"Choose your champion," the disembodied voice hissed. The stone wall slid shut behind the Fellowship, sealing them in darkness. Gandalf lit his staff and the group of eight stared ahead.

Beyond their small antechamber lay an elaborate archway, and further beyond, a circular room, barely big enough for two people.

Aragorn cursed, kicking a nearby boulder. The borders of Mirkwood were but a few leagues past the end of this mountain tunnel, and the Fellowship was yet again thwarted by a mysterious force.

"I will scout ahead," Boromir said, sheathing his sword. He was just about to cross the archway when Gandalf knocked him back.

"What was that for?" He roared.

"This is the chamber of Phobos. It will force you to live through the most fearful moments of your life, and the lives of every person in the chamber. If you are not strong enough to bear the memories, the entire chamber will collapse, killing us all."

"Then we have nothing to fear! I can bear it." Boromir tried to surge forward again, but this time it was Aragorn who stopped him.

Legolas stood quietly to the side, listening to the Fellowship argue about types of strength. The Hobbits claimed it could mean mental strength, in which case Frodo or Pippin should go, whilst Boromir and Gimli tried to convince them that it was all a matter of physical strength. Gandalf watched the elf, knowing what his next move would be and why he was not adding his opinions to the fight.

The elf slowly began to remove his weapons from his person. He did not know if he could trust himself with a knife within reach.

Legolas moved towards the archway, unnoticed by his companions.

"Your champion has been chosen," The voice hissed again. The bickering came to a halt and the Fellowship looked to Legolas in horror.

For a moment nothing happened. Then the blonde elf fell to his knees, clutching at his heart like he'd been stabbed.

Aragorn suddenly remembered a story Gandalf had told them, on one of the peaceful nights when the journey had first begun.

Legolas was off collecting wood. Many had noticed that the elf seemed off, but no one wanted to put voice to their observations.

"Gandalf, is Legolas well?" Alright, maybe not no one. Merry certainly didn't have any qualms about questioning after the elf.

The Grey Wizard sighed and set aside his pipe. "Who here has heard of the tale of the Prince of Mirkwood, and the tragedy of Gundabarr?"

Gimli laughed. "If you mean the sob story about the weak elfling who went after his mother, and had to be rescued from the clutches of the orcs by the king, then aye."

Gandalf scowled and sat up straight. "The dwarves have twisted the beautiful truth of that story, Master Dwarf. The Queen of the Elves, wife of King Thranduil and mother of the Prince of Mirkwood was beloved by all who met her. When she died, the elves were devastated, but none as much as the King and the Prince.

After the First War against Sauron, the remaining orcs decided to band together and strike one final blow against the hearts of their biggest enemy, the elves. They stole the Queen from her forest kingdom while she was on her morning ride. They took her to Gundabarr, where she was tortured for weeks.

The young Prince, distraught and in a fit of rage, went after the orcs by himself, determined to tear the beasts who took his mother from him apart, limb by limb. He too was captured, and had the worst crimes imaginable committed to his person. The orcs' torment was worse than what they had done to his mother, or that of any other prisoner they had ever taken. The Prince's final punishment was brought in the form of his mother's death. The leader of the orcs slit her throat and made the Prince watch.

The elf let out a scream so full of pain and rage that the very stone around his feet began to crack. His chains split, and the Prince beheaded his captors with the very sword that had ended his mother's life. When the dust settled and the King arrived with the elves, the only thing remaining of Gundabarr was a single stone spire. Kneeling at the top of the spire was the Prince, cradling his mother's body in his arms.

After that day, the King and the Prince were never the same. The King withdrew to the halls of Mirkwood Castle, cutting off all contact with the outside world to nurse his broken heart. The Prince became a shell of his former self. The life and joy in his eyes had died with the Queen, and a presence that had once lit up every room it graced brought sorrow and despair.

The Prince left Mirkwood only a few months afterwards, and since has not been back to the halls that are full with memories of his mother. The elves speak of his powers in whispers, only daring to discuss the true anguish that he had endured in the darkness of the night and the shadows.

Tonight is the day that the Queen died, and every elf across Middle Earth mourns for her.

The stone beneath Legolas's feet was shivering as he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Trails of dust fell from the ceiling, and the Fellowship began to panic.

Aragorn renewed his efforts to reach Legolas, but an invisible barrier had gone up, separating the elf from the rest of the group.

With one last shudder, the rock walls stilled and Legolas collapsed.

The Fellowship had finally reached the gates of the old Elven Path, which began at the edges of Mirkwood forest. Legolas was still unconscious and Aragorn was fighting the urge to punch Boromir in the mouth, if only to get him to shut up.

For the last five hours, the man had been harping about how it had been his worst memory that had brought Legolas to his knees, and almost made the cavern come down around their heads.

Legolas was in a cot, being carried by Aragorn and Gimli. They were about to set him down on the ground when they heard the sound of hunting horns.

Before anyone could draw a weapon, they were surrounded by Woodland Elves. Gandalf raised his staff in greeting and stepped to the side so that the elf who looked like the leader could see Legolas.

The faces of the Woodland Elves went pale. Aragorn did not know much of the formal Elvish tongue, but he caught several words that could've been King, prince, and make haste.

Another horn blew, and seven horses came trotting out of the woods. Gandalf helped the company to mount their horses, then helped the nearest elf secure Legolas's limp body.

"Sir," Aragorn said in the Elvish he knew. The elf he was speaking with looked as though he was about to have a heart attack just by being addressed by a human. Aragorn continued regardless "The Prince of Mirkwood went through the Chamber of Phobos. You know as well as I what he experienced. Please, hurry."

Aragorn watched the elf relay his message to the rider carrying Legolas. Both elves took off at breakneck speeds through the forest.

One by one, the Woodland Elves faded back into the trees, leaving the Fellowship on their own. When all of the elves had vanished, Boromir laughed boisterously.

"Ha! The elf is so weak that he needs to be brought to medical attention! Humans truly are superior. Legolas was brought down by a simple human fear."

No one responded to him as they continued towards Mirkwood Castle. They were all much too tired of his rantings to argue.

Legolas awoke to the comforting sound of another's heart beat in his ear. Fine silk robes covered the other person, and gentle fingers were stroking his blonde hair.

"Mãe?" Legolas whispered, daring to believe that it was his mother sitting next to him.

"I am so sorry, my child." The deep voice was not his mother, but his father. "I am not your mother, though I wish I were."

Legolas buried his head in his father's shoulder and sobbed. King Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son and held him close, allowing himself to cry for the first time in a century.

"You are home, my child. Please stay home," Thranduil whispered in Legolas's ear. Legolas nodded, even though they both knew that he would have to continue on when the Fellowship left Mirkwood.