"Have a care with Gollum!" Rhimlath, the patrol leader, cautioned. Legolas scrambled into the lower branches of one of the trees bordering the meadow, and Heledir climbed another one. Narothal, a third guard, crouched low to the ground and peered through the underbrush. Tathariel and Padathir, Gollum's two minders, held fast to his leash as Gollum squirmed and writhed, eager to cross the meadow.

"Lets us go, precious," he moaned, and Padathir wrapped his hand around Gollum's mouth. No one spoke for a few minutes as Legolas and Heledir scrutinized the meadow and listened intently for any strange sound in the forest or any change in the whispering of the trees. Eventually, they signaled Rhimlath and dropped to the ground. Narothal rose and shook his head quickly. Reasonably sure that nothing evil was watching them, Rhimlath nodded to the minders, and the little group escorted Gollum across the meadow to the lone beech-tree that grew there.

In the year since he had come to dwell with the Wood-elves, Gollum had changed only a little. He still cursed and spat, though less often than at first, and he chattered constantly to himself. Mindful of Mithrandir's hopes for Gollum's cure, the Elves continued to walk him when the weather was fair, and on one walk, he had discovered the beech tree. He had begged to be allowed to climb it, startling his guards and minders, as he rarely spoke to anyone but himself. The guards had presented the request to Menellir, who had given the matter some thought.

"Perhaps the trees will sing to him," Menellir had said. "Or at least he may be comforted by their freshness. Too long has he dwelled in the lifeless dark. Perhaps this is the first sign of the cure for his shadow." Ever since then, the Elves assigned to walk Gollum would take him to his tree, where he would climb happily until they called him down again. He had grown quite attached to the old beech, and had wailed and moaned when the blizzards of winter came and the walks grew less frequent. As soon as the snows melted in the spring, the Elves had resumed taking Gollum outside, and he had renewed his acquaintance with the tree.

The summer sun shone warm upon the meadow, and Legolas smiled as Gollum scampered on his leash through the grasses towards the beech. Although he trembled in the full light of the sun, Gollum had learned to endure its rays in order to reach the tree. Legolas hoped that Gollum's tolerance of the light would in time become acceptance and perhaps even love.

He, Rhimlath, Heledir and Narothal stationed themselves around the base of the tree. Rhimlath nodded again, and Tathariel loosed Gollum's leash. With a squeal of glee, Gollum scrabbled up the trunk and disappeared into the branches. The six Elves heard the rustling of leaves as he swung on the lower boughs, then climbed higher.

"How far do you think he will go today?" Heledir asked them.

Legolas shrugged. "It has been some time since he was here, and the rainstorm has washed the air clean. It would not surprise me if he climbed all the way to the top."

Narothal laughed. "Are you so sure? The rain will have lured all of the little insects out of the tree. I would wager that Gollum will spend all his time catching and eating them, and he will never make it to the top at all."

"And how much are you willing to wager?" Legolas asked.

"Oh, I will stake my wrist guards on it," Narothal replied. "You?"

"Your wrist guards against the sheath to my knife that he will climb to the top today."

"That is enough," Rhimlath put in. "I think it is cruel to place wagers on that creature's actions, and I will not have any guards under my command doing so. Besides, you are supposed to be watching for evil things. I do not want to be taken unawares by a spider because you two were wagering on whether or not Gollum would climb to the top of the tree."

"And how would you know if he had?" Heledir asked.

"I can hear it when he reaches the top," Narothal explained. "The branches rustle in a different way."

"Well then, surely you can tell us where in the tree he is right now." Heledir squinted up into the mass of twisting branches and swaying leaves. Narothal peered up as well.

"I cannot tell," he said after a moment. "I cannot hear him. All I hear are the normal sounds of a beech tree."

"There, you see?" said Rhimlath. "He knows that you have been talking about him, and he is holding still simply to spite you."

"If he has finally learned to sit still and be quiet, we will all be much happier," Padathir said, and the other five Elves chuckled in agreement. Narothal loped across the meadow to inspect the perimeter, and the Elves fell silent once more, listening to the buzz of cicadas and the contented hum of the trees as they soaked in the summer sunshine.

"The Shadow is spreading," Menellir said. "I am sure of it." He spread a map of the woods on the table in Thranduil's library and sketched a series of ever-widening circles with his finger, a spiral that radiated out from Dol Guldur, far to the South. "Look, my Lord. Last summer, we hunted and foraged in these parts. Now the berrying parties return with their baskets less than full, and the hunters bring back less game than before."

"They claim that the plants are dying," Luindil said. "The forest withers."

Thranduil frowned at the map. "Where there is no light, the trees cannot live," he said. "Where the trees die, the animals leave. That is indeed the method of the Shadow. I think you are right, Menellir. It is spreading, and we will have to fight it."

"We cannot fight darkness," Menellir said. "It has no form."

"No," Thranduil said, his jaw tightening. "But we can fight the creatures that love the darkness and will follow its coming. We will need to prepare as best we can. Is this the only area that is darkening?"

"Perhaps not," Luindil said. "I have heard from the Men of Lake Town that dark visitors have twice been sighted speaking with the Dwarves at Erebor. Dáin has sent them away both times, but I do not like this situation. Who knows what will happen if the visitors return again?" Luindil trembled slightly. His breath caught in his throat, and the echo of an ancient hurt flashed behind his eyes. Menellir glanced away politely as Thranduil laid a steadying hand on Luindil's shoulder.

"Erebor is strong," he said. "If the Shadow spreads, the Dwarves will fight to defend their home, and they will fight well. They have good weapons, and they know how to use them. We have fought beside the Dwarves before, and they have proven valiant and stout of heart in battle. And they do not love the darkness."

Luindil took a deep breath and, after a moment's struggle, brought himself under control once more. "No," he said at last. "You are correct, my Lord. The Dwarves of Erebor do not love the darkness."

Thranduil nodded; it was the nearest thing to an apology that Luindil would give. He gave Luindil's shoulder a final grip and turned back to the map and the problem at hand. "The Shadow itself is not our only concern," he said. "It is bad enough that it spreads, but it appears to be attacking our food sources. The trade with Lake Town is poor this year, and trade with the South is worse. The Shadow threatens to cut off that route entirely. I think that we must plan on a lean winter. Encourage the people to eat smaller meals, perhaps even eliminate one meal every few days, and to preserve the food that would have gone into that meal for the winter."

"Is that wise?" Menellir asked. "I do not like to think about children going hungry."

"Nor do I," Thranduil assured him. "But there is not nearly as much to eat as there was last year, and last year was hardly bountiful. If the children go a little hungry now, perhaps they will not starve over the winter."

"And if the Shadow spreads further, it is likely to be a long, harsh winter," Luindil said.

The shadows began to lengthen, and the light in the woods took on the golden cast of late afternoon. Rhimlath squinted at the angle of the light. "I think he has been up there long enough," he said. "We should go home now. There are still chores to be done."

Tathariel moved to the base of the tree and peered up into its branches. "Gollum!" she called. "Come down from the tree. It is time to go home." The Elves waited for the rustling of branches that would signal Gollum's descent through the branches.

"When he comes down, you can ask him how far he climbed," Narothal whispered to Legolas.

Legolas snorted. "You assume that he would tell me," he said, "and that I would be able to make out his answer in amongst all his other mumblings."

"That would be a problem, yes."

"Be quiet, you two," Rhimlath said. "Narothal, perhaps you will discover that for yourself simply by listening to him descend."

The Elves waited patiently, watching the branches for any sign of movement, listening for the slightest stirring of a leaf. There was no sound from the tree. The hum of the cicadas seemed loud in the sudden stillness. Padathir called Gollum again, but there was no reply.

"He is not coming down," Legolas said. Then a new thought struck him. "Could he be injured? Is that why he does not respond?"

"I suppose it is possible," Rhimlath said. "But I did not hear him fall."

Legolas turned to Narothal. "Your hearing is keen," he said. "Did you hear anything that might suggest that Gollum is injured?"

Narothal shook his head. "I have heard little from him all afternoon. I had assumed that he was simply being quiet and sitting still."

"He does not like to sit still," Heledir said. "Perhaps if he is sitting still, that is a sign in and of itself that something is wrong with him. He is mortal, after all."

"If he is injured, we should go and fetch him down," Legolas said. "Mithrandir wanted us to care for him, after all, and that does not include leaving him wounded in a tree."

"I will not risk sending a guard after him yet," Rhimlath said. "I have never yet seen him injured, but I have seen him attack an Elf who climbed a tree after him. I do not think any of you were in the patrol with me that day. One guard thought Gollum had climbed too high and went up to fetch him down to a lower level. Gollum swung down from a high, thin branch and tried to bite that guard. It seems that he has learned to cling to branches with his feet as well as his hands. He can climb where we cannot, and therefore he can attack us from where we do not expect him."

"What will we do?" Heledir asked nervously. "He will not come down, and we cannot go up after him."

Rhimlath squared his shoulders and set his jaw. "We will simply have to wait here. He must still be in the tree; we have not seen him come down, and the tree is too far away from the others for Gollum to jump the distance. Eventually, he will grow hungry and he will come down. We will wait here and be patient." So saying, he planted his feet and gazed steadily up into the beech tree. The others followed his example, silently hoping that Gollum grew hungry before they did.

The evening was cool and beautiful. Clouds rolled in as the sun set, hiding the moon and stars from view, and making the fireflies seem even brighter than usual. Menellir stood just outside the doors to the delvings, peering off into the dimming forest. When the sun had set completely, Inglor emerged from the delvings on his way home. He stopped and looked at Menellir, puzzled. "Is something amiss?" he asked.

"I do not know. I am waiting for the patrol that took Gollum on his walk today. It is dark already, and they have not returned, yet I perceive no disturbance in the forest."

Inglor followed Menellir's gaze. "Perhaps Gollum was especially playful today. This is the sort of evening he likes, cool and humid. I know that I have sometimes let him stay outside longer than usual if he appears to be enjoying himself."

"All the same, it is dark, and the darkness will bring the spiders from their lairs," Menellir said. "I know that your duties are finished for today, but I would ask you to go out to the beech tree in the meadow and see for yourself what is keeping the patrol. I will excuse you from your duties tomorrow for as much time as it takes you to do that."

"Yes, Menellir." Inglor sketched a bow and hurried off into the forest. Menellir forced himself to be calm while he waited. He hummed to himself and watched the fireflies blink. Even so, it was a long hour until Inglor returned without Gollum and his guards. Inglor bowed and gave his report.

"I spoke to Rhimlath," he said, "and he told me that Gollum had been giving the patrol some difficulty. It seems that he has treed himself and refuses to come down."

Menellir swore under his breath. He had hoped that, after a year, the Elves could put that particular fear aside. "What is the situation?"

"Rhimlath says that he does not anticipate great difficulty. Gollum is in the tree, but there is nowhere else he can go. The patrol will wait him out. Eventually, he will grow hungry and return to the ground."

"When he does so, I will lock him up for a month," Menellir said. "We trusted him, but I deem that he has forfeited the right to such trust. Thank you, Inglor. You may go home, and you may report for duty an hour later tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Inglor said. "Good night."

"Good night." Menellir had been looking forward to returning to his own home, but he turned around and went back into the delvings to seek out the King and inform him of the problem. Halfway across the bridge, he felt a sudden wave of dread. He whirled and looked over his shoulder, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The fireflies blinked, and the forest seemed calm and peaceful in the moonless night. Perhaps he was simply on edge from the day's discussion of the Shadow. Menellir banished the dread from his mind and went inside.

He found Thranduil in the library. The King had a book in his hands, but he was not reading. He gazed into the fire, shifting restlessly in his chair, and he seemed glad of the interruption when Menellir tapped at the door frame. "Come in, Menellir, and be welcome. What brings you here? I thought you had gone home."

"I was on my way, my Lord," Menellir said. Briefly, he reported Inglor's news about Gollum and his guards. Thranduil listened attentively, and nodded.

"Do you trust Rhimlath's judgement in this matter, Menellir?"

"I do. I know the tree of which he speaks, and it is true that, if Gollum is up there, he has nowhere to go but down to the ground. The guards are armed, and there are enough of them that the spiders may hesitate before attacking."

"Good. Send someone to bring them food in the morning, if they have not returned by then. And I agree that, when he is finally recaptured, Gollum should be locked up. Galion will not like it, but I think it must be done. Thank you for telling me this, Menellir. Go home now, and give my greetings to Doronrîn."

Menellir hesitated. "Something is not right, my Lord. I cannot say exactly what it is, but there is something amiss outside."

Thranduil grimaced and turned back to the fire. "I know. I have felt it myself this night. But until something happens, there is nothing we can do. Go home. I will call you if there is need. You should not hesitate to wake me if you feel the need, either."

"Very good, my Lord." Menellir bowed and left Thranduil staring at the fire, his book forgotten in his lap.

It happened near midnight, with almost no warning. The six Elves under the beech tree had been growing steadily more nervous and irritable for several hours, but they had attributed it to the stress of waiting for Gollum. Then the wind shifted, carrying a horribly familiar stench. The guards tensed, and the minders sprang to their feet. "Orcs are -- " Tathariel gasped, just before a black arrow buried itself in her throat.

"Legolas!" Rhimlath cried. "Up into the tree! Shoot at will!" Legolas just managed to swing himself up into the lower branches of the beech tree before a large company of Orcs came boiling and shrieking out of the woods and charged across the clearing. Legolas managed to shoot two of them down as they ran, and then the hand combat began.

The Orcs surrounded the tree, and Legolas realized that he was trapped in the branches. He concentrated on shooting the stinking black shapes, his eyes open as wide as possible in an effort to pierce the darkness and distinguish friend from foe. He could hear the spine-tingling screech of metal scraping against metal, and the thuds of bodies colliding. Sometimes he could make out a distinct shape that was clearly not an Elf, and then he would shoot it down.

There was a sick crunch of breaking bone, and Heledir screamed. Legolas followed the sound and dimly saw the silhouette of an Orc dropping his friend's body to the ground and raising his scimitar. Legolas shot that Orc, but Heledir did not rise.

There was a grunt, and then something struck the tree trunk hard, nearly shaking Legolas down from his perch. He grabbed the branch above his head for support, but the arrow he had held fell from his hand into the confusion below. An Orc growled as the arrow bounced harmlessly off of his helmet. Realizing that there was an Elf in the tree, he started to climb. Legolas scrambled to a higher branch and pulled another arrow from his quiver, ready to shoot the Orc. With a cry, Narothal appeared and wrapped his arms around the Orc's leg, dragging him off of the tree. They fell together, and Legolas heard Narothal's gasp as he was crushed by the Orc's weight. His fall cushioned by the Elf below him, the Orc leaped up unharmed and stabbed his knife into Narothal's chest.

Now the Orcs knew where Legolas was, and some began to shoot at him. Black arrows whined past him, one sprouting from the tree trunk a hand's breadth from his head. Another scream was abruptly broken off, and Legolas shot his last arrow. He drew his long knife and was preparing to leap down from the tree when Rhimlath slammed against it, his breath loud and his eyes glittering with terror. "Go up," he commanded. "Find Gollum. Now!"

Legolas hesitated, and an Orc charged. Rhimlath's sword cut into the Orc's neck with a thick, juicy chunk. "Go!" Rhimlath cried, and Legolas began to climb. The beech tree shook beneath him, as much from its own terror as from the jarring battle below its branches. There was a popping sound, then a horrible crackle of ripping flesh. Rhimlath's wail of agony froze Legolas in his place. For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to climb down and learn what had happened to Rhimlath, who was screaming on the ground below. The jeering laughter of the Orcs shocked him back into action, and he started to climb desperately.

It was not enough. As Legolas climbed, he heard the whine of the arrows again and the rustling of the leaves as they missed him. Then a searing pain blazed across his shoulder. The force of the shot threw him forward, and his head struck the tree trunk hard. He saw a flash of white and barely had time to realize that he was falling through the branches before the world dwindled away to nothing.