Feelings of uneasiness grew in each one of the three hunters as they rode closer to the Dwimorberg. Beneath them, Hasufel and Arod seemed to hesitate more and more with every step. An eerie silence told them that no animal dared to live there. The only signs that anything living ever came there was the bones scattered on the path. Evil emanated from the looming mountain.

"What kind of army would dwell here?" Gimli finally demanded.

"One that is cursed," answered Legolas, recalling old lessons and family stories. "The Men who lived in this mountain swore an oath of loyalty to Gondor, swearing to fight for them whenever they were called. However, when Gondor's need was most dire they refused to fight because they'd once worshipped Sauron. Isildur then cursed them never to rest until they fulfilled their oath."

Aragorn looked at him in wonder. "How do you know about all of that?" he asked curiously. "I didn't think that your tutors in Mirkwood would teach you anything about the world of Men that didn't involve the elves."

"For the most part they didn't," replied Legolas matter-of-factly. "But that particular story concerns the Last Alliance. Ada always insisted that I learn all there was to learn about my daerada's – my grandsire's – last battle." He decided not to tell them that this lesson stuck with him mainly because it was the only time Thranduil spoke Isildur's name without the grief and bitterness about his father's vain death in his voice. Legolas wondered, and not for the first time, if his father would have been more accepting of Aragorn and their relationship had the Man not been a descendant of the person whom he blamed for the growing evil in the world.

When the door that led under the mountain finally came into view the horses refused to carry them any longer. The three were forced to dismount so that Aragorn and Legolas could lead the panicking animals forward. The bones of once-living things were now abundant and piles around the path right next to the Dwimorberg. The doorway was even framed with human skulls.

"None that came here ever returned," whispered Legolas, recalling Eomer's spooked words as he stared at the empty eye sockets of the skulls. "The Men of the mountain were only cursed not to rest. Clearly they can still fight and kill."

"Maybe we should send the horses back to the encampment," suggested Gimli as he glanced at Legolas. "You could go back with them, laddie."

"He might be right about that," Aragorn told Legolas.

"We'll probably need the horses if – when – we come out of the other side," Legolas pointed out. "There's some distance between the mountains and Pelargi, where the corsairs of Umbar are. Even if we did send them back, why should I go with them? They know the way."

"In your current condition -"

"What 'current condition'?" asked Legolas, getting irate. "Mortality? If that's the case then we should all turn around right now since all three of us are afflicted with that." His exasperation dissipated at the chastised looks on their faces. "I'm still an elf," he said more gently. "I'm still the same person who went through Moria to Amon Hen, then on to Fangorn Forest and to fight at Helm's Deep. In fact I was probably in more danger in the mines than I am now because I wasn't fully prepared to deal with the journey's perils back then. Please don't treat me like a child or an invalid."

"We're sorry, meleth," apologized Aragorn.

"This is still new to us," added Gimli.

"It's new to me too," sighed Legolas. The three paused as they came at last to the entryway. "How are we supposed to get through?" he asked, looking at the symbols above the door. "It says here: The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

As if those words held the magic that brought the mountain out of its slumber, a rush of fell air blew out from the darkness. Hasufel and Arod neighed and took off, spooked beyond even their loyalties to their masters. "Hasufel!" called Aragorn desperately, but they were too far gone both physically and emotionally to respond.

Aragorn looked defiantly into the blackness beyond the doorway. "I do not fear death," he declared as he lunged inside.

"My future is with him," said Legolas, aloud but to himself. "The ghosts of Men will not stop me from going with him." He steeled himself and followed Aragorn.

Gimli stared after them, still rooted to the ground. "This is a thing unheard of!" he cried. "An elf will go underground while a dwarf dares not? Oh, I'd never hear the end of it." That thought finally propelled him through the mountain's entrance.

Wimtbwimtbwimtbwimtbwimtb

Elf, Man, and dwarf rushed through the narrow passageways until they reached what appeared to be a large room. As they stepped into it Legolas gasped. "It's a city carved out of the inside of the mountain," he hissed in surprise. "This craftsmanship seems to be beyond the talents of Men. It almost reminds me of Dwarrowdelf, expect –"

"It's dead here," finished Aragorn. "Even under the dominion of the orcs and the balrog, Dwarrowdelf still kept its beauty and majesty. This place is just cold, eerie, and dead."

"Who dares enter my domain?" demanded a low, sinister voice. A being that glowed in sickly green slowly appeared before them. Aragorn recognized the decaying face thought he'd seen when he spoke to Elrond and knew that this was the King of the Dead. He squared his shoulders. "One that would have your allegiance."

"The dead to not suffer the living to pass," jeered the dead king.

A strange feeling of indignant fury entered Aragorn. "You may have used your curse to terrify and murder all living creatures in the past," he growled regally, "but that will not happen now. You will suffer me."

The ghost was silent for a moment. Then it let out a horrible laugh and, as if that had been their signal, a host of shadows materialized out of the air and surrounded them. Legolas gripped his bow as they closed in and separated him from the others. 'If they're solid enough to kill those who enter,' he reasoned, 'then it might be possible to hurt – or at least stun – them with an arrow.'

"The way is shut," hissed the king. "It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut." Aragorn was chilled, remembering Legolas' interpretation of the symbols above the doorway. It seemed unlikely that any two beings would use the exact same words to decipher the crude drawings. Had the King of the Dead watched them and eavesdropped as they stood outside or had he somehow put those words into the elf's mind? Aragorn didn't know which scenario disturbed – and enraged – him more.

The ghost seemed to sense the Man's unease. If anything, it seemed to entertain him. "You should have heeded my words," he taunted. "Now you must die."

Legolas swiftly readied an arrow and fired, hitting the king right between the eyes. However, it passed right through his head and caused no harm. "You have not the right nor the power to harm me," laughed the shade. "We are not of this world and answer to none of you."

A smug resolve came into Aragorn's voice. "I summon you to fulfill your oath," he commanded.

"No one but the king of Gondor can order that!" retorted the ghost as he stalked forward. Aragorn made no response but to draw Anduril. The king brought his own sword down, but Anduril deflected it. With a triumphant growl, Aragorn quickly grabbed him and held the blade to his throat.

"That blade was broken!" choked out the ghost.

"It has been remade," Aragorn told him as power radiated from his eyes. He released the king and walked among the shadow army. "Fight for me and regain your honor."

He was powerful. He was kingly. Legolas smiled as all of the power and dignity that the line Elros and Isildur possessed came through with every move Aragorn made. How could anyone doubt whether this Man could save and restore Gondor? His eyes shone as the ghosts' gazes followed Aragorn everywhere as if enraptured by his will.

"You're wasting your time, Aragorn," advised Gimli with disgust. "This lost had no honor in life and they have none now in death."

Aragorn chose to ignore him. "I am Isildur's heir," he announced. Every emotional conflict he had with that title was gone. "Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled."

The King of the Dead stared at him, all jeers and taunts gone from his decaying face. "Fulfilled?" he whispered. "We could at last be at rest?"

"Yes," affirmed Aragorn. "The Dark Lord has risen again. Now is your chance to make amends for your conflicted loyalties in the past. Only I have the power to free you all from your eternal punishment. Help me save Gondor from the impending darkness and all that is owed from you will be done. What say you?!"

"We will answer your summons," responded the king slowly but steadily. All around them the army of the dead seemed to quiver with pent-up fierceness and anticipation. "Now the time has come for us to fulfill our oath and to finally have our peace."

To be continued...

A/N: Well, I'm moved so I should be able to update regularly for, oh, about a week. Next Monday starts Orientation for graduate school but still I'll to everything I can to keep on track.

The question has been raised about why I had Elrond give Legolas the last crown of Gil-galad instead of something that belong to Oropher (Legolas' grandfather who died at the battle). I don't know enough about Oropher to know what his sword or anything was called (if it was called anything) and I wanted Legolas to have something that was instantly recognizable and relatable to the elves.