I'm back. This is another record I'm setting with this update. What had started off as a mere whim has escalated into my newest fixation.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all related characters are not mine.

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(Two months after the Grey Havens)

"I do say! What ever is the matter with you, elf?" Gimli exclaimed in exasperation as he eyed the fidgety creature walking close beside him.

Giving a small snort of indignance, Legolas Greenleaf shook his blond head in irritation. "There is nothing wrong with me, dwarf," he answered grumpily, "I just do not like being in such large crowds. I can barely move without being jostled by some other person." Even as the elf said this, a rather large man with a tankard of ale brushed past him, nearly knocking Legolas around by the sheer force of his shoulder slamming into the slim archer.

Gimli almost burst out in laugher at the flustered expression that flew across Legolas' face as the elf struggled to regain his composure from the sudden assault. Though he did enjoy watching his elven companion itch with discomfort, Gimli did feel a bit sympathetic for Legolas. Gimli knew Legolas generally avoided mass crowds at all costs, hating the feeling of being trapped in the press of a hundred bodies. Whenever attending formal banquets or gatherings together, Gimli could almost always be sure to find his friend hiding in some quiet corner of the room, away from the main hub of people. The dwarf knew Legolas was not claustrophobic or unsociable by any means, it was just that he did not enjoy being closed in and confined. The fact that Aragorn had managed to convince the elf to attend the festival today was nothing short of a miracle.

Today was the Summer Festival; a widely popular Gondorian festival and the last of the season until the fall harvest. Aragorn had sent formal invitations several weeks prior to Legolas in Ithilien and Gimli in the Glittering Caves, welcoming them to come and enjoy the holiday celebrations with him in Gondor's capital.

It looked as though the entire population of Minas Tirith had come out to the tournament fields on the western outskirts of the city to enjoy the day's activities. Several acres large, the tournament fields swarmed with people. Warm sunlight shined over clusters of small booths set up periodically across the sprawling green field. Vendors of all kinds stood hawking trinkets and food to the passing crowd as people moved about enjoying the festival's events. Horse races, storytellers, and games of strength were only some of the amusements to be found. Gimli had even managed to discover a number of booths specializing in locally brewed ale during the course of their travels through the fair, though this was not met with as much enthusiasm from his elven friend.

Gimli had to give Legolas credit. The elf had endured much of the bumping and jarring of the large crowd so far quite well. Though he had good-heartily enough joined Gimli on his tour of the ale booths, Legolas at one point had finally at one point had enough (somewhere around their fifth or sixth stop), and stubbornly demanded a halt from their wanderings. Giving in merely to hush the irritated elf's tantrum, Gimli had subsequently found himself sitting beside his friend in the shade of some trees watching a small troop of actors from the city perform a short play. The dwarf had found the plot of the story overly melodramatic for his tastes and had whined about it loudly to Legolas for the better part of the performance, though his friend seemed to enjoy it despite Gimli's commentary.

The afternoon sun was now high overhead and beating down on the open field as the two made their way slowly towards the main sporting arena where a tournament of skills and strength was to be held. The crowd was becoming increasingly denser as they moved closer. Everyone was hurrying to grab what few good seats remained around the circular enclosure before the spectacle began.

"I will be glad to get out of this crowd soon," Legolas grumbled in unnatural irritation as he was pressed closer to Gimli as the crowed thickened even more. "It is too hot of a day to spend in such close spaces with so many others," he added as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. A very faint sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow.

"And here I thought elves had the endurance to withstand even the fires of Mordor..." Gimli commented quietly under his breath, but loud enough for Legolas to hear over the din of the crowd. Legolas seemed to chose to ignore the dwarf and instead turned his attention onto the neat rows of colorful tents and flags lining the path leading up to the tournament field's entrance.

Though he was not about to verbally agree with his companion after making such a jest about the elf's discomfort, Gimli was only too aware of the heat. He could feel a trickle of sweat rolling down his own neck, and his beard was sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Waves of heat were wafting up from the ground and into the air in the near distance along the rim of the surrounding hills. The sky above was without any clouds, offering the open tournament fields below no relenting from the blistering sun glaring high overhead. Stealing a quick glance up at his friend, Gimli indeed saw that Legolas looked rather torrid even in his loose and gauzy white summer tunic.

"I'm sure Aragorn's arranged some shade for us for when we meet him. He knows we were going to go out early and look around a bit before the tournament started," Gimli tried to offer as some kind of comfort to the overheated elf, "He wanted us to sit with him and Lady Arwen in the royal box. I hear those fighting are some of the best warriors Gondor has to offer. It should be an excellent show, and we have some of the best seats in the house. It is good to know people in high places..."

"Yes, it is rather fortunate that Aragorn invited us to join him. Otherwise I'm not quite sure what we would have done..." Legolas exclaimed in mock relief, looking up to heaven for effect.

"What do you mean, elf?" Gimli questioned suspiciously, sensing his fair companion setting him up for something.

"Well, I doubt at this point there would have been very many places left along the tournament ring, "Legolas explained with a sly smile, "I was not about to become one of your 'people in high places' and let you sit on my shoulder so that you might see over the heads of everyone else there..."

Gimli's lips pursed together in insult under his bushy reddish beard. His dark little eyes betrayed none of the contempt he held for the elf's jokes about his stature. "Be careful, elf," he warned threateningly, "Or instead of seeing knights sword fighting, the people of Gondor will witness first-hand just how far a dwarf can cuddle-toss an elf through the air."

"I do not know, Master Dwarf," the archer mulled thoughtfully, "I doubt if the people of Gondor will find the distance of two feet an impressive show of dwarfish strength."

"Now you've done it! Now I'm going to have to get Aragorn to order some of his men to cut you down from one of those flagpoles later tonight after I tie you up there by your braids!"

"Or the other way around when I tie you up there by your beard!"

To any one of the several dozen people packed around the unlikely pair of friends, this may have sounded like the start of a bloody braw. But to Legolas and Gimli, they knew the other was merely joking and acting off the strange bond they shared where half-hearted insults were terms of endearment. And so their pointless banter continued until it finally became drowned out by the din of the amassed crowd as they entered the packed tournament ring.

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"Legolas! Gimli! I was wondering when you were going to arrive," Aragorn greeted enthusiastically with a broad smile as the elf and dwarf mounted the short flight of wooden stairs leading into the boxed area of seats reserved for the king and queen of Gondor. Seated in the center-most seat in a row of gilded, high-backed chairs lined across the front of the box, Aragorn turned in his seat to address his friends.

Dressed in a festive robe of summer-green and topped by his ancestral crown of gold and mithril, Aragorn looked everything a royal descendant of Isildur and King of Gondor should be. It was hard to believe that only several years before he had been a solitary and scruffy looking Ranger known only as Strider wondering alone in the wilds of Middle-earth. But after the defeat of Sauron during the War of the Ring two years before, Aragorn had become King Elessar, the proud and mighty ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world. Aragorn could no longer freely travel across the land as he would have done as a ranger in days long gone, and now spent his days doing paperwork and dealing with the concerns of state as a responsible king and ruler. But still a certain spark of Aragorn's wild, untamable spirit shined in his grey eyes.

"We are not late are we?" Legolas asked as they stepped into the darkened shade of the roofed platform. The elven prince immediately relished the coolness the shade brought to his sun-warmed skin as he stepped into the darkened interior of the seating box.

"You are quite on time, Legolas," came a feminine sweet voice from the other side of Aragorn, "King Elessar is just in an impatient mood today." Leaning forward in her seat, the radiant face of the dark haired Evenstar came into view. Arwen's hair was elegantly braided away from her face and fell down her back in a single raven plait. A delicately crafted fillet of silver circled her brow where a single white gem had been fastened in the very center of her face, enhancing her beauty and accentuating her ancient grey eyes.

"My Lady Arwen..." the elven archer bowed to the beautiful queen with a graceful dip of his head.

"No formalities today, Legolas," she smiled graciously, "Today's a time to enjoy the festivities and leave such things for a later time."

"Yes. Yes. Come. Sit down," Aragorn said eagerly as he motioned Gimli and Legolas to sit in two velvet cushioned seats positioned on his left.

"Will Faramir be joining us today?" the Mirkwood prince asked in reference to his friend's faithful Steward as he eyed the other empty seats lining the railing of seating box.

"No. He is attending to matters today in my absence at the palace," the retired ranger replied with a shake of his head, "I wanted to enjoy the day talking with my friends and not have to deal with any kind of formal business."

"Don't tell me the great King Elessar is already wearying of his duties after only two years?" Gimli asked light-heartedly as he took the proffered seat between Legolas and Aragorn.

"Oh, I am not quite there yet," the man said off-handedly with a smile, "But the constant harping of a half dozen advisors in my ear can be quite tiring after awhile..."

"I cannot say I envy you or your position at all..." Legolas said with a small chuckle at the king's trials and tribulations of court. All those present agreed with the elf in varying degrees of laughter.

"Enough about my woes," Aragorn finally dismissed with a heart-felt smile, "I know much of Legolas' work in Ithilien, but what of you Gimli? How goes things in the Glittering Caves? I had little time to speak with you after you arrived last night or this morning before you and Legolas disappeared sometime shortly after breakfast."

"Oh, things are well," the dwarf answered, only too happy to be the topic of conversation, "We have begun construction of a new network of tunnels in the north-western section of the caves..."

Legolas let his mind wander as Gimli excitedly went on telling Aragorn about his plans for the new mine; its dimensions, the complications he and the other dwarves had encountered thus far, etc, etc... Really Legolas had heard enough about the new tunnel the night before at dinner from Gimli and was not interested in hearing about it all again.

While Legolas was happy that Gimli had a new project to occupy himself with, the elf was troubled with much more important matters than tunnels and mines. As of late, there had been inklings of uneasiness in his small elven community in Ithilien that were beginning to weight on his mind. Some had even voiced their concerns straight to Legolas that they no longer felt safe in the guarded walls of the settlement. When pressed for an elaboration so that he might better understand how to deal with the problem, the general response was a perplexed look and the vague explanation that they honestly did not know what was causing them such distress.

Only one had actually managed to put these unnerving feelings into words; comparing the uneasiness to the sensation of a dark presence lurking in the back of the mind. Legolas had felt it too, a growing feeling of unrest in the land. But it was still altogether vexing and frustrating to try and calm his people when their growing fear was so vague and abstract.

Besides the mysterious uneasiness in his people, Legolas had also begun to notice small, normally insignificant things that were beginning to trouble him. The trees seemed quieter than normal and many of the birds have fled the forest, as if fleeing from an early winter though no noticeable chill hung in the air.

It was as though there was some disturbance in the air that Legolas could not quite place; a shifting of forces the scope of his senses could not fully encompass or detect. The whole world seemed to be holding a tense breath of anticipation, as if waiting for some unseen event to occur.

Several times now over the past two months, he had woken in the dead of night drenched in a cold sweat with a gnawing anxiety that something terrible was about to happen; though he knew not what. Even when the sun rose and the light of dawn spilled over the land, Legolas swore he could feel a shapeless fear still lingering in the air.

A loud trumpet blast suddenly startled Legolas out of his troubled thoughts. Tuning his eyes to the center of the large sand covered ring, the elf saw a herald making his way out to announce the start of the tournament. At Legolas' side, Gimli sat sulking in his seat. The dwarf had been in the midst of a dramatic narration about a partial cave-in that had occurred during the first part of the new tunnel's construction when the herald had suddenly stolen his thunder. A quieted hush came over the crowd as the man came to the very center of the ring and turned to face the royal box holding Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, and Gimli. He dipped low into a formal bow and quickly straightened again.

"My Lord Elessar!" the herald cried in his loudest voice over the gentle murmur of talking still circulating through the crowd surrounding the three hundred foot long tournament ring, "The men of the White Guard beg your permission to come before you and ask your favor for the start of the tournament!"

Aragorn had been well informed as to his part in the opening ceremony and knew how, as king, he was expected to answer. Rising from his seat in a sweep of green robes, the man came to stand at the edge of the box. A murmur of awe rippled through the assembled crowd as the sunlight hit Aragorn and his crown of gold and mithril and transformed him into the living image of Isildur himself in all his ancient majesty. "Bring them forth, so that I may find them fit to proceed," Aragorn said loudly as he raised a hand in the air to signal for the knights' entrance. Another horn trumpeted loudly.

From the far corner of the ring a line of ten knights on horseback trotted in, fully armored and carrying colorful banners baring their family crests. The bright afternoon sunlight glittered off their polished armor and dazzled the eyes of all that looked onto them. A roar of applause broke through the crowd as they galloped around the perimeter of the field with their banners waving over the shoulders to snap in the wind behind them. Many of the people cried aloud names of their favorite knights as he galloped past. Making their circle of the ring, the ten knights of the White Guard then cantered to the center of the field and came to stop in a straight line in front of the royal box.

"King Elessar! Our liege!" the knights cried in unison as they bowed in their saddles to Aragorn. In a sequenced move, all lowered the tips of their banners to rest on the ground at their horses' feet. The crowd again hushed so that they might hear.

"Knights of the Summer Festival, you have been chosen to display your bravery and courage in a tournament of skill. Are you prepared to fight in armored combat and compete in tests of strength?"

"We are, my Lord!"

"Do you find the field suitable for battle?" the king of Gondor then asked, his booming voice ringing out over the assembled crowd huddled tightly around the wooden fence of the ring.

"We do!"

"Then I grant my permission to proceed. May you all fight with valor and honor befitting that of a knight of the White Guard." Another loud roar rose up from the crowd as the knights wheeled their mounts around and took off to different corners of the ring where squires stood waiting to take their horses.

"What skills will they be competing in?" Legolas asked quietly as Aragorn reclaimed his seat in the center of the box.

"Skills of horsemanship, lance, sword, and... archery," the regal king answered with a bemused pause before the last skill.

"Oh, really...?" the elf smiled playfully, hitching an eyebrow up on his fair face as he cast a mischievous glance at the sandy playing field.

"Do not become too excited, my friend," Aragorn rebuked with a broad smile, "Only knights of the White Guard may compete in the tournament. And anyway, I do not want to place my men into such an unfair fight as trying to out-shoot the prince of Mirkwood in archery."

Friendly laughter erupted through the seating box. "So be it, Aragorn. I would not want to put your men to such shame," Legolas chuckled jokingly, holding his hands up in front of his chest in mock surrender.

While Aragorn and Legolas had been talking, the first two contestants in the first competition of horsemanship had taken the field. Small, portable wooden fences had been set up around the perimeter of the ring. The knights were to race their horses through the obstacle course of jumps while simultaneously trying to catch multiple colored rings that were tossed into the air on the end of a lance. Squires stood beside the jumps and around other parts of the field waiting to toss rings into the air as the knights sped by. The knight with the fastest time and the most rings successfully caught would win the horsemanship competition and advance to the next round with higher standings.

The first two men to compete sat atop their mounts in the far north-eastern corner of the ring, tensely waiting for the signal to begin the race. Each held a long, red striped lance in his gloved hand. The herald that had addressed Aragorn and opened the tournament again stood in the center of the sandy ring, a piece of red cloth held in his right hand.

"On my mark!" he called in a shrill voice that carried over the excited buzz of the crowd as he turned to face the waiting knights in the far corner. "1...2...3!" As he cried the last number, the man sent the red cloth flying high into the air.

Springing like a snapped string, the mounted knights took off along the edge of the ring, each urging his horse for more speed as they neared the first jump. As they leapt over the first wooden hurtle, six multi-colored rings shot up into the air on the other side. Lances stabbed the air as the two struggled to catch the falling rings on the end of their spears. One managed to catch a ring before over-shooting the squires who had tossed the rings and had to move onto the next jump. The other knight had not been so lucky and had been unable to spear any of the rings. He quickly spurred his mount faster to catch up to his opponent who was now trying to gain ground on him before the next jump. The amassed crowd of people was now screaming hysterically, either booing or cheering on the men. Little else could be heard except the roar of the excited spectators.

As the two knights rounded the first corner and hurtled another jump, a deafening exclamation of dismay went up from the people as the first knight missed all of the rings tossed in the air before him. But the cry of the crowd soon turned to frenzied pitch as the second knight managed to spear not one, but two rings! with his lance, thus earning him an unexpected lead for the moment.

"The first one pulled in his horse's head too much when he came out of the jump," Legolas commented quietly to himself as the two knights raced for the third jump with new intensity at the sudden upset of scoring, "The man held back his horse and lost himself the spilt second he needed before the rings fell too low for him to catch."

No one else seemed to have heard Legolas as he crowd suddenly roared in excitement as the two knights came out of the third jump and went for the exact same ring. Boos and cheers erupted as the second knight shied back from his opponent as the two came a heartbeat away from colliding, allowing the other man to catch the ring. The score was again tied.

By now, the knights were a third of the way through the race and nearing a double jump where two hurtles had been placed one right after another in quick succession.

But as the two neared the first of the two fences, Legolas suddenly felt a strange feeling creep up his spine from the small of his back. Physically he could feel nothing, but in the back of his mind, it felt like the warm breath of a stranger on the back of his neck. The elf's insides tightened as a wave of uneasiness crashed over him. In some distant corner of his mind, it felt as though an alarm had been sounded and was setting ever fiber of his body on alert.

Startled and immediately on guard, Legolas ripped his eyes from the galloping horses and shifted his grey eyes to scan the massive crowd of people packed on the other side of the enormous tournament ring. As his elven eyes raked across the sea of several hundred faces staring out into the sand covered field, Legolas' stomach clenched as the feeling intensified to new heights. It was like he sensed some kind of lurking danger hanging in the air.

~What is wrong with me!? Why do I suddenly feel so uneasy!?~ But the elf had no answers to these questions as he tensed in his seat, gripping the armrests in unfounded fear and apprehension. Legolas' pulse pounded in his ears and he felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest.

As the elf swept his searching eyes over the crowd again for something he knew not what he searched for, Legolas' eyes suddenly came to rest on a dark area of the crowd, as if they had been guided there by some unknown power.

There, in the midst of several dozen smiling faces attentively attuned to the action taking place in the ring, a small huddle of cloaked figures caught Legolas' gaze. Legolas's heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with five darkly hooded figures standing like stone statues in a sea of excited and cheering spectators. While every other person in the area stood jostling each other and pointing at the knights racing across the other side of the field, the cloaked strangers stood motionless and silent, staring straight at Legolas sitting in the roofed seating box directly across the ring.

The elven prince froze in his seat as the faceless holes of black under low hoods of grey stared back at him. Though he could descern no faces under the dark folds of cloth, Legolas knew the mysterious five were staring straight at him, and him alone from across the field. He could almost feel their eyes on his skin. It felt as though a wave of cold had suddenly washed over him. No one else in the pressed mass of people seemed to even notice the five heavily cloaked figures standing there amongst them under the sweltering summer sun like ghost grey Ringwraiths.

Before Legolas could even process the sudden appearance of the ghostly apparitions, the tallest one of the group stepped slightly forward and slowly raised a hand out towards the hypnotized elf, as if beckoning him to them. Startled and frightened, Legolas leapt out of his seat, sending his chair flying back behind him. He was almost ready to turn and run from the faceless strangers when a sudden note of song caught his highly-tuned elven ears.

Flitting and melodious, the haunting notes of several mingled voices echoed through Legolas' head, as though the song originated from his very thoughts. But what startled Legolas even more was that the words sounded almost elven, like some ancient form of Quenya which he had some learning in. But the language he heard now was unknown to him; he could only listen dumbly as the tune of the song took over the meaning of the words.

The song came low and almost sad, the fair voices prolonging the notes and ending them with a dip of tone as though their chant was one of mourning. The sound drifted through his brain, dulling any other thoughts in his mind. Legolas' vision began to blur and fade as his eyes stared in locked attentiveness on the hooded figures staring at him across the tournament ring. The boisterous noise of the crowed arena seemed to die away to a mere background murmur as the unearthly song filled Legolas' ears and swam his senses. The elven archer found himself paralyzed by the strangely beautiful song as he stood frozen in place listening to the sorrowful tune. Every ounce of willpower seemed to have been bled out of him as the haunting voices echoed through his head.

The song suddenly intensified. A dark, misty haze seemed to rise up and cloud Legolas' vision. Legolas heart hammered against his ribs rapidly, threatening to rip right out of his chest. The crowded tournament ring slowly faded from sight as the growing darkness rose up enveloped the frightened elf in a blanket of black.

The foreign words of the ghostly song pounded in Legolas' ears. The elf's blood suddenly felt like ice water coursing through his veins. The tune had changed. A more desperate, ominous tone now tainted the notes of the fair voices singing in his mind. The song swirled in Legolas' head like a maelstrom of distorted voices.

Suddenly, over the roar of the strange song, a flash of fiery red exploded from out of the inky darkness around Legolas. The song continued to wail in his ears as Legolas cried out and instinctively raised his hands up in front of him to protect his face from the tongues of orange-red fire that licked hungrily at him. But as the wave of heat and fire passed, Legolas came to find himself unharmed and unscorched.

The confused and frightened elf slowly lowered his hands and looked around. Instead of the wall of blackness he almost expected to find or even the crowed tournament ring, Legolas found himself standing in a barren desert wasteland of blackened ash. No living thing met the bewildered elf's eyes as he scanned his new surroundings. Only the charred remains of a few skeleton like trees stood out against the scorched earth. The sky overhead was red as though stained with blood. Smoke drifted on the air and stung Legolas' nose, almost gagging him. It was like some devastating war had ravaged the land and left nothing in its wake.

The elven prince looked around in confusion at the apocalyptic devastation. Where was he? The song still pulsed in Legolas' ears but a new element had now been added to the fair voices singing their mournful chant.

It was the sound of screams.

Pure fear and horror permeated every note of the echoing screams. Slowly, the frightened cries and screams of a hundred ghostly voices overrode the song of ancient Quenya until it was the only thing Legolas could hear. He clamped his hands over his ears tightly, trying to shut out the ring of utter despair and terror. It felt as though his entire head was being splintered by the roar of horrific screams swirling in his ears. Legolas wanted to cry out in pain, adding his voice to the storm of tortured screams.

Looking around desperately for the source of the deafening shrieks so that he might somehow silence or escape them, Legolas was startled to find the five cloaked figures he had seen before in the crowd at the tournament suddenly standing only several feet in front of him.

Under the reddish glare of the sky above, the wraith-like figures stood like blood stained statues of death and doom. Their faces lay hidden in dark shadows under their low hoods. They stood silent and motionless as the anguished wails of a thousand, unseen souls ripped through Legolas' head like spikes of cold steel. The wraiths merely stood and stared as Legolas dropped to his knees in pain, clutching his ears.

"Make it stop!!" Legolas cried in desperation to the mysterious cloaked figures over the deafening roar of horrified screams in his ears. The pain and despair he felt at hearing the breathless screams of so many helpless victims was indescribable.

But instead of moving to help him, the hooded strangers merely stood there, watching as the elf writhed in agony as the screams tore through his sensitive ears. Slowly the low and sad song Legolas had first heard began to rise again and mingle with the terrified shrieks filling the air. He could now barely move because of the pain in his head. The five cloaked figures began to slowly glide over the charred ground to stand in a tight circle around Legolas' helpless body.

Though Legolas could not understand how the chaotic noise swirling around him could possibly get any louder, it did. The towering forms of the mysterious five huddled over him, blocking out the red sky overhead. Their unearthly song pierced through the storm of unending screams. Crying out, the elf clawed at his delicately pointed ears. Legolas knew he was moments away from unconsciousness by the way his vision was swimming and the way his head felt seconds away from shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

As the elf collapsed onto his back in pain and looked up at those crowded around him chanting their strange, unearthly song, the tallest of the clocked figures slowly bent over Legolas. Its hooded face hovered right over the helpless elf as he stared up in paralyzed pain.

As the blackened hole where a face should have been lowered ever closer to Legolas, the prince felt utter horror and fear course through his veins. Trapped between the blackened earth at his back and the empty hood above and the deafening cry of a hundred tortured victims around him, Legolas could do nothing but stare up in utter terror at the faceless monster coming down onto him.

The wraith slowly reached out a hand towards Legolas. But the elf never saw what the clocked figure's intended target was as Legolas suddenly spiraled back into the yawning abyss of unconsciousness that rose up swiftly to claim him and wrap him in the still silence of nothing...

TBC