He did not say another word to either Boromir or Gimli for the rest of the day. Indeed, he barely seemed to look in their direction. Some tense moments had passed between the dwarf and the elf in the previous weeks, but such antagonism was only to be expected between members of such different peoples. Boromir instinctively felt that his case was different, and that Legolas reserved for him a particular contempt.
It was this which made him uneasy when Gandalf asked him to go and find the elf that evening. They had stopped after many days of hard travel in a sheltered spot beside a wooded glade, and after so long in the heat of the sun, Legolas had dropped his pack and gone to bathe. The elf had smelt the fresh water of a shallow lake, though it was some minutes' walk into the woods, and mired with the grime of their long journey he had wasted no time in finding it. The others had made their camp, and settled down to nibble their provisions, or kick off their boots and rest their sore legs.
Boromir, meanwhile, was charged with preparing their dinner. It had not been hard to catch the rabbits that scampered nervously around the edges of the forest, and several now roasted on the spit, where he tended them carefully. As they came ready, he called the others.
"Is Legolas not with us?" asked Gandalf as he came up.
"No. There is a lake in the woods. He went to wash."
"Go fetch him, will you?"
It was said innocently enough, but Boromir felt that the wizard had somehow heard of their argument and wanted the two to be reconciled. Else why did his eyes twinkle so knowingly? But whichever way, he could not very well refuse to go. So reluctantly, he stood and went towards the woods, far from relishing the prospect of talking to Legolas on his own.
He made his way slowly, as if to kill the time, noting the scratching of small creatures in the undergrowth and the calls of the birds. But he had not gone far before he heard a new sound, a light voice that floated high in the air. He followed it, and came to the lake where Legolas sat. At first he did not understand where that pure, lovely sound came from, but then he realised. The elf was singing.
Perhaps he had already bathed, because he sat with his clothes on, trailing his slim legs in the water. His back was to Boromir, and he did not appear to have noticed the other's arrival. The young soldier said nothing, but stood and listened to the elf, as if suddenly entranced.
He had never heard anything quite like it. The voice was haunting and sweet, and it seemed to pulse through the forest as if it were part of the air around them. The song had words that he could not understand, but the melody ebbed and flowed like the sea, and the sea was what it must have talked of – vast, powerful, and beautiful in its strangeness. He did not know how long he stood and listened, but eventually the elf stopped, and got to his feet with a sigh. Now was the time when Boromir should have stepped forward, but he felt that he had intruded on something private and deep, and he was ashamed. So instead, he stole back quickly, and told himself he would wait awhile.
There he stood, in the shadows of the forest, with the elf's voice still ringing in his ears like words snatched from a dream. He brooded over it in his hiding place, wondering if the proud and composed warrior often sang out his heart so sweetly in his moments alone. It seemed yet another part of the nature of Legolas that Boromir could not quite understand.
But there was no more time for wondering, for as he waited, he was sure that he heard a small cry from the glade. It was not especially loud, but the tone of it was fearful and alarmed, and without delay he rushed back towards their camping place. So great was his hurry, for his keen instincts told him that something must be amiss, that he did not see the nine tall shadows which flitted close by through the tangled foliage. And so dim had the light become, that he passed through the faint greenish mist at his feet without noticing its menace.
Legolas, meanwhile, heard nothing. He lay out on his back beside the lake, in the shelter of a great willow, and slowly stretched out his long, graceful limbs. The elf felt at peace, for the water had been cool and refreshing, and the night air was clean and calm. To be amongst the trees again was a blessed joy to him, the smell of the woodland floor awakening his senses more than the finest foods or wine. He traced the stars in the sky, and murmured his thankful prayers to the Valar.
The surroundings were so soothing, that he thought he would sleep for a while before returning to the group. It did not occur to him how strange it was that he should feel such drowsiness. Elves could go without rest far longer than their human counterparts, and treasured their gift of watchfulness. But some power in the air was weaving its way through the forest, as strong and as subtle as fog, and it lulled Legolas to sleep with its poisonous tendrils. The magic was cruel, and strong, and alien to a place such as this. The woods knew it, and they tried in vain to warn the creature that loved them so dearly - the wind hissed through the undergrowth, the trees rattled their leaves, and the birds called out in distress, but around the elf, everything was silent, as if it had been blanked out. And still, the dark figures moved swiftly towards him, floating on the mists of their cunning enchantment, bearing down on him with no one standing in the way. But the elf was oblivious: in the darkening woods which shivered and trembled with horror, he lay sprawled upon his back, innocent and asleep.
Boromir had hurried back, and not a moment too late. As soon as he returned, sword in hand, the snarling face of a huge orc loomed in front of him, and he slashed it down with one stroke before plunging into the tumult.
"Boromir! To me!" came Aragorn's loud cry. He was battling the chief of the marauders, a hulking oaf of man-size. Boromir rushed to his aid, unable to gauge the number of their attackers, or how the others fared.
"What happened?" he cried out. Gimli growled behind him.
"The orcs were waiting for us, curse them! You weren't ten minutes gone when they took their chance," he muttered. "Good hit, Master Merry!"
The hobbit had just knocked down an assailant with his sword hilt.
"Gimli, you must back Aragorn – I will defend the hobbits," said Boromir, and ran to where the orcs encircled them.
"Thank goodness you turned up," said Pippin. "I was beginning to think we had got ourselves into a mess."
"You can thank me later, when I need my clothes washing," was the reply.
"Get behind me now!"
The orcs seemed intent on pushing them all apart, for then it would be easier to pick them off one by one. The struggle was now in earnest, and they were each so intent on every move, they forgot that one of their company was still alone in the woods.
Legolas was in a daze, his elvish senses blunted as if he were deep below water. His limbs were weighed down like bars of iron. He did not even question why he was unable to react to the sound and lights that seemed to move around him, as if from a great distance away. And then suddenly, there came a rustling, and a voice spoke loud and close beside his head: "What is this we have here?"
That voice was full of venom and a repulsive sense of glee. Legolas started and opened his eyes, and it was as if he had surfaced from a deep dive. No longer were his senses dull – he was alert and ready, and he could see and hear with a brightness so sharp it was almost painful. "Who are you?" he said hoarsely. But a fear in him took hold, for he knew who they were that had come across him. Tall and black hooded they stood around him, their ragged cloaks floating in a breeze of their own making. Nine figures he counted, circling his resting place, as they loomed above with faces cruel and terrifying. It seemed as if a ghostly light shone from their blank eyes, and the lips of their leader were twisted into a deathly smile.
"We are the Nazgul. We are the Nine Riders. We come by order of the Master." As he spoke, he leant close, so that Legolas could smell his breath which stank like rotting flesh. It seemed then that a red flame caught light in those eyes, and they travelled over the body of the elf.
"A prince, no less, my brothers," hissed the rider to his companions. "An elven prince, as beautiful as the moonlight on the sea." Legolas struggled to stand, but the Nazgul drew their blades together and raised them to his throat. The elf looked up with defiance in his eyes.
"Shame upon you and your cowardice! Is this the way of the great Ringwraiths, to steal upon their prey when it lies weaponless and defenceless? Fie on such dishonour!"
The air was full of the sound of a terrible laughter.
"See here my brothers!" said their chieftain, full of mirth, "see what form elven royalty takes when it is at the point of a sword! When he lies at our mercy, he asks that we spare him for honour and for nobility." The laughter stopped, and a heavy silence took hold. The face of the ringwraith darkened as he bent forward and growled beneath his breath: "We have no honour. We have no nobility. We know only destruction and death."
The elf looked into his burning eyes, and seemed to see no soul beyond them.
"Where are my fellows?" he whispered. The ringwraith smiled.
"Dead."
The lie fell heavy on his ears. But it was too harsh and too soon for grief – instead, anger welled up in Legolas's heart.
"You are monsters, and you shall be avenged, if not by me, than by others. Mark my words, your end will be near for the deeds you have done."
"And what, your highness, might be your own end?"
Legolas trembled in spite of himself, for he knew that outnumbered and without weapons or aid, his death might be very close. There could be no hope of mercy from creatures of such power and cruelty. Holding his head high, he pulled down his shirt and spoke out clear and defiant: "If it be your will to slay me here, then I give you my throat." Now he felt keenly the pain of his lost friends. "I would rather die with my comrades than be captured and ransomed by such loathsome wretches!"
But to his amazement, the Nazgul sheathed their swords and stared at him expectantly, as if they awaited something which he knew not.
"What, then, would you have of me?" he beseeched.
The leader of the Nine laughed high and shrill.
"Can you not guess, Prince of Mirkwood?" he said. There seemed to be a moment when time stood still. And then, to his horror, Legolas saw the lust in the face of the ringwraith as he licked his lips and spoke: "From the first moment I saw you, as I rode the skies, I desired but one thing from you." His voice dropped low. "I desired your body, Prince. I desired that you opened your lap to me and let me take my pleasure until my greed be sated."
"No," whispered Legolas.
"I hungered for you, Prince. I hungered to lie upon you, to feel how a creature so pure and chaste would feel below my lips." He reached out and stroked Legolas's face. His skin was rank with sweat and his breath panted heavily.
"You have inflamed me with such yearning, Prince, that if you be as tight as your virginity promises, I fear I will tear your tender flesh too deep in my passion."
"Let me go," said Legolas, though he could barely hear his own voice.
"You cannot do this. You cannot countenance so shameful a crime."
"If you do not lie still for me and let me take my fill, I will force myself upon you, and you will not have the strength to fight me."
"Do not do this," he pleaded, and a note of panic entered his voice.
"Please – I beg of you – it would destroy me . . ."
He knew that he would not be heard. He caught his breath as strong arms clamped him down on either side and struggled in vain when the chief of the Nazgul pressed his lips to his own mouth. It is over for me, he thought, and he tried to shut his mind away from his body as he begged Elbereth for deliverance.
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