A/N: So, there it is: Chapter 13. You'll soon get to hear about Aragorn, I promise!!! But I have to follow my storyline, and that tells me that you'll have to wait just a little longer.

Enjoy!!!! Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The song is from "The Return of The King" – can't remember which chapter, and the other one – "Elbereth" – is taken from various places throughout the whole book!

A duty to fulfill

Smiling sadly while Faramir was being praised among his men, Gandalf quietly left the High Court. For him war was not over yet and he still had a task to fulfill. A duty that lay heavily on his heart, and he would have given everything, even his life, to change the past events that there would be no need to leave Minas Tirith now.

'Faramir and the others deserve laughter and joy,' the wizard pondered as he went down to the sixth circle, where Shadowfax had remained after their fight with the Nazgûl. 'The Black Breath is defeated, but I, however, can feel no relief. I promised that I would come to bring you home, Aragorn, my friend. I did not forget about that. Never could I bear the thought that you would lie among those Orcs until not even dust would remain. Do you know that I still hope? Yes, you heard right. I still do have hope in my heart! Maybe in throwing the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, Frodo surprised your torturer and Sauron had not killed you yet. He wanted to torment you cruelly, I am sure, and for that he needed a lot of time. May it be, that he has spent too many hours with thinking about new ways to hurt you! For almost thirteen days now have you been in his hands, and I guess, that the Dark Lord knew many kinds of torment. Greatest pain he wanted to inflict on you, and that he only could achieve by torturing you slowly. Alas, what am I talking? I am an old fool! I should not hope! Despair would overcome me at the sight of your body, cold and without life! I must not be tempted!'

The soft light of the rising sun engulfed Shadowfax still standing patiently at the place where Gandalf had left him, making his coat shimmer golden. His reins hung down off his neck and he did not move until the wizard approached him, whispering soft words. Only then the gray steed lifted his head and whinnied quietly. He had missed his rider and was glad at his return.

"Shadowfax, my beloved horse, I have come back," Gandalf murmured, taking up the stallion's bridle. "I hope that you will keep with me, even when I will lead you into the Dark Land. Sauron has perished but still his breath will linger there for many thousand years. Do not leave me!"

The horse again whinnied softly and rubbed his nostrils on Gandalf´s shoulder, nudging him gently.

Suddenly the wizard's attention was caught by a swift movement to his left, and quickly he turned his head to the dark corner where it had come from.

"I knew that I would find you here," a soft voice stated calmly and Gandalf almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"Legolas, what are you doing here?" he then demanded to know. It would have suited him better, if no one had seen him leaving. "Where are Gimli and the Hobbits? Why are you not with them?"

The Elf quietly made his way over to the wizard until he was facing him, only then he answered. "Gimli, Merry and Pippin are safe. I gave them into the care of some young Men who promised to look for them. They survived the battle unscathed, and, I am afraid, Gimli slew more Orcs than any of us. He ran through the streets, wielding his axe as if madness had befallen him. The Hobbits, though," Legolas laughed gently, "seemed to have appeared of no importance to the Orcs. Although being careless for one single time, none paid heed to them and ran by. Luckily, I might add. And for myself, I tried to shot as much Orcs as I could, but I do believe, that you have served the city better." Another light smirk of the Elf.

"But now I came with a different purpose than your praise," he then went on, becoming solemn again. "Gandalf, I know what you intend to do and I certainly would do the same, if I were you. I, however, ask you to take me with you. Aragorn holds a great place in my heart and I could not life with the thought that I had left him alone. Please, let me accompany you. Maybe we shall bear his fate together less heavily!"

The wizard sighed softly, lowering his eyes to the floor. His reply was almost intelligible. "Maybe you are right," he murmured. "I had wished for someone that would go with me, but there was none I dared to ask. Come, my friend, let us bring Aragorn home to the city that was actually his! He shall not stay in the Nameless Land. Get your horse and let us leave then. I do not want to be seen by all people! It is better when few know of our journey."

Smiling grimly, Legolas turned his head and whistled softly. Arod slowly trotted towards them, as well bearing reins. "I deem, you believed in my agreement," Gandalf stated sarcastically ere mounting Shadowfax. The Elf did not reply. Wrapping himself into his cloak, he leaped on Arod and spurred it to follow the wizard.

Unseen by all they left Minas Tirith and took on their way towards Barad-Dûr, the Dark Tower, rising in the heart of Mordor. The once frequently used road to Osgiliath would lead them right there, passing Minas Morgul, Cirith Ungol and Mount Doom, the blackest places in the Black Land.

Snow continued to fall and a gentle but chill wind made the travelers shiver. Slowly their horses bore them away from the White Tower, but suddenly a distant voice, flying with the wind, reached their ears. It sounded sad, and spoke of grief and sorrow. A young man was singing a song for those who had fallen, moving each heart which heard it. Legolas turned his head to look back and there he stood: On the third wall, a warrior clad with mail bloodstained, his helmet in his right hand, in his left a spear, the black hair streaming in the wind. Tears were running down his face, and almost choking he sang with anguish in his heart.

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,

Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond, under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day's ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Gray now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

The voice trailed away and only the gentle howl of the chilly wind remained in Legolas and Gandalf's ears.

"So many people died," the Elf murmured silently, "so many whose time had not come yet."

Gandalf turned his eyes on Legolas, riding to his left. For some moments his gaze rested on his friend ere he replied. "Fate would have it not different, Legolas," he said calmly, "and be comforted: For those gave their lives to protect the ones they loved. I suppose you would not have acted differently, if you had to choose between sacrificing yourself or seeing your father and brothers being killed. There are great dissimilarities between Elves and Men, I know, but both can think unselfishly, and in some way mortals do fear less to die, for they know that death is their fate and it awaits them sooner or later. Believe me, those warriors died in pain but also with the hope that their fall might have aided to their city's rescue! Believe me, for nothing else can bring peace to your heart!"

Nodding wearily, the Elf tried to banish the images of all those slain warriors. For almost three thousand years now had he dwelt in Middle-earth and battles had he seen before, but still it grieved him deeply. Being an Elf, he loved the fair and hated the evil, for it hurt his soul and his inner bond, connecting him with everything surrounding him, was disturbed. Slowly, though, he managed to turn his mind towards the way lying in front of them.

Their road led them to the north-east, to Osgiliath, where the first Orc-host had come from and where hopefully the bridges across the Anduin would be free to cross again. The few trees framing their way bent their branches and twigs in sadness, often touching the riders' heads as if wanting to tell them of their sorrow. A long time would it need until the once fair and peaceful fields would again be green, without anything that reminded of the thousands that had died there. But the stony walls of Minas Tirith would never forget those who had sacrificed themselves for their sake.

For the first time in long and dark days, the sun could be seen as it was rising in the east. Still, gray mists were blocking its clear rays from bringing light to the Black Land beneath, but wherever it managed to shine through the snowy clouds, the mountains, the trees and the earth gleamed in vivid colors. No longer was the world black and dark and gloomy, but yellow, red and golden returned. The white peak of Mount Mindolluin shimmered like a golden crown, as if worn by a king, and even the highest pinnacles of Minas Tirith shone in the light of the rising sun. The softly falling snow covered the evil that had befallen the lands, white defeated black. Life, however, despite all efforts, did not win completely: Often the innocent flakes were stained with red blood and looking like pools, they indicated the places where men or Orcs had died.

While the first morning of a world without Sauron was passing, the two riders came closer to the bridges of Osgiliath. With each step their mounts were taking, the devastation and destruction became more visible and cruel. The Orcs had ravaged there, turned the grassy plain into black wasteland. Trees rose into the sky, burnt and cut, some merely stretching the bare wood over Gandalf and Legolas' heads as if wanting to reach for them with ghostly fingers.

Anduin roared in their ears, its waters ever flowing southward, unheeding the events that had happened at its banks. The water that had seen it was in the Sea right now where it had mingled with unscathed blue, without any burden of dread and fear.

Bodies of Men and Orcs were covering the grass, not a single one had been buried, for the Dark Lord's servants did not even care for their own kin. Bloodstained swords were still grasped in warriors' hands, arrows pointed to the sky, rising out of red chests, horses were lying there with spears in their sides, and all over the foul smell of death poisoned the air. Each breath hurt in Legolas' lungs and made him cough. Closing his eyes to small slits, he rode through the battlefield, wanting to block out all emotions.

Luckily the bridges across the river were still intact, for even the Orcs must have been so intelligent not to destroy them. After all, they had needed them as links between Gondor and Mordor. Leading Shadowfax slowly over the river, Gandalf went first, followed by Legolas who had a hard time to make Arod doing what he wanted it to. The horse was afraid of the swirling waters beneath its feet, roaring loudly, but in the end, with a comforting Elvish song in his ears, the steed also reached the other bank safely.

"Now we are in Ithilien," Gandalf sighed quietly after Legolas had finally come to stand beside him. "This land once was named 'the Garden of Gondor', for it was greenest and fairest and most beautiful. In peaceful times, the Kings of Old, and also the stewards with their families, spent their summers here, preferring the beauty of the woods to the stony walls of their city. But alas, in the past years, the Shadow sneaked upon Ithilien and turned it into a place not different from others, all of its fairness was lost. The blackness, however, did not withdraw and so the animals have disappeared, leaving the forests lifeless and dead. Flowers ceased to blossom in summers, and leaves and needles fell from the trees. Now only the bare wood remains to remind us of a time in which the land was fair and was merely surpassed by the places where Elves dwelt and still dwell."

"It indeed must have been beautiful, when merely Rivendell and Lothlórien were greater than these forests," Legolas replied in a low voice, "but I see, that the old spirit has fled and not even memory stayed behind. Despite the sun, it is dark here and the wind is cold in my heart. A chill that does not come from snow or winter, but from a malice that has lived here for too long."

"I can feel it either," Gandalf murmured while spurring Shadowfax into a light trot, following the road to Minas Morgul, "but we must not let it harm us, for Sauron has vanished and thus its source has disappeared. Many years, however, will it take, the children of Men will grow old, ere these lands will be free of the Black Breath again."

Hardly saying anything, the wizard and the Elf rode through Ithilien. Their surroundings were too depressing to utter more than a few words and also, with each step of their horses, they came closer to the Dark Land. The mountains were rising in front of their eyes, and still they were dark, of black stone and no tree grew on their flanks. Jagged and steep rose their slopes into the midday sky, high and invincible. Only a few roads led into Mordor and in times of war, each of those had been guarded heavily. Hundreds of Orcs had watched the Black Gate at Morannon in the north, and never had anyone dared to try the stairs of Cirith Ungol. Minas Morgul would have to be passed, and it was said, that even greater evil waited in the heights of the mountains. Creatures out of the shadows of the past, having come to earth so long ago that even the Elves did not remember. Never was the name of Cirith Ungol muttered in any house of Men and all other people chose to forget.

Slowly the once green forests of Ithilien passed and they drew nearer to Minas Morgul. Black and dreadful the Dark City was built on the western slopes of the mountains, almost exactly opposing Minas Tirith, the White City. Towers rose into the sky, they looked like teeth in a foul mouth. Slowly was the afternoon wearing to its end, but even the setting sun could not bring light to the walls. Gates looked like the entrance to Hell, and Legolas would not have endured it to walk through them and enter the city. In Minas Morgul the Black Breath was still alive, it could be felt that once the Lord of the Nazgûl had lived there with his dreadful Orcs. The Witch-King's presence had filled the air with terror, and even his slaves could hardly bear to be near him. The walls had taken in its foul smell, nothing remained of the once great city. It had become a place of fear and death. Whinnying and snorting, Arod and Shadowfax passed Minas Morgul, Gandalf and Legolas had drawn their hoods over their faces. None of them was able to lay eyes onto the Black City, as if being afraid that the shadows would come to life again.

Their journey through Mordor would be difficult, and each of them would have to overcome their own terror. They had passed Minas Morgul, but still the stairs of Cirith Ungol waited for them, and at the end of the road they would have to enter the Dark Tower, seat of Sauron. Legolas shivered at merely thinking that, yet he would never have dared to leave his friend in the Enemy's arms. He had promised to Gandalf that he would accompany him and this promise the Elf would keep. 'Also, Frodo and Sam have survived in this country at least for such a long time to fulfill their quest, to throw the Ring into the Fires of Mount Doom. So, why should a child of the light, an Elf, not be able to ride through Mordor after Sauron has vanished? Our foe has disappeared and only its remnants are scaring us. But we must not let it touch our courage!'

These words, however, were spoken more easily than they were done. Still, fear and thread were able to creep through Legolas' thick cloak and enclosed his heart, for the land did not get lighter and with the night sweeping in from the east, the chill wind grew in strength and brought new snow with it. In these moments, cold and in fear, the Elf admired Gandalf who rode in front of him. The wizard's tall form seemed to withstood the wind, upright and calm he sat in his saddle, appearing undisturbed by weather and blackness. Legolas, though, could not see that his expression was stern, his eyes unfocused while his mind was wandering in some unknown paths. Again Gandalf was thinking about Aragorn, but he was also preoccupied with his surroundings. He was not as unimpressed as Legolas thought him to be, Mordor caused great trouble in him. Everything was filled with dread, each stone on their way, each breath that found way into their lungs and even the stars were not as bright as they should be. An almost impenetrable wall seemed to block their light from coming to the Dark Land, merely a faint shimmer was reaching the evil ground.

And also the snow that had begun to cover the dead in Gondor and in Ithilien did not come to Mordor. It had ceased to fall with the passing of Minas Morgul, almost seeming that the land was of too a great malice to have the white cover it. It was as if the terror and the fear, the thread and the pain should not be forgotten by throwing a blanket over it. Snow should not bring oblivion to this evil land.

Night had finally fallen, just ere the two riders had arrived at the stairs of Cirith Ungol. Blackness engulfed them now fully and Gandalf halted Shadowfax at the first step. Anxiously Legolas waited for the wizard to decide whether they would continue to go on or if they would rest. Both was equally well and equally bad. The Elf neither wanted to climb the stairs in total darkness nor to spend the night below it. Steeply it rose up into the mountains and without seeing anything, it was likely that one of the horses would trip and fall, possibly killing its rider, but on the other side Legolas knew exactly that he would not be able to rest this night. His mind was too bothered – with Aragorn, with Mordor – and he was longing for Gandalf's decision.

After a time that had seemed like an eternity to the Elf, the wizard finally had made up his mind. He had taken the same considerations as Legolas had thought about, and slowly dismounting, Gandalf said:

"We will rest here for tonight. To climb the stairs would be too perilous in this darkness, and I think that we both are in need for sleep, for tomorrow we will reach the Barad-Dûr and there we might have to use all of our strength… We might not find pleasant things there." A wry smile followed the wizard's words.

Nodding, Legolas also leaped from Arod's back, then spread his blanket on the cold and stony ground. "We will not light a fire tonight, will we?" he asked after he had settled down. "There is no wood to gather and we did not have time to take some with us from Minas Tirith or Ithilien."

Gandalf merely shook his head. "It will become cold, I guess, but we have to rest for some hours. We may continue our way ere the sun will rise tomorrow! We do not dare delay!"

The last sentence had been spoken with such determination and finality that Legolas did not inquire further. Quietly he ate some of the food they had brought with them, offering Gandalf some either, but the wizard refused it. He just was not hungry. Instead he got out his pipe, for smoking always brought calm to his mind. Gandalf settled back against a huge black rock guarding the staircase and inhaled deeply.

'We do not dare delay' he repeated, while Legolas had cast himself down and appeared to wish to get some rest. 'Any tiniest bit of hope of finding Aragorn alive would be lost. Each second we would arrive later might cost him his life, if he is lying in Barad-Dûr, bleeding, unconscious, left without food and water. Still, the most likely is, that we will only find his body, tortured until death finally relieved Aragorn from his excruciating pain.'

Neither Gandalf nor Legolas, who was not sleeping at all, could imagine what cruel methods Sauron had found to torment their friend in the most malicious way. Blurred pictures of whipping, beating ran through their minds, but each knew that kinds of torture had been used by the Dark Lord which were beyond their worst imagination. No living being that merely had a tiny bit of good in his soul would find such joy in killing a man so slowly. Once or twice the wizard had spoken to some people who had been tormented and released again, and the things they had told about, had been haunting him since Legolas had shown him Aragorn's necklace.

'I have never before thought, that people can endure so much pain and hurt ere they die,' one of these men had said, 'for days and weeks they can make your struggle last, and they do not even injure you badly. You never loose consciousness and you never die. The whole day they are torturing you, and you hurt, you just hurt. Everything in your soul is consumed by this pain, and your mind tries to wander off but cannot. You are feeling each blow, each strike, and when they finally release you, the pain does not wear off. Throughout the whole night – or the whole day – you are suffering and then they come to get you again. No water are you given for days until you are screaming and begging for it, and then you get three sips at the most, only to increase your longing. At first you feel relieve when finally the precious liquid touches your lips, your tongue, your throat, but ere you have drank enough just to satisfy your worst need, they take it away from you again. You beg, you scream, you try to strike them, but they are merely laughing at you. And then you are being whipped again. On your back, on your feet, on your chest. There is absolutely no place on your body they spare. No, each part is carefully 'tended to', and you cannot even lie down without pain. Sleep will hardly come and your mind gets fuzzy. Imagines from 'before' torture you with laughter and joy, and when you wake, you are lying in darkness and pain. And then they come again…'

Abruptly Gandalf shook his head to banish these thoughts out of his mind. "I must not despair," he murmured, hardly audible. "Maybe Aragorn is not dead yet, or if he is, maybe his death was not as painful as I imagine it right now. My friend is strong and can endure a lot."

The hours were dragging on in this night, and it was black and dark and the stars could not illuminate their surroundings. Gandalf and Legolas felt both relieved when finally a faint shimmer appeared in the far east. The sun was announcing a new day and none of the two travelers knew, what things would await them until dusk would come again. Quickly they packed their gear, then, mounting their horses, they took on the steep and high stairs of Cirith Ungol. Sometimes they even had to lead their steeds for these could not have proceeded with additional weight on their backs. A difficult and strenuous way was this, but during all these hours until they reached the peak about two hours ere noon, none of the foul creatures that were said to dwell here appeared and the two riders were both left unscathed. If things had been hiding here once, they had left, for maybe the darkness of Mordor had lessened too much after Sauron's fall.

Finally Gandalf and Legolas reached the peak of Cirith Ungol, the sun almost straight above them. It sent its rays down to earth but still it could not bring light to the vast black plains now stretching in front of their eyes. Dark wasteland, with innumerable fires burning and casting red shadows on the ground. A foul smell lay in the air, but no living being could be seen. No Orc was moving in this blackness, but some hours away, a huge shadow rose into the sky. Mount Doom, Orodruin in the speech of old. Flames were raging on its peak, lava flowing down its slopes. Red and bright orange colored the sky above it, a fire that set the horizon into flames and was a sign of the malice of this land even many leagues away. Such evil was claiming Legolas and Gandalf's heart at looking down into the plains of Mordor that they could hardly believe that Frodo and Sam, merely two Hobbits, had managed to fulfill their quest of destroying the One Ring.

"They must have had a great heart," Legolas stated quietly, taken aghast by such dread.

The wizard nodded, gesturing to Mount Doom. "The fires are burning brighter than ever before, melting the Ring and defeating the evil. I wish that I would know whether the two Hobbits are still alive! In once a stormy night, I bade Gwaihir, the Windlord, to take them back to Minas Tirith as soon as Frodo had fulfilled his task, shall they either live or be dead. Alas, if they have died in saving Middle-earth! May they have reached Minas Tirith unscathed and may great praise be sung in song and tale!"

"Great have their deeds been indeed, and I wish to hear about them. An evil fate would it be, if they had sacrificed themselves! They were such merry persons, and the journey with them brought joy to my heart! I always had to think about the insurmountable difficulties they would be facing, but looking at Frodo who bore his burden with strength in his heart and mind, made me feel better. Their task seemed to be not as insuperable as before. I deem, Aragorn felt so either. As you know, I have often talked to him in the middle of the night and we discussed many different matters. But now, let us not waste our time with speaking of things that were!"

With these words the Elf spurred Arod, Shadowfax following the other horse willingly. Their way slowly led down again, winding along gentle slopes. Cirith Ungol had been the highest point in the mountain range bordering Mordor, being difficult to climb up and down, protecting the Dark Land against intruders. In the times of the Unnamed it been guarded by the Teeth of Mordor, two towers rising at the peak of the mountain, now lying in ruins as if an earthquake had destroyed them. Black stones, broken, were the only sign that remained of that post high up in the sky.

Occasionally they passed dead Orcs while riding down from Cirith Ungol, the bodies getting more and more with each minute their way lasted. Reaching the plains at noon, they were indeed framing their road, often hindering their way, and their blood had colored the stones in deepest black. They seemed to have died in the place they had stood in the very moment when Frodo had cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, their movements, their facial expressions frozen, some had still food in their claws, mouths were open as if wanting to finish the sentence they had begun. If these bodies had not been Orcs, Legolas would have laughed and admired the craft of the artists who had created such a sculpture gallery.

But with the things being like they were, he had no reason to be joyful. A foul smell of death was choking every single pleasant thought, with no way to escape to memories of times that had been before, since then his mind always turned back to Aragorn, and images of pain and torture were haunting him. While leading the Fellowship to Lothlórien after Gandalf's fall in Moria, the Elf had seen how deep the Man could hide his anguish in his soul. Merely in some moments when he had thought that no one was watching him, Aragorn's eyes had betrayed the grief he had been feeling, but otherwise he had feigned the strong leader who had not been troubled by the wizard's fall and whose thoughts were only aimed at taking the Ringbearer to the safety of the Golden Wood. But Legolas knew exactly, that Aragorn's feelings were as deep as his own, if not deeper, and that not even he could stand excruciating and terrible pain for an unending time ere he gave in.

'I wish you managed to survive, my friend,' he thought, 'but I cannot dare hope that. For your own sake, I, however, wish, that you could keep your dignity and that you died without screaming and begging for mercy. Once you told me that this had been your greatest fear, but I know that you did not give this pleasure to your torturers. You died in honor and in dignity, just like you had lived.'

In the meanwhile Gandalf was also thinking about Aragorn. The closer they came to Barad-Dûr, the more his friend was in his mind. Images of their journeys through perilous lands, of laughter and joy in Rivendell, of this great love shining in Aragorn's eyes when looking at Arwen. Since the Man had been twenty years old, he had been waiting for the moment when he finally would be able to draw her in his arms with her father's permission. Elrond had wanted him to claim his title, to become King of Gondor ere being allowed to marry Arwen and Aragorn had accepted this. For almost seventy years he had sought to destroy the evil in Middle-earth, to prepare for the final battle against Sauron and now he could not even take part in it, nor would he ever be able to see Arwen again. His long waiting and the great labors he had endured would not come to their fulfillment. Arwen, who would have given up her immortality for Aragorn, would depart from Middle-earth, not anymore being able to stand the pain the sight of the lovely valleys of Rivendell caused. There she had walked with him under blossoming trees, sat for hours under a roof of flowering stars and there she had waited for him to return and now, he possibly would never return. He had most likely died in the darkest land, after tortures beyond her worst imagination, and she would never even be able to see his body again. Aragorn would surely be buried in Minas Tirith, among the Kings of Old, but if Gandalf had allowed to choose, he would have brought him home to Rivendell where his heart had dwelt.

'Only that his lady can see him once again. I do not think, that she will believe in his death even if I tell her myself. She will not believe it, her love in him was so strong. She will be mourning for him for thousands of years, neither Elrond nor Celebrian will be able to make her happy again. How great must an Elf's love be to give up her immortality! So deep, that she is willing to lose her kindred and everything that she knows, only to replace it with a short life and death at its end. And she could not even be sure that it would have been a life of mere joy! What would she have done, if Aragorn had died five years after their marriage? Or even sooner? Despite that no one could foretell, she plighted her troth to him. Oh, I admire her for that! But now Aragorn might be dead and I have to return to bring her these tidings. Alas, may he still life! May he have found courage and strength to overcome pain and torture! Alas, I fear of what I will find!'

The blackness of the barren plains did its own to add terror and dread to the feelings of the two riders. Never before had they seen such evil land, poisoned by millennia of malice. It hurt to breath, and occasionally Shadowfax and Arod wanted to refuse to go on, only being able to be urged to proceed by soft words whispered in their ears, gentle songs sung by a fair Elvish voice. Sometimes they had to cross a small stream seeking its way through Mordor, but the water was black and stank as if dead bodies had been thrown in to rot there. No grass, no soil covered the dark stones, no color could be seen as far as eyes reached. Only blackness and darkness and fire. Sauron had had thousand years of time to turn the once green and beautiful county into a barren wasteland in which not anything could live anymore. No animal, not even a tiny mouse, strolled across the plains, no tree, no grass brought color to the dark stones. Soon after the Dark Lord had erected Barad-Dûr, all life had been choked and those who had not died, had fled from the Black Breath. Merely the Orcs had been able to resist the unbelievable malice and Sauron had made them to his servants, killing for him, enslaving for him, torturing for him. And then there had come the Nazgûl: The once greatest kings of Men had been overthrown by their own lust for power and weakness in will. With the years they had faded and they had become shadows of unimaginable dread and terror. The Ringwraiths could also withstand the blackness of Mordor, they even needed it like another man would have to eat. From it they got their strength and the Black Breath was like water to them. They drank it greedily, following each of Sauron's orders, drawn by the One Ring and seeking to return it to its master. Save the Dark Lord himself, such evil had never before existed in Middle-earth and would never dwell there again. But still Legolas seemed to hear the sound of the hooves of the Black Rider's horses in the distance, thundering across the lands, bringing terror to all people. It was as if they had never died. Even their dreadful cries seemed to linger in his ears, a distant clashing of swords as if a great battle was fought merely some leagues away. The Elf's hands were trembling and shivers ran down his spine. Words of malice were yelled and he thought that he could see shadows moving across the lands. Battalions of Orcs, with the Nazgûl at their front, seemed to come out of the east, passing them, but not noticing the wizard and the Elf.

'Merely shadows,' Legolas told himself, 'it is only memory that remains upon the land. This might have happened a long time ago and now the stones are remembering. I must not despair. They are merely shadows.'

But suddenly he started. A cry, full of malice, terror and dread was reaching his ears, scaring the hell out of him. Only by pressing his left hand to his mouth, he was able to withstand the urge to yell. Power was in this voice, and even hidden laughter – if this was possible in this dark land. In a language unknown to Legolas, it cried words of hate and triumph.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk

agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

A cruel laughter followed them, uttered by a faceless shadow, and then, within one heartbeat, everything was quiet again. Silence lay above the land, no single sound could be heard except Legolas' harsh breathing. Unnoticed by the Elf, Gandalf had turned and his eyes rested on his comrade, concern clearly written down in them.

"Did you hear that, Gandalf, did you hear that?" Legolas' voice was trembling, and he shivered. It felt as if cold fingers had caught his neck and clutched on it with all possible strength, hardly loosening their deathly grip.

The wizard watched his friend for a short moment ere shaking his head. "Nay, dear Legolas, I did not hear anything," he then replied solemnly. "The land has been silent, for nothing that could utter a sound lives here anymore. What was able to disturb you so greatly?"

Unbelievingly the Elf stared at Gandalf. "You heard nothing," he muttered silently. "You heard nothing," his voice now having turned into a shrill whisper. "Did you not hear the host trampling over the plains, the dreadful cries of the Nazgûl, and a voice yelling the evilest words I have ever heard? Did you not see the shadows moving, thousand of Orcs armed for battle? Alas, what have I done that I deserve such thing?"

A hint of desperation passed over Gandalf's face. 'He is being influenced by all this malice,' the wizard thought ere saying anything. 'How could I believe that a being so fair and honest and noble like this Elf could enter this land and stay unharmed? Only by terror and fear Elves could be turned into Orcs! Alas, I should have made him remaining in Minas Tirith, supporting Faramir and enjoying the first days of peace for a long time!'

"Legolas," the wizard then said aloud, reaching out to the Elf, resting his palm on the other's forearm, "I plead you not to despair! The shadows will not be able to influence you if you do not let them come close to you. You must defend yourself! Think of Mirkwood, of Rivendell, of Lothlórien! Remember the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, white and fair and wise. Turn your mind to Elrond, where eternal summer is in his gardens! Do not let yourself be harmed by blackness and shadow, for there are so many beautiful things in your life!"

But Legolas was not responding to Gandalf's attempts to bring him back to reality. The Elf's mind was still captured in the world of shadows, his eyes gazing to the far east, unseeing, though. He was clutching onto Arod´s reins, making the horse uncomfortable. Great tension was in his shoulders and his muscles quivered.

Not knowing how to help the Elf, the wizard then slowly began to speak the verses of an Elven song. Never would he have dared to sing in Elvish tongue, for his voice was raw and hoarse, and he merely would have sullied the soft verses and the words would have lost their meaning. But still he had to do something. Only something that touched the Elf in the depths of his soul would make him return to the land of living. Of Elbereth he spoke, some verses he had heard in his years of wandering. 'Aragorn loved this song,' the wizard remembered absently, 'Arwen's voice chanting it still lingers in my ear.'

Snow white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O Light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year

With shining hand by her were sown,

In windy fields now bright and clear

We see your silver blossom blown!

And there Gandalf stopped, for he did not know how to go on. He had forgotten the last verse, the most beautiful, but suddenly a soft and quiet, but fair voice reached his ears, singing the missing lines. Legolas had come out of his state of total apathy, and his voice brought music to the land, enchanting the stones and turning to him the attention of the water. Everything became alive, strained to hear the Elf singing, for long millennia had passed without any joy. Even Gandalf himself was not able to remain unimpressed the harmony coming from Legolas´ mouth.

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

Turning his head, Gandalf found himself being smiled at by the Elf. "Thank you," Legolas just whispered, "you might have saved my life."

No other word was spoken of this matter, but from this point on the wizard watched Legolas more carefully, ever speaking to him when he thought that the Elf had been silent for too long. Each time he got a friendly smile in return, but most of the times Legolas did not have to be encouraged. His soul had learned how to forget the unpleasant things waiting for him in Mordor, and in his Elvish way it turned to the fair when the blackness threatened to harm him.

So the hours were passing and the sun was already beginning to set again when the two riders passed Orodruin. Its fires were still raging, lava still flowing down its slopes. For centuries the flames would not cease to burn, and when they would finally be extinguished, none of the people living right now would dwell in Middle-earth anymore. All of the Elves would have sailed to Valinor, to the Undying Lands, Lothlórien would be abandoned, and even the long-living Númenoreans would have buried many generations of men.

By now the way to Barad-Dûr was not long anymore, two hours at the most. In two hours they would know of Aragorn's fate, whether it had turned out ill or well. In two hours they would know whether to laugh or to grief.

A/N: Critics? Please tell me!