Relief flashed through his eyes along with pain.

"It was not you. It was this fog."

Mellolaes' hands clamped over her ears. She grit her teeth. Tears burst out of her screwed-shut eyes.

"Ada, what is wrong with me? I hear them screaming. So much screaming! Children dead ten years ago, children dead a hundred years ago, children dead for a thousand years call out to me, now, here! How are they here?!"

Arathrad picked up and cradled his grown daughter against his chest. Then he kissed her forehead.

"They are not. No one is there my fledgling. It is a trick of the enemy."

Legolas took a long, sweeping turn, taking in the cloud surrounding him. His eyes screamed with horror.

"How is it upon the path?"

Arathrad shook his head still holding his daughter in his arms.

"If 'The Fog' could be kept off it, then the words of our enemies would bounce off as well. The enemy and his forces cannot touch a stone of the path, nor any who walk upon them. The enemy and his servants influences can do both."

Legolas' mouth fell open.

"But I have never seen 'The Fog' come onto the path, never in all my centuries of traveling it!"

"Our enemy has probably been waiting until the young like you would forget he could use this weapon here. Besides, what good is it against those trained to restrain themselves in 'The Fog's' presence?"

Arathrad glanced down at the elleth he held. Legolas slumped. Filiton glanced around.

"It is so thick. It is the worst I have ever seen."

Arathrad growled.

"I have seen worse."

Sadorchyl nodded.

"As have I."

Legolas swallowed.

"We cannot stay here. Your advice was true, good Arathrad. I am a fool for not listening."

Filliton met his captain's gaze and winced.

"You did not know it could effect us here captain."

Arathrad shook his head.

"I should have remembered."

Sadorchyl squeezed his eyes shut in shame.

"All of us were too weary to 'want' to remember."

The elves took off as if they were not weary at all, as if an army of orcs hunted them. Legolas set the pace, slowing it only to be sure of never leading the others from the center of the path. Sadorchyl followed with Mellolaes in his arms. His son came after him. The twins followed, both carried one of their cousin's packs. They wanted something solid to cling to. Filliton brought up the rear, ignoring the eight, distinct, screaming voices in his own head and watching the feet of his real companions. He made sure they never strayed. He himself followed in their steps so closely, the stones beneath his feet were warm from body heat.

The elves sleep had been neither long nor undisturbed. The weariness all had known before fell upon them fully after only an hour of running. They dared not surrender to it. Finally, the twins stumbled. Sadorchyl and Filiton took Mellolaes' packs from them.

One by one, the Silvans ceased to be haunted by the phantoms that called to them. First the twins could no longer hear the companion they had lost centuries before. Then Legolas no longer heard the cries of warriors who had perished beneath his command. The shouts of soldiers who had cried out around Sadorchyl as he stood on a battlefield an age ago faded into silence. Then, nearly the same voices were lost to his father's hearing as well. The cries of his brothers and mother persisted long for Filiton, but they also finally fell away behind him. But, the warriors only stopped running when Mellolaes sobbed out to them.

"I . . . cannot . . . hear . . . the little ones . . . anymore."

Arathrad collapsed to his knees. The others fell just a little more slowly and gracefully. Without even turning over on their backs, the elves fell asleep where they landed, all but Legolas. He remained standing and kept watch, determined not to leave the others so vulnerable again. Nearly all the night he kept his eyes upon the elleth. Her face was still furrowed by a frozen sob even in her sleep. He made no sound, but Legolas' thoughts would not stay quiet.

What have I done to you?

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ScribeofHeroes