The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks as always for all the lovely reviews. Enjoy the next chapter.

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Chapter 62 – The Search

Terrible pain made his knees buckle no matter how hard he willed them to remain strong, and, unable to support his own slight weight, he fell face-first onto the stone. Contorting against the agony, he tried to force breath into his burning lungs. The stone beneath him was cold and smooth against his skin and Legolas believed it was the only thing keeping him alert, keeping him from succumbing to the pain. He clung to the flagstones, knowing fully well that he could do little but endure this terrible feeling until Sauron's emissary decided that the dose had been sufficient to teach him a lesson in obedience.

The pain diminished abruptly from his body after what seemed a lifetime and Legolas collapsed down, chest heaving against the pavement in exertion and shock.

"Do not fight this, Thranduilion." The creature stepped around him, slowly, tauntingly. Legolas felt the point of Thranduil's sword scrape over his back, hard enough to feel but not enough to injure. It had no use for cold mortal weapons. Their only use was symbolic; to torment. "You know it must be so. You have always known."

Legolas had not enough strength to reply. Perhaps had he not been expending all his brainpower on concocting a plan for escape he might have tried for furious denial or maybe some particularly vicious insults, learned from both Elf and Man. He suppressed a groan. Every muscle in his body ached furiously and he felt too weak to rise. So, he simply lay there, shaking and gasping and waiting for the feeling to pass.

"Just as the child's fate has already been decided, so has yours. Bow to it. Make your final days easy. Surely you have earned the privilege of peace."

It knew just what to say. Already it had seen his deepest fears and desires. There was no point in denying the truth, so Legolas didn't. He let the words of temptation wash over him but refused to let them touch his heart. The thing was trying to antagonise him. Why, Legolas knew not. It could kill him outright and be done with it.

"You have put up a brave fight. Very respectable. Few could have done better. My Lord was impressed; he told me so himself. That is no meagre thing, you know. He is not easily impressed." The creature sighed then; it sounded to Legolas genuinely weary. "But it is over."

A wave of inexplicable weariness passed over him and Legolas again bowed forward to rest his forehead against the street beneath him. Equilibrium of the earth had been restored at least, it seemed. Although it remained unnaturally cold, the air no longer felt charged as it had and Legolas knew instinctively that the Nazgul no longer cursed the skies. Subtle tremors, born of out magic so potent as to be almost unbearable, vibrated beneath him telling him that indeed the Wraiths walked the land now. Legolas tried to picture them, as the Voice of Mordor prattled inanely on, stalking the streets, cutting down all unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.

Where would they search first? Legolas knew that despite their apparent bulk, the Nazgul were quick and nimble creatures. He couldn't imagine it would take them long to search the city. Aragorn surely would have been woken by the pandemonium the arrival of the Wraiths would inevitably have sparked amongst the people of Osgiliath. He would recall them; perhaps see Kinnale's mutilated corpse and bereft son in his mind's eye. And Aragorn would not stay hidden. Legolas knew his ward well. No longer was he the nervous child who, mostly due to Legolas' relentless and tedious training, feared combat. He'd engage the creatures, Legolas knew. Anger would sustain him for a while against their power and maybe they would momentarily quail at the sight of the Elven-blessed Anduril shining in the grey light of day. But it would not last. In battle, he would lose. That much was inevitable. The only way to survive an encounter with the Nazgul was to run. That was what had saved Legolas in the end.

He choked on a cry as he pictured the battle in his mind. No matter how dire things became, Aragorn would not retreat and the Nazgul could not be beaten.

"Yes. They are close," whispered the Mouth of the Dark Lord. It dropped into a crouch at his side, laying its gloved hand against his shoulder. Claws dug into him and Legolas cried out weakly at the pain and sheer horror of having one of the Shadow touch him. "Feel them."

"Please," Legolas sobbed. He could not bear it. All he had fought for, all he had sacrificed was all about to mean nothing and he was utterly helpless. "Please stop."

"Fate cannot be altered."

In Rivendell, Elrond had said much the same thing. The wise Elf Lord had predicted this very happening. Even through his madness born of great grief, Elrond had seen the true hopelessness underlining Legolas' self-appointed quest. But the Lord had been ignored. After all, Legolas knew best, didn't he? He hadn't listened; he hadn't wanted to listen. And that arrogance had been his downfall.

Blocking out the lieutenant's voice, Legolas thought upon his fate. He pictured Rivendell, Erestor caring for Elrond in his infirmity. It saddened Legolas that he had left the lonely advisor. Had he done as he was bidden then Erestor may yet have been alive and Elrond restored to his former health. And Aragorn would not be staring into the towering blackness of his death. Legolas could have wept for his mistakes of the past.

How easy now it would be to surrender. If he laid there in silence long enough then Aragorn's end would come, the Nazgul would retreat with their master's coveted prize and the spokesman of Sauron would tire of him and end his wretched life. It seemed a reassuringly simple end. The pain would finally end. Who knew what would happen next. Much had he done for the salvation and protection of Middle Earth; perhaps this would inspire pity in the Creators and he would be granted peace at last even in the Halls of Mandos where he would be forced to dwell.

Instead of pleading for his end, Legolas simply closed his eyes and waited. The Mouth of Sauron continued to talk, the Nazgul screeched and in the distance Legolas could hear the terrified screams of Men. And still Legolas waited.

Suddenly, another scream pierced the air, this one close and of anger rather than terror.

Loud pounding filled Legolas' head and then a loud crash sounded on the ground right next to him.

"Be gone!"

That voice prompted him to open his eyes at last, the weariness fleeing his body. "Eowyn?"

What he saw quite simply astounded him. Eowyn was literally wrestling with the dark creature on the ground close by, a blur of black, brown, blonde and silver. It looked impossible. Such a slight woman putting up a good fight against a powerful creature of Shadow rendered Legolas motionless and insensible. He could only stare. How was it that she had the strength to do what he could not?

But, he noticed as he watched that she was struggling to manage its power. Surprise had been on her side when she had unexpectedly stumbled upon the chilling tableau and launched an impulsive attack. But it would only be a matter of moments before the Shadow creature regained its senses and overwhelmed her entirely. And she knew it.

"Legolas! Help me!"

He struggled up onto his feet at her urgent plea for aid but collapsed almost immediately back down. So, as the lieutenant of Mordor rolled and threw Eowyn from its bulking form, Legolas crawled messily towards them. He hadn't been looking for it so he startled when his hand nudged cold metal. His father's sword, dropped at the impact of woman upon beast. How right that this ancient blade, heirloom of his family, should now find its way back to him. Dragging it closer to him with his fingers, he wrapped the stiff digits around its warm leather handle – a perfect fit, just as it had been for his father before him. Still, it felt impossibly heavy so he added his left hand to lift its weight from the ground.

After the attack by the Voice of Sauron, Legolas did not have a whole lot of strength left, but what he did have he put to good use in the proceeding moments.

Straightening into a kneeling position, Legolas shuffled towards the creature, which by now had regained control and was bearing down on the Rohan woman irritating it. He was just so tired. Not just weary anymore but physically and emotionally drained. It dragged him down. He wondered, even marvelled to some degree, at this ingenious defence mechanism employed by this foul creature of Shadow. It was an almost humorous thought that if one of the allies of the Light possessed such a skill then things would be so much easier in the coming war.

And yet, for all its tricks and supposed cunning, Sauron's lieutenant had been outwitted by a lone woman of Rohan. Funny, the downfalls of the powerful.

Legolas shook his head, desperately trying to order thoughts into something recognisable as sense. He wondered whether this fuzzy confusion attacking his already befuddled mind was another part of the creature's spell over him. Yes, a most effective defence indeed.

But Legolas' mind for all its transgressions and tangents, continually travelled back to the fate of Osgiliath, and, more specifically, that of his ward. Aragorn. Several times, he repeated the name in silence in his head until the three simple syllables drowned out all else. The mantra proved mostly effective. With his mind now back on track, Legolas used his father's sword as a prop to aid himself to his feet. True, he was weak but sheer determination beat exhaustion, dizziness, confusion and trembling limbs and he was able to stand.

He gave the creature no warning. Only the foolish or the green declared their intentions to their intended target. The sword, heavy and dull though it felt raised high enough to reach its target, hit true.

Legolas did not know what hurt more – the intense reverberation that shot up the gore-caked blade and through his hands and into his head in a blinding stab of intense light or the shriek of absolute fury that echoed all around the besieged city and could probably be heard with some clarity in the neighbouring Minas Tirith.

The creature reared off of Eowyn's prone form, arching backwards. The Sword of Thranduil remained embedded where Legolas had plunged it through thick robes to pierce whatever abhorrence was concealed beneath. Fortunately, the prince had the wits to release the fine handle or he may well not have gotten off so lightly.

Clearly, the Mouth of Sauron was in some way akin to the Nazgul themselves judging from the eerie similarity of their cries as Legolas and the young woman were forced to cover their ears against the terrible sound.

It writhed, staggering about as though inebriated as it attempted futilely to remove the source of its pain. A thin, face, drawn and hideously scarred, turned upwards to the sky so that it could bellow to its companions in the city of Men. Had it not been wounded, Legolas knew that fury would have ended his and Eowyn's lives in an instant. But the Elf's aim had been impeccable.

Very nearly, Legolas found himself trampled beneath the wretched creature. The impact of dark magic sent through the king's sword had knocked him off his feet but he managed to crawl up onto his knees upon realising the unpredictable threat and he crawled towards Eowyn. He was relieved that the woman had survived the attack and although she still laid on the ground he could see that she was watching the lieutenant of Mordor reeling from the attack with some measure of pleasure in her eyes.

"Legolas!" she gasped when the Elf reached her and announced his presence with a gentle touch to her ankle.

The dark creature of Mordor may have been momentarily incapacitated but Legolas knew that they could not afford to relax. He had no idea how long its distraction would last and he wanted to get away before it regained its senses.

Screeching filled the air, making communicating verbally with Eowyn all but impossible, so he gained his feet again and bent to grab her. He felt hot wetness upon her arms as he pulled her up but there was no time to fuss over her injuries right then. Besides, she made no complaint as he tugged her to her feet. No doubt adrenaline was still smothering fear and pain alike. For now it worked for their escape and so he dragged her along, back down the street, away from the mewling creature.

Rarely in his life had Legolas felt so uncoordinated. Perhaps this was how Men felt all the time, he pondered with little humour; fumbling, unbalanced. Several times, the Elf tripped over his own unresponsive feet, which seemed too big and therefore too sluggish for him as they never had before. A few times, it was Eowyn who had to steady him. Despite this sudden rash of clumsiness, he doggedly kept on going, heading for the more built-up part of the city. He could have hidden, he knew. There were plenty of empty buildings that would have served nicely as a temporary sanctuary in which to hide from searching eyes. But he knew he had to find Aragorn, to ensure that the child was safe and that could not be achieved by cowering in some broken wreck. So he pushed onwards, away from the howls of his victim and towards his ward.

Black shadows, obscuring what little light filtered through a thick layer of low, grim clouds, pulled him up short. Now, the unholy shrieking came from above as well. The Nazgul had returned to the skies.

Suddenly filled with dread, Legolas grabbed Eowyn and slammed through the closest door, uncaring that the break-in jarred his shoulder painfully. He dragged the compliant woman by the hand through an old house long since abandoned until he found a small closet, windowless and protected. Pushing Eowyn inside, he followed and slammed the door closed so hard that dust billowed all around them.

It irked him that he was forced to hide from the dreaded Wraiths but he knew his limits – even if he sometimes chose to ignore them – and knew that he had not the strength to battle them.

Breathing heavily and still trembling, Legolas felt Eowyn in the same condition close at his side. He was too worried about discovery to speak though so he settled for wrapping his arm over her shoulders, hoping it would go some way to balm her fear. Her response to this kindness was somewhat unanticipated. First, he felt her lay her head just below his shoulder, then her arms snaked around his waist and his keen ears heard her feet shuffle on the wooden floor closer to him and then she was pressed tight against him.

It was natural in times of distress to seek comfort, Legolas knew, but Eowyn did not seem distressed in that moment. Her breathing remained laboured from her exertions fighting the creature of Mordor but her tremors were already subsiding. Slowly, the young woman's hands moved across his back. She sighed and he could do nothing but stand stock still and tense.

Half his concentration lay on listening to the sounds from outside their small refuge. But he found that he was also concerned for the woman. It may have been decades since he'd had any kind of female admiration directed at him but he recalled the signs now that he was presented with them with relative ease.

Back in his home, such things had hardly been a rare occurrence. After all, he was a young prince and warrior, considered handsome amongst his own people. Over the course of his adulthood, he'd grown used to such attentions. And he had dismissed most of them with confident ease. He was crown prince, his father had often reminded him, he could not indulge in a pretty face or fall for flattering compliments. Years of polite smiles and dismissals followed – bar the occasional private dalliance, which he had never divulged even to his father. Only one woman had ever captured his heart though and it had ever belonged to her alone, even in separation.

But this was not Mirkwood. The king was not there to guide his path. Eowyn was no fluttering Elf-maiden, more drawn to the title than the man. She was ignorant of all he had once been. And he was lonely. This realisation hit him and he gasped softly in the darkness. His heart had been broken at the fall of Mirkwood. Grief for an Elf was simply a waiting game in the end. On the Old Forest Road, he'd known it only to be a matter of time before his soul simply failed on him and he was granted freedom at long last. Arathorn, though, had thrown everything out of balance. Legolas found himself altered in many ways. This was the least expected.

Without even registering his actions, his arms wrapped around Eowyn's thin frame, seeking to keep her close. He stooped slightly, his face pressed to her hair.

He knew that Eowyn had regarded him with admiration ever since he had taken her from the clutches of the Orcs at Helm's Deep. But, generally uninterested in such attentions, he had let it wash over him; she was bound to feel a certain affiliation with her noble rescuer.

Against his chest, she was breathing more rapidly. Her trembling had resumed but he did not think it was through continued fear of the Wraiths roaming the streets outside. Shaking hands moved from his back, over his sides to come to rest flat against his chest. She still did not pull back though. The feeling of closeness seemed to put her at ease even as it made him anxious. He was sure that with her pressed to him she would be able to hear his treacherously pounding heart.

Outside, he could hear the screams, sometimes close, sometimes distant and he imagined the Nazgul having taken to the skies again to better search for the Elf who'd dared lay hand on their comrade. No doubt, the Mouth of Sauron himself had retreated by now, maybe joining the Wraiths in the air or maybe already speeding back to the safety of the Black Lands over the mountains.

Legolas strained to listen as the noises from outside died and all fell silent once more. Lifting his head from where it had rested against Eowyn's hair, he turned slightly towards the door, his arms loosening from around the woman.

She too at last raised her head from his chest, worried at his reaction. Her hand reached up, palm placed against his cheek to gain his attention. "What?" she asked in a fearful whisper.

In the dark, she could see his eyes shining and they held an expression of surprise, as if he had forgotten her presence at his side. Suddenly, the Lady of Rohan realised that her body was pressed flush against that of her Elven saviour, close enough to feel his body through his meagre clothing, and she flushed in embarrassment. A smile flitted over Legolas' lips and she wondered that he could apparently see her reaction. What on earth was she doing? In the aftermath of the battle with the monster of Shadow, followed by their rapid fleeing and hiding from the Wraiths, she found that she had entirely forgotten herself.

The closet suddenly felt so unbearably cramped. Flushing once more, she quickly pulled away from her tall guardian, feeling his arms obligingly disengage their loose hold on her. As she found herself with her back pressed flush to the wall, mere inches from Legolas, she felt horribly claustrophobic and wished that escape was possible.

Legolas, meanwhile, made no movement. He did not retreat but nor did he encourage her to return to his embrace. It seemed that he felt no embarrassment about what had just transpired between them but she Eowyn didn't know whether that brought comfort or not.

Protectively, she folded her arms around herself, her head bowed. No words came to mind so they remained stood in awkward silence, waiting for the coast to clear so they could take to the streets again.

As time passed, Legolas, who had at first stood easy after Eowyn's abrupt retreat, became ever more antsy. With the momentary distraction in the form of the woman of Rohan gone, his mind returned to his ward. True, the Nazgul had been called away from the city by the pained cry of the lieutenant but Legolas had no way of knowing how many had been recalled or how long they would leave the city in peace. There were Nine of them, after all. Legolas was unsure how many of them had come to Osgiliath. Even now they could he scouring the city or even bearing his ward away into the darkness of Mordor.

What on earth was he doing, cowering in a closet whilst the city of Men remained in danger under attack and his ward's life in danger?

Suddenly, Legolas shook his head. This was ridiculous. If he was to meet a Wraith on the path going to the aid of his charge then so be it. He'd fight the damnable creatures off just as he had done so in the past.

Eowyn must have sensed his change in demeanour as she squeezed his hand to gain his attention, silently asking 'what?' of him.

"Let's go," he told her out loud, the sound of his voice startling after long minutes of thick silence. He laid his free hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave but he paused when Eowyn tugged on his hand.

"Is it clear?" she asked in a whisper, still understandably cautious.

"As clear as it's going to be any time soon, I believe."

This assessment did not exactly leave Eowyn brimming with confidence. And yet she trusted Legolas with her life. So she made no protest when he swung open the door to their hiding place. Yet in spite of her assurance that his judgement was best, she heaved a huge breath of relief that nothing leapt out at them when the rest of the house was revealed.

"Come on."

His heart told him to run to the city with all possible haste but two things prevented him from doing so; first, his body remained shaky and unresponsive from his confrontation with the Voice of Sauron and thus incapable of moving with any remarkable speed and, secondly, Eowyn remained at his side, silently urging caution. And caution was indeed the more prudent course. Although Legolas could hear no sign of the unearthly creatures of Shadow, he knew them to be stealthy, cunning when they had to be, and so he remained vigilant for the silent shadows.

They made good progress through the network of streets, mostly due to the fact that both were eager to leave this exposed place for safer ground. Neither knew the city well enough to be completely certain of the way around though, having spent most of their time in Osgiliath's built up heart, mostly under guard during their stay so far. Still, he relied upon his senses, becoming more confident that they were going the right way by the minute.

Soon the houses became more closely clustered together and Legolas sped up, for now it was easy to find the centre, all he needed to do was follow the close screams of terror.

The Nazgul had been thorough. Their fell steeds had created utter devastation in the city, spreading panic, picking off those too slow in fleeing from sharp talons as the beasts swooped through the crowds and ruining buildings as they slammed into them during their search. A few bodies littered the way Legolas took and the screams mostly came from within the buildings where Legolas presumed the bulk of Osgiliath's people were sheltered until the Shadow-storm had passed. Legolas looked to the skies but could see no sign of the reptilian creatures above. Still he did not relax. Just because the Wraiths were not visible did not mean they weren't close by.

Injured Men sat about on the sides of the road but Legolas walked by them without pause, forcing himself to ignore their predicament even as they called to him and Eowyn for help. He had to find Aragorn. Already he could be too late and that thought made his stomach clench in fear. The Men would receive aid soon.

The blanket of hush now covering the city was unnerving. Beneath the screams of terrified Men was an unnatural stillness. Legolas's mind cried for caution, making him more convinced than ever that the Shadow lurked still in the haunted city of Osgiliath.

As they drew closer to the command post, Legolas heard footsteps, heavy boots of maybe ten men clattering upon stone. When Eowyn heard the noise a few seconds after him, she tightened her hold on his hand, drawing closer to his side. She, he supposed, had no way of knowing that Sauron's wraith-servants would never make such a terrible racket upon approaching a target. Men could never be mistaken for the Nine to Elven hearing.

"It's all right," Legolas assured her in a soft voice.

Sure enough, less than thirty seconds later, they bumped into the noisy Human patrol, which consisted of Faramir and nine others Legolas had never seen before.

"Legolas," the man greeted somewhat coldly. He had not forgotten what this Elf had just hours ago done to his father. Still, he was a soldier endeavouring to protect his besieged home so he shoved any personal issues he had with Legolas aside for the time being and asked, "Have you seen any sign of them? You aware of all that's been happening?"

"Of course. And, no, I have seen no sign of them this deep within the city."

"It is the creatures of Shadow."

"Yes, I have seen, as I just said. Where is Aragorn?"

"I have not seen him," Faramir admitted, looking around himself, on edge still. He'd remain so until he was certain beyond any doubt that the Shadow had left Osgiliath in peace.

"What of Eomer or Jecha?"

Faramir rolled his eyes in irritation, snapping, "I am hardly in a position to know the exact location of every one of your men."

"Then may I request that one of your patrol escort Lady Eowyn to a place of safety?"

The Steward's son looked to the blonde woman at Legolas' side as if seeing her for the first time. "Why is she with you?" he then demanded angrily of Legolas. Really the Elf should know better than to bring a young woman with limited battle skills out onto the exposed streets during an invasion by their most hated enemy. "What were you thinking?"

Legolas had neither the time nor the patience to explain to Faramir that it had not been his intention to put Eowyn in any position considered dangerous.

"Take her some place safe." He nudged her forward and she went willingly to the patrol.

"Where are you going?" Faramir demanded of him as he moved past.

"To find Aragorn."

"I'm sure he's fine hiding out somewhere."

"Even so…"

"Legolas, we need men patrolling the streets."

Turning to face Faramir so that he was walking backwards now, Legolas smiled, "I'm sure you'll manage just fine without me."

Faramir looked to his fellow soldiers for help in this matter but as his gaze roved over them they all turned their eyes to the ground, feet shuffling. None of them were going to contradict the Elf's wishes because none of them particularly wanted him with them on patrol, no matter what his battle skills were. They were a little bit afraid of him.

Rolling his eyes at the reaction of his following warriors, Faramir turned back but Legolas was already a fair distance from him, not waiting for Faramir's permission to leave, already being swallowed up by the greyness clinging to the city.

"Legolas," the man hissed in warning. Wandering alone with those Shadow creatures roaming around searching for something to condemn to Darkness was foolish.

But Legolas ignored the hushed request to return and Faramir had more important things to do than worry over the Elf. Uttering a foul curse in his head only, he turned away again, gave a swift order to one of his men to escort Eowyn into the command post where she'd be safe, then finally signalled his patrol onwards.

Legolas, meanwhile, increased his pace to where he had left Aragorn the night before. He met no other patrols or any of the Enemy on the route. If Faramir had any tactical sense he'd have spread his men throughout the city so it wasn't so surprising that Legolas saw no further sign of them. Not that he actively looked for them. All he really cared about was finding Aragorn.

He found the house where Aragorn had rested the night before with ease. It remained standing, which was a relief. And yet, as he approached, the sense of relief fled him to be replaced with a deep panic. The door was shattered, smashed in and the place reeked of Darkness. Drawing his knife, Legolas approached boldly. He stepped over and around the remains of the door, moving quickly through the main room, which looked as though a fierce storm had blown through decimating the place in its path, and into the back room where Legolas had left his ward in the wake of his nightmare.

In truth, he had half expected them to be there but it still came as somewhat of a shock seeing the black-robed creatures looming in the room, filling up the space, now rank with the stench of menace and Darkness.

Freezing instantly, the exiled prince of Mirkwood stared for a long moment. And they, in turn, stared back. Through dark hoods nothing was visible but as they straightened from their search to face Legolas they seemed quizzical.

Legolas found himself torn between being stricken with terror and relieved at their lingering presence; if they remained it meant that they had not yet found what they'd come for. It meant Aragorn yet lived.

He was not sure how much time had passed.

It seemed so bizarre. He was engaged in a stand-off with the Wraiths of Mordor. Who would make the first move?

The Wraiths could have easily overpowered him. He was a lone Elf bearing just a long knife with no backup set to charge in as reinforcements and they were creatures of Shadow. Legolas guessed that what they were debating was whether it was worth keeping alive for interrogation purposes or whether it would be better to simply swat this irritating fly. It was doubtless that the Nine recalled the previous battle with this Elf years ago. They had suffered a humiliating defeat and despite the fact that they appeared little but empty clothing, Legolas sensed that they felt the sting of pride. Legolas had no way of knowing whether these two were at the cave where Kinnale had lost his life, whether they were the ones who's been sent running away, robes ablaze. It did not matter. Nine they may have been, but they were also as One. Defeat for the individual meant defeat for all and that could not abide.

The Elf made the decision first. Presented with a fight he knew he could not win, he took a slow step backwards then made a dash for the door. Staring Death in the face made him quick and he'd fled the building, barring the doors before the wretched Wraiths had swept across the room, startled at the sudden movement.

Aragorn was not in the place Legolas had left him, which left only two possibilities: he'd escaped before the Wraiths found him or he'd already been captured. The second possibility was so terrifying that it almost paralysed him halfway across the square during his desperate sprint for cover. So, for comfort's sake, he decided to believe the former.

Aragorn, too had met the Nazgul before and Legolas had warned him of them often. When he'd learned of the siege, he'd have sought out the others, joined them in securing the city, maybe taken up with one of the patrols Faramir had sent. Or maybe, just maybe, the boy had done the sensible thing and hidden away. Legolas almost cracked a smile at that. As if his ward would quail from danger.

Legolas threw himself into an empty house just as the Wraiths came smoothly out into the square, massive heads moving side to side as if sniffing the air for their prey. The Elf ran on, feet silent even on cracked floorboards. He went through the rooms until he found the back door. Twice more he repeated this procedure, moving surreptitiously through the town, seeking to put distance between himself and the agents of Shadow. He could not see the Wraiths but he could feel them. They were close. And he ran, moving as a shadow himself, through the gloomy streets and desolate houses.

Drawing nearer to the heart of town, although that had not been his intention, he had no destination in mind, Legolas found himself throwing open one door only to be thrown to the ground by strong hands fisted around his jacket front whilst his hand was slammed hard against cracked floorboards until his knife flew from his hand and skidded over the wood.

At least these were not Wraith hands holding him down. They were strong but not vice-like and they did not burn to touch. No, they were undoubtedly Human hands.

"Stop! Stop it!" Legolas shouted in irritation as opposed to fear as the man leaned on him, yelling something indistinguishable in his panic. "Would you stop! Open your eyes! I am not your enemy!"

Slowly, realisation dawned on the man and he ceased his shouting long enough to hear what Legolas was saying. Blinking down, the man realised that indeed this was no Orc or Wraith, he was one of them. The man leapt to his feet and backed away as if Legolas might jump up and strike out at them.

It was a wise decision.

Legolas got smoothly to his feet and even as he bent to retrieve his knife the tirade was set loose.

"What were you thinking?! One man attacking a Wraith! Had I been one of them you would already be dead! What are you even doing here?"

"Hiding, sir."

Before Legolas could unleash another blast of anger on the impetuous Human, movement caught his eye. The man was not alone. Others had chosen this house to hide in too. No doubt they had scattered when the Nazgul attacked. Faramir's patrols had probably shepherded the panicking people into the central building so they could form a perimeter, encasing the innocents within the roving patrols. A clever strategy that protected Osgiliath's vulnerable.

"Are they still here?" the trembling man asked of him.

"Yes," Legolas replied in a whisper. "They're here."

He went to the window and peered out onto the street. No sign of the creatures. Prowling the city, Legolas thought, maybe searching for him or maybe having had enough of him in lieu of finding far more valuable prey. Aragorn.

"Have you seen Aragorn anywhere?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No. It was chaos when the attack came. I know he has not been here."

"Damn it. He could be anywhere. How many other houses are occupied?"

"I don't know. Why are they here?"

Legolas sighed softly, watching the street. "For him."

"For Aragorn?"

"Yes."

"Why? Because…" The man looked about himself uncertainly then continued in a far softer voice, "Because he's king?"

Surprised, Legolas turned to the man. He was Gondorian, without a doubt, not one of the Rohirrim that had travelled with Aragorn since Edoras, and yet he now spoke of Aragorn as the King. Reluctantly, for sure, and yet he now used the word 'king' to describe Aragorn. That had to count for something amongst the people of Gondor. Legolas found himself filled with pride and a small amount of relief.

"Yes," Legolas finally answered, "because he is king. The Dark Lord fears him greatly and seeks to destroy him before he has the chance to untie this bond between Aragorn and the Men of Gondor."

"I have not seen him."

"Right." The Elf glanced outside again, finding the street clear. He shoved away from the window and weaved amongst the people in the hideout, heading for the front door.

"Wait. Where are you going?" demanded the man, sounding panicked again, he grabbed Legolas' arm.

"I have to find the king before they do."

"You're just going to leave us here?"

"Keep low and quiet and you'll be fine."

"How do you know that? What if they come here?"

"Do not attempt to tackle them to the ground," chuckled the Elf. More seriously, he instructed, "So long as you remain quiet and don't get in their way I doubt they'll bother you. They came here for the king."

"If you really think so."

Legolas nodded, glancing outside once again to ensure that no dark shapes roamed this part of the street. Then he stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him to ensure the house remained as secure as possible. It was an empty gesture though. The Wraiths would not be halted by wood and bolts.

To Be Continued…