Dark Forest
By Anarithilien

Part II: In Realms Beyond
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Reborn

Galadriel closed her eyes, allowing her other senses to claim her perceptions of the world. There was something wrong, a darkness ahead. She felt a beseeching call, a soul lost and in need of salvation. Yet for this she was not sure it was hers to do the saving. Still, destiny called to them... to her...

"We are needed," she said to Celeborn as he handed her the waterskin, wet from its fresh filling. She packed the sac filled with water from the Nimrodel into her belongings before turning to see her husband mounting his steed and sidling up to her mare. They were leaving with a contingent of twenty saddled warriors just hours after Thranduil, but this was to their plan as it had been since realizing the king and dwarf would set out on their own. Thranduil felt so little trust for them -- for her -- and in his frustration and haste, he had denied their aid as it had been given. Like a petulant child, he acted now alone, assuming no help would be given to him should he have asked for it. Thranduil thought he sought only his son, but Galadriel perceived a greater mission. And so they set out in rescue. It was as it must be.

"What of the onodrim? Fangorn?" Celeborn asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She nodded, her eyes alighting to the sky. "The messengers have been sent," she said, her mind recalling the hawk's pledge to rouse the Ent from Orthanc. "Both Fangorn and Lendglad have been informed. They will meet us upon our arrival."

From her mount, she glanced down at Haldir as he approached. Without her asking, he reported his part in Thranduil's leave, "I ensured that the king and Gimli would ride together. They are both safer this way. All the others march." Then he narrowed his eyes, gazing up at her with his question. Familiarly he asked, for after all these years in service, she was friendly with all the guardsmen and encouraged their converse, "What is it you see ahead?"

She smiled at him, for Haldir was a gifted warrior with a sharp mind and deep concerns; he would be prepared for all eventualities if he could. In turn, she focused on answering his query. She noted the moistness of the Nimrodel water still upon her fingers. She had not brushed the droplets from her hands, and just that touch alone was enough to avail her some insight.

Her vision clouded as she tried to focus ahead. She saw a blaze of knives, scimitars, while orcish screams rent in her ears.

"You need not fear for us," she said in answer, for she knew this true. "It is for our friends that we now travel. The danger is for them."

Haldir's eyes widened, thinking perhaps he had done some wrong. "Should I have kept them here? I did not think it right to impede their path when they so plainly meant to travel."

She smiled at her guardsmen, assuring him with her gaze. "Nay, it would have done little good had you. Where Thranduil and our dwarf-friend travel now is part of a destiny greater than any we might deter," she said. "It is our duty now to play our part in their rescue."

A movement from Celeborn caught her eye. "You have no insight yet into what that might be?'

"Nay," she shook her head. "I only know it is time we pay our part into restoring what has become a ruinous fortune. Past deeds return, my love, and I fear we must pay for our part in them. Prepare yourself. We are called upon to make amends. It is time."

"Then may our journey be straight and uneventful until such time comes," he whispered, words meant for both her ears and that of the Valar than those around them. And then he continued in a broader voice so that all the company might hear, "Let us proceed."

As the riders set forth in their march, Galadriel followed at her husband's side. With the others about her unseeing of her mood, she allowed the despair she truly felt settle into her heart and mind. Unease lay ahead, and despite Celeborn's quiet prayer, she did not think their journey would go with ease. She tried to prepare herself for their ill fate. She had said the danger was to Thranduil and Gimli, but truly the past played a part in events laid for them as well. She would be called upon to offer confession and healing, this she knew. Utmost, death would be a herald in this procession. And though their purpose was one she could not foresee, she knew it lay on the plains ahead, and in the forest of Fangorn. Pain would accompany whatever fate laid into their plans.

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Thranduil felt there was no improving the situation should he chase after the dwarf. And so he put his head down and continued his forward march, his men following from their position.

The dwarf stayed at the lead and though it was clear he had little control of the horse's actions, Thranduil thought it best not to press his own authority over the animal. Arod was a clever horse and once he relaxed into his rider he would lead without the dwarf's command. The animal had sense enough to need no real direction, seeming to understand their mission. He loved Legolas too, it seemed, and knew they sought him out.

Thranduil marched and tried not to think of what he might have said differently. Something within him fought the dwarf's accusations. In his heart he knew Gimli was right but he also felt he could not truly change his reply for his statement had been true as well. In his mind the Ring did do good. He had led his people well through these years of war and strife because the Ring had given him the strength to do so. He had found ways to provide food, commerce, and to enrich the troves of his kingdom in order to keep his folk housed and secure, and it was the Ring that had given him the wisdom to do these things as well. Despite the descending darkness and his son's penchant for recklessness, he had kept Legolas safe and alive through all the years of his young adulthood, showing him what it was to lead, training him to fight. Here too it was the Ring that had given him the insight to do this. It could be used for good; there was evidence to prove it.

True, while he wore It Thranduil could find himself far more stubborn, wanting, and dogged in his refusals. But he had learned these things some long years ago and he Knew he must be careful in gauging his use of the Ring. When he noticed Its ill effects he refused his Passion; it was that simple. No dwarf need tell him this.

Not that the power that emanated from It wasn't enticing. Whether he wore It for a long spell or short it felt good to do so. And that was why he chose to wear It more than any other reason he could contrive. Just to put It on gave him the assurance he needed to feel he was doing right. He lived for that sense of satisfaction.

"Do you not hear the Dark Lord's voice guiding your actions?"

Thranduil started, glancing up, suprised to find the dwarf riding at his side again. Gimli had stilled Arod until the elf might catch up, or so it seemed. Yet Thranduil had been so trapped in his own thoughts he had not noticed. The words acted as the deep voice of his conscience.

The dwarf repeated his question as he urged the horse forward again. "Did you not hear Sauron's voice when you wore the Ring?"

"I did not," Thranduil admitted though in his heart he knew that this truly was all he had as an excuse; he had not known It was a Ring of evil. Despite his desire to always keep It near, he had told himself that it was want that had always guided him, not influence by the Ring. Further, he had not always worn It during the event of his wrongdoings. Still he had to admit that It had played a role in the decisions he made leading to those acts. He thought again of the woman who had delivered the Ring to him. Would he have fallen to the act of seduction had the Ring not been present?

Gimli harrumphed at his answer, drawing him back to the query. The dwarf was clearly dissatisfied with his answer. "What is it then that makes you wear It?" he asked, but this time it was not so much anger that marked his question as disappointment.

Thranduil considered the query. Were it easy to speak, he would not have hesitated. He nodded, appreciating what the dwarf was asking, but he had no simple reply. Simply he said, "I know what you ask and why you do so. I would do nothing to hurt Legolas."

The brusque laugh that followed stood testimony to the dwarf's argument. "And yet you have hurt him, have you not? For Legolas' behalf I say you have wasted all excuses. Sauron gave the Ring to you and you wear It still!"

"Annatar was the one who had It delivered to me," Thranduil replied stubbornly.

The dwarf's face went red as he fumed. "Have you not heard? Sauron and Annatar are one and the same! The Ring is evidence enough of the evil that birthed It."

Thranduil sighed, drawing his feelings inward rather than allowing them to flow freely. "I do not need to fabricate an excuse. I would say merely that the dwarf lords of old wore their Rings with less knowledge for what They could muster than I might do. I have control."

A mirthless chuckle passed the lips of the dwarf as he responded. "I hold the same contempt for those of my own kind and their choice to use their Rings. My ire has nothing to do with your race, and everything to do with your wisdom."

"Those of my race don Rings as well," Thranduil reminded. "If you are to question me for my choice you might wish to question Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel as well."

Gimli shifted in his seat, growling into his beard, but he quickly replied, "Yet they do not conspire with the Dark Lord."

Now it was Thranduil's turn to deliver a humorless laugh. "Nor do I. Sauron is dead or so I have been told."

Again the dwarf cast narrowed eyes on the king, and he said with venomous calm, "You did though."

The elf shivered slightly. Even in his weakened state, this dwarf was a challenging adversary. "Nay," Thranduil said, meeting Gimli's dark gaze. "I never felt the presence of Sauron nor would I have used It if I suspected He had a part in the Ring."

Gimli's jaw fell open as he listened to the response, and he answered with dark words. "What more do you need to piece the puzzle together so you might see the villainy the Ring wreaked. Auch, if only you knew the harm you did! Legolas was a shambles! It was the reason we went on this mad folly to begin with!"

Thranduil screwed his brow in confusion. "You mean into the Forest of Fangorn? I thought you had said you went searching for dwarf bones, those of Narvi." Earlier he had not thought his son's quest truly sound of mind, but he had not really questioned it either. He and Gimli could travel to Fangorn for any reason they might contrive.

But the dwarf seemed to feel vehement reasoning needed to be announced. "Would you have rather I spoke the truth before Celeborn and Galadriel and said that we went searching for someone who would tell Legolas about you?"

"About me?" Thranduil asked.

"Your son knows so little of you, Lord Elf. When mention of your name came to him in that dream, he readily sought more. He was... is... trying to put his heart right. He wants to forgive you and he does this by seeking knowledge of your life, information about your companions, and history's portrayal of you. He knows he cannot judge you directly, for his own experience has been clouded. Through the assessment others might give though, he thinks he will discover who you are and will find outward forgiveness. By my oath on the Arkenstone I cannot imagine why that would be important to him but he wanted... wants... it greatly."

Thranduil paused, digesting this piece of news. After a moment he whispered, "He tries to forgive?"

"He certainly could not put his reasons to words -- they confused him as much as they did me, at first," the dwarf grumbled, "and he was verily reluctant to tell me any of his recollections. Yet do not think he did not want to speak. It was the pain of these memories that kept them hidden."

Thranduil sensed a darker truth in this and he felt sudden, protective rage. "You made him speak?"

Gimli stiffened at the affront. "Nay, I delved, but I did not defile. He opened his thoughts to me, and once unveiled I could see into his heart." The dwarf turned to the king then and Thranduil felt compelled to meet Gimli's stern gaze. "He is lost, Thranduil! He is in misery because he knows not where to go! Every purpose, every occupation he might have had you pushed away from him. He has nothing of Mirkwood left in him -- anything that might have seemed like a home to him is now lost. Lo, but that is an ache to him, for he wants to love even though his heart has been taken by the sea. Still he yearns to remain, to serve where he can, to love those that love him in equal kind! If not for the friends he has made, he would flee now the Undying Lands. You have destroyed every reason he might want to stay otherwise!"

Thranduil began to speak but the dwarf did not give him the opportunity to reply. Gimli pointed to the hidden pocket where Thranduil kept the Ring. "That thing is to blame. It has tainted your actions and made you vile. I would have thought you might know that not one of the Dwarf Rings was wrought with good intention."

But having thought on it, Thranduil would dispute that argument. He spoke, "If I told you I was trying to protect him, you would not believe me. But if indeed you know the history of the Rings, you know the Elf Rings were forged for goodness," he began.

"You do not wear an Elf Ring," Gimli retorted.

"Perhaps I thought I did!" Thranduil argued.

"Did Sauron tell you it was an Elf Ring?" the dwarf asked.

Those words sparked a fierce anger for they were delivered like a weapon, intended to do harm. "Annatar had promised me a Ring when Galadriel had--" He stopped mid-sentence, deciding denigrating Galadriel's repute would not endear his tale to the dwarf. He took a breath then resumed. "He knew my heart was hurt by the last of my experiences in Hollin. He had told me then that a Ring of his crafting would be mine some day. I waited some seventeen hundred years, but a Ring finally did come to me," Thranduil began.

The dwarf chortled incredulously. "And the fact that a mortal had lived some seventeen hundred years did not give you a clue that there was some devilry at play?"

"Annatar did not deliver the gift. It came through an ancestor, one who knew of our friendship," Thranduil dismissed.

"Yes, I see the likelihood of that," the dwarf replied in words laced with sarcasm.

"It matters not what you think, Dwarf! The Ring was a gift to me and I believed It came as Annatar intended. We lived in relative peace then, and though war loomed in the distance, it was only our allegiance to Gil-Galad that brought us into that fray. Greenwood was a peaceful place and I had no reason to believe Annatar had meant ill for me," Thranduil argued.

"The destruction of Hollin meant nothing, I suppose," Gimli murmured.

"My belief in Annatar is yet another story. Which do you want?" the elf snapped.

"It seems to me that your belief played into your reasons for taking and using that Ring. You knew what It was even if you could not acknowledge It as a Ring for another race. Given what you did to Legolas, could you have not discerned the evil in It?" the dwarf growled in his askance.

"Nay, you miss my point," Thranduil frowned in frustration. "Right and wrong can be controlled. Right and wrong -- Galadriel is not pure of heart, even with her Ring. She controls the power she wields just as I discern correct and incorrect actions and use my power to wield them."

"You are on the wrong side of this argument, Elf! I dare you to tell me the crimes you committed against Legolas were done for the right!"

"They were meant to be for the good!"

"If that is so, your perspective is skewed wretchedly and I will do everything in my power to see you destroyed," the dwarf said, his response laden with the darkness of his threat.

"I was protecting him," Thranduil protested.

"By setting another to seduce him?! To rob him of his virtue?!"

"The alternative was death!" the elf roared.

"How so?"

Thranduil knew he must respond, even if his answer would be unappreciated. "I had no choice. I knew with utmost certainty that if Legolas did not draw back -- if he took a position as a leader in the field as he was destined to do -- he would be killed by Sauron's forces." He paused. Gimli was staring at him, apparently waiting for more. He continued to explain. "No one told me this. There was no voice. I just knew. I could sense that Legolas was going to leave the safety of the palace, perhaps not that day, but soon. He was going to return to the fields as their lead command. And in doing that he was going to expose himself. He had to be halted. But he was unaware. He kept pressing for more might, but Sauron's forces only toyed with him. The Necromancer's counter charge would destroy that force."

The dwarf turned to stare at him. With accusation in his voice, he said, "You sensed this?"

"I knew it."

"No one spoke it to you?"

"Nay."

"Your senses then..." Gimli drawled. "Perhaps this is what prevented you from giving Legolas the resources he sought when he first approached you on an attack strategy?"

"He did tell you much," Thranduil affirmed but then resigned himself to the question. "Nay, it would have done no good! Sauron's dark forces merely lay in wait."

The horse side-stepped as Gimli threw his hands up in exasperation. Noticing the horse's movement, he turned forward in his seat. "Let me venture in my beliefs that you wore the Ring when this premonition came to you? And as a result of your actions -- that seduction," he said the word as if it had a bad taste, "-- forced Legolas away to do exactly what you did not want him to do."

"I misjudged--" Thranduil began.

Gimli interrupted, "He survived his part as their leader!"

"Perhaps the Necromancer--" Thranduil tried to argue again.

"Enough!" the dwarf spouted. "Has it never occurred to you that Sauron manipulated you, threatening Legolas' life as a means of controlling you to do exactly what he wanted? The Dark Lord knew your heart and so He leveled a knife at it," Gimli countered. "If so, giving Legolas the resources he asked for might have been the thing to defeat the forces battling in the southern woods. O but Legolas was right to be frustrated! His ideas were correct! But you -- held under the sway of that Ring -- thwarted any means he might have had of destroying the Mirkwood menace!"

A similar cry, long past, echoed in his head.

Thranduil, what have you done? You doom us!

"No!" Thranduil cried, shaking his head in answer both to the dwarf and the voice of his past. He could not counter Gimli's charge feeling weak as he acknowledged, at least to himself, that Gimli might be right.

Gimli cursed beneath his breath, then through grit teeth said, "Annatar was deceptive. He was evil. Long has he been called so by many."

Thranduil knew he must disclaim this. He could feel tears pulling at his eyes, but he would not cry. By sheer will he choked out an answer in a voice that was steely in its hardness. "Annatar did many things that others might claim ill, but proof of his deception was never made to me." And is so saying, he became convinced himself, remembering as he spoke the truth of the moment as he had lived it. Beyond the manipulation it might be easy to see, but Thranduil had lived a different reality.

"Over and over in my time with him he offered me kindness and good counsel. You have history as your basis; I have personal experience for mine. I lived a truth you will never know and though I can see I might have been manipulated -- perhaps by him, or perhaps by others with intent of evil, I do not know-- Annatar was my friend. And you speaking now, telling me he was evil, is the equal to a proclamation on my part that Gondor's new king is evil. For some that indeed may be true, and history may paint it so in the end, but you know him through the light of your friendship. You know your comrade to be good. I... I see Annatar the same." Thranduil paused, watching to see if his plea was being heard.

The dwarf opened his mouth as if to speak, but Thranduil could see Gimli's furrowed brow spoke no favor. He pulled out the Ring then, brandishing It openly so the dwarf might see It though he did not put It on. His voice came lower still, almost as a whisper. "In truth I do not know what to believe, Master Dwarf. You tell me that this is a Dwarf Ring, yet I did not know it as such until only two days ago. I thought I had one of the Three for those bearers of Rings are a secret lot and none proclaim themselves openly. There was no reason for me not to think it so. Yet thinking It one of the Three, I allowed this Ring to strengthen me, to give me foresight, to help me protect my realm. I thought it was to aid me! I thought that was the reason I was to have It, one last gift from my friend. You think not, but in his living life Annatar always guided me well, showed me kindness. He came to me as a Man and I felt nothing of evil in him. Nothing! So I used It. And why would I not if I thought It was wrought for good and that my friend was truly kind?"

He felt the tears again forming in his eyes though he could not explain their reason. "Foremost," he continued, "it has been my intent to guard my people... to guard my son! I kept him in my court to protect him. And then I thought if he wed it would compel him to stay near, to keep to his heart."

"You manipulated him," Gimli accused.

Thranduil sighed and nodded his head, his wariness growing greater. "Aye. I manipulated him, aye, this is true; but I foresaw a bond between Legolas and the girl that he did not. I trusted that foresight. I thought it a skill of the Ring. Legolas resisted, and perhaps he was right in the end that he did so, but at the time I thought I was doing something for his well-being, his safety. Ultimately -- always! -- I fought the darkness as best I could and I used the Ring to bring good. That was my goal."

A long moment passed. And then the dwarf spoke in an equally icy voice, "You cannot see what is happening about you then, can you? You act compulsively and without consideration of the effect you create in so doing. You claim a good heart yet your thoughts are centered only on the assurance this Ring brings you."

"Nay, you are wrong, for my heart does ache, Dwarf!" Thranduil proclaimed. The tears were now stinging his eyes, spilling. His chest truly felt as if it were being crushed and he knew only he must speak. "It aches for the hurt done by it, to it. But I do not blame the Ring for this nor do I blame Annatar. The Ring bolsters me, just as Annatar did."

"And should you realize Annatar's evil?"

"I would beg Mandos to deliver me." Thranduil answered.

"Was that not what you were doing just before you stabbed Legolas with the knife?"

Thranduil drew in his breath as if he had been punched.

Gimli continued, launching into his verbal attack without mercy. "You are deceived by It! It prays upon your doubts and lets you feel they are removed! It throws you into darkness, like some orc groveling in the dirt, cowed by evil. No wisdom does It grant you! No fair knowledge is honed into the hearts and minds of those you maneuver. The aftermath of the harm you cause is what you should be looking to amend. You waste your time by proclaiming your loyalty to a faithless friend long past. You have hurt Legolas. Fix that!"

Thranduil felt crushed by the words. Gimli shook his head in disgust. "O, fair king, you are blind. Admit you were manipulated. Start there. And then toss It aside! Foresake Its place in your heart and put Legolas there."

And then Arod murmured distress as if moved by the words. But it seemed it was not the dwarf's start that stirred him. Suddenly the ground around them started to give way. It was shuddering, trembling and the grasses started to sway. The horse suddenly reared, crying out as Thranduil's eyes widened. Brown foliage stirred, and gaping holes opened. Suddenly it was clear the turf had been laying loose upon the ground, carpeting the earth, concealing something that now was emerging from that fertile bed.

Creatures sprang from the ground. Bleary-eyed. Angry. They were covered in mud, and were dark, foul, an opposing force to the blazing sun.

And Thranduil stumbled back. Orcs! he thought as panic suddenly ratcheted his heart.

They shrieked loudly then, a war cry, and the stench of them... why had he not smelled them? He should have sensed them! But the earth masked them. That was why.

Their movements were synchronized, and as he noted this he realized they had been laying in wait.

But he could not think more. Instinct took over. He must fight. He drew his long knife as the first of many approached. In an instant a hand was severed from a body and black blood covered his weapon. Another leapt then and his blade found the soft belly, slicing a clean line through the creature's organs. Behind him he could feel Arod's hooves pounding the ground as the horse fought too. Beyond that he could hear Gimli cursing a dwarvish abuse, the cry answered by an orc howling in pain.

Yet he knew it was to no avail. They were greatly outnumbered. Surrounded on all sides. And where was his company? He ventured a glance behind him and saw his own people being accosted by a like group of monsters. No elf among them was free of battle.

His attention was drawn back as he felt hands suddenly upon him, pulling at him, nearly causing him to drop the Ring, which he blankly realized was still in his hand.

He spun, slashing with his knife, drawing black blood to splash across the glittering glow of the tall grasses.

From the corner of his eye he could see the dwarf being dragged from Arod's back while the horse screamed out his fury.

And then a blow from behind dropped him to his knees and the Ring flew from his hand. His eyes followed as the amber jewel spiraled through the air. But It was instantly lost to his sight, blending with the infinite gold of the surrounding field.

Someone struck him. He felt pain. He was twisted, pummeled with a hard fist. And then there were hands grabbing at him and trying to pull his knife away, fighting to flatten him to the ground.

He struck out with his angry blade. He scored flesh and the orcs, many he could see, jumped back, howls rent for the injuries.

He pushed up to his feet again, but still he was not freed. Another pounced and he was at the heart of a melee. He was again being pushed, dragged down to the earth, as if he were to be buried there. He was kicked. Struck. He saw weapons fly and almost as if detached from it all, he delivered strikes of his own.

But he cried out as the point of a knife punctured him at the shoulder. He felt his knees falter, but he shoved off regardless, freeing himself from the weapon and the surrounding fighters in his movement, and drawing blood of his own with the upswing. Yet a clubbed arm swung. He saw it come from the corner of his eye, and he had no time to dodge it fully. It caught him and propelled him. He felt the earth catch him, his teeth rattled in his mouth as he collided to the ground. Almost simultaneously a heavy boot crushed his ribs. He choked on his scream.

He rolled to his belly as red filled his vision. Bile burned his throat and he felt he might be ill. Dazed by his pain, he rolled again. He still had his knife and in his momentum he flailed again at his attackers. But his movements were clumsy. He could taste mud in his mouth but he was successful in making his attackers back away. Still they lunged, and distantly he thought of his circumstance, wondering if this was to be his end. Nothing was visible to him. He could hear orc cries, and his body being tumbled and dragged. Swift pain made him kick and cry.

Through the fire of hard agony there was a flurry of commotion, trembling earth, more horses, loud cries from fair voices, and then the orcs surrounding him backed away. Still clinging to his knife, mindful of his hurts, he used the moment to crawl away from the assault.

But he was stopped, flipped to his back, and two grey eyes stared down at him.

Grey eyes.

Grey eyes belonging to an orc, he thought.

He knew he had never come upon a grey-eyed orc before this moment. He struck out in his attempt to flee, slicing through the orc's leather vest and reaching flesh. The orc fell back, screaming its misery and that's when Thranduil realized there was something even more odd about this orc than just its grey eyes. It was a female. He could see her breasts. Bowing over her belly, she cried out her hurt as she began to back away toward one of the holes of the earth.

Thranduil pursued her, crawling after her, thinking of the rarity of finding a female and wishing to drag her into the light, to destroy her so she could create no more of these foul marauders. But the thought was quickly tossed aside in the heat of battle. The rattle of a crack across the side of his head stunned him and he found himself dropping again to the ground. Distantly he heard himself cry out, knowing he felt pain. But it was also so far away and everything was moving in slow motion.

He heard the sound of the horses again. Arod crying. A fierce rumble made the ground move and he wondered if he was the cause of this. But no, he remembered, he had lost the Ring. This was not his doing.

More voices sounded over the din of his ringing ears. And stirring enough to glance over to his side, he saw the she-orc raise her head. She too had been dropped by a blow. A knife had opened a gaping wound to her chest and he could see the black life blood pouring out of her body.

He felt compelled to get near, to witness her end, thinking it would be the end of her foul history, and that of a line of orcs that would follow her. Her death was a beginning made for the good.

He crawled to her side and looked into her eyes as they drifted, glad to watch her end. Breath was still rattling in her chest though her spirit was fleeing. He could see her diminish. She groaned and his eyes strayed to her hands as they fumbled at her belly. He could see her then writhe weakly, something other than the wound driving her as she rolled to her back. But then she was looking at him again, as if he she recognized him. And then she spoke. And as she did, he realized why the color of her eyes startled him. They were the color of elf eyes.

Sympathy suddenly compelled him. An elf! How foul! How wrong! But he knew it to be true. He felt sick for his knowledge.

He reached a hand to her then in an effort to offer aid. She took it weakly, the claws of her fingers digging into his flesh. But he too was waning, losing his war to this world, and he barely felt her touch, barely heard her last words.

She sobbed with the last stab of pain, a grimace turning her lips upward into a grim smile. And then she died, her eyes fixing on something above, softening into an unfocused stare. And almost, almost, he could recognize her elven face as that morbid grin slackened to become something akin to an expression of hope and happiness.

But then his fight seemed to be lost, and consciousness flitted away. The earth seemed to swallow him up then and he thought perhaps he was sucked in to it. Was he any less deserving? Child of the muck, loathsome and foul. He could taste dirt, smell the moisture. He felt pain and sickness while simultaneously he felt empty and detached. And through his weakening hold on life, her words played in his mind. He thought they could be his own. Perhaps they were. "... He came to me as a Man, seducing me. I learned in time His evil...Too late...Too late...But now...I am free...Mandos take me... Take me at last..."

Darkness encroached his vision then, dimness settling over the features of the world. His senses dulled and he knew his eyes closed. And then the orc's words were gone and all of life was gone. There was no Song as all elves knew. Only the penetrating sound of silence greeted him as he was reborn.

End of Part II. TBC

Onodrim - Ents