The Path That Need Chooses by Ecri (See part 1 for disclaimer.)

Author's Note: Anything that seems familiar, especially lines of dialogue, are right from the movies or the book. All ideas are inspired by the book and the movies. Any lines or scenes that I have taken directly from any other source or are too similar to scenes from the films are in italics. No disrespect is intended.

Please see replies to reviews at end, and please review.

Part 6

**

"Why did the wolf not stay? I'd have thought it would! OW!" Pippin glared at Sam, rubbing the spot in his side where the older Hobbit had jabbed him with his elbow.

"Shut up and let him tell it, Pip!"

Merry cut them off before the argument could escalate. "It was Gandalf's spell, Pippin! Both of you be quiet and let him finish." He was enraptured by the story.

"What dreams did you have, Legolas?" Frodo looked up at Gandalf, then, worry creasing his small brow, and painting his eyes with fear. "Was it Sauron?"

Gandalf shook his head, even as Legolas shivered at the thought that Sauron could have touched him. "No, Frodo, though it was his servant. Dol Guldor was gaining strength, and I believe Sauron had sent his minions through Mirkwood to see how much influence he could wield over the elves. He had long been infuriated at the success, small though it was, of Thranduil's efforts to hold back the encroaching darkness."

Legolas nodded, choosing the mention of his father to shy away from reliving the horrors he'd endured alone in that cave. It was a difficult enough task when such thoughts usually came to him, but then he'd always had the sun or moon, trees or stars to help him overcome them. Now within the depths of Moria, he felt only too close to the terror. Every shifting shadow seemed there to devour his spirit, and the constant fear of that icy touch was becoming too much for him. "My father later told me some of what he was going through at the time."

**


Flashback

King Thranduil turned sharply at the sound of someone approaching from behind. His eldest son stood in the doorway.


"Adar..."

Thranduil nodded, impatient for the report yet dreading to hear news other than that his heart most desired. "Speak, Aglarelen."

"Three of the patrols have returned. All report no sign of Legolas. One did happen upon Mithrandir. The Grey Pilgrim has taken up the search on his own, and even now is combing through the edges of Northern Mirkwood."

"Mithrandir? What was he doing in Mirkwood?"

"The captain, Amrod Culnámo, claimed Gandalf had known not why he wandered through our realm, but that his concern was great upon hearing of our missing prince." He seemed hesitant to continue but for better or worse, forged ahead. "Ada, perhaps it is time we sent word to Imladris. Lord Elrond may be able to spare a few patrols to assist in his search. Certainly, he and his sons would join us."

"Imladris is days away. If we wait for their help" Thranduil had little desire to finish that thought and was relieved when his guard approached the door interrupting. "Forgive me my king, butIt is Prince Legolas' horse—returned riderless."

Thranduil, moving swiftly and fearfully, reached the stables just ahead of his guards and his eldest son. The only thing he saw was Legolas' horse and the stable master examining it.


"Cairgalen, " he called. "How is he? Is there any signany clue at all?"

Cairgalen looked up at his liege with a great reluctance. "There is more than a clue, my King." He held out a small parchment. The stablemaster looked from the King to his heir and back again. "He has not suffered an accident. He was taken."

The King's eyes widened at the revelation. He had assumed his son had met with an unfortunate circumstance, not an enemy. He snatched the parchment from Cairgalen and unrolled it to scan the few lines it bore, but as he unrolled it, something fluttered to the ground. He looked down, and his heart froze in horror. There between his feet was a long, thin, blond, elven braid. When he looked up again, he wore his anger upon his face like a mask shielding his fair elven features behind an unforgiving anger. His son! They'd taken his son! He pushed away the fear and anguish the thought brought to him and focused on doing what he could to find his youngest child. "Call forth half our soldiers. We will ride as soon as we are ready. The remaining soldiers shall reinforce our defenses." Only when the others jumped to fulfill his orders did he pick up his son's braid, gently fingering the soft golden hair.

His heart was full of concern and fear for his youngest son, and seeing this braid, reading the words on the parchment, shook him more than anything he'd seen in all his lifeincluding his father's death, the Last Alliance, and the doom of Mordor.

**

Gandalf walked as swiftly as he was able, barely pausing to choose direction. He moved as one drawn forth in a trance, and in truth, this was close to the reality of it. He had known Legolas well through the years, but it hadn't been until recently, when Galadriel had remarked to him that she saw a great destiny for him that Gandalf had paid careful attention to the elf's strengths and weaknesses. Gandalf had long ago learned not to doubt the vision of the Lady of the Wood.

Gandalf recalled Legolas first appearances at Thranduil's court. The youngest prince was disinterested in the intricacies of life as a member of the Royal family, and given the immortal nature of elves, and the fact that Legolas had several older brothers, succession wasn't likely. Certainly, Thranduil would someday pass into the West, but it was unlikely all of his elder sons would accompany him at once.

Legolas' passion had always been the trees. No Woodland elf loved them as much as the youngest prince of Mirkwood. He would spend hours in the treetops moving from tree to tree as easily as a mortal walked upon the ground. He slept in them when he could and often spoke or sang to them.

Thranduil had remarked to Gandalf that his youngest son was more like his fair mother than any of their other children. She had loved the trees as he did. The King had confessed that the similarities Legolas bore to his mother sometimes distressed him, for he sometimes thought that his wife's tender-heartedness had made her more susceptible to the grief that eventually took her away from them. The death of their only daughter had been more than she could bear, and even the joy that was their youngest child could not fully eradicate it. Their daughter, oldest of their children, had died in an orc attack when Legolas had been quite young.

Gandalf had done what he could to reassure the King that his son would only benefit from the inheritance of his mother's traits. "When I look at your youngest son, I see not a delicate creatureno more delicate than any other elf I have ever met. You are too close to him to realize, but look at him now. He is strong. His arms and hands are those of a master archer. His legs propel him easily among the trees or across the open ground. Look again and see the power and strength in his limbs."

Thranduil had looked with fresh eyes upon his son, and did see a vigor and stamina he had not noticed before, but even this would not ease his troubled thoughts where his son was concerned. "Even the physically strong may die of grief, Mithrandir. His mother had such a tender heart, and his is a copy of hers."

The Wizard nodded. "He has a tender heart. That I will not argue. He has a great love for this world and all who dwell in it. He is young. The youngest of his kind I do believe, and he looks with new eyes upon an old world. Do you not remember how you felt when you were his age?" He paused, but when the King did not reply, he continued. "What you see as a weakness is truly his strength, Thranduil. His eyes are alight with his love for all of Arda. His passion and loyalty have already won him friends of the same ilk. Nay, Legolas is not weak and delicate. He is perhaps the strongest of your kin."

Gandalf had believed the words then, and he believed them now. Legolas was young and strong. The Istar banished the niggling worry that touched his heart. "Hold on Legolas." He whispered as he searched for signs of the prince. "You are strong. You are needed." He looked skyward for a moment, then closed his eyes in concentration.


The Istar almost missed it. His search for the Prince was on a separate plane than the one the Elves of Mirkwood searched. It was internal yet external: incorporeal, yet relying heavily upon the perceptions of this reality. As he cast his mind to seek the light of one lost elf, the very presence he sought almost went unnoticed. It was dimming.

Gandalf opened his eyes slowly, concern creasing his brow. The elf was alone in a cave of some kind off to the west. He had been right about the location. His sense of the elf would be enough to guide him now. He sensed more there, though, than one lone elf. Something evil was close. "Hold on, my friend. Help is coming." With determination, he set off again.

End Flashback

**

"I do not understand what magic you use, Gandalf." Boromir admitted, wondering why the wizard chose to speak of things they could not understand.

"The magic is an old one, and, to find one member of an old race, it was necessary to listen carefully to"

"Iluvatar's song!" Legolas cried in triumph. "Often have I wondered how you could have stumbled upon me. I could not cry out for help. I could barely move, yet you found me in the darkness."

"It was necessary. You were needed."

Legolas shook his head, feeling slow and thick. "I remember hearing you say that then, but I have never understood your words. My father would surely have missed me, but I am not heir to his throne."

"He meant we needed youor, we would need you. That's right, isn't it Gandalf? Somehow you knew he would join the Fellowship." Frodo stared at Gandalf as if wondering how his old friend could have known about all of this so long ago yet never hinted at it.

Gandalf graced the Hobbit with an affectionate smile. "You give me more credit than I deserve, Frodo. It was not I, but Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood, who knew of the path Legolas would take."

"You are losing me again with your talk of predestination. I do not believe such things. Men make their destiny not the other way around!" Boromir argued, uncomfortable with the direction this had taken.

Aragorn waved a hand at his comrades just as it appeared the other Hobbits were about to join in. "Please, let us hear the rest before we discuss the finer details." His horror at what Legolas had withstood was plain upon his face. He turned expectant eyes on his friend.

Legolas took a deep steadying breath, and, this time completely aware of what he did, he leaned again towards Gandalf's light before continuing.

**

Flashback

The evil shadow drew nearer, cursing Legolas in the black speech, and somehow forcing the elf to understand that he would be consumed by evil. Fear now gave the elf strength, and he struggled in both the dreamscape and in reality. His body rolled across the cavern floor as, in the dream world, he tried to put some distance between himself and the black creature.

In his mind, all he could think to do to fight was to sing, and though he was gagged, his mind could recall with the perfection of elven memory, each moment of his life. Legolas thought then of the festivals held in Mirkwood. Feasting and singing lasted several days, and at dawn and dusk each day, he often joined in a song of thanks to Iluvatar. He recalled the song now in perfect clarity.


The shadow did not diminish, but neither did it advance, and in moments, he found himself wholly awake as though he'd been heaved from the dreamscape.

Legolas tried again to relieve the tension in his shoulders, but more often than not, his movements only caused more pain rather than reducing the strain already placed upon his quivering body. He knew his arm was bleeding where the wolf had bitten him, but he had no way to determine how bad an injury it was.

The darkness was unbearable, though here it seemed less palpable and cloying than in the dreamscape. The lack of sun and stars, the desire for the scent of flowers, the heartfelt wish to climb a treeLegolas thought keenly of these things, but truthfully his overwhelming thought was of water. While it was true that an elf could go much longer without the need of drink, food, or sleep than a mortal creature could, he could not do without them entirely. He had lost track of the time. Had it been hours, days, or weeks since he had left Imladris? He could no longer remember. Trying was fruitless, as he had no frame of reference.

He could not sing to pass the time in this plane of existence as he had in the dreamscape, though he tried. He first tried to remember songs as he had dreamed them, but the heavy press of evil made him lose his place. He tried then to sing aloud, but with the gag so tight and his mouth so dry, he was unable to make much of a sound let alone turn that sound into music. In truth, his mouth was so tightly gagged, he could not properly swallow. Of course, his mouth was so dry there was nothing to swallow anyway. He had tried to wriggle towards a wall thinking he might use it to climb at least to his knees, but had fallen forward. The agony in his chest as his broken ribs demanded his attention made him abandon his attempts to move more than necessary.

He strained his hearing, to try to learn more of his surroundings, but now he feared he had been here too long. He was sure he was starting to imagine things. For a moment he'd thought he'd heard someone calling his name. He shook his head to clear it and immediately regretted the action. His head throbbed as if from orc poison. He remembered Kulin striking several blows about his head, and he recalled the gleam of a blade before darkness had claimed him. As he considered whether the blows might be causing auditory hallucinations, he heard it again.


This time, he placed the voice. Why though, would he imagine he heard Mithrandir calling to him? He had not resolved that conundrum when the thought was driven from his mind at the approach of the evil shadow once again. How it could be so when he knew he was awake he did not know, but he felt the shadow's intent. It came upon him quickly, and his heart seized with terror as he realized he had no way to fight, and, even if he did, he lacked the strength to continue. A sense of failure flooded the elf, as he knew he would indeed be taken by evil.

"I have not the strength." He thought. The thought seemed to trigger another vision, though this vision seemed one of light.

In his mind's eye, he saw an elf so fair, her beauty took away what breath he had remaining. He heard a voice again, but this one was in his head, and he knew it somehow to belong to the elven lady he saw.

"Legolas Thranduilion, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad Pain garolino bellas." (Legolas, Son of Thranduil, Hear my voice. Come back to the light. We have need of your strength.)

He wanted to speak, to answer her, but, though he tried, he could only mumble weakly around his the gag. "Hiril nín" he called out to her. (My Lady!) Even as he did so, the vision faded from his mind. More frantically, not wishing to be alone any more even if the companionship was only in his mind, he called out again sickened by how weak he sounded. "Hiril nín, u-aníron ner!" (My Lady, I don't want to be alone!)

He felt a tear slide down his cheek and in frustration he threw back his head and screamed feebly in the darkness, though he could barely hear it himself.

To be continued

Menthol: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! And I will read your story ASAP!

Ryoko: Thanks! Should we start a nail biters support group?

MoroTheWolfGod: Soon! I promise!

Padfoor4ever: Thanks! I'm flattered. Writing is my lifeand readingI'll update soon!


The anonymous: How is Thranduil a monster? I'm not being sarcastic here, I need to know specifically what you think makes him seem like a monster. Especially since he's barely been in the fic before this chapter (chapter 6). I'm trying to portray his concern for his son. Remember, he believes the dwarves are responsible. He doesn't know anything about what Gandalf learned from them. But, then, maybe I'm projecting forward because I know how it ends. Seriously, though, if you could please give me a specific thing that makes Thranduil monsterish, maybe I can correct this or explain it.

Tithen Min: Thank you! I'm glad to know I've done something right!

Karri: Thanks. I really never thought I was being mean to Thranduil. I adore Thranduil as a character, and really intended only to portray him as gruff because he is overprotective. I don't think I've gotten that across too clearly. I was always intrigued by the idea that Thranduil was so affected by what he saw in Mordor during the Last Alliance that he never forgot it and it haunted him always. I guess I need to revisit what I'm doing with him, though, since I seem to have fallen short of the mark. (Especially since, now, The Anonymous thinks I've portrayed him as a monster. Please someone tell me what's monsterish.)

Tamara: Thank you!

White Wolf: Thanks. I wanted the fear to seem real without making him look weak.

Neko: You have no idea how relieved I was to read your review! I'm thrilled you saw those characters the way I intended. The Friendship between Legolas and Gimli, IMHO, works precisely because of their differences, and Gimli wouldn't be Gimli if he wasn't a little loud and opinionated! (In a good way!) As for Gandalf, we already know he had reasons for not wanting to go through Moria, the Balrog, of course, being one. I just thought I'd add one more to the mix. Thanks so much for your review!

Angel of Death: Yeah, I thought that would make sense. I was terribly amused that so many people took me to task for what they'd read so far without waiting to see what was planned. Which, was, of course, why I left the chapters where I did. Things are often more complicated then they appear. I'm glad you liked it! I only hope you like the rest!

Alexa: Thanks. Yeah, I like to see Gandalf's grandfatherly, protective streak as well. When he worries about someone, he stands by that someone. Tolkien wrote some amazing characters.

MysticalMagic: Thanks! I try to keep the emotion real, but I hate to ignore what the characters are feeling since that is often a motivator in their actions and since it gives us something with which to identify. I'm really glad you liked Fight the Fall. See, Gimli is so fun to write when he demands to be in a scene. The scene in Fight the Fall, I hadn't intended him to be there, and before I knew it, the words just appeared on my screen. He's an insistent dwarf, I can tell you!

Vilondra, The Dark Rouge: Thanks for the review!

Daisy Brambleburr: I'm glad you like it. Sorry about the cliffhangers. I just don't knew where else to break the chapters. There really aren't any better places to break.