Once more I ask you all to forgive the unforgivable delay. My muse took a powder and I was unable to resurrect any coherent plot. I am back on track and working on the next installment even as you read this.

I will leave replies to all reviews in my next chapter. Thank you so much for your patience.

Encroaching Darkness part 32

By Ecri

Elrond's eyes did not stray from his son's face. He concern, nay, his fear for Aragorn as well as for Legolas seemed a palpable presence that overwhelmed all of his senses. For a single moment he'd thought them both dead before he realized that they both drew breath. He had only assumed they had not for they breathed shallowly and held his attention so stringently that the moments between breaths seemed 10 times their true length.

He tried to gauge Aragorn's progress and Legolas' condition, but neither was apparent. The Lord of Imladris felt Thranduil's presence behind him, and he could not help but imagine what the King of Mirkwood might be enduring. If the situation had been reversed, if Aragorn was near death and Legolas his only hope for survival, how, he wondered, would he have behaved? Would he be even fractionally as noble as Thranduil now seemed, his proximity to his eldest son notwithstanding, Thranduil remained both nearby yet somehow removed from the proceedings. His eyes were staring at the pale visage of the young Prince, yet they were glazed, unseeing. Elrond was certain Thranduil must be deep in prayer to Iluvatar. He also knew that, should Legolas lose his life, Thranduil would lose all interest in living.

Elrond reached a hand toward Aragorn, yet stayed it before he could touch the young Ranger. He could not interfereyet. The shock could well be too much for someone as untrained and inexperienced in the healing arts as Estel.

He would remain ready to assist if Estel called to him, but that was all he could do, and that, he realized was what made the waiting so interminable.

He saw Gandalf from the corner of his eye and he called to the Wizard, his voice the slightest of whispers. "Mithrandir, do you knowcan you sense any improvement?"

Gandalf seemed not to hear the Elf–his eyes focused on nothing. A moment after Elrond had given up on receiving a reply, the Wizard answered. "The battle is fierce and most difficult for our young friends." He turned to face Elrond and the Elf could see a hint of a smile gracing the wizened visage. "Yet it is not yet lost. There is a chanceif they do not take too longand if their strength holds"

"Strength?" Elrond shook his head. "Mithrandir, neither of them is strong at the moment. Their injuries"

"Affect only their physical strength, Lord Elrond. The strength I speak of is strength of another kind."

Elrond nodded unsure if he were the least bit reassured before turning to stare once more at the two friends as they continued to struggle for their lives.

Gandalf did not mention his concerns. He could not give voice to such things with Elrond and Thranduil so close. They were fathers and neither would hear his words with an unbiased ear, but rather with a father's desperate heart.

There was more going on here than even Elrond realized. Yes, this was a test of Estel's hoped-for abilities, for if the hands of the King were the hands of a healer, then the young man must learn to use those hands–and wisely.

If he were not, if he did not possess the ability–well, it might not mean that he was not destined to take the throne of Gondor, but then again, it might.

Gandalf reached out with his mind, casting again the spell that would protect them from prying eyes. He felt a–scrutiny–that he neither liked nor could name. Someone was watching, or trying to watch. He did not believe that it was Sauron, but the Dark Lord had many minions. It could be anyone. It was likely, the Grey Wizard thought, that there were many who worked for Sauron unnoticed and masquerading as friends, but if he were to consider such a thing, he would spend the rest of his days wondering whom could be trusted.

He was vaguely aware of a question being directed at him, and he turned his eyes to the source. Seeing The King of Mirkwood's questioning gaze, he wished he could be reassuring. "They need time, Thranduil. They need more time."

Thranduil nodded. "What are they doing? What is Estel doing to save my Greenleaf?"

Gandalf cast his own worried gaze on the pale Prince, Gandalf spoke in a whisper, unconcerned with who might or might not hear his words. "A battle is being waged. A fierce battle–and the battleground is Legolas' mind."

He noticed neither that his words had been heard nor the effect they had had on the King of Mirkwood and the Lord of Imladris.

"Aragorn?" Legolas called to his friend as the walls around him trembled violently. He cast a worried glance upwards searching for some clue as to how high the walls might be and what might fall from their battlements, but he saw only darkness. "Estel!" He called again. He heard no reply. "ESTEL!" He cried so loudly a great crack appeared in the wall surrounding him, and he took a step backward wary of falling debris.

"Legolas!" Aragorn's voice reached Legolas and the Prince, in his relief, raced up to the wall not caring for the danger.

"Estel!" He called out in joy to his friend. "Do not stand close to the walls! They are falling!" He heard a soft chuckle and smiled to himself at the sound.

"Well I know it, Legolas! I only wish to help you tear them down all the quicker!"

Legolas heard in his friend's voice the desire for him to be free, and his own desire to see his friend nearly overwhelmed him. "My friend, the walls" he wanted to know what he could to tear them down all the quicker, but his friend didn't give him the chance.

"You must understand, Legolas, that I am here to lead you out, but you must want to come with me. The walls are yours to tear down! Remove them in any way that seems best to you."

Legolas looked doubtfully at his prison. Even as he did, he felt a strange darkness creeping toward him. He whirled to look behind him, but the darkness there was so complete that he could not even see shadows.

"Estel?" Legolas called in a whisper unsure if he called his friend or commanded himself to have hope in the face of the terror that now gripped him.

There was no reply.

Galadriel sat at the foot of a tree. Her eyes were closed and there was not the slightest hint of tension in her face, but Celeborn knew the turmoil of her thoughts. Gracefully, he seated himself beside her and slipped his hand into hers with a touch so light, that none but his wife could even have felt it. He waited lifting his own gaze to the soft canopy of branches through which stars would peek through as though to see what went on below them.

In a few short moments, he heard her speak plainly, though she had not spoken aloud. Her voice came directly to his mind from hers.

The battle goes poorly.

Celeborn considered this. Perhaps Estel merely musters his strength.

When Galadriel did not reply right away, Celeborn leaned closer to his wife taking in the calm, almost serene arrangement of her features. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned to him, her beauty still–after all this time–catching his breath in his throat. "My love," she said softly, her eyes sad. "He is too young. The skills could be his one day, but his heart is heavy with the burden of a promise being broken."

"What promise?"

She smiled, but somehow it made her seem sadder. "His vow to save his friend. He fears he is unable. He fears he will lose Legolasand though he has faced loss before, he cannot fathom the loss of one such as Mirkwood's Prince."

"Nor can any of us," Celeborn whispered. He searched her face for some sign of hope. "Is there something we might do to help him?"

Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as she considered his question. "There is little we can do, butwe might share our strength with the young one."

Celeborn nodded. "Let us begin."

They both closed their eyes and leaned back against the tree drawing strength from it even as it, sensing their need, drew strength from the earth so that it might supply them all they might need. The trees nearby, having already begun to grieve the passing of a Wood Elf Prince swayed slightly offering strength of their own to their comrade and, in turn, to Galadriel and Celeborn.

The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood sensed what was happening and offered thanks even as they drew on what was offered and sent it to Estel.

Celeborn, his hand still holding lightly to Galadriel's, poured his heart and soul into the link between them, as Galadriel directed more than they could spare to the young human ranger who held a Prince's life in his hands.

Thranduil sat by his son though he did not see him. Mirkwood's King held his eyes tightly clenched his hands clasped in supplication until the knuckles went white and the fingers grew numb. He had said every prayer he knew so many times the words had ceased to have meaning, and his thoughts were held thrall by the one repeating, beseeching wordplease please please

He knew desperation when he felt it, and it had engulfed him. He wished to be strong for Aglarelen, but he could no longer find a way to function. Aglarelenit seemed his memories of Legolas were intertwined with images of his oldest and youngest sons. Aglarelen teaching Legolas how to fight with a sword, how to fletch an arrow, and how to appease an angered father when some trick or other went wrong

His precious Greenleaf had somehow always seemed borrowedsomehow temporaryas if he were so near to elvish perfection that he could not remain long in this world. Thranduil had always assumed it would merely mean that Legolas would retreat to the Undying Lands before any of his brothers, yet, Legolas' love of Mirkwood, indeed, of Middle-earth, had been unequaled. Thranduil had always believed that Iluvatar held some special task for his Greenleaf. Could it be that his existence itself had been that task? Could it be that Legolas had been allowed so short a life by Elvish standards because it would loosen the hold of Middle-earth upon the ruling family of Mirkwood? What purpose could that serve?

Thranduil knew his mind was racing through illogical courses in a fear-driven attempt to make sense of the insensible or to distract him from his own growing grief.

He felt a hand, warm and gentle, upon his shoulder. He looked up into the concerned and questioning glance of his eldest son.

"Ada"

He said no more with words, but his eyes were eloquence itself.

Thranduil sighed and placed his own hand upon his son's, which still rested on his shoulder. "I will be well, Aglarelen, as soon as" He faltered.

Aglarelen nodded. "As will I, Ada."

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak again, to offer some word of comfort to his son, but he could not find the words. Desperation, grief, anger, and fear warred for a hold over him, and, unable to withstand it a moment longer, Thranduil weeped for his youngest child as his oldest clung to him.

Aragorn had heard Legolas calling his name, but he could not spare a moment to answer. He knew what he had to do though he knew not how he knew. Putting that puzzling thought aside, he wondered why he felt so unable to do it.

There was a part of him, ferocious, almost feral, that wished nothing more than to tear savagely at the walls that surrounded his friend. He knew Legolas–in all his Elvishness–would return to them if only he–Estel, nay, Aragorn–could lead the way back.

His strength had failed him. He had used what reserves he had to reach this point, to find a way into Legolas' mind, and to reach the walls. He did not know the way out! He did not know if he could make Legolas–who had suffered so much on this journey already–want to return. What could he offer when the safe haven of Mandos' Hall awaited the sundered elf? Of course, Legolas was human. Would the Halls be waiting for him? It was too much for him. He could not think.

A surge of certainty hit him squarely in the chest, more accurate than an orc arrow, and more expedient in its effects. He felt a burst of energy even as he knew that he could help Legolas find a reason to continue. He could find a way to make Legolas desperate to return to his family and friends.

"Legolas! Come! Tear down the walls!" He called loudly, more loudly than was strictly necessary, and he infused his words with every ounce of command he would ever muster even as a King.

"I cannot, Estel!" Aragorn heard the frustration choked in Legolas' voice and, though the walls shook, they crumbled slowly.

"Legolas, please, I cannot remain here, yet I cannot leave you. I came to lead you home. If you cannot go, then I cannot go"

"Estel! Leave me! I will follow in time."

"No, my friend, I cannot leave you. I am afraid you must lead me back if I am to return to myself at all." Not strictly true, perhaps, but essentially true. Estel would not find a life worth living if he returned without his friend, and he feared Legolas might be trying to trick him into leaving so that he might let go of his tenuous grip on the world he'd left behind.

Aragorn projected an image toward Legolas hoping it would penetrate the walls. It was an image of his grieving friends and family, some dying of grief, others departing for the Undying Lands, and Estel himself growing reckless and foolhardy in his attempt to deal with a too soon departed Elf.

"Legolas, my friend, you are whole behind these walls. You are not sundered. You have your Elvish senses. You have never lost them entirely. They were hidden from you behind these walls–you were hidden from you–but you can come back if you choose. Do not make me wait too long my friend, for my strength is lacking."

Legolas heard his friend's words and could not bear it. Had Estel come for him only to lose himself? He could not allow such a sacrifice! Estel had a destiny, a future greater than any Legolas could achieve. If one of them must be left behind to–die–he thought the word, and in that instant it somehow lost its power. Death, even a human death, unknown to him and his kind, was not so awful–especially if he should die in saving another. That was why he had taken the arrow for Estel, was it not?

He had to admit to himself that, though saving his friend had been foremost in his mind, it had also occurred to him that this was a more noble end than most that he had imagined when he had first learned of his strange affliction. Not that he had sought the arrow merely to end his life. Nay, he could not have done such a thing. His life was a gift from Iluvatar, and it was not his right to return the gift–to throw it back at Eru as though it were something unwanted and unappreciated.

Proving himself, however, had made it easier than it should have been to be reckless. He had known that many around him had treated him as though he were made of glass when they had learned that he had lost his Elvish qualities. It had not, he was sure, been a conscious decision. They could not help it. In response to their protectiveness, he had become more willing to take risks, to seem as much the warrior as he had been before.

Foolish as he felt about it now, he could not change it. Whether out of a desire to prove himself, to kill himself, or to protect his friend, he had taken that arrow. Even as he stood behind these walls wondering what had happened, he could feel the life leeching from him. He felt weak, unsteady, even lightheaded, as the orc poison and blood loss stole Iluvatar's gift from him.

"Legolas"

Estel's voice sounded weak to Legolas' ears and that was what spurred him forward. Estel would not forfeit his life–his future, his kingship, Arwen, and whatever might issue from the union of Elrond's daughter and the King of Gondor!

Without warning, the walls began to crumble. Great sections would either disappear outright or tumble to the ground and break apart throwing up an obsidian cloud. In moments, the wall was down.

Estel stepped forward through the cloud of dust a smile upon his face. "I knew you would come out if you thought you needed to save me."

"Youwere in no danger?" Legolas was both relieved and slightly irritated.

Estel laughed. "Nay, my friend. I am well, though we have been here much too long. I do grow weary."

"Then we should not keep you here. Come, let us return to our families." Legolas cast a last look at the remains of the towering walls, the debris from which was even now evaporating like a mist leaving not a trace that it was once there.

The Prince wondered what could have caused the darkness to seem to be creeping toward him while he had been behind those walls. He sensed no danger any longer, though, as the last of the walls had fallen, he had thought he'd heard an anguished cry. At the time, he'd thought it to be Estel.

"Estel, did you cry out when the walls came down?" He looked at his friend, but he did not need to hear his reply. The answer was plain upon his face.

Estel's brow was creased and he wore a frown. "Nay, Legolas. Why did you hear something?"

Legolas shrugged it off. "It is of no matter, Estel. Come, let us returnlead me where you will."

Estel's only reply was a grin.

Saruman's eyes snapped open as the not-elf broke through his spell reversing the curse. How it could be so, he could not fathom. The elf was young by elven standards and not nearly strong enough to defeat one of Saruman's spells. How, then, had he done it? How was it possible?

He had felt another presence there within the Prince's mindelusive and distant, as though hiding its essence from observers, though it could not have known he was there. Perhaps one of the elvesbut it had not felt like Galadriel or Celebornthough there had been a hint of them as well. No, this presence was closer to Elrond than to any of the others. Could the Lord of Imladris have found a way to save the Prince?

Elrond was, after all, a healer. Could he have found what he needed? Some spell or plant or treatment that required the afflicted to be near to the Golden wood

Enraged, he swung out an arm scattering the books and papers from his desk. If only he had been able to take the elf when he had first stumbled upon him! He should not have acquiesced so readily to Sauron's wishes! Why had he nothis anger dissipated as rapidly as it had come upon him. This game had had its amusements. He had traveled within a company of elves and they had not suspected. They had even turned to him for answers and for aid.

He did not try to suppress the smirk that came readily to his lips as he recalled that the elves most elite leaders and warriors had been unable to perceive his duplicity.

He would find a chance to claim the young prince someday. It was inevitable. After all, Saruman always got what he wanted.

The White Wizard, much calmed and pleased with himself, returned to his ancient books and his dark thoughts.

Gandalf stood by Galadriel and Celeborn leaning on his staff as the Lord and Lady opened their eyes. He smiled at his friends. "Well done."

Galadriel and Celeborn returned the smile.

Celeborn moved gracefully to his feet and held out a hand to assist his wife. "We felt their return. Are they well?"

Gandalf gestured to the pair who reclined close to their fathers. "Estel is awake, though weak. His exhaustion is considerable. He will need training in his newfound ability."

Galadriel nodded. "Elrond will help him."

"What of Legolas?" Celeborn asked.

"He has not woken yet, but his color has improved, and he has begun to breathe more easily. Elrond says the wound is improved"

"Then he hasfound himself?" Celeborn's joy was obvious.

Gandalf smiled. "We believe he has. Come, you must see for yourself."

The trio arrived at Legolas' and Estel's side, Galadriel's eyes searching the Ranger's for some sign of what he had experienced while Celeborn knelt at Legolas' side assuring himself the Elf Prince was indeed an Elf once more.

Gandalf looked up at the waning starlight and the coming of dawn. He would not have believed that one night could see such horrors and yet such triumph. Eru had a blessed sense of the absurd, surely.

The Wizard did not allow his joy to overtake his own senses, however. He kept his spell in place. Dawn might be coming, but that did not make them impervious to prying eyes. When they safely reached the Golden Wood he might be able to afford some rest. For now–constant vigilance was his personal obsession.

He listened as Galadriel spoke to Aragorn asking what he had done and how he had done it.

"I am sure you know more of that than I do, my Lady." Aragorn spoke earnestly, some surprise evident in his voice and his face.

Galadriel merely smiled, and, without the need to repeat her question, managed to get him to speak again.

Aragorn sighed. "Yes, of course you do, but I suppose I must tell you anyway."

Gandalf listened to the words as the Ranger described what he had seen, heard, and done within the confines of Legolas' mind. When he was done, Galadriel leaned closer to him and took his hand in hers.

"Arwen has chosen wisely. Her heart has led her to a noble man. Your destiny is a great one, Estel. We will discuss it at length one day. For now, you will regain your strength." She released his hand and moved to her husband's side.

Celeborn was speaking softly to Thranduil, and Gandalf could sense the building of bridges between the two.

This, the Grey Wizard noted, as the first light of dawn painted the sky a gold so bright it reflected off the gathered elves increasing their glow and giving them an even more otherworldly appearance than normal.

He glanced at Legolas, held in a gentle embrace by his worried father. Aglarelen hovered nearby, peering from time to time at Legolas' face. As Gandalf watched Aglarelen, he saw the oldest Prince of Mirkwood inhale sharply. Gandalf turned his attention to Legolas. He smiled then.

"There," He said gesturing to Legolas. "That is the proof you have waited for. He recovers." He smiled as Thranduil, Celeborn and the others saw what Aglarelen had first seen. Legolas breathed evenly, deeply as he slept, and his eyes, blue and beautiful, were open.

The group traveled quickly through the Golden Wood eager to reach Caras Galadhon. Galadriel and Celeborn fell into the rolls of hosts as they directed first their border guards and then others to make up sleeping places for the guests and take the injured to their healers. Food was offered and clothes were mended and soon the guests were well ensconced within the Golden Wood.

As was usual for that unique dwelling place, time seemed to stretch, to change, and it was impossible to say with any accuracy how much had passed.

Aglarelen stared at his brother's eyes. They had drifted open as Legolas slept. For one heart-stopping moment, Aglarelen had thought perhaps his youngest sibling had passed on towherever it was humans passed tofor he had heard that, in death, a human's eyes remained open resembling elven sleep. That had not been the case, for his brother's chest still rose and fell taking in precious breath. Legolas wasagain!

The Crown Prince cast a glance at the sleeping Ranger. Estel seemed as deeply asleep as Legolas, and neither had awoken since they had reached their destination.

Galadriel had mentioned that they would wake when their healing was done, but Aglarelen, who wanted nothing more that to speak to his brother found this remark unsatisfying. Aglarelen wished to hear his brother's elvish laugher and the sound of his voice raised in elven song. He had begun to worry that his brother would not awaken, and he knew his father shared that concern.

He had distinctly heard his father speaking to Elrond in tones meant to be soft and hushed but that were no more so than an orc was pretty.

"Elrond," Thranduil had said, "Surely there must be something you can do!"

Elrond's distinctly impatient tones had replied as politely as possible. "If there were, would I not have done it by now? My son lies in a state similar to yours! Estel has not awakened. Gandalf insists they are merely exhausted"

"It has been days!"

"And it will be days more if that is what they need!" Elrond's voice softened, and Aglarelen was struck by how tired and, he had to say it, scared, the Elf Lord sounded. "Please, Thranduil, I must return to my son as you must return to yours. If I think of some way to aid them, I will come to you. If he worsens in some way, come to me. I can do nothing right now."

Aglarelen could not recall if he had overheard that conversation yesterday or the day before. He had not left his brother's side. He had taken his own meals here. As for sleep, he had not found it necessary. He would not rest until he spoke to Legolas.

He did not realize just how long that would be.

To Be Continued