The swords and shields of the attacking orcs lay scattered throughout the clearing. Frodo breathed hard and fast, the fear still with him. Where were the others? He had Merry and Pippin beside him, and Sam was leant against the trunk of a nearby tree, but of the rest there was neither sight nor sound. A terrible thought came to him, that in the chaos and furore of the battle, they might have forever lost sight of their friends. Hurriedly he stood up and began to call them.
"Frodo!" replied a familiar voice, and at that moment, it was three times more blessed. He saw Gandalf pick up his crushed hat as he came toward the hobbits.
"Thank goodness you are all safe," said the wizard. "Boromir, Aragorn and Gimli are looking for you. You are not hurt? Good, good. Come Sam, let us all go together."
Quickly they gathered together and followed Gandalf back to the campsite.
"But where is Legolas?" asked Frodo, still finding that he shook with cold or fear, he did not know which.
"He will return here too, I hope. We are fortunate to have those here who make short work of a group of marauders." He looked as Gimli cleaned the blade of his axe. "When he is back, we will carry on once again."
But Aragorn was walking around the edge of the forest, his eyes on the ground and a frown on his face, when he looked up.
"Gandalf, I do not think it would be wise for us to wait for him. Look at these marks on the ground. These are no orcs. They are of some other creatures, and they head for the lakeside!"
As he spoke, a shrill scream tore through the air, and the travellers looked up in terror as nine winged shadows took to the sky.
"Nazgul!" cried out Aragorn. "Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli! Come quickly! Let us find him, and hope he has escaped them!"
Without a moment's delay, they rushed into the forest and found no sign of the elf. By Aragorn's command, they each took to different directions, calling as they went.
Boromir's heart was full of fear. He still remembered how he had turned away from the elf and left him alone before the orcs had made their charge. The thought that he might have abandoned him to the mercies of the Nazgul spurred him on in his search.
"Legolas! Legolas!" He kept calling, when he heard a moan so soft that he thought at first it might be an illusion of his mind only. Then he came upon a figure, crushed and broken like a rag doll and barely moving.
Boromir stooped fearfully and reached out to lift away the long hair, but his heart was so pained by what he saw that he could not speak. Legolas lay half conscious on the ground, his clothes torn and soaked in his dark blood. His golden hair was tangled about a face so pale that Boromir thought that he must be dying. Aragorn found them a moment later and his face darkened when he saw the charred earth around them.
"They have been here," he said softly. "They must have caught him unawares."
"The brutes!" replied Boromir with wrath. "What have they done to him?" He took the injured elf into his arms and lifted him, but though did so with great care, Legolas cried out in pain.
"Hush, hush," said Boromir below his breath. "I will take him to Gandalf," he told Aragorn, who nodded and hurriedly began to search for herbs that would help heal the elf's wounds. It was with great gentleness that Boromir laid Legolas at the feet of the wizard, who without delay put his hand on his forehead and whispered words of an ancient chant. The elf's breath seemed to come more easily and his rigid, trembling body went limp. Gandalf, his brow furrowed deep, lifted off his shirt to see his wounds.
"He has been viciously beaten, even tortured. I believe that they left him for dead."
"But he will recover?" asked Boromir eagerly.
"I should say so, yes. There are some bones broken, but an elf will heal quickly. Although I fear he may be bleeding from injuries within his body, for these bruises and scratches alone could not have caused such damage in a warrior so strong . . ." As he was speaking, Gandalf was looking carefully over the body of Legolas, and suddenly he stopped and a cry fell from his lips.
"What is it?" cried Boromir in fear.
"Where is Aragorn?" asked the wizard. He stood as he saw the ranger return with leaves and roots in his arms.
"I am here, Gandalf. Come, let us soak and clean him of the blood. The orcs are scattered for now, and if we bind his wounds he will have time to rest and recover his strength. With these herbs he will heal well."
"Have you herbs for his soul then, Aragorn? For his body will recover, in time, but I fear that his mind may be lost."
"What can you mean?" asked Boromir, as he saw Gandalf's stern face, and Aragorn rushed to the fallen body.
"It cannot be that . . ."
"Yes, Aragorn. See here – it is the mark without a doubt."
Aragorn seemed to swear under his breath. Boromir craned his neck forward eagerly to see what Gandalf pointed to on the elf's throat. It seemed to him to be a mark or scar, a bite mark in shape, but livid white against the pale of his skin. He looked at Aragorn, whose head was bowed onto his breast.
"Tell me, Aragorn, what this mark means?" demanded Boromir.
Aragorn looked towards Gandalf with pain in his eyes. The wizard sighed deeply and then turned to Boromir.
"This bite is the mark of the Witch-King of Angmar, the leader of the Nine. A merciless creature, and a mighty one. No one has ever been known to withstand him, if it be his will. I should have guessed that having one such as Legolas with us, he might have been in danger – but it is too late now." He looked sadly at the body of the fair and slender elf.
"There is no doubt in my mind that Legolas has been ravished by him against his will."
Boromir stood unbelieving. Not an hour ago, he had seen Legolas lying serene and peaceful by the lake, and now he was on the bare ground, having been raped by a pitiless fiend.
"He has been taken by force?" he asked softly.
"I am afraid so." His face was bitter and angry. "It was a cowardly act, for I see now that they used bonds of enchantment to take him by surprise while we were distracted. I blame myself for not looking after him better."
"We are all of us to blame," said Aragorn heavily. "But blame will not cure his ills. Come. Let me speak to the others, and we will keep him warm for tonight. Clean his injuries, Boromir, and dress them. Give him water if he can take it. I will come back soon."
Boromir rubbed the elf's shoulder. Any disagreements between them were forgotten in his mind, for he felt a burning fury within him that seemed to make his throat tight. How could anyone have harmed such an artless creature? It was a foul crime.
"What did you mean, Gandalf," he asked, "when you said that his mind may be lost?"
Gandalf shook his head.
"You have heard, surely, that an elf's heart can be broken by grief? I fear that he may not have the will to survive this attack, although his body is healed."
Boromir did not know what to say to this. He looked for a long time at his fallen companion.
"He will survive," he said at last. "We will make sure of it."
That night was a cold and unhappy one. The hobbits sat huddled together, not daring to think about the unspeakable horror that had befallen one of their companions. Gimli, who had forever been the first to speak against the elf, was the most bitter and vocal in his condemnation of the cruelties of the ringwraiths. Despite his roughness, his heart was warm and true, and he was eager to deal out revenge with his axe. Boromir, for his part, sat close by Legolas and tended him. He wrapped his body in blankets and combed out his long hair, so that it fell like a golden curtain across his face. As the others slept, and the night grew dark, Boromir kept a lamp burning so that he might see any signs of distress in the elf's fair features.
It was very late when he suddenly realised he had been asleep. Looking at the wrapped figure on the ground, he saw that Legolas's eyes were open and aware. The elf did not seem to be moving.
"Legolas?" asked Boromir softly. There was no response.
"Do not fear, Legolas. You are safe now."
He looked more closely and caught his breath when he saw there were tears in the elf's wide green eyes. Gentleness was not the first quality of Boromir's nature, and he had lived his life as a man of war. He did not know what to say to comfort his injured companion, or how to put right the wrong that had been done. Hesitantly, he reached out and wiped away the tears with all the tenderness he could muster, and clumsily stroked his slender back.
"Hush, now," he murmured. "Do not weep."
He looked over his shoulder, as if to call Gandalf or one of the others. Never had he felt so helpless on his own. Bending forward, he said gruffly: "Let me bring you some water, or some food?"
Legolas shook his head. The green eyes were dark and storm-ridden. "Try to get some sleep, then."
"I am so cold," whispered Legolas. "I can still see their faces – their eyes. . ."
Boromir felt sickened.
"They will not come again," he said. "Here." He gave the elf his blanket, but even then saw that Legolas trembled like a leaf.
"Perhaps you will be warmer if you lie beside me? Come, let me help you." He brought his arms around the elf's slender form and pressed him close to his own body so that he was warm and sheltered. Legolas looked surprised and unsure at this unexpected gesture.
"Come, can a soldier not offer comfort to his comrade?" asked Boromir.
Legolas nodded and rested his head on Boromir's shoulder, allowing himself to rest upon the larger man. A sudden burning heat flooded Boromir's face and chest as he felt the elf so close to his body, but he held back his emotions and lay still as Legolas fell deeply asleep. For once, in many days, he did not think about the ring, and it did not even enter his dreams as he, too, fell asleep.
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