Slipping Masks

I.

Saruman did hold up an extended network of spies from every origin and species. He´d created it long ago, in the years when he actually had to fight for his power, and ever since then it had been of great value for him. He still used it whenever he thought it appropriate. Like now.

Four days had passed by, four long, endless days in which the gold smith had not returned with Thranduil's ring. He should have reached Rivendell long ago, if everything would have gone according to their plans. Saruman did not fear that the sneaky human would try and betray him, he was far too cowardly to even think so, and the ring was valued only by the ones which knew his secret. Few did. It would be folly to try and sell it to someone else than him, and he´d made sure that the gold smith knew that.

The spies he used this time were the screekers, quite large, black raptor birds of the woods, hated by every living creature sharing their environment; for they hunted down everything, plundered nests, killed helpless young in the absence of their parents, and were usually met in large flocks which allowed them to attack even larger prey. They were not natural to Rivendell, but since the wood elves could not know that (and were used to the sight of all kind of strange and ugly creatures from the Mirkwood) they would not notice. They served him, as they would serve anyone which provided them with food, and he could understand their language, although with some difficulties.

He had sent them against the wood elves as soon as they had left the heart of Rivendell to built their provisory new accommodations, but thus far they had not reported him anything of value. Least of all about a little ring...

There was no need to send a spy against Rivendell, since the great Elrond himself told him –in detail -everything of importance happening in his reign. The elf was working hard on his own downfall!

This thought brought a sly smile on Saruman's lips, soon becoming tight again when he remembered the lost ring. His longing for the elven rings had become almost unbearable...

Day by day his control, and patience, grew thinner, when he had to let go Elrond without taking his ring, too. But he would pull himself together. He had not waited for so long, not wasted that much energy into his plans to ruin it all in one short moment of overwhelming greed...

First things first. He had to take precaution to lay hands on Thranduil's ring. Then he'd go after Elrond's ring. If his spies were not able to tell him anything about it…

Someone else would. Legolas, Thranduil's son, king of mirkwood, fallen out of favour with Lord Elrond, eye-witness of the murder of his father, surely would. He would get out of this elf everything he needed to know! And no one would suspect anything. For he was only a dutiful wizard who tried – as Gandalf had done – to bring reckless wood elves to their senses. He had no doubt that Elrond would even be grateful for him doing so…

II.

Saruman had told his spies to look out for an opportunity to meet the wood elves´ king alone. He did not have to wait for long until they returned to tell him it had come. According to them, most wood elves had searched some rest, but a handful of them had been heading north, probably towards the little clearing where their fallen had been buried. How courteous from them! The clearing was distant from Rivendell as well as from the wood elves´ provisory huts; and already near the frontiers of Rivendell, frontiers which were only lightly guarded. If Legolas was among the elves at the clearing, there could be no better place, no better time to speak to him... for near this place, outside the elfish land, but still nearer than they had dared to approach in ages, his dark allies from the north laid in wait, waiting for his commands.

III.

Legolas was there, as he had expected it, accompanied by only a handful of elves. They kept some distance to their king, to leave him to his grief, or on his command, Saruman couldn't tell. He didn't care. This was well according to his plans; for only few ears would hear what he had to say to Thranduil's son. Some screekers were sitting in the trees near the wood elves and sleepily blinked down on them. They were watchful, even though the majority of them did fight for a bloody corpse which might had been a hare earlier.

Thranduil´s heir had heard his approaching, for he had stiffened, like the wild animals of the forests did when they sensed some danger; and were listening intently. Then he turned, his face an unreadable mask, for which Saruman had to admire him, since he clearly felt the insecurity Legolas radiated. Yes, the elves feared him, and this one was no exception.

"Would it not be better for you to rest awhile, Legolas, king of mirkwood?" he said. The elf didn't respond, just watched him, warily. Saruman sighed inwardly. He wasn't in a mood for small talk, and the greed for the rings burned in him, so he did not intend tiptoeing around his request. How could he ask the prince about his father's ring without raising his suspicions? He noticed the questioning glance Legolas gave him, and he lifted his head to start his inquiry when he suddenly went rigid. "The ring..." he said, hoarsely. "Thranduil's ring..."

Bewildered Legolas took hold on the heritage of his father, which he carried on a small silver chain around his neck. He´d not forgotten about it. He would give it to his brother, like he had promised his dying father, as soon as Elwyne reached consciousness again..."Yes!" he started, but the wizard's behaviour let him stop mid-sentence. Saruman did not listen to him. He reached for the ring. Legolas shrank back, but only a little. The small movement was enough, though, to wake Saruman from his trance-like state. He dropped his outstretched hand. The wizard´s breathing was laboured. Still confused; and almost sleep-walking from exhaustion, Legolas instinctively knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he didn't understand, not yet.

Saruman still stared at his ring. An almost ecstatic smile distorted his features. "It's here!" he panted. "The ring is here! I feared it lost in the burning forests of the mirkwood... Ha! It's here!" Legolas just stared at him. Saruman must have lost his mind! The wizard watched his ring, transfixed. Legolas instinctively closed his fist around it, a protective gesture. "Yes." Saruman said, still in a hoarse, hushed voice. "One of the three rings for the leaders of the elves. I thought it lost..." With a visible effort he pulled himself together and continued in a calmer voice: "Your father has handed his ring over to you. Did he never tell you anything about it?" Legolas flinched at his words. The memory of his father, dying in his arms, giving him the ring, was still too painful. Thranduil had not had much strength left to talk, then... "No." he answered, flatly.

Saruman was sensible enough to let the subject drop. "It's a heritage from ancient times, in which a dark lord called Sauron lusted for the power over all Middle-earth. His plans have been thwarted once, by the allied forces of men and elves, as you´ll know, but I fear he's gaining strength again. The three elven rings, one of them given to your father, were forged by him as a tool for power. He's searching them now, for they still can serve his dark purposes. You´ve seen what he´s willing to do to get just one of these rings... Give it to me, elf, and I will keep it safe, and the dark powers seeking it will not be able to use it's strength. I, Saruman the white, will avoid this by wearing the ring, and with it´s help I´ll be able to defeat even Sauron himself; and all his dark allies." He held out his hand, demanding.

Still hesitating, Legolas removed the ring from his neck. Saruman was right. The ring had brought his father, and his people, nothing than death. Perhaps Saruman, the wise and mighty wizard, could use it better, and fight the dark powers he was talking of...

Saruman grabbed the ring from his hand. A forceful laughter shook his body. "One of the three..." he murmured. "One of the three..." It had a crazy note to it.

Then, within a second, he calmed again and turned to face Legolas, smiling. "I'm deep in your depths, prince Legolas." he said, his voice sombre. "With your ring you have brought a sign of hope and light into the growing darkness around us. ." He sounded strangely triumphant. He stepped nearer to the elfish prince.

Perhaps Legolas had been more on his guard, perhaps he had anticipated Saruman´s move, would it not have been for his exhaustion, and numbness. Suddenly, surprisingly, the wizard turned around. "What's happening there?" he asked, his voice scared; and in an instant the elf had turned himself too while grabbing for his dagger. Saruman had just waited for this. With a triumphant hiss he plunged his knife, thus far hidden in his right sleeve, into the prince's back.

Legolas gave a small cry of surprise and pain, and his knees buckled, which saved him from a second plunge from the attacking wizard. His right hand, already weak and trembling, got a fleeting hold on his dagger. With a gasp he used it against his attacker, tore his clothes at the height of Saruman´s hip and inflicted a minor scratch on the wizard. Before he could lift his dagger again, Saruman had stepped back. A dreadful smile was on his lips. "Never underestimate an elf." he said. "These damned creatures are indestructible!" His voice was filled with erupting and unconcealed hate. "You wounded me, elf. You're going to pay." Legolas still knelt on the floor, the dagger stretched out in front of him, and tried not to faint.

"Why, Saruman?"he asked, sucking in air in painful gaps. "What..." "Fool of an elf." Saruman said. "You still haven't understood. The power of the rings has been wasted on your kind. You used it to heal, to grow woods and to make songs. I, Saruman, intend to use them more wisely – and thus will become the mightiest man of all lands in middle-earth. I'm truly grateful, elf, as I said before, that you brought me the ring. I believed it lost."

He lifted his knife. "But no one shall know yet that I'm wearing Thranduil´s ring by now… and that's why you're going to die, Greenleaf." Legolas just stared at him with painfilled eyes. His dagger fell when his right hand suddenly seemed to have lost it's strength. Saruman knelt beside him and took a handful of Legolas hair.

"Yes, you must die." he repeated, thoughtfully. His dagger came forth snakelike and buried itself deep in Legolas underarm, with which the elf had protected his throat. Cursing Saruman retrieved the dagger, and Legolas, king of mirkwood, would have received the deadly stroke if t had not been for an anguished scream, shattering the silence of the night.

IV.

"NO!" Sam screamed, in terror and fear, and the white clad murderer turned around, wrath and sense of guilt written all over his face, and stared wildly in the young hobbit´s direction. It was just lucky for Sam that the wizard expected a much bigger enemy and thus overlooked the hobbit, who stood halfway covered behind some bushes, or else Sam´s scream would have meant sure death for him.

Saruman, outrageous to come across difficulties when his triumph had seemed that near; teeth bared, lifted his arm and sent a fireball, blindly and without aiming, in the direction from which he had heard the voice of his new adversary. It hit the tree standing right behind Sam, with enough force to add it a yawning wound. The power of the explosion sent Sam flying to the ground, and splitter and ashes rained down on him. The stinging smoke of fire and burned sap wood filled the air. Sam remained lying were he had fallen, terrified. If he had not been breathless from the violent impact of the explosion, he might have screamed, but thus far he even had difficulties to get enough air into his lungs just to stay conscious. There was a new explosion, shattering the bushes behind him, but it had less force, and while Sam tried to catch his breath, eyes desperately shut, an eerie silence was spreading out. Sam couldn't know that Legolas, with desperate courage, had jumped on the momentarily distracted wizard, and had made him tumble, thus gaining a few precious seconds to make their escape.

Sam could see a dark figure towering him suddenly though, and more scared than he had ever been in his life, he gave a small whimper, but he couldn´t put up any resistance when the figure over him grabbed him roughly and put him to his feet. "Run!" a voice hissed into his ear, and a push into his back emphasised it's command. "Hurry up. He won´t let us get far…"

The voice was not unfriendly, only pressed; and breathless. The elf. Sam stared up to him, still petrified, and only the expression of fear on his face, which replaced the usually stoic expression of the elves, made him come back to his senses. Tumbling he started to move, but a few moments later his mind was functioning normally again, and he started to run in earnest, as fast as the darkness, and his short legs, would allow. He didn´t look back – he was far too scared to do so. But he could clearly hear that someone followed him, and he prayed that it was the elf, and not Saruman.

V.

The two soldiers appointed to the second and third guard tower from the northern frontiers of Rivendell stood side by side, in a comfortable silence, and looked down from the city wall, more or less attentive scanning the dark thicket which represented the end of their land. "City wall" was a flattering name for the small defensive facility protecting the northern frontiers of Rivendell, for it was only a two meter high, very old, at some parts unstable, simple wall at which some kind of defensive passage had been added. Furthermore, it did not protect the city, but the wilder and scarcely inhabited parts of northern Rivendell. A second city wall, much higher, placed more southwards, effectively protected Rivendell. It was not known exactly if the Old Wall indeed had once protected a city. It was old, as old as the memory of elves, and so no one could really tell for what purpose it had been erected or by whom.

It was there, though, and with it a small number of stony defence towers and three gates, which had been guarded since Elrond had taken the reign in Rivendell, day after day, if only by a handful of elves. His command to retake the guard at the Old Wall had not been too popular by the elves doing guard´s duty. Not only that they had to ride quite a distance even before their shift started (and the same way back before they could get their well-earned sleep), what was more, they were on duty all alone, which generally was dull and monotonous. And there was no prospect of a short visit, a little talk or even some refreshment a generous colleague would provide occasionally. No, the duty at the Old Wall was far from being popular. After the catastrophe of the mirkwood Elrond even had insisted on doubling the guardians. Well, one couldn´t be careful enough, especially these days, although it was highly unbelievable that an orc would get lost in Rivendell, in the heart of the elvish realms…

One of the guardians was yawning discretely, when the other gripped his arm, anxiously. "Still." he hissed.

"Do you hear something?" His colleague looked puzzled, but then obediently listened. He was older than the other one, and his experience immediately told him that something was wrong. He needed two more seconds, then he understood. "The horses." he said, shortly. Now also the other elf knew what had disturbed him. They had left their horses right beside the gate they guarded, unbound, as it was the way of the elves. The animals had been quiet, half asleep, but now their ears were moving, and their hooves scratched the ground. One of them threw his head. Now also the elves could hear it.

Someone was approaching, fast. Not from the north, from outside Rivendell, but from the city itself. He truly seemed to be in a great hurry, for they could hear now the sound of breaking branches; and the whip-like sound of small twigs which were bent forcefully and afterwards shoot back. Then a first, and a second strange tremor echoed trough the air. "What the hell…" one of the guards said and reached for his bow. His friend had already drawn his long knife. He sprang from the wall.

Then they saw it. At first a small figure was emerging, running straight towards them. His face seemed distorted with fear, and when he had almost reached them, they could also see that he had blood on his right cheek, where thorns and twigs seemed to have scratched his skin. "What the hell…" one of the elves repeated and tightened his bow, cautiously, but he hesitated using it, though, for the creature hurrying towards them looked quite harmless…

Then an elf broke through the thicket. They knew him instantly, as every rivendell elf would have. Legolas Greenleaf, king of the wood elves, troublemaker of the first grade, now replaced by Elrond. Bow and knife went up.

VI.

His left arm burned like hell and hung limply beside him. It was covered with a cold, sticky wetness, slowly trickling over his hand and to the floor. But this pain was nothing compared to the strange, numb stinging which came from his back. It brought a overwhelming weakness with it, in waves, and occasionally blurred his surroundings. And it paralysed his mind. Legolas instinctively knew he had to keep his wits together if he wanted to escape Saruman alive, but the wound in his back effectively prevented him to form a single clear idea. All he could think of was that he had to run. And to reach Elrond, anywhere, anyhow. The elven king had to be warned against the mad wizard.. He almost collided with the hobbit which abruptly had stopped his running. Panting Legolas looked up. Straight into a bent bow and a lifted knife.

In a defensive gesture he lifted his arm, slowly, to not unnecessarily irritate the two armed elves in front of him, and cried: "Be on your guard...the wizard..." His voice failed him, and he broke into a fit of coughing, which made it difficult for him to breathe. It was the hobbit who finally spoke for him. "Saruman!" he cried, with a high, clear voice, in which his terror and fear were clearly audible. "He's snapped. He pursues us, and he'll kill us if..." Something about him seemed to be persuading, since both elves facing them lost the angry glint to their eyes.

Still, their weapons didn't move. "What exactly is happening here?" one of them inquired, full of mistrust, but Legolas, who finally had regained his breath, interrupted him. "He'll be here any moment now. Then all of us will be lost." he said coldly. "He tried to kill me before, and he'll try to kill Lord Elrond, too." Legolas wasn't sure about the latter, but he knew about the effect this would have on the two rivendell-elves. Indeed the elder elf lowered his knife. "Good." he said. "Who's pursuing you? Saruman?" The younger elf's jaw was moving. He wasn't convinced yet. He didn't particularly like the wood elves, and this dislike was clearly written all over his face. "This is nonsense." he said. "Saruman would not..." He never got the chance to announce what Saruman would do or not. Something hit him from the side, with terrible force, and his bow flared up in flames. He was probably dead already before he hit the floor.

His colleague was an experienced warrior. Although he must have been shattered by the death of his friend, he threw his knife in the direction in which he'd to suspect the assailant within a split second. He seemed to have aimed well enough, since Saruman let him the time to get his bow ready. He started to supply the wizard with arrows, and since an elvish bow is feared also by wizards, even Saruman had to search for some cover. "Hurry up!" the soldier bellowed. "Open the gate and take the horses! I'll follow you in a second."

Legolas did as the Rivendell elf suggested, while black desperation constricted his throat. He hated to let the guard try and fight Saruman alone, even more so, because he knew that the elf would not stand a chance, but he himself was unarmed; and he had a duty to fulfil. The duty to warn Elrond. And perhaps – if he got the chance – to save the life of the little hobbit which had saved his own life before. Behind him the singing of the elven hair string could still be heard, as well as the silent sounds when the arrows hit home somewhere. He listened, while in a hurry he opened the gates before him. Against his expectations they didn't put up any resistance and swung easily open. They had more difficulties with the horses, though.

The horses had been scared by the fight activities, and they nervously pranced on the spot. Sam had tried to approach one of them, but he shrank back when the horse, now increasingly afraid, started shying. Legolas hesitated for a second, then, with a pliant crack, he brought himself on the frightened horse's back. A short rearing, a prancing to it's side, then the animal stood, motionless. He'd been trained by elves, and some pressure of Legolas tights, and a few words in elvish, hastily whispered into his ear, had brought him to reason.

Legolas grimly smiled and threw a quick glance into the direction where he expected Saruman. He couldn't discern the wizard, but his opposite. The rivendell elf had retreated into the direction of the gate, for his arrows were almost spent. Still Saruman did not make a move. A swift grip; an encouraging command; Legolas had dragged Sam before him on the horse, urging it forward. The second one instantly followed, as herd animals tend to do. The rivendell elf seemed to have had an eye on their activities as well, for he suddenly dropped his bow (not having more than three arrows left, anyway) and with an acrobatic crack, which was in no way inferior to that from Legolas, he brought himself on the back of the second animal to follow Legolas and Sam.

For a moment it seemed they really would escape the wizard's wrath, but then the back horse reared; with a blood-curling cry of pain; and then it fell to his side. It rolled over; for the fireball Saruman had sent had burned it excessively. If his rider did still feel how the full weight of the animal was put on him, or if he'd been already dead at this point, no one could tell.

Legolas had turned his horse with a imperious gesture, and for a moment his scared eyes met those of Saruman, which had left his cover. The wizard watched him intently for a few seconds– then he smiled. With a desperate gasp Legolas forced his animal to turn again. It started to, obediently, but then it slipped on a wet branch, and it fell. Legolas was swift enough to save his left leg from being crushed by the weight of the horse, but Sam, much less experienced in riding, still paralysed from fear, violently hit the floor. His fall seemed to have worn him out, for a few moments he lay where he had landed, then he awkwardly slow started to get on his feet again.

The sudden fall of the horse had saved their life. Another one of Saruman's terrifying fireballs had gone harmlessly over their heads; and the second one hit the other horse, which had come to his feet, tumbling, mad with pain, and thus involuntarily blocking Saruman's view on his intended victims. For a second the poor beast seemed like a living torch, while it stood motionless, before the muscles and sinews of his body suddenly lost their strength; and it collapsed. It was only a few precious seconds the animal did find for Legolas and the hobbit, but the elf knew to use them. Their horse had managed to come to his feet again. It was a matter of seconds to grab the hobbit, climb on the horse's back a second time, and to run. Into the thicket. Away from Saruman. Away from Rivendell.

VII.

At first Saruman's rage had been outrageous. To have the object of his desire, the first elven ring, right under his eyes, only to loose it again an instant later... it was almost too much to bear. But then, when he stood beside the horse's and watched the damned elf escaping, together with Gandalf's little charge, into the darkness of the woods surrounding Rivendell, he'd gained back his usual calmness. He didn't even make a try to stop the fugitives. He'd been thinking. Legolas, and with him Thranduil's ring, were lost for him for the moment, but this would change soon enough. He knew how the elf was thinking, and he knew for sure that Legolas would come and try to warn Elrond from him. Sooner or later he'd run into his arms, one way or another...

No, the escape of the elf and her companion was not a defeat. He, Saruman, would know how to get his use out of this. His look fell on the bodies of the killed rivendell-elves, and suddenly he knew how he would proceed. Let Legolas believe he'd defeated him. It was not true; he'd played right into his hands...

With a imperious gesture Saruman commanded some of the screekers, which had already started to fight for the flesh of the dead horse, to him. Some of them obeyed, if only unwillingly. "Go and look out for my orcs." Saruman said. "You know where they dwell. Tell them I want the fugitive elf, as well as her companion, alive. And send two of them to me." With angry screams three of the black birds lifted themselves into the sky and vanished into the forest. Saruman watched them contentedly, before he looked again at the elves he'd killed. Yes, a few changes now and there...

A nasty surprise would expect Thranduil's son, if he really managed to get back to rivendell. If the orcs didn't get him before.

VIII.

Sam felt like being caught in a nightmare. Just a moment ago he had observed Saruman's murderous attack on an elf, and now he sat on a galloping horse, securely held by the same elf (from which Gandalf had told him that it was a prince), and could barely breathe because of the cold fear constricting his throat. He had sat on ponies before, in the shire, yes, he'd even liked them, but his rides had been more slowly, much more slowly. He instinctively knew that if he should fall from the horse he would most likely split his head on a stone. Or break all his bones. Or... Cold sweat was on his face, he felt dizzy, and there were moments when he was sure he was going to be sick, but luckily they went by after a few more seconds.

On they rode, in a racing pace, the trees and bushes of the wood nothing more than a shapeless blur. They were still near rivendell, but for how long? And how long the shadows behind them, and aside them, would remain harmless? Sam had heard it, over the sound of the galloping horse, over it's laboured breathing, over the sound of his own pulse throbbing in his head: The trampling of heavy feet. Occasionally shouts in a language he didn't know and didn't want to know. They were right behind them. They' barred their way back to Elrond; ugly, huge, terrible black creatures. And now they hunted them. Sam didn't want to think about what they might would do if they got .hold on them.

They were too many. Too many for a little hobbit and an elf, anyway. An elf which was additionally hurt. Sam had seen it all too clearly how Saruman had stabbed him. And the elf had screamed. He'd been wounded. His grip around the hobbit was still strong, but how long would it remain so? Didn't he already loose blood, didn't he gasp from time to time, as if he was in pain? Sam closed his eyes and started murmuring little prayers, and even though it was not their meaning which filled him with new strength, it was their familiar, consoling rhythm which calmed him down, a little.

Now the elf reigned the tumbling, sweating horse, straightened himself in the saddle and listened intently. Sam could not hear anything except the humming of numerous wood insects and the quaking of some frogs nearby, but he listened as well; and gave a fearful look to his companion, attentively. "I do not hear them." Legolas finally said. "We may have lost them." He sounded tired. "Let us rest for a while, young hobbit, for I fear our horse, being hit by some nasty wizard magic, will not last for much longer." He swayed in the saddle. Sam cast down his eyes. He did not want to see the elf's weakness. Legolas glided down from the horse's back and lifted Sam to the ground. Again he listened, then he started to climb on a beech which stood beside them. The animal by now had lowered itself to the ground. From time to time it gave a little snort. The poor beast was in a great pain. Sam's eyes wandered back to the elf. He was right, they wouldn't go anywhere with this horse. Their only hope was that they indeed had put a save distance between them and their pursuers, and that these ugly creatures were no trackers. And that the terrible wizard did not have the means to find them. And that....

With a weary sigh Sam decided that it would be safest to stay in contact with the elf, and he started to climbing after him. The beech had strong branches, offering places to seat, and a thick cloth of bright green spring leaves, which covered them.

"Now at last, my hobbit..." Legolas said after they had seated themselves. "...I find the time to assure you my gratefulness. You have saved my life, halfling. I, Prince Legolas, am deep in your depths. Now please tell me, master hobbit, to whom I extend my thanks?" "Sam Gamgee, from the Shire." Sam said between chattering teeth and made a polite bow. His eyes were shining with excitement. "I'm honoured, prince Legolas!" Against his will Legolas smiled, if only for a moment. "Gandalf has told me about you." he said. "But I fear that saving me has put you in a danger which is more threatening than you think, my hobbit. Saruman the white is a mighty wizard, and I know something about him which no one else knows. You, since you have observed his dark intentions, and even thwarted them, are a thorn in his eye as well. He'll try to kill us both." Sam slumped, and his heart sank. He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice when he finally asked: "The black creatures? Do they obey his command?" "Yes." Legolas answered. "And they are efficient in blocking our way back to Rivendell. But still it is of uttermost importance that I seek Elronds council. He must be warned about Saruman. Your security as well is of great importance to me, for you should not suffer further for your courageous feat."

"Gandalf! Gandalf!" Sam put in, excitedly. "Gandalf could help us!" The elven prince closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Perhaps he could." He said in a cold voice. "But I have trusted Saruman too, before. Perhaps..." "Never!" Sam exclaimed with all the passion a hobbit could muster. "Never would Gandalf do such a thing!" Legolas smiled again.

"I'll go and try to reach Elrond AND Gandalf, then." "I'll accompany you." Sam said, relieved that this time his voice didn't tremble. "No, Sam." Legolas said, seriously. "I have an order of much more importance for you." He reached into a pocket of his tunic and brought forth the small ring, which had been carried by his father for long years, and which had passed on him after his father's death. Still he didn't know what exactly was special about it, or why Saruman so greatly desired it, but the wizard had talked about it's power. Even though he didn't understand all this, he knew one thing: The ring wasn't to fall into Saruman's hands. He laid it in Sam's Hand, closing the hobbit's finger around it. Sam looked as if the ring would might bite. His look flickered between it and the elf.

"Now listen to me, Sam Gamgee." Legolas said, calmly, although the time burned under his nails. "Take the ring. It is the reason why Saruman tried to kill me. He mustn't get it, or great evil will arise. I'm going to try to warn Elrond now. If I am to fall into the hands of the orcs pursuing us, then the ring will be safe at least." He paused, then added: "It would be best if you stayed here. I'll come back to get you as soon as I've told Elrond about the menace from Saruman." There was pity in his face as he added: "I do not know how long it will take me. Three days, perhaps more, perhaps less. Wait for me." "How long should I wait?" Sam asked, trembling. "Four days." Legolas answered with a sigh. "If I haven't returned at this point, you'll have to try and reach rivendell on your own accord, or to find help somewhere else. But remember: the ring is not to fall into Saruman's hand. Whatever you do with it: Saruman shall not get it." Sam nodded solemnly.

IX.

Just a moment ago one of the healers in charge of mirkwood's true heir, Elwyne, had seen about the wounded prince for one last time. His brow was wrinkled in sorrow when he left. Obviously Thranduil's eldest son was not in a good shape. Saruman, patiently waiting in a death angel of the corridor leaving to the hurt elf, smiled contentedly. This was well according to his plans...

As soon as the sound of the healer's footsteps had faded away, Saruman entered the sickroom, all the while assuring himself with quick glances that no one would see him doing so. Nobody did. Much to his relief he instantly saw that Elwyne was indeed in a bad shape, for he lay unconscious or sleeping, and he still didn't open his eyes when Saruman softly called his name. From his wounds nothing could be seen, for they were well hidden under the warming blankets covering the recovering elf, but his chalk-white face, the blue tinge to his lips, his shallow, though laboured breathing spoke for themselves: This elf was badly hurt. Not that this fact would have changed his plans...

Saruman's smile widened when he took a small phial from his pocket; and poured it's contents into one of the medical flasks standing numerously on a chest of drawers beside the bed. Saruman held his eyes glued on Elwyne while he did so, listening intently for the sound of approaching feet, but nothing happened. Not that it would have been troublesome to be discovered here... He was a wizard! Nobody knew what healing powers he might yielded, and when he decided to use them. And Elwyne was important enough to gain a wizard's interest; for even Elrond, day by day, examined his recovery. Rumours had spread fast about the row between him and Legolas. Although Elrond didn't admit it, he surely would appreciate it if Elwyne finally would awake and claim his right to the throne of the mirkwood.

Did Elrond really expect more reason from Elwyne than from his younger brother? Then he knew the wood elves less than Saruman had suspected him. He put the phial back in his pocket, carefully avoiding to touch it's edge. Still no one had come. Elwyne sighed in his feverish sleep. He was in obvious pain, and his lids trembled, as if some bad dreams were hunting him, but he did not wake. Saruman smiled again, a cruel smile, full of malicious triumph. "Rest well, Elwyne, heir of Thranduil" he thought. "Although you will not live long enough to succeed your estate."

To be continued...