DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor claim to own any of the characters, names, places or references of or associated with Lord of the Rings. They are all sole property of Professor J.R.R. Tolkien and I earn nothing from this.

Ahem . . . I've been gone for SIX MONTHS, eep. Well, here's my story . . . I was sucked into a Naruto craze from which I have yet to emerge. My shackles of home/school work have yet to be removed . . . but there have been rumors that I'll be released some time in June, ne? Summer is coming quickly (and although I hate the heat, I'll be free from school and have all the time in the world for writing). I'm SOOOO sorry to have been gone so long . . . I hope you can forgive me . . . again.

Author's Note: For the sake of clarity (and my sanity) the conversation between Ezulu and Ghân-buri-Ghân will be written in the common tongue. As always, translations of any other languages used are at the end of the chapter. Druadan, as I have recently learned, is, in addition to being the name of the forest, is also the singular form of Druedain and will be used from here on out. I hope you enjoy!

Ezulu stormed up and down the hut, his feet producing loud thumps with each step. His hands were folded crossly over his chest. His very movements were testaments of his mood. On the day of his return, a day of celebration, a day of joy, the thought of outsiders being present outraged him. Was this how his clan would welcome him back, side by side with outsiders? These thoughts consumed him like a thick fog about his mind. The King of Men was the King of Men, not of these people; he had no place beneath the trees; his fortress was one of stone and white towers. The Druadan was a place for no man to set foot within, a sanctuary isolated from the rest of the waking world. How dare he disrupt that? Ezulu's glower deepened even as he ruminated further. But this was not what set alight the fire that blazed within him. The arrival of this revered man was a bad omen, but there was yet something worse. It was not the King himself who stirred such a pernicious rage. It was what the King had brought with him. An Elf. Few now knew of such creatures, but Ezulu knew. The children'stales told for thousands of years did not tell all there was, no. They did not even begin to describe.

"You seem angry, my warrior." The Chieftain's deep voice nearly caused Ezulu to jump, just nearly. And for this he was ashamed. It was disgraceful to become thus lost in thought and for it he reprimanded himself. Yet it was even more disgraceful for the thoughts of a warrior to be so easily perceptible. Ezulu squeezed shut his eyelids, took a deep breath, and turned to face his elder. Ghân-buri-Ghân's voice carried a hint of mockery, as it ever had. It was not a hurtful mockery, but one he used often. The Chieftain had a keen sense of humor, albeit somewhat bothersome. He knew the secret workings of the minds around him better even than did those minds.

"You have ever been skilled in reading the emotions of this one, my lord," said the warrior, pushing his troubles to the back of his mind. They were for a later time, when the eyes of the most perspicacious of all the Druadan Forest's inhabitants were drawn elsewhere.

Ezulu quickly remembered his role and grabbed the small coiled mat from against the wall and spread it neatly across the floor. Only a Chieftain was permitted to sit thus, as it had been for as long as any could remember. Ghân-buri-Ghân's lips twinged ever so slightly at the response, almost humorously. As the Chieftain lowered himself to the ground he began to laugh. Such a pure and mirthful and joyful laugh as only the Wild Men could conjure.

"Hmm . . . what is it that troubles you so?" The Chieftain's deep black eyes held no hint of emotion behind their jovially purposeful twinkle.

"My lord, it is the presence of outsiders that begets my ire. If I may ask it, why are they here?" As stoic as Ezulu had always been, it was beyond even his skills to mask his distaste for the foreigners.

"Why indeed?" Answered Old Ghân, straightening the strands of his grass skirt as he folded his legs.

"But my lord, they are outsiders!" Outsiders should not be welcomed here. They were a threat and a danger and yet still his very Chieftain had let them in. Ghân-buri-Ghân was allowing them to roam freely within the village itself. Ezulu did not understand his Chieftain's ways, nor had he ever. Ezulu had been present in the Stonewain Valley when King Theoden's men were lead down the secret path. Ezulu himself had gone to the Chieftain to express his reservations about such an act, yet the act had gone on despite him. The horsemen had slain kinsmen for sport, as game for the hunt. And yet when the tables had been so abruptly turned, Ghân-buri-Ghân had emerged from the woods to aid them.

"That they are," Ghân-buri-Ghân's eyes flitted to Ezulu. This was one who had seen countless years; his face was a ragged cliff side. The bags beneath his eyes like deep wrinkled crags. But behind his eyes there lay such a wisdom that few left in Middle-earth could surpass. "But they are not enemies." Ezulu was about to protest, but the Chieftain was not yet finished. He held up a strong, cracked hand to silence his subordinate. "We are the Drûg. Our hearts harbor no hatred, save for the Gorgûn. Why against them? They are hatred themselves, born of it and destined to die of it. You are one among us; what is this hatred you show? It is unnatural and has no place. You are a good soldier, do not soil that reputation with such feelings. They will lead only to your downfall. "

Ezulu nodded, trying his hardest to mask the impatience that was growing in the pit of his stomach. He was not a child. He did not need to be lectured on the ways of his people. The Chieftain sighed, his old eyes piercing his subordinate's facade. He waved his hand absently.

"Go then. And welcome home," the old Druadan raised a bushy eyebrowbeforeindicatingfor him to leave. A slight knocking from the other side of the cloth doorway stopped Ezulu as he left. "Come in" he heard the Chieftain say. Ezulu lifted the cloth to reveal Fearngost, the young warrior from Bahârrod' troop. He seemed anxious, and he held his shoulders tensely. "Speak," the Chieftain commanded kindly. He could see the worry spread across the warrior's face from where he sat; his brown brows knit tightly together.

"My lord, I was sent by Bahârrod with a message." The warrior paused, biting his bottom lip hesitantly. "Along with locating Ezulu in the woods, we have also discovered the body of Carbbidhe. They were found together, with the corpse of a Gorgûn." Ezulu tensed for a fleeting moment at the mention of Carbbidhe, he quickly recovered. Ghân's eyes flicked to him then back to Fearngost. He sensed that there was more to be said. Fearngost continued. "Our troop arrived to witness Ezulu slay the Gorgûn, and we saw Carbbidhe had fallen. We rushed to his side but we were not soon enough. Alas! He was slain . . ." Fearngost trailed off, his voice becoming no more than a whisper on his breath.

Carbbidhe had been Fearngost's good friend, Ghân-buri-Ghân knew. The warriors of each individual troop were assigned as soon as each had completed the basics of their training, earning the lowest ranks of merit. Each, for the entirety of their servitude, would fight under a captain who, in addition to being their commanding officer, was also their mentor. The troops were never disbanded, save in the unfortunate case of death. Therefore, the warriors within the troops formed deep bonds of friendship and brotherhood with one another; each would gladly protect another with his life. This was the strength of the Druedain. Undoubtedly, Bahârrod's troop was mourning the death of their comrade. The Chieftain allowed himself a sorrowful expression. Stoicism was impolite toward the deceased.

"I perceived a struggle, my lord, and hurried to its source. Carbbidhe had chased down anGorgûn at the borders of the realm. Before I could act, theGorgûn wounded Carbbidhe. I slew theGorgûn but the hurt that had been dealt Carbbidhe was mortal. His loss is my demerit. I was not swift enough." Ezulu bowed his head in a silent apology, his mass of dark hair shadowing his eyes. There was silence for a time, and Ezulu was reluctant to straighten himself.He felt eyes upon him, seeking out an answer to some unbidden question. At last old Ghân spoke, his voice lacking its usual mirth. Woe was a strange thing to hear in the voice of the Druedain leader; the wisest of them all was a master at stolidity. But he was not emotionless, far from it. Apathy was a necessity as a leader, but disuse or overuse of such a tool was not only foolishbut dangerous. To the Chieftain, his people were each his children to protect. He felt their hurts were his failings.

"Nay, Ezulu . . . death is a mysterious creature. It can be neither swayed nor stayed from its whims; it acts upon its own accord and very rarely is it betokened. It may pass the withering by to strike down the lively. It is not evil, for it begets renewal. Without it we could not exist, but too often does sorrow follow in its footsteps," the old Druadan took a deep breath, holding it within his lungs as if pondering its taste before releasing it in a huff. Slowly he stood, his knees cracking quietly as he did so. "Fearngost, kindly tell the King of Man that I regret having to delay our meeting yet again. He will understand if you explain the circumstances. Bahârrod's troop, yourself included, may watch over Carbbidhe's body. That is what he would have liked. Now, I must visit my warrior's place of death. He deserves as much. " Ghân-buri-Ghân indicated with a slight nod of the head that Fearngost was allowedto leave. The younger Druadan bowed before disappearing behind the cloth flap.Ezulu realized that he was to escort the Chieftain to Carbbidhe's body personally.

"I must say my farewells," breathed the old Druadan, pushing the cloth flap aside. The sunlight outside rollicked past, disappearing into the shadows of the hut. Ezulu sighed. There was much he had to do, and little time in which to do it. And even now, he began to cogitate his new plan. Despite his distaste towards the outsiders . . . the more he thought, the better they molded into the workings of something even better. But he could not go against the will of Ghân-buri-Ghân. Not yet. The harsh faced warrior watched as specs of dust floated in the golden rays of light before letting the cloth flap drop behind him.

The sun danced in the Elf's hair as he balanced on the branch of a tall tree. Numerous leaf-shaped shadows adorned his form, blending him blithely with the bark. It was midday and Legolas could feel the sun's warmth on his face. What a relief it was to be so deep in the woods, the life around him offering a vibrant conversation. A slight breeze brushed past his cheek in a caress. It was this same breeze that furrowed his brow. Legolas stood and sniffed the air curiously. No sooner had he done so than his nose wrinkled in disgust. Betwixt the fond scents of wildlife and vegetation, there was hidden a fouler scent. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Turning slightly, he slowly scanned the area, meticulously inspecting each direction with nose, eyes and ears. His efforts rewarded him with an alarming conclusion. Almost he could not believe his own senses.

He smelled death, and nearby. Legolas quickly and quietly dropped himself to the tree's lower limbs. Gimli was explaining the importance of beards, which Nwoi seemed unbiased to. Nonetheless the young Druadan was hanging on the Dwarf's every word. The Chieftain and a scarce few others had hints of beards. It was logical to assume it was important, Gimli had explained. As Legolas landed gracefully on the branch above King Elessar's head, he heard Gimli say something along the lines of "and the Elf is obviously of lesser importance than myself. Inasmuch as he lacks the skill to grow a beard, himself."

"And in that lacking, I am more than content," he flashed a grin at the Dwarf that masked his true thoughts, "for it would seem beards, taking such concentration to grow, diminish ones' ability to think." Aragorn chuckled, rubbing his chin. Men were known to grow beards as well, after all.

"Do not listen to him," Gimli said to Nwoi in a huff, "he is only jealous." Legolas shook his head, his senses still tingling with vigilance. Ever since Ezulu had arrived, Legolas had been left on edge. A sinking sensation in the pit of his chest warned him against the dark-haired warrior. This he felt he could keep to himself, for now, but the scent of a corpse was something he could not.

"Aragorn," he whispered, faintly hearing Nwoi's laughter in the background. He hoped the Dwarf was not spouting too much nonsense. Legolas swung noiselessly to the ground and crouched next to the former Ranger. Aragorn, who had been chewing absently on the end of his extinguished pipe, did not turn to the Elf but listened closely. He felt that Legolas wished to keep the conversation subtle. "There is something on the wind . . ." the King raised his brows at the tone in Legolas' soft voice, "I smell a . . . corpse." Legolas sounded almost as if he did not believe his own words.

Aragorn would have responded, had Legolas lingered long enough for him to do so. The Elf's head had abruptly swivelled towards the woods before he leapt into the trees without rustling a leaf. He had heard something anew. Aragorn waited in minor suspense for the report he knew would follow. A corpse? Surely the Druedain are aware? He thought, standing quickly and calmly. He brushed the dirt from his garb as he waited.

"The horses have found something . . ." Legolas murmured scarcely loud enough for Aragorn to interpret. "They are calling for their masters." Judging by the way Legolas held his body he was eager to go to them. The Elf's knees were bent ever so slightly, his muscles tense, poised to leap to the next tree.

Aragorn nodded his understanding. Legolas vaulted to an outreaching branch in a flash of green, heading deeper still into the thick woods.

"Where is he off to so hastily?" Gimli questioned gruffly. He had concluded his argument supporting the superiority of Dwarves with Nwoi scant moments ere Legolas' departure. The former Ranger was thoroughly impressed that the Dwarf had noticed the absence. He could not help butacknowledge the effect a certain Elf was having on him. "When traveling with that one," Gimli gestured towards the trees, "one must be constantly aware of his whereabouts. He took a liking to employing his stealth against me; I have since taken measures to preclude him."

"He is retrieving the horses," Aragorn explained, not wishing for Nwoi to hear of the corpse Legolas had mentioned. "But it would seem he would appreciate our company," he added, barely discerning the lithe form from amongst the foliage. Legolas was waiting to lead the way.

"Then by all means let us follow," Gimli replied in his deep voice, fastening his axe snugly unto his belt and readjusting his ever present helm (he was not inclined to leave it in the clearing). Aragorn turned to Nwoi as Gimli stood and entered the underbrush that marked the eve of the woods, considerably more discreetly than the former Ranger might have expected.

"Will you accompany us?" King Elessar asked the young Druadan, who was staring confusedly in the direction both Legolas and Gimli had so abruptly headed. For a moment, it seemed Nwoi was unaware of being addressed. His eyes widened suddenly when at last he realized Aragorn's request.

"Most certainly!" Nwoi replied, embarrassedly. He reprimanded himself for his lapse in concentration. Aragorn smiled warmly and hastened after his companions. The King did not want Nwoi to witness a corpse, however neither did he feel comfortable abandoning him. He knew Legolas would forewarn him as they neared, and so he felt marginally more comfortable allowing the young one to follow. In the back of his mind, he was ultimately aware that the boy would be faced with such horrors all too soon. Nwoi had the eyes of a warrior and the Druadan's personality seemed all too drawn to that lifestyle. There was potential for him to reach greatness by such a path, but the Druedain's isolation would not spare a warrior his pain. 'Besides,' Aragorn sighed to himself, 'I have full confidence that he would follow us against our wishes. He is curious.'

Nwoi hurried into the underbrush, which stood scarcely shorter thanhis shoulders. Fortunately, the former Ranger frontmost him had graciously created a path.

Farther ahead, Gimli could hear the hiss of the forest growth as it shifted around him. He took pride in how little sound his heavy boots produced with each footfall. Whilst visiting Fangorn, a memory that Gimli was wont to barricade, he had been devastated by Legolas' declaration that the Dwarf's steps were so loud as to scare away even the Ents. 'That,' the Elf had said, 'is precisely why we have yet to see one.' Legolas had been exaggerating, of course. The Prince of Mirkwood knew that they would not be likely to see another Ent in their lifetimes since Treebeard and those present at Isengard. They had been witnesses to a very rare event then. He also knew that Dwarfs, despite his comments of them, were very capable of stealth. Nonetheless, it was motivation for Gimli to drastically quiet his steps. It had taken many months of practice and he was intensely proud of the feat. The trees had become thicker now, withvery little of the sun's light penetrating the canopy. The Dwarf swerved around several trunks of impressive girth. It seemed to be more moist here, the sun unable to dry up linger rainfall. He inhaled deeply. The trees smelled nice . . . but . . .

He paused, suddenly profoundly aware of the scent in the air. It was barely perceptible, but utterly present, putrid, heavy, pungent and sweet in the most nauseating of ways. It came as a wafture, consuming the once pure air around him with all the force of a wave against the shore. He felt his stomach turn. This is what Legolas sensed . . . Gimli surmised. He squinted his eyes marginally to see that the Elf had stopped, now on the forest floor in a patch of sunlight. Shadows flickered across the ground as the breeze rustled the branchesabove.The horses stood at his side. The Prince gave a loud whistle to insure that his companions knew his location. He must have found it.

The Dwarf sensed Aragorn hindmost him. He was dimly aware of Nwoi's presence as well, albeit he could not truly hear the Druadan. Nwoi's silent footfalls were awe-inspiring. There was not a single crinkle of leaf nor snap of a twig; complete silence. The Druedain were indeed an astonishing race. Gimli wagered that Nwoi rivaled even Legolas in his skill. Nwoi! He remembered. He could not let Nwoi know of what they approached. It would not be a sight fit for a boy so young.

Gimli heard Aragorn ask Nwoi to stop, but ere either could react, the boy had sped past the both of them, soundless and swift. If the boy's senses were of any likening to his footsteps, he had undoubtedly smelled it. The corpse. Gimli felt mildly foolish for believing he could hide such a thing from someone with keener senses than himself. Nwoi had probably smelled the corpse long before the he had, the Dwarf guessed. Aragorn yelled to Legolas.

The Elf looked up, quickly sidestepping between Nwoi and his destination. With his hands he beckoned the horses to barricade the remains from sight before nimbly catching the small boy in his arms. The horses' sides effectively hid the corpse. He struggled to restrain him, placing a hand over Nwoi's eyes to insure that the horrible sight went unseen.

"Wait, Nwoi, wait," Legolas said softly, shifting his body to better prevent Nwoi's escape. The boy calmed somewhat, ceasing his struggles. He seemed fixed to protest. Before he could do so, the horses sounded a startling cry. They were spooked into movement, stamping their hooves worriedly, eyes wide with fright.

Six Druedain warriors leapt from the brush with such an alarming swiftness that even Legolas was taken by unawares. How long had they hidden there, unseen and unperceived? His brow furrowed deeply as the intimidating warriors surrounded him. They had seen Legolas restrain Nwoi and easily recognized their kin. They believed Legolas was harming the boy. Legolas stood as still as stone, his head raised. The Elf was concentrating deeply, trying in vain to track the footfalls of those hindmost him. They crept slowly closer, their movements untraceable until their spear points were threateningly close to his neck. Deep within the warriors' unending black eyes their emotions were hidden.

Aragorn and Gimli were cut off in their attempt to reach their friend, three of the warriors instantly halting their process. Aragorn recognized one of the warriors as belonging to Bahârrod's troop. If only Bahârrod himself were present!Nwoi broke free of Legolas' grasp, spreading his arms protectively in front of the Elf.

"Nma!" The boy shouted, his voice unwavering and commanding. "Ma nma!" The warriors stood their ground, poised as statues forever ready to strike. And then, by pure and horrible chance, Nwoi turned to face the corpse, Legolas having been rendered unable to stop him. The boy's eyes widened in fear, the whites of his eyes flashing eerily behind the almost interminable dark irises. In those eyes Legolas saw such a sorrow that sent a chill down his spine. The Druadan's face paled a ghostly white.Nwoi fell against Legolas as his knees gave out, his lips quivering uncontrollably. The Elf lowered him gently to the ground, ignoring the spears that followed dangerously close to his flesh.

"Legolas!" Gimli shouted, fearing that his friend had fallen from injury. Next to him, Aragorn visibly tensed. The horses stamped their hooves, snorting nervously. He reached for his axe, feeling the sharp points barely prick his skin. He could not move. Gimli did not see any way the spear points would not pierce the delicate skin at Legolas' neck. He was awestricken when he saw no blood. No harm came to his companion. The Druedain warriors' control was unerring, despite their weapons being less than a hair's breadth from flesh. They were no less threatening in their stance.

"Mno . . ." Nwoi breathed. Aragorn watched the eyes of their captors soften, their bushy brows creasing in what he recognized as heartache. He turned to Legolas. The Elf wore an expression of confusion and pure concern as he stared down at Nwoi, his own life-threatening situation heedlessly forgotten. Tears began to stream down the boy's cheeks, and Legolas was struck by how young the Druadan truly was. He had not realized until now. Gone was the mature facade he had masqueraded in ere now.

"Nwoi?" He questioned softly, stroking the boy's mat of dark hair in a desperate effort to comfort him. The spears continued to follow his movement, glinting in a chance ray of sunlight. Nwoi buried his face in Legolas' chest, pulling hysterically at the fabric of his jerkin. The young Druadan wasweepingnow, Aragorn and Gimli could see. His small form was breathing erratically, racked by the power of his sobs. "Nwoi?" Legolas questioned again, his voice gentle and comforting. His face was lined heavily with worry, and he continued to stroke the boy's hair. And then he heard it, a muffled, barely audible moan.

"Father . . ." Legolas' breath caught in his throat. Nwoi's fists clenched tightly at Legolas' jerkin as the boy gave a strangled and quaking cry. He continued to sob, shaking uncontrollably, hidingagainst the Elf's chest. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and Elf of countless years heardmore suffering in one word than he had in his lifetime. "Mno . . ." The Druedain warriors' spears were drawn back slowly and sorrowfully. They stood at the ready, but each knew they were unneeded. Spread across their wide faces was undiluted grief. Aragorn lowered his head and Gimli removed his helm, dropping it to the ground.

Such was the scene the Chieftain arrived to. The site of Nwoi sobbing hopelessly in Legolas' arms was enough to send the most powerful Druadan of his time to his knees.

Ezulu watched with unyielding black eyes and a grim sense of amusement. Yes, he very much liked the sight of his Chieftain in such adevastated state. He grinned to himself as he watched Nwoi. He felt an urge to laugh outright, but locked his jaw. He had wondered how long it would take before the boy learned of his father's death . . . He hadn't expected it to turn out quite so interesting.

To be continued . . .

Ah, I hope you enjoyed the chapter . . . I pulled an all nighter to write it. /checks watch/ Eek, I just watched the sun rise. . . and I have school tomorrow . . . Oh well. Sleep deprivation has yet to kill me.

Translations: "Nma . . . Ma nma!" "Stop . . . enough, stop!"

"Mno" "father"

Drûg The Druedain's name for themselves (This is a word of Tolkien's creation, taken from his 'Unfinished Tales.')

Responses:

Raspberry: I'm so sorry to have made you wait as long as I have. Thank you so much for your comment! I really appreciate it!

Navaer Lalaith: Thank you so much for addressing that, actually. I've done the best I can with the aid of my book and Pedin Edhellen (a sindarin program) but I guess I'll just have to keep working at it. Thank you so much for going into detail. It's extremely helpful. I'll be sure to go back and fix the errors. I really appreciate your help!

Lyn: Thank you!

LunaML: Ah, Katie . . . maybe you shouldn't say that around so many LotR fans. Eep. Regardless, thanks so much for the comment! I can't believe we didn't get to do anything over spring break!

Tamelia: Thank you! To be compared to Tolkien makes my heart flutter. Goodness, thank you so much for your kind words! You've made my day.

Nominwen: Rachel, I haven't seen you in so long! Happy (belated) Birthday! You have to tell me what you'd like as a present. I'm no good at that sort of thing. I'll put a pronunciation guide at the end of this chapter. Some of the words are real tongue twisters, after all. Ah, you used like and simile in the same sentence. Punny! I didn't get to see you over spring break, either!

Gismo/nervous laugh/ Two chapters in a week and then I disappear . . . I'm so sorry! I'm glad I cheered you up beforehand, at least. I'm glad Ezulu has sparked your curiosity, he's meant to, he is the main antagonist, after all. Shh...Don't tell anyone, but your second guess about Ezulu is almost dead on! Good job! I'm glad you liked the part about Legolas . . . his situation always makes me sad. But it also makes me think. Ah, and I'm so glad you liked the bit about trees, and Nwoi too. Cliffhangers, eek . . . and ones that drag out for six months, too. In any case, thank you sooo much for your review! Honestly, I look forward to your comments every time I write a chapter. I hope you're still with me.

Lintu . . .

P.S. Pronunciation! Since Nominwen was wondering, here it is. If anyone has questions, feel free to ask. These are all the correct spellings, however, in many of the chapters, for example, Bahârrod lacks the 'â.' (Because I always forget to add it.)

Nwoí (Na - Woa - oii) The 'na' and 'woa' should be right on top of each other, like a single syllable. It sounds a bit like the 'noy' in 'annoy,' but with a 'w' after the 'n'.

Bahârrod (Bah- ha- rod)

Ezulu (Eh- zoo- lu)

Carbbidhe (Carb -bid- day)

Fearngost (Fern- gast)

Druedain (Drew- ii- dane)

Gorgûn (Gore- gun) I'm assuming that Tolkien intended the 'u' to be elongated.

P.P.S. I'm sorry this chapter was so short. I'm trying to sort out the details and cement the plot. I have so many ideas for this fic . . . I think I've come up with what I intend to write, but my mind is a fickle thing.