Author's Note: I should probably prostrate myself in humble apologies for making you wait so long for the next chapter. Real life has been difficult lately, but I'm so SO very grateful for all of you. I can't tell you hope many times a surprise comment or review has made my day. I'm truly thankful that you love this story!  This is a little different than my usual--not quite as concrete, you'll have to let me know if I pulled it off!

Chapter Seventeen

Dreams and wakefulness converged, an amalgam of confusion. Rest would not come. He'd thought he'd heard Estel's voice-more than once-but this he could not separate from the dreams and twisted memories of the past. The vile flames of the Balrog haunted him as he watched Mithrandir fall over and over, until revulsion and horror began to fester like an open wound. Icy despair had weighed on him, and then he had dreamed of the warg.

The fell beast had emerged, dark and terrible from the shadows, even as flashes of lightning had illuminated Merry's terrified face. His ears had heard the rush of arrows on the wind and the clashing of steel. Rain had soaked his body. Through it all, Estel's voice came and went, and the strangely accented galadhrim voices droned around him—not quite Silvan and definitely not Sindarin. Even whispers of the black tongue had met his ears. These all came and went, fading in and out before the torment began all over again. And between the dreaming, was an endless cycle of darkness and the constant, unrelenting pain.

With each beat of his heart, agony swelled to new heights. The dream felt different this time. Flames he could not see burned him until, suddenly, he couldn't breathe—yet neither could he fight. Everything around him was dim and gray, and the light of the Eldar seemed far away. He felt only despair that the misery had not yet found its end. Just as he felt his lungs might burst-from one moment to the next-the pain relented, vanishing, as if it were no longer a part of him.

Escape had come at last, and gradually, his heart slowed as his lungs were satisfied. Chasing the feeling of peace, he clung to it with all his will, drawing in one painless breath, then another. He could almost taste salt on the air and his mind snapped to awareness as all his senses crystalized: the salty air, the sounds of waves, the sand beneath his toes. His eyes flew open in surprise and, blinking at the unexpected assault of sunlight, he saw a clear blue sky ahead of him, and, as far as he could see—a vast ocean. A glance behind him revealed a shadowed forest, beyond which he could sense the foulness of Mordor, but ahead of him no stain of evil lay. The ripping, tearing, burning evil, and whispers of the black tongue that had haunted him since Moria had vanished. A tide washed clear blue water onto the shoreline on which he stood. The sea beckoned him, and he took a step forward. The sand gave way as he curled his toes into it. Here there was no more fear or sorrow or pain. Only peace.

He stood there for a while, drinking it in. The water lapped against his toes and he relished the feeling of the warm sun on his face and the gentle whisper of the wind. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head upward again, soaking in the comforting heat. It was like the kiss of a warm fire in deep winter. He could not resist a merry chuckle at his own musings-an elf being bothered by winter was, of course, absurd.

Above him, a gull called as it sailed in the breeze overhead, and he opened his eyes to see its white body shadowed against the sun. He tracked it as it flew away from mortal man's line of sight. It called again, and Legolas found himself taking an involuntary step toward the sea. The horizon beckoned, and he found himself stepping into the shallow, warm water as if he could follow it. The tide flowed pleasantly over his feet, eroding the sand beneath his feet as it ebbed back out to sea. All the while, he watched the bird. It soared gracefully back toward him, calling again, and somehow drawing his gaze beyond the sea, as if it was summoning him across the expanse. The water rushed back toward the shore. It was higher now, and he looked down to find that he had walked farther than he'd realized and begun to wade into the gentle waves. Yet, he felt no alarm or bewilderment that he should be knee deep in the ocean. The sea was a soothing respite from his recent toils.

"Legolas!"

Frowning, he cast a look toward the forest behind him. An echo of pain throbbed through his body as he looked for the source of the voice.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he'd imagined it, the call came again-the very faintest of whispers. Legolas. Whether born in his mind or borne on the wind, he knew not, for he was most certainly alone here. He could detect neither warning nor welcome. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it a sweet scent that was almost familiar.

The gull called again, distracting him, and he turned back to face the sea, shaking off the curious melancholy that had gripped him without warning. The sea was calm, and it was easy to surrender to its pull. Wading deeper, he allowed the warm sea to soothe his weary spirit.

"Legolas. Come back," the wind seemed to say. With the words came a memory of pain, and a reminder of great weariness and sorrow. He took another step deeper, breathing in the salty sea air, and the pain vanished once more. He took another step, and another. The shore was growing distant now, and he would soon need to swim.

Each time the sea reclaimed his attention, its call grew stronger.

"Legolas—please." The raw emotion of the plea tore his eyes from the beckoning horizon. Again, the breeze lifted the out-of-place scent to his nose. He recognized it—how could he not when Estel so often foraged for it? That thought brought him up short. Estel. Again, a muted ache pulsed through his body, fainter this time. Almost reflexively, he took another step forward and cast it off, but the voice was still calling. He could hear, now, the anguish and guilt, but found he couldn't resist the pull of the sea even if he wanted to. His toes barely touched the bottom now.

In regret and farewell, he looked back toward the shore, then he turned and surrendered to peace, and to the pull of the sea, letting the waves take him wherever they willed. As if from across a great distance, a great wail of anguish and despair met his ears. Recognizing it instantly, he faltered as a knowledge as old as Arda came upon him. He could still feel the tenuous pull between peace and pain, but his mind cleared as the realized what yielding to peace would mean for Estel, for Ada, or even for the dwarf. Faces flashed through his mind, and pain swelled again as his soul began to quake at the wrongness of surrender. The peace he had so quickly welcomed felt wrong, but he was too weak to fight the waves. In surrender, they had held him up, but they now overpowered him in his doubts. Perhaps this path was inescapable. The gull called again, but this time, he viciously tamped down the desire to follow.

In an instant, the waves pulled him under and he was drowning again. His lungs filled as he struggled to swim to the surface, instead sinking further into the depths. At the last possible moment, when he was beginning to fade and had given up all hope, the water abruptly fell away and cool air rushed onto his face. Agony reignited, stabbing through him, even as his lungs greedily heaved in the air. The same torturous breaths that drew air back into his lungs brought with them the scent of wood smoke, but the burning flames that had so haunted him were gone.

He had no idea how long he lay there, his darkened world spinning, as he fought the waves of pain that seemed to wash over him with the same rhythm as the tide. It was difficult to get his bearings. He could remember the low murmur of Estel's voice speaking to him, but he was quiet now. He strained to listen and made out the accented rumble of Boromir, the foreign yet familiar voices of his distant kin, and even the higher pitched voices of the hobbits. The creak of Gimli's armor announced the dwarf's presence as effectively as any spoken word.

He grew restless-where was Estel? His eyelids felt like rusty hinges as he struggled to open them. After the vibrant shores of the sea, somehow Arda seemed dimmer, but as his ears picked up a whisper from Pippin, he blinked and his vision cleared to reveal golden leaves dancing above him, illuminated by a campfire. At last, his own eyes beheld Lothlorien!

He might have basked for a moment in relief at this realization, but he was denied rest. A hand slid around the base of his skull, startling him for a moment until it tilted his head upwards to meet a cup that was being pressed insistently against his lips. Recognizing only that this person was not Estel, he tried to turn away and refuse, but could do little more than hang there in the gentle grasp. Bitter liquid was sloshed into his mouth, but he found he could neither gag nor swallow. Strange hands massaged his throat until he was forced to swallow it down.

The same hands who were not Estel carefully lowered him back down and released him. He found the weakness of his body frightening-he could not even summon the strength to shiver at the chill in the air. He couldn't seem to make his voice work, either, and his limbs were so heavy that he couldn't move. It was the dirt and decaying leaves that grounded him first, beneath fingers that he could not so much as twitch. Then, a haggard face swam into view, grim, tired, and concerningly pale-but the gray eyes shone with relief.

He couldn't help the pang of regret at leaving that place-the crystalline skies seemed a distant memory now, but the darkened forest wasn't such a bad place to wake up…or rest. The mallyrn rustling around him sang a soothing song, and he allowed their harmony to calm him, the same as the sea had until his heavy eyes drifted shut once more and he walked in dreams.