Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Six

Author: Katharine the Great

Summary: "What were the Riders trying to do?"  "They tried to pierce your heart with a Morgul-knife which remains in the wound.  If they had succeeded, you would have become like they are, only weaker and under their command.  You would have become a wraith under the dominion of the Dark Lord…" --Frodo and Gandalf at Rivendell

Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within. 

Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself.  I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism!  I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!

Replies to reviews:

AJ Matthews: Don't worry, Legolas will show up very soon, and in fine form indeed!! 

Raen: Francine thanks you for the lettuce, and no, she and I have never been to the City of the Galadhrim.  We do have some nice postcards, though, that were sent to us by our original characters (Lehulai, Evanen, Gilharad, et. al).  We agree that Sam is nummy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seven times the sun had risen and set since the Company's retreat into the Wood of Lothlórien, and still there was no word from the search parties sent out on behalf of the missing Legolas.  Those of the Fellowship took the opportunity to rest, glad for the temporary lull in the journey.  Frodo spent long periods of time sitting beneath the gold-laced boughs, humming with the Elves above him and contemplating the long trek ahead of him.  Sam and his fellow hobbits contrived ways to distract Frodo from his musings, for they all agreed that such fretting was unhealthy.  Frodo usually went along with their proposals, and he was glad for the diversions.

One such occasion, which occurred the morning after the hobbits' conversation with their mysterious guide, was the reintroduction of Aragorn, Gimli and Boromir to the recently reappeared Gandalf, now called the White.  The three were suitably amazed and delighted at his return.  Aragorn in particular was glad to learn that the wizard lived; and it was he who asked what troubles had befallen Gandalf after he had vanished into the great chasm beneath the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.

            Gandalf, though loathe to speak of his ordeal, told his friends briefly of his long plunge into the depths of Middle-earth, whereupon he had continued to battle with the fearsome Balrog.  The hobbits were especially awed at Gandalf's descriptions of the blistering fire and frigid water that he had passed through before finally defeating his foe on the mountain-top.  Gandalf also spoke of the great Eagle, Gwaihir the Windlord, who had borne him aloft and brought him to Lórien.  "And so I arrived here, just a short while past your departure," Gandalf concluded his tale, tapping the ground with his staff.  "I intended to follow after you when I had completed my time of rest and rebirth, but since you had the misfortune of being compelled to retreat, we met sooner than I expected."

            "Surely that is a boon to outweigh any misfortune, Gandalf," Aragorn declared.  "Your absence was a pain that would not heal, no matter how severely our minds were distracted by hardship."

            "Nevertheless, Aragorn, you have showed great skill and courage in your leadership of this Fellowship," Gandalf said.  "You have all done well, indeed.  Even this tomfool of a Took is showing signs of usefulness!" he added, ruffling Pippin's unruly mop of curls.

            "Do you intend to retake your rightful position at the head of the Company, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked boldly, and there was no trace of challenge in his tone; indeed, the man was more than willing to yield up his place of leadership to the white-clad wizard, if such was required.

            But Gandalf shook his head.  "Nay, Aragorn, that station belongs to you now.  As for me, I have other dealings that I intend to set about when I leave Lórien next." 

            Aragorn nodded solemnly.  "Then I shall give my best efforts to leading as capably as yourself," he said, "if that is possible."

Gandalf peered at the younger man, sitting straight and tall upon a smooth stone beneath a leafy mallorn-tree.  "It may be," he murmured to himself, and the others received the impression that he was not speaking only in response to Aragorn's oath.

  Frodo wondered what the far-seeing wizard had envisioned regarding Aragorn.  Gandalf had always been somewhat cryptic in his words, but since his bout with death at the hands of the Balrog he had become even more elusive in his meanings.  Frodo studied Gandalf's face, hoping to glean at least some idea of what he had perceived in Aragorn's future.  The wizard's naturally thoughtful expression revealed none of his deliberations, however, and Frodo did not possess the daring to inquire into the matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Galadriel and Celeborn spoke to Frodo and the others twice more after their initial welcome.  The Lord and Lady were somewhat preoccupied with growing rumors of a potential new enemy from the south drawing near to Lórien.  The creature was described as a rider with ominous bearing, dressed in silver or white, and mounted on a swift gray horse.  It had been dubbed "the Silver Rider" by those who had first glimpsed it racing across the plains of the Wold of Rohan, though whether the appellation was at all indicative of a relationship between the newcomer and the Black Riders of Minas Morgul, no one could say.     

The Silver Rider might have been dismissed as pure fiction but for the word from the southern borders of Lórien.  The Elves keeping watch in the southernmost regions of the Golden Wood had been hearing whispers of a silver phantom that rode alone beneath the night sky, when glistening Ithil and her array of bright stars caused the apparition's garments to flicker and gleam like the Sea's waves.  Those moonlit appearances lent yet another moniker to the creature; Mor-celeb it was called in the Sindarin tongue, which translated into Westron meant "Black Silver."  Though Mor-celeb (as the Elves were wont to refer to the creature) had done nothing directly threatening—indeed, it had done little else but ride without cease for days on end—those caught in its wake were said to have experienced a sudden attack of tremors, like those caused by icy winds or tidings of great disaster. 

            Of these reports only Aragorn was told, and he in turn discussed them privately with Gandalf.  Gimli, Boromir and the hobbits remained ignorant of the news, for it was decided that the threat was not so clear that they should be burdened with it.  And so Frodo and the majority of his fellow travelers passed the seven days in relative peace, ever-hopeful that they would be summoned to hear glad news brought by the search parties.  The hobbits ate and slept and chattered beneath the great leafy boughs of the mallorn-trees, and were the source of much discussion and soft laughter among the Elves in the gold-trimmed boughs above.  Gimli the Dwarf remained mostly quiet, but his silence was due to worry for his lost friend, and so no one begrudged him his lack of conversation.  Boromir of Gondor spent much time by himself, gazing to the south with his fingers tightly intertwined.  He, too, was unusually taciturn, especially in the presence of either Frodo or Gandalf. 

            On the eighth evening of the Company's sojourn in Lórien, a loud call was sent up among the trees; the search parties had returned from their long hunt for signs of Legolas' whereabouts.  Frodo and Sam practically flew to the Hall of Lórien, where they had been summoned to hear the searchers' findings.  They met Merry, Pippin, and Gandalf along the way, and the five of them reached the Hall with its oval receiving chamber in a short amount of time.

            Lord Celeborn and Galadriel were seated in their places, as were the other Elven  elders of Lothlórien.  Frodo and his kin slipped into good vantage points, while Gandalf and Boromir made their way to Aragorn's side.  Gimli was there as well, his expression as anxious as was possible for a Dwarf.  A group of tall Elves stood before the Lord and Lady, all dressed in the familiar gray cloaks and quivers of Lorien's folk.  Their clothes were worn from much travel, but they all comported themselves gracefully despite their fatigue. 

Also present was a contingent of strangely dressed Elves; they wore clothing and long riding cloaks of deep green and gray and brown, and their hoods were thrown back to reveal waves of golden hair.  They stood apart from the people of Lórien, Frodo saw, and he surmised that they must be folk from another Elven realm.  He was surprised, too, at the presence of a fair Elf maiden who stood at the forefront of the foreign Elven delegation.  Her flaxen hair cascaded down her back, and was swept away from her elegantly shaped brow by means of two wrought silver combs.  Her dress was of the palest green inscribed with delicate silver script, and gathered at the waist with a belt of twined silver strands.  The garment was overlaid with a long gray-silver cloak clasped at the throat with a brooch of silver leaves.

            "Do you see the strange Fair Folk over there?" Sam whispered to Frodo, breaking into the other hobbit's thoughts.  "They're dressed like Legolas was, don't you think?  All that green and brown with the silver trimmin'?"

            Frodo nodded with sudden understanding.  "Yes, I think you're right," he answered soberly.  "They must be some of the Elves sent out by Legolas' father, as Aragorn said." 

            The murmuring in the chamber quieted as Celeborn and Galadriel rose to greet the searchers native to Lórien.  They spoke in their own tongue for several moments, and then Celeborn changed his speech to Westron for the benefit of those present who could not understand Elvish.  "As there are many here who are anxious for what news you bring, Gilharad, I would ask that you begin your report without delay," Celeborn said.

            A tall Elf with dark gray eyes and finely boned features stepped forward and bowed slightly.  "As you wish, my Lord and Lady."  He drew himself up to his full height and said, "We began our search at the place where Prince Legolas was last seen by his companions, on the western bank of the Anduin River near Sarn Gebir's great Rapids.  The earth was mauled so that we could see no footprints save those of many horses, but we did find a bow and two arrows crushed into the mud."

            Two of the Elves standing nearby came forth, carefully unwrapping light packages bound up in gray-green cloth.  Contained within the bundles were what appeared to be some collections of mud-encrusted sticks, but Frodo's heart sank as he looked upon the contents.  He recognized the shattered pieces of the great bow given to Legolas by Lady Galadriel herself, and the thin shafts of Elven arrows were apparent to everyone present.  A groan rose in the throats of the elders of Lórien, all of whom had seen the bow at its presentation to Legolas.

            Galadriel's lovely eyes were mournful, but her voice was steady.  "Say on, Gilharad.  What other tidings have you to give?"

            "We saw no other sign of the prince at the spot where his weapons lay," Gilharad continued.  "Some of those searching found the recent trail of a large party of Orcs leading away from the area, and also a few hairs of the same hue as Legolas' caught on a tree branch alongside the Orc-path.  Therefore, we pursued the Orcs, thinking that they had come upon Legolas and taken him from the River's edge.  The trail led west, and then turned sharply northward when it passed through the Gap of Rohan."

            At that, Gandalf gave a start.  "That would seem to put the Orcs bearing Legolas on a sure route toward Isengard and Orthanc!" he said, and only his furrowed brow betrayed his alarm.

            Gilharad the Elf nodded grimly.  "Yes, Mithrandir, and that is the place we were led to in our pursuit.  We could go no further than the outer reaches of the plain of Isengard, for our numbers were few compared to the enemy hordes toiling beneath the Tower."  His eyes flashed with bitter anger.  "Had I but commanded an army and not a search party, we would have thrown Orthanc to the ground on behalf of Legolas.  But alas! we were forced to return with only these grievous reports instead of the son of Thranduil."

Frodo felt numb, as though every muscle and bone in his body had frozen at one time.  Saruman the White, lord of Orthanc, had grievously betrayed Middle-earth, even going so far as to imprison Gandalf and breed up a monstrous army for the Dark Lord.  The thought of gentle, light-hearted Legolas in such a creature's clutches was horrifying.  Frodo looked across the assembled Elf-lords and saw that Gandalf's face was deeply lined with distress.  He had not told them any specifics regarding his time in captivity at Isengard's Tower, but Frodo could guess that Saruman had shown little kindness to his prisoner.  What worse fate awaited Legolas, who was not a wizard but instead a Wood-elf?

"Thank you, Gilharad," Celeborn said, and his ageless visage reflected deep understanding of Gilharad's fury at being powerless to give immediate aid to the Elven prince.  "You and your company are given leave to rest and refresh yourselves, for I see that you are worn from your journey.  Be assured, however, that you may be called upon to perform other services in the near future."

            Gilharad and those standing with him bowed lowly.  "Thank you, my Lord," Gilharad said.  "We stand ready to serve in whatever capacity we may."  With a final bow to the Lord and Lady, he and his assemblage turned and exited the Hall in a swirl of gray cloaks. 

            Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel turned their faces next to the party of strangers, who approached at their silent summons and bowed in greeting.  "Salutations from the kingdom of Mirkwood and from His Majesty Thranduil," said one of the male Elves in lightly accented Westron, taking his cue from the previous conversation and refraining from using his native speech.  "I am Hithílion, an advisor to the king."

            "Welcome to Lothlórien, Hithílion of Greenwood," Galadriel said warmly, using the name by which Mirkwood had been known before the dark shadow of Mordor had fallen upon it.  "As was said to Legolas, it is too rare to see our northern kindred in the Wood."

            "Yes, great Lady," Hithílion agreed.  "It is indeed unfortunate that the beauty of this place is shadowed by the circumstances of our arrival.  The news gathered by Gilharad and the searchers of Lórien was a blow to our hearts, for we were sent out by a distraught father rather than a royal monarch.  Thranduil was terribly grieved to learn of his son's disappearance, as were all who dwell in his household," the Wood-elf added grimly. 

            Celeborn nodded once, his face sympathetic.  "I have no doubt of that.  We shall do all in our power to retrieve Legolas, I assure you, for he is dear to several present here."

            The lady Elf of Mirkwood spoke for the first time, and her voice was clear and resonant like water running over smooth stones.  "To whom is Prince Legolas dear, my Lady?" she asked.

            Galadriel focused her intense gaze upon the Elf maid.  "You have the bearing and insignia of the royal house," she remarked.  "And there is much of Thranduil in your appearance.  You are Legolas' kin, are you not?"

            The Elf maiden bowed, and several locks of her golden hair spilled over her shoulders.  "I am Lelemir, daughter of Thranduil and sister to Legolas, Lady Galadriel," she replied.  "I came to aid in the recovery of my brother."  She glanced about the chamber.  "News of Legolas has but seldom reached the halls of my father as of late.  I did not know that he had gained such friends among the Galadhrim, and that is the reason for my question.  I should very much like to meet those with whom Legolas has spent his time away from our home."

            "You shall meet them, Princess Lelemir," Celeborn said, "but after you and your party have rested and eaten.  Lórien is a place of refuge for the weary and burdened, and in particular for those whose hearts are weighted by troubles.  There will be time enough for introductions when you have eased your travel-weariness."

            Lelemir cocked an eyebrow, a gesture that was startlingly reminiscent of Legolas' occasionally saucy manner.  "With respect, my Lord, the weight I bear is that of fear for my brother's life.  No amount of rest, however sweet it may be, can dispel such a burden."

            Frodo was amazed at her boldness.  He half-expected the Lord and Lady to take offense at the slightly impertinent words, but to his surprise Galadriel laughed softly.  It was as though someone had brushed against a collection of wind chimes.  "So like your father, Lelemir," the Lady of the Wood said with a smile.  "More so than your brother, I daresay.  He was the ideal of compliance during his stay here."

            "I mean no offense, my Lady, my Lord," Lelemir said somewhat contritely, though her regal demeanor was in no way lessened.

            "None is taken, Princess," Celeborn told her.  The Elf-lord's gray eyes reflected mild bemusement.  "It is charming, in a way, to see Thranduil's oftentimes less than mild temperament refined and softened in his daughter.  You have retained your father's best traits, and turned them to your advantage."

            Lelemir inclined her head, and Frodo could see her eyes sparkling with the unexpected praise.  "Thank you, my Lord and Lady." 

            "Very well, then.  It shall be as you wish, Lelemir," Galadriel decided.  "I will arrange for you to speak with your brother's traveling companions and friends.  Perhaps the activity will sufficiently tire you that you may at last rest yourself."

            The princess of Mirkwood gave a smile in return.  It was not a large smile, as her cheer was tempered by worry for Legolas, but the expression lit up her face and made her a beauty to rival most other women.  Privately, Frodo still held Galadriel to be the most fair of all creatures to walk Middle-earth.  Lelemir, to her credit, possessed a measure of royal grace and carriage that seemed to be unique to the noble houses of the Elves.  He found himself looking forward to meeting with the sister of Legolas.

            "I wonder if she's anything like Legolas," Sam whispered under his breath, nudging Frodo.

            Frodo had no reply; he only bobbed his eyebrows at Sam to indicate that he himself had no idea what Lelemir might be like.  He supposed that they would find out upon speaking with her.  He glanced at Gimli, and suddenly worried that Legolas' sister would dismiss as folly the friendship that had grown between the Dwarf and the Elf during their time together. 

            As he looked closely at the princess, however, Frodo doubted that she would be so callous and high-handed.  She came from the same stock as Legolas, and so was likely to be somewhat similar in manner.  Legolas had distrusted Gimli at the outset of their journey, in accordance with the custom of his people.  The son of Gloin had felt the same. Yet in the midst of their experiences respect and good faith had developed between the two, and the greater part of the animosity chafing at them had faded.  Hence, Frodo imagined that Lelemir would come to value Gimli just as her brother had.

            "The Sun has set," Celeborn was saying, "and it is time for the evening meal to be taken.  I invite you, Princess Lelemir, to join Galadriel and myself for the meal.  Also I would like for the members of the Fellowship to attend, so as to honor the wishes of Legolas' sister and introduce her to those with whom her brother has traveled so long."

            Aragorn stepped slightly out from among the elders and bowed.  If he was surprised by the Lord's offer, he did not show it.  Rather, he looked as noble and dignified as any of the Elven lords there assembled.  "On behalf of the Company, Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel, I accept your invitation," he said.

            Lelemir gave Aragorn a long glance, apparently fascinated by the appearance of the one who spoke for her brother's companions.  Frodo wondered if she was surprised to see that Aragorn was a Man, and not an Elf.  "Thank you, Lord and Lady," she said, turning back to face them.  "I would be honored to join you for the meal."

            "This Council will reconvene tomorrow in the afternoon, when the Daystar has passed her zenith," Galadriel said.  "We will hence decide upon a course of action regarding Legolas."  Her clear gaze drifted around the chamber and came to rest upon Frodo.  "We must also seek a path for the Bearer," she said more softly.  "The Quest must continue, ere the Dark Lord strengthens beyond our ability to conduct his treasure to its destruction."

            Frodo shivered a little at her words.  He had been reflecting on that very possibility during the past days.  He feared what would happen if Mordor's forces overran Middle-earth and thereby cut off any hope of transporting the Ring to the annihilating flames of Mount Doom.  Frodo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, willing himself to remain calm and wait for Galadriel and Gandalf and Aragorn to orchestrate a plan.  For though he was the Ring-bearer, he was only a hobbit, and his skills did not extend to making strategic, secretive strategies.  He sat so for some time, and one of Bilbo's verses came to him: No person ever failed, who let the stronger beat the trail.

            "Mister Frodo?" said Sam's voice.

            Frodo looked up and saw his friend standing nearby with Merry and Pippin.  "What is it, Sam?"

            "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but everyone's leaving for supper," Sam said.  "I didn't want to interrupt your thinking, but I figured you'd want to eat with Lady Galadriel and the rest."

            "Yes, Frodo, you can brood later, when we've some food in us!" Pippin declared impatiently.

            Frodo stood and stretched at length, chuckling.  "All right, I'm coming.  Pippin, you act as though your stomach will climb out of your mouth and go in search of a meal on its own!"

            The younger hobbit sniffed.  "It might do just that," he sighed.

            Frodo shook his head in amusement.  "Let's get to dinner, then, before we're missed."

            They made their way to Gandalf's side, for the wizard was just then falling in with the assemblage who were to dine with the Lord and Lady of Lórien.  None of them were aware that even as they walked up to the dining hall, a figure swathed in silvery white garments was mounting the crest of a hill to the near south of the Golden Wood.  The keen eyes of the sentries posted at the southern border swept the darkening horizon, and Mor-celeb's shimmering silhouette was sighted…

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End of Chapter Six.  How about those original Elf names of ours, huh?  You know, they actually mean things in the Elven language (I researched a bunch to get some authentic-sounding names); if anyone wants to know what they mean, stick a note on the review and tell me!  I'll include the translations at the end of Chapter Seven, which is well on its way!

Note: Bilbo's little piece of wisdom was crafted by myself alone, but I daresay that Master Tolkien's words far outshine my own…