They had run three days straight across the plains of Rohan, finding no sign of the young hobbits other than the distant thunder of footfalls and a Lothlorien clock brooch that had been trampled into the ground. Their hope was rapidly dwindling into frustration and despair as the uruk-hai, aided by the will of Saruman, put more and more distance between the two groups. Now, when they could have used a little luck, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli were surrounded by an armed cavalry of Rohirrim who were pointing spears uncomfortably close to their chests.

"What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddemark?" demanded a rider, apparently the leader. "Speak quickly!"

Gimli eyed him with suspicion. "Give me your name, horse master, and I will give you mine," he retorted, defiant but weary.

The man dismounted and stalked towards the three hunters. He did not look amused. "I would cut off your head, dwarf," he bit out contemptibly, "if it stood a little higher to the ground."

Legolas couldn't take it anymore. Perhaps the greatest trick of the enemy was how he caused discord among those who would oppose him, but enough was enough. They were doing everything they could to stop Sauron, losing two friends already and possibly more. There really wasn't any good time to lose his temper, but he couldn't stand to see his friend threatened. He drew his bow in an instant. "You would die before your stroke fell!"

The spears came closer. Aragorn gently but urgently placed his hand on Legolas'. It was the first time in days that they'd touched and the contact felt intimate and soothing. The ranger discreetly rubbed his Legolas' thumb with his own as he slowly urged the bow down. Trust me was the message he sent silently through the gesture. Support me as you have been. I will make sure that none of us get hurt.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Aragorn announced to the leader. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin of the Lonely Mountain, and Legolas, prince of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood. We come as friends to both Rohan and its king."

"The king no longer recognizes friend from foe," the man said, removing his helm. The rest lowered their weapons. "He does not even trust me, and I am his kin - his sister-son Eomer. My men and I have been banished for trying to save the kingdom from Saruman." His lips curled into a sneer at the name. "He knows all the goings-on of Rohan. His spies are everywhere, coming from close to home and -" he glared at Legolas, who glared right back "-from the evil places abroad."

"We are not spies," Aragorn said a little testily. He told himself that ramming a spear through Eomer's body wasn't the way to defend Legolas from insult at the moment. "We are hunting a pack of uruks. They've kidnapped two of our friends."

"The uruks are dead," replied Eomer dismissively. "We slaughtered them in the night."

"Were there two hobbits with them?" demanded Gimli desperately.

Eomer looked confused, so Aragorn elaborated: "Our friends were of a people from the north who are child-sized."

"We left none alive," admitted Eomer, and the look of contempt he had since the beginning of their meeting was gone. "I am sorry."

"They're dead?" whispered Legolas. Images flashed through his mind: Pippin sitting on his lap at the camp on the banks of Anduin; Merry's grim expression when they left the hobbits in the hiding spot at Amon Hen. To think of them dead, with the light gone from their eyes as it was gone from Boromir's was devastating. Aragorn slipped his arm around the elf's waist and Legolas reciprocated, both offering the other what little comfort that they could.

The guilt on Eomer's face grew. "We piled the bodies over there and burned them," he said, pointing to a smoky area on the outskirts of Fangorn Forest. "I can provide you with horses to get there. Hasufel! Arod!"

A large chestnut horse came forward, followed swiftly by a smaller white one that was shaking its head and stamping its feet a little. Legolas grabbed the white horse's reins and stroked its neck. The horse calmed under his touch.

Eomer stared at them in wonder. "That's Arod," he said with awe in his voice. "I'm impressed at how easily you get him to calm down. What he lacks in stature he more than makes up for in his wild spirit. I don't imagine he'd be a suitable choice for an elven prince."

"I've always chosen the things in life that weren't suitable for elven princes," replied Legolas, sneaking a quick glance at Aragorn, "and that all started with horses. This one is just about perfect for me."

##############

The smell of burnt flesh reached them before they even got to the burn pile. Aragorn dismounted quickly and skillfully and ran to the pile. Gimli followed close behind, but Legolas intentionally lagged. What if Merry and Pippin lying dead on the ground, trampled or desecrated? What if they were in the pile? He felt nauseous at the thought that they could reach into the burn pile and pull out the charred but still identifiable bodies of the hobbits. Oh why hadn't he stayed with them at Amon Hen?

The same fears that froze Legolas propelled Gimli forward. He dove straight into the pile and rummaged through the ash, not really sure of what he was hoping to find. A few seconds later, he pulled up something familiar. "It's one of their wee belts," he choked up, holding it up for the others to see. "The Lady of the Golden Wood gave each of them one of these. They're - they're - we failed them."

"Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wannath (May they find peace after death)," Legolas whispered. Where did hobbits go after they died? None of the lore of his people dealt with hobbits, so he wouldn't find the answer in his schooling or his father's tales. Maybe the hobbits didn't even know the answer to that question. It seemed unlikely that such a merry and innocent people would have a tradition for such a depressing topic. On the other hand, hobbits were mortal and all mortals died... 'Stop it right now!' Legolas scolded himself. 'Such dark thoughts won't help anyone. Think of Aragorn; attend to Aragorn.'

'I'm a joke', Aragorn decided dismally. An absolute fraud when it came to being a leader. Mithrandir had trusted him to lead the others as best he could but where had all of his decisions led them? First Boromir had died and now Merry and Pippin had come to a hideous end. He kicked an uruk-hai helmet and screamed in frustration, dropping to his knees.

Legolas hurried over and wrapped his arms around Aragorn's shoulders, squeezing a little too hard. Aragorn leaned his head back to touch foreheads with his lover and something caught his eye. "A hobbit lay here," he told his companions sadly. "And another over there." His eyes narrowed and then widened. "They crawled!"

"What?" asked Legolas, barely daring to hope. He released Aragorn's shoulders so the man could track Merry and Pippin's movements.

"Their hands were bound," reported Aragorn, observing the indentations in the ground. He reached down and picked up pieces of rope. "Their binds were cut. They ran away from the fight," he continued, running along the hobbits trail, followed swiftly by Legolas and Gimli. They stopped within inches of the ominous trees. "And into Fangorn Forest."

"Out of one madness and into another," murmured Gimli in worried horror.

#################

They'd been in the forest for some time before Legolas and Aragorn had the chance to talk privately. "How's your foot?" the elf inquired.

"It's fine," answered Aragorn, looking chagrined and embarrassed. "It was a stupid thing to do, kicking that helmet. What if I'd broken some toes, or even my foot?"

"You didn't," said Legolas soothingly. "And you were just doing what we all felt like doing. I think Gimli and I proved during that business with Eomer that no one here does what's best all of the time." He paused, wondering if he should ask the question that had been nagging him. "Aragorn, where do hobbits go when they die?"

"Don't think that way."

"I'm not," said Legolas quickly. "At least, I'm trying not. It just feels like all I can think about lately is death. I know what happens to elves that are slain, and is supposed to happen to men and dwarves. I can guess what happens to wizards. Maybe I can be comforted if I knew what happens to hobbits."

Aragorn looked at him for a long time. "I think you're the only one who's wondered that," he finally said thoughtfully. "Hobbit lore has never been an interest to other races and hobbits don't really think about it. They're too busy living life to worry about what's beyond death."

The trees creaked all around them. "This forest is old and full of thoughts of pain and anger," said Legolas reverently. "The trees are speaking to each other right now. I wish I knew their language."

"We don't need to know their language to know that they're angry," observed Aragorn. He glanced over at Gimli and saw an unnerving sight. "Gimli, lower your axe!"

"I found orc blood," explained Gimli, lowering his weapon nervously. "I just thought it would be a good idea to be armed and ready."

"Orcs aren't going to be a problem," said Legolas slowly. "I doubt that the trees would tolerate them." He saw something moving towards them through the trees - something white. "The problem right now," he hissed urgently, "is that the white wizard is approaching."

Aragorn went rigid and drew his sword. "If he speaks, he will put a spell on us," he whispered fiercely. "We must be swift."

Without a word, Legolas and Gimli readied their weapons. They waited for a few tense seconds for Aragorn's signal. When the man nodded, they turned and attacked a figure shrouded in a blinding white light. Gimli's thrown axe dropped harmlessly to the ground. Legolas' arrow went wild. An intense heat forced Aragorn to drop his sword. The three stood rooted to the ground, unable to take their eyes off the figure.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," said the figure. His voice sounded familiar to Legolas. It was like Saruman's (whom the young elf met a few times when the White Council was battling the evil in Southern Mirkwood), but also not like his. "They met someone they did not expect the day before yesterday," the lighted figure continued. "Does that comfort you?"

"Where are they?" yelled Aragorn, trying to sound threatening. "Who are you?"

The light receded to reveal not Saruman but Mithrandir. "Mithrandir!" cried Legolas as his knees gave out. Too much had happened for him to still believe that the Valar would spare anyone just because he loved them. He really should be questioning how the wizard could be standing before them, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that life was in a friend he thought was dead. Maybe there was hope for the hobbits after all.

"Gandalf," sobbed Gimli, falling to his knees next to Legolas.

"Mithrandir," mused the wizard as if he were trying out the word for the first time. Aragorn stepped forward and clutched his arm, concerned. "Mithrandir and Gandalf the Grey. That was what they used to call me."

Aragorn nodded. "How is this possible?" he asked.

"I will tell you on the way," Mithrandir answered. "All that is important for you to know right now is that I come back to you at the turn of the tide, and that tide is turning soon. I've already put Merry and Pippin on their course with the Ents. Rise my friends, for now we must get to Edoras; there is a lot to do and little time to do it in."

To be continued...