Disclaimers: These characters do not belong to me, though that would be fun. They belong to Tolkien, the dead genius that he is.

Summary: In an alternate universe where the Ruling Ring gained enough power to cause chaos in Middle-Earth, the king of Gondor and several companions must fight to end the wars between the races and somehow survive the venture.

Warnings: There will be slash in this fic.

Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Faramir/Éomer, Theodred/Boromir, Imrahil/Hirgon.

Notes: Reviews would be appreciated. After all, what author doesn't love reviews?

Thanks: Ice Demon, Earendilstar, GoldenRose, Abigail da Jedi, Scarlet, Jedi Master Calriel, and Stormraider for reviewing.

Author's Notes: *giggles* Oh, I was wondering when someone would ask about Merry. *attempts an innocent look* You all will see... *snickers* Sorry for taking so long with the latest chapter. I had major writer's block. Oh, and anything said between the ** symbols is spoke in Sindarin but written as English because I'm not a Sindarin scholar. ~Cinaed

The Golden Arrow

By Cinaed

Chapter Three

His azure gaze broke away from Sam's after a long, pensive moment, and the blond elf glanced down at the dead slave-traders, disdain curling his lips into an expression of intense dislike. How Legolas loathed humans!

"Before I take you to my father, I must have these bodies taken away. Please, wait here."

Without another word, Legolas bounded from the clearing, his voice lifting up in a high, lilting melody that informed any Mirkwood elf within hearing distance of the brief battle that had just taken place and of the fact that he needed help in ridding the slain filth from their precious forest.

As Sam smiled in oblivious delight at the sound of the elf singing, Frodo turned his gaze upon the wizard called Gandalf. His intense blue eyes studied the ancient Istari for a long moment before the solemn hobbit spoke.

"So this is the Ring of Sauron?" His voice trembled slightly on the final word, and Gandalf looked grim.

"Aye, it is the Ruling Ring, young Frodo. I can only guess how your uncle came to possess it, but the Ring is a thing of great evil and must be destroyed."

"How?" There was a plaintive note to the halfling's whisper as he clutched at the chain that suddenly seemed so heavy around his neck.

"If I recall what an elf-lord told me many, many years ago, it must be thrown into the Fires of Mount Doom, where it was forged." The ancient wizard offered Frodo a kind smile. "Please, think no more of the Ring. Simply bear it to Imladris, and then I and others will find a way to venture to Mount Doom and destroy the Ring."

Without awaiting a reply, Gandalf turned towards Sam, who was still enthralled by the sound of Legolas' singing. "Samwise Gamgee, have you never heard an elven song before?"

Wide-eyed, Sam shook his head, sending grimy brown curls every which way. "Nay, Master Gandalf. Elves never visited the Shire, though I recollect Mister Frodo's uncle being one to wander o'er the hills. It was rumored he made friends with elves." The halfling's voice grew slightly wistful as he pictured the green magnificence that had been his home.

"And then the Big Folk came, and the Shire was no more," murmured Frodo, his eyes downcast.

"Mithrandir!" The delighted shout of the wizard's name seemed to come from all sides, followed by various shouts in the Sindarin language as Sam gazed around in wonder at the numerous elves that had silently appeared at the edge of the clearing, all beaming and laughing.

"Cormamin lindua ele lle!" [My heart sings to see thee!]

"Creoso, mellonamin!" [Welcome, my friend!]

"Mithrandir, an lema?" [Mithrandir, long journey?]

As the two halflings gawked at the numerous, beautiful elves, all of them flocked around Gandalf, smiling and chattering away in Sindarin while the ancient wizard chuckled and responded in Sindarin.

"Little ones, I offer my apologies that none of my brethren have greeted you." Sam and Frodo glanced up to see Legolas smiling gently at them. "Mithrandir is renowned by all elves, and it is a momentous occasion that he is here. Come, I shall take you and Mithrandir to my father. He will be eager to meet you."

At that point, Frodo's stomach rumbled, and Legolas' smile was replaced by a quizzical look. "Did, did you make that noise?" Again, his naiveté was revealed by the slight uncertainty in his melodious words.

"Halflings make that noise when they are hungry, Prince Legolas!" declared one of the other elves with laughter in his clear tenor voice as the prince arched an eyebrow. "You have simply never heard it because no elf goes hungry in Mirkwood."

"It is an odd noise, but I suppose it is important to know when one is hungry. I wonder if we elves would make that noise if our stomachs were empty," mused the prince before smiling once more. "Come, my halfling friends, to the court of Thranduil!"

Several of the other immortals rallied to the declaration, and began to sing a melodious song about the mighty elf-lord of Mirkwood even as Legolas led the two hobbits and the Grey Wanderer in the direction of his father's hall.

-*-*-*-*-*-

Sam's eyes were as wide as they could possibly be as his green gaze flickered around the Great Hall. The large room was enormous, and the hobbit felt tiny compared to the tall, graceful elves who sat comfortably in chairs of finest silk.

Above all the rest sat an elf who could be no other than King Thranduil, Legolas' father. His keen eyes focused on the guests, and a warm smile graced his lips as he rose elegantly from his golden chair.

**"Well, my son, do my ancient eyes deceive me, or is that my good friend Mithrandir?"** His clear, baritone words filled everyone's ears, and Gandalf chuckled in response.

**"Excuse me for speaking out of turn, good king, but your eyes do not deceive you. I am back from my travels, Thranduil, and I greet you!"**

With a joyous cry, the elf-lord sprang across the room in what seemed like three bounds. Golden waves pressed against frizzy gray as the two friends embraced and began to babble in Sindarin for a few minutes.

Legolas smiled as he watched his father chuckle over long-forgotten matters with his old friend before the blue-eyed elf turned his gaze upon the hobbits, who had been overlooked once more. "I am sorry, little ones. Once the shock at seeing Mithrandir has worn off, my kin and companions will welcome you. Come; sit with me by my father's throne. My siblings are not here at the moment, so we have many extra spaces at the high table." He laughed softly, and accidentally slipped into Sindarin as he waved a casual hand. "Tolo, mado a sogo en mereth!" [Come, eat and drink of the feast!]

Even as Sam squirmed self-consciously at the thought of being above all the elves, Legolas ushered him and Frodo towards the table that he had been speaking of, eagerly telling them about the meal that they'd soon devour.

In truth, it was quite a few minutes until Gandalf and Thranduil remembered that they were in the company of countless others. Apologizing, the king of Mirkwood clapped his hands and called for the feast to begin.

"This is one of my favorite dishes," Legolas exclaimed as soon as the first platter was brought out, a smile spreading across his fair visage. "You'll enjoy the apples, especially with the secret spices that the cooks put upon them."

As Sam smiled back and tentatively took a bite of the spiced fruit, a thought began to wiggle in the back of his mind. The hobbit's smile widened even as the spices burst upon his tongue as the former gardener heard Frodo, his tone no longer melancholy but delighted, declaring that this was wonderful. Pale green eyes flickered around the room at the assorted elves, and Samwise Gamgee gradually realized something....

Legolas was the most beautiful elf there.

Even when compared to the other attractive elves, his golden tendrils were shades glossier, his eyes a more brilliant sapphire, his visage the epitome of delicate splendor, his frame nimbler and more graceful. The only elf close to comparison was Legolas' father, and even then Thranduil's good looks were more along the lines of handsome rather than lovely.

"Do your siblings look anything like you?" Sam inquired, smiling up at the golden elf as he nibbled on another slice of fruit.

Legolas looked thoughtful. "No, they take after my father. I take after my mother. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I was just wondering," declared the hobbit, flushing a little and pretending to concentrate on the fruit he was eating so that he could avoid the elf's curious gaze.

Legolas' eyes lingered on Sam for another moment, before a carefree smile curved his lips once more. "Please, have some of the wine. It will lessen any of your weariness from running away from those humans." Disdain lingered in that final word, for all Mirkwood elves held the race of Man in contempt.

Pale green orbs brightened at that. "I've not had wine since the last celebration before Men took the Shire from us," Sam sighed, his longing obvious. Of course, the elven wine wouldn't be anything like the Shire wine, but perhaps it would be wonderful in its own way.

The smile widened at that, becoming kinder. "Then I must insist that you sample some of Mirkwood's wine. We are renowned for it."

Sam smiled. "Well, if you insist. Master Frodo, try some of the Mirkwood wine with me!"

"All right, Sam, all right," laughed his fellow hobbit, looking the merriest he had since they had been enslaved and Bilbo murdered in front of them.

The kind look never leaving his beautiful visage, Legolas poured them both a glass of wine.

The color of the drink was a pale cerise, the same color as prizewinning roses that Sam had grown back at the Shire. Green eyes gazed at the sparkling liquid for a moment, and then the round-faced halfling lifted the drink to his lips, offering Frodo a smile.

His normally grim companion grinned back, and in his heart, Samwise Gamgee silently rejoiced before he took a long draught of Mirkwood wine. They would soon be rid of that cursed ring and be able to live their lives free once again.

He took a sip, and immediately froze in place. The wine was like nothing Sam had ever sampled before! It slid like fire down his throat, but it was an inferno that didn't burn his gullet. Instead it left him breathless, tears springing to his eyes as he gasped. The warmth traveled down his throat and spread through his entire frame. With that painless heat came newfound strength, and Sam sat upright, blinking away tears.

"Perhaps it is a bit too powerful for hobbits," Legolas commented, looking a trifle amused. "I shall add some juice to the wine and see if that lessens the intensity."

"That sounds—sounds good," said Frodo, wheezing a little as he rubbed his throat. Still, there was a slight smile on the hobbit's face, and he seemed to regain lost energy in his formerly weary expression and stature even as Sam watched his friend.

The vigor that the wine had instilled in the round-faced halfling made him sit up straighter and glance around. He smiled at the sight of the cheerful, laughing elves, and relaxed in the chair as Legolas diluted the Mirkwood wine. Sam rather thought that he could spend months here in Mirkwood, among the merry elves. He would have to suggest to Mister Frodo that they come and visit once they had taken that ring to Imladris....

-*-*-*-*-*-

**"Whatever are we to do, Mithrandir?"** Sitting upon his throne of gold, surrounded by his adoring subjects, Thranduil had never felt so weak. He kept the smile up for appearances, but his voice was heavy with despair as he spoke in quiet Sindarin. **"Are we to drop this burden into Elrond's lap and let him deal with it as he sees fit?"**

**"I am afraid that is the only way I can see the Ring not being lost yet again, my old friend. Elrond was at the battle that was the last alliance of men and elves. He was a companion of Gil-galad and a friend to Isildur. Elrond will know how to perform the mighty task of destroying the Ruling Ring and casting Sauron from this world at last."** Mithrandir's words were gentle but firm.

The king of Mirkwood couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. The immortality that would keep him young and beautiful forever was suddenly mocking him. What use was it to live forever if the world was enslaved by the darkness that was Sauron? **"Then I shall assign my most powerful warriors to take you and your halfling companions to Imladris."**

The wizard shook his hoary mane in a mild dismissal of the elf's words. **"Nay, my friend, I do not think that would be wise. Your warriors are renowned, and there are spies everywhere once we leave the safe realm of Mirkwood. A spy might suspect something if they see the fabled guards of Mirkwood accompanying what appears to be merely two halflings and an old man. Let me speak to Radagast the Brown tomorrow; we shall think of a way to get young Frodo and young Samwise to Imladris posthaste and safely."**

Thranduil took a long sip of his wine to steady himself before he spoke again. **"Is there /any/ way I can be of service to you, Mithrandir? I would dearly love to aid in the destruction of the Ring, for my part, and I know that all the elves of Mirkwood would consign themselves to death if it meant Sauron was destroyed."**

**"Thank you, Thranduil, I shall hold you to that once I have spoken with Radagast. For the moment, let us try to enjoy the feast and speak of other times. Have you spoken to anyone from Lothlorien lately?"**

**"Nay, I have not heard from the Golden Woods for nigh on twenty years. I do not worry though. They have never been ones to stray far from the beautiful lady Galadriel,"** the elf-lord commented, relaxing a little as they steered the topic away from Sauron and doom.

**"Aye, that they haven't,"** Mithrandir agreed, and lifted his own drink to his lips and taking a sip before the Istari suddenly coughed, his visage flushing a dark red. The Grey Wanderer blinked rapidly get be rid of the tears that had sprung to his eyes. **"I—I'd forgotten how strong your wine was, my friend,"** he whispered with a hoarse note to his voice, a hand reaching up to massage his throat. **"Do you have any juice to reduce the power of Mirkwood wine?"**

Thranduil laughed at that, feeling his spirits lighten at the other man's reaction to the drink. **"I had forgotten that even Istari cannot stand the intensity of Mirkwood wine,"** he commented even as he reached for a flagon of berry juice.

**"No one can stand the intensity of Mirkwood wine save for the Mirkwood elves, good Thranduil,"** retorted Mithrandir.

Of course, the elf-lord couldn't argue with him, for the Grey Wanderer was, as usual, right.

-*-*-*-*-*-

Even the diluted wine seemed to be too strong for the hobbits, and as the evening wore on, their cheeks flushed more and more. Still, their speech remained clear and without a slurred note. After all, while Mirkwood wine was strong, all hobbits were born and raised on Old Toby and the various alcohols of the Shire.

Nevertheless, they spoke more freely than they probably would have had not they supped some of the elven wine. Sam regaled Legolas with tales of the Shire before Men had seized it, and Frodo interjected if Sam forgot to mention something. For his part, the blond elf listened intently and laughed in all the right places, drinking his wine without any side effects at all. When the hobbits were almost hoarse, it was the elf's turn to entertain them with stories of Mirkwood.

Eventually, however, the energy instilled in them from the wine faded and the fact that they'd been on the run caught up with the two halflings. First Frodo and then Sam's head began to nod as Legolas' voice washed over them, his lilting syllables almost lullaby-like to the heavy-eyed hobbits.

Frodo was the first to succumb to his weariness, his head finally ending in a half-nod which resulted in his chin resting on his chest. His intense blue eyes were hidden from Middle-Earth as his heavy eyelids closed, and the young hobbit dreamed of the Shire when it had been untainted.

Sam fell victim to his drowsiness second, his head tilting a little towards Legolas as if leaning closer to listen as his eyes fluttered shut and he began to dream of cultivating Bag End's garden.

The elf realized that he had lost his audience only when the green-eyed hobbit gave a contented little sigh. Legolas looked a little puzzled before he leaned closer and noticed the steady rise and fall of the hobbits' chests. Then his sapphire eyes widened with understanding, and the prince smiled, amused.

**"I'd forgotten that only the elves sleep with their eyes open, Elanor,"** he commented to one of younger Mirkwood elves at the table just below him.

The elf's eyes, which were the same hue as amber extracted from a tree, danced amidst his pale flesh as he glanced up at the sovereign. **"With due respect, Prince Legolas, it's been said that Mithrandir keeps his eyes open as well. I wonder if that is true?"**

The two friends shared a conspiratorial look, and soon Prince Legolas and Elanor began to scheme to try and figure out if the rumor was factual.

(To be continued.

Preludes: In the next chapter, The Gondorian Horsemen and their halfling companion travel towards Imladris with many adventures on their way, and Hirgon reaches Edoras to speak with Éomer and Faramir.

~Cinaed)