Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter VII d – Crossing The Mountains, Part
IV

   Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter

   Author's Email: Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net

   Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas (mainly), Boromir/Legolas ,
Gimli/Legolas, Others/Legolas. 

   Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only.

   Summary: AU. Legolas slave fic. Mirkwood is a subjected realm
and must give hostages to the other Elven realms as slaves. Legolas
is the slave of Aragorn, who is a sadist. And to keep Legolas loyal
to the Ranger, he is bound by a cruel spell: the *Mael-Gûl*... This
story was inspired by BlueGolds story “Bound” which can be found
here:
http://www.libraryofmoria.com/legolasaragorn/boundbybluegold.txt
I use similar plot ideas here with her permission.
   *Warnings*: Slash, m/m, BDSM, *torture*, toys, d/s, hard stuff,
*Non-con sexual situations* and *debatable consent*.  Drug Abuse
(in Flashbacks only). *Very* graphic descriptions, both physical
and mental; abuse both physical and sexual.  

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Very disturbing thoughts.

   Disclaimer: Not mine. LOTR was created by J.R.R. Tolkien, who
owns the characters, safe a few original characters in side roles.
Peter Jackson owns the Movies. I just borrow from them without
permission.  The setting of the story is inspired by a plot bunny
of Cheysuli and the story “Bound” by BlueGold, as mentioned in the
summary and author's note. The idea of the *Mael-Gûl*, or *Rhach e-
Maelangwedh* (Lust-Spell, Curse of Lustchain) however is entirely
mine. In this chapter, I lift some sentences from Peter Jackson's
movie “The Fellowship of the Rings (Extended Edition) and quote
extensively directly from Tolkien's book again (J.R.R. Tolkien, The
Lord of the Rings, 1954, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995).
Those sentences will be accordingly credited with reference notes.  

   Feedback: Yes please! Send to Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net This
is my first LOTR fic, and I am no native speaker. Any comments
welcome, including about grammar! 
...*Betareader*: Surreysmum. All remaining errors are my own. Thank
you! 
   *Additional Author's Note*: This story is based on the
Movieverse with some book elements. *However*, this is *AU*.
Utterly and completely. I apologize to all Tolkien purists. I know
the Master himself would rotate in his grave if ever he was
confronted with anything like this. I know, Galadriel, Elrond,
Thranduil and their Elves are not this way,  and Aragorn is
neither. But I simply had to write this, so please don’t read if
you don’t like. You have been warned!

Additionally, I wish to announce that in this chapter, again, I am
operating with flashback scenes. Here is a Guide:
// /flashback/ //; ************Time change within a
flashback***********

   *Languages*: I am no great expert in Sindarin and have no clue
to its grammar, therefore I will just use a few words of this
language in this fic. So whenever Aragorn is speaking with Elves,
consider the conversation is taking place in Sindarin, except if
explicitly differently mentioned. At the council or among the
Fellowship, he and everybody else is talking in Common Speech or
Westron, except if differently mentioned. 

For all other notes and warnings see Prologue and Chapter One.


________________________


CHAPTER VII d 	Crossing The Mountains– Part IV


PART IV – Of Wargs and Wizards


Although the two men had thrust a line through the deep snow, it
still  took them another half an hour to get the Hobbits and the
Dwarf beyond the drift. Even though it was easier for the big folk
and the pony to pass through the lane, the Halflings could not do
it and had to be carried; and Gimli was unceremoniously placed on
the pony, despite his protest that he did not need such coddling
and could go on his own feet just fine(1).

Finally, they had made it and were gathered on the other side of
the great drift the men and Elf had worked so hard to break
through. At its crest it was double the height of Boromir, but
right through the middle of the wall, a passage was cut, partly
burrowed and partly smoothed into the treacherous ground, rising
and falling like a bridge. 

The last of them to arrive was Aragorn, carrying Frodo; but hardly
had Frodo touched the ground on the other side of the great drift,
when with a deep rumble there rolled down a fall of stones and
slithering snow behind them, barring the way they had come and
missing the company only by yards.

They all jumped back, then gathered themselves and looked at each
other, pale and trembling. 

Boromir stared, eyes wide in shock. 

“We were just in time!” he said, “If that had happened just a few
moments sooner...”. 

Aragorn's face was grim. “Do not think about it!” he said. “Just
let us depart as quickly as we may!” 

He seemed as if he was about to say some more, but didn't. Legolas
beside him was curiously pale and silent.

But Gimli shook his head and glared at the hostile mountain.
“Enough, Enough!” he cried, “We are departing already!”

And as if he had given a signal, and as if Caradhas had been
waiting for the assurance that the invaders had been beaten and
would not return, the clouds over the heights began to break and
the light grew broader.

The company stared at each other disbelievingly, then they began
their long and tortuous way down.

As Legolas had reported, the snow soon grew less and they made good
time. The morning was now far advanced, and the clouds broke open,
giving way to the sun, though the clearing sky and growing light
did not do much to heat them. A cold wind flowed down behind them,
biting into their damp clothes and chilling them to the bone. In
the far distance, they could see dark specks circling in the air.

“The birds again!” said Aragorn, pointing down at them.

“That cannot be helped now,” said Gandalf. “We must go down at
once. Not even on the knees of Caradhras will I wait for another
nightfall.” 

And with that, he started to walk again, and the company stumbled
wearily down the slope they had so arduously labored up the day
before. Behind them, the mountain lay unconquered and triumphant.
Caradhras had defeated them.


_________________ o ______________


It was a grey and chilly day. The break in the clouds of the late
morning didn't last for long, and soon the wind brought fresh, dark
clouds down from Caradhras which hung over them gloomily,
threatening with rain or worse, more snow. The wind picked up and
grew colder, and it bit into them mercilessly.  So the company
hastened along, intent on getting down from the great mountain
slopes lest they let themselves get caught in bad weather again
without shelter.

None of them seemed greatly inclined to chatter or merriment.
Gandalf seemed grim; Gimli was somewhat more excited, but kept
mostly close to the wizard. But he was the only one. Even the
Hobbits trudged on glumly, tiredly, without their normal exchange
of jokes and banter. As for the two men and the Elf of the company,
they did not seem inclined to much talk either.

Boromir trudged on, moodily keeping to himself. From time to time,
he shot a musing look at Legolas, who gave no sign he noticed; but
he made no attempt to approach or to talk to the Elf. Instead, he
stayed close to Merry and Pippin, lending the occasional hand to
them, but didn't talk. He did his best to avoid both Aragorn and
Legolas, mulling over what Aragorn had told him.

Aragorn kept to himself, too. From time to time, he shot a
concerned look at Legolas. The Elf seemed unusually quiet, and
while he walked not too far from Aragorn, he engaged in none of his
usual scouting or lookout work. He seemed troubled and distracted.
Aragorn could tell that something was amiss. 

But he recalled only too well the moment only this morning when
Legolas had frozen up under him, seemingly expecting to be hurt or
punished, and that other moment last night when Legolas had drawn
his knives against him. Aragorn had a pretty good idea what was
going on; Legolas had said the ring was tempting him, and Aragorn
recalled only too well what that cursed thing had offered him, just
the day before. Whatever was eating at his Elf, it was probably
best if he was allowed to work through it alone. 

So Aragorn kept his distance and let his slave be for now. But he
made a note to talk to him once they made camp this evening if
there was a chance.

It was evening when they found some place where they dared to rest
at last in the shadow of a steep hill, and the grey light was
waning fast, but at least the hillside somewhat kept the wind at
bay. They were very weary. The mountains were veiled in  dusk, and
the wind was cold. When they had eaten some food and each had a
sip of the last of the Miruvor, and they had gathered some strength
again, Gandalf called for a council.(2)

“We cannot, of course,  go on this night,” he said, “the attack on
the Redhorn Gate has tired us out, and we must rest here for a
while.(3)” He sighed. “But then we must go on with all haste. The
enemy now knows which way we'll take, or at least he thinks he
does. The sooner we reach Moria and cover our tracks again, the
better.”

Boromir looked sullen. He had said little on the whole way down,
and had worn a moody and listless expression most of the day. His
mood had not improved come evening, as was true for all of them.
Now he spoke up. 

“I do not see why we must take the way through Moria,” he
protested. “I would still opt to take the western road and follow
the course of the Mountains up to the Gap of Rohan, and then
further up to my city. That road is well known to me, since I
traveled it on my way to Rivendell, and it was safe enough when I
followed it then. And once we come to the land of Rohan, we may
count on help. The Horselords are still friendly to my people.”  He
paused. Then he added: “I do not know much of Moria, but that name
has an ill sound in my ears.(4)”

Gimli looked brittle and opened his mouth to protest, but Gandalf
cut him off. Sharply he replied:

“Things have changed since you came north, Boromir,” he said. “Have
you forgotten what I told you about Saruman? We cannot risk
bringing the ring too close to his dwelling. And worse, the birds,
his spies, have now seen and reported our path. He will send his
Orcs after us, now that he knows our path and may have guessed what
we are up to.”

The others of the Fellowship were silent. All of them were tired.
The Hobbits shifted uncomfortably on their feet. Aragorn stood
silent and brooding, apparently contemplating dark, gloomy
thoughts, but unwilling to speak of them just yet, and Legolas
looked distracted. He wore a frown and appeared to be listening to
the wind. Only Gimli seemed engaged and willing to take the
wizard's side. 

But Boromir was not about to give in easily. He had to try to make
the others see reason, at least one more time! So he replied: “How
then do we know these mines of yours would still be free? They may
be teeming with Orcs,  a well-laid trap where the creatures of the
enemy are only waiting for us to deliver us to his very plate.”

Gandalf shrugged. “You know little of the mines if you liken them
to a stronghold of the enemy,” he said annoyed. “Moria is none of
the Enemy's strongholds, it is a dwelling of the Dwarves of old,
and there is hope that it is still free. Most Orcs of the Misty
Mountains were scattered and destroyed in the Battle of the Five
Armies, seventy years ago. And I have been to Moria  once before.
There is even  a chance that we might find Balin and his Dwarven
colony in some deep hall of their fathers there.”

Boromir looked mutinous. But Gimli perked up at those words and
nodded in approval, his eyes sparkling. He spoke up:

“I will go gladly to the dwelling of my forefathers. Little do you
know of Khazad-Dum, Boromir of Gondor, if you compare the halls of
my ancestors to the foul dwellings of the enemy, and only your
ignorance may excuse you and save you from learning better by the
help of my axe! But I forgive you; you may learn better when my
cousin Balin welcomes you to his halls!”

His eyes sparkled. Boromir, though, did not look convinced. But
before he could reply,  Aragorn spoke up.

“I, too, once passed the Dimrill Gate,” he said quietly, “but
though I also came out again, the memory is very ill. I do not wish
to enter Moria a second time.”

For a moment it seemed as if he wanted to say more, but then he
just shook his head and fell silent again.

“Well, I do not wish to enter it even once!” Pippin said,
shuddering. 

“Nor me,” muttered Sam.

“Of course not!” Gandalf said, “Who would?” Ignoring Gimli's
irritated look, he ploughed on: “But what alternatives do we have?
With Saruman on our tracks, there is no other way! I tell you
again, we have no other choice, unless we go back!”

“I do not see why we would have no other choice,” Boromir insisted
stubbornly. “We will have to pass close to Saruman either way,
unless we go west to the coast and follow the shore line to the
Lebennin!”

Gandalf drew his brows together, but Aragorn spoke up again.

“We cannot take that way,” he said. “It would take too much time,
and there are other reasons...” he trailed off, and his gaze
flicked briefly to Legolas, who still seemed rather distracted and
not very intent on the discussion. For a moment, Aragorn's brows
drifted down, and he frowned. But then he just turned his attention
back to Gandalf.

“There is no question that we can't go back, and if you insist on
taking the road through Moria, then I will follow you. However, I
say this to you Gandalf, and I will say it only once: if you enter
the doors of Moria, beware. I feel that great evil is waiting for
us there, and the road will prove ill for some of us. It is a
desperate path.”

Gandalf hesitated. He knew, of course, that Aragorn had foresight,
and a vision of Isildur's heir was not to be taken lightly. But
before he could reply, Boromir spoke up again.

“And I say I still do not see how that road may avail us!” he
insisted. “What say the others of the Fellowship? What does Legolas
say, and what say the little Folk? Surely the voice of the Ring-
Bearer should be heard?”

Aragorn gave him a surprised and startled look; after their
discussion this morning he had surely not expected Boromir to ask
for Legolas' opinion; nor would it have occurred to himself to do
so. 

His brows climbed even higher when, to his astonishment, Legolas
said softly: “I do not wish to go to Moria.”

But he did not have the opportunity to say anything about that to
his slave, because at that moment, finally Frodo spoke.

“I do not wish to go to Moria,” he said, “but neither do I wish to
refuse the advice of Gandalf. I would opt that we take our rest
tonight, and decide in the morning, when we all have rested, not in
this gloom. How the wind howls!”

Aragorn, whose gaze had rested somewhat irritated on his slave,
started. He could see Legolas come to the same realization in the
very same instant, since the Elf's eyes widened, and he breathed:
“Estel! --”

Aragorn nodded grimly. He had realized it too. “How the wind
howls!” he repeated, “It howls with wolf-voices! The wargs have
come west of mountains!”

Gandalf looked grim. “It is as I said!” he stated. “The hunt is on!
We will be lucky if we see the dawn. Do you see my point now,
Boromir? We cannot hope to travel south to the Gap of Rohan with
the wild wolves on our tracks.”

Boromir's face was grim, but he refused an answer. Legolas looked
pale and disturbed, although Aragorn was sure it was not out of
fear of the wargs; after all, they had battled the creatures many
times before in the past, and never had the Elf quailed at their
attack. Gimli looked grim and determined. The Hobbits looked merely
confused, since they had not encountered any of the wolves before;
but the reaction of their comrades did nothing to soothe their
apprehension.

Finally, Boromir spoke. “How far is it to Moria?” he asked.

Gandalf shrugged. “Fifteen miles as the crow flies, and twenty as
the warg runs,” he replied. “But we cannot hope to make it there
tonight, with the wild packs on our trail.”

Boromir nodded grimly. “Then let us seek a place of strong
defense,” he said, “and do our best to hold out until morning.” He
made a face. “With any luck, there *will still be* a question where
we go, then!”

None of them felt like adding anything to that statement.


_____________ o __________________


For their defense, the Fellowship climbed to the top of the hill
under which they had been sheltering. It was crowned with a knot of
old and twisted trees, about which lay a broken circle of boulder
stones(5). There they made camp and sought some firewood, because
secrecy would not keep the hunting packs off their trail now, and
fire might be one of their best defenses, anyway. Bill the pony was
sweating and shivering, constantly rolling his eyes. Getting the
beast up the hill had been hard work under the circumstances; the
howls seemed closer now and were constantly audible, and the poor
animal was terrified. Sam spent a great deal of time trying to calm
the pony and to give comfort, but in the end they could do nothing
but tie it to a stake somewhat to the side, in the shadow of two
boulders least likely to be climbed by any wolves.

When finally all  preparations were done, Gandalf called them
together again.

“Legolas, you have the best ears of us all,” he said. “How long do
you think, until the wargs are here? How far away do you think they
are?”

Legolas, who had been listening intently, looked at him startled,
as if called out of some disturbing thoughts. Nevertheless he
answered politely and softly: “It is hard to say, Mithrandir,
because the wind carries their voices far and obscures them; but I
think it will take them at least three more hours to get to us.”

Aragorn looked at him, irritated by his still subdued demeanor. 

But Gandalf just nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Then we will set
three rounds of watches, so those who can may seek some rest until
the hunters arrive. I suggest that you and I will take the first
one, as well as Gimli. Aragorn and Boromir have the second watch,
together with Merry. Frodo, Pippin and Sam will have the third!”

Startled, the two Men shared a look. They all knew that the third
watch was very likely set in vain, since the wargs would have
arrived by then. This setting of the watches would mean that the
two men and the Hobbits were the most likely to find some rest; the
wizard, Elf and Dwarf would find none.

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp, meaningful look
of Gandalf silenced him. Understanding dawned. Nodding, he gave a
confirming nod to Legolas, then he shouldered his pack and sought a
place somewhat to the side of the circle and near a crack between
the boulders, where the wargs were most likely to attack once they
were there.

Boromir looked at him in irritation, then at the wizard; but then
he just shrugged and followed Aragorn's example.

“What was all this about?” he asked quietly. 

But Aragorn just shook his head. “Not  now, Boromir,” he said, well
aware that Legolas' sharp ears would catch every word they
exchanged. “Maybe later.” 

And with that he settled his weapons in easy reach and made as if
to settle down to sleep for awhile, leaving both his slave and the
man of Gondor bewildered and irritated.


________________ o ________________


Finally, they had all settled. The Hobbits had placed their
blankets closest around the fire. Gandalf sat a bit away from them,
closer to another crack between the boulders, and to one side
guarding the way to the pony. Gimli stood some way apart, to the
other side of the circle, and Legolas had taken post on one of the
boulders at the other side, staring out into the night. Gandalf
prepared and lit his pipe; then he sat and watched him for a while,
silently smoking away.

Finally, he called out to him.

“Legolas, come here and keep me company for a while,” he said, “I
would have words with you.”

Legolas turned to him, startled. *Had the Istar felt his earlier
temptation by the ring? Worse, had he read his thoughts?!*

He sent a quick, longing look in the direction of his master, but
Aragorn seemed fast asleep. So, he finally gave up his post and
followed the invitation of the wizard reluctantly and with great
apprehension.

Gimli, who had heard the wizard's voice, came over, too, but
Gandalf shook his head. 

“No, not you, son of Gloin,” he said. “Do us a favor and walk the
perimeter for a while. I need to speak our Elf here in privacy.”

Gimli sent a sharp, dark look to the paling Elf, but then just
shrugged and growled something unintelligible. He turned around and
did as he had been asked to. 

Gandalf nodded with satisfaction, then he looked up at Legolas
again. He patted the place at his side invitingly. 

“Come, sit with me for a while, young Thranduilion,” he said. “It
is time we had some words together.”

Reluctantly, yet obediently, Legolas sat, giving the wizard a
polite bow. But then, he avoided his gaze and stared down at his
hands.

Gandalf studied him for a while. The Elf seemed nervous. He was
looking around every once in a while, nearly fidgeting; something
about the whole situation apparently bothered him deeply, and
Gandalf did not think it was merely the approaching wargs. He had
seen this Elf face danger before, together with his master.

He decided to let it go for the moment.

“We have had little chance to talk,” he began, “since we all set
out from Rivendell. You have held yourself admirably, so far,
especially considering your situation.” 

Legolas blushed and looked at him questioningly. *Mithrandir was
not angry about his attack on the Dwarf a few days ago?*

Gandalf cocked a brow. “I am sorry I could not stop Aragorn from
performing that ritual,” he offered quietly. “Tell me, how are you
holding out under the competition of the men over you?”

Legolas looked up, startled. He blushed even more and looked down
again.

“It is not my place to judge the decisions of my master,
Mithrandir,” he said. “And he did what he did because he thought it
for the best. His wish to keep me safe was why he made that
bargain.” His face was neutral, and his eyes were guarded.

Gandalf sighed. “You are very loyal to him,” he said. “And you may
have good reason. Still...” He shook his head and looked up again,
his face laced in sorrow.

“You know I always wished I could do more for your people,” he
said, “but so far there has been very little I could do. Yet this
quest might finally be the way to change their fortunes. And maybe
there is a way to help you, too.”

He saw the questioning look of the Elf and went on: “Your master
has asked me to look for a way to break the spell that holds you –
if indeed the success of this quest is  not enough to achieve that
goal.”

Legolas looked at him, completely astonished. Gandalf shook his
head. 

“Do not be too eager, yet,” he warned. “There is some danger. It
has been tried before, you know, by others I will not name here.
But so far, all the attempt has achieved has been to unsettle the
spell in those for whom it has been tried, to the point that it
could not be fed anymore. All hostages who participated in the
attempt died when the need set in.”

Legolas paled. “Who-?” he asked, but Gandalf shook his head.

“It's better you don't know,” he said. “The question is, knowing
the risk, are you willing to take it?”

Legolas stared at him. “How could I not?” he asked. “Anything that
could help to free my people...” he trailed off. 

Looking away, he took a moment to collect himself. 

“That is, if my master is willing to allow it,”  he finally
concluded. “My life belongs to him, after all.”

Gandalf made a face, but did not comment. For a while he merely
pulled at his pipe in silence. 

Finally, he said: “Tell me what you can about the workings of the
spell, will you? How are the stages? When does the poisoning
starts?” 

Legolas bit his lips. He stared at his hands. 

“It takes one week until the need sets in,” he said, “and three
until the poisoning gets bad. The fourth week is the one where I'll
be helpless. I do not know for sure how long it will take from that
point to death. At least, that was how it has been until now. I do
not know how much the bond was tightened again that last time
when...”

He trailed off. Gandalf furrowed his brows.

“So, every time the spell has been extended, the bond has been
tightened?” he asked.

Legolas nodded. 

“Aragorn... my master told me that it is impossible to extend the
spell without tightening the bond,” he said. “That is what Elrond
taught him. He said he has been careful not to draw it much tighter
than it was already, though.”

He drew a deep breath. “There has not been yet any opportunity, nor
need, to test what limits it has now.”
He looked away, then his gaze returned to his own hands. He
shuddered.

Gandalf's face darkened again. 

“Aragorn did you an ill favor, it seems, agreeing to that uncouth
'bargain' as he did,” he said. “Had I known that before, I might
have tried harder to stop him. Tell me,” he demanded then, “how
often has the spell been extended for you so far?”

Legolas swallowed. He still looked carefully at his own hands.
“Four times,” he finally answered. “Elrond... extended it the first
time shortly after my... after I was put under the spell, to give
me to his sons. At that time, he had set it to a month. When I was
given to Estel, he tightened it... to a fortnight.” 

Gandalf drew his brows together, irritated. “A fortnight? But you
said...”

Legolas looked down. He nodded.

“When Aragorn extended the spell again, to some of his rangers, he
tightened the bond to the state it is now.”

Gandalf looked at him, irritated. “It was *Aragorn* who tightened
the bond so closely?” he asked incredulously. By himself, he
thought: *'that is not how you told it to me, son of Arathorn!'*

Legolas looked down. He shrugged. Then he looked up again. 

“He made a mistake,” he said simply. “He... when he extended  the
spell for the first time, he was not sure how much of the drug
involved was needed to do it. Elrond had taught him how to do it,
but not in great detail. And he could hardly ask, for obvious
reasons.”


His voice was bitter. “All he intended was to keep me safe and to
ensure my survival if he was severely wounded again, Mithrandir. He
never intended to do me any harm. When we learned of his mistake
shortly afterwards, he was...”

He shook his head again, face drawn. 

*Estel's face appeared before his eyes, his desperation when he had
discovered what he h
very long until he finally forgave himself – or, maybe, until he
had learned to better hide his guilt from Legolas.*

“It was bad,” Legolas concluded tonelessly. “It took a long time
until he finally came to terms with it.”

Gandalf looked at him sharply and disapprovingly.

“And yet he risked tightening the bond again right now,” he
observed grimly. “You are quite ready to defend your master,
Mirkwood prince. And he is not that careful with your life!”

Legolas looked up at him, startled. 

“I am no prince anymore, Mithrandir,” he said. “And Aragorn...
Estel has studied all he could learn about the curse since then. He
knows much more about it now than he did that first time.”

Yet as much conviction as he tried to place in his words, he
sounded unsure, and his face was troubled.

*What if Estel had erred again?*

Gandalf sighed. “Then let us hope that he didn't misjudge this
time,” he said. “But tell me, why did he have the ingredients with
him in the first place?”

Legolas flinched a bit, and his face became even paler. But he did
not answer, and he looked away again.

Gandalf studied him for a while.

“Did he plan to find another Elf for you before he married Arwen?”
he finally asked, very gently.

Legolas flinched again, and Gandalf congratulated himself. But when
the Elf finally met his gaze again, his eyes and voice were
guarded.

“It is not my place to judge my master's plans, Mithrandir,” he
said, “nor to ask why he keeps those drugs with him.”

But Gandalf could discern that this was not the whole truth, and he
could hear the hidden pain in the Mirkwood Elf's voice.

*'Well, well, well,'* he thought, *'so he knows very well what his
master intended. But he does not seem happy about the prospect...
oh, son of Arathorn, what have you gotten yourself into? And those
you claim to love?'*

Aloud, he said: “Fair enough. Then keep your secrets, and his, I
presume. In fact your loyalty to your master is commendable –
although I am tempted to wonder if he deserves it.”

Legolas gave him an indignant look and opened his mouth to protest,
but he waved him off.

“Let us not dwell on this any longer,” he said, “the night does not
get any younger, and I have yet a lot of questions I need to ask.
What do you recall of the casting of the spell? Were there any
remarkable details you remember?”

Legolas grew even paler. “You... you have not heard the tale?” he
asked tonelessly.

Gandalf looked down.

“Of course I have,” he admitted sorrowfully, “the event was
infamous enough. I do not ask you to retell the whole sordid
ritual. Some things I know – the components of the drugs, the...
proceedings. And I have of course heard...”

He shook his head and trailed off.

Finally, he said gently: “I know what Elrond did to you. Glorfindel
told me of that day, and there were other... sources. Not to
mention the rumors I heard. But what I need to know is if there is
any component of the spell not at first visible to the eye. What I
mean is if there is any component of the spell that has been unique
to the times when it was cast and extended by Elrond? Was there any
difference that you recall between the times when Elrond first cast
and extended the spell, and later when Aragorn did it?”

Seeing Legolas' abashed and reluctant look, he specified: 

“What I mean is any detail that seemed extremely... odd, something
that smacked of dark magic.”

Legolas looked at  him incredulously, completely taken aback by the
question. Bitterness filled him and cold anger nearly choked his
throat. *What did the wizard mean with 'something odd'? Apart from
the rape, the public humiliation, the tools and drugs, the complete
degradation, the induced and forced  *need*?!*

He felt the urge to scream, or to jump up and leave this painful
inquiry, and his mind shut down at the request to willingly recall
the details of that horrifying day when Elrond had forced the curse
on him, and of the ritual. 

But if it could serve to find a way to break the spell...

Only that prospect held him in his place. So, he grated out a
little more forcefully than intended: “The whole spell smacks of
dark magic, Mithrandir! I do not see...”

But then he hesitated. Actually, there *was* one thing that had
happened during the first, horrifying ritual and during every later
extension of the spell by Elrond, but that had not been there when
Aragorn did it. And it was certainly something that smacked of dark
magic to him.

“I... don't recall the wording of the spell,” he finally said,
hesitantly and slowly, “but... there is something as you describe.
The blue light.”

He saw the wizard's eyes light up in interest and continued
hesitantly:

“When... when Elrond...” - he nearly choked on the hated name, and
had to pause. But finally, he went on:

“When Elrond first... cast... the spell... there was a blue light
that... filled my mind, when... when he first... touched me,
and...” He swallowed. Determinedly, he went on: “I could not move.
Nor flee, or fight. It... it...”

He shook his head and trailed off. He could not go on; bitterness
stayed his tongue.

Gandalf watched him silently, pulling at his pipe, carefully
avoiding any comment. Sorrow and disgust at Elrond's malicious
curse filled his heart, but he was careful not to make any gesture
that could be seen as pressure. So he merely waited for Legolas to
continue and remained silent.

“It did not allow me to flee my body,” Legolas finally said flatly.
“It held me there and froze me, and it was always there when I
tried it again – tried dying – later. And... later, when Elrond...
when he extended the spell...”

He trailed off again. 

Gandalf said nothing but just watched him sorrowfully, listening
carefully and waiting for him to continue.

“It was there, then, too,” Legolas finally concluded, “every time
when he did it. And the inability to move. He can... he can induce
it with a mere touch. That is something Estel – Aragorn could never
do. Nor... nor his brothers.”

He nearly choked on the blasphemy to mention Estel, even *Aragorn*,
in the same breath as Elrond and his twin sons. 

But  there it was. And he could not deny that that blue light, the
hated essence of the curse, was exactly the thing the wizard was
looking for.

Falling silent again, he realized that he shivered and angrily he
brought his body under control.

Gandalf watched him silently.

*'So you have indeed used the power of your ring to devise that
evil spell, Elrond Halfelven,' he thought to himself. 'You are far
further gone than I realized. And still you let the One Ring go
when it was in your grasp. Did you hope that when it was destroyed,
the Three would keep their power and the ring you hold would be
cleansed of the One Ring's influence? But even so, after the use
you made of it, your ring is now most thoroughly corrupted. I
wonder if you are fully aware of what you have done...'*

He took a pull of his pipe. *'And *you*, young Mirkwood prince,' he
thought, 'I wonder if you are aware with how much longing you still
speak of him who holds your heart, despite everything that one has
done to you! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, you have much to answer
for!'*

But he did not say that aloud. Instead, he asked carefully: “And
since then, that... *blue light* has always been there whenever you
tried to flee your body?”

Legolas nodded.

Gandalf took another pull of his pipe. He nodded, too. 

“That is interesting, indeed,” he murmured. Then he fixated the
Mirkwood Elf sharply with his gaze and asked gently:

“Did you try it often?”

Legolas started again. Then he quickly looked away. He bit his
lips.

After a long moment, he reluctantly replied: “Sometimes. In... in
the beginning, I tried it quite often, I fear. But...”

He shook his head and trailed off. His face held shame for his
perceived weakness.

Gandalf did not comment on that. Very carefully, he asked: “And
since then?”

Legolas still avoided his gaze. But after a moment, he said
reluctantly and quietly: “Since... I belong to Aragorn, not
anymore. At least, not... willingly.”

But he spoke very softly, and he still would not meet the wizard's
eyes.

Gandalf watched him silently and thoughtfully. Finally, after a
long moment, he asked:

“Are you content then, to belong to him?”

Legolas visibly flinched and looked up, startled. Then he quickly
looked away again. *What did the wizard intend with this question?*
He was all too aware of his own, treacherous thought last night and
only this very morning. *Had Mithrandir guessed what he had
contemplated doing?* The vision of this very morning came to his
mind again, and his stomach churned. *Estel!*...

After a moment, he finally looked up again, but his eyes were
guarded. Very carefully, he slowly said: “I owe Aragorn my loyalty
and my allegiance, Mithrandir. It does not really matter what I
wish or think.”

The wizard watched him, irritated. After a long moment, he blew out
some smoke from his pipe and said: “Maybe. But that was not my
question.”

Legolas looked away again. He took a deep breath. When he finally
met the wizard's gaze again, his eyes were clear.

“I am glad and honored I belong to him,” he simply said. “Estel...
is me a good master, Mithrandir. I had worse.”

Gandalf held his gaze and knew that this was all the answer he
would get, although he had the distinct impression that it was far
from the whole truth. There was pain and sorrow hidden in the Elven
slave's eyes and voice, and more than a little regret and
bitterness. But it was clear that this was all Legolas would tell
him.

He sighed. *'You still love him then,'* he concluded. *'Oh, son of
Arathorn, what have you done?  To whatever end all this will lead,
it can only be in heartbreak. And one of you will pay the price for
your folly, either way.'*

But he said none of this; he simply nodded. Aloud, he said: “I
suppose, that is fair enough. But tell me, if indeed we succeed,
and either by the success of this Quest, or by other means the
spell could be broken, what would you do?  If the bond that binds
you to him were lifted? Would you leave or stay?”

Legolas looked at him, irritated. After a moment, he replied
mildly: “I am still a hostage, Mithrandir. Even if the spell could
be lifted, I would have to remain with Aragorn, unless all my
people were free.”

Gandalf sighed. “Of course,” he admitted impatiently, “but what
would you do if you were free to go? I mean, if not only the spell
was lifted, but indeed, as a result of this quest, your people were
free?”

Legolas looked down again.

“Is there hope for that?” he asked.

Gandalf took a pull of his pipe.

“I don't know,” he admitted, “but I hope so, yes. You know that I
hope, if this Quest succeeds, as an outcome their fate will be
changed as well.”

Legolas took a moment to reply.  Bitterly, he thought: *'You
*hope*. But you don't know. Estel has given me more reason to hope,
than you, Mithrandir!'* But he felt a warning not to speak too
openly, and anyway, if the wizard would truly look for a
possibility of breaking the spell, it would be more than foolish to
risk igniting his anger. 

So he carefully said: “It would be the choice of my master,
Mithrandir. If he wished me to stay with him, or leave.”

Gandalf studied him. “Even if he was forced to marry?” he asked
then, quietly and gently. “You know he has to do it at some point.”

Legolas looked away. After a long moment, he replied carefully: “It
would still be his choice. I am sworn to serve Aragorn in every way
he wants, Mithrandir. It would depend on him. If he sent me
away...” he trailed off and Gandalf heard the bitterness and fear
within his voice. After a moment, Legolas finished flatly: “In that
case, of course, I would have to leave.”

But he could not suppress the shudder at these words. Obviously, he
could hardly think of a situation in which this would not mean his
death.

Gandalf fought down his irritation. He had the feeling that the
Mirkwood Elf was deliberately obstructive. But it would not help to
lose his temper, now!  After a moment, he chose to try a different
approach. With fraying patience,  he asked: “But if you were free
to choose? Would you not wish to go home and see your family
again?”

Legolas looked at him incredulously. “Of course I would!” he said,
and then, looking away, he finished: “Yes. Of course! Very much
so.”

Gandalf nodded, finally feeling some spark of satisfaction. *'Then
I suppose there is still hope in this'* he thought. 
*'Maybe, if that Dunadan will not show some reason in the end, at
least the Mirkwood prince will.'*

He took a deep breath. “Very well,” he finally said. “I will see
what I can do, then.”

He fixated the Mirkwood Elf with his gaze and continued very
seriously:

“You realize, of course, that we have to tread very carefully in
this. For one thing, we will have to wait until after Lothlorien.
Until that time, I will merely ask you a few questions now and
then. We need to  find out more about that curse and seek its
weakness. And I am not entirely sure that the spell *can* be lifted
as long as the One Ring and the Three exist. For all I can see it
was indeed devised with the help of one of the Three, and it may
well be that it can't be broken as long as their power remains.
But I will do the best I can. Yet I must warn you, because there is
still another danger of which you may be unaware.”

Legolas looked at him questioningly, without comment, merely
waiting for him to continue.

Gandalf looked at him very seriously. “You told me how the spell
prevents you and the other hostages from fleeing your body or dying
at will,” he said. “If it was truly lifted, nothing would stop you
from seeking Mandos at will anymore.”

Legolas looked at him incredulously.

“If the spell was broken, I would be free,” he said, “and so would
they be. Why, then, should I wish to go to Mandos? Why should
anybody?”

Gandalf studied him thoughtfully. “Fair enough,” he finally
replied. “So we will try this once we leave the Golden Wood, then.”

Legolas nodded gracefully. “Whatever I can do to help in this, I
will,” he said, “as long as my master allows it. I wish with all my
heart to free my people, and if I can help to achieve that goal in
any way...”

Gandalf sighed. “I know,” he said. “I was sure you would say this.
However...”

But Legolas did not listen anymore. His gaze flicked to the side
suddenly, and he stared at the place outside the ring of stones,
between two mighty trees. He gasped. 

*“Mithrandir!--”*

Gandalf followed his gaze. There, outside the circle of light of
the fire, two yellow eyes stared back at them.

The wargs had found them.


_________________ o _______________


At the same time, on the other side of the camp, another
conversation was taking place. Boromir had tried to sleep, and had
indeed managed to doze a while, haunted by strange dreams and
images: howling wargs, wet, restraining snow, and always the Elf,
just a few paces out of reach. He did not know what had roused him
when he finally woke up, breathing hard and sweating, but he
decided that it would be futile to try to find sleep again and
turned around towards the fire. He saw the Elf, sitting at the
side, deeply in conversation with the wizard, while the Hobbits
were dozing; a quick look around showed him the Dwarf, quietly
walking the perimeter, staring out into the night, but from time to
time grazing the other two members of the Fellowship supposedly on
watch with a dark look. Boromir did not know enough about Dwarven
ears or the range of Dwarven hearing, but the Dwarf looked close
enough to hear at least some of the conversation between Elf and
wizard. Alas, he himself was too far away for that.

He stared at the pair for a few more moments, then he turned around
again – only to find that he was not the only one who was not
sleeping. Aragorn was lying close, rolled into his blanket,
watching the wizard and the Elf intently and with some
concentration.

Boromir cleared his throat. 

Aragorn started and looked at him.

“I take it you cannot sleep, either?” Boromir asked dryly.

Aragorn just stared at him for a moment, but then he gave in and
nodded. “I fear so,” he replied.

Boromir nodded, too. “Good,” he said, “For I suppose I have some
more questions.”

Aragorn sighed. Slowly, he sat up. Boromir followed his example.

Fumbling for his pipe, Aragorn quietly asked: “What is it you wish
to know, then?”

Boromir sighed. Carefully, he nodded in the direction of Gandalf
and Legolas. “Your Elf,” he said, and Aragorn made a face. Boromir
shook his head. “I would like to know the circumstances why he was
enslaved. He has told me that he gave himself up to ensure safety
for his people, but...”

Aragorn looked up at him sharply. Suddenly, he had a very good idea
what had Legolas so upset the night before, when he came to relieve
his master from the watch. But he restrained himself and replied
merely: “He did.”

Boromir stared at him incredulously.

“But – to agree to such terms...” he began, hesitantly.

Aragorn took his fire-kit and produced a spark to light his pipe.
Flatly and grimly, he said: 

“The way I heard it, Elrond left them no other choice. He
threatened to burn their woods and put their entire population to
the sword. They were severely  outnumbered. They would not have
stood a chance. And so Legolas offered himself. It was the only
thing he could do.”

He had succeeded in lighting his pipe and took a few puffs.

Boromir still stared at him. “But -- to *slavery*? And to a life
like *that*?! Such degradation?” he asked. “How...?”

Aragorn nodded grimly. “I have often asked myself,” he said
quietly, “if, in the same situation, I would have had such
courage.” He took a pull at his pipe. “Or if I would have had the
strength to survive and stay sane for so long.”

Boromir stared at him. “But...” he said, and trailed off.
*Courage?!* For *that*?!

He looked back in the direction of the fire and studied the Elf,
who seemed right now taken aback by some question from Mithrandir.
He seemed indignant in some way. Boromir could not hear his words,
or read his gestures.

He turned to Aragorn again. “And he has lived like – like *that* -
ever since?” he merely asked.

Aragorn looked away. “The longer he lasts, the less reason Elrond
has to ask for another of his siblings,” he said evasively,
carefully neglecting to mention that Elrond probably was looking
for an excuse to do just that as soon as possible, anyway. *This
was hardly a matter he could explain to the man of Gondor, and if
he, Aragorn, had his way, there would soon be an end to that, in
any case. Assuming they survived this mad quest and succeeded with
their mission, of course.*

Boromir was silent for some time. Finally, he asked, visibly
shaken: “The Mirkwood Realm must have committed some horrifying
crime if the other Elven realms have laid such a punishment on
them. I cannot think of anything that would warrant such treatment,
though, save maybe treachery and conspiring with the enemy, and
even then...”

Aragorn grimaced. He shook his head. Finally, he shrugged and said
grimly: “I do not know. I have heard many different stories about
that, and of course Legolas' people tell a very different tale than
their enemies. I do not know which, if any, of the tales are true.
I believe the feud between these Realms is very old and it would be
near impossible for any mortal to find out the truth of why and how
it started. If I were to muse, I think the Mirkwood Elves had the
bad fortune once to lose a war, and their enemies were blinded by
their hatred.  But I do not know why and how that came to pass.”

He sighed. “Mostly, my rangers and I have tried to stay out of it
as much as possible, and we hold ties to both sides in our fight
against the Enemy and his creatures. As far as we can, at least.”

His gaze wandered briefly to his Elf and for long moments it rested
on him with concern, sorrow and regret.

Boromir just stared at him incredulously. *“You and your people try
to stay out of this?!”* he repeated as if he could not trust hie
ear, “He is your *slave*!”

Aragorn shot him a wry look. “How shrewd of you to notice,” he
mocked harshly. “Yes, that does complicate things a bit, I deem,
does it not?”

But then he relented. Looking down at his pipe, he said tiredly and
bitterly: “As I said, I was raised as Elrond's foster son. But when
I asked for Legolas to be given to me, all I had in mind at the
time was to protect him. I... I thought being with me would be a
better fate than...”

He trailed off and fell silent. Finally, he took a deep breath and
looked back at Boromir again.


“But that is neither here nor there. What matters now is only that
he is bound to me. And frankly, for me, it is of no concern how
this ancient feud started and how the subjugation of Legolas'
people came about. The only thing that matters to me, now, is
Legolas' safety and that he survives. I do not care if any of the
tales are true or why the Elven realms once fought against each
other. I only care about him. That is the reason why I extended
that spell to you.”

Boromir looked at him for a moment, irritated, and opened his mouth
for a reply, but then he noticed the sudden expression of alarm on
Aragorn's face. Following his gaze, he saw the eyes in the dark,
staring back at him. He jumped up and reached for the grip of his
sword, just as the sudden howling filled the night around the camp
and Gimli's cry raised the alarm.


_______________________ o ______________________


Quite suddenly, the howl rose all around them. The yellow eyes
briefly vanished and were replaced by many others. Legolas was on
his feet, and so was Gandalf. The Hobbits scrambled up groggily and
reached for for their little daggers.

But at first, there was no attack. 

In the gap between the two great rocks Gandalf and Legolas had
guarded, a great big wolf appeared, majestic in his form and
demeanor, the yellow eyes holding far too much intelligence. He
came forward into the circle of light, watching them evilly; and
then he howled, a short, challenging sound, as if he was summoning
his troops.

His howl was answered by many voices, all around them. Yet still,
the pack held back, hesitating.

Gandalf strode forward. Holding his staff aloft, he shouted:
“Listen to me, Hound of Sauron! Gandalf is here! Fly, if you value
your foul skin! Flee, or I will shrivel you from tail to snout!(6)”

The wolf stared at him defiantly and snarled. Then he leaped.
Gandalf raised his staff even higher, but before he could even cast
a spell, there was a sharp twang, and the wolf thudded to the
ground. An arrow protruded from his throat. 

Legolas had loosed his arrow. 

Fast as thought, the Elf had set another arrow to his bow, ready to
shoot again. But the eyes around the camp were suddenly
extinguished, and the howls were silent. Gandalf still held his
staff aloft. After a moment, he and Aragorn strode forward, to the
ring of boulders and close to the edge of the circle of light from
their campfire. 

But the watching eyes and shadowy shapes were gone. The wargs had
fled them.

Irritated, they turned back and gathered around the fire again. The
Hobbits huddled close to the flames, looking miserable. They were
wide awake now, but badly shaken, and they cast horrified glances
at the corpse of the big, grey wolf Legolas had killed. Gimli
looked grim; so did Gandalf and Aragorn. Legolas was silent. He
seemed highly strung and alert, intently listening to the wind.

It was Boromir who finally voiced their irritation. “What was
that?” he asked. “Why didn't they attack?”

Aragorn looked grim. “Maybe they were only the scouts,” he said.
“They will be back.”

Legolas nodded. “I counted only seven pairs of eyes,” he said, “and
just as many voices in the howl. I believe they did not attack
because they were too few. They likely will return in greater
numbers.”

His voice was strained, and he was very pale. 

Aragorn looked at him, drawing his brows together. But the Elf
avoided his eyes, and this was hardly the moment for further
questions. So, he let it go.

Gandalf nodded grimly.

“Then there is no sense for all of us in staying awake 'till they
come,” he said. “Whoever is not on guard should try to catch some
sleep. I believe the second watch belongs to Boromir and Aragorn.”

He did not mention Merry, though, and as he had expected, both
Legolas and Gimli shook their heads.

“I will find no rest now,” the Elf said softly. “I leave the
opportunity to rest for Merry; my people do not need as much sleep
as mortals do.” He looked away, though, and hoped very hard he
would not be called out on this by his master. 

But Aragorn said nothing, obviously realizing how futile any
command to his slave to seek rest would be right now.

Gimli looked grim. “I will not idly sleep when there is danger,”
the Dwarf said. “May the Hobbits seek what rest they can, but
Gimli, Gloin's son will not skirt his duty.” 

And he cast a meaningful look at the wizard and the Elf, who both
refused to answer.

Gandalf shrugged. “Very well,” he said, “Just the Hobbits, then.
But remember that we all have a hard walk ahead tomorrow.”

And with that he settled back at his old place, prepared his pipe
again and would say no more. 

There was no further protest. Merry settled back close to Pippin,
Sam and Frodo at the fire. Soon, all of them fell into an uneasy
doze. Gimli sat close to them, quietly smoking his pipe. 

Boromir and Aragorn walked the perimeter, and from time to time
they quietly exchanged words. 

Legolas stood on one of the great boulders, staring silently out
into the night. The wizard's words still resonated in his head, but
he stood straight and alert.


The second attack came only when the night was already old and the
moon was setting, and it was upon them in seconds. All of a sudden,
a crescendo of howls rose all around them, and in nearly the same
moment, the beasts were there, coming at them from all sides. And
this time, there were many more of them, jumping at them from the
ring of stones, or crouching there to prepare for attack.

Boromir had his sword out and was fighting before he could even
think. He placed himself close to one of the gaps between the
boulders, between the attack and the Hobbits. To his right was
Aragorn, doing the same; Legolas was to his left, the farthest away
of the others, his bow already singing, firing arrows nearly too
fast for mortal eyes to follow. At  his back, on the other side of
the fire, Gimli and Gandalf completed the circle, forming a line of
defense around the Hobbits who stood closest to the fire. 

Behind him, Boromir could hear Gandalf raising his voice,
commanding the Hobbits to fling fuel onto the fire and draw their
blades. The rising light showed that his words were heeded; but
Boromir had no time to look around, because he was hard pressed,
already. He hewed the head of one attacking warg and buried his
sword in a second one; out of the corner of his eye he could see
Aragorn doing the same with his hunting knife, while the Ranger
brought his sword down on another warg at the same time. Behind
him, a great cry rose:

*“Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!(7)”* 

A howl followed, and a yelp. Then, Boromir was occupied with
fending off a particularly nasty warg which eluded his sword
several times but came close to sinking his teeth into his sword
arm. 

Finally, he managed to thrust his sword right down the throat of
the beast, when he heard a warning shout. In the next instant, he
felt an arrow pass just inches from his face, and then something
big and heavy crushed into him from the other side and nearly swept
him off his feet. A great weight pressed against him. Startled, he
turned and raised his hand to shove the weight away. He stared. It
was a huge warg, killed by an arrow in its throat, his sharp,
deadly teeth and mighty jaws just inches away from  Boromir's own
throat. 

Alarmed, Boromir shoved the dead beast away and looked around. He
could see the Elf some yards to his left, fighting three wargs
coming at him at once. It was an amazing sight. 

Apparently, the moment of distraction when Legolas had killed the
warg attacking Boromir had dearly cost the Elf, for it had left an
opening for a few of the beasts to get too close for arrows' range.
One warg was coming from the right, the other from the left; and
there was a third one crouching in front of the Elf and preparing
to leap. 

Boromir shouted a warning, but he was too far away himself to come
to the Elf's aid. Yet Legolas did not seem in trouble. While he
watched, the Elf had one of his knives out in an instant and with a
graceful sweep he cut the first warg's throat, while at the same
time he landed a forceful kick right at the nose of the second. The
beast yelped and froze, stunned for a moment. There was a shadowy
movement, and Boromir cried a warning as the third warg leaped;
hastily, he reached for his knife, although he knew that even
throwing it he would probably be too slow to stop the attack in
time. But his help was  not needed. The Elf had already regained
his balance and dodged, burying his knife in the breast of the
attacking beast. Then the second warg had recovered from his shock
and leaped at him, but Legolas had freed his knife already and
shoved it through the throat of the animal. The whole sequence had
only taken a few heartbeats. And just as soon, the Elf was standing
free again, sheathing his blade and raising his bow, firing arrows
almost faster than Boromir's eyes could follow. 

The man of Gondor stared in awe. But in the next moment, he saw a
movement to his right and turned just in time to fend off another
warg that leaped at him. There was no time to think about what he
had seen. He had to fight, mindlessly and routinely as he would on
any battlefield in Gondor.

As soon as the attack had begun, it was over. When more and more
shapes leaped at them, regardless of Legolas' deadly arrows,
suddenly Gandalf raised his staff high over his head, and he seemed
to grow. 

With a loud voice he cried: *“Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i
ngaurhoth!”*

There was a roar and a crackle, and the tree above him burst into a
leaf and bloom of blinding flame. The fire leapt from tree-top to
tree-top. The whole hill was crowned with dazzling light. The
swords and knives of the defenders shone and flickered. The last
arrow of Legolas kindled in the air as it flew, and plunged burning
into the heart of a great wolf-chieftain. All the others fled(8).

In the blazing light, the company stood dazzled. Legolas had
slumped and stood disoriented and alarmed; so did the others. The
fire had blinded them. Slowly, Boromir tried to regain his eyesight
through the sudden brightness of the blazing night.

But the moment of helplessness was not exploited, for there was no
further attack. The hill lay silent, the fire slowly dying down and
giving way to the dim light of the coming dawn. Their attackers
were gone.

After a few moments, when he had recovered from seeing just sparks
and stars before his eyes, Boromir looked around. To his side,
where Legolas had fought, he could see the Elf, kneeling on the
ground, held and quietly soothed by his master. Aragorn was
conversing with his slave in Elvish. On the other side, around the
dying campfire, the Hobbits huddled. Gimli stood there, shaking his
head, obviously still fighting to regain his sight. Gandalf had
lowered his staff again and stared distrustfully out into the
night. Of them all, he alone seemed untroubled.

After a moment, though, he turned and looked around; then he came
over to Aragorn and Legolas.

“What is it?” he asked, irritated. 

Aragorn didn't look up, nor did the Elf. “He cannot see,” the
Ranger said.

Gandalf shrugged. “That will cease in a moment. Just stay with him
until it gets better. But hurry! We must eat, and then we must
break camp. It is still quite a way to Moria, and we cannot be sure
that the packs will not return. The sooner we  reach the mines, the
better!”


The gnarled trees could not sustain the fire for long, and slowly
it gave way to bitter smoke and ashes. Slowly, the eyes of the
company adapted and after a while even Legolas could see normally
again. But when the fire finally died down and the light of the
approaching day grew stronger, they all looked around in
bewilderment. 

There were no bodies. The remains of the trees around them stood
smoldering and charred, and they all felt the exhaustion of the
recent battle; Boromir's side hurt from the bruise where the huge,
dead warg had crashed into him. He clearly remembered the beasts he
had killed, the blows he had delivered. But there were no dead
wolves lying about; not even traces of the blood were left.
Legolas' arrows lay all over the hill, and all were unspoiled and
intact, safe for one which was charred and burned, missing its
point. 

If not for the charred hillside and the trembling pony the whole
battle could as well have been a dream. 

They looked at each other in alarm and fear.

Gandalf's face was grim. “It is as I thought,” he said, “These were
no ordinary wolves. They were the creatures of the enemy. We do
well to hasten on our road. Let's break our fast and then move on
as soon as possible!”

There was no opposition. Nobody dared to challenge his counsel
again.


_______________ o ______________


It was a very subdued company that started on their way to Moria a
short time later. They had broken their fast with all haste and
then started on their way, eager to be gone; none of them wished to
linger at the eerie hillside with the charred remains of the burned
trees. 

All of them were weary; with the exception of the Hobbits, hardly
any of them had found any rest, and for most of them that had been
true also the night before. None of them spoke. Gandalf's grim,
intent face forbade any further questions or discussion. As always,
he led the way. Next to him walked the Dwarf; but even he marched
on grimly and without the apparent excitement about the prospect of
entering Moria he had shown the day before. The Hobbits, next in
line and flanking the pony, were too shaken by the recent fight to
engage in their usual chatter; even had they been less exhausted,
they would not have felt very talkative; and the men were grim and
brooding. Both were still wound up from the night's battle; and
while Aragorn, who took the rear, seemed watchful and alert,
Boromir trudged on deep in thought. From time to time he shot a
thoughtful look at the Elf, who walked in front of him, seemingly
oblivious to his attention, or indeed to anything around him.  

Legolas walked alone, without any of his usual scouting, and his
step showed none of his usual grace. He seemed distracted and edgy,
but truth be told, he was barely aware of his surroundings. It was
the fifth night in a row in which he had not found any peaceful
rest, and he had to fight to stay awake. Occasionally he slipped
off into a dizzy state of half-sleep, and it was all he could do
not to stumble over any obstacles or lose his step at one of the
craggy holes and ridges on their way. And yet, whenever he drifted
off, he could not find rest, either. Glimpses of the attacking
wargs haunted his mind, of falling rocks and snow, and in between
he recalled fragments of his visions. 

The images haunted him. Had he really thought he could outrun the
creatures of the Enemy, including the hunting packs they had barely
held at bay last night, just by himself and bearing the Ring after
he had gone so far as to kill off his comrades to get that
treacherous trinket? 

What a fool he had been! He was all too aware of his own
exhaustion, he could feel his weariness in every fiber of his body;
and he was well aware that the sheer numbers of the pack last night
would have overwhelmed them, despite his arrows and Estel's,
Boromir's and even the Dwarf's best efforts, if not for the wizard
and his intervention. Had he indeed allowed himself to be seduced
into killing his comrades and trying to bring the Ring home to his
father, he would never had made it. 

*And to think that at the same time as he contemplated treachery,
Estel had asked Gandalf to find a way to break the spell* -- it
didn't bear thinking about.

In the back of his mind, a treacherous, little voice whispered:
*'You have been with him for over sixty years. He could have asked
the wizard to do that much sooner!'* -- but he angrily banished it
and shut the hateful voice off from his mind. He had listened to
the Ring and its lies long enough! He would not make the same
mistake again!

*Nay. Estel deserved his loyalty and his trust. There was no other
way; he would not dishonor himself, or doom his father and his
people, nor destroy the one he had once desperately loved and who
still owned a great part of his soul, just for the lies of a piece
of jewelry!*

So deeply was Legolas caught up in his thoughts, that he started
and nearly lost his step, as suddenly a hand settled on his
shoulder. 

Startled and flinching guiltily, he turned. But instead of the
stern face of his master, he stared into the concerned face of
Boromir.

“Steady, master Elf,” the man of Gondor said, “You nearly fell
there!” 

Legolas looked to the ground and saw the nasty crack across their
path where he had mis-stepped and nearly lost his balance. That he
had not noticed it sooner marked his tiredness. 

A little startled, he looked up again and nodded his thanks to the
man of Gondor.

Hesitantly, Boromir let go of his shoulder. But he did not
immediately start to walk again. Instead, he stood there a little
awkwardly, apparently searching for words.

Legolas waited a moment, but when the Adan didn't speak, he gave
him a bow and started to turn to resume his path. 

Boromir stopped him with a gesture.

“Wait a moment,” he asked, and when Legolas turned back to him
again, he swallowed.

“Grant me a moment of your time, please, Legolas,” he said, “I
would have words with you.”

Legolas looked at the Gondorian in astonishment. Since that fateful
day when Boromir had learned of Legolas' status as a slave, it had
been rare that he had addressed him with his name. 

But there was no derision or mockery in the Gondorian's face or
voice. He seemed serious.

So, after a moment, Legolas nodded and bowed a second time. “What
can I do for you?” he asked politely.

Boromir swallowed again. 

“You saved my life last night,” he began. “I want to thank you.” He
took a deep breath, and ploughed on: “Without your arrow, that warg
would have got me!”

Legolas looked at him surprised. He drew his brows together.

“I just did my duty, My Lord,” he said neutrally. 

Boromir actually flinched. He made a face.

“Don't call me that,” he said. “I am not your Lord.”

He looked down. 

Bluntly and awkwardly, he went on: 

“I owe you an apology,”  - he paused, and then went on
determinedly: “for my behavior these last few days. I... I had a
conversation with your master last night.” He flinched again, and
hurried to correct himself:  “With Aragorn.” 

Legolas just looked at him. He waited.

Hesitantly, the Gondorian went on: “He told me more about the
circumstances why you... how it came to pass that you gave yourself
up .”

Legolas flinched, but the Adan seemed not to notice. Determinedly,
Boromir went on:

“He told me that there was no other choice, and that you had to do
it to save your people. And I saw you fight last night. There is no
question of your prowess as a warrior.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked up, meeting Legolas' eyes.

“I owe you an apology. I have been a fool, and I have judged
harshly, in a matter I did not understand. I would ask your
forgiveness.”

And with that, he formally bowed to the Elf standing before him.

Legolas looked at him in complete astonishment. For a moment he was
at a loss what to reply. 

Then, after a moment, he nodded.

“Thank you, Boromir of Gondor,” he said seriously, “You apology is
accepted and appreciated.” After a moment, he went on: “But still,
my Lord, you do not owe me thanks for my actions last night. I did
only my duty to the Fellowship, after all.”

Boromir shook his head.

“Do not call me your lord anymore, please, Legolas,” he said. “I
would have you address me as a fellow warrior. And I wanted to tell
you that as far as it concerns me, the bargain I struck with
your... with Aragorn is off. If there is need for you to have ...
another feed the spell, because your... master might be hindered or
wounded, I will be glad to provide help in any way I can. And if...
if you were to decide to seek me out of your own, free will, I
would be honored and glad to welcome you. But never again will I
demand it as my due!”

He nearly choked on the words and he was bright red as he finished,
but still he managed to conclude his speech.

Legolas looked at the Gondorian in utter astonishment. 

After a moment, he bowed again and answered, very seriously:

“I thank you again, Boromir of Gondor, and I am honored by your
generous offer.” He hesitated a moment, then he swallowed. Looking
down, he added with studied neutrality:  “But it is the decision of
my master whether I shall seek you out again. If he wishes to keep
the bargain, I shall obey him.”

Boromir's face clouded.

“He would order you into another man's arms even now?!” he asked
incredulously. “How can he do that?! And how can you be so calm
about it?”

Legolas looked up again, astonished by the Gondorian's sudden
concern. He shrugged.

“I am his slave,” he reminded Boromir calmly. “But even more, he
has made this bargain with you to protect me.”

He looked down again. “My master foresaw that we would be under
harsh pursuit, soon. He told me so several days ago, and that
therefore he'd deem it best if the spell was fed often.”

Boromir's face clouded even more. “If he foresaw it, he gave little
warning to the rest of us,” he said harshly.

Legolas shrugged again. “He has foresight,” he said, “I do not have
it. But I am told that it is never accurate, or clear. He saw that
there would be pursuit, and we would be under attack. He did not
see where or by whom, or even how many.” He looked up again and met
the other man's eyes. “You came to Rivendell asking for counsel to
explain a vision, did you not?”

Boromir stared at him for another moment, then he pursed his lips.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Still...”

But Legolas did not look at him anymore. With careful remoteness,
he went on: “In any case, last night's attack has proved him right.
As for his reasoning, if the spell is fed more often, it means once
we are under harsh pursuit and there is no time to see to it
anymore, I will have more time until I fall into need or even
illness.”

He swallowed hard, and looked up again. “I cannot deny my master's
reasoning in this, although his decision is not easy on me.”

Boromir's face was grim.

“Your kind did great woe to you, to entrap you in so cruel a bond,”
he said, “and it is hard to see you bound so tightly. And as
faithful  as you are to your master, I am not sure he deserves your
loyalty. I think that you deserve much better than the way he
treats you.” He sighed.

“I wish there was a way to see you free,” he muttered.

Legolas looked up at him, completely startled. But Boromir ignored
it.

He took a deep breath and continued honestly: “In any case, my
offer stands. I will be honored to serve you at need in any way I
can and any way you wish.”

Taking another breath, he concluded: “But I would much prefer it if
you came to me, and would regard me, as a friend.”

Legolas stared at him, for moments at a complete loss for words. He
felt torn between incredulity and gratitude, and not the least,
confusion.  

He did not know what had caused the Gondorian's sudden change of
heart, but the face of Boromir was serious, and while the man
seemed more than a  little embarrassed, he obviously meant it.

Very earnestly, Legolas bowed to him a third time.

“I will be honored to regard you as a friend, Boromir,” he merely
said.

Boromir looked at him and nodded. A little awkwardly, he returned
the bow.

“And I will be glad and honored to be allowed to regard you as my
friend, Legolas of Mirkwood,” he replied. “Again, it pains me that
I ever treated you otherwise.”

Legolas nodded in acceptance. He could only guess what this apology
might have cost the other man.

Then he looked around and noticed that they were alone. The others
of their company were far ahead and had gained quite a distance
while they were conversing with each other.

He straightened and nodded at the rest of the Fellowship.

“We should move on,” he said, “this is dangerous land, and we
cannot afford to leave the others of our company undefended.”

Boromir nodded, grateful for the offered way out of the awkward and
uncomfortable conversation.

“Then let us follow them,” he replied and started to walk again.

Legolas followed. They did not speak anymore and hurried to catch
up to the others. When they caught up with the Fellowship, nobody
commented on their absence; but Legolas caught the  questioning
glance of his master, followed by a satisfied nod. Obviously,
Aragorn had guessed the contents of their conversation. But he did
not seek the company of his slave, or demanded to talk to him, and
so Legolas merely resumed his former position in the line.

However, he felt nothing of his earlier bleak thoughts, and his
tiredness had lifted. Even his feet felt much lighter now, and his
heart felt much less troubled, again. 


_____________ o ____________


It was evening when they finally reached the walls of Moria. The
light was waning fast, and the moon was clouded; but at least there
was enough light to guard their feet and find their path. All of
them were weary; Legolas, however, was nearly dead on his feet. He
did his best to stay awake and listen to the wind, to estimate the
distance of the still audible warg-voices; but it was hard, for his
exhaustion and the lack of rest of the earlier few nights were
catching up with him. Even more, there was a growing sense of
danger and foreboding that pressed on his spirit and sapped his
strength. He could not point his finger to the source; all
circumstances of their situation were desperate enough that it was
hard even to estimate if the growing shadow had its origins in the
approaching warg-packs on their trail, or in the mines before them,
or if there might be even another source. He had caught a few
glances of his master and knew that Aragorn must feel the same. The
Dunadan was edgy, and he did not seem content with their progress
and was uneasy with their surroundings as well.

Legolas had never been to the walls of Moria; the one time when
Aragorn had traveled here, it had been on one of the rare occasions
when he had left Legolas behind with his Dunedain. So Legolas could
contribute nothing to the quiet counsel between Aragorn and Gandalf
about the changed lay of the land and the missing stream. He merely
followed them up the stairs that were supposed to lead to the
entryway, and then around the lake that lay across the valley
there; a lake which, he gathered from Aragorn's comments, was not
supposed to be there. He caught an exchange between Gandalf and
Gimli about the invisibility of Dwarven doors, and even let himself
be tempted to comment on it flippantly; but he was not entirely
attentive. His mind was filled with the sad, sleepy song of the
few, scarce trees that grew along the mountainside. Between two of
them which were especially well grown, Gandalf halted and stroked
the wall. The moon came out, and they beheld the inscription on the
wall; clearly, they had found the doors of Moria.

Legolas did not pay attention when Gandalf wracked his brain in
vain to find the spell that would open the doors. He could be of
little help here.  

Instead, he was drawn to the trees. Hoping for a little comfort, he
climbed the one right of the doors and opened his mind to its
sleepy song. Soon, he felt the slow strength and the calm of the
Holly fill his mind and took respite in it.

He had to wait a while, though,  before the tree woke up enough to
respond to his thoughts, and when it did, his mind was filled by
its sad song. The Holly spoke to him of sadness, of the water that
had grown into a lake and nearly choked his roots, and that had
drowned so many of his sapling-brothers, leaving only himself and
one of his siblings where once had been a whole grove around the
valley where they stood. 

Legolas conveyed his sympathy and his regret. The tree woke up a
little more, and finding one who shared and understood its song, it
was delighted. It told of loneliness; it had been a long time, the
tree told him, since one of his kind had walked within this land,
and even other walking ones were coming near this place but rarely
these days. 

*'Many cold times ago, when the water was not as heavy on my roots,
many of the moving creatures would visit here: squirrels and deer
and wolves and other furry folk, and even two-legged ones. But now,
they fear the lake and do not come here anymore. Only the winged
ones are still coming here, bringing new tidings.'*

Legolas started. *'Why do they fear the lake?'* he asked,
concerned.

The tree was slow to reply. *'Many things are living in the
water,'* it replied, *'but one of them is hunting for the walking
creatures, if they are dim enough to wake him. But he leaves us
alone, and he has scared away the foul ones who make the earth
groan under their feet.'* There was deep satisfaction mixed into
the thought.

Legolas drew his brows together. *'Orcs, you mean?'* he asked, and
was met with a shudder. 

*'Foul creatures, destroyers of our kind'* the tree replied. *'They
do not come here anymore. Even they fear the one living in the
water.'* 

Legolas was startled. But before he could ask a question, the tree
continued: *'And others who are more akin to stone. Metal they wear
to cut down our brothers, merciless.'* Legolas could feel its
displeasure, and nearly missed the satisfied next thought: *'The
one in the lake scared them away.'*

Then the tree added: *'The winged ones tell me your kind sings to
them sometimes. Will you sing to me?'*

But Legolas was already separating his mind from the tree-song.
*'Another time,'* he answered, while he transmitted his regret and
his gratitude for the respite he had been given, *'I have to warn
the others.'*

And in the next moment, he was on the ground and on his feet,
quickly looking around. He saw that Aragorn and Sam had unpacked
and freed the pony, and Sam was now distributing the added loads to
all their packs; Gimli smoked his pipe. The two Edain stared out on
the lake; obviously, something had alerted them. Legolas followed
their gaze and saw that the smooth surface of the lake was moving.

But before he could say anything, Gandalf said a word, and with a
low, growling sound, the doors swung open.

All of them slowly followed the wizard into the great cave that was
the entrance of the mines of Moria.

Legolas had grown up in a cave, if one could call the halls of his
father such a thing. He should not fear to go underground, he
chided himself, although he had lived these last eight decades
mostly under light roofs or under the open sky. And yet. Seeing the
deep, dark chasm that opened before them, only dimly lit by the
moonlight shining through the entrance, he could not help a bone-
deep shudder. There was something oppressive there, a lasting
darkness, lying in wait to swallow them. The feeling of danger in
his head mounted and screamed at him, and at the same time, there
was no way to avoid moving on. Forcefully calming himself, he
fought his unease down. He felt Aragorn beside him and looked
around. Seeing the Ranger's tight expression, he knew that his
master felt the warning and the aversion  from going deeper inside,
too.

The others of the Fellowship seemed little more excited at the
idea. The Dwarf was the only one who truly seemed to   welcome the
thought.

From beside him, Legolas heard Gimli's delighted voice:

“Soon, Master Elf, you will experience the fabled hospitality of
the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, and ripe meat of the bone!
(9)”

Legolas had no idea why Gimli addressed him of all the Fellowship
directly, but he did not ask. He was too occupied with taking in
the wide, gaping hall, the darkness around them, the dry, slightly
foul stench. But the Dwarf seemed not to register any of this. He
was excited. He continued obliviously: “This, my friends, is the
home of my cousin Balin! And they call it a mine!  *A mine!*”

Legolas looked around him, and for the first time, he noticed the
bodies on the floor. Small bodies, wearing the remains of heavy
armor and axes; they were dead a while, for the stench had lessened
and the corpses had mostly dried out. And looked undisturbed. But
there had apparently been no survivors to care for the dead; and
there was no question what had killed them, either. Arrows still
pierced the mortal remains of the former door guard of Balin's
Dwarven colony.

It was Boromir who spoke aloud what they all had only thought.

“This is no mine,” the man of Gondor said, “it's a tomb!” 

At his words, Gimli looked around him and his scream of denial
echoed through the depth of the cavern.

Legolas paid him no heed. He bowed down and pulled an arrow out of
one of the dried-out corpses. A short examination of the tip told
him all he needed to know.

“Goblins!” he exclaimed and in the next instant, he was on his
feet, bow drawn and readying an arrow. He could more feel than see
that the two men beside him had drawn their weapons, too. 

Boromir's determined voice cut through the silence. “We make for
the gap of Rohan,” he decided, “We should never have come here!
Now, get out of here, get out!”

Aragorn began to protest: “We cannot take that way! The wargs-” --
but he never got to finish his sentence, for in that moment, all
hell broke loose.

From behind them, they heard a shriek and then Sam's desperate
call: “Strider!”

It was joined by Merry and Pippin calling out for help. They
turned.

The lake was boiling. Many tentacles groped through the night, and
they had unerringly found and caught the Ring-Bearer. Frodo was in
the air and screaming desperately at the top of his lungs. On the
shore, the other Hobbits hacked ineffectively at the slimy arms
with their small weapons.

The thing that lived in the lake obviously had woken.

Legolas fired his arrow before he could even think. He hit his
target, but the missile did the beast no harm. It rose out of the
water, preparing to swallow Frodo alive. Legolas aimed again, this
time for the creature's eye; but before he could fire, Boromir had
heaved one of the big arms off with a great sweep of his sword. He
creature screamed and swept Frodo back into the air again. Then
Aragorn heaved off another tentacle, and the Hobbit fell, finally
free. He was caught by Boromir. The creature came at them. Boromir
turned, following Gandalf's bellowed command: 

“Into the Mines!”

Behind him, Aragorn turned to do the same. But they were followed
by the angry creature, and it was fast. It was Boromir, not
Aragorn, who screamed at  the archer among them. “Legolas!”

Legolas did not need the prompt. He fired, and his arrow passed
only inches from Boromir's head straight into the eyes of the
creature. It was thrown back and recoiled with a groan. Its
hesitation lasted just a moment, but that was all the company
needed. Legolas took just the time to help one of the Hobbits up
and grab his pack, and then they all were in the cave and running
for their lives. Behind them, the creature followed, groping for
them in vain, and when it could not reach them, it ripped the doors
out of their hinges and brought the foundations of the ceiling
down. The roof of the cave gave in, and rocks fell and buried what
had been the entrance. Legolas could hear the scream of the two
Holly trees as they were ripped out by the angry creature and
thrown before the place where they had stood.

But for the moment, he could spare them no thought. All his being
was concentrated on just one thing: *Estel! He had to make sure
Estel was safe!*

He was relieved when he found the familiar form of his master
beside him and drew him back from the falling rocks, into safety.
His ragged breath was answered by Aragorn's, and they instinctively
crouched down in their niche, both reassured by the nearness and
safety of the other.

Finally, the cave-in settled. Darkness fell, impenetrably and
completely. Legolas could hear the ragged breath of all the
Fellowship, and a quick count of the sounds brought him relief; at
least they had not lost anyone.

Then there was light again, and at first, it was nearly painful to
the eyes. It shone from Gandalf's staff, and it illuminated the
grim, harsh face of the wizard.

“We now have but one choice!” Gandalf said. “We must face the long
dark of Moria!”

He turned around. “Be on your guard! There are older and fouler
things than Orcs in the deep places of the world. It is a four-day
journey to the other side. Let's hope we may pass unnoticed.”

Legolas looked around at the threatening darkness of the cave and
could not help to feeling that there was hardly a great chance of
that.


___________ o ______________


End of Chapter VII.


-- TBC --


Notes:

(1) The whole following passage until “Caradhras had defeated them”
is closely adapted from the book J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of The
Rings, 1954-1955, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995, Page 286. 

(2) This sentence is again adapted closely from the book LOTR,
1954-1955, 1995, Page P. 287.  For the whole first half of the
following part, I need to stay very close to Tolkien's original
lines, although of course I adapted them to fit my purposes. Please
bear with me! 

(3) This sentence is again lifted directly, from the book LOTR,
1954-1955, 1995, Page P. 287. The following passage is very closely
adapted from the same book, pages 287-289, and I have lifted some
sentences directly trough the whole passage, while I changed and
adapted others. Of course I also completely changed the context,
again, and also I took the dramatic liberty to change the
intention. The gist is that in the book, Gandalf lets the
Fellowship decide which way to take. Here, the decision has been
already made, though I gave Boromir leave to challenge it. His
viewpoint is quite justified, I think! Aragorn's Bookverse
objections to the road through Moria, though, have been cut short
here to better fit my purposes. Sorry 'bout that!

(4) Boromir's objections are adapted, but not quoted directly, from
the book LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, Page P. 288. About Moria: The name
means literally “Dark Chasm” in Sindarin, which admittedly should
be enough to give anyone pause. Bookverse it is not clear if
Boromir knows a lot of Moria or not; here I decided that he has no
clue. After all, Faramir was the scholar of the two!

(5) This sentence and the one before are again directly lifted from
the book,  LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, Page P. 290. From now, I stop
quoting and paraphrasing the book as closely for a while, albeit
the mention of the poor sweating and shivering pony is lifted from
there, too. Please, bear with me.

(6) This sentence is again adapted closely from the book LOTR,
1954-1955, 1995, Page 290.  The original reads: (Quote) “Gandalf
stood up and strode forward, holding his staff aloft. 'Listen to
me, Hound of Sauron!' he cried. 'Gandalf is here. Fly, if you value
your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come
within this ring!'” (End quote). I changed it for my purposes.

For the whole first half of the following part, I need to stay very
close to Tolkien's original lines, again although of course I
adapted them to fit my purposes. Please bear with me!  An extended
version of the warg fight scene has been done before – and, of
course, much better than by me! - by Thundera Tiger in her great
story “During a Journey in The Dark”, which can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1479185/1/ . Go,look it up! She also
uses the idea that the first attack of the wargs was only a
scouting endeavor, an interpretation I use here, too. Hopefully,
though, otherwise my version of the warg-fight is different enough
from hers to avoid the dangers of plagiarism. 

(7) *'Baruk Khazad, Khazad ai-menu' – Khuzdul* (Dwarwish). This is
the Dwarven battle cry, feared by Orcs and other creatures of the
Enemy, which means  “Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon
you!” The cry is given at LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, Page 522 (The
battle of Helm's Deep), the meaning in the Appendix F, Page 1106. I
thought Gimli would also use it here.

(8) *“Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!” - Sindarin:*
“Fire to our help! Fire against the wolf-host!” This sentence and
the following paragraph are again directly lifted from the book,
LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, Page 291. The idea of Legolas and the others
being blinded by the sudden light for a few moments was first
brought up by Thundera Tiger in her story “During A Journey In The
Dark”, and is lifted here without permission. But I think this is
too good an observation to pass it up!

(9) From this point forward to the end of the chapter, the
following dialogue, with the sole exception of Aragorn's protest,
is directly lifted from Peter Jackson's movie, “The Lord of The
Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring”, Extended DVD-Edition.. I
changed the context, of course!