Thanks as always to Anarithilien for patient beta-reading and endless generosity.

Notes

Astra- the smallest parts of the Song, like atoms.

'Legolas, echui mellon! Senuina Aragorn, a Gimli Elvellon!' - Legolas, awaken my friend. It is Aragorn, and Gimli whom you have named Elf-friend.

Mahalzúk The Breath. Khuzdul. Spirit of something forged by a Fire Master such as Gimli.

Chapter 29: Legolas.

The gilded figure lay still on the stone plinth, the helm stared back at them, its gaze stern and demanding. But beneath the stern visage, Baranor's eyes were closed. Not in death but some enchanted sleep for Aragorn saw that his chest rose and fell shallowly as if he barely drew breath. He recognised the image he had seen in the Palantir; this was the Man on the altar. The rushlights they had stuck in the bronze sconces cast light over the chamber and Aragorn saw that there was a similar plinth beside it, like an altar but this second one was bare. Where was Legolas? Surely, he should be here too if the visions were right?

A few old Orc bones lay nearby, Aragorn noted, and he hoped that these would not suddenly spring to life. He kicked at them with a shudder, scattering them apart and he saw Gimli too push at them with his feet as if repulsed and thinking the same.

Pippin glanced at Aragorn and said, 'Legolas should be here.' And then he added, 'Be on your guard, Aragorn.'

Aragorn nodded. 'All of us, be on guard. We do not know where the Barrow Wight is, or what spell it might have cast over our friends.' He looked down at Baranor and the strange, enigmatic helm that he wore.

'Are you sure that is Baranor?' Frodo whispered and went to stand beside Pippin who was staring at the helm. But Aragorn had no doubt of it, and his chest heaved with the relief that his oldest friend's son was found.

Halbarad's son, but Brianna's too, and more Brianna's than Halbarad's in truth. Although the helm covered his face now, Aragorn had always thought he had inherited his mother's full lips and cheekbones, the blond hair and blue eyes which marked his lineage as Cardolan Dunédain, the remnants of a lost and half-forgotten people, half-absorbed into the Northern Dunédain, the refugees in their turn from Fornost. But he had her character too, Aragorn recalled wistfully, her integrity of purpose, the sense of courage and honour that had always guided her in speech and action. It was what had attracted Aragorn as a youth returning to his people in the Angle, and for a while, he had mistaken that for love.

Until he met Arwen of course, when his heart bloomed with something so deep that he could not find the words to express it.

Beneath the helm, he could see Baranor's shoulder-length, blond hair and the leather baldric was draped over his shoulder and the ivory horn lay at his side that Brianna had given to her son for the lack of a daughter, her eternal disappointment.

'I would have called her Haleth in the manner of my family,' she had said once to Aragorn. 'I would have given her this.' She had shown him the horn that now lay at Baranor's side.

But now, with those memories of his oldest and dearest friends, Aragorn stepped up onto the plinth that ran around the bottom of the altar and gazed down upon their child whom they had loved as much as they had loved each other. Gazing down at Baranor's inert body, he pressed his fingers against the Man's cold white throat for a pulse.

'Why won't he wake up?' Merry asked anxiously.

A faint pulse flickered against Aragorn's fingers. He leaned down and felt a soft breath on his own face and relief flooded him. 'He's alive,' he said. 'But his pulse is weak.'

The enigmatic helm stared back at him fiercely as if it locked eyes with him, a challenge. There was the ancient myth of Cardolan, Aragorn thought, staring down at the helm, that told how Cardolan had cursed their northern kindred for fleeing to Fornost when Amon Sul fell instead of coming to their aid when Angmar had assailed them. And there still persisted bitter whispers between the thinned remnants of the Dunédain of Cardolan and those from Fornost, whose numbers were so much greater. Whilst they had been at war with Sauron and his minions, the ties that bound them had been strong. The clans had intermarried, like Baranor's parents. But now there was Peace? Would those ancient conflicts resurrect?

Aragorn lifted up the neck of the strange mail coat and peered beneath. 'There is the wound, here, on his shoulder.' Gently, he pushed his fingers against the skin to assess the wound. It was, he thought, superficial.

'When Tom Bombadil awoke us, he sang some song,' Frodo was leaning over Baranor in consternation. 'What did he say?' he wondered. 'Something about a Door that opens…'

Aragorn frowned. 'I do not know anything of him,' he said. 'The Elves call him Iarwain Ben-Adar. Elrond says his power is elemental and I do not have that.' He smiled wryly. 'Look, you can see a little blood,' he said, showing Frodo the rust coloured patch beneath the chainmail shirt. 'But there is not enough to account for how cold he is or how still.' He took his own cloak from his shoulders and threw it over Baranor's form.

'It is the Barrow Wights,' said Frodo and took off his own cloak, bundling it up. 'Put this under his head,' he said softly.

Behind them, as they worked, they could hear Sam saying anxiously to Gimli, 'But where is Legolas? I thought they'd be together.' The Dwarf grunted agreement and moved off, searching the rest of the chamber.

'We are in a cave system now,' said Gimli. The Dwarf seemed to sniff the air as if he could read the air currents and perhaps he could. 'This is underground, not just in a burial mound. We have been going steadily downwards for some time and these caves are lined with stone and not built as the chambers at the entrance were.' He turned and ran a square, clever hand over the stone. 'I do not know how far this system extends,' he said.

Carefully, Aragorn lifted Baranor's head and cradled it. 'Frodo, can you take this helm from his head so that I can see if there is a head wound.'

It lifted easily with none of the stiffness or rust he had expected in so ancient a treasure, and Aragorn looked down at Baranor's face, sleeping but tensed in pain or dreaming some terrible thing.

In Frodo's hands, the helm seemed even more enigmatic; it almost had a presence of its own. It was iron and gilded with copper and silver. Over the crest and running in a straight line down the face and forming a protective nosepiece, and across the brows, were stylised boars, gilded with gold and with tiny garnets for their eyes.

Indeed, Frodo too stared at it. 'It reminds me of you, Strider,' he said smiling and glanced up at Aragorn.

'Yes,' said Pippin, who had been looking through the golden hoard and now wandered back over and peered at the helm in Frodo's hands. 'There is something in the shape of the eyes. It looks stern,' said Pippin and then glancing up at Aragorn he added hastily and laughing a little at the pomposity of his next words, 'Formidable in battle, strong and just in peace.'

Aragorn smiled and replied, 'If I earn such an epithet, I will be well pleased.' He rummaged in his deep pockets of his tunic, for Legolas had told him once that Thranduil always had his tunics made with pockets for a king needed to be mysterious but above all, practical. It had been excellent advice and now Aragorn found the folded paper with dried athelas that he always carried. He rubbed it quickly between his palms, warming it and releasing the characteristic fragrance and then cupping it over Baranor's nose and mouth so he breathed it in. Immediately he felt his spirits lift and he walked for a second in the garden of Lothlorien and saw Arwen…

Closing his eyes, he breathed in a second time and forced himself back to Baranor, breathing with the Man and found the threads of his Song as Elrond and then Elrohir had taught him, and followed them, pulling them together, piecing them back, drawing the astra* back to Baranor.

While he was doing this, Frodo was examining the helm intently. 'There are runes on this. I think they are the same as on the Mergyll-Dagnir.'

Aragorn did not reply for he was focused upon Baranor, but he was aware of Frodo turning the helm in the rushlight, and then the hobbit read aloud, 'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing? Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old? Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?'

'Gimli, help me lift him up.' Aragorn said, only half listening. He glanced over his shoulder for Gimli's aid. The Dwarf hurried over and slid his muscly arms beneath Baranor's head and lifted him up. Aragorn shoved Frodo's cloak beneath Baranor's head and then pulled the small flask from one of his deep pockets and uncorked it. The clean, rich fragrance of the miruvor flooded the air and mingled beautifully, sensuously with the athelas.

Suddenly Baranor's handsome face shifted, and his eyes flickered under his eyelids. His lips moved and Aragorn was shocked again at the memory it evoked of Brianna. Recovering, he breathed out slightly and then leaned down, whispering, 'Awaken Baranor, child of Brianna, son of Halbarad.'

Baranor murmured something and twitched slightly. He seemed distressed and Aragorn leaned down to hear what he said and to cast his own healing upon the Man.

'Night instead of day…' Baranor muttered as if he thought he were elsewhere. Standing upon the windswept moor perhaps? The army at his back and the wind streaming through the banners and pennants of Cardolan. Baranor murmured agitatedly, 'The clouds are massed over Weathertop. Think you that Arveleg is coming?' He turned his head as if feverish. 'Who comes? Utrich? Galloping over the Tyrn Gorthad as if Angmar himself were on his heels?' Baranor whispered. 'Behind him, the dark clouds roll over the southern Downs like the sea, too fast to be natural, too huge to be a mere rainstorm.'

Suddenly his blue eyes snapped open, and he stared round wildly, unseeing. 'Utrich?' He gripped Aragorn's arm as if he thought Aragorn were he. 'Where is Arveleg? Has the King arrived? Is he come to our aid?'

Baranor tried to haul himself upright. His gaze was locked upon Aragorn and his face was anguished. 'What say you? Amon Sul has fallen? Angmar himself comes, he rides with the wings of night and Wargs and Orcs are in his train.' Baranor still gripped Aragorn like he was drowning. 'Angmar! Angmar is upon us! Where are the Dunédain of the North now? Where is Arthedain in our hour of need? They have turned North to Fornost you say? Utrich! We are betrayed! Their promises empty and like ash.' He pulled at Aragorn, hauling himself upright and holding Aragorn's gaze with intense anguish. 'Our people! Our children! All our children! 'He pulled Aragorn towards him as if whispering a confidence. 'Take them, Utrich, take them, all of them, take the Draken Way. Move the Door across and do not wait for us for we will not come. We will take out last stand to give you time. Go. Go!'

Frodo gave a cry of distress that had Sam hurrying to his side. Together, the hobbits leaned over Baranor, trying to soothe him to no avail.

'Baranor,' Aragorn called insistently. 'Awake, awaken now.' He grabbed more athelas, rubbed it quickly to try to rouse the Man from his delusion but Baranor was seized with the terrible memories of the Helm he had been wearing, it seemed.

Baranor pushed himself so he sat upright, his face wracked as though he beheld a terrible tragedy unfolding, a battle, a rout. 'Hear me, oh my ancestors! Rise up and fight with us. Lend us your strength in our great need, your aid in this our final battle.' He turned towards Aragorn now as if he saw him clearly, but his hands grasped at Aragorn again and his eyes were bright and feverish. 'They came. The Queens and Kings of Old, tall and grim with bright swords and spears. With them at our side, we beat back the men of Rhudaur and Carn Dûm but oh, the Witchking rode amongst them and even his own armies fell back from him. He raised up the corpses of our slain and theirs. They came against us, and it ruined us, to slay again those we loved…But with him too were the Devourers and they rent the ghosts of our ancestors, dragged them into the Abyss. ….Oh. The agony of death…' He pressed his hand over his heart again. 'Ah! The spear in my heart! They wrung me upon it.' He leaned over, keening as if a terrible hurt had been inflicted.

Merry leaned forward, gasping. He clutched Baranor's sleeve. 'Yes!' he whispered. 'That is what I saw too. I know…' He stared into Baranor's face, and both had expressions of terror and anguish shared.

Suddenly Baranor gave a gasp and leaned over, shaking and trembling as though he were still impaled upon that spear.

'Baranor,' Sam said quickly, touching his sleeve. 'It's me. Samwise Gamgee that you met in Bree, and you helped us. Remember? You agreed to come with us to the Barrow Downs and help us? You made Elrohir come too.' He leaned down and looked into the Man's agonised eyes.

Baranor stared at him, breathing hard and slowly, as if they were his last breaths.

Aragorn said nothing but was aware of Gimli too, standing to one side and his fierce concern for Legolas, wanting to question the Man but holding off for now in the torment of the last memories of the Prince of Cardolan that had possessed Baranor.

Sam smiled gently and then continued, 'We came up onto the Barrow Downs and you went to help Dods and Iberic.' He paused and his face became serious. 'Do you remember that?''

Baranor's mouth opened in a soundless cry and his eyes squeezed shut. 'Iberic? Is he…?' He leaned back slightly, and Aragorn put his arm about the poor Man's shoulders to support him.

'There now,' Sam said kindly. 'It's all right. Dods is with him, and he'll be all right. The rest of us came here to find you.'

Baranor looked around himself dazed as if he were caught between the last stand of Cardolan against Angmar, and the battle to protect the Hobbits from the bones of the long dead Orcs of that same war.

Frodo smiled up at him. 'It's good that you are coming back to us,' he said warmly.

Still Baranor didn't speak, and Sam said, 'It's a bit like that when you've woken up after you've been ill. It'll take a minute but let's get you on your feet.' He looked at Aragorn.

Aragorn smiled, still astonished by hobbits. Then he shifted very slightly so that Baranor, still leaning against his shoulder, could begin to rise. But as he shifted, Baranor seemed to become aware that it was Aragorn against whom he leant, and his face was bewildered at first. His lips moved and his eyes were wide and startled.

'My lord! My lord you have come! And I doubted you!' Baranor cried out. His eyes betrayed great emotion and Aragorn was confused. He did not know what to say for he did not know how Baranor doubted him. A strange thought crossed his mind then that Baranor was still confused between the Helm's memory and his own. Perhaps Baranor thought he was Arveleg?

He smiled gently and said, 'Baranor? It is I, Aragorn. I have come at Samwise Gamgee's behest, as did you, to help our friends.' He smiled again. 'It is good to see the son of my old friends.'

Baranor gave a cry and struggled to swing his legs around as if he might stand, his gaze still fixed upon Aragorn. But then suddenly he pressed his hands against his eyes and leaned over with a low moan. 'I do not know what has happened to me,' he mumbled. 'I was fighting those creatures, and there was a terrible ….' He stopped and gave a low moan. 'No. No, I cannot think it!'

Sam made a soothing noise and Frodo patted his arm comfortingly. 'You do not have to think about that now. We just need to find Legolas and get out of here.'

'Have you seen him?' Gimli asked urgently now that it seemed Baranor knew where he was. He leaned over the Man, brown eyes earnest and anxious. 'Did you see anyone else when you were brought here?' His fingers twitched on his axe. 'An Elf, tall, blond hair.'

The question distracted Baranor from his own terror and he looked up. He frowned as if in pain and trying to remember, to push past the horror of his experience. 'I do not know…I do not remember how I got here. I was fighting those horrible, twisted skeletons, the bones of Angmar's army…' He shuddered. 'And then… that…noise….the whining and moaning and…. Screaming.' He hid his face again and Sam tutted and patted his arm soothingly. Muffled, Baranor swallowed and then continued. 'I awoke briefly…' He frowned as if struggling with memory. 'I was lying here, on this stone. There was another man beside me. Yes, blond hair. Very long, like an Elf would have.' He rubbed a hand over his eyes and then looked up, his face clearer. 'I don't know.' Then he glanced around them anxiously. 'I am sorry… He was very still and very cold.'

Aragorn felt a cold lump in his chest. Legolas could not be dead. He had seen the Elf in the Palantir. But now, Aragorn remembered the coldness of his gaze, their struggle that he had assumed was against the Barrow-Wight, but he wondered now if that struggle had been something else. He could not speak but Gimli leaned forward, pulling Baranor's chin up so he focused on the Dwarf. 'Where is he now?' he demanded. 'Did you see what happened? Was he taken by someone, something?'

Baranor glanced up in sympathy. 'I am sorry,' he said again more slowly. 'I only saw him lying very still. He was here when I awoke and….' He swallowed and repeated again, 'He was very cold.'

There was a shocked silence.

Baranor took a deep breath. 'I knew nothing more until I awoke just now. I was dreaming but there was no Elf in the dream, and I cannot tell you what has happened to his body.'

'Body?' The word fell heavily amongst them.

The silence that followed now was even heavier. For what seemed a long while, Aragorn felt nothing but a dreadful cold soaking slowly through him. If Legolas truly had been dead, then what he and Pippin had seen was Legolas' corpse animated by the Barrow Wight as he had dreaded. He saw Pippin glance his way but he could not speak.

Gimli stood in silence, his head bowed, and his hands folded over the haft of his great axe. Frodo had turned to Sam and buried his face in Sam's neck, his shoulders shaking with silent grief. Merry had slid to the floor and face was in his hands and Pippin stood staring numbly into the darkness and the dagger he had found to replace the Mergyll-Dagnir that he had given Aragorn, almost slipping through his fingers.

Sam looked up, his face stricken and tearful. 'We must carry on looking. His body must be here somewhere, and I can't bear the thought of leaving him down here in the dark.'

'Forgive me,' said Baranor softly. 'I do not wish to give you such grim news, but it is as I said. He is dead. The body was here when I was brought here and awoke briefly.

Aragorn took a deep breath. 'I saw Legolas in the Palantir,' he said softly and he held up his hand to forestall the excited cries of the Hobbits. 'It did not seem like him. It was…' He sighed very heavily. 'It was not like Legolas.'

But Baranor seized Aragorn's sleeve, staring up at him in agitation. 'Aran, it is you they seek!' he said. 'They have sworn to wipe the blood of Elendil from the earth. They have lured you here to kill you!'

'I do not care,' said Aragorn angrily. 'Legolas would never leave one of us in here and we will find his body if there is nothing else. We will not leave him here.' The memory of that cold gaze haunted him now and he knew that if the Barrow Wight had animated Legolas' corpse, he could not bear to leave it as the Wight's plaything. He needed to be returned to the Wood, to be mourned properly. 'If he has come to harm…' He swallowed for he could not bear to say the word, 'if he is harmed, it will be at the hand of the Barrow-Wights, and we will find them and destroy them.'

'Yes, we're not giving up, Strider,' Sam said defiantly. ''There's no way we're leaving Legolas behind.'

Pippin was standing peering into the darkness of the tunnel that led even deeper into the tumulus. He had been staring for a few moments when suddenly he caught his breath and quickly stepped back towards Aragorn. 'There's something down there!' he whispered and nodded towards the darkness of the tunnel leading deeper into the tumulus.

Aragorn turned to follow Pippin's gaze and Gimli went to stand alongside the Hobbit. Aragorn's hand crept to the Mergyll-Dagnir that Pippin had given him. 'Do not move, anyone,' he said softly. 'Be very still.' In the rushlight, he could see indeed a shape, something glimmered palely in the darkness of the tunnel beyond the chamber.

Frodo peered over Pippin's shoulder. 'Is it a Barrow Wight?' he whispered very quietly. 'It is…very still. I cannot…' He gasped as if he could barely breath.

Gimli pushed past the hobbits and peered into the darkness. He gave a low cry and took a few steps forward. 'Legolas? Is it you?'

Aragorn moved after him, staring into the dark. This was it. This was what he had seen. He silently loosened Anduril and touched the hilt of the Mergyll-Dagnir as if for luck. Gimli was holding up his tinderbox, so the thin light shone into the tunnel ahead.

Legolas stood with his back to them, very tall and straight and looking away into the darkness as he had done so many times during the quest.

Aragorn felt his heart leap in his chest, and peered into the darkness beyond. Was the Barrow Wight there? The great shadow he had seen, with a mane of darkness, pale luminous eyes and no mouth. But in the dark was only dark, he thought and turned back to Legolas. Legolas was clad only in breeches and boots and his usually vibrant and colourful yaré-carmë with its dragon curling around the Elf like a benediction, was dull and lifeless. He did not have his bow but the long knives that Gimli had given him hung loosely in his hands. But there was no sharp glitter from the blades. They seemed dull and lifeless. He did not have the dark knife that Aragorn had seen. Had something changed?

'Legolas?' Pippin asked softly. He did not move for a moment and then, as Legolas did not move, Pippin edged carefully towards him.

Still Legolas did not move, did not look down. Did not turn towards them with joy.

'Pippin, be careful,' Aragorn warned.

Pippin cast a quick look over his shoulder and nodded reassuringly. He looked up into Legolas' face in concern and touched the Elf's arm lightly. 'Come on, come and sit down,' he said very gently.

Gimli too stepped cautiously, drawing closer. 'Careful, Pippin,' he warned. 'If Legolas is in a dreaming sleep such as Baranor, he may not recognise you. He may think that you are a danger to him.'

Pippin nodded and remained very still, with his small hand just lightly resting upon Legolas' bare arm.

At last, Legolas moved his head and looked down slowly at Pippin. But his movements were not at all the graceful easy movements so familiar to them, but mechanical, and stilted. As if he were not in control of his limbs or body. In the rushlight, Aragorn could see Legolas' face now and he was staring at Pippin blankly, as if in a dream. There was barely any iris so blown wide were his pupils. Aragorn had seen Legolas' eyes like this before, in Moria when there had been no light. It was as he had seen in the Palantir.

'Pippin, come away,' he said quickly. 'This isn't right.'

Obediently, Pippin took a small step away from Legolas but abruptly, the Elf's head snapped towards him, and he looked down at the dagger in Pippin's hand. In no time, both of his own knives were in one hand and the other shot out like a snake striking and gripped Pippin's wrist.

'Legolas?' Pippin winced and twisted in his grasp. 'You're hurting me.' But the Elf did not release him. Instead, his grip grew harder, crushing the small bones of Pippin's hands until with a cry, the Hobbit dropped the dagger. Legolas caught the hilt as it fell and slipped the dagger into his boot, hefting his own long knives into each hand once again.

'Legolas!' cried Gimli and grabbed Pippin, pulling the Hobbit back behind him.

Legolas lifted one hand, so the blade of the knife that Gimli had forged for his dearest friend was pointed towards the Dwarf himself. Even now, Legolas did not speak but stood silently and still, his eyes dark and lifeless and fixed upon the Dwarf.

With a horrible sense of foreboding, Aragorn recognised the expression on Legolas' face. He shifted so that he now stood between the Elf and the Hobbits.

'What is the matter with you?' Pippin cried. He looked at Legolas in complete confusion and misery. 'Legolas? It's Pippin. And Gimli. Your friends!'

Gimli held his axe before him like a threat. 'Back away, Legolas. You are the brother of my heart.' His voice cracked with emotion. 'Do not make me raise a hand to you.'

There was a single moment of absolute silence and stillness when Aragorn thought that Legolas had listened. Gimli did not back away, nor did he raise his axe higher than it already was. Aragorn slid Anduril quietly from its sheath and was aware too, of Baranor reaching for a sword from amongst the weapons nearby.

Legolas turned his head towards the sound of Anduril and his gaze latched onto Aragorn. Something seemed to click in his eyes, a flicker of recognition. But it was not the merry affection that Aragorn knew. It was a cold calculation.

'Do not move, anyone,' Aragorn warned his companions for he sensed their stiffening and fear. 'Remember that Baranor too was somewhere else in his mind when he first awoke and perhaps this is so for Legolas.' He hoped he was right and lifted his free hand towards Legolas. 'Legolas, echui mellon,' he said softly, thinking that perhaps Legolas' own tongue might awaken him. 'Senuina Aragorn, a Gimli Elvellon.'

For a moment, Legolas regarded Aragorn with strange detachment. Then he whirled the Ale-Gezên-aozh in his hands in his hand and Aragorn realised with a shock that the Elf intended to attack. He knew now, with any doubt, that what he had seen in the Palantír had been he and Legolas fighting each other, and not fighting the Barrow Wight, although that too remained perhaps somewhere in the future.

Aragorn licked his lips nervously and shifted into a defensive stance. This was not his friend, he told himself, but this was still Legolas' body, with its agility and speed, its cunning and skill. He glanced sideways towards Gimli, seeing that the Dwarf too had his axe ready but watching acutely.

Then Legolas took a step forward, sauntered almost, loose limbed and easy as he always did. He stood for a moment before Aragorn.

'What do you want?' Aragorn said, keeping his gaze intently upon Legolas.

Legolas barely blinked but raised one of the Ale Gezên-aozh and levelled it at Aragorn. For a moment nothing happened. And then abruptly, Baranor stepped between them, a long sword in hand and batted the long knife away.

Sliding his gaze obliquely towards Baranor, Legolas suddenly lunged at the Man, crossing the blades and catching the sword between them. Then Legolas thrust the knives upwards and Baranor's sword was pushed away, in a sweep, Legolas brought one of the knives slashing towards Baranor.

A shocked cry broke from the hobbits, but Aragorn had already leapt forwards and blocked the knife with Anduril. Legolas barely blinked but pivoted on one foot, and then lunged in under Aragorn's longer reach, one knife shoving Anduril away and the other aimed for Aragorn's chest.

There was a resounding clash as the iron haft of an axe blocked the killing blow. Gimli immediately threw his weight behind the axe and wrenched one of the knives from Legolas' grasp, so it clattered to the floor where Frodo, wide-eyed and alarmed, kicked it away.

'Legolas!' cried Gimli, standing in front of Aragorn now, his voice wrenched with grief. 'I beg you! Do not make me fight you to wound and maim. We are your friends and have come to find you, to help you. We are not your enemy.'

Baranor stood at Gimli's side, sword extended and on guard. Aragorn watched, slightly behind and to one side of them, his eyes never leaving Legolas' face.

The Elf shifted slightly onto the balls of his feet and spun the remaining Ale Gezên-aozh in his hand. His eyes locked upon Aragorn and without even looking at Gimli, he suddenly whirled about and before anyone had time to react, he had kicked Gimli hard in the belly, so he collapsed, winded, onto his knees, and in the same movement, jabbed his elbow into Baranor's jaw, hard enough that Aragorn heard the crack and the Man's head snapped back and he fell against the rock wall.

Legolas leapt over Gimli and Aragorn lunged forward to meet him, Anduril caught the shorter knife, forcing it to slide away but Legolas came at him again faster and faster and though Aragorn parried and blocked, he was beaten back. Legolas was too quick, too agile, and when Legolas suddenly feinted, pulling back quickly so that Aragorn lurched forwards, he drove his knife up beneath Aragorn's guard.

A piercing, sickening pain tore along Aragorn's ribs, and he staggered against the wall. Warmth soaked his tunic. He did not need to look down to know it was blood.

Legolas sprang after him, but Gimli had hauled himself to his feet and now threw himself between them with his axe held now like a staff, so the Ale Gezên-aozh clashed against it and slid off. Aragorn blinked and peered up at them, seeing how frantically, Gimli wielded his axe, spinning it, feinting and blocking, everything but wounding Legolas. Pressing his hand against the wound, Aragorn shook his hair out of his eyes and seized Anduril once more, two handed, ready, and ignoring the pain. He was aware of Baranor struggling to his feet nearby.

With a cry, Baranor charged at Legolas. He slammed into the Elf who staggered under the impetus of the attack, and they fell, struggling together. Gimli leapt after them and with a shout, Merry and Pippin too hurled themselves at Legolas. They went down in a bunch of struggling, kicking, punching limbs but in no time, Legolas had shaken them off and had slammed Pippin into the rock wall and without pause, kicked out at Merry, catching him in the chin so he was sent reeling back and falling hard. Pivoting, Legolas lashed out with his knife, slicing across Baranor's chest. Baranor's blood spattered over Legolas' face, but the Elf did not flinch but jabbed an elbow into Gimli's chin, so the Dwarf's head snapped back, and he fell like a stone to the floor.

Frodo ran forwards with Sam close behind. 'Baranor!' he cried in shock. He threw himself beside the Man and bunched his cloak in his hands, pressing it against the Man's wound. Baranor groaned and struggled to sit up. Merry and Pippin lay huddled nearby, and Gimli had not stirred. 'Legolas,' Frodo said again, shocked. 'What are you doing? You swore to protect us!'

Coldly, Legolas looked down at his feet where the second blade of the Ale Gezên-aozh had been kicked away by Frodo. With an insouciant flick of one foot, he flipped the long knife upwards and caught it by the hilt, and strode towards Aragorn, armed again with both the dwarven-made blades.

This time, Sam stepped into his path, unarmed and upset. 'Legolas,' he pleaded. 'Remember, you sang to us when we were afraid. You defended us from Orcs and goblins and the Nazgul. When Frodo and I were brought out of Mordor and could not wake up, you brought wildflowers every day so that when I awoke, it was the first thing I would see, so I remembered the Shire.' But the Elf did not even break stride and he levelled a knife, pointing it directly at Sam as he advanced. His eyes glittered but darkly, like a serpent before it strikes. Sam did not move even when the tip of the knife pricked his chest. Legolas shoved Sam out his way like he was naught but a bag of grain and strode purposefully towards Aragorn. Aragorn pushed away the pain of his wound, and lifted Anduril. Briefly he thought of Arwen, and it gave him courage. Without waiting for Legolas to reach him, Aragorn plunged forwards, anticipating Legolas' strike and with the longer reach of Anduril, he forced one blade upwards and then brought Anduril slashing down quickly towards Legolas' now unprotected chest. A thin tear opened the Elf's skin and blood beaded along the cut. But Legolas came at him fast then, and Aragorn stumbled backwards, aware of shouting nearby but he dared not look away for Legolas had suddenly lunged forwards, driving the blades towards Aragorn.

Out of nowhere, a sword beat one of the Ale Gezên-aozh away and a hand snatched at Legolas' arm and wrenched it back, twisting the other from his grasp. 'Legolas, what are you doing?'

Aragorn looked up, breathing hard and disbelieving. 'Elladan.'

Legolas turned his head to look over his shoulder. Cold. Impassive. No recognition.

Elladan stood staring at him, appalled, one of the Ale Gezên-aozh was near his feet and the other that he had wrenched from Legolas' grip was in Elladan's hand.

'Keep your guard up,' warned Gimli who came now from the right, rubbing his jaw and 'Elladan, he has a dagger in his boot. Get that off him now. Legolas is not himself,' he said emphatically. He approached warily. 'Aragorn? Are you all right?'

Aragorn looked down at his side where blood now soaked his tunic. Feeling suddenly dizzy, he reached out and leaned against the stone wall.

Without warning, Legolas jabbed his elbow back into Elladan's face and seizing the dagger from his boot, whirled about with it arcing towards Elladan. But Elladan had taken notice of Gimli's warning and immediately leapt back, thrusting Legolas' own knife in one hand and blocking the dagger, beating it away and then striking unflinchingly with his sword at Legolas hand, so the dagger flew from his grasp. As Gimli seized both the Ale Gezên-aozh and secured them, Elladan lunged forwards with the point of his sword at Legolas' chest.

Legolas, unarmed now, stood absolutely still. His cold eyes locked upon Elladan's face; the sword point rested on his chest.

Behind them, quick, sharp footsteps sounded in the darkness and suddenly Elrohir strode into the chamber.

'Legolas!' Elrohir's voice was full of relief and longing. He rushed towards Legolas and then stopped dead, his face confused and then aghast, staring at Elladan with his sword at Legolas' chest and the blood that trickled from the cut in his chest. 'What the fuck…Elladan!'

'Elrohir! Stay back.' Aragorn threw out his hand to bar Elrohir's way, and in at that moment, Elrohir saw the blood soaking Aragorn's shoulder. 'Legolas is not himself.'

Elrohir stared at Legolas, unable to speak for a moment for shock.

Elladan's long sword glittered in the torch light where it rested against Legolas' chest. Elladan shook his head, his eyes not leaving Legolas' still face. 'Elrohir, I do not know what has possessed him. He was attacking Aragorn when I arrived.'

Elrohir glanced at his brother briefly and frowning, took a step towards Legolas. 'Legolas? What is going on?'' He reached towards his lover. 'I have searched for you. I have been in agony over you! Tell me what has happened?'

Not moving, Legolas flicked a glance upwards to Elrohir's concerned, confused face. And then the Woodelf deliberately stepped forwards. Blood beaded at the very tip of the sword and then ran down Legolas' chest. With his eyes fixed upon Elladan, he moved closer, so the blade pressed further into his flesh.

Unable to help himself, Elladan inched back so his sword was an inch off Legolas' chest now. 'What in all of fucking Arda are you doing, Legolas!' he shouted. 'Do you want me to kill you?'

Aragorn could not take his eyes from Legolas' face, the cold, calculating gaze so unlike his friend's, blood trickling from the wound down his chest and belly.

Then Legolas opened his arms wide, as if in surrender, but he stepped unflinching towards Elladan so that again the sword tip pressed into his flesh and the wound was deeper. More blood trickled down his skin and into his navel. Without a flicker on his cold face, he pushed forwards again and Elladan, shaking his head, stepped back again.

Now Legolas stopped abruptly and lifting his hand, pushed away Elladan's sword. He smiled thinly, chillingly and stepped towards the dagger that still lay where it had fallen. Gimli cursed himself for not securing it but none of them dared move now.

Aragorn pressed his hand over the wound over his ribs and took a shallow breath. This was not going to end easily, and he felt the weight of Anduril in his hand. He knew he had his brothers now at his side but how could they stop him? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Baranor had stirred and was winding the thin leather rope of his baldric about his hand and realised what the Man intended. Indeed, it was their only hope to find a way of binding Legolas so he could not kill them or himself.

Legolas leaned over to scoop up the dagger but in the moment that he took his eye from Elladan, the twins pounced; Elrohir leapt upon Legolas, seizing the hand with the dagger and wrenched it from his grip. At the same time, Elladan grappled with him and forced him to the ground, Gimli caught his legs and wrapping his meaty arms about Legolas' legs, he lay over them, holding them to the ground. Legolas fought like a wounded boar, bucking and kicking out and punching while Baranor and Sam hurried to help Elrohir, wrestling his hands into a noose made from the baldric. Rearing up suddenly, Legolas headbutted Elrohir and then switched back hard enough to dislodge Gimli. Baranor and Elladan pounced upon him, but he fought like a demon until he had regained his feet and came charging towards Aragorn, a madness in his eyes. Aragorn sidestepped but he was no match for Legolas and Legolas came crashing into Aragorn bringing him to the ground and scrabbling with his fingers for the knife.

A hard, wooden buckler came down on Legolas' head and at last, he reeled and sank to the ground, unconscious at last.

Sam stood with the shield in his hands, looking down at Legolas. 'I'm sorry Legolas,' his voice broke. 'I'm sorry but you can't be doing that.'

Swiftly, Elrohir and Elladan bound Legolas hand and foot with the baldric and bejewelled belts taken from the treasure. Aragorn sagged and slipped to the floor, unbelieving and miserable.

Gimli was looking strangely at the Ale Gezên-aozh. 'These are not right,' he was saying more to himself than anyone else. 'I thought there was something. Where is their Mahalzúk?' He was bending over them like a worried nursemaid.

Sam took off his cloak and, as they had done for Baranor, pushed it gently under Legolas' head and Frodo and Pippin and Merry covered him with their cloaks, their faces full of sadness.

Elrohir leaned over Legolas, distraught. He whispered to him, and although Aragorn could not hear the words, he knew that he called to Legolas, that he reached out to him through their love and bond. Legolas lay very still though his chest still rose and fell in shallow breaths; but his eyes did not move under their lids, and he was so pale. Elrohir shook his head, bewildered and confused. 'I do not hear him,' he cried suddenly. 'I cannot hear his Song. I cannot feel his soul twined about mine.' He raised his anguished face to Elladan. 'Where is he? What has happened to him?'

0o0o0o

tbc