This is the final revision of this chapter as of 10/02
Author's Note -The account of Isildur, and the conversation between Gandalf and Frodo are from the book and the movie. I didn't write them.
Chapter 3 - Dark Dread
"Reviel ambenn, glingiel tallen, Lalaith pathra i gwelu. Smeagol, Smeagol, tithen galadh meldir Labaiel si a ennas.
Dae melethron, galenas thurin Er am ned i hwest. Smeagol, Smeagol, tithen galadh meldir, Si tol dad an enni."
{Flying upward, dangling feet, Laughter fills the air. Smeagol, Smeagol, little tree friend, Hopping here and there.
Shadow lover, leaf hidden Alone up in the breeze. Smeagol, Smeagol, little tree friend Now come down to me.}
The light voice that sang the song was beginning to sound exasperated. Lindir stood with his fair face turned upwards as he stared into the interlacing branches of Beleg Doron. Gollum had climbed up the tree earlier, making for the highest branches as he always did. He was now lost amidst the new sprung green leaves of April. Over the past months the small creature had become an agile climber, using his hands as well as his feet to grasp the branches.
"One of these days, Lindir, he won't come down," Tavor commented dryly from where he sat beneath the tree, throwing small pieces of grass at Brethil who was fletching arrows nearby. "Then what will you do?
Tanglinna was standing not far away with his back to them, arms folded over his chest.
"Then Lindir will have to climb the tree and fetch him," he said with a snort.
The young Elf grimaced slightly. He had thought the same thing, and the prospect of climbing the tree, and catching Smeagol was not pleasant. He feared that the small creature was a more agile climber than he was himself, and didn't want to be the one responsible for his escape.
When they had first begun to teach Smeagol to climb they had all been very amused by his pitiful attempts. Because he was determined he had persevered, despite the teasing and laughter. Soon he had been climbing easily and more quickly than the Elves could. He seemed to prefer the topmost branches of the tree, wanting to feel the air on his face. Always he faced west.
They had soon learned to let him climb only Beleg Doron since there were no other trees close by that he could jump to. He had lead them on quite a merry chase once, leaping from tree to tree, silent and grim as he ignored their calls for him to return. The Elves guarding him that night had nearly panicked, seeing him escaping so easily. Not only would the King be displeased, but also Mithrandir and the Dunadan. Finally they had managed to catch him, some of them mounting to the trees ahead of him. After that Smeagol had spent many days in the dungeons, pleading and moaning that he was sorry, that he did not mean to make the Elveses angry with him. He wouldn't try to leave the Elveses again, would he, my precious. So once again he was out in the air as Mithrandir wished it. Their vigilance had been increased after that, but even Wood Elves can become bored with such a task. Lindir was the only one that stood looking up into the tree now with a worried expression on his face. The young Elf sighed.
"Please, Smeagol. Come down. You have been up there for hours," he groaned, and then looked at Tavor. "What can he possibly be doing?"
"I am certain that I do not know," Tavor said, throwing one last clump of grass at Brethil and lying back to gaze at the stars visible through the branches.
"He is a strange one, isn't he," Brethil said quietly, brushing the grass from his hair. "Why does he always face west? Do you suppose that he lived there once?"
"I know not. At times his speech is so confusing that I can barely comprehend what he means. I had hoped that Mithrandir was correct in thinking that a cure could be gotten here for him, but even I begin to despair," Lindir sighed heavily, his eyes still searching the treetops for a glimpse of Smeagol.
"Have hope, Lindir," Brethil said brightly. "You should sing one of Legolas' Orc's songs. They are really nice songs, considering that he is. . .was an Orc," he finished quietly, his eyes returning to the feathers in his hand.
"Gar estel annan i elenath sila. Ind mor lothron garo le Gil galad ath sila godref. Arad o ninath no or, Estel na tol."
{Have hope as long as the stars shine. Though darkness may hold you A star's light will shine through. Days of tears will (soon) be over, Hope is coming.}
Brethil's pleasant voice filled the night air. The other Elves stilled, listening to the beautiful words written by an Orc.
"Where is Legolas?" Tavor asked, after the song died away.
"His father put him in charge of a group that went toward the northwest to investigate the possibility of Orcs gathering there again. It seems there has been some sort of activity," Brethil answered with a sigh. He glanced up at Tavor then, his eyes filled with worry. The northwestern edge of Mirkwood was where Legolas had been captured so many years before. Thranduil had the caves beneath Emyn Mor Esgal searched, but the Orcs seemed to have vanished. The Elves feared they had only moved deeper beneath the hills, but hadn't wanted to venture further into the darkness.
Tanglinna turned to look at them, knowing where their thoughts lay.
"Any Orcs they find will be no match for the Prince," he said in a sharp voice, his grey eyes flashing. He knew that Legolas had asked to go. If there were Orcs gathering there once more, the Prince would know how to handle the situation. "He will be fine," the Master Archer said sternly.
Tanglinna had been one of the Elves to accompany Dunadan on that night when the Orc had helped them rescue Legolas. He would never forget the feeling of anger and hatred that had surged through him at the sight of Legolas being drug from the caves by the captain of the Orcs. It had taken all his strength of will to stay where he was and not rush forth with a cry to cut the vile beast down where he stood. "The Prince will be back before we are, since Lindir seems unable to get Smeagol from the tree," he finished, turning away once more, his eyes unreadable.
"Yrch!" Lindir wrinkled his nose. "I hope there aren't any! As Master Tanglinna said we are having enough trouble with Smeagol," he finished, raising his voice, calling loudly into the tree.
In the branches overhead Gollum had listened to the song sung by the Elf below him. The words spoke to him, even though he couldn't discern their meaning. He recalled a time long ago, a time of family and friends. A time before the precious had come into his life and taken it all away.
"My precious," he moaned, tears long thought vanished burning in his eyes. "oh, what are we to do? Deagol," he whispered the name not spoken in so long. "Deagol." His soul burned with only one pleasure now. . .the one pleasure that was his deepest pain. "Precious."
"The year 3434 of the Second Age. Here follows an account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the ring of power. . ."
The parchment had been dusty and crumbling, the delicate writing faded slightly with age. To Gandalf it seemed that the words were written in fire.
"All that will follow in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I shall risk no harm to this thing: of all the works of Sauron the only fair. It is precious to me. . ."
My precious. . .
The Wizard had closed his blue eyes. Could it be? Fear hammered through him, his heart racing.
"The markings on the band begin to fade. The writing at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared, a secret now that only fire can tell."
Fire.
He had hurriedly jumbled the papers together, then grabbing his hat and staff he had run from the library of Gondor. He had to get to the Shire at once! People had turned to stare at the strange sight of the old man rushing down the stone corridors, mumbling to himself.
Now at Bag End he was searching desperately for it. The carelessly tossed papers flew about the room in the evening breeze. Where was it?! There was a noise in the entrance hall and the Istari felt a stab of fear. Could they be here so quickly? Surely not. But it was no Nazgul that stood there, only Frodo, who glanced about in confusion at the open window, and the things strewn about on the floor. Gandalf's hand reached out of the shadows and grasped the Hobbit's shoulder, startling him.
"Is it secret? Is it safe?"
Frodo dug the ring from a chest, still enclosed in the envelope that Gandalf had sealed it in so long ago. The Wizard threw the envelope into the fire on the hearth, watching the paper burn away, the red wax running like blood.
"What are you doing?" Frodo gasped, eyes wide.
I shall risk no harm to this thing. . .
Using a pair of tongs, Gandalf retrieved the golden band from the ashes and flame. He stared at it in awe and fear. Such a harmless looking thing. He moved it toward the Hobbit.
"Hold out your hand, Frodo," he said quietly.
Frodo's blue eyes moved to him in wonder.
"It is quite cool." It would take more than a mere Hobbit fire to make this Ring burn with heat.
The ring dropped into Frodo's outstretched hand. He flinched slightly, but then stared at it. It was cool to the touch as the Wizard had said.
Gandalf turned away, his heart racing. Now was the moment for truths to be revealed.
"What can you see?" he asked slowly, his eyes on the fire once more. "Can you see anything?"
Frodo held the ring in his fingertips and examined it. What was he looking for? He shrugged slightly.
"Nothing," he said. "There's nothing."
Gandalf's shoulders slumped with relief, a smile touching his lips. The burden he had been carrying for so long lifted. He had been mistaken after all. He felt such release that he felt quite young and almost carefree.
"Wait," Frodo breathed, his brows knitting. "There are markings. It's some form of Elvish. I can't read it."
The old man's breath fled his lungs. He aged a thousand years in those few seconds.
"There are few who can," he said quietly, not wishing for Frodo to see how alarmed he was. "The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."
"Mordor?!" Frodo looked at the ring in his hand in horror, the fiery letters glowing on his face. How could Bilbo's ring bear words of Mordor on it?
"In the common tongue it says One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them. It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore:
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."
Gandalf paused to draw a deep, steadying breath.
"This is the Master Ring," he said, "the One Ring to rule them all."
On that night a young Hobbit trembled in fear and dread at what destiny would lay upon him.
Legolas and the five other Elves had traveled quickly, moving with all stealth and speed. A hunting party reported that they had found tracks in the northwest woods, Orc tracks. As they ran Legolas tried not to think of what lay in the direction they were going, but those low dark hills would not leave his troubled thoughts. He did not like the fact that he still felt a measure of dread whenever he came into this part of the forest. It was something that he needed to conquer. He had volunteered for just this reason. Nightmares occasionally troubled his slumber, dark and terrifying dreams of things that had happened, and things that had not. Lately his dreams had been disturbed by images of Egla Ash's blue eyes hardened with cruelty as he raised a black arrow to his bow.
I morn gothfeng ned gurth. {The black arrow of death}
Legolas tried to shake the feeling of foreboding that seemed to permeate the very air. His heart pounded in his chest as they ran silently through the forest, bows held in their hands, ready at a moment's notice.
"Legolas!" Eithel called to him from where he knelt several feet ahead of them. He had been sent to scout ahead, and now he glanced up at his prince, the handsome face grim as he pointed to the trampled ground. "Yrch!' he spat, blue eyes filled with disgust beneath his spill of black hair.
Legolas stared down at the unmistakable marks in the dirt. It was indeed Orc tracks.
"It looks to be only a small party. Perhaps six or seven," Eithel continued, rising in a fluid movement to stand at Legolas' side. "Shall we hunt them?"
The Prince of Mirkwood stared off into the dark trees. The tracks came from the northwest and seemed to halt here. It appeared that they came no further, but had turned about and backtracked. Why? His senses were straining for any small noise, movement, or feeling that the Orcs lingered nearby, but there was nothing. Was it a trap of some sort or had they changed their minds? He frowned, hoping that his fear didn't show as his eyes scanned the trees once more, his fingers tightening about the smooth wood of his bow.
A slight tinkling noise overhead suddenly drew his attention as a breeze slipped between the trees stirring leaves in its wake. Hanging in the branches above him was a small pouch, its ties decorated with dull bits of metal. It was these that made the sound he had heard.
"Keep watch," he told the others, handing his bow to Mithereg, and leaping lightly into the tree.
The pouch was of brown leather, showing no signs or stains of wear. This told him that it hadn't been hanging here very long. He smiled, thinking himself foolish for letting his dark thoughts get the better of him. This was probably just a trysting place for lovers, and they left notes here for one another. If it were he would replace the note and the bag and leave it for the intended.
But as he upended the bag, another thought crept into his mind. He and Egla Ash had left notes for one another in this manner. Could it be? His fingers fumbled in their haste as they tangled in the long ties. He finally wrested it open, hearing the quiet, amused comments of his fellows as they watched his antics. Inside was a rolled piece of paper. He pulled it out and smoothed it open. The Tengwar letters were somewhat crudely formed, as a child just learning the skill of pen and ink might make. He slowly read the Elvish words.
"Duath danna erin le, Legolas Elvellon. Daw na o an gar le an pan lu. I elenath al-ath sila erin le. I morn gothfeng ned gurth ath maeg le. Lothron le gar daer naeg le gwanna na i cam ned mellon."
{Darkness fall on you, Legolas Friend.
Night is about to hold you for all time. The stars will not shine on you. The black arrow of death will pierce you. May you have great pain as you die at the hands of a friend}
The Elf prince's hands trembled, and he nearly dropped the paper from fingers gone numb. There was no signature. None was needed. He knew who had written it.
"Legolas? What does it say?" Mithereg called, gazing up at him.
"It isn't a love note from Lindir to Meneliell, is it?" Limfalas laughed, winking at Rochondu.
Slowly Legolas re-rolled the paper, replacing it in the pouch, which disappeared into his tunic.
"It is nothing," he managed, thought his throat was dry, and he felt ill. He dropped to the ground avoiding their eyes.
"Shall we follow the tracks, Legolas?" Eithel asked, glaring at Limfalas who was murmuring that perhaps the prince had taken a lover that they knew nothing of.
"Nay, not tonight. They have gone. . .for now." Legolas took his bow back, his eyes touching Mithereg's for a brief moment. "We will go back." He turned then and sprinted swiftly into the trees.
The others glanced at one another then followed him, not speaking.
I morn gothfeng ned gurth ath maeg le. {The black arrow of death will pierce you.}
So Egla Ash lived. . .but he had been changed. Sorrow tore at Legolas' heart as he ran ahead of the others. This had been his deepest unspoken fear, and now he knew it had come to pass. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the northwest.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am sorry that I failed you when you needed me."
The others didn't catch the words he spoke and they would not have understood them if they had. They merely quickened their pace.
Morn gothfeng ned gurth. {The black arrow of death}
He hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, imaging an arrow, black as night, striking him between the shoulder blades as he ran.
"I am sorry."
His eyes traveled to the stars, once so beloved of Egla Ash, that twinkled between the leaves overhead. Clouds were gathering in the sky, covering the stars with darkness.
Daw na o an gar le an pan lu. I elenath al-ath sila erin le.
{Night is about to hold you for all time. The stars will not shine on you.}
He closed his eyes as cold fear grasped his heart. One hand raised to where the pouch rested against his chest, his footsteps faltering slightly.
Lothron le gar daer naeg le gwanna na i cam ned mellon.
{May you have great pain as you die at the hands of a friend.}
Response to Reviewers
AJ Matthews - I don't believe it! You read my fiction! I just about fainted when I saw your name. Wow!!! I don't know how you find time to review. Thank you (gracious bow)! Thank you! JastaElf - As always thank you so much! I'm glad that you are loving it! I'm honored that you would like to illustrate this story. That's too cool! UV - I can and I did. As for redeeming him, we'll see. Thanks for reviewing! long under tree - Heart of Darkness was indeed a book. But it is a good title and fitting. And yes, our fics are almost coinciding. So when are you putting another chapter up? Hmmm?
Lithia - Human nature is a scary thing, isn't it. (evil laughter) Thanks as always for reviewing.
Karina - Yes, it is starting to get creepy at this point! BOGUS!
PuterPatty - I know you won't read this, but I am writing it anyway. Thank you for reviewing this story. Yes, indeed! We love for our old fics to be "discovered". You were right that "I shall risk no harm to this thing" did speak of the ring already having an impact on Frodo. :) I am glad you liked Lindir and Brethil . . . nuff said. . . :(
Author's Note -The account of Isildur, and the conversation between Gandalf and Frodo are from the book and the movie. I didn't write them.
Chapter 3 - Dark Dread
"Reviel ambenn, glingiel tallen, Lalaith pathra i gwelu. Smeagol, Smeagol, tithen galadh meldir Labaiel si a ennas.
Dae melethron, galenas thurin Er am ned i hwest. Smeagol, Smeagol, tithen galadh meldir, Si tol dad an enni."
{Flying upward, dangling feet, Laughter fills the air. Smeagol, Smeagol, little tree friend, Hopping here and there.
Shadow lover, leaf hidden Alone up in the breeze. Smeagol, Smeagol, little tree friend Now come down to me.}
The light voice that sang the song was beginning to sound exasperated. Lindir stood with his fair face turned upwards as he stared into the interlacing branches of Beleg Doron. Gollum had climbed up the tree earlier, making for the highest branches as he always did. He was now lost amidst the new sprung green leaves of April. Over the past months the small creature had become an agile climber, using his hands as well as his feet to grasp the branches.
"One of these days, Lindir, he won't come down," Tavor commented dryly from where he sat beneath the tree, throwing small pieces of grass at Brethil who was fletching arrows nearby. "Then what will you do?
Tanglinna was standing not far away with his back to them, arms folded over his chest.
"Then Lindir will have to climb the tree and fetch him," he said with a snort.
The young Elf grimaced slightly. He had thought the same thing, and the prospect of climbing the tree, and catching Smeagol was not pleasant. He feared that the small creature was a more agile climber than he was himself, and didn't want to be the one responsible for his escape.
When they had first begun to teach Smeagol to climb they had all been very amused by his pitiful attempts. Because he was determined he had persevered, despite the teasing and laughter. Soon he had been climbing easily and more quickly than the Elves could. He seemed to prefer the topmost branches of the tree, wanting to feel the air on his face. Always he faced west.
They had soon learned to let him climb only Beleg Doron since there were no other trees close by that he could jump to. He had lead them on quite a merry chase once, leaping from tree to tree, silent and grim as he ignored their calls for him to return. The Elves guarding him that night had nearly panicked, seeing him escaping so easily. Not only would the King be displeased, but also Mithrandir and the Dunadan. Finally they had managed to catch him, some of them mounting to the trees ahead of him. After that Smeagol had spent many days in the dungeons, pleading and moaning that he was sorry, that he did not mean to make the Elveses angry with him. He wouldn't try to leave the Elveses again, would he, my precious. So once again he was out in the air as Mithrandir wished it. Their vigilance had been increased after that, but even Wood Elves can become bored with such a task. Lindir was the only one that stood looking up into the tree now with a worried expression on his face. The young Elf sighed.
"Please, Smeagol. Come down. You have been up there for hours," he groaned, and then looked at Tavor. "What can he possibly be doing?"
"I am certain that I do not know," Tavor said, throwing one last clump of grass at Brethil and lying back to gaze at the stars visible through the branches.
"He is a strange one, isn't he," Brethil said quietly, brushing the grass from his hair. "Why does he always face west? Do you suppose that he lived there once?"
"I know not. At times his speech is so confusing that I can barely comprehend what he means. I had hoped that Mithrandir was correct in thinking that a cure could be gotten here for him, but even I begin to despair," Lindir sighed heavily, his eyes still searching the treetops for a glimpse of Smeagol.
"Have hope, Lindir," Brethil said brightly. "You should sing one of Legolas' Orc's songs. They are really nice songs, considering that he is. . .was an Orc," he finished quietly, his eyes returning to the feathers in his hand.
"Gar estel annan i elenath sila. Ind mor lothron garo le Gil galad ath sila godref. Arad o ninath no or, Estel na tol."
{Have hope as long as the stars shine. Though darkness may hold you A star's light will shine through. Days of tears will (soon) be over, Hope is coming.}
Brethil's pleasant voice filled the night air. The other Elves stilled, listening to the beautiful words written by an Orc.
"Where is Legolas?" Tavor asked, after the song died away.
"His father put him in charge of a group that went toward the northwest to investigate the possibility of Orcs gathering there again. It seems there has been some sort of activity," Brethil answered with a sigh. He glanced up at Tavor then, his eyes filled with worry. The northwestern edge of Mirkwood was where Legolas had been captured so many years before. Thranduil had the caves beneath Emyn Mor Esgal searched, but the Orcs seemed to have vanished. The Elves feared they had only moved deeper beneath the hills, but hadn't wanted to venture further into the darkness.
Tanglinna turned to look at them, knowing where their thoughts lay.
"Any Orcs they find will be no match for the Prince," he said in a sharp voice, his grey eyes flashing. He knew that Legolas had asked to go. If there were Orcs gathering there once more, the Prince would know how to handle the situation. "He will be fine," the Master Archer said sternly.
Tanglinna had been one of the Elves to accompany Dunadan on that night when the Orc had helped them rescue Legolas. He would never forget the feeling of anger and hatred that had surged through him at the sight of Legolas being drug from the caves by the captain of the Orcs. It had taken all his strength of will to stay where he was and not rush forth with a cry to cut the vile beast down where he stood. "The Prince will be back before we are, since Lindir seems unable to get Smeagol from the tree," he finished, turning away once more, his eyes unreadable.
"Yrch!" Lindir wrinkled his nose. "I hope there aren't any! As Master Tanglinna said we are having enough trouble with Smeagol," he finished, raising his voice, calling loudly into the tree.
In the branches overhead Gollum had listened to the song sung by the Elf below him. The words spoke to him, even though he couldn't discern their meaning. He recalled a time long ago, a time of family and friends. A time before the precious had come into his life and taken it all away.
"My precious," he moaned, tears long thought vanished burning in his eyes. "oh, what are we to do? Deagol," he whispered the name not spoken in so long. "Deagol." His soul burned with only one pleasure now. . .the one pleasure that was his deepest pain. "Precious."
"The year 3434 of the Second Age. Here follows an account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the ring of power. . ."
The parchment had been dusty and crumbling, the delicate writing faded slightly with age. To Gandalf it seemed that the words were written in fire.
"All that will follow in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I shall risk no harm to this thing: of all the works of Sauron the only fair. It is precious to me. . ."
My precious. . .
The Wizard had closed his blue eyes. Could it be? Fear hammered through him, his heart racing.
"The markings on the band begin to fade. The writing at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared, a secret now that only fire can tell."
Fire.
He had hurriedly jumbled the papers together, then grabbing his hat and staff he had run from the library of Gondor. He had to get to the Shire at once! People had turned to stare at the strange sight of the old man rushing down the stone corridors, mumbling to himself.
Now at Bag End he was searching desperately for it. The carelessly tossed papers flew about the room in the evening breeze. Where was it?! There was a noise in the entrance hall and the Istari felt a stab of fear. Could they be here so quickly? Surely not. But it was no Nazgul that stood there, only Frodo, who glanced about in confusion at the open window, and the things strewn about on the floor. Gandalf's hand reached out of the shadows and grasped the Hobbit's shoulder, startling him.
"Is it secret? Is it safe?"
Frodo dug the ring from a chest, still enclosed in the envelope that Gandalf had sealed it in so long ago. The Wizard threw the envelope into the fire on the hearth, watching the paper burn away, the red wax running like blood.
"What are you doing?" Frodo gasped, eyes wide.
I shall risk no harm to this thing. . .
Using a pair of tongs, Gandalf retrieved the golden band from the ashes and flame. He stared at it in awe and fear. Such a harmless looking thing. He moved it toward the Hobbit.
"Hold out your hand, Frodo," he said quietly.
Frodo's blue eyes moved to him in wonder.
"It is quite cool." It would take more than a mere Hobbit fire to make this Ring burn with heat.
The ring dropped into Frodo's outstretched hand. He flinched slightly, but then stared at it. It was cool to the touch as the Wizard had said.
Gandalf turned away, his heart racing. Now was the moment for truths to be revealed.
"What can you see?" he asked slowly, his eyes on the fire once more. "Can you see anything?"
Frodo held the ring in his fingertips and examined it. What was he looking for? He shrugged slightly.
"Nothing," he said. "There's nothing."
Gandalf's shoulders slumped with relief, a smile touching his lips. The burden he had been carrying for so long lifted. He had been mistaken after all. He felt such release that he felt quite young and almost carefree.
"Wait," Frodo breathed, his brows knitting. "There are markings. It's some form of Elvish. I can't read it."
The old man's breath fled his lungs. He aged a thousand years in those few seconds.
"There are few who can," he said quietly, not wishing for Frodo to see how alarmed he was. "The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."
"Mordor?!" Frodo looked at the ring in his hand in horror, the fiery letters glowing on his face. How could Bilbo's ring bear words of Mordor on it?
"In the common tongue it says One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them. It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore:
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."
Gandalf paused to draw a deep, steadying breath.
"This is the Master Ring," he said, "the One Ring to rule them all."
On that night a young Hobbit trembled in fear and dread at what destiny would lay upon him.
Legolas and the five other Elves had traveled quickly, moving with all stealth and speed. A hunting party reported that they had found tracks in the northwest woods, Orc tracks. As they ran Legolas tried not to think of what lay in the direction they were going, but those low dark hills would not leave his troubled thoughts. He did not like the fact that he still felt a measure of dread whenever he came into this part of the forest. It was something that he needed to conquer. He had volunteered for just this reason. Nightmares occasionally troubled his slumber, dark and terrifying dreams of things that had happened, and things that had not. Lately his dreams had been disturbed by images of Egla Ash's blue eyes hardened with cruelty as he raised a black arrow to his bow.
I morn gothfeng ned gurth. {The black arrow of death}
Legolas tried to shake the feeling of foreboding that seemed to permeate the very air. His heart pounded in his chest as they ran silently through the forest, bows held in their hands, ready at a moment's notice.
"Legolas!" Eithel called to him from where he knelt several feet ahead of them. He had been sent to scout ahead, and now he glanced up at his prince, the handsome face grim as he pointed to the trampled ground. "Yrch!' he spat, blue eyes filled with disgust beneath his spill of black hair.
Legolas stared down at the unmistakable marks in the dirt. It was indeed Orc tracks.
"It looks to be only a small party. Perhaps six or seven," Eithel continued, rising in a fluid movement to stand at Legolas' side. "Shall we hunt them?"
The Prince of Mirkwood stared off into the dark trees. The tracks came from the northwest and seemed to halt here. It appeared that they came no further, but had turned about and backtracked. Why? His senses were straining for any small noise, movement, or feeling that the Orcs lingered nearby, but there was nothing. Was it a trap of some sort or had they changed their minds? He frowned, hoping that his fear didn't show as his eyes scanned the trees once more, his fingers tightening about the smooth wood of his bow.
A slight tinkling noise overhead suddenly drew his attention as a breeze slipped between the trees stirring leaves in its wake. Hanging in the branches above him was a small pouch, its ties decorated with dull bits of metal. It was these that made the sound he had heard.
"Keep watch," he told the others, handing his bow to Mithereg, and leaping lightly into the tree.
The pouch was of brown leather, showing no signs or stains of wear. This told him that it hadn't been hanging here very long. He smiled, thinking himself foolish for letting his dark thoughts get the better of him. This was probably just a trysting place for lovers, and they left notes here for one another. If it were he would replace the note and the bag and leave it for the intended.
But as he upended the bag, another thought crept into his mind. He and Egla Ash had left notes for one another in this manner. Could it be? His fingers fumbled in their haste as they tangled in the long ties. He finally wrested it open, hearing the quiet, amused comments of his fellows as they watched his antics. Inside was a rolled piece of paper. He pulled it out and smoothed it open. The Tengwar letters were somewhat crudely formed, as a child just learning the skill of pen and ink might make. He slowly read the Elvish words.
"Duath danna erin le, Legolas Elvellon. Daw na o an gar le an pan lu. I elenath al-ath sila erin le. I morn gothfeng ned gurth ath maeg le. Lothron le gar daer naeg le gwanna na i cam ned mellon."
{Darkness fall on you, Legolas Friend.
Night is about to hold you for all time. The stars will not shine on you. The black arrow of death will pierce you. May you have great pain as you die at the hands of a friend}
The Elf prince's hands trembled, and he nearly dropped the paper from fingers gone numb. There was no signature. None was needed. He knew who had written it.
"Legolas? What does it say?" Mithereg called, gazing up at him.
"It isn't a love note from Lindir to Meneliell, is it?" Limfalas laughed, winking at Rochondu.
Slowly Legolas re-rolled the paper, replacing it in the pouch, which disappeared into his tunic.
"It is nothing," he managed, thought his throat was dry, and he felt ill. He dropped to the ground avoiding their eyes.
"Shall we follow the tracks, Legolas?" Eithel asked, glaring at Limfalas who was murmuring that perhaps the prince had taken a lover that they knew nothing of.
"Nay, not tonight. They have gone. . .for now." Legolas took his bow back, his eyes touching Mithereg's for a brief moment. "We will go back." He turned then and sprinted swiftly into the trees.
The others glanced at one another then followed him, not speaking.
I morn gothfeng ned gurth ath maeg le. {The black arrow of death will pierce you.}
So Egla Ash lived. . .but he had been changed. Sorrow tore at Legolas' heart as he ran ahead of the others. This had been his deepest unspoken fear, and now he knew it had come to pass. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the northwest.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am sorry that I failed you when you needed me."
The others didn't catch the words he spoke and they would not have understood them if they had. They merely quickened their pace.
Morn gothfeng ned gurth. {The black arrow of death}
He hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, imaging an arrow, black as night, striking him between the shoulder blades as he ran.
"I am sorry."
His eyes traveled to the stars, once so beloved of Egla Ash, that twinkled between the leaves overhead. Clouds were gathering in the sky, covering the stars with darkness.
Daw na o an gar le an pan lu. I elenath al-ath sila erin le.
{Night is about to hold you for all time. The stars will not shine on you.}
He closed his eyes as cold fear grasped his heart. One hand raised to where the pouch rested against his chest, his footsteps faltering slightly.
Lothron le gar daer naeg le gwanna na i cam ned mellon.
{May you have great pain as you die at the hands of a friend.}
Response to Reviewers
AJ Matthews - I don't believe it! You read my fiction! I just about fainted when I saw your name. Wow!!! I don't know how you find time to review. Thank you (gracious bow)! Thank you! JastaElf - As always thank you so much! I'm glad that you are loving it! I'm honored that you would like to illustrate this story. That's too cool! UV - I can and I did. As for redeeming him, we'll see. Thanks for reviewing! long under tree - Heart of Darkness was indeed a book. But it is a good title and fitting. And yes, our fics are almost coinciding. So when are you putting another chapter up? Hmmm?
Lithia - Human nature is a scary thing, isn't it. (evil laughter) Thanks as always for reviewing.
Karina - Yes, it is starting to get creepy at this point! BOGUS!
PuterPatty - I know you won't read this, but I am writing it anyway. Thank you for reviewing this story. Yes, indeed! We love for our old fics to be "discovered". You were right that "I shall risk no harm to this thing" did speak of the ring already having an impact on Frodo. :) I am glad you liked Lindir and Brethil . . . nuff said. . . :(