Acknowledgements: Beta, readers… you know the drill.

Warning: Not Tolkien, don't own his characters.

Chapter 3: Tales in the Dark

Fifteen minutes later, Legolas was huddled against the dirt walls of their prison, a Hobbit pressed on either side of him. The hole's floor was rapidly becoming a swirl of mud which was steadily encroaching on the prisoners of nature.

Shivering, the Elf gazed up into the black sky and sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. A prickly chill was crawling up his spine, a harsh reminder of the familiar fear that lurked in his heart. Every so often his exhausted eyes thought they spied a flash of flame and brimstone and he twitched back against the muddy the walls until the remaining rational portion of his brain realized that it was only Strider's stolen lantern.

Strange, he mused, even during my panic I wasn't this afraid. 

"How is the lantern doing, Peregrin?" he asked on impulse. Pippin looked up al him, his curly hair dripping water on to his nose.

"Seems alright. The candle won't last us the night, though."

"It won't? Legolas could feel his chest tighten, pushing all of the breath from his lungs. "Why not?"

Pippin raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Why, the wick's bound to burn down sometime!"

Less emotion, less suspicion! Legolas forced a smile. A nonchalant smile, he hoped. "I do not believe that Aragorn will be too pleased when he finds out that his lantern has burnt to nothing."

"I'll just turn on the ol' Took charm… like this!" Pippin's face stretched into a grin and he fluttered his eyelashes. With a sigh, Merry reached over Legolas and shoved his friend over into the mud.

"That's the only way to get him out of such a goofy mood," he explained, settling back into his place.

The Took sat straight up, sending an icy glare over at Merry.

"Alright, Brandybuck! You asked for it!" A squeal of rage erupted from the Hobbit, his face just barely visible through his impromptu mud mask.

"P-pippin, Merry stuttered.

"Peregrin…" gaped Legolas, knowing what the Hobbit was going to do. "Do not-"

Too late. Pippin launched himself to his feet and went at Merry, tromping Legolas's abdomen roughly with his bare feet. A strangled noise wrenched from the Elf's throat as stars spangled in front of his eyes.

Elbereth…

"Not the eyes! Not the eyes!"

"You like the mud, eh? Well, then have a mouth-full!"

"Bleeeeeeeech!"

"Oh Valar, that's enough!" The two Hobbits paused at Legolas's cry, Pippin with a fist-full of mud and Merry with his arms desperately flung over his face. "It will hear you!"

Silence.

"What will hear us?" Pippin wondered out loud, lowering his arm. Merry peeked out between his arms. The sight that greeted them was, to put it lightly, very odd. And a bit frightening.

The sight was Legolas, his shoulders heaving with the combined effort of fear and the fact that he had just gotten every molecule of air knocked out of his lungs. His Elven skin seemed sallow and his hair was in a state of disarray. But perhaps the gleam in his eyes was what was truly alarming, a glinting mixture of terror, fatigue, and panic sweeping through them. He raised one trembling finger to his lips and shushed his companions with one swift breath.

"It," he hissed, "it will steal our souls!"

"What is it?"

The Elf opened his mouth, then closed it again, clutching his arms in an attempt to keep them still.

"Ah, Twenty Questions?" suggested Pippin, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm game. Is it edible?" Legolas gave him a long look, then turned away, muttering in Elvish.

"Not helping, Pip," Merry informed the other Hobbit. They both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Legolas drew in a shuddering breath, and inclined his head towards the Hobbits.

"Forgive me, master Hobbits. That outburst was uncalled for."

Pippin and Merry exchanged looks in the dying light.

"I- it is difficult to explain."

Merry interjected, wiping the rain from his eyes. "You don't have to explain. It's not our business."

"It is too!" Pippin argued. "We're trapped in a hole with him, we should know what is going on."

"Pippin!" cried Merry, shocked. "Did you leave your manners back in camp? Let him be!"

"I think not!" The younger Hobbit bounded over and peered into the stricken face of the Elf. "What are you scared of?"

Legolas's eyes widened. "Scared?" he squeaked.

"Aye, scared. Afraid, terrified… you know. If it's something so terrible that a Big Folk like you is shaking in his boots then it's bound to make little 'uns like us keel over in fright. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to know what I should be scared of before I die."

The heat of anger began to wash over Legolas, the natural response for a prince that had just been mocked. Bracing himself on the muddy wall, he rose shakily to his feet and glowered down at his small assailant.

"Peregrin Took!" He snarled, his voice full of menace and the promise of imminent death. "I-" He paused.

"Yes?" Pippin asked mildly, clasping his hands behind his back patiently.

"I-uh-" It was no use. Legolas's mind had gone blank. With trembling limbs, he leaned against the hole's wall and slid back down to the ground.

A curse on the Halflings and all of their kin and… and… Legolas stared into the eyes of Pippin. He couldn't carry through with his anathema.

Up to this moment, the Elf had little to do with the Hobbits, totally occupied with keeping a sharp eye out for the spies of either Sauron or Saruman, leaving the Ringbearer and his friends in the care of Aragorn and Boromir of Gondor. He had not noticed the sheer attitude that had pushed these little beings on through the cold, wet, and dangers of this journey. And now to have the full brunt of Hobbit-logic thrust upon him…He felt respect for the Hobbits grow. And it wasn't honorable to lie to someone for whom so much respect was held.

"When I was younger, I had an uncle who used to tell me tales. Terrifying stories." He drew in another deep breath and plowed on. "Stories of creatures made of shadow and flame. The… the Balrog."

"A Bal-whatsit?" Pippin asked, plopping down at the feet of the Elf. Merry joined him, holding the fading lantern in his lap.

"A Balrog. A creature that dwells in the darkest of the dark."

"Really? What does this Balrog do exactly?" inquired Merry, leaning his chin on the dirty lantern handle.

"What does he do?" Legolas was taken aback by the question. "What do you mean 'what does he do'?"

"In Hobbit tales, a creature usually has a purpose."

"I suppose… I suppose a Balrog… come to think of it, I am not sure. Scare Elf children, I would assume."

"Then it is merely a tale, nothing more?" Merry scratched his head thoughtfully. "A false tale."

Legolas shook his head. "Nay, the Balrog exists."

"And so you've been frightened about this creature of your childhood? How long has it been since you've last heard this tale?"

The Elf grew thoughtful. "I believe about several hundred years."

Pippin whistled through his teeth in amazement. Legolas shrugged, fiddling with the edges of his tunic.

"So is this... this Balrog. Is he indestructible? Has something like that ever been defeated?"

"Yes, it has been defeated, but at great cost." The Hobbits gazed at him expectantly. "The Balrog's life was ended, but it also brought down Glorfindel of Gondolin."

"Glorfindel? Like the Glorfindel of Rivendell?"

"My friends, that is quite a long story," Legolas said, warming, like all Elves, to the great tales of old.  "Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course! We wouldn't be Hobbits without tales around the fire." Merry sat the lantern in the middle of the small circle. "Tell on!"

It was at this time that the candle, which had been much put upon through the mud and the rain, finally sputtered and died, sending the hole into complete darkness.

"Ai!" shrieked Legolas, then clamped his hands over his mouth. That had not been prince-like, or Elf-like for that matter.

"Tell the tale," Merry persisted, trying to distract the Elf from the overwhelming darkness. As an afterthought, he flailed out his foot in attempt to strike Pippin into agreement.

"Yeow!" Pippin grabbed at his shin and took his friend's meaning. "Yes," he squeaked in pain, "please go on."

"Th-the tale?"

"Yes. About Glorfindel. Surely you can't leave us in suspense."

"Glorfindel?" Something occurred in Legolas's brain. He was supposed to share that story, wasn't he?

"And the Balrog," chimed in Pippin.

"Please, Legolas, do go on."

Legolas sighed and rubbed the back of his head. If a story would shorten this horrid night, then so be it. He gulped back the lump in his throat, then began.

The Hobbits sat silently, listening to the vivid descriptions of the glory of Gondolin and the bravery of the Elf lord Glorfindel. Slowly, the words faded into the night, swept on the winds of history and into willing minds.

~TBC~

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