The cheerless dawn at Erech had been their last. The brown gloom deepened as they pushed eastward under the heavy sky. Sometimes a gray rain would come tapping down on the heath and hard-packed road, sending up little puffs of dust. This was a wild, rolling country, its ample folds and uplands a delight for idle travellers, but now adding miles to their journey. To the left, snow-capped mountains marched slowly past, laced here and there with white streams falling down to cross their path. The long road looped across foothills speckled with the first flowers of spring, a tumbled profusion of sweet-smelling heather, and fields fenced off by ancient hedges of braided hawthorn, last year's berries dark and glistening. But no birds sang. The wind came in spare, staccato gusts. Some of the elves could feel the distant tug of the sea, since all the lands they crossed sloped down to it, but even that was only a dull ache rather than tempting music. The horses were always wanting to go too slowly, or too quickly for their strength to sustain, and could not make up their minds to hold to any one speed. They jostled and bumped against each other, and arrows rattled.

During most of the dreary day they saw no sign of men save hedgerows, but when the sun was westering somewhere behind them, Timdaur pointed to a low drift of haze sliding down a valley not far off. he warned.

Aragorn acknowledged this with a tight nod. We may have to fight our way through. Alert your folk!

The grim elf nodded and dropped back to order his company. Smoke and fire. Those words passed swiftly down the column. Elves fanned out into a double line, with space between horses for bows to lean, and every hand had an arrow nocked to string. Keenly now they rode forward. Ears strained to catch the first sounds of battle echoing in the hills.

Leagues fell behind. Faster they galloped, and suddenly the Dead were among them, spilling forward with fell cries and deadly purpose. Greater they had grown since darkness claimed the sky, and now they could be seen plainly as the shapes of men running or riding, black tattered cloaks streaming behind, arms a sickly white as if swords and spears were fashioned of ice and bone.

But Aragorn recalled them, snapping out, Hold! At my command, and not before!

A hungry whine beat the air, but the Dead fell back, eyes burning.

Gimli clung to Legolas' cloak and grumbled in his ear. Now I begrudge you, friend, for I have no room to swing!

Shall I get down and run beside you? inquired the elf. Then you'll have room for your axe, and I can catch you if you fall off!

Gimli snorted. Not likely. Look! We are nearly there. Give me the lay of the land; I can see nothing in this accursed mirk.

It is the vale of the Ringló, and— Legolas paused as Arod cleared the crest of the hill. His bow-arm went limp. and there is no need for axes, he amended with a sigh.

said Aragorn, grieving.

It had been a grassy vale like so many they had passed. A prosperous settlement of cottages and farmhouses were flung wide across gentle slopes, tumbling down towards yet another river that cut the vale in two. Now fields were burned to bare earth, as were sheepfolds, homesteads, and the little town clustered on both sides of the bridge. All that remained was charred wood and stone foundations, blackened soil. There was no sign of life or foes. Somberly, the company crossed the area of devastation, ashes swirling around their horses' legs. The Dead spread out across the blackened vale, circling, alighting, and whirling off again like a great flock of birds. Nor were they the only dead.

Passing the reins to Gimli, Legolas slid from the saddle and knelt by a prone shape lying on its side in the ditch. The body was so badly burned that he could not tell whether it was a man or woman, young or old, but when he turned it over, there was faint movement under eyelids sealed shut. An infant was clutched to the person's chest, mostly shielded by the arms of the one who held it, but the child was dead.

An elf did not quail at the sight of ten thousand Uruk-hai nor a legion of the empty shades of men, but this was beyond him. He stared at his fair hand resting on the ground beside blackened skin and an infant's white face.

Legolas, we cannot tarry, Timdaur said sternly, reining over to the side of the road.

The Mirkwood elf saw there was nothing to be done. And yet he hesitated.

The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead.

The words of Théoden had been wise, but their wisdom had broken on the shores of friendship, and Legolas might have defied the king that day had he not been numbed by the impossible fact of a friend's death. Now he twisted around to snap, You would leave them, then, for birds and dogs? There are no onodrim to bury them! Or perhaps this is not your concern, since they are only men?

The captain observed this outburst impassively. Stay if you must, son of Thranduil, but it is for men we ride. He turned his horse's head and spurred back to the head of the company.

Gimli coaxed Arod over to the fuming elf. Come on, lad, he said gruffly. He's right. Aragorn's got the living to worry about.

With a sigh, Legolas drew a long knife and passed it cleanly through the throat of the dying villager. He climbed into the saddle behind Gimli. Quietly they crossed the bridge. Wooden boards boomed like hollow logs underfoot, startlingly loud. Trailing behind, Gimli and Legolas emerged last of all from the former outskirts of the village, and jogged up the dusty slope on the far side.

Aragorn rode back along the line a short time later, looking for them. he asked, coming alongside the pair and raising an eyebrow when he saw which one held the reins. What happened?

Legolas was mute; he might as well have been one more ghost at the back of the column.

Nothing a few targets won't mend, Aragorn, the dwarf explained.

When no other answer was forthcoming, the man issued a sharp command. Legolas, pedo enni.*

Legolas stared straight ahead, over the dwarf's helm. Firn dâd e menig ernediaid. Ah in enith i nengin ú-istam.

Mellyn istar enith dîn. Ah i goth geritha rîn, ir geveditha chethyl a bing vín.

Legolas replied uneasily. He could not be certain, after all, whether he had found a villager or some man of Umbar with a spark of pity. I wonder, he added, whether Helm's Deep has faced any more assaults. The thought of those good folk coming to grief after all our labor burns my heart. I wish we could have left them a larger garrison.

Aragorn looked keenly at his friend. We must hope, he said gently. But Treebeard promised the ents would keep watch.

Legolas nodded and said no more.

If you two have finished gossiping, Gimli interrupted, Shall we catch up with the leaders? I'll not have these elves cheating me of kills if we come across anything worth hewing.

*Legolas, speak to me.
Two dead, out of countless thousands. And we do not know the names of the slain.
Friends know their names. And the enemy will remember, when they meet our blades and bows.
May it be.