A/N: Okay, I had actually meant for this chapter to be shorter, but I couldn't help myself. I've been working on my sentence structures, so hopefully they flow a little more. I'd love feedback on that! Oh, and thank you for the reviews and such and such. I realised I was incredibly sloppy in the last chapter, because I saw trillions of typos (exaggerated slightly.) Hopefully, I've eliminated them... I've also made sure I put in the translations for the elvish, apart from the song. I don't think I said last time but 'Mellon nin' means 'my friend'. Read on, and please review.

Disclaimer: Still don't own it. "Evenstar" is the name of the song, and is part of the film soundtrack.

Starcrossed
Flying

Frodo stared at the spot. Gandalf had been there only a moment before, but now he was gone. Gone. Where had he gone?

"GANDALF!" Frodo cried at the height of his voice, trying to reach him.

He was there; of course he was there. He was -is- Gandalf. Gandalf didn't just disappear.

"GANDALF!" Why didn't he appear? Was he hanging just out of sight, waiting for them to aid him? Yes, that made sense. He tried to run towards the edge, to aid Gandalf, but strong arms restrained him, holding him from the bridge, from Gandalf.

"NO! GANDALF!" What was Boromir doing? Didn't he know Gandalf needed them? But wait, why wasn't Gandalf calling for them? Damn wizard pride.

The arms were dragging him away now, away from Gandalf. Frodo frowned in annoyance, even Gandalf wasn't as proud as this. He would have at least made his presence known.

And then it dawned on him: Gandalf was gone.

His breath left his lungs, his head shook disbelievingly, but he understood now: Gandalf was gone. He let the arms take him, pulling him away, away from the broken bridge. Gandalf was gone. Dead: his blood was cold, his breath stolen. Gandalf ceased to be, the moment he fell from that bridge.

The cold slapped him in the face as they stumbled out into the open air. He could hear the sobs of Merry and Pippin, and the struggles of Gimli as the dwarf tried to push his way past Boromir to the mines, with the same naïve thoughts that Frodo had before. Foolish dwarf, he thought bitterly, Gandalf is gone.

Oh, he understood perfectly. His lifelong friend, his mentor: deceased. A single tear made its way down his cheek at the thought of the wizard's mangled body, lying beside that of the beast.

"Frodo!" He heard Aragorn's voice call him, and turned to face the ranger as the tear slid down to his chin. Aragorn merely gazed at him for a moment; his stormy eyes brimmed with understanding. "Come, Frodo." Aragorn called again, this time his tone softer.

Frodo looked down at his feet but obliged, half-heartedly picking his way over the rocks to his remaining companions. Frodo felt a pang in his heart. Now a fellowship of eight, they stood waiting patiently for him, though it seemed that Legolas was in fact leaning on a boulder rather than standing.

Aragorn started moving the moment he reached them, shouldering his pack.

"We must move quickly." He told them firmly, looking over his shoulder to make sure they followed.

Closing his eyes for but a moment, Frodo willed himself to carry on. It was what Gandalf would want. No doubt the wizard would have been scolding them by now.

His lips curled upwards at the thought, but behind he heard a soft thud and a gasp of pain, followed in precession by elven cursing. He turned to see Legolas sprawled on the rocks, his face set into a grimace as he attempted to push himself up. And was failing miserably, Frodo noted grimly. The elf's arms shook as he raised himself, and Frodo watched as a teary-faced Sam bent and took hold of one, helping him to his feet. Legolas politely thanked him, completely ignoring their concerned gazes.

Sam smiled as well as possible in reply, turning to walk back over to Frodo, but the ringbearer was still watching the elf curiously.

Legolas readjusted the bow and quiver on his back, before his watchful eyes focused intently on the rocks as he unsteadily made his way again. It took only three steps for the elf to trip again, and he crashed painfully to his knees with a wince. By now the rest of the fellowship had stopped to watch in confusion, and again Legolas ignored them, or at least as much as he could when one short member marched up to him.

Gimli seized his arm, pulling it round his own broad shoulders and encircling the slim waist as he roughly supported the elf.

"Can't stand watching you fail at that, now can I, Laddie?" He explained gruffly as Legolas frowned down at him.

As good as the dwarf's intentions were, it was almost comical to see the short dwarf attempt to help the much taller elf, and perhaps Boromir realised this, for he came up beside Gimli.

"Good intentions, indeed, but I'm afraid it will only be in vain, Master Dwarf. You are almost half his size." Boromir pointed out, his face having returned to its serious demeanour, as the dwarf blushed in agreement. With that, the Gondorian took Gimli's place, and Frodo turned his attention to the ranger up ahead.

He hadn't looked back once.

Aragorn would rarely stop, only to wait impatiently for them and other times to scan the horizon, but otherwise he trudged tirelessly. Frodo knew that Aragorn was thinking of their safety, but the behaviour annoyed him to no end. Of course, they all had their own ways of dealing with death, but the rangers' method of blocking it, and everything else, out was ridiculous.

He was even ignoring Legolas. The woodland elf was clearly in pain, but showed incredible resilience to their unending walking. The hobbits, on the other hand, were faring somewhat the same discomfort. They were not in pain, no, but their small bodies and short legs were not ideal for walking tirelessly at such a pace, and the long hours and worn emotions were taking their toll. Frodo was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

"Aragorn!" Boromir's deep voice called, having noticed their fatigue, "We must rest! The hobbits are tired… and I cannot deny my own weariness…" He added under his breath.

The ranger stopped for a moment, gazing wistfully ahead before turning back to them with a curt nod. Pippin breathed a sigh of relief, immediately plodding down onto the grass in such a manner that Frodo's mouth almost twitched. Almost.

Aragorn silently surveyed the area as he strode over to them, where Sam built a fire with Gimli, the red sunset lighting the sky above them. The days were growing steadily colder.

"Will there be rain, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his voice devoid of any emotions, sending shivers up Frodo's spine.

"No," Legolas replied, glancing skywards. "Not until tomorrow."

Aragorn nodded, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as he continued to gaze towards the west.

Frodo frowned, but averted his attention instead to Legolas. The elf sat on a rock, his legs uncrossed in an uncharacteristic position, as he seemed to fiddle with his bow, running his long-fingered hands over the carvings on the wood. Frodo sat opposite him, feigning interest in the glowing embers of the growing fire. The elf had also rarely spoken that day, weariness having overcome him. Even in Moria had he been known to suddenly break into song, or peals of laughter, but now all his joy was absent, and as such he remained mute.

The hobbit stretched his legs out in front as he mused, wordlessly accepting broth from Sam. He watched the last slice of the sun disappear beyond the hills, his thoughts mulling over Legolas' earlier words.

"I go to find the sun!" Well, he'd found the sun at last, but it now slipped from them, submerging into the dark with their less than hopeful future. They'd been doomed since setting from Rivendell, Frodo now realised. Boromir had been right all along: one did not simply walk into Mordor. The quest had diminished the merriment of their youngest – Frodo glanced at the sullen Pippin – and even the fairest. Immortals shouldn't know of death, Frodo decided. A mortal life was merciless enough when a loved one ascended to the halls of Mandos, but facing an eternity of anguish and despair would surely break a heart.

Frodo glanced over at the elf again. The strain placed on the elf looked at first to be only of pain, deciphered by the stiffness of his back, and the tightening around his eyes, but there was something unseen.

Frodo saw how Legolas looked to the sky every few moments, his pale eyes scanning every aspect as if only reading the clouds. He had swapped his bow for broth, but it grew cold in his hands, and even still he looked to the skies. Waiting. Searching.

Never once did he look at the ranger, and never once did the ranger look at him.

Aragorn abruptly shook himself awake. The night had fallen heavily with the leave of the sun, and now the rest of the fellowship rested fitfully despite their ordeal. Gimli's incessant snores punctuated the very fact, as they slumbered on, heedless of it. He should be waking said dwarf any moment, but had no intention of doing so. Gandalf's death had been only that day, and though he hid it, the events wore on his mind. The death of the friend he'd known for long shocked him beyond even grief, pushing his emotions into limbo. Only when he thought of the near death of his friend did he feel, and he despaired. Despaired for the quest. Despaired for the future of the fellowship. Despaired for his friends. And this very despair questioned his ability of leadership. One had already perished in Moria, and this he understood was not his fault, but he'd also let down the closest friend he possessed. The elf lived, indeed, but Aragorn could not bear to look at the prince of Mirkwood. The effects of both his wounds and the poison were becoming painfully apparent, and of the short glimpses he'd captured of Legolas, he'd known instantly that the elf held more than he gave.

The normal elven fluidity and flawless gait had been replaced with a mere clumsy stumble. His friend could barely walk on his own; with or without the mind of a healer, Aragorn knew they must reach Lothlórien swiftly. Such was the reason he'd powered on ahead, temporarily blinded by the need to ensure his friend's safety. Little had he known that his blindness in fact weakened both his friend and fellows even further.

He sighed again, passing one hand over his eyes and massaging his temples: the stress was tiring. He remained in this position for a while, when a soft touch on his shoulder startled him.

"Forgive me." Frodo immediately apologized when Aragorn jumped and whirled around. "My intention was not to startle you"

"Frodo, why are you not asleep? Is something amiss?" Aragorn blurted softly in one breath, his stormy eyes already surveying the camp for dangers.

"No, no. Only…" Frodo hesitated unsurely, his eyes glancing into the distance. "I think there is something wrong with Legolas."

Aragorn let his hand slip from the hilt of his sword, frowning in confusion at the hobbit. Legolas had been fine the last time he'd looked, considering his condition.

"Legolas?" He repeated. The hobbit nodded vigorously, seizing his arm and pulling him forcefully to where the elf lay, being mindful of their sleeping companions.

The first abnormality that struck Aragorn was his unusual position. The elf didn't lie on his back as he had so far on their journey, instead preferring now to curl on his right side- his uninjured side, Aragorn noted. On one had his head rested, crown inches from Boromir's back, as if his improvised pillow was not sufficient a cushion, while his bow was gripped in the other. A frown was fixed on his tightly drawn features, and he twitched as Aragorn and Frodo neared, jaw clenched.

"I don't recall ever seeing him sleep like that." Frodo whispered, as the prince of Mirkwood emitted a shaky breath.

Aragorn nodded grimly, glancing over his shoulder to see that the fellowship hadn't stirred despite Frodo's troubles, certainly devoid of energy. He smoothed the frown from his face before turning to Frodo, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and opening his mouth, when suddenly a quiet sound chilled his bones.

The elven prince's features tightened, a soft strangled cry of pain escaping his lips, and the stifled utterance that followed was just barely audible.

"Naneth." Legolas breathed, his grip tightening on his bow as his knuckles whitened under the pressure. /mother/. Still the fellowship slept.

Aragorn reached out, hesitating when he found his own hand shook, but another elvish mutter propelled him to lay it on his friends shoulder. The elf jerked awake, the grip on his bow loosening.

"Legolas?" Aragorn whispered, waiting patiently as Legolas' hazy gaze swivelled to him, adjusting blearily on the ranger's crouched form. It took a blink for the elf to recognize him, another to notice the second, smaller figure, and a third to realize where he was.

"Is something wrong, Aragorn?" He whispered, his words heavily slurred. Aragorn frowned: the elf rarely called him anything other than Estel, and he certainly never slurred.

"You are in pain, Mellon nîn." He replied, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. /My friend/

Legolas merely frowned at him for a moment, his eyes flickering to Frodo.

"I am not." He replied defiantly and at this louder noise, Boromir stirred in his slumber and mumbled incoherently before falling still. "Is it wise to make noise and wake the others?"

Aragorn stared dumbly at his friend, annoyed that the elf knew the exact words that would halt his actions. He couldn't bear to wake the others and begrudgingly nodded, nevertheless giving the elf a look to show they were not finished. Legolas merely rolled his eyes at him, smiled reassuringly at Frodo, and settled back onto his side, tucking his arm back under his head and turning his face into the crook.

"Come on, Frodo." The ranger said softly, guiding him back towards the hobbit occupied area of camp. "Sleep. Legolas will be fine, I'll make sure of that."

His eyes met Frodo's firmly, and he prayed they did not betray his uneasiness. It seemed his prayers were answered, for Frodo nodded and lay down, allowing Aragorn to drape his blanket over him. Aragorn smiled, as Sam was immediately aware of Frodo's presence, and tucked up protectively to his master even in sleep. Frodo would not be cold tonight.

He wearily picked his way through the sleeping bodies to his post, sitting heavily down onto the smooth boulder. Elves rarely slept with their eyes shut; it occurred only when an elf was greatly fatigued, or in immense pain.

That night their elven friend suffered, and still the fellowship slept on.

Frodo woke to the smell of mushrooms, sniffing the air cautiously before finally opening his eyes. Sam crouched over a roaring fire stirring a pot as he muttered to himself- the Company watched him wearily, as if fearful for sanity- but his curly head turned in his direction as he sat up.

"Mr Frodo!" He greeted happily, "I was just about to wake you… unfortunately." Sam added under his breath as he turned back to the pot.

Frodo shuffled forward to sit cross-legged next to Pippin and Gimli, the latter of whom was eyeing something disapprovingly. Frowning, Frodo followed the dwarf's elf seemed unaware of the dwarf's scrutinizing gaze; his dull eyes only bore into the fire unseeingly, his skin waxen in the half-light. His eyes flickered up only briefly as Sam announced breakfast was ready, and proceeded to pour the broth into bowls and hand them in turn to the company. Legolas moved his head as if to decline when it came to his turn, but a hard look from a certain dwarf forced him to bite his tongue and accept with a small smile. If one hadn't been watching the elf closely, they wouldn't have noticed that slight shake of Legolas' hands as he accepted the bowl, but Frodo saw, and judging by the stiffened dwarf beside him, so had Gimli. The elf himself noticed also, for he quickly withdrew his hands with the bowl, and sat sipping silently for the rest of breakfast, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Aragorn eventually put down his bowl and announced their leave; evidently as eager as he'd been the day before to get to Lothlórien. Frodo handed his own bowl to Sam as Boromir stamped out the fire, scattering the wood and ashes as always. The moves looked oddly practised now, so many weeks down the line. Legolas merely picked up his weapons and slung them on his back, before skimming the camp with his eyes for his pack, only to find Gimli had taken it yet again. The elf didn't argue. Whether it was the defiant look in the dwarf's eye or his own weariness, Frodo didn't know, but it was becoming an unusual habit for the elf to let Gimli have his own way with naught but a resigned nod.

Frodo's thoughts were quenched when the elf rose to his feet, taking a second to steady his swaying before hitching his weapons higher up his back and stalking past the ringbearer. Boromir accepted the decline of his help without a word, deciding instead to keep an eye on the two younger hobbits.

The journey resumed silently.

They stood in the usual formation, minus the leadership of Gandalf, but not even Pippin had the heart for any jokes or quips. He was quiet even when his stomach rumbled with the force of an earthquake; one look at his companions was enough to cut off his complaints. Frodo sighed, missing the previously dreaded words of "I'm hungry", but no one spoke, and thus they remained.

The sun was hidden high in the air by the time Legolas broke the silence.

"The clouds are upon us." He murmured more to himself than anyone else, before raising his voice slightly. "A storm, possibly thunder. It would be wise to seek shelter now, Aragorn."

Aragorn stopped, motioning for the others to do the same as he scanned the grim skies. No sooner had he done so that the first drop landed on his face, followed closely with more. Aragorn sighed with a nod, surveying the land for shelter. The wind had picked up considerably, and now it whipped the ranger's dark locks about his face as he spotted something.

"There!" He announced, pointing in the direction of a cave, not tall enough so that the bigger of them could stand, but a palace compared to other shelters they'd inhabited- the fellowship turned to it eagerly as the rain began to thicken.

After only a single step Pippin's barefoot slipped on the slippery surfaces of a wet rock, and he fell forward- straight into Legolas' back. The elf stumbled with the hobbit, somehow managing to keep his feet, but the force had jolted his body and before their very eyes he turned an impossible green colour. Pippin's stuttered apologies halted when the elf suddenly turned to scramble away from the group, and towards a small bush.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, taking a step in the same direction, before turning back to them. "Go! We will be there in a moment." He ordered the company firmly, already turning to move hastily after the elf. They obeyed the command, but kept their heads turned to watch the commotion.

Legolas didn't even make it to the bush, crashing to his hands and knees not far from the fellowship. The horrid sounds of retching reached them, renting the air and wrenching their ears. They watched in horror as Legolas' shoulders heaved harshly, violent tremors wracking the elf's slim body with unforgiving force. Aragorn reached him, but still the ordeal continued as the elf's stomach struggled to bring up what it didn't possess, and how the ugly noises could be ear-splitting even through the howls of the wind was beyond Frodo. Under the shelter Pippin clamped his hands over his ears, but even he could not stop staring as Legolas' retching finally ceased and the ranger wrapped his strong arms around the elf, pulling him back and away from the mess. Even from there, they could see Legolas' chest working rapidly to gain breath as he lay between Aragorn's legs, his back against the ranger's chest and head resting back on his shoulder as Aragorn held him tightly. Legolas brought up his own hands to clutch desperately at Aragorn's arms, and the new sounds shocked the fellowship out of their senses. The sobs mixed with the pattering of the rain, but they were painfully obvious. And elven.

Now Merry clamped his hands over his cousin's ears and Boromir moved to obstruct his view, but the elf's suffering could not be drowned out. Legolas lay sobbing and shivering wrapped in Aragorn's arms, while the ranger tried desperately to soothe him, rocking with the elf, and a soft elvish song soon drifted towards the fellowship alongside the weeping.

"Ú i vethed nâ I onnad. Si boe ú-dhanna. Ae ú-esteli, esteliach nad.

Estelio han, estelio han, estelio, estelio han, estelio veketh."

The lilting words held such beauty, that even Gimli was awed as they worked their magic and the sobs eventually subsided. The two remained that way for a little while, despite the sodden floor underneath them, and the rain that soaked them. Finally Aragorn looked in their direction, anguish tainting his features as he held onto the shuddering elf. He held their eyes for a second, before bowing his head and whispering something to Legolas. The elf let his hands drop from Aragorn's arms as they slowly unfurled from him, and Aragorn adjusted his position as he pulled the elf's arm over his shoulder, bringing Legolas up with him as he rose. Legolas' knees shook and buckled underneath him almost immediately, but Aragorn caught him, holding the elf tightly as he half dragged him towards the shelter. Sloshing through the rain was difficult now that the ground had become a light marsh, and Legolas would trip or stumble, bringing both splashing down.

Finally, Boromir could take no more, running out to meet them and seizing Legolas' other arm, the two men eventually pulled themselves and the elf into the shelter. Aragorn set Legolas against the wall, already working past the elf's jerkin and through the clasps of his drenched tunic, but savage shivers ran down Legolas' body, and his harsh breathing filled the cave. Concerned, Aragorn stopped to feel the elf's cheek with the back of his hand.

"Aragorn?" Gimli's concerned, gruff voice asked when he instantly drew his hand back, as if burnt. The elf was cold, colder than even the ice of Caradhras.

Glazed eyes met grey as the ranger looked into his friends face, but hastily averted as the ranger focused on the last clasp, and pulled aside the wet tunic. He hastily unwrapped the bandages without apprehension, ordering the others as he did so.

"Boil some water."

Sam seized his pan to collect rainwater, and Pippin and Merry gathered wood from the back of the cave for Gimli to light.

The elf himself watched silently through half-lidded eyes, sweat mixing with rainwater as his eyes flickered feverishly from one figure to another. A troubled frowned appeared on Frodo's brow as he realised the elf trembled and his chest struggled painfully to rise and fall. Frodo cringed every time his breathing hitched, but every time the laboured sound would continue. The water couldn't have boiled fast enough, and once it had Aragorn submerged a cloth, uncaring as his hand was scolded by the hot water.

Legolas' breath hitched again as Aragorn pressed the soaked cloth against the wound. He made no noise as Aragorn cleansed the wound, before turning and crushing a concoction of herbs into a fine powder; his pale blue eyes watched carefully as Aragorn began to rub the powder into the wound, yet his jaw clenched tightly and his slender hands balled into fists by his side. The ranger glanced again into his friend's face as he deftly tied off a fresh bandage around his waist, asking something quietly in elvish. Frodo could not decipher the question completely, understanding only snatches of words, one of which was 'heal', and the name of their destination: Lothlórien. Legolas blinked slowly, but moved his head in a nod, apparently agreeing to what had been said.

"We leave when the weather clears. The woods of Lothlórien are not far from here." Aragorn informed them, turning to pack away his herbs.

And so they did, a mere hour after the rain had started. Frodo looked ahead where Legolas was walking, heavily supported by the ranger. The elf wore a spare, dry tunic from his own pack, as the other and his jerkin were soaked through. Now the hobbit was glad that Legolas had consented for Gimli to carry his pack, for otherwise the elf would have had only wet clothes to wear, and he was already shivering in the dry.

And none cared of the fact that they pushed on relentlessly; one look at the semi-conscious and stumbling elf was enough to renew their spirits, and so they were rewarded with the soft kisses of falling leaves, and the licks of branches at their heels. They had reached the golden wood at last.

They gazed around in wonder as the filtered light illuminated every aspect, but Aragorn was too focused on his burden to care for the beauty of it all.

"Stay close young hobbits!" Gimli suddenly whispered to Frodo and Sam, grasping his shoulder lightly, "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods." The dwarf stepped forward again, speaking back to them as he edged his way with his axe raised halfway. "An elf-witch… of terrible power. All who look upon her… fall under her spell."

Frodo! The hobbit jumped, startled out of his skin.

"And are never seen again…"

Your coming to us is as the footsteps of doom. The whisper came again, resounding inside his head. You bring great evil here, ring-bearer.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam's voice grounded him back to the woods, breaking the ghostly echo in his mind. He tried to send a reassuring look at the gardener, but it failed miserably, and Gimli's rumbling voice came again.

"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily." The dwarf grunted, his eyes threatening the trees. " I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox."

Convinced by his own words, Gimli almost trudged straight into the head of an arrow as elven archers surrounded them, and a curt voice sounded out from the shadows.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."