Gandalf found Legolas sitting well apart from the other Drúath within the chieftain’s spacious lodge, quietly sharpening one of his long knives.  At the wizard’s approach, he glanced up expectantly, momentarily halting his steady, rhythmic motions.

          “It is time,” Gandalf stated.

          Legolas silently nodded and quietly re-sheathed the Elven blade.   He started to sling the quiver harness and shoulder strap over his head, but the wizard shook his head.

          “You will not need your weapons, Legolas.  The battle we are about to wage cannot be fought with knife or bow.”

          The Elf was reluctant to leave his weaponry behind, but trusting the wizard he nodded and set the quiver down upon his bedding alongside his bow.  As the pair walked from the building, Gandalf quietly spoke to him, telling him what would be expected of him and what would occur during the long night ahead.

          The day had been painfully long and fraught with tension, especially for Legolas who had paced the lodge like an anxious feline until Dakmar had finally persuaded him to demonstrate the use of his bow and arrow to the curious members of his tribe.  The forest men had been excited and eager to examine this new weapon and were impressed by the accuracy of the Elf’s shots as well as the great distance the projectiles covered.  All could see the great potential of this weapon in their hunts for food and Legolas readily showed the men how to construct a simple bow and fashion arrowheads from the sharp, obsidian stones they found near the mountains.  His innate love of archery and the genuine enthusiasm of the men had helped to soothe his soul and kept his mind off Strider for the short respite of time it took to teach the warriors this new hunting skill.

          But now that the time had come for the actual ritual and spells, Legolas found that he was nervous and fearful that these incantations would not be successful and he would lose his friend to Darkness and Shadow.  And even though Mithrandir was at his side, he felt a frightening shiver scamper along the back of his neck.

          “They will not allow us to see where the sorcerer’s lodge is hidden, therefore we must submit to their request that we be blindfolded and led to our destination.   The Gûladan has been preparing for the battle with the demon-wolf through meditation and travels to the Shadow Lands securing allies in the mystic realms.

          “I have already prepared the potions for the cure for disease, the purification of the blood and the removal of curses.   These three potions were specified within the parchments Glîngroth gave to you.  The vials have been taken to the sorcerer to be purified and made ready for use tonight.  The magic man’s attendants harvested fresh sprigs of aconite by the light of last evening’s full moon and have already gathered together within the forest and are awaiting our arrival.”

          He glanced at Legolas and placed a firm hand upon the Elf’s forearm.  He stared directly into the prince’s deep, blue eyes and his voice became commanding and firm.

          “We will be allowed to observe the ritual from the beginning and will participate in it only at the sorcerer’s command.   Once the rite has begun you must not move or speak – no matter what occurs.  There will be forces present that are not of this world; dangerous forces, good and evil.  You will only be protected if you remain within the prepared circle.   Do you understand?”

          Legolas was not sure that he did, completely, yet he nodded stiffly.  “Yes, Mithrandir.”

          The wizard’s eyes narrowed and his grip upon Legolas’ arm tightened.  “It is imperative that you do exactly as the sorcerer commands.  If the ritual is interrupted or the conjured spell broken, it could very well mean Strider’s life.”

          Another rush of fear swept over the Elf’s face and he nodded again.  “I understand, Mithrandir.  I will do as you say.”

          The wizard smiled grimly and his grip upon Legolas’ arm loosened.  A heavy sigh issued from his lips and his shoulders slumped forward slightly as he patted the Elf’s forearm with a wrinkled hand.  “I know you will, young prince.  Use the strength within you.  Your bond with Aragorn will keep him anchored to this world and will help him to fight the Shadow that seeks to destroy him.  Do not fail him.”

          ‘Do not fail him.’  Those words again.  Would he never stop hearing those ominous words?   Legolas shuddered as the admonition resounded within his mind, over and over again.   He simply nodded his golden head; his body too numb and his throat too dry to enable him to voice his pledge.  Before he was again able to speak, the approach of Dakmar and his men brought an end to their whispered conversation.

          The chief’s son nodded to both the Elf and wizard and held out his hands before him.  Two soft, suede strips were lying across his palms and he offered them in turn to Gandalf and Legolas.

          “You must wear these until we reach the varázslatos’ lodge,” Dakmar instructed and each, in turn, took one of the strips from the Drúath’s hand.

          Legolas reluctantly placed the leather band across his eyes and tied it securely behind his head.  Once it was in place, he felt several pairs of hands upon his arms and more reached upward to his face, making sure that the blindfold was indeed preventing him from seeing.  The touch of hands, human hands, upon his body brought an unwanted and uneasy tension into his muscles, but he forced himself to relax and ignore the involuntary repulsion that the feel of these hands provoked.  The hands upon his arms were firm, yet gentle and guided him forward at a slow, even pace.  Letting his ears become his eyes, Legolas allowed the Drúath to lead him into the forest.

          Although their tread was soft and muted by the forest floor, Legolas concluded that there were at least ten men walking with them through the dense woods.  He could hear Mithrandir’s breathing directly behind him and those of the men guiding them through the forest.  The trees whispered their assurances to him as the group passed by and he eventually stopped trying to determine their route, certain that the warriors had doubled back and circled about several times in order to obscure their true path.

          And when it seemed as if they had walked for hours, the men finally halted and Legolas could immediately smell the strange and pungent odors that identified the Gûladan’s abode.   The soft, muted beating of drums could be heard over the snapping and crackling of a fire and when their blindfolds were removed, Legolas squinted as the bright light of a huge bonfire momentarily blinded his unfocused eyes.  A circle of men, clad in hides, furs and exotic masks danced around the flaming fire pit to the rhythm of the throbbing drums.  The heady aromas issuing from the burning braziers lulled and intoxicated his senses, making Legolas dizzy and lightheaded as he was ushered toward the fire.

          When they reached the outer edge of the huge ring, the dancing men parted and Dakmar led the Elf and wizard into the circle of dancing figures.  Once through, the transmogrifying dancers closed in behind them.  The beating of the drums and the dancing men reminded Legolas of the hidden Elven rituals that surrounded the rites of passage he had participated in during his youth and, as he grew older, the more esoteric and stringent Avari hunting rituals.  Somehow, this similarity served to calm his anxiety and he willingly followed Dakmar farther into the circle.

          They were led past the blazing bonfire and Dakmar indicated that they should sit upon the ground facing a large and forbidding stone altar.  Once they were seated, the Drúath warrior took up a place directly behind them and then leaned forward in between them to speak.

          “The varázslatos is preparing to do battle with evil.  We must wait until he is ready and then the ritual will begin.  You may not move from this spot or make any sound unless called upon by the sorcerer.  Do you agree?”

          Both Legolas and Gandalf nodded and Dakmar resumed his position behind them.   Legolas slowly looked about the large circular clearing and noted the two huge standing stones jutting upright behind the altar.  Lighted braziers were spaced around the circle and to each side of the altar and upon the altar itself, a large silver goblet forged into the shape of a skull was flanked by a long, slender silver knife and various bowls and vials filled with unknown substances and liquids.   As he watched, one of the masked attendants poured water into a silver basin and placed what appeared to be leaves or flowers alongside the bowl.  The smoke and fumes from the numerous censors began to choke the air with a bluish haze and gave the scene a surrealistic and haunting beauty.

          The beating of the drums suddenly grew louder and stronger and Legolas could feel his stomach knot and his breathing increase as the dancers spun before his eyes.  Before he even realized what was happening, his gaze was drawn to the stone pillars and he saw Strider being pulled and half carried toward the massive stone columns by several members of the Gûladan’s lodge.  The ranger seemed to be heavily drugged and unaware of his surroundings as the masked men dragged him between the pillars and set him upon his knees between them.  They then lifted each of the man’s arms upward and securely locked each unresisting wrist within the iron cuffs and heavy chains embedded within the stone columns.  Strider’s chest and feet were bare and as Legolas watched his friend hanging helpless from the chains, an agonized moan escaped his lips.

          Gandalf’s hand reached across and clasped the Elf’s wrist and Legolas tore his eyes from the sight of his friend to look upon the wizard.  Gandalf shook his head quickly and the Elf trembled slightly, his eyes closing to shut out the sight of the bound and powerless ranger.  When he again opened them, the Gûladan had appeared within the circle and proceeded to the center of the altar.  The drums abruptly stopped and the sorcerer raised his arms aloft, palms turned upward to invoke the spirit gods and his deep voice echoed throughout the woods.

          “I, Raduvhar, invoke this circle.”

          His arms swept down and outward around the circle and then he slowly began to walk along the ring in a clockwise direction.  As he did so, he touched each of the participants within the circle upon the shoulder.  When he had completed the circuit of the ring, he returned to the altar and again raised his arms.

          “I Raduvhar, ask Talaj, ruler of the element of earth to close this circle and to protect these ritualists.  Will you grant me this aid?”

          The animal-clad men chanted in unison. “I grant you this aid.”

          “I, Raduvhar, ask Egykor, ruler of the element of air to close this circle and protect these ritualists.  Will you grant me this aid?”

          The chanting men responded again and the slow beating of the drums resumed.  Legolas’ head began to spin as the words droned on and the thick, cloying smoke filled his lungs.  The sorcerer continued the invocations to Gyújt, fire; Felönt, water; and Éter, the ether and then slowly walked around the circle again.  This time when he returned to the altar, a huge man holding the fearsome werewolf skull awaited him.  The Gûladan took the skull from the warrior’s hands and held it above his head and then he turned to the inner circle.

          “Behold the skull of a greater werewolf!” he shouted.

          The tempo of the drums increased as he slowly lowered the skull to the altar.  He then began to chant.  “Talaj, imbue this skull with the powers of the earth.”  The assembled men repeated the chant four more times and then the sorcerer returned the skull to the huge warrior’s keeping.  The attendant silently took the skull and backed away from the altar and the sorcerer moved to the silver goblet.  He took one of the small pouches and poured a small amount of powdered silver into the vessel.  He then lifted the cup and turned to the circle.

          “Behold the crushed powder of purest silver.  Egykor imbue this powder with the powers of the air!”  And four more times the men chanted the words.

          He turned back to the altar and lifted the gleaming silver knife and held it above his head.  “Gyújt imbue this blood with the powers of fire!” he intoned and as the men chanted, he moved to the stone pillars where Strider hung from his chained wrists and holding the silver vessel in his left hand, with his right cut a diagonal slash across the ranger’s forearm with the silver knife.  Strider jerked as the knife’s blade cut deep into his skin and bright, red blood poured from the gash.  The Gûladan caught the blood in the silver vessel and then returned with the half filled goblet to the stone altar.  He again raised the bloodied knife above his head.

          “Who offers the sacrifice of blood?” he shouted.

          Legolas sat frozen; his eyes riveted upon the dripping knife.  Gandalf’s hand upon his wrist tightened and from behind his back, Dakmar’s strong hands grasped his shoulders and the warrior whispered.  “If you offer the blood, you must go to him now.”

          The Elf lurched unsteadily to his feet and slowly walked toward the altar, his eyes fixed upon the shining blade.  He halted a few steps in front of the sorcerer and looked upon the magic man’s tattooed and painted face.  The Gûladan watched as Legolas came toward the altar and his black eyes bored into the very heart of the Elf standing before him.

          “You are not of his blood,” he stated.

          Legolas returned the man’s stare, unafraid and unyielding.  When he spoke his voice was clear and steady.   “I am his brother.”

          A hush fell over the circle, leaving only the sound of the steadily beating drums and time seemed to stop.   Legolas’ heart raced within his chest and he did not dare to breathe.  An agonizingly long time elapsed before the sorcerer finally lowered the silver knife and stepped toward the Elf.  He grabbed Legolas’ left wrist and pulled him toward the altar, and once there, stretched his palm over the rim of the silver goblet.  With a swift strike of his hand, the sorcerer sliced the blade across Legolas’ pale palm and a thick crimson line of blood erupted and flowed down the heel of his hand and into the chalice.

          Raduvhar lifted Legolas’ bleeding hand up into the air and shouted, “Gyújt accept this blood as the sacrifice of fire!”  As the men chanted, the sorcerer lowered Legolas’ arm and still clasping his wrist tightly, lead him to the twin pillars to stand before the ranger.  The magic man knelt down in front of Strider and forced the Elf to do the same.  Dipping his fingers into the vessel of blood and powdered silver, the Gûladan swiped the blood across Strider’s forehead and then down both his cheeks.  As the blood touched his skin, Strider cried out and tried to move his face away from Raduvhar’s touch.

          Still holding Legolas’ bleeding hand, the sorcerer looked deep into the Elf’s blue eyes and pulled his hand forward, placing it directly upon Strider’s heart.  At the touch of the Elf’s bloodied palm upon his chest, Strider screamed in pain and thin wisps of smoke arose from his skin as if he were being branded.  Appalled by what was happening, Legolas gasped and tried to pull his hand back and away from the ranger’s smoldering flesh but the sorcerer held it firmly in place.  When finally he allowed Legolas to remove it, a dark red imprint of his palm remained upon Strider’s heart.  The dark blood from his cut palm smeared Strider’s heaving chest and slowly dripped down his ribs in tiny rivulets.   Strider emitted another strangled howl and then the ranger’s head fell forward upon his chest and his cries ceased.

          Pale and shaken, Legolas felt strong hands upon his upper arms, lifting him to his feet and guiding him back to his place beside the wizard.  As he sank to the ground beside the maiar, Gandalf quickly tore a length of cloth from the hem of his robe and gently wrapped it around the Elf’s bleeding hand.  Legolas’ body shook with rippling shudders and he stared numbly at Strider’s bound figure and the bright, red handprint upon his chest.

          Raduvhar returned to the altar and lifted up the silver bowl.  “Behold the water sprung from the driest of deserts.  Felönt imbue these potions with the powers of water!”  As the attendants chanted, the magic man mixed the three potions prepared by Gandalf into the water and stirred the contents with the bloodied tip of the knife.  He added the crushed leaves and flowers of the aconite and then poured the contents of the silver bowl into the vessel of blood.  As the chanting ended, the Gûladan grasped the silver goblet in both his hands and lifted it up into the air.

          “Éter imbue Aragorn, son of Arathorn, with the powers of the ether!” 

          The drumbeats grew harsher and quicker and as the men rose up and began to dance about the circle once more, Raduvhar brought the silver chalice to Strider’s lips and forced the liquid into his mouth.  As the noxious fluid entered his throat, Strider began to gag and struggle and several hide-covered warriors came forward and held the ranger’s arms and forced his head back, while the sorcerer continued to pour the brew into his mouth.  When the cup was drained he placed it upon the altar and again moved around the circle until he stopped once more before the huge man holding the werewolf skull.

          He carried the skull back to the moaning figure of Strider and placed the bleached bone upon the ranger’s head.  When it rested upon Strider’s brow, Raduvhar stepped back and cried out.

          “By the powers of earth and what has passed, I cast out the beast!”

          He scooped up a handful of the silver powder and blew the dust into Strider’s face.  “By the powers of air and what shall be, I cast out the beast!”

          He ran his fingers around the dregs of the silvered goblet and again spread the streaks of blood across Strider’s forehead and cheeks.  “By the powers of fire and that which is within, I cast out the beast!”

          He picked up the silver bowl and the remainder of the water and the potions and placed it again to Strider’s lips, forcing him to drink.  “By the powers of water and that which is without, I cast out the beast!”

          He raised both arms and held aloft the silver knife.  “By the powers of the ether, and that which cannot be seen, I CAST OUT THE BEAST!”

          Strider’s hideous scream rent the night air and his body convulsed and jerked as he writhed between the pillars.  Legolas watched with revulsion and horror as the man’s features faded and the wolf’s emerged and then both blended together to form a contorted grimace of snarling teeth and red eyes.  The dark shadow of the wolf’s form swirled around Strider’s pale image and the maddened scream of the beast assailed their ears.  Legolas rose to his feet and would have run the short distance to Strider’s side but for the strong hands of Dakmar and Gandalf restraining him.  His horror-stricken eyes pleaded with the wizard to let him free, but the ancient Istari held him fast.  The deadly black cloud of the wolf’s spirit body rose upward and hovered over the writhing, screaming ranger and then suddenly Strider’s body fell forward against the chains and he hung suspended by his outstretched arms.  The silence within the circle was deafening.