Here you are, dear friends, in gratitude for your infinite patience and kind encouragement during these black months of ailing muse: Chapter 12, without a second of waiting! I worked very hard on getting it right, so PLEASE let me know what you think!

And again, many many thanks to Ithilien for struggling through this dead marsh of a double-chapter! I’d never have managed without you! (Bows and grovels and urges all fans of this story to do the same.)

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Chapter 12: In The Wounded Wood

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As they rode deeper into the night, the low, heavy clouds of autumn concealed both moon and stars, and the long hard ride depended only upon the light of their lanterns and torches for guidance. When at last late in the night they drew nigh upon the elven colony of Eryn Harn, in the place where the River Erui emptied into the Anduin, the cries of orcs and clamor of battle reached their ears.

Legolas and the elves spotted the fight taking place on the outskirts of the elven colony before the men, and the Lord of South Ithilien shouted to Aragorn and Eomer for more speed. Before long, the sight of the great company of orcs charging a much smaller group of elven warriors in the torchlight reached Aragorn’s mortal eyes, and as he rode forward with Eomer and Legolas with Gimli beside him, all shouting their challenges in the darkness, he was struck by a great sense of time reversed. It was very much as the War of the Ring had been, in those last dark battles under the starless sky, but now, it made his heart lift rather than sink. With a renewed roar of challenge, he raised his sword and charged the orcs.

***

To Legolas, the sight of his colony in danger erased all memory from him, projecting him instinctively to an endless here-and-now. He was conscious only of the attacking orcs, of the positions of his warriors protecting the entrance to the woods, of the riders accompanying him into battle. They had ridden very hard, and the few casualties he could see among his elves indicated that the orc army had not long been assaulting them. *Thank the Valar we made it in time!*

The orcs, he could see, were unprepared for an attack on both flanks, but with the much greater army of Rohan and Gondor charging them from behind, they would press their assault forward on his border guards. The lead having been given him by the lords of Rohan and Gondor, he used it without hesitation. “Eomer! Take your men around their east flank reinforce the guards!”

“Aye! Forth Eorlingas!” the riders of Rohan broke away and charged around the orcs to rendezvous with the elven guards in front of the orcs.

“Aragorn! To the West! Do not let them cross the river!”

“Gondor! To me!” cried the king, his men instantly racing to cut the orcs off from retreating across the small bridges built by the elves. Legolas saw Mithrandir pulling ahead of them on Shadowfax. If the orcs reached the crossings, they could gain areas of Eryn Harn and Gondor that were now all but unprotected, but Legolas counted on the skill of the men of Gondor and the staff of the Maia to prevent such a thing from happening.

“Forward!” Legolas shouted to his own warriors, racing to strike the attackers from the rear. Glancing about to ensure that his company was still with him--for Arod was very fast even with Gimli on his back--Legolas saw Thranduil giving him a very intense stare even as they rode on. But there was no time to question such a look: battle was upon them. Legolas notched an arrow and let it fly into the orcs, who were just now noticing that the noise they were hearing was far greater than the battle they were waging against the small group of elven guards.

It was a far-shorter battle than the ones of the War of the Ring, but memorable nonetheless. The soldiers of Rohan and Gondor, and the warriors of the elves came into position and struck the orc marauders at precisely the same time, trapping them in a great square of mounted fighters. Arrows rained upon the creatures of Sauron, and the warriors in the lead dismounted and charged on foot to confront the orcs bearing shields.

“Barak khazud!” roared Gimli, charging at Legolas’s side with his axe ready.

The plain just north of the woods that Legolas had made his new home was thick was fighting bodies, and he set aside his bow in favor of his knives. Panic had driven the orcs to a great frenzy, and in their bid to escape, they slashed indiscriminately at any object that crossed their path, even cutting down their own. Legolas wanted to reach his elves guarding the entrance to the woods, for it was there that their numbers were weakest, but it required cutting through the thick of the battle.

An orc, screeching in agony and half-blinded by a sword strike, lurched toward Legolas, swinging a great scimitar wildly, forcing the elf to dodge and nearly knock a Rohirrim soldier into another orc’s blade. Ducking the wild blows, Legolas put the wretched creature out of its misery in time to hear a challenge in the Black Tongue shouted, and he whirled to face his opponent. It was an Uruk, already aiming a stolen Rohirrim spear at the elf. Legolas danced backward, but stumbled over another fallen orc, just as the Uruk let its lance fly, following it with a swing of a giant sword strong enough to split Legolas in two.

The elf managed to dodge the lance, but he remained off-balance, and his knife would likely be insufficient to stop the massive blade. Legolas braced himself for a vicious blow, but there came a shout of “Khazâd aimênu!” and the hideous creature found himself suddenly spitted by a Gondorrhim sword in the hands of a dwarf.

Gimli kicked the carcass away and turned to Legolas, obviously expecting gratitude. Instead, Legolas straightened amid the fray and said dryly, “I see you have not managed to hang onto your axe, Master Dwarf.”

The dwarf hesitated, then bared his teeth at Legolas before removing said axe from the back of another orc. “I had little interest in wasting effort of my axe in saving YOUR hide, Master Elf! And my count is now nine!”

Legolas heard an elven cry behind them and turned swiftly back toward the woods. Over his shoulder, knowing Gimli was at his back, he called lightly, “Mine is fourteen!” and laughed at the inarticulate bellow of outrage he got in response.

To his left, Aragorn rolled under the sweeping blow of an orkish sword and easily removed the sword from the offending orc--along with the hand holding it. Silencing the creature’s screams with another swift blow of Anduril, the King of Gondor joined Legolas in charging through the fray to reinforce the elven guards of the colony. The orcs’ numbers were waning fast, and at last Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn broke through. “Report!” he shouted to the elven captain leading the defense of Eryn Harn.

“Our scouts saw them coming from the northeast, my lord!” shouted Fimsigil, firing an arrow into the throat of an orc preparing to skewer a Rohirrim soldier. “But we had seen the Rohirrim depart Minas Tirith and sent up flares to warn them. We thought they were making to attack the riders of the Mark.”

“It is well that you did,” said King Thranduil, appearing at Legolas’s left hand and facing the battle with his back to the woods. “The colony’s warriors were too depleted from the past weeks.”

“Is Narbeleth with you, my lord?”

“Aye, Fimsigil. There, she comes,” said Legolas, as the regular captain of his guards led the rest of her warriors to join him. “Form a protective line along the north edge of the woods!” he shouted to the elves.

“Aye, my lord!” Narbeleth summoned half of her company and ordered them to spread out along the line of trees, while the rest gathered with Legolas, Thranduil, Gimli, and Aragorn.

“The rest, forward! Drive them back into the swords of Gondor and Rohan!”

“Elendil!”

“Lasgalen!”

“Ithilien!”

“Barak khazud!”

Falling with a great shout, the elves and men launched themselves back into the fray, pushing the now thoroughly-confused orcs back into the battle--a hammer of elven warriors into an anvil of men. As Legolas slashed, dodged, and parried, he could hear orc shrieks taking on a desperate tone. They were truly lost, and they knew it. The battle ended like the ebbing tide, the sounds growing softer as orc cries diminished and men and elves ran out of foes. At long last, Legolas found himself blinking sweat from his eyes and looking about for an orc to strike, but finding only fallen carcasses and men who appeared as dazed as he felt. Turning his gaze toward the Ephel Duath, he was startled to see the sky beginning to lighten, signaling the start of another rather dreary late autumn day.

King Eomer limped over to them, favoring a bandaged leg, but otherwise unhurt. “Aught to report, Lord Eomer?” asked Aragorn cheerfully.

“Light casualties among the Rohirrim, Lord Elessar,” said Eomer, in equally good spirits. “Lord Legolas? What of your people?”

Legolas looked quickly to where his elves were reforming outside the edge of the wood, hearing their songs of victory in his ears. Seeing a column of smoke, too small to be a dwelling but too large to be a campfire, he replied, “Light casualties, my lords. We may have lost a guard post in the trees, but little damage to the colony itself, from the looks of it.”

“Light casualties among the men of Gondor as well,” said Aragorn. “Shall we accompany you to survey the colony, Legolas?”

At first intending to decline and allow Aragorn and Eomer’s men to return home, Legolas saw his father’s VERY startled expression from the corner of his eye. Thranduil clearly had no expected so sincere an offer from mortals already wearied by battle. It was unlikely Legolas would ever find himself in the company of his father and his mortal friends at the same time again--not with both parties willing, anyway. To Aragorn and Eomer, he smiled. “I should be most grateful, my lords.”

Eomer and Aragorn had not missed Thranduil’s look either. “That is well,” said Aragorn briskly. “Let the bulk of our companies depart north for Minas Tirith. We shall bring a small detachment to see that the elves of South Ithilien have come well from this skirmish.”

“My thanks to Gondor and Rohan for their aid,” said Legolas, bowing and trying to hold back a laugh. “And to the dwarf of Aglarond,” he added with a mischievous grin at the reference to Gimli, who growled at him in return.

“I suppose you’ll insist on riding that white warg of yours into Ithilien,” Gimli grumbled as Legolas whistled to Arod.

Eomer laughed aloud, “But of course, Lord Gimli. How else shall those literally higher beings gain the greatest strategic view of the land?” He received a loud snort in response, and Legolas laughed as he pulled Gimli onto his horse.

“I am pleased to report none of the orcs managed to reach the bridges,” offered Gandalf, returning from guarding the river crossings. “And if Arod is not to your liking, Master Dwarf, you are welcome to a seat upon Shadowfax.”

“Thank you, no. At least Arod does not find it an amusing pastime to rear and scream like a tortured Balrog.”

Gandalf smiled, urging his horse to join the others. “My compliments, Legolas. You led the elves of Ithilien and the men of Gondor and Rohan to a most-decisive victory.”

Legolas blinked, supposing that yes, it was to be considered his victory. He was a creature of instinct in battle, and well-suited to following orders--including the order to take command. Glancing in satisfaction at the elves and men heaping orc carcasses to be burnt and scouting across the river and over the plains for signs of other marauders, he turned back to the Kings who had handed over leadership of their soldiers and bowed. “The aid of the men of Gondor and Rohan ensured such its decisiveness, Mithrandir.”

Riding into the southernmost elven realm in Middle Earth, they were dismayed to find that the outermost village of Eryn Harn had indeed been struck before the guards were able to push the orcs back. Having been warned in advance of the coming attack, most of the elves had escaped, but a number of the dwellings had been destroyed. Legolas sighed at the sight, “I suppose we may be grateful they were not burned.”

“It has rained too much of late. Even the guard post they managed to set afire smoked more than it burned,” said Narbeleth dismissively. The warrioress patted Legolas’s shoulder (she was close to Thranduil’s age and had strong maternal instincts toward the younger elves Legolas had brought with him, which was likely why Thranduil had sent her to serve as Legolas’s captain.) “Worry not, my lord, they had little time to do more than tear down roofs and knock holes in walls. We shall have it repaired in a matter of weeks.”

Legolas agreed with her assessment that there was more for which to feel relief than sorrow, and looked to Fimsigil as the other warrior returned. “Report.”

“This was as far as the orcs got, my lord,” replied the other warrior. “Our people were evacuated from the village before they reached it; no casualties.”

“That is well,” sighed Legolas in relief. He glanced up at the sun through the thick trees. It was afternoon already, and even if the men of Gondor and Rohan departed now and rode hard, they would not reach Minas Tirith or even Emyn Arnen before very late at night. “My lords, I fear the hour has grown late. May the elves of Eryn Harn offer our hospitality to you and your men for the night?”

Aragorn accepted at once, while Eomer glanced at one of his captains, then agreed as well. “My thanks, Legolas, we would be happy to accept.”

“And Mithrandir and Gimli?” Legolas added, and received their acquiescence. “Fimsigil! See to it that Fandoll and Edlothia prepare quarters for our guests.”

“Aye, my lord!”

Legolas turned to King Thranduil, “Will you stay in my house, Father?”

“Of course, my son,” said Thranduil, looking pleased. “Might I not be granted a tour of your realm ere I return to Eryn Lasgalen?”

“I…” Legolas felt heat suddenly rush to his face. “Gladly, Father.”

“I suppose you’ll be nesting me in some tree again,” muttered Gimli from behind him as Thranduil went to speak to the sons of Elrond.

Legolas smiled to himself. “Nay, not this time, friend Gimli. You shall be pleased to hear that since your last visit I ordered a number of dwellings built upon the ground as quarters for our more…faint-hearted guests.”

At Gimli’s outraged sputtering, Eomer put in, “Fear not, Master Gimli, for I too much prefer to live with my feet upon the ground, and do not consider myself faint-hearted--”

“This from the horse master of Rohan?” snorted the dwarf, reminding Eomer of all the times he had sided with Legolas in teasing Gimli about his dislike of riding.

***

In the end, Eomer did consent to sleeping above the ground, for South Ithilien’s ground dwellings were too few for the number of Rohirrim and Gondorrhim soldiers sleeping there that night. But Legolas thoughtfully saw to it that those forced into the trees were settled upon the largest, sturdiest, and lowest talans that his forest had to offer. Gimli, of course, took one of the beds upon the ground, while Aragorn, more accustomed to the ways of the elves, slept upon a flet higher than any of the other mortals present.

After sharing a generous meal with the elves of South Ithilien, most of the warriors went to their beds, but Gandalf the Grey joined Aragorn, King Thranduil, and Legolas in his own talan-house high in the branches of one of the largest trees, where they persuaded him to break out a skin of good Haloel wine. Thranduil, for once, was not glaring daggers at the King of Gondor, but talking seriously with Legolas about the workings of Eryn Harn, as the elves there had come to call it.

“Eryn Harn?” Eomer had asked curiously at supper.

“It means ‘Southern Wood,’” Gandalf had translated. “Of course, it can also mean ‘Wounded Wood.’”

“And thus you follow our reasoning,” Legolas had said dryly. “Both apply to this long-defiled land.”

Eomer, Gimli, and most of the men and elves had retired by nightfall, worn out by a night of fighting and a day of scouting. However, Gandalf, Aragorn, and Thranduil found themselves awake late, sipping Haloel red and quietly assessing the matter of Legolas’s realm--and Legolas himself. For most of the day and previous night, Gandalf had heard (and heartily agreed with) the murmured remarks between Aragorn, Gimli, and others that Legolas seemed much more his old self. Indeed, the elven lord of Emyn Harn had appeared every inch the young and mischievous Legolas who had journeyed with the Three Hunters, or who had set aside the sea-longing to devote his energies to the founding of an elven colony in a world where elves as a race were vanishing.

Now, Legolas was gazing out of the wide windows of his house, its design a combination of the open, pavilion-like Lothlorien architecture and the more solid Mirkwood style, and his eyes were distant, watching the flickering torches lighting the dwellings upon the ground. And yet…though Gandalf sensed the elf’s sorrow, it was not the black despair that had dogged Legolas in the past days. Perhaps at last, the battle’s emotions had reminded Legolas that he was still capable of feeling.

“It is a fair realm you have made, my friend,” Gandalf said lightly.

Without turning his gaze from the softly-lit dwellings of Emyn Harn, Legolas murmured, “It was not difficult, for Ithilien is a fair land.”

Aragorn chuckled softly, “Ever the modest one, Legolas. I suppose you shall say that this day’s victory was due to the fine training of Gondor’s and Rohan’s soldiers, rather than your leadership.”

Legolas still looked out the window, but the others heard mirth in his voice. “It is true, Aragorn, as you are well aware. It would once have been justly thought that no kings of men would take orders from an elf.”

“Nor elves of men?” offered Gandalf.

Legolas nodded, and at last turned to glance at them. His eyes seemed far away, and within them, Gandalf detected a struggle. The elf was torn within; confusion having replaced despair as his predominant emotion, but the wizard rejoiced in this. *It is the warrior’s heart within him, fighting to get out again,* he thought. *Were the old Legolas to see himself as he has been these past few weeks, he would have bade himself seek the counsel of his friends. Perhaps now at last we might be permitted to aid him in his troubled thoughts.*

Aloud, Gandalf said, “There is much to be grateful for this night. It is as you say; we could not have seen so decisive a victory without the presence of Gondor and Rohan, nor the friendships that enabled you to lead them.”

Legolas nodded again, and mused, “And my people have learnt well to be prepared for assault in the short year that we have been here.” He shook his head suddenly, “Eryn Harn ought not to have been left with her defenses so compromised.”

“Well, you were scarcely responsible for THAT decision,” said Gandalf laughingly (ignoring the way that Thranduil flinched and went for the wine skin.)

The Maia sensed rather than saw Aragorn lean forward eagerly as Legolas--to their surprise--replied with a faint smile, “True. And I would take orcs any day over a strike by the Black Hunter. Orcs at least I was prepared for.”

Aragorn raised his glass in a mock-toast and replied, “The Eldar do pride themselves in their preparations, whether for an invasion of orcs or unruly men.”

Chuckling dryly, Legolas refilled Aragorn’s goblet along with his own. “I have had more experience with unruly men than most of my kin, son of Arathorn, thanks to my long tenure in your company.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows while accepting a refill of his own. “I declare, son of Thranduil, you speak as one to whom the site of unruly behavior is foreign within the circle of your own kind’s company. I seem to recall witnessing any number of episodes involving you and your elven kindred in which you could most certainly be described as unruly.”

Aragorn laughed while Legolas protested in mock-indignation. “And when have I ever behaved in any manner that might be considered less dignified than a mere mortal?”

“I seem to recall a certain feast at the closing of the Gathering of the Realms, in which you and five of your friends slipped out early on the pretense of retiring with a headache, only to be caught two hours later in your cups after eating too many fermented red melons,” said Gandalf blithely.

“What?!” exclaimed Aragorn, struggling to control his laughter as Legolas blushed to the pointed tips of his ears.

“It was a well-established tradition among elven warriors at the Second Coming of Age,” Legolas explained sheepishly. “And it was not by accident that my father’s Stewards allowed so many red melons to ferment,” he added defensively to Gandalf. “It is yet another show of strength to determine who can best hold themselves after eating the flesh of one of the most powerful fermented fruits in Middle Earth.”

“I have never heard of such a tradition.”

“Of course not, Estel, for you are mortal. Fermented red melon would likely kill you. Even the Halorrim do not use it in their wines. It is too strong.”

“And who won, if I may be so bold as to enquire?”

Gandalf snorted. “I could not tell you, Lord Elessar, and I suspect Lord Legolas may offer no answer either. For when I discovered them, he and his friends appeared equally inebriated. Although it was Legolas who was dancing about the banks of the Forest River with a halved melon rind upon his head.”

Aragorn all but howled, doubling over, as Legolas hissed, “Gandalf!” in outrage and glanced toward his father. Then the laughter came to a surprised halt, as man, elf, and Maia discovered that the elven king of Eryn Lasgalen had fallen fast asleep in his chair, his empty goblet and another emptied wineskin forgotten by his side. Legolas looked at Thranduil in bemusement for a moment, then met Gandalf’s suggestive gaze and quietly motioned them to another flet in the trees not far away.

“It has been a long day,” said Gandalf mildly once they settled. “I daresay your lord father’s endless worrying has wearied him.”

“It is the lot in life of fathers to fret, is it not?” added Aragorn, refilling Legolas’s goblet.

Sipping absently, Legolas replied, “I suppose it is, and my father in particular does more than his share.” Then he sighed ruefully. “Not to say that I have never given him cause.”

“We all give our fathers cause to worry at one time or another,” said Aragorn. “Recall you that not only did I embark us all on a mad quest through the paths of the Dead, but I dragged both of Lord Elrond’s natural sons along as well.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “And saved the Free Lands in the process. You can hardly claim your actions were without cause.”

“And have yours ever been?” demanded Aragorn.

“I did manage to let myself fall within the power of the Black Hunter,” Legolas retorted, too quickly in Gandalf’s view for there to have been much forethought behind it. His suspicion was confirmed by the way that Legolas stiffened the moment the words had passed his lips.

There came only a short pause in response. And then…“It was no lapse of yours, Legolas,” said Aragorn quietly. “Recall that it was my soldiers he infiltrated. Long I shall be burdened with the grief of what befell you within my city.”

Wizard and king held their breaths. Perhaps the wine had calmed nerves while loosening their tongues, perhaps the battle had both wearied and emboldened them. Perhaps a combination of the day’s events had served to remind them of all that need not be lost. Whatever the reason, Legolas neither lashed out, nor changed the subject. He said only, “I think you are not to be held at fault either, Estel. The Abomination found his way into Rivendell, Lothlorien, and even Mirkwood, to kill and torment without once being captured. Elven warriors who had fought the foulest minions of Mordor were taken or evaded by him. In an entire city of men…” Legolas shook his head.

Aragorn sighed to himself. “How was such a thing possible? That a man could walk within the realms of the elves without being caught or killed.”

Gandalf carefully considered his response. “It is not known how Disaran managed it,” he said. “But as his Stone sucked out the life forces of living elves…perhaps it bestowed upon him more than simple immortality.”

“It is possible, I suppose,” murmured Legolas.

“Do you think so?” asked Gandalf, too quickly.

The younger elf’s eyes snapped up to his, and the wizard winced, expecting an abrupt end to the conversation. But he held Legolas’s gaze with what he hoped was a gently entreating one of his own. *Let us understand what befell you at his hands, Legolas, that we might better know how to ease your grief. Many elves whose children were slain within their own realms would know the answers to these questions.*

For a long moment, Legolas did not speak, and resistance was visible in his eyes. Then Aragorn said quietly, “I think it must be so. How else could Indoran of Lorien be slain before the eyes of Celeborn, Galadriel, and their best warriors while Disaran still escaped? Long did Haldir and his elves ponder at this, but to no ready answer. None ever came close enough to Disaran or his Stone to find out--or live to tell the tale, in any case.”

Legolas was at the edge of the flet, staring upward now. Tonight the weather had cleared, and the stars could be seen through the high branches. Without turning around, he answered, “It may well have been so. I do not think Disaran knew or cared what exactly he received from the Stone, so long as it prolonged his life. His manner of fighting that first night was most definitely elvish, but it may have been stealth that he learnt from us best, and that availed him.”

Next to Gandalf, Aragorn let out his breath in a long, silent sigh. Gandalf took the lead. “Do you remember aught that happened immediately after he struck you?”

His eyes still upon the stars, Legolas murmured, “Very little of use. My strength left me and…I was dead. But I could not enter the Halls of Mandos.”

Aragorn jerked forward despite Gandalf’s warning hand, “What do you mean? You were denied?”

“Nay. Pulled back. I knew not why, but that was when I…returned to the prison. The first thing that I saw was the broken Stone.” Legolas sounded as though his teeth were clenched.

“So the destruction of the Stone may somehow have been the cause,” mused Gandalf.

“Perhaps it is because Gimli caught Disaran only moments after the creature struck Legolas,” suggested Aragorn, with a pensive glance at the elf. “If he had not had time to…absorb the immortality taken up by the Stone…”

Legolas turned suddenly toward them. “Were that true, would I have been able to enter the Halls of Waiting even if the Stone had not been destroyed?”

Gandalf pondered this, taking out his empty pipe and chewing on the stem without lighting it within the elven dwelling. At length, Aragorn replied, “I wonder. We came upon Disaran at the very moment of his strike against you. Could it be that it was this process that was left incomplete?”

“I do not see how,” Legolas replied, his voice ironic. “I did die, there was no doubt of that.”

“Yet that could be the matter of too much of your strength being drained by the Stone to live,” suggested Gandalf. “If the Stone of Ar-Pharazôn takes the immortality of an elf as a ‘life energy’, flowing as water through it into the one who wields it, perhaps cutting off this flow at the crucial moment began these events.”

“Meaning what?” demanded Legolas.

“I am not certain,” said the wizard patiently. “Can you not tell us more of what took place? I seem to recall you saying your spirit was somehow bound to him, but that in the end both you and he had begun to lose strength.”

Legolas nodded, turning away again, with the tight set of his shoulders revealing his anguish at recalling the events. It was clear to his friends that every word was being forced through the barrier of the elf’s pride. Tragedy was etched upon the King of Gondor’s face as he listened to the bitter recounting, and realized the depth of Legolas’s shame at the defilement. It had indeed been a violation of his soul, and more than once the wizard was forced to gently motion Aragorn back in order to prevent Legolas from falling back into hopeless despair once again. Gandalf questioned him only lightly, taking in what he could from the rather sparse details and allowing the elf to give the account uninterrupted. At last, the excruciating tale was released in its entirety, and Gandalf breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Legolas raised his eyes to reveal…relief of his own. As humiliating as such a confession had seemed to the proud elf, the memory was now released, no longer to be faced alone. Gandalf gripped Legolas’s shoulder tightly, sensing a break in the bitterness that had threatened to consume the young elf’s soul. “I see. So whatever the cause, your spirits were somehow connected,” he mused. “What took place at the execution?”

There were several long moments before Legolas spoke again. “He intended to wait until the last moment at the execution, then transfer my spirit into his body and cause me to appear, even as the executioner’s blade struck. And he would then escape.”

Aragorn growled and walked a few steps away, but sensing something important would be revealed, Gandalf pushed on ruthlessly, “But you fought him in this? How?”

“Before, when he used me, I had attempted to flee, to no avail; always he dragged me back. In desperation upon the execution field, I attacked him, hoping to keep his spirit in his own body so that both of us would die.”

“Why did you not attempt to take his body, so that we would know it was you?” demanded Aragorn, looking agitated.

“I did not think I could overpower him. My spirit had all but faded,” Legolas said defensively.

“Peace, Aragorn,” said Gandalf, as the mortal king began pacing in remembered anxiety. “It was a close call, but he survived.”

“And has this telling aided you in comprehending better what occurred?” asked Legolas with faint sarcasm.

“Indeed, I think it has,” said the Maia, refusing to the elf’s bait. “It may well be as you say, Elessar, that the arrival of yourself, Gimli, and Lord Thranduil forced Disaran to release his hold upon Legolas prematurely, thus failing to drain all of his immortality away. There remained not enough to sustain Legolas’s life, yet, when the Stone was destroyed, the fëa returned to Middle Earth.”

Aragorn stopped his infernal wandering. “What?”

“I thought I had become one of the dwimmer-laik,” Legolas admitted. Aragorn went pale.

Closing his eyes, Gandalf shook his head, “I know not for certain, son of Thranduil, but if the process of the Stone was indeed disrupted, it is possible that you might well have been something similar to the Houseless Ones, for your fëa could not have entered the Halls of Mandos if part of it remained bound to Middle Earth, and your body had weakened to greatly to live.” He sighed, nibbling his pipe again, “That Stone was clearly the work of Sauron’s blackest arts, that would tear the fëa from a living elf to feed the power lust of a mortal--I do not mean any mortal,” he added as Aragorn looked about to protest. “Only that the Stone could clearly be only of use to those most black at heart, to kill without mercy in order to reap its benefits.”

“But how was the fëa bound up to the Stone?” demanded Legolas. “If its loss to Disaran caused part of my life energy to remain within my body, how could destroying the Stone draw me back from death?”

“Could it be that when the process was disrupted, Legolas’s fëa was trapped in three places at once?” suggested Aragorn. “Some passed on to Disaran through the Stone, some remained in the Stone, and some was left within own body?”

“But how could that be?” Legolas protested. “The fëa of an elf is bound to the body, and departs to Mandos when the body is slain. It could be believed that the strength of an immortal elf, strength rather than the fëa itself, might give extended youth to a man through Sauron’s black arts, but how could my spirit be thus sundered?”

“By the sundering of the Stone from its wielder at the crucial moment,” said Gandalf, sitting down in a chair of carven wood. “My suspicion is this: when wielded against an elf, the power and strength that gives the elf life in body was sucked away, killing the body and freeing the fëa. When Disaran was forced to prematurely release Legolas, he had not yet fully drained away his life.”

“Gandalf…in the past victims of the Black Hunter…” Aragorn looked apprehensively at Legolas before asking, “Were there any who were not discovered dead? Any who lived even moments after being attacked?”

Gandalf narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, then widened them in comprehension. “Nay. Disaran’s stealthy choosing of his victims made certain that he had time enough to finish his kill--in every case except this one.”

“I do not understand,” said Legolas, folding his arms impatiently.

“Do you remember aught of the attack?” asked Aragorn, looking at the floor. He slowly raised his eyes to meet his friend’s. Legolas nodded warily. “The few eyewitnesses we had of past attacks reported that the victims died in Disaran’s grasp, before any aid could be given them. You did not.” Aragorn swallowed. “When he released you, you still lived, if only just. It was in my arms that you…” he looked away.

Gandalf moved between them, placing one hand upon Legolas’s shoulder, the other upon Aragorn’s, for both looked equally distressed by the memory. Driving them on, he continued, “Only moments later, the Stone was taken from Disaran’s grasp by Gimli. If the fëa had not been freed until AFTER the immortal strength of the victim had passed through the Stone--into whoever wielded it, then it follows that sundering the Stone from its master…”

“Halted the process, trapping at least part of the fëa within it,” breathed Legolas, raising understanding eyes to Gandalf. The Maia measured the elf’s gaze carefully; there was horror in it at what had occurred, but Legolas was no longer crippled by the memories. Having learnt half the tale, answers would grant him at least some peace. “I would have been trapped forever, as long as the Stone existed.”

“I fear so,” said Gandalf gravely. “But then Gimli destroyed it.”

“But if destroying the Stone released the fëa, how is it that I did not ‘die’ fully then? I became even more bound to Arda, not less.”

“I cannot be certain, but I think it likely that along with a small part of your strength, a small part of your fëa remained within your body. The Stone of Sauron inflicted an unnatural death. It may be assumed that the Dark Lord’s arts caused the fëa to follow a different course than the Song of Ilúvatar.”

“Sauron possessed the malice to contrive such a thing, to be sure,” replied Gandalf grimly.

Having pondered this, Legolas suddenly looked up, his expression rather affronted. “Mithrandir…are you telling me I was only slightly dead?”

There was a loud snort, and the elf and Maia turned to glare at Aragorn, who had a hand over his mouth but could not quite stifle his chuckles. With great dignity, the wizard replied, “Well, my friend, that is not the phrase I would choose to describe it…but yes.” Now it was Legolas’s turn to snort, and a sheepish smile crossed his face as the tension in the room of discussing so harsh a subject began to lessen.

Finally getting control of his emotions, Aragorn, with an apologetic smile at Legolas, said, “Forgive me. I was just…imagining Gimli’s reaction…” that set Legolas laughing, and Gandalf as well.

Legolas recovered first, and said soberly, “I think I must tell him this. Then perhaps he will at least be disabused of the notion that what happened is his fault.”

Gandalf shook his head in disgust, “Never will I understand the propensity of this company to blame themselves for the failings of others. Gimli slew a fiend who had preyed upon the innocent of another race for centuries, yet he berates himself; Aragorn mourns because a man joined his guard who has successfully infiltrated elven realms in the past. I suppose when I fell to the Balrog in Moria, you each in turn blamed yourselves for that!” He looked at them, saw their expressions, and all but threw up his hands. “By the Valar, you lot take enough responsibility upon your shoulders for Ilúvatar himself!”

Aragorn simply laughed again and shook his head, dismissing the allegation (or perhaps agreeing with it.) Legolas, however, seemed troubled. “How is it that my fëa did not return to my body when the Stone was destroyed?”

“I do not know. I suspect it has something to do with the manner in which it was sundered. Had Disaran not been facing his own execution, you might have learnt the answer since you say the strength of your spirit waned with time after returning,” said Gandalf.

“You think I would have truly died then?” asked Legolas.

“Possibly. Or perhaps you would indeed have returned then to your own body, but whether the fëa could return after being sundered in such a way…I do not know. It could be that your strength would forever have been diminished.”

“What did you do at the execution?” Aragorn asked Gandalf. “It was you who finally revealed him completely, and thought Disaran might be found at the prison or the House of Kings.”

“I caught Disaran in a beam from my staff that allowed me to sense his thoughts--as ones such as the Lady Galadriel are able to do at will. I found two minds inhabiting his body, or two fëa, if Disaran’s could be called that. But even thus weakened, Legolas’s fëa was by far the stronger presence in my mind, and so when I separated them by force, it was Legolas’s body that appeared in that place, while Disaran’s was cast away. I felt a connection of some sort between them then, but my power was able to sever it, and Legolas was made whole again.” (Legolas for his part looked faintly nauseated.)

“You mean to say that the power of the Stone is what caused Disaran’s hold over Legolas?” Aragorn went on quickly.

“It is the only possible explanation; no other way could the will of a man keep the fëa of an elf in its power. You know the lore of the dwimmer-laik; no mortal mind is so strong--and certainly not a feeble creature with pretentions of greatness like Disaran was. He and the Stone of Ar-Pharazôn were well-suited to each other.” Gandalf grimaced in disgust, toying with his empty pipe again. “I freed Legolas from his grasp with relative ease, and no sooner had I done so and bade each spirit be restored to its rightful body that Legolas appeared before us. The fëa of an elf is always the stronger.”

Legolas shook his head and returned his gaze to the stars, before saying at last in a soft voice, “It was a strange fate.”

Gandalf looked at the others and nodded. “That it was, son of Thranduil.”

***

Long after Mithrandir and Aragorn had retired, Legolas silently walked among the trees of Eryn Harn, his thoughts too troubled for sleep. The moon had set and the stars were at their brightest, sparkling through the leaves like tiny diamond berries, when a “harrumph!” from not far away nearly sent Legolas leaping into a high branch.

Gimli was leaning against the bole of a tree, chewing on his pipe in the same fashion as Gandalf--considerate enough not to smoke in the lands of the elves. “Gimli? What keeps you about at this late hour?”

“I might ask the same of you, Master Elf.”

Seeing the ground beds of their guests still too close, Legolas walked away. Gimli followed. They came to the western edge of the woods where the Anduin gleamed before them before stopping to talk. “I am once again indebted to you for my life, Master Dwarf.”

Gimli dropped his pipe in surprise. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

Legolas sighed. Aragorn knew and Mithrandir knew. He had disliked the telling, though it had not, strangely enough, seemed so insupportable now as it had when he had first been restored to them. He had told them because they wished to know the cause of the strange fate that had befallen him, and while Gimli was in no position to offer such insights as Mithrandir and his father…Gimli was his friend. And it would ease the dwarf’s mind greatly to hear proof of his blamelessness in what had taken place.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas spoke. “When you, Aragorn, and my father caught Disaran, you interrupted him before he could draw all of my life away through the Stone. When the Stone was taken from him by you, it trapped my fëa here in Middle Earth. I would not have been able to enter the Halls of Mandos, Gimli, but trapped here forever, a houseless spirit.” Gimli drew in a sharp breath. “But you then destroyed the Stone. That is how my spirit returned here. My fëa was bound to Disaran during the days leading up to his execution; that is how I came to suffer his wounds,” Legolas swallowed. “But he weakened, as did I, and on the execution field, we strove for control of his body, and when Mithrandir separated us, his power over me was ended.” Forcing a smile, he looked at the solemn dwarf. “So you see, the very actions for which you fault yourself are the cause for my being yet among the living.”

Gimli was silent, his black eyes intense. Then he said abruptly, “Your father blames me.”

Legolas snorted. “My father blames everyone, including himself. But I know that it is useless to reason with him in some matters, whereas I have hope that you possess greater strength.”

“Are you saying that you find me more reasonable than Thranduil?!”

“Eminently.” Legolas grinned. Sincerely, he went on, “But whatever my fathers prejudices, he cannot deny that it was you who chased down Disaran and struck the Stone from his hand before he could absorb its power. And then again it was you who finally brought his hunt to an end on the day of the execution. A dwarf brought down the very beast who had eluded elven warriors for centuries.” He smiled in wry humor. “I am certain your own father would suggest that such a feat is not so very remarkable, but my people owe you their thanks.”

Gimli stared at him, then began to grin as well. “How glad I am to see you at least somewhat restored to yourself, Master Elf. And glad that you would credit me with aiding your return to life, if not preventing your death.”

For an instant, Legolas considered protesting again Gimli’s insistence on considering his failure to prevent the attack some great fault, but decided that in this, Gimli was easily as stubborn as his father. Instead, he smiled, “In that also, you are mistaken, Master Dwarf, for Gandalf has informed me that I was only slightly dead.”

Now Gimli gaped at him. “What?”

“It is quite true,” Legolas said wryly. “It seems that Ar-Pharazôn’s wretched trinket draws the fëa from the body of an elf, giving the elf’s immortal life to the wielder, but when the process was disrupted by your capture of Disaran, my fëa remained somehow bound to both my body and the Stone. I do not entirely understand it myself, but that is Mithrandir’s explanation. The wickedest of the arts of Sauron created such a device as to allow the foulest of creatures to violate Ilúvatar’s design.”

Gimli’s eyes flashed with indignation. “I am sorry that filthy beast died so quick a death. It was far too easy for one such as he.” He put a rough hand upon the elf’s shoulder. “Is that what troubles you so late into this night, my friend? Gandalf’s revelations?”

Legolas turned his gaze upward, to the stars, where Eärendil glowed brightest of all. His voice was so faint that Gimli leaned forward to hear his words. “It has given me cause to wonder and fear, Gimli. Sauron built the Stone for Ar-Pharazôn bearing the greatest of malice for my people. The fëa of an elf is where our immortality lies, or at least that is what we believe, and that which sends us to the Undying Lands after our death. After what I have seen, and what Mithrandir has said, I fear…for those he slew in the past.”

Gimli said slowly, “You can’t be sure what became of them? Whether their spirits went to your Halls of Waiting or whether the Stone left them forever…trapped?”

Eärendil’s light gave him no hope for understanding, and the still night hung heavy between them with unanswered questions. “I do not know. I fear such a question could only be answered in Valinor.”

“You think the Valar would ever have allowed innocent victims to wander forever in torment?” Gimli asked, appalled.

Legolas shook his head. “The Stone of Ar-Pharazôn disrupted the design of Iluvatar in many ways, elvellon. I fear it may be possible that the fëa of Disaran’s victims were forever sundered. And having nearly been one of them, I find now that my desire to know their fates rivals even the longing of the sea in calling me to the Undying Lands.”

*****

To Be Continued…

*****