Legolas is gone… Depressed…

Thanks for the reviews! I will keep on trying to add more to this every night. I have to speed up and get Legolas back!

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The Black Gates. Never in her most tortured nightmares had she ever dreamed she would see this place of dread. The Morannon. The ugly word crowded her mind, fear clutched at her limbs and made her weak. She could not take her eyes of the terrifying, fortified, black walls, and the malformed shapes of guards upon them. She shivered right to the core of her being, and then looked ahead. The hobbits, and the creature. They had stopped too, a way before her, nearly concealed from her by the rise of the low hill which they were already on the lower slopes of. She could dimly make out whispered conversation. She called out, barely more than a whisper, in the Quenya tongue:

'Save me, Lady Elbereth! Let not a mere half-mortal be forced to follow into the Dark Lord's realm!'

She knew not to who she called, nor whom she hoped to answer, but she felt better for having voiced her fears. Some weight lifted from her shoulders, she could stand a little taller and raise her eyes. The hobbits have moved on.

'Thank the Valar!' She whispered, with her eyes upraised in joy. They should not have to pass that terrible way! A little part of her thought, but then where shall they pass? but it was ignored, for now. There were hobbits to track. She shifted the weight of her pack a little, and then followed after her – unknowing – charges, the hobbits Sam and Frodo, as well as the creature Gollum.

They travelled along the side of the Ephel Dúath for many days. The mountains were grim and foreboding on their left. Mithmír felt more weary than she could ever remember having felt before. Every footstep was a struggle, and she no longer kept an extra watch on the hobbits at night. Her eyes closed of their own accord even in the mere seconds she halted to catch her breath. She wondered that the hobbits could continue so strong for so long. And in her dreams, a quiet, beautiful, powerful voice whispered to her: come to me, maiden. Come to me and they shall never treat you as a youth again. They shall call you their Lady… You should save them all, with me on your finger. The hobbits are too small to stop you… She began to wonder whether she really was a help to the hobbits. She decided, reluctantly, that she would leave them if the call of the Ring became too strong.

It was the sixth of March, and the hobbits were resting in a little glade of trees. She was far-off from them, resting, and chewing away at some lembas though her mouth was almost too tired to eat. Gollum was wandering away, and Sam had gone to find some food; perhaps mushrooms; and water. Privately Mithmír wished him luck: this land, once called Ithilien, was now a barren waste in the shadow of Mordor: she sincerely doubted anything nourishing lived or grew here.

She was lying down, eyes closed, one hand on her sword, her cloak beneath her, when she heard a gasp. Her eyes flicked open, wide orbs of brown, and she sat up – to find a dagger, inexpertly but effectively, pressed against her neck. A hobbit, the fair-haired Sam, she noticed, was standing above her. His eyes were wild with fear, too.

'What are you?' He asked, his voice shaking a little. One shake was so large, it cut a small slit on her throat, and a trickle of blood dripped down her tanned skin. The cut was only skin-deep, which was lucky, more a scrape than a wound. The hobbit gasped a little, and stilled his hand, but didn't pull away. Mithmír could see his intense desire to protect his master, and oddly she found herself respecting this fierce, faithful halfling.

'I am Mithmír,' she said calmly, though her heart was beating. 'The daughter of elves and men. Aragorn, Strider to you, is my uncle.' It was a tiny lie, but as good as true. The hobbit nearly relaxed, but caught himself just in time.

'Prove it,' he said firmly. 'Prove to me you are who you say you are.'

'I am lying on an elven cloak,' she said slowly. 'From Lothlorien, where I often stay. There is lembas and elven rope in my pack on the ground. On my wrist, if you lift my cloak, is a bracelet of silver, with an inscription in Elvish, which reads, we friends will follow you to the Void and back, to the empty wastes of Eriador, and to wherever your destiny takes you. It was a gift from three elves: two you don't know, Anoniel and Tirathnavir; and one you do, who is called Haldir. And I can speak the name of Elbereth with no fear, but love.'

The hobbit nodded, took note of these things, and finally released his hold on the knife, slipping it into its sheath. 'Tell me why you are here, kin of Strider.'

'I followed you to protect you from afar,' she said truthfully, massaging her sore neck. The hobbit muttered apologies, she brushed them aside. 'I felt it was my duty. Aragorn did not want me to come; so though I followed you from Lothlorien, I did not show myself. I will not stay with you long,' she said in a hurry, 'for the Ring… it calls me…'

The hobbit's eyes widened in disbelief. 'You know of it?' He asked breathlessly.

'Yes,' she said with a blush. 'The Lady Galadriel deemed it safe to tell me, though she has been proven at least partially wrong.'

'I believe you,' said the hobbit slowly. 'I don't know why, but I do. It's not only the evidence, it's a… a feeling in my stomach, I know you are who you say you are. But if you try to hurt my master,' his voice was suddenly stern, 'I'll… I'll… I'll flay you alive!'

'Elbereth protect me!' Laughed the woman, standing up. 'Now then, do I get to meet his master of yours or no? I have followed you for many days, little man, and I have dearly wished to be properly introduced to the Ringbearer.'

'Do you trust yourself to come closer to it?' Asked Sam suddenly, his eyes sombre. 'You are half-human, are you not? Can the kin of Men, especially the kin of Isildur, ever be trusted near it?'

She looked deep into his eyes, and her look was sad. She bowed her head. 'I can be trusted a little more than other Men,' she said quietly, 'for I am also elven. And you trusted Aragorn, did you not? He is closer to Isildur than I. I can be trusted, hobbit, for now at least. Later I should not, but for this time I can be.'

'Your word shall do… for now,' Sam nodded. 'My master's through this way… Leave your weapons!' Mithmír obeyed quickly, dropping the sword, and taking off the cloak. She took her daggers from her belt and laid them on the ground.

'There, servant of Frodo. The only weapons I have left are my fists.'

Sam eyed her once again, but as before his heart told him she was true, at least for now.

'Follow me then, lady.'

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Ahhh, sweet little hobbits. ---- Annaicuru