Title: Rebirth
Author: Estel Baggins macfal1219@comcast.net
Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas, Viggo/Orlando, Elrohir/Glorfindel
Rating: R
Summary: What if Aragorn didn’t commit suicide when he was starting to 
feel old? (After RotK) What if Legolas and Gimli didn’t go to the 
Undying Lands? Here is one way they could have passed, unnoticed, 
through the generations to our present-day world.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the Lord of the Rings universe, and 
I’m taking huge liberties with J.R.R. Tolkien and the actors Viggo 
Mortenson and Orlando Bloom, and any other “real people” I include. 
Michael, Richard and Craig are my own creations, as are Kyra, Malacai, 
Kehydi, Aaron and Saru.
Warning: Eluded-to rape
Author’s Note: This is book-verse, since I know that better than the movie. 
The only thing I’m borrowing from the movie is the sense of humor of the 
characters, since that is shown seldom in the book.
Author’s Note #2: ** denotes Elvish speech or writing. <> denotes 
Dwarvish, which both Aragorn and Legolas know in this story, and ‘’ 
denotes thoughts of all characters.
Author’s Note#3: Vaad is my invented Elvish word for love, as in “my 
love” or lover.

Book One: In the Past
Chapter One

	John Ronald Reuel Tolkien let his enormous armchair take his 
whole weight as he listened with rapt attention to the story told by the two 
strangers who had materialized on his front porch that morning, just after 
sunrise.
	The blond one brushed his hair behind his ear, giving John a good 
view of its beautiful, delicate, pointed tip, and said softly, “We were 
having trouble holding the Deeping Wall-”
	“Ten thousand against only a few hundred-” the dark-haired man 
beside him put in, and the blond man (elf?- didn’t he say he was an elf?) 
squeezed his hand slightly.
	“And so Ari and Eomer went out with a handful of men to try and 
defend the gates. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stay to defend them long. 
Ari finally stood at the bottom of the long staircase, as all those that could 
got within. I was kneeling at the top of the steps, with only one arrow left, 
poised to kill the first orc that attempted the stairs. Ari’s blade leapt in 
front of him continually, and fear of Anduril kept the orcs at bay.
	“‘Aragorn,’ I shouted, ‘all that can have got within the Keep. 
Come back!’ Ari turned to run up the stairs, but stumbled in his weariness. 
The closest orc died with my last arrow in its throat, but the others jumped 
over him. I was sure they’d kill Ari. Then a boulder crashed from above, 
knocking the orcs back, and he got up the stairs.”
	“I told them, ‘The battle goes ill, my friends.’” The dark-haired 
man continued.
	“Wait a moment!” John begged, holding up his hands. “I want to 
hear the rest of this story, but first I have a few questions, if you don’t 
mind.”
	Legolas nodded. “We’ll answer any we can.” 
	John cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably. “How old are 
you two?”
	Legolas smiled in amusement. “I’m thirteen thousand, eight 
hundred and sixty-one years old. Aragorn’s ten thousand, nine hundred 
and seventy years old.”
	“How did you survive?” He stared openly at Legolas’s ears. 
“Haven’t your-” he blushed slightly- “ears been noticed? For example,” he 
added hurriedly.
	“I’ve told those that have asked that it’s a deformity. But actually, 
people aren’t as observant as you might think.” He grinned. “They didn’t 
even notice I barely leave footprints in the snow.”
	Aragorn shook his head. “No one here is a Ranger, and barely any 
retain even a smattering of their skills. Actually, we had more problems 
hiding that we love each other. It’s still not completely accepted. We’ve 
told many people that Legolas is my son.”
	After taking a moment to digest this, John asked, “What names 
have you given others? Obviously you could not use Aragorn and 
Legolas.”
	“Usually Michael and Daniel, as they are common enough names,” 
Aragorn answered. “Right now, we’re Michael-” he pointed to himself- 
“and Daniel Trey. Our last names change frequently, though, especially if 
we are in danger of being-” He stopped, and glanced at Legolas.
	“*It’s all right, Aragorn,*” Legolas answered in Elvish. Then, 
realizing he was being rude, he translated, “It’s all right, Aragorn. We’ll 
have to tell him the terrible things at some point.” He glanced at Tolkien. 
“We were threatened several times with burning, dismemberment, 
flogging, poisoning…” He fell silent, and shrugged.
	“How have you lived this long?” He glanced at Legolas. “I know 
you told me elves are immortal, but Aragorn is not an elf.”
	“He is immortal now,” the elf answered, grinning mischievously. 
“When Estel was very young, I gave him a drink in a flask that I’d been 
given by my father. It was a very rare potion, and I’ve never found another 
like it.”
	“An immortality potion?” John asked in wonder. “I didn’t know 
such things existed!”
	“They don’t anymore,” Aragorn answered. “What Legolas gave 
me was the second to last dose of it.” He smiled a little. “No one ever 
knew until long after the War of the Ring, and of course by then, it was 
too late.”
	“Why did you give it to him?”
	“It was part of my inheritance,” Legolas answered, “as I am Prince 
of Mirkwood, and I decided to use it on the child I loved like a son of my 
own.”
	Aragorn beamed, a strange expression on that ancient face.
	John shook his head. “This seems more and more impossible.” But 
his eyes were twinkling with fascination, and he longed for all of it to be 
true. “What happened to the other dose?”
	“I gave it to Gimli after the war.” Legolas’s eyes darkened with 
sadness, then, and Aragorn reached around to give him a one-armed hug.
	“He’s been missing for two thousand years,” Aragorn explained in 
a whisper.
	After a long, uncomfortable silence, John murmured, “I’m sure 
he’s still alive. But he’s probably hiding, since dwarves are very rare 
nowadays.”
	Legolas sighed, and then squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned into 
Aragorn’s embrace. “We don’t know where he is.”
	Aragorn changed the subject swiftly. “Let’s continue the story.”
***
	Legolas closed his eyes and laid his head on Aragorn’s shoulder. 
“Well, half the story’s told,” he mumbled, yawning slightly.
	Aragorn kissed his ear. “Yes. Tomorrow we’ll be able to finish it.” 
He paused, and Legolas felt him tense slightly. The elf waited for his lover 
to speak, and finally, Aragorn asked, “Do you think we’ve done the right 
thing by telling him?”
	Legolas nodded. “He’d already guessed we weren’t who we said. 
Besides, doesn’t it feel good to tell someone?” He pushed himself up on 
one elbow so he could look into his lover’s face.
	Aragorn sighed. “Maybe I’m just being cynical-”
	“Probably,” Legolas teased.
	The man grimaced good-naturedly, and continued, “-but I feel as 
though we shouldn’t trust anyone but ourselves.”
	“I like having someone else know where we’ve been. Having you 
to talk to is the only thing that keeps me going many times, but being two 
in the midst of millions can get lonely.” He studied his lover’s face to 
make sure Aragorn wasn’t offended, and when he saw nothing but 
understanding, he continued, “Do you regret telling John our past?”
	Aragorn considered that. “Not yet,” he answered finally, “and 
hopefully we won’t have any cause.” 
	Legolas sighed and laid back down. “I guess that’s the best answer 
I’ll get.” He snuggled into Aragorn’s embrace and fell asleep soon after, 
but Aragorn lay awake for hours, considering.
***
	“I’d like to write this all up,” John announced late the next night. 
“It’s too fascinating to keep to myself.”
	Aragorn shook his head firmly, and his hand dropped to the place 
Anduril should have hung. Though it had been years since he’d worn the 
sword out in public, he sometimes fancied he could feel its weight. “We 
would be hunted down-”
	“That would only happen if you admitted to being Aragorn and 
Legolas,” John pointed out.
	“But if you wrote this as fact-” Aragorn countered.
	“I would call everything my own invention. It’s a worthy tale that 
must be told. Besides, the world needs hope.”
	Aragorn remained silent for a moment. “They’ll think it’s a fairy 
tale.”
	“Except this ‘fairy tale’ will be one with bite to it.” John paused, 
then added, “I’d like to know more about the history behind this war.” He 
gazed in quiet wonder at Legolas, as he had so many times in the past few 
days. “I want to know much more, especially about the elves. I have a 
feeling your people have a vivid history.” Then his eyes turned sort of 
misty, and he added, “And I’d like to know a lot more about hobbits, if 
you can manage it. They remind me of the people I grew up with.”
	“We can’t stay much longer,” Legolas said quietly, glancing 
quickly at his love. “But I’ll write up everything I remember, and mail it to 
you. How’s that?”
	John sighed. “I guess that will have to do,” he answered in 
disappointment.
	
Chapter Two

	Early the next morning, Aragorn and Legolas took their leave of 
John, after Legolas promised again to write up the stories of his people, 
and of the hobbits. Also, upon reflection, he’d promised to send John 
some writings concerning the Men of Westernesse. They headed for the 
airport.
	As they sat down side by side, their bags stowed above them, 
Legolas felt a sudden, vicious tightening in his chest. This was nothing 
unusual: he hated flying. It was a strange paradox; an elf who was so at 
home in trees could barely cope with being up in the air in what Legolas 
called ‘a big, demon, metal bird’. He wasn’t afraid of flying, but he wasn’t 
looking forward to the sickening feeling that rose in his throat every time 
he left the ground.
	Aragorn squeezed his hand, and Legolas glanced at him. Softly, 
the ex-Ranger murmured, “It’s going to be all right, Dan. I’ll hold your 
hair back.”
	Legolas made a face of mock-frustration, but then he smiled. 
“Well, having you touch my hair will be the only pleasant part of this 
flight,” he answered just as quietly.
***
	The airplane’s twentieth lurch made Legolas clutch at his stomach 
with both hands. A moan slipped from his lips, and he looked around for 
another bag. Aragorn rubbed his love’s back with one hand and held his 
hair back with the other as Legolas grasped the bag in front of him and 
threw up.
	“I’m here, Dan,” he breathed as the elf retched and tried to stifle 
his groans.
	The announcement, “Turbulence ahead- please fasten your 
seatbelts”, had been called over the loudspeakers ten minutes ago, but this 
was far beyond any bouncing or shaking that either Aragorn or Legolas 
had ever endured.
	“Ari,” Legolas mumbled, so shaken by the shivering plane that he 
forgot they were supposed to use their other names, “something’s wrong.” 
‘Or maybe something else is on his mind,’ Aragorn decided, seeing the 
apprehension in Legolas’s eyes.
	Aragorn knew Legolas too well to think he was just talking about 
the discomfort in his stomach. “What are you feeling?” he breathed.
	“Cold,” Legolas answered. “Something’s very wrong, Ara-” He 
stopped, and amended, “Mike,” in a voice full of tension.
	When Legolas felt what he had always described as ‘a cold from 
inside’, that usually meant there was evil close by. It had to be evil that 
didn’t usually exist in the ‘real’ world, such as dangerous ghosts, demons 
and krenlins, so Legolas didn’t get the feeling very often.
	“Where is it coming from?” Aragorn asked patiently, forcing 
himself to radiate calm like a beacon. Legolas could usually sense the 
general direction where the feelings originated from.
	“Outside the airplane,” Legolas answered, “all around us. It’s in 
the wind.”
	The plane gave a particularly horrid lurch, and Legolas threw up 
again, and they were both thrown forward. A few people began to talk 
loudly and fearfully, and some children had started crying.
	“Attention please: we are going to head back to London, and you 
will be compensated for this inconvenience. Please accept our most 
sincere apologies.”
	“Bad sign,” Legolas breathed.
	Aragorn nodded, but since he couldn’t do anything about it, he 
simply kept rubbing Legolas’s back. “This has something to do with 
whatever’s out there?”
	“Yes,” Legolas gasped between heaves.
	“Can we help?”
	“No,” Legolas answered, shuddering. “I don’t have the strength, 
and even if I did, I couldn’t risk using any of my skills here.” He didn’t 
have to add that he would draw too much attention to them.
	Shortly after the War of the Ring, Legolas had encountered a 
sorcerer who, after a long, nearly-deadly fight, had rewarded Legolas’s 
intelligence and courage by giving him a sorcerer’s powers.
	Suddenly, the floor seemed to drop out from under Aragorn’s feet, 
and he felt as if he were on a tremendously steep rollercoaster hill. Many 
people around them began to scream. Legolas whispered, “They want us 
dead, Aragorn.”
	Aragorn drew Legolas against him, putting his arm up over 
Legolas’s face, protecting his head in case they were thrown forward 
again. “Remember, the seats can be used to help in the water,” he 
muttered, more to himself than to Legolas. It was frustrating to be facing 
something that he couldn’t fight.
	The airplane leveled out again. “I think we might make it over land 
again,” Legolas murmured, and he brought up one of his hands to give 
Aragorn’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Before they force us down,” he 
added, then glanced up, unconsciously looking for the courage in 
Aragorn’s eyes that he had come to depend on. He found it there, and tried 
to relax.
	Aragorn asked abruptly, as a question flashed across his mind, 
“Are these things, whatever they are, after you and me, or after everyone 
here?”
	Legolas paused, drawing a painful breath. “I’m not sure,” he said 
finally.
	The airplane groaned continually, but they were moving back 
towards the mainland. When the airplane had first left England, it had 
flown south first, looking for gentler winds before heading across the 
ocean. Many people were praying, loudly or softly. At first, Aragorn and 
Legolas remained silent; Aragorn removed his arm from in front of 
Legolas, but he kept his other one around his love’s shoulders.
	Then, as if a switch had been flipped off, the wind stopped. The 
airplane rocked worse than ever as the flight crew found themselves in any 
entirely new situation. The airplane began to dip again.
	“Aragorn,” Legolas whispered, pulling his lover closer, “they’re 
laughing, and shouting our names.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then 
opened them again, forcing himself to stare directly at Aragorn, and at 
nothing else.  “They want us dead.”
	Aragorn drew him close, and kissed him openly. The plane was 
plummeting, and if these were their last moments in this world, he 
wouldn’t hide his love.
	“Are you afraid of death?” Legolas inquired, his eyes narrowed 
slightly as he concentrated only on Aragorn, only on Aragorn… ‘I won’t 
show how sick I feel… Not now… I just want to be with him…’
	“We’ve both been in the Land of the Dead before,” Aragorn 
pointed out, “though not since Gondor fell.” His features clouded slightly, 
then he shook his head. “Actually, I’d like to see a few people…”
	Legolas couldn’t help but smile. “You miss your Rangers,” he 
murmured. “Saru, Halbarad, Kehydi, Aaron and the others.”
	“And my parents,” Aragorn answered. He kissed Legolas again. 
“We’ll be able to see who’s there now.”
	Legolas nodded. “Maybe Gimli… Or Elrond, Glorfindel…” The 
elven prince offered his lover a small smile. The plane seemed to be 
picking up speed. Hurriedly, Legolas nuzzled against him.  “Aragorn, I 
love you.” He tried to keep the smile on his face, but it faltered. “Gorn 
Corn, I love you,” he continued firmly, using the nickname he’d stumbled 
upon over eight thousand years ago.
	“Leggy, you are my strength, my rock, my shield. Without you, 
Leggy, I would yield. You are my all in all,” Aragorn sang softly, and 
Legolas snuggled closer, smiling at the familiar tune. Aragorn’s voice was 
ragged as he fought to remain calm, and the shuddering of the airplane 
gave it unnatural vibrato, but still he sang. “Seeking you as a precious 
jewel, Vaad, to give up, I’d be a fool. You are my all in all.”
	Metal screamed around them, and Aragorn risked a glance out the 
nearby window. The ground was coming up awfully fast- He turned his 
eyes back to Legolas. “I love you, Legolas Greenleaf.”
	“I-”
	The airplane slammed into the ground, the big, metal, demon bird 
committing suicide. The creatures of air that had driven it to its death 
celebrated high above. They exalted that Aragorn and Legolas were dead, 
finally. It wasn’t natural for two such as they to live through all the ages of 
the world. Their prediction of the deaths of Aragorn and Legolas was half-
right.

Chapter Three

	Aragorn opened his eyes, but his body felt as if he had been 
trampled by oliphaunts, and so he didn’t dare move. Instead, he 
concentrated on breathing deeply. Gradually, as his pain faded, he began 
to notice the world around him. He felt the soft, cushiony thing beneath 
him. Is it a bed? he wondered. Then he heard quiet, lovely singing. He 
identified it after an indeterminate time as Elvish singing. Finally, the 
relaxing, comforting perfume of mellorn trees reached him.
	“Where am I?”
	“ You are in the Land of the Dead.  It’s early morning, here, about 
an hour after sunrise.” The man spoke soothingly, and his voice was deep.
	Aragorn grinned as he recognized the voice. “Gandalf,” he 
breathed, and he opened his eyes. The light shimmered around a dim 
shadow that hovered above him.
	For an instant, Aragorn felt unbridled joy, and then he remembered 
the airplane’s shrieking descent towards the earth, people screaming 
around him, Legolas clutched in his arms- “Leggy… Legolas? Where’s 
Legolas?” He tried to sit up, and pain came flowing back, like an ocean 
wave.
	The dim shadow above him had begun to coalesce into a solid 
form. “Stay still, Aragorn. You will recover soon. Just wait for a few 
minutes, and all your injuries from the other world will heal.”
	‘Land of the Dead…’ “Where’s Legolas?” he demanded; as fear 
flared, bile rose sickeningly into his throat. He knew, suddenly, positively, 
what had happened, but he pleaded for it not to be true.
	Gandalf said very gently, “Legolas is in the Land of the Living, 
Aragorn.”
	“How…” But breath failed him, and so he continued silently, 
‘How could he be living still? How could he live after the airplane 
crashed? How could I be stuck here, and he be trapped there?’
	“He was blessed-or cursed-with Elven strength,” said another 
voice nearby, as if in answer to his questions. “It kept him alive.”
      Aragorn turned his head quickly, but that simple movement caused 
him to grit his teeth in pain.  He knew that voice… “Mom…” 
	The old woman knelt beside him, and took his hand. “I’m here, 
Estel. All’s well; Legolas will join us in time.”
	“I don’t want him to live alone,” Aragorn whispered, and tears 
pricked at his eyes. “Couldn’t we bring him here? Or… can I go back?” 
He thought of the countless times he and his vaad had slipped between the 
worlds almost as easily as jumping over a streamlet. “Why… Why didn’t 
he use the Dwarven Death Call?”
	Dwarves have the ability to call certain of their friends and family 
back from the Dead Lands. It is a loud, sharp, echoing bellow that must be 
raised within two hours of death. It was created by the Valar to help the 
dwarves, as there were so few of them, to keep their race alive. Gimli was 
the first dwarf to use this on other species, and he had taught it to Aragorn 
and Legolas as well.
	“He could not because he was unconscious for more than two 
hours. Even if he had,” Gandalf continued as Aragorn focused on him 
again, “the Valar would not have allowed you to return. They have 
decreed you will stay here.”
	“But what about Legolas?”
	“He has a task to complete,” Gandalf told him. “I don’t profess to 
know the minds of the Valar, but they have said that Legolas must fulfill a 
promise he made to a man before they will permit him to die.”
	Aragorn frowned, then he remembered. “Legolas promised John he 
would write up all the Elvish tales.” He sighed. “Then it will be a long 
time before he dies.”
	“Since you cannot help him at present, will you come and see your 
men? They have missed you.”
	Aragorn hesitated. “He’ll be all right?” the man asked quietly, 
seeking reassurance in the wizard’s eyes as Legolas had sought strength in 
his own.
	“Yes, Estel, he will be well.”
	The man turned his head quickly, and this time he was not 
rewarded with pain, but with freedom of movement. The voice that had 
spoken had not been Gandalf’s. “Father…”
	Elrond smiled, and held out a hand.
	Aragorn caught the older elf’s hand, surprised as sudden strength 
flooded into his limbs. He got up.
	“You’re home now, Estel.”
	The sound of running feet approached, and voices were shouting. 
“Strider! Strider! Aragorn…”
	The ex-Ranger glanced behind his father, and words failed him. He 
broke away from Elrond and brushed past him without noticing. His eyes 
filled with tears, and he couldn’t stop them, even if he had realized he was 
crying. He staggered closer, and calloused hands caught him; hands 
calloused rough and hard, but hands that remained gentle for all that.
	“Strider… Aragorn… ” It was Saru’s voice. He supported Aragorn 
with one arm, and then he drew his king against his chest.
	Aragorn closed his eyes, and happy tears trickled down his cheeks. 
“Saru…” He looked up suddenly, as another hand touched him, and his 
lower lip quivered like a child’s. He still didn’t care. “Halbarad…” There 
were others there, moving to stand very close. “Kehydi, Jamien, Aaron, 
Brey, Malachi,” he breathed, looking into their faces one by one. Then he 
laughed, and straightened, turning to embrace his other Rangers.
	Gimli was not there. “He’s still alive,” Gimli’s mother told him 
when Aragorn finally found her. “He has never been here.” Aragorn 
couldn’t decide if he was happy or grieved about that news. He knew only 
that he was confused. How had Gimli survived? Being a dwarf in a world 
of Men was very dangerous.
	He put that thought aside, however. ‘If only Legolas was here… 
this would be perfect.’ Aragorn closed his eyes. He knew, deep in his 
heart, that when the joy of seeing his friends and family had faded, he 
would have to approach the Valar and beg for- what? To let him see 
Legolas? To return him to the Living World?

Chapter Four

	Gimli, son of Gloin, lay down and closed his eyes. Clearing his 
mind of all that had happened that day, he prayed to the Valar. “Thank 
you,” he whispered into the darkness. “Thank you for giving me the gift of 
turning my body into that of a man. Now I am able to walk out in public 
without fear. Thank you for the blessings this freedom gives me.” He 
paused. “Thank you for protecting Aragorn and Legolas. I have not heard 
of them in ten years, but no news is good news, I think. Please continue to 
watch over me and let me know when I may rejoin them. Thank you.”
	His prayer finished, he allowed other thoughts to enter his mind. 
Yes, the Valar had blessed him with this new body, but they were testing 
him, also. He hadn’t seen another of his kind in millennia, and strong as he 
was, he hated being in isolation. Dwarves were accused of being 
separatists, but they stayed separate from the rest of the world, together, as 
a group, in the halls of their fathers.
	Then there was the separation from Aragorn and Legolas, 
especially Legolas, his closest friend, closer than family or any of the 
hobbits or the king of Gondor. He had come to depend on Legolas after 
the Lonely Mountain was deserted, and the dwarves scattered, to die in 
small pockets one by one. For eight thousand years, he had traveled with 
Legolas and Aragorn, sometimes feeling like the fifth wheel on a dwarf-
cart, but mostly feeling as though they needed and depended on him, too. 
	Suddenly, he couldn’t lie still anymore. He jumped out of bed and 
began to pace. “Please, Valar, let me see them again. I need them.” Tears 
threatened to spill out, as they had many times before, and he shoved them 
away fiercely. “I will not show my weakness,” he growled, repeating his 
mantra.
	Pacing didn’t help. It only made him more desperate to be doing 
something useful instead of just wasting time, hoping, praying and feeling 
miserable. Not for the first time, he thought about suicide; how easy it 
would be. But what if Legolas’s belief that those who committed suicide 
went to hell was true? After all, Gimli hadn’t believed in the Valar for a 
long time, until Legolas and Aragorn had come back from the Land of the 
Dead and told him all that they had seen.
	“I hate being singled out like this!” John shouted suddenly, 
needing to hear a voice, even though it was just his own. The tears came 
again, and he imagined he heard Legolas answer, “So do all free people, 
but we’ll be together again. Trust me, Gimli.”
	“No,” the dwarf muttered, “it’s not that simple, Legolas. For 
thousands of years, we’ve been on the outside of every house, every 
society, looking in, trying to make a difference in the world, wondering 
why we’re still here. You and Aragorn have each other, but who’s here for 
me? Just for me? No one, that’s who! 
      “Well, I wish you hadn’t given me that immortality potion- I wish 
you’d just let me die! You could have faced this all alone, then you’d 
know how I feel!” He gasped, and stopped. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I 
didn’t mean that, Legolas, I didn’t mean it…” He dissolved into tears, and 
collapsed on his bed. He cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Five

	Legolas moaned.
	Everything hurt. Fire ran from the top of his head, down his neck, 
through his torso and stabbed into both legs.
	He shivered.
	‘“I love you, Legolas Greenleaf.”
	‘We’re going to die… I can feel it. The airplane’s going to crash.’
	He felt no fear.
       ‘I only need to hold Aragorn close. I need him near me. 
Aragorn… Gorn Corn, I love you… Ari, Vaad, Estel, just stay near me. 
We’ll die together. I’ll see you in the Dead Lands. “I-”’
	Blackness took him, and he drifted for endless hours.
	The pain had awoken him. He moaned, then opened his eyes. 
White light surrounded him. He squinted, annoyed that his excellent 
Elvish sight was being frustrated by the brightness.
	“Can you hear me?” a voice asked out of the light.
	‘Aragorn?’ he thought hopefully. “Yes.” His voice sounded dry 
and cracked. Where were his usually smooth Elven tones?
	“Who are you?” the voice continued, and slowly a man formed out 
of the brilliance. Legolas squinted harder, trying to see the face.
	‘How can he not know?’ “It’s me, L-Daniel.” His instincts 
prompted him to use the pseudonym he’d acquired several hundred years 
ago.
	“Daniel what?”
	“Trey… Who are you?”
	“My name is Doctor Oyer.”
	As his head began to clear, Legolas wondered how he could have 
mistaken that high-pitched, creaky voice for Aragorn’s. He asked 
carefully, “Where am I?”
	“You’re in Brownsborough Hospital, outside London.”
	‘I’m still in England. That means the airplane made it back safely- 
no. It definitely crashed. We must have crashed on land.’ “I need to find 
my father,” he told the doctor.
	“What is his name?”
	“Michael Trey.”
	“I’ll go and view the list of survivors,” the doctor said as gently as 
possible.
	‘He was right next to me, holding me. He must have lived.’ Even 
as the thought crossed his mind, Legolas had a sinking feeling. It was too 
good to be true, that they had both survived. ‘But the Valar wouldn’t 
separate us. They know how much we need each other. Unless… unless 
this is another test.’
	The Valar, upon discovering that Legolas had given Aragorn 
immortality, and realizing that the two didn’t want to go to the Undying 
Lands, that they would live on in Middle Earth for millennia, had begun 
putting challenges in their way, making them prove that they were strong 
enough, intelligent enough, loving enough, honest enough, in other words, 
deserving of such a life together. Aragorn and Legolas called these 
setbacks and threats tests, refusing to be intimidated. They had come 
through every other test, usually with a profit to themselves.
	‘If this is a test, we’ll meet it head-on. Send your worst, Valar; my 
vaad and I are ready for you.’

Chapter Six

	Under the glowing, triumphant, blessedly warm, late spring sun, 
the mellorn trees hummed. They stood, surrounding an open clearing. A 
few birds sang from branch to branch, but not too loudly. Mostly, they 
listened. A fox sat regally under a bush that fanned him, as if it knew that 
what sat under it honored everything nearby. A man stood quietly, 
deferentially, in the very center of the clearing.
      “You’ll see him when his task is done,” the great, grey-white fox 
told the man.
	Aragorn bowed slightly, but his need to see Legolas was still 
burning under his skin like a thin layer of steam. “Please, sir,” he bowed 
again, “how will he know what he has to do?”
	“You may send him a message in a dream, but you must be quick, 
and you can’t tell him he’s going to be brought here afterwards. Just tell 
him what to do, give what reassurance you can, and get out. Do you 
understand?”
	Aragorn nodded, bowing again, grateful that he’d be able to see 
Legolas, if only briefly. Also, he was excited- ‘Legolas will come here 
after he’s finished writing up all those tales!’ Then a question occurred to 
him. “Please, sir-”
	But the fox was gone.
	Aragorn sighed in frustration. ‘Of course, it couldn’t just be 
simple. He couldn’t just tell me what to do.’ Feeling mingled annoyance, 
excitement and just a slight bit of amusement, Aragorn left the clearing. 
Behind him, the birds began to sing joyously. 
Did you see the fox’s eyes? 
Wiser than his kind’s should be. 
Quicker than an eagle’s eye is his intellect.
	Aragorn smiled to himself. At first, he’d been surprised that he 
could understand the birds’ songs, but he’d been hearing it for so long that 
he barely took notice. He strode into a grove of towering mellorn trees. 
Several elves looked up as he walked past.
	“Would he see you, Dunedan?” Glorfindel asked, approaching 
him. He fell into step beside him and they headed towards an 
exceptionally tall mellorn tree, which had a long, silver, Elven-rope ladder 
hanging down from above. They climbed, Aragorn first.
	“Yes, he deigned to speak to me,” Aragorn answered, glancing 
back briefly. “He even told me a way to talk to Legolas.” A smile lit his 
features, and he looked much younger for a moment.
	Glorfindel grinned, his ancient eyes brightening. “How will you 
see him?”
	“Somehow, I’ll get into one of his dreams. The fox- that’s the form 
the Valar took- didn’t tell me how to do it. I guess he couldn’t make 
everything simple.”
	“Be respectful,” Glorfindel cautioned, but not severely. “Besides, 
it’s very easy to get into his dreams.”
	Reaching the top of the stairs, he pulled himself up onto a 
platform.  Elrond, Celebrain, Elladan and Erestor seemed to be waiting for 
him. They had certainly heard him coming. Elladan stood and offered 
Aragorn a sip from the silver cup he held. The man drank deeply, then 
passed it to Glorfindel, who declined and set it to one side. Then the two 
of them joined the others where they sat in a circle on the floor of the flet.
	“Join hands,” Elrond commanded.
	‘Sounds like a séance,’ Aragorn thought.
	Glorfindel shot him a sidelong glance, and Aragorn had the 
strangest impression that the ancient elf had heard him. He closed his eyes. 
On his right, Glorfindel took his hand, and on his other side, Elladan 
grasped his other hand.
	Elrond began to chant. “*From one world to another, we call and 
bid you answer. Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf, come to me. Listen 
to my voice and come nearer. Legolas, can you hear me?* Aragorn, 
continue, please. Call to him.”
	Aragorn hesitated for a moment, then whispered slowly, 
“*Legolas, I need to talk to you. Come talk to me, Leggy. I love you. 
Come talk to me.*” He stopped, tempted to open his eyes, but held his 
peace.
***
	Legolas knew, faintly, that he was dreaming, and yet the dream 
held him. There were waterfalls all around him, shimmering different 
colors, singing warm songs. He was sitting on a large, smooth boulder, 
and the sun warmed his face. He closed his eyes contentedly.
	“*Legolas, I love you. Come talk to me.*”
	The elf opened his eyes and jumped up so fast that he would have 
skidded and fallen if he hadn’t been an elf. “Aragorn!” He looked around 
wildly. “*Where are you?*”
	The waterfalls continued to sing, but he couldn’t see his lover.
	“Legolas, listen to me. Do you remember telling John you would 
write all the stories about elves and hobbits, so that he could have them?”
	Legolas frowned. “Where are you?”
	“I can’t tell you. Please, Leggy, answer my question.”
	“Yes, I remember. Aragorn, what’s going on?”
	“I need you to write them up as soon as possible. Please.”
	“Why?”
	“Legolas, I love you, and I need you to trust me. I can’t explain 
right now.”
	Legolas hesitated. “All right, Vaad; I trust you.”
	There was a pause, and then Aragorn stepped through one of the 
waterfalls. The water didn’t rest on him. He stepped nearer, and Legolas 
ran forward to meet him. Aragorn took his vaad in his arms. “I can’t stay 
long,” he whispered. “I love you. Do what I’ve asked. It’s very important, 
Legolas.” He kissed Legolas fervently, and the elf gasped in pleasure, and 
felt his elfhood grow hard.
	Aragorn grinned, and reached down to stroke the hardness he 
found beneath Legolas’s tights.
	A voice from inside another waterfall spoke, sounding amused. 
“Come on, Dunedan- let’s go.”
	Aragorn sighed. “I’m coming, Glorfindel.” He hugged Legolas 
very close for a moment, then released him. “Don’t forget to finish those 
stories.” He turned and passed through the waterfall.
      
      Legolas woke up, feeling glad, grieved, and confused. ‘What good 
is writing about elves? Why would he come back to tell me? How did he 
come back?’ He knew, suddenly, and without question, that Aragorn was 
dead, and had spoken to him from the Dead Lands. Legolas balled his 
hands into fists, and only grief remained in his mind. ‘How else could Ari 
have been in my dreams so clearly, and not be affected by my thoughts? If 
that had been simply my dream, we would have had sex all night.’ He 
sighed and laid very still, thinking. ‘Gorn Corn,’ his eyes filled with tears, 
‘I’ll do what you say… but how will it help? I miss you…’
***
	Aragorn blinked. He realized his hands were shaking, and he 
glanced down at them, where they lay in his lap. His attention was 
attracted briefly by the bulge barely visible under his tunic. He blushed 
slightly.
	Glorfindel chuckled. “Legolas understood,” he said, looking away 
from Aragorn and meeting Elrond’s eyes.

Chapter Seven

	‘What will I call this?’ Legolas wondered idly as he stared down at 
the large book he’d written in. After he’d healed enough to leave the 
hospital, he’d returned to John’s house, begging to stay so he could finish 
his writings. He’d told John about the dream, but the man hadn’t been able 
to suggest anything.
	Legolas frowned at the paper, then glanced up to watch the snow 
race down the window. ‘It’s been ten months,’ he mourned. More than 
once, he’d wanted to forget the stories and commit suicide. One thing 
stopped him. Elves who committed suicide didn’t go to the Dead Lands- 
they went to Helle. And if he did that, he would never see Aragorn again.
	He closed his eyes. ‘Aragorn, why did you have to die and leave 
me like this?’ Then guilt leapt into his throat, and he dropped his head into 
his hands. Tears stung his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vaad,” he whispered. “I didn’t 
mean it. I didn’t mean-” Sobs closed his throat, but he swallowed past 
them and opened his eyes. “I have to finish this, don’t I, Ari?” He looked 
down at the book again, and the title popped suddenly into his mind. He 
wrote in his fluid hand The Hobbit.
***
	“You won’t be here when Legolas appears,” Glorfindel told 
Aragorn gently.
	The Ranger groaned, then bowed his head. “The Valar is 
determined to keep us separated as long as possible.” He glanced over at 
Glorfindel. “Where am I being sent? Or when?”
	“You’re going to be reborn.” The ancient, blond elf laughed. “So 
will Legolas, but not for a long time.”
	Aragorn didn’t see what was funny. “We’ll be turned into babies?”
	“Yes.” Another chuckle escaped his lips as he pictured a baby 
Aragorn and Legolas. He remembered two-year old Estel, and couldn’t 
help but smile..
	“But, we won’t remember anything… will we?”
	“Not for a while,” Glorfindel admitted.
	“Another blasted test.”
	“Yes,” he said again, his eyes twinkling. “And something else you 
should know-” But he stopped, wanting Aragorn to ask him.
      The Ranger obliged him. “What’s that, Lord Glorfindel?” He 
bowed half-seriously. “Pray, tell your humble servant.”
      “You won’t be the only ones given new life. The Valar need more 
of us there. For help, protection, healing…” He smiled, enjoying torturing 
the man. “You’re not going to have time to worry about it. You’ll be 
disappearing in five.... four…”
      “How do you know all this? You’re not in with the Valar, are 
you?”
      “…one…”
      Aragorn disappeared.

Interlude
Chapter Eight

	John Rhys-Davies rolled over in his sleep and uttered a sleepy 
grunt. Someone was prodding him, trying to wake him, and he didn’t want 
to open his eyes.
	“John-” poke- “John… Johnny-” poke poke punch- “Gimli son of 
Gloin, get up!”
	John jerked awake, and struggled to open his eyes. “Who-?” he 
grunted foggily.
	“It’s me, Gimli.”
	Someone was smiling at him. John could see the smile, even 
though he couldn’t see the rest of the face. There seemed to be a bright 
light behind the person- no, shining from the person. John squinted.
	“Do you like my halo?” The person was laughing now. “Lady 
Galadriel loaned it to me. She thought I would get your attention easier 
this way. So much for that; dwarves sleep through everything unless gold 
is shoved up their nose.”
	‘Why does that voice sound so familiar?’ John finally forced his 
mind awake. He sniffed the air as a familiar, but long-gone smell reached 
him. ‘Pipe weed…’ His mouth watered- he couldn’t help it. “Gandalf?” he 
guessed.
	“Very good. Now, try focusing your eyes. I’m right in front of 
you.”
	Ignoring that, John sat up.
	“That is something I could have gone another ten thousand years 
without seeing,” the wizard informed him as the sheet slipped down to 
Gimli’s waist, exposing his bare, hairy chest.
	The first question in John’s mind was not “Am I dreaming?” He 
knew himself too well to ask that. He’d been alive to long for such 
incredulous questions. Besides, after all the bizarre things he’d seen in his 
long lifetime, a supposedly-dead wizard standing next to his bed was not 
the most amazing. The first question he asked was, “Do you have any 
pipe-weed?”
	The wizard produced a pipe and some leaves. “it’s not much, but 
maybe it will help to clear your mind.”
	Gimli grabbed at it, fumbling in his excitement. Once he was 
smoking contentedly, he asked another question. “What are you doing 
here? Did the Valar send you back?”
	“No. I’m a vision.” Gandalf’s laughter was the sound of hammers 
ringing on good, mithril-filled rock. “I’m not really here.”
	John at last got his eyes to obey him and he stared up at the slightly 
glowing, vaguely transparent wizard. “Then how-”
	“The pipe-weed is a gift. I’m here with a message from the Valar. 
You’ve done well, always hiding, waiting patiently. Your waiting is over. 
You will see your friends again soon.”
	“I’ll be able to see Legolas and Aragorn again? When?” John 
jumped out of bed, forgetting the pipe in his hand, which clattered to the 
floor unnoticed. Gandalf took a step back to allow him to stand.
	“In a few weeks. But they are not Aragorn and Legolas. Not yet. 
They have different names, different appearances. But you will know them 
when you see them. And you’re going to have to teach them,” he went on, 
enjoying the shocked look John turned on him for that last statement. 
“They won’t remember who they are. The Valar will start sending them 
clues, when they think the two of them are ready. You’ll have to guide 
them. When they are ready to believe, the Valar will return their 
memories.”
	John struggled with that for a moment. “How will I know them?”
	“They will show their characteristics to you, if you’re watching.” 
Because John still looked confused, Gandalf offered, “Legolas will show a 
remarkable ability for learning Elvish, for instance, and Aragorn will cling 
to his sword.”
      “What if I don’t know them?”
      Gandalf sighed. “There will be others there to help, but it’s been 
laid on you to help them find themselves in the beginning.”
      “Will you be there?”
	“Possibly.”
      And because he knew Gandalf wouldn’t be any more forthcoming 
than that, John answered slowly, “All right. When will I know the right 
time?”
	“The Valar’s clues will be very obvious. You’ll know.” Gandalf’s 
smile faltered for a brief instant. “I’m sorry; that’s all they’ll let me tell 
you. Just be on your guard. Keep watch, as Aragorn used to say, in the late 
hours of the night, and you’ll see them.” He faded out.
	Gimli, son of Gloin, glanced down and saw that the pipe and weed 
had disappeared with the wizard. He got up and went to take his shower. 
Despite uncertainties and questions that continued to chase each other 
around in his mind, he now had hope, and the word of Gandalf, to sustain 
him. Hope was something he had done without for far too long. His step 
was lighter than it had been in a hundred years.

Book Two: Revelations
Chapter Nine

	Orlando Bloom struggled to focus on the people standing above 
him. When his vision had finally stopped dancing, he grinned up at Peter 
Jackson, John Rhys-Davies, Elijah Wood and Viggo Mortenson. “I’m 
fine,” he assured them. “I just fell, that’s all. I ran too fast-”
	“I think maybe you should stop doing your own stunts,” Peter 
suggested for the twentieth time, and with the same results as always.
	“Nope,” Orlando laughed, getting up. He swayed a little, and John 
caught him by his shoulders.
	“Maybe we should just wait a little while before trying that again,” 
Elijah suggested. He shook his head firmly as Orlando tried to speak 
again. “Orlando, you need time to catch your breath.”
	“Nope,” Orlando repeated, more seriously. “I’m all set, ready to 
keep going.” 
	“I think we should put the net back under the trees,” Viggo said 
suddenly. He spoke quietly, but everyone heard him.
	“Agreed,” John said. He felt Orlando took too many risks. He’d 
taken a quick liking to the young actor, and felt almost like his protector. 
And while Orlando was no substitute for Legolas, until John saw and 
recognized his friend again, Orlando was a good, trustworthy person, and 
he was one of the first people John had become friends with on this 
project.
	A shadow flitted across John’s face as he thought of Legolas. 
According to Gandalf, he should have spotted him years ago, but he was 
no closer to figuring what new identity Legolas had taken on. And he 
really wasn’t even looking for Aragorn, though he would never admit that 
to himself. All he really wanted to find was Legolas. He consoled himself 
with the thought that when he found Legolas, Aragorn wouldn’t be too far 
away.
	“This scene doesn’t have to be filmed for another week,” Peter 
pointed out. “This episode won’t be aired for another month.”
	After the success of the three movies compromising The Lord of 
the Rings, Peter had suggested making a television show based on the 
Tolkien-created universe. So far, the idea had received wide acclaim and 
many fans of the movie had quickly become avid fans of the T.V. show.
	Peter continued, “We can finish Hobbit Hoaxes in the meantime. 
Besides, I want you and Viggo to get to work on Aragorn’s Question.”
	Orlando frowned. “I still think it won’t work,” he told the director.
      “You agreed to try it,” Peter reminded him.
      ”I know,” Orlando sighed. He glanced at Viggo, and the older man 
shrugged. The two of them walked away together.
      “They act like I’m a child,” Orlando muttered, shuffling his feet as 
they walked.
      Viggo said softly, “They’re just worried about you.” He smiled. 
“Peter doesn’t want to lose the sexiest elf he’s ever had.”
      Orlando knew better than to take this as an attempt at flirtation. 
Viggo was speaking of the opinions of the fans.  A phrase the ‘hobbits’ 
had invented could be easily applied to Viggo: he walks the straight side 
of the river.
      ‘And me? Which side do I walk?’ He knew himself too well to lie. 
He would not deny that he was attracted to Viggo, but he would rather 
keep his thoughts to himself than run the risk of hurting their friendship. 
Viggo was very quiet, had always been so, and very confined in his 
thoughts and actions. He would wait for the older man to speak on that 
subject before he would admit his feelings. ‘Besides, why would Viggo 
want to be with me? He used to be married; he has a son.’
      “Are we ready for this one?” Viggo asked suddenly. When 
Orlando glanced at him, he grinned. “I’ve never tried anything like this 
before. I’ve never played a homosexual…” He chuckled. “Orli, do you 
think Aragorn and Legolas could be gay?”
      Orlando shook his head. “No,” he started to say, but then he fell 
silent. “They’re not in the book,” he pointed out.
      “True, but could the book be read that way?” He shrugged. “I don’t 
know, but we’ll try it.” Then he hesitated, but spoke his mind after a 
moment. “Have you ever kissed a man?” 
	“No.” Orlando glanced at him. “You?” He skipped a little as his 
irritation towards Peter passed. His spirits never stayed low for long.
      “No.” He smiled slightly. “I guess we’ll learn.”
      “Let’s work on our lines first,” Orlando suggested.
      “Your place or mine?” Viggo asked. “Or near the pond?”
      “It’s too nice to be inside,” Orlando answered.
      “Agreed. Why don’t we get our scripts and meet by the pond in ten 
minutes?”
      “Okay.”
***
      Viggo read through the beginning of the first scene quickly, 
refreshing his memory. He had studied it at length, but that had been 
several nights ago. 
//Setting: A forest in Middle Earth, early autumn. Aragorn and Legolas are 
in the midst of fighting orcs. Aragorn is stabbed from behind, and he 
staggers forward.//
	Viggo glanced at Orlando. “Are you ready?”
	Orlando stopped swinging his legs. He, too, had been rereading the 
script. “Ready.” He flashed a grin. “How good are you at faking a mortal 
wound?”
	“Who says it’s deadly? Aragorn has to live, at least through this 
season, right?” His eyes twinkled. “But, to answer your question, I can 
fake it.”
	Orlando considered that for a moment. Then he shrugged and 
grinned. Glancing down briefly, he then looked up and there was anger in 
his eyes. //Legolas rushes to Aragorn’s side, killing three orcs that stand in 
his way. The others flee, fearing the flashing, fire-blue, Elvish eyes.//
	“Aragorn.” //Legolas drops to his knees, his knives falling from his 
trembling hands. “Elessar, can you hear me?”
	Viggo gasped. “Legolas…”
	//Legolas gently touches Aragorn’s back.// “I need to remove the 
blade, Aragorn. Hold still.” //Legolas pulls the knife out quickly and 
cleanly. Aragorn cries out.//
	“Legolaahhh!”
	Orlando snorted.
	Viggo glanced at him. “What?” But his mouth pulled at the 
corners.
	“Legolaahhh!” Orlando imitated. “Is that my name now?”
	Viggo chuckled. “Maybe, if you like it. How are you doing, 
Legolaahhh?”
	Orlando thought furiously for a moment. “Just fine, Gorn Corn,” 
he shot back.
	Viggo blinked. “Gorn Corn?” he repeated, confused.
	Orlando looked surprised, too, but then he smiled. “I don’t know. 
It just works. Ara-Gorn. Gorn Corn.” He shrugged, then snickered as he 
took in Viggo’s half-amused, half-confused expression.
	“Okay…” Viggo said slowly.
	Orlando glanced back at the script. “Let’s keep going,” he invited, 
restraining a smile. His eyes filled with worry. “Sh… Everything’s all 
right, Aragorn. Just lay still.”
	Viggo closed his eyes. “Legolas…” He gasped, his voice ragged.
	“Sh… You need to lay still. It’s all right- they’re gone.” //Legolas 
puts his hands on Aragorn’s back.// “I’m going to heal you.”
	“Were- were you hurt?”
	Orlando shook his head. “No, I’m fine. How’s that?” //Legolas lifts 
his hands from Aragorn’s back.//
	“Much better.” //Aragorn sits up.// “We need to leave here, before 
the orcs return. I have the feeling they were sent by someone- did you 
notice the mark on their left shoulders?”
	Orlando nodded. “Yes. Twas a black bow with a red arrow across 
it.”
	“Does that symbol mean anything to you?” //Aragorn stands.//
	“No. It is a mark wholly strange to me.” //Legolas cleans his 
knives on a shredded orc-tunic.// “Besides, if you have not seen it, Ranger 
of the North, there is little chance anyone else knows it.” Orlando smiled 
teasingly.
	Viggo smiled slightly. “Thank you,” he answered, bowing. //The 
two of them begin to walk.// “Let’s go back to camp and find Gimli. He’ll 
be frustrated that he wasn’t here to hew orc necks.”
	Viggo and Orlando both read the nest scene quickly.
//Blackout. Refocus on two shining figures, a man and a woman, sitting on 
thrones in what appears to be the middle of nothingness.//
Female Valar (FV): They have taken up the challenge.
Male Valar (MV): As we knew they would, my dear. Legolas and Aragorn 
have been through too many tasks not to rise to this test. And who better to 
test them than us, the all-powerful Valar, wisest of all beings?
FV: How will you force the human to lay his heart bare?
MV: I will use whatever situation presents itself.
FV: I believe the elf will deny him.
MV: That certainly would make things more interesting.
//Blackout. Fade in on Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli walking through the 
woods.//
	Viggo murmured, “The trail is easy to follow. These orcs enjoy 
destroying every growing thing in their path.”
	//Gimli grunts. “Sounds familiar.” //
	//Legolas raises his head and grabs Aragorn’s arm.// Orlando lifted 
his head slightly. “Do you hear-”
	“Orlando! Viggo!”
	Viggo turned his head, and he laughed in surprise. “I hear 
something that’s not orcs,” he told Orlando as he watched Liv Tyler run 
towards them.
	“You’re late!” she shouted. “Did you forget we have a dinner to go 
to?”
	Orlando groaned. “I wanted to forget,” he muttered to Viggo. It 
was always extra hard for Orlando to hold still while everyone around him 
talked about what he called ‘rain, wind and fluff.’

Chapter Ten

	Peter sat back in his chair. “All right, we filmed up through the 
capture scene yesterday, so let’s start with the scene on the bed.”
	The three men dressed as orcs approached. Orlando nodded to the 
only one he recognized through the make-up- he was easily the tallest and 
most hideous of the three. “Hi, Richard.” He swung his legs as he sat on 
the edge of the ‘bed’, which was actually a pallet covered with tattered 
rags.
	Richard gave a mock-salute. Then he turned to his left and 
gestured. “This is Michael and that’s Craig.”
	“Hello, Orlando. It’s a pleasure.” Michael had a very deep voice 
which was well-suited to an orc. It was still a fair, strong and yet gentle 
voice.
	“Places, everyone!” Peter shouted.
	Orlando glanced around as Viggo appeared, in full Aragorn gear, 
his hair greased and hanging around his shoulders. Orlando was glad he’d 
opted for a wig instead of having to grow his hair out. Viggo claimed it 
was easier, but Orlando pointed out that Viggo only had to grow it to just 
past his shoulders.
	“Ready for this?” Viggo whispered, grinning.
	Orlando nodded. “At least if it doesn’t work, Peter will know 
within a few days and we won’t have to do this again.”
	“Do you want it not to work?” Viggo sat on the edge of the bed 
and leaned towards Orlando.
	‘If it worked, I could have an excuse to lay next to you in nothing 
but my boxers.’ “I still don’t think Aragorn and Legolas are gay,” he 
replied, not answering Viggo’s question.
	Viggo winked. “Well, if the fans agree with you, it will have 
proved your point.”
	Peter suddenly cleared his throat loudly. They both looked up, 
startled. Orlando was slightly amused to see a blush cross Viggo’s 
features.
	“Sorry, Peter,” Viggo murmured, and he stood, realizing that he’d 
laid down next to Orlando.
	“I think this Aragorn-Legolas thing will work just fine,” Richard 
muttered to Orlando, who blushed in his turn.
	“Places,” Peter called again, sounding more amused than angry, for 
which Orlando and Viggo were very grateful.
	A tall man dressed as a blonde-haired elf moved towards the pallet 
as two make-up people tied Orlando’s hands to the bedposts. They didn’t 
use real knots, but it felt real enough. Orlando felt his heart racing slightly 
with excitement. One reason he had chosen to become an actor was for the 
adrenaline rush.
	“Action,” called Peter.
***
      The elf sank down beside Legolas on the bed and touched him 
between his legs. “Do you know who I am, little one?”
	Legolas twitched, but he was too frightened to fight, even though 
his feet were unbound. “Tragel…”
	“That’s Uncle Tragel to you, little whore. You’re mine again, and 
this time no one will save you.” He began to pull down Legolas’s 
leggings.
	Legolas whimpered. “Please…”
	“Are you afraid of me, little one?” Tragel began to unfasten his 
own britches.
	“Yes…”
***
	“Do you know who I am, little one?”
	Orlando made a show of pulling against the ropes. “Tragel…” he 
croaked.
	“That’s Uncle Tragel to you, little whore.” The actor moved so that 
he was shielding his movements. It looked as though he were stroking 
Orlando between his legs. “You’re mine again, and this time-”
	A sudden, sheering pain ran through Orlando, from his groin to his 
chest and back down. He cried out and pulled out of the ropes as he curled 
into a ball. The pain faded slowly, but he didn’t relax. Voices reached him, 
but they frightened him instead of calming him.
	“Orlando?” asked the actor playing Tragel.
	“Orli, what is it?” Peter called.
	“What’s wrong?” A hand touched his shoulder, and Orlando 
jerked. He looked up quickly, nameless terror blazing in his eyes. 
      Viggo was bending over him. “Orlando?” Viggo withdrew his 
hand. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, speaking more quietly.
	Orlando’s eyes cleared slowly as he recognized the man. “V-
Viggo?” He uncurled slightly. His hands were shaking, and he tried to 
keep them still.
	Viggo reached out slowly, making sure Orlando could see each 
movement. “Orlando… it’s me, Viggo.” He touched Orlando’s shoulder 
again, and the younger man didn’t flinch.
	Orlando sat up. Blinking, he looked around. Everyone was gazing 
at him with varying degrees of concern.
	“What is it?” Peter asked again, walking towards the pallet.
	“I’m not sure,” Orlando murmured. The pain had faded, but he felt 
confused. “I felt… pain… agony… in my-my stomach and chest. But it’s 
gone now.”
	Peter frowned. “Has this happened before?”
	“No… not on set, at least.”
	“Where and when have you felt like this before?” Peter asked in 
his most commanding tone.
	Orlando hesitated. Truth be told, he didn’t know, but he was sure 
he’d felt it at some point. “I can’t remember; I just know I have. Not 
recently,” he offered. Then he added, because Peter looked very worried, 
“I’m fine now. Maybe it was just a strained muscle or something.”
	Peter frowned, and seemed ready to argue, but John appeared out 
of no where at that moment and came to Orlando’s rescue. “The last time 
he felt it, it was because he’d eaten chocolate. Have you had any today, 
Orlando?”
	Realizing that John was trying to make his passing pain seem as 
ordinary as possible, Orlando lied quickly, “There was some in the desert I 
had last night. I ate it without realizing there was chocolate in it. I was 
hoping it would just sort of pass through me, but I guess it had to remind 
me I’m allergic.”
	“That’s the strangest allergic reaction I’ve ever seen,” said Peter 
skeptically.
	“Honestly, Peter, I’m all right. If I feel like this again, we can stop 
the shoot for the day. But right now we have a deadline to meet.”
	Because Orlando was right, and because Peter knew it was useless 
to argue with the young actor, he answered, “Fine. Just make sure to let 
me know if anything, anything at all, feels wrong.”
	“Agreed.”
***
	“That’s Uncle Tragel to you, little whore. You’re mine again, and 
this time no one will save you.” The actor began to pull down Legolas’s 
leggings.
	Orlando whimpered. “Please…”
	“Are you afraid of me, little one?” He unfastened his own britches.
	“Yes…” Orlando squirmed, his eyes full of well-rehearsed fear.
	“Release him, and I’ll let you live.” Viggo stood a little distance 
away, an arrow fitted to his bow-string. His voice was commanding and 
sure; the voice of a king.
	The man looked up. “Who are you?”
	“Let him up.” Viggo pulled the string back another fraction of an 
inch.
	The man whisked a knife out of its place at his hip. “No. You come 
here.”
	“Aragorn…” Orlando tried to warn.
	“So, that’s who this is.” He pressed the knife lightly against 
Orlando’s throat. “Aragorn the Ranger, Aragorn the fool. Come here or I 
will slit his throat.”
	“He means too much to you. You won’t kill him.”
	“Behind you! Aragorn-”
	But Richard, Michael and Craig had leapt on him, pulling him to 
the floor, binding his hands, stripping him of his weapons. They dragged 
him to the pallet and retied his hands, this time to one of the bedposts.
	The actor turned his attention to Viggo now. “Why are you 
interfering with my little whore?”
	“Legolas is not a whore, and he doesn’t belong to you.”
	“Really?” He glanced at Orlando. “Who’s your master, little 
whore?”
	Orlando drew a breath, looked to Viggo, and spat at the man.
	He wiped the spit off. Rage darkened his features, but he didn’t 
attack Orlando. Instead, he said to Viggo, “He depends on you. I saw him 
look at you. He needs you, doesn’t he?”
	Viggo glared, but remained silent.
	“Since he depends on you, all I must do to break him is to break 
you.” He called, “Come rip his clothes off.”
***
	Legolas jerked spasmodically and kicked out with both feet. His 
right foot connected with Tragel’s backside, where the older elf leaned 
over Aragorn, and his left foot hit Tragel square in the back. As the elf fell 
forward, Legolas began to struggle against the ropes binding his wrists. 
All of his fear was gone, now that Aragorn was in danger of being raped. 
Legolas knew well that elves were made too purely to enter any other race. 
A man could sleep with a female elf, since he was the one inside her, but a 
male elf could not enter a man or woman. The moment the elf entered 
him, the man’s body would react as if he’d been burned wherever the 
pennies or semen touched. And the hearts of most men could not endure 
such pain for long.
	The three orcs had approached, and Tragel shouted at two of them 
to hold Legolas, and for the other to help him with the Ranger’s clothes. 
Aragorn, too, was fighting, but he couldn’t understand the look of near-
insanity in Legolas’s eyes. Rape was awful, yes, but Legolas acted as 
though he, Aragorn, were about to be devoured alive by hungry trolls.
	The first orc to reach Legolas received a savage kick to its throat.
***
	Richard fell backwards, gasping, his face blackening as he fought 
for breath. Everyone except Orlando had temporarily frozen. Orlando 
pulled at the ropes that held him loosely to the bed, and when they gave 
way, he turned his attack on the actor who still bent over Viggo, though he 
was staring, open-mouthed, at the younger actor.
	“Orlando, wait-” Viggo began, seeing for a brief instant the 
murderous look in Orlando’s eyes. It was too late, though, as Orlando 
crashed into the other man, pushing him off Viggo and onto the floor. 
Orlando seemed to be groping at his side for something, and then he 
pulled out a knife. Viggo couldn’t be sure if it was a prop knife, with no 
sharp edges, or a real one. Viggo pulled loose from his ropes and dove on 
top of Orlando just as he managed to get the knife free of his clothes. He 
knocked the knife away, noting that it was a fake.
	He wrestled Orlando off of the other man, and received a sharp jab 
to his ribs for his trouble. “Orlando!” he rasped in the deranged man’s ear. 
“Orlando, stop!” He had always been stronger than Orlando, but the young 
man seemed to be filled with a desperate, manic strength that Viggo would 
normally have connected with a man fighting for his life. “Orlando!” he 
roared, trying to pin the struggling man’s arms down. He received a 
savage bite on his right hand. He refused to let go. He was glad Orlando 
was on his stomach, and thus in a weaker position.
	“I won’t let you rape Aragorn!” Orlando screamed.
	That brought Viggo up short. “Aragorn?” he muttered. “Orlando, 
listen to me. Orlando…”
      Orlando twisted like a snake and Viggo lost his hold for a moment. 
Orlando grabbed Viggo’s hair and pulled as hard as he could. A bit came 
out and Viggo wrestled Orlando’s hand back down.
	“Shit, Orlando, it’s me, Viggo.” Desperate as Orlando continued to 
scream, “Tragel, I’ll kill you, kill kill kill!”, Viggo shouted in his most 
commanding Aragorn-voice, “Legolas Greenleaf, stop it!”
	That brought Orlando up short, and he suddenly went limp. Viggo 
waited for a moment, to make sure he’d really stopped fighting, then he 
got off of him and knelt beside him. “Orlando?” he asked carefully.
	Others had crowded around them while they struggled. John 
dropped to his knees at once, but Peter stood a little back. Richard was just 
stepping into the circle. His face looked normal again, but his eyes were 
wide and his breath still came in short gasps.
	“Lad, can you hear me?” John asked, carefully touching Orlando’s 
arm.
	“Y-yes,” Orlando grunted, his voice barely audible. He rolled over; 
his face was flushed and he was sweating heavily. A look of confusion and 
shame was etched onto his face; his eyes were large with something not 
entirely readable.
	“What the hell is wrong with you?” Peter demanded. “What did 
you think you were doing?”
	John moved again to Orlando’s side. “Peter, Orlando and I need to 
talk. I think, for safety reasons, we should cancel this shoot.” He took 
Orlando under his arm and helped him up. Orlando was too confused to 
resist. Before Peter could utter a word, John had led the younger actor out 
of the room. The others stared after them.
	“He said ‘Aragorn,’” Richard muttered as he watched the two 
leave. “It sounded as if he confused fiction and reality.”

Chapter Eleven

	John longed to bang his head against a brick wall. ‘How could I 
have been so stupid? He was right here, under my very nose! Gandalf said 
he would learn Elvish quickly, and Orlando did, and I never imagined… 
And now he seems to be reliving memories. It’s time for me to help 
Legolas realize who he is.’ He steered Orlando out of the studio. ‘It’s 
finally time to tell him who he is.’
	John guided Orlando into a small room which was packed with 
comfortable, smooshy, plump couches, and he sat his young charge down 
on one of them. “Orlando,” he began, sitting down beside him, but 
Orlando cut him off.
	“I’m all right, now,” Orlando groaned, bowing his head. “I just 
don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He glanced up, and his eyes were 
wide with apprehension. John was one of only two people he would have 
dared confess this to. “I really thought he was raping Vi-Aragorn. I-I 
thought he was Tragel.”
	‘At least he’s being honest with me, and with himself. That’s a 
good start. Now, my only problem will be trying to convince him he’s not 
really crazy. Hopefully he doesn’t start to think I am.’ “What made you 
think that?”
	Orlando shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
	“Yes you do,” John answered, voicing a confidence he didn’t feel. 
“Say the first thing that comes into your head. Don’t stop to think about it, 
just speak.”
	For a long time, Orlando stared at a point beyond the room. 
Finally, he said, all in a rush, his voice full of fear, “Tragel was going to 
rape Ari. He was trying to rip off his clothes. If an elf rapes a man, the 
man will die- I couldn’t let him kill Aragorn. Ari didn’t understand; he 
doesn’t know what rape would do-” He fell silent, suddenly, and his eyes 
grew wide. “But, but that didn’t happen, did it?” he gasped. “We were 
shooting a scene from Aragorn’s Question, not-” He stopped again, and 
looked at John helplessly.
	John said gently, “It happened. It just happened ten thousand years 
ago, not today.”
	Orlando shook his head, and tried to joke, “You sound as crazy as I 
feel.” 
	“Orlando,” and John was aware that he might be pushing his friend 
towards a mental breakdown if the elf turned man didn’t believe him, “I 
must tell you something, and I want you to listen to it. Really listen to it. 
All right?”
	Orlando nodded slowly.
	“There are many strange things in this world. One of them is the 
existence of dwarves. Do you know what a dwarf is?”
	After a pause, he was answered with, “Yes. Some people are born 
with dwarfism. It’s a rare genetic thing, I think”
	“This ‘genetic thing’ is what is left of a rare and special race. Many 
of these people had dwarves as their ancestors. Real dwarves. The ones 
who dug for gold and jewels in mines. The ones J.R.R. Tolkien wrote 
about.”
	“No,” Orlando answered positively. “That’s nuts. Tolkien invented 
all of that.”
	“That’s what he wanted the world to think, so that a precious part 
of our history could be preserved.” John had gone, after the first book was 
released, to talk to Tolkien, and, through him, had discovered that Aragorn 
and Legolas had revealed everything and allowed him to write it up as a 
fictitious story and history. Through him, also, John learned how Aragorn 
and Legolas finally died. He had grieved, but the Valar had come to him in 
a dream to tell him that he would see the two again. Both deaths had been 
swift and without pain, for which John was grateful; Aragorn had died in 
an airplane crash and Legolas had been hit by a speeding car.
	“If it’s history, why doesn’t anyone else write about those times? 
Nowhere else have I ever heard about Middle Earth.”
	‘All right, you’re going to try reason, are you?’ “The history of 
Middle Earth passed into legend. Seven thousand eight hundred years after 
the fall of Gondor, people in England began to tell stories about a mythical 
King Arthur. It’s said that there’s no historical basis for him, but stories 
don’t come out of nowhere. Aragorn’s kingdom was remembered, if only 
enough to remember that he was a noble, farsighted king, and that the 
kingdom fell eventually. Tolkien once said that he was inventing a 
mystical past for England. What he was really doing was retelling it. And 
because no one remembers that time, he had to call it invented or people 
would put him in the nuthouse.”
	“But, Tolkien said there were writings in Gondor. Documents 
about the world, about Gondor’s people and customs. Wouldn’t at least 
some of those have survived? Or wouldn’t people, Aragorn’s ancestors for 
example, have kept him in their memories?”
	“Gondor burned to the ground. There wasn’t one stone left upon 
another when it finally fell. Aragorn’s summer castle survived, but it’s a 
ruin, now, of course.” ‘And Aragorn, Legolas and I cleared out all the 
remembrance of the men of Numenor rather than have it fall into the 
hands of our enemies.’ “You’ve lived in England for a long time; haven’t 
you ever been to Tintagel?”
	“That’s where King Arthur was supposed to have lived.”
	“King Elessar, not Arthur. And as to your second question, answer 
one for me first. How much can you tell me about your great-great 
grandparents?”
	Orlando blinked. “Nothing,” he admitted after a moment.
	“You don’t know their names? Or where they lived?’
	“No.” Orlando shook his head. “I know what you’re getting at, 
John, but that’s hardly the same thing. How could a king not be 
remembered?”
	“How much do you know about King Herod? You know, the one 
from the Bible, who lived a couple thousand years ago?” When Orlando 
didn’t answer, John continued. “You don’t’ know much. And why should 
you? What he did all that time ago doesn’t have any bearing on your life 
today, unless you’re a Christian. And even if you were, what would you 
care what his favorite breakfast food was or what he liked to wear on 
Tuesdays?”
	Orlando continued stubbornly, “Have you seen Tolkien’s maps? 
The continent shapes and positions are all wrong.”
	“Tectonic motion,” John answered. “A lot of time has passed since 
then.”
	“What about the Undying Lands? We know what’s on every inch 
of this earth, and they’ve never been reported.”
	“Not long after the fall of Gondor, men found their way to the 
Undying Lands and killed every last elf they found there.”
	“But if elves are supposed to be so powerful- well, what about 
Galadriel’s ring, Nenya?”
	“As she has said, the rings made by the elves were not made for 
war, but were designed to help heal and grow and grant knowledge.” 
	Orlando threw up his hands in exasperation. “You have an answer 
for everything!” he cried.
	“Not everything; I am not the Valar.”
	“Answer this, then,” challenged Orlando desperately. “You said 
those things happened to me a long time ago, right?”
	“Over ten thousand years ago, yes.”
	“How could that have happened to me if I’m only twenty-six?” 
Orlando demanded smugly.
	“You were reborn,” John responded carefully. “Fifty years ago, 
approximately, you and Aragorn were in an airplane crash, and Aragorn 
died. You, Legolas, were commanded to finish a task before you were 
allowed to join him in the Dead Lands. Then you died as well. But the 
Valar saw fit to give you a second chance at life.” He smiled wryly. 
Actually, Legolas and Aragorn had been brought back for a totally 
different, and far more serious purpose, but he wasn’t fool enough to try 
and explain that right now.
	“And how do you know all this?” Orlando demanded.
	‘Here’s the big question. If this doesn’t convince him I belong in 
the nuthosue, nothing will.’ “I was there, for all of this. I was there for the 
War of the Ring, and for the Fall of Gondor. I am Gimli, son of Gloin.”
	Orlando snorted, but there was a desperately snide sound to it. He 
was trying not to listen to John’s words. “You’re not a dwarf, John. 
You’re almost as tall as I am.”
	“I will become my proper height again when the time is right. 
When you start growing elf-ears, I’ll start shrinking.” John thought for a 
moment. “Please just answer one question for me, Orlando, and then I’ll 
let you go. Do you love Viggo?”
	Orlando blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?’
	“How long have you loved him? Don’t think; answer. How long?”
	“Since I met him.” Orlando froze. He’d never admitted that to 
anyone. Not even to himself, really. He’d joked to himself about the idea 
of love at first sight, but in Viggo’s case, it had been true. “Since I first 
saw him,” he whispered in surprise.
	“That’s because he’s Aragorn, and you’ve loved each other for 
millennia, and not even death could separate you for long.” John stood. 
“Don’t take my word for it, Orlando; wait and see.” He left the room, 
proud of himself, and not even Orlando’s call of, “I didn’t say I believe 
you!” could dampen his spirits. He was pleased to note that the look of 
defiance had left Orlando’s face and was replaced by a need to know.
	He decided to go see Gandalf and demand why the wizard hadn’t 
told him that Orlando was Legolas, though he had to concede that Gandalf 
had probably been dropping hints for months, or maybe even for years. 
‘Maybe I’ll go bang my head against a wall instead,’ he decided.

Chapter Twelve

	“I still can’t believe you carry it everywhere,” Elijah said, turning 
around in the passenger seat and pointing to the sword on the back seat of 
Viggo’s car.
	“It connects me to Aragorn,” Viggo answered without glancing at 
him. He buckled his seatbelt and rummaged for his keys.
	“Like you need that connection after four years of this.” Elijah 
shook his head. “Face it, Viggo, you love that thing. It’s your baby. You 
can barely let it out of your sight.” He grinned, and teased, “Just like you 
can’t look away from Orlando.”
	Viggo’s head snapped sideways, then he focused forward again, 
but Elijah had seen the slight blush that crossed his friend’s features. “And 
what do you know about my thoughts regarding Orlando, little hobbit?” 
Viggo asked coolly.
	“Only what you tell me,” Elijah tormented.
	“I’ve told you nothing.”
	“You practically fell into his eyes this morning before the shoot.” 
He was pleased to see Viggo’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. They 
hadn’t even pulled out of Viggo’s driveway. “You might want to at least 
turn the car on.”
	But Viggo’s hands remained tight on the wheel. “He was like a 
wild animal this morning,” he whispered, and Elijah stopped smiling. He 
hadn’t been on set during the shoot, but one of the ‘orcs’ had told him.
	“What did John say to him?” he asked carefully.
	“I don’t know. Orlando went to Peter and confessed exhaustion 
and bad news from home had gotten to him. I don’t know if Peter really 
believes him, but he’s agreed to try shooting again tomorrow. He has no 
choice. These episodes have to get done.” He looked out his window. 
“Orli won’t even talk to me about it. He’s more shaken than I’ve ever seen 
him.”
	“Did he really call you Aragorn?”
	“Sort of. He thought I was an enemy when I was trying to hold him 
down, but he was trying to protect Aragorn from rape, he said.”
	“Wasn’t that the scene you were working on? Where Aragorn is 
raped by Tragel and needs Legolas to comfort him afterwards?”
	Viggo nodded. “I know what you’re thinking; Richard suggested 
it, too. But I don’t think Orlando would confuse fiction and reality like 
that. I’m not sure what I mean, so I can’t explain it, but I know Orlando 
has more sense and control than that.”
	“What do you think is bothering him, then?”
	“I don’t know.” Viggo swallowed. A brief image flashed behind 
his eyes: Legolas (I mean Orlando) bending over him, his soft, blond 
(brown!) hair falling in front of his face in a shimmering curtain, (it’s too 
short to fall!) kissing him…
	“Viggo… Viggo, are you all right?”
	“Okay, so you’re right about my feelings for Orlando,” he 
answered, hoping to distract himself. ‘I’m having fantasies about Orlando 
in his Legolas costume, not about Legolas. Legolas is just a character from 
a book I hadn’t read until four years ago.’
	Elijah grinned. “I know I’m right. Now, are we going out for 
groceries or not?”

Chapter Thirteen

	Peter opened his door, unsurprised that someone was calling on 
him at eleven o’clock at night. ‘It’s probably one of the make-up artists 
asking about the Entlings’ exact look.’ He blinked and stared at his visitor. 
“Orlando?”
	Orlando nodded slightly. “Hi, Peter,” he sounded sheepish. “Um, I 
wanted to ask you a few question about the script for Aragorn’s 
Question.”
	‘Well, at least this sounds more like Orlando than that raving 
lunatic.’ “Come in.”
	Once they were seated, Orlando didn’t waste time. “Peter, the rape 
scene needs to be changed.”
	‘I thought you were going to ask questions, not give orders.’ 
“Why?” he asked calmly.
	“Because Aragorn wouldn’t live through the rape.” Orlando 
clenched his hands nervously in his lap. He’d become convinced during 
the last few hours of this fact, though he couldn’t find anything in 
Tolkien’s writings to back it up. ‘And I will not rely on those fairy tales 
John told me.’ Luckily, what he hoped were facts accompanied his 
thoughts, so he continued, “Elves are too pure to rape humans, or any 
other race. If Tragel raped Aragorn- if he finished, I mean- Aragorn would 
die. It’s like being touched with fire,” he rushed on, seeing that Peter was 
going to interject something, and the director subsided. “There’s no 
problem keeping the rape in there, but Tragel can’t finish. In fact, that 
could be another reason Aragorn’s so afraid- the pain was worse than 
anything else he’s ever felt. And Legolas could explain it to him, and to 
the audience.” Orlando had been careful to say ‘Legolas could explain’ 
instead of ‘I could explain,’ though that’s what had flashed through his 
mind. ‘I don’t believe John, not yet. And even if I did, I’m not fool enough 
to tell Peter about it. I might be fired, or sent to a psychiatrist.’
	Peter considered Orlando’s words. He remembered how, during 
the Council of Elrond scene, Orlando had suggested that Legolas would 
try to restrain his fellow elves instead of joining the fight. He decided to 
give Orlando’s suggestion a chance. “How do you know Elves are too 
pure? What about Aragorn and Arwen being together? Or what about 
Luthien and Beren?”
	“The man is only affected if the elf is inside him, not the other way 
around. Tolkien didn’t write about that in Lord of the Rings, since 
homosexuality is never mentioned, and very few women take prominent 
roles in the story. But in one of his transcripts, I came across that little 
tidbit. Wouldn’t it make things more interesting?” he added, smiling.
	Peter nodded. ‘Ratings would certainly go up if there was a danger 
Aragorn might die.’ “Tell me all the details about how this works. How 
long would Aragorn be at risk, only while Tragel’s raping him, or 
afterwards?”
	“Well, it’s like being tortured. As long as Aragorn’s heart is racing 
out of control, he’s in danger.” Orlando settled back, prepared to tell Peter 
all he knew- and he was amazed that, the more he talked, the more sure he 
grew of all the facts in his head.
	‘But I do not believe John,’ he repeated firmly.

Chapter Fourteen

	Legolas watched the orcs run in fear, leaving Tragel’s corpse, and 
he dropped to his knees beside Aragorn, who was curled into a tight ball, 
shuddering and sobbing. A breeze passed over them, raising gooseflesh all 
over the man’s naked body. Legolas realized he was still clutching his 
knives and he laid them to one side, within easy reach, just in case their 
enemies returned. He rubbed his blood-stained hands on his leggings, and 
then he reached out and laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. The king of 
Gondor flinched, and Legolas removed his hand quickly.
	“*Aragorn, it’s me, Legolas. They’re gone- it’s all right.*” Legolas 
didn’t really expect this to get a response; he still remembered being a 
child and having Tragel invade him. ‘I’m not even human; in some ways, 
this is worse than what happened to me.’
	Aragorn twitched in front of him. “Legolas?” he croaked. “*Please, 
the pain… Legolas, help me.*”
	Legolas touched him again, gently, and Aragorn flinched again. 
“*I need to touch you to heal you,*” the elf explained, his voice soft, 
soothing.
	Aragorn nodded.
	“*Shh. It’s all right. I’m just going to take the pain away. Lie 
still.*” Legolas put the tips of his fingers on Aragorn’s arm. The man 
tensed for a moment, then relaxed with a shivering sigh. He uncurled 
slightly.
	‘Now comes the hard part.’ “*Estel, I need to touch you where 
you’ve been burned. Will you let me?*”
	Aragorn moaned. “*No…*” He pulled himself into his tight ball 
again.
	The elf drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. “*I 
understand, Estel. Will you let me wrap you in my cloak? It’s cold out 
here.*”
	“*My clothes…*”
	Legolas glanced at the rags that had once been Aragorn’s tunic, 
pants and cloak. “*Tragel shredded them. Will you take my cloak?*”
	For the first time, Aragorn looked up and met his eyes. Legolas 
was grieved to see the terror in the grey eyes that had seen so much, 
fought through so many battles. “*All right. Th-thank you.*” He took the 
cloak and huddled into it. Legolas felt his heart clench as two tears leaked 
out from under Aragorn’s squeezed-shut lids.
	Quietly, Legolas began to sing. He chose a song he’d been taught 
as a child, a song of nonsense syllables to a soothing, repetitive melody. It 
was the song his father had sung to him, the one he’d sung to Estel when 
he had first come to Rivendelll, afraid of every shadow, and for many 
years after. Gradually, Aragorn began to relax again.
	The elf put words to the tune. “Hear the rain, see the sun, know the 
Valar is watching out for frightened ones. They sent me to guard your 
sleep, they sent me to guide your steps. Let me hold you, hide you, mend 
you. Trust me now, my little one.” He’d invented these words years ago, 
almost in another world, it seemed. Aragorn relaxed further, and uncurled.
	“*Legolas, why did it hurt so much?*” His voice was stronger, but 
it still held that note of underlying terror that made Legolas’s chest tighten 
in sympathy.
	“*Elves are too pure to be inside men,*” Legolas explained. 
“*Estel, he was burning you.*”
	Aragorn digested that. “*It still burns, even though he’s not inside 
me anymore. I… I should let you heal me.*” He didn’t move immediately, 
but when he did, his movements were decided and sure. He lay out fully 
on his back and stared up at his trusted friend. The fear had not left his 
gaze, but there was determination there now.
	Legolas smiled kindly. “*I’ll make this as brief as possible.*” He 
reached under the cloak, and felt Aragorn’s leg muscles tighten, but the 
man didn’t whimper. ‘You are regaining your courage,’ Legolas thought, 
and that heartened him. With his other hand, he touched Aragorn’s 
shoulder, squeezing it gently. He kept his eyes on Aragorn’s face as his 
hand found its own way between his legs. “Shh,” he soothed. “*I won’t 
hurt you.*”
	Under his sensitive fingers, he felt the place where Tragel had 
forced his way in. Charred, blistered flesh felt dry and angry under his 
hand, and Aragorn sucked air between his teeth. Legolas knew if he 
looked under the cloak that the skin around Aragorn’s hole would be red 
and bubbled up. He didn’t look, but continued to focus on Aragorn’s 
drawn, strained face. “*I’ll be done soon. You’re doing well.*” ‘Now 
comes the next step.’ “*Estel, I need to put my fingers up inside you. I 
can’t get to the worst of the damage without doing that.*” His hand stilled, 
and he waited for Aragorn’s answer.
	Aragorn tensed, and his hands balled into fists. Panic flitted across 
his face. He didn’t want the pain to get worse, and he didn’t want Legolas 
touching him. ‘He’s already touched me,’ one part of his mind reasoned. 
‘He won’t hurt me.’
	‘What if he wants to rape you?’ another part of his mind countered 
shrilly.
	‘This is Legolas we’re talking about here! Legolas, my friend, my 
brother in all but blood, would never hurt me.’
	‘He might not rape you, but I’ll bet he’s enjoying touching you.’
	‘Be reasonable!’ his first voice argued, sounding slightly panicked. 
‘Legolas has never shown any interest in me except as a friend.’
	‘Besides,’ added a third voice viciously, ‘why would someone so 
beautiful want such a filthy thing like you? That’s why Arwen really left, 
and you know it. She didn’t miss her people; she wanted to be away from 
you.'
	Aragorn blinked, forcing himself to focus on Legolas. He took a 
deep breath and forced the voices in his head to be silent. “*Go ahead. I’ll 
hold still.*”
	Legolas said gently, “*Can you roll onto your stomach so I can see 
a little better? I don’t want to do something so delicate just by touch.*”
	‘There! He does want to rape you!’
	‘How can he stand to look at something so disgusting?’
	‘He’s just trying to help me, so shut up!’
	Aragorn rolled over and parted his legs slightly. He pillowed his 
chin on his arms, and stared straight ahead. His body was rigid with pain 
and fear.
	Legolas’s hand came up to rest on Aragon’s shoulder, and, after a 
moment, his other hand lifted the cloak. Aragorn resisted the urge to jump 
up and try to run away. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 
Legolas touched his upper thigh. Aragorn’s heart raced, and his throat 
constricted.
	“*Estel, do you remember when you were six and you got that 
splinter in your hand? It was probably one of the biggest splinters I’d ever 
seen, and I didn’t blame you for being scared.*” Legolas’s hand moved up 
slightly. The hand on Aragorn’s shoulder tightened reassuringly. “*Lord 
Elrond was used to seeing his sons get hurt, but it was different with you, 
because you were so little.*” His fingers touched the outside of Aragorn’s 
hole, and the king’s breathing grew ragged. Legolas kept his voice steady. 
“*And worse than that, you didn’t want him to take it out. You said you 
could stop using your left hand, rather than have Elrond take it out.*” One 
slim finger entered, and Aragorn stifled a moan of shock. Legolas soothed, 
“*It’ll be over in a minute, and it won’t hurt anymore. I promise… Do you 
remember how the splinter finally came out?*”
	Aragorn’s eyes were watering slightly from the pain, but he forced 
himself to answer, “*I let you do it.*”
	“*We made a deal.*” He eased his finger further in. “*I promised 
you could ride my horse if you would let me take it out. So I put your hand 
under water to soften up the splinter, and I pulled it out quickly. You 
recovered swiftly, after it was gone, and then I had to let you ride my 
horse, even though Elrond threatened to ring my neck if you got even one 
scratch.*” He pulled his finger out as the flesh under his touch became soft 
again. “*It’s all right, Estel,*” he whispered, replacing the cloak. “*You’re 
healed.*”
***
	The ground under him felt amazingly soft, and the man curled into 
the cloak that covered him. He refused to open his eyes. Despite the 
disturbing feeling of having Legolas touch him, he felt safe now. He rolled 
over, snuggling into the comfortable warmth- and hit his head against 
something hard. He groaned and dragged a hand out of the cloak to rub his 
head.
	‘Is it a tree?’ he wondered. He opened his eyes, and received a 
shock. He wasn’t lying outside on grass, but on a bed. And the thing 
covering him wasn’t a cloak, but a blanket. Viggo glanced at the offending 
headboard and then closed his eyes again. “Uuuuhmmm,” he uttered. 
‘What sort of dream-?’
	He remembered, in a rush, the shoot from yesterday, and muttered, 
“That came from the script, from the things we’ll be filming today.” He 
chuckled dryly. “I’m going to be acting like Orlando soon.” That 
statement, though, put him in mind of the younger actor, and worry 
assailed him again. What exactly was wrong with Orlando? And why 
wouldn’t Orlando let him help? ‘How could I help? I don’t understand 
what happened; at least maybe he knew what was going on inside his head 
at the time. Besides, he doesn’t need me. He was perfectly happy to have 
John lead him off the set.’ Not for the first time, Viggo felt a flicker of 
jealousy that John was so close with Orlando. The usually-happy young 
man was hard to talk to when he was troubled by something. He seemed to 
shut down, and only John knew how to get him to talk.
	Rolling over, making sure to avoid the headboard this time, Viggo 
looked at his clock. 4:37 blazed at him in red-on-black. He grumbled, but 
got up. All sleepiness had left him, and suddenly he couldn’t get out of 
bed fast enough. He put some clothes on and left his small trailer quickly.
	Outside, the lights from several lampposts hummed and flooded 
the world with too much definition. Viggo headed away from the center of 
the tiny village the trailers made, towards the surrounded, darkened 
country, deciding he would look at the stars for a while. He found 
someone else there ahead of him.
	The figure was wrapped in a blanket and staring up at the stars as 
though they were his entire world. Viggo hesitated, not wanting to talk or 
disturb the star-gazer, but the person turned abruptly; apparently, he’d 
heard Viggo coming, though Viggo himself hadn’t thought he’d made any 
noise.
	The starlight reflected in two brown eyes. Viggo blinked in 
surprise; he could just see the features of the man in the lights from the 
trailers. “Hi, Orlando.”
	“Hi.” Orlando smiled, and Viggo took this as an invitation. He 
stepped closer. The two of them turned their eyes to the sky.
	“I love the stars,” Viggo said a minute or so later. “No matter 
where I am, I can look up at them, and I feel right at home, so I’m never 
homesick.”
	Orlando moved closer to him. “Viggo, was everyone angry with 
me? When I ruined the shoot?”
	‘He sounds so vulnerable.’ “No, they weren’t mad. Richard said it 
meant he could get out of his orc-makeup two hours early.”
	“Can he talk all right?”
	“Yes. You didn’t hurt him badly. And he knows you didn’t mean 
it.” Viggo felt an urge to put his arm around Orlando’s shoulders. He 
debated for a moment, but Orlando solved his dilemma by snuggling up 
against him, so that the only logical thing to do was for Viggo to draw him 
closer.
	“I talked to Peter. He seems to have forgiven me.” Orlando 
glanced up at Viggo, and his attention was caught by the gentle, grey, 
slightly worried eyes gazing at him. “And I’m fine now,” he added, not 
fully realizing that he was still speaking, or that an involuntary smile was 
pulling at the corners of his lips.
	Viggo’s other hand came up and touched Orlando’s shoulder. “I 
was worried,” he explained, unnecessarily.
	Warmth moved down Orlando’s arm from the point where Viggo’s 
hand touched him. Orlando licked his lips nervously. “Viggo….”
	Viggo’s hand moved from his shoulder, and touched him under his 
chin, lifting his head slightly. “May I?” he whispered when their lips were 
less than half an inch apart.
	Orlando nodded, and parted his lips slightly, expectantly. Viggo 
kissed him gently, but the warmth of him, so close, made Orlando push 
closer, and his tongue came quickly, earnestly into Viggo’s mouth. The 
older man didn’t pull away, but delighted in the taste of Orlando, and 
opened his own mouth a little more so he could draw the searching tongue 
in.
***
	“*I’m sorry I’m so jumpy,*” Aragorn apologized as he and 
Legolas made their way back towards Gondor. They had located their 
horses, which had bolted when Tragel attacked, and Aragorn had changed 
into a spare set of clothes, returning Legolas’s cloak reluctantly. He didn’t 
want to admit it, but he liked how the elf always smelled of flowers. It was 
a comforting, warming, strengthening smell. All elves smelled faintly of 
flowers, and many men said they all smelled alike, but Aragorn knew 
differently. His father, Elrond, had smelled of cherry blossoms, and 
Elladan, the older twin of Elrond, had smelled of hyacinths. Legolas 
radiated a fragrance of late summer mornings, when the dew was rising 
from cedars and fading roses. His scent was somehow sadder than that of 
most elves, as if part of him was already in the Undying Lands, or as if 
he’d seen too much pain to be completely free. That couldn’t be right, 
though, since both Elrond and Elladan had seen bloodier battles than he. 
Maybe it was just that Legolas’s battles had been so recently. Maybe it 
was that, being younger than they, he didn’t know quite how to handle the 
things that assailed him.
	“*It’s perfectly understandable,*” Legolas replied. “*Tragel is… 
was… a nightmare I tried very hard to forget.*” He checked his horse 
suddenly, and turned to face Aragorn. “*Estel… I’m sorry he hurt you. I 
never wanted you to be subjected to that.*”
	Aragorn smiled, warmed by the caring in Legolas’s quiet tenor. 
“*I’ll mend. Thank you for… healing me, and putting up with my fears.*” 
He’d nearly said ‘Thank you for touching me.’
	Legolas opened his mouth, but then shut it again. A look Aragorn 
could not read crossed his face. “*We should keep going. It will be sunset 
soon.*”
	Three hours later, they stopped to make camp. The north wind 
howled savagely, and Legolas watched Aragorn shiver as he worked to 
light a fire. But rain had fallen all day, and the little bit of dry wood he 
could find would never keep them warm. Usually, since Aragorn had 
spent over sixty years in the wilderness, it took a lot to make him cold, but 
he’d been injured, and despite Legolas’s healing hands, his body still 
needed time and rest to repair itself.
	“*It’s not going to be enough,*” he said. “*The fire, I mean. I have 
a way for us to keep warm.*” He opened up his cloak slightly as Aragorn 
looked at him. “*We can stay close for warmth.*”
	Aragorn hesitated. ‘I could be near him; I could be wrapped in his 
flowers all night… Shit.’ Aragorn bowed his head. ‘I… need… to be near 
him.’ “*Legolas, maybe we shouldn’t. I mean…*”
	“*Estel, I mean nothing by it. I promise I won’t hurt you,*” 
Legolas answered earnestly.
	‘He must think I’m afraid of him because of Tragel. Well, that’s 
better than if he guesses the truth.’ “*Please, Legolas, I’m scared.*” He 
tried to put a little quaver in his voice. “*Please don’t ask me to do that.*”
	Legolas took a step closer, holding his hands up, palms forward, in 
a gesture of peace. “*You’ll freeze without a bigger fire, which we can’t 
build, but we can keep each other warm. Stay wrapped in your own cloak, 
and I’ll stay in mine. We just need to be close enough to protect each 
other.*”
	The king backed up a step. “You’re an elf; you don’t get cold,” he 
answered, breaking into the Common Speech. He’d spoken much more 
harshly than he’d intended, and he saw the surprise on Legolas’s face, but 
he refused to back down. “Why do you want to be so close to me?”
	“Why are you being so stubborn?” Legolas put his hands on his 
hips. “I’m just trying to make sure Gondor still has a king in the morning.” 
Legolas shook his head. “*Foolish man,*” he grumbled.
	‘This isn’t going the way I wanted it to, not at all. Now he’s angry 
with me.’ Aragorn wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from retorting, 
“*Look, I have a right to be afraid if I choose! I don’t want to sleep next 
you. Is that all right, Prince?*” His voice was sneering, and he hated 
himself for it, but he’d seen the way Legolas’s eyes lit up when he was 
annoyed, and it was very alluring. He had to keep away from Legolas’s 
flower-scent at all costs.
	“*No, King, it’s not. You’ll die without my warmth.*” He took a 
step closer, and Aragorn hastily took two backwards. “Aragorn-”
	A snarl cut him off, and a hairy, enormous creature was bearing 
him to the ground, its fangs searching for his throat. Legolas put up his 
arm to shield that vulnerable spot while he groped for his knife.
	‘We didn’t hear them. Why didn’t the horses raise an alarm?’ 
Aragorn reacted with the well-honed instincts of a Ranger, but another 
warg barred his way to Legolas. Anduril flashed forth. Growling almost as 
loud as the four-footed terror he faced, Aragorn lunged, Anduril slicing off 
a forepaw as the warg leapt. But the hairy demon bore Aragorn down 
under its weight. If a warg could laugh, this one was doing so. Its jaws 
were open in a hungry grin.
	His sword useless in such close quarters, Aragorn dropped it and 
grabbed the warg’s jaws with the hooked fingers of his right hand, keeping 
the beast from tearing at his face, while he searched for, found, and pulled 
a dagger from where it rested at his side. He stabbed the creature between 
its shoulder blades. The hide there was tough, and Aragorn felt the point 
skid around, doing more to anger the creature than to hurt it, before it 
finally sank down close to the base of the warg’s skull. The monster 
writhed, stopping its attempt to free its mouth and trying to whirl around 
to rip out the offending blade. Aragorn withdrew the dagger and stabbed 
deep into the warg’s throat. It thrashed, but at last lay still.
	Gasping, sweating, bleeding, dragging his knife free and scooping 
up his sword, Aragorn charged towards where Legolas was still fighting 
the warg atop him. With some part of his mind that wasn’t concentrating 
on the struggling pair in front of him, he heard the terrified screams of 
horses.
	‘Only two,’ Aragorn thought distractedly as he ran Anduril into the 
second warg’s side. ‘There were only two. Wargs travel in packs; where 
are the rest of them?’
	A howl answered him as the second warg fell, lifeless, and Legolas 
was struggling to sit up. His left arm was torn, and blood trickled from his 
fingertips.
	Aragorn considered their options as he helped Legolas regain his 
feet. “We’ll never outrun them,” he gasped.
	Legolas drew one of his knives with his still-good hand. “We could 
run through the trees.”
	“Agreed.” Backing up, continually searching the darkness for 
glinting eyes, they reached the closest tree. Aragorn waited until Legolas 
had sheathed his knife and hoisted himself up before he, too, sheathed his 
weapons, grabbed a branch and swung himself up. Below him, a warg 
dashed out of the night and bit on the air just beneath his toes. He 
hurriedly climbed higher as the beast leapt as high as it could reach. He 
felt a hand grab him and pull him into space, lifting him quicker than he 
could have gotten up. The warg barked in frustration.
	Legolas was panting and straining. Aragorn caught the branch 
Legolas was crouched on and managed to drag himself onto it. He 
ignored, through practice, the miracle that Legolas could balance on a 
branch, without holding on, and pull him up. “Let’s move,” he said to 
Legolas. “Where the warg howls, there the orc prowls.”
	Legolas laughed a short, pained laugh. “You talk too much.” They 
made their way to the next tree, and the one after that. They had no more 
thought for the horses; they were almost certainly dead by now. As they 
traveled, Aragorn pulled aethelas from one of his pockets and chewed it to 
get the juices started, then spit the mess out in his hand and rubbed it 
gently but firmly into Legolas’s injury. Legolas scowled at the sticky, 
green mass and released a low moan when Aragorn applied it to his arm, 
but he kept going. By the time they were a mile away from the scene of 
the attack, he had stopped bleeding, and the aethelas was speeding his 
elven healing powers.
	They traveled, not as swiftly as Legolas could have alone, being an 
elf, at most at home in the trees, but they made good progress. Such a 
physical task gave Aragorn time to think, and he allowed reaction from the 
frenzied battle to occupy part of his mind.
	‘We could have died. Again. How many life-threatening fights 
have we been in in the last month? Ten? Fifty?’ He mulled that over for a 
while, then another, much more disturbing thought, took control of him.
	‘What if I had lived, and Legolas had died? How could I live 
without him?’ His stomach shrank at the thought, and he felt nauseated. 
Suddenly, his fear of Legolas knowing his true feelings seemed very 
foolish. ‘What if he died, and I never knew if he loved me?
	‘He saved me. He healed me, without being disgusted by my fear 
or embarrassed at having to touch me. Surely he won’t be repulsed if I just 
ask him…’
	‘Of course he’ll be repulsed,’ the vicious part of his mind 
interjected. ‘He just knows how to hide it well. You’re scum, remember? 
You’re dirt compared to someone of his beauty and intelligence.’
	‘Still,’ Aragorn vowed, ‘I will ask him. I must know.’
	As the sun rose, they stopped to rest. Legolas took lembas from his 
pack, which he’d miraculously still been wearing when they were 
attacked, and handed some to Aragorn. “We should sleep. Nothing will 
disturb us up here.”
	The man didn’t answer, or take the lembas. He was still thinking.
	“Aragorn?” Legolas reached out and touched his shoulder.
	The man recoiled as if he’d been struck.
	A look of frustration crossed the elf’s face. “*Estel, it’s me, 
Legolas. I’m not going to hurt you.*”
	Aragorn saw that look, and bowed his head in shame. “*I’m sorry, 
Legolas; I’m sorry I’m so...*”
	Gentle understanding replaced the look of frustration instantly. 
“*I’m angry with myself, not you, Estel.*” Legolas moved closer. “*Are 
you all right?*” He frowned at the dried blood on the side of Aragorn’s 
face. “*You’re hurt.*” He reached up and touched the spot.
      Aragorn felt warmth trickle down his face. “*It’s not my blood,*” 
he answered, slightly breathless, and he wondered if Legolas could see the 
blush that he could feel burning his skin. “*It’s from the first warg I 
fought. The only injuries I have are where the thing managed to scratch 
my shoulder and my hand. And I’ve already seen to those.*”
	But Legolas was already probing with his sensitive fingers at 
Aragorn’s shoulder. He slipped his fingers under Aragorn’s collar and 
found the wound. The man gasped softly. Closing his eyes, Legolas 
released power from himself into the slash. Aragorn sighed in 
contentment. He could say almost anything now, while the touch of 
Legolas worked its magic. “*Legolas… I need to tell you something…*” 
A word flashed across his mind. ‘Vaad.’
***
	Viggo whispered, “Vaad.”
	Orlando touched his hand. They were still standing under the stars, 
which were paling as the morning approached. “What was that?”
	Viggo repeated, “Vaad. It means ‘lover’ in Elvish.”
	Orlando smiled. “*I love you, too, Viggo.*”
	Viggo gazed at the younger man. “I understood you,” he whispered 
in surprise, “*without the script.*”
	Orlando’s smile broadened; he was too content to wonder.

Chapter Fifteen

	Ian McKellen tapped on John’s door early Friday morning. The 
sun had only been up for an hour or so, but he didn’t care if he woke his 
long-time friend. He ignored the beautiful colors of the sky, something he 
took pleasure in whenever possible, and rapped still louder. Danger was 
growing in his mind, as it had when he learned the origin of the small, 
golden ring Bilbo had given to Frodo.  He glanced towards the east, 
grateful to see the sun smiling, but being able to see the sun didn’t mean 
there wasn’t trouble coming; it just meant the danger wasn’t close enough 
to affect the earth at large. Yet. Something Aragorn had once said, which 
had been recounted by Tolkien millennia later, crossed his mind. “Yet 
dawn is ever the hope of Men.” 
      He remembered, too, what the enemy had said, “What of the 
dawn? We are the fighting Uruk-hai! Bring out your skulking king!”
      ‘Who is our king now?’
      He hammered on the door, wishing he had his staff, which had 
made such an effective knocker.
      At last, John dragged the door open and stared at him blearily. 
“Whatzzit?” he grumbled.
      Ian pushed past him into the trailer. “Trouble is coming,” he said 
curtly. “Are you ready?”
      That statement cleared John’s head completely. “Yes. The others, 
though-”
      “Viggo and Orlando are in love,” Ian responded, waving the 
concern away. “That will have to be enough for now.”
      “What about Elijah and Sean and-”
      Ian smiled slightly. “Elijah has been ready for nearly a year, and it 
didn’t take very long to convince the other hobbits, except Sean of 
course.” He wished for the millionth time that he had a pipe to puff. 
Glancing around, he reflected that this trailer didn’t seem a very likely 
place from which to launch an assault. But they had chosen this place, 
because John had certain original documents and something none of the 
rest of them had: he had lived through every age of the world starting from 
the later part of the Third Age, with no blanks in his knowledge. The only 
other ‘people,’ if they could be called people, to do that were the Valar.
      Since he didn’t have a pipe, he settled on pacing instead. ‘We are 
striking from a position of half-strength. This is different from when I sent 
Frodo on his mission; we need to be able to fight openly, and there is very 
little to be gained in secrecy, except that the longer we wait to reveal 
ourselves, the more memories may be repaired. Still, that little is an 
advantage, and so we will keep it as long as possible.’
      “When will the battle begin?”
      “Within a fortnight,” Ian answered, glancing at his friend. “I must 
go speak with Christopher and Hugo. I only wanted to know if you were 
ready. Speak to Elijah if you get the chance. And to Peter.” He turned, 
imagining the swish of a cloak emphasizing his movements, and strode 
from the trailer.
      John stared after him, but shook his head. ‘Gandalf is like that,’ he 
reminded himself. ‘Close, and keeps his own counsel. I must remember 
that personalities may have changed dramatically, or not at all.’

Chapter Sixteen

	One trailer was different from the others. It resembled a house on 
the inside much more effectively than they. This trailer had almost the 
look of a miniature palace. And on five chairs that looked very like 
thrones, ancient beings sat, oblivious to their surroundings, concerned with 
the comings and goings of the world.
	Hugo looked at his ‘sons’. “*The Valar have not seen fit to return 
Aragorn’s Rangers to him, and so he will need your help more than 
ever.”” He turned his eyes to Richard. “*Glorfindel, I must again impress 
upon you how crucial you are to us. While the Enemy knows Aragorn and 
Legolas have returned, she knows nothing of the dreams you are feeding 
them, reminding them of who they are. She thinks they are fragile humans 
who will never regain their true forms.*”
	Glorfindel bowed his head in acknowledgement. “*So far, they 
have received their dreams, though Legolas is afraid of his so far, and 
Aragorn only responds to his on a subconscious level.*”
	Michael raised his hand slightly, and the others glanced at him. 
“*How long can we hide Glorfindel’s interference form the Valar?*”
	“*That cannot be known,*” his ‘father’ answered his minutes-older 
son.
	“*When will the others begin to remember?*” Craig put in.
	“*They have already begun, just as you did, but without Aragorn 
and Legolas, we are lost, and they are having the most trouble 
remembering their past.*”
	“*Please forgive me, Father, but why are Legolas and Aragorn so 
crucial to our success? There is no Gondor for Aragorn to rule, and no 
Mirkwood elves for Legolas to lead. Almost the only elves left in the 
world are sitting here in this room, and the race of Men has fallen by the 
wayside, taking the world with it.*”
	“*Aragorn’s courage will always be needed, and his Flame of the 
West will blaze again.*” Kate spoke for the first time in that ancient, airy 
voice only she could command. She gazed at Craig, and remembered the 
day her grandsons were born. Just like then, even though so many ages of 
the world had passed, they sometimes still seemed innocent. That was by 
elf-standards, though, as the sons of Elrond made most men look like 
children. “*And Legolas’s strength, quickness and bravery are unmatched. 
The question is not why we need them, but how we can use our alliance 
and second lives to the advantage of all.*”
	There was a knock on the door to the trailer, and they all turned 
towards it. Craig stood and moved to let the person enter. Christopher 
stood, his eyes flashing in the morning light. “Hmmm, hoom, Greetings, 
young elf. Where is Lord Elrond? I must speak with him.”
	The elf, feeling like an elfling as he always did in this ‘man’s’ 
presence, bowed and stepped aside. “Please come and sit, Master 
Treebeard.” As the white-bearded ‘man’ with the resonant, deep, slightly 
frightening voice passed, the elf took a moment to allow himself an 
indulgent glance at his retreating back. ‘It’s hard to believe Christopher 
Lee, of all people, managed to be the reborn Treebeard.’ He remembered, 
nearly a year ago, when his father and Gandalf had been concerned that 
Christopher was truly Saruman reborn, and not just an actor playing that 
deceitful, dangerous wizard.
	“*Elrohir, come sit down,*” called Glorfindel, managing 
simultaneously to sound reproachful and amused.
	Elrohir blushed slightly as he walked briskly to his seat and 
attended to the conversation between Elrond and Treebeard.
	First Treebeard bowed to the rest of the assembly, then took 
Galadriel’s hand in his and kissed it. Finally, he sat down and focused on 
Lord Elrond. “*My trees feel the change, even though there are no Ents 
left.*”
      Elrond Half-Even nodded. “*The world has been poisoned, but 
that is not the worst of it, nor has it been for generations. Neither are the 
wars of men our chief concern, as only a miracle could settle their 
differences. It is the war that our Enemy is waging against the Earth that 
we must be concerned with. She has men, machines, even some parts of 
Nature carrying out her orders.*” He sighed. “*And there is no simple way 
to destroy her.*”
      “*If there was,*” Glorfindel put in, “*we would have already 
attempted it.*”
      “*Indeed,*” Elrond agreed, giving his old friend a slight smile as 
he wondered again how and when Glorfindel had started speaking more 
often. Surely he hadn’t been that talkative during the War of the Ring, or 
for countless centuries before that. 
      “*Soon,*” Elrond continued. “*we must call a council and put 
forth our theories, suggestions and hopes. Perhaps those who have lived 
the longest may know this world better than we do.*” If he had been less 
restrained, he would have smiled sardonically at himself; he, the Lord of 
Imladris, found it endlessly amusing that he hated using anything more 
complicated than a toaster because they had a habit of either exploding, 
catching fire or simply falling forever silent. “*And we cannot wait more 
than another day or two before calling everyone together.*” He glanced at 
Glorfindel, who had the most contact with all of the cast members of Lord 
of the Rings, due to his ability to play ten different characters at any one 
time. He had become Peter’s indispensable extra, which, of course, had 
been Glorfindel’s intention so that he could be around everyone. He was 
well-like and trusted by nearly everybody, and they frequently confessed 
to him all their worst fears and highest hopes without realizing they had 
done so. “*How is Peter coping with all this?*”
      “*He-*” Glorfindel coughed slightly, “*or should I say she- has 
taken her sex and species change remarkably well. And since she has 
accepted what has happened, Gimli is much consoled.*”
      Elrohir snickered; he couldn’t help it. “*I still can’t believe the 
Valar brought Gimli’s mother back as a man. What sort of twisted joke is 
that?*”
      “*Apparently one the Valar felt like making,*” Elladan answered. 
“*Glorfindel, did they bring her back as a reward for Gimli, who’s been 
stuck here for so long, or because she’s a sorcerer, like Legolas, and can 
help us fight our Enemy?*”
      “*Maybe both reasons.*” He glanced at Elrond. “*I think we 
should hold counsel this evening, after today’s shoot. I don’t want to wait 
much longer; Orlando may start to doubt his sanity, despite his refound 
love with Viggo.*”
      The others nodded, and Galadriel added, as she sense some 
nervousness among them, “*He still is the strong Prince of Mirkwood 
we’ve all trusted in the past, despite the child’s body he is in right now.*”
      There was silence for several minutes, broken only by their 
breathing, which nearly all could hear, being elves. Treebeard listened to 
the silence and took his own counsel.
      At last, Elrond roused himself and spoke. “*We must go out now, 
and as always, I remind you all to be ready for anything. Glorfindel, go to 
Aragorn and Legolas and watch over them. Treebeard, will you come with 
me to speak with Gandalf?*”
      “*Gandalf is outside the door,*” Galadriel informed him, more 
than smiling, nearly grinning, just before the wizard knocked on the front 
door.
      Elrond smiled at his mother-in-law; if nothing else, the long years 
had given him a more ready sense of humor; life was too dangerous not to 
take pleasure in the small joys. “*Thank you, Lady,*” he answered as he 
rose along with the others.

Chapter Seventeen

	“Legolas… I need to tell you something.”
	It was nearly the end of the episode, and the shoot had gone very 
well. Better than Peter knew he had any right to expect. They had caught 
up to where they should have been, and they were about to finish the 
entire episode. Both Viggo and Orlando had spoken as though they had 
run this scene a hundred times, getting every word, every movement right, 
and yet they still sounded fresh, as if this really was Aragorn and Legolas 
falling in the love, opening their hearts for the first time.
	‘<What am I talking about? This is Aragorn and Legolas, and they 
are in love.>’
	Viggo croaked, his voice picked up by the mike he wore, “Vaad, 
I…” Then he turned away, so that his face was picked up by a different 
camera, and Peter watched the reddening of the older actor’s cheeks.
	Orlando froze for an instant, and his eyes were distant. Then he 
came to life, moving forward to take Viggo in his arms from behind, 
reaching up to touch his face timidly. “Estel, I love you, too.” He closed 
his eyes for a moment and leaned against Viggo’s back.
	There was a pause, just long enough, Peter thought, contentedly, 
then Viggo turned and put his large, calloused hands on the shoulders of 
the other man (elf, Peter/Kyra thought, smiling to him/herself). “Legolas, 
do you mean that?”
	“Yes.” Orlando tilted his head up. “Yes, King of Gondor, if you 
will have me.” He smiled, but there was nothing impish in it, just earnest 
need. ‘Please don’t tell me I’m mistaken,’ his eyes all but screamed. 
‘Please don’t tell me it’s not love I see in your eyes, love that I hear in 
your voice.’
	Viggo touched Orlando’s hair, just below his left ear, and then his 
lips came down to encompass the soft, waiting mouth. Peter felt his heart 
leap- the kiss looked so real, so fresh, so innocent and also so sincere. 
Kyra chided herself. ‘<Looks real? It is real!>’ For a moment, she felt like 
dancing.
	Everything changed. Orlando gasped, as though in pain, and 
doubled over.
	From across the set, Elrohir shot a look at Glorfindel, as though to 
say, ‘Don’t send him a memory now!’ but he saw that Glorfindel’s face 
was twisted in pain. An instant later, Elrohir felt a fire blaze up behind his 
eyes and in his chest and stomach. He groaned and grasped with one hand 
for something to hold onto as he fell forward. His other arm was wrapped 
around his middle.
	It got worse. Something akin to the sound of an exploding atomic 
bomb assaulted his ears, and Elrohir forgot the pain in his stomach as his 
eardrums expanded, shrieking in protest. He clamped both hands over his 
ears, his brain not even registering, however distantly, that he’d hit the 
floor full force and was now curled on his side. He writhed, and didn’t 
realize that he was screaming. His mind couldn’t tell if the pain was 
coming from inside his ears or out, because there was so much of it, but 
the pain was coming from both places, and if Elrohir hadn’t been in so 
much pain, he would have realized that his ears were melting and flowing 
beneath his shuddering hands.
	On the floor, held in Viggo’s tight embrace, Orlando jerked first 
one way, then the other, trying to escape the agony assaulting him. The 
plastic ran off his ears, the artificial points dissolving, as his skin 
reformed.
	Viggo saw it, and his stomach churned. As his lunch rose in his 
throat, he barely managed to twist his head to one side before throwing up, 
missing Orlando. He groaned and moved a little away from the mess, 
bringing Orlando with him. At that moment, the screaming started, and 
Viggo’s head snapped up. Orlando wasn’t the only one in pain, he saw. 
Richard, Michael and Craig, as well as Hugo and Kate, who had come in 
to watch the shoot, were all on the floor. It was Craig who had screamed 
first, but then Kate’s voice joined his, then Michael’s, Orlando’s, 
Richard’s and finally Hugo’s.
	Viggo heard someone yelling, “Call 911! Call 911!” and realized 
in mild surprise that it was his own voice.
	Another voice bellowed, “Damn you, Valar, haven’t they suffered 
enough?” though Viggo didn’t pay much attention to it at the time.
	Slowly, Orlando stopped twitching- he’d passed out a minute or so 
ago, and now he lay completely, deathly still. With trembling fingers, 
Viggo reached out to search at Orlando’s neck for a pulse. Dimly, he 
realized that only one person was still crying out, though his cries were 
less shrill, almost mere gasps. Faintly, his mind was frightened by this, but 
none of that reached his conscious mind. His fingers had found Orlando’s 
pulse, which was amazingly steady, if faster than Viggo liked.
	He looked down into Orlando’s face, and saw sweat streaking 
down the beautiful skin. Gently, he pulled his lover into his lap.
	“They’re all alive,” a voice announced suddenly, making Viggo 
flinch, and he looked up to see Ian McKellen straightening from Hugo’s 
side. Hugo, Viggo saw, had his eyes open, but he wasn’t moving, and pain 
still darkened his features. “Hopefully that was the worst of it.”
	“Do they all have their ears?” John asked from somewhere behind 
Viggo; he was probably near Kate and Michael.
	‘What a ridiculous question,’ Viggo thought, even as he looked 
down to see if Orlando’s ears were intact. He gasped. He’d thought the 
plastic had melted, and yet Orlando’s ears still bore clear, clean points. He 
reached out to touch one of them, and noticed it was warm. He pulled it 
gently, thinking to remove the plastic. Orlando moaned and flailed weakly 
at him, though he didn’t wake up. Viggo stopped at once.
	“Elrond and Elrohir have theirs,” Ian answered. He called, 
“Aragorn, are Legolas’s ears all right?”
	Viggo stared back at him, but Ian wasn’t joking. Those were the 
words he’d meant to say, Viggo realized dimly. “What?” he asked, part of 
his mind insisting he had heard wrong, or that Ian had really spoken those 
words because of his deep shock. Or something like that.
	“Are Legolas’s ears all right?” Ian repeated. He stood up, then, 
slowly, squeezing Hugo’s shoulder before crossing to Viggo. He knelt and 
touched Orlando’s face, turning his head first one way, then the other, to 
check. “He’s all right,” he called to John, looking over Viggo’s shoulder. 
“Just unconscious.”
	John didn’t answer Ian. “Lady Galadriel, can you hear me?”
	A soft moan answered him, then a voice Viggo would have never 
associated with Kate, but would have seemed perfectly at home emerging 
from the mouth of a million-year-old lady-elf, responded, “I’m recovering, 
Gimli, thank you. Please go check on Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel and 
Legolas.”
	“Are you all right?” Ian asked, placing a hand on Viggo’s shoulder 
that made the actor jump.
	“I’m-I’m fine.” Viggo looked down at Orlando again. “What 
happened?” Then he chided himself. ‘How could he know?’
	“I believe the Valar returned them to their original state,” the old 
man answered confidently, turning his ‘I believe’ into an ‘I know’. There 
was a ghost of anger in his voice. “Such transformations are rarely 
painless. Not only their ears have changed, Aragorn son of Arathorn, but 
the entire composition of their bodies. They are elves again.” He was 
looking straight into Viggo’s eyes the whole time he was speaking, and he 
watched the confusion, fear, frustration and hopeless resignation take their 
turns in his eyes. In a tone he probably thought was soothing, but which 
Viggo took as distant, Ian said, “Wait and you will see.”

Chapter Eighteen

	The six elves lay quietly as their bodies relearned how to turn 
down the volume on the world around them. The room would have 
seemed nearly silent, almost terrifyingly so, to men, but they all listened to 
each breath, each whisper of a breeze, and they remembered how to live in 
the noisy world.
	Elrond, who had remained conscious during the entire 
metamorphosis, seemed weakest, but also the least likely to hold still 
much longer. ‘*Gandalf said that we have less than two weeks. How long 
have we been lying here? There is not time for this recovery!*’ He turned 
his head, and watched as his sons listened to the world and remembered 
what it was like to be nearly light as air, and yet strong as any man, and 
quicker. Elrohir flexed his hands experimentally, making a faint rustling 
sound. Elladan stretched his renewed muscles very slowly, studying their 
abilities, as a new captain would test the capabilities of his crew.
	Elrond’s eyes moved to Lady Galadriel, who seemed to be 
listening, both inside and outside herself, for changes in the world. 
Feathers of pain crossed her features from time to time, and Elrond’s heart 
went out to her. Her golden hair was lying on the pillow all around her 
face, curled up like some sleeping, peaceful, imaginary creature. It was an 
analogy that made Elrond smile even as he thought of it, and he only 
hoped the Lady of the Wood didn’t hear it. 
	His eyes moved to Glorfindel, and his heart leapt with joy. At 
least, he, Elrond, as well as Lady Galadriel and Legolas, had been able to 
assume their original appearances during the shooting of the movies and 
television series. This had felt like a blessing from the first, and he’d 
realized with sadness that it was a miracle his sons and Glorfindel couldn’t 
participate in. But unlike Glorfindel, his sons had been fortunate; Elrohir 
was granted the long, dark brown hair that he’d always prized as a child, 
and his eyes seemed just as old (and mischievous) as they had in the Land 
of the Dead. Elladan, though almost everything was changed about his 
outward appearance, had thrown himself into tracking all the other reborn 
ones, as he called them, and barely, not even in his deepest, most secret 
thoughts, noticed that his appearance was much altered. Glorfindel, 
though, as much as he tried to concentrate on the current time and place, 
had missed his speed and accuracy with bow and arrow, as well as his 
light steps. Simply put, he’d hated being human, and never had quite 
forgiven the Valar, though he was grateful enough and retained enough 
respect for them not to be openly rebellious or sacrilegious.
	Now, though, Elrond could see how his friend had changed: the 
delicate Elven features, and the long, slightly shimmering blond hair left 
no doubt in Elrond’s mind that Glorfindel had been given back what he’d 
so desperately missed.
	These thoughts made him think about his own body’s changes, but 
he put that thought aside to look at Legolas. The youngest elf lay with the 
blanket drawn nearly to his chin, as though he were a child afraid of the 
dark, but Elrond could see his hands lay atop the coverlet, and there was 
no tension in them.
	Finally, he turned his attention to the noisiest person in the room, 
who would have appeared to be sitting relatively quietly to most men; 
Gimli huddled in a chair beside Legolas’s bed, murmuring to him in a 
mixture of Dwarvish and the Common Speech (English, Elrond reminded 
himself for the thousandth time) as tears trickled down his cheeks. Elrond 
watched him lean forward and kiss Legolas’s hand; he’d done that three or 
four times already, and then sit back again. The first time he’d done that, 
Legolas had jumped a little, but he was used to it now, and it even brought 
a smile to his haggard, tired face.
	Then Elrond’s eyes roved to the man on the other side of the bed. 
He would have blended into the shadows if there had been any in this 
room. He looked both lonely and glad to be ignored. There was an ancient, 
flickering light in his eyes, and Elrond wondered, sadness making his 
mouth taste like old, dried leaves, bitter, but still miraculously glowing, 
how his human son had survived through so many ages of the world. 
‘Legolas must have truly been his strength,’ he decided as Aragorn shifted 
slightly in his chair and looked back at him. Elrond tried to draw up a 
memory of what that look reminded him of, and finally he settled on 
Strider, as he’d appeared in Rivendell before the forming of the 
Fellowship. His son was hardened against the world at that moment, 
fearing to disturb Legolas, telling himself he didn’t need to be any closer, 
though he passionately did, and planning for the uncertain future as only 
the chief of the exiled, running, hunting Dunedain could.
      Elrond often felt that his son was lucky in a way; every time a new 
phase of his life was begun, his name changed to suit the man he had to be 
to meet the challenges he was about to face. In Rivendell, he’d been Estel, 
needing and giving so much hope, then he’d become Aragorn, King of 
Men, for a short time, then Strider, the exile, his name giving him the 
mystery, strength and roughness he’d needed to survive in the Wild.
	Strider blinked at him now, and for an instant Estel shone behind 
his eyes, and the boy was scared and hurt. Then a new person took over, 
and Elrond understood that Viggo was still fighting for his identity. ‘*Did 
Estel ever fight Strider?*’ Elrond wondered, and in that room, with change 
and acceptance taking place around him, where six elves were recovering 
from a miracle, this didn’t seem like an amusing question, but a very sad, 
troubling one.
	He stood up and moved towards his youngest son. His movement 
drew the attention of everyone in the room except Gimli and Legolas. 
Elrond put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “*Come, I need to speak with 
you.*”
	The man rose and followed him from the room, and not until they 
were sitting in a tiny, crowded storage room did Elrond get another look at 
his face. At first, he didn’t recognize the person he saw looking out from 
behind the grey eyes, then he recognized it was a very battered, frightened, 
yet strong Aragorn. Later, Elrond would realize that Viggo was just 
another name his son had worm for a while, until it was done serving its 
purpose.
	He wasn’t sure which name to approach the man with, and so he 
settled for, “My son, are you well?” It was as good a question as any to get 
Aragorn to talk, but Elrond already knew the answer of course; it was 
written all over Aragorn’s face.
	“No,” answered Aragorn candidly, honest with his father and 
himself. “I mean, I’m fine,” Viggo argued. There was a pause of about 
three seconds, then Estel whispered, “Legolas doesn’t want me there.”
	Elrond’s first impulse was to tell him he was wrong; he ignored 
that one. His second thought was to ask his son why he felt that way. This, 
too, he pushed to the side. “Aragorn, there will be a war soon.” Perhaps it 
was not the best statement to make, given the man’s mental condition, but 
it got the desired result; first, Strider’s eyes flashed, then Aragorn’s calm, 
determined gaze met his.
	“What war?”
	Elrond settled back for a long explanation, made longer each time 
Viggo came out to protest the ridiculous situation.
	“You have lived through the War of the Ring, Aragorn, and if you 
will not acknowledge that, Viggo-” for the man’s eyes had changed again- 
“you’ve read its account in The Lord of the Rings. Sauron was destroyed 
at last through the destruction of the One Ring, and his spirit does not live 
on, but he instilled a need for power in others, and that thirst does continue 
to thrive. Others have attempted to reforge the One Ring, in all its terrible 
power, but several things have kept them from doing so. First of all, after 
the majority of the elves left Middle Earth, much of the magic departed 
with them. The Istari left as well, and dwarves, men and hobbits have no 
magic of their own, except that which lies in love. Secondly, you and 
Legolas foiled two plots of that kind, where people, both men and 
dwarves, managed to reforge the Ring for evil. Three, nearly everyone on 
Earth has forgotten that Middle Earth ever existed, and thus couldn’t know 
such a weapon was possible. They have created their own weapons, of 
course, and those have wreaked much destruction, but it was hoped that 
certain terrible things were gone forever from the world. I speak of 
Ringwraiths, wizards (though not all are evil), orcs and trolls.”
      Lord Elrond took a deep breath. “At least, we thought they were 
gone, until now.”
	He waited for a reaction, if not from Aragorn, then from Viggo, 
but received none, and continued:
	“Many of these creatures have taken different forms, unknown 
ones, and thus they are the more dangerous because they could be among 
us without our knowing it. Except, now that we- I speak of myself and the 
other Elves- have regained our original forms, we can sense them. And 
any sorcerer can sense them.”
	Aragorn blurted, “Legolas will feel them, then, as he is both.” 
Then the man subsided again, and his eyes flickered again between 
Aragorn’s steely grey and Viggo’s determined-not-to-be-swayed gaze.
	“That’s true,” Elrond answered, heartened by Aragorn’s brief 
triumph over Viggo. “Our next conclusion was to realize that their 
transformation is not natural, and so they must have a creator, and possibly 
a leader. We are sure this leader exists, and we are sure she is female, but 
that is nearly all that has been revealed to us through visions and intense 
study.”
	“Will you tell me the rest?”
	“At the counsel this evening, yes, I and others will. Right now, I 
wanted to let you know that the changes you are seeing and feeling are 
perfectly fine, if not normal. To do that, I had to give you a little bit of 
background information.” He gazed at the fluctuating expression on his 
son’s face. “Please don’t be afraid, Viggo; this is all quite true, and not at 
all as crazy as it sounds. And Aragorn, please be patient.”
	“My memory is fragmented,” Aragorn complained.
	“Yes, I know. It may be for some time. At this time, all I need is 
for you to have an open mind, and be willing to take this new challenge 
one step at a time. Will you do that for me/”
	“Orli believes you, doesn’t he?” Viggo demanded, sounding hurt 
and alone, as though Orlando’s acceptance was a deliberate attack and 
insult.
	“I don’t know, but it would seem he has no choice, as he has now 
taken on the appearance and reactions of an elf instead of a man,” Elrond 
answered, his patience nearly endless.
	Then both Aragorn and Viggo subsided, deep in thought, and 
Elrond got up. “I must go take a walk. When you are ready, please return 
to Legolas’s bedside.” That request brought a glimmer of pain across 
Viggo’s face, and a look of confusion from Aragorn, but neither answered, 
and so Elrond, counted among the very wisest of Middle Earth, left 
silently, trusting to his own discretion.

Chapter Nineteen

	Orlando struggled to understand what had happened to him. ‘I’m 
an elf, just like John said I was.’
	‘But elves don’t exist, except in stories.’
	‘There are points on my ears- I can’t ignore that, and it’s not a 
story. Besides, I… feel different. I feel lighter, like I’ve lost half my 
weight, except that I seem to have gained stronger muscles, if not more of 
them. And everything sounds so, well, strange. I’m a deaf person who’s 
been given hearing aids, or a miracle cure.’
	“Legolas?”
	He turned his blond head (blond! I’ll be blond for the rest of my 
life- unless this is all a dream) and gazed at John. “Yes?” he almost 
whispered.
	“It is time for the counsel. The second council of Elrond,, you 
might say.” John was standing up, smiling slightly, though the smile 
seemed tired, and Orlando wondered why he heard the man- dwarf?- rise, 
but realized he must have been too trapped within himself. ‘I don’t have 
any more time to wonder about this,’ he decided. ‘Something’s very 
wrong; John’s worried, and I feel… off… somehow. I can’t dwell on my 
confusion any longer.’ He stood also. “Let’s go, then.”
	As they left the room, which had been emptied except for the two 
of them hours ago, a part of Orlando that had been shut off due to stress 
suddenly came blazing back to life. “Where’s-” two names flashed across 
his mind, and he settled on the second one- “Viggo?” He cleared his 
throat, slightly embarrassed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
	“Presumably, he’s still speaking with Lord Elrond, or perhaps he’s 
walking, taking his own counsel,” John (Gimli?) answered. 
      He sounded tired to Orlando, who was starting to notice other 
things besides the confusion in his head, and the young man responded to 
it. “Are you okay, John?”
      There was a pause, and finally his friend answered, “I’ll be all 
right, lad; it’s just been a hard couple of centuries.”
      Orlando did a double take, but John didn’t seem to realize he’d 
said anything amiss, so Orlando let it be. They walked in silence to John’s 
trailer, and Orlando followed him inside. He blinked at the sight he found 
there. The trailer had always seemed small, probably because John was so 
large, but now it was just plain cramped.
      Others with ears like his sat in a semicircle, most of them on 
chairs, but two, identical twins, stood in back of someone who was 
certainly their father. But there were at least ten others that Orlando didn’t 
acknowledge at that moment. He had eyes only for the man who sat in one 
corner, his eyes cast to the floor in thought, or perhaps in sorrow.
      Again, the two names leapt to Orlando’s lips. “Varagorn!” he 
exclaimed, joy overcoming his surprise at having spoken out loud. He 
rushed forward as the man’s head jerked up, and he rose hastily. He drew 
his lover against his chest, and the blonde remembered another day 
wrapped in those strong arms…
***
	“They are all safe, at least,” his lover whispered, his voice raspy 
from smoke inhalation and grief. “Those that could get out.” His eyes 
filled with tears again, and Legolas hugged him closer as they watched 
Gondor burn.
	“Your people will follow you wherever you go,” he said softly.
	Aragorn bowed his head and brought up one hand to wipe at his 
eyes. “My people, who trusted me and who I betrayed…”
	“There was no betrayal, Aragorn; you fought bravely, and in the 
end, you saved them from death or worse.” He wouldn’t let himself cry, 
not when Aragorn needed his strength, but he felt the deaths of so many 
like tiny knives pressing at his skin.
      “We can’t stay here,” he continued, hating himself for speaking, 
but knowing he had to. He turned to walk away, but then felt his leg give 
another complaint. It had been yelling at him, screaming, really, loud, 
hysterical screams, since they’d made their escape with the last of 
Aragorn’s trusted, trusting people, but until now he’d been able to force it 
away from him as he struggled to keep Aragorn moving. The king had 
gotten them all out safely, or most of them, but he’d lost his emotional and 
mental strength after that. His leg buckled, and Legolas swore.
      Aragorn reacted as it seemed he always had- with speed and grace. 
He swept Legolas up into his arms and turned towards the woods without 
hesitation. They smelled the smoke long after they’d lost sight of the 
flames.
***
	“Vaad…”
	Legolas huddled close and closer. “Aragorn, Aragorn…” Then the 
tears came, and he felt his knees give out. As it turned out, so did 
Aragorn’s, and they both sank to the rough carpet, holding onto each other 
and crying.
	“*One victory for us,*” Glorfindel mouthed to Elrond, who 
nodded, smiling.

Book Three: Hopes and Setbacks
Chapter Twenty

	Elrond cleared his throat after a few minutes. There were smiles on 
every face, some broader than others, but they needed to get down to 
business. They weren’t going to defeat their Enemy with love. That was a 
fairy tale, and this was too deadly and too sweet to be fiction. Aragorn and 
Legolas broke apart slightly, but they didn’t let go of each other entirely, 
and Aragorn took Legolas to his corner, where the elf perched on his lap. 
As Elrond began to speak, their expressions turned from ones of ecstasy to 
ones of the utmost attentiveness. Part of them, beyond their still-
fragmented memories, understood that there was grave danger ahead.
	“We are beginning this war with many unknowns, but I will cover 
the things that are known. There is an Enemy to face, and she is female. 
The Valar sent us back for this one task, granting us all a second life.” He 
paused. “She has recreated many of our old enemies, including orcs, trolls, 
Ringwraiths and wargs. They may or may not be in their original forms.”
	Someone Orlando hadn’t noticed when he first came in raised his 
hand slightly, and Orlando looked at him. That was when he saw Elijah, 
Sean, Billy and Dom sitting in front of the seated elves. They seemed 
smaller, somehow; not dramatically so, but slightly, as though they were 
people shrinking slowly as they aged. His eyes roved a little, and he saw 
Ian, John and Christopher standing against another wall.
	Elijah asked, and there was definitely a note of dread in his voice, 
“Then has the Ring been remade?”
	Elrond answered after a moment, “That is one of the things that is 
still unknown. When I spoke of Ringwraiths, it was only to describe how 
they appeared in visions. If such dangerous, controlled creatures can exist 
without a Ring, then these are doing so. I merely said Ringwraiths because 
I had nothing else to compare them to.”
	Gimli spoke then, and Orlando/Legolas was amazed at how 
exhausted he sounded. “What can we do? How do we fight something we 
don’t understand? Gandalf spoke of the war beginning in two weeks-”
	“Patience, Gimli, son of Gloin!” said Elrond. “Gandalf will explain 
himself in due course, and as to your first question, that is what we are 
gathered here to discuss.” He turned to the rest of the assembly. “We have 
ways to prepare, of course, and ways to make our position stronger. First, I 
must ask a question of each of you: are you willing to proceed with your 
partial memories?”
	There was silence for a moment, and then Aragorn said quietly, “I 
don’t see that we have any choice. Whether we’re ready or not, the war 
will begin, and we would do better to meet it face-to-face than crouching 
on our knees.”
	“There is always a choice,” Gandalf answered, speaking for the 
first time. “We can run. That has ever been a choice.”
	“We would be hunted down!” cried Sam. “Just like when I wanted 
to go back to my Gaffer when I saw him suffering in Lady Galadriel’s 
mirror-” he was still awed by Galadriel, and this was shown in the glance 
he gave her- “and she told me, not in so many words, but the meaning was 
there, that I must go on.”
	Legolas raised an eyebrow, and couldn’t resist speaking up. “Sam, 
you have changed.” Orlando was surprised at the sudden deepness and 
wisdom in his own voice. ‘How old am I?’ he wondered distractedly.
	‘We have all changed, since we lived as mere mortals for a while,’ 
Gandalf answered, “not to mention all that some of us have been through 
in this world.”
	“Speak for yourself; we were always mere mortals,” Pippin put in, 
sounding bolder than he ever had in Middle Earth.
	Gandalf opened his mouth, maybe to say, “Silence, Fool of a 
Took!” but Lady Galadriel drew all attention when she spoke.
	“We must answer the question posed to us by Elrond. Are we 
willing to fight this war knowing that we only remember half of our 
former lives at best? Only Gimli has his full memory, and even he has his 
own challenges.” She folded her hands, and the calmness she radiated 
diffused the tense situation. She turned her deep gaze on Aragorn. 
“Emotionally, Elessar, you are ready to fight, but without all of your 
memories, you may react differently than in the past to any given 
obstacle.” She moved her eyes to mean that her next words for all of them. 
“And the identities we lived before these discoveries have a bearing on all 
of our decisions. How many of you have children now?”
	Sean and Viggo raised their hands slightly.
	“Your concern for them may color your judgment,” she continued, 
“though I am not saying whether that is good or bad, as it can be turned 
either way. Also, how much can you know about the people you are allied 
with, since they are part of your past? We must all agree to trust ourselves 
and each other even though we all have gaps in our knowledge. If we 
doubt each other, we may as well hand ourselves over to the Enemy right 
now.” This last statement was very unlike Galadriel, and none who sat 
there doubted that last part had come directly from Kate.
	There was an uncomfortable and very long silence.
      Pippin and Merry glanced at each other, realizing that they knew 
they were cousins, and that they trusted each other, but little else.
	Elladan and Elrohir shifted nervously, and they cast confused and 
worried looks at each other. They were brothers, twins, and yet they didn’t 
know each other.
	Sam looked determined. ‘I don’t know anything, except that he’s 
Mister Frodo, and I have to take care of him,’ he decided, and was content. 
If the others had known his thoughts, perhaps they would have been 
slightly envious of his easy acceptance.
	Aragorn’s mind did not change, even when presented with new 
evidence- they had to trust each other. Something Elrond had said ten 
thousand lifetimes ago crossed his mind: “You will unite, or you will fall.” 
And even though he didn’t remember exactly everything that happened to 
him, he didn’t dare allow himself to feel doubt. What if he was torn in 
two, undecided about his course, as had happened during the time of the 
Fellowship, and his doubts caused more deaths and captures? Viggo was 
full of doubts, but Aragorn pushed that part of himself back, as he had 
done many times with Estel, and even Strider, when the time came that 
they were not needed, or were a dangerous burden.
	Legolas glanced at Aragorn’s face, and saw the determination he 
felt he could trust, thought he remembered trusting in the past. He felt the 
strong, sure arms around his waist, and longed to relax into them. A flash 
of annoyance passed quickly through his mind, then was gone again. 
‘How can he be so resolute? Isn’t he ever unsure anymore? Does he trust 
his and my abilities? How can he trust me when I don’t trust me?’
	Elrond spoke. “Now that you all have had a chance to think, I will 
voice my opinion. Aragorn is right; we do not really have a choice, 
besides submitting. We are going to have to hone our skills though, since 
there is much we don’t remember. Gimli, I need you to take Aragorn and 
Legolas and give them back their weapons. As for the others, the props 
people on this set have done a remarkable job, and you can use those 
things they have designed without fear.”
	“Are we to go against guns and bombs with arrows and swords?” 
Strider demanded cynically.
	“We do not know yet what we are facing,” Elrond responded 
simply, refusing to be angered, “so we should go with those weapons we 
know best. And no matter what has been forgotten, many skills are 
muscle-memory, and harder to get rid of than even long-term memory. 
Even though these are different bodies, we can hope the muscle-memory 
carries over.” He paused. “Gimli, I want you to take Legolas to your 
mother, so that he can be reminded of his sorcerer’s powers… Gimli? 
Gimli?”
	The dwarf was staring off into space with a look of complete and 
utter exhaustion etched on his face. His hands shook as though he were 
suffering from arthritis; it was painful to watch. All eyes were drawn to 
him as the silence intensified.
	Legolas stirred on Aragorn’s lap, then stood. He crossed the room 
and stopped, crouching slightly in front of Gimli, taking his hands. 
“Gimli? Gim-Gim?” he asked softly, using the nickname he’d invented 
thousands of years ago.
	The eyes focused gradually, but the drained look didn’t leave 
Gimli’s face. Gimli opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it 
again, then his head drooped forward. All at once, his knees buckled, and 
Legolas caught him before he could crash to the floor.
	Gimli wasn’t unconscious, but he was near it.  The others all 
resisted identical and simultaneous urges to rush to the dwarf’s side. They 
waited anxiously as only Elrond approached. Even he stood a little back, 
giving Legolas a chance to help if he could.
	“Gim-Gim, can you hear me?” At first, Legolas thought that, like 
him, Gimli was suffering through a change, but the dwarf didn’t seem to 
be shrinking yet; he looked just like John Rhys-Davies, without the very 
long, brown beard or the short, stocky legs.
	Gimli didn’t raise his head, but he managed to whisper, “Yes.” His 
whole body was trembling now, though almost imperceptively.
      And, Legolas noticed, though it surely couldn’t have been seen by 
anyone else, his friend was crying. His throat tightened in distress. “I’m 
right here, Gim-Gim; let me help you.”
	Suddenly, the dwarf broke into large, grunting, wracking sobs; he 
seemed to decide unconsciousness couldn’t help him. Everyone froze for 
an instant, and there was a large intake of breath from most of them.
	“I-I c-c-can’t…” Gimli roared, clutching at Legolas as his 
trembling turned to rocking back and forth. “I c-c-can’t can’t make it…” 
His head snapped up, and his eyes found Legolas’s own after a brief, but 
frantic search. “I can’t do what they w-wwwaaa-” He gulped in fiercely, 
trying to stop the tears. “Can’t do what they wwwaannnt!” He finished, 
nearly screaming.
	Legolas felt sick with worry. He fought to keep his voice calm. 
“What who wants, Gim-Gim?”
	“The-the Valar! They want me to be strong, and I-I c-can’t do it 
anymore!” His hands gripped Legolas’s shoulders very hard for a moment, 
then he pulled away and dropped his hands into his lap (he was sitting on 
his heels on the floor). “I’m so tired, Legolas.” A sob closed his throat, 
and the tears hadn’t stopped streaming down his cheeks. He rocked harder.
	Legolas glanced around quickly, seeking aid. Elrond whispered, 
‘*Remind him we are here to help.*”
	Legolas paused, trying to remember enough Dwarvish, wanting to 
comfort his friend. “<Gim-Gim, we’re all here to help you. Please let us 
help you.>” ‘At least,’ he thought in frustration, ‘I think that’s what I 
said.’
	“<Th-there’s no time to help me! We-we need to save everything, 
the world, and-and except I c-can’t because I’m so tired, and there’s no 
time for anything but saving the world, and no amount of rest will help 
me- I want to die, need to sleep so badly, want to be away from here, want 
it to be just me and Legolas, just us, just drinking malt beer and kidding 
and maybe I’d smoke some pipeweed, and Strider could be there, and the 
hobbits, and we’d laugh and talk and sleep sleep sleep->”
	This continued on for some minutes. Legolas took Gimli in his 
arms, unsure of what else to do, and he only caught every other word. He 
turned his head once, and caught the anguished look on Aragorn’s face, 
but then he focused back on Gimli and simply waited.
	Someone began to sing. Legolas couldn’t immediately identify the 
voice, except that it was a non-elf, possibly a hobbit, singing an Elvish 
song. The pronunciation was all wrong, and the notes clashed, but the 
feeling, the heart, was in it, and that was what counted. The singer faltered 
to a halt, and then Elvish voices took up the song.
	Slowly, the combination of the voices and the gentle, soothing 
music began to reach Gimli through his despair. His tears slowed, then 
stopped. Gradually, he came up through the murk of his grief and looked 
into Legolas’s eyes again. “Legolas?” he rasped as the singing continued, 
quieter now, as if not to be intrusive.
	“I’m right here, Gim-Gim,” Legolas assured.
	Gimli’s face changed from one of pain to one of naked need, then 
to a deep shame. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I didn’t mean to…” He looked 
over Legolas’s shoulder.
	Legolas touched Gimli’s hand. “Gimli, please look at me.” When 
Gimli focused on him, he said softly, “Let me help you.”
	His kindness, his need to take care of his friend broke through 
Gimli’s defenses, and the dwarf’s face crumpled again. He fell forward 
into Legolas’s arm. “I-I-I never thought I would see you again.” He buried 
his head in Legolas’s shoulder. The sobs began again, but quieter this 
time. These were, Legolas assumed, happy tears, or at the very least, 
grieved and joyous ones mixed.
	Legolas noticed dimly that the singing had stopped. He rubbed 
Gimli’s back, unable to understand exactly what Gimli was talking about. 
‘Why is he so tired? This is an exhaustion sleep can’t cure.’ He couldn’t 
really comprehend that last thought, only knew it to be true.
	“The Valar forced you to live alone,” said a voice, and Legolas 
recognized it after a moment as Gandalf’s. The voice sounded too old, too 
weak to belong to that strong wizard, but it was truly his voice. “And they 
barely gave you any hope. You were separated from all you knew, and 
they expected you to live without any loving, meaningful contact.” He 
drew in a ragged breath, and the fire was lit under his voice. “The bastards 
left you here to survive without anyone whom you could lean on for aid, 
no one you could help or talk to.” There was a sudden crack, and Legolas 
jerked his head around. Gandalf had punched his hand into the wall. There 
was a small indentation as he pulled back, and his eyes were blazing. “I 
don’t think any of us understood what being alive and alone, here, meant. 
Maybe we still don’t. But I understand one thing; they tortured you, and 
expected you to survive. Gave you no choice, except being damned to 
Hell, to survive.”
	There was a silence almost as long as the one after Elrond had 
asked his question. At last, Aragorn rose and came to stand near Gimli. 
“We are here for you, now, Gimli, and you will not be left alone again.”
	Legolas looked at his lover, and again saw the strength in his eyes. 
‘Thank you for being strong,’ he thought, not realizing he was 
contradicting himself.
	Gimli responded as others rose and moved towards him. His face 
relaxed as his heart lightened.
	“We won’t leave you again,” Legolas found himself promising. 
“We won’t leave you behind, Gimli.”

Chapter Twenty-One

	“All right, all right,” said Elrond tolerantly. “We need to finish this 
counsel. We have established that we are here for each other, and, by 
extension, that we agree to see this battle through to the end. There is one 
more factor I must discuss with you. It is something I was hoping we 
would not have to concern ourselves with, but perhaps it is for the best 
that we are all prepared.
	“The Valar are obviously doing more than watching over us. They 
are doing more than ‘protecting the good ones and punishing the evil 
ones,’ as the adage says. I have reached this conclusion based on what 
Gimli has told us, as well as on some careful observing that I did in the 
Land of the Dead.”
	Pippin snickered. “You were snooping?” he asked. His eyes 
twinkled, and several others gathered there laughed as well, Gimli, 
Legolas and even Gandalf among them. Aragorn smiled quietly, and 
Glorfindel turned so that his expression was not readable.
	“Yes, well, I had just cause, Peregrin Took.” His reprimand wasn’t 
real, and the hobbit-turned-man wasn’t chastened. “I observed that the 
Valar were taking a very active interest in the lives of Aragorn and 
Legolas. They began to set obstacles in their way that not even Luthien 
and Beren had to face. Aragorn and Legolas were repeatedly asked to do 
the impossible. This not only seemed unfair; these were ruthless actions 
reflective of no-longer-loving, yet still quite powerful, beings. Then 
Aragorn was killed in the airplane crash, and Legolas was forced to 
remain on Earth for another year.”
	“I thought those were air-demons that attacked us,” Legolas said 
without thinking, and he was troubled to realize he only half-remembered 
the event.
	“They were,” Elrond agreed, “but the Valar sent them. You were 
not expected to survive, Legolas, but your elven-healing served you, for 
good or ill, and you were trapped here. So the Valar decided to test you 
once again.”
	“And now we’re back, except you’re all here as well,” Aragorn 
murmured. “What are they playing at? Are we really here to fight this 
war?” He shook his head, and added, “Are we just here so they can watch 
us jump through their hoops again?” Strider’s eyes flashed, and his mouth 
twisted with bitterness.
	There was stunned silence. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Elrond 
were prepared for this, though it was still disturbing, and perhaps Gandalf 
and Galadriel were not completely thrown off, but the others were floored 
by this terrible twist.
	“How can we not fight, though?” whispered Frodo. “Even if the 
Valar are against us, we can’t just let ourselves be killed without trying to 
fight back.  That’s almost as bad as suicide.”
	“Besides,” said Elrohir defiantly, “we’re not like that. We won’t 
roll over and play dead for anyone.”
	“But if we fight, we play into their hands,” his brother argued. 
“And even if we win against this Enemy, whoever she is, we’ll still have 
the Valar to deal with.”
	“Are you saying we should fight the Valar?” Strider asked calmly.
	“No!” Elladan cried, horrified. “We’d never survive. Besides, who 
would keep the universe from destroying itself if the Valar wasn’t here?”
	“The universe needs their guidance?” Strider pursued, his voice 
slightly sarcastic. “Guidance which is distracted at best, preoccupied as 
they are with our suffering?”
	“Aragorn, we can’t take on the Valar,” Legolas whispered, his eyes 
wide.
	“That is a question for later,” Elrond decided, holding up his hand 
to stop Strider’s answer. “Let us deal with the war we must fight first.”
	“But if the Valar are against us, what chance do we have of 
winning?” Strider demanded.
	“If the Valar wanted to kill us, they could do so now,” Gandalf 
responded.
	Galadriel nodded. “I agree. We must plan and attack as though the 
Valar are not involved, or we will second-guess ourselves into inaction.”
	Strider subsided, and Aragorn asked, “What must we do?”
	“We must gather our weapons and our resources. Legolas, go to 
Kyra- you know her as Peter Jackson- and ask her to help you remember 
your sorcerer powers. Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, remember 
your swordplay; much from the shooting of the films and television show 
will carry over in that area. Sam, Frodo, Pippin and Merry will start 
cooking lembas- you have the recipe, Gimli?” The dwarf nodded. “Good. 
Thank you, Gimli.” Elrond did not forget ‘thank you’ with Gimli, after all 
he’d been through.
	The hobbits exchanged glances, wondering what lembas had to do 
with fighting, but they didn’t ask, deciding to let Elrond finish.
	Gandalf forestalled the elf-lord for a moment, by adding, “Please 
pack some dried fish. If you catch the little finger-sized ones- Aragorn can 
show you how- they’ll come in handy. Dry them and pack them in the 
same leaves used for wrapping lembas. Be sure they are set aside, 
though,” Ian added, smiling, “or someone will get a nasty surprise.”
	“But all of that can wait until the morning,” Elrond resumed. 
“Tomorrow we must conduct a shoot, as though it were a normal day, so 
as to be above suspicion.”
      Legolas asked suddenly, because his mind had been on Kyra, and 
the little he remembered about her, “Why isn’t Kyra here?”
      “She is preparing certain things that Gimli has kept secret. She will 
be brining certain things to you, Legolas and Aragorn, before the night is 
over.” He paused, then drew something from inside his robes. “She gave 
me this to give to you, Frodo.”
      The hobbit-man rose and approached. Elrond held out a short 
sword in a battered sheath. Frodo’s hands trembled as he took it. “Sting,” 
he whispered in awe and joy. He drew it slightly from its sheath and gazed 
at it. Then he turned and looked at Gimli. “You kept it?”
      The dwarf nodded. He seemed almost to be the stoic dwarf they 
had known before, his determination and courage firmly back in place. 
“After you left it with Sam, he traveled to Gondor and gave it to Aragorn 
to keep as a treasure. When Gondor fell-” he glanced at Aragorn, and saw 
pain flicker across the man’s face- “we rescued what heirlooms we could.”
      “Kyra has other things, but for now I assign you all tasks until the 
morning. Talk to each other for about two hours or so, and then get some 
sleep. See what you recall. Maybe, between all of us, there is not much 
which is forgotten.”
      They rose one at a time and left the trailer, breaking into pairs, 
threes and fours. Aragorn asked Gimli, “Will you come with Legolas and 
me?”
      The dwarf smiled, and for an instant, he seemed on the verge of 
fresh tears. “Of course, lad,” he whispered, and the three left together.

Chapter Twenty-Two

      The next ten days passed in a blur. Much later, only a few 
instances stuck out in the minds of the defenders, like cut out scenes from 
a movie which has been mostly lost. 
***
	Legolas concentrated. Two days had passed since the meeting 
Elrohir had dubbed “The Second Council of Elrond.” He focused 
everything he had on the pencil across the room. “Lift,” he whispered, his 
teeth clenched. “Lift.” He stared at the pencil, and it refused to move.
	“Use the Force, Luke,” muttered Viggo.
	Orlando grimaced. “You’re no help.”
	“I’m sorry.” Viggo subsided, and Aragorn suggested, “Get mad at 
it. Not just annoyed, but angry. Command it, Legolas.”
	Legolas put his frustration at Viggo, at the whole, half-confusing, 
half-sane situation, into his mind and ordered, “Lift!”
	The pencil shot into the air and soared across the room into his 
outstretched hand. 
He smiled happily at it for a moment, then grinned at Aragorn. ‘I can do 
it,’ he thought with determination. ‘I just did it, so I can do it again.’ 
“Lift,” he whispered, his eyes dancing, and Aragorn rose a few inches off 
the floor.
	The Ranger gasped, and twisted like a tangled marionette in the 
air. “Legolahh-”
	The elf set him down, then laughed. “You were right. That was just 
what I needed, Vaad; thank you.”
***
	“It takes two cups of dates!”
	“Three!”
	Merry and Pippin were arguing in the kitchen. Frodo and Sam 
were quietly measuring out more bread flour in one corner. Neither of 
them wanted to get in the middle of this particular dispute.
      “The recipe says two!” 
	“I distinctly remember using three!”
	“You’ve only made lembas twice before. We need to trust the 
recipe!”
	Splatter.
	“Hey!” Merry wiped the dough off his face. “What was that for?” 
Under the table, where Pippin couldn’t see him, he was making his own 
blob of dough into a round ball.
	Pippin was doubled over, clutching his stomach and hooting. “You 
look like a-”
	Splat!
      Pippin stopped laughing.
      “You’re wasting the dough,” Frodo put in, wanting to laugh but 
knowing they had a job to do.
      Merry and Pippin both hurled dough at him.
      Squiah! Splat!
      “Leave Master Frodo out of this!” Sam shouted. “He’s just trying 
to help!” Sean asserted himself for a moment. “This is dangerous. 
Someone could slip and fall!”
      Splat! Splort! Splatter!!
      Sam went down on his knees, his face and front covered 
completely in dough.
      “What’s going on in here?” demanded a stern voice, and the three 
guilty hobbits turned. But it was only Aragorn, and they could see he was 
in a pretty good mood, despite his gruff tone. There was a twinkle in his 
eyes, and a satisfied, happy smile was trying to tug at his lips.
      Without a word, after they’d waited for Sam to get up, all four 
hobbits grabbed bits of dough, mostly off themselves, and flung them at 
the astonished Ranger.
***
      They were in bed together. Finally, after too many years 
wondering, worrying, half-knowing.
      It had been Elrohir, the more adventurous of the two, who had 
finally dared to voice his thoughts. ‘I don’t want to die, leave this world 
again, probably only to fight the Valar, and not tell him how I feel.’
      Now they were touching, but their hands were trembling.
      Glorfindel’s hand lifted hesitatingly. He caressed Elrohir’s ear, and 
he felt the younger elf give a little lurch under him. “*Did that hurt?*”
      Elrohir was panting slightly. All he could do was shake his head 
no.
	Glorfindel touched him again, and Elrohir moaned out loud. 
Suddenly, remembering his boldness, Elrohir reached out with both arms 
and drew Glorfindel down on top of him. Their lips met and held.
***
	None of them understood that these would be some of the happiest 
times of their reborn lives.

Chapter Twenty-Three

	Kyra paced. She gazed down at her male human body in disgust 
and frustration. “<Why can’t I be a normal dwarf?>” she wondered for the 
millionth time.
	‘<Not that it would help much right now,>’ she had to concede.
	“How soon do we have to leave?” Elrond asked.
	“Immediately. We are not welcome here.” She gazed at the wise 
elf, remembering for a moment the prejudices that had kept elves and 
dwarves enemies for centuries. All that was gone now. ‘<Good thing, too, 
or the Enemy could just waltz in and take us.>’ “What will you tell the 
others?”
	“They will have to pack their things. We’ve all had to move 
quickly before, though I was hoping we’d have more time to gather things 
together.” Elrond suddenly looked very old and tired. “We do not have 
enough time for many of the things we need, but we will have to make do 
with what we have. I’ll go tell whoever I see. Please prepare all that Gimli 
has kept here; we will leave before sunset.”
	He turned on his heel and strode out.
	‘<So it begins,>’ Kyra thought as she moved to follow Elrond’s 
orders. Her determination not to panic didn’t eliminate the pit in the center 
of his stomach. Was the Enemy so far=reaching that she had persuaded the 
ABC CEO to cancel their show, just to give them no place to live? ‘<How 
can we know if it is her influence or just rotten luck?>’
***
	Aragorn groaned. ‘Stupid jeans,’ he mourned silently. ‘There’s no 
place to buckle my sword. And they rustle!’
	These, of course, were two of the least of his worries, and it 
relaxed him to complain about something he could easily change instead 
of worrying about things he could not. He walked more carefully and 
began to pull his belt through the loops on the back of the sheath made for 
him by the Elves of Lothlorien only shortly before that fair place had 
passed into legend.
	They were walking, the fourteen of them, in single-file. None of 
them spoke, but there was a terrible, haunting feeling among them. They 
didn’t dare to sing, though it would have raised their spirits.
	They were tempted to walk side-by-side, but they didn’t dare, 
knowing they might begin to feel comfortable, might even stop listening 
so intently to the sounds of the world around them.
	The elves walked in what seemed a waking nightmare. Each 
shuffle of a foot, each creak of the wind through the trees and among the 
grass blared at them like trumpets. And the stars made eyes, weapons, 
even the grass shimmer. They kept looking from side to side, and 
sometimes they winced as the others, the non-elves, made noises in the 
dark. Legolas could hear Aragorn’s jeans rustling, then heard the Ranger 
rearrange them, and that little noise was gone. The only consolation for the 
elves was that most others wouldn’t be able to hear.
	A little while after the moon had set, when they were all bone-
weary and missing their old lives, and old strength, Gandalf called a stop. 
He seemed to have become the unofficial leader. After all, he’d been the 
only one among the wise that had traveled through the wilds of the world. 
They didn’t build a fire, but huddled together, eating a tiny bit of lembas. 
Elladan and Elrohir took the first watch.
	Aragorn put his cloak around himself and Legolas. He was 
wearing a jacket underneath, but journeying again had made him miss his 
cloak, and so he’d taken it out. Legolas leaned against him, and he in turn 
leaned against a tree. Legolas couldn’t seem to sleep, but neither was he 
restless. He simply couldn’t stop listening to all the noises around him. 
Even Aragorn’s heartbeat, so near his ear, seemed too loud. He lay still 
against Aragorn, hoping that his lover would get some sleep, fearing that 
he, Legolas, would not.
	“*What is it?*” Aragorn asked, while Viggo marveled at the 
Elvish words he’d spoken and understood.
	It didn’t occur to Legolas to lie to Aragorn, but Orlando argued, 
‘He has enough to worry about.’ “*I’m just having trouble sleeping,*” 
Legolas compromised.
	“*It’s too loud out here,*” Aragorn murmured. “*I hear it, too, 
though probably not as well as you do. I’m trying to recapture all my 
skills, and they’re dancing just out of reach, close enough to keep me 
awake and not close enough to do me any good.*”
	Orlando was amazed how well this man, whom he had just started 
to love, and yet had loved for millennia, seemingly, knew his heart. 
Legolas smiled. “It’s not easy for any of us.” He snuggled against 
Aragorn’s shoulder and tried to go to sleep. He closed his eyes for a 
moment, then remembered he could just go somewhere in his mind and 
‘sleep’ that way. It was far more effective than what had passed as sleep 
for Orlando.
	Aragorn kissed him, and Legolas concentrated on the feeling of 
that kiss, letting it hypnotize him into another world.
***
	Elladan tapped Aragorn’s shoulder. He hated to disturb his friend, 
but when he touched Aragorn, the Ranger raised his eyes so quickly that 
perhaps he hadn’t been asleep at all. “*You must stand watch now,*” 
Elladan whispered. When Aragorn didn’t answer at once, Elladan realized, 
‘Maybe his Elvish hasn’t come back all the way.’ “Aragorn, it’s time for-”
	“Shh,” the man answered. “*Elladan, will you hold Legolas for 
me?*”
	The elf blinked in surprise. But the need in Aragorn’s gaze kept 
him from asking for an explanation. “*All right.*”
	Aragorn stood carefully, and Elladan took Legolas into his arms as 
he sat down and leaned against the tree. Legolas did not stir.
	Aragorn walked to where another figure stood, partially hidden by 
the darkness. He tried to figure out who it was before he came very close, 
but what he’d told Legolas about the maddeningly slow development of 
his former skills was true. The closest he could come was that it wasn’t a 
hobbit.
	“Estel,” offered a quiet voice from the figure ahead, and Aragorn 
was surprised to hear Elrond’s quiet, wise voice.
	He was ashamed that the elf knew exactly who he was when he 
was still having trouble telling an elf from a dwarf or even a hobbit. It had 
taken him several seconds to determine that the figure wasn’t a hobbit 
standing on a rock. “Father,” he answered.
	“Is Legolas sleeping well?” Elrond asked, drawing Aragorn back 
to his earlier concerns.
	“Now, yes.” Aragorn stood close beside his father, seeking 
comfort.
	“Your love will see you through this war,” Elrond told him.
	“*Our love will, yes, but not my skills,*” Aragorn burst out, 
surprising himself and possibly Elrond. He added bitterly, “*or rather, lack 
thereof.*”
	“*Your Elvish is coming along well,*” Elrond noted softly, “*and 
your skills of peacemaking and leadership have not failed, or even 
dimmed.*”
	Aragorn didn’t understand that, but decided just to listen. He stored 
the statement away for later contemplation.
	“*As to the other skills, we can not know which will prove most 
helpful in fighting. Perhaps your courage will be most needed. Or your 
swordsmanship, which has not rusted.*” He smiled at his own pun.
	Aragorn felt his heart lift slightly. Something he’d said to young 
Saru, when the Ranger was little more than a boy, echoed in his mind: 
“Saru, one of the ways the Enemy can try to conquer us is by reminding us 
of all we can’t do. You tell me you can’t climb trees as quickly as I can. 
Well, I can’t shoot a bow as well as I’d like, and I can’t run through the 
trees as an elf can. I used to envy Legolas for his speed and grace, but then 
I realized the Enemy would be able to use that feeling to separate us.” 
Saru had kept trying to climb. Sometimes, when he got discouraged, 
Aragorn had heard him muttering, “I won’t let the Enemy play with me. I 
won’t let Aragorn down.”
	Elrond felt his son relax. “*Have faith in yourself, and in the 
rightness of our fight. That is almost all you need. The rest is to love 
Legolas with every strength you possess.*” He looked out into the 
darkness. “*Now, we have talked enough for one night. Let us listen.*”

Chapter Twenty-Four

	Legolas emerged out of the restful country he had passed into. As 
he slipped into consciousness, he felt the strong arms encircling him, and 
relaxed against them. His mind awoke slowly, however, and for a while he 
couldn’t sense anything beyond the arms.
	A voice trickled into his consciousness. “*…sleeping still, but 
coming around. I guess he needed it.*”
	“*Legolas, can you hear me?*” The gentle, strong voice came 
from his right. He identified it after a moment, frustrated with the 
slowness of his sleep-fogged mind, and he was suddenly nervous. It was 
Aragorn’s voice, but if his vaad was there, then who was holding him?
	Legolas struggled to open his eyes. The exhaustion still weighed 
on him, more than he would have thought possible. ‘I’m not that tired. 
What’s wrong with me?’ At last he focused on two faces, one bending 
near and the other a little further back. He recognized the closer one as 
Elladan, and sat up. “What’s wrong?” he asked thickly-his tongue felt like 
a brick.
      “I had to stand watch, and asked Elladan to watch over you.” 
Aragorn held a hand out, thinking that for once Legolas might need help to 
rise.
      As Legolas was still piecing together that statement, Frodo 
appeared beside them. “Gandalf needs you,” he said to Aragorn, and there 
was fear in his voice.
      The Ranger nodded, glanced at Legolas, than turned and followed 
Frodo. Legolas watched them go in frustration, and tried to make his mind 
focus.
      “-t’s wrong?”
      Legolas blinked. “Wwwhaaat?” he slurred.
      “-golas, can you hear me?”
      ‘Ara’ “gorn…”
      “not here. He’s with Gan…” The voice receded, though Legolas 
had the strangest feeling that the voice was still speaking and he was the 
one falling away.
      The darkness began to press in from the corners of his vision, and 
he turned his attention to it for a moment, then, when he tried to look back 
to the light, he found that was gone as well.
***
	“Here comes another. I’ve caught four of them sleeping.”
	For an instant, Legolas was glad to hear that voice because it was 
perfectly clear. But the he opened his eyes and discovered nothing but 
darkness around him.
	The voice was still speaking. “though this one seems to have tried 
to fight it.”
	“Who are you?” demanded a voice Legolas knew well: Elrohir was 
speaking out of the darkness, and Legolas longed to find his friend. This 
darkness reminded him of the nightmare of Moria.
	The first voice chuckled cruelly. “I am-”
	‘Your worst nightmare’ flashed across Legolas’s mind, taken from 
something Orlando had heard in a movie.
	“your captor, little elf, and you would do well to shut up and pay 
attention.”
	These words had a strange effect on Legolas: they strengthened 
him, emboldened him. These were the words of an enemy, and that meant 
he would need all his wit and courage. He and possibly three others were 
trapped in the dark, held captive, and yet he still had the ability to think. 
For this he was grateful. He would have dreaded being in this situation 
mind-fogged as he had been.
	“Perhaps a little light might help you,” the voice suggested.
	Instinctively, Legolas squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face 
with both arms. In doing this, he realized he wasn’t restrained in any way, 
be it by chains or magic. His instinct came from his time with Aragorn, 
rather than from his species’ knowledge, as it were. Most elves would 
have longed for light, but Legolas knew the light would hurt his eyes, and 
so he decided to open them at his own speed.
	Light blasted on the other side of his eyelids, and even that stung. 
He heard a muffled grunt that he guessed was Elrohir, but couldn’t be 
sure.
	When his eyes had nearly finished adjusting, he opened them 
slowly and took down his arms. Blinking away the little after-images he’d 
still been left with, he looked around quickly. Elrohir was sitting not far 
away, but closer at hand were two others: Lady Galadriel and Glorfindel. 
None of them were bound, and all seemed unhurt, but there Legolas’s 
mind stopped giving him good news. Beyond them, beneath them all, was 
the simple, unsupoorting nothingness of the sky. They were hanging in the 
air, yet it felt as though he were sitting on something quite solid. 
Experimentally, he reached his hand down at felt that same resistance. He 
moved one of his feet forward a little and discovered that the invisible 
platform or whatever he was sitting on seemed to continue in that 
direction.
	A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped, his head twisting 
around to see who it was. Glorfindel looked slightly sheepishly back at 
him. “*I’m sorry.*”
	Legolas nodded, then looked around again. “*What is this place?*”
	“*It is a place of judgment,” Galadriel answered even as Glorfindel 
shrugged. “*This is where the Valar bring their most- or least- trusted 
servants when they want to test them.*”
	“I was hoping you wouldn’t realize that,” the same voice told her 
in the Common Speech. “Now I will have to wipe your memories, than 
send you back, Galadriel.” He- yes, the voice was definitely masculine, 
though they still couldn’t find its source- sounded very polite, as though 
telling them they would have to wait another five minutes for dinner. 
“Good-bye.”
***
	The darkness pressed in on him, and Legolas felt grateful that he 
was mentally aware. He realized his hands and feet were unbound, but he 
wasn’t planning to move anywhere until he knew where he was.
	“Let me cast a little light on this situation,” said a male voice, and 
the world blazed into jarring clarity before Legolas could close his eyes all 
the way.
	The result was blindness, but one filled with painful light instead 
of thick darkness. His eyes watered.
	At last his vision cleared, and he looked around. Glorfindel and 
Elrohir were sitting beside him… on nothingness, though the space 
beneath him felt as though he was sitting on something perfectly solid, 
like bedrock.
	“Is that better?” asked the male voice; the speaker remained 
hidden. He sounded like a host asking his guests if they liked the mead 
he’d served.
	Glorfindel stirred slightly, then subsided.
	“Please speak. I welcome all questions.”
	“Very well,” Glorfindel answered, and Legolas was struck by the 
sudden formality in his tone. He didn’t sound afraid, just cautious. “I 
would like to know who you are and where we are.”
	“Unfortunately, I cannot answer either of those questions,” the 
voice responded, and seemed delighted to inform them of that fact.
	Glorfindel hid his frustration well. “Why have we been brought 
here?”
	“So that I might look at you.”
	The sexual connotations of that statement crossed Legolas’s mind, 
and he repressed the numbing panic only just in time. ‘He might not mean 
that at all,’ he consoled himself.
	The unseen male laughed. “No, Legolas Greenleaf, I am not 
looking to rape you, or molest you. I only wanted to meet all of you.”
	Legolas felt a blush crawling up his cheeks and tried to stop it. ‘He 
can read our thoughts.’ This meant forget tricking whoever this was.
	“Elves are dear to my heart, Legolas Greenleaf, and I would like to 
look at them once again. It has been long since I saw them here.” The 
voice laughed. “No, Elrohir, I did not bring the others here.”
	“Why did you choose us?” Glorfindel asked, as Elrohir bit his lip 
and tried not to look very afraid. Having Lady Galadriel, his grandmother, 
look into his mind was so commonplace that it didn’t bother him, but to 
have this stranger spy on his thoughts… and there was something else. 
Galadriel only looked for good purposes. What would this creature want? 
He didn’t sound peaceful or good.
	“I chose you because I wanted to see the most beautiful of all 
elves.”
	Legolas felt the horror crawl on his skin again, but before he could 
contemplate for long on the male’s words, the unseen being laughed again. 
“‘It is a compliment, so not true.’ Is that what you think, Glorfindel? Well, 
that is true. In fact, you are perhaps the ugliest elf I have ever seen.”
	‘Is it my imagination,’ Legolas wondered, ‘or does he sound 
slightly disturbed, as though he expected us to react to the compliment?’
	Darkness surrounded him once again.
***
	Aragorn knelt beside Legolas, wrapping him in a cloak as the elf 
shivered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elladan rubbing Glorfindel’s 
limp hand and Elrond touching Elrohir’s brow.
	He jumped when the hand grasped his wrist. Even as he looked 
down, he heard Elladan give a startled gasp.
	Legolas was looking up at him, and there was a mixture of triumph 
and confusion on his face. Then he turned his head, looked at the others, 
and looked back at Aragorn. “*He couldn’t wait to get rid of us,*” he 
muttered.
	Aragorn was too overjoyed at hearing Legolas speak to worry 
immediately about what he had said. He grasped Legolas’s shoulder and 
squeezed it gently.
	Legolas reached up with both arms and pulled Aragorn down on 
top of him, into a firm hug. Aragorn enjoyed Legolas’s scent, and lay for a 
moment or two rejoicing.
	Glorfindel spoke. “I wonder where we were.”
	Legolas glanced at him, and noticed that everyone else was 
crowded around them.
	“Please, first tell us what happened,” Elrond instructed.
	Glorfindel smiled slightly, though it was a tired smile. “You mean 
I have to start at the beginning?” He rolled his sparkling, teasing eyes, 
then began, “At first, it was a normal sleep, then I passed into a place with 
no light…”
	He recounted the encounter with the bodiless voice, with additions 
from Elrohir and Legolas. Glorfindel had noticed something Legolas 
hadn’t: the world they’d been hovering over was not Earth, or at least not 
Earth as they knew it after seeing pictures taken from space. The white 
clouds, and the patches of green and blue far below, had made him assume 
for a moment that it was Earth, but then he’d taken a second look. “We 
were high enough to see continents, and they weren’t the right shapes at 
all. Some were too large, and everything was in the wrong place.”
	Galadriel spoke then. “From your descriptions, I believe you were 
in the Place of Judgment,” she told the three of them. “It is the place 
where the Valar test their most- or least- trusted servants.”
	“Aragorn and I never went there,” Legolas put in. “I’m almost sure 
of it.”
	“Only the most dangerous or exalted go there,” she answered. 
Then there was silence for a while. At last, she spoke again. “You shocked 
him, Glorfindel; or that is how it sounds. You will have to be careful 
now.”
	“Careful of what?” Strider blurted. “If the Valar wanted to, they 
could kill us all right now.”
	“There are things much worse than death,” Galadriel responded. “I 
thought you, of all people, would know that.”
	Aragorn bowed his head in shame.
	Kate sighed. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Aragorn; I’m 
not perfect either.”
	Aragorn nodded, and all was well again between them.
	“If the Valar do not want to kill us, at least not immediately, what 
can they want?” Legolas asked. “Do they want us to go through more 
tests?”
	“We’ve already had this discussion,” Gandalf answered. “We must 
not waste time right now on trying to fathom their thoughts. We do not 
know that enemy well enough to even guess.”
	It was nearly sunrise. Without another word, they all rose, packed 
quickly, and set out again. Only Gandalf knew where they were going, if 
even he knew.

Chapter Twenty-Five

	This time, they talked as they walked. There was a greater need for 
companionship than observation, though all the elves, and Aragorn when 
he could, listened to each sound, analyzed it and, determining it wasn’t 
made by anything threatening, continued to talk.
      The hobbits asked endless questions of Gandalf, hoping that he 
was not as close as he had once been, and they gleaned a few rewards for 
their pestering. They learned that they, too, would eventually change and 
get their hobbit-feet back and not have to worry about shoes again. They 
learned that there was a part of Gandalf’s mind that still belonged to Ian, 
though they were disappointed to find that Ian agreed completely with 
Gandalf in most matters, and they discovered that Gandalf was still a 
wizard, having made his change-over privately in his own room some days 
ago. (Pippin learned this when the wizard suddenly raised his staff, which 
they had assumed was just a walking-stick, and fire had glowed on the top. 
“If you wish to die, foolish Took, continue asking questions!”)
      Glorfindel and Elrohir discovered that they had fallen in love 
millennia ago and had simply been stripped of those memories for a little 
while. This made their hearts considerably lighter, and they walked as 
only elves in love could: with a step that not only left no tracks, but barely 
touched the ground at all, and certainly didn’t bend one blade of grass.
      Legolas found himself divided between Aragorn and Gimli, but it 
was not an unpleasant sharing of himself. There were times when Aragorn 
held intense and needed counsel (regarding the road ahead, and possibly 
his concerns about himself, Legolas mused) with Gandalf, Lady Galadriel, 
Elladan and Elrond. When Aragorn was in these councils, Legolas sought 
Gimli and they talked of good and bad times, Gimli telling him amazing 
things he didn’t remember unless the dwarf mentioned them.
      Treebeard walked mostly alone, but sometimes he walked and 
chatted with Merry and Pippin, their friendship not having dimmed in the 
least by the long years of separation. Sometimes he would start laughing 
when he was talking with them, and startled some of the others, and 
cheered all of them, because Treebeard seemed so distanced from 
everything, as though he was barely a part of their fellowship. Legolas had 
said to Gimli once, speaking in Dwarvish slowly, trying to remember 
everything, doing it for his own edification as well as Gimli’s amusement, 
“<He’s lost almost everyone, and the hobbits help him remember when 
the world under his feet- or roots, take your pick- was mostly clean and 
wholesome. Or at least better than it is now.>”
      Gimli and his mother spent many hours in conversation, mostly 
about the passing of the last dwarves; their talks were full of grief and 
loneliness many times, but strangely they came out of these sad reveries 
more cheered and strengthened because they had each other to talk to. ‘As 
wonderful as having Legolas back is,’ Gimli pondered, ‘I would have 
missed having another dwarf to talk to. Now, no matter what happens, I 
can be content.’
      When they weren’t talking to Aragorn, Elrond, Galadriel and 
Elladan kept their own counsel. Elladan watched Elrohir relearning his 
love for Glorfindel, and watched Glorfindel’s ancient eyes (which had 
been ancient even back in Rivendell, even compared with the age of most 
other elves) filling with tears, clearing again, and then filling once more. 
Elrohir kissed many of the tears away.
      What Gandalf did besides walk, threaten the hobbits and give 
advice to Aragorn was known to no one but him.
***
	Legolas stopped abruptly, and clamped a hand over Gimli’s mouth. 
The dwarf staggered for a moment, mumbling through the hand, then 
glanced up at him in surprise. Legolas wasn’t watching him. He was 
watching Glorfindel, listening to his whispered words that every elf heard 
nonetheless.
	“*We’re being followed by a shadow,” he informed them all. “You 
can only see it if you’re not looking directly at it. It’s about four feet long, 
maybe two feet wide. It’s not one of the Nazgul, unless they can approach 
without our feeling it. Legolas, do you sense anything?*”
	Legolas paused, tried to let his mind open, or whatever he needed 
to do to feel outside himself with his mind, but he couldn’t feel anything. 
He grimaced in frustration. “*My skills-*” he began angrily.
	“*Never mind,*” said Elrond. “*It’s there. It’s possibly a ghost, 
maybe a demon. It’s not living, whatever it is. We would have smelled or 
heard it.*”
	“*It’s watching us,*” Aragorn breathed, his lips barely moving. He 
was standing close to Glorfindel, and could hear what the elf had said. “*It 
seems… hungry.*” He didn’t question his instincts, ‘even though there is 
no logical reason for you to assume that,’ Viggo argued.
	“*It’s looking at the hobbits,*” Elladan put in.
	“*Keep walking,*” Elrond commanded, and they started off again. 
The elves made a protective ring around the hobbits, and then Aragorn, 
Gimli, Kyra, Gandalf and Treebeard moved to stand with them. The 
hobbits didn’t’ speak, but exchanged confused and frightened glances. 
Frodo wished he’d had the sense to wear his sword instead of leaving it in 
his bag.
	The nameless, starving thing followed them.
	“*It may not want flesh if it’s a ghost,*” Aragorn whispered to 
Glorfindel.
	“*It wants something, though.*” Glorfindel glanced at him. 
“*Don’t second-guess yourself, Aragorn- there isn’t time for that.*”
	Legolas drew out his knives with a whisper quieter than a soul 
weeping. Gimli saw this and tightened his grip on his axe.
	“A song,” said Gandalf suddenly. “Will you sing us a song, Sam?”
	The hobbit blinked, and the others looked equally startled. He 
froze.
	“Frodo-” the wizard began.
	Elrohir opened his mouth, and Gandalf shook his head and 
whispered, “*It must not be a sad Elvish song.*”
	Estel’s face lit up. He began to sing confidently, as if he’d been 
rehearsing this moment for months, words he and Legolas had set to an 
old tune during the War of the Ring:
“Leggy and Gim-Gim
Slept in a cave.
Little Estel joined them 
So he’d look brave.”
	Legolas joined, then Gimli:
“Smelly was the cave within,
Jewel’d without;
Smells from the Great Farting Dwarf
Wander’d about.
Sleep, little hunters,
Wake not soon,
As Leggy’s loud cursing
Dies to the moon.”
	Legolas squeaked, “Gim-Gim, you ass!”
“Started an orc-band
Out of the fen.
Wake, little hunters,
And hunt them again!”
	It didn’t make sense all the time, and it was certainly far from 
profound, but it was amusing, and spirit-lifting. Pippin snorted. Gandalf 
smiled approvingly, and Elladan laughed in spite of himself.
	Some of them sensed the predator-shadow falling away a little. 
Galadriel smiled at Gandalf’s insight. “*It is a fear-feeder,*” she mouthed. 
He nodded.
	“Another!” Merry cried.
	“This one’s about Woofledorf, the Blue-Butted wizard. It’s the 
song his mom used to sing to him when it was time for him to sleep, 
during the time when she still called him Woof-Woof instead of 
Woofledorf,” Estel told them.
	Legolas grinned. Elrohir and Elladan exchanged glances and 
hooted. They’d told Estel many stories about Woofledorf, the wizard, 
whose stories were much like the fairy tales told to children in the modern 
world.
	This time, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel and even Elrond joined 
Estel and Legolas. The others didn’t sing at first, but the words weren’t 
that hard, so they joined in soon enough:
“La la Blue-Butt
La la Blue-Butt,
Oh, my little star Woof-Woof,
I’ll sweep the star-dust for you.

With my Blue-Butt
La la Blue Butt,
Little soft, sleeping Woof-Woof;
Here comes a blue cloud for you.

La la Blue-Butt
La la Blue-Butt,
Little soft, sleepy Woof-Woof,
Lay down your head,
Close your eyes!

La la Blue-Butt
La la Blue-Butt
And may love be your keeper,
La la Blue-Butt
La la Blue-Butt
La La Blue!”
	By the time the song had ended, the shadow had passed away from 
them, hunting other prey less likely to fight it.
	In point of fact, many of them had chosen to put the thing out their 
minds, and there it was virtually forgotten.
	Until, that is, the fear-eater approached again three nights later.

Chapter Twenty-Six

	It had thought to prey on the hobbits, the things that seemed the 
weakest and most prone to rushes of terror, but this food was not the most 
satisfying. It preferred to prey on the strong, because when they were 
finally frightened, that nectar was so much sweeter!
	It hovered outside their firelight, watching the many creatures 
among the group that were a true danger to it. The others it watched, 
sniffing for a weakness. But the hobbits- it somehow knew what hobbits 
were, and yet didn’t know, as if the knowledge came from a dream- sang 
or slept or ate their meager food without any shadow on their hearts. They 
had done this for three nights and days, and the creature was getting very 
hungry. It cursed them-
	Baggins! We hates it!
	-but couldn’t waste much time on them. There had to be someone 
here weak enough to devour, or at least to take a little snack from. 
Sometimes a snack was all it could get. Like most predators, it took what 
came its way.
	It reflected, as it hovered on the edge of the circle of light, that 
light didn’t frighten it anymore. Neither sun, nor moon, nor man-made 
lights bothered it, and for this small blessing, it was grateful.
	Now, if it could only eat-
	Baggins…
	-everything would be perfect.
	There was only one complaint it had: in this form, it did not, could 
not, consume fish, and those had been some of the best moments of its 
life, beheading a squirmy, tasty, slippery thing with its teeth, then 
chewing, spitting out the bones, and tearing in again.
	Its attention turned to the elves, and veered away again, very 
quickly. They could not be food, and, more importantly, some of them 
were a danger to it. Likewise, it tried the wizard and the tree-in-manflesh 
with its gaze, but found them both too tough. That left the dwarves- tough 
skins, but maybe not so tough inside their minds- and the man.
	This man seemed familiar to it, but that was as far as the thought 
went. Perhaps this man, in all of his determined, forced strength, could be 
brought to his knees, weeping and shivering, begging for the nightmares to 
end.
	The shadow closed in.
	It did not know it had been sent, nor, if it had known, would it have 
cared, but someone watched its progress and willed it silently to do its job, 
and do it well.
***
	Legolas and Gimli were on watch, and so Aragorn simply rolled 
himself in his cloak and a blanket and fell into a deep sleep. He was tired 
as he had no right to be- “No right!” Viggo shouted incredulously. “I’ve 
never walked so much in my life!”- but he knew his old strength would 
return soon enough, and until them all he could do was sleep, eat, and use 
his determination to get him where he had to go.
	The dream began easily enough: he was resting, nearly dozing, in a 
soft bed, and Legolas (Viggo interpreted the person next to him as 
Orlando) was asleep with his head on the man’s shoulder.
	The elf murmured in his sleep, then was still again, after snuggling 
even closer. Aragorn smiled.
	The smile froze on his lips as icy, slimy, impossibly strong fingers 
tightened around his throat. He grasped at them with his one hand, his 
other being pinned under Legolas, but the hands clutched more fiercely. 
He couldn’t see them, only feel them, but he knew they were hands all the 
same- not a noose or just his own throat closing.
	He yanked his hand from under Legolas, who stirred in his sleep, 
and pulled harder. The world was starting to blacken…
	“Aragorn!” Legolas shouted, and he felt other hands pulling at the 
strangler’s grip. The hands would not let go.
	His vision darkened, then faded. Blackness closed in.
***
	He awoke, gasping, flailing and sweating. Blinking, he sat up, and 
only then discovered that there were others clustered around him. Legolas 
he saw almost at once, then he identified Gimli and Gandalf as the dream 
retreated and he came back to himself.
	“Aragorn?” Legolas asked carefully, and he touched his vaad 
gently.
	The Ranger hesitated, then lifted his hand to catch Legolas’s upper 
arm. “I’m all right,” he husked. “It was just a bad dream…” He shivered, 
unable to stop himself.
	“What was it about?” Gandalf asked sternly. He needed to know.
	“I was being… strangled.” He’d paused, because the dream had 
already started to slip away. “I was… somewhere… with Legolas, and 
then these hands came up and-” he touched his throat gingerly- “tried to- 
no, they did, they strangled me. I passed out, died, I think, in the dream, 
then woke here.” He looked around at them again. “It was a stupid 
dream,” Strider said, his eyes flashing slightly as he tried to forget the 
terrible memory of suffocating.
	“Have you ever dreamed anything like that before?” the wizard 
asked.
	“No,” he answered at once.
	“Are you afraid of being strangled in the night?”
	Strider snorted. “No.” There was no doubt or fear in his eyes. He 
believed what he said. “It came from nowhere. I’ve never thought about 
being attacked in that way.” There was a sound of wonder in his voice as 
Aragorn asserted his logic. “Why would I dream something I’ve never 
considered before?”
	Gandalf answered, “I am not sure, but we will have to keep an eye 
on these nightmares. They may be significant.” He rose stiffly. “I’m going 
back to bed. Legolas, Gimli, return to your watch.” He strode away.
	Legolas looked at Gandalf’s retreating back, then glanced at 
Aragorn. There was a look of confusion and frustration in his eyes. “He 
acts as though your dream is nothing!” he cried, not bothering to keep his 
voice down. “If he thinks they’re significant, why doesn’t he have 
someone stay here with you, watch you, make sure the dreams aren’t an 
attack of some kind- I mean, the Valar can do anything, right?”
	Aragorn, realizing he had released Legolas’s arm at some point, 
grasped his vaad’s hand. He subconsciously pitched his voice low and 
calm. “It was just a nightmare, Leggy; there doesn’t have to be an enemy 
behind it. Maybe it’s because I’m worried about the road ahead.”
	Legolas grimaced, unbelieving.
	“Go stand watch, Legolas!” Gandalf commanded from somewhere 
behind him.
	The elf scowled, and Aragorn reflected briefly that his lover was 
just as beautiful scowling as smiling. He grinned at the thought.
	Legolas made an annoyed noise and straightened. “I’m going, I’m 
going,” he grumbled. “Come on, Gimli.”
	Aragorn lay back down, and found it surprising that he was able to 
get comfortable almost immediately. Exhaustion stole over him again.
***
	The breeze through the close-growing trees sounded like the calls 
and shrieks of Ringwraiths. Aragorn fled them, fighting his terror, losing 
against the strength of it.
	A Shadow loomed in front of him, and he skidded to a half. He 
reached for Anduril, which should have hung in its sheath at his side, but 
there was no sword. Instead, his hand came away holding the One Ring, 
on its long chain, just as Frodo had always carried it. His face twisted with 
distaste- and still the fear hadn’t left him.
	“The Ring!” the Shadow screeched at him, and it advanced swiftly.
	He had a sudden, intense, insane urge to put the Ring on. “I 
won’t!” he shouted, unsure if he was talking to the Shadow or to the Ring.
	The Shadow came closer, and Aragorn could hear it drawing one 
ragged breath after another. He staggered back a step.
	The Ring whispered to him. “Aragorn ARAGORN… 
ELESSAR…”
	He shuddered, and yanked the Ring away from his left hand.
	The Shadow drew a sword, and Aragorn recognized the blade. 
“Anduril…” he moaned in despair.
	“The Blade-that-was-Broken will kill you, Heir of Isildur, and then 
the Ring will go back to the Dark Lord.”
	Aragorn could feel the Black Breath on his cheek as his enemy 
continued to move towards him.
	He put the Ring on. The Shadow stabbed him. His throat closed 
over a scream- the agony wouldn’t let him scream-
	‘I have failed.’
***
	When he awoke the second time, he was screaming. He sat up, and 
stared around him with large, terror-dripping eyes. Others were gathered 
around him, but for a while he couldn’t acknowledge them. He reached up 
and touched his throat, found it intact, and lowered his hands again. A new 
dread gripping him, he reached down. This, at least, was unfounded, 
Anduril was back in its sheath, and there was no Ring to tempt and damn 
him.
	A sense of reality trickled slowly back into his mind, and he began 
to sort out which memories were nightmare. Still, when the hand touched 
his shoulder, he jumped, his eyes rolling wildly in his head as though he 
were a panicked horse, not a Ranger of the North.
	“*Aragorn, it’s all right; you’re safe,*” Legolas soothed, not 
drawing back, keeping his voice level and logical. He sensed the hobbits 
and others clustering behind him, and hoped Gimli would think to keep 
them back.
	“Give him some room!” the dwarf commanded at that moment, 
and one worry was gone from Legolas’s mind.
	“Estel?” he tried again.
	“Le-Legolas,” the man responded, and for a long time he wouldn’t 
say anything else. He stared at his hands, where they were clenched in his 
lap, and he waited for the world to completely right itself.
	At last, he raised his eyes, having made two things clear to himself: 
1) he had been dreaming and 2) he had resisted the power of the Ring, and 
in the end Frodo had destroyed it. Having the Ring back again ranked high 
on his Please-Never-Again list, just below losing Legolas, and just after 
losing his sanity.
	Legolas was gazing down at him with concern shining in his eyes. 
Aragorn drew a deep, steadying breath, felt the steel Strider had acquired 
run down his spine, and spoke. “*It was another dream.*” His voice 
sounded hollow, no matter the beautiful Elven tones, and he wondered 
how convincing he sounded. Not very, to judge by the deepening frown on 
Legolas’s face.
	“*This isn’t like you,*” the elf asserted. “*Something’s wrong.*” 
He looked around for Gandalf, but couldn’t spot the wizard.
	Aragorn rubbed his face with both hands, exhaustion pouring over 
him again. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone up,” he said to the gathering 
he could see over Legolas’s shoulder. He glanced up at the sky, saw it 
wasn’t even close to dawn yet, and groaned inwardly. “Please go back to 
bed; it’s going to be a long march tomorrow. I’ll keep my dreams to 
myself.” He meant for this to be funny, but no one looked even remotely 
amused. One by one, slowly, they drew away, leaving him under 
Legolas’s insistant and comforting care.
	Legolas forgot the ‘comforting’ half of his caregiving, however, 
and muttered, “Where’s Gandalf? He should be here to help!”
	“Even wizards have to flow sometimes,” Estel answered, grinning 
nervously.
	Legolas blinked at him, then chuckled softly in spite of himself. 
“Maybe,” he admitted, “but he chose a rather bad time to do it.” He laid 
down beside Aragorn, slipping comfortably into the angle made between 
his arm and his body. He lay there for a long time, hoping Aragorn would 
talk, but the silence stretched for too long. He turned his head, and 
grimaced, then smiled. Aragorn was fast asleep once again. Legolas 
sighed, decided he wasn’t going to bother complaining, and sent his mind 
into that peaceful place where he could rest. Since the abduction, if 
abduction it was, by the voice which might or might not have belonged to 
one of the Valar, the elves had approached their sleep cautiously. 
However, whatever the Valar were planning, it did not seem to involve 
taking anyone to the place of Judgment, at least not for the moment.
***
	Legolas sat up so fast he felt briefly, intensely sick. He held it in, 
barely, and jerked his head to the side. Aragorn was curled into a tight 
ball, and he was screaming; his cries were raw, breathy, helpless shrieks of 
mortal terror. Again, the others were crowded around them- they were 
easier to see because it was just before sunrise, the sky was lightening 
quickly- and many of them were talking at once. Legolas read concern, 
anger and outright fear on their faces before he turned to shake the Ranger 
awake.
	“Aragorn! Aragorn!”
	“*Legolas, wait,*” said a voice very close to his ear, and he stared 
up at Lady Galadriel, whose face was ashen. “*Gandalf needs him 
asleep,*” she said quietly, answering his question before he could ask it. 
“*Please give him time.*”
	Legolas flared, “*But-*”
	“*It is for Aragorn’s own good, and the safety of us all.*” Her eyes 
shone with suppressed tears, and Legolas wondered if she could see what 
Aragorn was seeing, since she could see into the minds of others.
	“*He is fighting a great battle,*” she told him, and he wondered if 
she spoke of Aragorn or Gandalf.
	Aragorn released another scream, and Legolas ground his teeth for 
a moment. “*Where’s Gandalf?*”
	“*He is hunting,*” she answered calmly, though the tears never 
disappeared.
	“Can’t we gentle him out of it?” Frodo whispered, his eyes wide 
with fear. “Lady Galadriel, this must be a very bad nightmare; Strider 
never screams.” Elijah was surprised at how much caring Frodo showed 
for this man, more than he, who was worried about Viggo, could show. 
Frodo loved Strider, that much was obvious, and Elijah realized that he 
shared the feeling, though he didn’t fully understand it. After all, Frodo 
hadn’t regained all of his memories; he simply trusted to his feelings.
	She shook her head. “No, Frodo, we must not do that. We must 
wait for Gandalf to return.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and briefly 
lived the dream with Aragorn. The nightmare had been eating at her mind, 
but now she let it take temporary possession of all her senses.
	The hands crawling on her made her shriek, and she opened her 
eyes to see the eyes of a corpse staring back at her. The dead elf was 
grinning, laughing, and his laughter sent blasts of rot-leadened air into her 
eyes and nose. He was hideous, though elves did not so much rot when 
they died as disappear into the earth. The sight turned her stomach to ice.
	The corpse was trying to kiss her. It was touching her, almost 
gently, except that the skin of its hands disintegrated even as it stroked her 
face, arms and chest.
	“Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you-”
	The question continued to repeat, like a record skipping back to the 
same few notes. The repetition added to the horror as she was pounded 
with the words.
	“My Lady!” a voice roared in her ears, and she looked up. The 
risen sun glowed encouragingly at her, but she shielded her sensitive eyes 
from its too-bright kiss. She felt a headache starting behind her eyes, and 
reflected briefly that elves never got headaches, so this must be something 
Kate had given her.
	Then a large, yet gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she looked 
up into Gimli’s concerned eyes. “My Lady, are you all right”
	She blinked, thought of the nightmare he’d pulled her from, and 
answered, “I now understand why he is screaming.” She turned her eyes 
on Legolas. “Why is Aragorn afraid of elves?” she asked bluntly, and now 
she knew she had inherited something else from Kate: her need for the 
truth, for some explanation. As Galadriel, she had sometimes been able to 
let things be, but Kate wouldn’t let this lie.
	Legolas frowned. “I don’t know.” He looked at Aragorn, whose 
head he had taken into his lap. “What did you see?” he asked in a whisper.
	“He was shorter than many elves, broader, somehow, with bigger 
muscles, almost like those of a man. On his left hand was a ring with two 
diamonds in it,” she pursued, as if she hadn’t heard him.
	Legolas gasped in horror, fought and lost a brief battle with his 
stomach. He turned his head from Aragorn and retched. Gimli was at his 
friend’s side in an instant, keeping Legolas’s long hair out of the reeking 
mess.
	When his stomach had retreated to its proper place, Legolas 
groaned, and looked up at Galadriel. “His name was Tragel,” he told her. 
“He… attacked… Aragorn a long time ago, shortly after he became king 
of Gondor.”
	She nodded. “That explains his fear, then.”
	“He’s dreaming of Tragel,” Legolas moaned, then he flared, “We 
have to wake him up!” He tried to shake Aragorn again, and Galadriel 
caught his wrists.
	“Please wait, Legolas. It is very important.” He didn’t answer, and 
so she didn’t release his wrists, but waited semi-patiently for Gandalf.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

	Gandalf crept along the ground, searching quickly, yet thoroughly, 
for signs of the attacker. He had sensed the creature watching them, had 
known it was drawn to them somehow, suspected it was connected to 
Aragorn’s nightmares in some way. That was why he’d urged Legolas 
back to his watch, allowing Aragorn to slip unknowingly into very real 
danger, but knowing the Ranger had to face it a little while so that his 
attacker could be found.
	Behind him, he heard Aragorn scream.
	He’d brought Elladan and Elrohir with him, the best trackers he 
knew, except for Legolas, but the Prince of Mirkwood wouldn’t be very 
helpful at the moment, his mind clouded with worry for Aragorn. These 
two were worried, but they sensed the creature’s closeness and this steeled 
their minds.
	It was good that the sun was rising, he thought as he scanned the 
ground for tracks. ‘I wish Aragorn were in his right mind and able to help 
with this search.’ He knew Elladan and Elrohir were good trackers, but 
you just couldn’t beat a Ranger for skill at following a trail, no matter how 
unsure of his skills he was.
	Of course, there were no tracks. This was going to be a test of the 
sense elves called Kai-heh- the sense above and hidden behind all other 
senses.
	Elrohir whistled suddenly, not very shrilly, but almost liltingly. It 
was the elven-whistle Legolas had brought from Mirkwood. You might 
not even hear it if you weren’t used to listening for such things, and even 
if you heard you, you most likely mistake it for the song of some tiny bird. 
The younger twin son of Elrond had found something important. Gandalf 
and Elladan converged on him.
	The elf was holding something that was fighting him with claws 
and teeth, though these seemed not very effective. The cry, whining and 
stabbing, that the creature loosed, was much more deadly, and Elrohir was 
hard-pressed not to clamp his hands over his sensitive ears. Elladan 
gasped, but drew his knives and approached. Gandalf took a bit of rope- 
he wished it were of Elvish-make, but it was simple, store-bought stuff- 
and rushed in fast. He’d chanted a spell or two over the rope, making it 
stronger and able to bind nearly anything. He grabbed the thing’s wrists, 
wrenching them hard because the creature shrieked and fought, and at last 
had the attacker fettered.
	Elrohir at least was able to release the creature as Gandalf took a 
firm hold of it, and he covered his ears. Elladan kept his knives out, 
though tears were starting at the corners of his eyes.
	“Elladan, run back to camp and waken Aragorn. Tell him to come 
quickly, and to bring Frodo and Sam with him.” He paused, then added, 
“Tell Legolas to stay.” He glanced at Elrohir, touched his arm, and 
gestured towards Elladan. “Go,” he mouthed.
	Elladan fled gratefully.
	“Listen to me, Gollum!” Gandalf roared.
	The creature jerked, but it fell mercifully silent.
	“Gollum, why are you following us?”
	Gollum, if Gollum it truly was, didn’t answer.
	“Why were you attacking Aragorn?”
	Still Gollum gave no answer.
	“Who sent you?” He assumed Gollum had not been raised just to 
harass them, though that was entirely possible. He sensed Gollum had 
been sent for a much darker purpose. He hoped he was wrong.
      Gandalf heard the sounds of running booted feet. He didn’t turn his 
head, but waited until they were beside him. He was amazed how quickly 
they’d come back, but he noted that Aragorn’s gait was not entirely 
steady. ‘Well, he’s just woken up, and from a very terrifying nightmare,’ 
he reminded himself. ‘Still, if he had his old strength, he’d be more 
recovered.’
      The Ranger knelt beside him. Frodo and Sam stood just behind 
Aragorn, wanting to know what was going on, but too cautious to get very 
close. 
      “*What is this thing?*” Aragorn asked. Strider’s thought as to the 
identity of the intruder was shown clearly in his cold eyes.
      The creature twitched in response to the Elvish, and Gandalf, 
ignoring it and Aragorn both, said to Frodo, “Do you know who this is?”
      Frodo bent closer, but he really didn’t need to; the knowing ran 
deeper than his mind, into his bone-marrow. It was an uncomfortable 
knowledge. “It’s-” he hesitated- “Smeagol.”
      The little head lifted, thought only Gandalf and Frodo could sense 
it; anger and fear passed behind its eyes.
      “Can we make him visible?” Frodo asked.
      “Possibly. Do you have any of the dried fish I asked you to pack?”
      Frodo blinked in surprise, but Sam drew some out of his pocket. “I 
was wondering if you’d be needing this eventually,” he said.
      The wizard offered him a brief smile- ‘I will make sure to let my 
friends know how much I appreciate them,’ he thought in Ian’s tone of 
voice- and took the proffered food. He unwrapped it, and took out one of 
the fish. Holding it gingerly by the tail, he put it in front of the creature’s 
nose.
      ‘Fish! Fish!’
      ‘We don’t eats fishes anymore.’
      ‘I eats it, I eats it! I wants it!’
      The fingers reached up.
      ‘We eats fear, not fish!’
      “I EATS FISH!” This last came out as a determined, screeching 
bellow, and Gollum seized the fish and devoured it. “To catch a fish so 
juicy sweet!” he sing-songed to himself, and slobbered as he devoured the 
tiny treat. “More!” he commanded, looking up at Sam.
      Sam grimaced, but Gandalf nodded and Sam gave Gollum the 
other fish in the leaves. Gollum ate noisily and ravenously.
      As he did so, his body became less transparent, and soon they 
could all see him quite clearly. He looked much the same as they’d seen 
him a few thousand years ago; his eyes were lamps, and his strong, 
deceptively thin arms tapered into cruel, viselike fingers.
      This was how Sam saw the Ring-junkie, as Sean had started calling 
him.
      Frodo saw an emaciated, pitiable thing that he’d once had hopes 
for. He couldn’t get rid of that image, though Gollum had led him and 
Sam right into Shelob’s lair.
      “I think he has lost his power of fear-eating,” Gandalf announced. 
He shot a look at Aragorn, to see how well the Ranger was keeping his 
feet, maintaining his mental balance, and was relieved to see that 
Aragorn’s hands didn’t tremble, and he seemed much steadier on his legs.
      “<Now all we have to be mindful of are his teeth and hands,>” 
Strider muttered. Speaking in the Dwarf-tongue always gave him a needed 
outlet for stress and tension. Nearly everything, when spoken in Dwarvish, 
sounded like swearing, and this pleased him.
      Gandalf cast him a half-annoyed glance, then looked down at 
Gollum. “Gollum, you will accompany us from now on until we learn 
what you purpose was.” He stood, and pulled Gollum to a standing 
position. “Walk!” he commanded, and Gollum, strangely docile, did as he 
was told.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

	Gollum marched with them now, to the dismay of some and the 
confusion of others. He’d behaved amazingly well, but only after being 
told that if he didn’t “mind his manners,” as Strider put it, six elves would 
sing to him.
	The Wise ones held counsel among themselves, away from 
Gollum.
	Glorfindel asked, “What shall we do with him?”
	“He will have to walk with us, for we dare not set him free,” 
Elrond answered.
	“What was he before he regained physical form, and how did he 
become that way?” Glorfindel continued.
	“Doubtless the Valar made him what he was,” Gandalf responded, 
“but as to what sort of creature he was, the closest guess I can make is a 
lesser form of Ringwraith, without the warning feeling preceding him. 
Fear-eater is what I named him, and yet it does not have the sound of 
something so simple. Gollum was at least half a fear-eater, but he was also 
at least partially himself, underneath. Fear-eaters have no thought behind 
their actions- they are like months drawn to a flame. Gollum was 
obviously thinking, for he went for the weakest among us.”
	There was a pause, then Treebeard murmured, “He is not wholly 
dangerous; there is something good still in him.”
	No one questioned this statement, though they all had their doubts.
	“Has Aragorn regained all of his courage and determination?” 
Galadriel asked, speaking to Elrond and Glorfindel, who spent more time 
with the Ranger than she. She had her own assumptions on how much 
Aragorn had recovered, but preferred to hear from others first.
	“He won’t let himself fall into self-examination that is too deep,” 
Elrond told her. “The lesson has been learned well. He will now take 
circumstances as they come, and will not try to anticipate each instant. 
Something that was true of him when he was a child is true again now: he 
feels most comfortable when someone else leads.”
	“It has always been that way,” Glorfindel agreed. “He used to 
follow Elladan and Elrohir everywhere, when he was a child, barely 
questioning their plans.”
	“And yet he was king for so long…” Elrond shrugged slightly. 
“We cannot worry about Aragorn right now. There are other concerns. We 
do not even know where we are marching to, except that we are 
attempting to get lost in the wilderness for a while, in the hopes the Enemy 
will concern herself with other things after a while.  We must learn where 
she resides, and how we may best approach her.”
	“There are rumors, of course, but we cannot confirm them without 
investigation,” Gandalf answered. “And we cannot long continue in our 
snug fellowship. We will have to split up soon.” He sighed, and gazed at 
the sky. “And the pairings and trios that are the most effective will not be 
to the liking of all.”
	“We can’t worry about like or dislike,” said Treebeard 
dismissively, evidencing Christopher’s impatience. “We have only a little 
time before she moves, and we must know how, why, when and where 
before that occurs, if we can.”
	“True enough,” Gandalf answered. “Here are the divisions as I see 
them.” He pulled out a piece of paper and held it so the others could read:

1 Galadriel-Gimli-Elladan
2 Elrond-Merry-Kyra
3 Gandalf-Frodo-Elrohir
4 Treebeard-Pippin-Legolas
5 Glorfindel-Sam-Aragorn

	The four considered this proposal. When they had been silent for a 
while, Gandalf offered some explanation.
	“There is at least one in each group who can ride openly against 
the Nine,” the wizard told them. “The hobbits, with their quiet, laughing 
courage, will give support to four of the groups.”
	“Is it wise to leave Aragorn away from either you, Gandalf, myself 
or Lady Galadriel?” Elrond asked. “He needs someone he’ll talk to,” he 
told Glorfindel and Treebeard by way of explanation and to forestall any 
hurt feelings.
	Glorfindel answered calmly, “We can’t protect him always. He’s 
Aragorn, Elessar, king of Gondor, and we need to let him choose to be 
weak or strong.” He wondered silently, ‘And why are we treating him so 
delicately, even more gently than we treat the hobbits? Just because he 
was a little shaken doesn’t mean he needs to be sheltered in the tent while 
the rest go hunting.’
	“And who will tend to Gollum?” Treebeard asked.
	“He seems to be establishing a tentative understanding with Frodo 
again,” Gandalf answered. “I think that would be the best place for him.”
	“Minding Gollum might be a hard enough task in itself,” Elrond 
murmured. “Why don’t you send Elrohir with Merry and I? Unless you 
think Elrohir would be of some help with Gollum,” he added thoughtfully.
	Gandalf considered that. “Take Elrohir with you.”
	“When do we separate, and where do we go?” Glorfindel asked.
	They talked well into the night, still walking. No one seemed to 
want to sleep, so they walked up the moon, and sat down to supper as it 
westered.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

	Legolas stared at Gandalf. “No!” he cried without thinking. “I-” 
His mind caught up with his mouth, and he realized he’d been about to 
say, ‘I need to be with Aragorn!’ As true as that felt, he didn’t see any of 
the others complaining, so he regained his elven-calm and waited. Others 
agreed with him, though; these arrangements weren’t to their liking at all.
	“Mister Frodo can’t go without me!” Sam protested.
	“But-” Gimli thundered at the same time, then fell silent. His eyes 
went to Legolas, and there was fear there; he didn’t want to be separated 
from Legolas again.
	“Maybe we should rethink this,” Elladan suggested, glancing at 
Legolas. “At least Legolas and Gimli should be-”
	“This arrangement distributes power well,” Gandalf told him. 
“There is at least one in each group who can ride openly against the Nine, 
and there is one cheery, encouraging hobbit to a group.”
	The hobbits glanced at each other, not sure they liked being called 
‘cheery and encouraging.’ Then Pippin smiled good-naturedly. “Well, 
there’s worse things he could call us, and when we meet again, we’ll have 
a hundred stories to tell over pipeweed and ale, and a good meal.”
	‘If we return,’ Frodo couldn’t help thinking, and from the look in 
Sam’s and Merry’s eyes, they were thinking the same.
	Elrohir looked at Glorfindel, and his eyes looked suddenly very 
young. Glorfindel put at arm around his lover’s shoulders. “*Have faith, 
my vaad,*” he whispered.
	“We will leave in the morning, so I suggest you all get some rest. 
Each of the five of us-” he indicated himself, Elrond and the others- “Has 
knowledge of where we will go, and what is expected. Get some rest, all 
of you. I will take first watch.”
	Legolas broke free of Aragorn, and moved quickly towards 
Glorfindel. Casting Elrohir an apologetic look, he took Glorfindel’s arm 
and led him away from the others. When they were a good hundred feet 
away, Legolas lowered his voice to a whisper and commanded, “*Protect 
Aragorn if you can.*”
	Glorfindel blinked in mild surprise, then nodded. “*He will be as 
safe as any of us, Legolas,*” he said solemnly. “*I will watch over him.*”
***
	Many other whispered councils took place that night: 
Gimli/Legolas, Merry/Pippin/Sam/Frodo, Elladan/Elrohir/Elrond, 
Glorfindel/Elrohir, Aragorn/Legolas, Gimli/Kyra. All of them were full of 
bitter parting and admonitions to stay out of harm’s way as much as 
possible.
	When the sun rose the next morning, they all got up as well, ate a 
quick, silent breakfast and separated into the smaller groups. There were 
many frightened, nervous or longing looks exchanged, but not a word was 
spoken. They all knew their duty.
	Aragorn caught Legolas’s eye, touched the pendant Legolas had 
given him in Gondor, the one Gimli had kept safe, and the Prince of 
Mirkwood nodded.

Book Four: Secret and Open War
Chapter Thirty

	Frodo walked silently beside Gandalf, watching as Gollum walked 
a little ahead, his hands still bound, his head down. ‘He seems too docile,’ 
Frodo mused, ‘as if we’ve taken all the fight out of him. But he’s cunning, 
and I won’t let my guard down. At least there’s no Ring clouding my mind 
this time.’ For this last, he was very grateful.
	They were going to fly out of New Zealand, to the United States. 
Gandalf felt the Enemy was commanding her troops from there. If that 
was so, or if she was commanding from some place on the Earth, some 
place they could get to, form an offensive against, then there was a firm, 
warm seed of hope behind their movements. If she was commanding from 
somewhere outside the world, such as the Dead Lands, then they would 
have to do without hope.
	Gandalf had explained to Frodo that the United States was very 
free-thinking for the most part, and it would be the easiest place for her to 
confuse, frighten and dominate people. “Free thought is a blessing, but not 
a luxury without cost,” the wizard told him as they walked. “Right now, 
many people over there are so open-minded that their brains fall this way 
and that without their taking even the slightest notice.”
	“It’s not just like that in the United States; that’s the way the world 
is,” Elijah argued. Frodo wouldn’t have dared to question the wizard, at 
least not so directly.
	“But the United States is filled with people taken by the urge to say 
and do whatever pops into their heads.”
	“They’re not all like that!”
	“I never said that all Americans were that way, just many of them. 
And because of the Freedom of Speech in the First Amendment, many 
believe they have Freedom from Thought as well.” He shrugged. “It’s a 
good place to start, even if she’s not there, because we’ll have access to 
worldwide information.”
	“She likes high, light places where everyone can see her,” Gollum 
uttered suddenly; the wizard and hobbit stopped short and stared at 
Gollum, who turned slowly, almost elegantly, to face them.
	Gollum’s eyes were alight with confidence, and he’d assumed a 
posture of command and strength that Frodo would have associated with 
Aragorn.
	“Seek her in the open- she is unlike Sauron- she wants to be found, 
and is sure in her strength and knowledge. No doubts cloud her mind.”
	Even before he’d uttered the second word, Frodo was amazed how 
self-possessed Gollum sounded. And his voice had ceased to rasp. His 
eyes shone at them cunningly, but without malice.
	“I know her well, even if I’ve never met her. She existed before 
Sauron, and may exist long after we are all gone.”
	“Smeagol… How do you know all these things?” Gandalf asked 
into the silence which followed this last statement.
***
	Merry couldn’t help feeling small and insignificant. None of the 
hobbits had assumed their original forms, but he still felt tiny beside these 
mental (and perhaps spiritual) giants.
	He turned his eyes from the road ahead (they were headed to the 
forest where Rivendell used to exist, to dig up something Merry couldn’t 
pronounce) and was caught by the look of loss on Elrohir’s face. He 
hadn’t gotten to know the elf well, either before they’d died or after their 
rebirth, but he couldn’t miss the sorrow he saw there. He felt sorrow of his 
own, but it was mostly worry. He wanted desperately to see Pippin again. 
He remembered, during the War of the Ring, how much he’d missed 
having Pippin beside him. With Pippin gone, he’d felt like a very small 
hobbit indeed, in the huge world. Now he felt that way again, and there 
seemed no way to cure it, except by seeing his cousin again.
	‘Hobbits aren’t meant to be alone,’ he thought, remembering 
something Pippin had said an age ago.
	‘Neither are elves,’ he added, looking at Elrohir again. He 
quickened his pace, so that he was walking beside Elrohir. “Are you all 
right?” he whispered to the son of Elrond.
	Elrohir blinked, then looked down at him. Even though he hadn’t 
assumed his hobbit-size, Merry found himself having to still raise his head 
to look into the faces of the elves. “I’m worried about Glorfindel,” he 
responded, and Merry was surprised that the elf had answered him so 
bluntly and honestly, as if they had been friends for years.
	Taken aback by this, he paused briefly, then decided he would 
repay Elrohir in like kind. “I’m worried about Pippin. He’s still a little 
silly sometimes, and I don’t want him to run into danger.”
	Elrohir smiled slightly. “I don’t think Treebeard would let him run 
off,” he pointed out, and the smile widened until his eyes were lit with it. 
Or perhaps it wasn’t the smile at all that lit them, Merry thought, seeing 
the tears harboring in those brown depths. “Glorfindel’s not silly, but 
danger doesn’t really scare him. He’s cautions, but too eager to do the 
right thing sometimes. He’d jump into a balrog’s mouth if he thought it 
would save someone.”
	“Pip’s like that with me,” Merry confided. “If I had to chose 
someone to fight next to, I’d chose him, though there are definitely people 
stronger and quicker than he is.”
	Elrohir laughed quietly. “I’d choose Glorfindel, even though I 
know my father, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf or even Elladan would be a 
better choice.”
	“Glorfindel’s a warrior, though, right? Isn’t he strong against the 
Black Riders?”
	“Yes, but he’s not quite so wise.” Elrohir smiled ruefully. “Neither 
am I, and Glorfindel looks like a genius compared to me, but still acts with 
his heart and not his head much of the time.”
	“Aragorn said that his heart’s where he gets his best plans.”
	Elrohir laughed fully now. “That sounds like Estel,” he murmured, 
still giggling. The tears had vanished from his eyes. “And maybe he’s 
right, but most elves trust to their knowledge. We used to have a saying: 
‘Men live by their hearts because they don’t know enough to live by their 
minds.’”
	“It’s not a very nice saying,” Merry told him, feeling oddly 
defensive of Strider.
	“True, and it’s one we never told Estel. He was so afraid of not 
being good enough as it was that I amended it when he was still very 
young. ‘Men rely on their hearts because that is where they get the most 
strength.’ What do you think?”
	“I like that better.”
	They fell into a companionable silence, and Merry didn’t worry 
about Pippin for a few days.
***
	“We did at last find the Ent-wives,” Treebeard told Pippin as they 
walked. His voice sagged with grief. “It was far too late for them. They’d 
been murdered. We knew they hadn’t died naturally- too many of them 
were young and free of all blemish except their death-wounds.”
	Legolas half-listened to this sad tale. He remembered something 
Aragorn had told John Tolkien when they’d been recounting the War of 
the Ring: ‘It is a sad tale, as are all the tales of Middle Earth.’
	‘Aragorn…’ He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced them 
open again. There was no time for sad thoughts or worrying; he couldn’t 
help Aragorn now, and being lost in his own thoughts could bring only 
danger and failure to their quest.	
	He turned his mind to their mission. Treebeard had been very 
clear: they must discover for certain if the Nazgul lived again, and, if so, 
how that was possible, since the Ring had been destroyed. Perhaps a new 
Ring had been reforged. They were going to try and find their way into 
Her service, collect what information they could, and get out again. 
Legolas, brave and sure as he was, feared they would come out of Her 
service injured past healing… or not come out at all.
	Legolas considered his role: archer, studier of Tolkien (though she 
certainly would not find that out until much later- he was going in, 
presumably, under the impression that she was just declaring war, in the 
names of Right, Progress and Wealth, and that he could make a profit 
from helping her) and a worldwise young man besides. He found the idea 
of getting into her inner circle distasteful and frightening. ‘I never even 
saw Sauron. If she is worse, ah, then we’re going to have to do a lot of 
dancing.’ He smiled at the thought; the words were not his own. He’d 
heard one of Aragorn’s Rangers (Saru, his name was Saru; young, green 
and passionate) speak those words, while they all stood, shortly after the 
fall of Gondor, helping Eomer to defend Rohan.
	Eomer… Dead for thousands of years, and yet still his face shone 
in Legolas’s mind’s eye. He’d fought beside Aragorn to the last, dying in 
defense of his lands, urging Aragorn to take what remained of the people 
of Rohan and flee to a safer place, where they might one day rise to fight 
again.
	‘And so we took them to the North, hoping to fight another day…’ 
Grief and frustration assailed him, as they always did when he stumbled 
into that particular memory, and he turned his thoughts forcefully back to 
the path he was walking. ‘I must fight, and to do that I must learn Her 
mind. So be it.’
***
	Gimli stared down at the slightly bent grass blade in Elladan’s 
hand, and thought that perhaps Aragorn should be here trying to follow 
Gollum’s backtrail. In any case, he, Gimli, wasn’t really following the trail 
itself- he was following Elladan, who could have given Aragorn’s tracking 
skills a run for their money. ‘This tracking just reminds me of hunting for 
the hobbits over the plains of Rohan, and for that, I’d choose Aragorn and 
Legolas as companions.’
	His heart was lightened by Galadriel, but he felt like the fifth 
wheel, and that didn’t help matters. Elladan was even closer than Gandalf, 
Gimli reflected, grimmer than Elrond and more distant than Treebeard. If 
there was a glimmer of imagination in him, Gimli had yet to see it. Elladan 
wasn’t insulting or intentionally cruel, but he seemed colder than 
Cahadras, and just as impassible. ‘His only similarity to Elrohir is looks,” 
Gimli decided.
	“His tracks are growing cold already,” Elladan announced. “I don’t 
know if we have the hope of following him.”
	Gimli was glad to have something to contribute at this juncture: 
“‘Then we must go on without hope,’” he announced, repeating something 
Aragorn had once said just after they’d watched Gandalf fall to his 
supposed death in Moria.
	“Agreed,” Galadriel responded. “Come.” She guided their way all 
that day, and seemed to hone in on a  sort of psychic footprint, something 
Elladan couldn’t see, and when Elladan lost all physical signs of their 
road, she walked on ruthlessly, confidently, and neither of them thought of 
questioning her.
	They came to the cave as night was settling on the land, and, using 
flaming sticks as torches, they ventured warily inside.
	The cave was cool, but no moisture dripped from above. It didn’t 
smell as though anything had lived in here in a long time, and yet the 
tracks had led both into and out of this cave, so Gollum must have at least 
gone in.
	Elladan spotted the flashing, twirling spot of light, and it almost 
killed him.
	Hanging from the ceiling, twisting back and forth, under its own 
power, as no breeze stirred the air of the cave, the medallion called to him. 
It called to both elves, making them think of the Undying Lands, of 
peaceful rivers flowing to the Sea, of mellorn trees in the springtime. 
Gimli saw only a glimmering scrap of metal, and barely paid it any heed. 
He was focusing on the perfectly clean-swept floor. ‘There’s no dust 
anywhere! No cave is like this,’ he thought. ‘This may be a trap.’
	Then Galadriel stumbled against him, her eyes fixed on the 
hypnotizing talisman, and he knew it was trap. Glancing quickly up, he 
saw Elladan reaching out to touch it; he reacted with a speed he had once 
boasted to Legolas about- “We’re very great sprinters!” Charging forward, 
he slammed against Elladan, making him lose his balance. They both 
crashed to the floor, and Gimli heard a sickening crack as Elladan struck 
his head on the stone floor. ‘No time to worry about that now,’ he thought 
as he turned to protect Galadriel. She was staring at the medallion, but was 
not near enough to touch it yet. He rushed forward- momentarily glad that 
he hadn’t been changed into a dwarf yet- and seized the deadly scrap of 
metal. He stuffed it into his pocket.
	Lady Galadriel continued to stare at the place it had hung for a few 
seconds, then all the color drained from her face and she crumpled 
towards the floor. Gimli leapt forward and saved her from Elladan’s fate.
	He scooped the Lady into his arms and carried her from the cave. 
She was amazingly light. He’d only carried one elf before, and had found 
him just as light. He wondered if the elves’ bones were more like those of 
birds than those of men, then turned his mind back to the task at hand. 
When he had lain her on the ground two dozen feet from the cave’s 
mouth, he went back for Elladan.
	When they both lay under the clear sky, he built a fire, making sure 
it wouldn’t spread towards them, and then went back to the front of the 
cave. Just outside it, he dug a hole as deep as he could with just his 
fingers, took the medallion from his pocket, and buried the cursed thing. 
When he was finished, the ends of his fingers were bleeding slightly- 
“Curse you, how long has it been since you’ve done any real work?” he 
demanded of his fingers. “Great miner, hah!”- but he was glad to have the 
thing gone from his sight.
	On his way back to the fire, he realized two things: 1) Gollum 
hadn’t left it, because he couldn’t have reached the place from where it 
had hung, and there was no sign of a large, loose stone he could have 
dragged, then taken away again and 2) someone had anticipated their 
move, and had set a trap for them. No. Not for all of them. Just for the 
elves. For some unknown reason, this deviltry hadn’t affected him in the 
slightest.
	Whoever had set the trap had maybe assumed the elves would be 
alone.
	‘How can she know our movements?’ Gimli wondered as he 
dropped to one knee beside Elladan. Talking one of his waterskins from 
where it rested at his side, he dipped his fingers in the slightly cool water 
and sprinkled the moisture on the brown-haired elf’s face. It was a 
probably rude, but nevertheless effective method of waking the motionless 
son of Elrond.
	Elladan’s eyes flew open, and he snorted, not sounding at all like a 
High Elf, and sat up. He didn’t ask “What? Who” or even “Huh?”- he 
simply looked around, took in his surroundings at a glance, looked back to 
Gimli, and asked, “Where did the light go?”
	“The scrap’s buried, and you won’t find it.  It was dangerous.”
	“It sang to me,” Elladan muttered, then shook his head. “But I 
think you’re right about its being dangerous. I felt wonderful, except that 
my body seemed to be falling away from me.”
	‘Some elves make no sense,’ Gimli thought in mild irritation. 
“Well, it’s gone now, and I suppose we can rest here for the night, and go 
on in the morning.” He stood before Elladan could speak and walked to 
where Lady Galadriel was opening her eyes. Gimli was glad he hadn’t had 
to drip any water on her. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. 
Behind him, Elladan was getting up as well.
	“It was a poison-honey stone,” she murmured, gazing towards the 
cave. “It brings sweet songs, beautiful memories, and death.” Her dark 
words were tempered by a grateful smile. “Thank you for rescuing us, 
Gimli.”
	He bowed low, and she laughed, not unkindly.

Chapter Thirty-One

	“He’s a problem,” the creature they knew as the Enemy told her 
mate. “They’re all troublesome, even the hobbits, maybe especially the 
hobbits because I don’t know what they’ve learned while in their human 
forms. But he is a source of strength to them, even when he isn’t present. 
His name flashes across their minds, more than any of the elves’ or the 
wizard’s.” 
	“Do you want to send him back? Get him out of the way?”
	She considered that. “Yes. I never thought I would say this, but 
he’s too annoying and inspiring to keep around.”
	“Will you make it look like we did it, or like the Enemy did it?” He 
smiled at his own joke, then turned serious again. “They already suspect 
us, though they have no idea how deeply we’re involved.”
	“I’ll make it seem that the Enemy did it.” She grinned, and touched 
his hand delicately. “How’s that Ring coming/”
	“Your wedding band is almost finished, My Lady.” He touched 
back, but only briefly. It wasn’t safe to give too much of himself to her 
just yet.
	She nodded, still smiling, though the expression had turned cold. 
“They’re expecting a Ring, and they’ll get a Ring, but if they manage to 
destroy it, I won’t lose any of my power.” She turned to gaze down, 
through the glass, at the world. She could see that Gollum was now only 
accompanied by two others- the hobbit, Frodo, and the wizard. “They have 
broken into smaller groups, which will avail them nothing and make his 
death easier to accomplish.” She wished Gollum had gone with him, the 
man she wished to kill, but she couldn’t have all the breaks, she supposed. 
After all, with all her power, it made the game more interesting if there 
were small obstacles set in her way. She loved solving small puzzles.
	She decided to send one of her demons, a former ghost, and one of 
the Nazgul, to end the man’s meddlesome existence.
***
	He sang as they gathered the camp together.  The others had 
departed, and it was their job, if they could, to make it seem as though the 
others might return at any moment. They packed slowly
	The “Ranger Promise” it had been named by Aragorn the first, and 
as such had been passed from mouth to ear through all the long years until 
Gondor was regained, and even then Aragorn had still taught it to his 
children. He’d had three with Arwen before she left for the Undying 
Lands, and when she’d gone, taking Eldarian and their daughter, Nimrodel 
with her, Aragorn had retreated to the old songs to comfort him. He’d 
brought up every Elvish, Dunedain, hobbit and Rohirrim song he knew, 
not to mention all the songs of Gondor he’d learned, and taught them to 
Morwen, his youngest child, before she, too, had left for the Undying 
Lands.

“We are of the blood of Elendil,
Sons of Isildur.
We will not stumble from our road,
But will come at last to Gondor.
Fiercely, we will strive,
And come at last to Gondor!

“On that road, others travel also:
Together walk elves, dwarves and Men of Numenor.
We will learn what we may from such as these;
Help we’ll give to dwarves and elves upon this shore.
They will teach us to live in the North,
And we will share the strength of our lives upon this shore!

“The White City, my White City-”
	“Strider?” Sam whispered, obviously torn between what was on his 
mind and not wanting to disturb the man.
	Aragorn blinked at him, then smiled reassuringly. “What is it, 
Sam?”
	“When will we be leaving this place? I’m not questioning your 
plans, or Lord Glorfindel’s, either. It’s just that it feels wrong, if you take 
my meaning. This place, I mean. Speaking as a gardener, I’d say the 
ground feels all wrong. I know there are lots of healthy plants growing 
everywhere, but it feels wrong all the same.”
	Aragorn opened his mind a little, pushing the song to one side, and 
almost immediately he ‘heard’ it; a sobbing rose from the earth beneath 
his feet, and he cursed his waggling tongue and low spirits. He’d been 
singing to keep Legolas from his mind, but it had done more harm than 
good, seemingly. He looked around quickly, and spotted Glorfindel 
crouching a little distance away with one hand on a tree, as if for balance, 
though Aragorn guessed the elf was really listening to the tree, and to the 
land in which it grew. His face was drawn, as if with pain, and he didn’t 
stir as Aragorn approached.
	“What do you feel?” Aragorn asked, crouching beside Glorfindel. 
He sensed Sam standing uncertainly not far away.
	At first, the elf-lord remained silent, but then he raised his eyes, 
and there was fury and tension- not exactly fear, but close- in his gaze. 
“Gollum wasn’t alone when he attacked. Someone else was here, leaving 
their own set of tracks, a set I can’t see, but the ground, the trees, the 
flowers shout at me; it passed by them and they dread that it may come 
again.”
	“Did Gollum bring this… presence… with him willingly?”
	“He didn’t know it was there, of that I am sure, or he would have 
sought its aid when we captured him yesterday. This piggybacked, like a 
secret message being carried in static.” He smiled slightly, though it was a 
less-than-cheerful smile. “Richard knew quite a bit about electronics.” He 
turned his attention to the tree again for a moment, then whispered, “I 
can’t get a clear sense of what it was. There was evil here, but also good, 
like a gold thread on black cloth. Treebeard said Gollum had something 
besides cruelty and hunger driving him, so it could be that I’m feeling.”
	“And everything feels different than it once did,” Aragorn 
murmured. “How could you know what it was when we don’t even have a 
clear sense of the natures of our enemies?”
	“Not everything has changed,” Sam spoke up suddenly. “Evil’s 
still evil, right?”
	Glorfindel smiled a true smile at him. “Yes, Sam, that’s true. I’d 
nearly forgotten that.” He stood. “We must move on. This ground needs 
time to recover, and we’d do the most help by leaving it to its healing.”
	“Is this thing that piggybacked on Gollum still here?”
	“I doubt it. The tree would still be screaming with it. Right now, 
Nature’s only grateful for its passing.”
	“Maybe it can’t leave Gollum,” Aragorn proposed as they 
shouldered their packs and walked with the sun at their right hands.
	Glorfindel only shrugged, unwilling to speculate with such scant 
information.
	“Where will we go?” Sam asked.
	“I think we should follow Gandalf’s trail,” Glorfindel responded. 
“He never gave me any clearer instructions, saying I could rely on my own 
judgment.” Of the Council of the Wise, Glorfindel felt the least 
knowledgeable. “We’ll go to the nearest city- the one we passed a month 
ago should do- and see what information we can gather. Gandalf was 
headed that way to catch a flight out of here. Nothing’s going to make this 
other than a long walk. It was decided we’d leave on foot, so as to be free 
to move in the wilderness, and harder to track, if our Enemy has that sort 
of technology, by satellite.”
	They journeyed all that day, covering some twenty-five miles 
before moonrise. When they halted, Aragorn built the fire, and Sam 
unloaded a little lembas and water. Glorfindel stood, staring up at the 
stars. His meditations were not of the softer sort. ‘The ground still sobs, 
even though there is no more sense of the creature that came with Gollum. 
This intruder, whatever it was, has a far-reaching arm; I wonder if the 
whole planet feels it?’ He wished he could contact the other elves, and 
questioned again Gandalf’s suggestion that they split up, even though it 
was an effective way to cover more bases.
	He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t sense the 
approaching danger until Aragorn whispered, “Nazgul.” He turned his 
head quickly, and saw Aragorn grabbing two sticks out of the fire. Even as 
he watched, the Ranger handed one to Sam.
	The familiar cold feeling assailed Glorfindel at that moment, and 
he drew his sword. But the Nazgul was not the only danger, he realized; 
another evil, different but just as deadly, was close at hand. Running 
towards the fire, he shouted, “There are two different creatures coming! 
Be ready!”
	Aragorn passed his torch to his left hand, then drew Anduril. Sam 
grabbed one of his pans and stood ready at Aragorn’s side.
	The Nazgul approached swiftly, not lurking in the darkness as it 
usually did. Glorfindel spied it, rushing in from his left, and he shouted to 
Aragorn, “East! Look east!”
	The Nazgul raised its blade, and Aragorn whirled to meet it with 
fire. This should have at least slowed it, but the Shadow’s blade cut 
through the wood, and the fire that touched it didn’t seem to do any harm. 
The Nazgul bore down on Aragorn.
	Glorfindel released his inner light and energy, attracting the 
creature’s attention. The Nazgul retreated in front of him, and he pressed 
his advantage.
***
	Satisfied that Glorfindel could handle the Shadow (and grateful, 
because he’d never seen a Nazgul not retreat from flame, and that 
frightened him a little) Aragorn turned his mind to other concerns- and felt 
that other drawing near.
	He couldn’t see it, and this increased the danger ten-fold, but he 
sensed where it was coming from, and wouldn’t accept any doubts 
regarding his sixth sense. “Sam, be ready.”
	Sam had dropped his flaming branch back into the fire, and now 
had both his pan and a short sword ready. He, too, sensed the evil closing 
in, but was put off by the fact that he couldn’t see it.
	The former elf, former ghost, grinned to himself and decided 
becoming visible would cause more terror than remaining hidden. Casting 
off his invisibility, Tragel stood in front of Aragorn, close enough to touch 
him. He’d chosen an appearance much like the one the Lady had said 
Aragorn had dreamed of, though it didn’t really suit him. He preferred 
looking impeccable, not half-rotting.
	Aragorn jumped back, unable to quite suppress a cry of fear. He 
attacked with his sword, but the blade passed right through Tragel without 
leaving so much as a scratch. The demon laughed, and bore down on the 
defenseless Ranger. He longed to rape the man again, perhaps even kill 
him that way, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Nazgul fleeing 
before the elf-lord, and he knew he couldn’t waste time. He leapt forward, 
seizing Aragorn’s sword arm in a powerful grip, and twisting the limb 
until he heard a bone snap. Anduril fell from his master’s fingers, and 
Tragel swept it up, ignoring the slight burning sensation that the sword 
inflicted on his palm. He stabbed Aragorn in his stomach, well below his 
ribs, turning the blade as he did so. Aragorn opened his mouth to scream, 
but all that came out was a sick gurgle.
	Aragorn clutched at his stomach, cutting his hand on Anduril’s 
edge without knowing, and fell blindly forward. Tragel caught him. Just 
before Aragorn raised his eyes, Tragel changed his appearance, becoming 
Legolas for a few moments.
	In his confused state, Aragorn couldn’t tell the difference. 
“Vaad…” He coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 
His eyes were losing their focus. “… I love…”
	Tragel laughed and changed back to what he thought of as his 
‘rotting costume.’
	Something stabbed him through his back, but it didn’t hurt, didn’t 
matter. He leered at Aragorn, bent down, and forced a hard kiss on 
Aragorn’s trembling lips. He fondled the dying man, and Aragorn, if he 
noticed, made no response. The Ranger slipped into death, still trying to 
speak to Legolas.
***
	He was too late.
	Glorfindel knew this even as he drove the Nazgul off.
	It was a plan to kill Aragorn.
	He knew this, too, as surely as he knew, when he saw Sam stab the 
demon from behind, that the damned creature wouldn’t feel it.
	After the Nazgul finally fled, Glorfindel raced to Aragorn’s 
defense,
	(he was too late)
	but he knew in his heart that his friend was already gone. The 
rotting elf- ‘no,’ Glorfindel thought angrily, ‘he’s a demon; this is just the 
form he took to frighten Aragorn’- looked up, letting Aragorn fall. 
Casually, he reached behind him, as if to seize Sam. Glorfindel charged, 
knocking Sam aside, and collided with Tragel, who had made himself 
solid so he could use Aragorn’s sword.
	Tragel laughed, then spit at him. “He’s gone, elf-lord; tell Legolas 
how I killed him.” He was growing transparent, and finally, he vanished 
completely. Glorfindel waited a moment, to make sure the feeling of him 
was completely gone. Then he dropped to his knees and took Aragorn in 
his arms. The Ranger was dead; he knew it before he touched him, and yet 
he still searched for a pulse.
	‘I’m too late.’
	Glorfindel bowed his head and kissed Aragorn’s forehead- the 
Dunedain Death Ritual was unknown to him, and he wouldn’t have 
performed it even if he  had known it, feeling it wasn’t his place- but he 
unwittingly performed the last step. The Dunedain believed that kissing a 
Ranger on the forehead after he died would make his passing into the 
Dead Lands easier. This was true; they’d all found out its truth as they 
passed one by one from the Land of the Living.
	Aragorn, last Ranger of the North, joined them a second time.

Chapter Thirty-Two

	“Smeagol… How do you know all these things?” Gandalf asked.
	“I have known her, but more than that, I have spied on her, seen 
her mind, been in her inner chambers.” He looked away, and Frodo was 
shocked to see a slight blush cross his cheeks. “It is not something I would 
willingly share.” Then he looked up, and said to Frodo, “But if you ask, I 
will obey.”
	“Why?” Frodo blurted.
	“Because you were kind to me.” He glanced at Gandalf. “You had 
hope for me.”
	‘He sounds more like a cultured student from Harvard than an ex-
hobbit who rotted for five hundred years from the inside out.’  Frodo 
found that he was trembling, and unable to stop himself.
	“You don’t trust me,” Gollum noted calmly. He sighed, as one who 
doesn’t expect anything better would sigh, and yet, for all the bitterness in 
that sound, Frodo, staring into Gollum’s eyes, saw a childlike innocence 
and disappointment. He was put in mind of the two sides of Gollum that 
he’d known of during the War.
	He opened his mouth to say, “Tell me what happened to you,” but 
Gandalf shook his head slightly. The wizard asked, “What do you want 
from us, Gollum?”
	“I want only to help,” Gollum answered serenely. “It is part of my 
atonement.”
	Gandalf shot Frodo another look when he opened his mouth again, 
then, turning to Gollum, he untied the rope from around the creature’s 
wrists. “Then be free. Help us if you can, and we will do the same.”
	Gollum nodded, as if this were a simple business deal, rubbed his 
wrists a little, then said, “Gandalf, you should still go to the United States. 
She will be waiting there, though not specifically for you. She knows a 
war will come, and is sure she can win.”
	‘He’s as tame and as willing to please as a dog,’ Frodo thought. 
‘But I can’t trust him. He’s done too much damage.’ Frodo smiled at 
Gollum, hoping his expression looked genuine. 
	“It’s all right that you don’t trust me,” Gollum said, seeing beyond 
Frodo’s fake smile. “If you’re going to trust me, if will take some time.”
      ‘How the hell can you be so patient?’ Frodo wanted to scream. 
‘How can you sound like an educated child instead of a blood-thirsty 
weasel?’ 
      They began to walk again.
	That night, Gollum dreamed.
###
	After he’d died (Gollum couldn’t remember the instant of dying, 
only the terror before- which had been grotesquely muted by the triumph 
of possessing the Ring) he’d awoken in a world very like the Cracks of 
Doom he’d fallen into. Everything was burning fire here, and, making 
things worse, the flames seemed to laugh at him as he screamed.
	Still, despite the pain, the first thing he noticed was that the Ring 
was no longer clutched in his hand. He opened his mouth to loose a cry of 
anguish, but the fire raced down it, and he choked on blazing embers.
	-Here the dream faded; Gollum’s mind shied away from the 
remembered torture. When it resumed, Gollum recalled awaking in the 
arms of some shining creature.-
	The light around him was soft, and yet his eyes, closed though they 
were, screamed in pain. He reached up his hands and covered them 
protectively.
	The singing that touched him, delicate though it was, made his ears 
shriek, and he curled into a ball to shelter them.
	The singing retreated, growing quieter, now less than an echo, then 
it stopped.
	“He’s awake,” said a sweet female voice, speaking from 
somewhere above him.
	“Good,” answered another female voice. “I’ll go tell Faramir.”
	“Wait a little, Eowyn. I want to talk to him first.”
      A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and Gollum jerked as though 
he’d been stung. Forgetting that the light hurt his eyes, he opened them 
and glared up at her, showing all his teeth.
      The dark-haired she-elf smiled kindly at him, and showed no signs 
of fear. “You’re all right, Smeagol. No one will hurt you here.” She put 
her hands in her lap and watched calmly as he pushed himself to a sitting 
position. “You’re in the Land of the Dead now, and no one’s going to hurt 
you anymore.”
      He darted quick, frightened glances every whichway, Green 
assailed his eyes: the healthy, laughing forest-greens and sunlight-greens 
of trees, grass and bushes. Interspersed among the singing life-green were 
dots of gold, red, orange, violet, pink and purest white. He covered his 
eyes in horror, fearing that the sun would suddenly spy on him and sting 
his eyes.
      When the light didn’t change, he slowly lowered his hands and 
stared at Arwen. She hadn’t moved an inch; she was even still smiling. 
“What do you want with me?” he started to ask, but his voice faded after 
the second word. That wasn’t his voice; it was too young, too... there was 
no other word for it: relaxed. It sounded like the voice of a child, not that 
of a schizophrenic Ring-addict. That is not to say that his voice was high, 
as it hovered more around the baritone range, but it was pure and 
unassuming.
      “My name is Arwen, daughter of Elrond.” She gestured slightly, 
and Gollum noticed another woman kneeling beside her. “This is Eowyn.”
      He grimaced at them, hoping he looked frightening, but they didn’t 
stir, and suddenly he remembered that she hadn’t reacted when he’d bared 
his teeth at her, a sight that made many men back away.
      ‘If my voice is changed…’
      “I need a mirror,” he growled, or tried to. It sounded more like a 
little child making the noise of a bear- not remotely threatening.
      -The dream faded again, and Gollum remembered dimly that some 
of the elves who inhabited the Land of the Dead had taken him in. He’d 
been changed into the hobbit-like creature he’d been before the Ring 
found him, but, more important than that, he’d been made into the child he 
was, complete with his open, gentle mind and basically trusting heart. He 
could access his old memories, but only sometimes, and he had to 
concentrate to do it. Slowly, under their care, he’d grown to love the 
woods, the fields and, perhaps most of all, the banks along the streams. He 
no longer looked for roots, but focused high above him. He gazed raptly at 
the trees, enjoying the patterns of shadow and light their movements 
created.
      Under the elves’ gentle teaching, he’d fallen in love with song, 
rhyme, games and stories. He’d started making up his own- there was a 
part of him that the Ring had turned to evil; his imagination. But these 
were good, inspiring stories, and the elves began to take them and make 
them their own, sharing their many sad stories with him, and also their 
fables, like the ones about Woofledorf, the eight-inch tall, blue-butted 
wizard, and hardly any of his stories were sad.
      He dreamed again, recalling the day it had all changed-
      Arwen, Eowyn, and their children, some of which had grown up 
right there in the Land of the Dead, had been playing horseshoes, and he’d 
been sitting on the sidelines, making verses about the game, and laughing 
to himself as they came out very strangely, when a shadow had fallen over 
them all and a terrible, female voice had shouted, “Gollum, son of none, 
come to me, serve me. You owe me that much for freeing you!”
      In all honesty, he hadn’t known at first that she was calling him, 
since the elves had never called him Gollum, and had ceased calling him 
Smeagol because it brought up bad memories. They called him Nehre, 
which meant ‘reborn’.
      Then she’d called, “Faithless creature, Nehre, if you will respond 
to nothing else, come to me!”
      The elves and the humans had stared in horror, but when Arwen 
rose, probably to defend him, she’d been driven back by a bolt of energy. 
‘Come to me,’ the voice ordered again, now whispering in his mind, ‘or I 
will kill them.’
      He stood and walked towards her. The bolt of energy, which felt 
like the fires of Mount Doom all over again, attacked him then.
###
      He awoke, screaming, crying out, “Arwen, stay back! Eowyn-!”
      Gandalf was kneeling beside him now, and the wizard said softly, 
“It’s all right, Smeagol, you’re safe now.”
      Even with the terror pressing in on him, Nehre found the courage 
he hadn’t possessed earlier. “Please don’t call me Smeagol,” he 
whispered, hearing how raspy him voice was. This sent a fresh surge of 
fear through him- ‘I don’t want to be Gollum again, please!- but he fought 
past it and finished, “Please call me Nehre. It means reborn.”
***
	“It’s called the Rulshka,” Elrond explained to Merry for the third 
time. “Roughly translated, it means the Box of the Rings.”
	They were nearly to Rivendell, after traveling for six days. Elrond 
had set a dogged pace, but the others had kept gamely on. This was getting 
harder and harder for Merry, who seemed to be shrinking, even as his feet 
grew. He checked every morning and every night to see if the soles of his 
feet were tough enough, and the hair long and warm enough to protect him 
if he walked without shoes. As yet, he was still doomed trapped inside his 
shoes; his hobbit instincts complained loudly about this, but for the 
moment, he tolerated them and continued to walk with shod feet.
	When they dug up the box, Merry was shocked at how large it was. 
It took all of them tugging and shoving to get it out of the hole. Merry was 
surprised that Elrond had remembered precisely where he’d buried it. 
‘Thank goodness for small favors,’ he thought as they rested for a moment 
before endeavoring to open the box, which was made of some metal that 
shouldn’t have been still intact after all the passing years, but was 
somehow still completely whole.
	Elrond crouched in front of the box and gazed at the lock. “*Open, 
Rulshka. It is I, Lord Elrond, who speaks.*”
	Elrohir laughed as the box did as it was told. “That’s all it takes? 
Couldn’t anyone open it?”
	“First, they don’t know the words,” Elrond answered, grunting as 
he lifted the lid. “Second, the box reads voices and hearts. It would open 
for none but myself, Galadriel and Gandalf.” He frowned, then added, “It 
would also open for Celeborn, Celebrain or Arwen, but they are not here.” 
He shoved upward, and finally the box opened with a squawk.
	Inside, glowing faintly, were the three elven rings- and four others 
as well. These seemed to be also of Elvish make, but Merry couldn’t 
remember any other great rings being made. He opened his mouth to ask, 
but suddenly a strong, freezing wind assailed them, and he staggered 
sideways. Elrond threw out his hands, catching hold of the box with one 
and grabbing up the rings in his other. He clutched the rings against his 
skin hard enough that they left deep indentions.
	Merry felt himself slipping sideways, and then felt Kyra seize his 
arm and hold him steady.
	“What’s going on?” Elrohir shouted, or at least that was what 
Merry heard, though he wasn’t sure of anything with the wind roaring at 
him.
	“The Valar?” Kyra yelled.
	“Unknown!” Elrond answered back.
	Suddenly, the wind died and they sat, gasping, in the grass.
	“It is probably so,” Elrond said then, and his face was lined with 
concern. “This means we have two enemies to fight, and there will be no 
respite between the two; they will attack at the same time.”
	“They’re toying with us.” Elrohir groaned. “No matter what we do, 
they’ll keep the prize just out of our hands.” He threw up his arms and 
suddenly screamed, “We don’t even know how to fight them!” He tried to 
scramble to his feet, but tears were blocking his vision now. (Merry 
wondered if those were tears of anger, fear or frustration.)
	Elrond leapt up and rushed towards Elrohir, who was just now 
managing to gain his feet. Elrond cocked his arm back, and Merry gasped 
as he understood what was about to happen. Elrond punched Elrohir so 
hard that his son fell down again.
	A thrill Merry was ashamed of filled his mind, and he thought 
disjointedly, “Has Elrond ever hit anyone before?” He knew Elrond had 
been in wars, but the elder elf had always seemed so, well, serene.
	Elrohir looked up, dazed. The tears were drying on his cheeks even 
as a large, purplish bruise began to rise on the left side of his face.
	Elrond knelt and took Elrohir in his arms. “*Listen to me, young 
one. Listen only to my voice. Let the storm pass; listen only to me. Not to 
the wind, not to the voices in your head, only to me.*” He paused for 
perhaps ten seconds, then continued, “*Elrohir, can you hear me?*”
	“*Yes,*” Elrohir whispered. He seemed almost to be in a trance.
	“*What did you hear?*”
	“*If they’re playing with us, they could kill us at any time,*” 
Elrohir responded promptly, his voice disconcertingly calm.
	“*And?*”
	“*And they’ll kill us if we even have a chance of winning.*”
	“*Those are the surface answers. What was your first thought?*”
	“*They’ll kill Glorfindel, and I’m not there to be with him. I might 
never see him again.*” Elrohir’s eyes filled with tears again, but he 
continued to speak. “*I don’t want to lose him now. I can’t live without 
him.*” He closed his eyes and laid his head against Elrond’s shoulder. 
“*Father, I don’t want to lose him.*”
	“*Is he lost yet?*”
	“*No, but-*”	
	“*Is he lost yet?*”
	“*No.*” His answer was almost inaudible.
	“*Can you help him from here?*”
	“*No.*”
	“*What do I always say about war?*”
	“*‘The one to remain the most calm has the most hope of 
success.’*”
	“*Good. Wake up now, Elrohir.*”
	‘He was asleep,’ Merry thought in surprise. ‘Even if I didn’t see 
him go under, he was definitely asleep.’
	Elrohir blinked and stared up at his father. “I’m sorry,” he 
whispered. “I didn’t mean to-”
	“I know. Elrohir, there is no shame in being afraid, only refusing to 
go on. Will you continue to fight?”
	“Yes,” Elrohir answered decisively.
	“Why will you fight?”
	“For the world.”
	“What is your real answer?” Elrond asked patiently.
	Elrohir blushed slightly. “I’ll fight so I can see Glorfindel again.”
	“Never be ashamed of your love, Elrohir. Greater elves than you or 
I have fought for such. Are you ready to go on?”
	“Yes.”
	They stood up as one, and then Elrond showed the others the rings 
he’d rescued. “I do not know who will wear these yet, but at least one goes 
to you, my lady,” he said to Kyra, “though I am not sure which at this 
time.” He pocketed them. “For now, we will walk, and hope to meet up 
with the others in the United States.”
***
	It was almost too easy to get into the service of the Enemy. There 
were informants on every street corner, calling people to action like 
hellfire preachers. The young man that spotted Legolas and ‘talked him 
into it’ was not distinguishable in any way from the hundreds, or perhaps 
thousands of other servants: fervent eyes, smiling lips, crisp, clean clothes 
and a handful of pamphlets. Legolas allowed himself to be talked to, 
hoping Treebeard and Pippin were watching out for themselves. Of 
course, if they died, it would probably be a while before he found out. And 
there would be nothing he could do for them in any case. Legolas set his 
jaw, set his mind, and focused on what the young man he’d dubbed 
Fervent-Eyes was saying.
	“If you want, you can follow the instructions on the back page-” he 
was saying, pointing with one ringed finger- “or you can wait until my 
shift is done- that’s about an hour from now- and I’ll go with you.”
	‘*I can’t waste any time.*’ “I think I’ll try to find it myself, thanks. 
Maybe I’ll see you there?” He used his friendliest smile.
	Fervent-Eyes shrugged. “Maybe.” He didn’t seem all that 
confident, though, as if-
	‘*-as if he sensed something wrong with me, or with my motives. 
Stop it, Legolas! You can’t start being paranoid already! That’s not going 
to get you anywhere.*’
	The directions weren’t all that complicated, and before long, 
Legolas was riding the New York subway, heading for Second Street. This 
gave him plenty of time to think, and he rehearsed his story:
	‘*My name is Orlando Bloom-*’ people might recognize him, 
especially since he’d dyed his hair brown and cut it to a more human=like 
length. He’d even gotten colored contacts to hide his eyes. The only things 
out of the ordinary were the points on his ears, and he could only hope no 
one noticed them. Let them notice, though, and he still might be able to 
make this work.
	He would have to trust to luck an awful lot, but that didn’t bother 
him. Luck, as well as courage and friendship, had won the War of the 
Ring. He centered himself as the subway stopped and people started 
streaming off. Off to one side, well away from the rush, two people stood: 
another young man and a woman of about middle age. They were wearing 
white jackets (just as Fervent-Eyes had been), and they were holding more 
pamphlets. Unlike Fervent-Eyes, though, they weren’t trying to get 
people’s attention, but were standing quietly, waiting for him.
	‘*Be strong, Legolas, and don’t give yourself away. In war, there 
is always risk; you’re just meeting the monster in her room instead of on 
the battlefield.*’
***
	They had continued to follow Gollum’s backtrail.
	“We must be more on our guard,” Galadriel had cautioned as they 
walked. “There will doubtless be more traps ahead.”
	They stood facing another trap now.
	Three doors stood, side by side, without walls or supports around 
them, reminding Elladan (Craig he’d been called) of a Stephen King book 
he’d read once.
	“We could walk around them easily,” Gimli pointed out.
	Lady Galadriel frowned. “This is a test, and you’re right, we have 
a choice: to take it or not to take it. There may be danger, and there be 
rewards. Can we afford to leave opportunities behind?”
	“Everything we need we’ve brought with us,” Gimli said 
practically.
	“We could still use more knowledge, or maybe even better 
weapons,” Elladan argued. “Any or all of the things we’ll need in the 
future could be behind these doors.”
	“Each of them is labeled: two in Elvish, one in Dwarvish. Gimli, 
what does the Dwarvish writing say?”
	Gimli stepped forward, then blinked in surprise. ‘If I had any doubt 
that these doors were meant for others to find, it’s gone now.’ “‘Enter, 
Gimli, son of Gloin, and learn your purpose in the war.’” He looked at the 
two elves. “I was not concerned about my purpose: I am here to fight, to 
defend.” 
	Galadriel nodded, then read her own door out loud. “‘Lady 
Galadriel of Lothlorien, find more strength and peril here.’”
	Elladan read, “‘Elladan, son of Elrond, lost your blood here.’” He 
grimaced. “That sounds promising. There isn’t even a promise of 
increased strength or speed or knowledge to go with it.”
	“My door seems completely positive, yours, Elladan, completely 
negative, and the Lady’s a mixture between the two.”
	Galadriel shook her head. “No, I think we will encounter danger 
and help in equal measure behind these doors. It’s only that everything 
hasn’t been spelled out on each. It’s a study in omission rather than one of 
inclusion.” 
	As Elladan was nodding, seeming to understand, Gimli decided not 
to ask. That feeling of being the fifth wheel returned full-force.
	Elladan approached his door. “Maybe I should go first,” he 
suggested. He tried to look like this was a wise decision, based on 
intuition or bravery, but Galadriel sensed that her grandson was as anxious 
and excited as his younger twin would have been. He just hid it better. She 
waved him on.
	It appeared to be an image of the campsite they had all left two 
weeks ago in search of knowledge and ways to fight. Sam was sitting by 
the fire, and Aragorn was packing something into his bag. Glorfindel 
stood a little way off, staring at nothing as he listened to the world around 
him.
	Elladan shuddered as something evil passed close to him. Aragorn 
lifted his head and uttered, “Nazgul.”
	Elladan saw the creature appear, much as it had during the War of 
the Ring, gliding over the grass. He watched, frozen with shock, as the 
thing menaced Aragorn, then was drawn off by Glorfindel. Then he saw 
the rotting elf-corpse advancing on Aragorn, and the king retreating before 
it.
	‘*I must help him!*’ He took a step, and found that he could pass 
into the image. His heart racing, all thought but concern for his little 
brother gone, he drew his knives and tensed to leap through the doorway.
	Galadriel seized his arm. “Wait, Elladan.”
	He looked at her, surprised at how calm she seemed. When he saw 
her face, however, he understood she was confused and worried. “Don’t 
go through. We’ll lose you,” she said with certainty. “Why do you want to 
go through? What do you see?”
	He looked back, saw the corpse stab Aragorn, heard the man 
scream. “Estel…” He tried to pull away from Galadriel, but now Gimli 
was holding onto him as well. He struggled, though fitfully, knowing 
Aragorn was already dead.
	“It may be an illusion,” Galadriel said gently, sensing the anguish 
in her grandson.
	“I could have saved him,” Elladan whispered. “I could have 
stepped through and saved him.”
	“You would have died,” Galadriel told him. “That’s what the door 
meant, I think: nothing but blood for you.”
	“A minute ago you were sure it was a test of omission!” Elladan 
cried, glaring at her. “I could have saved Estel!”
	“I’ve been wrong before,” she answered calmly. “If you had 
stepped through, perhaps you wouldn’t have died, but you would have 
been separated from us.”
	“It would be worth the risk!” Elladan whipped back, ripping his 
arm free from her grip and balling his hands into fists. He almost looked 
as though he might strike her. “Estel’s dead, don’t you understand?!” He 
was screaming now.
	“Yes, I know,” she answered, lowering her eyes. “But I can’t help 
thinking this was meant to happen.” Kate’s frightened eyes looked back at 
him. “Elladan, just as Gandalf fell into shadow to rise again, I think 
Aragorn has fallen for a reason.”
	“That’s no consolation! What am I going to tell Legolas when I see 
him?” Elladan turned back to the door, but it had vanished. The other two 
doors stood, waiting.
	Gimli had released Elladan, and was now staring at the elf. He 
wanted to wring Elladan’s neck until he took his words back, but instead 
he clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and vowed to kill whoever had 
killed Aragorn. He chose anger over grief, at least for the moment. It was 
easier.
	Galadriel stepped up to her door.
	“Why do you want to see?” Elladan cried. “Isn’t it obvious; 
someone’s playing with us!” He grabbed her arm.
	She shrugged his hand off. “I don’t want to see, but I think I need 
to.”
	“Just because the doors are in our path doesn’t make them 
important. This is just a torture-method. Aragorn said once that the Valar 
tortured he and Legolas, sometimes just for amusement, calling it tests.”
	“Then I will meet this test head-on; we can not start stepping out of 
our road to avoid things. If we do it now, we’ll probably lose any hope we 
had of following Gollum’s trail.” She grasped the doorknob and pulled the 
door open.
	There was a shimmer of mist, obscuring her vision, and she waved 
at it. As it faded, she stared in horror and joy mixed at the scene before 
her.
	It was Lothlorien, but it was burning. The mellorn trees had been 
turned into torches. Elves ran this way and that, trying to escape the 
flames. Suddenly, Celeborn ran into view. Unlike the other elves, who 
didn’t seem to notice her, he ran right to the door, and held out a ring to 
her. “Take it, take it, you must take it!” he shouted, his hand outstretched. 
She reached forward, forgetting how she had admonished Elladan, and 
took the circle on gold, inset with a jewel, and he held out to her. The 
minute she touched it, she knew what it was: Nenya. The ring slipped onto 
her finger.
	She glanced at it, then looked up again. Celeborn was staring at 
her, his eyes large with fear. “Go,” he whispered. “You must go.”
	A flaming branch fell from high above, striking his cheek. 
Instantly, his hair caught fire. He screamed, and reached out for her again. 
She put her hand out, then felt herself being torn backwards. She 
staggered, fell, and felt strong arms holding her down.
	Struggling, shouting, she looked up, and watched helplessly as the 
door closed.
	Gimli ignored Elladan and Galadriel as they strained against each 
other. His own door was calling him. A part of his mind, hoping that he 
would be granted only help, as the door implied, prayed he would be able 
to bring Aragorn back.
	‘It could have been an illusion. He might still be alive.’
	He couldn’t believe it.
	Grasping the door handle, he yanked at it- and it refused to open. 
He stood, staring, dumbfounded for a moment, then he pulled again. Still 
no go. He growled at it, unable to stop himself.
	‘Of course that’s what happened. Why would anyone want to help 
you? Especially your enemies.’
	He knew it was pointless, but he tugged again.
	A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up. Galadriel was 
staring at the door, her quarrel with her own door forgotten or ended. 
“Gimli, read it to me again,” she commanded quietly.
	He grimaced, but did as he was told. “‘Enter, Gimli, son of Gloin, 
and learn your purpose in the war.’” He glanced up at her. “What do you 
think it means?”
	“Give me a minute.” She frowned. “You are Gimli, and you pulled 
on the doorknob, just as we did.”
	Gimli resisted the urge to say, “Tell me something I don’t know.” 
Two things stopped him: his respect and awe of Galadriel, and the 
knowledge that any comments like that one wouldn’t help anybody.
	“Wait,” she cried suddenly. “You’re not Gimli!”
	He blinked at her.
	She rushed on, “You’re John! At least, right now you are. You 
haven’t changed back yet.”
	He nodded, feeling very disappointed. That certainly explained 
things, but it didn’t help him. What help might be beyond that door? He 
resisted the urge to punch the wood in front of him.
	“We must move on,” Elladan said softly. “It’s getting late.”
	As they walked, Gimli distracted himself from his disappointment 
by looking at Elladan. ‘Well, I’ve seen my first genuine emotion from 
him, I think. He’s-’ he snorted at his own joke- ‘human after all.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

	He pulled himself from branch to branch in a steady rhythm: reach, 
grab, pull and balance. Good Ranger.
	How long ago since he had been complaining about the speed with 
which he climbed trees? (“I’m part elf; I should be able to climb faster 
than this!”) The man shook the red-blond hair out of his eyes, and then, 
with one hand, tucked it behind one of his slightly-pointed ears. He 
reached again. Did it matter? Time passed in a strange way here: never 
seeming to go anywhere, and yet he noticed changes when they happened, 
so the time in the living world had to have at least a little bearing on time 
here.
	“Saru!”
	He paused, and, glancing down with large brown eyes, spied 
Kehydi far below him. “What?” he hollered back. (There was an 
advantage to being in the Land of the Dead; he could yell. Many times, as 
a Ranger, he’d had to practice silence, most of his conversation being 
exchanged in whispers. Saru, boisterous by nature, loved to shout, sing 
loud- though badly- and go crashing through underbrush just to hear the 
sound.)
	“Come down!”
	Now Saru heard concern in Kehydi’s voice.
	“Aragorn’s back!”
	He almost lost his grip on the branch. ‘It’s too soon, isn’t it?’ He 
began to scramble down the tree. 
	“Be careful up there!” Kehydi shouted. 
      Saru gave him no heed. Dread was growing in his mind. ‘Yes, 
much too soon. He just left.’
	Time passed somewhat more slowly in the Land of the Dead. 
Reckoned roughly, a day in the Land of the Dead (from sunup to 
sundown) was equal to ten years on Earth.
	Once safely on the ground, he didn’t ask for explanations, but 
gestured for Kehydi to lead the way. The two of them set off at a near-
sprint, and reached the place where Aragorn had appeared in only a few 
minutes. Saru never traveled far from where the first Rangers- Aragorn’s 
ancestors, and his as well- had established their main camp millennia ago.
	When they skidded into the camp, they heard something very 
unusual and disconcerting: near silence. Over twenty thousand Rangers 
shared this camp, and so there was rarely anything less than total chaos 
within, but now everyone was sitting or standing in little groups, 
whispering together. Saru and Kehydi found it easy to get to the center of 
the camp, however: the other Rangers parted as though these two were 
returning royalty. Neither Saru or Kehydi noticed this preferential 
treatment.
	They reached what had been dubbed by Elendil the ‘inner circle,’ 
which was a circle of tents inhabited by the Heirs of Isildur, as well as by 
that sorrowful man’s father, and Isildur himself, though he didn’t spend 
much time in his tent. Here, too, it was chillingly quiet. Halbarad, standing 
outside Aragorn’s tent, obviously waiting for them, gestured for them to 
come inside. They ducked and followed him in.
	Aragorn lay on his pallet, surrounded by Elendil, Gil-galad, 
Arwen, Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer. His eyes were closed, and he lay very 
still, but he couldn’t be asleep, Saru noted; his clenched fists betrayed his 
wakefulness.
	Even as they drew closer, Aragorn snapped his head in their 
direction, keeping his eyes closed, as though he heard them, and as if he 
assumed they were the Enemy. Eomer, speaking softly, told Aragorn that 
Saru and Kehydi had arrived. The Dunedan relaxed.
	“Aragorn?” Saru asked, trying to get even closer. He felt a hand 
tighten on his shoulder even as the others in the room turned and shushed 
him with discreet motions. He subsided, biting his lip.
	“Your son is here, Aragorn,” Elendil whispered.
	Aragorn didn’t respond.
	“Damn demons,” Faramir grunted.
	Gil-galad spoke quietly. “*Aragorn, you are safe here. I vow that 
no one is going to hurt you.*”
	The Elvish voice seemed to relax him- his hands unclenched 
slightly- but he still didn’t open his eyes. Saru was put in mind of a child 
who, when waking from a dream, is afraid of the shadows and monsters he 
might see if he dares to peek.
	“*Aragorn, do you know my voice?*” Gil-galad pursued.
	For a while, nothing, then, the tiniest: “*Yes.*”
	The answer went through them all like a knife.
	“*Good. Do you trust my voice?*”
	An even longer pause. Gil-galad looked as though he were getting 
ready to speak again when Aragorn at last replied, “*Yes.*” His eyes 
fluttered open, and he stared up at Gil-galad. “*Where is he?*” His voice 
quivered.
	Gil-galad blinked. “*Where is who?*”
	“Tragel,” Aragorn responded in a moan.
	Saru saw the others exchanging looks of confusion- but he knew of 
Tragel. Aragorn had talked about him once, to warn Saru of such things in 
the world, and the young man, barely seventeen, had listened in horror and 
empathy.
	“*He’s in Helle, remember?*” he asked, and this time, when he 
took a step closer, no one restrained him.
	For a moment, the expression in Aragorn’s eyes looked to Saru 
like that of a man feeling a knife against his throat and knowing he is 
about to die. Then, gradually, the terror in his gaze left, and a little courage 
took over. “Saru?”
	“*Yes, it’s me.*” He held himself back from saying anything else. 
Therapy- and that’s exactly what this felt like- for far from his forte.
	“*He’s not in Helle,*” Aragorn told him, slowly, as though each 
word were a struggle for him. “*He killed me. In New Zealand.*” Closing 
his eyes, Aragorn took a deep breath. He seemed to be composing himself, 
and so everyone gave him the time he needed.
	When at last Aragorn’s eyes opened again, there was a general 
sense of relief among those gathered at his bedside. His eyes were once 
again the eyes of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor: troubled, but 
at least sure of who he was, and where he was. That counted for a lot, Saru 
realized.
	“Glorfindel, Sam and I were… traveling in New Zealand, when 
Tragel and a Nazgul attacked us. Glorfindel drove off the Nazgul, though 
it attacked me first. I couldn’t fight back- it had no aversion to fire. Then 
Tragel attacked…” He drew in a deep breath, “and I couldn’t fight him, 
either. Maybe that was because of my own fear,” he added in shame.
	“It sounds as though you might have been the target of this attack,” 
Gil-galad murmured. “Who is your enemy right now, Aragorn?”
	“I do not know her name, but she is the reason we were all called 
back to Earth. We were meant to defeat her.”
	“Then you, Glorfindel and Sam weren’t attacked by chance,” 
Elendil murmured. “Tell us everything, Aragorn; perhaps we can find a 
way to help.”
	“How can we help from here?” Aragorn asked despairingly.
	“Never give up hope,” Elendil answered. “There may be a way.”
	Still, Aragorn hesitated. His eyes moved over all of them, and at 
last came to rest on Saru. He smiled slightly, though it was a sad smile. 
“My son…”
	Saru came and stood beside Aragorn, taking his hand. “It will be 
all right,” he whispered. “I promise.” He smiled, an expression only 
marginally better than Aragorn’s own, and added, “And a Ranger never 
breaks his word.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

	In the morning light, Frodo stared at Gollum (‘Nehre,’ he reminded 
himself, ‘he wants to be called Nehre’) in shock and wonder. “What 
happened to you?” he asked, even though he could, in one way, answer 
that question: Nehre had changed. He looked more like a hobbit, though 
with a little tuft of beard and his feet weren’t quite so big. Still, the 
resemble was there, particularly around the eyes and the mouth.
	“I don’t understand it myself,” Nehre answered.
	“You’re in your original form,” Gandalf put in as he worked to 
light the fire.
	“No-o,” Nehre said slowly, “I’m not the River-dweller I used to be. 
I stole the Ring from Deagol when I was twenty, and I hadn’t grown a 
beard yet. And I feel different than I ever have, except maybe as a child. I 
feel… innocent, honest. And most of those memories are fuzzy. It’s as if 
my life before was a dream.” He looked at the two of them, then sighed. “I 
know I did terrible things, but I can’t remember them very well.”
	Frodo grimaced, and thought of telling Gollum that he, Frodo, 
could refresh his memory, but pity stole over him as it had so many 
millennia ago, and again he gave into that feeling. “Well, maybe it’s for 
the best,” he said, surprising himself. “This way, we can all start out 
fresh.”
	Nehre smiled, and held out his hand. “I’d like that.”
	Gandalf watched the two shake hands and smiled to himself.
	After breakfast, they resumed their trek. “We’ll reach the city by 
late afternoon if we keep to this pace,” he announced. “And, with any 
luck, we should be in the United States by tomorrow or the next day.”
***
	Elrond shook his head. “There is nothing we can do about it. The 
ring is gone.”
	Elrohir looked as though he might explode again, but contained 
himself with a fierce effort.
	The sun was halfway across the sky on their third day after leaving 
Rivendell. Merry had felt a distinct stab of homesickness as they left the 
Last Homely House. Everything had stood in ruins; the walls were 
covered with moss and had mostly crumbled to mere ghosts, but still he 
wanted to stay. He’d wanted to explore the ruins, but Elrond said they had 
no time. “We must make all haste now, for at least one of our foes is 
watching us.”
	Now it seemed that even haste wouldn’t help them, as one of the 
original elven rings had disappeared from Elrond’s buttoned pocket. 
Worse yet, it had disappeared right in the middle of the day, so that meant 
no one had come at night to rob the Lord of Rivendell. That would have 
been disconcerting enough, since they kept a careful watch each night, but 
to have it spirited away under their very noses made them all remember 
exactly what they were fighting.
      ‘I feel like I’m in that book Ten Little Indians,’ Merry thought, 
‘and no one’s even disappeared yet.’ But these thoughts, he realized were 
doing more to demoralize him than the disappearance of the ring had 
done. ‘If I’m not careful, I’ll be doing the Enemy’s work for her.’ With 
that realization, he tightened his belt, straightened his shoulders and 
marched onwards.
	Kyra spoke quietly to Elrond as they walked. “The changes are still 
occurring,” she told him. “Merry and I are beginning to shrink.” She 
smiled slightly. “And I am starting to feel my sorcerer’s powers returning. 
Hopefully, Legolas is feeing the same. It will give him hope, and that’s 
one weapon we can all use plenty of.”
	“Indeed.” Elrond looked up at the sky. It was late afternoon now. 
“My lady, do you think we were wise to separate in this way? Many of the 
groups make so sense, or only a little sense.”
	She frowned. “I think Gandalf’s suggestion to have someone to 
ride against the Nine in every group is wise, and also the hobbits can bring 
cheer.”
	“We seem only to be hurting Merry at the moment.”
	“He’s tougher than you give him credit for, Lord Elrond. He has 
strength in friendship, and that will keep him going for a long time.”
	“Yes, but the other hobbits aren’t here, so even though he’s friends 
with them, it sometimes hurts more than helps.”
	“I wasn’t talking about them; I was talking about Elrohir. He and 
Merry seem to be forming a bond based on mutual understanding. Merry 
is worried about Pippin, and Elrohir is worried about Glorfindel. They 
give and take comfort in equal measure.”
	Elrond gaped at her for a short moment, then closed his mouth 
again. “I didn’t notice that,” he admitted. ‘We were fools not to take 
women with us when we fought; they can see many important things we 
missed.’
	She smiled all too knowingly at him. “Don’t fear for Merry; he’ll 
be fine. His mind is determined, and his heart is sure. What more can we 
ask in these uncertain times?”
	“Nothing,” Elrond answered, and they fell silent.
	They crossed fifty miles over the next two and a half days, and 
came at last to the capital city of New Zealand.

Chapter Thirty-Five

	They walked up the stairs of the subway, heading for the street. 
Many people were clustered to their left on the escalators, but they were 
almost alone on the steps. Legolas walked beside the woman, and behind 
the man. She’d smiled at him, recognizing him, but hadn’t asked him for 
his autograph. Instead, she’d begun to ask him questions.
	“Why do you want to join us, Mr. Bloom?”
	“You can call me Orlando,” he offered. “I want to know what 
you’re about. The pamphlet says you’re bent on world peace, and that’s 
always something that needs watching out for. I must admit, I was 
intrigued by the statement: ‘We will win peace in an unconventional and 
profitable way.’ Could you tell me more about that?”
	“You’ll learn about that very soon, and from someone who can 
explain it better than I. I am only a guide, and am not the most gifted with 
explanations. Tell me, how long do you plan to stay in United States?”
	“I’m taking a rest from acting. I need to collect my thoughts and 
see more of the world. That’s another reason I’m interested in your 
organization.” ‘*How much longer can I talk this drivel and listen to non-
answers? Patience, Legolas; there’s going to be a lot of this red tape; 
you’re just starting. This was the part about ruling Gondor that you left to 
Gorn Corn: the tongue-and-smile work.*’
	Thinking of Aragorn, dressed formally for court and wearing a 
frown of frustration before going out to hear about who stole whose cattle, 
and why, made him smile.
	“I’m pleased to hear we interest you so much. I promise, your time 
will not be wasted.” They’d reached the top of the stairs and were now 
walking briskly down a street neither Legolas or Orlando, who hadn’t 
been to this part of New York, could name. The buildings were well taken 
care of, but there seemed to be hardly any traffic, pedestrian or otherwise, 
and this was unnerving in the city that never slept.
      The man and woman led him onward, and he tried to memorize 
where they were going. ‘*Just in case I have to escape,*’ he thought 
grimly. These two seemed likeable enough, though she, at least, was very 
evasive, ‘*and they both work for the Enemy, so don’t get complacent.*’
	“Don’t worry, Orlando; we won’t let you get lost. From now on, 
you’ll travel with someone else at all times. We are big believers in 
protecting each other by walking in pairs and trios.”
	“Who do you need to defend yourselves against?”
	“No one special,” she said, sounding dismissive. “Just the usual 
pickpockets and harassers. Every street in this city has a few.”
	‘*Not this street, I don’t think. It seems pretty deserted to me.*’ 
“That’s sense.”
	“So, Orlando, had you heard about us before today?”
	“Yes. My friend and his father had heard of you, and I was 
interested.” 
	“What’s your friend’s name?”
	Orlando shrugged. “Bill. You may not know him; they were 
planning to join soon, too, but they wanted to make sure they had all their 
affairs in order. It’s rumored you’ll want us to live with you. Is that true?”
	“Sometimes, but only for the comfort of those that join us. It’s 
much easier to believe in a cause if you’re surrounded by supporting 
friends all the time. That’s what I’ve found. What do you think?”
	“It sounds good to me. I’ve been looking a long time for something 
to believe in, and this sounds perfect. I think I’ll be very happy here.” ‘*In 
a troll’s eye.*’
	“We’re here,” said the man, speaking almost his only words. The 
only other thing he had said was, “Hello. You are welcome.”
	They followed him into a building that didn’t seem to have a 
number on its outside. This wasn’t unusual, but it made the building, with 
its brown stone front and black, shingled roof, hard to set apart from many 
others that were on the same street. The door had a tiny brown leaf, 
surrounded by flames, engraved in its upper left hand corner, high above 
the normal line of sight of most. Legolas noted it just before the man 
stepped forward, unlocked the door with a key that hung around his neck, 
pushed the door inward and led the way inside. The woman gestured for 
Orlando to precede her, which he did, feeling alert, and just a little 
nervous.
	Inside, Legolas had to wait for his eyes to adjust, but already the 
woman was guiding him from behind with a hand on his shoulder. “Go on, 
there’s nothing to trip over. Your eyes will get used to the light soon.”
	She hurried him through a hallway that seemed close on either 
side, and as he was propelled through another door, he managed to see that 
the hallway was made of stone walls and a wooden floor. In the new room, 
the man was waiting, and he gestured for Legolas to sit near the wall in an 
armless metal chair. Legolas obeyed, feeling strangely as though he was 
being asked to sit in the electric chair.
	‘*I’m just being paranoid, which is better than complacent, though 
maybe I’ll go too far the other way. These two have no reason to suspect 
I’m a spy or anything else other than how I’ve identified myself.*’
	“Orlando,” the man began, and Legolas noticed that he stepped 
forward and the woman retreated slightly, “Shortly, another couple is 
going to take you to our Meeting Place, where you’ll have all your 
questions answered. Is that well with you?”
	Legolas nodded agreeably.
	“Are you thirsty after the long walk?” the woman asked quietly, 
turning into a submissive, serving shadow.
	“No, thank you.” He settled back in his chair and gave every 
appearance of being at ease, though his ears nearly tingled with each 
sound as the woman took off her coat and hung it on a coat hook. That, the 
chair and a tiny table were the only furnishings in the room. There were 
two doors in the beige walls: the one they’d come through, and another. 
Legolas watched the new door discretely as he appeared to stare straight 
ahead.
	But his nerves wouldn’t relax completely, and he resisted several 
urges to shift or shuffle his feet. ‘*What’s wrong with me? I was calm 
when Gollum tried to attack the first time, even though I couldn’t really 
feel him very well.
	‘*That’s just the problem; I can sense things now! I’m really slow 
today. These jumpy nerves must be my elven senses finally starting to 
kick in. And maybe the sorcerer powers will start to work as well, if I’m 
patient.*’ This last relaxed him a little, as did his discovery of his nerves’ 
source, and he immediately found it easier to hold still.
	The door they hadn’t come through opened then, and two young 
women stepped through. One of them (she had blue hair and a pretty 
smile) giggled when she saw him, but the man cleared his throat and she 
subsided, looking down in shame.
	“Please take Orlando to the Meeting Place. Stay with him until 
others come for him. Do you understand?”
	“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
	“Will you come with us, Mr. Bloom?’ the blue=haired girl asked.
	Legolas rose and smiled at her. “I’d be happy to.”
	She grinned, but held her composure. He followed them through 
the same door from which they’d entered the room. He noticed, out of the 
corner of his eye, that the man and woman left through the first door.
	Down the hallway they went, the girls exchanging glances and 
smiling a good deal. Legolas wanted to like them, but didn’t dare. ‘*It’s 
too risky. I’ve got more than myself to worry about, after all. Maybe these 
two will be like the wild men encouraged by Saruman to fight. After the 
battle of Helm’s Deep, the men of Rohan told them to help repair the 
damage they’d caused, then they were set free. Such mercy may be 
possible, but I can’t blow my cover too soon in order to save just two. 
There are a lot more to save, and the rest of the Fellowship not the least of 
those.
	‘*I wonder where Aragorn is?*’ He resolutely shook off this idle 
thought.
	“You’ll like it here, Mr. Bloom,” the blue-haired girl was saying. 
“We’re all about peace and taking care of one another.”
	“Enough,” the other girl said. “We’re supposed to let the others do 
the explaining, remember?” She glanced back at Legolas. “We don’t know 
everything, and we don’t want to give you false information. We couldn’t 
lie to you, but sometimes we make mistakes.”
	He smiled at them both, to show he understood, while he 
wondered, ‘*They ‘couldn’t’ lie to me? That’s a new one. Wouldn’t lie, is 
more likely.*’
	Through another door- ‘*how big is this place, anyway?*’- and 
down a flight of stairs, they led him, not speaking, just leading like the 
third ghost in A Christmas Carol. He kept gamely on, thinking that they 
surely would have left the limited space in the building by now. Tension 
began to wash through him again; he could feel it in the tightness between 
his shoulder blades.
	“Here we are!” the blue-haired girl announced at last, and Legolas 
looked at the double set of doors she’d stopped in front of. “Here’s where 
we’ll leave you, as soon as someone comes.” She knocked, and the doors 
opened almost immediately. A short, balding man smiled at her. “Hello, 
ladies,” he said in a grandfatherly tone. “Who’s this?”
	“This is Orlando Bloom. He’s come to join us,” the other girl 
announced while the blue-haired girl beside her fairly bounced on the balls 
of her feet in suppressed excitement.
	The man nodded. “Thank you both. Please return to your duties.” 
He turned to Orlando, forgetting the girls completely. “Will you follow 
me, please?”
	Legolas glanced at the girls as he followed, the man, but saw they 
had already headed back the way they’d come. Facing forward again, he 
followed his new guide into a large, square room. It reminded him of a 
conference room, with its long, central table with chairs pulled up on both 
sides, and the projector at the font. Others were milling around, getting 
coffee and eating doughnuts.
	“Please feel free t join them. The meeting will start in a few 
minutes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He bustled away.
	Legolas watched him go, then glanced around again. These people 
looked relatively normal, and in one corner, surrounded by several girls-
	“Billy!’ Legolas called, and the man looked up, smiling. ‘*Is it my 
imagination, or is he shrinking?*’ Legolas crossed to him quickly, and the 
girls beamed t him. He signed several autographs, and then took Billy off 
to the coffee machine so they could talk. Everyone else was settling into 
chairs.
	“Well? What do you think of this place?” It was an innocent 
enough question, and if they were being watched or listened to, it wouldn’t 
give anything away.
	“Everyone seems really nice,” Pippin answered.
	“Where’s your dad?”
	“In the bathroom.” Pippin took something out of his pocket and 
slipped it into Legolas’s. The elf casually put his hand out, as though to 
touch the counter, so that Pippin’s movement wouldn’t be noticed.
	“Ah. Shall we go sit, and save hi a seat?” They headed for the 
table. About a minute later, Treebeard came in, escorted by two others, the 
old man and a younger one. He sat down on Legolas’s right, in the only 
empty chair remaining, and nodded to him.
	A minute later, a door in the front of the room opened, and six 
people stepped in. Two were older: a man and a woman, two were in their 
early twenties: two woman, and the last two were children, barely eleven. 
One of the young men stepped to the head of the room and held up his 
hands for silence.
	“Welcome to Her Lady’s Planet of Peace!”
	‘*This sounds like a cult,*’ Legolas thought, keeping his face 
serene.
	“We invite you to watch this video, and all of your questions will 
be answered.” He flicked a switch on the wall, and the projector jumped to 
life. What appeared on the screen was a picture of their peacefully turning 
planet.
	“This is Mother Earth,” a female voice announced from a speaker. 
“We are all part of her.”
	The picture changed to that of an open field, filled with grass and 
flowers. In the foreground, a few trees grew close together.
	The voice continued: “This is Mother Nature. She needs our help 
so that others don’t take her away from those that love her.”
	Another picture, disturbing in its detail, showed an emaciated 
woman feeding her baby with her own blood.
	“This is the Mother of Invention, Need. We look for all motivated 
people to tell us how we can make a better difference in the world.”
	The next frame showed an image Orlando knew well, but that 
Legolas had never seen before. It was a sketch of Mary, mother of Jesus. 
Orlando felt a burst of frustration and annoyance- he wasn’t a Christian, 
but they were about to insult a figure that was sacred to many people. That 
bothered him.
	“This is Mary, the Mother of God, who was pure enough to carry 
the child Jesus. Our Lady, too, is giving birth, to a new way of  thinking, 
and a new way of life, which will change the world as surely as Jesus did.”
	‘*Okay, that could have been worse,’ Orlando consoled himself.
	The next image was of a beautiful woman. Her eyes were green, 
and her hair was a shimmering chestnut brown. She seemed to smile at 
each of them personally. Orlando felt himself react to that image; a 
thought- ‘She wants to help me”- flashed across his mind. Legolas’s 
thought was more practical, but just as wrong: ‘She’s an elf! How could an 
elf turn against us?’
	“This is our Lady, who will show us the way to peace. She will 
employ some of you as runners, others as speakers, still others as typists, 
designers, artists, peace-enforcers, and a hundred other satisfying and 
fulfilling jobs. You will , of course, be paid well and taken care of here 
also, if you wish to stay here. We would encourage it, since being among 
others who think as you do will help you grow in strength and courage, 
and both will be needed to keep the peace in the world ahead.”
	The image faded, then the projector was shut off. Silence rushed 
in, and hovered for a long five minutes.
	After a brief struggle, Legolas was able to lower his eyes to the 
tabletop. Once there, he closed them, and brought an image of Aragorn to 
his mind. His vaad stood with sword in hand while rain streamed down 
around him. He appeared as he had that extraordinarily long night at 
Helm’s Deep.
	(“The battle goes ill, my friends.”
	“Yet not hopeless while we have you wish us.”) 
	Legolas took a deep breath, focused on Aragorn’s face, and then 
let it slip away as he opened his eyes.
      ‘*This is the mother of all brainwashing,*’ Legolas thought, 
alarmed to find that he had to fight to keep his equilibrium.
	“*What distressed me so much? Certainly the words in themselves 
seemed just like quacking to me. I know the Enemy doesn’t keep any of 
her promises, and ‘peace-enforcers’ is just another word for ‘military 
troops,’ like orcs, Uruk-hai or Ringwraiths.*’
	He wasn’t given time to wonder, however, as the young man spoke 
again, interrupting his thoughts. “Now, are there any questions?”
	‘*Yes, I have one,*’ Legolas thought darkly. ‘*What did you do to 
my reason?*’
	No one answered. “Wonderful! Then I hope we can all start now. 
Those with families, please follow my friend here-” he gestured to the 
older woman. “Single men follow my other friend-” he gestured at the 
older man. “And single women, please follow the little ones. They’ll show 
you where to go. Thank you all for coming to this meeting. Have a 
peaceful day.” He and the other young man marched form the room.
      As that other turned towards the door, Legolas spotted a glimmer 
of metal under his coat, on his hip. ‘*Was that a gun?*’ Thinking that 
these people carried weapons cleared his mind completely, and he felt 
more sure of himself. If this came to a battle, where he knew exactly who 
was evil-
	‘*If I knew? I know! I know who is evil! Legolas, stop thinking 
like that! That stupid movie really got to you! Wake up! You’re in the 
Enemy’s circle now; you can’t afford to be anything but vigilant of 
everything.*’ He pinched himself hard on one wrist, and felt more in 
control. They hadn’t brainwashed him just yet.
	Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up quickly. 
Billy was looking at him with a little concern. “Are you all right?” he 
whispered.
	“I’m just a little tired,” Legolas answered, because the older man 
was coming in their direction. “Guess I should have gotten a better night’s 
sleep last night.”
	Pippin nodded and helped him up. Treebeard was already headed 
towards the older man, as though to head him off, just in case Legolas 
needed a little time while he straightened out whatever was wrong with 
him.
	Legolas fell into step beside Pippin, and wondered, ‘*How is it that 
he’s so calm? Why am I so vulnerable to something I know is a con game? 
Why am I letting her
	(that traitorous elf!)
      mess with my mind?*’

Chapter Thirty-Six

	Elrohir looked to his father, holding his frustration in check. They 
wouldn’t be able to make this flight, either; he just knew it. He thought 
bitterly, ‘*If the Valar can call up a wind, I’ll bet they can mix up a couple 
of computers and keep us in New Zealand as long as they want.*’
	Elrond seemed completely at peace with the situation. But perhaps 
what Elrohir took was a sense of serenity was really a look of far-away 
concentration. Elrond’s gaze was focused on something other than the 
ticket agent in front of him.
	Elrohir looked to Merry, and had to smile. The hobbit was 
shrinking perceptively by the day now, and he resembled nothing so much 
as a munchkin at the moment, rosy cheeks (made that way by the wind 
and strenuous exercise) and all. Merry was staring up at the ticket agent, 
and his mouth was curved down in frustration.
	“Hugo,” came Kyra’s voice. She had left them a few minutes ago, 
and now returned. ‘*She seems worried,*’ Elrohir thought, even as his 
father turned towards her. “We must go this way,” she said calmly, though 
her hands were working against each other in front of her. “Right now.”
	Elrond nodded. He glanced at the ticket agent. “Thank you for 
your help. I think we have another way. Have a nice day.” He left the 
startled woman staring as he followed Kyra. Elrohir waited for Merry to 
fall in behind, then he took up what he thought of unconsciously as 
rearguard.
	They headed out of the large, crowded room where people were 
booking their flights, and saying tearful or happy goodbyes before passing 
through security. 
	Something caught Elrohir’s eye as they walked, and, turning his 
attention that way, he spotted a woman spying on them. She was following 
them, though discreetly. He tried to assure himself that he was just being 
paranoid, but then he noticed a walkie-talkie in her side pocket. And her 
hand never left her right pocket.
	‘*I’m sure she doesn’t have a gun,’ he thought, but his unease 
grew. ‘Elrohir, you’re just being paranoid!
	‘*First the trouble getting a flight, now this…*’
      Kyra led them to a small door in one wall, and knocked. A man 
opened it and she led the way inside. Elrohir tensed. He didn’t like this at 
all.
      “Go on,” said the woman behind him. “It will be safer for you in 
there.”
      Wishing he had his bow and arrows, or at least his knives, Elrohir 
complied. If she was armed, he certainly couldn’t fight her like this.
      ‘*Is Kyra working for the Enemy?*’ He was instantly ashamed of 
the thought, but it was too late. The seed of doubt had been planted.
      The others were standing near the wall. Elrohir noted that Elrond 
was shielding Kyra, who was shielding Merry. He took his place beside 
his father and looked at the four other people in the room.
      The woman who’d told him to go inside was a severe-looking lady 
in a business suit. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, and for some 
strange reason Elrohir thought, ‘*Shouldn’t you be a school librarian?*’
      The other three were men, all in navy-blue suits with the words 
‘Airport Security’ displayed on badges on their chests in three languages. 
Elrohir didn’t take note of their faces; what they looked like didn’t really 
matter at the moment.
      “Mr. Weaving, Mr. Staton, Mr. Monahan and Ms. Jackson-”
      ‘*How do they know her? And Merry certainly doesn’t look like 
he used to.*’
      “- we need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” the 
woman told them.
      “Is something wrong?” Elrond asked placidly.
      “We have reason to believe you are carrying contraband onto a 
flight leaving New Zealand.”
      “Ma’am, we are not,” Elrond returned. “For one, we passed 
through security without so much as a blip condemning us, and, two, we 
do not yet have a flight out of New Zealand.”
      This sounded almost like sass to Elrohir, but he couldn’t believe 
his father would engage in that.
      Then he looked at the woman again, and for an instant, thought he 
was seeing something very different. It was almost as though her guise ran 
like water down a windowpane. When the ‘water’ had cleared away again, 
in front of him stood an Uruk-hai. Elrohir blinked. The new appearance 
did not go away. ‘*If my father is giving ‘her’ lip, this is why,*’ he 
realized, and was very proud of and amazed by his father. ‘*What he said 
about us changing is true.*’
      “We must search you, sir,” she responded. “Just to make certain.”
      Elrond paused. “Do you have a warrant?”
      “This is not the United States, and so we don’t need one,” she 
replied pleasantly.
      “However, we are U.S. citizens,” Elrond countered. Elrohir saw he 
was taking something from his pocket.
      The Uruk-hai saw it as well. “What is that?” she asked sharply, just 
as Elrond slipped something into Kyra’s hand, and put something on his 
own.
      Kyra raised her hand, which was now bedecked with a ring. “A 
weapon,” she responded. A halo of spring-green light appeared around her 
ring.
      ‘*Oh, great, you’re going to grow flowers for them!*’ Elrohir 
thought.
      Then the halo coalesced into a tight, thin beam, and it shot towards 
the Uruk-hai. She-it- staggered, and Elrohir was stunned to see a hole 
appear in its chest. At first, it was a small hole, but then it widened.
      He realized suddenly that the Uruk-hai wasn’t screaming. He 
looked to its face- and felt convulsively sick. Its eyes were open, and held 
a very confused and angry expression, but it was the last expression this 
enemy would ever wear.
      Dimly, Elrohir registered that Merry was throwing up quietly in a 
corner.
      Kyra lowered her ring slightly, but she hadn’t relaxed. She was 
glaring at the four men who huddled against the wall. “Are you going to 
give us any trouble?” she demanded in her deep baritone.
      They shook their heads.
      “We should still tie them up,” Elrond murmured beside her. He 
glanced at his son, and Elrohir tore his eyes away from their dead enemy 
when he felt his father’s gaze. “Help me, Elrohir.” Elrond set his backpack 
down, and pulled rope from it. It wasn’t elven rope, of course, but it was 
effective enough. Elrohir took one shaky step, then another. By the time 
he’d reached the men against the wall, his legs had realized he needed 
them and had started to comply.
      Minutes later, the four of them left the room.
      As they walked out of the airport, several questions crossed 
Elrohir’s mind.
      Did that ring make any noise? I don’t think so, but maybe.
      How did that Uruk-hai disguise itself as a woman?
      How were those men involved? Maybe they were really just 
security guards. If so, I’m glad we didn’t kill them. If not, we’re being too 
merciful, and the Enemy won’t be kind to us in the slightest if our 
positions were reversed.
      How much power does our Enemy really have?
      Was that Her or the Valar keeping us off the airplanes?
      How did my father know the ring would work that way? I thought 
Elven rings only worked for the hands they were crafted for, and he didn’t 
know before which ring she should use.
      All these questions gave way to a more immediate and pragmatic 
question:
      What will we do now?
      Elrohir rubbed his head a little, a gesture he’d seen Merry use.  
Though he didn’t have a headache, and thus the movement had nothing to 
soothe away, the motion distracted him, and made his mind spin a little 
slower. He drew a deep breath and walked a little faster.
###
	Elrond closed the door to his motel room. The others were already 
sitting in the two chairs and on the bed. He sank down on the bed beside 
Elrohir. “I’ll see about chartering a flight out of here. The Valar cannot 
control our actions or our thoughts, or those of other people. If it was they 
who were keeping us here, then our best bet would be to find someone 
who can fly that far.”
	“I don’t know many pilots that would fly over the ocean,” Merry 
whispered, looking hopeless.
	“It is true there aren’t many, but maybe we can find one.”
	“What about taking a ship?” Elrohir suggested.
	“It will take too long to get back to the U.S.,” Elrond responded. 
“I’ll go out and do some looking tomorrow. It’s too late now. While I’m 
gone, I want the three of you to stack up on supplies, but more than food. 
You must include more rope, more clothes, and even some medicines. 
There is no aethelas here; we’ll have to make due with what we can get. 
For now, let’s retire.”
***
	“Go,” she commanded her ten fighters (seven orcs, two 
Ringwraiths, and a man). “Capture them. I want them here, but on my 
terms.” What she wouldn’t tell them was that she needed to know if the elf 
called Elrond had any more rings. She caressed the golden ring her 
husband had made for her, and smiled. This ring increased her power, but 
none of her power was in it, so that if it were destroyed, she would simply 
be as weak as she had at the start, and that was still strong enough to kill a 
man or elf with a glance. A great deal of his power had gone into this ring, 
and its destruction might permanently cripple him, but such was the price 
of love. If he wanted to please her, he had to give her what she demanded.
***
	Merry woke up with a hand pressed over his mouth. He knew the 
feel of that hard hand, and thought of Grishnak. He struggled slightly, and 
received a sharp blow to the side of his head for his trouble. He blinked 
away the stars, trying to see anything in the darkness.
	Piercing cold entered his bones, and for a moment he forgot the 
hand over his mouth as he saw a deeper, more threatening shadow among 
the shadows. ‘Ringwraith!’ he wanted to squeak. He could hear grunts 
around him, and a voice cursed near by.
	The hard hand pressed tighter against his mouth, as though he was 
the one making noise, and it almost smothered him. He could smell oily, 
reeking skin, and this closed his throat. Then another hand grabbed his 
arm and pulled him out of bed and to his feet. Fingers clawed at his bare 
chest, and he felt sweat trickle down the sides of his face. Crishnak 
occurred to him again, but he kept the fear inside.
	“Hurry up!” growled another voice. This, too, sounded like an 
orc’s voice. ‘How many are here? How did they find us?’
	The hard hand pulled away from his mouth, and then he was 
clubbed very hard on the top of his head with one balled, iron fist. He 
passed out.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

	The tests had ceased. It was almost as if their enemies- the woman 
and the Valar alike- had forgotten about them. This relaxed Gimli, but 
seemed to make Elladan only more concerned. Whatever Galadriel 
thought, she kept it to herself. 
      Besides, she had other concerns. Gollum’s trail, which had been so 
clear to her all along, had dried up completely in the middle of an 
enormous field only about two miles from the doors. She’d walked over 
and over the trail, searching for him, thinking he’d turned aside, but there 
was no such luck. It was as though he were just dropped from the sky, one 
minute not there and the next, walking, or perhaps floating, since he’d 
been more ghost than Gollum when he’d come upon them. She cursed her 
luck, and cursed her ring, which, while good for elves in the old day, 
helped her not at all here. ‘*I wish I’d thought to go to Rivendell and get 
the buried rings. I hope Elrond thinks of that.*’
      She paced a little longer, but the shadows were growing, and while 
she wasn’t using her eyes to search, the darkness dampened her spirits and 
made it harder to concentrate.
      “Perhaps we should set up camp for the night,” Gimli suggested, 
appearing unexpectedly at her side.
      Galadriel almost told him to shut up- that was Kate talking again- 
but controlled herself with an effort. She had to admit he was probably 
right, no matter how much it galled her. “Yes, we should camp here for 
the night. Maybe things will look better in the morning.” She knew she 
wasn’t fooling herself, and probably wasn’t tricking them, either, but she 
had to say the words, almost as though, if she didn’t, she would be 
betraying her essential nature. ‘*Be hopeful at all costs, because 
sometimes hope is all you have.*’ She knew these words well, but it had 
been a long time since she’d had only hope for company and 
encouragement.
***
	Gil-galad gazed at Celeborn in the fading light. “*Can you still feel 
her?*” he asked, his voice low, barely louder than the sleepy twitterings of 
the birds above them.
	Celeborn, Lord of Lothlorien, nodded. “*Yes. She is frustrated and 
lost right now.*” He smiled sadly at his friend. “*Aren’t we all?*”
	Gil-galad nodded, thinking of Aragorn. “*The world has only 
gotten worse, not better, since we were there, my friend, and we may not 
be able to stop its plunge into darkness.*” He gazed up at the sky, and 
wondered what the skies looked like in the world he used to call home. 
Aragorn had spoken of pollution, such as Sauron had unleashed before the 
Last Alliance temporarily conquered him. Except that this earth-murder 
was being done by billions of people, willfully or, rarely, unknowingly, 
every day. 
	“*No, but maybe we can slow it down a little, at least enough to 
help those trapped there now… And if what Aragorn says about the Valar 
turning against us is true- and I’ll admit that very terror has crossed my 
mind more than once- we are going to have to work every hard to protect 
those we love.*” He closed his eyes and concentrated on Galadriel’s mind. 
She had stopped moving, and the frustration and fear was growing in her 
mind like a cancer. He didn’t shy away, but reached towards it as best he 
could.
	The place where they sat, in the very heart of the forest they all 
called home, was a “thin place” where, in the old days, you could 
sometimes pass from one world to another. It was how many returned, 
carried in dreams, to speak to those they missed. He remembered Elrond 
telling him that Aragorn had used this place to slip into Legolas’s dream 
and speak to him.
	‘*Gal,*’ he thought will all his strength, using his pet name for her, 
‘*my lady, please listen to me.*’ Her terror escalated, as if, sensing his 
voice, she was disturbed rather than comforted. ‘*I need you to listen to 
me!*’ he continued. Then a horrific image of fire engulfing his whole 
body lit his mind with sudden revulsion, and yet also with understanding 
as he felt her wash of grief and rage. ‘*Gal, please listen to me! All is 
well! I am safe! Please do not be afraid!*’
	It was as though he were shouting into a vacuum.
	Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and gazed at Gil-galad. 
“*She won’t hear me. Somehow, she is convinced I was burned, possibly 
sent to Helle.*”
	“*Maybe I should try,*” Gil-galad suggested delicately.
	Celeborn sat restlessly waiting as Gil-galad made his attempt.
***
	Galadriel buried her head in her arms and wept. The other two 
were asleep. She’d made sure of that before she released her emotions. 
She had tried quiet singing, but that had fallen off before it was fairly 
begun. She felt alone and helpless. She needed Celeborn.
	Then her vaad’s voice entered her thoughts, but to hear him again, 
so clearly, as if he were speaking for himself instead of from her memory, 
made the tears come faster and harder. She squeezed her eyes shut against 
them, and covered her mouth with her hand to try and stifle her sobs. Her 
throat ached from holding herself in check.
	A new voice crossed her mind, but it was not one she could readily 
identify.
      “*Lady Galadriel, can you hear me?*”
      Partially because she was tired, but mostly because she was 
confused, Galadriel answered in a whisper, “*I can hear you. Who are 
you?*”
      “*I am Gil-galad. We have spoken a few times.*” A pause, then, 
“*My Lady, why do you grieve?*”
      ‘*If this is my mind talking, I may as well talk back. I’ve nothing 
better to do,*’ she reasoned, somewhat hysterically. “*I miss my 
husband,*” she admitted, and it was easy to say this because, after all, she 
was probably only talking to herself.
      “*I understand.*” A pause, then he continued, “*My Lady, I need 
to tell you something rather distressing.*”
      ‘*Why am I not trying to reassure myself that he’s all right?*’ She 
blinked in shock. “*You are Gil-galad!*” she breathed. “*How is that 
possible?*”
      “*There are ways to communicate between worlds, my Lady, as 
you no doubt are aware. I am sitting in one of those places with Lord 
Celeborn. Do you want to speak to him?*”
      Her hands were trembling. “*Yes.*”
      “*Gal, what’s wrong?*”
      Tears, happy ones this time, coursed down her cheeks. ‘*I can’t be 
sure it’s really him, but I want, I need it to be him.*’ “*I saw you being 
tortured,*” she choked out.
      “*I have been here in the Lands of the Dead ever since you left, 
and no harm has befallen me.*”
      She sighed deeply. Now, at last, she believed him. His voice was 
just as she remembered, but, more importantly, she realized it was very 
unlikely he could have been attacked as she’d seen. There were many 
others around him, and they all protected each other. She wiped her tears 
away. “*I miss you.*”
      “*I miss you, too, but not for long. If you’ll listen to the plan Gil-
galad has come up with, you’ll see we’ll be together again soon.*”
      She listened in rapt attention as Gil-galad again spoke. Celeborn 
never left her, though, only retreated a little. She could feel his warmth 
now, and wondered how she could have ever doubted that he was truly 
speaking to her.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

	He’d finally fallen asleep, once he’d finished telling them 
everything he knew. They’d all been very patient, which had eased the 
telling.  Then Gil-galad had proposed a plan, and gone off to find 
Celeborn to implement it. He’d been told he’d have a few hours to rest, 
which he intended to take advantage of. Though it was wonderful to see 
his son, and the rest of his Rangers again, as well as his other friends, he 
was weary to the bone with stress and remembering. He’d lain back on his 
pillow as soon as most of the others had left. Saru and Eomer alone 
remained with him. Neither of them asked any more questions, but sat at 
his bedside. He’d fallen asleep quickly.
	He dreamed a memory.
	It was two nights before Weathertop, and the hobbits should have 
all been asleep. For some reason, Pippin wasn’t. He tossed and turned for 
a while, then finally got up and went to sit beside me. I was smoking and 
thinking, wondering about our road, dreaming of Arwen, worrying about 
Gandalf. He didn’t startle me, since I’d heard every movement he’d made, 
but I was startled by the question he posed to me almost before he’d sat 
down.
	“How does sex work among Big People?”
	I nearly dropped my pipe in amazement, and I choked on a bit of 
smoke and coughed. When I thought I had myself under control again, I 
asked, “What did you say?” Perhaps, given this opportunity, he would 
withdraw the question. I should have known better. This was, after all, 
Pippin who was sitting beside me. Sam might have retreated, but not this 
curious, insatiable hobbit.
	“How does sex work among Big People? Is it different from 
hobbits?”
	I’d heard him right, not that I’d really doubted it. I was still 
shocked. One quick thought crossed my mind- ‘How would I know? I’ve 
never been a hobbit, and I’ve never even lain with one of my own kind!’- 
but that last statement was not an admission I wished to make.
	“Why do you ask?” I stalled, putting more tobacco in my pipe, 
though it was already half-full.
	“Well, in Bree I noticed that Big People look a lot like us, just 
taller and they have beards. I was curious if all their parts were the same.” 
He took out his own pipe and a bag of pipeweed.
	‘How can he discuss this without the slightest hint of 
embarrassment?’ “Yes, all the… parts… are the same.” I coughed, and 
this time it had nothing to do with the smoke.
	“I’ll bet your penis is a great deal bigger than mine, though.”
	‘Is that a pick-up line? Please tell me he’s not trying to flirt with 
me!’ This had happened a few times, especially with girls who’d wanted 
to have the reputation of taking up with a Ranger. “Only because I’m 
bigger than you are,” I said stupidly.
	Pippin nodded, as though he’d been completely serious. “How 
many girls have you been with?” Now he looked at the ground. Finally, he 
was a little embarrassed.
	Did I dare tell him? Maybe it would disgust him and he’d stop 
trying to hit on me, if that was in fact what he was trying to do. “No, I 
haven’t been with anyone.” And, for good measure, I added, “I’m saving 
myself for someone.”
	“Is she pretty?” he asked eagerly.
	And because I couldn’t keep my joy about loving Arwen to myself 
much better than Frodo could keep from putting on the Ring, I answered, 
“Her name is Arwen, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven. She’s the most 
beautiful elf in the world. There hasn’t been one like her since Luthien.”
	He grinned. “I haven’t been with anybody, either, Strider. I still 
feel too young. Besides…” He blushed so deeply I could see it in the low 
fire light, “what if I got her pregnant? I’m not ready to be a dad. Merry 
says I need to grow up, and he’s probably right, but I’m just not ready. 
Every time I see a fence, I have to jump it, and every time I see a puddle, 
I’ve got to splash in it.” He smiled ruefully. “Well, that was before this 
journey, where splashing in a puddle is all we did for the last two days in 
the marshes.”
	‘He’s not repulsed by me… but I think I was wrong. He’s not 
trying to hit on me; he’s just being completely honest.’ “There’s no shame 
in taking pleasure in little things. If we didn’t do that, there would be no 
reason to keep the Ring away from Sauron.”
	He nodded. “Is that why you smoke?” he asked shrewdly. 
“Because it’s a little thing you enjoy?”
	“Yes,” I told him smiling, “that, and because it helps me think.”
	“Were you thinking about Arwen? I was lying over there thinking 
about Sam and Rosie- this hobbit-lass he likes- and hoping we can get 
back soon so he can marry her.”
	‘I hope we do come back, little one,’ I thought, but his joy was 
contagious, and I couldn’t dwell on the sad, worrisome thought for long. 
“Yes, I was thinking about Arwen. I haven’t seen her in many years, and it 
will be good to see her again.”
	“You must really love her,” Pippin murmured, “to still think about 
her after all this time.”
	I smiled, half sadly. “Yes, Pippin, she is very important to me.”
	He smiled and curled up on the ground beside me. “Good night, 
Strider.”
	My smile turned wholly gentle. “Good night, Pippin. Sleep well.”
###
	Aragorn smiled in his sleep. Saru glanced at Eomer, whom he had 
always respected almost as much as his father, looking at the man more 
like an uncle than the king of Rohan, and saw that Eomer had fallen 
asleep.
	Then Aragorn twitched, and there was no mistaking the fear on his 
face.
###
	The memory faded, and darkness surrounded him.
	“Did you like that memory?” a voice asked silkily.
	Aragorn turned his head from side to side, but the darkness pressed 
in on him. “Who’s there?”
	“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I asked, did you like that 
memory? You haven’t been able to remember that night for a long while, 
have you?”
	That was true, and maybe because the memory was so fresh, and it 
made him miss his other memories, things he knew he wanted but couldn’t 
reach, Aragorn answered, “Yes.”
	“Would you like another? Or, better yet, would you like to have 
them all back?”
	“Yes,” he answered, unable to hide his eagerness. “Please give 
them back!”
	“All right. You’ll dream them one by one, and when you’re done 
dreaming them all, you can wake up and go about your merry way. How 
does that sound?”
	The ghost of a memory flitted through his mind, teasing him: 
Legolas, naked in the moonlight, calling to him from the middle of the 
lake.
	“Come swim, Gorn Corn!”
	Then that one passed and another took its place. He was 
disappointed, until the new memory gripped him. He was standing on the 
outer wall in Gondor, watching the sun rise, with Legolas, Saru and Gimli 
close by. Saru was only six months old at that time, and he’d been perched 
on Legolas’s hip, tugging at his da’s hair and laughing.
	That memory faded too, and another started to form.
	“Wait!” Aragorn cried. “Let that one finish!” He had an idea 
something was going to happen, something that would have made him 
laugh, but he couldn’t drag it forward, no matter how hard he tried.
	“You only get the entire memory if you agree to relive them all, in 
order, and not wake up until they’re all through. Then, with your memory 
intact, you can go about your merry business.”
	‘I could remember the day Saru was born. Or the day Legolas 
proposed to me.’ He had a faint notion these things had happened, but 
couldn’t remember any specific details.
	‘Then, with your memory intact, you can go about your merry 
business.’
	‘How long would it take me to remember everything? A long time, 
I think.
	‘But then I’d have my memories back. I’d be stronger, more sure.
	‘By then,’ Strider argued, ‘the war would be over, and you 
wouldn’t be able to help. Don’t you want to see Legolas again instead of 
just dreaming about him?
\	‘Don’t be selfish,’ Estel added. ‘Rangers are supposed to help 
others first.’
	If nothing else, that last decided him. He fought to wake up.
	“I won’t do it,” he told the voice. “Let me go. I want to wake up.”
	Legolas, hanging by his knees from a tree branch, beckoned. 
“Come play, Gorn Corn! You can’t catch me!”
	Faramir and Eowyn, dressed for their wedding, revolved past. 
“Come dance, King Elessar!” Faramir called.
	“Catch me, Dad, I’m going to jump!” Saru shouted joyously from 
the top of the five foot tall ladder when he was only four.
	“Stop!” Aragorn screamed, covering his ears. “Please stop! I don’t 
want to sleep!”
	“Aragorn, I love you…” Arwen whispered.
	“Stop stop st-”
	“Of course we accept you, Aragorn,” Aaron promised, putting his 
hand on Aragorn’s head as the Heir of Isildur knelt before him in the dirt. 
	“stop stop stop stop-“
      “You are a Ranger now, our leader. We will follow you.”
	“op stop stop!” Aragorn howled, writhing.
	Hands grabbed him by his shoulder and shook him.
	“Aragorn! Dad, wake up!”
	He flinched away. “stop stop st-”
	“Dad! Wake up!”
	Aragorn’s eyes flew open, and the voices began to fade. All except 
one.
	“Can you hear me? Wake up, Aragorn. You’re safe. Wake up,’
	Aragorn groaned, and blinked the nightmare away. Saru was 
bending over him, his hands tight on his shoulders. Fear loomed large in 
his eyes. Beyond Saru, Eomer was struggling to his feet.
	“Saru…” Aragorn choked, and the tears started streaking down his 
cheeks. “Saru, Saru, Saru….” He sobbed, a deep, throaty sound, and sat 
up, reaching to enfold Saru in his arms.
	Saru leaned into his father’s embrace, deeply shaken by the 
broken, haunted voice close to his ear. “It’s all right. You’re safe. It’s all 
right.” He found tears pricing his own eyes, and wondered if they were 
caused by empathy, fear or a strange version of joy, at having his father 
hold him again, as Aragorn had often done when he, Saru, was a child.
	“Aragorn,” Eomer whispered, placing his hand on his friend’s 
shoulder.
	Aragorn raised his head. “It… I….” He shuddered and hugged 
Saru tighter for a moment before releasing him.
	Saru didn’t move away, though, but caught his father’s hand. “It’s 
all right,” he repeated helplessly.
	“What happened?” Eomer asked.
	“I think I was just taunted by Mephistopheles,” Aragorn breathed, 
taking his memory from the play Viggo had read called “Faust.” No, 
taunted wasn’t the right word; tempted was. But it had felt like a taunt. 
‘There were other memories, less pleasant ones, that I would have had to 
relive as well.’ He was suddenly very glad he couldn’t remember the fall 
of Gondor, or the day Arwen had left him, or the deaths of Saru and so 
many of his Rangers, most of which hadn’t been in their sleep.
	The two of them looked blankly at him, so he explained wearily, 
“He was a lot like Sauron when he gave the rings to the Nine.” Aragorn 
closed his eyes for a moment, but the darkness frightened him, so he gazed 
at the two men in front of him.  He took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to 
explain it right now. It was a very real nightmare.” That wasn’t exactly 
right, since he thought if he’d decided to accept the memories he wouldn’t 
have woken up for many ten or even fifty years, but it was close, and right 
now other things crowded into his mind. “Where are Gil-galad and 
Celeborn?”
	“They’re still trying to talk to Lady Galadriel, I guess,” Saru 
answered. ‘Why?”
	“I think they will succeed. Gather the Rangers, Saru, but make sure 
you tell them this is a volunteer mission. Eomer, please call all your men 
that wish to join us. I will alert Faramir and Quickbeam.”
	Saru only stared at him for a moment, then seemed to decide that 
there was no way he could possibly understand. “Don’t forget Thorin,” 
Saru said as he stood up. He .looked again at Aragorn nervously, but his 
father seemed much saner now.
	Eomer forestalled his friend. “Wingfoot, are you all right?” he 
asked, concealing his concern with humor.
	Aragorn nodded seriously. He heard the joke, and understood its 
purpose. “Now I am well again, at last. Come. There is much to be done.”
	They left the tent and headed in three different directions.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

	Gandalf closed his eyes. For three days, they’d been left to their 
course, with no intervention, be it Valar-directed or otherwise. Gandalf 
wondered at this, and he came to two conclusions: either the Valar and 
their Enemy both had decided they weren’t a threat (which would help 
them slip closer undetected) or they had both decided their power was 
sufficient to defeat any that attacked. This second possibility offered hope 
also, as it would put their enemies off their guard, but perhaps their 
enemies were right. Gandalf didn’t share these unsettling thoughts with 
the other two. He preferred to allow them to deepen their friendship.
	On the flight to the United States, the two had talked a lot, mostly 
about the Land of the Dead, and those they’d left there. Frodo talked, 
hesitatingly at first, about Bilbo, but when Nehre showed no recognition 
of the name, Frodo talked more freely. Nehre spoke of Arwen and Eowyn, 
as well as their children, with warmth and longing.
	“Maybe it’s good for me to be here,” he murmured, “but 
sometimes I feel very homesick.”
	Frodo nodded. “That’s how I felt when I left the Shire.”
	“Tell me about the Shire,” Nehre had begged.
	Now, in the U.S., in the hotel, they talked of plans to learn as much 
as possible about their Enemy. At last they had a face for her; she had 
appeared on the news, and Nehre had recognized her. They also knew 
where she was: according to the newspapers and television newscasts, 
which heralded her as the ‘priestess of peace’, she had set up shop in New 
York City. This meant another plane ride, since they’d flown into Los 
Angeles.
	There was no shortage of hearsay and supposedly-true biographies, 
as well as reams of speculation, but the trouble was sorting through all the 
propaganda for the truth. When Gandalf came in one morning, after 
hunting down the latest papers, he found Frodo and Nehre pouring over a 
sheet printed off the Internet.
	“She’ll be making a public appearance in Times Square on March 
3rd,” Nehre pointed out.
	“That might be too late, and besides, we couldn’t guarantee getting 
close enough to see her, let alone talk to her.”
	“Who says we’re going to talk to her?! I don’t know about you, but 
I don’t want to remind her of my continued existence any time soon!”
	Gandalf smiled at that. It was a statement he completely agreed 
with. “We’d be better off learning about her from others, Frodo. If she has 
forgotten us, then so much the better.” He came in and laid his papers on 
the bed. “Here. There are a few articles about her. Let’s look at those.”
	These, however, brought no new insights. After two hours of 
pouring over the black print, they were no closer to understanding her true 
motives than when they had begun.
	At last, Frodo threw up his hands. “For all we know, she’s just like 
these people say- a philanthropist with an eye to ending world suffering!”
	“She’s not like that at all,” Nehre answered, alarmed by Frodo’s 
words. “She’s a scheming, deadly, power-hungry-”
	“I was just blowing off steam!” Frodo responded sharply, then he 
sighed and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Nehre; my temper’s not helping 
anything, I know, but we seem to be out of options.”
	“Maybe we should go to New York and join her,” Nehre 
whispered. He looked thoroughly miserable about the idea. “That way, 
we’ll learn about her.”
	“Legolas, Treebeard and Pippin are doing just that,” Gandalf told 
him. This won the wizard shocked looks from the other two, and he 
nodded. “I know. They seemed the best to send.”
	“Pippin’s not ready to be at her doorstep!” Frodo cried, standing 
up.
	“I believe he is more prepared than you think,” Gandalf answered 
calmly. “And I am hoping he will be readily accepted, even more than the 
other two, because he seems so innocent.”
	“‘Seems!’” Frodo exclaimed. “He is innocent, Gandalf! What if 
she…” He trailed off, considering his fears. ‘She wouldn’t trick him into 
joining her. He’s met with danger firsthand in the palantiri, and he won’t 
fall for that again.’ “What if she discovers and kills him?”
	“He would go to the Land of the Dead,” Gandalf answered. “But I 
don’t believe that will happen. Pippin is different now, Frodo. He has a lot 
more skills. Remember that he spent a few years as a human-”
	“Oh, so Men are so much better!” Frodo shouted.
	“Frodo, please, calm down.”
	“I am calm!”
	Gandalf sighed. This was another tool of the Enemy: fear. “Pippin 
will be all right. Maybe we’ll end up going to New York to meet him. I’m 
not sure. Right now, I want to wait and listen. We can go to New York, 
but I want to wait once we’re there. We simply don’t have enough 
information to-”
	“You’re saying you’re as lost as I am?” Frodo demanded. “What 
was the point of splitting up when we have so little knowledge? She could 
be listening to us right now, for all we know, and if the Valar were helping 
her-”
	“If the Valar are helping her, they have turned their thoughts 
somewhere else, for they have not even bothered with us.”
	“That’s because we’re not a threat! We’re sitting in a damned 
Holiday Inn, reading newspapers and watching T.V.! Oh, that’s such a big 
threat!” Frodo sat down again, heavily. “I’m sick of waiting and reading 
and wondering. Gandalf, we’re not helpi9ng to win this war at all! What 
was your purpose for the three of us, anyway?”
	“My purpose was to make Nehre our friend,” Gandalf returned, his 
eyes flashing dangerously. “That has worked out well. Nehre has told us 
of her ability to move between worlds and her ability to transport people 
from one world to another. Perhaps that will be useful. Right now, Frodo, 
we cannot do more, and we mustn’t go running into the lion’s den simply 
because we’re armed with a single sword. I wish to make one attack, with 
all of us, rather than engage in guerilla warfare.”
	Frodo sat silent after Gandalf finished. His head was bowed, and 
his eyes were shut. At last, he looked up, and he smiled sheepishly at 
Gandalf. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t understand. I still don’t understand 
everything, but you’ve led us this far, and I don’t know anyone I’d rather 
have as a guide than you.”
	Gandalf sighed. “I understand your concerns, Frodo; I share them 
too. This is no ‘There and Back Again” tale, but one where nothing is 
guaranteed, not even the next breath.
	“Our Enemy may have joined forces with the Valar. Even if she 
hasn’t, we now have two fronts to worry about instead of one. Please do 
not think I have forgotten the Valar. I have been formulating ideas for 
dealing with them, though most will depend on what happens with our 
current Enemy.
	“There is much to worry about, but nothing is pressing right now, 
except that we get to New York and take up vigil there. We’ll leave in the 
morning.”
	“‘Yet hope remains, while the Fellowship is true,’” Frodo 
whispered.
	“True enough,” Gandalf responded.
	“Is there any way to know how much she knows or guesses?” 
Frodo asked. Then he shook his head. “No, that also depends on if she is 
in league with the Valar.” He put his head in his hands. “Gandalf, I almost 
wish we were back in the Land of the Dead. What do any of these people 
mean to us? I mean, except Gimli, there was no one here we needed to 
protect.”
	“Do you think the Valar would confine their attack to just this 
world?” Gandalf asked.
	“No, but at least we wouldn’t have to worry about the Enemy.”
	“But she could travel between worlds, so we might have had to 
worry about her anyway,” Nehre murmured.
	“In any case, we are here,” Gandalf concluded, “and now all we 
have to do is do the best we can with the time and resources given to us.”
***
‘Dear Diary,
	‘This is Samwise Gamgee. Or maybe you can call me Sean Astin. 
Either way, I’m here in New Zealand, and composing diary entries in my 
head to keep my mind off the fact that we’re very confused and lost 
without Aragorn.
	‘Glorfindel looks broken to me, like he’s lost his purpose, if you 
take my meaning. I thought elves were never lost. I’m learning something 
new, but I don’t like it. Glorfindel has had us camped here for three days, 
and I’m starting to go nuts. I hope he sends me for firewood again so I’ll 
have something to do. I don’t dare wander off without a specific task, 
because I might be tempted to just leave him here. That’s a terrible 
thought, but it’s true just the same. I don’t know how much longer I can 
stand this sitting around and doing nothing. Strider- Aragorn, I mean, 
strange how old habits don’t really die- wouldn’t have wanted us to just sit 
here, and I’ll be a skinny hobbit if I’m going to dishonor his memory by 
doing nothing!’
	“Sam, come here.”
	Sam jumped and stared at Glorfindel, who was sitting by the fire. It 
was early morning, the sun having barely lifted her head over the rim of 
the world. Sam had been keeping watch, though he’d grown increasingly 
more sure that there was nothing more to watch for. The Enemy had taken 
what she’d wanted, and they were no longer of any concern to her.
	“I’m sorry,” the elf-lord murmured.
	‘Is it just me, or does he sound more reasonable now?’ Sam 
walked to the fire and sat down beside Glorfindel. “It’s all right. I’m just 
jumpy.”
	Glorfindel chuckled softly. “I’m not surprised, after being stuck 
here for three days.” He smiled at Sam’s embarrassed expression. “It’s all 
right, Sam; I know how you feel. I felt that way too, until this morning. I 
have a suggestion, finally. I think I know which course we should take, 
and how we should take it.”
	Sam blinked, feeling relieved. “Really?”
	“Yes.” Glorfindel turned his head to look at the sunrise. “Sam, I 
was distracted by my own grief and fear.” He shook his head. “I suppose 
that all it took was time, but at first I wasn’t willing to give myself that 
time.
	“Sam, we must go to the Place of Judgment, where Elrohir, 
Legolas and I were taken before. I think I know the way, and I think we 
can arrive and leave undetected.”
	Sam considered this, but found it very much beyond him, and so he 
said simply, “I’ll follow you wherever you go, Lord Glorfindel.”
	The elf-lord smiled. “Thank you. That gives me courage.” He 
grasped Sam’s hand, then closed his eyes. “I’m going to sing now, Sam. 
There are songs to cross from one world to another, and I think this one 
will take us there.”
	The song made Sam think of floating in midair, but it was a 
comfortable feeling, and so he relaxed into it. He closed his eyes.
	There was a sensation of being lifted, then set down again. Sam 
didn’t open his eyes until it had completely passed. When he did, he 
almost wished he hadn’t. They were sitting on nothingness over a slowly 
turning world.
	“This is the right place,” Glorfindel whispered, standing. Sam 
scrambled up, too, not wanting Glorfindel to get too far away. Glorfindel 
took a few steps, testing each place with his toe before he stepped, then 
looked around again. “Ah, there’s where we want to be,” he muttered.
	Sam followed his gaze and saw a white cloud-throne hovering not 
very far away. No one was on it or around it, and still the throne made 
Sam feel frightened, as though the throne itself were watching him. He 
moved hastily even closer to Glorfindel.
	Glorfindel walked towards the throne with a confidence borne of 
the knowledge that if the Valar discovered him, they might simply kill 
him. Right now, the Valar had not shown any evidence of seeing him, and 
Glorfindel was prepared to take full advantage of that fact.
	The throne was more solid than it looked he discovered when they 
reached it. Touching it, he sensed the power it held, and pulled his hand 
away. ‘*So, now what? There should be a way to get into the Valar’s inner 
kingdom from here, if the stories are true.*’ He pursed his lips and studied 
the throne carefully. Finally, near the base, he found what he was looking 
for: a tiny image composed of four quadrants. In each resided a different 
section of creatures. Elves, wizards and sorcerers occupied one, and along 
with them was something that shocked Glorfindel, though he understood it 
after a little consideration. In one tiny corner of that first quadrant, orcs 
were huddled. ‘*Of course,*’ he reasoned when he was able to think 
logically, though not without revulsion, ‘*they were once elves.*’ The 
second quadrant was held by dwarves, men and (this he noted with some 
surprise) hobbits. The third held Ents, with their Wives, Eagles, and 
ancient folk, such as Beorn and Tom Bombadil. The fourth was composed 
of Ringwraiths, demons and ghosts.
	Remembering his lore, Glorfindel tapped each of the four 
quadrants in a quick code, marveling at the things that had proven 
important, nearly a million years after he’d learned them.
	The throne moaned, then began to lift up. Glorfindel heard Sam 
give a squeak of fear, but he barely registered it. He stared at the hole as it 
opened beneath him. There were few things he hadn’t seen or experienced 
at least once, and this ancient throne made him feel like an elfling again.
	Still, he wasn’t too shocked to act. Once the throne had tipped 
completely back, he could see a flight of steps leading down. He glanced 
at Sam, saw the hobbit was frozen, and grasped his hand to get him 
moving. Hand in hand, like children, they descended the stairs into the 
darkness. Above them, the throne closed with a groan.

Chapter Forty

	Kyra felt as though she’d passed through a dragon’s entrails and 
been stepped on afterwards. Nothing would respond to her brain’s orders, 
and for a long time, she lay in a frustrated heap.
	Gradually, her senses began to assess the world around her. Her 
eyes refused to open, but her skin told her she was lying on a comfortable 
something, and that there was a blanket over top of her. Her nose told her 
she wasn’t outside, and her ears confirmed that conclusion.
	‘<All right, I’m inside, somewhere. And it’s not the hotel, because 
I was definitely captured. Since when do Ringwraiths refrain from killing 
and bring a person to a comfortable couch?>’
	She attempted again to open her eyes, and this time they listened to 
her. Blinking, squinting- it was very bright in here, which, she realized, 
was at least part of the reason her eyes refused to open- she tried to get a 
sense of the room in which she lay. It was not a large room, since she 
could see all four cream-colored walls, but it was big enough to hold three 
other bed-lounges. The others of her group lay on these, apparently still 
unconscious. Kyra wished she had elf-hearing so she would know for sure 
if they were dead or only asleep. They looked all right for their ordeal, 
with not obvious alert signals like blood on their clothes or skin, but they 
were motionless nonetheless.
	Then she turned her attention to herself, and noted that she felt 
fine, as though she’d woken from a peaceful, uninterrupted nap. ‘<But 
distinctly remember that creature doing something to me… Was it the 
Black Breath?>’ She doubted it. From what Gandalf had told her, the 
Black Breath could be deadly, and at the very least left the victims 
shivering.
	A shuffling sound interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her 
head to gaze at Elrohir, who was trying to sit up.
	“Take it slowly,” she told him, wishing she knew Elvish or he 
knew Dwarvish so they could communicate in a language not known to 
many outside of their fellowship.
	Elrohir’s head turned very quickly, and there was a look of tension 
on his face. ‘<Well, I completely understand that.>’ “How do you feel?” 
she pursued.
	“Like Helle…” He shook his head, and said with some surprise, 
“No, that’s not true. Actually, I feel all right; nothing’s broken, cut or even 
bruised.” He looked at his father and Merry, then back to her. “Where are 
we?”
	“I don’t know. I only awoke a minute or so before you.” She sat up 
carefully, and then put her legs over the side of the couch. When her feet 
were on the floor, she sat for a moment, analyzing how she felt. Then, 
slowly, she stood up. Elrohir watched her take a few experimental steps, 
then strider quickly across the room to where Elrond lay. She knelt beside 
him. “Please check on Merry,” she said without looking at him.
	“They’ll both be awake in a few minutes. No harm was done. I 
simply had to bring you here safely, and that was the only way to do it.”
	Elrohir jumped to his feet and Kyra turned, though less hastily, as 
though she’d expected this person to come in. ‘<I won’t act startled or 
caught off my guard.>’
	The woman had brown hair and dazzling green eyes. She didn’t 
have (as she had possessed when Legolas saw her) points on her ears, but 
her grace reminded Kyra and Elrohir both of elves. She wore a long, 
flowing, snow-white dress that cascaded over her shoulders to the floor, 
and was belted at the waist by a silver belt. Elrohir noted the buckle, but 
wouldn’t think about it until later. The image he saw on it was a square 
divided into four quadrants with shapes, possibly animals, in each 
quadrant. He didn’t get more then a cursory glance, or he would have 
known what they were at once, and a lot of guesswork would have been 
put to rest. If this woman wasn’t a member of the Valar herself, she was 
certainly in league with them.
	“Hello, my friends. Welcome to my humble home.” She smiled 
charmingly. “Please don’t be alarmed about the condition of the others. It 
was regrettable, but necessary, to render you all unconscious. You see, I 
want to make friends with you, but I was not sure yet if the same was true 
for you.” She addressed these words directly to Elrohir, who seemed a 
little flustered by the attention.
	‘<You’re not a child, son of Elrond! Wake up! Stop staring and 
think!>’ Kyra wanted to yell at him. Bitterly, she wished she didn’t have a 
child with them in this situation. ‘<Is he smitten with her? That’s what it 
looks like.>’
	“My name is Eldrida, which means ‘wise friend’. What is yours?”
	“I’m Peter,” said Kyra, feeling strange at still having to use that 
male name. Ah, well, it would be better than explaining she was a female 
dwarf trapped in a man’s body. “This is Craig.”
	“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. You have neglected to give me 
their names, however.”
	Kyra thought, ‘<I don’t like this woman. I don’t know why, but I 
don’t like her at all. She’s too…. polite.>’ That wasn’t what was bothering 
her, and Kyra knew it, but it was as good a word as any. “He is Hugo, and 
he is Dominic.”
	Eldrida clapped her hands lightly together happily. “Now that 
we’ve all met each other, I’d like to tell you why you were brought here. 
But I think I’ll wait until your friends wake up. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
	“No, thank you,” Kyra answered. She sat on the side of the couch 
where Elrond lay, and Elrohir retreated to Merry’s side.
	“Please don’t be nervous,” Eldrida continued. “You’re perfectly 
safe here.”
	“Where are we?” Kyra asked carefully.
	“As I said, in my humble home. We’re on the East side of this city, 
but I am sorry to say I have no street address. We are near Central Park, if 
that helps.”
	Kyra wished Peter had spent longer in New York City.
	“Where does your name come from? It is very unique.”
	Kyra was startled to hear Elrond’s voice. She jumped a little, then 
berated herself for showing weakness. Elrohir wasn’t looking at his father, 
nor did he give any signs of hearing him. He continued to stare right at 
their ‘host.’ Kyra longed to slap him across the face just to wake him up.
	Eldrida smiled dazzlingly at Elrond. “It came originally from the 
Jutes who settled Britain in the early ninth century. It was my mother’s 
name, and her mother’s name.”
	‘<Is he taken with her also?>’ Kyra felt disgusted and frightened. 
If Elrond was swayed by this stranger, what chance did they have?
	“It’s very beautiful,” Elrond returned, sitting up. He made a slight 
bow from that position. “I am Hugo, and my name has no such lineage, 
but I was named for a writer.”
	“That’s impressive in itself,” she answered, stepping closer to him, 
her smile never faltering.
      Kyra got up, on the pretext of checking on Merry. As she knelt 
beside Elrohir, she gave his arm a hard, discreet pinch. He didn’t react.
      Eldrida sat beside Elrond. “Well, I can’t keep my secret in any 
longer, so I’ll just have to repeat it when your friend wakes up. I’ve 
brought you here because you were in terrible danger. You see, I am the 
head of the National Peace-Keepers Charity here in New York. I received 
intelligence that you were being threatened by terrorists, possibly because 
they recognize you, Hugo Weaving, or maybe for no other reason than you 
were there, and they needed victims. In any case, my people brought you 
here for your safety.”
      “Thank you. We will place all our trust in your hands,” Elrond 
answered grandly. “However, I must interrupt you, wonderful and as 
entrancing as you are, to ask that I might go to the bathroom.”
      She laughed. “You take a long time to ask something so simple! Of 
course you may go! If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to it.” She rose and 
then glanced at the others. “Do you need to go as well?” she asked.
      From behind her, Elrond shook his head, once, slightly.
      Elrohir finally seemed to come out of his daze, but only a little, 
and only long enough to answer, “No, My Lady, thank you.” Kyra shook 
her head.
      “Well, then if you would be so kind as to follow me, Hugo…”
      He took her arm gallantly. “Please, My Lady, lead the way.” 
      Once the door was closed, Elrohir bowed his head. “Peter, the 
room is spinning. Can you help me back to my couch?”
      Kyra felt unsure of the entire situation now. Elrond, when he’d 
nodded, had seemed to come out from under her spell. Still, he seemed to 
slip right back in a moment later, so she couldn’t be sure if she’d seen it.
      Helpless and confused, she helped Elrohir to his feet. He leaned his 
head against her shoulder and whispered, “She’s the Enemy. I sensed it the 
minute she walked in. Father senses it, too. We’re going to act compliant 
until there’s a chance of escape. If you can, warn Merry.”
      Kyra felt like a chief fool. ‘<I doubted him, and he’s known all 
along who she is!>’ Still, she consoled herself, Elrohir’s acting had been 
very good, and that had thrown her off, she who thought she’d known both 
elves better. ‘<Well, this probably means the Enemy was fooled as well.>’
      She eased Elrohir back onto his couch, and he laid down. “I’m 
sorry I feel so weak, Peter,” he whispered. “I guess maybe I haven’t had 
enough to eat or something. I’ll just rest here until they return.”
      Kyra smiled at him in relief. “Rest, Craig. Everything will be fine. 
She seems very nice, and very helpful. I’m sure we can find you 
something to eat when she gets back.” Then she turned to the couch where 
Merry lay, and watched as the hobbit opened his eyes.
***
	“This will be your room, Mr. Bloom, Mr. Lee and Mr. Boyd,” the 
older man announced. “You’ll be sharing it with two other men. Yours is 
the right-hand side top bunk,” he told Legolas. “Is that all right?”
	Legolas nodded. “That’s just fine. Thank you. How did you know I 
like heights?’
	“Well, we guessed from all the movies you’ve been in.” The older 
man grinned at him, then pointed out the beds Pippin and Treebeard would 
be using. “Get some rest. In a few minutes, the other men will be here.” 
He smiled at them all, then turned to leave.
	“When will we get our job assignments?” Pippin spoke up.
	“As soon as possible. Please, just rest for now.” He left.
	The three of them gazed at each other for a while. There was a 
limit to what they could say, and they knew it, but there were still things 
that had to be discussed.
	“The Lady is quite beautiful, and her ideas are wonderful. I’ll have 
no problem following her,” said Pippin, scratching his ear with his middle 
finger raised.
	“True,” Treebeard murmured, then he turned to Legolas. I think 
you should crawl up there and rest for a while, if you’re so weak.”
	Legolas wondered at this for a moment, and then remembered the 
slip of paper Pippin had given him. “I think you’re right,” he said with a 
grin. The language sounded false, and the grin even more so, but it 
couldn’t be helped. Legolas felt uncomfortable in this situation, never 
being able to say what he meant, anyways having to sift the words and 
gestures of others for hidden interpretations: at the same time, he hoped 
this never became easier.
	Once he was lying down, with the covers pulled up over his head, 
Legolas eased the bit of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, careful 
not to make any noise or move too much. In Chris’s spiky handwriting, 
these words had been written in Dwarvish:
We must split up. I will try to stay with Pippin, but you must draw 
attention to yourself. Pull your copy of the Lost Tales and of The Lord of 
the Rings out of your bag. Chant out loud, as if to yourself, the song in the 
book that’s written in Elvish. Do it tonight, after everyone else is asleep. 
Pippin and I are here as more of a distraction. If we can, as soon as you’re 
been recognized and taken from us, we’re going to escape and meet up 
with Ian. Don’t fall into her traps. She has already laid two, and they were 
hard to avoid. Take care and hope.
	Legolas stared, open-mouthed for a moment, then his mind began 
to work furiously, and immediately he had questions for Treebeard.
	‘What does he mean, they’re here *as a distraction? Does that 
mean this is just my mission? What will they do? How can they escape?* 
Won’t that throw suspicion on me? I think it’s good that Pippin won’t be 
staying here- I don’t think he’s cut out for this, (even though I seem to be 
the one affected by this doggerel, not him.) What were the two traps? I 
only saw one: the movie. How can I do this *alone? I don’t have all my 
memories, or even all my powers. I have some of them,* but they seem to 
only work when they feel like it, *which is no help to me whatsoever.*’
	Legolas was so flustered that he didn’t realize his thoughts kept 
switching from Elvish to English, nearly at random.
	He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t ask any of these things. It would 
give them, and me, away. *Well, Legolas, looks like you’re on your 
own.*’ He closed his eyes, put an image of Aragorn, dressed in full battle 
gear, which gleamed in the morning sun and made him look every bit the 
courageous soldier and king he was,  and held that image as long as he 
could, drawing strength from it. Something flitted across his mind at 
random, but it, too, filled him with courage, as well as a strong, and 
mercifully fleeting, desire to cry:
	‘You are my strength, my rock, my shield. Without you, Leggy, I 
would yield. You are my all in all. When I fall down, you pick me up; 
when I am dry, you fill my cup. You are my all in all. Legolas, I love you. 
Please don’t go away. Legolas, my only vaad, please don’t go away…’
	He heard the words in Aragorn’s rough singing voice, and that was 
what brought the tears. The words themselves did the encouraging.
###
	Legolas didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until someone was gently 
shaking him awake. He sat up quickly, his Elven instincts now working 
overtime. ‘*How could I let myself fall asleep here?*’ A man of about 
forty was looking up at him apologetically.
	“It’s time for dinner. The others have already gone, and since I had 
to take a shower, I said I’d wake you up when I was done, and before I 
headed down myself.” He held out a hand as Legolas struggled to sit up. 
“My name is Eli. What’s yours?”
	“Orlando. Nice to meet you… How long ago did they leave?” he 
asked as he sat up. His heart gave a convulsive leap as he remembered the 
note, but, touching his pocket, as he caught hold of the headboard, he 
discovered it was back in his pocket. ‘*I don’t remember putting it in 
there.*’ This statement strove to alarm him, but Legolas forced the panic 
down. ‘*I must act normal.*’ He jumped to the floor.
	“About twenty minutes ago.” Eli stepped back, then shook 
Legolas’s hand.
	Something struck Legolas suddenly: this was the first person to 
give his or her name. Everyone else hadn’t so much as hinted, and from 
what Orlando had noticed as an actor, and from his own life before the 
rebirth, Legolas knew people liked to give their names. It made them feel 
important, or at least noticed. “Let’s go to dinner,” he suggested, and Eli 
smiled. “Follow me. I’ve learned this place pretty easily.”
	It took them ten minutes to get to the dining hall, though they took 
no wrong turns. Legolas was beginning to think the Enemy’s compound 
was as big as a small village. Perhaps it was even larger. And he was 
impressed by Eli’s confidence in their course, especially when the man 
confided he’d only been here for less than a day. They’d taken at least a 
dozen turns, and Legolas, even relying on his elven sense of direction, 
wasn’t completely sure he could find the way back.
	Once they were in the dining room, he looked for Treebeard and 
Pippin, but couldn’t find them. Eli suggested they might have gotten lost, 
and Legolas had agreed outwardly. In his heart, though, he realized they 
had already gone. Loneliness and fear swept over him, and he beat these 
emotions back, but it was getting harder to do that.
	When Treebeard had told him and Pippin where they were going 
and why, Legolas had felt the thrill of adventure surge through him, and 
he’d actually been looking forward to testing his strength and mental 
prowess against something more than pencils. His sorrow at leaving 
Aragorn had faded for the moment, replaced by a desire to set things right.
	Now that he was here, surrounded by danger, cut off from all help, 
Legolas felt his stomach shrink and fill with ice. ‘*I’m not a coward,*’ he 
thought desperately. ‘*I’m not! I’m just… worried, that’s all.*’ He was 
afraid, though, and no mind-games could hide that fact from him. ‘*Have I 
always been like this? Is this your fault?*’ he demanded of Orlando, but 
sensed it wasn’t true. He wished he could remember more about his life 
before the plane crash. He wished he could remember how he’d behaved 
during the War of the Ring. A sudden urge to pull out the large, paperback 
book and look for his statements and strengths overcame Legolas for a 
moment, then he bit his lip and tried to talk some courage into his heart. 
‘*Nothing’s really happened yet. At least wait to be scared until something 
happens!*’ But berating his emotions wasn’t helping, so he switched 
tactics. ‘*You have a war to fight, Legolas, so be sure of your course. 
When this is all over, you’ll be beside Aragorn again, and you’ll have 
plenty of time to figure this all out. Until then, walk, talk, observe, and 
wait.*’
	His fear was pushed onto the back burner again, at least for the 
moment.

Chapter Forty-One

	Gimli was half-asleep when he heard the first snapping sound. It 
sounded like a dry branch breaking. He rolled over and tried to go back to 
sleep, because he’d been having a pleasant dream about sitting around a 
fire with Aragorn and Legolas, and smoking. 
	Snap!
	Gimli sat up with a start, and rubbed the sleepiness out of him 
eyes.
	There were twenty men walking away from the center of the field. 
They were loaded down the bows, arrows, knives, swords, bedrolls, and 
packs. Gimli knew these men, or at least knew what kind they were. 
‘Rangers,’ he thought in awe. Then he growled, “<Can’t be.>”
	“Gimli!”
	His head jerked up, and he stared in open-mouthed shock. Malacai, 
Aragorn’s right-hand man after the fall of Gondor, was striding towards 
him, smiling. And Gimli could see the grass and sky through him.
	Gimli staggered to his feet, not sure if he wanted to approach or 
flee, but Malacai stopped walking and held up his one free hand, palm out. 
“Gimli, it’s all right. I know I look strange. I’m a ghost, but not a 
dangerous one. We’re here to fight the war. All ten thousand or so of us.” 
He grinned, but the smile fell away when he saw that Gimli’s expression 
hadn’t changed. “Gimli,” he began again.
	Gimli shook himself out of his daze. “You’re-you’re a ghost?” he 
breathed. ‘<But,>’ one part of his mind argued, ‘<when Aragorn and 
Legolas always came back from the Land of the Dead, they were alive!>’
	‘<Idiot,>’ the other half chastised, ‘<they had bodies to return to. 
They’ve been dead for too long. All of their bodies are dust. Of course 
they’re ghosts.>’
	This touched off another, much more terrifying and depressing 
question, and he immediately had to ask it. “Where’s Aragorn?”
	Malacai blinked. “How did you know he died?”
	Gimli waved away the question, even as the tears pricked at the 
corners of his eyes, and stared at him.
	“He’s coming last. As far as I know, he’s still talking to the Ents.” 
Malacai nodded suddenly, as if he suddenly understood something. 
“Maybe there’s a way to bring him back, Gimli. Once this war is won, 
anything will be possible.”
	“Malacai!” another Ranger Gimli couldn’t name, though he looked 
slightly familiar, called.
	Malacai sighed. “I have to go, Gimli. I’m sorry…” He hesitated a 
moment longer, trying to see if he’d helped at all, then turned away, 
disappointed.
	“We’ll find a way to bring him back,” a voice whispered behind 
him, and Gimli felt a hand on his shoulder. “When the Valar are defeated, 
we’ll take their power and resurrect him. I promise it will be done, Gimli.”
	At last, Gimli turned his head. Elladan was standing, gazing down 
at him with grief etched into a face Gimli had once thought of as 
impossibly ageless, but now saw as painfully old. He covered the slender 
hand with his own large one. “I’ll hope,” he answered. “It’s all we can 
do.”
***
      Celeborn stepped out of the invisible hole, and looked around 
quickly for Galadriel. He’d had to wait, out of a sense of duty, until all the 
elves that wished to fight had gone through. Behind him, others were still 
waiting; Aragorn, Elendil, Eomer and his men among them.
      At last, he spotted her, hugging Arwen and Celebrain. Forgetting 
that he was the Lord of Lothlorien, Celeborn broke into a sprint, and 
raised his melodious voice. “Gal!”
      She turned, and her face lit with the joy of a thousand summer 
mornings. She ran towards him, and they met with a slight crash. He drew 
her against him, kissing her cheeks, her mouth, and her eyes. She leaned 
against him and kissed him while her right hand came up and began 
stroking his ear. This was a place of weakness common to all male elves, 
but each liked that place touched differently. Celeborn had always liked 
the touch to be light, teasing. He was glad he was wearing a long tunic as 
his penis had the bad manners to announce it had missed her, too.
      She felt this against her thigh, and laughed into his mouth.
      Neither of them had noticed, at least not until half an hour had 
gone by, that Celeborn had come through the hole as a ghost then turned 
to warm flesh and blood the minute he’d touched her.
***
	Elendil gazed at the huge ring made of tents and bedrolls. The 
outer edge was at least a mile away. He laughed to himself, feeling quite 
pleased at the speed with which these men had remembered their training 
and had established a well-organized camp. For crying out loud, there 
were even paths that led through the man-made jungle. Not all these were 
his Rangers, but the Rangers had taken over the settling operation, and the 
elves, dwarves, men of Gondor and Ents had been willing to follow their 
directions.
	“You’re very pleased,” a voice noted behind him, sounding 
amused.
	Elendil glanced at Gil-galad, and laughed outright. “Aren’t you 
pleased to be leading your people again?”
	Gil-galad tried to look disapproving and mature, which didn’t fit 
well because of his dancing brown eyes. “Do you think I want to lead 
them to battle? We may not win this one, and may again die, as we did 
long ago.” But he couldn’t be as pessimistic as he wanted to sound, and at 
last he smiled. “Yes, my friend, I want to lead them again, to conquer evil 
again. Seeing them with bows in hand fills me with life again.” He 
glanced down at his half-transparent body and snickered at his own joke. 
There are few things in the world as amusing as seeing and hearing a 
famous general and an esteemed ruler joke with his friend.
	“Though, I may leave these, and myself, in Aragorn’s care. He 
knows this world far better than I do, and he’s known almost half of these 
Rangers personally.” He spoke as if this was only a possibility, but Gil-
galad could see by the set of his mouth that Elendil had made his decision.
	Gil-galad blinked, considered his friend’s words, considered the 
quivering, terrified Ranger of a few hours ago, remembered how Aragorn 
had pulled himself together so expertly, let the danger they were heading 
into mix with everything else, and nodded at last. “Yes, I think he is the 
best choice. Maybe choosing him is an even better choice than Lady 
Galadriel, since he was here for so long, and watched the world for even 
longer than she.”
	‘*And, in the end, it has nothing to do with knowledge, but with 
unending hope, and the charisma of a king. Many have followed him 
before, and have come to love him. Many others will learn to love him 
before this war is over, I think.*’
	Elendil smiled. “I thought you would see things my way.” He 
grinned when Gil-galad shot him a mock-glare, then said, “Come on, we 
have to discuss this with Galadriel… and with Aragorn, of course.”
***
	They held the council without Aragorn, so that all could speak 
freely. The leaders of each group came together in a large tent Elendil 
called The Plotting Place (silently, so as to not upset any tense person in 
this situation, though he dealt with danger differently than they, preferring 
humor to plodding fact-stabbing, as he called it). He couldn’t help but 
smile at his bad alliterative job.
	Durin, though he had come to the meeting, had brought Gloin with 
him, since Gloin was the only dwarf in many years (except Gimli) to make 
an alliance with elves. (He had done this when Legolas saved Gimli’s life 
near the Lonely Mountain.) The rest of the council was made up of 
Elendil, Gil-galad, Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, Aramus (Aragorn’s 
ancestor, the first leader of the Rangers), Faramir and Eomer.
	Elendil had decided he would let someone else lead the council, 
but once everyone was assembled, Gil-galad looked to him, the elves 
followed his gaze, then the men looked to him also. At last, the dwarves 
also sat gazing at him. Taking in a breath, hating this council, even though 
he knew it was necessary, knowing he would have to wait until near the 
end to give his own opinion, Elendil spoke.
	“We are here to decide on the leader for our troops. I am looking 
for suggestions.” This wasn’t strictly true, but close enough. He did want 
to know what they were thinking.
	Gloin spoke first. “Maybe there should be several leaders, one 
from each race.”
	“There needs to be one leader, or there will be conflicting orders,” 
Gil-galad responded, having to argue. It was something Elendil had 
always known about his friend, and even in this tense situation, this habit 
made him smile.
	“That’s only a possibility,” Gloin answered. “If we are united in 
purpose-”
	“Yes, that is true, but we also have very different approaches, and 
it won’t do to be debating on the battlefield,” Galadriel countered calmly.
	Durin made a noise deep in his throat, then grumbled something 
that sounded suspiciously like, “Kesh’ lo’ach morr,” which, politely 
translated, meant “Stupid elves.”
      Elendil sighed at this, and almost spoke up, but restrained himself 
when Aramus overrode the tense silence in that smooth way many of the 
Dunedain possessed. “Let’s start over. If we had to have one leader, who 
would we each pick? I think that’s why we’re here, right?” he asked, 
glancing at Elendil, who nodded gratefully.
      Aramus continued, “I would Elendil, for my part, because he was 
one of the greatest king of Gondor, and helped to dethrone Sauron.” He 
glanced to his left, where Eomer sat.
      “I would choose Aragorn, whom I have drawn swords with and 
who helped to protect my people when we thought all hope was lost. Also, 
he has commanded people of all sorts, including men of Gondor, men of 
Westernesse, men of Rohan, elves, dwarves and hobbits. He is 
courageous, fierce and wise in battle, whether it is a one-on-one fight or 
only a few hundred fighting against ten thousand.”
      Gloin spoke then. “I don’t know who to name, but it seems to me 
we need someone who can communicate with elves, dwarves and men 
equally well. And he must be bold, strong and wise.”
      “I suggest we fight in separate groups,” Durin rumbled. “A dwarf 
will command the dwarves, an elf would command the elves, and so 
forth.” 
	Celeborn murmured, “This is a possibility, but I think we need one 
leader which we must follow at all times. Only united can we defeat the 
Enemy.”
      Galadriel said softly, “Aragorn would be a good leader, but we 
must make sure he was willing to take on such a responsibility. He speaks 
to all people equally, and he has never flagged in battle, except once, 
which is a circumstance which needs to be discussed here if we are to 
make a wise choice.” She went on to explain the attack which had led to 
Aragorn’s death, as Elladan had reported it to her, then to tell of Aragorn’s 
fear upon waking the Land of the Dead, as she learned from the mind of 
Elendil, who did not begrudge her the information, though he would have 
rather that she’d taken it in some other way.
      When at last she was done, Elendil spoke. “With this new 
information, let us proceed. We will finish with Faramir and Gil-galad, 
and then there will be chances to talk again for any of you who have 
changed your minds.”
      The Prince of Ithilien was silent a few minutes. “Aragorn is my 
captain and my king,” he said slowly. “I will follow him. If he follows 
another, I will follow that man or elf or dwarf because he does.”
      Gil-galad spoke last, and his voice was so quiet they had to strain 
to hear him. “Aragorn is my choice.” He would offer no other comments.
      After a brief silence, Galadriel spoke. “Also, it has been brought to 
my attention that you must know about his transformation and rebirth.”
      ‘Whose mind did she take that from?’ Elendil wondered, not 
maliciously.
      This explanation took slightly longer, and Elendil was beginning to 
feel restless. If they talked much longer, he felt, the Enemy would be upon 
them. This was a foolish thought, he well knew, but couldn’t help having 
it.
      “He doesn’t have all his memories?!” cried Durin, just as expected. 
“How can we trust someone like that?”
      “And I don’t’ like the sound of this Viggo character,” Gloin 
muttered.
      “How much does Viggo control him?” Aramus asked.
      “ Is there a way he can repress Vigo?” Eomer asked, thinking that 
maybe it was Viggo, not Aragorn, who was afraid of Tragel.
      Elendil held up his hand for silence, and they all looked to him 
again. “We shouldn’t talk of repressing a part of Aragorn that is just as 
much help to him as any skills he acquired as Strider.”
      Galadriel nodded. “Not all of you know Aragorn very well, but he 
acquired a different name for each stage of his life. He was called Estel 
when he was a child, Strider, when he was a Ranger, and Aragorn when he 
sought to reclaim his throne. Each of these ‘sides to him’ is different, and 
it takes all sides to make him the king he is.”
      Elendil thought of the talks he’d had with Aragorn before the man 
had been reborn. He’d watched as Aragorn ‘released’ each personality, for 
Elendil’s amusement, but also, Elendil realized, so that he could 
understand. Estel was quiet, intelligent and naïve. Strider was brusque, 
decisive, and quick to jump to conclusions. Aragorn was composed and 
sure of himself, mostly, though he had some doubts, and he also held a 
distinct idea for the future in his mind, which the other two did not. 
Perhaps, like the others, Viggo had some part to play.
      “Let us vote,” Elendil said then. “All those in favor of following 
Aragorn, raise your hands.” He wasn’t sure if this would bring the desired 
result, but it was either vote or argue until Helle froze over.
      To his astonishment, all but Durin raised their hands. Durin 
glowered at Gloin, who wavered for a moment, then stuck his hand up 
higher.
      Elendil sighed. There was a part of him that wanted to know what 
had made some of them change their minds, but that would waste time. 
“Come,” he invited instead, “let’s go talk with Aragorn.”

Chapter Forty-Two

	Sam was expecting terrible things at the bottom of the stairs (such 
as armed guards ready to take them captive). Instead, he gaped at the 
scene below them. Sunlight glimmered warmly over the well-known town 
of Hobbiton, which lay below them, nestled in a cheerful valley. The rest 
of the Shire wasn’t there, but at first Sam didn’t notice this. Even from 
such an unlikely angle, he would know the Shire anywhere, and his heart 
thrilled to see it again. He laughed and began to hastily pick his way down 
the side of the hill, which seemed to shrink the more Sam ran, so that 
before he had taken two hundred steps, he was in the valley and rushing 
towards Bag End under the Hill.
	Glorfindel watched nervously. Distrust was growing in his heart. 
He opened his mouth to call Sam back before he could get too far away-
	“Glorfindel…”
	He spun at the sound of Elrohir’s voice. His lover was standing not 
far above him, and without thinking, Glorfindel went to him. Elrohir held 
out his hand to help him up the last little slope, and Glorfindel took it 
joyously. Then they were embracing.
	Below them, miles away, it seemed, Sam screamed.
	Glorfindel was shocked out of his happiness, and made as if to 
turn. Elrohir caught his arm and shook his head, smiling kindly. “*He’s all 
right. Don’t worry, Vaad. Everything’s all right. The war’s over, and 
everything’s fine.*”
	That was a lie, and Glorfindel knew it, but he was too slow in 
reacting. Elrohir’s hand tightened, and when Glorfindel looked into his 
face in surprise, he found himself staring at the thing which had killed him 
after he’d gone to the Undying Lands.
	She was smiling at him, just as she had been the day he’d been 
lying, pierced by four arrows, on the last bloody battlefield the elves of 
that land would ever see. This time, however, he could see more: he saw 
that her eyes were green, not blue, as he’d thought, and that her hair was 
brown, as he’d assumed. It was strange how much those details had stuck 
in his dying mind. He remembered waking up in the Land of the Dead, 
and whispering, “*She has brown hair. Dirt-hair.*”
	He tried to pull away, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. Her smile 
broadened, as if she enjoyed his pitiful attempts at escape.
	In that instant, he knew who she was, and also knew they’d all 
made a terrible mistake. The Enemy was not in league with the Valar- she 
was the Valar!
	“Yes,” she whispered, responding as though he’d spoken out loud. 
“Very good.” Gently, gently, she touched his cheek, and he couldn’t pull 
away. “You should be honored to have one of the Valar so interested in 
you.”
	‘*One of them?*’ Then he remembered being taken to the place of 
judgment and hearing that disembodied male voice.
	“Yes, he’s my husband.” She sounded rather amused. “He’s a good 
helper, obedient and trustworthy. 
      “Not like you,” she went on, her fingers moving up to touch his 
ear.
      Glorfindel felt a thrill of pleasure run down his spine, and hated 
himself for it. The pleasure was tempered with revulsion, but it was 
pleasure nonetheless.
      “It was my idea to give male elves a weakness like this,” she 
continued, stroking his ear more purposefully now, “something their body 
would always react to, no matter who did it, no matter where they were. 
Except when dying, a male elf cannot help but react.” Her fingers never 
ceased their rubbing. “Do you like my creation?”
      ‘*Why are you so interested in me?*’ he wanted to ask, but what 
came out was, “Please… stop…” He hated himself even more for his plea.
      “Simply put, Glorfindel, you have a mind of your own and you are 
wise enough to make each day a challenge for me.”
      ‘*You want me because I’m no threat to you, strong will or not. 
I’m someone you can play with, like a child would play with a beetle.*’ 
He used his anger to protect himself from her fondling fingers.
      She laughed outright- an unpleasant, disdainful, self-indulgent 
sound, and pulled her hand away from his ear. “You see me quite clearly, 
Glorfindel. I’m very fortunate indeed that others can’t read me so well.” 
She moved her hand towards his ear and felt him try to flinch. She 
lowered her hand again. “Yes, I can easily control your body, but what I’d 
like is your soul under my command.”
      “You can wait till Helle freezes over,” he shot back, surprising 
himself and possibly her as well. He was startled, not by his retort, but by 
the fact he’d finally been able to speak with strength and courage.
      Her eyes sparkled dangerously. “I am the Valar, Glorfindel. I could 
make Helle freeze over right now.”
      But the threat, at least for the moment, held no power over him. 
Glorfindel thought of all the thousands, perhaps millions of enemies he’d 
fought, conquering some with his bow and arrows, and some with his 
knives, and many with his mind. “If you think you can control me,” he 
tempted, “then step back. Get out of my mind and seal yourself against it. 
If you’re so wonderful and powerful, surely I couldn’t give you that much 
trouble, even with my mind closed to you. And if I showed any signs of 
winning, all you would have to do is go into my mind again, admitting 
your weakness, and retake control.”
      She frowned, considering. “You’re tempting me, hoping to win 
something out of this,” she told him.
      “I’m hoping to stay alive,” Glorfindel responded flatly. “And if 
I’m trying to turn this to my advantage, even in the sight of certain death, 
well, isn’t that why you admire me?”
      “I don’t admire you,” she growled, then pulled herself back. She 
caressed his ear again, but Glorfindel allowed his body to react how it 
would.
He smiled unpleasantly at her. “Are you giving up already?”
      The goading was perhaps unwise, but Glorfindel had discovered 
something that made him willing to take risks: if he didn’t do everything 
he could before she killed him, he was surrendering, and he wouldn’t die 
that way.
      ‘*What about Sam? I can’t worry about him until I know if I’m 
going to live. As soon as I get a chance, I’ll go after him.*’
      She laughed again, but it was a false sound, with no joy in it. 
Vindictiveness grew in her eyes. “I accept your challenge. If I use my 
powers to look into your mind, you can demand one thing from me, 
anything you want. If I win, well, you’ll be past caring.” She waved her 
hand towards the valley, and Glorfindel found himself suddenly able to 
move. He followed her gestures, and saw the false Hobbiton below them. 
“Go save Sam, if you can. I give you leave.” She vanished.
      ‘*Well, it’s not the most equal test in the world, but at least I’m not 
defeated from the word go.*’ Glorfindel began to jog towards “Hobbiton.” 
‘*I’m coming, Sam. Hold on until I get there.*’
***
	He’d screamed, but it was more out of anger than fear. The 
creature in front of him crawled away, laughing, but it was a rusty, dry 
noise, and Sam ignored both the noise and the creature that made it. The 
thing had appeared to him looking like Frodo, but it had quickly changed 
to a warped form of Gollum, and then changed to a filthy, decaying mass 
of hair and bones.
	Sam realized, as he watched the thing crawl away, that he was 
angry because this wasn’t really his home, and he should have known that 
immediately. He was furious with his own foolishness. Glorfindel was 
probably frustrated with him-
	Glorfindel.
	Sam spun around, but the elf-lord wasn’t there. Sam groaned. He’d 
run off, leaving Glorfindel behind, and now they were separated.
	Wait. How could he, a hobbit, outrun an elf? Maybe Glorfindel had 
been waylaid, possibly attacked, and he, Sam, had failed in his self-
appointed task of protection. If Frodo wasn’t here, then Sam was still 
going to do the thing he knew how to do best: take care of someone.
	Sam cursed himself and ran out of the false Bag End.
	“Sam!”
	He glanced around, and saw Frodo looking at him in surprise.
	“Where are you going?” his master asked, holding out a pleading 
hand.
	He took a step, then shook his head. “Confound it, Samwise 
Gamgee, don’t fall for it so soon! You’re not Frodo!” he shouted at the 
apparition. He whirled, and sprinted back towards the edge of town. He 
raised a voice, partially to drown out the calls of the false Frodo. 
“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!”
	Then there he was, Lord Glorfindel, standing in the middle of the 
road, looking at him calmly. “Are you well, Sam?”
	Sam skidded to a halt and stared up at him. “I’m- I’m sorry I lost 
my head. It’s just, well, I saw Hobbiton- this place, I mean, and thought I 
was home. It’s silly, of course, but-”
	Glorfindel was smiling understandingly at him, but the smile didn’t 
reach his eyes. These, usually filled with ageless elven light, were cold 
and dark. They were still blue, as they should be, but the blue looked dead, 
stagnant. This frightened Sam as the false-Frodo could not. He screamed 
and staggered back.
	Glorfindel reached out, as if to steady him. “Sam, what’s wrong?” 
	Sam ducked under the hands, and ran around him, streaking up the 
street, yelling again. “Glorfindel!”
	“I’m right here, Sam!” the false Glorfindel called, grinning to 
herself.
	The street ahead of him changed, ending abruptly at the foot of a 
brick wall. Sam stared up, unbelieving. He knew this street; there 
shouldn’t be a wall here!
	‘I know my streets, back home, but this isn’t home. This is a 
nightmare.” Suddenly, he thought that meeting guards at the bottom of the 
stairs, waiting to take them captive, would have been preferable.
	He whirled, and a scream caught in his throat. The false Frodo was 
coming towards him, but he wasn’t walking as Frodo did, but limping, 
dragging something heavy behind him. It was a dead hobbit, Sam realized. 
A sick need to know who it was, or was supposed to be, consumed him, 
but he resisted it. Turning, he leapt, trying to catch the top of the wall. He 
missed the first time, but the second time he caught the top, and, 
impossibly, swung himself up out of reach. ‘Thank you, Sean,’ he thought, 
glad the man had strength in his arms.
	Looking over the other side, he saw that the road continued. He 
jumped down, staggering a little, then began to run again. He ran silently 
now, hoping to go unnoticed except by sharp elven eyes. ‘Glorfindel, 
where are you? What’s happened to you? Are you all right?’
	He ran harder, trying to see in every direction at once.

Chapter Forty-Three

	Eldrida stopped walking suddenly. “I’m sorry, Hugo, but I have 
something to attend to.” She turned away from him, and called, “Odan! I 
need your help!”
	A submissive man in an expensive suit appeared from around a 
corner as if he’d only been waiting for her call. “Yes, My Lady?” he 
asked, bowing.
	“I have something to tend to. Would you please take care of our 
guest and his friends?” She smiled charmingly, if hollowly, at Elrond. The 
smile didn’t reach her eyes, which were flashing dimly, as of fireworks 
taking place miles away. “If you will excuse me, I will be back shortly.” 
She disappeared around the corner.
	To deal with Glorfindel, she decided she needed all parts of her 
mind in one place at the same time. After all, she’d just given up one of 
her largest advantages so she could learn if he was as much fun as he 
seemed.
	The man Odan smiled thinly at Elrond. “Where was My Lady 
taking you?”
	Elrond conjured up a blush. Certainly this entire time would be 
discussed with “his lady,” so it behooved him to act the part of a man well 
under her spell. “She was going to show me where the bathroom was.”
	 “All right. I’ll show you, then we can return to your friends.”
	“When will the Lady be back?” Elrond asked dazedly.
	“Soon. Be patient. She’s a very busy woman.”
***
	Merry listened as Elrohir explained everything in a hushed tone. 
Kyra was busy searching around the room for electronic bugs. Merry was 
feeling slightly sick by the time Elrohir finished. He didn’t want to be in 
the keep of the Enemy. His heart constricted, and he wished desperately 
that Pippin was here. Then he felt guilty for wishing Pippin anywhere near 
this place.
	“We’re at least one up on her, and maybe more,” Elrohir said then, 
sensing Merry’s fear. “Just stick with Kyra; let my father and I screw with 
the Enemy’s head.” He grinned in a way that reminded Merry of Pippin, 
and, for a wonder, he did relax a little.
	When Elrond returned, accompanied by a man, not Eldrida, 
everything changed.
***
	Kyra’s sorcerer instincts screamed a warning at her the moment 
before the two of them stepped into the room. She had time only to 
register that something otherworldly, malicious, cruel, sadistic, and 
extremely powerful was coming.
	Elrond was walking ahead of the creature, and Kyra could read his 
face quite clearly- plans had changed, but there was nothing to panic 
about. Elves can sense worldly evil very easily, but the otherworldly is 
beyond them. As a sorcerer, Kyra could sense both. This was no comfort 
to her at the moment.
	The man knew he’d been exposed, that she knew who he was. 
Laughing, he spoke directly to her in Dwarvish: “*Hello, Sorcerer. Your 
powers will not help you here.*” He waved a hand almost casually, and 
she felt her knees buckle. Her body wouldn’t respond. She slumped 
against the wall, and watched him walk towards her.
	Elrond made a move as though to attack, but the man, the Valar, 
flicked a finger and Elrond collapsed. So did Elrohir and Merry. As far as 
Kyra knew, they were dead.
	“Did you really think you could deceive us?” Odan demanded, 
leering at her. “Why do you think you were brought here?” He reached 
into her pocket and took the ring Elrond had given her. “This may come in 
handy.” He put it on his own finger, then cursed and ripped it off. The 
finger he’d put the ring on was covered with second-degree burns. 
Scowling, he shoved the ring in his own pocket.
	‘<Yes,>’ she thought, ‘<you brought us here, but she didn’t. She 
thought we were just meddling humans, didn’t she? And even if she saw 
us as who we were, she thought we could be easily swayed. She really 
thought Elrond was taken with her.>’
	“Everything you’re thinking is guesswork, and you’ll never know 
if it’s true. I must find a way to dispose of you and the hobbit. The other 
two will make fine orcs.”
	Kyra’s stomach twisted, and he winked hideously at her.
	“I think for a little while I’ll just keep you here, until My Lady 
returns.”
	Kyra couldn’t keep silent. “She’s the Valar!” she croaked.
	He laughed derisively. “Very good. Yes, she’s my mate.” He 
created ropes out of thin air and bound her hand and foot. He did the same 
to Merry, then levitated them onto couches and tied them down.  “Enjoy 
your stay. When My Lady returns, she will decide what to do with you.” 
He gestured, and the unconscious elves rose into the air. They preceded 
him out the door, which closed and locked behind him.
	Kyra struggled for a long time, but couldn’t budge one rope an 
inch. She wished for her dwarven strength, but it didn’t come. Why should 
it? Didn’t the Valar control when she would change? About this rhetorical 
question, she was right, but at the same time missed the mark. Later, she 
would be grateful for this oversight, made by herself, but also by Odan. 
Right now, however, all she could do was lie, helpless and scared, and 
dread what was happening to Elrond and Elrohir.
***
	Hardly anyone had talked in the large dining room, all during 
dinner. This fact chewed at Legolas as he lay awake that night. Something 
had permeated the air, beneath the mingled smells of many perfumes, 
vegetable soup and fresh bread. Even now, it lingered in Legolas’s nose, 
though he’d been out of that room for hours. How long had he been 
smelling it? Since dinner? No; something told him it had been there much 
longer than that. Maybe since he had stepped into the large building… No. 
That wasn’t right, either. It had been longer than the four hours since 
dinner, but not that long ago.
	Then he realized when it had started; the scent seemed to have 
been brought out by the movie. The movie had caused the smell, it seemed 
to him, and as ridiculous as that sounded, he believed it.
	With the origin of the smell settled, Legolas turned to the smell 
itself. He couldn’t readily identify it, and so he tried first one scent and 
then other in his mind in an attempt to find a match. He didn’t balk at 
comparing it to anything and everything he could think of. This included 
such diverse smells as rotten eggs, blood (human only, since he couldn’t 
access his older memories), numerous flowers, candle wax, sweat (this 
was close, but not perfect, and he filed away that information), seawater, 
tap water, cigar smoke, wood smoke, and several dozen others. When he 
was done, he had decided a few things:
	The smell was organic in nature, like sweat or blood, but didn’t 
have to come from any one person’s body. Also, it was a smell that 
followed him, so maybe it was a smell he himself was carrying. This was 
disregarded after eh spent an industrious three minutes quietly sniffing 
himself. So, maybe it came from his roommate, but not just from him, 
since the smell was intense even when Legolas sniffed at the wall. The 
smell permeated everything, like the smell of rotten meat seeping out of a 
bag-
	‘*That’s it! It’s like meat, but like sweat too, and it’s coming from 
everyone except me! The meat’s not in the bag; I am! The smell is coming 
in, and I can’t escape it because it’s coming from everywhere! But what 
smells like rotten meat besides that?*’
	It was very late, and despite his need to know, Legolas found 
himself drifting off. On the very edge of sleep, however, the answer 
suddenly came to him as if it had only waited for him to stand away from 
the door so it could come in. ‘*Fear. Fear smells like sweat and rancid 
meat!*’
	His mind kicked into overdrive, whirling so fast he expected to be 
vaguely dizzy. ‘*Everyone here is afraid, except me! The fear I’ve thought 
I was feeling was their fear. I’m just picking it up because I’m an elf, and 
because I’m a sorcerer. I used to be able to sense it quite easily, identify 
and discard it. Now, without those skills, it’s been getting to me!*’
	Another thought temporarily distracted him, and increased his 
strength and assurance even as it did so. ‘*That’s another reason I fell in 
love with Aragorn; he felt fear, but channeled it into courage, caution and 
action. His fear never overswept me, because it never occupied his mind 
for more than a few minutes, except once.*’ The unwilling image of 
Tragel popped into his mind, but then it faded, and he was left looking at 
Aragorn as the King of Gondor pulled himself back together.
	‘*So it isn’t really me feeling the fear.*’ This realization filled him 
with peace, and the fear everyone else was sending his way faded to a 
murmur. Legolas grinned in the darkness. ‘*Now the mission can begin.*’
	But the instant he thought that, he realized he had to be up and 
gone. Something needed to be done, and, miraculously, he even knew 
what, though the thought, he was sure, didn’t come from him.
	‘*Elrond’s rings are about to be discovered. I must save them if at 
all possible.*’
	He crept out of bed, pulled a bit of rope out of his backpack before 
putting it on, and slipped out of the room. He expected an alarm to go off 
the minute he opened the door, but apparently whoever controlled the 
alarms figured someone might get up in the middle the night to use the 
bathroom. Judging by what his senses were now telling them, Legolas 
doubted anyone would willingly venture down the hallway at night, no 
matter how badly they had to go.
	Boldly, Legolas set off, following his Elvish sense of direction, 
which seemed to be working perfectly at last.

Chapter Forty-Four

	Frodo dreamed.
	Everywhere he looked, a ghost met his eyes. There had to be 
thousands of them, and yet he wasn’t afraid. These ghosts seemed… 
gentle…kind…safe. Many of them bore determined expressions. All of 
them gazed at him trustfully.
	And every single one was armed.
	Frodo, feeling disconcertingly tall, gazed around, and saw men, 
dwarves and elves standing in columns before him. The elves all carried 
bows and quivers full of arrows, as well as knives. The dwarves carried 
their axes, which gleamed in the sunlight. And the men were magnificent 
and intimidating in their armor of many colors and types; each carried at 
least a sword and a knife, many bore bows and arrows as well.
	Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t his voice that 
emerged. For a moment, he didn’t recognize it, since a voice always 
sounds different inside your head, but at last he identified it.
	“We must first know where our Enemy is stationed, but that will 
come when we meet with Gandalf in the United States. From there, we 
will decide if one army, or many smaller armies, would be preferable in 
this war. I ask all of you to be patient, and vigilant. War will come, but if 
we wait, we maybe be able to make it happen in the form we choose, 
which is one advantage we mustn’t throw away unnecessarily.”
	‘Aragorn…’ Frodo’s heart raced with excitement and a little fear. 
How had Aragorn come to lead an army of ghosts?
	As if his thoughts had disturbed the scene he was watching, the 
whole thing wavered like a tree reflected in a clear lake, and then it 
vanished.
	Frodo sat up in the New York hotel bed. Beside him, apparently 
still asleep, Nehre moaned. Gandalf was sitting up in his bed, however, 
and gazing at him in that calm and knowing way he had. Frodo crawled 
out of bed unhesitatingly and went to sit on the other bed beside the 
wizard.
	“What did you dream?”
	“How did you know I was dreaming?” he asked, expecting some 
sort of mystical answer, such as, “I felt it.”
	“You called to Aragorn in your sleep.”
	Frodo laughed at himself, then explained everything he’d seen.
	Gandalf didn’t interrupt, and when Frodo was finished, he sat 
quietly for several minutes. At last, he bowed his head, as if in grief.
	“What’s wrong?”
	“Are you sure they were ghosts, Frodo?”
	“Yes. Why?”
	“I fear for Aragorn, then,” Gandalf whispered.
	Frodo moved closer as a shiver crept down his spine. “Why?” he 
asked again, his voice barely audible.
	Gandalf sighed. “Why would ghosts- good ghosts, anyway- come 
back here? Because someone called them. And how do you call a ghost 
unless you are one?”
	Frodo couldn’t answer. He suddenly realized that he’d liked 
Gandalf better when the wizard was close, and kept his own counsel. At 
least then Frodo didn’t know how bad any given situation actually was. 
“You mean- Aragorn’s… dead? I was in his mind, and he was a ghost?!” 
Frodo realized he was shouting, but he couldn’t help it. Nehre stirred in 
the other bed. “How did he die?” What could be so terrible that it could 
kill Aragorn, who had lived through the War of the Ring, and through 
hundreds of thousands of generations afterwards? Had it simply been 
another plane crash, something so undignified that had killed him? Frodo 
felt the tears starting and pushed them back.
	“Frodo, I can’t know for sure if he’s dead,” Gandalf answered, and 
Ian realized that Gandalf had good reasons for keeping quiet about most 
things.
	“I guess all we can do is hope,” Nehre added unexpectedly. He 
stood behind Frodo and put his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders. “It will be 
all right, Frodo. Everything will turn out all right in the end. Even if 
Aragorn’s dead, the worst place he’ll go is the Land of the Dead, and there 
seems better than here, seemingly.”
	It was the best he could do at giving comfort, and it fell far short of 
helping, but Frodo took a deep, shuddering breath, and straightened. “All 
we can do is hope,” he repeated.
	“You could also open the door,” a voice said suddenly, and the 
three of them stared at the door, where a semi-transparent elf stood gazing 
at them. Only Gandalf recognized him as Gil-galad.
	The wizard stood. “Ghosts don’t need doors,” he answered tightly, 
as if he expected some trick, or as if he had taken Gil-galad’s meaning 
immediately, and he didn’t like it.
	“True,” Gil-galad answered, “but we bring live ones with us, too.” 
He smiled, but his smile seemed as tight as Gandalf’s voice. “We don’t get 
cold, but they’ve had a long, hard journey over the Atlantic.” He stepped 
to one side, and Gandalf, after shooting him a look of mingled wonder and 
shock, opened the door.
	Frodo jumped to his feet as Galadriel, Gimli and Elladan stepped 
into the room. All three looked exhausted and half-frozen, and he noticed 
the hair of the elves was unnaturally snarled. Then his eyes flicked to 
Gimli, saw the grey skin above his beard, and felt faintly ill.
	Nehre brushed past him, and this brought Frodo back to himself. 
Nehre was carrying two blankets. One he handed to Galadriel, and the 
other to Elladan. Frodo yanked a third blanket off the bed, and took it to 
Gimli.
	The dwarf nodded gratefully, and huddled into the blanket. His 
eyelids were drooping, but Frodo thought the slump in his shoulders was 
caused by more than the terrible, long trip over the ocean.
	“What’s happened?” he heard himself asking into the silence that 
followed after Gandalf closed the door again. Gil-galad had gone back 
outside.
	Gimli was saved from answering by Elladan, who felt it was his 
duty to explain things, since he was the one who’d seen it all. “We’re here 
to help fight. But the ghosts wouldn’t be here if...”
	“If the gate wasn’t left partially open by a recent death,” Galadriel 
finished, because Elladan’s voice was getting very husky. “Aragorn is 
dead,” she continued, looking around at the three of them. “His death gave 
Celeborn and Gil-galad an opportunity to open the door all the way and 
lead an army into this world.”
	“How many have you brought with you?” Gandalf asked.
	Frodo felt offended by the wizard’s business-like manner. That 
wasn’t the question he would have asked, at least not until he’d gotten 
others out of the way. “Where’s Aragorn?” he demanded shrilly, stepping 
between Gandalf and Galadriel. “How did he die?” He stared up at her 
imploringly. “Can we bring him back?”
	She looked down at him kindly. “Frodo, I can’t answer that last 
question. As to the others, Aragorn is seeing to his Rangers and the rest of 
the ten thousand, three hundred and twenty-two we brought with us. He 
doesn’t want to alarm anyone, by letting them see ghosts in the night, so 
they’re hiding right now. He was killed by a servant of the Enemy, and 
while it was not a pleasant battle, he died quickly without much pain.”
	Frodo felt sick again, and he ran to the bathroom. Hearing all this 
talk of death, and pain, and ghosts, overwhelmed him. He threw up quietly 
for a few minutes, then came out again. No one stared at him 
reproachfully. Two ghosts had joined the living gathered there when 
Frodo came out, and he almost got sick again. Gil-galad was standing near 
the wall, and beside him, with his hand on Gimli’s shoulder, stood 
Aragorn.
	They were having a very serious discussion, but Aragorn 
immediately broke away from the others, and knelt in front of Frodo. His 
grey eyes were gentle and understanding as he gazed at the hobbit. He 
waited for Frodo to speak.
	“Strider-” Frodo moaned, his heart speaking the name he’d 
depended on for much of his safety, no matter what his head told him. He 
felt the tears coming, and couldn’t restrain them.
	Aragorn touched Frodo’s shoulder, and his hand was surprisingly 
warm and firm. Still, he did not speak. His eyes were filled with a sad 
smile, though, and this made the tears blur Frodo’s vision as they fought 
their way out of his eyes.
	“Strider,” Frodo tried again, and this time the name was clearer. He 
couldn’t say anything else.
	The Ranger nodded. “Frodo, please don’t lose hope. There is still 
much to be done. As when Gandalf fell, death was not the end of me, but a 
way to bring more help. And maybe I won’t stay this way. There is too 
much still unknown to give up.” He smiled, and wiped the tears off 
Frodo’s face with the calloused tips of his fingers. “It’s all right to cry; this 
is a shock to me, too.” The smile turned wry. “But this is not even a lost 
battle, let alone a lost war, because we’re more than ten thousand strong 
now, and that’s something to be grateful for.”
	All that night, as they talked, Frodo stayed at Strider’s side, gazing 
at him, and, trusting his words, hoped with all his heart that they would 
win through.

Chapter Forty-Five

	Galadriel crept out of the crowded hotel room about an hour before 
dawn. Only Aragorn responded to this, glancing at her out of the corners 
of his eyes. He was sitting, watching Gimli sleep. She smiled at him and 
mouthed, “I’ll be right back.”
	“Be careful,” he mouthed back, and she nodded.
	Once outside, she cast her eyes around quickly, for she could feel 
him close by.
	Celeborn stepped out of the shadows, and caught her up in his 
strong arms. She leaned against him, and tears trickled down her cheeks. 
He reached up with his hand, made of warm flesh, and brushed them 
away.
	After a few minutes, she pulled away slightly and gazed at him. “*I 
hate seeing this. You become alive for a few minutes, then revert to your 
ghost-form.*”
	He smiled understandingly. “*I know, Gal; I don’t like it, either, 
but I suppose it can be counted a blessing that while you touch me, I 
become flesh and blood again. And the change doesn’t hurt.*” He shook 
his head sadly. “*I’m only sorry the others can’t have this opportunity.*”
	She nodded. “*It would have been easier on Aragorn.*”
	“*Maybe not on him, but definitely easier on Gimli and Frodo.*” 
Celeborn drew her against his chest and listened to her breathing for a 
minute. “*I’m sorry it didn’t work for Celebrain. I suppose this magic only 
happens between vaads.*”
	“*That means if we find Legolas that he can bring Aragorn back a 
little.*” But she wasn’t as happy as she sounded about finding Legolas. 
She didn’t want him to see they’d failed Aragorn; she didn’t want to have 
to explain. ‘*We didn’t fail him. Splitting into smaller groups was the best 
way to accomplish our mission.*’ This answer was becoming less and less 
helpful. She remembered Glorfindel speaking of Aragorn, in response to 
Elrond’s concerns about the separation: “We can’t protect him always. 
He’s Aragorn, Elessar, king of Gondor, and we need to let him choose to 
be weak or strong.”
	“*They’ll both survive this,*” Celeborn murmured, guessing her 
thoughts. He kissed her gently. “*Let’s trust in ourselves, and hope.*”
***
	Four and a half hours before dawn of that same night, Odan began 
to torture Elrond and Elrohir. He started small.
	The fire-ants would bite, make these two twitch, but in the end 
wouldn’t cause that much damage since there were only four on each elf. 
Odan released them.
	Elrohir twisted, wriggling like a fish out of water, and Odan 
laughed. ‘How does it feel, little one?” he taunted.
	Elrond strained against his bonds, but didn’t twist as much. He was 
testing the strength of the chains binding him. “You can’t break them,” 
Odan informed him.
	He cleared the ants off and used a whip next. Again, the younger 
elf reacted more, moaning and struggling. Elrond simply gritted his teeth.
	“You’re going to be a challenge,” Odan informed him, not 
sounding at all upset about the idea. “I’ll give you to others to destroy,” he 
said to Elrohir, and rang a bell. Two Ringwraiths entered through the wall, 
and bowed to him. “Break him,” Odan commanded, gesturing causally at 
Elrohir.
	Elrond shouted, “*Keep your mind and your strength!*”
	Odan slapped him cheerfully. “He won’t be able to, trust me.”
	The Ringwraiths removed Elrohir who struggled fitfully, like a 
sick child, between them.
	“Don’t worry about him. I have the feeling he’ll make a very nice 
orc.”
	Because Elrond didn’t respond to this, Odan gave up on words. He 
channeled his power into an attack that would cause Elrond pain but not 
cause him much physical damage. His hope was that Elrond would beg for 
death long before death was near.
	When the first wave of energy hit him, feeling like the stab from a 
Morgul-blade, Elrond screamed, and was immediately ashamed, even 
though there was no way he could have held in his cry. ‘*Have strength 
and keep your mind,*’ he thought frantically, and drew up an image of 
Celebrain, waiting for him in the Land of the Dead. Long after his 
thoughts had disappeared in a haze of pain, the picture remained.
***
	Glorfindel, trapped in the no-time of the Place of Judgment, 
ignored a hundred voices, some of which sounded like Elrohir; others 
seemingly belonging to the hobbits, to Aragorn, to Legolas, to Gandalf. 
He searched for his friend and let his elven sense of good and evil control 
his reactions.
	She’d set a maze in front of him, one impossible to solve and 
escape from because each path led to a dead end. Glorfindel had seen her 
already move some of the walls to keep him confused. Once, four walls 
approached, one from each side, with the speed of a charging oliphaunts. 
Glorfindel ran to the closest, hurdled it, and barely escaped being crushed.
	He felt that his mind was his own, uninfluenced, and he hoped that 
feeling was true, and not something she’d planted.
	Glorfindel! Glorfindel!” called a high, hobbit voice from far away. 
The elf-lord stopped, and listened. It sounded like Sam, but, more 
importantly, it felt like Sam. He ran in that direction, found himself 
blocked, and, turning a corner, kept running.
	‘*If she has been attempting confuse him, as she has been doing to 
me, with false appearances and voices, he may not know me. I guess I’ll 
cross that bridge when I come to it.*’ It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but then 
something jumped in front of him, and he couldn’t dwell on it anymore.
	The balrog was sixty feet tall if it was an inch, and Glorfindel 
groaned. It was a real balrog, not an illusion, and he had nothing but 
arrows and his own inner light to fight with. ‘*I could I escape,*’ he 
considered, but then he saw that the maze around him had turned into a 
stone box. There was a thick wall behind him, and a ceiling. The only way 
to keep going was past the balrog.
	He’d seen two balrogs in his lifetime, the first being when he was 
little more than ten years old. He’d been traveling with his parents, Linnet 
and Atrayu, and they’d had to travel through a very dark, long tunnel, 
which had gone under the mountains, not unlike Moria, though this place 
was not in Middle Earth. His father had met the creature with all his 
considerable power- and had distracted it long enough to ensure the escape 
of his wife and son. He had survived, miraculously, and had joined them 
three days later, but it was a terrible, grieving three days, and Glorfindel 
knew he would never forget the agony and sorrow that had made those 
days a blur.
	His father had given him advice on how to defeat the balrog, and it 
was something Glorfindel had used when he met the second balrog: 
“Glori,” he’d said, “listen closely. Balrogs are deaf and blind if you know 
how to make yourself invisible. Now, an elf can move silently, but you’ll 
have to soften even the beating of your heart. This is done by wrapping 
yourself in a song.
“Under earth, there is no sound,
only boulders, dirt and dark.
Trust what you know,
and not what you hear.*”
	“*But won’t it hear me singing?*” the child had asked.
	“*Yes, so you’ll have to move as you sing. It’s a game of time, 
Glori, and it’s one you must win, because though we have strength against 
many things, balrogs should be left to wizards and the Valar.
	“*Next, you must become invisible. To do this, sing anther song, 
and this time, the balrog won’t hear you.
“*Under earth, there is no light,
Under hill, there is no life.
Trust what you know,
and not what you see.*”
	“*It sounds almost too simple.*”
	“That’s how the best spells sound. High, confusing language is a 
thing of stories told by mortal men. Elves know differently.*”
	The next time he’d encountered a balrog had been a mere two 
hundred years later, this time in Middle Earth, in the suffocating heat and 
darkness below Mount Doom. At that time, it hadn’t borne that name, but 
the molten rock was just as dangerous. He’d been a foolish youngster then, 
and had taken a dare from a friend of his, who turned out to be no friend. 
That was a different story, though. The important thing was that, using his 
father’s songs, and his speed, he’d escaped with a mere two dozen burns 
and a distinct limp. Being an elf, it had only taken a day to heal all these 
injuries, but it was something he would never forget, and he resolved 
never to take a stupid dare again.
	The balrog was watching him, but not attacking yet. This was 
something new; from what he’d heard and seen, balrogs didn’t wait for 
anything.
	Glorfindel sang.
	Halfway through the first line, the thing in front of him leapt 
forward, and Glorfindel was forced to dodge. The heat of the thing blazed 
past him, and his hair blew in the wake of the hot wind. The shadow 
advanced, and began to overcome his elven sight and strength. Glorfindel 
staggered, and the thing rushed forward. The words faltered, and he fell 
silent.
	The fire seared his right arm, and he screamed, falling to his knees. 
And the darkness came on, like a monstrous wave.
	He heard his father’s voice again. “*The first great danger to elves 
when they are dealing with a balrog is not in the flame, but in the shadow, 
which is nearly the equivalent of an evil-poisoned blade. You must keep 
something happy in your heart at all times when dealing with the balrog.*”
	‘*Happy thought, happy thought
      Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.*’ It was a line from 
a play his human part had seen as a child, but it brought a flood of good 
memories, and he concentrated on watching the children lifting into the air 
as Peter Pan urged them on from above.
      The shadow was overwhelming him, but he was growing in 
strength now, and his otherworldly light shown out full-force. The balrog 
fell back a little, studying this change. It seemed to decide Glorfindel 
wasn’t a real threat, because it bore down on him again.
      Now, though, the elf-lord was ready. Armed with his father’s 
voice, his wit and the lines from Peter Pan, he sang out the lines he’d 
memorized, and dodged the balrog’s attacks as though he were a bit of 
string twisting in the wind.
      Once the balrog was made deaf, things became both easier and 
more dangerous. The thing couldn’t hear him now, but it was more 
enraged by this fact, and redoubled its attack, shooting fire with abandon. 
Twice more, Glorfindel was burned, but then he saw the thing’s weakness, 
and grinned. It was too controlled by rage to make a concerted effort to 
attack; it was simply swatting without thought.
      He finished the verse, and now the balrog was truly raging. It 
stomped towards his last position, and the rock was heated almost to the 
melting point below its feet. Glorfindel scuttled to the wall, and hugged 
against it as he crept past the thing. When he was clear, he ran. Once, the 
fire came up through his shoe, and he knew his foot would be burned, but 
he didn’t care. The exhilaration at being able to fight again, being able to 
escape something so dangerous, made him almost impervious to pain.
***
	About three hours before Celeborn and Galadriel met under the 
stars, Legolas was making his way through the dangerous playground of 
the huge building. His senses had at last returned full-force, and he would 
have felt giddy if not for the deadly game he was playing. Not only were 
his elven senses working- receiving, sifting and ordering each piece of 
information before he could even think- but his sorcerer senses were on 
high alert. The Valar, or at least one of them, was close by, but he wasn’t 
pay attention to Legolas, and the elf was shocked and delighted that he 
could feel this. He knew, in his soul, that the Valar weren’t concerned with 
him, and he also knew he’d be able to tell when they were headed towards 
him. A thrill- *this is what I used to be like!*- ran through him, but he 
controlled his excitement with not too much of an effort. The elven calm 
which had served him well when Helm’s Deep was being attacked settled 
over him now and he smiled a thin, cold smile; he seemed almost to be a 
different elf. The Valar had chosen a bad moment indeed to forget about 
him.
	The sound of footsteps, loud and slow, halted him, and he 
squeezed into a shadow and waited. At last, a short, dark-haired woman 
came stumbling along the hallway. She looked like she was going to be 
sick. At least that’s what he thought at first. When she got closer, he 
realized she was terror-stricken, and in shock, and was on the verge of 
fainting. He considered letting her go on by, then he heard her mutter, 
“Damn evil creatures,” as though she were using her anger as a shelter 
from the fear.
	“You seem ill, ma’am,” he said, stepping out of the shadows.
	She started, but only a little. “Who are you?”
	“My name is Orlando Bloom.”
	Her eyes widened. “You’re-” her voice failed her and she grinned 
happily, her fear forgotten.
	‘*I never got that sort of recognition!*’ Legolas thought.
	‘Sometimes it can be a pain,’ Orlando answered. To the woman, he 
said, “My dear lady, you look frightened. May I ask what’s bothering 
you?”
	She was rummaging in her pockets, and came out with a pen and 
paper.
	Smiling patiently, Orlando took them and begam to write. “What’s 
your name?”
	“Amy.” She glowed as he finished and handed the paper and pen 
back to her.
	“Amy, what did you see?” he asked.
	She glanced over her shoulder, and said a little nervously, “It 
didn’t have a face, but it was sniffing around. With it was a young man, 
but he was unconscious. It was dragging him, like he was baggage.” She 
shuddered.
	“What did it look like?” Legolas asked.
	“It was wearing a black cloak that touched the floor and covered its 
face, as I said.”
	‘Black cloak and sniffing…’ Orlando puzzled.
	‘*Ringwraith,*’ Legolas answered impatiently. “Thank you for 
your help, Amy. I need to go find this creature. It’s a danger to everyone 
here.”
	“Aren’t you here to serve the Lady? She doesn’t let anything 
dangerous into her world, you know, so I’m sure it’s fine.” A mask of duty 
covered her face, and Legolas felt sorry for her.
	‘*The fear is drilled into them, and they don’t even understand 
they’re being controlled.*’ “You’re right, of course. I must go speak to a 
friend, though, as he is still nervous about being here. I must teach him 
that he’s safe.”
	She nodded. “That is hard for many to accept. Good night.” She 
walked away, and dropped something. Legolas glanced down, and saw it 
was the paper where Orlando had hastily written his signature. He picked 
up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket so it wouldn’t leave a clue for 
anyone who might try to follow him.
	He walked more carefully, though very quickly, down the hall, 
seeking the Ringwraith and its prisoner.
***
	Two hours before Celeborn and Galadriel met outside in the 
moonlight:
      Pippin had never had elven senses. He couldn’t feel evil coming. 
Still, he felt something- not evil, but wonderful- as he and Treebeard 
walked that night. They were going to stop soon, but Pippin wanted to 
keep going until he figured out what it was. So when they paused for cars 
to pass, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out what caused that feeling.
	Treebeard tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Pippin,” he 
whispered in awe. The tone of his voice made Pippin look at Treebeard 
first instead of where the Ent was pointing. Treebeard shook his head with 
frustrated excitement, and Pippin looked where he was told. Across the 
street was a walk leading down to the River, and near the back were a 
series of shimmering, shifting lights.
	“What is it?’ the hobbit asked.
	“Ghosts,” Treebeard answered. He grasped Pippin’s hand as 
though he were a child, and hurried across the street. He seemed to have 
forgotten about traffic, and they nearly got hit twice. Once across the 
street, Treebeard started to run, pulling Pippin with him. The hobbit 
gasped and panted, trying to keep up. He thought that if he was too slow, 
Treebeard might simply drag him in his excitement.
	They shot down the path, and Treebeard raised his voice in the 
Ent-language. To Pippin’s surprise, several Ent-voices returned to them, 
and then there were shimmery, semi-transparent things rushing up the path 
towards them.
	Treebeard stopped suddenly, and Pippin ran into him. Then they 
were surrounded by ghostly Ents, all of whom were very glad to see 
Treebeard.
	“You’re here at last!” Quickbeam shouted in that hasty way he 
had. “We’ve been keep a lookout for you!” Then he looked down and 
spotted Pippin. “Hello, Pippin!” he cried, and scooped the hobbit up in one 
of his large hands. When Pippin was at the level of his chin, Quickbeam 
boomed, “It’s good to see you again.”
	Pippin grinned. Quickbeam felt a little cold, but it wasn’t 
unpleasant.
	“I’ll fly you right over. They’ll want to see you.”
	“Who will?” Pippin asked as Quickbeam rose slowly into the air.
	Treebeard reached up, and Quickbeam picked him up, too, smiling. 
“Now this is a switch,” he said to the oldest Ent.
	Treebeard nodded, not speaking, and Quickbeam soared across the 
River.
	They set down at the hotel ten minutes later, and Quickbeam let 
them down. “I have to go back,” he said, and left.
	“He’s gotten even hastier,” Treebeard murmured as Pippin 
knocked on the door.
	“Who’s there?” came a stern voice from inside.
	“Strider!” Pippin shouted as he recognized the voice. “Strider, let 
us in! it’s Pippin and Tree-”
	His voice died in his throat as the door opened. Strider wasn’t 
standing there; Frodo was. The hobbit looked tired, but jubilant. He 
grabbed Pip in a shameless hug, and they stood like that for at least a 
minute. Gandalf had come to the door, and was talking quietly with 
Treebeard.
	At last Pippin looked up, saw the wizard, and smiled. “Hello, 
Gandalf!” He made no move to pull away from Frodo, though.
	“Hello, Pippin. Come in.”
      Gandalf stepped aside, but Frodo held Pip back. “Wait. There’s 
something I have to tell you.” He swallowed, and Pippin looked at him in 
concern. “Strider’s…. a ghost.” He gulped.
	Pippin blinked, shock plain on his young, good face, then the color 
went out of his face he looked in danger of fainting. Frodo drew him 
closer. “I’m sorry, Pip,” he whispered, and the tears started even though 
Frodo tried to hold them back.
	Pippin wasn’t ready to cry, though> He hugged Frodo for a 
moment, then pushed into the room. Strider was standing near the wall, 
watching him with a gentle smile on his lips. Pippin screamed and 
staggered backwards, running into Gandalf. “St-strider?” he shrieked, 
shivering.
	Aragorn held up his hands and spoke softly. “Yes, Pippin, it’s me. 
Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” He knew that wasn’t really 
why Pippin was afraid, but he let himself say it anyway, just to be saying 
something. ‘How is Legolas going to react?’ he wondered, then pushed the 
dread away.
	Pippin groaned. “How…?” His eyes filled with tears.
	“Our Enemy sent someone to kill me,” Aragorn answered as gently 
as he could. “Don’t give up, Pippin. Maybe this can be undone.” Pippin 
looked at him hopefully. “I don’t have a way right now, but there is 
always hope.”
	Pippin bowed his head and sighed. “I know,” he whispered, then 
looked up as Frodo put an arm around his shoulders.
	“There’s still a lot that needs doing,” Frodo told him, trying to 
sound hopeful. “But right now, we need sleep. Come on.” He led Pippin to 
one corner, and the two of them curled up near Strider, who watched until 
they’d fallen asleep.
***
	 Sam groaned. There were too many changes in this false 
Hobbiton; he couldn’t know where he was, or even if he was going in the 
right direction. He’d resumed shouting for Glorfindel, though the creatures 
seemed to find him more easily this way, but he hoped the elf-lord would 
be able to find him. But the longer his calls went unanswered, the more he 
feared Glorfindel had been captured or killed.
	A voice shouted, “Sam!” and he turned, and watched warily as 
Glorfindel approached at a run. Twenty paces away, the elf-lord stopped, 
and held up his hands. “It’s me, Sam, but I’m not sure how to prove it to 
you.” He shrugged helplessly. “I guess you would never really know it 
was me, since the Valar are playing tricks on us.”
	Sam stepped closer. At least this one sounded sane. ‘Maybe it is 
Glorfindel,’ he thought, but his mind shied away from that idea.
	At that moment, someone stepped through the nearest wall. It was 
a beautiful, brown-haired woman. “Answer a riddle for me, Glorfindel, 
and I’ll let you go,” she challenged.
	Sam started to move closer. ‘It is Glorfindel!’ his mind exalted. 
‘This might be a trick, though,’ the other half of his mind argued. He 
chose not to listen to that half.
	“What riddle?” the elf asked.
	“What is gold, but has no shine, what is strong and yet old, what is 
reborn from ashes, and who can make use of a broken sword?”
	Glorfindel laughed in her face. “Aragorn.” His eyes twinkled, but 
it was a cold light that was in his eyes, and Sam shuddered. Strangely, 
seeing that gaze reassured him even as he was intimidated by it. “Don’t 
you have anything else?”
	“What dreams of food and walks without shoes?”
	“Why do you ask me things I already know? Hobbits.”
	She paused, then said, “I will riddle you both, and if you stump 
me, you may leave. If I stump you, you, Glorfindel, must become my 
mate.”
	Glorfindel almost laughed, but restrained himself. He didn’t laugh 
out of amusement; her statement made him feel cold, and he wanted to 
dispel it. “And what about Sam?”
	“He can go home, no matter what happens.”
	‘I wonder what happened to our first deal?’ Glorfindel wondered. 
He gestured to Sam, who came to stand beside him. “We’ll be all right,” 
he said, low. “I’m glad I found you.”
	Sam nodded. “I’ll help however I can,” he responded.
	Hobbiton dissolved around them, and they were suddenly sitting in 
a fine study with comfortable, leather chairs and a fire blazing cheerily in 
the hearth.
	“My first riddle is this: Who wears disguises and yet is true to 
herself?
	Glorfindel responded, “An actress.” He thought for a moment. 
“When is a door not a door?”
	“When it’s ajar.” She sounded disgusted. “What takes no form and 
yet causes great destruction?”
	“Sauron. What laughs, rolls stones, leaps and falls?”
	“Water. I grow, I walk, I have cell walls.”
	“Ents.” Glorfindel was thinking, ‘*She’s drawing from thee past 
and from the present. And I have just given away that I know more than an 
elf of Middle Earth should. She’s a tricksy one, yes, very tricksy, 
precious.*’ “What has a hose and a mouth?”
	“An Oliphant. Or elephant, if you prefer.”
	‘*What do I know that she doesn’t? She’s the Valar. What can’t 
she know?*’ “When the Dunedain deign to care, who cares for the 
Dunedain?”
	“No one cane,” she answered crisply, grinning a little at the play 
with sounds.
	‘*All right, she knows of Middle Earth. How much does she know 
about the rest of the world?*’ “What has four wheels and flies?”
	“The city garbage truck. Really, Glorfindel, can’t you do better 
than that?”
	“When is a rose not a rose?” Sam blurted suddenly.
	For the first time, she paused.
      Glorfindel glanced at Sam, then grinned. ‘*Looks like I should 
have asked you to go first,*’ he thought.
      “When it has arisen,” she said at last.
      Sam looked disappointed, but Glorfindel gestured for him to give 
another one. “Why do hobbits dig rotten potatoes?”
      She frowned. Silently, Glorfindel cheered.
      “To get to the root of the problem!” she cried at last.
      ‘*Is it my imagination, or is she sweating?*’
      Sam moved a step closer to Glorfindel, as if to draw strength. 
“Why do hobbits dwell in holes?”
      Glorfindel knew this one, since Aragorn had told it to him once, 
after hearing it from Sam himself, but he didn’t think she’d get it. It was 
more of a joke than a riddle, and was only funny if you knew hobbits and 
their uppity ways.
      She frowned deeply, and stood silent for a long time.
      “Well?” Glorfindel demanded.
      “There’s no time limit!” she cried.
      “True, but if you can’t answer, you forfeit.”
      She glared at him, then thought harder.
      Glorfindel put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, as though to protect 
him. He moved a little in front of the hobbit, and laid his hand on his 
sword. Behind him, Sam grabbed his smaller sword and stood ready, 
though he wasn’t sure what two blades could do against the female Valar.
      She swore, and waved her hand in an angry, dismissive gesture. 
Sam vanished.
      Glorfindel didn’t waste time staring, even though his mind 
screamed, ‘*Is Sam all right? Where did she send him?*’ “So you’re a 
cheater as well as an adulteress,” he stabbed.
      She snarled and waved her hand again. Chains appeared and bound 
Glorfindel fast. He looked around, and discovered he was in a stone cell. 
‘*Wonderful.*’
      “I hope you mean that sincerely, because you’re going to be here 
for a while.” She smiled at him charmingly, with her hands folded together 
up near her chin in a little-girl cute gesture. That’s when Glorfindel 
noticed the gold ring on the ring finger of her left hand. It glowed with the 
lettering he’d had nightmares about: the language of Mordor. He didn’t 
stare at it, hoping not to draw her attention.
      She wasn’t invading his mind at the moment, and so she didn’t’ 
realize he’d seen the ring. She walked away, calling over her shoulder, 
“I’ll come back for you.”
      ‘*She has made the One Ring!*’ Their worries about this 
eventuality had been warranted after all. ‘*And now we know how the 
Ringwraiths came to be. I must find a way to destroy that ring!*’
      He wouldn’t concede for a moment that it couldn’t be done, or that 
he was trapped with no chance of escape. If he had, he would have lost 
hope and gone stark raving mad, because an elf without hope is like a tree 
being choked by fungus: every part would soon start to break down, 
beginning with the mind.
***
      Half an hour before Celeborn and Galadriel met, the dwarves 
finally changed back to their original forms. For Gimli, it happened while 
he slept, so that he woke up to a new body in the morning. He’d felt a 
distant pain while asleep, but it hadn’t woken him.
      Kyra stayed away during her entire transformation, though the 
darkness pressed in on her vision much of the time. Only by sheer force of 
will was she able to remain conscious.
      Her body widened slightly, making the ropes dig into her skin, but 
this pain was short-lived as she began to shrink. Her arms grew shorter 
even as her muscles bulged; her legs shrank even as a beard sprouted on 
her face. Her throat began to ache as her vocal cords shrank and thickened, 
making her voice deeper. Her chest became a barrel and her feet 
broadened.
      When at last the transformation was complete, she lay gasping for 
several minutes. Merry, over on his own couch, gaped at her. When she 
pulled her right arm out of the ropes that could no longer hold her, his 
amazement turned to exaltation. “Kyra!: he whispered excitedly, but she 
shook her head.
      “Shh, Merry,” she cautioned. Then she pulled out her other arm, 
and, pulling herself back, slipped out of the ropes entirely. Her large toes, 
snug in the boots, came last. She yanked the boots off as soon as she was 
free, and loosed a great sigh of relief.
      Merry couldn’t stop grinning. She went to him, and, tugging on the 
ropes, found them now easier to break, though doing so took ten minutes, 
even with her new strength.
      At last, they stood in the room, looking around and wondering 
where to go now. “We have to look for Elrohir and Elrond,” Merry 
asserted, and Kyra agreed, but she wasn’t sure where to go.
      “Let’s see what there is to see here, first,” she decided. “Maybe 
there’s something here that will help us. She went over to one of the 
cabinets, saw the lock, and hit it with the flat of her hand. It snapped like a 
twig, and she grinned. Why, after all, would the Valar have or need very 
strong locks, when they themselves were so powerful? She reached inside.
      The first thing she found made her heart sing. It was her ring! 
‘<But Odan took it with him. How could it be here?
      ‘<He appeared to take it with him. Don’t you think he could 
simply put it to the side for safekeeping? The ring burned him, remember, 
and it probably burned in his pocket, too.
      ‘<Elrond, you’re a genius.>’ These new elven rings were different 
from the original three, not just in their powers, but apparently in their 
effects on those who weren’t meant to have them. She grinned to herself. 
‘<Thank you, Lord Elrond.>’ She put the ring on, and reached into the 
cabinet again. This time, she brought out all the rings Elrond had been 
carrying. Kyra laughed softly.
	At last, it seemed, their luck was changing.

Chapter Forty-Six

	Odan smiled. Elrond appeared to be sinking fast now. His physical 
strength had failed him, and so he screamed unrestrainedly, but that wasn’t 
why Odan thought he was sinking. Elrond had stopped forcing the words 
“Keep your mind and your strength” across his mind. He was clinging to a 
single image, but this was fading, and Elrond was descending, barely 
struggling now, into the hell of a shattered mind.
	Odan released more searing energy, and Elrond shrieked again. 
‘You will give in soon,’ the Valar thought in satisfaction. He was so 
engrossed in his merciless task that he hadn’t realized it was only now an 
hour from sunrise, and his mate hadn’t returned.
***
	Elrond laughed through the pain. He couldn’t let Odan know how 
strong he was, and so he shielded his mind. If Odan had realized what the 
elf-lord was doing, he could have broken the shield easily, but he thought 
he was seeing what was really in Elrond’s mind, and so had no reason to 
look deeper.
	‘*Somehow, I will get out of here; after he thinks I’m broken, I’ll 
try to escape. I must get to Elrohir.*’ His son was his chief concern, and 
this, above everything else, even the image of his wife, kept him sane and 
fighting.
	He was laughing because Odan didn’t know how strong he was, 
and because the Valar didn’t understand how strong being a loving father 
made him. He grinned inwardly even as his body screamed its agony.
	‘*I hope he stops while I still have strength.*’ Thankfully, elves 
healed quickly as a rule, especially when they had a reason to heal.
	So when the explosion came, and Odan disappeared to see what 
had happened, Elrond was ready.
***
	“Damn elf!” Eldrida cried, furious that she’d lost to the elf-lord. 
Around her, thunder rumbled in sympathy.
	‘He’s certainly worthy of having as a mate, but how can I break 
him?’
	She stroked her ring to comfort herself. This ring had given her the 
ability of taking human form, and of being able to split her mind between 
several bodies.
	Neither of these was helpful to her at the moment, however.
	‘At least it’s beautiful, and makes me more than an influential 
force. I can walk among my troops and inspire them.’ She thought, for the 
first time in hours, of her peace-enforcers, and the weapons they were 
gathering. Nothing amiss there. Her thoughts moved back to the elf 
chained in his cell.
	“Is he too damned noble to be receptive to a bribe?” She assumed 
this was true, but maybe that was only because he hadn’t been tempted 
sufficiently, or in the way he needed to be. “What are his weaknesses?” 
She frowned, thinking. ‘What form did I take when he appeared here?’ 
She’d simply let her powers do their job, without any interference from 
her conscious mind, so it was hard to recall. ‘I think… yes…. it was 
another elf. What was his name?’
	She considered rummaging through Glorfindel’s mind, but realized 
this might alert him to her purpose. Eldrida swore again. Never before had 
she been so outwitted by an inferior creature! She cursed him again, then 
she remembered the form she’d taken. “It was Elrond,” she whispered 
with sudden certainty. Without waiting to make sure this was so, she went 
to Glorfindel’s cell.
***
	Glorfindel raised his head as Elrond stepped into his cell. He knew 
immediately it wasn’t his old friend- there was no elven light in his eyes- 
but decided maybe playing stupid would get him farther than speaking his 
mind. So he swallowed his laughter. ‘*You didn’t get it quite right, and 
the only person it would fool would be an orc.*’
	“*Glorfindel, I’m here,*” the Valar woman whispered, stepping 
closer. “*It’s going to be all right. Don’t be afraid.*” She reached up and 
touched the side of his face.
	Glorfindel could see the false love in her eyes. ‘*She thinks I’m 
attracted to Elrond!*’ The amusement almost overpowered him, but he 
mastered it. “*Please,*” he breathed, “*get me out before she comes 
back.*” He began to build up his mental shields as quickly as possible. He 
remembered teaching Estel how to do this so that he could show a guise to 
the Enemy, when he met him later in life. Estel had learned well, and it 
had served him. Glorfindel hoped the shield would go undetected, or it 
wouldn’t give him any more protection than a paper umbrella in a 
hailstorm.
	“*What has she been doing to you?*” the Valar asked, her face 
patently concerned. She brought out a large key ring and began trying 
keys in the locks on his chains.
	‘*As if the Valar would just have keys lying around, or have a use 
for them at all! How stupid does she think I am?*’ It didn’t matter; she 
was still underestimating him, and that was wonderful news. “*She wants 
to marry me. She’s been trying to break me.*”
	“*How have you remained strong?*”
	‘*I won’t reveal myself that easily!*’ “*I’ve been thinking about 
you. You’ve always been so strong.*”
	She smiled, as though touched. “*I’m here now, and I’ll protect 
you.*”
	The door burst open, and Eldrida appeared to step into the cell. 
With a blast from her ring, it appeared that she’d killed ‘Elrond’.
      Glorfindel screamed. “*No! No, please! Don’t kill him…*” He 
prayed his mental shields were completely up, or this act would have all 
been in vain. “Elrond… vaad…” He looked at her, his eyes devoid of 
anything but grief and surrender. “*Please, bring him back. Please, I’ll do 
anything you say!*”
      Eldrida nodded. “*That’s all I’ve wanted, Glorfindel.*” She made 
a show of waving her hand. “*He’s back on Earth, safe, with his sons. 
Now, come to me.*” The chains vanished.
      Glorfindel stepped to her, his head bowed. “*Just please don’t hurt 
him anymore.*”
      ‘*How can this ploy possibly be working? Isn’t she smarter than 
this?
      ‘*Simple. She isn’t so different from other people, who will 
believe what they want to believe. She thought she would have me, and so 
that’s what she sees and hears.
      ‘*At one time, the Valar must have been more wise. What 
happened to them? Did their power hurt them, as it has done to so many 
others? Could it really be something so simple that undid them?*’
	She touched his hair and his ears. He allowed her to do this. He 
allowed her to touch his penis through his leggings. He allowed her to kiss 
his neck. All the time, he watched the finger where the ring of power 
rested. She was using that hand currently to stroke his right ear. Reaching 
up hesitatingly, he touched her left hand, and brought it to his lips. “*If I 
love you, will you spare him?*” he murmured.
	She smiled indulgently at him. “*Of course I will.*” She sighed 
with pleasure as he kissed up and down her fingers, and moved to her 
palm. She closed her eyes.
	Glorfindel thought wryly, ‘*You’ve given yourself an awful lot of 
sexually-sensitive places. I’m not the only one with weaknesses.*’ 
Wherever he touched, she gasped in pleasure and arched against him. So 
he began to stroke her breasts with one hand, and to caress her ear with the 
other. He kept her fingers in his mouth, and licked them delicately. He 
licked the ring-finger especially. As she relaxed against him he took his 
hand away from her ear so that he could hold her up. She leaned back 
against his arm, with her head thrown back. She moaned loudly.
	‘*She’s going to come soon,*’ he thought in revulsion. ‘*Father, 
forgive me for doing this. I know it dirties my hands and my mouth.*’
	At least her excitement made her sweat, and at last the ring slipped 
off, just as she came. As she howled her pleasure, Glorfindel chanted a 
spell under his breath, hard as that was to do with the ring held in his teeth. 
As the first song induced a feeling of floating in air, this produced a 
feeling of being firmly rooted to the earth by gravity.
“*Light of the sun, shine above me once more.
Birds of the air, sing down to me.
Bring me back to the world I left,
And let me remain there while I may.*”
	And, clutching the reforged ring of power in his teeth, Glorfindel 
vanished from the Place of Judgment.
	The field in New Zealand he’d left with Sam formed around him. 
He shoved the ring into his pocket. Scowling slightly at the exactness of 
the spell- he was only slightly annoyed, and barely felt this in light of his 
relief at being free- he turned his face to the east and ran towards the 
nearest city, which was the capital. His elven sense of direction was 
working full-blast, and so he had no doubt which way it lay. He wanted to 
stop and shower, get himself completely clean of her, but there was no 
time for that.
	‘*She may come for me.*’ He shrugged. ‘*Nothing I can do about 
it. I need to destroy this thing.*’
	About an hour into his run, the ring began to whisper to him.
***
	The evil presence was growing, and Legolas felt his skin crawl 
with disgust. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so filthy. At least the fear 
had stopped clinging to him.
	He heard the screaming soon after he’d left Amy, and he 
instinctively knew that the Ringwraith was still far away. He broke into a 
run, his footfalls not echoing at all on the hard floor. Yet another 
advantage of being an elf.
	He came upon the Ringwraith and Elrohir ten minutes later. The 
Ringwraith didn’t need to bind Elrohir; it stood over him, filling his mind 
with its shadow. It hadn’t even stabbed him, though it held its sword 
ready. Elrohir was sobbing.
	‘*What do I have to fight it with?*’ Legolas thought, and his heart 
raced as his mind tried to panic.
	The Ringwraith, sensing some terrified soul standing behind it, 
turned, and Legolas’s heart froze as his chest tightened. Gooseflesh ran up 
and down his arms.
	‘*Your powers! Your sorcerer powers! Use them!*’ Aragorn 
shouted in his mind, and, without thinking, Legolas raised his hands. The 
Ringwraith was only three feet away from him when Legolas released all 
the energy he had, borne of fear, anger at what the thing was doing to 
Elrohir, and emboldened by Aragorn’s voice.
	Ffoooommmm!!
	The power hit the Ringwraith in what would have passed for its 
chest. Then something happened Legolas couldn’t have anticipated. The 
Ringwraith exploded. Legolas was thrown back against the wall, and, 
hitting his head against the wall, he passed out.
***
	The entire building shook when the evil, black-cloaked servant of 
Eldrida met its end at Legolas’s hands. People walking several streets over 
felt it, though they thought it was simply an explosion caused by a 
demolition team some blocks away, and went about their business.
	In the building itself, people screamed, and the fear level jumped 
ten notches. Many people stopped what they were doing, be it typing, 
talking or instructing, and started calling on the Lady to protect them. 
Poor, misguided souls. Legolas would have felt sorry for them.
***
	When Eldrida sent Sam away, she put him in a place where she 
thought she’d be able to have him later when she wanted him.
	So Sam appeared in the richly decorated room in the large building 
in New York City where the Lady’s followers prowled, much to Kyra’s 
and Merry’s great surprise. 
	Kyra had been rummaging in another cabinet, but this once seemed 
empty. She looked up so fast that she banged her head on the cabinet’s 
door. Rubbing her head, she stared, open-mouthed at him. Her sorcerer 
powers reached out, and, finding no touch of evil on him, she rejoiced. 
How he had appeared didn’t matter at the moment; it mattered only that he 
was here. Then she remembered who he was supposed to be with.
	Merry had darted across the room, and was hugging Sam. Both of 
them were laughing and crying. “Where did you come from?” Merry 
exclaimed at last, holding Sam away from him at arm’s length.
	“The Valar sent me home,” Sam answered. “She didn’t want me 
there.” His face changed to one of worry. “All she wanted was Lord 
Glorfindel.” He blushed slightly. “She liked him. She wanted to bed him, I 
think.”
	Kyra stood up and walked towards him. “Where are they/?”
	Sam scratched his head. “I think he called it the Place of 
Judgment.”
	“How did he get there?” she asked, her voice shrill for a dwarf.
	“Lord Glorfindel sang a song,” Sam answered.
	Kyra took a deep, steadying breath. They couldn’t help Glorfindel 
right now; only the elves, and possibly the Dunedain, knew those songs. 
“Where’s Aragorn?”
	Sam looked at her, and his face was stricken. He looked down at 
his hands. “He was killed,” he whispered, “by an evil elf.”
	 Merry was staring at his friend in horror, but Kyra’s mind veered 
away from the news, and she said tensely, “We have to get out of there if 
we can. Maybe Eldrida is distracted with Glorfindel. Odan is distracted 
with Elrond and Elrohir. We must find a way to escape.”
	“We’re just going to leave them here?” Merry demanded.
	Kyra sighed. Merry’s words stung, and mostly because she’d been 
considering doing just that. “No,” she answered, pushing away her fear. 
“Let’s find them, if we can, and then make our escape together.”
	She turned towards the door, but before she could take more than a 
step, the building shook under her. Sam and Merry grabbed each others’ 
hands, and their eyes were wide. Kyra caught hold of a couch to keep from 
falling. Before her mind could put two and two together, she knew what 
had happened. A sorcerer had used his strongest power in an attempt to 
destroy an enemy. ‘Legolas.’
	“Come on,” she said to the hobbits. “We need to hurry.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

	A few minutes before sunrise, Aragorn rose slowly. Frodo looked 
up sleepily, but the Ranger whispered, “Sleep, Frodo. It’s all right; I’ll be 
right back.”
	Frodo closed his eyes again. “Kay, Strider. ‘Night.”
	Aragorn moved to the door. Gandalf glanced at him, and then 
smiled knowingly at him.
	‘Does he know what I’m going to do?’ Aragorn wondered. He 
shook his head. ‘Well, if he does, there’s nothing I can do about it.’ He 
passed outside.
	Elendil was sitting nearby, as though he was waiting for him. 
Aragorn blinked at this, but his ancestor grinned.
	“Hello, Aragorn. I think you two still know each others’ minds.” 
He said it lightly, but the look of pain that crossed Aragorn’s face shocked 
him. “I’m sorry, Aragorn,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean-”
	“Where is she?” Strider demanded. Aragorn was ashamed by 
interrupting his ancestor, but Strider wouldn’t let him speak.
	“She’s in the park, near the fountain,” Elendil answered softly, 
holding himself in.
	Aragorn won over Strider for a moment, and apologized, then he 
headed for the park.
	Arwen was waiting for him, lovely as always in the moonlight. 
Sitting on a bench near the fountain, she was holding a large, white lily in 
her pale hands. Her hair fell far past her shoulders, and shimmered 
magically under the stars.
	“Arwen,” Aragorn began, stepping towards her. He liked to ‘walk’ 
as much as possible, to remind himself that some day he would, he must, 
walk in this world again.
	She didn’t look up as he came closer, but touched the petals of the 
flower delicately. “*Hello, Estel,*” she murmured.
	Her use of that name almost undid him. Estel came forward, as he 
hadn’t in what seemed like years. He clasped his hands in front of him, 
and felt ashamed that he had come. He took a step back. ‘*She doesn’t 
want to talk to me… She still hates me…*’
	Strider responded defensively, angrily, ‘I don’t care. I have 
Legolas!’
	Aragorn countered quietly, ‘I need to give her a chance.’ And he 
wouldn’t listen to Strider, no matter what the angry man said.
	“*Please wait,*” she whispered, looking up at last. Her eyes were 
large and dark, and, at this moment, they were full of pain and a need to 
talk.
	‘She wants to talk to me?’ Aragorn stepped closer, hope rising in 
his eyes. “*Arwen, I’m sorry,*” he began, but couldn’t continue. His voice 
caught in his throat.
	“*Please, come sit down,*” she whispered.
	Aragorn blinked in surprise, then got himself moving. When he 
was sitting beside her, he met her eyes for a moment, then looked down at 
his hands. He was blushing, though he wasn’t sure why.
	“*Are you going to talk to me?*” she asked softly.
	Estel bit his lip, and managed, “*I wanted to ask you 
something…*” He trailed off, and shot a quick look at her. She was 
looking directly at him. He flinched. “*Why did you leave?*” he asked 
suddenly, his voice quivering. Strider’s eyes flashed, then Estel took over 
and bowed his head.
	She didn’t’ seem startled by the abrupt, direct question. “*I had to. 
I couldn’t live here any longer. And when Legolas offered me the ship 
he’d built, so that I could go over the sea, I realized how much I missed 
my own people.*”
	‘Gondor was never her home, just as the North always felt like my 
home, no matter how much time I spent in the city. And there were no 
other elves there to talk to her; Legolas had to tend to his kingdom, 
overseeing the last pilgrimage of his people to the Grey Havens after his 
father left. Besides, she and he never had much to talk about. He was an 
elf, but of a different kind, and he knew very little of Rivendell or its 
ways.’ “I’m sorry…” He stopped. What exactly was he sorry about? Was 
he sorry he hadn’t tried harder to get her to stay, or that he’d tried too 
hard? Was he sorry she’d left, or sorry he’d betrayed her- it still felt like 
betrayal, even though she’d left fifty years earlier- with Legolas? 
	‘I wasn’t enough?’ Strider demanded, but that was unfair, and 
Aragorn knew it. “*I’m sorry I kept you here for so long, trying to make 
up for your friends and family. We all need our own people.*”
	‘Just as I longed to be with the Rangers. They wouldn’t come back 
to Gondor, no matter who their fathers had been, needing to stay in the 
wild.’
	“*I thought you understood that,*” she whispered. ‘*But if you do, 
then why did you ask?*”
	“*I didn’t understand. I thought you left me because I wasn’t good 
enough.*” It was out before he could stop himself, and Strider cursed 
Estel’s honesty.
	She gasped softly. “*No, Estel, no… that wasn’t it at all. I loved 
you… I just couldn’t live inside those walls, surrounded by Men, without 
even one elf to talk to, or one elf to sing with.*”
	He knew she’d given up much to join him, and yet he’d only 
thought of the elves she would never talk to again, like her father. He 
hadn’t thought of the Spring Naked Dance, which sounded like something 
less vulgar in Elvish, or the fiddles, the pipes or flutes playing nearly 
endlessly in the House of Elrond. He hadn’t thought how hard it would be 
on her to watch winter come each year, without elven music to hold back 
the worst of it. And, realizing how selfish he’d been, he looked up at her, 
meeting her gaze, and whispered hoarsely, “*I’m sorry I took you away 
from everything you’d known and loved. It wasn’t right for me to tell you 
I loved you when I was twenty, nor was it right for me to ask you to marry 
me when I became King.*”
	“I wanted to marry you,” she whispered. “*I didn’t understand 
what being an elf in a city full of Men meant. I thought my love for you 
was enough.*” She closed her eyes. “*I was wrong.*”
	“*I guess we both were.*”
	From the way the conversation was going, this should have been 
the stopping point, but something very large loomed over them, and they 
sat, silent and afraid, under its shadow.
	Arwen found voice for it first, though she came at it from the side. 
“*When did you marry Legolas?*”
	“*Fifty years after you left.*”
	“*Then you never looked at him while we were together?*” She 
hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but that was how it came out. 
	He was shocked, and hurt, and showed it. “*You think that’s why I 
told you to go back to your father? I told you to go because you were 
wasting away! I saw you dying, day by day, and yet I knew you would 
outlive me.*”
	“*I should have outlived you!*” she cried suddenly, “*but that 
damn immortality potion Legolas gave you… Did he love you even 
then?*”
	“*I was four! He loved me as a brother.*” Aragorn nearly shouted. 
“*And don’t bring him into this! This only concerns you and me.*”
	“*It concerns him if he’s really your vaad,*” she bit. “*You say 
you married him fifty years later, but that’s not what I asked. When did 
you start to look at him as more than a friend? Did you run to him as soon 
as the ship disappeared over the horizon?*”
	“*He was in Mirkwood at that time, as you well know!*”
	“*Then did you send for him to come as soon as you knew I was 
gone for good?*” She glared. “*Stop being so purposefully blind, 
Aragorn! When did he share our bed?*”
	Strider came forward, and Aragorn was powerless to stop him. 
“*You think I was cheating on you? You weren’t coming back! Did you 
expect me to spend the rest of my life alone? This was long after we’d 
found out about the immortality potion, so you can’t say you thought I was 
going to die soon!*”
	“*So you took him just to have someone to be with?*” she 
demanded, poisonously sweet.
	“*I love him!*” Strider flared. “*Why are you trying to cheapen 
our relationship? Does it dig at you that I’m happy with him, that we’ll 
never stop loving each other or fall away from each other? Does it bother 
you that he was able to stay with me when all other elves left? That his 
love for me is stronger than yours?*” Most of this was unfair, but Strider 
didn’t care. “*Is that why you wanted to talk? So you could drag us 
through the mud?*”
	‘She’s not trying-’ Estel began.
	‘Shut up,’ Strider growled.
	Arwen stared at him in horror. “*What’s happened to you? When 
did you get so hard?*”
	“*When Gondor fell,*” he spat.
	‘No,’ Aragorn asserted, ‘this part of me was always hard.’ 
“*Arwen, I didn’t-*”
	“*I’m not dragging you through the mud!*” she shouted, not even 
hearing him. “*And now you’re turning it into an attack. A one-sided 
attack, where I’m the enemy! Why can’t you talk reasonably? I came to 
explain why I left and find out how you are!*”
	‘You have a funny way of showing it.’
	Aragorn said, his throat hurting from trying to keep his immediate 
reactions in, “*I’m sorry. We need to start over.*” He took a deep breath. 
“*You did the right thing by leaving to be with your people, even though 
it hurt us both. And I did right by marrying Legolas when I fell in love 
with him.*” He paused, and when she didn’t interrupt, he continued, 
“*After you left, I threw myself completely into the task of being King, so 
that I wouldn’t have to think about you. Forty-seven years later, Legolas 
and Gimli came to Gondor, and I realized I still had a heart. The three of 
us started talking together, and slowly I learned the minds and emotions 
behind the two friends to which I’d trusted my life, and yet they were two 
people that I felt I didn’t know well enough.*”
      He took in another deep breath, because now was the time to 
explain something very painful, and he hoped she wouldn’t see it as an 
excuse. “*Several months after Legolas and Gimli came to stay in Gondor, 
Legolas and I went out hunting. Legolas had left Mirkwood because his 
uncle had gained power, and the people seemed happy with him. Legolas 
and Tragel- his uncle- had some unpleasant business when Legolas was 
young, but Legolas decided that Tragel was a better ruler than an uncle. 
Legolas never wanted to be king, Arwen. That wasn’t his path, and in his 
heart, he knew it. So he stayed in the city, and brought Gimli because 
Gimli had finished overseeing the revealing of the caves in Helm’s Deep, 
and was longing to be journeying again with his friend.
      “*That day, when we were hunting, only two dozen miles from 
Gondor, we were attacked. It was at night, and it was my watch. I didn’t 
hear Tragel coming, and when the rope dropped over me, binding me fast, 
I couldn’t break loose. I shouted for Legolas, but then I was knocked out. 
When I woke up, I was tied to a pallet under the trees, and my clothes had 
been stripped off. Legolas was bound to a nearby tree, and the look of 
terror in his eyes…*”
      As briefly as possible, while still getting the point across, he 
explained the rape and what had happened afterwards with the wargs, and 
then the escape through the trees and his growing realization that he 
needed Legolas.
      “*I had been considering it for about two months, but finally I got 
enough courage to talk to him. So it wasn’t before you left, or until forty-
seven years had passed that I began to think of him as something other 
than a friend.*” He halted and looked directly into her eyes, wondering if 
he would be believed. Estel hoped and Strider doubted.
      Arwen remained silent for several minutes. At last, she murmured, 
“*He really means everything to you, doesn’t he?*”
      “*Yes.*”
      Her eyes were filling with tears. “*Did you miss me after you got 
married?*”
      Aragorn nodded fervently. “*There were many times that I thought 
of you, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Part of me wanted to get 
a ship and sail to the Undying Lands.*”
      “*Your duty, though, kept you in Gondor, and that’s where you 
met Legolas again.*” She looked away for a moment. “*Estel, the reason I 
asked you here was so I could ask you something, not so I could hurt you. 
But this might hurt you anyway.*”
      He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to go down another road 
tonight. They’d just stumbled over the path he and Legolas had paved, and 
he felt as though he’d been traveling for days without rest.
      “*Do you love me?*” she asked, not waiting for him to speak.
      ‘What sort of trick question is that?’ Strider demanded. ‘No matter 
what I answer, I’m hung.’
      ‘If I’m just honest…’ Estel argued.
      ‘But what is the truth?’ Aragorn asked. “*In which sense?*” he 
stalled.
      “*You know what I mean!*” she flared.
      “*What do you want me to say?*” Strider demanded. “*If I say 
yes, you’ll want to know why I married Legolas. If I say no, you’ll want to 
know when I stopped loving you, if I loved you while we were still 
married.*”
      “*I want the truth,*” she responded, glaring at him, though 
Aragorn could see she was deeply shaken by the harsh words.
      “*Part of me still loves you, but I could never have you back as my 
wife. Legolas means too much to me. I would rather have you as a 
friend.*” This was lame, and he knew it, but he couldn’t say anything else. 
Every other thought that passed through his mind was incoherent, so there 
was no way under the sun that he’d be able to speak it.
      “*And if I told you we are bound, and should have never been 
separated, that you have been committing adultery with Legolas against 
me for thousands of years, what would you say?*”
      This, too, was a point that had concerned him, and kept him from 
confessing his life to Legolas. Elves believed- and so did he, being raised 
by them- that by having sex with someone, you were binding yourself to 
him or her. He and Arwen had spent one hundred and twenty years in their 
bond, and then she’d left. Initially, the powerful families of Gondor had 
insisted on flinging their daughters at his head, but when it was obvious he 
wasn’t going to remarry immediately, they backed off. That had taken 
thirty years. When Legolas had come, Aragorn had found himself in 
danger of despair. Peace was not complete around Gondor, and yet, even 
though he defended his city, he felt he was making no real changes. 
Everything in Gondor seemed the same to him, though there were strong, 
grander gates, thanks to the dwarves, under Gimli’s direction, and 
beautiful flowering trees and shrubs in every corner, courtesy of the elves. 
Ninety percent of his people were happy with him, which was 
astonishingly good, and still he felt as though he were failing them. It took 
the advice of the sons of Elrond to make him realize what he was missing.
      “Aragorn,” Elladan had said, “you’re as close as Gandalf and as 
unsmiling as a dwarf. Your city is grand and beautiful, and your people 
are happy, so there must be something wrong with you.” Trust Elladan to 
be blunt.
      “You need a mate,” Elrohir had told him then. “Everything on the 
outside is wonderful, but you’re trapped here without anyone you can 
really confide in. Even we’re not the company you need, being your 
brothers, and thus we can’t share all of your inner thoughts. You need a 
woman to spend your life with.” He grinned, and Aragorn had known he 
was thinking of Glorfindel. “Or a man.”
      “What of your Rangers? They are a lot like you, strong, noble and 
quiet.” Elladan frowned in thought. “What about that man, Malacai, or 
even Halbarad?”
      ‘It must have been hard for them to offer those suggestions, 
believing, as most elves did who knew of us, that I was still bound to 
Arwen, no matter how much time passed,’ Aragorn had thought. “I care 
for them, but they are my brothers, even as you are. I would have as much 
luck trying to marry you, Elladan.”
      The twins exchanged glances. “I have a suggestion,” said Elrohir, 
“but maybe you won’t like it.” He paused, either for suspense or because 
he was nervous about speaking his thoughts, then said, “What about 
Legolas?”
      “He’s Prince of Mirkwood,” Aragorn answered without hesitation.
      “Not anymore,” Elladan responded, and a small smile had touched 
his mouth. “His uncle is in power, and he’s doing a fine job, or so I’ve 
heard. You know Legolas didn’t want to be king.”
      “Think about it,” urged Elrohir, stopping Aragorn before he could 
speak. “Just think about it.”
      And, less than a year later, Legolas and Gimli had come to stay 
with him. He had forgotten the twins’ words, but was reminded of them 
sharply when he’d revealed his love to Legolas.
      “*If I am still bound to you, I have committed adultery, but there is 
nothing else I can do. I love Legolas, and I won’t leave him, making his 
life, as well as ours, miserable.*”
      “*We might be happy,*” she challenged.
      “*I could never be. My anger would block out the rest of the love I 
feel for you, and I could not be away from him. I could not hurt him.*”
      “*I could make you come back,*” she said softly, as though 
pondering it. She did not look at him.
      “*Yes, you could. Elven law gives you that right. And your 
brothers would have to chain me and bring me to you. Even Elrond would 
obey the law. But Legolas would come after me, knowing I left 
unwillingly, in an attempt to rescue me. Then Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond and 
Glorfindel would all be forced to kill him, in order to keep the law. And if 
you kill someone in the Land of the Dead, that person goes to Helle. Do 
you want Legolas’s blood on your hands, Lady?*” Strider’s voice was 
strong in that last sentence, but Aragorn had mostly kept him back, 
preferring to sound as calm as possible.
      She looked up at him, and tears were standing in her eyes. “*Do 
you really think I would force you to come back?*” she whispered. “*I 
thought you knew me better than that, Estel.*” She sighed, sounding very 
weary. “*Both of us have sinned. I am also married.*”
      Strider wanted to slap her. Estel wanted to laugh with relief. 
Aragorn sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “*Then you were 
merely testing my resolve not to hurt you. You thought I might want you 
back when I saw you, and demand that you came back to me.*” He shook 
his head. “*Even if I didn’t have Legolas, I would not do that to you. You 
are not my vaad, Arwen, but at the very least you are my sister, and I 
would never hurt you.*”
      Two different things occurred to him: ‘What’s his name?’ and ‘We 
didn’t sin. We made a mistake. That’s not the same thing. It would have 
been a sin to continue to torture ourselves until all love was lost.’ He 
spoke this second thought, and she smiled slightly, even as tears trickled 
down her cheeks.
      “*I was all prepared for you to fight me, Legolas or no Legolas,*” 
she confessed. “*I thought you would force me to be with you, and 
Elladan, Elrohir and Father would have had to follow your command.*” 
She laughed suddenly, a full, relaxed and relieved laugh. “*I misjudged 
you,*” she whispered, standing up. He rose also. “*Thank you for seeing 
me, Estel.*” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “*Can I introduce 
you to my husband?*”
      “Ffeeeooo, ffeeooo, ffeeooo!”
      ‘The Ranger Whistle.’ “*Later, I promise.*” Aragorn lifted off the 
ground and raced towards the camp. Arwen followed close behind.

Chapter Forty-Eight

	Legolas opened his eyes only a minute later, but his head throbbed 
and screamed at him. He struggled to sit up, his old strength forcing his 
muscles to listen to his mind. He bit his lip as he managed to sit up, 
leaning against the wall. His vision was blurred with tears, and he didn’t 
dare raise a hand to wipe them away because his arms shook as they 
supported him. Instead, he blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of water.
      When he could see, he almost wished he couldn’t. The ruined 
remains of the Nazgul were about the room, looking like acid stains on the 
stone. Its evil presence had departed. But beyond it was something very 
much alive, rising in the darkness. The creature, an orc, Legolas guessed, 
though somehow that assessment didn’t run true, cast another presence, 
also evil, but weaker, and Legolas’s heart beat faster. ‘*I need to get up. I 
must gather my strength before it reaches me…*’
      He strained, and at last pulled himself to his knees. He ripped the 
backpack off his shoulders and pulled from it the two elven daggers he’d 
saved through all the ages of the world, which Tolkien had given to Gimli 
when the dwarf came seeking him, drawn by the book about Middle-
Earth. This was several years after Legolas’s death. They gleamed with a 
pale, deadly light.
      The orc staggered nearer, and a growl of hunger and pain mixed 
reached his ears. Legolas staggered to his feet, and considered throwing 
one of the daggers. His hands were steady, as was his eye, though his legs 
wanted to give way beneath him. Then the orc came into a patch of light 
that was cast by a weak light bulb which had somehow survived the 
explosion, maybe because it was in a metal cage, and Legolas tensed in 
horror. “Elrohir….” he breathed, and his mind twisted, barely able to 
make sense of the being lurching towards him. He had an orc’s face, and 
yet an elf’s eyes. His hands were an orc’s hand, and yet his arms were an 
elf’s arms, as were his ears and hair. Legolas realized he was meeting 
something that he’d never seen before, in this world or any other: an elf 
half-turned to an orc by torture, and yet still retaining some of his essential 
nature.
      Elrohir moved closer, and the growling grew in volume. Legolas 
took a step back, but his back hit the wall. He didn’t know how to confront 
this creature. He couldn’t let it kill him, and yet maybe he could still be 
saved. Legolas had never known an orc to be turned back into an elf, but 
maybe that was because no one had ever encountered a half-breed such as 
this. He was wrong, but those that could help him were far away.
      ‘*Maybe Glorfindel could talk to him… but he’s not here.*’
      He shuddered as the creature stumbled and fell, its growl rising to 
a brief shriek of pain. Yet this gave him more time to think.
      ‘*What makes an elf an elf?*’ This was a crucial question, and he 
labored on it as the creature struggled to get up.
      ‘*Song. Song makes us who we are.*’ He began to sing the Lay of 
Luthien, lowering his knives to his sides, hoping this would make him 
look less dangerous.
      The creature- ‘*Elrohir. You must think of him as Elrohir!*’- 
stopped its attempts to get up and clamped its misshapen hands over its 
beautiful elf-ears.
      Legolas sang louder.
      ‘*What else makes us who we are?*’ he thought while the song 
made its sad, passionate way out of his mouth. He’d sung this so many 
times it seemed to have worn ruts in his tongue. At one time, when 
Aragorn lay close to death, he’d sung it to keep the Ranger concentrating 
on something until his powers of healing started to make some difference.
      ‘*Light. But no such sad light as that bulb casts; he needs 
sunlight.*’ There was none of the that here, and Legolas almost gave up 
this idea, until he realized that he might be able to take Elrohir to the 
sunlight if he couldn’t bring the light to him. Closing his eyes, he thought 
of clear sky, blue at its zenith, but still white, pink, orange and peach as 
the sun cleared the horizon. Somehow, as mysterious as his elven sense of 
direction, he knew exactly what time it was, if not in minutes, then by the 
sun. He wished them outside, in a place where the shadows of the 
buildings wouldn’t hide the rising sun.
      The stone walls vanished from around them, and they appeared in 
a place on the edge of the river that ran through the city. At first, Legolas 
didn’t notice that he’d transported them into a camp of ghosts, but then a 
voice he knew and yet never thought he would hear in this world called, 
“Elrohir!”
      Lifting his head, Legolas stared at the vision of beauty racing 
towards him, and knew, though he’d only seen her twice, that it was the 
Lady Celebrain> With her was her father, and also several elves of 
Lothlorien and Rivendell. They were a welcome sight, and Legolas 
scarcely noticed that he could see right through them, so overjoyed was he 
to find help.
      The ghostly elves moved around Elrohir, and bore him away. 
Elrohir was cringing, trying to shield his eyes from the sun, but when they 
touched him, he tried to jerk away, as though he’d touched something hot. 
They enfolded him, and carried him away. Only one elf remained with 
Legolas.
      Gil-galad knelt beside Legolas, who suddenly felt very weak. 
“*Legolas, are you all right?*” he asked in concern. He offered an arm 
and Legolas received the assistance in getting to his feet.
      “*I’m weary, as I thought no elf ever could be.*” But before he 
could confess more, a shadow passed over them both, and they looked up. 
Legolas felt his blood freeze. “Nazgul,” he breathed. His sorcerer powers, 
tired and yet not nearly as exhausted as his body, murmured, ‘*It’s on 
some errand.*” And just as he knew this, he knew he had to follow. He 
didn’t even apologize to Gil-galad, but made himself very tiny, no bigger 
than a speck of dust, and lighter than hope, and leapt into the air, and came 
to rest on the ‘back’ of the leading Nazgul. The creature never felt him, so 
intent was it on carrying outs is mistress’s orders, and also, incidentally, 
escaping her wrath, for some foul creature had made off with her ring.
***
	Glorfindel wished bitterly for help. No one would find him here, 
he knew, and yet, if he did not wish, it meant to give up to despair. For the 
ring whispered to him, and he dreaded its voice even as his flesh tingled, 
as though being caressed by foul, sensual fingers. His ears burned with a 
need to be rid of the fell voice, though the ring’s call came more to his 
mind than to his ears.
	Running onward, stumbling now and then, his hands held out in 
front of him lest they touch his pocket where the ring lay hidden, 
Glorfindel wanted powers more than he possessed. For the moment, 
however, this need of power was only so he could destroy the ring; his 
shields around his mind had not been breached, and they offered some 
protection. Almost any powers would do: flight, an ability to call on others 
over great distances, more endurance, in mind, body and spirit.
      But in his heart, far beneath the hope he kept on the surface, was a 
growing dread that his quest would end in disaster.
      ‘*Elrohir, I wish you could hear me… I need you, my vaad. Please 
help me. I can’t run much longer.*’
      And while he was at his weakest, the Nazgul, sent by Eldrida (who 
feared to deal with him again, though she wouldn’t admit it, certainly not 
to her servants, and barely to herself) came upon him. There were only 
eight, and yet this was more than enough, she judged.
      Glorfindel saw the Nazgul approaching, and he stopped and drew 
his sword. His mind reeled under the combination of their evil presence 
and the screaming of the ring. His powerful light refused to shine forth as 
they drew nearer, and he backed away, fear overwhelming him. He tried to 
reach for the ring, but his hand never came close.
      The first Nazgul landed before him, but before it could advance 
even a step, a blinding light engulfed it. Glorfindel staggered back, but he 
was caught by strong arms.
      “Glorfindel.” It was Legolas’s voice, and the elf-lord stared up at 
him in shock. The doubts about leaving Aragorn, the nervousness about 
his own powers, were gone from the prince’s eyes; strength and courage 
resided there instead.
      “Legolas?” he asked with a tongue that felt thicker than lead.
      “*Yes.*” Legolas squeezed his shoulders. “*Can you stand? We 
must do battle.*” He said this almost casually, but Glorfindel caught the 
fire in his eyes.
      Strengthened by what he saw, Glorfindel stood on his own, and 
found his mind clearer than it had been in hours. Later, he would realize 
his shields had fallen before the Nazgul, and he would be doubly glad for 
Legolas’s presence.
      Glorfindel’s inner light shone forth, and he and Legolas advanced 
on the astonished Nazgul, who now counted only six. Legolas’s attack had 
felled two- the one he rode and the nearest one to that.
      “*We must try to slay all but one,*” Legolas said. “*Can you chase 
the others while I secure our ride?*”
      Glorfindel wanted to marvel at this speech, but returned evenly, 
“*Of course.*” He walked towards the Ringwraiths, and they fled before 
him. He chanted a spell of destruction, and the earth first trembled, and 
then it opened and rose to swallow them. Miles away, the people in the 
capital city would wonder how long it had been since New Zealand had 
experienced an earthquake, and scientists would wonder about it in vain, 
never being able to discover its cause.
      The Ringwraiths wouldn’t be kept under the earth, and rose again 
out of it, but they fled Glorfindel’s terrible power, and soon he, Legolas 
and the captured Ringwraith were the only ones left.
      “Mount up,” Legolas invited in a drawling voice, drawing on 
Orlando’s knowledge of Old West TV shows. He waved his hand, and the 
Ringwraith suddenly wore a saddle. Glorfindel found himself sitting 
behind Legolas with his arms encircling the elf’s waist as they rose into 
the air.
      “Hawaii, here we come,” Legolas sang to the sky.
***
      Unfortunately for the rest of her enemies, Eldrida’s mind had 
turned to them, since one of her Nazgul had failed to answer her call. Only 
destruction could stop a Nazgul from answering her, and so she sought out 
its slayer.
      She disappeared from the Place of Judgment- which had once been 
a land called Valinor, though now it only existed in her mind, and the 
mind of her mate. Their wills sustained it, since Men had long ago 
destroyed the real Valinor. Once she was on Earth, she sensed how terribly 
things had gone awry. The world around her was panicked- her slaves 
were running everywhere, calling on her name, and cringing as their world 
came down around their ears. This wasn’t strictly true, she realized as she 
assessed the damage. Only one explosion had occurred, and not much had 
been destroyed by it. Her slaves were simply overreacting. She sent out 
her voice in all directions, so that it seemed to come from the thousands of 
loudspeakers. “My people, please don’t be afraid. We have simply 
destroyed a traitor to our cause, and that is what you felt.” She smiled 
cruelly to herself as they settled down. She could feel them returning to 
their slightly shuffling sheep state. She also felt the determination and 
curiosity of her few chosen ones. And of course she felt her mate’s regard. 
So she called to him.
      He looked furious, uncertain and triumphant. “One of your Nazgul 
has died,” he told her as soon as he was standing before her. “But it took 
two of our enemies with it; a sorcerer, and also the younger son of Elrond 
Half-Elven. And,” he paused an instant for effect, “I have captured Elrond, 
Kyra and the Halfling, Merry. And Elrond Half-Elven lies sniveling, all 
but fallen into darkness, even as we speak.”
      She wasn’t impressed, as their capture had been mostly her doing. 
As to Elrond, well, she would take out her fury at Glorfindel on him when 
she found him. “Show me the place where he was destroyed,” she 
commanded, and they headed in that direction. “I also sent you another 
prisoner, another hobbit, named Sam. Are you aware of him?”
      He was looking at her, and something struck him amiss. “Where is 
your ring?”
      ”Stolen by an elf-lord,” she snapped, challenging him with her 
eyes to call her careless. She didn’t notice how she’d used Glorfindel’s 
title to make him seem more important, and thus make her loss look less 
like her fault. “My other Nazgul are seeing to him. By the time they reach 
him, the ring will have had its way with his mind.”
      They burst into the closed place where the Nazgul had taken 
Elrohir. The walls were stained with its passing, and it certainly appeared 
that Elrohir, at least, had been destroyed. She saw no sign of a sorcerer, 
but sensed that one had been here. Her anger glared. “He may have 
escaped with the elf!” she shouted, turning on Odan. “Do you know which 
sorcerer it was? How can you be sure the dwarf-sorcerer didn’t escape?”
      “I would have felt her,” he said, trying to sound confident and 
brave, but failing.
      She snorted. “Did you even take the rings from Elrond?”
      He reached into his pocket, loathe though he was to touch them, 
and remembered that he’d transported them to a cabinet. He concentrated 
on bringing them back, but they would not return. He paled.
      “Idiot!” she screeched, then disappeared, heading for the room 
where she knew the hobbits, elf and dwarf had been sent. As she had half-
suspected, it was empty. She screamed to the sky, and her slaves quailed, 
fearing the end of all their hopes and trust.
      Then she dropped onto one of the couches and concentrated on 
ordering her thoughts. Slowly, her mind settled, though a layer of ice tried 
to cover and freeze it. She fought through this ice of panic, and at last felt 
more like calm self.
      “The rings are lost, at least for now,” she said, aware that Odan had 
followed her here. “I cannot touch them while a sorcerer holds them. And 
we do not even know what their powers are.” She took a deep breath- 
amazing how well this worked for mortals!- and continued, “The four of 
them are surely gone by now. One door is temporarily closed to us.” She 
glanced up at him. “Elrond is nearly broken, you say?” He nodded timidly. 
“That is well, but I will want to go check in a minute. First, though, I must 
think.
      “Our advantages stand thus: Aragorn is dead. Glorfindel is trapped 
in New Zealand; whether the Nazgul kill him or no, he has no power to 
bring him sooner than a week. Their fellowship is still divided, and even 
now they don’t know where we are located. At the worst, they know no 
more than we are in this city somewhere. How loud was the explosion?”
      “It could have been heard five blocks in any direction.”
      “That’s more than I’d like for comfort, but not as bad as it could 
be. Once we’re done here, call our army together. We must ready 
ourselves for a possible attack. If they do not come today, we will seek 
them out and launch our own attack. They will be vastly outnumbered. 
How many orcs do we have at this time?”
      “Six hundred twenty-nine,” he responded.
      “Good. Humans?’
      “Four thousand, three hundred and ninety.”
      “Uruk-hai?”
      “Five thousand, one hundred and five.”
      “And eight Nazgul. Ten thousand, one hundred and thirty-two 
troops, plus us. They will not stand a chance. They have no stronghold, 
and there are only eleven of them, at best.” She nodded, satisfied, and she 
began to calm. So things weren’t as bad as they’d first appeared. “I am 
going to check on Elrond. Assemble our army.” She vanished, and so did 
he.
***
	Kyra sensed the strong spirit of Elrond nearby. She had been 
following this beacon since they’d left the plush prison. The door had of 
course been locked, and stronger than her sorcerer magic, but she’d at last 
defeated its magic with dwarven strength. Yes, the Valar had chosen a bad 
time to let her regain her powers.
	The hobbits followed her, walking quieter than she could, and she 
was slightly envious of their stealth, but was grateful for it as well. They 
had drawn their daggers, and advanced side-by-side, as though with one 
mind. She knew this was how close friends did things, and thought of 
Gimli, hoping that, wherever he was, he was safe.
	Her sorcerer senses gave her a direction, but that was a straight 
line, and she had to find her way around many corners, so their progress 
wasn’t as fast as it could have been. Still, they were getting much nearer. 
She could sense his strong will, and could also feel that he was fighting 
weariness and pain.
	At last, she felt her path was not blocked by any more corners, and 
she rushed down a long hallway. Near the end, struggling towards her with 
his head bowed, limped Elrond. She didn’t dare call, and ordered the 
hobbits with a gesture to keep silent.
	He heard her approach, however, and raised his head. A ragged 
smile broke out on his face, and he limped faster. The obits brushed past 
her and ran silently towards him. She didn’t dare increase her own pace, 
knowing she was making too much noise as it was. Kyra watched them 
reach Elrond and help him along as best they could, not speaking, but 
letting him lean on them.
	They had almost reached her when the hallway rocked and a 
towering woman appeared in the corridor. Her eyes blazed, and the 
intensity of her power made all them wince and shrink back a little. 
Luckily, she appeared behind Elrond, and Kyra raced to stand with them.
	Eldrida was laughing at them, but it was a slightly mad laugh, as 
though the mind behind it wasn’t as calm and balanced as it wanted to 
appear. “Where are you going? Did you think you could escape me?”
	‘<Kiss my ass; you don’t frighten me,>’ Kyra thought.
	Eldrida laughed louder still. “Now, now, Mistress Dwarf, there’s 
no need for that. And I’m not insane, Master Meriadoc.”
	Merry blushed and fell back a step. Elrond grasped his shoulder. 
“Stand, Merry, and fear nothing she says.” he said calmly.
	“But he is right to fear, Elrond. I know all about you, and I know 
all of your thoughts and plans even before you do. You have no hope of 
escaping or tricking me.”
	“Then how did Glorfindel trick you?” Sam demanded boldly. 
Seeing her reminded him that Glorfindel had saved him by facing her. 
And defeating her with his, Sam’s, help. He wanted to ask where 
Glorfindel was, but restrained himself.
	She ignored his questions, both spoken and merely thought. “I will 
destroy all of you right now,” she said, her eyes lighting with anger and 
humiliation.
	“If you do, the Elven rings go with us, and everything here will 
blow sky-high,” Kyra responded. One thing she liked about Peter was his 
flare for the dramatic, especially when it came out in his speech.
	Eldrida frowned, considered whether Kyra was bluffing, and 
decided she wasn’t. ‘I can afford to wait until they’re off their guard.’ She 
vanished.
      Besides, she had other fish to fry. Her Nazgul should have returned 
by now; she would go and see that they had finished their task. That would 
make her feel better.
	“You just bluffed the Valar!” Merry cried.
	“It was no bluff,” Kyra answered grimly. She looked to Elrond. 
“We must leave, and join with the others.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

	Saru saw the elves gliding over the water, coming en masse as 
though answering a summons. Here was one thing he wished he’d 
inherited from Legolas: the elven sense of knowing one another. Whatever 
was needed, the elves were there. Rangers had that sense, too, but it came 
from observation, not from a deep inner-soul knowing. Elves could feel 
what others needed, sometimes for miles, depending how close they were 
to that person.
	As the elves swooped overhead, Saru caught a look of fear on 
many of their faces. He felt his chest tighten and wondered what was 
wrong. Surely nothing very serious, or the elves would be raising an 
alarm. No battle was imminent, then; something else, perhaps within their 
ranks, was happening.
	“What’s wrong with them?” Kehydi asked. He’d been leaning 
against a wall and gazing out at the water. He’d finally stopped pacing- he 
hardly seemed able to hold still- and was staring after the retreating elves.
	“I’m going to find out.” Saru soared after them, and he heard 
Kehydi following. ‘He wanted action, instead of just waiting for this war 
to start? Here’s a little action for him.’ Saru tried to sound flippant, 
especially to himself, so he could hide from the fact that seeing elves look 
so grave and worried frightened him. By and large, they were a merry 
folk, even when leaving Middle-Earth, and he’d learned long ago that their 
concern was his concern.
	The elves were swarming around a pair on the ground. Saru 
ducked down, stopping a little above them. Kehydi tried to rush past him, 
but Saru caught his friend by his shirt. “Wait,” he whispered. “Give them 
room.”
	The elves rose, bearing something large, grey and scaly away. The 
thing had a shock of dark brown hair, but Saru couldn’t see its face. He 
retreated a little more as they passed, then looked back to the ground. 
Legolas was standing there, talking with Gil-galad.
	“Yeggy!” Saru shouted joyously, falling back to the name he’s 
given his… mother? father? Saru never knew exactly what to call Legolas, 
who had given birth to him, but was most definitely male.
	Legolas looked up, but his face was tense, and he wasn’t looking at 
Saru. Then the Ranger felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and 
he followed Legolas’s gaze. Nazgul flew overhead, not screaming, but 
terrible nonetheless. Saru had never personally seen the Nazgul, but he 
knew instinctively what they were.
	Saru looked down, back to Legolas, and watched in shock as 
Legolas rose into the air, then disappeared. Surprise mastered him, and he 
couldn’t speak. Beside him, forgotten, Kehydi let out three short, piercing 
whistles.
	“Ffeeooo ffeeooo ffeeooo!”
	Saru stared at his friend, then shook his head. It was too late now 
to undue it. Unless Aragorn was very far away, he would come. Gil-galad 
looked up at him, and the rest of the Rangers looked up to where Kehydi 
and Saru floated. Some of them made exasperated noises; others, Elendil 
among them, beckoned for the two to come down.
	Saru landed a little behind Kehydi. It was Kehydi’s whistle; let him 
explain it.
	“Legolas vanished. And the Nazgul were here,” Kehydi told him 
before he’d completely landed.
	Elendil nodded. “I saw them. Legolas disappeared? Explain that.”
	“He flew upwards, then vanished. That’s all.” Kehydi shook his 
head. “I didn’t understand it.”
	“He was chasing the Nazgul,” Gil-galad told them, appearing 
suddenly beside them. “He turned into something small as dust and 
followed them.”
	The Rangers stared at him, but Elendil nodded. “He might have 
sensed where they were going.”
	“Maybe they were only heading back to their mistress,” Kehydi 
suggested.
	“No; they were flying away from the city,” Saru argued.
	Elendil cast him a speculative gaze. He seemed mildly impressed. 
“You watch well,” he told Saru, and the man blushed.
	There was the sound of a breeze, and then Aragorn touched down 
nearby. “What is it?” he asked, striding towards them.
	Kehydi bowed his head, and Saru, seeing his friend was more 
ashamed to tell Aragorn than to talk with Elendil, rescued him. “Legolas 
was here,” he announced. “He followed the Nazgul that flew overhead.”
	“I felt them pass,” Aragorn murmured. Then he sighed. “Was 
Legolas all right?”
	“He seemed well,” Saru answered. “He looked… concerned, but 
didn’t seem to be hurt.”
	His father nodded. “That’s well, then.” He glanced at Kehydi. “Did 
you whistle?”
	Saru was always amazed that his father could tell whose whistle he 
heard, even from a mile away.
	Kehydi nodded miserably. “I was frightened by what the elves 
were carrying, and also by Legolas’s disappearance.”
	“What were they carrying?” Aragorn asked.
	“Elrohir,” Gil-galad answered. “Legolas brought him.”
	Aragorn frowned. Treebeard and Pippin had arrived without 
Legolas, and that had worried him. How had Legolas found Elrohir? 
“Why were you afraid?” he asked Kehydi.
	“It didn’t look like an elf,” Kehydi answered. “It was more like…” 
He shook his head, searching for the right word. “Like an orc,” he decided 
at last.
	“Elrohir is at least half-orc at this time,” Gil-galad told Aragorn. 
“I’m not sure how that happened, but I have sent others to find Elladan, to 
see if he can help. Can you do anything for him?”
Aragorn blinked. “I didn’t know someone could be half-orc,” he admitted.
	“It doesn’t happen very often. Whoever was torturing Elrohir 
stopped before the transformation was complete.”
	“Maybe Legolas interrupted it,” Saru suggested.
      Aragorn nodded. “It’s possible. We’ll have to wait, either until 
Elrohir recovers or until Legolas returns to know what really happened.”
      Elendil caught Aragorn’s arm as he started to turn away. “I need to 
speak with you,” he whispered, and Aragorn followed him away from the 
others.
      Elendil didn’t waste words once they were alone. “Your Ranger 
whistled, and only some looked to him. That must change before we fight 
this war. If Kehydi had been in trouble, their lack of response could have 
been disastrous. We’ve chosen you to lead everyone here; you must teach 
that whistle to the elves and dwarves and other men, and you must teach 
them to come when it is hard.” He looked gravely at his descendent.
      Aragorn nodded. “I will speak with them.”
      “Do it now. My heart warns me that soon war will be upon us.”
      Aragorn flew off to do as Elendil urged.
      Gil-galad floated down beside his friend. “He will make a good 
leader,” he murmured, finally realizing that Elendil had been right all 
along. “I must admit, I had some doubts.”
      Elendil smiled at him. “And yet you trusted me, my dear elf? I’m 
honored.” His eyes twinkled, and Gil-galad cuffed him playfully.
***
	Odan gazed over his army, and nodded, satisfied. They carried 
guns, swords, knives, bows and axes. The men were mostly armed with 
guns and knives, but the orcs and Uruk-hai had never dealt with such 
things and felt better with weapons they knew better. The only ones that 
were missing were the Nazgul and Eldrida.
	At that moment, as if summoned by his thought, she appeared. She 
looked just as furious as when he’d first followed her, but she was 
obviously trying to control herself, so he remained silent.
	“All is ready here?’ she snapped.
	“Yes. Except your Nazgul haven’t returned yet.”
	She growled, and he backed away from her a step. “We can’t wait. 
It’s time to fight. We must not give these interlopers any more time to 
prepare.”
	Odan didn’t mention that it was she, Eldrida, who had suggested 
bringing their enemies back so that they would have a challenge. She had 
wanted to make her take-over of the United States, and, after that, the 
world, a little exciting.
	Everything had changed with the arrival of their enemies. They’d 
banded together, sooner than expected, despite missing memories-
      ‘SHIT!’
      Eldrida’s head snapped sideways, as though he’d spoken. “What?” 
she roared. “What did you forget?”
      “Th-their memories. I haven’t been maintaining them… How 
much do they have… And their powers… and their original forms….” 
Odan suddenly realized how Kyra had escaped the ropes he’d used to bind 
her. “I-I stopped regulating their changes… There’s no way of knowing 
how much they remember now…”
      She slapped him, not with her hand, but with raw energy, and he 
reeled. “You left the door wide open!” she screamed. “How could you?!” 
She hit him again, then snarled, “Ready the troops. We’re leaving in five 
minutes.” She walked away.
***
	Kyra stared out at the army spread out below them. “I wish you 
had an elven-cloak big enough for all of us,” she said to Elrond. “There is 
no way we can sneak past all those out there.” Suddenly, she missed her 
backpack, which had contained any number useful things. “How can we 
escape?” she asked. “We can’t exactly wait for cover of darkness.”
	Elrond nodded and studied the troops gathered beneath them. 
“May I see the rings, Kyra?”
	She drew them out, and then remembered that one of them was 
hers. She slipped it on. Also, she noticed that another was missing. 
“Gandalf’s ring isn’t here!” she exclaimed.
	Elrond nodded. “Nothing we can do about it.”
	Merry was shocked how calm the elf-lord sounded, but when Sam 
gave him a quick look, he bit his tongue and waited.
	“How could she take one ring and not the others?” Kyra asked.
	“Maybe the ring found its way to Gandalf. Perhaps that’s what 
happened to Lady Galadriel’s, as well.” Elrond put his own ring on. “This 
will not help much in the way of defense, but it feels good to be wearing it 
again.” He gazed down at the remaining three rings. “I can see these more 
clearly now in my mind. One of them almost certainly belongs to Legolas. 
There is the symbol of Mirkwood on the inside.” He showed them the 
ring, and they all saw the intertwined leaves forming a crown. “This one, I 
think, is meant for a man, though I don’t know who.”
	“Is it for Strider?” Merry asked.
	Elrond frowned. “There is no sign here that depicts Gondor or the 
Dunedain. It could just as easily be for someone who is still in the Land of 
the Dead.”
	He held up the third ring. “This one, also, confuses me. It has both 
elven and dwarven symbols on it.” He put the remaining rings in his 
pocket. “Well, we’ll deliver the one to Legolas when we see him, and, if 
we’re fortunate, the other rings will find their owners. Right now-” he 
gazed out the window- “let’s make the best escape we can. Let’s see if we 
can slip through the crowd.”
	“If the Valar are watching-” Sam murmured.
	“If they are, then nothing we do is secret,” Elrond answered. 
“Come.”
	At that moment, a great horn was blown blaringly and the army 
below them began to march away.
	“Well, there’s the distraction we needed,” Elrond muttered, and he 
smiled slightly, grimly. “Let’s get down to the front doors, and sneak out 
after them.”

Chapter Fifty

	Legolas looked down into the volcano. The Nazgul was restrained 
nearby by Legolas’s powers, and so the elf gave it only cursory attention. 
The heat rising from the volcano was extreme, and Legolas, knowing the 
volcano was active, wondered if they’d have time to escape if the ring 
made the volcano erupt. He glanced at Glorfindel, who was staring into 
the fiery depths as though hypnotized.
	‘*Will he be able to cast it away when the time comes?*’ Legolas 
wondered, feeling nervous. He couldn’t take the ring from Glorfindel, or 
the madness of losing the ring might drive his friend insane. ‘*Now I 
understand why Gandalf chose Frodo to carry this burden. Hobbits really 
are stronger than elves, at least in one way.*’ Legolas touched 
Glorfindel’s shoulder. “*Are you all right?*”
	Glorfindel looked up, and his eyes were dark with fear. He spoke 
as though he had heard Legolas’s thoughts. “*I’m going to need your 
help,*” he answered softly, honestly. “*This ring won’t be silent.*”
	Legolas considered for a moment, then answered, “*Do you want 
me to take it?*”
	Glorfindel glared, but then his face cleared as he forced himself to 
control his mind. “*Do you think you’ll be all right?*”
	“*I’ll only be bearing it for a minute or two,*” Legolas answered, 
though his heart whispered, ‘*You want it for yourself, Legolas; don’t 
deny that you crave its power.*’ He shuddered.
	Glorfindel was silent for a moment, then said, “*Maybe it would 
be best.*” He pulled the ring from his pocket, and it seemed terribly 
heavy. It seemed also to stick to his hand. He grabbed his trembling hand 
with his other, and pushed it forward. “*Please, Legolas, take it. I 
don’t…*” His hand trembled harder. “*I don’t want to fall to it. Please 
take it from me.*” He shoved his hand forward, and dropped the ring into 
Legolas’s outstretched hand. For an instant, Glorfindel’s face darkened 
with need and anger, then the shadow passed and his blue eyes shone with 
relieved tears. “*Thank you.*” He turned quickly away, and said, without 
looking back, “*I’ll hold the Nazgul until you return.*”
	Legolas put the ring in his pocket and grasped the rope which he’d 
tied to the stone which stood near the edge of the volcano’s mouth. He 
glanced once at Glorfindel, and was grateful to see that the elf-lord had 
unveiled his inner strength again, and the Nazgul was bowing before it, 
desperately wanting to run, but knowing it couldn’t. Legolas’s powers had 
seen to that.
	He climbed carefully, yet rapidly down the side of the cliff towards 
the molten rock below.
	‘*Legolas… Do you want power, Legolas? Do you want to see 
Aragorn? You could, with my help. Let me help you, Legolas.*’
	He descended faster. He didn’t dare to just toss it. The ring, if it 
possessed any will of its own, might fall on a ledge, no matter how 
carefully he aimed from up above.
	The rope creaked unnervingly, and Legolas glanced up. He 
couldn’t see any frayed places, but his heart thudded faster nonetheless. 
He wished desperately that he was using Elvish, not man-made, rope.
	Glancing down, Legolas could see he was getting closer. The heat 
in itself told him that, but he could see he was almost below the ledges. 
Soon he’d be able to throw the ring away-
	*Do you really want to give me away, Legolas? I could fulfill your 
dreams right now. I could take you right to Aragorn, and I could help you 
stop this war*
	-and scramble back up. He knew he only had a little chance of 
making it safely back up before the volcano erupted, but a slight chance 
was better than none-
	*I can take you to Aragorn for sure. Do you really want to risk not 
seeing him again, Legolas? Isn’t your love more important than this 
world’s happiness, a world that doesn’t even understand*
	-and he WOLD NOT GIVE INTO THE VOICE!!
	That creaking sound came again, and Legolas glanced up. This 
time, he saw where the rope was fraying. Swearing colorfully, he glanced 
down again, and was relieved to see that he was past the ledges. He 
yanked the ring from his pocket
	*Let me on your finger for just a moment!*
	It was very heavy in his hand, but not in a way that made him want 
to drop it.  The ring stuck to his sweaty palm.
	*You’re going to die unless you let me help you, Legolas. You’ll 
never see Aragorn again. I know things about the Enemy that you don’t. 
She’s torturing him even as you hang here, and only you can save him.*
	He moved as if to don the ring, but that would have meant letting 
go of the rope, and he only saved himself just in time.
	The rope shuddered, and Legolas knew it was snapping. His mind 
reeled for an instant. ‘*I’m going to die. I won’t be able to save Gorn 
Corn....*’
	*That’s right. Use me, Legolas, for Aragorn.*
	‘*Aragorn would want it destroyed, even if it meant his life and 
mine.*’
	“*You lie! I hate you!*” he shouted at the ring. And he let it fall.
	The rope snapped.
***
	“If you give it to me, I’ll see to it you get back to your lover,” the 
Ringwraith whispered. “I’ll carry you there, and I’ll convince the Lady to 
turn her eyes to other places. He’s been hurt badly, and needs you. Won’t 
you go to him?”
	Glorfindel released more light by way of answer. He could almost 
feel the Nazgul wince.
	“You could use it for a while. I’m sure the Lady wouldn’t’ mind if 
you used it to get yourself home. She’d even give you a place in her 
service. You could rush to Elrohir right now, and rescue him from the 
shadow of death.”
	‘*I could use it for a while…*’ Glorfindel shuddered slightly with 
lust.
	“Just retrieve it from the other elf.”
	Glorfindel’s light faltered.
	Behind him, he felt rather than heard a soft creaking. He glanced 
behind him, his eyes flying in that direction, wanting to see the ring again. 
Nothing seemed amiss, and yet he felt everything was very wrong.
	“He’s almost destroyed the ring. Won’t you save it?”
	Glorfindel took a step, but then his mind whispered, ‘*Use the 
Nazgul. It’s the only way you’ll reach the ring in time.*’ He turned back 
to the Nazgul, and without hesitation, mounted it. “Move,” he 
commanded, and the Nazgul obeyed.
	Glorfindel went over the edge of the crater like a hunting marten, 
fast and determined, nothing but hunger driving him.
	Legolas was far down, but for a moment Glorfindel’s gaze was 
drawn to the rope. It would give away soon. He urged the Nazgul faster.
	Legolas released the ring.
	The rope snapped.
	‘Vaad, save him!’ Elrohir shrieked.
	Glorfindel’s light flashed forth and he screamed in agony and fear. 
There was no more time for debate.
	He plummeted, urging the Ringwraith faster and faster. He reached 
out his hand, and seized Legolas’s wrist, dragging him up. The force 
almost pulled him off the creature’s back.
	His light shone brilliantly, and Legolas cast a shield around them 
as the lava began to bubble. They shot upward, the Nazgul screaming its 
protests, but it was no longer able to control its movements. Legolas 
controlled its muscles, and Glorfindel’s light clawed at its mind.
	Then they were up over the top, and Legolas yanked Glorfindel off 
the dying, vanishing Nazgul. They tumbled to the stony earth.
	Legolas pulled Glorfindel up- the elf-lord was in a daze- and they 
sprinted away. Legolas knew they’d never outrun the magma, and yet he 
ran. If they could just make it to the cliff…
	Twenty yards away, Legolas could see the cliff that stood on the 
edge of the water. It was fifty feet high, but Legolas judged it was better to 
die in the water than to die under fire. He pushed himself on, and clung 
desperately to Glorfindel’s wrist.
	They were only a dozen feet from the cliff’s edge when the 
volcano blew. The hot wind pushed up over the cliff’s edge, and they 
dropped into the water.
	When he hit the water, Legolas’s first thought was, ‘*I did it, 
Aragorn. I hope you can feel it. I’ll see you in the Land-*’
	Then his head broke the surface, and he felt someone tugging at his 
hand. He glanced in surprise at Glorfindel’s terrified expression, and then 
they began to swim.
	‘*We’ll never make it,*’ Legolas thought despairingly, and yet he 
swam. ‘*The ash alone will kill us.*’
	The earth behind them was roaring, and the waves were huge, but 
because of the shock-wave in the earth and in the ocean floor caused by 
the rush of magma, the tide reversed itself for a few moments, and the 
waves carried the elves away from the danger. They choked and gasped, 
being pulled under then forced to the surface again and again.
	Gradually, the ocean calmed, and Legolas was shocked to find he 
was still alive. He glanced to his right, realizing he’d lost Glorfindel’s 
hand, and saw the elf-lord struggling on beside him.
	There was a sudden rumbling sound coming from very close by, 
and Legolas dreaded what might be coming. He glanced up, and gawped 
at the Coast Guard boat which was slowing down to pull alongside them.
	When they were both on the deck, wrapped in blankets, an officer 
demanded, “What were you doing?”
	Legolas had felt giddy with relief, but now a sense of urgency 
overtook him, and he cursed himself for not remembering all that his 
powers could do. Without answering the man, he turned to Glorfindel and 
spoke quickly. “*I have a way to get us home, if you don’t mind an 
unconventional way of traveling.
	“What are they speaking? That’s not English!” exclaimed a 
yeoman. 
	Legolas could see in Glorfindel’s eyes that the elf felt the same 
urgency. “*Whatever if takes, Legolas.*”
	Legolas grasped Glorfindel’s hand and closed his eyes. ‘*I hope I 
get this right…*’ But there was no time for second thoughts. He sang.
“*Travel east and travel west,
Wind you journey everywhere.
Take me to Gandalf,
Who is within your sight.*”
	Some elves, such as Glorfindel, knew songs to take them to other 
worlds, but only elven sorcerers could sing themselves from place to place 
within one world.
	They vanished, and several of the crewmen on that ship would 
have to go into military-provided therapy for a while after the incident. 
The doctors labeled it “seamen’s madness,” which comes from too many 
days on the waves, and the tours of duty throughout the entire United 
States Coast Guard were shortened.

Chapter Fifty-One

	Halbarad saw the army coming before Aaron did. His eyes 
widened, and he felt a cold thrill rush through him. “They’re coming,” he 
whispered, and Aaron followed his gaze, squinting a little.
	“They’re all marching,” Halbarad murmured. “That doesn’t mean 
there aren’t ghosts among them, but maybe it’s possible. Come, we must 
tell Aragorn.” Then he shook his head. “No. I’ll stay and see what types 
they are; you tell him.”
***
	His Rangers, and some he wished he had as Rangers in his 
lifetime, were gathered around Aragorn. They’d all listened to his little 
speech. The elves, dwarves, Men and Ents were fathered behind them. 
They, too, had listened.
	‘I wish the war was over so I could take all these for a long 
journey, one fraught with unexpected perils and joys.’
	“Aragorn! Aragorn!”
	He glanced up, and saw Aaron rushing towards him. The urgency 
in his eyes and voice made Aragorn’s stomach tense. Aaron landed, and 
exclaimed, “The Enemy is coming! She has a huge army!”
	“Where’s Halbarad?” Aragorn asked, knowing the man had been 
keeping watch.
	“He’s trying to figure out who they are and how many they be.”
	‘Good.’ He felt grateful for the large, grassy area they’d chosen to 
set up in. There were very few such areas in the city. Aragorn gestured 
towards the elves. “Bowmen to the fore! Shield-bearers with short swords 
just in front of them. Rangers with bows, stand behind the elves. All those 
with axes, stand behind the archers. Those with swords and knives, go 
behind them. Ents, I want a third of you on the left flank, a third on the 
right, and the rest as rearguard.” This he had already arranged with 
Treebeard and Quickbeam. “The rest, stand in a semi-circle with the shield 
wall on the outside. Go!”
	They moved efficiently, Aragorn noted before turning back to 
Aaron. “Go call those from the hotel.”
	Aragorn turned and scanned his troops. He spotted Haldir, and 
whistled what he and Legolas had dubbed the Lothlorien Alarm. Haldir 
flew to his side. “*Go join Halbarad in his spying. Come back as soon as 
you may.*”
	Five minutes later, Aragorn moved to join the elves, drawing his 
sword. He stood between Elladan and Celeborn. He’d donned his silver 
and black armor, and knew this made him very conspicuous. He wore it so 
his troops would know where he was, and it mattered not at all that the 
enemies would be able to see him as well.
	He wished fleetingly for Legolas’s company, then turned his mind 
to more immediate matters.
***
	Eldrida had sent three orcs, more than enough, she thought, to deal 
with Elrond, Kyra and the hobbits. All the orcs had to do was capture the 
hobbits, and the other two would surrender.
	Elrond heard the orcs coming long before they rounded the corner 
inside the building, and so he and the others were prepared.
	Merry and Sam fell on one orc, and Sam bashed it in the back of its 
neck with both of his fists. Merry grabbed a knife, which was big as a 
short sword to him, from the orc’s belt as the creature staggered under the 
blow. He stabbed the scaly thing above its shoulder blades, where no 
armor protected it. ‘You’d think they would have changed their armor 
after all these years,’ he thought as he and Sam rolled away from the dying 
orc.
	Kyra had kicked her orc high on its inner right thigh, where the 
armor was weak. As the orc fell forward, she chopped at its neck with 
powerful hands. It fell, unconscious. She pulled its sword from its 
nerveless fingers and cut off its head. The sword felt far too light, and she 
wished fervently for an axe.
	Elrond crept up behind his orc, ripped the helmet off, and boxed its 
ears soundly. One of the orc’s hands swung back, and grazed Elrond’s 
shoulder, but the elf refused to back down. He hit the orc above its 
shoulder blades, and as the enemy reeled from the blow, he slew it with 
one firm blow to its exposed temple. As the orc fell, the elf-lord wiped his 
bloodied hands on his pants.
	“Let’s go,” he said to the others, and they fell into step behind him.
	Once they were outside, they were in a position to watch the last of 
the army march away. But on the font steps, Merry froze. “Elrohir!” he 
exclaimed, grabbing Elrond’s arm. “He’s still trapped!”
	Elrond shook his head, and a shadow passed over his features. “I 
can’t feel him anymore, Merry. He’s gone.” He bowed his head for a 
moment. “He’s been gone for over an hour.”
	Merry stared at him in horror. “He can’t be dead!” he screeched 
finally, and the hobbit felt suddenly faint with terror and grief. “He can’t 
be dead!”
	Elrond didn’t answer at once. He feared Elrohir was worse than 
dead. “We must fight now, Merry. He will be waiting in the Land of the 
Dead.”
	Merry groaned, and Sam put his arm around the hobbit’s 
shoulders. They stood like that for a moment, then Merry straightened, and 
his eyes blazed so fiercely an orc might have feared to fight him. “Then 
let’s fight.”
	Elrond led them the long way around, so that the army wouldn’t 
see or hear them. They made better time than the army, since they weren’t 
burdened with anything more than the weapons they’d taken from the 
orcs, and thus reached their friends and safety a full five minutes ahead of 
the enemy.
***
	In the hotel room, Elladan was singing quietly, holding his 
brother’s hand. They were the only ones in the room; the others had gone 
out to join Aragorn. He’d wished at first that Glorfindel was there, but 
then he’d given up. ‘*I’m the only one here now. I’ll have to do the best I 
can.*’
	He was rubbing Elrohir’s hard orc-shoulders with his other hand. 
At least his brother wasn’t struggling anymore. “*Elrohir, you’re safe 
now. It’s all right. Come back to me.*”
	The orc grunted, and Elrohir moaned.
	“*I’m here. Come back to the light.*”
	Elladan closed his eyes. ‘*Please, come back. I don’t want to lose 
you.*’

Chapter Fifty-Two

	Eldrida spoke to her most trusted companion. They would be 
engaging their enemies in less than five minutes, but first she had an 
errand to accomplish. She’d been enraged to discover that Aragorn still 
walked the earth, and yet she had the perfect weapon to meet him. For this 
reason, she didn’t fear him. The only thing that bothered her was that she 
hadn’t sensed him earlier. But she wouldn’t think about that curious 
weakness right now. She didn’t need her senses to kill her enemies now; 
they would be right in front of her. “I can feel he’s here, somewhere. 
Don’t attack him yet. Wait until he’s separated from his friends, if that’s 
possible. They’ll give him too much help.”
	Tragel smiled. “I know his weaknesses, My Lady. Don’t worry 
about me. Aragorn will go to Helle before this day is half-over.”
	She smiled. Here, at least, was one she could trust and believe. 
Tragel never broke his word to her. True, he was only really useful for one 
task, but that was one task her Nazgul, orcs and men couldn’t manage. 
“Go, and watch for your chance.”
	He left her, and she turned her mind to the destruction of the 
others. She hoped Tragel would get his opportunity very soon. She needed 
to break their morale as quickly as possible.
	Eldrida gestured to her orcs and Uruk-hai. “You will attack first,” 
she told them. They were the greatest in number, and knew more about 
fighting those of Middle-Earth then the peace-enforcers did. To the men, 
she said, “You’ll wait a little. Your bullets may hurt our own people.”
	The men grumbled, but backed up.
	Eldrida herself led the orcs and Uruk-hai over the rise, and then 
she was face to face with her enemies, and she felt her anger and fear rise 
in equal measure. The army of her enemies stood at least ten thousand 
strong. Swallowing her fear, letting her anger drive her, she shouted, 
“Charge!”
***
	Odan felt the prickle of pain slip up his legs. He glanced down in 
surprise, and saw that his legs were disappearing. The pain intensified. He 
staggered, and fell to his knees, only to have those disintegrate as well. He 
held himself up by his arms, and rasped, “Eldrida!”
	She wasn’t nearby, but she’d always heard him before.
      She didn’t come.
      The pain began to fade and his body had stopped fading. He 
glanced down, and saw that he was missing below the waist. IF he’d been 
anything other than one of the Valar, this sight would have made him 
throw up.
      There was no need to wonder why he was suddenly crippled. 
‘Eldrida’s ring has been destroyed. The Nazgul won’t be returning.’ He 
didn’t know why they’d been sent, only that Eldrida was filled with a 
jealous anger. This he’d had experience with, though she’d been cheating 
on another to get him, Odan.
      He groaned. ‘She was cheating on me… with someone… not a 
Valar, since we’re the only two left.’ Odan dropped his head to the 
ground. ‘And he angered her somehow; he’s the one she sent the Nazgul 
after.’
      It should have hurt more that she didn’t love him, that he’d given 
up so much for her, but instead he was simply angry with himself. ‘I was a 
fool. She wanted me, because I had no scruples, and I came to her 
willingly, like an obedient dog. What I fool I am! And now it’s too late. 
Someone will find me here and kill me.’ He shuddered a little. He 
remembered what Iluvatar, the creator of the Valar, had told them when 
they were young. “If you die, you will come back to me.” Well, Manwe, 
Aule, Vannara and the rest had died, and they’d gone back to him gladly, 
but Odan feared his return. Surely he would be punished, maybe even as 
Melkor, master of Sauron, had been.
***
	The enemies came over the breast of the hill. It was almost 
comforting to see orcs and Uruk-hai marching towards them, holding 
swords, knives and bows, because at least the people of Middle-Earth had 
dealt with them before.
      Aragorn raised his sword. “*Ready!*” Every Elven bow was 
drawn back. The men, just behind them, stood with their bows raised, also, 
but waited for the elves to fire their quivers empty. Then the men would 
take over while the dwarves and hobbits passed more arrows to the elves 
from a large store in the center of the army.
      “*Fire!*” Aragorn shouted, and the TWANG of two hundred sixty 
bows being released as one thrilled al those who heard. Some were 
terrified, and others exalted.
      Most of the orc-arrows hit the shields. But the others pierced elves, 
and yet the elves didn’t fall. Weapons of this world couldn’t defeat them. 
They laughed at their foes and fired another round.
	Aragorn glanced to his left, and saw the fury in Haldir’s eyes. 
Fighting orcs was where he was meant to be, that gaze said. Then 
something happened to Haldir’s eyes, and then to his face, and finally to 
his whole body. He had become flesh and blood. ‘*What the hell-?*’
	“It’s the Valar!” Gandalf roared from where he’d appeared at 
Aragorn side. “They’ve turned you all mortal so that orc weapons will 
affect you!”
	“Except me,” Aragorn answered. Why would the Valar let him 
stay a ghost, when he couldn’t be hurt by orc blades or arrows?
	Aragorn was tempted to retreat, but instead he shouted, “Hold the 
shield wall! If at all possible, hold it!” Without turning, he released a 
whistle.
	“Pwooo-whit! Pwoo-whit! Pwoo-whit!”
	It was a summoning whistle, and Aragorn found Halbarad (who 
had returned two minutes ahead of the enemy, with Haldir beside him) at 
his side a minute or so later. “Tell the Ents to come forward. We’re going 
to need them sooner than expected. Have Elendil ready the Rangers for 
hand-to-hand battle.”
	The orcs were getting closer. Soon they would be close enough for 
swords. Elves were falling at his side, but one elf fell for every four orcs 
killed.
	Then someone grabbed his shoulder, and he was yanked high into 
the air. Twisting, he stared up in horror at the laughing elf.
	Tragel flew away, dragging Aragorn after him. The Ranger was 
too shocked at first to react, and when he at last tried, he found his arms 
bound tightly to his sides by strong ropes. He kicked out, but Tragel 
avoided his helpless flailing. He carried Aragorn away from the battle.
***
	Haldir started to lower his bow as Aragorn was carried away.
	“No!” Gandalf shouted. “Keep shooting. We can’t fall back.”
	Haldir obeyed, but his eyes were hard with fear.
	Whispers traveled through the ranks, and soon everyone knew 
Aragorn was gone, taken by a flying demon. Fear spread, especially 
among the younger Rangers and the men of Gondor, who had only ever 
followed Aragorn, and no one else, into battle. Elendil called to them, 
trying to keep them together, but at first they ignored him.
	The elves rallied around Gil-galad, and shouted their defiance at 
their enemies. The Ents roared and rushed forward, helping the elves, 
since the shield wall had broken. The elves had started to use their swords, 
as the orcs swarmed against them, laughing and roaring their defiance.
	Gimli growled when he heard about Aragorn being kidnapped. His 
eyes flashed, and he led the other dwarves against the orcs with a roar.
***
	Eldrida growled. They’d lost too many orcs and Uruk-hai. She 
could tell that Tragel had taken Aragorn, and though her enemies were 
disturbed by his disappearance, they were holding together much better 
than she’d expected. She gestured to her men. “Attack!” she roared, and 
the men who had guns drew them and opened fire. They mowed down 
several orcs, but also began killing elves, dwarves and men immediately.
	Eldrida left them to their own devices. She was about to transport 
herself to another location, deep inside the enemy army, where she could 
cause much confusion, when she felt a strange tingling all over her body. 
She looked down, but nothing was amiss. She vanished, and reappeared in 
the midst of Aragorn’s army, but no one noticed her. They were fighting 
off the orcs, shouting encouragements and warnings to one another. She 
grabbed at a dwarf as he rushed past, but her hand passed through him.
	Then she understood. ‘The ring! The ring! That son of a troll’s ass 
destroyed my ring!’ The knowledge that Odan was now crippled, and 
probably would be killed soon, either trampled by his own people or killed 
by their enemies, never crossed her mind. She cursed, and wondered why 
she had allowed herself to become so reliable on the existence of the ring. 
It now seemed more than stupid.
	‘And my Ringwraiths are gone, too,’ she mourned.
	Well, there was still plenty of damage she could do without being 
visible. She might not be able to touch anyone with her hands, but her 
power was still very strong. She released a torrent of energy, which caught 
two dwarves, and killed them instantly. They didn’t fall to the ground, but 
exploded. Others turned in that direction, and she let several more of them 
have it with her powers.
***
	Kyra saw the female Valar kill the two dwarves, and her blood 
boiled. Roaring like water bursting a dam, she attacked Eldrida from 
behind, using the power from her own ring. The first blow caught Eldrida 
off guard, and she staggered. Kyra hit her again, still bellowing her 
dwarven battle-cry.
	Other dwarves heard her and rallied around her. Eldrida cast a 
quick look at all of them, and left. Kyra had been able to feel her because 
of her sorcerer powers, and so she felt Eldrida leave as well.
	Gasping and swearing in true dwarf-fashion, she told those around 
her to regroup and attack the orcs and men that were rushing upon them.
***
	There was no time for a joyful reunion, and so the four hobbits 
(and Nehre, who Frodo spoke for, not explaining, but merely asking for 
trust) settled for grinning at each other and then turning to defend 
themselves. They stood back to back, protecting each other, and in this 
way they slew several orcs and one Uruk-hai. They were well behind the 
front lines, and yet some of the orcs had circled around and were attacking 
from the rear.
	“These things used to be a lot smarter,” Pippin shouted as he and 
Merry stepped back from another fallen orc.
	“No, you’ve just finally gained some brains!” Frodo teased. He 
was using Sting, but Sam felt better with his pots and simply bashed the 
heads of any orcs that came too near.
	“Did we used to actually be afraid of these things?” Merry 
laughed. He had sustained one cut, but didn’t seem to feel it at all. After 
the stab from the Nazgul King, it felt like a pin prick.
	Pippin snorted with laughter as Sam, using one of his pans like a 
tennis racquet, hit an orc right in the face. Blood sprayed from the orc’s 
broken nose, and it blundered forward, trying to seize Sam. Nehre stepped 
behind it and stuck a sword he’d picked up from another orc right through 
its back.
	Merry howled, showing himself to be every bit the bold 
Brandybuck he was, and launched a knife into the throat of a man who 
towered nearly three feet above his head. The man had been brandishing a 
gun, but he was clearly out of bullets because he’d been trying to use the 
weapon as a club.
	Cheerfully, shouting encouragement and laughing at the tops of 
their voices, they fought on.
***
	Legolas and Glorfindel appeared beside Elrond, and the older elf 
almost dropped his sword. He’d been trying to help Elendil and Halbarad 
hold the Rangers together. The men of Gondor would listen only to Saru, 
and so the young man, though he hadn’t fought in more than two or three 
battles, found himself in charge of them. The men of Rohan still stolidly 
followed Eomer, and those few of Ithilien followed Faramir and Eowyn, 
who had once again become a shield-maiden, though this time with the 
blessings of both her brother and husband. She joined the battle, not with 
the desire to win praise through valor, but simply with the wish to fight 
beside her husband and help defend all that they believed in. With this 
thought in her heart, she was more deadly on the field of war than she had 
been even during the battle of the Pelannor Fields.
	“*Where’s Aragorn?*” “*Where is Elrohir?*” They demanded at 
the same time.
	Elrond answered, never taking his eyes off the approaching orcs, 
“*Elrohir is with Elladan, recovering from an injury.*” Gandalf had told 
him this. “*Aragorn has been captured, but I do not know who took 
him.*”
	“Tragel,” Elendil told Legolas as he fought through the melee to 
get to them. “*You must find him, Legolas; Aragorn needs you.*”
	Legolas didn’t ask questions, though chief among them was, 
‘*How did Tragel get here? He should be in Helle!*’ Instead, he nodded 
and disappeared, flying high into the air. Only away from the battle would 
he be able to feel Tragel’s presence. He searched for nearly ten minutes 
before he picked up his uncle’s trail.

Book Five: The Last Battle, and Afterward
Chapter Fifty-Three

	The guns the men carried killed hundreds of their enemies. Elves, 
men and dwarves fell before them, until the Ents intervened. The bullets 
could not kill them; the bullets hurt, but this only angered the Ents. 
Quickbeam picked up three men, and snapped them like twigs. He 
squashed several others with his enormous root-feet. All who could got 
behind the Ents. The damage had been done, though; two thousand were 
dead by the guns. Still, with the Ents in the fore, the army from Middle 
Earth began to make progress.
	Kyra could still sense Eldrida, but she was far away. The sorceress 
turned her mind to Legolas, and felt him flying far away, and getting 
further even as she felt him. He was following a trail, and she could feel 
his mind was focused on only one thing: Aragorn.
	Feeling worried, Kyra looked around for Elrond. Maybe, if the ring 
was really Legolas’s, she should take it to him. Wherever Aragorn was, he 
must be in danger, and Legolas was too focused to protect himself wisely.
	A roar distracted her, and she watched as a dozen orcs pounded 
towards her. One of them was holding a small, struggling hobbit in his 
arms. No; that wasn’t quite right. The hobbit- she could see now that it 
was Merry- had stabbed the orc in its throat, and the enraged creature was 
trying to rip Merry off.
	Kyra shouted, “Merry, let go!”
	Merry trusted her voice, and dropped to the ground. She 
immediately blasted the orc with her powers. The other orcs, seeing she 
was more dangerous than she looked, retreated hastily.
	She moved towards him, but he was staggering to his feet. “I’m all 
right. He was trying to stab Gimli, and I had to stop him somehow.”
	He was bleeding badly, and Kyra said firmly, “Come with me. You 
need to be healed.”
	Merry glanced at his torn arm and his bloodied hands. “All right.”
	Kyra took him to the elves. One of them, a stranger to her, backed 
away from the battle a little and quickly healed Merry. While this was 
happening, Kyra at last spotted Elrond. He was fighting alongside 
Glorfindel and Celeborn.
	“Elrond!” she shouted, killing two men to get to him, “where are 
the rings?”
	Elrond felt in his pocket with one hand and continued to use his 
sword expertly with the other. “They’re gone,” he told her. “They 
probably went with those that needed them.” He disarmed an Uruk-hai as 
he spoke. “Don’t worry; just fight.”
	She sighed in exasperation. There was a part of her that understood 
why women shouldn’t fight; they thought of things differently than men, 
worrying about their friends, while males, or so it seemed to her, simply 
focused on the task at hand, killing as though they couldn’t stop.
	Eldrida was still far away, and so Kyra turned her efforts back to 
the orcs.
***
	Gimli, who had been driven away from the other dwarves by the 
battle, and was now standing in a small, clear space, stared at the ring on 
his finger. He didn’t know where it had come from, and at first he was 
afraid, thinking that it might be Her ring. He glanced around, but no one 
was paying attention to him. He took the ring off and studied it. It was of 
fine make, a ruby inset in a thick gold band which was engraved with 
dwarven and elven writing. He could read both languages by now and read 
the words carefully. In Dwarvish were written the words Use me to bind 
grace and beauty to strength and hope. Something close to these words 
had been inscribed on a hundred Dwarven hammers: Use me to bind 
beauty to strength. Gimli wondered about the addition of the words grace 
and hope. The old saying had been used to describe the forging of metals 
into wonderfully beautiful objects. This seemed to have nothing to do with 
metal or gem-craft.
	The Elvish writing said simply, Stranger from another race, save 
the elves and men. ‘<Well, I am certainly from another race. Maybe this 
ring is meant to be mine.>’
	Gimli had no more time to think, however. The men of Eldrida 
were starting to overpower the elves, men and dwarves of Aragorn’s army. 
The Ents couldn’t catch all of them. Gimli put the ring back on his finger 
and lifted his axe to attack the nearest men. They were too tall for him, 
and so he was at a disadvantage, but he managed to cripple several of 
them by chopping at their knees and upper thighs. And every gun that was 
dropped he crushed in his hand.
	‘<Gimli. Gimli, can you hear me?>’
	The strange voice came from inside his mind, and Gimli froze. No 
one came near him, as if sensing something.
	‘<Who are you?>’ he asked cautiously. It wouldn’t do for a dwarf 
to be caught talking to himself. He analyzed the voice, but couldn’t match 
it with any he knew.
	‘<I am a friend. Do you want to know the meaning of that ring you 
wear?>’
	Gimli felt immediately distrustful. Whoever this was, he or she 
hadn’t immediately answered his question, one reason, at least, for 
suspicion. Also, the person seemed to be watching him. ‘<Who are you?>’
	‘<I am a friend, Gimli. Please be content with that for now. Let me 
tell you of the ring.>’
	‘<Tell me who you are or get out of my head!>’
	‘<You are meant to join Aragorn and Legolas together, except they 
have both abandoned you. Aragorn has left, and Legolas has gone off to 
find him. He doesn’t even spare one thought for you. Didn’t they promise 
never to leave you?>’
	‘<Aragorn was captured.>’ He cursed himself. ‘<Why am I telling 
this person anything?>’
	‘<I can hear each of your thoughts, Gimli. Don’t worry about 
hiding anything from me; I just want to help you. If Aragorn was captured, 
then maybe he hasn’t forgotten you, but Legolas certainly has. His only 
thought is for Aragorn.>’
	‘<As it has always been,>’ Gimli thought before he could stop 
himself.
	‘<Yes, that’s true. You’re the fifth wheel, Gimli, but, worse than 
that, they wouldn’t even be honest with you and tell you they didn’t 
care.>’
	Gimli struggled for a moment. He didn’t believe her, but her words 
whispered through his mind. ‘<Legolas left you here… His only concern 
is Aragorn; it always has been. You admitted it yourself.>’
	‘<Even though the ring is supposed to bind elves and men 
together, Aragorn and Legolas obviously don’t need you. Maybe a way to 
bind elves and men is to forget those two and concentrate on helping 
others. Maybe the Rangers could use your help.>’
	“Gimli!” A loud voice interrupted his tormented thoughts. “Gimli, 
stop it!”
	He shook his head, and at first the fog wouldn’t leave his mind. He 
hadn’t realized he was in a fog, and this realization made him fight against 
it, but it held him down.
	‘<Please, don’t worry, Gimli. Just use your ring to help others.>’
	“Gimli, listen to me! Stop attacking him! Gimli, stop, stop, stop!”
	A light pierced the fog, and Gimli blinked at the fallen body before 
him.
	‘<Ignore him, Gimli. Use your ring to help the Rangers.>’
	Gimli felt a terrible surge of power leave his hand, and he heard a 
scream. He fought against the fog, and at last struggled free a little more. 
A dwarf was curled at his feet, twitching, and huddling into himself. Gimli 
didn’t recognize him, but, he realized, feeling sickened, part of that could 
be do to the fact that the Dwarf’s face was burned, and resembled nothing 
so much as a lightening-struck tree.
	“Gimli!” a voice was still shouting very close by, and at last Gimli 
turned to see his mother beside him.
	He shuddered, and forced the fog completely off. Glancing down, 
he saw that his hand was pointed right at the charred dwarf. His stomach 
gave another lurch. His ring was glowing fiercely. Groaning, covering his 
mouth, he lowered his hand. His mother was kneeling beside the prone 
dwarf, and she was shaking her head.
	Glancing up, she whispered, “<He’s dead.>” She bowed her head 
for a moment. “<What happened?>” She restrained herself from yelling at 
her son, or making any accusations.
	Gimli answered, “<I didn’t mean it…>” This sounded extremely 
weak, and he added, “<I couldn’t tell I was doing it. Someone was talking 
to me in Dwarvish; I’m not sure who it was. He or she said this ring was 
meant to help others, elves and men, get closer together. She told me to 
help the Rangers with it.>”
	Kyra frowned, thinking. “<Tell me everything that happened,>” 
she urged.
	‘<I don’t want to tell her about Aragorn and Legolas…>’
	‘<You don’t have to tell her…>’ tempted that voice again.
	The fog was surrounding him again, and he fought it, crying out in 
rage.
	“Gimli!” Kyra shook him hard, and dragged down his ring-hand, 
which had begun to rise. Finally, her son, gasping and sweating, looked up 
at her. He groaned.
	“<What do you need to tell me, Gimli?>”
	‘<It’s strange how a mother always knows.>’ Gimli relaxed a little, 
comforted by her love. “<She said Aragorn and Legolas have forgotten 
me, that I’m the fifth wheel.>” He looked away for a moment, then sighed. 
“<And sometimes I feel that its true.>”
	Kyra tried to put everything together that her son had said. Before 
she could speak, however, a roar distracted her, and she glanced sideways, 
remembering suddenly that they were in the middle of a battle. “Stay with 
me, Gimli; fight beside me, and if anything feels off, even a little bit, get 
my attention. I’ll be keeping my eyes on you.>” She jumped back into the 
battle, and Gimli followed, looking suspiciously at his ring. ‘<Did I do 
that? Did I kill him?>’
	‘<Yes, and if you want to fix it->’
	“<Shut up!>” Gimli snapped, and no fog entered his mind.

Chapter Fifty-Four

	Elendil had left the Rangers for a while, confident that Halbarad 
and Aaron could hold them together. Saru was doing remarkably well with 
his new position as leader of the men of Gondor. This was due, in part, to 
Saru’s bravery, Elendil knew, but also due to the fact that Eomer stood 
close at his side. Feeling confidence in his men, and in Eomer’s protection 
of the young son of Aragorn, Elendil had slipped through the battle 
towards the elves, to see how Gil-galad was handling things.
	Many of the elves had fallen, since they’d been right on the front 
line, but those who could still stand remained courageously at Gil-galad’s 
side. Elendil fought to stand near his friend.
	“*How are the men holding up?*” Gil-galad shouted, hitting an orc 
across its face with the flat of his sword. The orc howled, and tried to claw 
at Gil-galad, and received a stab in its throat for its trouble.
	“*They’re managing well.*”
      “*Any news of Aragorn?*” Gil-galad pursued.
	“*Legolas has gone after him.*”
	Gil-galad nodded. “*Who took him?*”
	“Tragel.” Elendil cut a hand off an attacking man, and opened his 
windpipe.
	Gil-galad grimaced. “*He’ll need all the help Legolas can give 
him. He hasn’t recovered fully from Tragel, I don’t think.*”
	Elendil nodded. Then a curious tickling sensation ran through his 
middle, and he glanced down. There was a long, serrated blade sticking 
through his chest. The curiously giddy sensation increased. He raised his 
head, and saw Gil-galad staring at him.
	Gil-galad chopped an orc’s head off as he rushed to Elendil’s side 
and caught him. Elendil could feel himself sinking to the ground. He 
couldn’t understand why he was falling, and why he was starting to feel 
numb. 
	“Elendil!” Gil-galad’s voice was coming from very far away.
	The numbness was spreading, and Elendil couldn’t stay on his feet 
any longer. Gil-galad was completely supporting him now. He forced his 
eyes to focus as his mind finally understood that he was dying. “Gil…”
	The elf held him gently. “*Shh… It’s all right. It’s all right.*”
	There was wetness on Gil-galad’s cheeks and Elendil tried to speak 
again. “*Don’t cry…*” he pleaded. He coughed, and then the world 
spiraled away from him, leaving him in darkness.
***
	Gil-galad rose stiffly. Someone brushed against him, and he 
glanced up dazedly. Haldir was defending him, guarding his back. Gil-
galad glanced back down at Elendil, then struggled to his feet. Haldir 
glanced at him, then stepped aside so Gil-galad could fight beside him.
	“*He’s safer than we are,*” Haldir tried to comfort the older elf.
	Gil-galad vowed, “*When I find our Enemy, I’ll slaughter her 
myself.*” He high-kicked an orc so hard in its neck that it was dead before 
it hit the ground.
	Very soon, the orcs began staying away from Gil-galad and the 
elves nearest him because he was so furious. He killed twenty-three of the 
enemy in fifteen minutes.
***
	He found Odan, but figured the dying Valar wouldn’t be of much 
help. Still, maybe there was something he could learn. He’d spent nearly 
an hour searching, while the battle continued in all its fury around him.
	Elrond rolled the Valar over. Odan stared up at him helplessly. He 
didn’t seem afraid of Elrond, but maybe that was because, though his pain, 
he didn’t recognize him. Elrond shook him hard. “Tell me about Eldrida,” 
he demanded. Even as he made his order, Elrond knew he had no power 
over this dying creature, unless maybe it was in revenge. For Eldrida had 
not come to tend him. “I’ll kill her for you if you tell me about the ring. 
What did it do for her? What power does she have left?”
	Odan coughed; there was no question about it- he was going to die 
soon. “Why?”
	Elrond snarled. “Tell me about her,” he repeated.
	At last Odan seemed to see him, and to realize that sidestepping 
the question wouldn’t aid him in any way. Neither would talking, but he 
needed sympathy from someone. Maybe this elf-lord could talk to Iluvatar 
on his behalf. Odan’s mind was half-gone already, and there was no way 
he was thinking clearly. “In the ring… her ability to have physical form… 
extra power, for quicker speed on this earth, the ability to send her mind in 
fifty directions instead of just ten… But… she’s lost power too. There’s a 
lot she can’t do now that she could…. Before….” He closed his eyes. 
“Beg Iluva…. Beg him for me… beg him for my life…”
	He shuddered, then lay still. He passed out of the physical world, 
out of the Valar-created spiritual world, to the first world, where he had 
been made. His body evaporated.
      Elrond frowned, then stood. So, Eldrida had less power now, but 
still possessed enough to challenge them. Had someone taken her power? 
If not, how could she lose it?
      He sighed, realizing he would probably never know the answers to 
these questions, and headed back into the battle. For whatever reason, no 
one had come upon him while he listened to Odan, and for this Elrond was 
grateful.
***
      Tragel was caressing Aragorn’s hip through his clothing. Using his 
powers, which he’d gained when Eldrida had made him a demon, he’d 
bound Aragorn to a bed he’d conjured out of thin air. Aragorn had 
struggled at first, but as Tragel bent to lick one of his trembling hands, 
he’d gone rigid and been unable to move.
	Tragel began to rub his fingers up and down Aragorn’s right arm. 
He then caught Aragorn’s hand in his and began to stroke his palm. This 
was a secret place of stimulation Elendil had passed on to his descendents, 
though the caress would only have affected Aragorn if he was already 
aroused. Still, it was terrible to be petted by an enemy, and Aragorn 
winced as Tragel bent to kiss his palm. A plea rose to Aragorn’s lips, but 
he restrained it. ‘*I won’t give into him,*’ he thought furiously, thinking 
in Elvish because it gave him strength. Thinking in that language always 
reminded him of growing up in Rivendell, and also of Legolas.
	This was the way Tragel had wanted to kill Aragorn when he and 
the Ringwraith had been sent by Eldrida. He delighted in taking as much 
pleasure from the man as possible before raping him. That would be the 
final climax, and Tragel wanted to revel in Aragorn’s fear as long as he 
could.
	Looking up, Tragel smiled at Aragorn’s frozen expression of 
terror. He reached out, stroking Aragorn’s cheek, and moved as though to 
kiss him. Aragorn snapped his head to the right and bit Tragel’s finger as 
hard as he could. He refused to let go, even when Tragel screamed and 
cursed at him.
	Tragel punched Aragorn as hard as he could in the Ranger’s balls.
	Aragorn’s stomach contracted and he let go of Tragel’s fingers. He 
couldn’t breathe. Fire ran up from his groin, and he longed to curl into a 
tight ball and never move again.
	Tragel sucked at his bloodied fingers, but even as he healed them 
with his elven powers, he punched Aragorn again and again in his ribs. 
Aragorn moaned.
	“*You son of a troll!*” Tragel hit him once more, then stepped 
back, gasping. He took his fingers out of his mouth, and saw they were 
healed. He sucked in his breath sharply and stopped gasping. He couldn’t 
afford to show Aragorn how enraged and shocked he was. He’d thought 
Aragorn wasn’t in any condition to resist him.
`	When he was in control of himself, he approached Aragorn again, 
and smiled. “*Don’t fight me.*” He wanted to add, “*I’m your master 
now,*” but thought that was too much. He would break Aragorn with 
pain, not with words.
	“*You are not worthy to speak the language of the Firstborn!*” 
Aragorn growled, his voice still husky with suppressed pain.
	‘Maybe trying to stimulate him would work better,’ Tragel 
thought. ‘He isn’t afraid of pain; he’s a warrior, and a king.’ With a simple 
wave of his hand, Tragel stripped Aragorn’s clothes off. He got on top of 
him, careful to stay out of reach of the man’s teeth, and began rubbing 
against him.
	Aragorn stopped breathing for a moment as Fear assaulted him. 
After being attacked by Tragel the first time, Aragorn had had a few 
nightmares, and had started calling Tragel “Fear”. Giving his attacker such 
a general name made Aragorn feel stronger. ‘*I have conquered fear 
before,*’ he had thought fiercely. ‘*I will conquer this Fear as well.*’
	In that instant, however, Aragorn was in no mental condition to be 
giving himself a pep talk. His heart raced and his thoughts tumbled about 
like dropped firewood.
	Tragel smiled almost pleasantly and bent to lick Aragorn’s palm. 
His victim moaned and tried feebly to pull away. ‘There. The fight has 
gone out of you at last.’ He bit Aragorn’s hand, and licked away the blood 
he drew. Then he backed away again. He flicked his wrist, and Aragorn 
was turned onto his stomach, legs spread. Tragel came down between the 
Ranger’s legs and caressed his thighs.
	‘He’s going to rape me he’s going to rape me he’s-’
	‘Shut up!’ Strider bellowed. ‘Fight him!’
	‘*Fight,*’ Estel whispered, though the fear was in his voice.
	‘Damn it, Aragorn, don’t let this happen!’ Viggo shouted. ‘Fight 
him!’
	‘Fight!’
	‘Fight!’
	‘FIGHT!’
	Tragel pushed forward into Aragorn, a gasp of exhilaration 
escaping his lips.
	‘He’s raping m-aaa-’ “AAAHHHH!!” Aragorn jerked, first one 
way and then the other. He had squeezed his eyes shut, but when he 
opened them, he saw the edges of his vision graying out. ‘I’m dying…’
	“Fight, you ass!” Strider roared, and bucked as hard as he could.
	It seemed to Aragorn that he could hear Strider’s voice out loud. 
He bucked again, harder this time. The rope holding his right wrist 
snapped.
	Strider’s hand- or was it truly Aragorn’s as his mind united in fury 
and fear?- shot back and grabbed a fistful of Tragel’s hair. He yanked 
forward fiercely, desperately.
	Tragel came out of Aragorn with a cry of pain.
	Aragorn lost his hold, but immediately found another: Tragel’s ear. 
He pulled as hard as he could and refused to let go, even when Tragel 
went into him again. A male elf’s ear was not only a place of stimulation, 
but, like humans, it was a place of weakness. Aragorn savaged the ear, 
digging his nails into it, even as he worked to free his other hand. This 
rope wouldn’t snap, so he was getting at the knot with his teeth.
	His vision was beginning to grey out again, and it was getting hard 
to breathe.
      Tragel plunged into Aragorn again and again, but he was going 
less deep each time. His ear felt as though it would be ripped off. And still, 
part of Tragel’s mind didn’t want to kill Aragorn yet. He still thought he 
could turn this situation to his advantage. He didn’t want Aragorn to die 
while fighting!
      Tragel pulled out and hit Aragorn in the back of his head. Aragorn 
let go of Tragel’s ear, and unconsciousness took him.

Chapter Fifty-Five

	Elladan had nearly given up all hope of bringing Elrohir back. He 
continued to sing, but his voice was raspy, and his ears were filled with the 
sounds of war coming from outside the door to the hotel. The open space 
where the battle was being fought was less than a mile away. Maybe 
because his mind was elsewhere, Elladan didn’t notice the faint elven light 
that was coming into Elrohir’s orc-eyes. He sang on, half-listening to 
himself, and his heart sank. Elrohir was going to stay this way, and the 
only way to save him would be to kill him. In the Land of the Dead, at 
least, he would regain his true form.
	The sounds of battle seemed to be coming closer, but though 
Elladan hearkened to them, he didn’t know how close they were until 
three orcs charged through the door and into the room. Their nostrils were 
flared, and Elladan realized they’d smelled him. Orcs will eat any flesh, 
but elven flesh, since it is so sweet, and so hard to obtain, is a special 
delicacy. Elladan grabbed for his bow, which he’d settled on his back 
hours ago, but before he could fit an arrow to it, the orcs were upon him. 
They bore him to the floor, and slashed at his arms and face with their 
long-nailed fingers. One of them, the largest and smelliest of the three, bit 
into Elladan’s shoulder.
	Elladan struggled to get one of his arrows, hoping to use it like a 
knife, but the orcs held him down, and now the other two were taking bites 
out of him. He didn’t scream; he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of 
knowing he was afraid, or that he couldn’t keep silent because of a little 
pain. His fighting was growing weaker as blood flowed freely from 
several deep bites and swallow slashes.
	The biggest orc began licking at the blood on Elladan’s face; it was 
making loud smacking sounds, as though it were a rude diner enjoying a 
favorite meal. Elladan didn’t dare turn away from it; his ears would then 
be right in front of its mouth. He bared his teeth and blinked hard to keep 
the tears back.
	Suddenly, the big orc choked. Its eyes bulged and it clawed at its 
throat. Elladan forced his eyes to focus, and saw a short blade sticking 
through the creature’s throat. Even as he watched, the knife was 
withdrawn, and then the orc’s head was severed from its body by a 
double-edged sword.
	One of the other orcs had begun to rise from its task, but received 
the knife in its stomach for its trouble. The third showing great presence of 
mind, or great cowardice, and turned to run. This last one died with an 
arrow in its neck.
	The world was fading; Elladan couldn’t really feel his injuries 
anymore.
	A hideous face loomed over him, and calloused hands covered his 
wounded shoulder, which was easily the deepest, most serious bite.
      Elladan’s vision faded out for a moment, but something held him 
to consciousness. Gradually, the pain began to flow back, like a tide rising, 
but he welcomed it, knowing it was a sign that he was still alive. He clung 
to the pain, relishing each stab as it kept his mind awake.
      “*Don’t die,*” pleaded a gravelly voice.
      ‘*How can an orc speak Elvish?*’ he asked groggily. ‘*Why 
would an orc want to save me?*’ Elladan couldn’t answer, and he felt his 
consciousness slipping away with his life-blood despite his determination 
to live.
      “*Elladan, don’t go!*” the voice continued, and it sounded a little 
sweeter, though very tight. “*Stay with me!*”
      ‘*What voice…?*’ Elladan fought to clear his vision, but his eyes 
wouldn’t obey. He used his ears instead. He heard the sound of a heart 
beating, and he heard labored breathing. The breathing was harsh, but the 
breath on his face smelled sweet, like flowers after a warm, spring rain. 
‘*Elves smell like that…*’
      “*Stay with me, please, Elladan.*”
      Warmth was spreading from his shoulder down his arm. The pain 
there began to fade. ‘*No. I don’t want to die… not yet… I need to know 
who’s…. who’s helping me.*’
      Strangely, he didn’t feel as though he was dying, but his brain 
interpreted the reduction in pain as a sign of going into shock. The warmth 
continued to spread.
      A choked sob made Elladan’s chest tighten. Who was crying, and 
why? ‘*He wants me to live… whoever he is…*’ HE had no vaad, and so 
no name came to his mind.
      At last, as his body seemed to be falling away, as the pain faded, 
Elladan’s vision cleared. A dark-haired figure swam into view above him. 
“*Father?*” he husked.
      “*No, El, it’s me.*”
      ‘Elrohir…’ “*How?*”
      “*You’re the expert on healing, not me. I’m here, though. Just lay 
still. I need to stop your bleeding. It’s almost stopped… You’ve lost a lot, 
though.*” His hands moved to another place, and the warmth began there. 
“*Don’t talk anymore. It’s all right. They’re dead.*”
      Slowly, things began to form around him. Within five minutes, 
Elladan was struggling to sit up. Elrohir had collapsed beside him, 
gasping, sweating, weakened by the use of his powers. Elladan supported 
himself with one hand, and reaching out, tilted his brother’s soft, yet 
strong, elven chin up with the other. “Elrohir…” Happy tears gathered in 
his eyes, and he started to shake all over. Feeling dizzy with relief, he laid 
back on the floor, Elrohir laid down next to him, and Elladan brought him 
into a close, tight, relieved and overjoyed embrace. “Elrohir….”
      The younger twin grinned at him. “*You seem so happy to see me. 
Didn’t I make a good orc?*”
      Elladan cuffed him lightly.
      Fifteen minutes later, the sons of Elrond joined the battle.
***
	So, the dwarf wouldn’t bow to her will? Eldrida left Gimli, and 
entered the hobbit called Frodo. Immediately, though, she left him, before 
he could detect her. Frodo seemed too strong.
	She entered Merry, and found him too intelligent, and in 
possession of all his wits. Sam, likewise, with his fierce loyalty and 
courage, couldn’t, she thought, be coerced. She turned her mind away 
from Gollum, feeling that he would know her best of all, and maybe, 
remembering what he’d learned from the elves in the Land of the Dead, 
he’d be able to trap her.
	The youngest hobbit seemed to offer the best chance of control, 
though he was armed only with a short-sword, with which he might not be 
able to do that much damage. Still, she needed to get inside someone. 
Only in that way could she avoid Kyra.
***
	Pippin clubbed the nearest orc, and Billy exalted, ‘Very nice! He 
won’t be gettin’ up for a while!’
	Maybe it was Billy’s voice that spoke to him a few minutes later, 
as he and the other hobbits regrouped. There was a lull in the orcs 
approaching them, and they took full advantage of it. Frodo was cleaning 
Sting, and Sam had brought out a little bit of lembas and a flask of water, 
which he was passing around.
	‘I wish I was stronger. I wish I was still big. Being small doesn’t 
get me anywhere!’
	‘I just fought a battle, and I’ve been hurting orcs right and left!’ 
Pippin argued.
	‘Hurting them, yes, but how many have you killed?’
	Pippin frowned.
	‘Those that are hurt can still get up to fight. Or doesn’t that mean 
anything to you? At Helm’s Deep, remember, orcs who’d lain as if dead 
jumped up to grab Eomer.’
	Yes, he’d read that in the Lord of the Rings, in preparation for the 
movie, and also, he dimly remembered, Gimli had told him of it.
	‘What if others, elves or men or dwarves, come across these 
motionless orcs, and the orcs set upon them? You’d be responsible for 
their injuries and deaths.’
	Pippin didn’t have an answer for that.
	‘You must try to kill more fiercely. You must try to kill each foe.’
	‘But they’re so much bigger than me!’
	‘There’s one who’s just your size. Attack!’
	Pippin leapt and struck, and then other orcs were pulling him 
away. He flailed and stabbed another of them, though it was only a 
glancing blow in the arm. ‘Not good enough,’ he and the other voice 
thought simultaneously.
	“Pippin!”
	‘The other hobbits. Where are they?’
	‘The orcs must have them. Clear a path to them!’
	Pippin lifted his sword, preparing to strike again, but then his 
friends called again, and he thought, ‘They’re behind him.’ He twisted, 
trying to see Merry and the others. But he was held fast.
	“Pippin, what’s wrong with you?” cried Merry. “Stop fighting 
me!”
	‘I’m not, I’m fighting an orc!’
	‘Keep fighting!’ the other voice cried, but it didn’t sound like 
Billy’s anymore. It seemed almost to be female.
	Pippin stopped struggling to he could analyze the voice.
	‘No! You must fight! You must!’
	That was certainly not Billy’s voice. Pippin let his sword fall. Now 
the hands relaxed, and he saw Merry and Sam standing near him. He 
glanced around for Frodo, and saw him lying on the ground, with Nehre 
kneeling beside him. Frodo had been stabbed through his stomach, and eh 
was bleeding freely. Only then did Pippin’s brain register that Nehre was 
yelling at the top of his lungs: “Elves! Help! Frodo’s dying! Elves! 
ELVES!!” He had torn off his shirt, and was trying to stop the bleeding, 
but it was a losing battle.
	Someone pushed past Pippin, and then two elves (Arwen, and a 
stranger, Pippin realized) were kneeling beside Frodo, screening him from 
view. Merry, Sam and Nehre turned to Pippin.
	“What were you doing?” Sam shouted, barely restraining himself 
from punching Pippin.
	Pippin shook his head, shock settling over him, so that he could 
scarcely think. “I thought he was an orc. I thought you were all orcs. Billy- 
no, someone else, a woman, said you were orcs, that I needed to kill you, 
to protect the others, so that an attack like the one during the Helm’s Deep 
battle with Eomer wouldn’t happen.”
	They couldn’t follow his words, but Merry ignored all he didn’t 
understand and latched onto that he comprehended. “Pippin, how could 
you think we were orcs?”
	“Like I said,” Pippin exclaimed, and his eyes were filling with 
frightened tears, “a voice told me you were orcs.”
	“Pippin,” said a soft voice, and the hobbit looked up as Kyra came 
towards him.
	She’d sensed Eldrida as she left the hobbit, and now she needed to 
know what had happened. “Pippin, it’s all right. It wasn’t you. She was 
making you see orcs.”
	The other hobbits stared at her, but Pippin cried, “It was a her! I 
thought it was Billy at first, but he’d never say things like that. Who is 
she?”
	“The Enemy,” Kyra answered as calmly as she could. “I think she 
was also in my son at one point. This is another power of hers we didn’t 
know about.”
	“How can we defend ourselves against each other?” Merry asked 
fearfully.
	“She can feel she’s losing, and so she’s making us attack 
ourselves,” Nehre whispered. “And she probably won’t attack the same 
person twice.” He looked at Kyra gravely. “You’ll have to feel for her. 
She’s probably in someone else, even now.”
	Kyra nodded, and strode off.
	The four hobbits turned back to the elves in time to see them 
straighten. Their heads were bowed with exhaustion, but when they 
stepped back, the other hobbits could see Frodo sitting up and rubbing 
absently at his stomach. He blinked around, then spotted Pippin, who took 
a step back and lowered his eyes.
	“It wasn’t Pippin,” Nehre said at once, stepping forward to help 
Frodo up. “The Enemy was controlling him. But she’s gone now, and she 
won’t do that again, at least not to him.”
	Frodo frowned, but seemed to absorb this relatively quickly.
	“We’ll have to stay closer than ever, and watch each other for 
signs of her influence,” Nehre continued.
	The hobbits banded together, Frodo squeezing Pippin’s shoulder 
understandingly. They fought on.
***
	It was very dangerous to enter an elf, but this one didn’t know how 
to trap a demon with his mind, so he was relatively safe. Besides, he was 
still coping mentally with the effects of being turned into a half-orc. And 
Eldrida found out one more pleasant fact when she entered Elrohir’s mind: 
he was Glorfindel’/s vaad. Eldrida laughed soundlessly and began to 
infiltrate Elrohir’s mind.
***
	Glorfindel turned when someone shouted his name. He was nearly 
paid for his slackening in defense with a missing ear, but Celeborn, who 
was fighting close by, caught the Uruk-hai blade on his own sword and 
turned it. Then he cut the thing’s head off.
	Glorfindel was already running towards Elrohir, who was fighting 
off orcs with Elladan at his side. Knowing he couldn’t afford to hug his 
vaad, Glorfindel turned to fight at his side, but his heart sang with joy. 
“*You’re all right!*” he cried, grinning foolishly.
	Elrohir smiled at him. “*Yes, Vaad, I’m fine. Elladan called me 
back. And so did three orcs.*” He laughed at Glorfindel’s bemused 
expression. Suddenly, Elrohir staggered. Glorfindel caught him with one 
arm, fending off an orc with his sword. He saw that Elladan had moved a 
little apart from them, and thus didn’t see what was happening, at least not 
immediately.
	“*What is it?*” the elf-lord asked.
	Elrohir shook his head. His eyes were cast down.
	“*Elrohir, maybe you should go back and-*” A sense of close evil 
froze Glorfindel’s tongue in his mouth.
	Elrohir’s blade sliced upwards and caught Glorfindel’s wrist. The 
sword he’d held fell to the ground, and the orc pounced, bearing 
Glorfindel down with its greater weight. Glorfindel put his arm between 
the orc’s teeth and his throat. The creature stabbed his right arm, and 
began tearing at his other arm with its teeth.
	Then the orc was dragged off of him, and Glorfindel found himself 
staring at Elrohir’s face. But the eyes weren’t Elrohir’s eyes. Glorfindel 
stared in horror, unsure of what he was looking at, only knowing this was 
not the gaze of his vaad.
	Elrohir’s mouth sneered. “Defy me, will you?” He punched 
Glorfindel in his stomach. “Destroy my ring, will you?” He slapped 
Glorfindel across his face. He seized Glorfindel’s ear and began kneading 
it savagely. His face was alight with a need for revenge.
	“Eldrida!” Glorfindel croaked, and he struggled. But he didn’t 
fight as hard as he could have, not wanting to injure Elrohir.
	“You can’t hurt me, Glorfindel, only him.” She dealt a quick blow 
to Glorfindel’s ribs. She’d dropped Elrohir’s sword somewhere, but her 
fury drove this from her mind. This was very lucky for Glorfindel, who 
probably would have died immediately if she’d had the sword.
	‘*She’s inside Elrohir! How do I get to her?*’
	Glorfindel’s thoughts were temporarily scrambled when she bit his 
cheek and ripped at his ear again. He fought to bring them back.
	‘*If she were a demon, I could force her out. If she were a demon, 
I could trap her in a song.
      ‘*Maybe I should try it anyway.*’ The song was short enough, and 
it leapt readily to his mind. ‘*Thank you, Father, for your teaching.*’
‘*Demon of air and earth and water
Serve me, serve my song.
Obey me. Obey my song.
Bow before me, fall before me.*”
	His song seemed to have a strange double resonance, as though his 
voice were echoing, or as if someone else was signing also.
	Eldrida rose, shrieking, out of Elrohir, who collapsed on top of 
Glorfindel. She rose ten feet into the air, visible now because she was 
beginning to burn, and flames licked her face and hands.
	Then she exploded.
	The force of the explosion knocked the wind out of Glorfindel, and 
he lay quite still for a moment. Slowly, his mind regrouped, and he 
wondered, ‘*Why did she blow up? She should have simply been 
trapped.*’
	He turned his head sideways, and saw Elladan lying not far away. 
The son of Elrond was struggling to a sitting position, and his face held 
the same confused expression that Glorfindel was sure his also held. 
“*What happened?*” Elladan asked dazedly as he rubbed the back of his 
head. “*I just sang the song.*” He looked at Glorfindel. “*Did I sing it 
wrong?*”
	Then Glorfindel understood, and he began to laugh, though it was 
a slightly breathless sound.
	“*Whazzso funny?*” Elrohir asked groggily as he raised his head 
and gave it a little shake. Then he caught sight of Glorfindel and collapsed 
back on top of him, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his ears, his chin, his 
lips. Happy tears were standing in his eyes, making them very bright.
	“*We sang it at the same time,*” Glorfindel explained to Elladan 
as he hugged Elrohir to his chest. “*The songs combined, were magnified, 
and blew her sky high. Sort of like when the vibrations from a hundred 
feet marching in unison destroy a bridge.*” He sat up, still holding Elrohir 
against him, and they were both crying now.

Chapter Fifty-Six

	He fought the darkness, knowing, even though he wanted to sleep, 
that he couldn’t. He needed to be awake, even if it hurt.
	But the first sensation his brain registered, the one which had 
drawn him from unconsciousness, wasn’t pain, but pleasure. He relaxed 
into it, even as his body informed him he was aroused.
	‘*Legolas, is that you?*’ He was tempted to go to sleep.
	‘*Legolas can’t be here. You’re with Tragel!*’ Estel cried, 
terrified.
	‘*Shit!*’ Strider growled.
	‘What do I do?’ Viggo asked. ‘Last time I fought, he knocked me 
out.’
	‘*I can’t just lay here, and take this pleasure. I can’t let it be 
pleasure,*’ Aragorn snarled. His mind worked quickly. He was on his 
back, so that Tragel could pet him more easily. This meant he might be 
able to bite or spit. He opened his eyes and spit right into Tragel’s face. 
“*Don’t touch me, orc-shit.*” He tried to jerk away from Tragel.
	The elf-demon slapped him stunningly hard. “You have a choice, 
Aragorn; either I touch you, or I rape and kill you.”
	Aragorn began to struggle, and Tragel slapped him again. Aragorn 
bit his hand, tasting blood as he pulled away. He spit the blood in Tragel’s 
face, and struggled harder.
	Tragel waved his hand, and Aragorn started to turn over. This time, 
however, Aragorn was ready, and he writhed away from the ropes. Tragel 
ordered the ropes to bind him, but Aragorn wouldn’t keep still long 
enough. He flew at Tragel, and punched him.
      As Aragorn drew back, ready for another attack, he saw that he’d 
left a slash on Tragel’s face. He glanced at his hand, and saw the ring 
sparkling there. He didn’t think, but did what instinct commanded. He 
pointed the ring at Tragel.
      A beam of energy engulfed the elf-demon, and he shrieked. His 
ropes were still trying to bind Aragorn, and one loop had slipped over his 
head, and was choking him. Aragorn clawed at it with one hand. He didn’t 
lower his other hand, but continued to attack Tragel. The energy was 
writhing around Tragel, and he was screaming now in fear and pain.
      Aragorn’s face hardened into a satisfied, nasty smile. ‘*Rape me 
now if you can!*’
      Tragel howled, then he fell silent, and Aragorn let him fall. The 
rope around Aragorn’s neck relaxed, and the Ranger shook it off. He knelt 
beside Tragel, wondering how he could tell if his enemy was dead. Tragel 
didn’t stir when Aragorn touched him hesitatingly, feeling as though his 
fingers were coming into contact with a rotten shell.
      “Aragorn!” Shock and horror sounded in that call, but Aragorn was 
too surprised to hear the pain.
      He jumped up, his mind reeling with hope. All thoughts of Tragel 
flew from his mind with a speed that was positively magical. “Leggy!”
      It wasn’t a trick of his mind. Legolas was flying towards him. 
Before Aragorn could take a step, Legolas had landed beside him, and was 
kissing him.
      Legolas cried, “*He killed you! He killed you!*” The tears were 
spilling down his cheeks, and the sobs closed his throat. He’d been able to 
see that Aragorn was a ghost when he was up in the air.
      Aragorn drew Legolas against him, burying his nose in the 
fragrance of Legolas’s hair. His vaad’s hair always managed to smell like 
lavender. “*I’m all right,*” he whispered. “*It’s all right. Maybe we can 
find a way back. There’s always a way, Legolas. Please don’t cry.*”
      “*I-I can’t help it!*” Legolas wept, his voice rising to a mournful 
wail. “*After all we’ve been through, you’re a ghost, and I’ll be here 
without you.*” His sobs were growing hysterical. “*Gorn Corn, I can’t 
live without you again. I-I-*” He threw back his head and screamed at the 
sky, “*Don’t take him from me again! Please!*” His knees buckled, and 
he sank towards the earth.
      Aragorn dropped with him, and pulled Legolas even tighter against 
his chest. “*Legolas, Leggy, Vaad, please don’t cry… Legolas, please…*”
      Legolas was losing his sanity. He sobbed and hiccupped and raved 
until the spittle ran from his mouth. His face was red and raw from crying, 
and he scratched at it with his nails until Aragorn caught his hands gently 
in one of his own. He hugged Legolas with the other arm, and held his 
hands against his chest. “Legolas Legolas Legolas…” But he didn’t know 
what to say, let alone what to think. His mind, too, was screaming at him 
that after all this he wouldn’t be with Legolas. He’d pushed that thought 
away since he’d come back, but now it dragged at him. ‘I’ll be sent back 
to the Land of the Dead…’
      ‘*Wait,*’ said Estel. ‘*No one can make you go back. If the 
Enemy could, she would have done so by now, right?*’
      This tiny bit of sense saved Aragorn from tearing out his hair. Yes. 
Yes. That was true. ‘*Yes,*” he whispered. “*Legolas, I won’t leave. No 
one can make me go back. I’ll stay right here with you. Legolas, listen to 
me.*” He lifted Legolas’s chin, and stared into mad, helpless blue eyes. 
He heart seized in his chest, but he forced himself to keep speaking. 
“*Legolas, I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you. I promise. Legolas…*”
      He repeated these words and others full of comfort until his voice 
grew hoarse. His eyes wandered away from Legolas for a moment, and he 
gasped. There was living flesh on his hand, which he’d raised to wipe 
away Legolas’s tears. “*I’m alive!*” he breathed.
      This simple statement reached Legolas as nothing else could. He 
stared at Aragorn’s hand too, and the tears stopped racing down his 
cheeks. He hiccupped once, then seized Aragorn’s hand and began to kiss 
it.
      “You’re not really alive, Aragorn son of Arathorn, but I can make 
that happen,” said a male voice.
      Aragorn’s head snapped up, and Legolas huddled against him, 
emitting a soft sob. He couldn’t handle anyone intruding on them right 
now. He clung to Aragorn and squeezed his eyes shut. “*Please, 
Aragorn…*” He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but it 
seemed important.
      Aragorn hugged Legolas against him, stroking his hair, and stared 
at the being standing in front of him.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

	Saru watched the orcs coming, and felt weariness running through 
him.  He’d fought once in Rohan, to help King Eomer, and he’d fought in 
the Shire, helping the hobbits against men out of the south who wanted to 
destroy their way of life. Neither battle had been this hard on him, though 
he was sure he was stronger now, and he knew he was much more skilled. 
‘How does Aragorn do this all the time?’ Then he was reminded that 
Aragorn was missing, probably taken by Tragel, possibly dead again. And 
that was assuming their Enemy had made Aragorn human again. If Tragel 
raped and murdered him while he was a ghost, he would go straight to 
Helle.
	The stalwart son of Aragorn turned his mind away from that 
thought, and continued to fight, dragging up reserves of energy he never 
knew he had possessed.
	“Saru!”
	Eomer was shouting to him over the noise of the yelling orcs, and 
the grinding of   sword against sword. Saru fought towards him, and they 
met and stood close so Eomer could talk to him as they fought. Eomer still 
had to shout, though not quite so loudly, to be heard. “The Enemy is dead! 
The sons of Elrond told me!”
	Saru had been expecting much worse news, and he whooped with 
joy as Eomer’s words swept over him. He leapt at an orc- and received a 
slash across his chest for his high spirits.
	Eomer killed the orc, then demanded, “Saru, are you-”
	“It’s not bad,” Saru answered, peeling back his shirt a little. “It 
barely broke the skin.” He cursed his foolishness, and turned his mind 
back to the battle.
	“That was my fault. When Aragorn returns, he’ll have me flayed 
for almost getting you killed.”
	“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Saru teased. “Will these things back off, do 
you think?”
	“Maybe sooner than we hoped for. Haven’t you noticed the 
change?”
	Saru glanced down, and saw he was a ghost again. “But then how 
could that orc-blade injure me?”
	“The orcs are ghosts, too. She must have brought them from 
wherever orcs go when they die. The men can’t hurt us, though, and many, 
realizing that, have fled.”
	“But when we were ghosts before, the orcs could still kill us. Why-
?” He let the question hang in the air as he killed another orc.
	“My guess is she made them flesh and blood, and now that she’s 
dead, her magic doesn’t work anymore.”
	That made perfect sense to Saru. He said so. “How are the others? 
The elves, dwarves and hobbits?”
	“They’re holding well.”
	Saru nodded, then told him, “Elendil has gone back to the Land of 
the Dead.” His eyes grew wide. “But he was really a ghost, despite her 
magic! Will he have been sent to Helle?”
	Eomer hesitated. ‘Probably,’ he decided. “There’s no way to know, 
Saru. We’ll deal with that as soon as we can. But don’t’ lose hope. Didn’t 
Aragorn once rescue Legolas from Helle?”
	Saru nodded. “Yes. That’s true.” He paused, then said, “I must go 
back to my men.”
	“As must I,” Eomer answered, wanting to smile at the young 
man’s courage, but keeping his face sober out of respect. “Fight on, Prince 
of Gondor.”
	Saru smiled slightly, and made his way back to the men of Gondor. 
***
	Terror and horror lay thick under Aragorn’s skin, and an ice block 
had formed in his stomach. After all they’d fought, would this man, 
whatever he was, prove their enemy as well? Aragorn wasn’t sure if he 
could fight anymore. His insides still burned as though with coal-oil from 
Tragel’s attack, though having Legolas close to him was keeping away the 
worst of the pain, he knew.
	‘*If I have to fight, I’ll find a way. I won’t let him hurt Legolas.*’ 
Aragorn glared at the stranger, watching him cautiously.
	The man was tall, and seemed to resemble a man out of Numenor. 
This didn’t relax Aragorn; he felt the man wasn’t really human at all, and 
was probably deceiving them for purposes of his own.
	“Why would you offer me life?” Aragorn asked. “I don’t even 
know you.”
	Legolas groaned, and Aragorn kissed the top of his head. “My 
vaad…” he murmured comfortingly.
	“I wish to give you back your life because you lost it unfairly.”
	Aragorn scowled distrustfully. He wished Tragel hadn’t stripped 
him of his weapons; he wished fervently that he could have Anduril in his 
hand again.
	“Here, I can give your sword back to you.”
	Anduril appeared in Aragorn’s hand. ‘*He can read my thoughts.*’ 
“Get out of my mind!” he roared, and Legolas flinched. Aragorn drew in a 
shaky breath and rubbed his vaad’s back. “*I’m sorry, Leggy. I didn’t 
mean to scare you.*”
	He turned the sword carefully from side to side, scrutinizing him. 
This certainly seemed to be Anduril. He laid the sword down, however, 
because Legolas needed to be held. ‘*What has happened to you, my 
vaad?*’ Not even when Saru was killed by a host of orcs out of Mirkwood 
had Legolas seemed so fragile and helpless, as though his soul was too 
tired to keep going. ‘*Is this why Gimli broke down in front of us? His 
mind must have been under a similar strain.*’
	“I was only trying to help you,” the man answered, holding up his 
hands in a token of peace.
	“You can’t help me by spying on my thoughts,” Aragorn snarled. 
“If you want to help, give me back my life, and don’t attach any strings to 
it.”
	“Which life do you want me to return you to? The one you had 
before the Valar took it away from you in the airplane crash, or the one 
you’ve had recently?”
	‘*How does he know about that?*’ “I don’t know. I just want to be 
alive, and I don’t want to be away from Legolas ever again.”
	“*He won’t give it to you,*” Legolas whispered. His tears had 
stopped, but shivers still wracked his body from time to time. “*He’s just 
torturing us.*” Legolas raised his head, and Aragorn was shocked to see 
that the elven light had left his eyes.
	“Legolas…” An elf without that light already had one foot in the 
grave. “*Legolas, please don’t go. Please, Legolas, don’t give up. I need 
you!*”
	“*I’ll join you in the Land of the Dead,*” Legolas answered, and 
his eyes were beginning to close. Hope had left him. Everything the ring 
had whispered came back to him, and he almost wished he still had the 
ring. ‘*If I’d kept it, maybe Aragorn wouldn’t be dead.*’ He couldn’t 
know that Aragorn had been dead for nearly a week at that point. “*Join 
me, Go-Co,*” he breathed, using the name Saru had given Aragorn when 
he was first learning to talk. His eyes closed.
	“No! Legolas, Legolas, listen to me! Don’t leave! Legolas, don’t 
go! Leggy, please, please PLEASE-”
	Legolas’s breathing stilled, and he passed from the world with 
tears still drying on his cheeks.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

	Finally, the orcs were retreating. Many had slain themselves in 
terror. Others had simply run towards the Ents, knowing this was the 
swiftest death possible, been killed that way. Many of the orcs were trying 
to flee, but their enemies killed them as they ran, knowing they couldn’t 
be allowed to survive in this world, which didn’t have the foggiest idea 
how to fight against them. The Uruk-hai fought savagely to the last, but 
with the Ents, and the strength of nearing victory to strengthen the others, 
the Uruk-hai were at last vanquished. Many men ran in terror, and since 
they were people of this world, those of Middle-Earth let them go, hoping 
they’d had a taste of war bad enough to turn them into honest people. It 
was a thin hope, but they wished for it nonetheless.
	The battle had lasted from an hour after sunrise until the hour of 
sunset, and in the fading light the victors gathered.
	Their joy at victory was overshadowed, however, by several 
worries. Many of the Rangers were shouting that Aragorn must be found. 
The men of Gondor seconded this motion. Saru’s thought about the ghosts 
being sent to Helle had been brought up, though not by him. Eomer had 
voiced it quietly to Gandalf, but others had overheard, and now that 
concern was running from mouth to ear. On top of this, Gimli and many of 
the elves were worried about Legolas, who had seemed to disappear. “*If 
he’d been able to save Aragorn, they should have been back by now,*” 
said one of the elves.
	“Wait!” Saru shouted suddenly above the many voices. No one 
heard him. “WAIT! Listen to me, please!”
	Treebeard strode forward and lifted Saru into the air. The young 
man glanced at him in mild surprise, but was grateful. “Listen to me!”
	“HOOMM! Listen!” Treebeard roared. He’d regained his form 
when Eldrida died, the last of those reborn to do so.
	Everyone shut up.
	“Try the Dwarven Death call!” Saru shouted, knowing it from 
seeing it used several times.
	Gimli threw his head back and bellowed. The other dwarves joined 
him.
	“Elves, too!” Saru commanded. “It won’t work unless you do it! 
Call back the fallen elves! Dunedain, call back your friends! Men of 
Gondor, men of Rohan, Ents, call them back!” He threw back his head and 
yelled to the sky.
	Gimli brought back Durin and Gloin, his father, as well as several 
other friends.
	Elrond, feeling silly, brought back Erestor and Gildor.
	Saru accidentally brought back Kehydi, whom he hadn’t even 
known had fallen. And with him came Aaron and Breyshta. 
	Gil-galad didn’t understand how screaming could help, but he was 
desperate. Fortunately, though Gil-galad couldn’t know this would affect 
anything, Elendil had died only forty minutes ago. He howled at the sky.
	Elendil appeared at his feet, lying on his back, looking stunned. 
His wounds were healed, and he stared in surprise up at his friend. “Where 
did that knife come from?” he asked dazedly.
	Gil-galad’s knees came unhinged and he fell at Elendil’s side. 
Tears sprang into his eyes.
	Elendil gazed at him for a moment in shock, and then sat up. “Gil-
galad…” he whispered, and touched his friend’s shoulder. He’d never seen 
Gil-galad cry. The elf seemed somehow much younger at that moment.
	Gil-galad flung his arms around Elendil, forcing him onto his back 
again, and kissing him on the forehead, as was the way of elven women 
when greeting each other joyously. Gil-galad didn’t care how foolish it 
looked.
	“Most stout-hearted and stolid elf!” Elendil teased, hugging him 
back.
***
	But not everyone had come back, having fallen during the day. 
Saru explained about the two-hour rule, and suggested they go find 
Aragorn and Legolas, who had been to Helle, and knew how to bring them 
back. He didn’t voice his worries that they would find Aragorn dead, and 
possibly Legolas as well, or that, finding them both alive, his parents 
might not be able to save the others from Helle. He led them, not noticing 
that he had suddenly become their commander, or that they followed 
without question.
      Saru sent Kyra into the air to see if she could pick up Legolas’s or 
Aragon’s trail, and she, gesturing north, flew slowly away. Saru and the 
others broke into a jog and followed her.
***
	Aragorn raised tear-stained hands to the man-creature in 
supplication. “I don’t care what I have to give. Just please bring Legolas 
back. I’ll be your slave.” And because the being standing in front of him 
had taken the form of a man, he added, thinking of Tragel, “I’ll be your 
whore.”
	This was an offer that would have made Legolas furious, but 
Legolas wasn’t there. Aragorn shamelessly offered all but his soul. He 
would have offered that if it was demanded of him.
	“You can restore both him and yourself to life, Aragorn. Call him 
back.”
	‘I didn’t think ghosts could call other ghost from the Land of the 
Dead.’ Aragorn threw his head back and screamed to the sky.
	“Not that way,” the man interrupted, and Aragorn fell silent; his 
scream had become nearly a howl, and it caught in his throat. He had to 
cough roughly several times before he could breathe normally. “Just call 
him. Say, ‘Legolas, come back,’ and he will.”
	‘What sort of scam is this?’ Strider demanded. “Speaking his name 
will do no good. I will only be a fool in this thing’s eyes.’
	‘*I should take any chance,*’ Estel argued.
	‘Besides,’ Strider added, ‘he won’t want to be here. I’m still a 
ghost.’
      “Can you give me my life back?” Aragorn asked softly, looking 
down at his hands. There was nothing but exhaustion and hope in him, and 
the hope was very small.
      “I can, but so can you. Just wish yourself alive. Trust me. It will 
work.”
      ‘If you’re alive, the burning Tragel gave you might kill you.’
      ‘*Shut up, Strider,*’ Estel, Viggo and Aragorn commanded.
      “I want to be alive,” Aragorn whispered, “so that I can bring 
Legolas back and he’ll have hope again.” He closed his eyes and hoped. 
‘*Let me be alive again, for Legolas.*’
      Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t felt anything happen, 
but as he glanced down, he saw that flesh and blood greeted his eyes. This 
had happened while Legolas was with him, though, and so he doubted.
      The pain flared between his legs and he groaned, dropping his head 
into his hands.
      “You can make the pain go away, too,” the man told him.
      ‘*Go away!*’ Aragorn thought fiercely. Amazingly, the pain faded 
and then vanished completely. “How can I do this?” Aragorn breathed in 
wonder. “I have no powers.”
      “I’ll explain that later. Bring Legolas back.”
      Inspired, Aragorn whispered, “*Legolas, Vaad, come back 
please.*” He took Legolas’s hand and continued to plead. “*Legolas, 
come back. I need you.*”
      Legolas didn’t return.
      Aragorn glared up at the man-creature, his eyes accusing and 
hopeless. “Please, don’t torture me like this. Please, bring him back! Take 
me instead!”
      “Very well,” the man answered with a sigh, as though he were 
tired. He waved his hand, and Legolas began to stir. He then gestured, and 
Aragorn was pulled to his feet by an invisible force. He swayed for a 
moment, glanced at Legolas, who was just starting to awaken, and then 
stepped towards the creature, his captor. “Take me. Just leave Legolas 
alone.”
***
	Kyra dropped to the ground beside Legolas. His eyes were open, 
but he seemed dazed. “Legolas, can you hear me?”
	“Yes…” He brought up a shaking hand to rub at his head. “Did 
you die, too?”
	Kyra blinked in surprise. “No. I’m not dead, and neither are you.”
	Legolas looked around wildly. “If I’m not dead, where’s 
Aragorn?” Panic rose in his voice, and his eyes widened with fear. He 
began to tremble all over. “Where’s Aragorn?” He sat up.
	She shook her head, trying to remain calm, though seeing 
Legolas’s distraught state frightened her badly. What could happen that 
would shake the stolid elf? “I don’t know. I’ve only found you so far.”
	Legolas was already trying to struggle to his feet. “I died,” he 
informed her. “Aragorn must have called me back, but then where is he?” 
Suddenly, Legolas’s face was drained of all color, and he swayed where 
he stood. Kyra caught his arm. “He wanted me to come back. Maybe he 
couldn’t bring me back…” ‘*I wouldn’t put it past that thing to make 
some sort of deal with Aragorn, and then take him, promising that I would 
live.*’ Legolas swore. ‘*Aragorn, you idiot, why did you listen to him?*’ 
He couldn’t think of any other reason, except capture, that would make 
Aragorn leave him.
	Out loud, he said, “He’s been taken. There was a man here, 
promising Aragorn life. He must have taken Aragorn.” He took in a deep 
breath, pulled away from Kyra a little, then stood steady. “We have to go 
after him.”
	“There is something else that needs your help first,” Kyra told him.
	“What’s more important than Aragorn?” Legolas demanded, his 
voice rising.
	“There are people trapped in Helle. They fell during the battle. 
You must lead an army there. They must be rescued. I am sure this 
creature, whatever it was, won’t kill Aragorn if it wanted him that badly. 
You have time to save him, but they need you right now.” Kyra glared up 
at him, daring him to disagree.
	“Yeggy, Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn are among those sent to 
Helle.”
	Legolas blinked in surprise at his son. “I didn’t hear you coming,” 
he answered distractedly.
	“You would have if your mind wasn’t so confused. Dying and 
coming back is hard work.” Saru smiled wanly. “They need you, though. 
We’ll all help, if that’s what’s needed.”
	Legolas thought for a moment. Time was running short, by all 
accounts, and yet he understood Kyra’s words. These people needed him 
immediately. But he needed at least two other people to go with him. 
Normally, he could have gone with just Aragorn, but no one else knew 
Helle as he and Aragorn did. ‘*That sounds very bad, very wrong,*’ 
Legolas thought. ‘*We know Helle better than many demons, I’ll bet.*’ 
“Saru, Kyra, I’ll need you with me.” It was a risk taking Saru, of course, 
but Legolas didn’t know anyone he could trust more.
	‘*What about Gimli?*’ Legolas frowned. ‘*I forgot about him. 
Should I ask Gimli…? Yes. I must. Maybe it would be better, logistically, 
if Saru went, but we gave our word that we wouldn’t leave Gimli, and 
with Aragorn gone the responsibility of that promise is doubly on me.*’
	He turned back to Saru. “Actually, Saru, I think I want you to stay 
here. Regroup everyone. The Enemy-”
      “She’s dead,” Saru answered. “And so is her mate.”
      Legolas blinked, then grinned in surprise. “Good. Very good. Still, 
there may yet be another battle, especially if this creature thinks he can 
keep Aragorn. I would like you and the others to prepare against that 
eventuality. Could you find Gimli for me?”
      Ten minutes later, Kyra, Gimli and Legolas were on their way to 
Helle.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

	“The ring gives you powers. You can move things, you can attack 
very easily,” Kyra explained just before they left for Helle.
	Gimli didn’t have time to ask, but that was fine with him; he 
wasn’t planning on using his new powers any time soon. He simply stood 
at Legolas’s side, slightly angry with himself for ever doubting his friend, 
but Gimli didn’t have time to dwell on his regrets. Barely before he could 
register that they were leaving the world, they were appearing in a large 
cavern. Darkness pressed in one them, but that didn’t last long. All three 
rings lit up just a little so they could see.
	Gimli wasn’t sure what he had expected Helle to be like, perhaps 
fire and brimstone, but not simply a stone cavern, looking much like the 
caves he remembered exploring with his friends and family. “What sort of 
place-?”
	“Shh,” Legolas breathed. He held up his ring, and the light from it 
touched the wall in front of them. Images were carved there: men being 
whipped, elves changing to orcs, young women being chased by large 
wargs. Their eyes were alive, and stared at the three intruders. Terror was 
plain on the faces of all the victims. But the eyes of the attackers were 
alive as well, and filled with malice, and a kind of sharp, insistant hunger.
	Kyra muttered something that sounded like, “<Durin help me.>”
	Legolas glared at all of the images, as though challenging them, 
and he drew a knife. “*Leave us be,*” he commanded.
	Gimli and Kyra stared as the images turned their gazes away. 
Slight fear had entered the eyes of the attackers.
	Legolas didn’t sheath his knife, but pulled out its twin.
	“Legolas, don’t use that. Use your ring,” Kyra told him.
	Legolas glanced down at his hand, then he put the knife in his left 
hand away.
	“You won’t need that,” Kyra said, gesturing to the knife he still 
held.
	“I may,” Legolas answered. Then he glanced up at the images 
again. “I must warn you. Things here aren’t exactly frightening- only 
horrifying. And everything here wants to lie to us.” He set off down the 
stone passage; after a sidelong glance at his mother, Gimli followed. Kyra 
came last.
	The passage didn’t branch, but there were dark alcoves every ten to 
twelve feet. Out of these, voices called. Many were voices they knew: 
Galadriel, Aragorn, Elladan, and Frodo. Legolas strode past them all.
	“How do you know Aragorn’s not here?” Gimli asked.
	Legolas shook his head. “I don’t. But we’re here for Faramir and 
Eowyn. If it’s Aragorn, he’ll still be here when we get back.”
	“Do you realize how cold that sounds?” Gimli asked.
	Legolas didn’t reply. His mind was whirling. Each call served to 
remind him that his own soul was not completely stable at the moment. He 
didn’t dare acknowledge that any of the voices could belong to Aragorn. 
Besides, he didn’t imagine Aragorn’s cry for help would be anything like 
these. He hoped he was right.
	A sudden question occurred to him, and he cursed himself for not 
thinking of it earlier. How had Faramir and Eowyn been sent to Helle? 
Hadn’t they been alive, or made alive by Eldrida’s magic? He couldn’t 
answer the question, and his frustration rose.
	Fiercely, Legolas clamped down on his emotions, refusing to let 
himself tip into insanity’s embrace. ‘*Yes, Gimli, I have to sound cold. 
It’s the only I’ll come out of this with even a shred of my self-knowledge 
left.*’
	The other times he’d been in Helle, Legolas had been in firm 
possession of all his faculties. Even then, Helle had nearly undone him. 
Did he really have any chance of surviving this latest excursion into 
darkness? ‘*Probably not, but Aragorn says to go on without hope. So, for 
him, that’s what I’ll do.
	‘*But where can I get some more strength? I need it desperately.*’
	Something bright and warming was lit suddenly within his mind, 
and Legolas stopped walking. Gimli almost ran into him.
	“Legolas, what-”
	“Shh. Give me a minute.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on 
the light. ‘*If this is a trick of Helle, I’m done for.*’ He still moved 
towards it; he couldn’t give up the opportunity for more endurance, 
courage, will, anything.
	An image formed in his mind, and he gave himself over to it, so 
that it was more like living the events again than remembering.
###
	The room was swimming in sunlight. It was about an hour after 
sunrise, and the birds had already been darting around, building their 
spring homes for nearly that long. There were several trees, towering oaks, 
right outside his window; a robin redbreast and his mate were singing, 
though their beaks were holding sticks, because they couldn’t contain their 
joy.
	‘*Does it hurt when a female robin gives birth to her eggs?*’ 
Legolas wondered idly as he lay back against his pillows. Any day now, 
he, Legolas, would be giving birth, and so the birds, their nest-building, 
and the thought of their children, occupied his mind very much. He 
glanced at the brown dot on the palm-side of his left arm, just below his 
wrist. ‘*It looks like a freckle,*’ he mused, smiling. This was the sign that 
a male elf was pregnant. Legolas glanced at his right arm, where the baby 
would emerge, and wondered how the Valar had decided the capabilities 
and methods of male-elf pregnancy. ‘*Aragorn is very lucky,*’ he 
decided. ‘*I’ve never given birth, but if it’s anything like a woman giving 
birth then I’d almost rather get slashed in battle.*’
	As though summoned by Legolas’s thoughts, the door to the 
second-story room opened and Aragorn strode in. He looked magnificent 
in forest and moss green. His hair was clean, for a wonder, so he must not 
have done anything strenuous that morning. He swept across the room in 
that romantic way he had, halted beside Legolas’s bed-couch, took his 
vaad’s hand and kissed it lovingly and dramatically. Then he kissed down 
Legolas’s left arm, lingering over the “freckle”.
	“Good morning,” he murmured, sinking to one knee beside the 
couch. He’d been gone when Legolas woke up in the bedroom next door, 
and Legolas smiled mischievously at him.
	“So, you’ve finally made time to come see your invalid husband?” 
he demanded. With only a few days left before the arrival of their child, he 
was getting very weak. There was a part of him that hated lying still. On 
the other hand, not having to go to the throne room to listen to complaints 
all day was something of a relief. He didn’t have to go- Aragorn hadn’t 
ordered him- but Legolas knew if he wanted to spend time with Aragorn, 
the throne room was the place to do it. When there were lulls, Aragorn 
would lift him to his feet and they would dance to silent music or talk 
about the coming baby.
	Aragorn smiled sheepishly. “There was a small disturbance 
between the Rangers and a few Gondorian men.” He shook his head, a 
little frustration entering his voice. “They’re doing what Sauron couldn’t: 
destroying us with our own prejudice.”
	“They’ll learn to live together,” Legolas consoled. ‘Even you feel 
restless here, though it is your city. The Dunedain, even if they like the 
comforts here, miss the forests, and they’re even more restless than you.”
	Aragorn smiled and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his 
mouth.
	Legolas gasped suddenly. “Aragorn… the baby…”
	He couldn’t remember the pain, and it seemed like no time at all 
before he was holding a soft, pink, pointy-eared baby boy. Legolas wept 
with happiness, and Aragorn cried shamelessly, burying his head in 
Legolas’s shoulder to stifle the sound.
      “What should we call him?” Legolas asked, his finger trembling as 
he placed it in their son’s searching mouth. Like a woman’s breast, his 
index finger on his left hand would give the baby milk.
      “Beauty, Strength, Joy…” Aragorn was wiping at his eyes.
      Legolas laughed softly, then he murmured, “Beauty in Strength. 
Saru. It’s a very old Elvish word.”
      Aragorn smiled, and kissed first the top of Saru’s head, and then 
the very tip of Legolas’s left ear.
      Legolas shuddered with pleasure. “Aaaaragorn…”
###
      He came back to himself, and his soul was strong within him 
again. “We can go on now,” he told Gimli and Kyra.
      They began to walk again. More cries came from the alcoves, and 
most of them Legolas ignored, but to the voices that sounded like Aragorn, 
he berated, “Foolish demon! I am Legolas, Sorcerer. Stint your noise, or I 
will silence you!” He said this without turning, and without slowing his 
walk. The voice would always retreat.
      He was a changed, determined elf, and his companions felt it. 
‘<This is how I remember Legolas,>’ Gimli reminisced gleefully, and his 
spirits rose.
      “I can feel them,” Legolas announced a few minutes later. “They 
aren’t being tortured, or so it seems, just held here.” Then he glanced at 
his ring, which was glowing slightly. He put his other knife away. ‘*I 
don’t have to trust this thing. Aragorn and I have been here, with fewer 
weapons, and weaker ones, too.*’
      Still, he had an urge to use it. What could this ring do? It was true 
he and Aragorn had been here, but many times they’d been in danger of 
spending eternity here. ‘*I’ll use any advantage I can get,*’ he decided, 
but only if it seems better than my sorcerer powers.*’
	They came out into a large room, and Gimli spotted Eowyn and 
Faramir. They were chained against the far wall. And they still bore their 
death-wounds. Unlike in the Land of the Dead, in Helle you didn’t heal. 
You could feel your pain, yet you weren’t allowed to retreat from it. 
Eowyn’s eyes were dark with pain, and Faramir’s shoulders were slumped 
in defeat.
	Legolas glanced around, saw no guards or other inhabitants of the 
Underworld, and moved quickly across the room. He wasn’t sure how he 
would free his friends from the chains, but first he had to know if they 
were still sane. Gimli followed close behind, and Kyra followed as 
rearguard.
	Legolas reached the captives, and whispered, “Faramir, Eowyn!”
	Faramir raised his head, and shock mastered him. His mouth hung 
open in a most un-princely expression. Eowyn didn’t look at him. Her 
cheeks, Legolas saw, were colored a deep red. Legolas thought this was an 
infection, and so he reached out to touch her. She flinched.
	“Lady Eowyn, it’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”
	Faramir muttered, “Are you another dream?”
	Legolas shook his head. Deception was one tactic of Helle he was 
well-acquainted with. “I’m Legolas. I’m here to get you out of here.”
	Faramir shook his head feebly. “You can’t. The chains don’t break. 
I’ve tried.”
	Gimli stepped closer, and bending down, he touched one of the 
chains on Faramir’s ankle. “Here’s the weak spot,” he said with the 
authority of a great craftsman. “If we can break this spot, it will fall apart.”
	Legolas glanced at the ring, afraid to use it, but knowing his 
sorcerer powers were meant for attacks, and not for such delicate work.
	Kyra shook her head, facing the same dilemma.
	Abruptly, Gimli remembered what was written on his ring, and he 
thought, ‘If this is anything like a tiny chisel being able to do very fine 
work in hard rock, then it’s what’s called for here, not those blasting 
rings.’ He touched the ring to the weak spot in the chains. A strange, soft 
humming came from the ring, and gradually the shackles weakened. Gimli 
didn’t rush the process, but worked carefully, as though using a chisel to 
extract a precious jewel. When that shackle fell away, he went to the one 
on the other ankle.
	Legolas smiled proudly. “Good job, Gimli.”
	Gimli grunted, though he felt very grateful. Legolas gave rare 
praise.
	A roar echoed in the cavern. “Keep it off me until I’m finished,” 
Gimli commanded without looking up from his work.
	Legolas and Kyra stood side by side, facing the danger that 
approached them from the entrance to the corridor they’d traveled down to 
get to the large room. Kyra almost lowered her ring when she realized that 
it was only a child that was walking towards them. The child looked 
utterly unafraid, and he smiled warmly at them. “You must be from above. 
Will you take me out of here?”
	Legolas snapped, “Either leave us be or show your real form. We 
don’t have time for games.”
	The child’s smile broadened. It wasn’t a nice smile. “You’re as 
bold as I am, elf.” He changed, and was suddenly in the image of a young 
man, about twenty-five or so. He paused in the middle of this change, so 
that he was both grown and still small. This half-morphed image made 
Legolas’s stomach twist under his ribs.
	Then he finished the change, and Legolas’s soul was hard put to it 
to keep itself together. Saru stood before him, as he’d looked in Rohan, 
with the orc-blade sticking through his throat. “Yeggy…” His voice was 
garbled. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t be 
alive, and still somehow he took a step towards Legolas. “Yeggy, help 
me.” He reached out.
	Legolas stumbled back a step and bumped into Kyra. She didn’t 
even need to speak; just being there strengthened Legolas. He growled, 
“You are not my son! How dare you defile his name!” He raised his ring, 
and the light from it blinded the false Saru, who fell back with a cry and 
covered his face with both arms. 
	Legolas pressed his advantage and Kyra stepped up beside him, to 
keep the inhuman creature away from Gimli, who had now moved onto 
Eowyn’s chains. Faramir had drawn his sword, and was standing as a final 
defense between the monster and his wife. He could barely look at their 
attacker, but kept his ears open to the battle even as he stared in fear at the 
beautiful, shivering form of Eowyn.
	The monster changed from Saru to Aragorn to Gloin to Thranduil. 
Legolas and Kyra fought each change back.
	Then the monster melted into the darkness. “Elf, Dwarf,” it called, 
“you have defeated me, but not my master.” It left; the sorcerers felt it go.
	“Have you met that before?” Kyra asked.
	Legolas was watching the shadows. “No,” he murmured, 
distracted. “Aragorn and I were always met by a different ‘servant’ each 
time we came here. We’ve never been cornered by the Master, whoever or 
whatever it is, but we’ve been chased by it. Their Master can’t leave this 
place, so once we’re back on Earth, we’re safe.”
	Without turning, Legolas asked, “Are they free, Gimli?”
	“Nearly,” the dwarf grunted, working on the chain around 
Eowyn’s wrist. She’d come back, a little, but her eyes would flicker 
between awareness and mind-numbing terror. Faramir was holding her 
freed hand protectively.
	The air suddenly turned icy, and Legolas had drawn his bow and 
fitted an arrow to it before he consciously registered the cold. Kyra, beside 
him, held up her ring.
	“That won’t do any good,” Legolas told her, not caring where the 
knowledge came from, only knowing it was true.
	She glanced at him, saw the fire in his eyes, and lowered her hand. 
“What powers will work, then?”
	“Not the rings, maybe not our sorcerer powers. I’m not sure.” He 
was scanning the shadows more intensely now. His Elven and sorcerer 
senses were shouting at him that danger was coming. His skin prickled 
unpleasantly with it.
	A fire roared up suddenly not ten feet from where they stood. 
“WHO WILL FIGHT ME?” boomed a voice.
	“I will!” Legolas shouted.
	“WHO ARE YOU?”
	“I am Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood and Prince of 
Gondor.”
	The flames parted and a monstrously large man strode towards 
him.
      Kyra raised her ring without thought. The man-shape glared at her.
      Legolas grabbed her arm. He said with mysterious certainty, “This 
is my battle. This fight had to come sometime.”
	Kyra hesitated, then obeyed, stepping back to cover her son, who 
had finally broken the last chain, and the two humans.
***
	“How would you like the chance to create a safe world for yourself 
and your friends?”
	The man-creature’s voice spoke out of total darkness. Aragorn 
turned first one way and then another, conscious that his feet weren’t 
resting against anything, and yet he could move freely. ‘I feel like a 
spaceman,’ he thought, drawing on pictures from Viggo’s memory of the 
landing on the moon. Viggo hadn’t been alive at that time, but he’d seen 
pictures of the historic event. The sensation of weightlessness made him 
feel slightly queasy. “Where are you?” he called.
	“Answer my question and I shall answer yours.”
	Aragorn doubted this creature would answer, but he responded, 
“Why do you offer me something I cannot have?”
	“You can have it. Create it, Aragorn. I invite you to create your 
own world, a harbor for all those you care about and wish to protect. You 
have earned such a gift.”
	Aragorn puzzled this over, then, just to see what the creature 
would do, he said, “I want a world much like Middle-Earth, though 
without orcs, wargs, Uruk-hai, balrogs and all other evil things.”
	“Just tell me everything you want to be on this world instead of 
what you don’t want.”
	Aragorn frowned. That was hard. ‘*If I wanted a world…*’ “I 
want Legolas,” he decided triumphantly.
      “You shall have him. But first, give him a world to live on.”
      “Recreate Lothlorien,” Aragorn answered, suddenly inspired. 
“There have to be mellorn trees, elanor growing amidst the grass, gentle 
seasons, little, refreshing showers that leave everything green, and all that 
makes up Lothlorien.”
      “Done. Look upon your creation so far.”
      A light was shimmering off to Aragorn’s right, and he turned and 
gaze. It seemed as though he were high above everything, and yet he could 
see the mellorn trees, the gleam of Anduin in the distance, and the birds 
and animals beneath the trees. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Now, I want 
to be with Legolas.”
      “I will return him to you in a moment. This recreation is simply 
floating in space. Give it a place to rest.”
      Aragorn frowned. “Put it on a world the size of Earth,” he 
answered.
      “Done. Does Lothlorien exist alone? Are there other places?”
      “This is just for Legolas, so that I can be with him. Lothlorien is 
enough.”
      “You are going to leave the others on Earth, where they will surely 
have trouble hiding?”
      “No. Bring them to Lothlorien also.”
      “What of the dwarves? Will they like Lothlorien?”
      ‘Why is he making this so complicated?’ Aragorn asked in 
frustration. “Recreate Middle-Earth. Caves for the dwarves, a city for the 
men of Gondor, forests for the Rangers, Rohan for Eomer and his people, 
Ithilien for Faramir and his people, Rivendell for Elrond and the others of 
his House, the Shire for the hobbits. Make them closer together, though, so 
that it’s easier to travel from one to another.” He took a deep breath. “Is 
that enough?”
      “What about-”
      “Enough! You’re stalling. This is all an illusion, and you aren’t 
really ever going to let me see Legolas! Isn’t that true? All I want is 
Legolas!”
      “Aragorn, I am giving you the chance to be a Valar. Just as I gave 
them the chance to create a world, I am giving you that opportunity. It is a 
great honor. And you don’t just want Legolas. Your heart cries out for the 
life of a Ranger, and for an opportunity to see your son again.”
      ‘*He’s Iluvatar. He created the Valar. He’s the creator of the 
world, of the universe, basically.*’ “Why do you want me to be a Valar? I 
am only a man,” Aragorn whispered in awe.
      “I wanted to offer you a chance to live in peace, in a place and time 
of your choosing. It seems a fit reward for ending the foolishness of two of 
my creations.”
      “But that wasn’t my doing!” Aragorn responded. “I didn’t even 
know they were dead. I didn’t know we’d won.”
      “You are their leader, and so I give you the opportunity to give 
lasting peace to all the people of Middle-Earth.”
      “But you know more about our happiness than I do,” Aragorn 
answered. “Please, all I want is to be with Legolas, no matter where we 
are and no matter what danger we’re facing. I want to be with my people, 
also, and since you can read my heart, please return me to them. You can 
hear my desire better than I can express it. Just let me be with them, and 
please decide for yourself where you want us.”
      Iluvatar was silent for a few minutes. He was quiet for so long that 
Aragorn thought he’d been left in this void. His heart began to beat faster 
with fear.
	“Aragorn, you wish to be guided by me?”
	“Yes!” Aragorn gasped in relief. 
	“But I have other work to do. I would like others to rule this 
world.”
	Aragorn shook his head. “I can’t. I wouldn’t want to look after 
these people. I only want to be with my people.”
	Iluvatar said, “You avoid power, Aragorn. Why?”
	“I want to live simply,” Aragorn answered.
	“Very few have that option, Aragorn. It is not your fate to be one 
of them.”
	‘But I’m so tired!’ flashed across his mind.
	“Yes, I know you are tired, but I also know you have work to 
accomplish. I am going to send you back to Middle-Earth, and I want you 
to change it for the better. Every one of your friends will help you, I think. 
They, too, will remember all that happened before. There will be two 
changes. First, the Valar, Eldrida and Odan, will not exist. And second, 
there will be no Undying Lands, so the elves will stay in Middle-Earth.”
	Aragorn tried to work out what Iluvatar was saying. He remained 
silent for several minutes. At last, one question emerged. “What about the 
people of the world where we were living before? Earth, I mean. What 
will happen to them?”
	“They will exist, but possibly in different forms. Don’t let them 
forget about Gondor, and the elves. Don’t let them forget about hobbits. 
Save as much as you can, and pass everything else on. I am going to send 
you back to Earth so you can prepare the others. Then you will return to 
Middle-Earth, a month before the attack that brought Gondor’s end. Do 
you have any questions?”
	‘About a million, such as how am I supposed to protect Gondor 
any better this time?’ Strider asked.
	“This time,” Iluvatar answered calmly, “you have been warned. 
Prepare your people to defend their city.”
	“Wait!” Aragorn cried as Iluvatar raised his hand. “Can we have 
all of our memories back?”
	Iluvatar smiled kindly. “Of course.”
	Joy, sorrow, rage and passion flooded Aragorn’s mind. He 
vanished from Iluvatar’s void.

Chapter Sixty

	Aragorn appeared amid the hobbits, and the five of them shouted 
in surprise and joy. Pippin, who had been eating a bit of lembas, dropped 
it and flung his arms around Aragorn’s waist.
	‘He gave up food for me,’ Aragorn thought in amusement.
	“Strider!” Sam cried, and he also hugged the Ranger.
	Frodo and Merry hugged him, too, though Nehre stood a little 
back. Aragorn opened his mouth to ask a question, but Frodo said, “This is 
Nehre. He’s been a great friend and ally.”
	‘There’s a long story behind that statement,’ Aragorn thought, but 
let it go. “I’m glad to meet you, Nehre. Frodo, have you seen Saru?”
	“Yes. He’s holding a council with the Ranger-lords, some of the 
Ents, Gandalf, and Eomer.” He started walking. “This way.”
	‘Saru is holding a council? Did he take my place as leader when I 
left?’ He hadn’t expected this. He’d expected Elendil or Gandalf or Lady 
Galadriel to fill that spot. ‘What’s happened, my son?’
	The council was being held not far away, and many others were 
crowded around the outside of the smaller circle, not making any noise, 
scarcely breathing. They parted, many mouths hanging open in wonder as 
Aragorn followed Frodo towards the inner circle. Aragorn scanned the 
council, hoping Frodo had made omissions as to those participating. Yes, 
he had: Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Glorfindel and Gil-galad were also 
there, with Elladan and Elrohir standing just outside the circle. But 
Legolas wasn’t among them.
	‘Did he break his word?’ Aragorn stifled his rising panic. ‘He is 
Iluvatar. I do not doubt that he is really who he says. Then he wouldn’t lie. 
What’s happened to Legolas?’ He looked over the council again, and saw 
that Gimli was also missing. ‘Wherever they are, I hope Gimli’s with him. 
Gimli loves him, too, and will guard him with his life.’
	“Aragorn! Come sit with us.”
	The Ranger met Gandalf’s gaze. The wizard seemed determined, 
but not grim. This was reassuring, and Aragorn came to join them. Saru 
made as if to get up and back away from the circle, but both Aragorn and 
Elendil caught his arms.
	“You don’t have to leave,” Aragorn told him at the same time 
Elendil commanded, “Stay, Saru.”
	Saru, looking surprised, sat back down, and Aragorn sat beside 
him.
	Swiftly, Gandalf brought him up to speed on all that had happened, 
including a little about Nehre. Aragorn absorbed it all as best he could. 
When Gandalf was finished, he sat for a full five minutes thinking.
	“Legolas may need my help; I have to go to him.” He frowned. 
“But I’m not an elf, a wizard or a sorcerer, and those are the only ones 
who can sing themselves from one world to another. I know the songs, but 
I can’t use them.”
	“I’ll sing you there,” Glorfindel told him in the silence that 
followed.
	Elrohir stepped forward, closer to his vaad, and there was fear on 
his face.
	Before he could speak, Aragorn, who had seen the need in his 
brother’s eyes, asked, “Can you sing me there without following me?”
	“No.” Glorfindel sensed Elrohir near him, and held a hand out to 
him without taking his eyes off Aragorn. “I’ll sing you there and come 
right back.”
      Aragorn hesitated. “Can anyone else-?”
      “Most of us haven’t had to use that particular power,” Galadriel 
told him softly. “Only Glorfindel and my daughter, Celebrain, made a 
habit of traveling between worlds.”
      Glorfindel had turned to Elrohir, and had taken him in his arms. 
“I’ll be all right,” eh whispered, “and I’ll come right back.”
      Elrohir shook his head. “No, Glorfindel, please…” Then he 
realized who he was, and where he was, and his face grew suddenly 
impassive. “Be careful,” he said tightly.
      “Do you need to rest first?” Elrond asked, glossing over the 
uncomfortable silence that followed his words.
      Aragorn shook his head, forcing his eyes away from Elrohir. 
“Legolas may need me right now. And besides, Iluvatar seems to have 
given me more endurance, at least for the time being.”
      Mouths dropped all around the circle and Elladan gasped, 
“Iluvatar?”
      Then Aragorn remembered he hadn’t done what he’d been sent 
back for. He briefly retold all that had passed.
      Saru murmured, “We’d go back? But how can we remember 
everything?”
      Aragorn shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll straighten that out when 
we come back with Faramir and the others.” He looked around the circle, 
then to the others standing outside it. No one spoke, and so he stood up. 
“Glorfindel, can you send me there now?”
      Glorfindel rose, releasing Elrohir’s hand, and moved towards him. 
“Close your eyes. And don’t move.” He caught Aragorn’s hands and sang 
them away.
      When they were gone, Elrohir turned and stormed away.
      “Elrohir-”
      “Let him be, Elladan, at least for the moment,” Elrond said. “This 
has been very hard for all of us.”
      ‘After winning the war, are we going to fall apart from the strain?’ 
Saru wondered, then he chastised himself for being so melodramatic, and 
turned to the task of gathering the Ranger and men of Gondor so that he 
could explain everything to them.
***
	The man-shape’s face was covered by a mask, and Legolas 
wondered about this, as the only other piece of clothing the creature wore 
was something that resembled a loincloth. His (its?) muscles rippled in the 
light, and made him look very intimidating.
	‘I’ve fought too many battles to let the mere look of something 
frighten me.’ “Do we choose weapons or shall we just use whatever is at 
hand?”
	“Use whatever you think will defeat me,” the shape answered 
graciously, mockingly. He drew a sword out of thin air.
	Legolas replaced his bow and unsheathed his knives.
	The man moved towards him, and because Legolas didn’t want 
him getting too close to the others, he met him halfway.
	They circled each other, Legolas noting his opponent’s strengths. 
‘If this is really the Master of Helle, then maybe everything about him is 
strong.’ He refused to ask himself what hope he had of winning or even 
surviving this duel.
***
	A hand slipped through the wall and drew Eowyn through it. 
Faramir opened his mouth to scream, but then another hand dragged him 
through as well. He didn’t have time to struggle, and when he was on the 
other side, shock kept him from moving or speaking for a moment. 
Aragorn was standing before them. He said, calmly, as though he regularly 
defied the laws of physics, “I need to bring the others through, before that 
creature notices.” He stuck his hands, and even his head through the wall, 
and soon came back with Gimli and Kyra, though Gimli looked angry and 
had started to draw his axe.
	“Gimli, there’s no time to explain,” Aragorn said. “Kyra, take 
these two back to Earth, and whoever else is trapped here.”
	“The others are nearby. I saw them taken,” Faramir announced.
	Aragorn nodded gratefully. “Gimli, Legolas and I will deal with 
the Master of Helle.”
	“But-”
	“Take them back,” Aragorn commanded, his voice low and 
dangerous.
      She didn’t argue after that.
      Having no more time to spend on the others, Aragorn said to Gimli 
as he seized his wrist, “Follow me.” They went back through the wall.
***
	When they materialized in the darkened cavern, Glorfindel glanced 
around quickly. His inner light was shimmering faintly. Aragorn had 
drawn Anduril, and the ring on his left hand glowed. “Legolas is that 
way,” said Glorfindel, pointing away into the darkness. He hesitated. 
“Aragorn-”
	“Go back to Elrohir. He needs you.” Aragorn glanced at 
Glorfindel, and smiled reassuringly. “We’ll be all right. Keep everyone 
together.” Then his smile faltered. “If I don’t come back… take care of 
Saru for me, please.” Then he jogged away, holding up the ring, using its 
light to see by.
	Glorfindel watched him running towards danger for a moment, 
then decided he couldn’t go after him. Yes, Elrohir needed him, and he 
needed Elrohir. Besides, if Aragorn didn’t come back, others beside Saru 
would need comfort and guidance. He vanished.
***
	Legolas staggered, and he knew his arm had been badly burned. 
Nothing seemed to stop this creature. ‘*He’s the Master of Helle. What 
did I expect?*’
	‘If I die here, what will happen?’ Orlando asked, but not as though 
he was afraid. In his mind was the image of Viggo, and he knew that he 
had to get to him, had to see him again. ‘I’ll conquer this, *because 
Varagorn needs me.*’
	Legolas shot another arrow, but it ignited as it flew, and was only 
ashes when it reached his attacker. He raised his ring again, tried to focus 
his sorcerer powers through it, to give the ring extra strength, and fired. 
The man-shape took a step back and raised a shield that he’d produced out 
of thin air.
	‘*Well, if I could do that maybe this would be a fair fight.*’ 
Legolas ground his teeth. ‘*I can’t think like that. If I start doing that, it 
means I’ve already given up half the battle-field. I will see Aragorn again; 
I must not doubt that.*’ He fired power from the ring again.
	Power also hit the man-shape from the other direction, and he (it) 
stumbled forward a pace, then rounded on the source of the second attack. 
Aragorn faced him, his sword drawn and flashing in the fire’s light. His 
face was set like stone.
	Legolas used his powers to shift his position from where he stood. 
He appeared beside Aragorn. ‘*If I could zap us both out of here, I would 
in an instant.*’ However, he well knew there were only certain places 
where you could enter and exit Helle, and something the Master of Helle 
had done, perhaps simply interference from the fire, wouldn’t let Legolas 
transport himself and Aragorn to one of those spots.
	“Vaad!” Aragorn exclaimed, and a grim smile pulled at the corners 
of his mouth. “*Will you stand with me, Prince Legolas?*” This was what 
he’d asked when they’d stood, side by side, covering the escape of their 
people from Gondor.
	“*I will always stand with you, my King,*” Legolas responded.
	They attacked in unison.
	The Master of Helle had been examining his injury; it was only the 
second one he’d received in all his long years, and he wanted to know how 
serious the damage was. When the two beams hit him, he roared, partly in 
anger, but mostly in surprise. How dare these two Earth-dwellers 
challenge him?
	Legolas fired another arrow, and this time the man-shape wasn’t 
quick enough to stop it. The arrow struck his temple. If he’d been a living 
being, he would have been killed instantly. He threw fire at both of them 
even as he swelled to ten times his former height.
	Legolas saw the fire coming and shoved Aragorn out of the way. 
The fire crisped the ends of his blond hair. He and Aragorn fell heavily to 
the floor, but Legolas rolled off of him, and they were firing again before 
they’d regained their feet.
	Suddenly, they saw that their target was seventy feet tall. Legolas 
swore.
	Fire rained down on them, and they were useless to prevent it. 
Legolas smothered the flames in his hair, his hands burning. He didn’t feel 
the pain immediately. He looked to Aragorn, and saw that the fire was all 
over his face and chest. Legolas dove on top of him again and smothered 
the flames. When they were out, he raised himself up a little, and stared in 
horror at Aragorn’s blackened features. “Gorn Corn, answer me.”
	Aragorn stared up at him. “Legolas…” His right hand raised. 
Somehow he had retained his grip on Anduril. “Fly me up there. Let 
Anduril stab him.” Anduril’s special elven-steel and elven runes had felled 
vampires, wargs, demons and kremlins.
	Legolas didn’t hesitate, though eh desperately wished that Aragorn 
had proposed some other plan, any other plan.
	And all the while, the fire still fell on and around them.
	Legolas stooped and Aragorn clung to his back. His legs encircled 
Legolas’s waist. The prince transported them onto the Master’s shoulder. 
As Aragorn leapt off, Legolas fired several arrows into the side of the 
Master’s head. Then he jumped high, grabbing a bit of the enemy’s hair, 
and swung forward so he could fire directly into the giant’s face.
      Aragorn, yelling, “For Legolas, for Middle-Earth!”, stabbed at the 
Master’s throat.
	Time froze; Aragorn and Legolas vanished from Helle.
***
	Aragorn stumbled and fell as the world changed around him. He 
hit his head against something hard, and rubbed at it, shaking his head to 
clear his vision. ‘Did we kill him?’ was his confused query as the world 
spun sickeningly around him. Then: ‘How could I have survived?’ And on 
the heels of that: ‘Legolas, Legolas’ “Legolas! Legolas, vaad, where are 
you?” He gave his head a vicious shake, and at last his vision cleared.
	Legolas was lying nearby, struggling to sit up. He was murmuring, 
his voice distant and weak, “Gorn Corn, Ari, vaad…”
	Aragorn caught Legolas’s arm, and this upset his balance; he fell 
onto his back and groaned.
	Legolas turned his head, and then, with a lurch that was only a 
ghost of his usual grace, fell on top of Aragorn for the third time that day.
	“You’re safe now,” a voice said. 
      Legolas rose, his eyes flashing. ‘If you hurt him, I’ll kill you!’ rose 
to his lips, but he couldn’t’ speak once he saw who was facing them. He 
dropped his head, then lay flat on the “floor” which was really made of 
nothing. “Iluvatar,” he breathed reverently.
	‘How can Legolas know who he is?’ Aragorn wondered as he 
bowed also, thinking immediately afterwards, ‘I didn’t bow before. I 
should be glad he didn’t roast me for my sacrilege.’ 
	“I will send you back to your friends and family now, back to 
Middle-Earth, as I promised Aragorn.”
	“Sir?” Aragorn asked in a whisper. Now that Legolas was safe 
beside him, all his determination and bravado was gone, like a snuffed 
candle-flame.
	“Ask you question, Aragorn,” Iluvatar invited.
	“What happened? Did we defeat the Master of Helle?”
	‘Typical man,’ Legolas thought in exasperated affection. ‘He just 
wants to know if we won.’
	“You would have succeeded if I hadn’t brought you here in time. 
Aragorn, you must understand there is a good reason for his existence. He 
keeps the demons from overrunning the earth.”
	Aragorn wanted to ask follow-up questions, but Legolas squeezed 
his hand. Aragorn nodded, and relaxed hugging Legolas against him. He 
didn’t have to know everything, he realized.
	“It is time to go back to Middle-Earth,” Iluvatar told them. “If you 
have any other questions, they will have to wait.”

Chapter Sixty-One

	Pippin snuck out from behind a tree and hit Merry on the back of 
his head with a mushroom. Merry squawked and jumped, twisting in 
midair. But it was too late; Pippin was off again. Merry was still ‘it’ in 
mushroom tag. He plunged through the forest in pursuit of his wildly 
giggling cousin.
***
	Arwen sang the line over again, and Nehre sang back, enjoying the 
sound of the Elvish words on his tongue. Frodo and Arwen’s dark-eyed, 
chestnut-haired husband, Vere, sat nearby, Frodo trying to learn along 
with Nehre. Sam sat at Frodo’s feet and mouthed the Elvish lines.
***
	A newborn baby cried for the first time in the predawn light. 
Glorfindel groaned and panted as Elladan, who had helped to birth the 
baby elf-girl sealed up the place in his arm from which the tiny miracle 
had come.
	Elrohir was cleaning their daughter off and wrapping her in a soft, 
linden green blanket. He was singing softly:
“La la Blue Butt
La La Blue Butt,
Oh my little star Woof-Woof ,
I’ll sweep the star-dust for you.”
	“Estel,” Glorfindel murmured as Elrohir brought the tiny child and 
laid her in his arms. “She is the start of a new generation of hope.”
	Elrohir nodded and kissed Glorfindel’s forehead softly. “The only 
confusing part will be that we used to call a little boy that.”
	Glorfindel smiled. “True. Let’s call her Estella. Hope again, just 
the female form of it.”
	His vaad kissed him again and they both sang to their daughter as 
the sun rose.
***
	The sun rose over Gondor, and King Elessar stood on the outer 
wall, his face lifted to catch its first warm rays. He closed his eyes. Peace 
descended, and he relaxed, humming softly the melody of an old tune.
	‘You are my strength, my rock, my shield. Without you, Leggy, I 
would yield. You are my all in all.’
	The king smiled and closed his eyes.
	The sounds of clashing metal rose from below, in the courtyard, as 
did the sound of youthful laughter. Aragorn opened his eyes and watched 
as his son and Kehydi sparred. ‘It is good I asked the Rangers to stay in 
Ithilien.’ Before the fall of Gondor, san event from ten thousand years ago, 
and yet one that hadn’t happened yet, and might not happen at all, now, 
Aragorn had sent the Dunedain back to the North because they were 
restless in the City. He’d hit upon a better decision this time: with Prince 
Faramir’s and Princess Eowyn’s permission and blessing, they roamed 
Ithilien. Hence, they were close by if their help should be needed.
	Some of the elves had relocated nearer to Gondor; most of these 
were sharing Ithilien with the Rangers. The rest were staying in the City 
while a forest was being planted around Gondor. Ents would dwell there, 
as would the four hobbits and Gandalf, if the wizard could be kept in one 
place.
	Roads had been made safe for travel, so many people kept coming 
and going. Aragorn was looking forward with pleasure to a visit from 
Gimli’s people. Gimli, of course, had stayed in the City, unwilling to leave 
Legolas’s side.
	As always, there were things that disturbed peace, but Aragorn 
would only allow a little worry to enter his mind. He, Legolas and Gimli 
were still immortal. So were the elves. That meant he and Legolas would 
lose Saru again, though hopefully not at such a young age.
	‘I wish I’d thought to ask about that. Isn’t there some way our 
children can be spared? All I wanted to know was if we’d killed the 
Master of Helle!’ Aragorn shook his head, mildly frustrated with his own 
foolishness.
	“Why are you wearing a cloud on a day like this?” asked a lilting 
voice behind him. “Worried Saru’s going to learn too much from Kehydi 
and be able to rival you at swordplay?” A warm, gentle hand touched his 
arm.
	Aragorn blinked, then took Legolas’s hand and kissed the tips of 
his fingers. “*No. It’s nothing.*”
	“Huh,” Legolas grunted disbelievingly. “*Tell me.*”
	Aragorn gave in more or less willingly. “Legolas, we’re going to 
outlive Saru again.” He felt his heart darken as he spoke the words, and 
wished the thought hadn’t entered his mind.
	“Will we?” Legolas asked. “He’s half-elf, Aragorn, like Elrond. 
And he is immortal.”
	Aragorn turned to face his vaad, surprise easily readable on his 
face. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.
	Legolas laughed, and shifted their second son, Noah, more 
comfortably on his hip. “I know you didn’t.” He stuck his nose in the air. 
“But I, being the so-knowledgeable Prince of Gondor, of course thought- 
Aragorn!”
	The king had tickled his ear, and Legolas felt as though he were 
floating. “You’ll make me drop him!” eh chastened.
	“It’s not my fault you’re such a pain in the ass elf,” Aragorn 
responded happily.
	“Don’t say that in front of Noah!” Legolas exclaimed, swatting 
Aragorn’s backside. He muttered, loud enough for Aragorn to hear, 
“Horrible human.”
	Aragorn caught Legolas in a firm embrace, making sure Noah 
wasn’t in danger of falling, and kissed him firmly on the mouth to still his 
teasing lips.

THE END

A/N: -Thanks to my friends who read this story in sections and tiny parts. 
Thank you for your patience.
-Thank you, Maddy, for all of your suggestions.
-A special thanks to my daughter, Christina. Tragel, Saru, Malacai and the 
pregnant male elf are her ideas.