Two Towers, the Attack on Helm's Deep…
In a not-so-correct time…
The battle raged on…
Legolas stabbed, spun, dodged, and stabbed again, killing orc upon orc. His arms were aching, for the battle was long and weary. Arrows were of no use now, as evil creatures swarmed everywhere.
A clunky sword fell, and he narrowly dodged it. The plank-like blade swung to the side, hitting the elf with the flat. Legolas slashed down, and caught the owner in the throat.
He had only a few seconds to dive out of the way of an orcish arrow, and it grazed his shoulder. After spinning, catching the black arrow in the air, and firing it quickly back at the archer, the elven prince turned to the surrounding horde.
And the battle became more deadly than he ever imagined…
Aragorn was caught in mortal combat with an Uruk-Hai warrior, one who knew how to handle a human sword. With a little help from Gimli, however, the creature was killed.
The heir of Gondor surveyed the battle with the dwarf at his side.
"I fear the worst, Master Dwarf," He shot an arrow at an orc down below.
"Why? We are winning!" He yelled loudly and threw a throwing axe at an orc which had made it onto the battlements of the castle keep.
"I sense great evil, like a spell is being cast and we know nothing of its presence," Aragorn emptied his quiver of arrows, fighting, saving lives, and searching for hiss friends In the mob below them.
Legolas fought in the far corner. There was a green-black aura that drew a large circle about him, with a thin stream of green that trailed over the far wall, as if it were a lifeline.
Aragorn rubbed his eyes. There had been a small flash as an orc—no, a Rohorrim—was thrown into the circle. The elf inside quickly killed him.
"Gimli! Legolas just killed one of our own men!" Aragorn said in confusion.
"What?" As they watched, the green circle began to fade, and the mob of warriors swallowed up the elf once again, "What sort of devilry is this?"
"Look!" Aragorn spotted a black figure fighting his way towards the battlement steps that led to where he and Gimli were standing. The figure was encased totally in black, and red eyes seemed to glow at them.
"An arrow, Gimli!" Aragorn demanded. The dwarf dropped a half-empty quiver in his hand. Aragorn nocked n arrow quickly, intending to shoot the quickly approaching person.
"Stop!" He cried, holding up a hand, "Aragorn, what are you doing?"
It sounded like Legolas.
"Who are you?" The heir of Gondor demanded as Gimli readied his axe.
"You do not recognize me?"
No sooner had those words left the being's mouth, than he reached back and nocked a deadly missile onto the string of his bow. It was aimed at him.
Aragorn shot first, but the person managed to let off his shot as well.
There was a shrill shrieking as a statuette tumbled off the wall behind Aragorn, shattering into little pieces. It was carved into the form of a creature known only to the Istari and storytellers.
An Illusionist.
Things that had not been were now revealed. Some orcs became Rohorrim, while dead bodies ceased to exist. Half of the swarming, killing mob disappeared, leaving many of the warriors of Rohan confused, but alive.
Aragorn turned back to the figure in black.
He had raised his hand to stop the arrow, but it had done nothing to save his life.
A small piece of the statuette rolled over to the man as he trembled on his feet, then collapsed to his knees. The black clothing, the evil red eyes…all began to shimmer out of existence.
What they left was a sight Aragorn was horrified to see…
Gimli cried out in anger as the illusion around the figure disappeared.
Legolas clutched at the arrow that was now lodged in his neck. Elven blood poured in torrents down his fair neck, staining his clothing.
Aragorn was the first to his friend's side.
His hands moved to the injury, but Legolas batted them away.
"You must stay on your guard," He said quietly, agony etched on his features and in his eyes, "The battle is not over…"
"Oh, stars! Legolas, I am so sorry!" Aragorn's words fell on fading ears. Legolas leaned his head against the stone wall.
"Get that arrow out! Heal him!" Gimli demanded. He would not allow this particular elf to die. Never. He would rather die…
"It is too late…" Legolas' eyes widened, "Aragorn, behind you!"
The elf leapt to his feet and shoved the human aside. Four, then five arrows, all black, thudded hollowly in his chest, throwing blood across the stone floor. Gimli stared in horror as the elf stood, seemingly motionless in the air.
Rohorrim attacked the orc archers, cutting them down where they stood.
The elf just stood there, blood pooling on the stone ground.
Aragorn wrapped his arms under his shoulders, just in time to catch him before he fell.
There was so much blood…
It was everywhere, sticky and red. The black arrow shafts protruded from Legolas' chest, evil and demonic.
"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe…
The elf's grip on Aragorn's hand seemed to be fading.
"No!" Aragorn shook his head vehemently, "I will not loose another of the Fellowship! Boromir I failed, but I cannot lose another of my friends!"
The light in his friend's eyes began to fade and the pool of blood began to overflow the edge of the battlement.
Théoden ran up to them, his most trusted men right behind him. His elderly face fell in horror and in pain when he saw the slowly dying body of the elf lying on the cold stone ledge.
Legolas laid back, his face calm, as if looking to the sky for help, "I just need to rest…"
His eyes closed slowly, laboriously. Aragorn looked at Gimli, hope in his eyes, but sorrow in his face. They were too close to loosing another of their friends too soon.
"Get my best healers here! Now!" Théoden cried loudly.
Aragorn touched the elf's throat, having to reach past his own arrow to do it. The elf was still alive, but barely. Blood was slowing as Aragorn waited for the healers to arrive…
"There is nothing more that I can do…"
The healer's words rang in Gimli's ears.
"Too much blood has been lost…He will die soon…"
Legolas lay in the fortress' sick room on a straw pallet. The blood on his bandage stayed red, despite the best efforts of the healers. But he had not died yet. His breathing and blood-pulse were slow, but he was still alive. The arrows had been removed…
The dwarf sat back against the stone ramparts. Aragorn was with Legolas and the healers, trying frantically to staunch the bleeding. Night was fast approaching…
An exhausted Aragorn collapsed beside him.
"There is nothing we could do," Blood stained his hands, "He lies in his last hours of life now."
Gimli looked over the battlements of Helm's Deep, praying for his friend's admittance to the Halls of Mandos, the place where the valiant and brave elven souls traveled to when not to Valinor.
For once, the backbone of this land held no comfort for him…
Legolas watched the dust mites float gently in the fading light of the sun. He could have sworn that he saw his father's face in the drifting particles.
Is this what it is like to feel mortal?
He felt comfort in the sunset. His heart's cry flew on the wings of hope and prayer, to the setting sun.
* * * * *
Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise, and her hand moved to the silver pitcher she had just replaced. In a moment of recovery and intense curiosity, she gazed back into the large mirror-like sheen of water.
It took a few minutes for the water to shiver, and then open, like a flower in bloom. The horrors of a battle opened before her.
She saw blood…too much blood…
One of her own was dying…
* * * * *
Thranduil stumbled in his stride, his head pounding with an unheard cry. He heard his son's voice, felt his son's pain…
"Lord Thranduil!" An aide jumped to his side, "Shall I call a healer?"
"No, it—it is my son…" The elven king's face paled deeply, "Prince Legolas is dying…"
The aide's face went white as he looked to the others standing around them. They were all stunned by the king's revelation, as they were all friends with the prince. How could Legolas be dying?
"I must rest…" Thranduil straightened as the beginnings of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes…
* * * * *
The lord of Rivendell stood in his personal quarters, watching the sun set. He had heard the heart-cry, and it had torn him inside.
It had been a long time since he had heard a heart-cry so earnest, so sad… He knew whose body was dying as well, for the Ring of Power that he wore amplified the emotions.
Elrond turned away from the once-comforting light and watched the colors fade across the far wall of his room. He knew that the Halls of Mandos were not yet ready for the son of Thranduil, nor would they ever harbor the elven prince's soul…
Legolas' soul would never find rest if he died here…
This was not meant to happen, Elrond closed his eyes, I know, he is not meant to die. If he does…I know not what path time will take. I fear for his spirit…
* * * * *
The large wooden doors stood before him, the golden engravings telling the stories of all that had entered those walls.
Legolas was stiff, unable to move. The arrow wounds in his neck and chest still bled, but the pain was gone. His eyes were blank, as he saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing…
The light slowly began to creep back into his eyes as he realized slowly that he could feel…
"Where am I?"
"You stand at the doors to the Halls of Mandos, but you shall find no rest here, son of Thranduil," An elven woman appeared in the white mist behind him, "Your soul has no place among us."
"The Halls of Mandos…" Legolas was stunned, "What must I do? Wander the land of Middle-earth for the rest of Time?"
The woman did not answer right away. She seemed troubled.
"It was not meant to end this way," Her voice wavered, "Time was altered by an evil force that is beyond any mortal control. If you wish to save your own life and those of your friends, Laegolas, you must stop the alteration of your world."
Legolas was slightly surprised when she used the Sindarin version of his name, as he was meant to be called. Living among the Silvian Elves changed more than was thought…
In an instant, he stood in the room that he had been watching the sunset from. The rays were still peeking over the mountains…
"No!" A growling cry made him turn. He started when he saw his own body lying motionless on the pallet. Gimli was bending over him, an anguished cry in his throat, "By Durin's soul!"
Aragorn was slumped against the wall, his face in his hands. He was silent as Gimli growled and cursed.
"He cannot die!" The dwarf was angry, but saddened, "Must we lose another of the Fellowship? Must the Three Hunters be split apart as well? How could this have happened?"
Legolas looked at his own face. It was pale, and cold. There was no sign of the life that had animated it so shortly before. There was a residual mark of elven handsomeness, but soon, that would be lost as well.
"I heard his last breath," Aragorn whispered, his voice tortured, "I…I was here when he did, friend dwarf…and it chilled me to the bone."
"And there was nothing any of us could do to save him?" Gimli growled.
"Nothing," The human warrior slumped even further down the wall, "He's gone to the Halls of Mandos, for I know that he was a brave and valiant elf. He deserves a place in the halls of the great beings of old."
But I am not there! I wander! Legolas cried out, reaching a ghostly hand towards his friend. His hand slid through flesh, I wander…cold…there is a foul chill here…
He could not survive like this. Wandering forever, knowing not what to do? This was torturous hell, no less…
The sun's rays began to disappear.
"Let us leave his body," Aragorn said, "We shall send a messenger to his father." Gimli took one look back at his elven friend's stone cold face and turned away, tortured by the thought of there being an immortal life there once before.
The sun's rays disappeared, leaving the ghostly Legolas to stand, lost and alone, in his own death-room. He never noticed the moon rise, nor did he see the faint flicker of light on his skin…
Throughout the night, he walked the room, gazing out the window, wishing that his father was there. The moon was near setting when the door's lock squeaked, allowing the door to be pushed inward.
A small man in black crept in, muttering to himself in the horrid black tongue of Mordor. He shut the door behind him, still muttering.
"Who are you!" Legolas demanded. He was as stunned as the little man, as his voice was fully alive.
The little man cried out in fear, dropping the small bag he had been carrying.
"A Shade!" He screamed, pointing at him. Finally Legolas noticed the soft blue glow that seemed to surround his body. He also found that he spoke, not in Westron, but in Sindarin, as few knew it.
"What are you doing here!" Legolas demanded, "Speak!"
"I'm going to die…" The little man whimpered, his body quaking. Legolas moved forward to catch him as he tripped on his own feet.
Suddenly, he bucked, as if his heart stopped. The little man fell limp to the floor at the elf's touch. A shade's touch is death to all…
Legolas drew back, horrified. He had killed this man with a single touch!
Three Rohorrim ran into the room, their swords drawn. They all stared in horror at the elf-become-shade and ran, raising the alarm throughout the fortress of Helm's Deep.
Legolas moved quickly out of the room, just as his own friends, Aragorn, Gimli, and the estranged Gandalf ran up the hall towards him. They all halted, the few guards behind them freezing.
More Rohorrim ran up the opposite hall and stood ready for any commands.
"Daro!" Legolas cried in Sindarin, crying for them to stop. He had killed a small handful of Shades in his lifetime, so knew the mortality of the spirits, "Diliohad!"
His command was more mindless jargon than normal speech, meant only to confuse those who thought that they understood Sindarin. Literally, what he had told them to do was, 'Stop it!'
Aragorn stopped, but his hand was still on his sword hilt.
"Who are you? Why have you stolen the form of Legolas?" Gimli brandished his sword dangerously.
Legolas responded in Sindarin, "I am Legolas!"
"Quetin ú Sindar," Aragorn responded in slow Elvish.
Legolas sighed, his hand falling to his side. His head sagged. It was then that he saw that his wounds were still bleeding, though they were not killing him. How could they? I am dead…
"I don't trust him!" Gimli grumbled, "If Legolas lies in that room still, than this is no more than a devilish Shade. I say we kill it now and defend our friend's honor."
"Lau!" Legolas held out his hand, concentrating. If he could speak only a little Westron…
"I am Legolas," He struggled, his mind drawing blank after blank when he tried to say anything more complex, "I cannot—speak."
Everything began to slow…
The moon was setting, leading to the darkest hours of the night. Legolas could see through his hand now, as he was loosing his grip on the physical world. His anguished cry of frustration rang through the hall as he faded out of sight.
Aragorn was startled, until he saw the moonlight. Then he was puzzled. Shades didn't just fade out of existence when the moon set. Only the sun made them disappear.
"We should have killed that devil spawn when we had the chance," Gimli growled, "We do not know how many lives it will claim before the morrow."
Gimli and the Rohorrim were on tentative alert, though there was nothing more that they could do. It was over now, for the day. Aragorn stayed in the hall as the others dispersed.
He sagged against the wall. This was hopeless. If Legolas' spirit had been morphed into a Shade, then there was no hope of his entrance to the Halls of Mandos. His friend would wander for the rest of eternity.
Aragorn didn't see Legolas' face in the shadows of the torches that lined the halls. The elf was still bleeding, but there was only the pain in his heart to tell him that he was not dreaming.
Four years passed like this.
Legolas followed Aragorn and Gimli throughout the War of the Ring. When the battles at the Pelennor Fields kept dragging on into the night, he used his demonic powers to save lives.
The soldiers whom he saved called him the Fade, as he could only appear during the night, and then would fade away. Aragorn and Gimli felt that a miracle had been sent by the powers of good, but nothing the elf did convinced them of his reality.
It was dark that night…very dark. The moon barely peeked through the black clouds. Legolas felt weak, as if someone had sapped all his energy.
He was standing quietly in the throne room at Minas Tirith. Since Frodo's failure to destroy the Ring so long ago, they were all forced to retreat to this, the free people's last bastion of hope.
Gimli was cursing and rumbling about the stories of miracles on the field. He was enraged at the events of that day.
"We should have been able to turn their flank!" He slammed his fist on the large council table, "We should have! There was no way that we could have know that they were coming behind us!"
Aragorn slouched slightly on his throne-like chair, "We've lost seven thousand men so far in this escapade. We just cannot break through that pass!"
Legolas listened for a few more minutes before tentatively collapsing into a chair. One thing that relieved him was that, even when he was shaded, he could still sit and walk like normal people…
His energy just seemed to disappear. One second, he was sitting on the edge of a seat, the next, his head had contacted hard with the stone floor. A few tiny rays of moonlight tried to shine through the clouds…
"What was that thud?" Gimli demanded, looking around the otherwise empty room.
"I do not know," Aragorn picked up a dagger from the tabletop.
Legolas struggled to keep his consciousness. The moon was his life force now, and, when it was drained away, so was he…
"Not another Shade, or Fade, whatever the men called it," The dwarf rolled his eyes and huffed. He paused, and then started again, gravely, "Galadriel, Elrond, Thranduil, and Celeborn were all at the funeral."
"What do Legolas' rites have to do with a Shade?" Aragorn snapped.
"Absolutely nothing," Gimli growled, "Considering that you did not even go."
Legolas wanted to cry out, to beg them not to fight, not now, not when unity was needed so badly. But he felt so weak…after four years…
As he lay on the floor, his strength disappearing, he saw, in his heart's eye. The forest of Mirkwood lay before him, the beauty heart-rending. The moonlight played over the leaves, making them sing.
Gimli's cry did not faze him. He knew that they could see him, but he didn't care. After four years or fighting, hiding, and bleeding, he held no more strength for the world to take.
Galadriel's voice came to him, soft as the breeze that played through the trees of Mirkwood.
Legolas, your time has come. Make us proud to be elves…
His father appeared before him.
Legolas, fight the evil that strives to steal your soul. You cannot let him win…
Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood, appeared beside his father and Galadriel.
It is a blood pact that you must break. Blood can only be broken by blood, such that you have been shedding to four years of battle and wear. It is time, Legolas, for you to return to your life and fight…
Then he was gone.
Legolas stood before a man dressed entirely in black. His bow was in his hand, and his quiver was on his back, reassuring him to his solidity. Pain welled up in his chest and throat as the old wounds truly bled.
"You should be dead!" The man yelled angrily, withdrawing a bow of his own.
"You killed me?" Legolas' eyes narrowed. This would be a very close shot. Too close…
"I shall do so again!"
The man fired off an arrow like lightning.
Legolas had his bow ready, and fired. He dove to the side, much as the other man did.
The arrow caught both of them on the shoulder, but that didn't faze them.
Arrows flew through the night, missing flesh and piercing trees and ground.
The hollow thunk of the arrows when they struck wood caused Legolas to wince. That sound always hurt him, deep inside…
His momentary distraction did not go unnoticed by the man in black. His dagger slashed down towards the elf's head…
In a not-so-correct time…
The battle raged on…
Legolas stabbed, spun, dodged, and stabbed again, killing orc upon orc. His arms were aching, for the battle was long and weary. Arrows were of no use now, as evil creatures swarmed everywhere.
A clunky sword fell, and he narrowly dodged it. The plank-like blade swung to the side, hitting the elf with the flat. Legolas slashed down, and caught the owner in the throat.
He had only a few seconds to dive out of the way of an orcish arrow, and it grazed his shoulder. After spinning, catching the black arrow in the air, and firing it quickly back at the archer, the elven prince turned to the surrounding horde.
And the battle became more deadly than he ever imagined…
Aragorn was caught in mortal combat with an Uruk-Hai warrior, one who knew how to handle a human sword. With a little help from Gimli, however, the creature was killed.
The heir of Gondor surveyed the battle with the dwarf at his side.
"I fear the worst, Master Dwarf," He shot an arrow at an orc down below.
"Why? We are winning!" He yelled loudly and threw a throwing axe at an orc which had made it onto the battlements of the castle keep.
"I sense great evil, like a spell is being cast and we know nothing of its presence," Aragorn emptied his quiver of arrows, fighting, saving lives, and searching for hiss friends In the mob below them.
Legolas fought in the far corner. There was a green-black aura that drew a large circle about him, with a thin stream of green that trailed over the far wall, as if it were a lifeline.
Aragorn rubbed his eyes. There had been a small flash as an orc—no, a Rohorrim—was thrown into the circle. The elf inside quickly killed him.
"Gimli! Legolas just killed one of our own men!" Aragorn said in confusion.
"What?" As they watched, the green circle began to fade, and the mob of warriors swallowed up the elf once again, "What sort of devilry is this?"
"Look!" Aragorn spotted a black figure fighting his way towards the battlement steps that led to where he and Gimli were standing. The figure was encased totally in black, and red eyes seemed to glow at them.
"An arrow, Gimli!" Aragorn demanded. The dwarf dropped a half-empty quiver in his hand. Aragorn nocked n arrow quickly, intending to shoot the quickly approaching person.
"Stop!" He cried, holding up a hand, "Aragorn, what are you doing?"
It sounded like Legolas.
"Who are you?" The heir of Gondor demanded as Gimli readied his axe.
"You do not recognize me?"
No sooner had those words left the being's mouth, than he reached back and nocked a deadly missile onto the string of his bow. It was aimed at him.
Aragorn shot first, but the person managed to let off his shot as well.
There was a shrill shrieking as a statuette tumbled off the wall behind Aragorn, shattering into little pieces. It was carved into the form of a creature known only to the Istari and storytellers.
An Illusionist.
Things that had not been were now revealed. Some orcs became Rohorrim, while dead bodies ceased to exist. Half of the swarming, killing mob disappeared, leaving many of the warriors of Rohan confused, but alive.
Aragorn turned back to the figure in black.
He had raised his hand to stop the arrow, but it had done nothing to save his life.
A small piece of the statuette rolled over to the man as he trembled on his feet, then collapsed to his knees. The black clothing, the evil red eyes…all began to shimmer out of existence.
What they left was a sight Aragorn was horrified to see…
Gimli cried out in anger as the illusion around the figure disappeared.
Legolas clutched at the arrow that was now lodged in his neck. Elven blood poured in torrents down his fair neck, staining his clothing.
Aragorn was the first to his friend's side.
His hands moved to the injury, but Legolas batted them away.
"You must stay on your guard," He said quietly, agony etched on his features and in his eyes, "The battle is not over…"
"Oh, stars! Legolas, I am so sorry!" Aragorn's words fell on fading ears. Legolas leaned his head against the stone wall.
"Get that arrow out! Heal him!" Gimli demanded. He would not allow this particular elf to die. Never. He would rather die…
"It is too late…" Legolas' eyes widened, "Aragorn, behind you!"
The elf leapt to his feet and shoved the human aside. Four, then five arrows, all black, thudded hollowly in his chest, throwing blood across the stone floor. Gimli stared in horror as the elf stood, seemingly motionless in the air.
Rohorrim attacked the orc archers, cutting them down where they stood.
The elf just stood there, blood pooling on the stone ground.
Aragorn wrapped his arms under his shoulders, just in time to catch him before he fell.
There was so much blood…
It was everywhere, sticky and red. The black arrow shafts protruded from Legolas' chest, evil and demonic.
"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe…
The elf's grip on Aragorn's hand seemed to be fading.
"No!" Aragorn shook his head vehemently, "I will not loose another of the Fellowship! Boromir I failed, but I cannot lose another of my friends!"
The light in his friend's eyes began to fade and the pool of blood began to overflow the edge of the battlement.
Théoden ran up to them, his most trusted men right behind him. His elderly face fell in horror and in pain when he saw the slowly dying body of the elf lying on the cold stone ledge.
Legolas laid back, his face calm, as if looking to the sky for help, "I just need to rest…"
His eyes closed slowly, laboriously. Aragorn looked at Gimli, hope in his eyes, but sorrow in his face. They were too close to loosing another of their friends too soon.
"Get my best healers here! Now!" Théoden cried loudly.
Aragorn touched the elf's throat, having to reach past his own arrow to do it. The elf was still alive, but barely. Blood was slowing as Aragorn waited for the healers to arrive…
"There is nothing more that I can do…"
The healer's words rang in Gimli's ears.
"Too much blood has been lost…He will die soon…"
Legolas lay in the fortress' sick room on a straw pallet. The blood on his bandage stayed red, despite the best efforts of the healers. But he had not died yet. His breathing and blood-pulse were slow, but he was still alive. The arrows had been removed…
The dwarf sat back against the stone ramparts. Aragorn was with Legolas and the healers, trying frantically to staunch the bleeding. Night was fast approaching…
An exhausted Aragorn collapsed beside him.
"There is nothing we could do," Blood stained his hands, "He lies in his last hours of life now."
Gimli looked over the battlements of Helm's Deep, praying for his friend's admittance to the Halls of Mandos, the place where the valiant and brave elven souls traveled to when not to Valinor.
For once, the backbone of this land held no comfort for him…
Legolas watched the dust mites float gently in the fading light of the sun. He could have sworn that he saw his father's face in the drifting particles.
Is this what it is like to feel mortal?
He felt comfort in the sunset. His heart's cry flew on the wings of hope and prayer, to the setting sun.
* * * * *
Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise, and her hand moved to the silver pitcher she had just replaced. In a moment of recovery and intense curiosity, she gazed back into the large mirror-like sheen of water.
It took a few minutes for the water to shiver, and then open, like a flower in bloom. The horrors of a battle opened before her.
She saw blood…too much blood…
One of her own was dying…
* * * * *
Thranduil stumbled in his stride, his head pounding with an unheard cry. He heard his son's voice, felt his son's pain…
"Lord Thranduil!" An aide jumped to his side, "Shall I call a healer?"
"No, it—it is my son…" The elven king's face paled deeply, "Prince Legolas is dying…"
The aide's face went white as he looked to the others standing around them. They were all stunned by the king's revelation, as they were all friends with the prince. How could Legolas be dying?
"I must rest…" Thranduil straightened as the beginnings of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes…
* * * * *
The lord of Rivendell stood in his personal quarters, watching the sun set. He had heard the heart-cry, and it had torn him inside.
It had been a long time since he had heard a heart-cry so earnest, so sad… He knew whose body was dying as well, for the Ring of Power that he wore amplified the emotions.
Elrond turned away from the once-comforting light and watched the colors fade across the far wall of his room. He knew that the Halls of Mandos were not yet ready for the son of Thranduil, nor would they ever harbor the elven prince's soul…
Legolas' soul would never find rest if he died here…
This was not meant to happen, Elrond closed his eyes, I know, he is not meant to die. If he does…I know not what path time will take. I fear for his spirit…
* * * * *
The large wooden doors stood before him, the golden engravings telling the stories of all that had entered those walls.
Legolas was stiff, unable to move. The arrow wounds in his neck and chest still bled, but the pain was gone. His eyes were blank, as he saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing…
The light slowly began to creep back into his eyes as he realized slowly that he could feel…
"Where am I?"
"You stand at the doors to the Halls of Mandos, but you shall find no rest here, son of Thranduil," An elven woman appeared in the white mist behind him, "Your soul has no place among us."
"The Halls of Mandos…" Legolas was stunned, "What must I do? Wander the land of Middle-earth for the rest of Time?"
The woman did not answer right away. She seemed troubled.
"It was not meant to end this way," Her voice wavered, "Time was altered by an evil force that is beyond any mortal control. If you wish to save your own life and those of your friends, Laegolas, you must stop the alteration of your world."
Legolas was slightly surprised when she used the Sindarin version of his name, as he was meant to be called. Living among the Silvian Elves changed more than was thought…
In an instant, he stood in the room that he had been watching the sunset from. The rays were still peeking over the mountains…
"No!" A growling cry made him turn. He started when he saw his own body lying motionless on the pallet. Gimli was bending over him, an anguished cry in his throat, "By Durin's soul!"
Aragorn was slumped against the wall, his face in his hands. He was silent as Gimli growled and cursed.
"He cannot die!" The dwarf was angry, but saddened, "Must we lose another of the Fellowship? Must the Three Hunters be split apart as well? How could this have happened?"
Legolas looked at his own face. It was pale, and cold. There was no sign of the life that had animated it so shortly before. There was a residual mark of elven handsomeness, but soon, that would be lost as well.
"I heard his last breath," Aragorn whispered, his voice tortured, "I…I was here when he did, friend dwarf…and it chilled me to the bone."
"And there was nothing any of us could do to save him?" Gimli growled.
"Nothing," The human warrior slumped even further down the wall, "He's gone to the Halls of Mandos, for I know that he was a brave and valiant elf. He deserves a place in the halls of the great beings of old."
But I am not there! I wander! Legolas cried out, reaching a ghostly hand towards his friend. His hand slid through flesh, I wander…cold…there is a foul chill here…
He could not survive like this. Wandering forever, knowing not what to do? This was torturous hell, no less…
The sun's rays began to disappear.
"Let us leave his body," Aragorn said, "We shall send a messenger to his father." Gimli took one look back at his elven friend's stone cold face and turned away, tortured by the thought of there being an immortal life there once before.
The sun's rays disappeared, leaving the ghostly Legolas to stand, lost and alone, in his own death-room. He never noticed the moon rise, nor did he see the faint flicker of light on his skin…
Throughout the night, he walked the room, gazing out the window, wishing that his father was there. The moon was near setting when the door's lock squeaked, allowing the door to be pushed inward.
A small man in black crept in, muttering to himself in the horrid black tongue of Mordor. He shut the door behind him, still muttering.
"Who are you!" Legolas demanded. He was as stunned as the little man, as his voice was fully alive.
The little man cried out in fear, dropping the small bag he had been carrying.
"A Shade!" He screamed, pointing at him. Finally Legolas noticed the soft blue glow that seemed to surround his body. He also found that he spoke, not in Westron, but in Sindarin, as few knew it.
"What are you doing here!" Legolas demanded, "Speak!"
"I'm going to die…" The little man whimpered, his body quaking. Legolas moved forward to catch him as he tripped on his own feet.
Suddenly, he bucked, as if his heart stopped. The little man fell limp to the floor at the elf's touch. A shade's touch is death to all…
Legolas drew back, horrified. He had killed this man with a single touch!
Three Rohorrim ran into the room, their swords drawn. They all stared in horror at the elf-become-shade and ran, raising the alarm throughout the fortress of Helm's Deep.
Legolas moved quickly out of the room, just as his own friends, Aragorn, Gimli, and the estranged Gandalf ran up the hall towards him. They all halted, the few guards behind them freezing.
More Rohorrim ran up the opposite hall and stood ready for any commands.
"Daro!" Legolas cried in Sindarin, crying for them to stop. He had killed a small handful of Shades in his lifetime, so knew the mortality of the spirits, "Diliohad!"
His command was more mindless jargon than normal speech, meant only to confuse those who thought that they understood Sindarin. Literally, what he had told them to do was, 'Stop it!'
Aragorn stopped, but his hand was still on his sword hilt.
"Who are you? Why have you stolen the form of Legolas?" Gimli brandished his sword dangerously.
Legolas responded in Sindarin, "I am Legolas!"
"Quetin ú Sindar," Aragorn responded in slow Elvish.
Legolas sighed, his hand falling to his side. His head sagged. It was then that he saw that his wounds were still bleeding, though they were not killing him. How could they? I am dead…
"I don't trust him!" Gimli grumbled, "If Legolas lies in that room still, than this is no more than a devilish Shade. I say we kill it now and defend our friend's honor."
"Lau!" Legolas held out his hand, concentrating. If he could speak only a little Westron…
"I am Legolas," He struggled, his mind drawing blank after blank when he tried to say anything more complex, "I cannot—speak."
Everything began to slow…
The moon was setting, leading to the darkest hours of the night. Legolas could see through his hand now, as he was loosing his grip on the physical world. His anguished cry of frustration rang through the hall as he faded out of sight.
Aragorn was startled, until he saw the moonlight. Then he was puzzled. Shades didn't just fade out of existence when the moon set. Only the sun made them disappear.
"We should have killed that devil spawn when we had the chance," Gimli growled, "We do not know how many lives it will claim before the morrow."
Gimli and the Rohorrim were on tentative alert, though there was nothing more that they could do. It was over now, for the day. Aragorn stayed in the hall as the others dispersed.
He sagged against the wall. This was hopeless. If Legolas' spirit had been morphed into a Shade, then there was no hope of his entrance to the Halls of Mandos. His friend would wander for the rest of eternity.
Aragorn didn't see Legolas' face in the shadows of the torches that lined the halls. The elf was still bleeding, but there was only the pain in his heart to tell him that he was not dreaming.
Four years passed like this.
Legolas followed Aragorn and Gimli throughout the War of the Ring. When the battles at the Pelennor Fields kept dragging on into the night, he used his demonic powers to save lives.
The soldiers whom he saved called him the Fade, as he could only appear during the night, and then would fade away. Aragorn and Gimli felt that a miracle had been sent by the powers of good, but nothing the elf did convinced them of his reality.
It was dark that night…very dark. The moon barely peeked through the black clouds. Legolas felt weak, as if someone had sapped all his energy.
He was standing quietly in the throne room at Minas Tirith. Since Frodo's failure to destroy the Ring so long ago, they were all forced to retreat to this, the free people's last bastion of hope.
Gimli was cursing and rumbling about the stories of miracles on the field. He was enraged at the events of that day.
"We should have been able to turn their flank!" He slammed his fist on the large council table, "We should have! There was no way that we could have know that they were coming behind us!"
Aragorn slouched slightly on his throne-like chair, "We've lost seven thousand men so far in this escapade. We just cannot break through that pass!"
Legolas listened for a few more minutes before tentatively collapsing into a chair. One thing that relieved him was that, even when he was shaded, he could still sit and walk like normal people…
His energy just seemed to disappear. One second, he was sitting on the edge of a seat, the next, his head had contacted hard with the stone floor. A few tiny rays of moonlight tried to shine through the clouds…
"What was that thud?" Gimli demanded, looking around the otherwise empty room.
"I do not know," Aragorn picked up a dagger from the tabletop.
Legolas struggled to keep his consciousness. The moon was his life force now, and, when it was drained away, so was he…
"Not another Shade, or Fade, whatever the men called it," The dwarf rolled his eyes and huffed. He paused, and then started again, gravely, "Galadriel, Elrond, Thranduil, and Celeborn were all at the funeral."
"What do Legolas' rites have to do with a Shade?" Aragorn snapped.
"Absolutely nothing," Gimli growled, "Considering that you did not even go."
Legolas wanted to cry out, to beg them not to fight, not now, not when unity was needed so badly. But he felt so weak…after four years…
As he lay on the floor, his strength disappearing, he saw, in his heart's eye. The forest of Mirkwood lay before him, the beauty heart-rending. The moonlight played over the leaves, making them sing.
Gimli's cry did not faze him. He knew that they could see him, but he didn't care. After four years or fighting, hiding, and bleeding, he held no more strength for the world to take.
Galadriel's voice came to him, soft as the breeze that played through the trees of Mirkwood.
Legolas, your time has come. Make us proud to be elves…
His father appeared before him.
Legolas, fight the evil that strives to steal your soul. You cannot let him win…
Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood, appeared beside his father and Galadriel.
It is a blood pact that you must break. Blood can only be broken by blood, such that you have been shedding to four years of battle and wear. It is time, Legolas, for you to return to your life and fight…
Then he was gone.
Legolas stood before a man dressed entirely in black. His bow was in his hand, and his quiver was on his back, reassuring him to his solidity. Pain welled up in his chest and throat as the old wounds truly bled.
"You should be dead!" The man yelled angrily, withdrawing a bow of his own.
"You killed me?" Legolas' eyes narrowed. This would be a very close shot. Too close…
"I shall do so again!"
The man fired off an arrow like lightning.
Legolas had his bow ready, and fired. He dove to the side, much as the other man did.
The arrow caught both of them on the shoulder, but that didn't faze them.
Arrows flew through the night, missing flesh and piercing trees and ground.
The hollow thunk of the arrows when they struck wood caused Legolas to wince. That sound always hurt him, deep inside…
His momentary distraction did not go unnoticed by the man in black. His dagger slashed down towards the elf's head…