Can it be?? Oh my goodness… An update!

Chapter 15:  Delirium

* * * *

"Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, that is quite an aim you have, young elfling. Tell me, how long have you been practicing?"

 "As long as you have been sitting there on that stump, tormenting these trees with that smoke of yours, Master Wizard!"

Mithrandir chuckled merrily at the wide eyed elfling. It had been many long years since he had last visited the elven realm of Mirkwood in order to pay his respects to the King and Queen as they celebrated the birth of their sixth (and 'Valar willing, the last,' as Thranduil had often proclaimed) child.  It seemed but a blink of an eye since that joyous day in the woodland realm, and now, here was yet another charmingly blithe (though not without sadness), annoyingly mischievous (and often enigmatic), and naturally proud (though humble before the wonders of Middle Earth) young elfling prince.

 "No, no, I meant for how many years have you had lessons? Before this one?" Mithrandir clarified for the child archer.

Legolas blinked at the wizard and furrowed his smooth brow as he pondered this question. "It is as I said, Master Wizard, I have practiced for as long as you have been sitting there on your stump with your pipe."

Mithrandir's sparkling grey eyes peered at the young elfling as he slowly lowered his pipe. "You mean to tell me that was the first time you have ever shot an arrow?"

Legolas shrugged as he turned to gather his arrows. "Aye, I have not yet started my lessons, I'm afraid. Otherwise perhaps, all of my shots would have made their marks. But I have watched my brothers enough to see how it is done."

Mithrandir gaped at the prince. "But they did all meet their marks!"

 "Nay, this one should have hit the acorn…"

The wizard raised his eyebrows, wondering if perhaps the wood elf was playing games with him as wood elves often did to their own delight. "The acorn??" he repeated carefully.

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, the young elf lifted his bow and shot the arrow he had just picked up into what appeared to be empty space between two trees. Mithrandir continued to gape at the elf before his eyes wandered to where the arrow had fallen. Slowly, disbelievingly, the wizard walked over to the arrow and lifted it. A single acorn was lodged firmly on its point like a kebab.

Legolas grinned and hopped towards the wizard. "Ah! Five for five then! That is much better!"

 "By Elbereth…." Mithrandir breathed as he slowly handed the arrow to the cheerful elfling. The wizard had spent much time with the elves of Middle Earth, thoroughly enraptured by their wisdom, grace, and talent, and making notes of who he may one day turn to for help in battles yet to come. During his visits to Mirkwood, he had focused on the woodland king's older sons and warriors and had paid little attention to Thranduil's rascally youngest.

"It is always where you least expect it…." Mithrandir mumbled to himself as he smiled and placed a warm hand on the small elf's shoulder "Legolas of Mirkwood, I believe I will one day have a task for you and that aim of yours."

* * * *

As his horse dashed through the thick, dank forest, Gandalf's mind wandered from distant, happier memories to his current warring emotions. He knew he should not have left them.  His mind screamed of a veiled danger, it forewarned of treachery, of something terribly amiss – tragically, perhaps even fatally amiss! As soon as he made the decision, he wondered if he had chosen correctly or if perhaps he had made a terrible mistake. He even considered turning his horse around and galloping straight back to those he abandoned. Alas that a wizard has not the power to be in two places at once!

The premonition was so great, like gathering clouds before a storm that Gandalf had to stop under the weight of his conscience. With a grating elvish shout, the wizard ordered his horse to stop in its tracks, bringing the speeding landscape of soggy, burnt trees and cindered ground to a halting stop.

As he shut his eyes in a meditative search for an answer, he slowly turned the horse around to gaze upon the path behind him – the path to Dol Guldur where Bratherond, Merionè and Cièdron were currently headed.  When the wizard opened his gray eyes, he contemplated the path ahead and began to mutter under his breath.

"I have abandoned them…" he whispered with the utmost despair, his heart ripping as the words in all their mortal truth became as real and as hopeless as the forest he rode through. "Ai, what have I done…" Gandalf again shut his eyes and when he despondently opened them again, he ordered his horse to slowly begin to back track.

"I was to go with them. I was to see for myself the troubles and evil at Dol Guldur. They cannot go without me. They do not know what they face," Gandalf continued to mutter as his horse reluctantly tread down the path from which they came.

And then he stopped.

"No, no, no, no…We cannot leave Aragorn and Legolas either without knowing their fates," Gandalf mumbled to his baffled horse. "What would I tell them if I returned without news of them? Ai, what would I tell myself?"  I believe I will one day have a task for you and that aim of yours. Gandalf mouthed the words as he remembered them and he wondered if Legolas remembered them. Most certainly he did, as elvish memories spanned the ages like everlasting photographs, from the emotions they felt to the promises they made – and those that were made to them.  "Ah, yes, I certainly did mean that, but I did not mean to abandon you on your first mission in a forest fire!"

Gandalf's horse neighed and shook its head, growing impatient with the wizard's indecisiveness, but Gandalf paid no attention as he once again closed his eyes and muttered under his breath.

The choice now lay before Gandalf in all its unconscionable, hideous, mocking glory as if it had been offered by Sauron himself.  His instincts flared with warning for one party, yet his mind logically worried about the unknown fate of another.  But should he listen to his inchoate, implacable, yet uncanny instincts or the dependable logic of his mind? Or his heart? Ai! But my heart yearns to go in both directions!

Gandalf stared ahead as he discussed the matter with himself and the horse who tried to hurry the dithering wizard with stamping and snorting, but to no avail.

"I should go to whoever needs me more. Yes of course, that is only logical."

But which talented, accomplished warriors needed Gandalf more? Thranduil's top warriors who proudly held thousands of years of experience under their belts? Or the man so respected for his heritage, and proven in his skill as a ranger, that he has been ordained the 'one hope for Middle Earth' with a companion who would not miss a target even if presented to him on the tip of a single hair of a runaway warg in the pits of the unlit mines of Moria? Or an acorn falling out of a tree.

"Well, obviously we must consider their situations…" Gandalf tried to reason. The horse neighed in response and Gandalf could have sworn he sensed a tinge of sarcasm in the animal's snorts.

Aye, of courseTheir situations… The horse and trees laughed at the wizard for this just brought him right back to where he started! He did not know their situations except that neither seemed very promising – and therein lay the problem to begin with! Two cursed journeys and yet he could only guide one.

No, it could not be decided which party needed him more, for whether due to his instincts or simple logic, it was undeniable both were in desperate need of help.  Alas, that only left one other way to decide.

"Who do I need more?"

The words were so surreal in their coldness, Gandalf wondered if they were even his.  He uttered them slowly, as if the cruelty of them weighed upon his tongue as much as it weighed upon his soul. There could be no denying who the most tragic loss would be for the fate of Middle Earth. Aye, but does that make the others' lives any less valuable?

No. No one could measure the value of a life. Should the fortuitous birth of one into a bloodline of kings make his life any more valuable than another? What about those who devoted their lives to fighting for Middle Earth? Should their past sacrifices be deemed less worthy than the potential future sacrifices that may help Middle Earth? But what is past is past…

Gandalf shuddered at these thoughts, for they barely felt human in their cold calculations.

And what would Thranduil say?

At this Gandalf dropped his head in despair for this last realization made it all the more cruel, all the more heartbreaking.  It was not only two groups of warriors he had to choose between – it was two sons.  As he slowly shook his head, he thought of Thranduil's reaction when he first arrived in Mirkwood - the pain in the King's eyes at the mere possibility of having to let go of his youngest… and then the fateful decision to allow both of them to leave.

"And what would he say, Gandalf, if he knew of this decision you now must make? Ai, Elbereth, what would he say? How would a father make such a choice?" Gandalf sighed sadly as he turned his frustrated horse around once again, ready to continue his search for Aragorn and Legolas.

"He would curse you for ever setting foot in his palace, that is what he would do. Curse you for intruding upon his home, his family…nay, what is left of his family and taking them away like this!" Gandalf murmured. "Ai, Valar, please let my instincts be wrong. May the Istari's senses be mistaken just this once. Please, Elbereth, guide them, watch over them or send me something, anything, to help them! I know not what my heart yells of, but I know more is amiss than I even realized!"

With a mournful sigh, Gandalf ordered his horse to break into a steady trot. The Valar would perhaps have been wise to not equip the Istari with a heart.  And then my job would not be so difficult.

Had Gandalf's foresight been as clear and perfect as anyone's hindsight, he would see that his incorruptible heart would be the one quality that separated him from the other Istari and that for all the pain and suffering it endured, it would ultimately provide the greatest hope to those who bore the burden of sacrifice. It would perhaps be the only light that would sustain the strength of others – the strength that was necessary to save Middle Earth.

But for now, the old wizard's heart trembled with remorse and his own sense of helplessness.  "I fear the Istari are not as strong as elves, humans, dwarves and hobbits believe us to be," Gandalf sighed. "Mayhap Saruman the White will live up to their expectations, for I know not if I can."

Suddenly the sound of hooves caught Gandalf's attention. Like the rain that fell a short while before, killing the fire, the soft clatter on the mossy ground buoyed the doleful Istari.  "It is them! Ai, Valar, it is them! Ah, then my prayers have not fallen on deaf ears!" Gandalf cried happily as he ordered his horse into a gallop towards the approaching hooves. "I can turn back then. Aye, once I know they are ok, I can turn back..."  He ignored the doubt that gnawed at the back of his mind as he remembered his swift encounter with Legolas' horse during the fire. Surely, this time the horse had found the two and they rode towards them now. Surely, Legolas would have wanted to come in this direction in search of his brother. Surely it had to be them!

Though Gandalf noted with a sinking heart the hooves of only one horse sounded through the forest, he did not allow that to dampen his hope.  It only meant that one horse had gotten lost and the two rode together after all! Or perhaps one was injured…. Or perhaps lost.. or….

"No!" Gandalf shook the thought from his head. They were fine! They were on their way now! In any moment he would see the worn, dirtied face of the future king and the stubborn young prince….

One horse broke through the shadows and halted with a soft whinny in front of Gandalf.  Gandalf's face dropped as he took in the soot covered creature in front of him with only Legolas' spare canteen hanging limply from its neck.

"You again! Alas you horses do not remain with your masters!" Gandalf cried despairingly.

The horse neighed, looking quite insulted by the wizard's accusation.  Gandalf frowned and stroked its long neck. "Forgive me, I know you are as concerned as I am…."

As Gandalf absentmindedly stroked Legolas' horse, he suddenly had an idea that caused him to stop and swiftly reach into his robes where he pulled out a small parchment.  After some fussing about, and the muttering of elvish curses, he pulled out a broken quill as well.  Grumbling as he realized he had no ink or berries to write with, he finally decided to make the best of the wet, black soot and mud that covered the ground. Tossing aside the quill, he used his fingers to scribble a message on the parchment.

"I want you to bring this to Thranduil. Do you understand? This must reach Thranduil as soon as possible – for his son's sake. For all of our sakes!" Gandalf ordered as he tied the parchment to the same string on which Legolas' spare canteen hung. With some hesitation he considered the elven container, still mostly full with water – as elven canteens almost always were.  The wizard sighed and shook his head as he imagined Thranduil emerging from his palace to find his youngest son's horse gallop up to him with no son, just his  untouched canteen to greet his aching heart.

"Forgive me Thranduil for sending you such pain. But I fear it is your other son's only hope."

After making sure the parchment was securely tied to the horse, Gandalf again begged her to travel with all the speed given to her by the Valar and then sent her off. He watched as the horse disappeared into the shadows and then remounted his own steed.

"And now it is our turn to fly! Aragorn and Legolas await us!" Heartened by the wizard's sudden firm decisiveness, his horse leapt to its hind legs and broke into a swift gallop sending up black dust, leaves and twigs in its wake. 

* * *

A great sigh broke the chilling silence and a wispy breeze greeted the ranger and elf as they reentered the wood.  Aragorn glanced surreptitiously at Legolas who stared ahead dejectedly as the horse beneath him carefully trudged through soggy leaves and broken twigs.  Behind them the gaping, oily lake lurched and gurgled ominously and Aragorn could not decide whether he was relieved to be leaving it behind or fearful of what awaited them now.

What is it Gandalf has in store for us? Aragorn frowned as he pondered the old wizard's enigmatic plans and orders.  Aragorn knew Gandalf did not reveal even half of the ideas that fermented beneath the grey hair and floppy, preposterous hat. He knew it since the first day they had met…

            "Estel of Imladris, so we meet at last. I reckon we will have many meetings hence, though this will be my last meeting with Estel.  Many names you will know, but only one were you born with, and only one will you die with."

"Aye, but which one?" Aragorn murmured under his breath as his foggy mind slowly crept back into the dreary present.   Next to him, the elf shifted slightly, his keen ears picking up Aragorn's soft words and he turned curiously towards the ranger.  Aragorn ignored the questioning eyes however, too lost in the memories and questions that inundated his mind.  Sensing the human's reticence and too exhausted to fight it, Legolas did not press him for an explanation but instead turned limply around and lowered his eyes to the dark path ahead. Then, a sudden change of heart compelled the elf to respond to Aragorn's silent musings as if the silence all at once became too much to bear.

"You are thinking of Mithrandir aren't you," Legolas stated simply.

Aragorn started slightly, but his surprise ebbed rapidly - Legolas was an elf after all. Young though he may be, that did not mean he was bereft of the intrinsic perception capable of reading into the most subtle of human emotions.

"I do not worry for him, if that is what you mean. Out of all of us, it is the old man who is most likely to come out of here alive." Aragorn answered "The forest will not have expected him."

"Nay, no one expects Mithrandir. He would not be what he is if he could be expected."

Araogorn nodded and grimly studied Legolas for a moment.  The sprightly prince had deteriorated into a broken, crestfallen shadow of himself.   His glowing eyes lay embedded in dark circles emphasized by his ghostly, pale gray skin.  Slumped shoulders replaced the proud, regal posture the graceful elf always assumed.  Even his cornhusk hair took on a stiff, straw-like texture, dull as the color of wheat as it limply fell in a long, loose ponytail.  Though his physical injuries were by no means insignificant, Aragorn had little doubt that fear, worry and grief – for Mirkwood, for his home, for his brother – were what drained the elf of his stamina and buoyancy.

"Legolas, tell me, how did you first meet Gandalf?" Aragorn suddenly asked partly out of a sincere curiosity, partly to pull Legolas out of his somber mood, and partly to distract himself from the gnawing fear that tingled his spine as the trees and creatures leered ominously at them.

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and stared peculiarly at the ranger. "Is that what has your mind so distracted now Master Human?" he replied as a sad smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, you humans, always wondering about the past. I can tell you how I first met Mithrandir, but what would be far more interesting is how I will last meet Mithrandir!"

"I care not for fortune telling," Aragorn returned. A rustling of branches interrupted the ranger and spooked Legolas' horse, causing the creature to lurch suddenly. In a flurry of elvish, Aragorn steadied the creature as his eyes darted to the source of the rustling. Legolas grimaced, but otherwise hid the pain that shot through his body from the horse's sudden movement as he too scanned their surroundings.  Instinctively, he tried to reach behind for his bow only to remember Aragorn had taken it in order to relieve his back of some weight. You fool – you need two arms to shoot anyway! With a sigh, he reached for Merionè's knife instead, only to notice that the weapon lay sheathed on the side of his injured arm, not the side he reached for. With a mental note to bring two knives next time, he awkwardly reached to his injured side for the knife.

These somewhat fumbled motions still retained the fluidity and quickness of an elf, but Aragorn noticed the falters and hesitations nonetheless. The ranger quickly averted his eyes, knowing his concerned stare would only sting Legolas' already wounded pride.

"I fear I should have a bit of trouble should we run into anymore Orcs tonight Aragorn," Legolas sighed as he tightened his fist around his knife, only to drearily notice that the rustling came from a black, scurrying squirrel that quickly and quietly disappeared back from where it came.

Aragorn glanced at the statue-like trees that had only a moment before mocked their injuries with their threats and snickers.

"I do not doubt your capabilities, Legolas.  You may have one less useful arm, but you will fight with twice the strength in your other one. Just do not strain yourself now when there is not yet a need to mellonin."

"Strain? Nay Aragorn, you are wrong! I am not straining myself at all!" Legolas feigned a relaxed, light demeanor as he subtly steered his horse away from the approaching ranger, whose worried eyes noticed the elf unconsciously massage his side after returning his knife to its sheath.

"Anyway, in response to your distaste for fortune telling - it is not fortune telling I speak of. For all we know, we have both met Mithrandir for the last time, in which case we will be talking about the past, just as you prefer!" Legolas' attempt to revive their previous conversation failed in its purpose to distract Aragorn from his injuries.  Rather, the ranger ordered the horse to stop so that he could more closely examine Legolas' arm and ribs.  But as soon as the ranger lightly laid a hand on Legolas, the elf jerked away and ordered the horse to continue.

Aragorn groaned with irritation. "Legolas, please allow me to…"

"I do not remember when I first met Mithrandir, for I believe I was quite young, even by your standards," Legolas smoothly continued. Aragorn sighed, but did not yet concede his defeat. As Legolas spoke, the ranger once again ordered Neila to stop.  And with flashing eyes, Legolas once again defied the ranger by ordering the horse to continue as he proceeded with his tale.

"The gray pilgrim… that is what my father called him and that is how I always knew him.  He did not come much by our woods, but when he did, he carried with him a wizard's tools- firecrackers, riddles and gadgets which my brothers and I would fight over.  I once had a bet with Cièdron that I could create images as lovely as Mithrandir's using those firecrackers.  Alas though, I never even made it out of my father's halls before they were somehow set off!  To this day I do not know how that happened, though I suspect it was Cièdron…" Legolas smiled distantly at the memory as his voice trailed off.

Aragorn's lips twitched with amusement at this, but he did not let up in his effort to examine Legolas and thus he gently ordered the horse to stop again. Though she neighed with frustration, the loyal creature did as she was told.

"Nay, Neila do not stop," Legolas ordered. With pursed lips the elf gently prodded the horse, but amazingly she chose to ignore the prince and listen to the ranger who continued to speak softly to her in elvish.

"She is an intelligent creature indeed," Aragorn murmured as he tried again to take a closer look at Legolas' injuries.  Understanding what the ranger was trying to do and as much worried about her rider as he was, Neila lowered herself to her knees against Legolas' continued protests so that Aragorn could more easily look over the elf's injuries. For a moment Aragorn feared the elf would leap away and he would have to chase him like a child playing tag.  The ranger had already learned the hard way that it is impossible to win in tag against an elf after many exhausting, futile chases of his own wily brothers. And they are not even wood elves! At least I only had to chase them on solid ground! Inanely, for a split second Aragorn wondered how his brothers would fare against Legolas in such a game – they may be swift on the ground, but how well could they flit through the highest branches?

Aragorn quickly pushed these silly thoughts out of his head and carefully, as if reaching out to a scared animal who may flee at any moment, laid a hand on the elf's shoulder, relieved when Legolas showed no signs of attempting to jump up and run.

"I only wish to make sure you are healing properly Legolas – it will not bode well for either of us if you do not regain use of your shoulder soon." Aragorn patiently dropped to his knees and adjusted the makeshift cast as he spoke. He bit his lip to stop himself from responding to Legolas' grimace at the ranger's light touch, knowing any questions as to whether he was hurting him would only further upset the agitated prince. 

Legolas glared at the human as he continued to prod and examine his injuries. "This is completely unnecessary Aragorn," he grumbled as he twitched uncomfortably. Aragorn ignored these complaints as he tightened the cast, again having to bite his lip when Legolas hissed softly and shut his eyes from the pain.  "Is this what it is like to be human then? To be so sore for so long after the initial injury?" he murmured unthinkingly, not even realizing his admission of pain.

"We feel exaggerated physical pain just as you feel exaggerated grief, I suppose," Aragorn answered. "But it is more worrisome I think to see an elf feeling the physical pain of humans than to see a human suffer the acute emotional awareness that the elves are capable of."

Legolas smiled wryly. "Do not worry for me Aragorn. And do not underestimate the burden of nonphysical suffering."

As Aragorn finished, his eyes met Legolas'.  "I do not," he responded firmly as he rose to his feet. Neila followed, and after a soft command from the ranger, they continued their slow hike through the darkening woods.  The silence was palpable and Aragorn quickly grew uneasy as his ears picked up the distant, strange stirrings and calls of the creatures of Mirkwood.  Despite his earlier words, deep down Aragorn knew they could not survive an onslaught the way they had earlier – any pain Legolas admitted to now would have to multiplied by ten in order to get the true measure of the elf's suffering. The fact that he admitted to any soreness at all worried the ranger. 

"I can feel the grief of these trees," Aragorn whispered suddenly, slightly surprised at the sudden awakening of the elvish blood within his veins.  Indeed, the stirrings and calls now sounded like the moans and wails of a creature slowly wasting away and begging to finally be released.  A sudden dread that could only be described as the grasp of Death himself inexplicably overcame the human and for the first time in his long life, he felt the awful tenuousness of his own mortality, as if he were the one wasting away, trapped in a dying body.

"Then you finally know Mirkwood," Legolas whispered.  Aragorn did not hear this nor did he notice as the elf suddenly tensed, his eyes lighting up with alarm.

He did not notice because an oppressive weight fell heavily upon Aragorn's mind with the force and unexpectedness of a fierce desert storm. The wails and moans grew in their intensity and Aragorn could not tell whether they were real or the product of nightmares within his mind.

"Legolas! What is happening?!?" Aragorn cried as he fell to his knees, writhing from the sudden terrible screeching. Like an icy razor or a scolding sword, Aragorn's head exploded in fierce pain as the forest spun around him.

No human could survive Mirkwood for half as long as Aragorn already had even if he never once crossed paths with an Orc or warg, for he would lose himself to insanity from the darkness and suffering surrounding him.  Aragorn knew this and as he grabbed his aching head, he wondered if he too had hit the breaking point. Grief, death, mourning and torment crushed his mind and ripped through his body. Unable to think clearly enough to rationalize the abrupt mental anguish that attacked him, Aragorn assumed it to be a terrible dream – he had been so weary, perhaps he had somehow drifted off…

"Nay! I am awake now!" he gritted. "I am awake, but this cannot be real! It cannot!"  Aragorn cried. He did not, could not, see Legolas leap from his horse and tumble to the ground with a loud thud.  The elf then rose to his feet, against all the pain that seized his own body, and called out to Aragorn.

Suddenly the icy pain shot from Aragorn's head to his chest and limbs until his whole body froze with the ghastly chill.  But the chill did not come from within as Aragorn originally thought. As goosebumps formed on his flesh and his teeth involuntarily began to chatter, he realized with growing horror that the moans and wails were not in his head and this was not a dream at all.  Legolas' distant cries gradually registered in his tormented mind and his heart clenched in fear.

Aragorn struggled to his feet and supported himself on Legolas who now stood frozen in fright, his knuckles bright white as he gripped tightly to his knife. With great struggle against the piercing pain in his head, Aragorn unsheathed his sword and shakily raised it against an invisible enemy.

"It is the wraiths! They are here Aragorn!" Legolas voice quavered frightfully as his eyes darted from tree to tree.  A powerful wind carried the wails and shook the trees as it blinded the ranger and elf with a whirlwind of dirt and leaves.

Aragorn held tightly to the elf's arm as if the two would be forever separated if he dared to let go. With sudden alarm he glimpsed at a shiny object at their feet and realized Legolas had dropped his knife.  Still holding tightly to the elf's arm Aragorn clumsily fell to his knees in an effort to reach the knife. Though he did not pull hard on the elf, Legolas' weakness overcame him and he too fell to the ground.  Their hair and capes whipped wildly, adding to the confusion as they tried to figure out which way was up, where they were facing, anything at all as their minds and stomachs reeled and lurched from the frostiness and spinning. Aragorn shook the elf and placed the knife back in his hand, closing his fist around it as he did so. He fought desperately against the nausea and deliriousness that overcame him.  

"Get up! Get up Legolas!" Aragorn yelled through the whipping chill that pricked his face with a thousand needles as he struggled to get to his own feet. "You must stand!"

With help from the ranger, Legolas raised himself, feeling as if he had drowned in a deep, frozen sea and was now trying to rise against it.  He desperately strained his eyes and ears against the suffocating winds and shrill cries. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stood, wondering perhaps if they had already died and were now no more than spirits trapped in some sort of hell – perhaps the hell of their own insanity.  The world spun and the trees wavered in drunken ripples and leaves blurrily rained down and up, though Aragorn thought perhaps they were the ones falling – falling up through the sky, or down into the earth, spinning and wavering, freezing and burning, aging and dying all at once, in one endless dream….

And then it stopped.

Time stood still and the earth froze. For all either of them knew two minutes, two hours, or two centuries had passed as they stood breathless and trembling. The wood resumed its portrait like stillness and the wails dissipated to light scuttles and deep groans.  Even the iciness ebbed, leaving behind a fearful numbness. Though Aragorn's head spun so wildly he thought for sure he would black out, it was Legolas who first crumbled into a trembling, silver heap on the dingy moss covered ground.

Aragorn too fell to his knees and placed a quivering hand on the elf's back.  He tried to speak, but his throat would not let his voice escape, as if it still feared it would be lost forever in the terrible gusts that had just passed. Legolas' own soft, hoarse voice barely reached Aragorn and the muffled words failed to connect in his recovering mind.  

"Legolas? I cannot hear you…" Aragorn finally managed to gasp.  The elf hugged himself with his uninjured arm and his head hung limply towards the ground.  Aragorn tried to get Legolas to raise his head, but the elf resisted, though he continued to speak. Only then did Aragorn realize he was speaking rapidly in elvish.

"Aragorn, why did they not come? Why did they leave?"

Aragorn struggled to calm his racing heart and heavy breathing as he slowly processed the distressed question. Did they leave? Is it true that we live?  He gulped and shut his eyes in an attempt to make sense of it all.  They were alive. They had not even seen the perpetrators of this fleeting hell. Perhaps they will come back? Aragorn cupped his pounding forehead. Perhaps they are here now, watching us. Aragorn's head snapped up at this thought and against his body's pleas, he got up and anxiously scanned their surroundings.

Nothing. Just the trees, the bramble, and the same blinking eyes that had been watching them ever since they first entered Mirkwood ages ago. Did they dream this? Did anything happen at all? The nausea slowly subsided and Aragorn placed a trembling hand on one of the trees, fully expecting it to fall straight through. He staggered slightly at the hard, rough surface and pulled his hand back. Nay it is not a dream… This is all real.

"Aragorn?"

Aragorn turned towards the distressed voice. Legolas now gaped up at him, a strange light glowing in the otherwise vacant eyes.  "Aragorn, it was them. Why did they leave?" he repeated in elvish.

Aragorn continued to search their surroundings, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"I do not know Legolas," he finally breathed, frustrated that he now felt as helpless as a child lost at sea, completely at the mercy of the Valar. Only we do not even have them now! Nay we are at the mercy of Sauron himself!  "Perhaps they never meant to attack us in the first place…." Aragorn tried to reason. "Perhaps that was not wraiths at all – perhaps this is all part of our imagination… Or part of Mirkwood…"

"This is how they died," Legolas interrupted, his voice distant and weak.

Aragorn fell silent and glanced confusedly at the elf. 

"This is how they died, Aragorn," he repeated in elvish. "This is what it was like for them before they died." Legolas shut his eyes as the image of his brothers' terrible final moments came vividly alive in his mind and his body. He trembled from the glimpse into the insanity that his brothers felt nearly a thousand years ago and in a fitful attempt to quell the sudden nausea that twisted his stomach he began to whisper a string of elvish prayers, rocking ever so slightly.  Aragorn stood silently for a few moments, unable to say anything that may put the elf at peace. He is falling also.

"We must keep moving Legolas," Aragorn finally ordered, his voice gentle and tinged with remorse as he struggled to harden his heart to the elf's grief. They had to continue. Now more than ever, it was vital that they reach the end of these woods. If they gave in now to grief and fear, they would never survive.  The wraiths would return. Even worth, their insanity would grow.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut and the string of barely coherent elvish halted. 

"We have to move on Legolas. I do not know where they are or why they left us, but I do know we cannot stay here," Aragorn continued, feeling the need to justify his seemingly cruel command to keep moving. He then whistled gently and worriedly searched for Neila who had run off in fright during the attack.

Legolas slowly raised himself and steadied his trembling as he strove to match Aragorn's calm, strong poise.  With every last ounce of strength, he fought off the demonic images and distant moans that haunted his mind.  Aragorn started slightly at the sudden hardened gaze Legolas fixed on him, fully expecting to have to drag Legolas up and force him to continue. With a nod the ranger sheathed his sword and motioned for Legolas to follow him.

"Valar willing, we will not have farther to go," the human murmured before whistling again for Neila.

Legolas remained silent as he followed the ranger.  Aragorn slowed his pace so that he could remain at Legolas' side, ready to catch him or shield him at a moment's notice.  Though the chill had left, Aragorn could sense the sporadic shudders that shook the elf, though Legolas stoically revealed naught of his fright or anxiety.

"I barely knew my brothers," Legolas said suddenly as he broke his stoicism and laid sad eyes upon the ranger. "We had all of eternity ahead of us.  Little did we know only a season would pass before our paths were torn apart.  It is easy to take the ones nearest to you for granted. Yet their pain haunts me now more than ever." Legolas again shuddered slightly as he spoke. 

Aragorn grimly pursed his lips, feeling utterly helpless and wishing with all his heart that Gandalf was still with them with his sagely comfort and reasoning.  I cannot give him the reassurance he needs because I can barely assure myself that all will be well! A great leader I am indeed. He suffers and all I can tell him is to keep moving, that everything will be ok. I offer nothing more than false hope to one too clever to believe it.

Legolas deftly read the ranger's battling emotions and sighed. "Forgive me Aragorn, I am afraid I am not as strong as you are, but do not worry yourself for me and do not feel you must comfort me. I will be ok."

As the remainder of the day passed, the stifling darkness of night slowly descended upon the two. They hopelessly pressed on, all too aware of the blinking eyes watching them, disappearing and reappearing like brooding fireflies. They kept their minds occupied anyway possible, sometimes singing, sometimes talking idly, sometimes merely imagining they were anywhere but here. But nothing they did could fight off the frightful delirium that swelled in their anxious minds.  Aragorn fingered his sword and glanced worriedly at his companion. I am not nearly as strong as you seem to think, my friend.  

A cool breeze shook the trees causing small dark leaves to flutter lightly to the ground like snowflakes. Yet for the two travelers, they may as well have been meteors for the slightest rustle or hint of chilled air caused each to tense and anxiously grip their weapons. 

Aragorn warily scanned the dark trees and bramble and Legolas stood frightfully still, poised for attack.

"Nothing," Aragorn whispered, never removing his eyes from the shadowy woods. Legolas nodded stiffly, though he did not sheath his knife.

But just as they were about to move on, another, stronger breeze tossed more leaves to the ground and caused more branches to laugh menacingly.  Again the two froze, immobile from the fear that gripped their hearts and minds.  Only their own heavy breathing broke the terrible silence, yet both would have sworn that they heard the cries of the wraiths and the moans of their victims riding on the light breezes, which to them were the heralds of a deadly tempest.

Aragorn shook his head against his growing insanity. "We cannot continue like this Legolas," he murmured. "It was a breeze, nothing mo…"

A gust interrupted Aragorn and he jumped back and whipped out his sword as Legolas spun around, so that the two stood back to back.  For several long moments they stood silently, neither daring to say a word when a small movement caught Aragorn's attention. Slowly, the ranger approached the trees, striving to get a closer look. Legolas turned and fearfully followed Aragorn's gaze as the ranger stealthily crept towards the movement.  Suddenly the brambles violently shook and Aragorn raised his sword, ready to attack whatever creature dared to jump out, wraith, warg, Orc, or perhaps a new demon, a more horrible, more deadly….

"Neila!" Aragorn gasped as their horse leapt through the trees, neighing excitedly at having found her masters. Aragorn gaped at the horse, stunned not so much at her sudden appearance, but at his own paranoia and inability to tell that it was only a horse that awaited them beyond the trembling bramble.

"Ai, we are our own worst enemies now," the ranger spat in frustration as he angrily sheathed his sword. "By Elbereth, we are nothing more than…"

"By Elbereth!"

As if he had suddenly been cured of all his injuries, anguish and weariness, the elf leapt forward and sprinted past Aragorn to the spot from which the horse had just leapt through.  Aragorn turned in surprise just as Legolas disappeared through the bramble.

"Aragorn! Did you see that!? Did you see?! The moon! The moon! " the elf called happily over his shoulder. 

Instead of answering, Aragorn broke into a sprint, following Legolas through the bramble and trees, which slowly began to thin out as a soft glow trickled through the shadows. He could not see Legolas, but he heard the elf's gasp and a moment later the trees, bramble and shadows disappeared.  The ranger stopped, barely believing his eyes.

Elbereth herself seemed to have reached down to pull back Mirkwood's dreary, oppressive curtains to reveal the barren fields of the Eastern Lands. Aragorn straightened and caught his breath.   A wave of fresh air washed over them, carrying away in her tides the ghastly fog and deathly stench of the wooded graveyard from which the human and elf emerged.  The ranger strained his eyes, searching to no avail, for an end to the vast undulating sea of nothingness, a russet colored blanket shrouded with dancing shadows from the wispy, translucent clouds above it through which a full moon shone.

Like phosphorescence, Legolas' features brightened in the glow of the moon and a sudden inner light.  His eyes darted rapidly from one direction to the next, glittering with wonder and curiosity.  Perhaps this was the one time when both human and elven eyes beheld the same image and Legolas too now searched for an end that would never appear.  Or perhaps his elven eyes perceived lands and images Aragorn could not even fathom. 

"Aragorn, look!" Legolas suddenly breathed as he turned his head towards the sky. "I have never seen the moon so large and the stars so close. It is as if I could reach out and steal them from Elbereth!"

Aragorn gazed upwards at the night sky and for a moment it seemed Elbereth had taken his voice away as well. Never in all his travels, had he seen a sky quite like this.  He suddenly felt as if they had wandered into a land from many ages past when the earth was new and untouched by humans or elves and the stars radiated with the fresh glow of a newborn galaxy yet to face the mournful fading of years to come.  Perhaps they had finally gone insane, lost themselves to their delirium. Nothing seemed real anymore and like eyes adjusting to sudden light, Aragorn's mind slowly had to adjust to the lifting of darkness.

"The Eastern lands…" Aragorn murmured. "Where the Valar first traveled to Middle Earth and few men have traveled to since."

 "Where the first elves were sundered…" Legolas turned to Aragorn, his features suddenly alive with anticipation. "I had forgotten that such beauty remained in Middle Earth! I have wondered often about the lands beyond Mirkwood. Is there anywhere else with a sky such as this Aragorn?" The prince paused for a moment as he turned again to the wasteland ahead of them. "What do you suppose we will find out there Aragorn?"

Aragorn paused before responding, calmly reflecting on the nothingness stretched out before them. "An empty land and the remnants of ancient peoples unfamiliar to us, yet related to us all the same. What the Valar left behind."

Legolas nodded slowly as he continued to search the lands and sky for whatever it is that elves search for when they can see even beyond the horizon. "I wonder if this is what the sea is like," he murmured.

"I do not know what the sea is like for your kind Legolas," Aragorn answered softly.

Legolas' searching gaze relaxed and focused languidly ahead of them, as if he were imagining a great ship floating upon the land sailing farther than his own eyes could see. 

"Nor do I."  

* * * *

"More wine, my King?"

Thranduil snorted softly and gently placed his empty goblet on the table.

"Yes, that is the answer, I suppose. I could always drink my worries away…" he muttered.

Käriler arched an eyebrow, unsure of whether this meant 'yes' or 'no.' When the King did not elaborate, he opted for the former and carefully lifted the elegantly carved wine bottle, ready to fill the goblet with the sweet purple elixir. But before a drop could drizzle from its smooth neck, Thranduil gracefully laid a hand above his goblet, indicating for Käriler to stop.

"Nay Käriler, I will not have anymore." Thranduil furrowed his brows and gazed listlessly at the mossy ground as his deep voice resonated throughout the vacant room. With his sons gone, the palace had fallen eerily quiet.  He never realized how much life they brought to this fading elven abode through their fighting and playfulness. What had often irritated him to the point of frustration in the past now haunted his mind in dreams and wake.

"Isn't it funny Käriler…" Thranduil whispered with a sad smirk. Käriler looked up hesitantly, unsure of how to respond to his King's darkened mood.

"I..I'm sorry, my King… What is funny?" Käriler answered reluctantly.

Thranduil lifted his smoky blue eyes, tumultuous in their infinite stormy depths. "When my father died, I was alone in this wood with nothing more than a dream to turn all of Greenwood into a spectacular elven kingdom that would rival even the fair woods of Imladris and Lorien.  A kingdom the Sindarin elves could call their home, amongst these trees…these beautiful trees – trees such as I have never seen before Käriler!"

Thranduil's voice trembled as he spoke, a quality that frightened Käriler for never before had he heard even the slightest tremble in Thranduil's powerful voice. Thranduil sighed and dropped his gaze again.

"And then I would have a family, Käriler. A beautiful wife and beautiful children who would one day rule their own sections of Greenwood, or perhaps other realms in Middle Earth… Ithilien perhaps."

"And I did have it all Käriler! By some miracle, the Valar gave me the most beautiful wife in all of Middle Earth and the most beautiful children…" the tremble in Thranduil's voice rose to a choke preventing the King from finishing.

"And that is the funny thing Käriler. That I had it all and I have managed to lose it."

Thranduil slipped off one of his rings and distractedly fingered it, feeling its smooth, cool surface.

Käriler gazed sadly at Thranduil. "They will come back Thranduil."

"But they will not be the same Käriler. They never will. Such times will not allow them to be. Did you see how quickly Legolas latched onto Aragorn?"

Käriler frowned, slightly confused by this slight change in direction. "Aye they did seem to get on quite well…"

"We are fading Käriler. The elves are fading as the world around us falls into despair, but not Legolas. It is only natural that he would latch on to what glimmer of hope remains in Middle Earth, but he will pay dearly for it. Very dearly."

Käriler paused. "Aye. But be grateful it is sons you have had my lord, for rumor has it the daughter of Lord Elrond has fallen in love with the son of Arathorn. I do not think any pain can match that which she will one day feel."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this. "Is this true Käriler? Ai! My heart feels for Lord Elrond then indeed!"

"And what about Prince Cièdron, my lord?"

Thranduil fell silent and became as still as stone. "He has been slipping from this world for many years now. I can see it in his eyes. Legolas has kept him here, but I do not believe even he could sustain the hope in Cièdron's soul for much longer." Thranduil again lapsed into silence before whispering so softly his voice was like the sigh of a breeze.

"I should not have let him go."

TBC