Chapter 5: Walking in Worlds Beyond

One moment Elladan was fighting a growing headache and immense worry—and the next he was standing in the middle of a forest at what appeared to be approaching twilight. A gray shroud blotted out what he could see of the sky through a canopy of crooked branches and cobwebs as thick as moss. He slowly turned in a full circle, noting the absence of sound or movement. The silence could have bordered on tranquil, were it not for the profound sense of wrongness permeating the air.

Elladan frowned. Was this a vision of some kind? He had never shown any signs of inheriting his father's gift of foresight before, but there was definitely an otherworldly feel about his surroundings. How had he come to be here? Wait…hadn't he been in Mirkwood's healing ward only moments ago? With Legolas! Elladan spun around faster this time, eyes peeled against the tendrils of mist wafting in and out of trees. This had to be a vision, or a dream. But why? He did not remember going to sleep, not with his friend so ill and no idea how to help. Besides, if this was some type of foresight, shouldn't some scene be playing out before him? Why was he utterly alone?

When waiting for several long minutes accomplished nothing, Elladan picked a direction and began to walk. The earth was soft and porous beneath his feet, and when he reached out to touch a tree, its bark felt rough and scratchy. It was strange how realistic sensations were, even when Elladan knew they must not be real.

"Hello?" he called, wondering whether one of the Valar were reaching out to him. Why else would he have been pulled into this mysterious place? Perhaps he had to prove himself somehow, and if he did, they would tell him how to help Legolas.

But the longer he walked with no sign or indication of his purpose, the more Elladan began to feel growing trepidation. How was he supposed to find his way out of here? He stopped and closed his eyes, willing himself to wake. Yet nothing happened. If this truly was spirit travel—and he could think of no other explanation—it was unusually weighted, as though his fëa were anchored by a force as strong as gravity.

He had to fight back a surge of rising panic; succumbing to despair would not help him find a way out of this. Perhaps his brother would be able to wake him. Elladan's chest constricted with the thought of Elrohir distraught over worrying about Legolas and now Elladan too. He had to find a way back to them.

The forest was becoming denser the further he traveled, and Elladan wished he knew whether he was going in the right direction. He stopped short, Legolas's laughter echoing in his mind.

"A wood-elf can never get lost as long as there are trees to climb!"

A smile tried to come forth at the pleasant memory, but alas there was no time for it. Turning to the nearest tree, Elladan leaped up and began to climb. The branches were thin, and several had rotted, sagging sections that threatened to break under his weight. He tried to spur himself on by imagining what Legolas would say were he here. Probably something about how the Ñoldor were too prim and proper to know how to scale a tree.

Elladan huffed out loud, the thought enough to stir his indignation, and then he almost laughed at himself for formulating an argument with one who wasn't there. We will have such an argument again, Elladan silently promised. For ages to come.

Hefting himself up onto the highest branch that would support him, Elladan pushed a clump of branchlets and leaves aside to look out over the landscape. A chill ran down his spine, for this forest stretched as far and wide as the eye could see—which for an elf was a great distance. There was no change in the terrain, either. No valleys or mountains. Just a flat expanse of an ancient-looking forest falling into ruin.

Elladan perched there for a long time, a myriad of questions and doubts running through his mind. Why was this happening? Why was he here? Those seemed more important than the 'how' as despair sank its teeth into his heart. As long as he was in this place, he could not help Legolas. And Elrohir would be worried sick. How much time had passed for his brother? Was it hours as it felt like here, or more? Less? Did time even have meaning in the spirit realm?

With nothing else to do, Elladan began to climb back down. He set his foot on a wide branch, expecting one so broad to hold his weight, but it instantly caved in with a groan. Elladan's heart shot into his throat as he fell. Air whooshed around him, interrupted only by the slapping of leaves and twigs that he crashed through. His arms flailed to catch himself on something, anything, but everything he hit seemed to crumble in response, nearly the entire tree rotted down to silt.

And then he hit something spongy and flexible that stopped his fall, a mere fifteen feet from the ground. Elladan didn't move for a long moment, heart thundering in his chest and hands shaking. Then, slowly, he tried to stretch out his arm to grab the branch of the tree on his left, hoping it wasn't as diseased as the other one. But his elbow snagged on whatever stringy material had saved him.

Elladan shifted slightly, and found his savior to be rather secure. His relief was short-lived, however, because a closer look revealed he'd fallen into a massive web. He immediately tried to jerk away and scramble out of it, but the movement only made the strands cling more stubbornly to his clothes. In less than a minute, one arm was trapped at his side, and his legs were firmly entangled. His pulse ratcheted up again, and it took every ounce of willpower to stop struggling before he made things worse.

"Elrohir, I wish you were here," Elladan moaned. Not that he wanted his brother to be trapped in this desolate place, but they were always a pair—getting into trouble together and getting out of it. That was what Elladan wanted then: the other half of his fire and strength. Where Elladan was cautious, Elrohir was brash; the elder more soft-spoken and analytical, the younger passionate and quick-thinking. His twin would get him out of this predicament…even if it caused another one.

Elladan focused on taking deep breaths and trying to work out a solution. But then a vibration ran through the webbing, and he shot his head up. His lungs seized at the sight of a monstrous black bat stepping off a nearby tree and onto the edge of the web. Its torso was the size of a baby, covered in dark brown fuzz. Leathery wings folded along bony, backward-jointed arms that slowly crawled across the web, nubby claws clinging effortlessly to the strands. A tiny head sat between two broad shoulders, beady eyes seeming to glow with fulvous hellfire in this environment of muted shades.

Elladan began to squirm. He flailed his free hand up and around in search of a branch he could grab and haul himself up with. The bat made a slurping sound and opened its mouth. It only had a set of two top fangs, but an instant later a glob of viscous white goo shot out and hit Elladan's hand, knocking it back against the web and trapping it there. He tried to wrench free, but the sticky mess seemed to be the same material the web was made out of, and was seamlessly coalescing together. Now Elladan began to panic.

"Elrohir!" His brother might sense his distress, though Elladan didn't know what good it would do. "Gandalf!"

The bat stalked closer, mouth hanging open now and saliva dripping from its fangs. Elladan knew this was not his physical body, yet he still did not want his fëa to be devoured alive. The sticky web tightened around him, constricting his limbs until he could barely move. Terror shot through his heart. His family would have no idea what had happened to him.

The web juddered again, and Elladan despaired at the thought of being feasted on by multiple monsters. But the bat whipped its head to the side with a snarl, body wobbling for balance as a section of webbing seemed to unhitch from its anchor. Elladan's stomach leaped into his throat as he dropped a good foot before the net held again. And then he caught sight of a figure leaping from tree branch to tree branch, the last person he expected to see in this place.

Legolas's blond hair was slightly dirty, as were his clothes, and instead of his customary bow or ivory knives, he held what looked like a sharpened rock bound to a short chunk of wood with twine. The bat flapped its wings and launched itself at Legolas, who made a swipe with his crude blade. A pain-filled screech rattled Elladan's ears as a splash of oily black fluid splattered part of the web.

Legolas nimbly jumped to another branch, and Elladan feared one would give way just as it had for him, but Legolas moved as though weightless. The bat made another slurping sound as it turned to face the blond elf again.

"Watch out!" Elladan cried.

Legolas ducked just as a glob of mucoid gunk sailed over his head. The bat lunged again, but instead of dodging, Legolas stood his ground and thrust his knife straight into the creature. There was a thump as the bat crashed into the prince, and Elladan's heart stuttered, his view blocked by the beast's wingspan.

Then it began to slide down, revealing Legolas still standing. He planted a foot on the bat's head and shoved it all the way off his blade. The creature fell to the forest floor below, landing with a dull thud. Legolas stared at it for a prolonged moment before lifting his gaze to Elladan, and there was definitely shock in those blue eyes.

Elladan probably should have said something reassuring, but his emotions were a torrent of disbelief, joy, and confusion. Legolas began weaving his way through the branches to reach the other side of the web where he crouched down and started sawing through the strands binding Elladan.

"Legolas," he finally spoke. "Thank the Valar. Are you all right?"

Legolas paused in his efforts to give Elladan a strange look—sadness mixed with reluctance.

Elladan's heart rate kicked up again. "Legolas?"

"I'm fine," the prince replied in a low voice, and resumed trying to cut the web down. Elladan wanted to press, but decided to wait until he had full use of his limbs.

Legolas sliced through different sections of webbing with the efficiency of one who was used to dealing with spider nests, and it wasn't long before Elladan felt the bindings loosen. Legolas grabbed his arm and pulled him safely onto the branch before he could fall.

Elladan hastily wiped his hands on his leggings to get the sticky feeling off, then glanced down. "I should like to return to the ground now."

A flicker of fear crossed Legolas's face, but after a quick look around, he nodded. Elladan had been expecting some banter or teasing for not being at home in the trees as the prince was, and so this near silence was scaring him. But, he had to remind himself that he had only been in this place a short time, and already Elladan had been terrified beyond imagining. Who knew what Legolas had gone through.

They carefully made their way down, and once they were securely on solid ground, Elladan grabbed Legolas and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"I have been so worried, mellon nîn. We didn't know what had happened to you." They still didn't, but simply seeing Legolas here was something.

Legolas returned the gesture, though it seemed half-hearted. "I'm sorry, Elladan."

Elladan pulled back sharply. "For what? Nothing was your fault. But now that I've found you, we can work together to make sense of this… Legolas?"

Legolas had looked away, as though unable to meet Elladan's eye. "You'd gone looking for me?" he asked softly. Why did he sound so dejected?

"Yes. Elrohir and I were with Gandalf when he received word from Radagast, and we came right away."

Legolas closed his eyes in obvious grief. "Then you are dead because of me."

Elladan's brows rose sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Legolas gestured helplessly at their surroundings. "Surely you've noticed this is not Middle-earth. I don't know why I was not permitted entrance into the Halls of Waiting, but if you were cast into this wretched place because of me, then I am so deeply sorry…"

Elladan sucked in a breath with the realization. He reached out both hands to grip Legolas's arms, forcing the prince to face him. "Legolas, no—you're not dead!"

Legolas shook his head as though Elladan was the one in hopeless denial.

"No," Elladan insisted. "I told you we came to Mirkwood immediately, and we found you. Alive. You've been in a coma though, one we could not find a reason or cure for."

Legolas frowned. "Are…are you sure?"

Elladan moved one hand up to clasp his friend's shoulder. "Yes. It took us two days to bring you home, and we had just settled you in the healing ward when…" He paused and looked around. When Elladan had found himself here instead.

The brief glimpse of hope on Legolas's face faded. "If that is the case and you are here now…then you have likely fallen into a coma as well."

That was a disheartening thought, and Elladan finally began to wonder about the how in all this. It could not be an illness, which elves weren't generally vulnerable to, not with he and Legolas finding each other in this strange place.

"What do you remember about the ones who took you?" he asked.

Legolas's eyes darkened. "I remember Lícumon being caught in a trap, and men offering to help. I was wary at first, of course, but they did free Lícumon's leg." A muscle in his jaw ticked. "They used that moment when I was focused on Lícumon to attack. They…drugged me with something."

Elladan clenched a fist, his anger stirred anew. "We found evidence they were keeping you sedated as they moved south."

Legolas looked away again, and Elladan could imagine the proud prince's sense of shame, though it was not his fault. "Aye," he said softly. "I don't remember any of it, only that when I woke we were near the mountains and the leader told me he killed Lícumon."

"Three of them are dead," Elladan assured him, but did not mention that the apparent leader had escaped. Though the grief Legolas was feeling must be intense, they needed to concentrate on parsing out this puzzle. "What happened then?" he pressed.

Legolas stepped away, but not before Elladan felt a shudder run through him. "They took me to a cave. There was a woman there…a sorceress. She…she hinted that she knew my grandfather." Legolas reached up to rub his temple. "She mentioned bringing about the ruin of the Mirkwood elves, and how I would be her instrument. Then she began mixing a potion and chanting a spell. I fought, but couldn't break free."

Elladan moved closer to once again put a comforting hand on his friend's arm. His own heart twinged as he imagined going through that.

Legolas shook his head. "Things become hazy at that point. The next thing I clearly remember is being here."

Elladan nodded thoughtfully, turning his head to scan the forest again. "I think it's safe to say this is some kind of spirit travel, since I know for a fact your body is in Mirkwood. The sorceress must have cast a spell, but for what purpose?" he mused.

Legolas lifted a morose look at him. "I'm sorry you're here because of me, Elladan."

"Don't. If that's what it took for me to find you, then I do not regret it. I admit, nearly being eaten by that creature was terrifying, but I am also heartened that you are no longer alone." Elladan gave Legolas's arm a squeeze before stepping back and squaring his shoulders. "So, we must figure out what to do next."

Legolas shifted hesitantly, but finally that glint of defiance Elladan usually found vexing—but desperately wanted to see again—was back. "First, we must make you a weapon. That bat is not the only thing stalking these woods."

Well, that was an ominous revelation he could have done without. But Elladan was glad to see the prince's spark return. And now that Legolas knew he had not perished, that there was a chance to return home, he would fight all that much harder to get them back. So would Elladan.

Gandalf stood in the doorway to the healing ward, mouth pressed in a tight line as he watched two more elves be carried in and laid on beds. They were the guards who had brought Legolas in the day before, and now they too had fallen into a strange and inexplicable sleep. If this was some sickness, Gandalf had never heard tell of it before. But this ailment did seem to behave like a pathogen, striking down only a select few who had been exposed—so far.

The Grey Wizard turned his attention to Legolas, as still and pale as when they'd found him. Whatever was happening here had begun with his capture and unexpected release, which meant answers would not be found within the Mirkwood palace.

A light rapping against the floor had Gandalf turning to greet Radagast as the fellow Istar approached, his staff tapping out a hurried rhythm.

"Gandalf, I just heard," the Brown Wizard said in a hushed voice, peeking over Gandalf's shoulder into the infirmary. Thranduil had hardly left his son's side, but with the news of two more elves being afflicted, he had gone to meet with his council. Elrohir remained, sitting in a chair set between the beds of his brother and Legolas.

"There is something evil at work here," Gandalf murmured.

Radagast quirked a brow. "Like what?"

Gandalf glanced at the prince and Peredhil, a pang shooting through his heart. He had walked Middle-earth for a long time, met many folk whom he befriended, but those two he felt an especial fondness for. Along with Elrohir, whom Gandalf had begun to fear for as well.

"I do not know, but if we are to find answers, we must go to the source."

Radagast's eyes widened. "The poacher who escaped."

"Yes." Gandalf pivoted and began striding down the passage to the heart of the palace. "Though it is likely he is long gone. However, they had taken Legolas south to the mountains before turning back, so they must have had a destination. If we find where, we may find the answers we seek."

Radagast shuffled quickly to keep up. "And if we do not?"

Gandalf didn't answer; he couldn't. Elves were hale and hearty beings, capable of withstanding many things that would kill a man or lesser creature, but even they could not survive a lengthy time without nourishment. Gandalf took some measure of comfort knowing that Elrond would come once he received their message, and the renowned healer may have something to offer. But likely it would merely stave off the inevitable.

Gandalf came to the steps leading up to the wide platform where Thranduil sat on his throne, one hand wearily bracing his head as his counselors argued over each other.

"They should be quarantined!" one said heatedly.

Another scoffed. "It is likely too late for that. Besides, only two of the dozen or so who were around them have fallen ill."

The dispute did not cease with the wizards' arrival, though Gandalf did not care. He walked straight to Thranduil, who looked up and swiftly straightened.

"Do you have news or insight, Mithrandir? Or do you come to blow hot air as these are doing?"

It was a testament to how distraught the counselors were that they did not mark their lord's words and silence themselves.

"Radagast and I are leaving," Gandalf replied, and bristled with indignation at the scowl that creased the king's features. "To search out where your son had been taken in the first place," he added snippily. "They obviously had a base somewhere near the mountains. If we cannot find the man who escaped, then we may at least discover signs of what was done to Legolas."

Thranduil's jaw worked considerably, the burdens of a king conflicting with the anguish of a father. The Elvenking was prideful, quicker to keep his realm isolated than to ask for help. And though Thranduil and Gandalf were not enemies, their interactions had always been a tumultuous balance of begrudging respect and tolerance.

"I promise you I will not rest until I find answers," Gandalf said. "You are not alone in this, my lord."

Thranduil turned shrewd eyes on the wizard. "Normally the word of a wizard means nothing to me."

Gandalf drew himself up, prepared for an argument, but the king continued.

"But I know you care for Legolas." Grief filled Thranduil's eyes before it was shoved down deep behind the mask of a stoic king. "And you may be the only one who can help him."

"Elrond will come," Gandalf pointed out.

Thranduil let out a soft, humorless snort. "Then the life of my son is in the hands of a wizard and a Ñoldo."

"Two wizards," Radagast piped up, earning an eye roll from the Elvenking.

Gandalf placed a hand on the armrest of Thranduil's throne, not disrespectful enough to touch the king himself, but offering the symbolic gesture. "Be strong, my lord. Your people need you, as does Legolas. We will return."

With that, Gandalf turned and exited the platform, Radagast on his heels. It would take a couple days simply to journey south, and who knew how long to find what they were looking for once there. Gandalf sent a prayer to the Valar that nothing worse would happen in that time.