Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me…

A/N: Another long wait again, and this time I won't make any excuses…let's just get on to the good stuff…

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"NO!" cried Estel, lurching from his hiding place in an attempt to reach his fallen friend. "Lego-"Before the boy could finish his sentence, a slender hand slipped over his mouth and jerked him backward into the foliage again. He struggled furiously against the grip, but as thin as the arm was, it was as hard as steel.

"Hush, child," a soft, lilting voice whispered in his ear. "That was Gorthaur who called those Orcs. Draw attention to us, and we may well die long before the prince."

Estel attempted to say 'Leave me go,' but muffled against the flesh it came out more like "Lffe mef gon." The message was received well enough, though, and the arm receded.

Estel turned around and stared furiously at his captor. A deep green hood disguised the slender face, but judging by the silver strands of hair that peeked from under it, the being was one of the elves from his entourage.

"Stare death at me as long as you like, boy, I will not give in. I have dealt with royal children long enough to know when to stand my ground. May I remind you that we were not even supposed to be following Prince Legolas."

Estel ran a hand through his dark matted hair and blew out a frustrated breath. "Then what would you have us do...uh..."

"Isilya," supplied the elf.

The name triggered Estel's memory, and in his minds eye came the picture of a small woman elf with long silver hair left loose. She was supposed to have been the head of his company, so obviously she was a person of importance.

"Isilya," repeated Estel.

"I would have you do nothing at this point. Your safety is my number one priority, if you will recall."

"Do you not even care that Legolas was taken by Orcs? They'll torture him just like Celebrian!" The image of the elf woman brought tears to his eyes. He could not picture one of his best friends undergoing any such thing.

Isilya brought a dark gloved finger to her shadowed lips. "Lower your voice," she said sternly. "Of course I care, for he is my lady's beloved, and I do not wish to see her hurt. If you would be so kind as to listen to me for a moment, I will tell you my plan."

Estel bit his lip stubbornly, but obediently fell silent.

"I will follow the Prince to where he is being taken, simultaneously leaving a trail for you to follow. Understood?"

Estel nodded.

"Meanwhile, you shall go and fetch the Lady Evenstar."

"I do not know whom you are speaking of," the boy said uncertainly.

"She is Lord Elrond's daughter, and bears his likeness. You will know her when you see her- I believe she is currently in Lothlorien. You do know where that is?"

"Yes," answered Estel firmly.

"Very well- let us part," said Isilya, and quick as a flash she was gone. Estel marveled only for a few moments at the speed with which the Elves moved, before he, too, was on his way.

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Images formed themselves in the elf's mind, visions of the future visiting her as they always did in her dreams. Normally, she welcomed these visions as way to better serve her husband and protect her son, but lately they had become so horrific in nature that she dreaded sleep at night.

With much of her will, she pushed back at the misty barrier between dream and prophecy, clinging desperately to her rest. It made no difference, however; the prophecy came at will and with such force that she could not resist it. Clearer and clearer became the dream-vision, until she was almost certain that she was living the reality...

Her beloved forest was immersed in darkness, that hung as if a fog over the treetops. Wolves snarled at her heels, and those mythical Orcs leered at her from the sides of the trails she was walking, thrusting spears at her and gashing open her flesh. She cried out in pain and longing, and her voice was unnatural to her ears in such misery. Was this truly the future?

The images quickened, and predominant among those flashed was a black mound, wreathed in fire but still dark as night-The forest warped around her, and then she was faced with horrible eyes of fire, moving so close to her that she was almost engulfed by them. She began to scream until her throat was raw, but her cry was only answered with dark laughter. Unseen tendrils wrapped around her throat like snakes, strangling her, choking the life out of her, until she was almost dead-

*****************"Hot," mumbled Legolas dreamily, as he struggled to awaken from unconsciousness. "Hot!" he cried again, jerking up and away from the floor he had been lying on. He weaved uncertainly on his feet, tracing a finger down the side of his face that had been pressed to the ground. It was blistered and sore, as if someone had put a brand to his cheek while he slept.

"Where am I?" he whispered, struggling in vain to remember what this place was and how he had gotten there. The chamber around him was of dark stone that seemed to suck away the light, but it was unnaturally warm, even sweltering. Kneeling down again, he pressed a hand to the floor, and then pulled it away with a jerk. The dirt of the floor was as hot as ash! What was this place? What was he doing here? How-

Then suddenly, a thought struck him, as terrifying as the chamber he was locked into: who was he? With panic growing deep in his belly, he desperately searched his memory for some clue, but could find nothing, not even his own name.

"It's awake," said a deep, rasping voice from outside his closet- sized chamber, as a pair of wide yellow eyes peered in through a grate in the heavy wooden door. Although his memory could not provide him with his own name, he could easily identify that these were definitely not his friends. He came to a decision at once: he could not let them know of his deficiency.

"Let me see," hissed another voice, shoving the former speaker out of the way. Legolas backed against the wall and glared defiantly at the second pair of eyes. "Still got spirit, have you? We'll take care of that!" it laughed, then turned and yelled at its friend: "Go get the boss!"

"Aye, sir," grumbled the first thing, whatever it was, and the sound of footsteps could be heard ringing down the hall. Drenched in sweat, Legolas sank to the floor and frowned in concentration, determined to at least remember something of his past before the 'boss' came for a visit.

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After traveling but a while, Estel came to the threshold of the Golden Wood. It took him a little, however, to work up the courage to enter; he had heard the stories of the elf- witch who lived there when he was small, and of her powers. It was only the thought of his friend perhaps in mortal danger that gave him the will to carry on.

He stumbled on through the path, glancing left and right, hand tight on the hilt of his sword. At that moment, he thought his senses were at the height of their power; but obviously, they were not high enough, for he felt the tip of an arrow touch lightly against the back of his neck.

"We do not allow trespassers here, little boy, so I suggest you turn around slowly and leave," said a stern male elven voice behind him.

"Please, I must speak with the Lady Evenstar," answered Estel, surprising even himself at the strength of command in his voice, when he felt so small.

"She does not take kindly to schoolboy crushes..."

"No, you don't understand! It's urgent that I speak with her! Please, they have taken Legolas!"

The pressure of the arrow faltered abruptly and he was faced with an elf, almost exactly identical to those he had been staying with over the past few months, with dark eyes and golden hair. He was eyeing Estel anxiously now.

"Who has?"

"The Necromancer…" and here, Estel lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper "Gorthaur…."
That was it. That was all he had to say, he could tell, for although the elf kept his face carefully bland, his eyes betrayed a deep unrest. "We have known a shadow was growing in Greenwood," he murmured in Elvish "but none suspected it was him…"

Estel answered then in elvish "The shadow is indeed far more perilous than any of you must have believed, which is why I must speak to the Evenstar at once."

The elf's mouth twitched upward in amusement, and he said: "Ah, so you are no ordinary human, if you speak elvish. Very well then, follow me, although I know not why you call upon the lady."

He led Estel through winding golden paths and over clear brooks, dotted along the way by Lothlorien guards. Estel could just make out some dwellings high above and away in the Mallorns when his elf-guide turned to him.

"Before you may enter, you must swear never to disclose the location of our city. Do you swear?"

"I do," nodded Estel, clutching nervously at his tunic collar. By this time he was on pins and needles, and nearing the edge of even his extraordinary control. The distressing events of the day, combined with the anxious tales surrounding the wood he was in and the exhaustion that he was suffering, were almost too much to handle.

The elf saw this and took pity on the boy. "I am called Haldir. If you must pass by here again, come to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes; and my name is Estel, so you know."

Haldir gave a quick smile and a bow, then fled away into the wood, calling behind him "I will bring the Lady to you…"

The boy sank gratefully to the ground, thanking the gods for even this little bit of rest before Lady Evenstar arrived. The golden leaves and flowers of the Mallorns flickered around him in an almost ethereal beauty, but instead of offering him comfort they made him almost all too aware of his current physical state. He was tired and sweaty, and his clothes were tattered and stained, hardly presentable for any Lady at all, let alone an elven one of the Golden Wood. And what if she would not help him, a dirty human? Then what would he do?

But determined not to give in to his doubts and fears, Estel began to sing in order to distract himself. It was a song he had learned in the halls of Elrond, during peaceful nights when the entire elven community had gathered around a fire in the great hall, and shared ballads and stories. This one had particularly enchanted him, the song of Tinuviel and Beren and their meeting.

Just then, a maiden came running toward him. She was but a speck on the horizon, yet even from this great distance he could tell she was beautiful. Her dark hair was flying like the wind behind her, and her mantle of silver and blue was drawn up above knees in order to allow her to move more freely, revealing slender pale legs.

As she came upon him, breathing heavily with sweat like gems upon her brow, he could not help but whisper "Tinuviel," reminded strongly of the beautiful elf maid from legend that had wrested the Silmaril from the evil sorcerer.

She smiled despite her flustered state and said "Why do you call me by that name?"

Estel blushed and turned his face away, murmuring "I thought you were Tinuviel, because I was just singing about her. You walk in her likeness…"

"Many have said so, little prince Estel. But pray, tell me of this news you bring. What of Prince Legolas? Has he fallen to harm?" Her face betrayed an anxiety that did not seem right upon such beautiful features.

How did she know who he was? Why did she address him as 'prince'? There were many things mysterious about this Lady Evenstar, but now was not the time to inquire into them. Instead, he answered her quickly: "Yes, great harm Lady, great harm!" he cried, hugging his knees tightly to him. "His father gave him some sort of enchanted sword that he was to take here, to Lothlorien. I tried to go with him, but he would not let me, so I followed him, deep into the forest of Greenwood. There, he was attacked by Orcs, and then Sauron…Gorthaur…appeared, and he almost killed Legolas, but the prince got away by using the sword. But the Orcs took him, knocked him unconscious, and…" Here Estel stopped, finding that he was unable to continue due to the tears that threatened. It was too much, it was all too much. He was only a child, after all, he was not smart or strong like Elrond or Legolas.

"Hush," said Lady Evenstar kindly, kneeling and hugging the boy close to her. "You did the right thing by coming to me, Estel. Do not worry, we will rescue him!"

As Estel wept upon her shoulder, he marveled at the wisdom and strength of the girl who seemed only a few years older than he.

"Do not wonder!" she said then, surprising Estel, "For the children of Elrond have the life of the Eldar."

Arwen took pity on the boy in her arms, whose grubby hands were clutching at her as if he would die if he ever let go. There was something about this human that pulled gently at her heart. It was almost the way that she felt about her Legolas…her Legolas, who was lost, captured…who might meet the same fate of her beloved mother…

After letting Estel release his sorrow, she stood and took command, not allowing her worry to overcome her. "Do we know where they have taken him?"

"Nay; but your maid, Isilya, is tracking them and is leaving a trail for us to follow, Lady," answered Estel, wiping at his face, pushing away the last of his tears.

"Call me Arwen," said the elf sternly. Her eyes hardened for a moment, staring away over Estel's head. "I am forbidden to leave this place…" she whispered, her tone distracted.

A wave of horror washed over Estel. Had he come all this way for nothing?

She dashed off again, back into the forest, and Estel was left alone as well as stunned.

"Wait!" he called after her fleeing form. "Wait, I need you!"

But Arwen took no heed, and disappeared from Estel's sight.
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Run. The elf remembered a time when that was all her people did, wild, free, happy, at one. The forest floor slipped beneath her feet. She was flying. Speed.

The meadows had been wide then. The grass and wildflowers were long and fragrant; but they had not impeded the speed of the elves, and the elves in return did not bend a single stem, brushing lightly over the vegetation. Flying.

The grass had whispered to them, told them stories to entertain them as the elves passed along their way. They spoke of the harvest, when all things were fruitful; of the great frost that settled and killed; of the springtime when their children would live again. All things, for long before the elves had come to the land, had followed this cycle. Death and rebirth. Love and loss. It was natural.

The trees whispered to her even now, but their voices had been altered. Not natural. They wept, even as they led her along. This way, they said. The mourning trees led her better than any trail could, for she knew how to listen. She knew the secrets of the earth, she remembered, for she was even older than the lady of the golden wood. Indeed, she had been nurse-maid to Galadriel, and when she had grown Isilya had been placed in charge of Celebrian. Elves followed the natural cycle as well; for even as Celebrian parted, her child grew stronger. Arwen… in all her long life, Isilya had not met an elf with as pure a soul as she, and therefore she loved her, and followed the trees for her happiness.

Careful, they warned her now. Soon.

Isilya slowed and danced among the dark trees, her deep green cloak molding into the foliage. She broke off a few more twigs, in case her lady could not hear the trees' whisper, in order to leave a trail.

Then suddenly the elf came upon it; the unnaturalness, the dark. Those for whom the trees mourned were pulled from the ground and piled in a towering heap to the side of a gigantic clearing. Even larger was the edifice that occupied the clearing; it was one huge, dark mound, surrounded by a moat of fire. It seethed darkness, this hill, so much so that one could almost see its tentacles writhing in the air.

"I have heard rumor of this place," she whispered to herself, "Dol Guldur, the strong hold of Sauron. So it is true then…he has returned, for good."

Fear washed over Isilya suddenly, building deep in her belly. She remembered the time of carnage when Gorthaur had ruled, and those memories held sway over her now. She was sorely tempted to listen to her instinct, turn, and flee.

Then the voice of the trees, calm even in misery, washed over her like a cleansing wave. Peace, they assured her.

"Yes," she answered them, pressing a trembling hand to her stomach. "I must find a way in."

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Footsteps could be heard out in the hall. Legolas bounded lightly to his feet, set upon defying his captors to the best of his abilities. He needed to leave this place, he knew, and would figure out the rest from there.

The first step to achieving such a goal was to face down 'the boss.'

There was a clanking as one of the creatures set a key into the lock, struggling as quickly as he could to turn the heavy metal gears. Apparently, this was not quick enough for his master, for a clear, not quite right voice commanded "Move."

There was a crash and a squeal of pain, and then the door flung open as if of its own accord.

However, instead of the huge, intimidating creature that Legolas was picturing, an elf of about his size stalked into the room. His hair was blonde, but faded and dirty as it floated behind him. His dark eyes burned into Legolas from out of a gaunt and shadowed face. He was the picture of decayed beauty.

The tension blackened the room as the two faced each other, neither saying anything, just staring. One darkly beautiful, one the picture of light, they contrasted sharply. The ingrate of before crept up behind his faded master, clutching the hem of the elf's floating dark robe and pressing his face to it in nauseating servility. "Master…" it half-whimpered, half-hissed.

The elf tore his gaze from Legolas from the first time and ordered in that musical, yet tainted voice "Leave us." The servant flew backwards and crumpled against the back wall, and the master had not even made a gesture.

Legolas's gaze lingered for only a moment on the pitiful creature before snapping back to the master's face, now only inches from his own.

"Show some respect for those more powerful than thee," he snapped. "Never meet my gaze, young elf."

Legolas stared still at him, undaunted.

The other moved so fast that Legolas could barely track his movements. A resounding crack filled the room as his hand flew across Legolas's cheek.

Legolas staggered backwards, clutching at his cheek. Blood warmed his hand, and he spat some of the salty liquid onto the dirt.

The creature laughed, high and chilling.

The laugh, he thought desperately, the horrible laugh. Memories of eyes of fire and suffocation flooded back to his awareness, triggered by the sound.

"There is more of where that came from. Do not defy me again. Now, speak your name."

Fear paralyzed Legolas. He could not move, could not speak, could not think as the fire consumed him. He trembled, squeezing his eyes shut against the visions and reaching beyond himself for a strand of hope. He was trapped in this nightmare, with nary a memory to comfort him, truly alone…

A warm glow heated the skin next to his heart. He reached into his shirt, and brushed his fingertips against a necklace. As he did so, it seemed as if a voice spoke to him, telling him to hold on. Its reassurance was like a light to him in this dismal abyss. Fireworks and laughing children instead filled his thoughts, and gave him hope, hope enough to challenge this monster.

"Nay," he whispered defiantly, gathering courage. "Nay," he said again, louder "You have no right to know my name." Even if he had remembered it, still he would not have given it.

The creature laughed, seizing him about the throat and slamming him against the cell wall. "Still you defy me," it proclaimed, somewhat madly. "You know who I am, else you would never have been carrying what you were. Have you no fear?"

What I was carrying…I was carrying something? He wondered.

"I know what you are. You nothing but a deranged coward, who happened upon magick," Legolas spat back, aiming a sharp kick at his captor's abdomen. A smile of triumph crept upon his features as the faded one staggered backwards, the wind knocked from him.

Legolas regained his footing and darted around the other, lobbying for the door. Just as he reached the threshold, however, and invisible force caught him about the throat and sent him sprawling back onto the floor. Gasping for breath, he rolled just in time to dodge a blow from the elf.

Did you really think you could escape me that easily? Foolish one, an insinuating voice filled his mind.

Legolas gasped and stared up at his captor, who was looking down at him with a sneer, eyes alight with fire.

You shall pay dearly for that. No one ever strikes Gorthaur, for he who does always loses.

The door swung shut with finality behind them as Legolas's screams began to echo down the hall.

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*Random Announcement*: IF ANYONE IS INTERESTED IN SHOWING OFF THEIR TOLKIEN KNOWLEDGE, PLEASE EMAIL ME (by the middle of December 2002)! I'm conducting a survey for my Senior Research Project about Tolkien, and I'm looking for a few more fans. Fill it out, and I'll love you forever, really I will!

*Notes for the Chapter*: I'll leave off there for now. You might have noticed I stole and warped a bit from the cannon the meeting of Arwen and Aragorn (but it's kinda cute, isn't it?). I also added in a bit where Estel meets Haldir, because they did seem as if they knew each other from before in the movie, don't they?

Hmmm….quite a bit of Legolas torture, but this is the fire he must walk through before becoming the adept warrior he is as one of the companions. No, it's not just random sadism (well, maybe a little…).

A word about Isilya: no, she is not and will not ever become a Mary Sue, if any suspected. She's just a kick-ass warrior elf (a female one) because there is more needed in the Tolkien cannon. She's very old and skilled at magic, (and is cool!) and she plays a very important role in the plot.

Not very much romance in this chapter though….sigh, sorry about that. Did any see the new movie trailer? I was on the mark with Elrond, wasn't I? He's afraid of losing the only woman left to him…

Thank you all again for your reviews!!! They really encourage me and keep me going (really they do!). Write in again and tell me what you think!!!