Yay! Chapter 3! I write as things come to me, so there really is not a set rate to when I post updates. Sorry!

Anywho, enjoy lovelies! Apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes!

Anolindë was furious at herself. Or was that fear? Perhaps self-loathing was the best description she could come up with. Shaking her head, Anolindë continued pacing back and forth, completely ignoring the smell of burning Orc flesh. Legolas watched the elleth as she walked back and forth, every so often kicking at a stray rock. They were all feeling the pain and emptiness of losing companions. They had felt it before, in Moria when Gandalf had fallen, and by the Falls of Rauros when they had lain their slain friend Boromir of Gondor to rest after he had fallen at Amon Hen.

We left none alive.

Éomer's voice was still clear in their minds as Gimli sifted through smoldering pile of burnt creatures with the head of his axe.

"It's one of their wee belts," he quietly said, holding up a charred piece of leather.

Anolindë whipped her head around to look. The beautifully crafted scabbard for their knives gifted to the Hobbits by the Lady Galadriel was now reduced to nothing but a burnt scrap.

"Hiro îth ab 'wanath," Legolas whispered, placing his hand over his heart

Whether it was anger or the sense of failure or maybe both combined, Aragorn let out a strangled cry, kicking an Uruk helmet to one side, sending it flying. The Ranger fell to his knees, hands cradled in his head. Anolindë awkwardly moved towards the Man, not knowing how to comfort him. She simply placed on hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"We failed them," Gimli said sadly.

This cannot be possible, Anolindë thought.

~:✿:~

"Pippin!" a small voice yelled, breaking Anolindë's concentration on her book. "The kitchen is probably that way! Pip!"

Seconds later, a small child came barreling into the small library in Imladris, followed by yet another small child waving his arms frantically. Upon closer inspection, Anolindë noticed they were not children at all, but Hobbits. She had only ever met one. Bilbo Baggins was his name. Fully grown, Hobbits stood at the height of children. Large hairy feet and curly mops of hair were distinguishing features. And they absolutely adored food, always trying to get their hands on some like these two were most likely trying to do.

"May I help you gentlemen?" Anolindë asked, startling the two.

"Oh!" they exclaimed in surprise.

"We were," one of them began, sheepishly kicking the ground.

"We were trying to find the food!" the other finished proudly.

"Pippin!" the first scolded, elbowing the other sharply.

"It's alright," Anolindë said, laughing gently. "I can escort you to the kitchen if you would like."

"Oh yes! We would like that very much!" the one named Pippin agreed eagerly.

"Thank you m'lady," the other said, bowing slightly.

"Nonsense. No need for formalities. I am Anolindë," she said, placing her hand over her heart in a gesture of welcome.

"I'm Pippin! And that's my cousin Merry! We're from the Shire!"

"The Shire?" Anolindë asked curiously. "You must tell me about your home as we walk."

And they did. The two Hobbits regaled her with many stories of their homeland, most involving ale and food. Anolindë couldn't help but laugh at their antics as they acted out one particular stand-off they had with another Hobbit. Though she found their story of Farmer Maggot and his crops most wonderful. Elves never acted as Hobbits did. Elves were regal and refined whilst Hobbits enjoyed life and were carefree. Anolindë, even though she did not completely conform to Elven standards, felt a slight pang of jealousy at the Hobbits customs.

"Gentlemen, we have reached the kitchen," she announced, swinging open a large wooden door.

The looks on their faces would have lit up a room brighter than any number of candles. Anolindë could only stare as they filled their pockets with all sorts of food items. Pippin turned to her, his mouth full of bread.

"Thank you Anolindë!" he said, spraying crumbs from his mouth.

This is how Legolas found her, staring at the two Hobbits who seemed to be bottomless pits when it came to food. His arm snaked around her waist as he watched them as well. Merry finally noticed the other Elf and stopped mid-chew.

"Would you like some?" he asked, offering a half-eaten apple to the Elf prince.

A look of disgust crept across the Elf's face. Anolindë laughed again, resting her forehead on his neck. Merry shrugged and continued to demolish the tray of food he had collected. Legolas shook his head. Hobbits.

~:✿:~

"Meleth nîn?"

Legolas' voice broke Anolindë's thoughts. She looked around. The three males were looking at her curiously. What had she missed?

"Did you not hear Aragorn?" Gimli asked. "They're alive!"

"Alive?!" she asked breathlessly, turning to Legolas.

He nodded.

"But they've ventured into Fangorn Forest," Gimli added, the excitement fading from his voice.

Fangorn. A vast forest that lay at the base of the Misty Mountains, near the Gap of Rohan. Like many forests, Fangorn had been a mighty forest. But as the years passed, it dwindled in size, due to Numenoreans felling many trees for their great ships and Sauron's destruction. Who knew how it fared close to Isengard, as the now-evil fortress bordered its edge.

"What madness drove them in there?" Gimli asked quietly.

~:✿:~

The four companions ventured slowly into the foreboding forest. Every so often, Aragorn would stop to study the ground, tracking the footprints of the Hobbits. Gimli ran his finger over a leaf stained with a black substance. Gingerly, he placed the tip of his finger into his mouth and almost instantly spat it back out.

"Orc blood!" he observed.

Anolindë grimaced.

"These are strange tracks," Aragorn said, brushing away some leaves on the forest floor.

"The air is so close in here," Gimli muttered.

"Agreed, Master Dwarf," Anolindë said.

"This forest is old," Legolas began. "Very old. Full of memory…and anger."

Anolindë looked sideways to her lover as he tilted his head, taking in his surroundings. A sudden groaning noise startled the four, causing Gimli to raise his axe in alarm.

"The trees are speaking to each other," Legolas explained to the confused Dwarf.

"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed.

The Dwarf looked to him.

"Lower your axe!"

Hesitantly, the Dwarf did as he was told.

"They have feelings, my friend," Legolas continued. "The Elves began it. Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

Anolindë smiled at her prince.

"What is it, meleth nîn?" Legolas asked her quietly, noticing her smile.

"You," she stated simply. "So much wisdom and knowledge. I fear I have not paid as much attention as you during our studies."

Now it was Legolas' turn to smile.

"You are wise in your own way, meleth nîn," he replied, grasping her hand and running the pad of his thumb over her soft skin.

A tingle shot through her body as he touched her, as it always did. She wanted more. She needed more. She needed him. To feel him, bare skin against her, inside of her, consuming her. A heat grew in her lower body.

"Talking trees," Gimli grunted in disbelief. "What do trees have to talk about? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings."

Anolindë stiffened, the heat in her belly instantly disappearing. She noticed Legolas had the same reaction. Something was not right. Something, or someone, was out there. They were not alone.

"Aragorn, nad nâ ennas!" Legolas warned the Ranger. (Something is out there!)

"Man cenich?" Aragorn asked in almost a whisper. (What do you see?)

Both Elves were on high alert, blue eyes sweeping the forest ahead of them and ears listening intently.

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas whispered.

The four companions closed in closer to each other, Legolas taking a protective stance next to Anolindë. They both knew she was a great warrior but as her lover, Legolas would not let anything happen to her. If she was wounded, he would never forgive himself.

"Do not let him speak," Aragorn commanded softly. "He will put a spell on us."

Anolindë and Legolas both fitted an arrow to their bows.

"We must be quick!"

With a yell, they turned to face their enemy. A bright white light emanated from the Wizard, almost blinding them. Gimli threw his axe at the figure while Legolas and Anolindë fired their arrows simultaneously. All three missiles were deflected and knocked to one side. The sword in Aragorn's grasp glowed red hot, causing him to drop it to the ground. They were now defenseless. Legolas slowly began to reach for the knives at his back.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits?" the Wizard asked them, still encased in a blinding light.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded, shielding his eyes against the light.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday," the Wizard replied. "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

Anolindë felt rage boil up inside her. Comfort them? How dare he!

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Aragorn yelled.

The bright light began to fade, allowing them their first real glimpse of the Wizard, dressed in magnificent white robes. But it was not whom they had expected.

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