It was dusk when Legolas and Gimli first set foot upon Mount Doom, much to the dwarf's concern. He did not wish to climb the uneven ground in the dark, for one misstep in the blackness of the night had the potential to loosen rocks under their tired feet, and this could well alert the Enemy's servants to their presence. This thought gnawed at Gimli. They had come too far and overcome too many obstacles to let one foolish mistake destroy the last hope of Middle Earth. He whispered as much to Legolas, pleading with the elf to halt his march until the dawn approached, but Legolas shook his head, refusing to be moved.
"We cannot take rest yet. We are far too exposed here. Let us climb higher and look for a hiding place where we may be shielded from the eyes of Mordor," he said.
"We cannot risk it," Gimli persisted.
"Stay if you wish," Legolas said, "but I must continue onward."
Gimli grunted, displeased at Legolas' wishes, but he said nothing and trailed the prince, carefully testing each step before fully trusting his weight to it. It was a slow climb to be sure, but he refused to risk any margin for error. The wind began to pick up in the already cloudy sky, wrapping the two in a hot breeze. In the distance, both could hear the low rumble of thunder.
"I do not like this," Gimli muttered under his breath, but his complaint was disregarded by the elf prince.
They continued to climb for another quarter of an hour before the rain hit them. At first, the rain was welcome, for both had been concerned about the availability of water. Just an hour earlier, both of them had rested and drank the last drops of water from their wineskins to soothe their burning throats. All they would have to do now was to wait for the water to collect in the nooks and crannies of the rocks. It would be a slow process of filling the pouches, but they had no other choice. For the first few minutes of the rain, Legolas and Gimli were grateful. But fortune it seemed, was not entirely on their side that night, for the storm grew more fierce, throwing down blinding sheets of water that, by some cruel twist of fate, was too hot to be comfortable. They stumbled clumsily forward as the wind whirled around them, blowing the raindrops into their eyes while other droplets pelted them with stinging force.
"Let us stop this march," Gimli shouted over the rain, as loudly as he dared. "We can go no further in this storm."
Legolas caught the pleading in the dwarf's voice and hesitantly slowed his strides. He shook his head, as if dismissing some thought. He sighed deeply and hung his head dejectedly.
"A little further up there seems to be some outcropping of rocks, a shallow cave perhaps. Let us reach that and make it our shelter for the night." He pointed in the direction of the rocks.
Gimli nodded and followed Legolas' path, movingly carefully over the wet rocks and trying not to step in the loose dirt. It would not do to leave a trail of footprints in the moistened soil for anyone to see. It was true that at the moment, the Eye had its gaze elsewhere, sometimes surveying the orc camps located near the gate, other times seemingly focused on someplace out beyond the walls of Mordor. Still, he did not trust that the Eye might suddenly swing around to look in the direction of the mountain. No, leaving any telltale marks on the mountainside would not do at all. He hunched his shoulders, feeling almost as if Sauron's gaze really had rested upon him, and he trudged steadily forward as lightening illuminated the sky once more.
When they reached the cave, they found it to be slightly deeper than Legolas had previously thought it to be and that lightened their hearts. It was true that the mouth of the cave stood only high enough for Gimli to pass under without crouching down, but inside the roof was a little higher and even Legolas could stand, though the top of his head nearly touched the ceiling. Gimli took the food supply and moved to the far wall while Legolas took up both wineskins and forged back out into the storm. He would have to collect water this night, for they did not know how long the rain would last or how fast it would dry in the heat of Mordor.
He looked around for several long moments, trying to find a place where much water had been collected. At last, he found himself before a large boulder that looked as if it had rolled down from some higher place long before. The surface was riddled with cracks and towards the right side a portion of the rock had broken off, making a deep indentation in the stone. Smiling to himself in relief over finding such a perfect water source, Legolas uncapped the wineskins and placed them in the pool of rainwater, filling them with the precious substance. Still, he sighed to himself. What should have made his heart lift in joy only darkened his mood. His mind wandered to the nearly diminished food supply. Only a few meals were left to the elf and dwarf and that was only if they cut their rations into half. The supply would last until they reached the Cracks of Doom to be sure; Legolas was determined to reach the entrance into the mountain within the next day if he could. But now, for the first time, he wondered about the return journey, not for himself, but for Gimli. Legolas was well aware that if he reached the doorway and destroyed the ring, that he also ran the risk of never returning. Gimli, on the other hand, stood a chance of making it out of Mordor alive. But that would require that the dwarf had food. There was no telling what would happen when the ring was destroyed. Perhaps the enemy creatures would flee in terror; perhaps they would stand their ground despite Sauron's destruction. In either case, he could not risk leaving Gimli with nothing to survive on.
Now Legolas capped the wineskins once more, hefting their full weight in his hands. These he slung onto his belt and then cupped his hands to drink from the small pool before him. The water was slightly muddy from dirt that had been trapped in the hole, but it was not undrinkable. He cupped his hands and drank, closing his eyes as the warm water hit his parched throat. He drank deeply, taking his fill, before he looked again at the land around him. Wishing to get an even greater line of sight, Legolas pulled himself on top of the boulder that had served as a water basin and climbed several taller rocks that must have slid down the mountainside, trailing after the boulder as it had fallen and coming to a crashing halt just behind it.
After a few minutes he reached the top and surveyed the land, feeling immediately exposed to enemy eyes. The wind whipped around him, making his wet garments stick to his lithe frame and Legolas pulled the hood over his head, not to block the wind or the wetness, but in hopes that it would help keep him hidden. He raised a slender hand to his brow and used it to block the little streams of wetness that ran down his forehead and into his eyes. He strained his eyes against the rain and strained his ears, searching for any sign that the Enemy was aware of his presence. He could find no such sign, but that did little to ease his mind, for he knew now that this last leg of the journey would be the most dangerous. He would have to be even more careful than he had already been so far.
"You have come further than you thought possible," he thought to himself. "A little further and this mission shall be complete. But what then? Even if you survive this trial, what is left for you? Your family and friends are nearly all dead. Mirkwood must surely be destroyed by now. Nothing is left for you in Arda. You can pass over the Sea, true, but will the guilt of not having prevented Sauron from regaining the ring to begin with haunt you? Are the images of the unnecessary deaths of your loved ones burnt so deeply into you mind and dreams that not even the bliss of Valinor will be able to undo them? Or will you stay in Arda if you survive this task? Will you feel obliged to stay for the sake of Gimli, without whom you may not have gotten this far? You are fading, Legolas. This you already know. You have felt it since you first touched the ring to hide it from the eyes of Sauron's minions. It happened slowly and steadily at first but it has become ever the worse now that you are in the Enemy's stronghold. Will you even have the strength to see your task through?"
He shook his head quickly, trying to dispel his dark thoughts. He tried to think on more pleasant things; tried to recall some shred of memory from a happier time; tried to think of one of the many encouraging talks his father had given him during his youth. He found his mind empty of all such thoughts and memories. Only darkness and doubt filled his heart and mind now when he most needed to draw inner strength from hope. The ring and the quest had taken everything from him.
Once more he swept his gaze over the battered landscape, but if he wished to see what path would be best to follow in the morning, he was not able to. With a sigh at the growing weight of the ring hanging from his neck, he turned to descend from his lofty perch. It was perhaps partly the fault of the wet stone beneath his feet, or the weight of the ring, or the howling wind, or the growing weariness that gnawed at his body, but after taking a cautious step or two, Legolas felt his foot slip on the smooth stone beneath him. He felt himself falling and time seemed for the moment to move painfully slow. He felt himself flail his arms as he tried to right himself, but his attempts were unsuccessful. With a blinding flash of pain, he hit the stone water basin and darkness fell over him.