They rode hard for the remainder of the night, and most of the next morning. The sun was not quite at its zenith when the group finally stopped at the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Gandalf sat on his horse, gazing this way and that, searching for the most opportune trail to make for the High Pass.

Legolas, on the other hand, was more of a mind to strike camp before making the ascent. They had traveled nigh on two days and nights without food or water, and Legolas was concerned about Neonean. For an elf, such occasional hardships were of no great importance, but Neonean was now attempting to graze at every opportunity. Even when they stopped for a moment to gather their bearings, Neonean aimlessly wandered away from Gandalf's horse with Legolas and Kizea still perched on her back, in search of a good bit of greenery. Legolas knew his horse must be thirsty as well. His arms tightened around Kizea's tiny waist to keep her upright, and he smiled again to himself. In the few minutes that they had stopped, her head had tipped back, leaning against his shoulders, and she had fallen fast asleep in his arms.

"Hardly the endurance of a deadly and vicious, renowned assassin," he whispered.

Kizea's head jerked up and she looked around, trying to get her bearings. Immediately she brought her hands up to her waist and pushed the elf away from her.

"You hold me too tightly, Legolas! I can hardly breath!" she reproached. Legolas loosened his grip a bit. Gazing around, Kizea changed the subject.

"Where are we now?"

"We are nearing the foothills of the Misty Mountains," he replied, "Gandalf is seeking for the straightest trail to the High Pass."

The elf glanced over at the wizard who was turning his head in the direction of the blowing wind.

"Gandalf," Legolas called, "We should rest here for the evening. The next few days will afford us little protection or food for the crossing."

Gandalf nodded.

"Agreed," he replied, "This site will make a good camp. The trees will keep the winds from chilling us and there is ample firewood. Let us camp here for the evening."

Legolas lightly hopped off Neonean and walked away to begin gathering firewood, leaving Kizea sitting on the horse's back. She waited a moment and then slid off the horse, giving her a pat on her muzzle before retreating towards the river.

"I will find something for us to eat," Kizea said lifting her daggers from their sheaths.

To Gandalf's surprise, both Neonean and his own horse obediently plodded after her. The wizard glanced over to Legolas, who simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

She returned a while later with several large trout, plucked from a nearby mountain stream. Already, a large fire was blazing, spreading its warmth against the frigid night air, gusting down from the mountain ridges. Kizea was quiet that evening. During their meal she offered little conversation to her companions, and only replied one or two word answers when spoken to. Kizea was clearly bothered by something, and everyone could guess what it was. The demon orc who stood against her in the woods was not her old foe Melune, but something far more evil. At last she stood up and walked calmly away, despite Gandalf's admonishments to stay near the fire. Legolas watched her climb a nearby oak tree and settle onto one of the highest branches, clinging to its trunk. Gandalf watched her too, puffing lazily on his long pipe.

"She has changed overmuch since I first saw her in Mirkwood," Legolas told him at last, "Something in her character is decidedly weaker. I am worrying that if we are attacked again by that goblin, we will not fair as well."

"Away from the stone's influence, she is returning to her former self, as is Shazoul." Gandalf replied slowly.

Legolas's head jerked around. He had not heard that name spoken in some hundreds of years, and he had not thought of it in as much time. It was like a bad dream that was lost and suddenly remembered again. Shazoul. A chill inexplicably welled up inside the elf. She was known by many names, but Shazoul seemed to suit her best. Others knew her only by what she was, the ancient demon commander of the Dark Lord who spread death and ruin throughout Middle-Earth more than a thousand years earlier. A demon with no conscience or fear, it was said among the older elves that she could make the very darkness quell with despair. Her renown had only been momentarily superseded by Rakal as the evilest and mightiest of Sauron's beasts. Legolas had never opposed her in battle, but tales of her killing and torturing skills were common among the woodland elves. None spoke of her without a reflection of respect or fear in their voice. And the elves feared few things in the world.

"Shazoul?" Legolas said sitting up, "But I thought our pursuers were a band of Fendowan. Shazoul was vanquished long ago in the Battle of the Last Alliance, was she not? She no longer exists."

"Dead then," said Gandalf in a whispering voice, "Not so now. Shazoul and the Fendowan leader Melune are one in the same. Reinstated by the power of the stone, she is alive and bitter for retribution. She is now coming to remember her former life as a leader for the Dark Lord, before the blackness and bliss of death. Before the stone brought her to life and took her to subjugation and unending captivity. Stripped of all her former rank and glory, Shazoul found herself equal among the other Fendowan. No doubt a station that she doubly loathed. It was the fact that she and Kizea were the only two brought back from death that they eventually achieved their leadership in the Fendowan order. A leader Shazoul was, yet equal in many respects. It is that sort of forced existence for which she suffered relentlessly for a thousand years. Shazoul's hatred of bondage is only matched now by her lust for the kill. Now she is remembering all that she was and all that she can be now. Just as I suspect Kizea is remembering her own former life as well."

Legolas's expression became more and more concerned. His thoughts were troubling him and it was with some effort that he spoke his next words.

"Will Kizea then turn into one of those creatures do you think? Must we have to fight her as well?"

"Kizea is transformed already," Gandalf replied quietly, shaking his head, "Be assured Legolas, she is no demon. But I can only suspect of her real identity."

"When she was at the river, I spied a long scar on her back," Legolas whispered gazing back to the trees. Gandalf furrowed his eyebrows, but then he smiled.

"And you thought that should be familiar to you?" the wizard replied.

Legolas sat for a moment and reflected. It was an odd sort of thing for the wizard to say. And as much as they were now friends, wizards were somewhat of a strange entity to the woodland elves. They often spoke in riddles. Gandalf's comment perplexed Legolas.

"No," Legolas replied, "I did not recognize it. Should I have? Are you telling me I should I know this woman from somewhere? She recognized elven music at the feast hall in Mirkwood. Do you think she is of an elven descent?"

"Worry not my friend. As I said, I can only suspect of her identity, but we should never know for sure unless it is through her own volition. The only way to know for certain is if she would forsake the Fendowan order and remove her mask, and that is not likely to happen. In all of history no Fendowan has ever relinquished that honor once they have achieved it. But still, we must be careful Legolas. I am not entirely sure of Kizea. Even now she intends to destroy the stone once it is in her possession."

Legolas seemed unsurprised by Gandalf's statement.

"Kizea vowed to return the stone to Mirkwood," he exclaimed thoughtfully, "But her words were marked with a vagueness that unsettled me. So. She would only return the stone to my father after she has destroyed it. Such a deceit would surely rank her among the Dark Lord's minions. I know not much of the stone's history, but for the elven legends, Gandalf. But if myth were based in truth, then destroying the stone would create utter chaos in Middle-Earth. We must prevent Kizea OR Shazoul from obtaining the stone!"

"The balance of good and evil is delicate." Gandalf said somberly, "The stone may even now be exerting its preference over who's hands in which it wishes to be placed. Your father is a good king Legolas, but NOT chosen by the stone as its protector. To remain intact, it may settle for a while in the hands of the wicked. I do not know. But I am inclined to believe Kizea is a being of light, equal in measure to the evil of Shazoul. The balance is then maintained. But we must be prepared for any eventuality. If the stone of Anor were to be destroyed, it would be as much a disaster as if it were placed in Shazoul's very hand. We must be prepared to do what we must in order to prevent the stone's destruction. My only certainty is that Sauron has finally realized the opportunity for which he has waited for so long. One of his most trusted creatures to be resurrected and taken in by the stone of Anor, and then by his own design be swept away from the stone's influence somehow and returned to his own dominion."

Gandalf sighed deeply.

"It is a nightmare from which I have long feared. Shazoul is a Fendowan, endowed with all the powers and skill to protect and possess the stone of Anor growing back to a demon of the worst make under the Dark Lord's iron will. She is as she was; a slave to Sauron yet with the stone's own acceptance. She contains within her the ability to defeat the mightiest of Middle-Earth's warriors in the stone's defense. And Shazoul has grown stronger in her transformation, and Kizea all the weaker. Once Shazoul has the Stone of Anor, no one will be able to oppose her. This situation is beyond all the Dark Lord has hoped for. Through Shazoul and the Stone of Anor, his armies may be eternally resurrected into Middle-Earth, and his dominion over Middle-Earth will at last be realized."

The look on Legolas's face had now grown from concern to one of horror. At last he understood the gravity of the situation, and he found himself wishing that Kerrinais's skill with a bow were there to aid in their quest. Legolas stared silently at the merry fire, and then to the timid-looking figure of Kizea, huddled at the top of the oak tree. The night dragged on slowly.

When the dawn peaked gray and pink across the snowy mountaintops, Kizea quietly slipped down the tree and made her way to the camp. The fire was still burning, and she had watched it throughout most of the night. Clinging to the wide trunk of the oak tree, she had managed a few hours of sleep. She actually felt somewhat rested considering her bumpy bed, but it was a necessity. Even with an elf and a wizard as traveling companion, she no longer felt safe by a campfire. She had also time to think and reflect on what must be done. The relief of Gandalf's presence now was a great comfort to her, and she quickened her step to the camp. Gandalf had brewed some tea and Kizea knelt before the fire, warming her hands while looking about for a spare cup.

Gandalf, who was always prepared for company on his journeys, pulled an extra cup from his pack and handed it to her. Kizea then dipped it into a boiling kettle on the fire, being careful not to trap any floating tealeaves in the brew. Then she turned her back slightly to the wizard, slightly lifted her mask and took a few sips. She immediately felt warmed by the drink, and scooted herself around again to face the wizard. A quick scan of the area revealed Legolas in the far distance, brushing Neonean while she lazily munched field grass. As she gazed at the elf, her lips softly curled into a smile. She leaned towards the wizard and spoke softly so as the elf would not hear.

"With Legolas here, we need no campfire," she said amused, "He glows so brightly, I think he must be one of the stars come down from the sky to guide our way."

In the distance, Legolas jerked his head up. Kizea was clearly startled. He had heard her comment! She quickly turned her head away from him and settled her gaze on Gandalf, who was smiling with wrapped amusement.

"Did you not know the elves hear so well?" Gandalf grinned jovially. Kizea slowly shook her head, still embarrassed.

"Worry not, my dear," Gandalf said standing up, "To equate an elf with the stars is a compliment of the highest sort. I am sure he was not insulted. Now we must be on our way. We have much hard travel ahead of us."

Kizea nodded and stood up. After brushing herself off, she looked to her belt, making sure that her daggers were in order. Then they broke camp. As the final packs were tightened onto the horses, Kizea walked calmly up to each one, pulling a handful of berries from her pocket. Legolas watched her feed and coo softly to his horse, only a few steps away. He was curious of Kizea's identity now, and concerned, but her love animals and respect for the elves, as she had demonstrated at the tavern in Tuluth, were now factors highly in her favor. Legolas quietly decided to himself that she would not jeopardize their quest as Gandalf had suggested, and if she did, he personally would dispatch her. It was meant as a compliment. He would make her end quick and painless. It was a loathsome thought, to be sure, but knowing the result of the stone's falling into the wrong hands, he had no choice. Middle-Earth depended upon their combined efforts, and it was well known that the Fendowan had no loyalties except to themselves. He watched her for a few moments, until she realized that he was staring at her, not at the knapsacks in which he was securing. She glanced meekly at the elf, and then back at Neonean.

"There was a raspberry bush beneath that tree," she said, "There was only a handful of berries left. I think it must be past the season now, but at least it is a small treat for her."

Legolas nodded. Walking to the horse's side, Kizea lightly pulled herself up on Neonean's back and waited for the elf. The three riders traversed the craggy paths, up into the hillsides. As the next few days wore on, vegetation grew scant, and the snow grew deep. There would be no rest now until they emerged to the other side. Legolas was quiet, wrapped in dim thoughts of fighting Kizea. He remembered her skill in the forest of Mirkwood and within his father's throne room, and wondered if she still had the same measure of prowess. The worst was that he was growing quite fond of her. Although she had many rough points, to which Legolas attributed mostly from being away from more civilized society (such as an elven one), he admired her as much as she did him.

Against all Fendowan culture she was polite and civil, and eagerly took a share of the work, rather than insisting to be waited on, as was her station. And she clearly was devoted to animals of the forest as he. Kizea leaned her back against the elf for warmth and shook the elf from his thoughts. Legolas's arms tightened around her waist. He suddenly realized she was shivering in the biting wind. Her heavy golden mask was lined with ice and frost in the bitter cold. She had wrapped her tiny hands within the veil of her tunic in an attempt to warm them. Such weather had no effect on the eternal elves, and if fact, Legolas liked snow. It was bright and shining, like the reflections of the sun on the water at midday, only a thousand times more so. But he knew that Kizea was growing too cold in the frozen mountain air, and she needed warmth. He had brought a blanket with him from Mirkwood, but never had cause to use it. But the elf knew that this would not be enough.

"Gandalf!" Legolas called at last, "We should make a fire and rest awhile! Three days and nights have we traveled, and the horses grow weary!"

"Nay!" called back Gandalf, "We must reach the other side before dusk."

A gust of icy wind blew into Kizea's mask and she placed her hands over her face. Legolas frowned and whispered to Neonean who stopped short. He lightly hopped off Neonean's back and surveyed the area for a good place to start a warming fire. Gandalf stopped and turned his horse.

"Legolas!" Gandalf called out, "Let Kizea ride with me awhile! Your horse will appreciate the lightened load I am sure. Come my dear. My staff shall warm you!"

Looking once at the elf, Kizea expertly stood up on Neonean's back and stepped calmly over to Gandalf's mount. She settled herself behind him, and he raised his staff in the air. Immediately she could feel a warming heat emanating from the long, sculptured stick and Legolas sensed her relief. He walked back to Neonean and lightly hopped up again. Kizea's hands were now out of her tunic, and spread out towards Gandalf's upraised staff. Droplets of water were coming off of her mask, and Legolas was satisfied of her comfort. To Neonean, who had grown on magical forest greenery and occasional lembas, traversing the wintry landscape was no difficulty. At the elf's urging, she pranced away, with Gandalf close behind, his staff yet raised against the cold northern air.