Disclaimer: AU Story. My third large LOTR fic. I can't stop! None of the characters or settings are mine. They all belong to Tolkien. I wish I were related to Tolkien, don't you? It would be so cool! Oh, and the plot here is derived from my own imagination. Hope you enjoy.

Lil*bee: Wonderful! I'm so happy that you're enjoying this!

Tiggivon: I'm sorry that my reviews to you are not as long as the others but this is just a general big-hug-thank-you for all your reviews to me in all my stories. You are just a marvel- thank you so much!

~ Chapter Fifteen ~

"We're leaving?" Gimli asked. Legolas stopped to look at him. The dwarf was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands in a restless fashion.

"But- I don't understand," he said, spinning round. The elf grinned at him as he pulled the drawstrings of his pack tight.

"You know as well as I do that we need to head south," he answered plainly, "It is time to visit Aragorn and band together again. Maybe we will get to see the hobbits again. Even you must admit that it has been far too long. The past eleven years are the longest I have ever spent. And though I may live a thousand more, I will only have a few more chances to see him again. I thought I would never see you again, friend."

Gimli let out a grumbling sigh as he was handed his own satchel. Then he pointed accusingly at his companion.

"Your father? What will he think?"

"I will speak to him. Why do you not take advantage of those elves that wished to serve you before? Ask if they would get my horse ready."

"A horse?" Gimli said sharply, "You expect me to go on one of those mangy beasts?"

"If you expect to get to the southlands, yes. Do not worry, my friend, I will tell him beforehand not to throw you from his back or attack you in the middle of the night."

"Humph!" the dwarf snapped and left the room.

Legolas smiled then shouldered his pack and quickly climbed some steps to his father's chamber. He knocked gently upon the surface. Doors. They only kept people out when you should embrace them.

"Tulya!" Tharandúil called.

The prince opened the door and walked inside. His father was sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs, a list of elvish characters in his hand. He smiled when his son entered the room.

"Legolas," he cried, getting to his feet, "What have you come to speak to me about?"

"Father...would you mind if I travelled south? You remember I told you that I was waiting for something to happen? Well, that is where I believe I must go. To satisfy my curiosity and maybe answer my dreams. It would not be for long. I would stay only a few days."

Tharandúil put the parchment down on the chair behind him and walked across to place his hands on Legolas' shoulders.

"My son, you are welcome to do what you will without my command. I am pleased that you still come to me in such matters. I admit that this idea does not appeal to me- with the winter weather growing so strong- but if you trust that the south will ease your mind, then I am willing to let you go."

And then the elf-king did something he had never done before. He threw his arms round Legolas and embraced him.

--

Snow streamed from the sky with terrible force. Like white blades that buried the land under a thick blanket, suffocating it. The sun was a dull orange glowing faintly behind the dank waterfall. Brégo was drenched from mane to tail. He pushed on relentlessly through the drifts that came up to his belly. Aragorn was shivering with cold. He could find no comfort in his sodden clothes and his feet were chafed from his tight boots. He still did not sleep, though it was still a menace roaming in his mind and chanting at his ear.

"Arwen..." he breathed, trying to focus on her face. The clear blue eyes shone at him through the darkness, her face so very beautiful and bright. But she seemed sad and she offered him no words of comfort. Slowly, she melted from view, leaving Aragorn alone in the wilderness of his mind. Brégo stumbled over something buried in the snow and the man slipped from his back. He landed heavily and the breath was knocked from his lungs. The horse lay down promptly, to keep his master from getting chilled. But Aragorn was gazing at the object in the snow. It was the stump of a tree. Hardly that. Just a ring of white wood shining through. Mallorn. He got clumsily to his feet, leaning on Brégo to steady himself. He stared round at the barren wasteland before him. The Misty Mountains at the west and a frozen river sliding down not far away. Hundreds of mallorn tree rings stretched away into the distance. Except for a circle at the very centre. The heart of all Elvendom on earth. Even as he watched, Aragorn saw a rain of leaves come drifting down. Tears poured from his eyes in horror at the desolation before him.

"Lothlórien."

--

Merry and Pippin were very lost.

"We're lost," said Pippin, "What do we do?"

"I wish I knew. We have to get out of this storm, that's for sure," his friend replied. They were both soaked to the bone. They could hardly see in any direction for the air was nothing but a flurry of snow. The wrath of September had been unleashed all across Middle-Earth and the north was forced the endure it. The two hobbits stumbled across to a fallen log and crawled inside its hollowed core to shelter from the weather.

"We should've brought some food," Merry said bitterly, rubbing his hands together.

"What I don't understand is how we lost the road," Pippin replied, "I mean, where did these trees spring up from?"

The other hobbit suddenly jumped, banging his head into the log and crying out. Putting a hand to his throbbing brow, he turned to his companion.

"I know where we are! When we lost the road, you know we tried following that dirt track?" His friend nodded. "Well, it was a path afterall. But it must've lead us right round and back the way we came. These trees are part of the Old Forest. We must be in its very fringes. Now all we have to do is rest here until the storm lets up."

"How can we rest with that gale going on outside?" Pippin said, teeth chattering.

All at once, the log gave a great groan as a gust of wind hit it from the side. It tipped over and the hobbits were thrown over and over as the log rolled down the short embankment, glancing off trees as it fell. Then it stopped, finally caught by the trees. Merry grabbed Pippin's collar and quickly dragged him free of the rotten log. They lay panting outside, nursing their bruises. The wind buffeted them from behind, making them shiver with the almost unbearable cold. Then they heard a voice drifting over the storm. A familiar voice that boomed round and seemed to fill the entire forest.

"Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! Hop along! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"

And a figure loomed up out of the shadows. As Pippin let the throbbing pain in his head overthrow his senses, he heard Tom's thunder loud voice rumble through the trees.

"Hello? What's this we've got here?"