When Gimli awoke from his dreams it was well past dawn. He stretched and yawned several times, his back to where Legolas had slept.
"Still asleep, I see. Or perhaps you have let me sleep overlong. Tell me, elf, I thought you were so anxious to take to the trail once more," he asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
He turned on his heel, expecting to see Legolas still asleep, for in his mind that was the only plausible explanation for the silence that he was met with. When Legolas was not to be found, the smile melted from Gimli's face. Quickly, he checked the food and saw that the supplies were slightly depleted. He glanced around the cave once more. Legolas' wineskin was gone as well. The only telltale sign that he had even been in the cave was the sword that he had carried, for that still rested against the stone wall where Legolas had discarded it the night before. Gimli knew that the elf had not left it as an indicator that he had taken his leave, but that it was left because the prince no longer had a means to carry it with.
Anger flashed in the dwarf's eyes. "How dare he think that he would be rid of me so easily," he huffed.
Quickly, he packed his meager belongings and headed cautiously out of the cave. He did not know how many hours of a head start that Legolas had on him, but he was determined to do everything in his power to close that gap.
Outside, the air was thick and hot, and as Gimli jogged along the trail, he felt as though the very air might work to smother him. All signs of the previous night's rain had vanished, for the heat had dried the rocks and soil. For this, the dwarf was silently glad, for it meant that he did not have to worry about leaving footprints in soft, muddy soil. This allowed him to move more quickly over the dusty mountainside.
Legolas too had noticed the advantages to the situation. The rain had stopped only an hour or so before he had departed the cave, but even in that short amount of time, the elf could feel the earth reverting back to a dry, cracked state. He had taken no chances and had replenished the small amount of water that he had drunk during the night.
The day progressed slowly. The heat of Mordor had seemed to double in retribution for the brief respite that the rain had provided. The very air seemed to weigh heavily upon his shoulders and his brow was moistened with a fine coating of sweat. With every step forward that he took, the elf prince could feel his strength diminish. The ring became almost unbearably heavy and dark thoughts plagued his mind. He became fearful also and often threw a nervous glance over his shoulder in the direction of Sauron's tower. Every step forward was a test of his will and determination to go on. It became ever the more frequent that he was forced to give up the path and rest. During these times he would meditate to collect enough strength to last another march.
The sun slowly crawled into the noon position and made just as slow of a descent once more. Reluctantly, Legolas found a place to spend part of the night, the knowledge that he would not be reaching the Cracks of Doom that night a bitter blow to his heart. Still, he knew that he had no choice but to stop and rest. He had no energy to go further that night. He found a place to rest a few hours and ate what little food he had taken with him. He now had no further provisions with him, save for his half full waterskin. Reaching the doorway the following day was no longer an option; it had become an absolute necessity. He pulled his cloak over his body and slipped into an uneasy sleep.
It was just before dawn when he awoke, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and fear freezing his blood. He dared not move, trying to figure out what had caused his heart to falter. He did not have to wait long, for after a moment or two, he heard it. High above, he could hear the beating of leathery wings and the chill cry of the Nazgul.
"They must have returned from whatever task Sauron set for them," Legolas thought. "This is ill news indeed."
He held his breath, waiting and hoping that the elven cloak would hide him against the dull mountainside. He listened to the wings, heard them circling the mountain. Then it was perhaps, that the cloak still held some virtue, for after two or three circles, he heard them moving off once more, in the direction of the Dark Lord's tower. A sigh of relief escaped Legolas' lips and he was about to move when he froze once more. Somehow he knew that Sauron's gaze rested upon the mountainside. He lay unmoving, save for his right hand, which inched ever closer to the ring. In his mind's voice, he could hear the ring calling to him, pressing him to but slip it over one finger. Another voice entered his mind, just as strong, steeling his will against the temptation. His hand gave a few more twitches of its own accord and then suddenly lay still. Legolas moved his arm from his chest and lay it by his side, not daring to think how close he had come to giving into the ring's power.
Long minutes passed that seemed more like hours to the elf, before he felt his fear growing less. He cautiously lifted a corner of his cloak and peered out into the distance. The great Eye had shifted its gaze to the furnaces closest to the Black Gate. Legolas let out a small sigh, perceiving no danger in taking to his feet again. His stomach rumbled in protest, demanding food, but Legolas had nothing left, no provisions of any degree. He drank a few mouthfuls of water to try and quell the gurgling organ. He adjusted his cloak and set out once more.
Hours passed and the uphill climb became more and more of a torment to the battered prince. His head drooped ever the more closely to the ground from the weight of the ring. By noon his head had sunk down to rest against his chest and lifting it to look ahead was all but painful. He rested more and more frequently, his body wanting to shut down from lack of food and proper rest, but the ring still plagued his thoughts. It was only through the sheer force of his will that Legolas was able to continue onwards.
The afternoon progressed and above the reek of Mordor, the sun began to drop lower in the sky. Legolas' heart began to doubt and despair. He knew that if he did not make it into the mountain, his task would be met with failure. He had not the strength to go on much longer. If he were forced to stop for the night in his fatigue, he knew he would not have the strength to take to the path the following morning. He forged silently onward, his breath coming in ragged gasps and he began to wheeze in the heat. His lungs felt tight in the thick air and his legs leaden. His wineskin was almost empty of water, for he often felt the absolute need take even small sips to soothe his burning throat. He wondered if he would be able to complete his task.
Legolas had been traveling for some time, his thoughts lost to his despair, when he chanced a glance upwards. It was then that hope both entered into his heart and then immediately forsook him. He crouched behind a large boulder and mulled the situation over in his mind. The door into the mountain was directly before him. He could be inside within minutes if he pressed his will to it, yet for all the closeness of his goal, two obstacles still stood in his path. Two monstrous mountain trolls stood guard at either side of the doorway, huge clubs at their disposal. Immediately, Legolas felt a pang of regret for having left his sword behind in the cave with Gimli.
Perhaps that was an unwise move, he thought bitterly, as he realized the only weapon still left to him was his small dagger, which still lay hidden in his boot. He shook his head. Even with a trustworthy blade and the use of both my arms, taking down a troll by sword is folly. My best hope would be to have a sturdy bow and a few arrows to slay these creatures with. Still, I must find some way to kill them or slip by them, but how?
He ran over a list of possibilities in his mind. He could perhaps wait until the trolls slept and slip by them unnoticed. He shook his head at the thought. Even as he thought about the plausibility of this plan, he could see one of the trolls sit and lean back against the wall of the mountain. The trolls were taking turns on watch, having most likely been trained to never leave the entrance unguarded. Time was running out, Legolas realized. He needed a plan and needed to implement it quickly. He fixed his eyes on the trolls in thought. After a few minutes, he crept out from behind the rock and stealthily moved to situate himself behind another boulder that lay closer to the doorway and the trolls. He did this several times, for here the ground was littered with broken boulders. At last, he could go no further without coming into the visual path of the one troll which remained awake. Still he had no plan. His right hand crept up once more to his breast.
The ring! The thought was both promising and terrifying in the same moment. If I wear the ring I can slip by the trolls without alerting them to my presence. If I can force myself to move quickly, I can be inside and destroy the Bane of Arda before Sauron can send his minions to stop me. And yet, the peril of using the ring seems far too great. If I am delayed or if Sauron has servants nearby, I will not have the strength to fight them off. Do I dare risk it? Do I chance the fate of Middle Earth?
Legolas pulled his hand away and stared at the trolls once more. He gave a soft sigh. No other option presented itself to him. In his mind, using the ring was his only option. He would have to risk failure for a chance at victory. He grabbed hold of the rope around his neck and gave a quick tug, snapping the fraying fibers. He threw the rope to the ground and stared at first the doorway and then the ring. Mentally, he prepared himself for what was to come and then, before he could change his mind, he slipped the ring over his finger.