AUTHOR NOTES: Here's the second part.
Chapter II - The Night Ambush
So it was revealed in full to the Elves of Mirkwood all that could be told on the matter of the rising Shadow and the search for the Ring of Power. Legolas' mind was reeling. It seemed to him that with the coming of Aragorn, the things his father had whispered to him in his youth, the stories of encroaching evils and nameless fears, these things had become real. Glancing out the slender window, the surrounding trees seemed huge and dark, as menacing as the shapeless shadows that lurked between them.
He learned, at last, how the Halfling Bilbo had snuck up on the Elven camp before the Battle of Five Armies to deliver the Arkenstone to his father and Bard, now long dead. Legolas sadly recalled the friendship of Bard-but he was a Man, and a Man of common human blood, not granted the Númenorean life of Aragorn and his kin. Now Bard's grandson, Brand, was king of Dale. The days before, during and after the Battle of Five Armies seemed like ages ago, though other parts in his life further in the past seemed to have occurred only yesterday.
He learned of Gollum's torment in Barad-dûr, and he felt himself shudder at the thought of imprisonment there. He learned of the growing strength of the Enemy in the southeast, of the cowardly Men who had turned to join him. He learned, too, though part of him had already guessed it, that many Elves were leaving, fleeing to the Havens while time allowed it.
Legolas vowed then, silently to himself, that he would never flee.
Upon Mithrandir's request, Gollum was to stay in their dungeons, guarded day and night, until his fate could be decided for him. Yet there was still hope for his recovery and return to the Light, though many years and toils it would take. Aragorn explained, "Lord Elrond of Rivendell entreats that you send an envoy to his house in October of next year for a great council. There more will be revealed, and there are things others will wish to hear from you as well." He rose finally, and stretched his arms. "Now I must leave you, King Thranduil. I am needed in the West."
"Surely you can stay for one night?" Legolas entreated.
"I insist," added Thranduil. "It is more than impressive that you have traveled thus far through Mirkwood alone, yet the Woods closest to our kingdom are the least safe by night, for there the Spiders gather in wait." Indeed, the sun had set an hour ago, but it seemed black as night under the branches of the Forest Kingdom.
Aragorn smiled wearily. "Thank you my lords. I will stay one night, but by dawn I must leave. My people are roaming near Eriador, having guarded it for the past twenty years. The West is also alive with evil, as it has not been since the Dark Days."
* * *
Thranduil sent two scouts with Aragorn on his way back west toward the Misty Mountains. In a week they reported back. The Elves and the Ranger, unburdened by Gollum, had made the trip swiftly and safely, with just one encounter with the Spiders. There were only two creatures, both easily slain by the three apt warriors.
Time went by. Aragorn had arrived in early spring, when cold winds still whistled through the trees. Now summer was nearing. The woods smelled alive and fecund. Moss sprouted over the stones and upon the barks of the trees. Near the borders of the land, where sunlight could get in, small flowers had begun to bloom. But the game was less. The hunters returned to the palace with half of what they usually caught during this time. Only one thing could be accounted for it: the growing number of Spiders, and other things too grim to speak of.
Legolas was forced to practice archery not once but twice each day. He was the best: he always had been, and he knew it. Everyone knew it, save Thranduil it seemed. Legolas felt his hands and arms cramp from the extra exertion when at rest. He dared not reveal such to his father: he would probably suggest more rigorous lessons, to knead the weakness out of his son.
There was less time for merriment, and little reason to enjoy oneself. Everyone in the kingdom felt the oncoming Dark. Messengers from Dale became less and less frequent. Men, it seemed, feared Mirkwood more than its own people. They had ceased communication with the Dwarves of Erebor altogether.
Then there was Gollum. The creature fascinated Legolas, and broke his heart, too. From the moment he had met him, Gollum despised the prince-yet he despised everyone in the kingdom, he had despised Aragorn, and, from listening to his nighttime whisperings, Legolas learned he despised himself as well. There was only one thing he clearly loved: the Ring. He did not try to hide it. Once, when Legolas went to visit Gollum in his cell, bringing with him a plate of fish (uncooked, this time: Gollum had refused to eat the stuff Carnil had prepared), he had been deep in a conversation with himself.
"We wants it, we do. We wants it so badly it burns! It burns, it does, preciousss. Thieving Baggins. But He knows now! He does! He knows! Hee hee hee, silly hobbitses. Silly Baggins. Baggins doesn't know that He is coming." Gollum whipped his head up, realizing that the Elf prince had been standing on the other side of the prison bars, listening to every word. "Nasty Elf! Cruel Elfses! Don't stare, don't stare. Fierce, bright eyes! Go! Go!"
"Sméagol," Legolas whispered, refusing to call the creature by his darker surname, "I'm sorry to have startled you. I was not listening, I promise. Here, look: I've brought you your supper. Just as you like it."
Gollum crawled forward toward the plate that Legolas slide under the gate. He sniffed it once and his face changed into a look of disgusted rage. "Smells of Elfs! Cruel, fierce Elfs try to poison Gollum! Yes, yes. They don't like us, no they don't."
"That's not true-" Legolas began. Gollum interrupted by screeching.
"Lies! Lies! Bad Elf, liar Elf! Go, go, go!"
Legolas sighed. "Very well, Sméagol. I'm going now. Eat up. It's all you will get until morning."
Gollum hissed back. Yet as Legolas ascended the stairs that led away from the dungeon, out of the corner of his eye he saw Gollum reach a trembling hand out toward the plate of fish.
* * *
Legolas knew Gollum hated him, as he hated everything, but he found himself becoming strangely sympathetic with the little creature. He realized that Gollum felt trapped inside the little cell, and that it was truly nothing like the vast tunnels of his lair in the mountains. But Legolas had an idea.
The Elves began to take Gollum outside, among the trees. The first time they did he was unrestrained and, as soon as he stepped foot on the open ground, he broke into a frantic run. He had not guessed that Elves were the fastest of the Free Peoples, and they quickly overtook him. Back in the dungeon he went, but they did not punish him in any other way. The next day they led him out using a leash of sorts: a long, thin cord, looped around his neck, a spell laid upon it to prevent it from breaking or unraveling. Different guards took turns watching him as the days went by, and sometimes they fastened the end of the string onto a lone, tall tree so that Gollum could be by himself. But there were always guards nearby.
One such day, Gollum became frustrated and went to try to untie the knot of the cord that was around the tree. The guards let him try: they knew he would never be able to undo a knot of elvish make. He couldn't. While sniveling and squealing with rage, beating his fists against the tree, Gollum felt a change. He laid his gray palm against the bole. Then he laid both hands upon it. For a long moment Gollum stayed as such, both palms up against the tree, his wide eyes growing wider, his mouth opening and shutting slowly like a fish out of water.
The guards stopped talking and looked on at their ward in interest. Finally, one asked, "Gollum? Is all well?"
In a flash, Gollum scrambled up the tree.
The guards ran to its base and glared up. Gollum had climbed as far as the cord allowed, and he wrapped himself around the trunk, grinning hysterically, catching black butterflies and stuffing them in his mouth. For the first time, he looked happy, or at least amused. Legolas came to visit the prisoner (he did so once a day) and was pleasantly surprised.
"Let him stay up there," he said, smiling. "The air will do him good. I'm amazed he stands the sunlight. At night we will get him down."
It was easier said than done. When asked, Gollum refused to move from his leafy abode. The guards tried to tempt him with promises, and then they used threats. Nothing. Finally, a guard named Baran said he would climb up after Gollum. Wearily, he laid his spear down and scaled the tree at a speed Gollum had not expected. It seemed he had not had time to breathe before the strong Elf caught him in both arms and began to wrench him away from the bole. But Gollum was a fighter. He clung to branches with both his hands and his feet and let out a screech.
Baran proved to be stronger. He ripped Gollum from the tree and sped down toward the earth. Gollum was so upset that he burst into tears. But Baran was not cruel. "This is for the best, little one. The Spiders come out at night, and they would catch you easily and eat you while you still breathed." Gollum would not be consoled. He screamed all the way back into his dungeon and kept it up during a good deal of the night until his own weariness silenced him.
Days passed into weeks. June came, warm and welcome, though colder than the Junes of previous summers. The guard around the kingdom was doubled. The trees seemed to shift with tension, and the dim, green glow of light below the Canopy darkened.
Gollum was lead out everyday, and everyday he ran up the tree, and every night he had to be brought down, crying his baleful eyes out. It was during this time that Legolas noticed a change come over Gollum. The creature spoke to himself less often, but he did not become sweeter or more winsome. There was eeriness to his silence, like a premonition. Gollum saw something that they could not yet perceive and it was this knowledge that must have made him grin horrible smiles in his sleep. The guard around him was moved from two to three Elves, all armed with curved hunting knives and poison-tipped spears.
The day of the New Moon, June 20th, Legolas volunteered to be one of the three guards. Thranduil allowed him to forfeit his evening archery practice, and he went to join the other two who watched Gollum. It was Amandil, a renowned scout, and Baran once again. The three Elves let Gollum climb up the tree, carefully knotting the cord around the base of the trunk. Gollum disappeared into the branches without a sound. No noise did he make nor word did he utter all day.
"I do not like his silence," Amandil remarked, glancing up to where Gollum sat wrapped around a branch, smiling into the wind. "A change has come over him. I would think it was for the better, but my heart tells me otherwise."
"I feel that, too," said Baran. He fingered the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his hip.
"As do I," Legolas added. "But look: he is appreciative of the wind, and perhaps even what little sun we receive. Mithrandir told Aragorn that hope remained for Sméagol's recovery, and to that I will hold. The trees heal many. In time, they will reach him as well."
The day passed by quickly: strangely so. Darkness fell as swiftly as if it were the middle of winter. The Elves all sensed the evil lurking in the growing shadows. Amandil touched Baran's arm. "Go up and get him now. Night is coming."
Baran groaned. "Must I? I still have scars on my hands that have not healed from his biting mouth."
Amandil smiled wryly, "But he likes you now. I think he's used to you."
Legolas laughed. "If neither of you will do it, I will." The trees rustled nearby. He changed his tone and expression to one of utter seriousness. "Hold my lance, Amandil. I will be down in a moment." He felt a dark premonition coming. Were the Spiders on the hunt again?
No sooner had Legolas caught the first, lowest branch of the tree than his heart froze as all of his senses alerted him of an approaching force, a wave of shadow. The awareness was paralyzing. His mind screamed one silent word.
"Yrch."
* * *
Almost immediately, the air whistled with a haphazard wave of black- feathered arrows. Legolas and Baran dropped flat to the ground, but Amandil was not quick enough. Two darts smote him in the chest. He opened his mouth and the death-gasp escaped. Within a moment he fell to the ground, but was dead before he landed.
"Amandil!" Baran cried, unsheathing his blade quicker than eyes could follow. He was about to stand, but Legolas clasped his arms around his comrade's legs and wouldn't let him rise.
"No, Baran. Stay. There are too many."
Baran turned a horrible look upon Legolas, a look that clearly said, *How could you?* He writhed in Legolas' grasp and struggled to stand again.
"That's an order!" Legolas shouted in desperation and fear. That was a mistake. The orcs heard the sound of his voice and caught the Elven-scent on the air. They were revealed. Six came thundering towards them, each wielding a blade as wide as the trunk of a young tree.
Legolas and Baran leapt to their feet and charged their attackers. There was a loud "CLANG!" of metal hitting metal as the two Elves met the first two orcs head on. Within a moment, one orc was missing its head; the other was run through so hard that it was pushed backward, and its falling carcass tripped the orc behind it. They could tell these were Mountain Orcs (goblins, they were called), unused to the dense, tangled forest. More came at them. Baran spun and twirled, slicing with his two, crescent-bladed knives. His pale skin was splattered with orc blood. Legolas, in turn, was carving up orcs just as ferociously. But there were too many. He saw more coming, an entire horde racing toward the Elven dominion.
The fight paused for a moment. Legolas reached up his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt a stinging sensation and winced. Bringing his hand down he saw it smeared with blood. He had a large cut on the right side of his forehead, just at his hairline.
A sound brought him back to his senses. It was the clear note of the horn of Baran. He was calling for backup, appealing to the Elven guard oblivious to their plight, and they were going to need it in a few more moments. Legolas ignored the pain from his wound and leapt back into the fray.
A huge orc met him full force. It was a head taller than him, he who was counted tall among his kin. It locked its jagged scimitar with Legolas' blade and pushed forward with a force he hadn't expected. Before he knew what was happening, he had been roughly slammed back first into a tree trunk. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. The orc's fearful face twisted into a maniac grin as Legolas' wrists gave way under the pressure.
Suddenly the orc's body stiffened and it fell right on top of the Elf. Relieved, he saw at least seven Elven arrows protruding from its back. In a moment he realized the crushing force of the dead orc on his lungs and freed himself from under its gargantuan weight.
"Your highness!" a voice called, "Are you alright?"
It was Silindë-and at least twenty-five of the other members of the Guard of Mirkwood. They had come in the nick of time. Legolas saw the Elven warriors mowing down orcs as quickly as they could. Their fighting arms were blurs. Arrows shot though the air like quick, precise brushstrokes. Yelling voices and bellows filled the glade.
Silindë rushed to Legolas' side and helped him to stand. "My prince." he whispered in horror. Legolas realized that the right side of his face was streaked with blood, like Uruk war paint. He shook himself back into reality.
"There are more than there appear to be, Silindë," he said. "More are coming. I can smell them in the air. We cannot defeat them with so few." There was a scream. An Elf had been stabbed through the torso. "There is an entire armada here."
If Silindë also harbored Legolas' fear and despair, he would not show it. He slipped an arm around Legolas' waist to help him walk. "Come, my prince. I will take you back to the palace."
"There is no time!" Legolas yelled. Silindë looked genuinely hurt, but Legolas didn't care. He whipped his knife into his hand and flung himself back into the skirmish. "Fight while you can stand," he called.
It was the last time Legolas saw Silindë, son of Haldan.
The battle ended swiftly. Though the orcs were in greater number and at a greater advantage than the Elves, having attacked while they were completely at unawares, they began to flee. One of them barked something in Blackspeech and the warriors simply ceased to fight. This caused many of them to receive an arrow through the eye, or to have an arm lopped off. But they ceased. They turned and they ran.
Exhausted and brutally outnumbered, the Elves resolved to not immediately follow at their heels. An Elf could outrun any orc easily enough, and the trail they left through the forest was so effortless to follow that a human child would have been able to guess their direction: South, toward Dol Guldur.
Legolas sheathed his white knife and dragged a hand across his forehead again. The cut had healed in the Elven manner, clotting quickly. His comrades, equally fatigued, also put away their weapons to attend the wounded. They all had taken some form of injury: the least grievous being the scraped skin upon Aratan's right cheek, and the most was the arrow that had struck Lómion in the side, but had not slain him. They had lost two warriors: one fatally stabbed through the stomach, the other having received two arrows in the chest-Amandil.
Yet two were missing.
"Baran?" Legolas said suddenly. He leapt to his feet, his eyes wild with fear. "Where is Baran?" The Elves stopped all that they were doing and looked about questioningly. This soon turned to cold fear when Aratan whispered, "And Silindë?"
All Elves knew, from the moment they could understand language at their youngest, the stories of the shadows that had taken some of their ancestors from their birthplace at Cuiviénen. They knew that from these sad, lost souls, the orcs had been bred. They knew that the orcs hated Elves above all else and that should an Elf be taken captive by an orc, he was never seen again.
"No!" Legolas cried. He was dizzy with agony from his cut and from his fear, and now the horror of the situation was almost blinding him. He couldn't breathe. The prince fell to his knees, too sad to weep, too angry to speak. He knew it was his fault. He was the one who had suggested they let Gollum roam free, with just three guards to watch him-
Gollum.
Slowly, Legolas turned his head to see Gollum's favorite tree. The other Elves realized with him and they all stared in disbelief and horror at the dangling cord. It had been sliced through the knot, leaving a deep scar upon the bole.
Gollum was gone. Baran and Silindë, slain or taken.
"No," he said again, whispering it to the wind. The woods became alive with the chorus of the Elves' voices; all shocked and frightened, disbelieving of the treachery that had made them fall apart from the inside. Then silence took them all.
And Legolas, staring at the blood upon his hands-his own and that of the Fallen Race-knew that it was his fault.
-Fin-
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Chapter II - The Night Ambush
So it was revealed in full to the Elves of Mirkwood all that could be told on the matter of the rising Shadow and the search for the Ring of Power. Legolas' mind was reeling. It seemed to him that with the coming of Aragorn, the things his father had whispered to him in his youth, the stories of encroaching evils and nameless fears, these things had become real. Glancing out the slender window, the surrounding trees seemed huge and dark, as menacing as the shapeless shadows that lurked between them.
He learned, at last, how the Halfling Bilbo had snuck up on the Elven camp before the Battle of Five Armies to deliver the Arkenstone to his father and Bard, now long dead. Legolas sadly recalled the friendship of Bard-but he was a Man, and a Man of common human blood, not granted the Númenorean life of Aragorn and his kin. Now Bard's grandson, Brand, was king of Dale. The days before, during and after the Battle of Five Armies seemed like ages ago, though other parts in his life further in the past seemed to have occurred only yesterday.
He learned of Gollum's torment in Barad-dûr, and he felt himself shudder at the thought of imprisonment there. He learned of the growing strength of the Enemy in the southeast, of the cowardly Men who had turned to join him. He learned, too, though part of him had already guessed it, that many Elves were leaving, fleeing to the Havens while time allowed it.
Legolas vowed then, silently to himself, that he would never flee.
Upon Mithrandir's request, Gollum was to stay in their dungeons, guarded day and night, until his fate could be decided for him. Yet there was still hope for his recovery and return to the Light, though many years and toils it would take. Aragorn explained, "Lord Elrond of Rivendell entreats that you send an envoy to his house in October of next year for a great council. There more will be revealed, and there are things others will wish to hear from you as well." He rose finally, and stretched his arms. "Now I must leave you, King Thranduil. I am needed in the West."
"Surely you can stay for one night?" Legolas entreated.
"I insist," added Thranduil. "It is more than impressive that you have traveled thus far through Mirkwood alone, yet the Woods closest to our kingdom are the least safe by night, for there the Spiders gather in wait." Indeed, the sun had set an hour ago, but it seemed black as night under the branches of the Forest Kingdom.
Aragorn smiled wearily. "Thank you my lords. I will stay one night, but by dawn I must leave. My people are roaming near Eriador, having guarded it for the past twenty years. The West is also alive with evil, as it has not been since the Dark Days."
* * *
Thranduil sent two scouts with Aragorn on his way back west toward the Misty Mountains. In a week they reported back. The Elves and the Ranger, unburdened by Gollum, had made the trip swiftly and safely, with just one encounter with the Spiders. There were only two creatures, both easily slain by the three apt warriors.
Time went by. Aragorn had arrived in early spring, when cold winds still whistled through the trees. Now summer was nearing. The woods smelled alive and fecund. Moss sprouted over the stones and upon the barks of the trees. Near the borders of the land, where sunlight could get in, small flowers had begun to bloom. But the game was less. The hunters returned to the palace with half of what they usually caught during this time. Only one thing could be accounted for it: the growing number of Spiders, and other things too grim to speak of.
Legolas was forced to practice archery not once but twice each day. He was the best: he always had been, and he knew it. Everyone knew it, save Thranduil it seemed. Legolas felt his hands and arms cramp from the extra exertion when at rest. He dared not reveal such to his father: he would probably suggest more rigorous lessons, to knead the weakness out of his son.
There was less time for merriment, and little reason to enjoy oneself. Everyone in the kingdom felt the oncoming Dark. Messengers from Dale became less and less frequent. Men, it seemed, feared Mirkwood more than its own people. They had ceased communication with the Dwarves of Erebor altogether.
Then there was Gollum. The creature fascinated Legolas, and broke his heart, too. From the moment he had met him, Gollum despised the prince-yet he despised everyone in the kingdom, he had despised Aragorn, and, from listening to his nighttime whisperings, Legolas learned he despised himself as well. There was only one thing he clearly loved: the Ring. He did not try to hide it. Once, when Legolas went to visit Gollum in his cell, bringing with him a plate of fish (uncooked, this time: Gollum had refused to eat the stuff Carnil had prepared), he had been deep in a conversation with himself.
"We wants it, we do. We wants it so badly it burns! It burns, it does, preciousss. Thieving Baggins. But He knows now! He does! He knows! Hee hee hee, silly hobbitses. Silly Baggins. Baggins doesn't know that He is coming." Gollum whipped his head up, realizing that the Elf prince had been standing on the other side of the prison bars, listening to every word. "Nasty Elf! Cruel Elfses! Don't stare, don't stare. Fierce, bright eyes! Go! Go!"
"Sméagol," Legolas whispered, refusing to call the creature by his darker surname, "I'm sorry to have startled you. I was not listening, I promise. Here, look: I've brought you your supper. Just as you like it."
Gollum crawled forward toward the plate that Legolas slide under the gate. He sniffed it once and his face changed into a look of disgusted rage. "Smells of Elfs! Cruel, fierce Elfs try to poison Gollum! Yes, yes. They don't like us, no they don't."
"That's not true-" Legolas began. Gollum interrupted by screeching.
"Lies! Lies! Bad Elf, liar Elf! Go, go, go!"
Legolas sighed. "Very well, Sméagol. I'm going now. Eat up. It's all you will get until morning."
Gollum hissed back. Yet as Legolas ascended the stairs that led away from the dungeon, out of the corner of his eye he saw Gollum reach a trembling hand out toward the plate of fish.
* * *
Legolas knew Gollum hated him, as he hated everything, but he found himself becoming strangely sympathetic with the little creature. He realized that Gollum felt trapped inside the little cell, and that it was truly nothing like the vast tunnels of his lair in the mountains. But Legolas had an idea.
The Elves began to take Gollum outside, among the trees. The first time they did he was unrestrained and, as soon as he stepped foot on the open ground, he broke into a frantic run. He had not guessed that Elves were the fastest of the Free Peoples, and they quickly overtook him. Back in the dungeon he went, but they did not punish him in any other way. The next day they led him out using a leash of sorts: a long, thin cord, looped around his neck, a spell laid upon it to prevent it from breaking or unraveling. Different guards took turns watching him as the days went by, and sometimes they fastened the end of the string onto a lone, tall tree so that Gollum could be by himself. But there were always guards nearby.
One such day, Gollum became frustrated and went to try to untie the knot of the cord that was around the tree. The guards let him try: they knew he would never be able to undo a knot of elvish make. He couldn't. While sniveling and squealing with rage, beating his fists against the tree, Gollum felt a change. He laid his gray palm against the bole. Then he laid both hands upon it. For a long moment Gollum stayed as such, both palms up against the tree, his wide eyes growing wider, his mouth opening and shutting slowly like a fish out of water.
The guards stopped talking and looked on at their ward in interest. Finally, one asked, "Gollum? Is all well?"
In a flash, Gollum scrambled up the tree.
The guards ran to its base and glared up. Gollum had climbed as far as the cord allowed, and he wrapped himself around the trunk, grinning hysterically, catching black butterflies and stuffing them in his mouth. For the first time, he looked happy, or at least amused. Legolas came to visit the prisoner (he did so once a day) and was pleasantly surprised.
"Let him stay up there," he said, smiling. "The air will do him good. I'm amazed he stands the sunlight. At night we will get him down."
It was easier said than done. When asked, Gollum refused to move from his leafy abode. The guards tried to tempt him with promises, and then they used threats. Nothing. Finally, a guard named Baran said he would climb up after Gollum. Wearily, he laid his spear down and scaled the tree at a speed Gollum had not expected. It seemed he had not had time to breathe before the strong Elf caught him in both arms and began to wrench him away from the bole. But Gollum was a fighter. He clung to branches with both his hands and his feet and let out a screech.
Baran proved to be stronger. He ripped Gollum from the tree and sped down toward the earth. Gollum was so upset that he burst into tears. But Baran was not cruel. "This is for the best, little one. The Spiders come out at night, and they would catch you easily and eat you while you still breathed." Gollum would not be consoled. He screamed all the way back into his dungeon and kept it up during a good deal of the night until his own weariness silenced him.
Days passed into weeks. June came, warm and welcome, though colder than the Junes of previous summers. The guard around the kingdom was doubled. The trees seemed to shift with tension, and the dim, green glow of light below the Canopy darkened.
Gollum was lead out everyday, and everyday he ran up the tree, and every night he had to be brought down, crying his baleful eyes out. It was during this time that Legolas noticed a change come over Gollum. The creature spoke to himself less often, but he did not become sweeter or more winsome. There was eeriness to his silence, like a premonition. Gollum saw something that they could not yet perceive and it was this knowledge that must have made him grin horrible smiles in his sleep. The guard around him was moved from two to three Elves, all armed with curved hunting knives and poison-tipped spears.
The day of the New Moon, June 20th, Legolas volunteered to be one of the three guards. Thranduil allowed him to forfeit his evening archery practice, and he went to join the other two who watched Gollum. It was Amandil, a renowned scout, and Baran once again. The three Elves let Gollum climb up the tree, carefully knotting the cord around the base of the trunk. Gollum disappeared into the branches without a sound. No noise did he make nor word did he utter all day.
"I do not like his silence," Amandil remarked, glancing up to where Gollum sat wrapped around a branch, smiling into the wind. "A change has come over him. I would think it was for the better, but my heart tells me otherwise."
"I feel that, too," said Baran. He fingered the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his hip.
"As do I," Legolas added. "But look: he is appreciative of the wind, and perhaps even what little sun we receive. Mithrandir told Aragorn that hope remained for Sméagol's recovery, and to that I will hold. The trees heal many. In time, they will reach him as well."
The day passed by quickly: strangely so. Darkness fell as swiftly as if it were the middle of winter. The Elves all sensed the evil lurking in the growing shadows. Amandil touched Baran's arm. "Go up and get him now. Night is coming."
Baran groaned. "Must I? I still have scars on my hands that have not healed from his biting mouth."
Amandil smiled wryly, "But he likes you now. I think he's used to you."
Legolas laughed. "If neither of you will do it, I will." The trees rustled nearby. He changed his tone and expression to one of utter seriousness. "Hold my lance, Amandil. I will be down in a moment." He felt a dark premonition coming. Were the Spiders on the hunt again?
No sooner had Legolas caught the first, lowest branch of the tree than his heart froze as all of his senses alerted him of an approaching force, a wave of shadow. The awareness was paralyzing. His mind screamed one silent word.
"Yrch."
* * *
Almost immediately, the air whistled with a haphazard wave of black- feathered arrows. Legolas and Baran dropped flat to the ground, but Amandil was not quick enough. Two darts smote him in the chest. He opened his mouth and the death-gasp escaped. Within a moment he fell to the ground, but was dead before he landed.
"Amandil!" Baran cried, unsheathing his blade quicker than eyes could follow. He was about to stand, but Legolas clasped his arms around his comrade's legs and wouldn't let him rise.
"No, Baran. Stay. There are too many."
Baran turned a horrible look upon Legolas, a look that clearly said, *How could you?* He writhed in Legolas' grasp and struggled to stand again.
"That's an order!" Legolas shouted in desperation and fear. That was a mistake. The orcs heard the sound of his voice and caught the Elven-scent on the air. They were revealed. Six came thundering towards them, each wielding a blade as wide as the trunk of a young tree.
Legolas and Baran leapt to their feet and charged their attackers. There was a loud "CLANG!" of metal hitting metal as the two Elves met the first two orcs head on. Within a moment, one orc was missing its head; the other was run through so hard that it was pushed backward, and its falling carcass tripped the orc behind it. They could tell these were Mountain Orcs (goblins, they were called), unused to the dense, tangled forest. More came at them. Baran spun and twirled, slicing with his two, crescent-bladed knives. His pale skin was splattered with orc blood. Legolas, in turn, was carving up orcs just as ferociously. But there were too many. He saw more coming, an entire horde racing toward the Elven dominion.
The fight paused for a moment. Legolas reached up his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt a stinging sensation and winced. Bringing his hand down he saw it smeared with blood. He had a large cut on the right side of his forehead, just at his hairline.
A sound brought him back to his senses. It was the clear note of the horn of Baran. He was calling for backup, appealing to the Elven guard oblivious to their plight, and they were going to need it in a few more moments. Legolas ignored the pain from his wound and leapt back into the fray.
A huge orc met him full force. It was a head taller than him, he who was counted tall among his kin. It locked its jagged scimitar with Legolas' blade and pushed forward with a force he hadn't expected. Before he knew what was happening, he had been roughly slammed back first into a tree trunk. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. The orc's fearful face twisted into a maniac grin as Legolas' wrists gave way under the pressure.
Suddenly the orc's body stiffened and it fell right on top of the Elf. Relieved, he saw at least seven Elven arrows protruding from its back. In a moment he realized the crushing force of the dead orc on his lungs and freed himself from under its gargantuan weight.
"Your highness!" a voice called, "Are you alright?"
It was Silindë-and at least twenty-five of the other members of the Guard of Mirkwood. They had come in the nick of time. Legolas saw the Elven warriors mowing down orcs as quickly as they could. Their fighting arms were blurs. Arrows shot though the air like quick, precise brushstrokes. Yelling voices and bellows filled the glade.
Silindë rushed to Legolas' side and helped him to stand. "My prince." he whispered in horror. Legolas realized that the right side of his face was streaked with blood, like Uruk war paint. He shook himself back into reality.
"There are more than there appear to be, Silindë," he said. "More are coming. I can smell them in the air. We cannot defeat them with so few." There was a scream. An Elf had been stabbed through the torso. "There is an entire armada here."
If Silindë also harbored Legolas' fear and despair, he would not show it. He slipped an arm around Legolas' waist to help him walk. "Come, my prince. I will take you back to the palace."
"There is no time!" Legolas yelled. Silindë looked genuinely hurt, but Legolas didn't care. He whipped his knife into his hand and flung himself back into the skirmish. "Fight while you can stand," he called.
It was the last time Legolas saw Silindë, son of Haldan.
The battle ended swiftly. Though the orcs were in greater number and at a greater advantage than the Elves, having attacked while they were completely at unawares, they began to flee. One of them barked something in Blackspeech and the warriors simply ceased to fight. This caused many of them to receive an arrow through the eye, or to have an arm lopped off. But they ceased. They turned and they ran.
Exhausted and brutally outnumbered, the Elves resolved to not immediately follow at their heels. An Elf could outrun any orc easily enough, and the trail they left through the forest was so effortless to follow that a human child would have been able to guess their direction: South, toward Dol Guldur.
Legolas sheathed his white knife and dragged a hand across his forehead again. The cut had healed in the Elven manner, clotting quickly. His comrades, equally fatigued, also put away their weapons to attend the wounded. They all had taken some form of injury: the least grievous being the scraped skin upon Aratan's right cheek, and the most was the arrow that had struck Lómion in the side, but had not slain him. They had lost two warriors: one fatally stabbed through the stomach, the other having received two arrows in the chest-Amandil.
Yet two were missing.
"Baran?" Legolas said suddenly. He leapt to his feet, his eyes wild with fear. "Where is Baran?" The Elves stopped all that they were doing and looked about questioningly. This soon turned to cold fear when Aratan whispered, "And Silindë?"
All Elves knew, from the moment they could understand language at their youngest, the stories of the shadows that had taken some of their ancestors from their birthplace at Cuiviénen. They knew that from these sad, lost souls, the orcs had been bred. They knew that the orcs hated Elves above all else and that should an Elf be taken captive by an orc, he was never seen again.
"No!" Legolas cried. He was dizzy with agony from his cut and from his fear, and now the horror of the situation was almost blinding him. He couldn't breathe. The prince fell to his knees, too sad to weep, too angry to speak. He knew it was his fault. He was the one who had suggested they let Gollum roam free, with just three guards to watch him-
Gollum.
Slowly, Legolas turned his head to see Gollum's favorite tree. The other Elves realized with him and they all stared in disbelief and horror at the dangling cord. It had been sliced through the knot, leaving a deep scar upon the bole.
Gollum was gone. Baran and Silindë, slain or taken.
"No," he said again, whispering it to the wind. The woods became alive with the chorus of the Elves' voices; all shocked and frightened, disbelieving of the treachery that had made them fall apart from the inside. Then silence took them all.
And Legolas, staring at the blood upon his hands-his own and that of the Fallen Race-knew that it was his fault.
-Fin-
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