Author's Note: To Whom It May Concern, I have just had a revelation. I was thinking about chapter one, and how Derek was supposed to be from Lasgalen, right? Then I realized what I had really meant to say was Esgaroth, you know, the area near the Lonely Mountain on the Long Lake? I know the two don't sound anything alike, but I was on a time limit, late at night, my brain was shutting down… Well, to sum it up, Derek is from Esgaroth, down the river from Dale.

We take up the story as Strider telling Legolas how they came to be in Mirkwood…

Chapter Three:

Walkers in Shadow

 Time-swept dust and ashes were scattered across the village square, where the people of the town had gathered for an assembly. The long rows of hardwood benches, arranged in a circle near the village well, looked barren and blank in the late afternoon light. Normally, the square was filled almost to overflowing, and the children and youth would be forced to sit on the ground near their parents, or in circles with their friends. But now, although there were more than enough seats available, the few villagers huddled together preferred to stand in a circle around the well, debating in soft, but earnest tones.

Their faces were haggard, creased with lines of worry and care. The women wrapped themselves in ragged shawls, drawing their dark hoods over wind-tossed hair. The men rubbed their fingers together to draw off the cold, stamping their feet impatiently, while the children played in the dust, creating imaginary castles and kingdoms out of the barren land.

 Most of the people gathered there had lost someone.

A sober- eyed farmer laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "There were nine more hit today, four died a few hours ago. Mary is beside herself. She wants to take the children and leave the village."

"Leaving the village won't change anything. I've heard there's villages been hit all the way up to the foot of the mountain."

"We could go south, down river," someone suggested.

A young mother looked timidly out from her shawl." To Mirkwood?"

"Bah, Mirkwood," a farmer spat. "Accursed forest. I'd sooner brave out the plague."

Some nodded in agreement. A young villager stepped forward, eyes flashing.

"You speak like a fool, Jinn. Both my parents died of the plague. Both, in one day. You want to brave it out. Well, look at us, we're trying. And we're dying off day by day. Four died this morning. And there'll be five more by nightfall, you mark my words. We're next. I say we leave, now, while we still have the chance."

"I say we stay," Jinn interrupted. "I'm not going to be forced out of my own home."

"We could wait it out, somewhere in the south," an elderly man suggested.

"You want to desert the village?"

"Its going to be deserted Jinn, one way or the other," the younger farmer snapped.

The council was swiftly dissolving into a full-fledged argument, and the air grew thick with rising tempers.

"I still agree with Jinn. I think we should stay!"

"And sacrifice those who still live?"

"No! We go south."

"South where? There is no where to go!"

"What about Dale? Or the other villages?"

"Don't talk crazy, Token, Dale's way too far north."

"So what do we do?"

"Oh, who cares? Let's stay."

"No, no no no NO!"

The children stopped their play to look over, curious over the raised voices and loud exclamations coming from the grownups. One little girl, dark hair plastered against her dirty face, slipped a hand into her mother's fingers, tugging on them gently.

"Mommy?"

She repeated the call several times, until her mother turned away from the argument with a frustrated sigh, and pausing, noticed her little daughter.

"Yes, Brynn."

"Whose fault is it?"

Her mother gave her a wry smile. "Whose fault is what?"

"Who made daddy go away? Far away like you said, remember?"

"Oh uh," her mother searched for the right words, "Well, I don't... really…know."

Brynn frowned. "Oh. Why not?"

"Well, I…hadn't really thought about it before."

Brynn, barely four years old, had already lost interest and was skipping back to join her friends, her faded dress whipped like a leaf in the wind. Her mother, now with a thoughtful expression, rejoined the group by the well. Gently, she pulled her brother, Token, aside, and whispered something in his ear. Slowly, his face was transformed from frustrated, to contemplative, to understanding. He pulled Jinn aside, and relayed what his sister had told him.

"Does she remember anything else? Hmm. Nothing else?" Jinn's face wore a grim expression. He turned to the others.

"It seems to me," he began slowly, attempting to gain everyone's attention, "It seems to me, that we are missing something. Something very important."

"Jinn," the young farmer sighed, "You should get a reward for just making the biggest understatement of the season."

In spite of the gravity of their situation, a few villagers chuckled at the comment.

Jinn was expressionless. "What is your name, young man?"

"Derek."

"Well, Derek, I wish you would give me a few moments to address the other villagers."

Derek smirked. "Wish away."

"Ahem!" Jinn cleared his throat loudly. "For anyone who does want to know, it has been brought to my attention, that we need…a scapegoat."

"A scapegoat?" someone echoed.

"A scapegoat." Jinn glared at them seriously. "Someone on whom to blame this whole epidemic of disastrous effect. Any suggestions?"

"Nothing happens for nothing," Token agreed. "Either this is some kind of punishment, or someone caused it. I tend to believe the latter."

Jinn raised his hands. "Does anyone, anyone at all, remember seeing anyone unusual in this village? Anyone acting strangely?"

"I saw that peddler, Josef yesterday," a woman suggested.

Derek snorted. "He always acts strange. Anyone else?"

"What about that old man who wanders around? I think he's slightly touched in the head. Did anyone see him?"

Jinn saw the blank looks directed at him. He looked to Token for assistance.

"Anyone?"

Token shrugged.

"Did anyone see-"

"Jinn," Derek interrupted, "I think that there are so many old men, slightly touched in the head, wandering around, that place the blame on a single man."

"You mean it might be like, a confederation of them?"

Derek howled in frustration. "Look, Jinn, just forget the old men, okay? I don't think they're going to help us right now."

The villagers were silent, and another man stepped forward.

 "Listen, friends. I'm not asking you to believe me, but I think that I know who you are looking for."

They all leaned forward in anticipation.

 "A few days ago," he continued, "A man came to our village. He was tall, and wore a dark, billowing cape that draped the ground about his feet. It was late at night, when he came to our door and asked for shelter. I knew there was something not altogether right about him, but my mother, being the soft- hearted woman she is, begged me to let the poor man in. As it was raining, I said he could come in, but he would have to sleep in the stables. I sat across from him at dinner, and the whole time I watched him peering and sneaking about the room with those great yellow eyes of his-"

"Did you say yellow?" Token cut in. "Because my cousin in Windermere told me almost the same exact story the other day."

"Is he still alive?" Derek asked eagerly.

"I haven't heard from him since. He left for home that very day."

"Anyway," the man said, "I was thinking maybe he's to blame."

Shaking his head, Derek disagreed. "You're just randomly picking this man out, because he had yellow eyes. What if I had yellow eyes? Would you blame the epidemic on me?"

"Uh, yes. Probably."

 "Oh, this is hopeless!" he threw up his hands in frustration.

"Oh, wait, there was one other thing." The man said, "My father died the morning after he left."

Silence ensued, as the people exchanged worried glances.

"Coincidence," Derek stated.

"No, my mother died that afternoon."

"Ha!" Jinn pointed a wiry finger at Derek, "It's just as I told you. Yellow Eyes is to blame!"

And for once, Derek had nothing to say. The solemn atmosphere suddenly dissolved into widespread panic.

"He is spreading the epidemic everywhere he goes! His breath is a poisonous fume!"

"Woah, woah, I think we're jumping ahead here," someone began.

"Is he still in the village? Let's find him and question him!"

"He left a few days ago, like I said."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"I…let me think."

"Think! Where!"

"He said…he was going.. South."

"Where South? Mirkwood?"

"I don't remember. He didn't say."

"I don't think there was any reason in any of that to go chasing after some random traveler," Legolas stated.

Derek stared at him solemnly. "I think there is a very good reason. He killed my parents."

"Derek," Legolas said patronizingly. "I think that you're just overreacting, and furthermore, if you just wait a few weeks you will eventually realize that-"

Derek's face flushed with anger. "Waiting won't help. My parents are dead, and I'm probably next!"

Strider, who was stuck between the two of them, winced at the volume. He knew that, more than almost anything in the world, Legolas loved a good argument. And from the icy expression on his face, it was evident that he was prepared to stand his ground. Strider braced himself for the next blow.

"You will eventually realize," Legolas continued as if he had never been interrupted, "That it was no more that a simple epidemic, and nothing at all to get excited about."

Derek stopped, grabbed Legolas' arm in midstep, forcing him to a stop. His voice was like ice. "To you, perhaps, Elf," he emphasized the last word, "It is nothing at all to get excited about, because you have thousands and thousands of years ahead of you. We lower beings, however, have our short, little existences to protect, and cherish, and survive through. Thus, what you call a simple epidemic just may have a larger affect on our lives that you, apparently, will never be able to understand."

Legolas was staring at Derek's hand, which rested on the silver sleeve of his tunic. With a sudden, uncharacteristic jerk, he pulled away and resumed walking, faster. But Strider had seen the expression in his eyes. He ran to catch up, putting a hand on Legolas' shoulder, which was roughly pulled away.

"Your friend," Legolas said coldly, "Is falling behind. I suggest you tell him to keep up, because I will not wait for him."

Strider did not flinch at the remark. "Legolas, calm down. You know he didn't mean what he said." When Legolas did not look at him, Strider continued, his temper rising. "He is hurting too, Legolas."

"I hadn't noticed. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

Strider stopped, but Legolas continued walking. "Legolas," he called desperately. "Legolas, please stop this."

The Elf did not answer, or turn, but Strider noticed a barely perceptible sigh escaped his lips. Gradually he slowed to a normal pace.

For a while, they were silent. The rest of the men wondered what was going on, why their Elf companion was so far ahead, and why he wouldn't answer any of their questions. Derek glanced apologetically at Strider. "I'm sorry."

"You should be." Strider hadn't really meant to sound angry, but he felt his temper getting the better of him.

"I shouldn't have said those things. Is he angry?" Derek whispered.

Strider shook his head. Legolas wasn't angry. He was absolutely furious. 

TBC….