The Fallen

By Lady Amaryllis

In the dense forest nearly a mile away from Rivendell, Legolas sat crouched upon the branch of a large tree, peering down into the shadows. After a few moments, he jumped lightly down from his perch and landed soundlessly on both his feet. He stepped along the worn footpath with an arrow nocked in the bow of Galardriel and stared intently into the darkness that surrounded him. Stalking over to another tree, he knocked softly on the bark.

A black-feathered arrow shot out of the underbrush and struck him in the leg. He sucked his breath in sharply and cursed himself for being so careless, knowing very well that he could have both seen and heard that coming. He reached down and snapped the shaft off. It was better to leave the arrow in his leg than to tear it out, for the arrowhead was helping to stop bleeding.

Aragorn fell from the tree above him, landing just as softly. He dared not say anything.

Suddenly and without warning, Legolas let fly his arrow.

There was a soft, muffled thud some distance away from them. Aragorn took off his cloak and slung it outward to see if any more arrows would come flying out of the shadows, but none did. Legolas rushed forward silently to see what he'd struck with his partner following closely behind.

Aragorn pushed aside a fallen branch to reveal a black-cloaked figure lying on the ground. His black robe was still wrapped round his body, but the hood had been thrown back, and they saw that it was a young man with mouse-brown hair. Legolas' white-feathered arrow protruded from his chest. Though it was dark, Legolas could see, branded onto the side of his neck, the shape of an upturned crescent moon.

A large black horse stood a few meters away, tied to the trunk of a tree. Aragorn cut the rope the horse was tied with, and it walked away quietly through the trees.

"We'd best return now," he said, taking hold of Legolas' hand. "Your leg needs mending."

"Aa." Legolas let himself be led out of the forest, leaning heavily on his companion's shoulder.

"What, exactly, are we dealing with here?" Aragorn asked later that night, when they had reached the inn. He sat on a wooden stool in front of the fire, sipping at a mug filled to the brim with a hot, thick soup.

Luraen, a young Ranger out of the north, threw more fuel onto the fire and watched for a moment as flames leapt up and blackened the ends of the log.

"I don't know. The Black Riders and the like were supposed to have all perished when Sauron fell."

"Could it be a religious cult?" Legolas asked. The memory of the crescent on the young man's neck had come back to him.

"The one we found had the mark of a star on the left side of his neck," Luraen said. There was a silence.

"Where are the others?" Legolas asked.

"Haldrir and Eleslan are still running about in the woods. They should be back by tomorrow. Hopefully they've found something."

"Well, then," Aragorn said, drinking the last of his soup, "it's time to retire." He stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"It's best I'd get some rest as well." Legolas stood to go as well.

"Good night, both of you," Luraen said.

"Good night." And they stepped out.

Legolas pushed the door to their room open. "Have you any plans for tomorrow?" he asked.

Aragorn pulled off his boots and set them near the door. "I possess not the foresight to tell what lies ahead," he said as he climbed into the bed. "But whatever it is, we shall be rested and prepared to face it."

Having stripped down to his loose brown slacks, Legolas slid into bed and into Aragorn's arms. He savored the warmth and drew the cream-colored sheets up to his neck as he watched the fire in the hearth slowly die down to glowing embers.

With the moon shining full and bright above him, Eleslan stalked carefully along the banks of the Baranduin river, with Haldrir several feet in front.

From the opposite side of the river, a small figure clothed entirely in black stood watching them. He drew back his bowstring slowly and shot a black-feathered arrow across to the other bank.

"Haldrir!" Eleslan said. He grabbed hold of his friend's cloak and pulled him into the forest. The arrow whizzed past harmlessly and was lost in the undergrowth. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and he clutched the fabric of Haldrir's cloak so tightly that his knuckles were white. He released his grip.

Haldrir grabbed hold of the elf's hand and pulled him down into a kneeling position. "Watch the other bank," he said.

Eleslan whirled round and snatched his hand away. He drew his sword and shouted:

"Behind you!"

Another horseman, clothed in black towered dangerously above Haldrir, the head of his spear pressed against the back of the young man's neck. He drove the cold metal point into his spine and thrust it through to the other side with an audible crunch.

With a deft swing of his sword, Eleslan split the ebony shaft in two.

The rider drew his sword and brought the blunt end of it down on Eleslan's head.

His world went black and he remembered no more.

=End Prologue= (Part 1?)

§§*Amaryllis*§§

Author's notes: Haldrir, Luraen, and Eleslan are all my characters (Haldrir and Luraen are men, Eleslan is an elf). Otherwise, standard disclaimers apply. All the other people belong to Mr. Tolkien. This is my first shot at LOTR fiction, but I've been writing GW shounen ai for just over a year now and I'm unfamiliar with this fandom. Feedback is always requested, and flames will be ignored or laughed at for the most part…..but please be kind.