A/N: Back from holiday, apologies for the two week wait! I got a lot done, surprisingly. Four Starcrossed chapters, a drabble, a songfic and two oneshots! Wahey. This chapter is my shortest so far, and probably my worst... but, I'll be posting chapter 8, 9 & 10 every other day. So Chapter Eight is here at your mercy, I'll have nine for you by Monday, (technically today is Sunday because its 30 minutes past midnight, but let's pretend not.) Oh, and don't ask why I post a disclaimer EVERY chapter. It's a habit.

Disclaimer (renewed): No characters, settings, or whatnot belongs to me. Everything that is familiar, including a few lines (quoted from the movie), is not mine.

Starcrossed
The Coil is Set

Like a gust of wind the company turned, their golden hair flowing behind them as they altered their course with ease. There seemed to be little said, and yet each rider spent little hesitation bringing about their steed, and none wavered even when one came perilously close to another; it was as watching water pass through a valley.

Aragorn speculated and noted all this within a second, raising an impressed eyebrow back at Legolas before turning back. Valar, the Rohirrim ride fast, he thought to himself. They were already upon them, steering their rides to form a threatening circle around the three hunters, and lowering their spears to level with them. The ranger found himself staring into the very point of one, and raised his hands, open-palmed; showing they bid no harm was the wisest of many choices.

"What business does an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" Enquired the tallest of the men, his tone deep and helm decorated with the richest of carvings, "Speak quickly!"

It was at that ill-timed point that the stubborn, hard-headed, dwarfish natured shone through, and Gimli son of Gloin stepped forth and replied with an answer that only he would dare to think of in the face of so many spears.

"Give me your name, Horse-master," Gimli replied gruffly, "and I shall give you mine."

Aragorn stiffened at the dwarf's response, giving Gimli a stern look of warning, but the damage was done. The man visibly bristled, narrowing his eyes as he threw his spear to another and slid from his horse.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf," He seethed menacingly, "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Within a short second Legolas had drawn, nocked, and aimed a green-fletched arrow at the horse-master's head, holding it firm as he glared daggers at the man.

"You would die before your stroke fell." The elf hissed, unflinching even as the company started and levelled each spear solely on him. Realising quickly that neither elf nor company would yield, Aragorn stepped between man and elf, pushing down Legolas' bow whilst shooting him a look. Not now, it said.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He introduced himself, before motioning to his two friends. "This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan, and of Theoden, your king."

At the ranger's words, something in the man's face fell, and his voice was grave as he spoke.

"Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe, not even his own kin." He sighed heavily, removing his helm. A mane of gold fell down over his shoulders, and a strong face was revealed, stern yet with deep eyes: this man was no enemy of theirs.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands." He gestured sadly to his company, sorrow embedded in his features. "My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished."

Without warning his features hardened, and he lowered his voice, as if unseen creatures eavesdropped. "The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked." His gaze flicked pointedly to Legolas, meeting the elven glare. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies." Aragorn reassured him calmly, and drew his attention away from Legolas. "We track a party of Uruk-hai, westwards across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

The man shook his head. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night.

Gimli's eyes widened in panic, and once again he pushed past the ranger. "But there were two hobbits!" He exclaimed hastily. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small; only children to your eyes." Aragorn added, steadily meeting the man's eyes.

"We left none alive." The man replied gravely, signalling in the direction they'd come. "We piled the carcasses and burnt them."

Gimli's face fell, managing to choke out a single word. "Dead?"

"I am sorry." The horse-master apologized, and in his voice there was such sincerity that they truly believed him. For the shortest of moments he looked thoughtful, before turning with a whistle and calling. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two magnificent horses were brought through the company, one a gentle grey, while the other a strong bay. The man took their reins, considering them carefully as he patted the grey's flank.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their previous masters." He told them, handing Aragorn the reins before readying his helm. "Farewell." He placed it over his golden head, leaping lithely back onto his steed. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope; it has forsaken these lands."

He inclined his head, and with a Rohirrim command, the company thundered away, leaving behind three anguished friends. Gimli waited for no longer than a few seconds, before storming off in the direction the man had gestured towards, muttering under his breath "Can't be dead…no, certainly not."

For a moment both Aragorn and Legolas stared dazedly after the dwarf, but finally the words sunk in, and they followed quickly after Gimli's back, having to sprint to catch him. Never before had the dwarf run so fast, but even so, he was overtaken by the man, and the man by the elf, as spiralling fumes of blackened smoke peeked into their vision, and a volatile odour like no other caused their eyes to water.

And there, upon dead grass at the fringes of a forest, was piled the smouldering bodies of Uruk-hai. Aragorn moved around the bonfire or death, his stormy eyes darting to find any sign of a halflings, whether dead or alive. Yet the word of the Rohirrim proved true: not a living soul or mind, if Uruks indeed possessed either, lived. Red spots danced in the ranger's eyes, taunting him. They were dead. Dead! And the fault was all his. He failed them… With a cry of anguish, he brought his foot through the ugly helm of a Uruk, and dropped heavily to his knees, head bowed.

Legolas stared at the pile of rotting Uruks, dimly aware of Aragorn's searching. The hobbits were not there, this he already knew, but he hadn't the heart to tell his friend; he'd find out soon anyhow.

He wondered if the hobbits were in a better place, eating they're stomachs to burst. After all, they had no halls of Mandos. Perhaps there was a hobbit's equivalent, and the two were seated with a pint of ale in hand, and a table of the most luxurious of foods stretched out before them. Perhaps even Boromir was there, inebriated and singing to his heart's desire… Oh Boromir…

Something tensed inside him, like a coil set to spring. Fatigue finally edged through his bones; he felt heavy, oh, so heavy.

"Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath." He whispered, closing his eyes as he lightly rested his hand over his heart. //Find they peace in death//

He didn't feel the need reopen his eyes; he deserved to be in darkness. Nausea washed over him, pulling him down into its depths, and for a moment he felt as he had that day in the rain, in the limbo between Moria and Lothlórien. No, not again…

But Aragorn's shocked murmur broke through to him, dispelling the sickness, and Legolas' eyes snapped open.

He saw the ranger on his knees, curiously inspecting a soft dent in the grass, where the dead, colourless strands were flattened, moulding into a shape…

"A hobbit lay here," Aragorn traced his hands across the grass, coming to a second dent. "and another.

He stood quickly into a crouch, sweeping both stormy eyes and hands over the ground as the ranger instincts took over. Legolas stepped closer, standing to watch beside Gimli as Aragorn recited what he saw.

"Bonds were cut." Aragorn moved again. "They were followed…" He stopped straightening to stare into the enveloping darkness of the forest, dread riddling his troubled eyes, and the last two whispered words were almost lost in the wind. "Fangorn forest…"

They stood gazing at the trees, wearily contemplating their thoughts and wishes. Who knew what ill fate had befell the hobbits in a forest of such myth and danger, especially being followed…

"We must go in," Legolas muttered quietly, breaking the silence. "There is no other choice."

There was silence for another moment before Aragorn caught his eyes, nodding shortly, before plunging into the trees without a word. Legolas sighed, following after his reckless friend with the dwarf at his heels.

The trees here were unlike any other Legolas had seen. They were neither as thick nor infinitely tall as those of Lothlórien, but nor were they as green or smooth as those of Mirkwood. No tree was the same: each differed in length, width and appearance, and all seemed to compete in a competition of number of branches, knots and ridges. It appeared to be almost scary.

And here in this forest of folklore, Legolas felt as uneasy as he had in Moria. Never before had he felt such hostility from anything, be it plant or creature; he couldn't even begin to imagine how the dwarf felt.

He glanced over at Gimli, suppressing a smile at seeing the dwarf glaring threateningly at every branch that came within reach of him, and every leaf that fluttered too close, his axe held aloft and glinting dully in the half light.

"Gimli, lower your axe." Aragorn warned, keeping his voice hushed and low. Gimi huffed, but nevertheless lowered his weapon an inch.

"They have feelings, my friend." Legolas whispered quietly, turning his gaze back to the forest around them. "The elves began it, waking up the trees… teaching them to speak."

"Talking trees!" Gimli exclaimed, regarding the forest with renewed alarm. "What do trees have to talk about, hmm… except the consistency of squirrel droppings?"

Legolas sighed, knowing the dwarf's sarcasm was only a calming façade; of course, dwarves and trees were not the best of allies, nor the most firm of allies.

He sighed once again, making to comfort the dwarf when he felt it: a sudden, powerful presence, hindering his senses. He stiffened immediately, stringing his bow taught as Aragorn glanced sidelong at him.

"The white wizard approaches…" He breathed to the ranger, feeling both friends stiffen beside him.

"Don't let him speak." Aragorn whispered hastily, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "He will put a spell on all of us."

For a short, silent second they bid their time, muscles tensing and eyes darting to and fro. Legolas took a calming breath, running his finger over the familiar green fletching, judging the aim, the location…

"Now!" Hissed the ranger, and the three turned, whipping their weapons to face the searing light. The bow of the Galadhrim sang as Legolas loosed the arrow, watching as it soared true to its target… and was deflected away. What was this sorcery?

With a fierce roar, Gimli flung his axe with all his might, but even the hardened, dwarven weapon flew harmlessly away. Aragorn's was the only weapon with remaining hope, and even that was rendered useless as the blade grew a fierce red, and the ranger was forced to drop it. Shocked by their easy defeat, they peered at the silhouetted figure, shading their eyes in vain from the blinding halo.

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

The glowing figure took a step closer, and as the shadows of Fangorn passed over the white robes, a kind, old face was revealed, speculating them with amusement. The bow of the Galadhrim slipped to the floor.

-

Apologies for the shortness and quality of this chapter. Chapter 9 in by Monday, I promise! Till next time...