Thank you to the very lovely Anarithilen as always.

Thanks to those who review or leave kudos etc. You encourage me.

Chapter 20. The Houses of the Dead.

The storm had abated and the city was left soaked but surviving the battering, like a ship at sea. In the darkest hours before dawn, Gimli leaned over the parapet of the Rath Dínen, the Silent Street, and looked down. The bridge was very high, and far below were the sharp rocks upon which Legolas had found Ioralas' body. No wonder it killed the boy, Gimli thought sadly. He imagined how it must have been to fall all that way and crash heavily upon the rocks, crushing the breath from his body, bones snapping upon impact, limbs twisted…He wondered if Ioralas had died immediately or been left there in agony and died slowly, in pain. Alone….

And he was so white…not just corpse-white. But like he had been drained of his blood. And there had not been much blood on the rocks, Gimli thought, frowning. True, the rain had been very heavy, but enough to wash it all away? Legolas said that a ghoul had led him here. But if that were true, why did it want Legolas to discover the body and why now? And how it had escaped the Elf, disappearing into darkness above the Silent Street for Gimli could not imagine anything able to escape the Elf's swift feet.

Gimli looked up at the craggy outcrop above him. It was steep and impossible to climb. But the rough rock face would have presented no problem to something that could so easily have climbed the tall smooth piers of the bridge, as Legolas had said it had. To his right was the city, the Tower of Ecthelion standing proudly at the summit, and to his left, the House of the Dead, the burial chambers of the Kings and Stewards of Gondor. But these were guarded and surely they would have seen the ghoul as it climbed over the parapet at least?

Gimli stroked his beard, wondering. Then he shrugged for he was not going to answer any questions standing here and staring into space.

Gandalf was already striding along the bridge, his white robes billowing behind him. Quickly, Gimli followed, for even if the Wizard lead him into the tombs of the Kings and Stewards, he was still with Gandalf and he did not think Legolas' ghoul or the ghosts of dead Men, even the mad Denethor, held much fear for Gandalf.

He did not know if it was his imagination, but it seemed much colder once they had crossed the bridge. There was a small guardroom at the end of the bridge which led into the crypt. Two guardsmen came out and hailed them when they saw Gandalf and Gimli. One was Cendir, with whom Gimli had spoken before. The other was a handsome, younger Man but his eyes were anxious and he looked tired, like he had not slept for worry.

'Good evening, Cendir!' Gimli smiled and nodded at the other Man. 'Have you seen anything of note during the night?' he asked as casually as he could, thinking that had they seen this ghoul of Legolas', they would be less settled and surely have roused the Tower guard.

'It has been very quiet tonight up here, my lords,' said Cendir. 'But there has been some disturbance in the third or fourth level. We heard the Watch bell ring.' He paused and then said, 'My lords, I cannot think what brings you to this place unless it be that you search for some clue about Ioralas' whereabouts.' He glanced in concern at his companion, whose face had paled. 'But I assure you, Beregond has been here already, when Maltök reported that Ioralas had not turned up for his duty. He found not a thing.'

Gandalf glanced at Gimli and sighed. The Wizard was very gentle when he spoke. 'I am sorry, my friends. That is what you heard below…This very night Legolas found Ioralas' body. I am afraid he is dead.'

The other Man took a step back with a terrible cry, hand over his mouth. 'It cannot be! Dead?' He sank onto the ground, head in his hands.

Cendir stood, shocked and grieved. 'This is Arduin. He was…'

'Yes,' Gimli said quickly. 'Yes. We understand.' He gave a deep sigh and shook his head. 'I am sorry you had to hear it like this, my friend.' He put his strong, square hand upon Arduin's shoulder and let the warmth of the forge sink into it. 'I have no clever words to bring you comfort. But we have found him at least and he lies in the Houses of Healing until you can claim him.'

Arduin looked up, his face streaked with tears. 'Forgive me, my lord. Forgive me. I just…' He swallowed. 'I suppose I knew. I just hoped…' He rubbed his face. 'Did he… did he suffer, do you think?'

Gimli paused for a moment and then spoke slowly, gently so the Man had time to absorb it. 'He fell it seems. His body was upon the rocks, under the bridge.' He did not speak of the whiteness of his corpse, nor the ghoul that Legolas had said had led him to this place.

Arduin gave a cry and stumbled to his feet, grasping the edge of the parapet and staring down into the chasm below. 'No! He could not be…I looked…' He turned back distraught.

'Legolas found him when he was…at the foot of the bridge.' Gimli took a step towards the parapet himself and looked over. All was darkness below and they could not even see the rocks upon which Ioralas had fallen. 'It was not obvious. You could not have seen him from up here. There was a narrow gully. He had fallen into it. There was nothing you could have done, even had you known he was there. He would have died instantly.' Gimli heard the words leave his lips. It was not the first time he had given such news. But it never came any easier.

'Come, Arduin.' Cendir slowly reached for Arduin and took him by the arm and guided him back to the little guardroom. 'Thank you, my lords, for bringing us this news.' He glanced up at the sky. 'We will be relieved at dawn. I will take him to Beregond then.'

Gandalf nodded reassuringly. 'That is well,' he said kindly. 'But we have not just come to give you this news. Lord Gimli and I have an important task for the King. We must inspect that which you guard.'

Cendir rose to his feet as if to accompany them but Gandalf pressed him back. 'Look after your friend. We can find what we need.'

Cendir nodded and Gandalf turned. 'Come along, Gimli. We have work to do.' The Wizard strode towards the crypts of the Kings and Stewards.

Gimli keenly felt the cold in the pit of his belly. He looked up at the tall mausoleum of the stewards, its façade of marble and basalt, an austere and stark contrast of black and white. Gandalf leapt up the few shallow steps that led to a grand portico of white marble inlaid with gleaming obsidian and the huge bronze door that towered above them magnificently.

Slowly, ponderously, the door swung open.

Inside, the darkness was pushed back by the reddish glow of two torches that were stuck into bronze and copper sconces upon the walls. Darkness did not worry Gimli, who was used to being underground and he would have welcomed the chance had it not been that Gandalf led him into a tomb. The torchlight made their shadows enormous, and Gimli saw his own, a giant dwarf with an axe, looming into the darkness ahead of him.

He faltered. 'Gandalf, will you tell me now what it is that we do? Is it Legolas' ghoul we pursue?'

'Legolas' ghoul? Do you doubt him?' Gandalf turned and looked at Gimli, a slight smile on his lips. But before Gimli could answer, he had already taken a torch from the nearest sconce. 'No. We are not here for that.'

In the torchlight ahead was a long passageway that stretched into darkness, and along each wall were niches, smooth as eggshells; within each was a tomb upon which lay the bronze effigy of the steward whose bones lay within, eyes open as if aware of their passing, and a sword clasped in his bronze hands.

'These are the Stewards,' said Gandalf solemnly. 'The Kings lie in their own crypt further in. Much grander.'

Gandalf paused for a moment before one. A sword was laid upon the tomb but no bronze effigy rested here. 'Here is Denethor's tomb.' It was as if Denethor had laid his sword here but could not rest in peace, instead forever pacing these halls, like a madman.

Gimli pulled his beard and looked around himself, almost expecting to see a ghostly spectre walking down the passageways, flaming brand in hand. And then he saw there was a second empty tomb here. No sword was upon it but instead, a broken horn.

Boromir.

Gimli took a step back in shock. Boromir, whose body they had laid in a boat and sent over the Rauros Falls. The Horn of Gondor had come to Gondor's shores, Gimli remembered Pippin had told them and it had pushed Denethor further into despair…Here it lay. All that remained of Boromir.

For a moment, Gimli stood before the empty niche and he wanted to bow his head, offer a prayer to Mahal for it seemed somehow shocking to think of both Boromir and Denethor's violent ends, one in courage and the other a despair at the loss of the first. Gimli thought he might understand those Men who made a homage here; for Boromir had been their captain, their protector for many years and his father had ruled long and well before he despaired.

'Aragorn must do right by both these Men,' he heard himself say. 'He must commission their likenesses and make public ceremony, giving Boromir his due.'

'And he will,' Gandalf said softly.

'He died bravely in the end,' Gimli said roughly for he did not trust himself to say more and he felt Gandalf 's hand on his shoulder and knew that the Wizard understood.

'Come,' said Gandalf. 'Leave the dead to lie in peace.'

'As long as they are in peace,' said Gimli, following Gandalf. 'Is this ghoul some restless soul, or demon of the dark?' He found his voice lowering to a whisper

'I do not know what the ghoul is,' said Gandalf. 'Not yet. And I have not brought you here to chase a ghoul that Legolas could not catch,' he added grumpily. 'You will remember that Legolas found a Mirror when we were in the tower at Minas Morgul?'

'Of course.' Gimli remembered how Legolas had been unsettled on his return; the tower was a haunted, dreadful place full of blood and fear. Gimli had been only too pleased to leave it.

'I had it brought with us as you know. You cannot leave such artefacts lying around for anyone to find.' Gandalf said reasonably, lifting the torch higher and striding down the cold smooth passageway.

'So it must have some power then,' Gimli said. 'Like the Mirror of Galadriel perhaps?' he added, following. He did not speak of the other mirror, the one in Phellanthir that Elrohir had told Legolas had been made by Guhnâlzirâmuzbad himself, whom the elves called Celebrimbor. Gimli felt a little frisson of excitement; perhaps this one too was made by Guhnâlzirâmuzbad and Gimli was going to get the chance to examine it himself! Well worth a trip through this gloomy place, he thought gleefully.

'Yes, I believe it may have Power,' Gandalf said. He strode quickly through the quiet dark, their shadows running on ahead of them, huge one moment and then lost in the dark. 'I hid it in here. The dead have no fear,' Gandalf continued. 'They have no enemies or shadows to conjure from the Dark.'

Gimli stared at the back of Gandalf's head, less excited than he had been. 'Shadows to conjure from the Dark?'

Gandalf turned to face Gimli then. 'I am trusting you with a great secret, Gimli.' Gandalf looked at him with great seriousness. 'None must know what the Mirror can do,' he said emphatically. 'If it fell into the wrong hands, it could wreak havoc and all that we have worked for will be undone.' The Wizard's eyes were troubled and distant now, looking inwards. 'I do not know how, but in Phellanthir, that Mirror was a window to the Dark…'

'Ah! That is what Elladan was angry about! He thought this one too held danger. He must know about the one in Phellanthir. Of course.' The dwarf clicked his fingers at himself.

Gandalf looked serious. 'This is not a game, Gimli! This is a dangerous artefact. You must understand.' He rapped his staff on the ground as if Gimli was not paying attention. 'Listen to me! I had a message from Glorfindel that I must come in haste to Phellanthir. And when I arrived, Glorfindel, and Erestor too, swore that within the Mirror, they had seen a Balrog. The very same that slew Glorfindel and was slain by him upon the Cristhorn.'

All Gimli's excitement fled. Instead cold tiptoed over his skin, made his hair prickle. 'That cannot be possible,' he said quietly. 'You mean it conjured an image of the Balrog in the glass? It reflected his memory, like some sort of… transmission of thought?'

Gandalf shook his head. 'No. It is not as simple as that.' He pressed his lips together and frowned for a moment, thinking. 'I am trying to explain it to you. The Balrog did not simply appear as an illusion or a glimpse into the past. It was actually there. Contained, no, not contained by the Mirror. It could not break through. I believe that Glorfindel's presence drew the Balrog to him. He was somehow, a magnet.'

Gimli tried to imagine it: Glorfindel standing looking into a mirror and a Balrog staring back.

Gandalf gave a small sigh. 'Gimli, I need to make you understand. I am going to show you what happened. Do not be afraid. It is memory.

He placed his hand upon Gimli's shoulder and turned him so that Gimli was facing the Wizard. He looked up into Gandalf's piercing blue eyes and for a moment, he saw not the Wizard, but something, someone else; radiant, light shining through him, long silver-white hair and a face of such benevolence and stern kindliness he felt like weeping. And then that melted away and he was standing somewhere else….

At the top of the stairs was a long passage and the daylight faded into dimness but Gandalf could see great bronze doors thrown wide open and buckled as if an intense heat had melted them. He paused at the top of the stairs for he could feel that Power rippled across the entrance of the doors, almost tangible. Stepping towards the doors, he narrowed his eyes, letting himself slip from his flesh, muscle and bone, and though his bodily presence kept its shape and form to all who looked, Ólorin slipped from his corporeal case and slowly approached the doors. Like water, the darkness parted before and around him, and lights glimmered like rainbows and then split into the vertical lines of the helyanwë. He felt the resonance of Power, deep Power such as he had never felt this side of the Sea…

He peered into the dark and listened…

There was silence at first, and then a strange, deep note chimed far off in the darkness. It was a rare, rich chord of indescribable loveliness and Ólorin felt his own spirit tremble in response. It drifted in the empty silence like a ship's bell. Lost. And the loneliness was overwhelming.

And then another sound, more strident and angry, a hollow roar that was disembodied, its parts flung as far and as wide as the strange, lost chord

There has been a battle, Ólorin thought. This distant, enraged bellow he knew was the Balrog, its rage resonated through the emptiness, as if it remembered how it had been vanquished. This was Ruinátoró, Glorfindel's nemesis. Shadow and flame. Its bellow drifted further and quieter, dimming in the emptiness of the Void.

Then all was quiet. The lost note of silver-blue and fire faded and the Balrog's furious bellow was silent.

Ólorin stilled himself, let Narya open and sift the particles and resonances that were deep below the sounds of the world…There was a stillness beneath, somewhere in the Dark. Distant and far. Something that waited. A crushing strength and heavy malice.

There was a subtle shift in the Dark, as if Something's attention gradually came to rest upon a thin patch of grey light in the Dark here where there was no light, like a pool in the shadowed woods …Something slid its attention towards that patch of thin grey light. Grinding metal and steel and old, old, Power. Strong. Not diminished. Not truly vanquished or chained. But waiting…

Slowly, with immense care that he did not disturb the air in this place, nor alert the Presence that he, Ólorin, was here, he stepped back and slid into the old Man's flesh and bone, felt the sinews stretch and the muscle bunch. Silently, leaving barely a ripple, he drew back and closed Narya, pulled her red Power towards him and shielded her from the subtle, shifting attention. It seemed to slip over him and did not catch on his dimmed and flesh-clad spirit, seeking instead perhaps that lost chord of silver-blue and fire. He felt the misery of its dispersal, and the Presence slipped its attention ravenously towards the drifting loveliness of the lost chord.

….He was outside the Óromarde of Celebrimbor. Glorfindel stood with Gandalf and Erestor, a strange elf stood with them with light armour and a sword clasped in his hand.

'I dare not go back in.' Glorfindel's hand clasped the hilt of his sword as if it were an old friend. His voice did not tremble but that did not mean he was not afraid. 'On the other side of the Glass is the Absolute Dark,' he said quietly and Gandalf leaned in to listen for this was what he had feared. 'I brought the Balrog,' Glorfindel continued. 'Somehow it knew I was here on this side and it assailed the Glass trying to break free, to reach me.' He shook his head uncomprehending but Gandalf looked past him and into the gloom within where this Glass was. He gestured towards the buckled and twisted doors. 'And clearly there is danger within these doors that we do not yet understand. If the Balrog was in there and merely the heat from its

presence wreak that destruction upon the doors of this place, then what else might be?'

What else indeed, thought Gandalf and he peered through the gloom into the darkness within and thought that now he knew.

Gimli almost stumbled as he came back to himself and was aware that he was staring up at Ólorin with his mouth open… No. Gandalf, he thought slowly, words trying to mould themselves around his thoughts that were too huge, too momentous.

I am just an Iron-Master, he thought slowly. I cannot comprehend this. The idea of the Mirror was beyond him, perhaps not even one of the Lords of Fire, the Rîgakha-mesh could comprehend what had been done here to create such an artefact. One that could open a door like this…

'…Gimli…..Gimli..;

'Yes…Yes…' He drifted a while, wondering about the lost chord, the silver-blue note that was not of the Dark…

He became aware of Gandalf's voice calling to him and a warmth on his shoulder that suffused his whole being. He looked up at Gandalf with more clarity now. 'I begin to understand now, Gandalf. A door to the Dark perhaps?'

'Yes. A door. Perhaps. You see why I could not allow Legolas near it.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.' His brightness will attract things in the darkness, the Nazgûl would be drawn to him like moths…he thought and knew he still shared Ólorin's thoughts… Or bats.

There had been bats at the Battle of Erebor, he remembered. Huge, black clouds of them that had dropped upon the Khazâd and tore at the flesh with sharp fangs.

'We cannot leave these Mirrors here for Men to discover and use without wisdom,' Gandalf said softly. 'When we all have gone, there will be no one left who remembers, and they might unleash the Dark upon themselves. I cannot leave it here.'

Gimli nodded slowly. Yes. Yes, I see. You cannot leave it. You cannot destroy it.

Gandalf smiled slightly. Come then, Gimli Aulësson indeed.

He turned and Gimli followed as if in a dream, as if floating with no physical awareness. The white robes susurrused around him like the foam on waves, and it seemed Ólorin was ahead of him, slipping in and out of mortal flesh and bones, that the spirit the old man's body contained was growing too much for it, that it had to escape soon.

He thought he heard a scrape as if some dead warrior of bronze had turned his head and watched them pass with those empty eyes that had no iris, no pupil …

Gandalf pushed open the door to a small chamber. It was empty but for a brazier that was full of white ash and cold. There were rust-coloured marks on the marble floor like someone had spilt something but Gimli did not look closely. A chair stood nearby, as if someone had been sitting at the brazier trying to keep warm. Who would want to sit in here, thought Gimli distantly, still bemused and enchanted, with all those dead Stewards? But Gandalf seemed not at all interested in any of this. He took two strides to the back of the chamber and Gimli saw that something stood at the back in the shadows, swathed in white.

Gandalf stood to one side and his fingers caught at the edge of the white cloth and Gimli saw now that it was in fact, Gandalf's own cloak. He blinked slowly; he had not even noticed that Gandalf was no longer wearing it.

Slowly the cloak slipped away and he saw a face staring back at him in the darkness, beard, dwarvish braids. His lips parted and he saw the face copied him.

Gimli stared for a moment. It was the Mirror. And his own face in the glass- he should have expected it.

Gandalf was poking around at the back of it. 'Gimli come here please. Don't stand there gawking at yourself.'

He stepped sideways quickly, and he peered at the mirror's surface, expecting to see the fine layer of copper that Guhnâlzirâmuzbad was known to have been used, according the Azaghâl at least. And a mithril compound coating the copper. But there was nothing. Perhaps it has worn away with age, Gimli thought. He scraped a finger down the silvered glass surface and frowned. This looked like simple glass. Then he peered at the frame; it was made with some sort of copper compound, but Gimli thought it inferior stuff. His frown deepened. There were very few nicks or scratches upon it if it was of such a great age. He shook his head. If he did not know better, he would say it was new. Even if in bringing it from Minas Morgul, they had taken very very great care. He shook his head. This was no fine craftsmanship. This was nothing.

'Gandalf…' he said. 'I think you have gone to a lot of trouble for nothing. The Nazgûl were simply vain after all!' He laughed, remembering how he had imagined the Nazgûl admiring their black shrouds in the mirror, looking this way and that.

But the Wizard tore the white cloak from the mirror and hurled it on the floor. 'You think I don't know Power when I see it, Gimli Gloinsson! You must think me just some old conjurer who can only set off fireworks! Fool of a dwarf! This is not the Mirror we brought from Minas Morgul. This is a fake! The Mirror has been stolen!'

0o0o

Legolas lay on the iron bed in the room he had been left rather than claimed. The little cat, Glaurung, lay on his feet and he dared not move for she slept so deeply. Now and again her little paws twitched and she whimpered. When she did that, he reached over and stroked a hand down her rough fur and hummed so she shifted and sighed and slept again, smiling a little cat smile. Her fur would smooth and soften once she had been fed properly and loved, he thought.

He had put his meagre belongings around the room; the mended tunic of moss green suede hung in the small wardrobe, and in a chest of drawers were the two linen shirts he had brought with him from the Wood so he had one clean one. His boots were curled under a chair like a leathery snake and his pack was slung over the chair. His knives were carefully laid on a small table beneath the window and his bow and quiver leaned against the same table. The small silver mirror remained turned over so its mirrored surface was against the wall. He still could not bear to look into it.

The ghoul that he had pursued across the city had been real, no imagined thing, he knew. The bruises on his shoulder and the cuts on his face were testament to that. There was too, the knife that he had pulled from the door jamb. That was very real. The device upon the hilt of the dagger puzzled him; it had the letters R, ND,R surmounted by three five-pointed stars.

He lay with his hands under his head, ankles crossed and stared up at the ceiling. The plaster was cracked, he noticed. Hardly surprising, he supposed, after the pounding the city had taken in the siege.

He wondered what Gandalf and Gimli were doing. There was no question that it was right he should not have gone with them and that he needed to rest after the rocks that had rained down upon him. His head had been pounding and he felt dizzy, and his shoulder was very painful. When he had told Merry what had happened, Merry had roused the other hobbits and they had busied themselves looking after Legolas, pouring him tea and feeding him toast and cakes while Sam bathed the blood from the cut above his eye. The salve Sam put on the cut had stung like hell but stopped the bleeding. Meanwhile Frodo had managed to extract him from Glaurung's determined little claws and taken the skinny little cat into the kitchen. He fed her scraps of chicken, then scrambled an egg for the cat and finally given her a bowl of cream. All of which Glaurung had promptly sicked up over Gimli's slippers. Secretly Legolas was delighted.

But it was morning now and neither Gimli nor Gandalf had yet returned. He fretted and picked at the threads of the counterpane. It was already a little threadbare in places and there was something satisfying about pulling the long threads free. He wondered what they had been doing. Below, he could hear Pippin banging pots around and making breakfast for it was his turn. Glaurung lifted her head and leapt from the bed, darting through the door. Her little feet pounded down the stairs, more heavily than one would expect.

Legolas didn't feel like breakfast.

He felt sick. The ghoul that he had chased across the city had moved with uncanny speed, climbing up the bridge in a disjointed unnatural manner … He had seen that once before; in the South. He lay on the bed now, letting himself drift back into reveries, trying to capture exactly what the ghoul had reminded him of:

It had been one of the worst times he could remember, with his small patrol under fire and in retreat. They had been driven back to an old ruined guard tower and taken cover there from the hordes spilling out of Dol Guldûr in pursuit of them. The Elves knew the Nazgûl were amongst their attackers; they could hear the dreadful cold cries and the icy fear that pricked them and made their hands shake.

'It is only fear!' he kept shouting to his men. They said it to themselves, to each other.

He remembered how they had run up the stone steps of the old guard tower to get a vantage point to fire at the oncoming orcs. It was better to defend the tower and hope for rescue but there were too many even if the main company happened upon them and Legolas knew they were doomed.

Battle was raging around them and Lossar had just fallen, Galadhon pulling him out of the way of yet more arrows. In despair Legolas had looked out of the arrow loops to the North, hoping to see signs of Thalos' main company. What he had seen instead made his skin crawl and stomach turn; a huge black bat was stalking towards him on its black pinions, crawling up the wall. It clawed its way towards him easily, but its face was that of an Elf. Almost. Ears delicate and pointed, mouth twitching and leering, pointed fangs dripped with dark red blood…. He had cried out in horror and stumbled back at first, thinking it must be Thuringwethil, Morgoth's vampire. And in panic, he had fired arrow after arrow into the horrid thing and not one seemed to stop it for it kept on coming. Only the silver horns of Laersul's company finding them at their last gasp had driven the thing off…

Now, as he lay on the narrow iron bed, he wondered if this ghoul was not the same…And Ioralas' body had no blood left in it. The usual bruising where blood had pooled in a dead body was absent, and the skin was unnaturally white. Had Ioralas been killed by this ghoul? And would it kill again?

He swung his feet to the ground and quickly splashed his face and body with cold water and sniffed the scented soap. Like they had in Imladris. He pulled on one of his linen shirts and breeches, grabbed his boots and tucked them under one arm, scooped up his weapons and was already strapping on his quiver and harness, knives, bow, vambraces as he clattered down the stairs. Then he went back and grabbed the knife the ghoul had thrown and stuffed it into his quiver.

Pippin was just serving breakfast and the other hobbits were sitting at the table. They all looked up as he burst in.

'Morning Legolas,' said Pippin brightly. 'Just in time. Glaurung, or Lobelia as Frodo is calling her, has just helped herself to the best of the bacon but there is plenty here. Come and sit down.'

Briefly he thought that they must sit at one long meal with brief interludes for pipeweed. 'I have to see Aragorn,' he said. 'It is a matter of urgency.'

'Legolas, we have already sent a message to Aragorn about Ioralas. You can sit and eat with us. Please.' Frodo looked at him appealing. Legolas paused. He could never really ignore anything Frodo asked. 'And then one of us will go with you,' Frodo added as if that would make it even more attractive.

'I do not think I should delay,' he said.

Pippin put his head on one side and asked, 'What is going on, Legolas? You found poor Ioralas' body. Isn't that an end to it? He fell off the bridge. Can you not just spare us a few minutes to tell us what is going on?'

Legolas gave in and sat between Frodo and Merry. He looked at Pippin as Pippin spooned bacon, eggs, mushrooms and fried potatoes onto a plate for him.

'Finding Ioralas' body is not the end of it at all,' said Legolas grimly. 'I do not believe he simply fell off that bridge. I think he was either pushed, or so frightened that he jumped.' He ate as he talked and realised how hungry he was. It made him feel better, more real. He told them of the ghoul he had pursued across the city and which had eluded him.

'If it can escape you, Legolas,' said Pippin, 'I do not think it can be human.' He shivered as he spoke. 'What you say makes me think of the Ringwraiths,' he said and the other hobbits nodded in agreement.

'I do not wish to frighten you, but be careful and stay together,' said Legolas. 'I am not convinced that the world is rid of Sauron's evil.'

'It would be strange if it were,' said Frodo sadly. 'But you must not go alone either, Legolas. Take Merry with you so you have someone. We will be sure to tell Gimli and Gandalf where you are and what you have told us.'

Legolas considered for a moment and then shook his head briefly. 'It did throw a knife at me,' he said thoughtfully and the hobbits exclaimed in shock. 'No,' he said, hushing their cries. 'I think whatever it is, it wants me alive. It wanted me to find Ioralas,' he realised. 'It stopped throwing stones at me only when I saw the body.' He frowned. 'That makes no sense at all.'

0o0o