Broken Fellowship 3: Hill of Breaking

by Lizardbeth J

At Amon Hen, the Fellowship faces threats from within and without, as darkness closes in. AU third in the Broken Fellowship series

Title: The Hill of Breaking

Author: Lizardbeth Johnson

Author e-mail: lizardbeths_tale@yahoo.com

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Series: The Broken Fellowship 3. Sequel to "For Want of Mithril" and "Light of the Most Beloved Star". You should probably read those first.

Summary: At the foot of Amon Hen, the fellowship faces threats from within and without, as the Enemy grows ever stronger.

Archive: Sure.

Disclaimers: Based on Lord of the Rings copyright to the Tolkien estate and under license to New Line Productions. This is a non-commercial work.

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The Hill of Breaking

by Lizardbeth Johnson

The Anduin flowed smooth and swift between the Argonath. The sun was high and bright, shining down in a glory upon the figures of the two kings.

Aragorn's gaze drank in every detail of the remarkable carvings as the three grey elvish boats passed by. Here, long ago, had stood the northern border of Gondor's might. No one sailing down the Anduin could miss the warning of its greatness.

But as with all things in this age, the colossal statues also represented a height of power that was gone. It had been a long time since Gondor's might had reached this far. The western bank and the vast grasslands beyond were no longer part of Gondor at all, having become Rohan, after the Rohirrim had saved Gondor from defeat.

Aragorn looked back to see how the others were. The hobbits and Boromir were watching with open amazement. Gimil's look was more of admiration, no doubt for the skill of the carving. Of them all, only Legolas did not look overly impressed but rather more sorrowful. Aragorn realized that to his ancient elf friend, who could remember when Gondor's power had spread throughout the south and east, these statues spoke only of waning strength and faded victories.

Being statues of Elendil and Anárion, the Argonath might also be reminding Legolas of Isildur's fate and Isildur's bane which now hung around the elf's neck.

Casting another look upward as the great bulk of Elendil's statue momentarily eclipsed the sun, Aragorn thought, My kin. Their blood runs in my veins. Yet both of them died three thousand years ago, killed in futile battle against an enemy who has proven the stronger.

At the thought, he cast another glance back at Legolas. This time the elf intercepted his gaze and lifted his brows in a question, smiling in that way of his that meant, The human is being strange again. Aragorn just shrugged, smiling back, and turned to face the front.

Legolas had seemed better since his confrontation with the Nazgûl and the moment when he had somehow, amazingly, called the light of Eärendil into the palm of his hand. Though he didn't perform the feat again, the ring remained tucked beneath his tunic out of sight, and Legolas had been more like his old self, quicker to smile and banter with his companions for the past few days.

And yet, Aragorn wondered if it wasn't just a brave front the elf was putting up. He was still unable to eat anything but lembas, and Aragorn had noticed -- despite efforts to disguise the fact -- that Legolas was only eating a third of one each day, shorting his rations to make them last. If he slept, it was while Aragorn was also asleep, because he was awake whenever Aragorn glanced his way. But the biggest clue of all was that Legolas hadn't sung once.

Aragorn had been raised among elves and had known Legolas for many years. Elves loved singing, and they all had exquisite voices. Before entering Moria, Legolas had occasionally made up cheerful songs to entertain the company, including an extremely salacious one about the horn of Gondor that had very nearly made Boromir draw his sword before he had collapsed, laughing too hard to stand. Legolas' singing had also drawn tears from the company when he had sung a lament for the destroyed elven realm of Eregion during their journey.

But if Legolas had spoken little since his bonding to the ring, he had sung not at all. And that was simply not normal for any elf.

Sitting before him, Sam noticed his frown and asked, "What's wrong, Strider?"

Softly, so Legolas couldn't hear, he admitted, "Worried about the elf."

"Me, too," Sam said. "But he's very brave. He'll do what he has to do."

Aragorn nodded. He didn't say it aloud to the hobbit, but that was one of the things that worried him the most. Legolas was profoundly stubborn. Though he was more like his Silvan mother in most ways, the blood of Thranduil ran true in him as well. Elrond had said more than once, usually in exasperation, that Thranduil had roots like an oak tree -- once he decided on a course it would take the Valar to move him. Legolas was just like him.

Stubborn elves, who were convinced they knew better than everyone, just because they had been alive for a few thousand years...

Aragorn was afraid that Legolas had already decided what he was going to do, and his plan was not going to include any of his friends.

All of them knew that after they stopped today, the fellowship was going to have to decide what to do and where to go. They would have to leave the boats, since the lake they now entered turned into the high Rauros falls at the opposite end. The fellowship would finally break for good -- unless Legolas decided to join Boromir on his return to Minas Tirith, which Aragorn thought very unlikely.

Suddenly just wanting to get it over with, Aragorn took up the paddles and began to angle the boat toward the western bank.

"What is that?" Sam pointed to an island directly south of their course. Though crowned with trees, the sides of the tall island were sheer rock walls with no place to land a boat.

"The Tol Brandir," Aragorn answered. "No man has walked there. The current is swift and treacherous as the river passes around it. And behind that, you can hear the roar of the falls of Rauros. There on the left is Amon Lhaw and the right is Amon Hen, the hills of Hearing and Sight. In the days of old, there were high seats upon them and a watch kept. We will camp at the base of Amon Hen tonight."

Afternoon deepened to evening as the company drew their boats up on the bank. A grassy slope rose up to the trees and high hills that encircled the great basin of the lake.

"We will rest here tonight," he announced after they had gathered around. "Tomorrow we decide the course to take."

As Merry, Pippin and Boromir set up camp, and Gimli trooped into the forest to gather firewood and take a look around, Aragorn asked Legolas in a quiet voice, "Will we be troubled tonight by enemies?"

Legolas' hawk-like gaze looked across the lake to the trees on the distant shore, then he glanced uneasily in the direction of the high hills and the setting sun. He shook his head. "There is a shadow in my mind, but I cannot tell from which direction it comes. Perhaps all."

He turned away and walked under the trees, his hands brushing the trunks as he passed.

Aragorn glanced down at Sam. "Pull Sting, Sam. Let us see if orcs are near."

Though the sun had set behind the western ridge, there was enough light to see by, yet not so much light that the pale blue flicker of the short sword was not visible. Aragorn's breath caught. "They are not close at hand, but not far either. With luck they are not on our side of the river."

Trusting little to luck, he set out the watches, leaving the last for himself and Legolas in the darkest, coldest hours of the night when danger was most likely to come.

That night, Aragorn slept little and restlessly. When it was his turn on watch, Legolas was up as well. "I will make a perimeter sweep," the elf whispered. Then he disappeared into the shadows before Aragorn could call him back.

When he returned, reporting nothing amiss, Aragorn pointed at the ground near the banked fire. "Get some rest, fool elf," he hissed, trying not to wake the others.

Without complaint, Legolas wrapped himself in his cloak, knife sheaths under his hands and bow and quiver beside him, and slept.

When Aragorn's watch ended, the elf didn't stir. Reluctant to wake him if he was finally getting some rest, Aragorn waited out the night alone, listening to the quiet rustlings in the forest and the comforting sounds of his friends sleeping.

First light came in shades of red and gold -- red like fire in the east, beneath the heavy black clouds on the horizon above the Emyn Muil, and gold at the summit of Tol Brandir. Slowly the sun climbed into the sky until it touched the crown of the trees above their camp.

A particularly loud bird squawked in the early morning stillness and Legolas sat up suddenly, his hand automatically falling on his bow. He realized there was no danger immediately and that he had slept through his watch, and his sharp, angry gaze found Aragorn across the camp. Aragorn merely shrugged in defense of the mute accusation in the elf's deep blue eyes. He noticed something suddenly and, with a grin, mimed taking something out of his hair. Legolas reached up and found the errant leaf, looking embarrassed. After that, he shook his head at the foibles of humans and took out his comb to fix the tangles. Aragorn smiled and knew he was forgiven.

One by one the others woke as well, and in near silence, the company broke their fast.

Then it was time.

"The day has finally come," Aragorn said. "What shall become of our fellowship that has traveled so far together? We have lost much, and yet we have won much as well. But now a choice lies ahead of us again. Shall we turn west with Boromir and go to the wars of Gondor? Or turn east to the Shadow? Or shall we break our fellowship and each choose a path? We know orcs are on the far shore, but I fear they may be on this side as well. No one has spied Gollum for days, and there is no knowing what mischief he may be making."

For a moment, no one spoke or moved.

"Well, Legolas," Aragorn continued. "The burden falls on you to decide. None of us can advise you. I do not know what Gandalf would have chosen, if he were here, but I would guess that the decision would still fall to you."

Legolas hesitated, not looking at any of them. Aragorn was nearly certain that Legolas already knew what he planned but he could not seem to bring himself to speak of it.

Finally, when he spoke, it was a murmur in elvish, more to himself, "The arrow is in flight, but has not yet struck."

Not certain he had heard, Aragorn asked, "Legolas?"

The elf fluidly rose to his feet. "An hour. I will return in an hour. I need to be alone for a little while."

Frowning, Aragorn nodded. "As you wish. We'll stay here. But don't stray too far. There is danger close."

"Perhaps closer than you think," Legolas murmured and shortly disappeared under the trees, walking toward Amon Hen.

Aragorn watched him go and kept himself from a sigh with a force of will. What was going on with his friend? Why not just tell them what he had decided? What was he waiting for?

The company waited by the river, sometimes wandering aimlessly and sometimes sitting beside the fire. At first they spoke in desultory fashion about the history of the place, the Argonath and the Stair -- a sharp descending path to the south which in the old days had been the only way to portage a boat past the Rauros falls. Aragorn did not know if the way was even still open.

But the conversation turned again toward Legolas and what he would do.

"There is no easy choice," Aragorn said. "Eastward is not secret from the Enemy any more, if ever it was. But Minas Tirith is no nearer to Mount Doom and the end of the ring. We could go there and make a stand, but Minas Tirith cannot do what was beyond Lord Elrond's power -- hold off the army of Mordor when the Dark Lord comes to take what is his."

Though he didn't say it, Aragorn was in no hurry to go to Minas Tirith and claim his supposed destiny. He might have the ring of Barahir and reforged the shards of Narsil, but he felt very little like a king.

"I miss Gandalf," Pippin said unexpectedly. "He would know what to do."

Aragorn was not as certain of that but did not say so.

"We shall not leave the elf, will we?" Gimli asked, looking toward Aragorn. "Whichever path he takes, Gimli the Dwarf will follow."

"Indeed, we all will," Merry said staunchly. "We've come this far, we won't turn back whether he chooses east or west."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think he's hesitating about that at all. He knows where he has to go. What's the good of Minas Tirith anyway? To him, I mean, begging your pardon, Master Boromir," he added hastily.

They all turned and then discovered that Boromir, who had been sitting on a fallen log on the edge of the circle, was no longer there.

"Where's he gone then?" Sam said, frowning worriedly. "Well, I suppose it makes no difference. He's made it clear he intends to return home, ring or no ring."

But Aragorn could not quiet the sudden disquiet that stirred in his heart. He recalled how intently Boromir's gaze had followed Legolas as the elf was leaving. Thinking back, he wondered if Legolas had glanced at the heir of Denethor before he had spoken.

Aragorn stood. "We should find them. They've both been gone too long. You four stay here. Gimli, watch the hobbits. I'll track our missing friends." Gimli nodded once and loosened the axe in his belt.

Boromir had not tried to hide his tracks, nor that he was following in the direction that Legolas had gone.

"Boromir! Legolas!" he called, but there was no answer.

His pace increased, until he was nearly running. Icy drops of fear dripped in his belly.

Something was happening, something dark and dangerous. He only hoped he was in time.

*** * ***

Legolas wandered in the wood, gradually moving up the hill until he found a decayed path and stair of stone. Tumbled statuary were half-buried in the forest floor. As he climbed, the path opened into a leaf-strewn, mostly flat, clearing of grassy lawn of an ancient gathering area. In the middle of the clearing was another of the immense statues, broken. All that remained was an over-sized stone head, worn by water and wind down to the mere suggestion of a face. One blank eye seemed to stare at him.

He realized that he was older than this worn statue. In his lifetime Gondor had erected this statue and the watchtower of Amon Hen on the ridge above then abandoned it all to fall into ruin. The lives of the elves were to men as the river was to this statue, ever flowing and endless.

Spurred by sudden impulse, he climbed to the flat surface of what had been the statue's ear. From here he was high enough to look eastward and see the glimmer of the river in the morning sun, the high rocky spire of Tol Brandir, and the eaves of the forest on the east bank of the river. Nothing appeared to be moving across the way, but he knew they were there, waiting.

He smiled grimly. The Shadow would have to wait a little while longer.

Suddenly he felt as though unfriendly eyes were on his back and he turned, reaching for his bow automatically. His hand fell away, seeing the friendly, smiling face of Boromir.

And now it begins, a voice in the back of Legolas' mind whispered in warning.

"I was worried for you," Boromir said. "If there are orcs about, none of us should be wandering alone. Especially not you. So much depends on you."

Lightly Legolas jumped down from his perch. "It is a kindly thought. But I need no help."

"But we want to help," Boromir offered. "I have seen how your burden weighs on you. I know little of elves, but it is plain to me that you suffer. Elvish spirits are not meant to carry such heavy dark burdens."

"None are meant to carry it," Legolas said. "Yet it is mine to bear."

"It doesn't have to be," Boromir said. Legolas watched him carefully, but saw nothing but genuine concern in his face. But he felt the fell influence of the ring, reaching out toward the human with grasping claws...

"Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?" Boromir asked. "Isildur bore the ring for three years without the untoward effects you already show, Legolas."

Legolas pointed out, "That was in the spring of this age when the Dark Lord was weak. That time has passed."

The human walked forward and Legolas retreated an equal distance.

Boromir stopped. "I wish only to help you. I have kept silent thus far on your choice, will you not hear my counsel?"

"I already know what counsel you would offer," Legolas answered. "You would say Minas Tirith. Do not think I have not considered that path. But it lies west of my intended road, and would be weeks of delay that I cannot waste."

"But why take the darker road at all?" Boromir said. His voice changed then, only slightly, but Legolas heard it. The reasonable tone grew harder, colder. "With the ring on the walls of Minas Tirith, no army could take them."

"You overvalue both the ring and your walls, son of Denethor."

Boromir moved toward him again. "I have seen you triumph over a demon and a Ringwraith. With the ring the army of Gondor would be unstoppable, and Mordor would fall."

"Do you understand nothing?" Legolas exclaimed, losing patience. "With the ring on my hand, the army of Gondor and the army of Mordor would be one and the same! The free people of Middle-Earth would be only a memory, enslaved by the will of Sauron."

"Then give it to one who was born of people who have thousands of years of resisting Mordor," Boromir extended his hand, as if he believed Legolas would actually put the ring in it.

Looking at the extended hand, Legolas blinked and then glanced at Boromir's face. He laughed once in scorn, unable to help himself. "My father fought at the Morannon and the siege of Barad-dûr, human. And my people have fought the forces of Shadow since before yours existed. Do not speak to me of resisting Mordor."

"Then do not walk there blindly and offer the Enemy every chance of recapturing it! It is folly!" Boromir cried. His hands gathered into fists at his side and a bright light gleamed in his eyes. "Surely you see it? How can you, an elf, hope to walk into the dark lands unseen? Do you not see? Bring it to the city, let us use it against the Enemy."

"No," Legolas said simply.

"No, you intend to throw it away! Such a precious thing is not fit for you! I will take it, and treasure it as it should be." Quite suddenly he lunged forward, grabbing at the chain at Legolas' neck.

"Boromir!" Taken by surprise, Legolas nearly did not dodge in time. The human's hand clutched a handful of his cloak, but he managed to slide out from under it, freeing himself again. "You don't want to do this."

Boromir threw the cloak to the ground and tried to tackle him again. "Give it to me!"

This time the elf was more prepared for the human's attempt, and he stepped back out of range. "Boromir! Listen to me. You are my friend. This isn't you. It's the ring."

"I know what you mean to do," Boromir said harshly. "I see your mind. You will take the ring to Sauron and betray us all!"

He drew his sword, and for a moment the forest glade where they stood was silent, except for the human's breathing. There was nothing of Boromir left in his shadowed, greedy eyes as he studied the elf. "Give it to me or I will take it off your corpse," he hissed.

A matching darkness grew in Legolas' heart. He would not allow the human to have the ring. His lips twisted upward in a contemptuous sneer. "You are too slow, human. Too clumsy."

Boromir rushed him and Legolas side-stepped, easily avoiding him. He laughed and taunted, "And you believe yourself worthy of the ring?"

The human rushed him again with a wordless cry of fury, and again the elf dodged aside. But this time, Boromir was waiting for the evasion and turned his blade to meet him. Legolas saw its arc and twisted desperately to avoid it. The blade sliced into his arm guard, and Legolas threw himself back.

That had been a killing blow, Legolas realized. Boromir truly intended to kill him and steal the ring. His hands started to reach for his knives but he held back with one last vestige of compassion. This was not Boromir, he reminded himself. Surely if he waited long enough, the human would come back to himself.

But he did not. If anything, the madness in Boromir's eyes deepened.

The sword came at him in swift flashes, even the elf's speed was barely enough to keep him out of the blade's deadly reach as he retreated and ducked the blows. He darted around the end of the colossal head and grinned, knowing he could keep the stone between them all day. Boromir's sword struck the stone, ringing with a suprisingly musical tone.

"Stand and defend yourself, you coward!" Boromir roared. "I will have it! It's mine!"

Legolas stopped cold. No one called the son of Thranduil a coward, and certainly not some child-human who wanted to steal the ring.

"As you wish." Legolas reached behind his head and drew his knives. He smiled in tense anticipation. "The ring belongs to me, mortal."

It was over in seconds. When Boromir came at him again, one knife caught the sword blade, sparks flying from the force of the collision. Legolas then stepped inside his guard, pivoting on his foot to force the sword wide. He reversed his other knife, and struck back-handed to the human's unprotected side.

He plunged the blade between the ribs up to the hilt.

Boromir's eyes widened in shock, and the madness cleared from them. "Legolas?" he whispered, like a man awakening from a terrible dream.

The darkness lifted from Legolas, too, and with a sickening jolt, he came back to himself. "By the Valar, what have I done? Boromir? Boromir!"

The last was a panicked cry as the man collapsed, his weapon dropping from his hands. Legolas caught him and tried to ease him down. He fumbled at Boromir's tunic and shirt, trying to get to the wound. Already there was blood staining the cloth and his hands.

"I will bind it. You will be fine. Just be still," Legolas told him urgently, knowing he was lying. "I can heal it a little. You'll be -- "

A larger hand came over his, forcing him to stop and look into the human's eyes. "I ... failed," he whispered. "The ring... too strong..."

"No," Legolas shook his head in futile denial. "It isn't your fault. Be silent and save your strength."

But he and Boromir both knew the wound was mortal.

"Forgive me," Boromir's gaze was glazed with pain, yet fixed to Legolas' own.

"If you forgive me," Legolas' voice shattered and his eyes welled with tears.

Boromir's lips parted, but he spoke no more. His breaths came with difficulty, harsh and gasping.

His hands covered with blood, Legolas rested one on Boromir's chest and lowered his eyelids in concentration. This was normally very difficult, as he was not much of a healer by nature. But today it seemed easier to draw out his innate elvish power. That strength trickled into Boromir, enough to ease his pain.

Boromir's expression smoothed and he smiled just slightly. Then his spirit, now free of the darkness, departed his body on a final breath.

"Namarië, son of Gondor," Legolas murmured and brushed his hand to close the empty eyes. "Ilúvatar keep you and guide you to whatever fate is next for men."

Legolas remained kneeling at his side, guilt shrouding his heart. He had killed the heir of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. He had killed one of his companions. He had killed his friend.

"What have I done?" he whispered, rocking back and forth slightly.

The sound of approaching footsteps did not rouse him.

Then he heard Aragorn's voice. "Legolas! Boromir! What are you --?" Then his voice changed and he hurried near. "Oh no."

He knelt on the other side of Boromir's body, but didn't bother hunting for a pulse since the human was obviously dead. "What happened?"

Legolas could not bring himself to answer. It was all too obvious -- his knife was stained red with blood where it lay on the leaves.

"Legolas! Tell me what happened?" Aragorn demanded.

"He tried to take the ring," Legolas answered dully. "I killed him." He held out his hands, covered in drying blood. "I just ... couldn't stop."

Aragorn glanced from him to the body and let out a heavy sigh. "It was the ring. Setting you against one another. You can't blame yourself."

Legolas shook his head once in denial. He certainly could blame himself, since there was no one else to blame. It was his fault.

"I knew he would try to take it," Legolas continued to stare at Boromir, his voice coming out as though it belonged to someone else. "He had to try before our paths diverged. So I gave him the opportunity." His voice dropped to a murmur, repeating, "I knew."

He could not actually say the words, but both he and Aragorn knew the truth. He had given Boromir the target, knowing that the man could not resist. Knowing that the ring held the human in its grip. Knowing a confrontation between them would have only one end.

Even now chill pleasure glimmered beneath the grief and guilt, because the ring-thief was dead. He pushed that feeling away, knowing it was not his own.

Aragorn tried again. "We have to keep going, Legolas, and take the evil thing back to Mount Doom."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" Aragorn asked, in a voice that was tight with controlled alarm. His hand was on his sword-hilt. "You don't intend to take it to Mount Doom after all?"

"I do. But there is no 'we'," Legolas lifted his gaze to meet the gray eyes of his friend. "You know I'm right. This is my doom, not yours."

Aragorn shook his head. "You can't go alone."

"I must," Legolas countered softly. "Your destiny lies on another path, my friend." When Aragorn would have shaken his head again, resisting Legolas' words, the elf continued, "You know where you must go, Heir of Isildur. If I fail, you are Gondor's last hope."

"You won't fail. But you can't go alone, Legolas. You need help."

"I can no longer trust the help any of you offer," Legolas answered softly. Aragorn flinched. "I am sorry," Legolas added. "But you know there is no other choice." Aragorn nodded, acknowledging the truth of the ringbearer's words. Even he was not immune to the whispers of the ring.

Legolas resheathed his bloody knives and then bent to remove Boromir's swordbelt.

"What are you doing?" Aragorn asked, nevertheless helping him take it off. He hung the horn of Gondor around his own neck.

"I will wear it in his memory," Legolas declared and buckled it around his waist, sheathing the sword with a decisive motion. "Where I go, arrows and knives may not be enough."

"Elentári varyailyë," Aragorn murmured the Quenyan prayer, his gaze locked with Legolas'.

"Ar len, mellon nín." They clasped arms and for one instant, hesitated, unwilling to let go and break the fellowship beyond all hope of recovery.

In that time of silence, they both heard it -- the sound of many heavy footsteps approaching from the west.

No longer distracted by Boromir's attack and death, Legolas could also feel the onrushing sense of evil. His head came up and he instantly reached for his bow. "Orcs!"

"In the sunlight?" Aragorn demanded in surprise. They stepped a few paces away from each other to gain space to fight.

"Orthanc," Legolas reminded him as he put an arrow to the string and waited. He remembered, as Aragorn apparently did not, that Gandalf had warned of Saruman's new breed of orc.

Legolas examined what would be his killing ground and found it adequate. He and Aragorn stood at the eastern end of the stone-head clearing, so the orcs would have to look into the morning sun to see them. There was more than a hundred paces of open grass that the orcs would have to cross before reaching them. Legolas fully expected to be able to use at least a dozen of his arrows before the range grew too short and he would have to go hand-to-hand.

Aragorn nodded grimly and nocked his arrow too. "Legolas, go. You can't be caught here. We can't let it fall into Saruman's hands either."

"When I must," Legolas answered as casually as he could, having no intention of leaving his friend to fight an orc army alone. One friend dead at his hand was enough -- Aragorn's death would be more than he could bear. "But until then I may as well help you kill a few."

Aragorn lifted the horn of Gondor and blew two long warning blasts, just as Legolas saw the first sign of orcs. Dark shapes ran in front of the stone remnant of Amon Hen, crossing over the top of the ridge.

He raised his bow and sighted. When the first orc finally burst into view he nearly lost the shot in his shock. That was not an orc. It was huge, man shaped and very strong looking, wearing armor and boots. But it had the ears of an orc and the snarl of an orc, and it felt just as evil, even if it had long hair and dark reddish skin.

Legolas restrained a shudder and fired. Before that arrow had reached its target, he had another arrow on the string and was aiming again. The throat seemed little protected and he aimed there, or the forehead, for those not wearing helmets. As the range shortened, his arrows had power enough to slam through the orcs' chest plates and he no longer had to aim quite so carefully.

There were so many. He saw other orcs slipping past to the south of them and hoped Gimli and the hobbits had found place to hide. Not that he seriously believed the dwarf would hide, but hopefully he wouldn't get himself killed.

He continued to shoot until the last moment, when the next big orc was scarcely three paces away. When it fell at his feet, he pulled Boromir's sword free of the scabbard.

He didn't even have time to test its balance before more orcs were upon him and he had to block an orcish scimitar. The things weren't very sharp, just long flat pieces of metal with a hook on the end meant to break bones and tear flesh, not cut or pierce.

The force of the block ran up his arms and he blinked in surprise at the orc's strength. He glanced at the Gondor-forged blade and hoped the steel would hold.

The orc growled at Legolas, giving him a view of yellow pointed teeth and a whiff of fetid breath. It struck again, seeking to drive him back onto the blade of another. Legolas blocked again and ducked the scimitar seeking to take off his head from behind. He whirled, coming up with his blade in a glimmering arc of blinding steel, stabbing it through the side of the chest. Pulling free, he continued his turn, back to face his original enemy. He reached behind with his left hand and drew his knife. He caught the other scimitar blade on his sword, stepped closer, and drew the blade across its throat before the creature could move. Then he turned to face his next enemy.

It had been a while since he had fought with a sword. In fact, he realized, it had been at the Battle of the Five Armies, the last time hobbits, dwarves and elves had fought side by side. Orcs had come pouring over the ridge then too.

Though it was not his preferred weapon, Legolas had been trained by the best Mirkwood had to offer and had hundreds of years of experience. He could wield a sword as an extension of his arm and no stroke was wasted. He moved with the tide of battle, using his speed and deadly accuracy to bring down his opponents. He wielded both sword and knife together, blocking and cutting and stabbing, while he dodged out of reach and used the orcs' size and strength against them whenever possible. It was a desperate dance of death, one against many. He managed to glance once in Aragorn's direction, but could not see how he fared with the stone head in the way. The continuing clash of weapons gave him hope.

Yet for every one they killed, there was another to take its place and then another. It would be only a matter of time before one of the enemy got lucky.

Suddenly a hoarse command rent the air -- "Find the halflings! Find the halflings!"

Immediately the crowd of orcs around Legolas thinned noticeably as the creatures continued on toward the lake shore. Legolas dispatched the last two he had engaged, and then turned to find that they had all gone. Aragorn likewise was bereft of living opponents, though he had as great a crowd of the dead scattered on the clearing.

Their gaze met, both stunned to have come through the carnage relatively untouched.

Then Aragorn's eyes widened as he understood. "The hobbits!"

Only a heart-beat slower, Legolas realized what had happened. Saruman's orcs did not know the ring was no longer borne by one of the hobbits. They thought Frodo was still alive. That meant all the hobbits were in terrible danger.

As one he and Aragorn turned to pursue the hunting orcs. They raced through the thin woods, side by side. Soon, the sounds of battle and Gimli's roaring voice reached Legolas' hearing and he tried to run faster.

They reached the tail-end of the orc band and cut them down from behind before the creatures even knew the elf and Ranger were there. But all too soon they were embroiled in another fight and Legolas whirled and stabbed as fast as he could, trying to get clear. The sounds of Gimli's fight had tapered off and Legolas feared what that meant.

"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted. "Go!"

Legolas glanced over at him, to see Aragorn occupied with six of the orc-brutes. The Ranger could handle them, so with no further word, Legolas started running again. He found another old stone path, crumbling at the edges and covered with leaves, but the steps and the bridges over streambeds were intact. That made the descent easier and quicker.

The path turned and passed over a low ridge, and the scene of battle came into view below. Gimli was the only one Legolas could see who was still living. The clearing was silent and still. Fifteen or more dead orcs lay on the leaves in mute testament to the dwarf's fighting prowess. The hobbits were nowhere to be seen.

Gimli knelt in the leaves, axe in his hand. Legolas hissed in dismay, noticing the arrows that protruded from the dwarf's leg and his upper chest.

At first, Legolas didn't see the archer that had hit him, even though Gimli's gaze was directed defiantly to Legolas' left and down the hill.

There. Partially sheltered by a thorn tree about sixty paces away. The giant orc was raising a heavy bow toward the dwarf at near point-blank range.

Legolas thrust the sword point-first into the soil to hold it for a moment, and resheathed his knife as he unlimbered his bow again. His fingers found two arrows remaining in his quiver and he smiled. Two was one more than he needed.

He fired one before the orc had even pulled his arrow back. He watched the arrow in flight, confident in its path.

But somehow, the orc sensed the danger and turned. It saw the arrow coming at him and moved just enough that it whistled past him, a clean miss.

"By the Ainur!" Legolas swore and reached for the other arrow.

But the orc already had an arrow and had already pulled his bow. The brute grinned nastily and fired. The arrow came straight at him, with enough speed and force it would probably cut right through him.

If, of course, he was there to meet it which he had no intention of being. He threw himself behind the slim trunk of the nearest tree then yelped in surprise, stumbling backward as the point came through the trunk, tearing a gash in the front of his tunic. His feet found the raised edge of the stone walkway and, with a sudden idea, he turned and rolled off the opposite edge. As he had thought, there was a drop of a dozen handspans to the forest floor on the opposite side. He landed, cat-like, on his feet and hurried up the slope, keeping his head and quiver below the level of the path.

Legolas then froze and listened carefully for heavy footfalls. He heard them approaching slowly, as well as the creak of the heavy bow being pulled again. Good -- the prospect of a new target had distracted the orc from Gimli.

Glancing around he realized that, though he was momentarily out of sight, he wouldn't be the moment the orc reached the pathway. There was nowhere to hide against the rock wall that supported the path. There were no bushes and only sparse trees. He needed better cover and he needed it immediately.

Yet to a wood elf, even a single tree could provide shelter and concealment. Let the Imladris and Lórien elves protect their woods with rings of power, the Mirkwood elves had fought for every blade of grass that remained free of the shadow. They had learned a few things about defending themselves in two thousand years of evil pouring out of Dol Guldur.

He crept soundlessly to a larger tree, with a thick gnarled trunk but willowy thin branches and a cloud of small pale green leaves. He wished he hadn't left his cloak on the ground up at Amon Hen, since he could really use its camouflage effect.

At the tree, on the opposite side of where the orc should be, he peered around, listening intently. He heard nothing. The orc had paused, no doubt to try to fix his location as well.

Legolas slung his bow over his head and leaped for the branch above. For one sickening instant, he hung there, a perfect target if the orc could see him.

But nothing happened and Legolas lifted himself onto the branch. At first it bent under his weight, but then his innate ability to balance on anything allowed the branch to flex back as it had been. Perching up there like a bird, with no fear of falling off, he waited. Few creatures of Middle-Earth ever thought to look above their heads, and fewer still would believe the slender branches could hold any significant weight.

He looked down the slope through the sheltering leaves. He didn't see the orc, or anyone else for that matter, but he knew the orc could not be far. He very slowly and quietly began to draw his bow.

The big orc appeared on the path, its own bow ready, as the yellow eyes scanned for the missing elf.

This orc came down from the path to examine the indentation where Legolas had landed on the leaves. It turned slowly, examining the leaf-strewn forest floor. But Legolas had left no other track.

Just a little more, Legolas coaxed mentally. The orc faced him, and its gaze crossed the tree. Its expression did not change even as its eyes passed across the lower branches. Legolas remained absolutely still, not breathing and waiting for his shot.

He targeted the base of the large orc's neck, all his concentration bending on that one spot... and loosed.

The range and speed were such that even though the orc saw it coming, it was too late to dodge. The arrow struck and the orc staggered back one pace, trying to howl but it came out in a sort of gurgle.

Legolas waited, smiling, for the giant orc to fall. But his smile faded, as the orc straightened and pulled the arrow out, tossing it to the ground. It grinned above the blood streaming down its chest. Legolas' eyes widened. What kind of demon was this, that it could shrug off an arrow through its throat? It aimed its own shot into the tree.

Even as the arrow sprang from the bow, Legolas dropped from the branch and heard it whistling past him. He struck the ground and rolled, coming up with his knives in his hands. The brute reached for another arrow and, with a desperate prayer to Elbereth, Legolas threw his right hand knife. The blade sliced through the bowstring and landed off to the orc's right in the leaves.

The orc threw the now useless bow to the ground and took the giant scimitar off its back. Legolas looked at his lone knife and the orc's weapon and inwardly winced. This was going to hurt. Still, it had to be done -- this orc was obviously the leader of the troop and more intelligent than the others. His loss would be a blow to Saruman and Saruman's plans to control Middle-Earth with the ring.

The orc topped him by at least a handspan and was twice as wide, but Legolas moved to meet him without fear. He had the speed and the skill, and had faced worse enemies with less than a knife.

The orc snarled and swung. Legolas didn't try to block it, just ducked out of its way. The scimitar then came back the other way -- too fast -- Legolas dove to the ground. The scimitar still caught his side, in what was a glancing blow by the orc but would have been a hard hit by anyone else. He gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, and for a heartbeat's time could not move as the pain waved through him. The orc's weapon lifted and slammed down in an overhead strike that could have crushed his ribs, but he rolled frantically. How could such a large thing be so fast?

The scimitar slammed into the ground less than a handspan away, and Legolas took the opportunity to kick the orc's elbow and try to break it, pushing off the orc to flip back to his feet.

The elbow seemed undamaged as the orc swung at him again. Legolas retreated backward two steps so the tree was at his back. He ducked and the scimitar struck the bark, embedding itself in the wood and spraying splinters. Legolas struck with his knife, but the orc's free hand grabbed his wrist and began to squeeze the thin bones together, mercilessly grinning the whole time.

Legolas head-butted him on the chin, and then yanked down and free, as the big orc wrenched its scimitar free of the wood. He dove again, rolling across the leaves and coming up on one knee, facing the orc.
The orc was pleased as it stalked closer. It thought the elf was almost finished. But Legolas smiled back, because he knew exactly where he was. More to the point, he knew that his other knife was in the leaves next to his foot. He grabbed it and had both knives up in time to block the next blow at his head.

With the orc scimitar trapped between the knives, he looked into the orc's bestial eyes. "Who is your master, uruk-hai?"

"Saruman," the creature growled. He pushed, but Legolas pushed back, unwilling to give a hair.

"You chose unwisely." Legolas abruptly pulled his knives free and the orc started to fall forward, bereft of his support. It tried to recover, but Legolas was faster. He surged upward, beneath the orc's guard, neatly severing the orc's hand. When the orc was weaponless, he flipped both knives to back-hand grips and crossed them in a grisly embrace, slashing the orc's throat open to the bone.

It collapsed to the ground like a felled tree and did not twitch even when Legolas kicked him. Dead. Finally.

Breathing hard, Legolas paused a moment to collect himself and dust off the forest debris still stuck to him. His nose wrinkled at the orc blood that had managed to sprinkle his clothes, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He wiped off the blades of his knives with a handful of leaves and resheathed the blades, hissing with unexpected pain with the motion. His entire left side ached and his wrist throbbed, but as he prodded and stretched, he decided that nothing was broken.

He recovered his bow and then ran up the rise to fetch the sword he had left. The scene below caught his eye. He paused to watch, knowing that they could not see him even if they looked.

Aragorn was kneeling before Gimli, binding the dwarf's wounds. There was no trace of the hobbits.

Legolas smiled just a little, sorrowfully. Aragorn would find the others and bring them to Minas Tirith. But his own path no longer went that way.

Turning away and taking care to keep out of sight, Legolas trotted swiftly along the shore to return to the camp. He needed to collect his supplies before the others thought about it. He wanted to be well away.

Still, he slowed to move with caution as he approached the campsite. The sense of orc was thick in the air, and he could not have said that site was empty. Even if there were no orcs, nothing said that Gollum had not found them.

From his screening brush, he saw the three boats sitting where they had been left. Silently he stepped out, senses on high alert. The packs seemed to be untouched. He sorted quickly, sliding his spare arrows into his quiver, and putting his fletching kit, all the remaining lembas, a water bag, his spare shirt, and a few tiny extras into a small pack.

"Master Legolas?"

Legolas whirled, knives in both hands, at the first rustle behind him.

Samwise was peering curiously over the edge of the boat. He had, apparently, been hiding in it.

Legolas let out a breath and relaxed. Knives went back where they belonged. "Sam. Are the others with you?"

"No. Gimli and Merry and Pippin raced off at the sound of the horn. I told them not to be stupid, that Strider wanted us to stay here ..." his voice trailed off as he noticed the sword Legolas was now wearing.

"Boromir?" he asked in a whisper.

"Dead," Legolas answered, averting his gaze back to the pack he was putting together. "Aragorn is with Gimli. I have not seen Merry or Pippin. We slew many orcs, but not all of them. I fear your brave friends may be captives. It seems that Saruman's orcs were only told to take hobbits."

"Then we have to rescue them!" Sam climbed out of the boat, nearly overturning it and dumping himself in the water.

"Aragorn and Gimli are that way," Legolas pointed the right direction. "Gimli was hurt, I know not how badly."

Sam started away, got two paces, and then turned back around. His gentle face was unusually intent as he looked up at the elf. "And you?"

"Me? I am not injured."

Sam shook his head. "No, I mean, you're not coming, are you?"

Legolas felt the heavy cold weight on his chest and realized that he had not thought of the ring since the fight with Boromir began. Had he been following the ring's desires? And was it because what he wanted and what the ring wanted happened to be the same thing, or was it because his will had been overcome, even for the moment? It was a disturbing thought.

He rubbed at the ache in his left hand absently and realized he had to choose again. On one side stood the shining white tower and walls of Minas Tirith, and on the other, the high black tower of Barad-dûr and the fiery mountain of Orodruin. He remembered his vision in the mirror of a Ringwraith landing on the tower of Ecthelion and its bright banners in flames.

He had no real choice. "No, Sam. I must take the eastern road."

Sam nodded. "I thought so. And I'm going with you."

Legolas was so prepared for Sam to bid him farewell that the actual words took a moment to sink in. "Sam, I -- I thank you, but this is a path I must walk alone."

"No," Sam refused. He took his back pack from the boat, with his frying pan still hanging from it, and set it with a thump at his feet. "I have to go with you. I made a promise," he declared. "I have to see it through."

"But Merry and Pippin may be captives of the orcs and on their way to Saruman as we speak," Legolas reminded him. "You cannot help me -- but you can help them."

"That's not true," Sam said, with a flare of anger. "Not that I can't help you, and not that I can help them." He had to take a deep breath, but pushed the words out anyway. "See, I figure, I can't run after a bunch of orcs. Hobbits aren't made for running. I can't help them," he admitted and it came hard to him to do it, but he was clearly resolved on his course. "But I can help you. I've got Sting. And, well," he refused to look up and his voice came out in a rush, "if you, um, you get killed, you need somebody else to take it. I can do that. If I have to."

The words made Legolas actually stop and think, past his reflexive denial of Sam's wish to come along. He was right, if not for the reason that Sam said. If Legolas felt the ring take hold, he would need another option. He would give the ring to Sam and throw himself from a cliff rather than allow Sauron to have it.

"Very well," Legolas agreed. "But in return, Samwise, you must make me a promise." Sam nodded solemnly. "If I give the ring to you, you must take it without argument. I know what will happen to me. But you should understand that if I give it to you, it will quite possibly be the last act free of its influence I will have. You must take it and leave me, as quickly as possible. You must promise this."

Sam's eyes were large in his face and he hesitated. Then, very softly he answered, "I promise, Legolas."

After a moment to read Sam's intention and be certain that he meant the promise, Legolas nodded once. "Then we are agreed."

He put down all his weapons so they wouldn't get wet, walked up to the nearest boat, empty of all but its paddles, and began to push it into the water.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

Legolas waded out deeply enough to be sure the boat caught the current and then let it go. The small light craft began to travel toward Tol Brandir, faster and faster until it was out of sight around the curve of the shore.

"I want everyone to believe I rowed to the east bank."

"Aren't we?" Sam asked in confusion.

"No." Legolas lifted himself up onto the old stone wall that jutted into the wall and walked back atop it. After, he picked the stoniest ground he could to hide his tracks, and returned to his belongings. He buckled on his weapons and slung his pack over his shoulder. As he did all that, he explained to the young hobbit, "That was never truly my plan, Sam. An elf will never be able to slip through the Morannon unseen. Unlike Frodo, I cannot use the ring to turn invisible. So I intend to search out another path further south, perhaps through the Morgul vale."

Sam blanched. "Past Minas Morgul?" he whispered. "But it's ... as bad as the Dark tower itself. Isn't it?"

Legolas smiled at him. "It isn't too late to go back, Sam."

"No, no," Sam squared his shoulders. "I'm going."

"Are you sure? Shadows lie thick at my feet. Wisdom suggests you should stay here, with your friends."

"You are my friend, too," Sam declared stoutly. "And I can't let you to do this alone. 'He will need you' she told me. In my head as we were leaving. I promised her I'd look after you. Since you seem so bad at doing it yourself."

Unexpectedly touched, Legolas had to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. "Sam, I --"

"I think we'd best be going if you want to get off before the others come looking," Sam said, slinging his own pack across his shoulders and looking up at his tall friend. There was still fear in his eyes, but it was overlaid by determination. He was not going to be swayed by Legolas' attempts to change his mind. "Where are we going?"

"South," Legolas answered, wishing that he felt less as though he brought Sam's doom along with his own. He began leading the way through the thin trees, the small hobbit at his heels. "First, we're going to pick up my cloak and with luck, the rest of my arrows. And then we're going to the Stair."

From there they would have to cross the Entwash and eventually the Anduin itself to enter the forest of Ithilien. But he felt that would be easier than attempting to pass the Dead Marshes and the Dagorlad, where there was no place to hide from prying eyes.

Once in Ithilien he was hopeful that he could find a secret path into Mordor, or at least that the Morgul road might allow passage where the Morannon would not. He knew from his father's stories about the battle at the Morannon that nothing entered the great black gates unseen.

There was a long, hard journey that remained, but every step took him nearer to the end. With Sam at his side, he had a small beacon of hope to light his days and there were always the stars at night.

He and Sam entered the stone-head clearing where the two had killed so many of the enemy. While Sam retrieved his cloak and stood for a moment at Boromir's body to say farewell, Legolas set to scavenging as many of his arrows from the orcs as he could.

As they left the clearing, he glanced back over his shoulder in Aragorn's direction.

Our paths now diverge, my friend, mine to darkness, yours to light. I hope to be at your coronation, King of the West, and watch you fulfill your destiny. But in my heart, I do not believe we will meet again. Elbereth watch over you, Estel.

Namarië.

*** * ***

Aragorn rushed down the hill to his stricken dwarf friend, berating himself for having taken so long against the other orcs. Gimli was all alone in a great crowd of dead orcs, with two arrows in him.

For just a horrible instant, he feared that the two arrows were Legolas', before realizing with stark relief that the fletchings were black and and the arrows too thick.

"Gimli! What happened?" He knelt in front of the dwarf and steadied him when he swayed on his knees. "Here, lie down and let me take a look at the wounds." He encouraged Gimli to lie back, which the dwarf did with a groan.

One arrow had gone in the upper thigh. It would be painful to walk on but was not life threatening. The other was lodged in his upper right chest, right through his armor. Luckily, Aragorn saw as he cleaned it with a cloth taken from a small pouch at his waist, the armor had slowed the arrow and prevented it from penetrating his ribs. He left the arrows in place as he gathered his supplies and tore off a strip of his tunic's hem. "What happened?" he asked again, hoping to get Gimli's mind off his injuries. "Where are the hobbits?"

"The orcs took Merry and Pippin," Gimli growled through his teeth. "I tried to stop them, but then this big one -- white handprint on its ugly face -- shot me twice."

Aragorn smiled slightly at the irritated tone. "And you avenged yourself on him, I assume?"

Gimli frowned. "That wasn't you? Someone distracted the brute away from me. I heard sounds of a fight just before you arrived."

"Must have been Legolas. He was ahead of me," Aragorn said, lifting his head and darting a quick glance around. As if the mention of the name were a spell, in that moment, Aragorn could have sworn he felt that Legolas was close. But there was no one nearby. "What about Sam?"

"He stayed at camp -- AARGH!" Gimli yelled as Aragorn suddenly pulled the arrow free.

Panting heavily, the dwarf glowered at the human. "Next time -- a little warning."

Aragorn's hands were gentle as he bound the wound tightly. "I hope Sam is all right. We need to find him."

"What of Boromir?" Gimli asked.

Aragorn froze momentarily, the image darting through his mind of Legolas kneeling at Boromir's side, blood on his hands and dark shadows in his eyes. "Dead," he answered briefly.

Gimli shut his eyes in grief. "Another lost," he murmured. "Now we are so few to go with the elf."

Aragorn shook his head once and cut away some of Gimli's trouser around the arrow in his leg. "We're not going with him, Gimli."

"What? I swore --" he tried to sit up and gasped in pain. His voice fainter, he asked, "Why not?"

"We can't," Aragorn answered, pushing Gimli back down. "The ring calls us. Eventually one or both of us would try to take it. But Legolas can't let it go. He would fight us." He shook his head. "I don't want my death on his conscience. He bears enough."

The older dwarf's eyes were keen, despite his wounds. "Is that -- what happened with Boromir? He tried -- to take it?"

Aragorn hesitated then nodded. "Legolas killed him." He busied himself with cleaning off his dagger to cut the arrow from Gimli's leg. This one was imbedded more deeply, its barbs caught in flesh.

Gimli's hand seized his shoulder, making Aragorn look up at him again. "It is a dark day, Aragorn. But we do what we can, right? All of us -- dwarf, man, halfling, and elf."

Aragorn considered the words and reluctantly had to agree. There were many things which lay outside his ability to do anything about, and there was little use in decrying the fate that had brought them all to this pass.

In weighty silence he finished tending Gimli, who was sweating and clenching his jaw at the end, but did not cry out again. Finally, Aragorn wrapped the makeshift bandage around his leg. "There. Wait here -- I'm going to look for Sam and fetch our supplies from the camp." He handed his dagger to Gimli, who took it in one hand tightly. "I think the orcs have all gone, but just in case..."

"They'll not find me easy prey," Gimli declared and Aragorn hid a smile.

"Indeed not. I'll be right back."

It was a quick walk to the camp on the shore. Aragorn saw immediately that one of the boats was gone as well as Legolas' supply pack. There, in the mud near where the boat had been, was the clear, if shallow, imprint of a soft elven boat. He turned to cast an eye across the lake, but could not see the boat anywhere.

More curiously he saw that Sam's pack was also gone and although the signs were muddied by the passage of many feet, he was sure that Sam's tracks went off to the southwest, at an oblique angle up the ridge. Why would the hobbit wander off that way? Had he heard the sounds of fighting and went off to try to find his friends? If so, then he had likely been taken by the orcs as well.

Or, a sudden idea struck, and he looked out at the lake again. He couldn't be that far behind Legolas. It didn't seem possible that the elf had already rowed across the lake. Or had he just let the boat go in order to go overland? That was the sort of tricky thing that he expected from Legolas, if the elf was trying to sow confusion among his friends and enemies alike. If the latter, then it was probable that Sam and Legolas were together, but only Sam's tracks were visible. Legolas barely left a track in fresh snow -- tracking him through a forest was impossible.

Aragorn smiled at the memory. Years ago in Mirkwood, he had tried to track Legolas for a challenge, and had to give up. More humiliating yet, the elf had only been standing twenty paces away, watching him root around on the ground for nothing. That had been Aragorn's first awareness that wood-elves were not the same as those he had grown up with in Rivendell. They were more isolated and not as wise, but they had other skills.

Legolas would need all his wood-elf skills and tricks to see his quest to the end. Hopefully he was with Sam, who could help him, but if not, Aragorn could not follow him.

Aragorn gathered the supplies that he and Gimli could carry and returned to the dwarf. He dumped the two packs to the ground and knelt to sort the contents. "I think Sam went with Legolas."

"Good. At least he won't be alone." He chuckled once, gruffly. "Who would have thought I would ever care about an elf?"

Though the words were lightly meant, Aragorn answered more seriously, "How could you not? He carries our fate, Gimli."

"So he does. If we do not go after him, then where?" Gimli asked. He looked down at his leg and grunted sourly. "I will be little use trying to catch the orcs that took the young hobbits."

"They are, I fear," Aragorn answered heavily, "well out of our reach."

"You could run after them."

"No," Aragorn shook his head. It had been something he had considered, but in the end, he knew it would be futile. Even if by some miracle he caught them, he would be in no condition to fight. It grieved him to leave the innocent hobbits to such a cruel fate, but perhaps if he and Gimli found help, it would not be forever. "I couldn't leave you, injured and alone. No, we will climb west and seek the riders of Rohan. They must, in any case, be warned of the treachery of Isengard, and perhaps they will help us rescue Merry and Pippin. They are a strong, determined race of warriors." He flashed a quick smile at Gimli. "I think you'll like them."

"Horse riders?" Gimli's grunted in doubt. "I find my own two feet good enough for travel."

"As I recall, you once swore that you would never trust an elf, too," Aragorn countered. "Give them a chance."

Gimli nodded his shaggy head after a moment and Aragorn knew that was likely as good as he was going to get.

In moments he was helping Gimli stand, and with the dwarf leaning heavily on him they started up the slope to get clear of the slain orcs.

They had not gone very far when Aragorn called a halt and decided to make camp. The dwarf was strong and would heal quickly, but not if he were forced to travel too hard, too fast.

But as Gimli rested, Aragorn could sense his other friends slipping farther and farther away from him: Merry and Pippin, captives of orcs and heading to a dark fate as prisoners of Saruman the Betrayer, somewhere to the west.

And Legolas and Sam, journeying south into deeper shadow. Aragorn's thoughts went out to him, and he wished that Legolas could hear them.

I swore to protect you, my friend. But I cannot protect you from yourself, and that growing darkness is the enemy you must face. Elbereth guide you and protect you in the darkest places of the world where you must go, Legolas.

And someday, somehow, this I swear -- we will meet again.

To be continued in The Broken Fellowship 4: Window of the Sunset....