The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to put up. I hope people are still reading this! Anyway, despite lack of reviews I will not abandon this story, I promise.

Enjoy the chapter.

OIOIOI

Chapter 6

The River Runs Red

Cold air stirred around him and Aragorn shuddered, wrapping his arms tighter around himself for the warmth, pleased to discover that he was covered with Legolas' jacket. For a few moments, he laid in the blissfully blank state between sleep and waking, peaceful. However, it wasn't long before a strange rushing sound reached his ears and he was alerted to the fact that there was a world outside of his mind.

Before he could catch himself, Aragorn's eyes shot open. He feared the sight of the dead all about him but mercifully found only empty, dark grey, barren land free of blood and corpses. Nevertheless afraid to move, Aragorn laid in complete silence, waiting for a sign that all was well.

"Are you awake?" Legolas' soft voice came from beside Aragorn and he immediately sat up, suddenly desperate to see the Elf's face. Legolas was sat closer than he had thought. He was now clean of any blood that had splattered him earlier, much to Aragorn's intense relief. "I was starting to get worried."

"Where are we?" Aragorn asked in little more than a whisper.

"By the river." That explained the rushing noise he had woken up to, Aragorn thought. "Don't worry; we're safe here."

The boy nodded, swallowing back the nausea that rose in his throat at the memory of what he had witnessed in the copse of trees. Noting that the child had paled dramatically, Legolas laid his hand on Aragorn's trembling shoulder, encouraging teary grey eyes to meet his.

"It is all right."

Legolas' kindly reassurances made Aragorn's tears finally brim over and spill, tracking down his dirty cheeks. A choked whimper escaped him and much to his immense surprise, Legolas' arms were suddenly around him and he found himself pressed comfortingly against the Elf's chest. Legolas, wearing only a tattered shirt and tunic, despite being as many, many others in the world now was terribly thin but to Aragorn he felt strong and firm and unexpectedly warm. He wrapped his arms as tightly around his guardian as he possibly could and felt the Elf loosen one of his arms to wrap the fallen jacket back around him to keep him warm.

Aragorn's cries were painfully harsh to Legolas' ears but he held him close nonetheless. Really, the prince had absolutely no reference on how to offer consolation to a distressed child, although in that moment he longed to possess what seemed now like invaluable knowledge. Aragorn's small body shuddered constantly under Legolas' hands and he rubbed his back gently in the hope of easing the tremors.

For an immeasurable amount of time, Legolas attempted to play the role of parent, trying to ease the boy's suffering. In truth, he was increasingly anxious to be on the move again. For nearly five hours now they had remained out in the open in a relatively popular spot and the Elf was starting to feel rather too exposed for comfort.

Gently, Legolas pulled the crying Aragorn back away from his body, wiping tears from now flushed cheeks with ghosting fingers. "We have to get moving now, Aragorn. We have tarried here too long."

In response, Aragorn could do nothing more than hiccup wearily, the tears continuing to fall freely.

"Let us get you cleaned up before we leave," Legolas said in a softer voice than before.

He hauled the crying boy to his feet and led him, stumbling slightly, over to the river. Having already assured that the, admittedly murky, water was safe to wash in if not to drink, Legolas guided Aragorn to the edge of the bank and started to peel off the boy's clothes enough to wash away the grime – and also the few flecks of blood that had spattered over him during the battle, which the child mercifully hadn't seemed to have noticed yet.

Aragorn made no attempt to help his guardian in the task, instead standing wretchedly in front of him, wet eyes watching Legolas' face continuously for reassurance.

"Come," Legolas encouraged, manoeuvring the Human child closer to the river. Holding the still crying boy close to himself for his comfort, Legolas used only his free hand to wipe away the dirt from Aragorn's face, hands and neck. His clothes they would have to worry about later, perhaps change them for the clean set contained in Arathorn's old bag – if they could retrieve it that is – as soon as they were somewhere more sheltered and safe. "It's alright," Legolas soothed as he lowered Aragorn's head closer to the slow-running water and washed his hair, noting how the water ran a pink-brown colour through his fingers and he was glad beyond words that the already upset child could not see it, as without a doubt it would only panic and revolt him further.

Once Aragorn was as clean as he could be, Legolas replaced his clothing and pulled his jacket over his arms and did up the remaining buttons for him, as he was certain the child's fumbling fingers could not manage.

After shrugging his own jacket back on and picking up his twin white-handled knives, Legolas knelt down in front of Aragorn so that they were level, hoping to instil confidence as he told the child what was to happen next.

"Aragorn, I have to go back and try to get our bags back and I have to take you with me."

Panic and horror flared in teary grey eyes and Aragorn instinctively grabbed ahold of Legolas' arms, which were reaching towards him, as if to hold the Elf in place. "No," Aragorn demanded in a shaking voice filled with fear. "No, don't make me go. Please," he continued to plead desperately, tears falling faster with the prospect of this new threat upon him. All he knew for certain, the thing that dominated his mind drowning out all other sensible thought, was that he could not go back to that place of death. The mere thought of it made his stomach flip nauseatingly and he visibly paled even further.

Legolas remained firmly set in his plan though. No matter what, they needed those backpacks. They held the tools to help them survive and he knew that without them they would not last long out in the wilds.

"Listen to me; I have to go, Aragorn. And you know that I cannot leave you by yourself," the Elf reasoned in what Aragorn believed to be an absurdly calm voice. A hand came to rest against Aragorn's cheek and it steadied him just a little. "If we leave now we should be able to get out of there before night falls and then we can put this whole thing behind us."

Quieter this time, Aragorn's whole body trembled as he implored, "Please, Legolas, don't make me go back there."

"You will be safe; I give you my word." Somehow in the face of the young boy's achingly pitiful pleading, Legolas managed to remain firm in his conviction and force a small smile of reassurance onto his lips. Truthfully, he had no desire to go back to that small, death-tainted stand of trees or to see the end result of the clash between Orc and crazed Man. In fact, the very thought revolted him almost as much as it did his young companion. But he had to go. So, he would did as he always did when forced to face the horrors of the new, awful world; he'd put the reality of the big picture in which he was made to exist from his mind and concentrate only on the small things to survive. Perhaps, he considered momentarily, that would be a useful skill to teach Aragorn at some point in the future.

"Come now, I need you to be brave for me," he said in the most upbeat voice he could manage.

Resigned to the fact that there really was nothing he could say or do to escape this, Aragorn nodded, keeping a tight hold on Legolas' hand as the tall Elf stood up.

Legolas knew that he had walked roughly an hour to reach the river-side and he remembered vaguely the direction they had come from, so he was fairly confident that he could find his way back to the site of the battle.

Unfortunately for a nervous Aragorn, Legolas' conversational skills had not improved in the wake of the battle so they walked, as was common now for them, in awkward silence, meaning that his mind was allowed to run riot.

The first thing that occurred to him was that the Elf who was walking confidently toward further horror now had faced the monsters that had threatened him without hesitation and seemingly without fear and oddly that realisation scared Aragorn. He didn't want Legolas to die and surely one person – even one of the fabled Elves – could not be so lucky as to come through too many attacks such as they had earlier endured without death coming to claim them. But the Rangers, Aragorn recalled, often went into battle willingly. In fact, more often than not they actively out violence against the Enemy. Yes, his once travelling companions had a lot in common with his new guardian. Both were brave and strong, each in their own way. Both held strong morals; even though Legolas often seemed rather conflicted whenever making these decisions to intervene on behalf of another. And both Rangers and Elf had saved him several times now.

Looking up at the tall being appointed his guardian, Aragorn wondered whether he would ever be strong like Legolas; like his father had been. He didn't feel very strong right then and he was absolutely certain that if confronted with monsters as Legolas had been earlier that day he would have turned and ran as his father had instructed him to do when faced with danger rather than staying and fighting. He didn't think he could ever actually kill something; the very notion turned his stomach. And yet these traits that he was convinced eluded him were things he admired so much in Legolas.

Another thought struck him then: What if Legolas eventually got tired of saving him all the time and left him behind? How could he be expected to fend for himself with no idea of how to survive in a world of monsters? Did that mean, then, that he was bound to one day be the same as Legolas and shed blood as easily as breathing?

Without realising it, Aragorn's hand tightened so much on Legolas' that when he looked up, worried blue eyes were watching him.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked the startled-looking child.

"Yes," Aragorn mumbled miserably. "I was just thinking…"

When silence fell again on the tail-off of the boy's sentence, Legolas frowned and asked, "You were thinking of what?"

All those thoughts that had seemed so terrifying and urgent moments ago suddenly sounded ridiculous – and more than a little ungrateful - in his mind so he haltingly returned to the safer, distracting topic of Legolas' elusive past. "I…um, I was just wondering about the Elves."

"Oh."

If Aragorn hadn't known better, he'd have said that Legolas looked disappointed. "Yes."

Sighing, Legolas decided that a curious Aragorn was better than a morose Aragorn, so he prompted softly, "What were you wondering?"

The questions that had been filling his mind long before the events of that morning came flooding back, replacing the dark with the curious. "Where did you used to live? Father said that when he was a boy he lived in a beautiful home with multiple rooms and a private tree-house and servants to take care of his needs," Aragorn said enthusiastically, taking the opportunity of exploiting Legolas' good mood.

"Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," Aragorn nodded certainly. "Did you have a tree-house?"

Legolas almost laughed at the astoundingly banal question the child posed. Of course one so young would fixate upon the most unimportant but most fun-sounding thing.

The Elf answered the question honestly. "Yes, I did."

"Was it fun?"

"Fun?"

"Did you play in it a lot?" Aragorn asked with new-found eagerness.

"As a child I suppose I did, yes."

Legolas' eyes momentarily misted over at the memory of his youth spent running freely through the magnificently splendid palace grounds of his Mirkwood home, his father and mother occasionally joining him on his jaunts when their duties permitted their absence. These care-free days seemed so very distant to him now, almost as if they had never existed at all.

"What's wrong?" Aragorn's voice broke through his guardian's reverie.

"Nothing is wrong," the Elf snapped defensively before he could stop himself. Aragorn had merely caught him off guard. The boy seemed to have quite a knack for that.

"Was your house nice?" Aragorn continued before the conversation could dry up again.

"It was nice." An understatement considering he had grown up in one of the most spectacular palaces of all the Elven kingdoms, but telling Aragorn this would only amp up his curiosity even further and he didn't want any more elaborate questions.

"Was it big?"

"Relatively big, yes." The great palace was huge even by royal standards, carved deep into rock and making for an impossibly impressive sight.

"Where was it?"

Bracing himself for the blast of grief he anticipated sweeping through him, Legolas answered, "A place called Mirkwood." The name sounded strange to his ears; it had been so long since he had even thought it.

"'Mirkwood'? That doesn't sound very nice at all," Aragorn blurted out without even thinking and then regretted his knee-jerk reaction. "Sorry," he added sheepishly.

But he needn't have worried for Legolas was actually smiling softly. "I suppose that it was rather dark at times. But it had its charms also: vast forests of green stretching for hundreds and hundreds of leagues over the rolling landscape, beautiful clear rivers and a palace of unsurpassable magnificence." Far from making his chest hurt, as it usually did when he remembered his home, warmth spread through him and his smile turned genuine. "The song of the trees filled the hearts of those who lived within them and my people sang with them. It was truly beautiful, Aragorn."

"I wish I could have seen it."

"As do I."

They walked for a minute in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Unsurprisingly, it was the younger of the pair who broke the hush. "Do you miss it?"

"Of course." Legolas initially frowned in confusion at the oddness of the enquiry. But then he realised that Aragorn had been born a traveller and had lived a nomadic life with his father. He doubted that Arathorn and his son – and indeed Aragorn's mother before she had passed away not long after her son's birth – had ever actually settled anywhere. There was nowhere to settle out in the wilds now that was not in constant danger of attack by the Enemy and Arathorn had seemed like too sensible a man to expose his beloved family to such unnecessary jeopardy. Not that wandering the lands was without its own risks. But surely, Legolas thought, it was better to be moving than be stationary and even more prone to attacks.

"I miss my father," Aragorn said softly after a while, his head now bowed toward the ground again.

What could Legolas say to that? There was no reassurance he could offer, so he very gently tightened his hold on the boy's hand, hoping to convey that which he could not say in words.

Now, Aragorn became too absorbed in his own thoughts to worry about keeping up the questions posed to his mentor, but, although this suited the Elf well enough it meant that the boy's wandering mind swiftly went back to the events of that morning and the fear returned to him.

Legolas' guess that it was an hour's walk back to the copse was indeed correct. As they neared the site of the battle, the child at his side began to drag his feet.

"Aragorn, come on, we have to find the bags before it gets dark," Legolas told him, his voice startling the frightened boy.

"Please can't we just leave?" Aragorn asked in a pitifully small voice.

The Elf sighed deeply, tired of hearing the same pleading question. Why did the child not comprehend that they had no other choice and that if they did Legolas would happily stay away from the copse of death? So, he simply said, "No," in terse reply.

"Please."

Legolas stopped and looked down at the boy, ready to shout in anger but it swiftly morphed into sympathy when he noticed the tears brimming in legitimately frightened grey eyes. "I am sorry, Aragorn, but we have to. You will be safe, I promise." Tears spilled over and rolled down pale cheeks. Taking pity on the boy, Legolas bent down and easily lifted Aragorn into his arms again. "You must trust me," he whispered kindly, holding Aragorn against him.

"I don't want to go," Aragorn sobbed desperately into Legolas' shoulder.

Running his hand down the small, trembling back, Legolas said, "I know you don't, but we must all the same. Just stay close to me, no matter what transpires; do you understand?" With a reluctant nod from Aragorn, Legolas started walking again, more slowly this time and acutely aware of the knives held in his free hand. He didn't believe for one second that either side – Man or Orc – would still be present at the site of the earlier battle; they would have abandoned the area as quickly as possible rather than linger and risk further danger. Still, he wasn't going to abandon all caution just yet, for Legolas knew that those two races were the most unpredictable on Arda.

The first real sign that they were on the right track was the blood that started to stain the ground – mostly red, Legolas noticed. Perhaps the Orcs had been victorious in their fight with the Wild Men after all. Holding both Aragorn and his knives tighter, Legolas moved onwards with even more caution than before. As he got closer to the grove of trees, the blood got steadily thicker and Legolas thickly swallowed back the revulsion at treading in the slick substance and the anticipation of what he suspected he would soon see.

His vivid imagination was not disappointed as he finally came upon the clearing and stand of trees. The soil was littered with the bodies of the slain and drenched in a sickening mixture of thin Human blood and the much thicker blood of the monsters of Sauron.

Nothing was alive any longer and the Elf found that he was actually immensely grateful for this.

An eerie hush had fallen, although Legolas knew that within days the place would be crawling with scavengers taking advantage of the aftermath of the slaughter.

Legolas most definitely did not want to be around when the animals – and perhaps even Humans – came to strip the carcasses of anything at all useful. So, the Elf slowly skirted around the mass graveyard, his own keen eyes on the ground just in case anything of use could be recovered but the slain Orcs carried only crude and heavy weapons and armour, which Legolas could not afford to be weighed down by, and the Men possessed even less refined weaponry and wore little more than filthy loincloths.

Remembering that he had left their bags on the other side of the road Legolas made his way through the carnage, carefully avoiding the bloody corpses as he went. In his arms, the Elf felt Aragorn trembling even though his face was still buried deeply in Legolas' shoulder.

The Old Forest Road, despite being Legolas' closest friend these past twenty years, had never before seemed so terribly appealing and he found himself eager to get back to what he knew. Legolas edged around the tiny, now blood-tinted, polluted oasis and the grisly copse of trees, noting that the gruesome warnings had now mostly been toppled in the melee, although they had lost none of their power to frighten.

Once the main battlefield and tiny wood had been conquered, only the grisly pile of rotten corpses remained to get past and even Legolas, as he found his eyes drawn to the sickening sight in spite of wanting to look away, found the sight sickeningly repulsive and his head swam slightly now he didn't have the adrenaline of the chase to distract him.

"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked in a cautious whisper when he felt Legolas stiffen at the sight of the pile of rotting bodies, lifting his head from Legolas' shoulder.

Legolas immediately pressed him close again. "Close your eyes," he told the boy firmly. He did not want Aragorn to have to witness this again; he'd already seen more than an innocent child ever should.

Aragorn released a moan of fear and buried even deeper into Legolas' jacket, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

A rough shudder ripped through the Elf as he passed the putrid, reeking mound of decomposing bodies. Although most of them were mutilated beyond any recognition, a couple nearer the edges could be positively identified as Men, milky eyes staring blindly up at the Elf, mouths open and imploring wordlessly for help that was already beyond them. Legolas did not feel any pity for the perished souls; they were past all sympathy now anyway, and he found that he had none to spare for them.

Once the Elf had passed the pile of decaying carcasses he hurried away, having no intention of ever returning to this place of death. It wasn't difficult to find the road again after that and Legolas ran haltingly over to the other side of the path where he had left their bags when he's gone in search of his young charge. The fear that someone may have come by and stolen all their worldly possessions proved unfounded as the tatty backpacks remained untouched, just as he had left them when he had run off to rescue Aragorn that morning.

"Alright, we're on the road now; you can get down."

Despite this assurance, Legolas still had to quite literally prise the young boy off of him. Even as Aragorn was put on his own two feet, he felt tight onto the Elf's leg, his eyes squeezed closed just in case Legolas was mistaken in his assurance that everything was safe now. Ignoring Aragorn for the time being, Legolas picked up each of the bags, briefly checking them to see that nothing had been misplaced when he'd dropped them in his panic earlier. Then he replaced his two white knives in the bag and instead took out a much more convenient dagger, one that had once belonged to Arathorn. The knife that he had earlier given to Aragorn for protection had clearly been lost in the battle but a brief flick of his eyes over to the now partially trampled bushes leading to the copse of trees reinforced his decision that it really didn't matter. No way was he returning to that place of horrors for a single small weapon.

"You can open your eyes now, Aragorn," Legolas told the child as he stood up straight again.

Grey eyes blinked open and went to wander around the road but then focused on the Elf instead, not wanting to witness any further living nightmares.

"Can we go now?" he asked Legolas in a small, pleading whisper.

"Yes." Although there was no sound yet of approaching creatures, Legolas did not want to hang about and take the chance of being set upon by more enemies, nor did he wish to remain in the vicinity of so much violent death. Reaching down, Legolas' hands calmly prised Aragorn off his leg and took his hand instead so he could walk unimpeded.

They walked quickly and did not pause as night fell, although Aragorn seemed to scare even easier in the darkness.

For two full days they continued without stopping for longer than an hour at a time to gather their breath. Aragorn still tired easily, so as they approached their third night on the road, Legolas made the decision that it was time they stopped and suggested to Aragorn that they find somewhere sheltered to rest so they could sleep for the night.

By the time they found somewhere that the cautious Elf deemed safe enough, Aragorn was utterly exhausted and plopped himself down on the ground the very moment they stopped and within minutes had fallen into a deep sleep. Legolas also eased himself down to the ground with a heavy exhale of relief. It felt good to be away from the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of death that for the first couple of days had chased them, clung to them with startling vividness and intensity.

Legolas was certain that it was more than simply Aragorn's reaction to death that had so thoroughly unsettled him - although the sights he had been made to look at in his determination to protect the boy would haunt him for a long time yet.

Tiredness soon set in and he lay down to drift into reverie, still remaining partially aware of the environment around him. This kind of sleep was by no means ideal, for even the Elves required some true rest, but he had become used to it over his years of wandering and at least it was convenient and safe and offered him some reprieve from the world of waking. It did mean, on the down-side, that the visions in his dreams were even more vivid, bringing the gruesome images he had been witness to into sharp relief.

OIOI

Aragorn woke slowly, a chill seeping through his body and making him shiver violently. He was covered in a thin blanket, which he hugged tightly around himself. The day was grey, nothing unusual. Overcast was different from oppressive though and that was what Aragorn primarily felt as his eyes shifted around. The very air felt thick, heavy; as though the grey of the sky was physically pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to better draw breath in the thick air, as currently it was bordering on being suffocating.

Despite his initial chill, Aragorn now felt awful, stifling heat in the still air and he shrugged the blanket off himself – though in its state of disrepair there was no way it could retain any meaningful heat – and sat up quickly, almost expecting to see the road around him engulfed in fire, which at least would explain the heat and air quality.

The only light around him though was the grey, dull light of dawn – no fire. Yet the heat still swirled around him and he felt hot sweat trickling down his back beneath his clothes.

Growing more concerned by the second, Aragorn looked around for his protector. Legolas was nowhere to be seen and, given his recent encounter with the Wild Men and filthy monsters, that was deeply unsettling. Suddenly, he felt very alone and another shiver shook him, this one of fear.

"Legolas?" he called out feebly, disappointed by the crack that fractured his small voice.

Deathly silence pounded in Aragorn's ears as he waited anxiously for a reply. Dread was starting to capture him again, quickening his heart rate until it pounded so hard that he imagined it could very easily have leapt right out of his chest.

Climbing up to his knees, the increasingly unsettled boy searched the area again for his Elven guardian. Had Legolas left him alone for good or had he simply stepped away for a brief time, as he had been known to do on occasion during their time together, as Aragorn slept? He couldn't imagine that Legolas, who had taken an oath to protect him, would simply leave him on the roadside. But then, how well did he really know the Elf? He could not be sure that Legolas would not abandon him with absolutely no warning.

Dread gave way to panic. In the stark dawn, Aragorn believed it entirely possible that he was all alone in the world.

Sitting frozen in the nearly smothering heat would get him nowhere though, so, his body stiff, he climbed to his feet, feeling a little woozy.

"Legolas?" he called again, his feet carrying him away from their sparse campsite. As an age-old attempt at self-comfort, he wrapped his arms around himself as he walked.

After just a few seconds of steady walking, Aragorn's eyes were met with a strange flash of white light and he automatically looked to the thickly clouded sky for the source – lightening was not uncommon, although he saw no sign of a storm brewing in the oddly still skies. When his gaze returned level, he found himself looking toward a vast, fast-flowing river. Aragorn startled at the sight. How on earth had he missed that before?

"Legolas?" he shouted, pleased that his voice had recovered some strength.

A cracking twig from behind him made him swivel around but there was nothing there.

This time, Aragorn's voice came out even weaker than before. "Legolas?"

"Over here," a clear voice rang out from the riverside and Aragorn turned sharply to find the Elf crouched on the riverbank.

As Aragorn moved slowly towards him, Legolas smiled thinly. "Where were you?" the boy asked his guardian as he got closer.

"I've been here all along," Legolas told him, Aragorn thought, almost patronisingly. Something was wrong with all this. The Elf looked as he always had done and yet something felt out of place. For sure, his tone was foreign to Aragorn. Never before had he looked and sounded quite so…upbeat.

"I didn't know this was here." Aragorn moved his gaze over to the wide, black river. In response, Legolas simply chuckled, shaking his head in amused exasperation at his charge. The increasingly confused child shifted his gaze to Legolas once more to find that the Elf's gloved hands were plunged into the fast-flowing river water up to his wrists. "What are you doing?" Aragorn asked curiously, leaning closer to the Elf.

Legolas didn't answer the question but craned his neck to smile benignly up at his young companion.

Confused and disconcerted by this sudden inexplicable change in Legolas, Aragorn took a step backwards, not quite sure if it was advisable to remain so close to the Elf in this odd state. Yes, Legolas had always been frustratingly enigmatic and a little coarse at times but Aragorn had never been truly scared of him as he was now. There was something strange glinting in his blue eyes that Aragorn was afraid to identify.

When Aragorn took another slow step away, Legolas' smile morphed into a deep frown and he asked, "Where are you going?"

The words stuck in Aragorn's throat and he found himself unable to swallow the lump of fear that had risen from the pit of his fluttering stomach.

Smiling once more, Legolas said eagerly, "You really should watch this."

"Watch what?"

"It is quite astonishing, Aragorn. I think you will like it."

There was a note of foreboding in the Elf's voice despite its resounding cheerfulness that made Aragorn again shudder through the muggy heat that still surrounded him. "Can we go? I don't like it here," he said in a trembling voice, his eyes darting around.

Legolas' shoulders fell, a gesture of disbelief. "Do you not want to see it?"

"See what?"

"You just have to demonstrate some patience, child."

Aragorn again looked to Legolas' submerged hands and asked, "Why are you doing that?"

He got little more of an answer than the first time he'd asked the question. "I'm just waiting."

The boy could have sat down and cried in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to escape this odd place now. "Legolas…"

"Ah, here we go. Watch." Suddenly, the Elf perked up and he immersed his hands fully into the water until his arms were also submerged all the way up to his elbows.

Intrigued – albeit nearly overwhelmed by fright – Aragorn shifted nearer to the river, following the Elf's eager gaze to the centre of the water. It was impossible to see anything beneath the surface of the deep, dark body of water. Yet Legolas seemed enraptured by the murky depths. He stared unblinkingly ahead, leaning so far forward that Aragorn feared he would tumble into the fast-flowing river.

Despite his almost irresistible yearning to turn and run as the anticipation at what was coming increased to almost unbearable levels, Aragorn found himself glued to the spot – feeling just as he had felt in the copse of trees surrounded by the gruesome dead. Another shiver wracked his thin frame and he heard himself make a sound but he could not quite identify what he was.

With his vision unwaveringly glued on the eerie river it was impossible to miss the event Legolas had been so patiently waiting for.

First it was a solitary floating shape on the far side of the great river; so far away that it was barely visible to the human eye. Then they came all at once. The river was suddenly flooded with the seemingly squishy, white flotsam from downstream. It was impossible to define what the objects were to begin with and when Aragorn did get a close up look, as one of the white bulks banged into Legolas' submerged arms, he wished he hadn't.

What must have been literally hundreds of bodies flowed rapidly past them, crashing into one another and into the banks on either side - a sickening wave of bare corpses, all unidentifiable. The sheer volume of bloated bodies would have been shocking enough to the terrified boy but it was the look of satisfaction and joy on the Elf's face that sent horror running through his heart and mind. Legolas looked positively excited as the bodies swept past him. A laugh of delight left the Elf's pale lips.

Then the Elf raised his hands from the water and they emerged slick and glistening with blood. For a moment, Legolas stared at his hands then he laughed, this time nearly hysterically. Bringing his dark red-coated hands up before him, he ran his fingers down his face, leaving behind red streaks over his pale features.

Blue eyes moved to the boy and Legolas asked almost shyly, "How do I look?" He then flashed a genuine smile to Aragorn, his teeth glistening bright white in contrast to the now dark red of his face.

Struck dumb from shock, Aragorn suddenly was released from his frozen state of fear and he screamed at the top of his lungs. Legolas looked honestly startled but did not rise to his feet as the child stumbled backwards in pure horror.

"Where are you going?" the Elf asked, his face an odd combination of annoyance and confusion. When Aragorn continued to back away from the bloodied Elf, horror set on his pale, sickened features, Legolas slowly and gracefully got up and headed after the boy as he tried to run. Aragorn turned to better escape the macabre river but he had only sprinted two awkward steps when strong, stiff arms caught him and dragged him back. "What is your problem?" Legolas demanded in a harsh tone, holding the squirming child close to his chest.

"Let me go," Aragorn wailed pleadingly, struggling in vain to get free.

Legolas' grip was solid though, almost as though the Elf was made of marble, strong and unbreakable. He stood firm and unconcerned by the feeble attempts by the human child to get loose.

"You must understand," the Elf started in a cool voice as he untangled one of his arms in order to transfer some of the thick blood that remained on his fingers to Aragorn's flushed cheeks, "this is for your own good." The stone-like hand then moved to grip the child's small neck and held tight.

Crying would do no good now – nor would struggling, Aragorn realised. The world changed from grey to a light red, which grew deeper until Aragorn felt he was drowning, as if the river had burst its banks and was now drowning him in the blood of the slain. A scream rose in his throat but there wasn't enough air left in his lungs to make any sound.

Soon, the red became darker and he felt the world fading to black.

To Be Continued…