Yeah, I'm back. I guess you guys are wondering if I'll ever go away. Probably not. I don't have much of a life anymore, so I sit and write all day, then post it on here in hopes someone will read it. LOL.

Warnings: Hopefully, you've read them by now. If not….Then what on earth are you doing here in Chapter 3?

Disclaimer: It's been about a week, and I still haven't managed to own them. I suppose I never will, and I'll just have to deal with it.

World's End

Chapter 3: Dead Land

A faint dusting of snow already covered everything---including them---when the Company next awoke. And though they knew it would eventually become a hindrance, they couldn't help but be enchanted by it.

The flakes that fell from the sky were large, white and sparkled like crystals in the pre-dawn light. The wind had died down, and a breathless silence had fallen over the land.

As Legolas slowly climbed to his feet, he couldn't help but look around in wonder. It's so beautiful, he thought. Like magick.

As the others watched in amazement, Legolas threw out his arms and began spinning in circles. His heart felt so light, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

He stopped and stood still, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Before it was completely gone, however, something hit him in the back, causing him to topple to the ground. A very wet and cold something.

Quick as a flash, the Elf was on his feet again, a snowball already in hand.

Aragorn hadn't been able to contain his laughter after throwing the snowball at his friend. He had never intended to knock Legolas over, but the look on the Elf's face had been priceless. Now he couldn't quit laughing.

At least, not until the snowball crashed into his chest.

For a long moment, Aragorn simply stared at the offending ball of frozen water as it slid off of his chest, leaving behind a very large wet spot. Then he lifted his eyes to meet those of Legolas, who had a smirk on his face.

A loud roar shattered the peaceful silence. "I'm going to get you for that, Elf!" Aragorn shouted, scooping up a handful of the snow that was growing thicker by the minute. With a laugh, Legolas darted forward, Aragorn fast on his heels.

The snowball fight had now broken out in earnest. The hobbits were running around, dodging flying projectiles thrown by each other was well as Gandalf and Gimli. Ylana had been so absorbed in her amusement of it all that she never realized Boromir was sneaking up on her until he dribbled snow down the back of her dress, causing her to shriek in a very un-Elvish manner and leap to her feet. Very shortly, Legolas wasn't the only one being chased around.

It was sometime later when Legolas collapsed on the ground, breathless from laughter, face flushed from the cold and his wild run. Aragorn fell beside him, eyes shinning. "You still play unfairly, mellon-nin" the Ranger said with a pout. (1) "You never let me catch you as you did when I was a child."

Legolas laughed airily as he lay back, clasping his hands behind his head to form a cradle. "Perhaps I will let you catch me again one day, if I think you are worthy."

Aragorn snorted. "And when will that be? When I am so old that you only have to take two steps to keep away from me? When I'll have to have your help just to walk across the room?"

When no answer---no playful tease---was forthcoming, Aragorn turned to his friend, who was staring up at the falling snow with an unreadable expression. "Legolas?"

The Elf blinked, and then turned to smile at his companion. "You assume too much, Estel," he said lightly. "That is, if you still want me around by then."

Aragorn blinked at him, knowing that there was a hidden meaning somewhere in the Elf's words. But, before he could come up with a clever way to ask, Gandalf demanded their attention. "If you two are quite finished with your play, then perhaps you would be so kind as to gather firewood while the other helps me clear a spot for the fire?"

"Indeed I shall!" Legolas cried as he sprang to his feet, nimble as a cat. "Quick as a summer's breeze I will return." And, with that, he darted off into the woods once more.

Gandalf chuckled as Aragorn came to crouch by the wizard, who was attempting to brush off the little bit of snow that lay atop a rocky area. "It is good to see him so happy again."

"It's the snow," Aragorn said softly. "He loves it. He always complains that it doesn't snow enough in Mirkwood, and often spends most of the winter in Rivendell."

"Then perhaps coming up the mountain wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"No," the Ranger answered with a smile, his eyes settling on the woods. "No, it wasn't."

Though they didn't leave until later in the morning, Gandalf didn't mind. The impromptu snowball fight had done them all good. Especially Legolas, who was beginning to resemble the Elf Gandalf had known prior to the Council of Elrond.

The wizard still did not know what had befallen the boy, and this normally would have had him worried. But, from the way Aragorn had kept a watchful eye on the prince and always tried to keep him in a good mood, Gandalf suspected that Legolas had confided in his human friend. And that was good.

Their spirits high, the Company sat out once more. The snow proved to be something of a hindrance, but it wasn't as bad as they had expected. The hobbits sang, the Elves danced, the humans and wizard laughed, and the Dwarf grumbled. The snow continued to fall lazily from the sky, catching in hair and eyelashes. The hobbits took great delight in trying to catch the big, fluffy flakes on their tongues.

Aragorn couldn't help but walk with an extra bounce in his step, his heart light. The day was beautiful, and the laughter plentiful.

Also, something had happened last night between him and Legolas. A barrier had been broken, an understanding had been reached, a barrier had been crossed… Aragorn wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that it added to his feeling of happiness.

Legolas, too, seemed to have sensed it as well. He would laugh at the slightest thing, and every time their eyes met, he would offer Aragorn a secret smile. Once, he grabbed Ylana and began dancing with her, swirling her around as they laughed in sheer delight.

Aragorn wished it would never end.

But, like all good things, it did. As they climbed higher, the snow fell harder and the wind blew stronger. Soon they were blind, and Pippin could swear that he had an icicle hanging from his nose.

It was then that Frodo noticed that neither of the Elves was having trouble wading through the snow. They weren't having trouble, because they were walking on top of it!

The hobbit wanted to say something about his discovery---yet another of Bilbo's stories proven true---but his teeth were chattering too much for him to even speak.

While the going had finally turned rough, Legolas still seemed to be light-hearted. He would often dash ahead, then return promising that there was not as much snow ahead, or that the path twisted dangerously. He made jokes or would laugh, his breath a white cloud that was suddenly torn away by the wind. Aragorn wasn't sure what kept him going, but was more than happy for it.

He himself was shivering, his hood thrown over his head to protect his face and ears from the harsh wind. He could feel snow forcing its way into his boots, turning his legs and feet numb. He knew he shouldn't complain, though. The hobbits were silent, and they had naught by hair to protect their feet.

"This is madness," Boromir grumbled as he came to Aragorn's side. "We can barely see our hand in front of our faces, the snow is already up past the hobbits' ankles, and if I have to see that damn Elf prance one more time…"

Aragorn couldn't suppress a chuckle at this, for Legolas had indeed been prancing every time he came back from his mad dash forward. "Don't worry, my friend. We'll be stopping soon." He nodded up at the sky, where the Sun was already halfway hidden behind the horizon. "It will be dark soon, and we'll have to set up camp before we're totally blind."

"Good," was the growled reply. "This dead land unnerves me. I don't want to be traversing it unaided by light."

"Me either," Aragorn agreed heartedly. "Me either."

Legolas was feeling giddy, lightheaded. Like the time he'd drank too much elderberry wine---the strongest form of alcohol for Elves---and jumped onto a table to dance.

Yet he had drank nothing but water that day, so he was clearly not drunk.

It wasn't that it mattered much. He hadn't felt this happy since before his brother's attack months before. His heart was light, and he couldn't keep a smile from his face. If feeling a little strange meant that he could continue being happy, than that was a price he was more than willing to pay.

When Gandalf finally called a halt for the night, the hobbits tumbled to the ground in exhaustion. Legolas challenged Ylana to find more firewood than he before racing off, leaving the others to set up camp for the night.

As Aragorn watched his friend from the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but feel a nagging at the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right. That wasn't the Legolas that he knew…

Stop that, he chided himself. You're worrying about him too much. It's all over now. You got him back, the spell was broken, and he's opened up a bit more. Just a few weeks ago you were worried because he wasn't happy enough, now you're worried because he's too happy!

Still, he couldn't shake that feeling of wrongness that was eating at him. Perhaps I should ask Gandalf.

Aragorn quickly moved to the wizard's side, but before he could say anything, a loud howl echoed in the distance, causing the Ranger's head to snap up and his hand to reach for his sword.

Gandalf sighed. "I fear tonight will be the last fire we'll have for awhile," he said quietly. "Unless it's a matter of life or death, of course. I don't want to draw attention to ourselves unless it's absolutely necessary."

Aragorn nodded. Gandalf was the leader, and he wasn't about to question the decision of an Istari. Besides, that's not what he had come to speak about.

"Gandalf, may I ask you a question?" When the wizard nodded, Aragorn glanced around before lowering his voice. "It's about Legolas."

"Ah. So you've noticed something as well."

"I---I'm not sure." The Ranger frowned. "All day long I've been getting this feeling that there's something…off. I just thought that I was still worried because of what happened with---with Saruman." He had to catch himself. He'd nearly said 'with Annolir', but remembered that he was the only one who knew of the elder prince's involvement. "But if you're sensing something as well…"

The wizard let out another sigh. "Like you, I'm not quite sure what it is I'm feeling. But sometimes I can feel the crackle of magick around him. I first noticed it this morning as we started on our way. It's only there for a moment, and then it's gone. But I'm sure I saw it, and more than once."

Aragorn inhaled sharply. "Saruman," he hissed.

But Gandalf was quick to shake is head. "No. No, I don't think so. It doesn't have the same feel as Saruman's magick, though it does seem a bit familiar. This magick is much older, though not as strong. The one thing I am sure of is that it is no wizard."

Aragorn felt his shoulders slump at these words. "Then….Is there anything we can do? I just got him back, Gandalf. I don't want to lose him again."

The wizard let out one final, weary sigh and shrugged. "I'm afraid all that we can do is wait. Wait, and hope."

Rivendell was as beautiful as ever, with the sunlight making its many waterfalls and pools sparkle like gems. The Bruinen River flowed lazily between its banks, and the birds sang happily.

But all was no well within the Elf kingdom. Unbeknownst to all, it was about to get much, much worse.

The sound of labored breathing echoed throughout the chamber, breaking the silence. Normally, this would not have bothered Lord Elrond in the least. He was used to people running into his study out of breath. Usually, it was his sons, searching for a place to hide after pulling a prank on a hapless resident of Rivendell. But the fact that it was continuous and happened to be coming from one of his closest friends worried the Elf Lord greatly.

Finally, he laid aside his quill and looked up, concern evident in his eyes. "Glorfindel, are you all right?"

The High Elf offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "I am fine, my Lord. Just a bit tired, I'm afraid. Just watching the twins is enough to sap me of my energy."

Elrond had to smile at this, knowing that Glorfindel was right. He picked up his quill and continued writing, trying to tell himself that Glorfindel was all right, but that nagging sensation wouldn't go away.

Once he was sure Elrond wasn't looking, Glorfindel closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead, hoping that the dizziness would pass. It always did. Why should this time be any different?

He knew that it was not natural for and Elf to feel this way. He recognized all of his problems---the dizziness, chills, headaches, inability to breathe properly---as the types of symptoms humans developed when they were ill. But Elves did not get sick. And he was not about to be the first one to do so. So, being the stubborn Elf that he was, he refused to seek out Elrond's aid.

The dizziness finally abated enough for him to raise his head and open his eyes without the room spinning dangerously. His eyes focused on Elrond, who was still writing and humming a light tune.

Glorfindel had to smile. He works so much. Yet he never complains, and he always makes time for Elladan and Elrohir. I know that he would do anything for Arwen, and for Estel as well. He's a terrific ruler, and a wonderful father. I know that he wishes he could spend more time with Thranduil---

He was thrown out of his thoughts by a wave of dizziness that suddenly swept over him, sending him crashing to the floor, knocking over a vase in the process.

"Glorfindel?"

He was barely aware of his name being called. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and try as he might, he could not find the strength to push himself up.

"Glorfindel!"

Everything went black.

High up in the tower of Orthanc, a white-haired girl sat in a room lit by dozens of candles. All was silent, except for her soft, rhythmic chanting. Her eyes were closed as she sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

After awhile, her chanting stopped and she opened her eyes, which were the color of burnished gold and glowed with a light of their own.

A cruel smile twisted her lips.

And so it begins.

(1)mellon-nin--------------------------my friend