Hello, all! Yes, 'tis me, after rather a prolonged absense - sorry about that one, I've been on holiday in Devon. Great place. Strongly suggest you all go there. Packed with inspiration; I've got a good three chapters of this to write up!

Anyway, I wish to offer my thanks to all of you who reviewed, and all of you who have read, actually. And I also wish to say that I'm removing Assassin's Quest and resubmitting it under a new name: Assassin's Gift. This is simply due to the fact that there is a book that I am incredibly fond of named Assassin's Quest (the third part of Robin Hobb's Farseer trilogy). I feel uncomfortable using the same title... Oh, and the next chapter of that will be up soon, so bear with me...

Chapter Two: Changes

The wind was trying its very best to throw them from the mountain, that seemed plain enough to the company as they toiled through the snow. But what was not so clear to Legolas was the nature of this tempest. He could smell storms days before they happened, and his senses had simply conveyed nothing of this one to him at all, which worried him. Greatly.

Damned Elf! Gimli fumed to himself as Legolas walked lightly past him atop the snow, through which himself and the rest of the Fellowship was forced to trudge through, freezing cold and wet, not to mention tired. This whole scenario sapped their strength right from their muscles, and it angered Gimli to see the Elf striding with apparent ease over the white substance that was for him a road, and the others a tormenter. The Elf looked completely comfortable, the furious weather leaving him utterly unperturbed, almost as though he walked through a summer meadow.

'Why is it,' the Dwarf shouted to Aragorn in front of him after Legolas passed them by, 'that the Elf can totter along as he is, and we have to endure this? I hardly see it as being fair that he can do as he will like a-'

'-Legolas is the eyes and ears of the Fellowship, Gimli,' Aragorn cut in, not wishing to hear any more said against his friend. 'It is necessary for him to have free movement in order to be totally efficient as a lookout.'

'Pah! Just because he is an Elf does not make him superior to me!'

Aragorn sighed. Here we go again, he thought with annoyance. The Dwarves are better than Elves argument.

Legolas had come back down the line, having overheard the debate that Gimli was trying to stage with Aragorn. He knew perfectly well that his friend would not indulge in such a dispute, as Aragorn always sat on the passive fence that he favoured when it came to the racial discussion of the age-old Dwarves and Elves argument. But he was more than happy to come and defend his race – and himself.

'My eyes are keen enough – I would love to see the Elf navigate his way through a mine in the pitch black with no light. Actually, I can see perfectly well in this blizzard-'

'-Why would I have any desire to pass down into one of your rat holes, may I ask?'

Gimli ignored that comment completely, however, and diverted from the path, approaching the edge and raising his hand to shield his eyes against the flailing snow.

'Gimli,' Aragorn began with a warning tone. 'Come back from there.'

But Aragorn's words were not heeded, and the Dwarf continued to push towards the precipice.

'You would do well to hearken to what Aragorn says,' Legolas chipped in.

Perhaps it was because Legolas had said it. Maybe he simply had not heard. Either way, Gimli did not stay his actions, and proceeded over to stand little more than a foot from the periphery.

'Ha! I can see the other side easily enough – you don't have to be an Elf t-' Gimli's sentence was cut short when he felt a shift beneath his feet, and he looked down in shock to see the snow and rock he was standing on begin to tip downwards.

Legolas sensed it more than felt it, and he made the decision in a split second to dive forward and grab the Dwarf by the tunic. But by now the rock was falling with greater rapidity, the snow flowing away in a fluid motion, water over a waterfall. His feet could gain no sufficient purchase on the moving masses of snow, and his panic-filled eyes fixed with the horrified ones of Aragorn as he was dragged over the mountain by Gimli's weight.

'Aragorn-'

Aragorn lunged, his hand grasping at Legolas' desperately outstretched fingers. But his hold was simply not firm enough, and the Elf's hand slipped from his own.

'LEGOLAS – NO!'

He tried to make another grab for Legolas' hand, diving for the edge himself – but he found his arm suddenly restrained, and upon turning realised it was Boromir holding him back with the tightest grip he could without actually hurting him.

'Boromir – you must let me go-' Aragorn strained against his companion, and it took all of Boromir's strength to keep him from pulling free.

'No. Aragorn. Aragorn, listen. Listen to me.' His tone with those last words alone caused Aragorn to stop fighting for release and look at him. It had been firm, like a parent endeavouring to convey to a hyperactive child something of serious import. Steady green eyes met with grey ones full of turmoil. 'He is gone.'

Aragorn felt his eyes heat at this statement, and he could do naught but stare over the precipice into the furious blizzard. He was dimly aware of Gandalf's arrival, of the explanation offered to him by Boromir. But he did not listen. He did not wish to hear them conversing over Legolas in past tense.

Frodo watched the Ranger concernedly. Never before had he ever thought that Aragorn had any weakness – he was totally invincible. Well, clearly not now. The Hobbit had been aware of the closeness between man and Elf, but never had he thought it to be so strong.

He refused to accept it. It could not be true. I will not allow it to be true. Aragorn filled his lungs and bellowed Legolas' name into the tempest, praying that his voice would carry. The rest of the Fellowship ceased talking, eyes all to Aragorn. The Ranger paused for a few seconds, listening desperately to the wind with the thread-like hope that he would get a response. When none came, he called again...

'LEGOLAS, ANSWER ME!'

There was another pause, in which Gandalf stepped forward, extending his hand to Aragorn's shoulder. 'Aragorn, he's-'

'ARAGORN!'

Eyes widened in disbelief and joy at the sound of the familiar voice. Pippin cheered.

'LEGOLAS, HOW DO YOU FARE?'

The storm buffeted them relentlessly still, making it exceptionally difficult to hear above its selfish roar. Yet a few select words were permitted access, though they were hard to distinguish...

'THE ... HIT HIS HEAD ... FINE' was the best they got for the summary for Gimli's condition after the fall.

'WHAT ABOUT YOU?'

There was a short hesitation, and Aragorn knew it was not in order to allow the wind to drop so that he might make himself heard better.

'... ALRIGHT.'

"Alright." That means that he's done something.

'Gandalf, we must get down to them,' Aragorn insisted fervently, eyes now keen and sharp rather than panicked. But the wizard shook his head at the proposal, his mouth in a grim, flat line.

'No. It is simply not feasible, Aragorn, to get the whole group down there – we know not how far down they are, what the mountainside is like for climbing; for all we know, it could be a sheer drop with absolutely no foot-holds. And there is the weather to think on: anyone rash enough to try and scale the rock face in this will die for sure.'

Aragorn's brow creased in anger at this declaration and he shook his head at it.

'No. We must get help to them – by the sound of it, they have both sustained some injury in the fall - no matter how reluctant Legolas is to admit it – and they need assistance.' His face lit suddenly with the beacon of inspiration. 'Let me go.'

'Absolutely not! I implore you to think, Aragorn,' Gandalf more or less pleaded with the Ranger. 'You are bound to a fate that no other can fulfil, and if you die due to a moment of senseless recklessness, there is no other to take your place. If that is not enough, then think of how distraught Legolas would be if you were to die over some superficial cut of his.'

Aragorn's face was swathed in the shadow of doubt and worry, and more than a hint of anger. He wrapped his travelling cloak tighter about his body. The wind seemed to poke and grope into every parting in his clothing, chilling his skin mercilessly. He cast an eye to the Hobbits, and sighed heavily as he observed them shivering. It would surely kill them to if they dithered here any longer – he could not allow that to happen...

'LEGOLAS!'

'AYE?'

'CAN YOU MEET WITH US AT THE OPENING OF THE PASS?'

There followed a pause, in which the Fellowship awaited the response with baited breath. The fact that it was taking Legolas so long to consider the answer was of a worry to them. Exactly how badly hurt were the pair? They knew that Gimli had a head injury, but as to Legolas' condition, they had no idea...

'YES ... TWO DAYS, MAYBE THREE ... DEPENDS ... DWARF.'

Lightening snaked through the sky, striking at the mountain like a pitchfork wielded by an exceptionally furious farmer. It was not possible for them to stay any longer unless they wished to die, and so the broken Fellowship turned on their own tracks, Boromir and Aragorn each carrying a pair of Hobbits.

'But they will be alright, won't they, Strider?' asked Pippin. 'I mean, they are both experienced in this kind of thing, and they do have each other. And even if Gimli is a bit bashed, he's got Legolas with him, right?'

'Exactly,' responded Aragorn darkly. 'He has Legolas with him.' He exchanged a grim look with Gandalf, shifted the weight of the Hobbits slightly, and began to trudge back through the snow.

Legolas was unable to see the edge of the pathway from which they had fallen. The blizzard had just intensified – something that he had previously deemed impossible – and there was no way back up that he was able to see. The cliff they had come down was a sheer drop, practically. Had it not been covered with so much snow, he held no doubt that they would both be dead by now. Even with all of that snow, it had not totally protected them from harm... Gimli's head bled freely, and his own lithe form had not escaped: somewhere along the way, Legolas' right knee had struck a rock. It hurt intensely, but he was still capable of using his leg and walking about – which was just as well, really, as Gimli was of no use to them...

He cast the Dwarf a reproachful glare, his lip curling in an opprobrious manner. He resented the position he had been thrown into by the careless actions of the Dwarf – he found it humourlessly amusing that he was the one landed with the Dwarf's care. It was a large cut, but nothing life threatening. Unfortunately, Legolas could not help thinking. He reluctantly rebuked himself for that thought... It is shameful to think such a thing! No, no matter how much I dislike him, I'd never wish him ill.

The Elf sighed as he set about hunting for his arrows. Not a single one of them had remained in his quiver, and one of his knives had taken leave of its sheath without him wishing it to. The knife he found fairly early on, discovering the hilt poking out of the snow, obvious to him despite its pale colouration. He would have killed the Dwarf if he had lost one of his long knives because of him, for they were more precious to him than any jewel was to a Dwarf.

He picked up an arrow, the dark shaft showing itself openly to the world, and released a low hiss of annoyance when he discovered that it was only half a shaft he held, snapped in half and dangling by a few splinters. Completely and utterly useless.

'Elf?'

Legolas raised a brow at being addressed so, but passed over to Gimli all the same.

'Good. You're awake.' Did that sound convincing? I don't think it did... Legolas crouched carefully by the Dwarf, sitting on his left haunches rather than both. 'How many of me do you see?'

Gimli squinted at Legolas, dark eyes blinking constantly, fighting against what Legolas knew was bound to be a headache.

'I see one, unfortunately.'

Legolas blinked at that remark. 'You would see me and seven others had you not been so idiotic.' He got up and walked out a way, no longer caring for the Dwarf's company; he feared that he should say something he was likely to regret if he stayed.

'What are you doing?'

'Nothing that merits your concern. Go to sleep or polish your axe.' Legolas continued with his scout for arrows, plucking them from the snow and paying no heed to the Dwavish that he could hear being cast into the bitter air. Some of the curses he knew, and some not – the ones that he did know were not very flattering or indeed polite – certainly things that one would not say in company. He began to imagine that each of the broken shafts was Gimli's neck.

The more Legolas hunted for his arrows, the more aware he became of the Dwarf. The weather – though it had no effect on him – was certainly not something a mortal could easily deal with. He knew from his past experiences with Aragorn how badly the cold reflected upon them, and he passed a concerned glance over to Gimli. The Dwarf was sitting in the snow, his arms wrapped about his body, brown eyes fixed on the Elf with an unwavering glare.

'It is rude to stare, you know,' Legolas informed in a lazy tone.

'Your manners are not exactly perfect, Elf – you have very bad, angry bed manner.'

Legolas straightened his back, riveting his eyes on the Dwarf with such a powerful glower that Gimli nearly recoiled. 'I wonder why that is, Dwarf. Could it possibly be because we have been separated from the main group, thus postponing the Ring Bearer and the others on the quest from gaining on their goal, and also placing ourselves in very real danger, all because of your stupidity? DO YOU THINK THAT IS WHY I AM ANGRY, BECAUSE I CERTAINLY DO!'

Gimli sat with his mouth agape, completely taken aback by the outburst from the Elf. He had never been shouted at like that before, never. And to hear it coming from the Elf was a total shock to him – from what he had heard of Elves, they were meant to be a docile, tranquil people who had such placid, complacent natures that it was said to be the near impossible to anger one. Yet here the Prince of Mirkwood stood, red in the face with a slight quiver to his frame and fixing the Dwarf with the most piercing glare Gimli had ever had pinned upon him.

'Somehow – and the Valar know how – we are both alive,' Legolas continued. He fished another arrow from the snow, pulling a face when he found it to be snapped. 'Fortunately,' he said, jabbing the splintered shaft in Gimli's direction, 'I've managed to gather most of my quiver back – and, luckily for you, my bow is still in one piece and I've recovered my knife. Had the situation been otherwise, there would only be one of us alive at the moment.'

Gimli glared back. He disliked being spoken to like a naughty child rather strongly. 'Have you finished your little diatribe yet, Elf?' he enquired smartly.

'Yes,' came the response before Legolas continued in a clipped tone: 'I'm going hunting. Stay here.' Legolas began to stalk away into the blizzard, and called over his shoulder: 'And I hardly think that "diatribe" is the correct word.'

'HOW WILL YOU FIND YOUR WAY BACK IN A SNOW STORM, YOU IDIOT?!'

There was, however, no response to the question, and Gimli watched as the Elf's silhouette was sucked into the blank wall of white. He huffed, plonking himself down in the snow with no care for wet or cold. Elves were so insufferable! No-one made him angry like this – it seemed typical that it would be an Elf that managed to push his temper to such a peak.

He was still not so sure about whether he trusted the Elf or not – it had, after all, been the Mirkwood Elves whom had captured his father and the others he was questing with. They had not been taken in a fight or even with arrows trained upon them. No, they were captured with magic. Anyone that did something like that did not, in Gimli's eyes, merit the trust of anyone.