DISCLAIMER:

See chapter six

SERIES:

None.

SPOILERS:

See chapter one

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys!

Persiangoddess: Groan I noticed the misspelling on Gwaihir's name, too. I just haven't been able to fix it yet (this stuff was written so long ago, a lot of the chapter files have been deleted). And the bush thing is also true (my younger, foolish writing self was basing that scene ENTIRELY off the movie, with just the names changed, which really ticks me off now. Of all the chapters I'm going to go back and rewrite, that chapter of the council of Elrond will be the FIRST to get fixed).

Thanks for reading, you guys! (Despite the fact that chapters 1-11 were written when I was fourteen, and now that I'm eighteen I've decided to finish.) Chapters 12 on will (hopefully) be better written. And I will go back and fix a lot of the mistakes and rearrange some character appearances. I promise!

: Means a flashback.

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Three Rings for the Elven-Kings

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Chapter Fourteen

Gwannuvalmet

It was the fifth day since Endara, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Gimshe had set out from the Northern Pass, towards Lothlórien.

"The cold, I can stand," grumbled Gimli.

The Company moved wearily, each caught up in his own concerns, removing himself from the discomfort and fears of their journey by allowing their minds to return to a place each cherished.

"The rough ground, I'll survive," Gimli continued.

Everyone was exhausted. While the journey to Lothlórien had looked flat enough from the foothills, it was actually a grueling trek that required hiking up and down several small hills over a period of nearly two hundred miles, until the ground finally sloped to near-flat as it approached the forest. None of the Company, excluding, perhaps, Endara, had taken well to their hurried journey. They were short on supplies, and with little time to hunt and Gandalf's supply of lembas depleted, the rumble of empty stomachs seemed to echo in the silent, early morning.

"Even the mother-cursed black-hearted ill-fate that's plagued us couldn't get me down."

Aragorn sighed. He knew that the Company had no chance of catching the two elves and Hantor, if they left before the rest of the Company reached Lothlórien. Elves were not only swifter on foot than humans, but they did not feel weariness, or cold, and could go without food for extended periods of time. Even if Hantor was ill, he was still of Numenorian blood. Legolas could be half-way to Mordor before the rest of the Company was even through Lothlórien.

"You see, what bothers me is this DURIN CURSED RAIN!" Gimli bellowed.

Gandalf's disapproving look was somewhat hampered in its ability to bring about quivers of fear, do to the small lake of water that had formed in the curve of Gandalf's hat, and now splashed out as the Wizard turned. "I think we, along with the southern half of Middle-Earth, get the point, Gimli."

As if the weather had heard Gimli's complaint, and taken it personally, the rain began to pound harder. Endara walked in the front, ignoring the idle talk behind him. Aragorn and Boromir were talking quietly behind the group, and the two dwarf brothers were (aside from Gimli's outburst) stoically silent. Gandalf walked along swiftly, his focus elsewhere, leaving Endara to his thoughts.

:"Legolas, wait for me!"

Legolas paused, his slender four-foot-high body moving confidently through the dark forest.

"Hurry up, Endara, you're always so slow," the prince complained, and resumed his run.

Endara panted heavily; his dark hair matted against his face. Trembling, cold hands brushed sweat out of his eyes as he fought to keep up with his friend.

"Legolas, you're too fast for me! Legolas?" :

"Endara?"

Endara felt Mithrandir's touch on his shoulder and looked up into the eyes of the Wizard. Eyes, thought the elf, which are older than the oldest elf in Middle-Earth. Eyes that flashed with fury when evil abounded; eyes that shone with pity at the lowliest creature; and eyes that now burned with understanding, a feeling of empathy so deep that Endara felt as though Gandalf the Gray could read his soul.

"We will find them." There was a promise in Gandalf's voice that cleared Endara's heart. The elf breathed out softly, and Gandalf continued at his brisk walk.

"Ahem. Tired already, elf?"

Amused when he otherwise would have been annoyed, Endara turned and replied tartly, "No more tired than you are tall, dwarf."

Gimli "harrumphed," but Gimshe cracked a smile.

"Lead on, my pointy-eared prince."

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"How much further to this forest?" Boromir enquired as he and Aragorn trudged along at the rear of the Company.

"Lothlórien is perhaps another few hard hour's march away," the Ranger answered without turning from his focus on the ground ahead. "If we are lucky, we'll reach it before nightfall."

The rain had finally lessened its fury. All that remained now was a steady, dull drizzle, and the thick mud which sucked at their boots. The storm was beginning to break apart, and the sun peaked through the clouds, showing off an extraordinary (if mostly ignored) sunset.

Boromir glanced doubtfully at the swiftly setting sun. "I should hope we would not have to spend another night out in the open."

Aragorn smiled, his eyes somewhat wistful. "I greatly desire to see Lothlórien again. There we will be safe, and may lay down our arms, if but for a little while."

"And then we must race off again, to find Legolas and the others," the Gondorian man said, not unhappily. "Such a strange race this is turning out to be. The others are running from the Enemy, and now they also run from us."

"It may be better than we suppose." Gandalf had dropped back, overhearing some of the conversation. "It is my hope that with the majority of us here, and with Aragorn and myself (two of the most noticeable members of our group), the Enemy will overlook a small party of two elves and a ranger."

"Is It safe?" Boromir wondered out loud, softly. He spoke of the One Ring.

"It is never completely safe," Aragorn said, quietly. "Evil will always be drawn to It."

"It is never safe with any person, with any living creature," Gandalf agreed with a sigh. "Our hope is that those who travel with the Bearer will aid him not only in resisting the Enemy, but in resisting the Ring's call. Friendship is powerful."

"Yet, not infallible," said Boromir.

"Nothing, my friend, is infallible," said the Wizard.

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Every step was painful, and slow. Sealbeth walked silently alongside the wearied Legolas, offering silent support. Never before had bearing the Ring been so painful—or had he merely forgotten it's weight, during his short stay in Lothlórien?—or so difficult. It felt as though a lead brick hung around his neck, not a small golden ring.

"Such a little thing," he mumbled.

Were there voices in his head, or was he merely going mad? Mithrandir had mentioned something about going mad, I am sure of it. Something about the Ring's call, and evil, and wanting to return to its master.

Its master Sauron, who was originally only a minion of a greater Dark Lord, Morgoth, who'd been defeated by the Valor long ago…

Or so said the histories of Lord Elrond. Not that I doubt Lord Elrond, for Lord Elrond is wise even among we elves, who are known for our wisdom…

"My lord?"

Such a little thing, that we spend so much pain and suffering concerned over. If only it had remained in the Anduin. If only it had never come to me…

"Legolas, we cannot stop."

It should return there, shouldn't it? From the fire, to the water. It is the natural order of all things, is it not? Hot always cools. Cold rarely warms by itself. So should not the ring, cast in fire, return to water?

"Legolas, look at me."

"I am fine, Endara," Legolas muttered, pushing Sealbeth away. "Stop it, I'm fine."

Sealbeth held the pale, shaking prince in his arms. "You are not, my lord. You must stop. Stop listening to it. Hear my voice. Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel…"

Suddenly, Legolas was alone in his mind. He sat up gasping for air, then saw Sealbeth's face.

"Sealbeth?" he asked uncertainly.

"You are all right, my lord," Sealbeth said, choosing his words carefully. "Can you stand?"

"What? Yes, yes of course." The prince stood smoothly, as though nothing was wrong with him.

His color is weak, Sealbeth thought as he carefully studied the elven prince. He's beginning to fade. The Ring is wearing him down.

Legolas managed a smile, and patted his friend's arm. "Thank you, Sealbeth, I am all right now."

For now, thought the other elf. If the time comes when you fail in your task, Legolas, the burden of the Ring must pass on to someone else, another Ring Bearer to carry It to the fires of Mordor.

Me.

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As the Company entered Lothlórien, Boromir found that a strange tingle ran down his spine. He noticed an odd look on the faces of the other Fellowship members, but not all of them looked as disturbed as he felt. In fact, Endara and Gandalf looked positively pleased, for the first time in many days. The golden wood was not dense and thick at the base, as were the forests Boromir was familiar with. There was little brush, and the ground was blanketed with a thick covering of moss green, and grass. The air seemed warmer under the trees, bringing some relief from the icy rain the Fellowship had braved the past week. As the light continued to fade, healthy woodland sounds because to calm those who had the ears to listen: Endara, Aragorn, and Gandalf instinctively relaxed, knowing that the forest creatures would alert them to any trouble long before elven eyes or Ranger senses could.

"They say an elf-witch lives in this wood," Gimshe said, with considerable nervousness as he gripped his axe firmly.

"Galadriel is no witch, and you'd be wise not to say such things in her wood," Gandalf said sharply. "She is an elf, to be sure, and old even by my reckoning. She is powerful even among the Eldar, a force to be reckoned with. A force," he added at the stubborn dwarf's expression, "of good."

Gimshe snorted. "I have no fear of her, elf-witch or not. No elf-woman will take me off guard."

"No? What of an elf-man?" The coolly sarcastic voice apparated by Gimshe's ear, making the dwarf swear as he turned.

"Haldir o Lórien," said Gandalf, ignoring the twenty-odd arrowheads pointed more-or-less in their direction. "Mae govannen."

Haldir's level eyes had an edge to them. "There is no time for pleasantries," he said in the Common Tongue. "You must meet with the Lady immediately, and leave from this place swiftly. We are at war, and have little time to entertain guests."

"War? Haldir, please explain!" Aragorn stepped towards the Sylvan elf, but stopped at the bleak expression on his ageless face.

Haldir's eyes turned on Aragorn, and were full of such despair that it took the breath from Boromir's lungs. He knew such desperation. He'd felt it, tasted it, been there when it claimed a group of men, when it clawed at his own heart. In the eyes of an elf, a creature so distantly removed from his own human frame of mind that it seemed to him nigh on impossible to be truth; Boromir found himself staring down the face of imminent destruction. And there stood Death, staring back at him, and he shivered despite the forest's warmth.

"Saruman has come for the One Ring, which passed through our borders not long ago," said the elf. "By the skill of her art, the Lady Galadriel obscured from the Dark Lord where the Bearer and his friend have escaped. Now he sends Saruman to attack us in retaliation." The elf paused, obviously struggling with his words.

"Gwannuvalmet," he finished simply. We are going to die.

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Sindarin. Literally, "die will we." From the verb "Gwanna, to die", and the conjugation of "uva," future tense, and "lmet," the pronoun "we."

Hum de dum…more reviews means more chapters…more chapters means more fun…comments, anyone? This is a long chapter by my standards…hope you enjoyed the added length.