Author's Note: I'd like to apologize in advance for making this chapter so "chopped up" in feeling. Being a filmmaker at heart (or at least, film is my passion), I tend to see my stories unfold in my mind in the same way that a film does. I write my stories in the way that my mind forms them. In the case of this chapter, the events unfolded themselves in my mind as a fully edited piece of footage, shifting between the events that Gimli is witnessing and what Legolas is actually going through. I do hope that that this does not impede your reading experience. Rather, I hope that it enhances it. On the up side, this will be one of the slightly longer chapters of the story. Now, without further ado, I give you Chapter 15.

LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR….LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…

Gimli could see Legolas ahead of him as he darted across the mountainside, but he did not call out to the elf. His breathing was labored from his quickened pace and he felt as if he would never be able to take in enough air again to soothe his burning lungs. Still, part of him was pleased. Despite his fears, he had managed to close the traveling gap between Legolas and himself, though he did not know that that was largely due to the frequent stops Legolas was forced to make. Gimli slowed his march as he looked around. His eye caught the two trolls guarding the Cracks of Doom and the dwarf quickly hid himself among the rocks. Slowly he crept along the boulders until he could clearly see Legolas once more. The elf was fiddling with something on his neck. A warning shot through Gimli's mind. He could see clearly now that the prince held the ring in his hand. In the next instant, Legolas was gone.

Immediately, Sauron's gaze swung to the mountain, and Gimli was thankful for the boulders which blocked him from the Enemy's view. In the distance, the shrill cry of the Nazgul rent the air. Gimli cowered behind the rocks in spite of himself, hugging his knees to his chest and throwing the hood of his cloak over his head, praying that the tattered brown material would hide him from sight.

Legolas had noticed the change in the atmosphere as well, but he did not hide, though the screams of the eight wraiths chilled his very bones. He knew that he could not hide from the Enemy's servants, for they would be drawn to the power of the ring. His only chance was to make a desperate run for the fires of Mount Doom and destroy the ring. He was not far now; the ring heightened his senses to an almost painful level and he could hear the bubbling lava inside the core of the mountain. He summoned his remaining energy and broke out into a run, knowing that to hesitate now would mean failure to all but Sauron.

Both trolls were on their feet now, having sensed the shift in their master's mood. Legolas heeded straight for the small space between their bodies, ever mindful of the heavy clubs that they now swung in anger and confusion. The cries of the Ringwraiths grew closer. Legolas forced himself to run faster than he had thought possible, fear and adrenaline powering his movements. He closed the distance between himself and the trolls. Though they could not see him, he could tell that the creatures could sense his presence. With every step he took, the savage swipes of their clubs grew to be ever the more furious and wild. Legolas kept his eyes trained on the weapons as he ran, counting the time between their movements. Within minutes, he reached the feet of the trolls. He stopped briefly, waiting for his chance. Behind him, he could hear the winged mounts of the Nazgul swooping down from the sky. At least one of them had already landed amongst the stones. Before him, Legolas could feel the rush of stifling air that came from the mountain's inner chamber. Again he counted the club swings until at last his chance came and he was able to slip between the trolls, the clubs crashing behind him just inches away. He was inside the mountain now.

Outside, Gimli could only guess as to the position of Legolas, for there was no telltale sign to mark where the elf stood. The dwarf could only hope that the elf would be able to, if indeed he had not already, avoid the blows that the trolls were dealing, their thick clubs crashing against the ground again and again. Not far from him, the Nazgul urged their mounts to a landing. Immediately, Gimli shrank down against the rocks, trying to steady his nervous breathing. There was a crunch of small, gravelly, rocks under the iron shod feet as the wraiths made their way towards the doorway. Gimli held his breath and after a moment, he heard the Ringwraiths moving away once more. He dared not wonder if his presence had gone unnoticed or if they had merely thought him to be of no importance or threat. Cautiously, the dwarf peeked over the edge of the boulders and watched as the wraiths reached the doorway. The trolls immediately calmed their wild club blows and let the Nazgul pass by. When the last of the Black Riders had gone through the opening, the trolls moved together, standing as a living wall before the entrance into the mountain. Gimli's heart sank. There was now no way for him to aid Legolas. All he could do now was to hope for the best.

Inside the cavern, Legolas continued his trek to the rim of the stone causeway that reached out towards the center of the chamber. For as long as he could, he kept his pace, not daring to slow down if it could be avoided, and tearing the ring off of his finger as he moved. Immediately, a sense of relief flooded over his body, for while he had worn the ring, it had felt almost as if the golden trinket had been sapping the very life from him, though all his senses had been considerably heightened. All around him, the very air seemed to buzz and tremble from the heat of the evil fires within the belly of the mountain. The sound of the churning and bubbling lava was almost deafening to the prince's sensitive ears. Still he ran onward, fear and adrenaline pushing him onward. He made it halfway out onto the uneven stone precipice before he felt his pace slacken of its own accord. He was quickly running out of energy. Despite his best judgment, his feet brought him to a halt.

Legolas stood there for a moment, panting and wheezing from his trial. His body was bent in half and his hands gripped at his lower thighs for enough support to keep him standing. He took a large gulp of water from his wineskin, emptying it in the same motion, and the sudden shock to his parched throat stung like dozens of tiny daggers. He tossed the empty piece of leather aside and wiped at his mouth with the back of a dusty hand. He closed his eyes, drawing his energy together, but he dared not to do this for more than a moment or two. Behind him, he could hear the Nazgul approaching and fear forced his aching feet and body to press onwards once more. His pace lacked the ground-eating momentum that it had before his rest, but the elf was merely glad to be moving forward once more. He made his way, half stumbling in his exhaustion, nearly to the edge of the rocky shelf, but his earlier rest had cost him dearly.

Outside the cavern, Gimli had managed to slip among the rocks once more, putting him closer to the doorway and away from the hungry mouths of the flying beasts that the Nazgul had ridden. Still he eyed the guardian trolls. They had not moved a muscle since the Black Riders had entered into the heart of the mountain. He fingered his axe in frustration, running his index finger over the well sharpened edge. There was nothing he could do for Legolas now, and for that, he felt ashamed. He should have seen Legolas' disappearance coming, his mind told him. He should have been ready for the elf to make such a move. It was his fault that Legolas was within Mount Doom with no one there at his side to offer him aid.

A sudden noise behind him jarred him from his internal self reproach. One of the fell creatures had spotted the dwarf among the rocks, and had worked its way slowly towards him. Gimli turned sharply, only just in time to avoid the creature's crushing jaws as they snapped at him. He raised his axe as he leapt to one side and brought it down on the thick neck with all his might. The blade sunk into the leathery flesh right where the head met the muscular neck. The creature half roared, half screeched in pain. Four more blows were dealt before the beast lay dead upon the ground, its head roughly hewn from its body. But the fight had not gone unmarked by the rest of the Ringwraiths' mounts. They too approached Gimli. The heat of battle rose up in the dwarf's blood and the grip on his axe tightened. If he could not help Legolas inside, he reasoned, he would make certain that the Nazgul would have no way off the mountain. He threw one nervous glance over his shoulder at the trolls. Both were looking in his direction, anger on their malformed faces, but they stayed rooted to their posts, much to Gimli's relief. He set to work slaying the dragon-like creatures.

The wraiths had caught up to Legolas and now were within an arm's reach of his body. From the corners of his eyes, Legolas could see the black robes gaining on him and soon passing him by. In an instant, he was surrounded, Morgul blades inching ever closer to his flesh. Instinctively, he took a fearful step backwards, but as his skin made contact with the sharp points of enemy swords, he halted his movements. The new leader among them extended a hand towards Legolas, and the elf felt the sudden urge to surrender the ring. He shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind of the ring's influence. His fist tightened around it and Legolas could feel the smooth edges leaving their imprint in his palm. He made a motion to grab at his dagger, not wishing to give up without a fight, but the wraiths were too close to him. At his movement, the Nazgul leader drew back his hand and unsheathed his sword. Legolas' heart beat wildly in fear and his mind whirred as it sought to find a way out of the current situation. He saw no openings, no chance of escape. The wraiths raised their swords. Legolas' eyes went wide.

Eight blades plunged into his body at the same instant and were removed just as roughly. A blood freezing scream erupted from his throat and bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Legolas staggered in place and lurched forward. He crumpled to his knees, and used his good hand to clutch protectively across his waist, not knowing which wound to cover first. He did not need to look down or inspect his bloody hand to know that the wounds were fatal. He felt his body sway a little and the metallic taste of blood rise in his mouth. He opened his mouth a little and the blood oozed over his lower lip in a slow river. He looked up at the Nazgul, who still stood around him, his blood tainting the blades of their swords. Anger rose up within the prince's heart and a final determination to see his task though washed over him. With the absolute last reserve of his strength, he coiled his good arm to him and used the greatest force he could muster to launch the ring right between the bodies of two of the wraiths that stood to his left. He held his breath and watched as the ring flew between the armored feet. After a tense moment, he heard the shriek of the Nazgul as the ring plunged over the side of the causeway and into the bubbling pool of lava. Satisfied and with his heart greatly lightened, Legolas expelled his last shuddering breath and let his spirit pass into the Halls of Mandos.

Outside, the tattered remnants Legolas' scream reached Gimli's ears and his heart immediately sank. He could sense that the cry had been caused by the Nazgul and if that were true, then it meant that Legolas had been killed. Tears sprung up in the dwarf's eyes and rolled down his dirt streaked cheeks. He did not bother to brush them away. The hurt and the anger within him were too great. Part of him wished that he could take up his makeshift axe and slay the wraiths as he had their winged mounts. He took a hesitant step forward and then stopped as the mountain shook angrily beneath him. He glanced at the doorway, but the trolls were already gone, making their way down the slope in a terrified run. Gimli swung his gaze around to the Enemy's tower, but the Eye was twisting painfully. There was a cracking sound like thunder as the foundation of the tower split. All around him, the acrid smell of brimstone became unbearably oppressive as the mountain began to spew lava and ash from its cone. From the doorway, a second river of fire poured forth onto the mountainside. Gimli saw all this with a brief glance over his shoulder. He dropped his axe in fear and ran down the slope as fast as his tired legs would carry him, knowing only too well that Legolas truly had met his end, if not by the Nazgul, then by the molten rock. Blindly, he flew down the mountainside, fear and grief consuming him, not caring what evil eyes might see him. Behind him, he could hear the lava churningas it chased after him. He ran faster, pushing himself past what limits he thought he had, but in his haste, his right foot caught on a piece of uneven rock. He fell forward among the rocks, unable to stop his momentum as he continued to slide down the rocky mountain. Before him, a broken boulder stood in his path. Gimli saw it and panicked slightly as he tried to drag his hands among the rocks to slow his progress towards it. He grit his teeth as the passing rocks tore the flesh on his hands until they bled from dozens of cuts, but his found that for all his effort, his pace did not slacken. He hit the rock nearly head on and was knocked unconscious.