Greetings again! After having a horrendous time trying to move this story into my original account, I have finally succeeded in finishing another chapter for you. I just hope I haven't lost any readers to this change... Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all affiliated characters are not mine, nor will they ever be mine.
*****
The night was quiet and still. It was that magical time of day when darkness was king and the land lay under its reign of shadows and secrets. The moon hung heavy and low in the obsidian sky, illuminating the darkening world in an unearthly glow, like a surreal dreamscape of mithril-laced dreams.
But while the silver light pushed back the dark shadows of the deepening night, it did not destroy them. For the moon was not like the sun whose golden light shined over the land and cast back the night's woven blanket of darkness. No, the moon was akin to the night, an accomplice of the darkness and its shadows. Its cold, silver light gave no warmth or comfort from the night. It only obscured and added to the mystery of the night's hidden secrets laying in the twilight's dark shadows.
Echoing out from the silver lined night, the hypnotic buzz of summer cicadas droned in the air. The faint rustle of leaves sounded as a nighttime breeze blew gently through the shadow-draped trees' leafy boughs.
But the calm stillness of the night yielded little peace to even an elf's troubled mind. The twilight shadows cast by the overhanging moon only intensified the gnawing uneasiness of Legolas Greenleaf. In those shadows lay secrets and mysteries of things that exist only in the cold of night and in the depths of minds haunted by the lonely apparitions of restless ghosts and spirits.
Surrounded by the unearthly ambiance of the unknown, Legolas heaved a weary sigh and leaned down over the railing of his second story balcony. He looked out towards the eastern horizon where the moon was slowly starting its assent up into the starry night sky.
Legolas was in his private guest room, situated in the far north-western wing of the Hall of Kings. Aragorn had specifically set aside that room for the sole use of the elven prince for whenever he came to visit his friends in Minas Tirith. It was not the largest or most luxurious guest chamber the king of Gondor had to offer, but it was the only one that Legolas would have wanted to stay in.
The bed chamber was farther removed from the daily hustle and bustle of the palace than most others, and was equipped with large floor-to-ceiling windows. Warm golden sunlight spilt into the room's interior at almost any time of the day, regardless of where the sun was positioned in the sky above. But the one feature the blond prince of Mirkwood liked more than anything else about his personal bedchamber was its large private balcony that opened up over the palace's lush gardens below.
The whispers of the trees could always be herd just a footstep outside his balcony door. Many times during moments of quiet reflection or before retiring for the night, the elf would find himself out on the balcony, letting the gentle lull of Nature sooth away the cares and worries of the day.
The palace gardens had become something of a safe haven for the northern-wood elf. When plants and trees wee so few to be found in the heavily populated city of Minas Tirith, Legolas was only too happy to have his garden balcony to retreat to when he felt he could no longer stand the walls of stone and granite. Legolas had come to believe that Aragorn had specifically made his sleeping arrangements a such, just so that the king would could use the persuasion of the palace's vast flowering gardens to prolong his elven friends already frequent enough visits to the capital of Gondor.
But the gentle rustle of the wind through the leafy boughs of the trees could offer Legolas no comfort or safe haven that night. The elven prince's mind was too consumed by paranoia and memories of strange visions to find any such sanctuary in the sweet fragrance of the flowering gardens below.
After leaving his worried friend at the tournament grounds earlier that afternoon, Legolas immediately fled in the direction of the Hall of Kings, desperately intent on reaching the safety of the guarded palace and his bedchamber. He needed to be alone. He needed time to try and piece together some sort of reasonable explanation to the strange string of events that had unfolded in the form of five ghostly figures and a haunting vision of a war-ravaged land painted in the hue of spilt blood.
All the way to the palace through the gaily-colored, festival-teeming streets of Minas Tirith he had run. He ran in a panicked frenzy as if driven by the nip of some unseen pursuer on his heels. He hardly even took notice of the various degrees of shocked stares and glances of the people of Gondor as he flew past them. Legolas could only imagine what he had looked like to them. Half the city probably now thought that the normally stoically calm and collected elven friend of King Elessar had gone quite mad by the way he had sped past them with eyes screaming unspeakable fear and flowing blond hair disheveled and sticking in clumps to the bloody mess that was his forehead.
But he didn't care what the people of Minas Tirith thought of him. All he had cared about as he ran was reaching the Hall of Kings and the safety of its stone walls.
He knew not what he was running from, but in some distant corner of his subconscious a dark fear that the cloaked men from the tournament ring were what causing him such distress, as if they were following him, hunting him to await for the most opportune time to strike again. But each time the frightened elf had looked over his shoulder in search of any sign of pursuit, he found none. Instead of being calmed by this fact, the absence of any such stalker only managed to intensify his unwarranted terror.
Not even when he had reached the safety of his bedchamber and slammed home the bolt of his door into the thick wooden doorframe of his room was Legolas able to erase the profound feeling of being followed and watched.
Terror and apprehension crept along the back of his neck like the caress of icy fingers. Cold shivers of paranoia ran down the length of his spine to the small of his back, sending each and every one of his nerves on alert.
Tormented by imaginary eyes crawling across his skin, calculating and gauging his weaknesses, the elf had become so frantic at one point that he had even throughly searched his room for any signs of his unseen stalkers. But he had found no one, leaving his unfounded paranoia to fester and brood in his already harrowed mind.
His head had felt like one massive throbbing wound, but he could not bring himself to lay down to rest. He was too afraid that if he were to let down his guard even for one moment, one of the cloaked phantoms from his horrific vision would return to reclaim its victim.
In the end, drained of energy by the pain of his head wound and the anxiety of the day's distress weighing on him more than he cared to admit, Legolas had finally settled himself on the coverlet of his king sized bed. Legs tucked tightly beneath him and back pressed firmly against the headboard of his bed to guard his blind side out of fear that one of the dark shadows of his paranoia might suddenly materialize out of think air and attack, Legolas sat and waited, consumed in a cloud of agitation and fear. One of his long, white knives laid at the ready by his knees.
Every little sound startled him. Every little movement outside his windows down to the very rustle of the wind through the trees had been enough to make the elf grip the handle of his knife nervously as his sensitive ears strained to detect the approach of any unwelcomed intruder.
He knew he was being paranoid, but he no longer felt safe even in the heavily guarded palace of King Elessar, one of the most powerful rulers in the world.
The incessant twinge of dread and trepidation festering in his mind troubled Legolas. It strongly reminded him of his reoccurring nightmares of sheer terror that had been plaguing him for the past few months now. It was the same unfounded panic and fear that had numerous times before awoken him in the dead of night drenched in a cold sweat of terror. No matter how hard the shaken elf had tried, he could not dispel the foreboding sense of impending doom gnawing at the back of his mind.
Since returning to the palace and holing himself away in his room, seeking safety, several servants had come around, politely knocking at his door and asking if he needed anything. Legolas had a sinking suspicion that a certain king or dwarf was behind the attentive service; but whether that was true or not, Legolas had just as cordially turned them all away without even opening his chamber door. It was only when a irritated dwarf came pounding on his door did the elven prince allow anyone entrance.
It had been only out of reluctant obligation to his friend that Legolas had actually unbolted the lock to his bedchamber and opened the door a crack to address the dwarf. Though Legolas had feigned exhaustion from the day's activities in the hot summer sun, Gimli would hear none of it and forcefully shouldered past his friend standing in the doorway and invaded the elf's abode.
Gimli had said he had come with the excuse of boredom and the need of finding some friendly company until Aragorn and Arwen returned from the festival later that day. Though he had made a valiant attempt to seem casual, Legolas had immediately seen through the dwarf's masquerade. He knew Gimli had really come to check on him and see how he was faring after his apparent fainting spell at the tournament grounds. Though the elf appreciated his friend's show of concern for his welfare, it soon began to feel as though the dwarf was hovering over him like some worried mother hen.
Even though he acted as though nothing out of the usual had happened, Legolas knew Gimli was itching to ask what had really happened to him back at the festival. The elf could see it in the surreptitious glances his bearded companion cast him every time he thought he wasn't looking.
After entertaining the dwarf with several very long games of cards, Legolas had finally become so desperate to be left alone and escape Gimli's incessant fretting that he had had to resort to feigning a terrible headache to finally get the dwarf to leave. Though his friend's presence had helped sooth some of his unfounded uneasiness and trepidation, the elven prince did not want any company just yet. He still needed time alone to think, and try to sort out what he had seen and what had happened to him back at the tournament ring. He still could not explain what exactly had happened, but he was determined to prove to his friends that he had not fainted.
Gimli had reluctantly let himself be ushered from Legolas' room; and even as the elf was shutting the door behind him, Gimli insisted that if Legolas should need anything at all or began to feel ill, that he was o immediately come fetch him from his own guest room across the hall. Legolas had immediately given his assurance that he would and quickly shut the door behind his stout, axe-wielding friend with a final, resolute click of the door before the dwarf could stall his exit any longer.
That had been several hours ago, and Legolas was still greatly disturbed and vexed. The sun had set and the stars were now coming out in the darkening firmament above. He knew it was only a matter of time before Aragorn returned from the festival and also came knocking at his door to check in on his resident elf.
The deep gash on the side of his head had already closed and most of the swelling already gone down. It would probably be completely healed within the next day or so thanks to his elven healing ability. But Legolas doubted Aragorn was going to leave him in peace that easily without first inspecting the wound himself and giving his own diagnosis of a full recovery. He also doubted his encounter with the king of Gondor would be one without some sort of subtle interrogation as to what happened to him earlier that day in the royal seating box.
It what Legolas feared about the impending encounter was not Aragorn, Gimli, or even their questions. What he feared to face was he cold and disturbing fact that he honestly did not have any answers to give them, or himself for that matter.
It had felt like he had been transported to another time and place, and had not just fainted or blacked out for several minutes as they had said. That just felt so wrong. So...shallow of an explanation.
There was more to what had happened. This Legolas felt to the very core of his being. The mere memory of the cloaked men and haunting vision still sent shivers down his spine like a trickle of ice water. And what kind of fainting spell ever did that?
There was more to this mystery, much more... He just didn't know what.
Legolas gripped the railing of the balcony in mounting frustration. He wanted answers. He wanted to know what was going on and why he felt such doom and fear stirring in his heart like a warning bell. For some reason he felt like he should somehow already know, as if the answers were already there but hidden somewhere deep in his mind where he couldn't reach. It felt like a fuzzy haze on the edge of his subconscious that if he could only grasp it would become clear and everything would be explained. But whenever he reached out for the elusive shadow of whatever it was he was trying to understand or remember, it would tauntingly slip back into the dark recesses of his mind, just beyond his reach.
"What is happening to me?!" he wailed in a cry of frightened confusion into the darkening night. Legolas leaned down low over the railing, screwing his knuckles into his eyes out of pure frustration. Was he slowly going crazy? Hallucinating? What?!
Ever since he had begun to feel the creeping of a nameless fear on the outer rim of his conscious mind several months before and begun waking in the middle of the night to the sound of his own screams and drenched in a cold sweat, Legolas had felt that something inside him was changing, slowly transforming into something else that wasn't him but was him all at the same time. He felt like a stranger to his own body, as if something was hiding and lying in wait somewhere deep within him.
What had happened to the carefree elf he had once been? Where was he now?
He no longer knew.
Legolas raised his head, breaking himself away from his troubling thoughts. Trying to clear his mind and come back to knowledge he once had of who he really was, the blond warrior prince let the sounds of the night hum in his ears. A nightingale was singing somewhere in the gardens below. Flowing on the soft evening breeze, the soft buzz of summer cicadas drifted up to Legolas' listening ears.
Legolas slowly drew in a deep breath of the fragrant garden air. As his lungs filled with the earthy smell of nature, the northern wood-elf suddenly felt better; his mind a little clearer and the world a little less mysterious and dark. He could feel his old self returning, not the frightened creature that had been jumping at every little movement outside his windows all afternoon, but the strong and confident elven warrior and prince he knew he was.
The mysterious cloaked men from the festival no longer seemed so sinister and threatening anymore. The vision of an empty wasteland and red stained sky no longer seemed so sharp or clear in his mind, as if it was gradually fading from his memory like a bad dream.
Legolas looked out over he gardens below and out towards the thick leafy boughs of the tress growing near his balcony, feeling a renewed aura of confidence surround him. And for one wild moment, he suddenly had the urge to go running through the trees. It was not a unheard of thing for him to do – he had done it countless times before when he had been feeling particularly frisky and in the need of a good bout of exercise to stretch his legs. But instead of being just a playful activity to occupy his time, tonight the thought of racing through the branches and leaves of the trees held a much deeper meaning.
It would be liberating.
It would be an act of freedom against his fears and unnamed terrors that had haunted him and kept him secluded and hiding in fear all day. It would be his declaration of freedom from fears of the dark or some faceless phantom of his mind. He would prove himself that he had nothing to fear and redeem his pride and self-confidence by running through the trees like he had always done before, with no fear of the night or what imaginary terrors lurked in the shadows of the silver moonlight.
Legolas really did feel like his old self again. With a mischievous smile, he sprung into the air and alighted on the balcony's narrow railing with the ease and balance of a cat. The ground lay two stories below him, but the height did not seem to bother him. Crouching low on his haunches, Legolas gave one final glance over his shoulder to his brightly lit room whose balcony doors stood open wide and inviting, as if trying to persuade the elf to come back inside where it was warm and there was light, and abandon his foolish quest to disappear into the night.
~No~ he thought stubbornly to himself ~I cannot let myself be ruled by fear...~
Legolas turned his back on the building and again looked out into the inky twilight. From behind the halo of soft candle light spilling out onto the balcony from the opened doors of the room, it seemed to Legolas that a thick wall of impregnable darkness stood before him.
For a moment, the elf had thoughts of turning back and returning to the safety of his room. But he just couldn't bring himself to do that; it seemed so cowardly, especially when there was nothing to be afraid of...
~right?~
The elf's hand subconsciously strayed down to the twin, ivory-handled knives hanging from his hip. With a reassuring pat on the sharpened blades of cold steel, Legolas felt another surge of self-confidence.
He slowly tucked his legs beneath him, teetering on the edge of an assured broken neck if he should suddenly lose his balance and fall. But elves were not a race known for their clumsiness, and Legolas seemed perfectly at ease crouched there on the balcony railing several stories above the ground with nothing between him and the unyielding and unforgiving ground far below but thin air.
Legolas paused for a moment, calculating his jump, and then with one tremendous burst of power from his coiled legs, the elf shot like a spring out over the ground. To an observer looking up from the ground below at that exact moment of the elf's jettisoned leap, Legolas might have appeared like some kind of odd shaped bird against the moonlit sky above before he was finally swallowed by the outstretched branches and thick, leafy canopy of the balcony's surrounding trees. And with only the tiniest rustle of leaves to mark his movement, the elf disappeared into the darkening night.
******
Gimli paced restlessly. His heavy boots slapped the ground with animated quickness. Walking several paces forward, the dwarf would stop, turn sharply on his heels, and then move to retrace his footsteps before turning yet again to repeat the whole process over once more. As he paced, Gimli wrung his hands agitatedly behind his back.
The dwarf was currently pacing in the front courtyard of the Hall of Kings, waiting nervously for Aragorn to return from the festival. It had been several hours since Gimli had left Aragorn and Arwen at the tournament ring and followed Legolas back to the palace. It was now nighttime and the king still had yet to return.
Gimli was starting to become worried. Yes worried – though the proud little dwarf was not about to admit it to anyone else, alive or dead.
He was not so much worried about Aragorn or his tardiness; he was worried about the elven prince Legolas.
Gimli's pace quickened at the thought of the blond archer. Something was wrong with Legolas. He had seen it in his eyes when Legolas had first awoken from his faint. He had looked bewildered and...frightened – no, terrified; for there was no better word to describe the naked fear he had seen shining in his friend's eyes.
The dwarf's agitated steps echoed out into the lonesome courtyard before finally fading into the night. Several White Guards were patrolling the area or standing at attention at the gates or different points around the palace; but for what company they offered Gimli in his fretful state of mind, they were of no more help to him than a troop of stone statues.
He wanted Aragorn there. Then he would have an excuse to check in on Legolas again. Something was wrong with the elf, Gimli could feel it in his bones. Something was troubling Legolas, and something was troubling him bad... He had not failed to notice one of Legolas' knives sitting at the ready on the coverlet of his bed earlier that day when he had managed to get inside the elf's apartment. Even for the short amount of time he had managed to stay in that room and observe Legolas, Gimli had felt a certain heightened tension in the air – as if Legolas was waiting for something...
Gimli' pacing quickened.
Why was Legolas acting so strangely? He had never thrown him out of his room before. Something was bothering the elf... But what?! Never before had he seen his elven companion lock himself away in such... fear...
The dwarf kicked at the ground in frustration. He wanted to help his friend. But every time he had tried to tactfully find out what was bothering Legolas, the elf would skirt around his implied questions and statements, or just simply not acknowledge them at all. It was like Legolas was hiding something, or was disturbed by something so much he could not bring himself to speak of it.
It was almost like Legolas was a different person...
Gimli shook his head in frustrated disgust. He needed help. He needed help to get Legolas to open up and tell him what was wrong so that he might be able to help him. ~Damn you, Aragorn. It's already after sundown. Where are you?~ The dwarf gave a sideways glance towards the front gate of the courtyard for probably the thousandth time since coming downstairs to wait for the king to return.
Almost as in answer, the distant sound of horse hooves clattering over cobblestones caught the dwarf's ears.
His nervous pacing ceased immediately. He quickly turned to the gate. As he stood watching in tense anticipation the first of a small entourage of mounted soldiers came riding through and into the warm torch light of the courtyard. Encircled by an escort of armed guards rode the very man Gimli waited for.
"I am sorry," Aragorn said as he swung down from his horse and turned to address Gimli who had ran out to met him halfway across the open courtyard. "I tried to leave as fast as I could, but every time I got the chance to leave, something else came up." Agitated helplessness tainted the man's voice as he quickly handed off his horse's reigns to one of the stable hands that had come up to take them.
"Where is Legolas?" he then asked. Just like Gimli, Legolas' sudden fainting spell and odd behavior earlier that day at the tournament field had been troubling Aragorn. He thought he could sense something wrong with the elf. Though he did not have anything to base his unfounded suspicions on, thought he could feel something darker and more ominous connected with his friend's mysterious faint than there was at face value. The theory that Legolas had merely become overheated and blacked out just did not hold as much weight as it once had as a possible explanation for the elf's sudden swoon.
"Inside his room. He's been in there all day – hasn't left at all. The elf's locked himself in tight and won't let anyone in to see him. I managed to get him to let me in, but he kicked me out before I could really get him to talk to me."
"Did he seem alright?" Aragorn inquired.
"If you mean that bump he got on his head when he fell, the elf seemed perfectly healthy to me..." Gimli replied with an off-hand shrug of his shoulder in a tone of almost casual indifference which he usually used when bantering about his elven companion. But as he remembered his friend's mysterious distress and unexplainable unease earlier that day when he had been in his room, the dwarf's demeanor quickly became more serious and grave. "But something else is wrong with him.." he then added, his tone now low and foreboding. "I don't know what it is, but Legolas seemed on edge, as if he was waiting to be attacked or something... When I was in his room, I swear he jumped at every single little noise he heard or movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. He's frightened about something, Aragorn. I could see it in his eyes... But I don't know what it could be..." Complete helplessness swam in the dwarf's pleading eyes, as though silently begging Aragorn for answers to the elf's unnatural behavior that were not there.
The man nodded thoughtfully. Yes, there seriously was something wrong with their elven companion and friend. Gimli's account now verified his suspicions without a doubt.
"Come, Gimli. I want to check on Legolas," Aragorn said, looking towards the palace, "I want to make sure the cut on his head is properly cleaned and bandaged before he retires for the night. He might be one of the Firstborn, but even an elf can get an infection if a wound is not properly seen to..." But while the healer-king's words seemed straight forward enough, Aragorn's true concern was for the festering wound that seemed to be infecting Legolas' heart and very peace of mind.
There was something very dark and foreboding in the air...
******
He felt free. So utterly free.
Legolas felt so intoxicated by the euphoria of complete freedom that it felt as though it ran through his very blood like a drug. He could hardly compare the feeling to anything else but flying.
All his worries felt far far away, left behind in another time completely when he had stole into the night and taken to the trees of the palace gardens. The elf leapt nimbly from branch to branch. He set no direct path or course, but merely let his feet take him wherever the twisting and interlocking boughs of the trees' canopy would take him.
Obscure and shadowy outlines of branches whirled past Legolas as he sped by. Slivers of silvery moonlight filtered down through the thick tree canopies and dappled and cast long ghostly shadows across the path of narrow branches he traveled, creating a hazardous track of decietful shadows and treacherous pitfalls. One wrong move and he could easily find himself falling several dozen feet to the ground far below.
But Legolas was not concerned for his safety. His keen elven sight was not so easily blinded the dark of the night or deceived by its shadows. Even in this faint glow of moonlight, he could see almost as well as he could at any other given time of the day. Nor did he doubt his feet's ability to find the next branch in the darkness.
He could hear the trees whispering all around him, rustling their leaves in greetings to him as he scurried over their branches like the true elven child of the forest he was.
He felt like his old self again. The one nothing in the world could touch or faze. The one that wasn't haunted by phantoms or grey shadows of a dream. He felt invincible, untouchable there in the lofty branches of the trees, the place where he felt most in his element and where no one could ever touch him.
Everything that had been troubling him over the day were no longer important or even on his mind. All Legolas cared about was the intense sensation of soaring high above the ground as he continued his liberating trapeze through the trees.
Following along the woven path of branches and tree limbs, Legolas soon found himself on the edge of a quiet, moonlit clearing nestled deep in a grove of trees off to the side of the well-tended garden path. Legolas was suddenly overcome with the desire to go down into the clearing and just lay on his back and look up at the stars. It was something he had always done in the past, but for unnerving outside reasons as of late, had not enjoyed for some time now. Reacting on gleeful impulse, the elf quickly grabbed hold of a nearby branch and nimbly swung down onto the ground.
Legolas landed with the grace and flawless skill of a cat. He righted himself and surveyed his surroundings. It was a secluded grassy clearing, several dozen paces long and boxed in all sides by tall and dark trees. The moon and stars shined out brightly against the inky black firmament overhead.
The blond archer suddenly realized how far he must have gone from the palace in his silvan romp. An endless sea of diamond spread out before him overhead, undimmed and unmuted by the harsh man-made light of candles or torches that usually stole the nighttime sky of its beauty. Legolas' sharp elven hearing could hear no traces of sound he usually associated with the noisy Gondorian palace. All he could hear was the soft chirps of crickets and rustle of the wind through the trees.
He smiled to himself. It was so peaceful out here. So far away from everything that had ever caused him distress or worry.
Legolas slowly walked to the base of one of the trees he was standing near and leaned back against its trunk, finding the rough bark against his more reassuring than uncomfortable. He tipped his head back against the trunk and looked up into to the jagged, tree lined patch of star-studded sky overhead.
The elf felt all the tension of the day's anxiety seeping out of his body as he listened to the gentle, enveloping drone of insects.
~Why did I not do this sooner...~ he wondered absentmindedly. He felt so calm and at peace, just like his old self.
His old self... Again with his old self. Why did he suddenly feel like he had to fight to regain who he had once been? He was acting as though he had turned into someone else; like he had somehow changed in a way he could not explain, somewhere deep inside.
~Stop it. You haven't changed. Nothing about you has changed. You are still the same person you've always been~ But somehow even Legolas' own subconscious could not convince himself of this. He felt different, like something deep inside him had changed. He did not feel different in the sense of different feelings or thoughts, but rather a different sense of self.
Whatever peace Legolas had just regained from his flight through the trees quickly left him. A twinge of unease reentered his heart as he thought back.
Things had felt different ever since the start of his mysterious night-sweats and terrible premonitions of impending doom several months before. It was like he knew something was coming, like his subconscious was trying to warn or prepare him for something...
But prepare him for what?
Ah, now that truly was the question...
Legolas stared up into the star-speckled sky, as if trying to divine answers from the endless black dome of the celestial heavens. But whatever answers the nighttime sky held, it was not about to relinquish them so easily to its immortal gazer.
With a snort of mild disgust and frustration, Legolas tore his eyes away from the glittering stars. Their cold, flickering light almost seemed to mock him and his plight.
~I probably should go back to the palace...~ Legolas thought dejectedly to himself. He suddenly no longer had the desire to run through the trees or look up at the moon anymore. They no longer seemed to hold the appeal they once had.
Legolas straightened from off the tree trunk he was leaning on and was about to turn back in the direction of the Hall of Kings when he suddenly noticed how quiet it was. The crickets were no longer chirping and a great heaviness seemed to hang in the air. There was no sound, not even the whisper of the wind through the trees.
The elf slowly scanned the clearing in wary apprehension. Something was wrong. He could feel it on the back of his neck like a cold shiver.
Legolas' hand strayed down to his side where his twin ivory blades were strapped. His head swung from side to side, his sharp elven eyes frantically scanning the dark shadows of the trees around him. There was something wrong... It was too quiet.
Suddenly, from somewhere off to his left, Legolas heard the subdued but very distinct sound of a twig snapping under foot.
His head immediately whipped around on his neck in the direction of the snapped twig. His eyes widened and searched the deep shadows of the surrounding grove of trees for any sign of movement, but saw nothing.
~There is someone out there...~
Legolas' hand tightened around the grip of one of his long elven knives and slowly pulled it free of its sheath. His heart hammered against his chest. A faint film of nervous perspiration began to form across his skin and coat him in his own growing fear. He tried to still his breath and strained his ears for any signs of approach or attack, but heard nothing but the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Every muscle of his body instinctively tensed, his senses set on heightened alert, like an animal that knew it was being hunted.
~There is someone out there...~ he thought again, panic quickly building in his chest.
Legolas slowly brought his bared knife up in front of him in a defensive posture as he warily backed closer to the tree he had just been leaning on. His warrior training from over a millennia ago had taught him to guard his back from any possible surprise attacks from the rear. And he was not about to abandon his training now. His sharp elven eyes strained to see into the inky darkness of the surrounding trees, desperately trying to distinguish shadow from any possible movement from his hidden stalker.
But he saw nothing.
There was another muffled sound of movement, only this time from somewhere to his extreme right.
~There's more than one...~
Legolas felt his panic rise into his throat like a thick lump. He immediately spun around in the direction the noise had been issued. He immediately brought his blade up to bear in front of his chest, ready to fend off any attack.
But what happened next went so fast in the span of only a few scarce seconds that it later took Legolas several long moments of recollection afterwards to comprehend what had actually happened...
Just as he fully came round to guard his right, a muffled puff of air, like a short burst of air being blown through a hollow pipe, sounded from somewhere to his left – directly in front of where he had just been facing. Instincts screaming warnings of another point of attack, Legolas whirled back around on his heels, using every ounce of his elven agility and speed in the process.
But he was not fast enough. Had he been even a half second quicker, he may have avoided the attack...
Just as he spun back around, an small object whistled past his left shoulder. Legolas cried out in surprise and pain as he felt it tear through the thin material of his tunic and graze his upper arm. Sharp pain streaked across his shoulder like the tip of a hot needle being slashed across his skin. He heard something strike and embed itself in the tree trunk behind him with a dull whump.
Legolas instinctively clutched at his wounded arm with his armed hand, somehow managing not to drop his knife as he squeezed his shoulder. He could feel blood beginning to bead and trickle down from the shallow cut. It was not a serious injury, only a superficial wound, but Legolas was immediately disturbed by how he had been caught so off guard.
What was that? An arrow? A knife? No, those were so big, and whatever had barely missed him had been small.
But before he could turn around to see what had been shot at him, the elf felt his blood run cold as he finally caught sight of one of his mysterious attackers.
Legolas would have gasped, cried out, or even screamed; but any sound he could have produced at that moment was stolen from his throat before he could even utter the tiniest squeak of terror.
Standing there on the other side of small clearing stood a heavily cloaked figure dressed in grey. A deep and faceless black hole lay beneath its thick hood, obscuring any features that may have laid hidden beneath it.
It was one of the same ghost grey cloaked men he had seen earlier that day at the tournament field.
~It's them!~
Legolas stood frozen in fear, staring in dumbstruck horror. He felt like he was caught in some kind of nightmare. A wave of renewed terror coursed through the elf's blood as he stared at the thing he had almost just convinced himself was nothing more than an illusion brought about by the day's intense heat as Aragorn had suggested. But no. It had not been an illusion. The shadowy creature standing before him was real and not a figment of his overheated mind.
The cloaked figure stood motionless, like a stone statue, staring silently at the terrified elf with its invisible gaze boring into its cornered victim.
~Run!~ Legolas' subconscious screamed through his brain. ~Run!~
If it had been any other person that had attacked him there, Legolas would have not ever even let the mere thought of fleeing entering his mind. He would have stayed and faced his attacker as an elven warrior and prince of Mirkwood. But this was no ordinary adversary. This was the living embodiment of all the nameless fear and terror that had been steadily growing in his heart since the first time he had woken in the dead of night, drenched in sweat and haunted by feelings of impending doom. This was the living embodiment of Fear itself.
Legolas' immediate instinct was to turn and run from the shadowy phantom standing there before him, bathed in the ghostly glow of the moon. But as he turned to flee, he suddenly felt overcome by a wave of intense dizziness that blurred his eyes and sent the entire world spinning out of focus.
Legolas tried to move, tried to run, but found his legs unable to properly respond to his call for flight. They suddenly felt weak and unable to support his weight. It was like they had suddenly been filled with lead pellets, weighing him down to the spot like some kind of invisible anchor. He could feel his head spinning and saw a fuzzy haze of darkness beginning to cloud along his field of vision.
~What is happening to me?!~ his mind shrieked in terror as he fought to make his feet move, but only managed to take a shaky half-step backwards. His vision was now fading in and out of focus madly, like some kind of deranged kaleidoscope of shadows and moonlight. Legolas struggled to keep his balance, but his head was spinning too much for that. His knees suddenly buckled beneath him.
"Ah!!" Legolas cried out loudly as his legs finally gave out beneath him and sent him crashing down hard backwards onto his tail bone. His knife slipped from his hand and fell to the ground beside him.
The elf's vision swam as he struggled to his knees, frantically trying to blink his eyes into focus on the silent attacker before him. He could feel his eyelids threatening to slid shut. The strong and seductive call to sleep sang softly to him.
"What did you do to me?!" he exclaimed in frightened hysterics. Legolas tried to rise. His desperate instincts to flee overrode any such rational logic of his inability to do so in his sudden debilitated state. The terror-driven elf was only able to rise himself a few inches off the ground before collapsing back onto crumbling knees. He felt so weak and tired... Like he had been drugged...
Legolas' head shot up towards the tree trunk he had just been using to protect his back. Straining to keep his eyes open and in focus, the elven warrior managed to make out the faint outline of a small, slender object with a feathered end sticking out from between the ridges and hollows of the tree's rough bark – a dart.
His hand slowly reached up and brushed across the torn sleeve of his shirt and the shallow, bleeding scratch beneath. The whole upper portion of his left arm felt numb. ~Poison...?~ he thought automatically with a churning pit of dread in his stomach.
Legolas turned back to the wraith which still stood on the other side of the clearing as still and silent as he had last seen it. Tall and ominous, the cloaked creature made no move to approach its wounded prey.
"What do you want with me? Why are you following me?" Legolas cried in a failing voice as he reached for his long knife laying beside his knee where he had dropped it. Legolas' fingers shakingly wrapped around the familiar grip of his weapon. "Tell me! Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!" he demanded as loud as he could in the drugged slur of his voice as he brought the blade of his knife up in front of him and pointed it threateningly at the cloaked figure, daring it to make a move against him. "WHO ARE YOU?!" he screeched in a building frenzy of cornered fear and terror as he stared up helplessly at the phantom wraith.
But before he could elect any answers from the silent figure, Legolas felt a cold hand slip itself under his chin and jaw and retch his head backwards over his shoulder. The elf cried out, but was immediately silenced by the sudden pressure of sharpened metal against his throat.
"Drop your weapon," hissed a deep and masculine voice from close behind him, almost right beside his ear. A body was pressed tightly against his back, pinning him against his unseen assailant's chest. The prince could feel the warm breath of his attacker on the side of his neck.
Legolas instantly froze, eyes wide and knife unconsciously still clenched firmly in his hand. He could see nothing but the dark jagged tree line against a portion of the star filled sky overhead in the odd, semi upside down angle his head was being pulled back in.
"Drop it," the voice ordered again. The attacker slowly drew Legolas' head farther back, thrusting the soft underside of the elf's jugular up closer against the cold length of metal held to his neck. The blade bit deeper into Legolas' throat threateningly.
Legolas felt his grip on reality slipping. Whatever had been on the tip of that dart his attackers had used on him was quickly winning over any resistance he could have given – regardless, it seemed, of the fact that it had only grazed him. The hazy ring around his vision was steadily growing, slowly swallowing him in its unnatural darkness. He was beginning to doubt that even if he didn't have someone holding a knife to his throat he would have been able to make any use of his weapon or defend himself very well. Darkness was quickly stealing over him like a cloud passing over the sun. He could feel himself slowly weakening, even as he knelt motionless on the ground at the mercy of his armed attacker.
He felt the blade sink into the soft flesh of his throat a little deeper, emphasizing his attacker's growing impatience. Unable to do anything else to escape or save himself at that moment, Legolas let his knife slowly slip from his hand and fall to the ground...
******
"Legolas? Legolas, open the door!" Aragorn called out loudly, pounding at the door of his friend's room. There was no answer from inside.
"Damn you, elf! Open the blasted door!" Gimli bellowed. The dwarf's gloved fist joined in on Aragorn's siege on the locked door of Legolas' bedchambers. Still no answer.
The king and dwarf exchanged an apprehensive glance. They had been trying to get into Legolas room for the past several minutes now, but with no answer from the resident elf inside. Both were becoming very upset and worried by Legolas' lack of response.
"Aragorn, why isn't he answering? He let me in earlier this afternoon," Gimli cried in exasperation as the two finally relinquished their attack on the thick wooden door.
Aragorn stared at the locked door, a deep frown of worry pulled across his face. Something was wrong here. Legolas would never refuse either of them entry into his room unless something was extremely wrong. Like a psychic premonition, a strong feeling of foreboding unease churned Aragorn's stomach.
And from some distant corner of his mind he suddenly had the unshakable feeling that Legolas was in danger...
"Stand back, Gimli," he ordered as he backed up several paces away from the door. The dwarf obediently stepped aside, understanding what Aragorn was about to do.
Lowering his shoulder like a battering ram at Legolas' room, Aragorn charged forward. The man's shoulder met with the strong resistance of the thick wooden door with a hollow bang. The sickening crackle of splintering wood sounded from the other side of Legolas' door as the internal locks and tumblers of the door bent forward under the pressure of Aragorn's weight. But they still held stubbornly.
Undaunted, the king backed away and rushed at the door again. Blind panic and concern for his friend's welfare added strength to the man's desperate assault. This time as Aragorn's shoulder rammed into it, the door could not withstand the driving force and finally gave way with a low groan of bending wood and the sharp snap of the internal locks and tumblers of the door exploding apart. The door burst open, spilling the man into the war candle light of the elf's room.
Aragorn stumbled forward, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden disappearance of any resistance. Catching himself before he fell, the king stood and surveyed the interior of Legolas' room. Gimli was immediately there by his side. His small bearded head swivelled around on the base of his neck, frantically searching for any signs of his elven companion.
Several candles were burning low at different points around the perimeter of the room, illuminating the entire room in a warm, homey glow.
Though they were not overly surprised, the disturbing fact of the situation still hit them hard. The room was empty.
"He's not here," Gimli muttered in grave dismay. His dark brown eyes still scanned the room though, as if he could not completely comprehend the undeniable absence of its resident elven prince. The dwarf looked up to Aragorn helplessly. Unmasked worry swam in his little eyes. "Where could he have gone, Aragorn? I didn't leave to go downstairs until about fifteen minutes ago. If he had tried to leave before that I would have seen him."
"I know, Gimli. But I don't think Legolas left using the door. It was locked from the inside and there's no way he could have left with the door being locked the way it was," the king of Gondor said, casting a foreboding glance over his shoulder to the shattered remains of the lock laying scattered across the pale red carpeting of the doorway.
Scanning the room closely, Aragorn's eyes came to notice the open doorway leading out to the room's balcony. He quickly walked towards it and stepped out onto the balcony. Gimli followed close behind him, distraught with worry for his missing friend.
Aragorn slowly came up to the stone railing of the balcony and thoughtfully looked out into the darkened foliage of the surrounding trees. He subconsciously ran a hand across the cold and rough surface of the railing and stared out ahead into the moonlit gardens below.
"Well? What is it?" Gimli barked impatiently, "Where did Legolas go?" There was a distinct hint of panic in his voice as he demanded answers from the sharp sighted ex-ranger.
Aragorn slowly exhaled the tense breath of air he hadn't even been aware he had been holding. He suddenly felt foolish for his unfounded fear of Legolas' safety. He slowly turned to face the dwarf standing near him by the doorway of the balcony. "I do not think there is anything to worry about," he sighed with a small smile of relief, "I think Legolas just went for a late night stroll through the gardens – or through the trees I should say..."
Gimli stared back at the man with an expressionless look plastered across his bearded face for several long moments of silence. "You mean to tell me that that elf just went for a run through the trees," he finally managed to say. Anger simmered in his undertones. "That's just what some inconsiderate elf would do! Just go and leave his friends to worry while he goes to talk to trees and trapeze through them like he's some kind of overgrown squirrel!" the dwarf spat, quickly working himself into a fit.
"Peace, Gimli," Aragorn soothed calmly. He knew Gimli was only venting his worry and frustration for the blond elf in the form of anger again. "I think Legolas just needed some time to himself outside of the palace. Like you said yourself, he's been inside all day. You know how nervous and unsettled Legolas can get if he's kept indoors for too long. He probably just needed to get a breath of fresh air. He'll probably be back any time now."
Gimli huffed and grumbled something unintelligible in dwarfish under his breath. Aragorn thought he caught the word 'elf' and some other string of words that would not have been suitable for polite conversation. Though slightly embarrassed by his stout little friend's colorful choice of language, the king had to stifle a small smile. He had grown accustomed to the strange ways Gimli and Legolas displayed their friendships for each other, and was almost certain that if the roles had been reversed, Legolas would have been spouting some less-than-princely phrases about a certain red-haired dwarf right about now too.
"Come. Let us go back inside to wait for Legolas," Aragorn suggested, emphatically ushering the still sputtering dwarf back towards the door, "We need to think up a good story to tell Legolas before he gets back explaining why his door is no longer in existence..."
But as the two were about to turn and go back inside the brightly lit room, a sharp piercing cry suddenly rent the peaceful nighttime air.
Aragorn and Gimli both froze dead in their tracks, immediately tuning their ears onto the distant cry as it slowly faded away into the darkening twilight. It was only when the hum of undisturbed nighttime silence returned to sting their listening ears, did the man and dwarf finally break out of their startled trance.
"What was that, Aragorn?" Gimli asked in a hushed voice, as if afraid to break the tense silence that now hung in the air.
Aragorn quickly strode back to the edge of the balcony and scanned the surrounding trees and ground. "It came from the gardens..." he whispered almost ominously. A new wave of anxiety for his missing elven friend's welfare washed over him.
Their eyes snapped towards each other, as if both had been thinking the exact same thought as the other in that very moment. Apprehension and growing dread shined in both sets of eyes.
"Legolas..." they both murmured under their breaths in mutual dread.
Without saying anything else, the man and dwarf swiftly turned on their heels and sped for the demolished doorway of the room.
*****
TBC...
*****
*Gasp* Oh, no!! Legolas is trouble! Will Aragorn and Gimli get there in time to save him? Oh well, I guess we'll just have to wait and find out next chapter. I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get to the really good stuff, but I promise I will finally explain who these mysterious cloaked men are and why they are after Legolas in the next chapter. Things will finally be explained (except, of course, for a few plot-twists and surprises I still have hidden up my sleeves...), and the second part to this story will soon be revealed.
So if you like what's happening so far and want me to continue, drop me a quick review and tell me what you think. 'Till then!
Signing out
-LAXgirl
Alexa: Oh my God! You play lacrosse too? I finally found a kindred spirit! So you play D-wing and point? I usually started out at attack-wing and then would eventually mosey on down to play some home later on in the game. This is so exciting. We're going to have to e-mail each other and talk some more lacrosse!