---

Timeline: 3rd Age (many years before the Fellowship is formed)
Author's Notes: As always, many thanks to Lyn for her beta reading!

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Useful Lies
(April 2003)

by
Mackie .

Legolas, elf-prince of the Mirkwood realm, loved any opportunity to visit the splendor that was Rivendell. It wasn't just that he had many friends in the House of Elrond; he loved the entire realm. Its vast wildness and rugged canyon vistas reminded him how an elf was supposed to live: upon the earth, bound to both forest and sky and all the creatures that lived in them.

Many years before, the elves of the Green Wood had been driven back in a costly war with the Dark Lord. Tainted by Sauron's touch, the beautiful Green Wood had become known as Mirkwood. It was an old, heavily overgrown forest, beautiful in its own way, but filled with dangerous beasts that scuttled in the shadows waiting for the passage of some unsuspecting prey. Sunlight rarely penetrated the heavy canopy of trees, and the forest floor was barren dryness, dusty with the decay of fallen leaves and unable to give anchor to the lush undergrowth common to thriving woodlands.

In the northern area of the forest, Thranduil, King of the Mirkwood elves, had built a vast underground city where his people could defend themselves against future attacks. Legolas had been born there, and even though he knew the tales of the ravages of the war, he still felt retreating beneath the earth during times of danger was cowardly. Although the dark forces had not bothered with them for many years, Sauron would eventually come forth to wreck havoc once again. The underground would not be a haven for the elves of Mirkwood for much longer; evil had crept back stealthily into the land and seemed to be gaining strength each day.

But for now, this was a happy time to celebrate a wedding. It was a minor wedding in the scheme of things, but the retinue that journeyed from Mirkwood to Rivendell flew the royal banners as if this were to be a wedding of grand importance. In these Fading Years when elves were gradually departing Middle-earth, there was little opportunity for celebration.

Legolas was proud of his father for setting out so boldly on what was a hazardous journey at any time. Flying the banners of Mirkwood and marching with a full complement of mounted archers invited the attention of the lawless creatures that roamed the rugged mountains between Mirkwood and Rivendell. The stately retinue had all but proclaimed aloud the riches it bore to the wedding, but it passed safely into the protected haven of Rivendell without encountering a single hazard. Frankly, Legolas would have welcomed a raiding party of orcs.

Now, as he stood straight and motionless atop the wall of one of the highest watchtowers near the House, Legolas drank in the glory that was Rivendell, allowed it to fill his senses until he all but swooned with its magnitude.

"Careful you do not tumble off the edge."

The speaker's voice was unconcerned despite the warning in his words, and Legolas smiled as he jumped down effortlessly from the wall. "Spending too much time tutoring the children these days, Elrohir? I am not one of your charges."

Elrohir, one of the twin sons of Lord Elrond, smiled in return. "I am just concerned that the heights might prove too heady for someone of subterranean pursuits."

The words held the sting of truth but no malice. Legolas did not take offense. "Have you ever been to the lands of Lórien?"

Elrohir laid down the book he'd been reading while Legolas had admired the view. "Once, long ago."

"Is it as magnificent as the tales tell?"

Elrohir stood up and joined him by the wall. "The city of Caras Galadhon is a city of light and air. It is also very high." He looked at Legolas and grinned. "You would like the view."

Legolas refused to acknowledge the teasing. "Someday I will go there. It is not right for an elf not to know his kindred in other realms. And I wish to see the mallorn tree I have heard about only in song."

Elrohir shook his head in mock frustration. "You really have become a vagabond, Legolas. Soon you will desire to live among the other races and learn their ways."

Legolas shuddered dramatically. "Not among dwarves. I would never want to live among dwarves."

"The old enmities die hard," Elrohir said. "The only good thing to come out of the growing darkness is that we no longer have dealings with the dwarves. Once we depart over the Sea, we will be free of the Mortal races forever."

This time, Legolas let his sudden irritation show. "Not all mortals are wicked."

Elrohir never lost his smile or his look of patient understanding. "There is a difference between a single man and the sum of his species. Many men are good. Many are courageous for a cause. But they are weak when lured by wealth or power. They succumb far too easily to their temptations, or have you forgotten those lessons as well?"

"I have not forgotten," Legolas said softly. And neither has Aragorn, he added silently in his thoughts. You and your kin will not allow him to forget.

Elrohir seemed to read his mind. "It is folly to indulge in fondness for a mortal. Such emotion must inevitably result in grief."

Legolas heard a bitter bite in the words, but stayed his temper. He knew Elrohir no longer spoke about him, but of Arwen, Elrohir's younger sister. She had given her heart to the same man who was the subject of their conversation. Still, he couldn't help but defend his friend. "Aragorn is worthy of Arwen's love."

Elrohir shook his head violently. "Why should she give up all that she is for a mortal who refuses to accept what he is?" He drew back from the wall and sighed deeply. "No, you are right. My sister's life is her own. But even if Aragorn left the wilds and took his rightful place, she would still know the pain of grief. I would spare her that if I could."

Legolas put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Your words bear the authority of experience."

Elrohir was silent for several minutes, but Legolas did not hurry him. Finally, his patience was rewarded. "Once, a very long time ago. I hope I never choose to experience such pain again."

"I have faith in Aragorn that you lack. If we are destined to leave this world, then I would rather see it united under a king of the Dúnedain than be sundered by the Dark Lord of Mordor."

Elrohir nodded. "I understand your hope, but I fear it is doomed. Aragorn has stated clearly --"

Both elves abruptly turned back toward the wall and warily scanned the canyon below.

Legolas neither heard nor saw any indication of trouble, and yet he knew trouble was there. "An intruder?"

"No one enters the realm of Rivendell without our blessing." Elrohir spoke with conviction, but his expression revealed doubt.

Legolas vaulted easily over the wall. The slope on the other side was steep and rocky, hazardous with crevasses hidden by the fall of autumn leaves from the trees above. It was a treacherous descent, but he sped so quickly down the hillside that the loose rocks barely stirred beneath him. Elrohir was right behind.

Within a few minutes, they reached the woods that shaded the valley floor. Together, they turned down a narrow trail edging a small tributary of the Bruinen River.

They had not gone far when their pace slowed and became more cautious. In the path ahead lay an elf dressed in the garments of Mirkwood. Perfectly centered near the base of his neck jutted an arrow bearing the fletchings of Rivendell.

Involuntarily, Legolas gasped. "Calenaur." Heedless of possible danger, he ran forward and crouched beside the body. Then, with stricken gaze, he looked at Elrohir. "How could this happen?"

Elrohir looked bewildered, clearly troubled at having to accept what his eyes were telling him. "I do not know. We must tell my father."

And yet they did not move, stunned by their grief and appalled by the implications of such a horrific tragedy within the blessed boundaries of Rivendell.

---

"Who else knows of this?"

Lord Elrond paced the floor of the small, covered patio he sometimes used for casual meetings. His voice held anger, as if somehow the younger elves had been responsible for this tragedy, but there was barely concealed tension beneath his words.

Legolas glanced quickly at Elrohir, brows furrowed as he tried to fathom the meaning held within Elrond's tone. But Elrohir chose to ignore him. "Legolas and I carried the body to the watchtower and then came directly to you. Elladan has gone with two of our household to bring the body back here."

Elrond stopped his pacing and swung toward them. "I do not want word of this to disrupt the celebration." He looked at Legolas. "I ask that your father and all his retinue stay within the walls, where they will have the protection of my Household."

"Thank you, my Lord." Legolas wondered why the Lord of Rivendell did not ask the obvious questions, even if they presently had no answers: Who could have entered Rivendell undetected? Who would have access to the weapons of the House of Elrond? And why would a skulking outsider kill an elf and leave the body where it would be found easily?

He had the unsettling feeling that he knew the answers, but he did not voice them. "I wish to join your search."

Elrond shook his head firmly. "You are here under my protection. My archers know this realm better than you. Go and speak with your father. I will come to his chambers shortly to explain. In the meantime, save for your father, do not speak of this to any one. There is no need to add a pall to the festivities. Should anyone ask, Calenaur died in an unfortunate accident."

---

"I know Calenaur was your friend, my son. But Lord Elrond is right. We are guests in his realm, and it is a matter of honor for him to ensure our safety. Any foe cunning enough to take Calenaur by surprise is a dangerous foe indeed."

Legolas looked at his father, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, across the wide, exquisitely carved table that separated them. "That is why I wish to help Lord Elrond track this murderer. I may have acquired some skill at tracking that they lack."

Thranduil did not sound pleased. "Yes. From your man friend."

This was an old argument, and Legolas had heard it too many times to be upset by his father's dismissive tone. "Yes. Aragorn is the finest tracker I have ever known. What elvish senses miss, he reads in almost-invisible traces upon the ground."

Getting up from his comfortable chair, the king began to pace the broad, tiled floor. "I know I taught you politeness toward the lesser races, but I never thought you would extend it as far as friendship."

"My Lord." Legolas only spoke so formally to his father when he was greatly annoyed with him. "There is a murderer roaming Rivendell, and yet you persist in returning to a weary subject on which we long ago agreed there is no compromise."

Surprisingly, Thranduil agreed, although the effort cost him a long, weary sigh. "Did you get a sense of our enemy?"

Legolas chose his words carefully. "No, I sensed nothing of his presence."

"Then our enemy is using some magic to cloak himself. This is indeed a bad sign."

Elrond arrived then and made apologies for his delay. "I posted guards to ensure the safety of the House, and several search parties have been dispatched to find our intruder."

"I am confident you will take every precaution." Thranduil didn't appear the least interested in the danger. "I trust this will not interfere with any of the planned celebrations? I get out of Mirkwood so seldom, it seems a pity to waste the opportunity."

Legolas winced. Trust his father to address the serious issues first.

"The House will be well protected. Everything will go as scheduled." Elrond paused, and looked at Legolas. "There is no need to upset the wedding party with the news of Calenaur's murder. Perhaps we should leave it as an accident for the time being and all act as naturally as possible."

"An excellent idea," Thranduil agreed promptly. He, too, looked at Legolas. "Whatever we have discussed remains between us and whomever else Lord Elrond wishes to tell."

Clenching his jaws until they hurt, Legolas nodded.

"Good. Then it is settled." Elrond looked satisfied with how easily everything had worked out. "I must take my leave now and see that my instructions have been implemented."

Legolas followed him to the door on the pretext of courtesy, but there was something else he needed to discuss. "Lord Elrond, a moment please."

Elrond looked at him coolly, then relented and nodded. The two of them went outside to the covered walkway that linked the many wings of Imladris. "What is it, Legolas? My decision stands that you do not join a search party."

Legolas nodded but could not hide the bitterness in his voice. "Lord Elrond, I will know Calenaur's murderer."

"He will be in our hands soon and then you will find the answers you seek."

Legolas did not flinch from the hard look in Elrond's eyes. "My Lord, I believe our enemy did not sneak into Rivendell. He was already here. He is an elf."

---

Elrond's expression never faltered, but his eyes flickered to reveal the truth. "Walk with me."

Legolas walked a respectful half-pace behind and followed Elrond to a sheltered courtyard teeming with lush plants and sparkling fountains. Elrond sat down on a bench and gestured for him to sit on another across from him.

After Legolas sat down, Elrond took several minutes to begin his tale. "Over an Age ago, I had a friend. His name was Embrohím. For many years, we were the best of companions. In battle, he stood at my back and I at his. Together we battled many threats and emerged victorious, to the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and beyond." Elrond paused, then continued softly as if speaking to himself. His eyes were focused on memories rather than the beauty surrounding him. "In times of peace, Embrohím joined me in the building of Imladris. He helped me set the protections that keep our realm safe and was one of my most trusted lieutenants."

He sighed. "One day, we were walking the Three Falls trail, up near the watchtower." Elrond closed his eyes briefly against the memory. "He fell." The pain in his voice was heavy. "All the years of battle and danger, and a single misstep shattered his life."

Legolas listened respectfully, but when Elrond paused again, he could not help but show his bewilderment. "How long ago was this?"

"Nearly three hundred years."

He was baffled as he tried to puzzle through what Elrond was trying to tell him. One unthinkable possibility occurred to him, and his eyes widened as he contemplated it. "You saved him," he ventured softly.

Elrond shook his head bitterly. "I could not save him. However, my knowledge of healing was sufficient to keep his body alive." He looked steadily at Legolas. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Legolas nodded numbly, shocked to have his fears confirmed. "The Madness took him." Suddenly, he felt repulsed and angry. He couldn't keep the judgment from his voice. "For three hundred years? You kept him alive for three hundred years?"

Elrond stood up and began to pace the narrow length of walk between the benches. "He was unconscious, yes. You know as well as I what the severing of Serenity means to our kind. My knowledge of medicine is vast, but all my efforts failed to revive him. But once I had saved his life, I could not bring myself to let him die." There was no entreaty for understanding in his voice. "He was my friend."

Legolas knew the lengths to which one would go for a friend. But he'd never expected to see his own feelings reflected so clearly in Elrond. He could only nod.

"He was unconscious, not a danger to anyone." Elrond sounded both angry and dismayed. "He lingered between life and death, his spirit disconnected from all we elves hold dearest. I thought I could take him with me to Valinor. Perhaps there he could be cured." Then the anger over-rode all other emotion. "I let my arrogance in my abilities get the better of me, and then I could not bring myself to undo the terrible fate to which I had condemned my closest friend."

Again, Legolas nodded in understanding. "When did he awake?"

"I do not know. He was gone yesterday morning. Never did I imagine he would awaken on these shores, much less have the strength to leave his bed."

An elf consumed by the Madness could be a dangerous adversary. Unconscious, cut off from the natural links elves maintained with their surroundings, a sensory awareness they called Serenity, could be deadly for his kind. The longer an elf remained unconscious, the more likely it was he would never fully recover. If consciousness returned, the senses were bombarded with confusing images and sounds. Legolas had heard it was like being trapped in a terrifying nightmare, and he could well believe it. The Madness was the only affliction that could be called an elvish "sickness." There was no cure, at least not in the lands of Middle-earth. "I am sorry for your burden," he said at last. "But what are your orders now?"

Elrond's shoulders sagged. The tall, proud Lord of Rivendell looked somehow shrunken with his pain. "To do what I should have had the courage to do three hundred years ago. Embrohím must die before he kills more of our people in whatever twisted nightmare his world has become."

"I will help if I can."

"No! Help me by keeping silent about this. Tell your father the truth if you feel the need. Now, it falls upon my sons to carry the burden and finish what I could not."

"Then they are in great danger. Embrohím was a great warrior, was he not?"

"One of the greatest among our kind. He moved like a cloud over the land. Not even the forest creatures marked his passing. Even Glorfindel, the greatest warrior in Imladris today, is no match for him."

It was a level of Serenity all elves strove for but few achieved, and Legolas was both in awe and fear of the enemy they faced. To possess such skills and yet be consumed by madness made him doubly dangerous. "Calenaur was my friend. Your sons are my friends. I could not help him, but I can help them."

Elrond's voice became strong with authority. "No, Legolas. Stay with your father. He needs to know you are safe. For once, think of him instead of yourself."

The barb cut deep.

Elrond's sternness melted into regret. "I am sorry, Legolas," he said, reaching out and touching his arm. "I understand your need for justice. The burden of my guilt has loosened my temper, and I direct it at you instead of at myself." He smiled sadly. "Stay with your father, please."

It was one of the most difficult moments of his life to obey the command. "Yes, my Lord."

---

Legolas visited Rivendell often enough to have his own chambers within the House. However, per Elrond's wishes, he returned to his father's chambers and apprised him of the latest developments.

Not surprisingly, Thranduil was unconcerned with Elrond's problems. He was too busy admiring his latest acquisitions from the talented weavers and metalsmiths of Rivendell: beautifully woven cloth in muted shades of woodland colors, intricately wrought utensils, and beautifully etched silver goblets.

He managed to endure his father's material rapture for almost three hours, and then he begged to take his leave. Thranduil didn't even notice his departure.

Legolas was deep in thought as he walked the path leading away from the wing given to the guests from Mirkwood. Around him, birds sang in the vines coiling up the columns supporting the graceful arch of roof, but he took no notice of them. He almost missed the sound of someone calling his name, and looked up just in time to avoid being run down by a young, exuberant elf.

"Legolas, where have you been? I have searched half the House for you."

He wasn't in the mood for idle conversation, but Nimthalion always made him smile. Little more than a child, Nimthalion had the stature of a fully grown elf but none of the senses or sensibilities maturity would bring him. He was somewhere in those difficult middle years where one is no longer a child but also not yet an adult. Legolas remembered the trials of his own awkward years; besides, it was a pleasure to see the world through fresh eyes again, or to share his enthusiasm when some new discovery was made. There were enough years ahead of him to become burdened and unsmiling by the experiences of a long life.

"I have been with Elrohir enjoying the view from a watchtower, and just now I have been with my father."

Nimthalion's eyes widened. "Why did you not come for me? I would have enjoyed the watchtower."

"I believe you were adamant about seeing Elladan's sword collection. Difficult even for you to be in two places at once, Nimthalion."

The youngster grinned and all but bounced with energy. "Yes, you are right. Will you take me there later?"

Legolas was a little bemused by the wide-eyed adulation Nimthalion bestowed upon him, but he supposed it was his adventures for which he was most revered. Nimthalion yearned for adventure, and this trip to Rivendell was his first. He couldn't contain his enthusiasm for the journey or his admiration for someone who seemed as worldly as Legolas did.

But the question brought back the memory of why Legolas felt so glum. "Lord Elrond has asked that all of us stay within the walls of his House. There is a dangerous animal abroad, and he wants his archers to find it without risking our safety." It wasn't a lie, not exactly. An elf afflicted with the Madness was more dangerous and cunning than any beast that walked the earth or soared in the sky.

Nimthalion eyes sparkled. "Is it a warg?"

Legolas shook his head patiently. "If you will remember your lessons, you will recall that wargs have not been seen west of the Misty Mountains in many years. The wolves on this side of the mountains are much smaller, more like dogs, although no less vicious than their larger kin."

"Sorry." Nimthalion didn't look especially contrite. "Is it a wolf, then?"

He was stumped for an answer but realized he would be unable to escape the interrogation, and he was impatient to leave. "Come with me, but do not say a word."

Nimthalion's eyes gleamed.

They followed the graceful, winding paths across the Household, and at last passed under an arch thickly covered with dripping blossoms of wisteria. On the other side, carefully tended walkways and gardens gave way to the rugged beauty of the canyon. An archer guarded the trail.

Legolas greeted him politely. "We plan to go no further than the watchtower."

The archer nodded. "That should be safe. But be careful. Lord Elrond has decreed no one should stray far from his House."

"We will take care." Legolas took the trail quickly, although Nimthalion lagged now and again to examine some new wonder he'd discovered. Obeying his command, however, the youth didn't say a word even though he appeared to be bursting with questions.

The view from the watchtower had changed with the sun's passage. What had been brightly lit in the morning was now hidden by shadow, and the canyon features that had stood out clearly were now muted by an afternoon mist. Still, it was an impressive view, and Nimthalion leaned eagerly over the wall to take in every detail.

Legolas stood beside him but took no notice of the scenery. Instead, he cast his senses to the east, where he knew the search parties had gone in an effort to track Embrohím. He did not have long to wait. Before the sun had dipped below the canyon rim, he saw a group of archers returning along the river path. In the lead walked the twins. Elladan had an arm around his brother's shoulders. Behind them, four archers carried the limp body of a fifth elf.

The arrow jutting precisely from the base of his neck told its own story.

Nimthalion drew back in horror and stared at Legolas. "No natural creature of this forest uses bow and arrow to bring down its prey."

"You are correct," Legolas answered sadly. "Our adversary is more cunning than even the savviest wolf or lion."

"Who is it?"

"I cannot tell you." Legolas turned away from the depressing sight of the search party and its grim burden. Abruptly, he made an impulsive decision he knew he would later regret. "I may have an errand for you that may prove all the adventure you desire and more."

Nimthalion's mouth tightened, but he nodded. "This is not one of our games; you speak in earnest."

"I do."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Be ready for my summons. Pack enough provisions for a two-day journey. Take only the essentials. When I send for you, meet me at the stables. Have your horse ready." The shining trust in Nimthalion's eyes almost made Legolas change his mind, but he managed to hang on to his resolve. "Do not tell anyone what you have seen or heard here."

---

"Come in, Legolas." It was a reluctant Elrond who waved him into the council chamber. The brothers stood together near a table that held a small stand dangling a pot of aromatics atop a lighted candle base. Elrohir stared at it as if hypnotized by the colorful blossoms and leaves that simmered inside.

"Thank you, my Lord." Legolas had taken Nimthalion immediately back inside the boundaries of the Household and dispatched him to prepare for his errand. Then, he'd waited for the search party's return and followed the brothers to the council chamber. "I saw the search party return."

"Yes." Elrond slumped into the chair at the head of the council chamber where he usually presided over meetings. His posture was anything but lordly. "Elladan told me he saw you observing from the watchtower."

"I meant no disrespect, Lord Elrond," Legolas said politely. "However, my father was more interested in the artistry of your metalsmiths than in my company."

Elrond nodded distractedly. "We lost another of our finest archers without catching so much as a glimpse of Embrohím." He looked sympathetically toward his sons.

Elrohir raised his pain-filled eyes to meet Legolas's gaze. "It was Eärymir. We have known him since before the time we could walk."

"I am sorry." His own pain was impossible to disguise. "I remember when he guided us to the very rim of the canyon."

Elladan began to pace the floor in agitation. "It is as if we are trying to track a ghost while blindfolded. He announces his presence as a jest, and then strikes before we can react."

Legolas drew a deep breath. "Then perhaps we should seek the aid of someone who does not rely so heavily upon elvish senses."

Elrohir eyes cleared with comprehension. "Yes!"

In the same instant, Elrond snapped, "No!"

The three younger elves stared at the Lord of Rivendell in astonishment. After a moment, Elladan spoke. "Why not? He will be here in four days time anyway."

Elrond winced. "I had forgotten." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Someone must meet Aragorn at the Ford and prevent him from coming to Imladris."

A new voice entered the conversation. "He will not be kept away."

All eyes turned toward the door. Arwen entered calmly, but even the quiet certainty of her words could not lessen the tension in the room. She softly stroked Legolas's arm in greeting as she passed him and went to stand beside her father's chair. "Once Aragorn realizes everyone in Imladris is in danger, all your power will not dissuade him from coming here to help us."

Silence hung heavy as Elrond gazed up at his daughter. His eyes were filled with pain. "I do not make this choice lightly, Arwen. By heeding my emotions and ignoring good judgment, I have unleashed an evil within our borders that has already born unbearable consequences." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if pushing away pain. "I cannot risk the fate of the world by bringing its only hope into the midst of that evil."

Arwen smiled gently. "I understand, Father. It seems an impossible dilemma." She clasped his shoulder in sympathy, then headed for the door again. Legolas met her eyes, but he could not read her wishes. How much easier it would be for him if he thought he had her support. But she only smiled enigmatically, as if reading his mind, and swept out of the room leaving him none the wiser.

---

Legolas fretted and paced away the seemingly endless night in fruitless self-debate. The next morning, however, brought news of yet another tragedy in one of the eastern canyons of Rivendell; a member of another search party, this one led by the legendary Glorfindel himself, had been killed trying to find Embrohím.

His doubts vanished, and he sent for Nimthalion immediately after the morning breaking of fast. They met outside the stables. "Is your horse saddled and ready?"

Some of Nimthalion's childishness had vanished, but he still looked eager to begin his task. "It is, although I confess I am not familiar with this land."

"You will be fine. Do you know who is due here in three days time?"

The boyish enthusiasm could not stay repressed. "Indeed: Aragorn, with whom you have shared many adventures. He is a great Chieftain of the Dúnedain."

Legolas checked his surroundings carefully before continuing, but no one seemed to be interested in their meeting or was within earshot of his quiet words. "Yes, it is Aragorn. He will ride by the east road to the Ford of Bruinen. You must find him quickly and bid him hasten. If he is anywhere east of Weathertop, a hard ride should bring you both to the Ford by tomorrow morning. I will meet you there."

The smooth softness of Nimthalion's face tightened with a frown. "What if I cannot find him? What if he chooses to walk instead of ride?"

"He has no reason to walk or to stay off the road. You will find him." Legolas became stern. "Few honest folk travel the wilds these days. I do not think you will find others on the road, but if you see anyone who does not ride alone, avoid them."

"I will." Nimthalion looked at the ground uneasily, and Legolas felt sympathy.

"I would do this myself, but I sense Lord Elrond is having me watched. I know I ask a lot of you --"

"It is not the journey." Nimthalion's head came up. "I have never --" He paused and looked away awkwardly.

Legolas frowned. "What then?"

"I have never beheld a Dúnadan, or anyone from the races of Men."

Legolas was startled for a moment. "You have never ridden with a trading caravan to Lake-town or Dale?"

Looking ashamed, Nimthalion shook his head. "Until our journey here, I had never been permitted beyond the protections of our Woodland Realm."

Men had not passed through Mirkwood or visited the elves in many years. Legolas tried to picture how a young elf would perceive his first encounter with Aragorn. "Aragorn is a tall, lean creature. His appearance is disreputable, and his demeanor stern. His face is hard and chiseled like weathered stone; you may even think him ugly and frightening to behold. But he will treat you with courtesy and kindness if you do the same to him."

Nimthalion's eyes had gone wide again. "I will." He fidgeted for a moment. "I hear that men smell badly."

Legolas could not repress a grin. "They smell, yes. But are you bothered by the wood smoke that rises from the campfire, or the sweat of your mount after it has run hard? We do not think of these scents as bad or good; they are familiar, and can be even comforting."

"Yes, forgive me. I spoke foolishly."

"No question is foolish if you do not know the answer."

Nimthalion nodded. "I will leave immediately and ride fast." He turned to go into the stables.

"One more thing."

Nimthalion stopped and turned back, his expression resigned. "Yes, I will be careful."

Legolas smiled. "Yes, you will. But that is not what I intended to tell you. Outside these borders, he is known as Strider. Address him as such."

"Strider." Nimthalion savored the name. "Yes, I will remember."

Legolas kept him there until there was no one in sight. "Ride hard. Lord Elrond may send a rider after you if he realizes you have left the protection of his House. Do not stop for anyone."

"I shall do as you say." Nimthalion disappeared into the stable and returned a moment later with his horse. Effortlessly, he vaulted into his saddle. The sound of his mount's hooves faded into the cheerful woodland sounds of morning.

Legolas felt a tremor of doubt. Nimthalion was a child, sheltered all his youth, as a child should be. Now he was riding alone into the wild in search of a stranger.

It had seemed so clear before, but had he been able to take back his decision, Legolas knew in that moment he would have done so.

---

Legolas spent the day almost in a daze because of the momentous decision he had made. But he also had to make an effort to keep tight rein on his thoughts and emotions, difficult to do in a city filled with elves, whose perceptions were keen and their insights keener. He made it a point to avoid Elrond at all costs, or his plan would be revealed within moments.

Finally, in frustration, he retired to his chambers and wiled away the long hours reading books from the extensive library of Imladris. It was an idle pastime, for he did not see the words upon the parchment.

Every few hours, as if to check that he was still in the city, Elrohir or Elladan would visit him on some innocuous errand. Legolas would admit just enough of the truth to satisfy: he was frustrated because Lord Elrond would not allow him to take part in the search for Embrohím.

The sun, which seemed to have been mocking him throughout the day with its stubborn persistence, finally sank behind the western edge of Rivendell. He chafed through the endless dusk and joined his father and the rest of both royal Houses at supper. This was the most dangerous time for him, he knew; Lord Elrond sat at the head of the table, and Legolas felt as if those stern eyes probed right into his soul and saw the truth. But conversation stayed focused on the concluded nuptials and the plans for the newly married couple to return to Mirkwood when King Thranduil departed in twelve days time.

He knew it looked suspicious when he refused to partake in the evening's festivities, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to keep his secret for very long in the company of the twins or the rest of the family. Arwen, especially, whose connection to Aragorn was both worldly and spiritual, had given him some searching looks during the meal. Of all of the party, he avoided her most of all.

But she blocked the path of his exit from the banquet hall, her youthful face radiant with the light of her beauty, but her eyes reflecting the wisdom of her long years.

Their gazes locked for what seemed to Legolas like an eternity, and he was unable to speak. He would never be able to avoid telling the full truth to the woman Aragorn loved.

Instead of asking him questions, however, she placed a feather-soft hand upon his sleeve.

"He must not fall."

And then she was gone, back into the hall to join the rest of her family. Legolas walked in a daze back to his chambers, the enormity of what he had done finally hitting home. He had set in motion events that would not only affect the safety of Rivendell but could ultimately help define the fate of the world.

And the decision was irrevocable. Aragorn was on his way, set to arrive two days early at Legolas's behest. The choices were two: confess his plan to Elrond, who would dispatch a strong guard of archers to meet Aragorn at the Bruinen, or go by himself as he'd planned and try to enact his original plan. Either way, a man traveling in Rivendell, an outsider to Embrohím's eyes, would be an easy target, even surrounded by warriors as a living shield. And Aragorn would never abide that sort of protection. It was not in his nature. Like Legolas, he would trust in his skill and experience to conquer the threat. Unlike Legolas, he did not understand the strength of the foe.

In the depths of the night, Legolas finally left his chambers. He dressed in his traveling clothes and picked up his weapons before leaving. He did not try to move stealthily, for such an action would have aroused more suspicion than striding boldly toward his destination. Rivendell was well guarded, first by the power of Elrond, which protected its borders, but also by the extra security he'd posted since Embrohím had gone on the prowl.

He went to the stable, an innocent destination but close to the edge of the House where he hoped to slip away.

Ascar, his dappled young stallion, greeted him with a soft nicker. Legolas fed him an apple he'd brought from supper and stroked the silky softness of the proud neck. "You cannot come with me, my friend." The small pricked ears seemed riveted to his every word. "Tonight, I must stay off the trails and make less sound than a shadow."

Ascar poked him gently in the ribs with his head, as if to remark, "Yes, but I am faster."

Legolas smiled and gave the stallion a final scratch on his broad forehead before turning to leave.

Silhouetted in the doorway was a figure, no more than a darker shape against the backdrop of night, but Legolas did not flinch. "Elrohir. Are you taking a turn at the watch tonight?"

"No." Elrohir entered the barn and came nearer. "I saw you from my window and wondered why anyone would feel a need to take his weapons on a stroll through the gardens."

There was no point in lying. "I am going to the Ford to meet Aragorn."

Elrohir frowned. "He is not due for another two days."

Prevarication did not come easily to Legolas, but he spoke as calmly as he could. "It is a long journey, and as likely he will arrive early as late, weather and circumstances permitting. I am worried about him." That much, at least, was the absolute truth.

"I do not think you should go." When Elrohir spoke so gravely, he sounded just like his father. "It is too dangerous."

"Our quarry has struck three times to the east. My journey is west, and I will take every precaution my skills allow."

Elrohir was silent for what seemed like a long time. Then he shrugged, and his youthful expression returned. "I will attempt to keep your departure from Father for as long as I can. But should he ask your whereabouts, I will tell him the truth."

Legolas put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can ask for no more. Thank you, my friend." With that, he faded into the night and left the security of the House of Elrond behind.

---

He traveled quickly through the quiet forest, his keen elvish eyes piercing the night, his hearing attuned to the slightest sound. A half moon and scudding clouds cast moving shadows all around him; it seemed as if the forest itself were moving.

He felt vulnerable and exposed in a realm that had previously been like a haven to him. He could no longer trust the natural rhythms of the forest to warn him of danger, and the knowledge filled him with dread. He might as well have been blind and deaf for all the good his senses could do him.

Could any elf be as skilled as to move unnoticed by all the creatures of the woods? Then he remembered the bodies of Calenaur and Eärymir, both killed by a perfect shot to the base of the neck. Calenaur, at least, had been a skilled warrior, and it was unlikely Elrond would have sent Eärymir forth unless the elf had been up to the task. Neither had sensed the approach of his killer or the arrow that brought him down.

Embrohím was that good. The thought only reminded Legolas of his impulsive decision, and he thrust it aside almost angrily. Regrets and recriminations were best saved until later, if there was a later.

After a few hours, he paused beside a large tree and stood motionless, every sense alert. Legolas was not one to indulge in fantasies conjured by the hour or darkling depths of the forest.

Someone was following him.

He stood unmoving for several minutes probing every niche of the forest that he could hear, or see, or smell. Gradually, the sensation of being followed faded away. His stalker had realized he'd been detected and moved well away, or he was truly skilled in masking his presence. Legolas knew it had to be Embrohím. Any friend following after him would have known his presence had been discovered and revealed himself.

Of course it was Embrohím, who had undoubtedly watched the search parties leave under the very arches of Imladris and stalked them from the beginning. And who had been intrigued by the sight of an elf of Mirkwood setting forth alone into the night.

Sudden fear clouded his mind. His folly in sending for Aragorn could not be undone, and finally Legolas was beginning to realize both of them lacked the skills necessary to defeat the unnatural foe lurking invisible in the night.

Eyes and ears were his most valuable defenses against danger. The loss of their effectiveness against this foe was unnerving. Legolas took a minute to tame his fear and accept that he had badly underestimated his opponent's skills. Or perhaps he had simply overestimated his own ability to find Embrohím. Now, the idiocy of such a belief was readily apparent: how could he hope to compete with a warrior whose experience had been gained in the momentous battles against the Dark Lord and his allies? What good was he against an elf who had trained and studied rigorously for thousands of years before Legolas was even born?

None, he admitted bitterly to himself. Calmly, he tried to assess his options, but he really didn't have any. Whether he made for the Ford of Bruinen or the House, he would be hunted and killed. Or he could try to become the hunter instead of the hunted, a slim chance at best, but one which might lead the danger away from Aragorn.

But, of course, Aragorn would come searching, unaware of the menace against which he was pitted. His ignorance would get him killed before he even realized he was in danger. Legolas could have only one goal now: to stay alive long enough to warn Aragorn of his peril.

He inhaled deeply and gradually released the breath. He knew he was engaging in the deadliest battle of his life, and he had no expectation of surviving it. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

He kept to the deepest cover of trees and undergrowth, moving silently as he tried to become a shadow like his foe. Heading south across the valley, his path climbed gradually into the foothills at the base of the mountains. Still, he did not stop. Dawn was greying the eastern sky when he finally reached a small ridge where he had a wall of solid rock at his back and a thick growth of forest around him. Nothing larger than a squirrel could pass through the dense brush and ferns without revealing a sound of its passage.

Unfortunately, the verdant growth also blocked his view, and he wanted to see as much of the valley as he could while dawn held everything in sharp relief. Keeping under cover as much as possible, he left the ledge and climbed cautiously up the rocky outcrop above him. At last, he rose above the level of the thick undergrowth and could see the valley clearly between the treetops.

First, however, he searched the forest of dark pines climbing the slopes behind him. It seemed impossible that Embrohím could have outpaced him and gained the high ground, but Legolas was well beyond making any assumptions about his adversary. But if Embrohím were somewhere above, he was effectively invisible to elvish senses.

Resigned to suffering his uncertainty, Legolas lay flat on his stomach at the edge of the outcropping and scanned the forest. Birds flitted from branch to branch, and squirrels complained loudly if they came too near. Small animals scurried about their business, while across the valley he could see a great herd of deer heading toward a meadow where they would find food.

It all looked so completely normal.

Still, Legolas was bothered. He could not see through the lush undergrowth surrounding the ledge below, but surely, if Embrohím were creeping among the ferns, he would have to give some sign of his passage, some quiver of a delicate, feathery frond that was not caused by the gentle breeze stirring with dawn's light.

What, then, was the source of his unease? Legolas had conquered any false sensations caused by his fear, and yet his back prickled with unfamiliar tension. He knew Embrohím was near. But where? Where?

His anxiety grew, but instead of quelling it, he gave in to it, certain now that his time had run out. Without hesitation, he rose from his prone position and drove himself forward with all the strength his hands and feet could muster. He soared out over the precipice.

The arrow struck him in the back just slightly right of center. The force of it spun him in mid-air. Unable to recover, he fell awkwardly to the small ledge below. He didn't wonder why the arrow had not killed him instantly or even seemed to have pierced his body. Immediately on the move again, he dove toward the safety of the ferns bordering the rocky clearing.

The second arrow took him solidly in the right shoulder, and this time he felt it pierce deeply into flesh. Again, the impact knocked him off balance, but he was already in motion. His dive carried him into the undergrowth. Landing with a graceless sprawl, his right arm gave way and he plunged into the rich, damp loam of the forest floor.

His shoulder burned with a pain greater than he had ever known, but he struggled to ignore it. Keep moving, his mind commanded, and he forced his body to obey. Stumbling to his feet, he headed back across the valley as quickly as he could.

Speed and distance were his only allies now.

---

With haste his only weapon, his pain was even swifter. A veil dropped across his vision and his legs gave way, sending him to his knees. He never quite passed out, but for several long seconds he lingered in that shadowy sea of pain where reason had no place.

He didn't know how long he knelt there, lost in that timeless netherworld, but gradually he returned to awareness of his surroundings. He had fallen against a great birch, and it was all that had kept him from tumbling to the ground yet again. At least he knew he'd reached the valley floor; the pines he'd left behind only grew at higher elevations. He rested for a few minutes as he tried to control both the pain in his shoulder and his scattered thoughts.

The arrow would be a major hindrance, he knew; in addition to the pain radiating from his wound with every movement, the shaft of the arrow would catch on leaves and branches, revealing his passage as clearly as a well-marked trail.

Cautiously, he probed the front of his right shoulder to see how nearly the arrow had come to piercing him through. The wound in his back was deep, but not so deep that he could risk using the tree trunk to push it all the way through so he could break off the tip. The chances of accomplishing that feat with any certainty were slim, although it would shorten the length of the shaft with which he would have to contend. But he also risked breaking off the arrowhead inside his shoulder, or worse, diverting it into a bone. No matter what, he would be unable to reach the remainder of the shaft in his back, and it was this realization that made him decide to leave the arrow where it was.

He tensed as a small, unnatural sound whispered from the undergrowth somewhere on the other side of the tree. The tree trunk blocked his view, but he didn't dare lean out to see what moved there. He was still woozy from his injury, and he could not focus his senses to determine who or what was approaching.

Instead, with motions as slow and silent as they were painful, he slipped his bow from his back with his left hand, transferred it to his right, and then reached back into his quiver for an arrow. By luck or fortune, the arrow that had struck him hindered neither effort. He didn't think he would have managed if the arrow had lodged between his bow and bowstring, thus making it all but impossible to lift it from his back.

Trying to steady his shallow, rapid breathing, he managed to nock the arrow. Slowly, excruciatingly, he straightened his left arm against the bow. But the real pain began as he pulled back the bowstring with his right arm. Fire seemed to blaze from his back and radiate down his arms, daring him to continue. Ignoring the agony with every ounce of his will, he brought the bowstring to full tension and waited, trembling with the effort.

A figure suddenly lunged around the tree trunk toward him, taking Legolas by surprise. He lost his grip on the bowstring, but managed to jerk his bow to the right just in time to have his arrow sail harmlessly into the forest.

He sagged sideways against the tree trunk. "Aragorn, I am sorry. I could not stay my arrow."

Sheathing his sword, Aragorn knelt beside him and quickly examined the wound. "From the looks of you, you are lucky you could draw your bow."

A sudden swell of urgency compelled Legolas to speak quickly. "We must leave now. Speed is our only hope of staying away from him."

"Staying away from whom?" Aragorn asked, but he nonetheless helped him to his feet. "Nimthalion was unwilling or unable to tell me why you wanted me here two days early."

Legolas leaned heavily against the tree trunk and tried to gather strength. "He did not know the whole truth of the danger we face." It was then he saw young Nimthalion standing a few feet away, his expression frightened and confused. "You should have stayed at the river."

"I am sorry," Nimthalion said nervously. "You did not say to remain."

Of course he had omitted that crucial detail. He'd expected to meet them at the Ford and give his explanations in the safety of the land beyond the borders of Rivendell. Viewing the land beyond the protected vales of Rivendell as "safe" made him keenly aware of just how menacing the forest had become.

Aragorn tucked himself under Legolas's left arm. "Can you walk?"

Legolas leaned against him and answered grimly. "I can run. And run we must, though I know not where we are to flee or how long we can evade our enemy."

"We can make for the horses."

Legolas shook his head weakly. "No. He will be between Imladris and us. We can go far to the north and save ourselves, but the danger will remain here in Rivendell. You should take Nimthalion and go. I will try to finish this lunacy I have started."

"Right." Just for a moment, it seemed to Legolas as if Aragorn were agreeing with him. But he should have known it was a vain hope. "Nimthalion, do you know the Thundering Falls?"

The young elf shook his head, his eyes apprehensive but attentive.

"Head north until you reach the trail to the Ford, then take it west until I tell you otherwise. Legolas and I will be right behind you."

Uncertainly, Nimthalion nodded and did as he was told.

Their pace was rapid, although Legolas had to clench his teeth until his jaw ached at every step he took. He had no idea how long he could endure the fiery throbbing of his wound, but endure he would until his companions reached safety.

He hadn't realized how far south he'd come, but it seemed to take ages to reach the main trail again. As they turned west, Aragorn slowed their pace.

"Nimthalion, about a mile ahead of us is a disused trail heading south. Look carefully or you might miss it."

Without another word, they set off again as rapidly as Legolas could manage. At least he was light, so his weight did not create any additional burden. Only his weakness hindered their progress, and he struggled to limit that hindrance by concentrating on moving his unwilling legs.

Their passage was swifter on the wide Bruinen path, and they covered the mile quickly.

"Here," Aragorn called to Nimthalion at last. "To your right."

Legolas was surprised to see there really was a trail. Funny he'd never found it before on his many visits to Rivendell. It was overgrown and narrow, but it was still a trail.

And it climbed. Steadily upward it went, zigzagging up the steep slopes toward the foot of the northern mountains. Legolas lost all track of time and direction as they wound through the trees, going ever upward until he was certain they must have reached the summit of a high peak. It was silly, he knew, because to crest the mountains was a climb of many days, not mere hours, but the exertion made him feel as if he'd been climbing forever.

A tall cliff rose before them, a vast escarpment that stretched east and west. It was tall enough to block any view of the mountain range beyond, and as the trail led them nearer, he could hear the rushing of water.

A few minutes later, they came to a wide bridge spanning a rushing river. They crossed it and within minutes reached the base of the cliff. It seemed as if they could go no further. But the trail wound off toward their right, following the course of the river. The sun had long reached its zenith and was dipping westward when they came to the opening of a narrow canyon cleaving the walls of the cliff. It was here the river gained momentum in its rush to join the Bruinen.

The trail became more treacherous. Rocks borne down during times of flood blocked their passage. Sunlight rarely touched this sheltered canyon, and the foaming rapids threw up a thin mist that blanketed everything and made each step a hazard.

And still they were climbing, until the trail was little more than a fracture in the rock face of the canyon's edge. The river dropped away beneath them, but the sound of its fury carried clearly from the depths. But even the roar of the river could not completely cover the continuous sound of thunder booming somewhere ahead of them.

This last exertion proved too much for Legolas, and his strength gave way abruptly and completely, surprising them both. Without hesitation, Aragorn carefully picked him up and slung him across one shoulder like a sack of grain. Legolas did not think it was a good time to protest this indignity; he was too busy trying to keep from throwing up all over the back of Aragorn's coat.

The next few minutes were a blur of pain. He was vaguely aware of a long flight of steps cut into the rock wall leading downward to the river's edge, a path circling around a churning vortex of swirling water, and finally more steps leading upward. The roar was a continuous din now, and he realized they had reached the falls so aptly named. The steps upward were wet and coated with mossy growth that threatened to toss both of them into the cauldron below, but there was a heavy rope anchored firmly into the cliff wall. It was black with mold but still sturdy, a safety line installed years before by others who had visited this miasma of noise and water. Another rope was strung along a narrow, outward sloping ledge at the end of the stairs. Though it was only a few feet until the ledge disappeared behind the falls into whatever lay beyond, its awkward, moss-covered slope presented the most dangerous obstacle of all.

Aragorn had only one free hand, and he used it to clutch the safety line. Progressing one cautious step at a time, he would stop to adjust his hold before moving on. Despite his care, he slipped once and went to one knee. Legolas was certain they were doomed. Long minutes passed as Aragorn grasped the rope firmly and gingerly sought to regain his footing. Successful at last, he followed the safety line right under the edge of the falls.

Legolas stifled a cry of pain as a torrent of water slammed against his back, disturbing the arrow lodged there. But they were through the water quickly and into a narrow grotto. The width of the falls, it was no more then a dozen feet deep, and its steeply slanting roof made the inner few feet of space virtually useless. Wet and grey, the grotto was as dank and uninviting a place as Legolas had ever seen.

---

Aragorn carried him to the far end of the grotto, where a fire ring had been constructed out of rocks. Inside it were two blackened stones with flat tops that obviously served as cooking surfaces. Soggy ashes from previous fires looked like a puddle of black mud. The monotonous din of the falls was almost deafening, and sunlight angling through the water cast white reflections that danced over the rocks like translucent snakes.

Aragorn lowered him carefully to the cold, rocky floor and helped him sit. "Will you be all right here for a moment?"

Legolas managed a smile and a nod of assent. "Now that we have stopped moving."

Aragorn returned the smile, then tapped his right ear. "Sorry, I won't hear a thing unless you shout." He straightened up and gestured for Nimthalion to come closer. "We will be safe here. Whoever is out there cannot shoot an arrow through the falls, and there is only the one entrance."

Nimthalion looked around uncertainly. "But what if he comes in that way?" Clearly, he had no more idea of their foe than Aragorn, but the powers of his imagination must have conjured up some super-being. Sadly, Legolas thought Nimthalion was probably not far off the mark.

"He cannot cross the ledge without the safety rope, which you are going to remove from its anchor on the other side."

Without acknowledging Nimthalion's gasp of protest, Aragorn took him by the arm and led him back to the ledge.

"But how will I get back?" Nimthalion said loudly, the volume of his voice enhancing the sound of his fear.

"I will be holding onto you." The confidence in Aragorn's voice was contagious. "I will not let you fall."

After a moment, Nimthalion nodded and held out his right hand. Aragorn gripped it as the elf carefully made his way out onto the slippery ledge. Within a moment, he disappeared beneath the falls, Aragorn's outstretched arm the only sign Nimthalion was still upon the ledge. Within a minute, he was back, the end of the rope in his free hand and a smile of triumph infusing his young face.

In spite of his pain, Legolas smiled.

Aragorn dropped the length of rope beneath its anchor point inside the grotto, then led the dripping but happy elf back to the fire ring. "Not even a frog can move along that ledge without slipping off." He sounded so certain, Legolas found his tension easing for the first time in many hours.

"But how will we get out again?" Nimthalion asked curiously, although his tone gave no doubt in his belief that Aragorn would manage it somehow.

"Same way you just did, only in reverse." Aragorn quickly removed his pack and shook out his blanket. It was soaked through. Glumly, he tossed it aside. Taking off his wet coat, he draped it over boulders at the wall of the grotto to dry. The leather had kept his clothing beneath relatively dry except at neck and cuffs. He crouched to rummage more deeply through his pack, emerging at last with a pouch of dried herbs and seeds he habitually carried with him.

"All right, let us see to your wound." After a moment of gentle probing that still sent bolts of pain shooting across Legolas's back, he made his grim pronouncement. "Your hair is soaked with blood and matted firmly to the shaft of the arrow. I will have to cut it off."

Legolas gave him a convincing glare. "At your peril."

Aragorn looked bemused for a moment, then shrugged. "Nimthalion, there should be a small pile of wood beneath the overhang at the rear wall."

Nimthalion once again looked hesitant. The rear of the grotto sloped down sharply, but there was an opening of indeterminable depth at its base that reached back into a narrow band of darkness.

"This grotto was formed by the river in Ages past. I doubt it will fall on you today." Aragorn's tone was gentle.

Nimthalion shook his head, and spoke loudly so Aragorn could hear him. "It is not that." He appeared to wrestle with his doubt for a moment, then blurted, "I am afraid of tight places."

Aragorn nodded glumly. "Then that makes a pair of us. Why do you think I am sending you instead of going myself?"

Legolas looked at him in bewilderment, then reminded himself how easy it was for a man to lie, even if this lie was essentially harmless. But when he looked back at Nimthalion, the young elf was smiling again. His eyes shone with confidence as he stooped back to the wall and crawled into the dimness of the overhang.

Legolas pondered what he had just witnessed, and concluded that Nimthalion had been emboldened to have something in common, even a weakness, with the great Aragorn. It was the sort of reverse reasoning men were prone to using, but he had never really understood it until this moment.

Aragorn crouched down beside him. "I will heat some water and soak your hair from the arrow, if you think you can wait that long."

"I can wait, although there is no need to heat the water."

Aragorn grunted. "My freezing fingers tell me there is a need."

Legolas smiled slightly. "Of course. I am sorry. Tell me how you knew of this place."

"Elrohir brought me here when I was a child. I think he realized I needed a private place where I could get away by myself now and then." The memories brought a half-smile to his lips. "When my frustrations brought me to anger or despair, I would come here to hide out."

"But you always went back."

"Yes, but it was still an endless cycle of never being good enough. I could not run as fast or as far as the elf-children. I could not use a bow as swiftly or as accurately. I was unable to dedicate myself to my lessons as rigorously." Aragorn glanced around again and sighed. "It is odd, but I think this cheerless place reflected the bleakness that I felt but could not express."

Legolas felt a surge of sympathy. "But something changed your outlook."

Aragorn looked at him. "You did."

Legolas was startled. "I? What did I do save let you tag along behind me whenever I visited Rivendell? You were such a persistent, obnoxious child I could find no way to dissuade you."

Aragorn eyes focused on a distant memory. "You taught me my failures were not mine but rather the limitations of my race. I could never become an elf. Instead, you taught me to accept my limitations and adapt to them to the best of my ability, and then master something to call my own."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "You became the finest tracker and swordsman of anyone in this world." He sighed as he remembered their plight. "I hope you have a plan, Aragorn. My overconfidence in my skills has placed us all in a perilous position."

"Ah, yes, our mysterious adversary." Aragorn held out his hand. "A souvenir."

He accepted the item and looked at with curiosity and confusion. "What is it?"

"An arrow that should have killed you."

Legolas studied the arrowhead. Its tip was broken off, as was most of the shaft. He recalled the hard hit against his back as he'd fallen off the rock outcropping. "What happened to it?"

"It broke against one of your knife blades, then lodged in your quiver."

Legolas was silent for a moment as he thought about just how close the arrow had come to finding its mark. Finally, he said, "He missed only because I was a moving target and he was shooting from far up the hillside. From that angle, through the trees, he would have had only a very narrow margin in which to take his shot."

The cackle of tumbling wood emerged from beneath the overhang, and Aragorn stood up. Soon Nimthalion appeared, pushing a stack of logs and kindling before him. Squirming out from beneath the rock, he rose gracefully to his feet. Mud, cobwebs, and other unidentifiable bits of flora camouflaged him from head to toe, and his long hair was tangled in a hopeless mess, but he looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged glances, then Aragorn looked Nimthalion critically up and down. "Well, it is nice to know that even good elven cloth has its limits."

Nimthalion shook his head. "Once I dry off, the dirt will be gone." He shrugged. "If I dry off."

Aragorn pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe I should acquire such a tunic." He slid a look sideways at Legolas and winked.

"Oh, no, elvish cloth would not help to keep you clean," Nimthalion protested, and then his eyes widened in embarrassment.

Aragorn's eyebrows rose. "No? Why is that?"

The young elf apparently realized he was being teased and grinned good-naturedly. "Because you sweat," he answered boldly, then stooped to retrieve the wood.

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Now, do you have the energy left to build a fire while Legolas tells us the grim tale of our adversary?"

"Of course." Nimthalion carried his bundle of wood and went to the fire pit. "The wood is damp. There will be a lot of smoke."

"There's a natural chimney high in the wall. It will carry the smoke out of the grotto."

"Yes, but then our enemy, whoever he is, will know where we are." Again, Nimthalion did not sound critical, merely curious.

Aragorn glanced at Legolas. "I am guessing he already knows exactly where we are."

Legolas confirmed the statement with a nod. Without further questions, Nimthalion carried the wood to the fire pit, dumped it, and crouched to clean out the old, sodden ashes.

Aragorn sat down close to Legolas again so he could hear without the need for shouting. Legolas told them everything he knew as succinctly as possible, and no one interrupted him until he was through.

By the fire that was still more smoke than flame, Nimthalion looked fearful again.

Even Aragorn looked worried. "I have heard of Embrohím in tales. He was a mighty warrior. I was surprised there were no songs or poems about him in Rivendell, but it never seemed important enough to ask why. Now I suppose it is because Elrond would have been reminded of the tragedy every time he heard the name mentioned."

Legolas felt his own guilt surface. "I am sorry I brought you here, my friend. I let my smugness in believing we could outsmart our enemy blind me to the truth. Lord Elrond was right: because of me, you will be killed, and all hope for this world lost."

Aragorn looked perplexed. "Except for your natural elf pride, I have never heard such arrogance from you until this moment." He suddenly sounded angry. "Each of us has a role in the fate of this world. The death of one alters but slightly the fate of all."

Abruptly, he stood up and retreated to the uneven wall of the grotto. He leaned against it, crossed his arms, and looked broodingly at the floor. It was a stance guaranteed to still any further conversation.

---

"The water is heated, uh --" Nimthalion faltered to a halt.

Aragorn looked up from his thoughtful pose. "Aragorn. My name is Aragorn."

Nimthalion smiled. "I know."

"Then please feel free to use it."

He dug through his pack and pulled out a clean shirt. Shaking it out, he looked at it for a moment as if bidding it a fond farewell, then resolutely tore it into broad strips. Most of these he put aside, but he folded one to protect his hand from the heat as he lifted the pot of water from the fire. Dunking another to use as a washrag, he crouched down a little behind Legolas's right shoulder.

Legolas tensed, expecting pain. Instead, he felt only the slightest pressure as Aragorn carefully dripped water over the arrow shaft and gently began to untangle the strands of bloody hair matted to it.

"Your dunking beneath the falls has helped a bit. This will not take long."

"I am fine," Legolas said, concentrating on the gentle touch of Aragorn's hands rather than the thin trails of warmth running down his back. The water reminded him uncomfortably of the blood that had so recently flowed across the same skin.

Aragorn's voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Tell me about this child you sent to find me."

Because of their close proximity, Legolas could speak softly into Aragorn's ear and be confident Nimthalion would not overhear him. "By some fluke, he holds me in high esteem. He was the only one I felt would agree to the secrecy I needed. Why?"

Aragorn sounded bemused. "He keeps wanting to impart to me some title. I have already refused Lord, Captain, and -- the worst -- My Chieftain."

Legolas tried very hard not to laugh. "I believe he is in awe of our adventures together."

"What nonsense have you been telling him?"

"Only the truth. He can be very persistent. I believe he longs to have an adventure of his own."

Aragorn grunted. "He got his wish. Although I do not think this is one he would have chosen." He straightened and gestured for Nimthalion to come closer. Handing him the bowl of bloodied water, he said, "Dispose of this and heat some fresh water."

"Yes, um -- Aragorn." If elves could blush, Nimthalion's face would have been scarlet. He smiled shyly and hurried off to do as bidden.

Aragorn looked back at Legolas. "And why would he ask me if he smelled offensive to me?"

Legolas grinned and started to reply, but instead had to choke off a sudden gasp of pain. He glowered at Aragorn. "That hurt."

Aragorn held up the end of the shaft he'd broken off. "Your anticipation would have made it worse."

He started to rise, but Legolas pulled him close again. "Aragorn, no harm must come to Nimthalion. I would rather die than live with the burden of guilt should anything happen to him because of my folly."

Aragorn looked at him solemnly. "I will do my best."

"I can ask no more." He released his hold, but Aragorn did not move away.

"I can track Embrohím, but I may not be able to find him. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Legolas felt a chill that came from his thoughts rather than the dankness of the cavern. "I have over-estimated my skills too much already. I do not know if I can do this."

Aragorn picked up the broken arrowhead from the grotto floor. "You did not over-estimate your skills. Twice, you knew he was there."

Legolas shook his head. "The first time, I am certain he wanted me to know he was behind me, stalking me. Like a cat toying with a helpless field mouse before becoming bored with the game and going for the kill."

"And the second time, when you were on the ledge?"

"The second time." Legolas tried to recall the sensations he had experienced. "The second time was different. Although I knew he was there, I could not sense him."

Aragorn smiled. "Instinct."

Legolas looked doubtful. "Instinct?"

"Honed by the time you have spent in the wild. You never had to heed it before because your natural elvish senses were always enough to warn you of danger."

Legolas remembered the prickle at the base of his neck and the feeling that a hundred spiders were crawling up his back. "Instinct. Yes, a useful tool. Is it ever false?"

"Frequently." Aragorn went over to the fire, crouched down, and rummaged through his herb sack. "But you will learn to identify the false instincts born of your imagination. When the danger is real, you will never mistake it." Apparently satisfied with the dried seeds and leaves he found, he began to crush them atop a rock with the haft end of his knife.

When he had pulverized them to his liking, he used the blade to scoop the bits into a small cup. He added a splash of the fresh, warm water, and stirred the resulting mixture with his finger.

Now it was Legolas's turn to look bemused. "What are you doing?"

He'd spoken in his normal voice. The sound of the falls had become such a pervasive background rumble he barely noticed it now.

Aragorn looked at him, then tapped his ear.

Legolas pointed to the cup, his question clear.

"A poultice. It will speed the healing." He folded two strips of clean cloth into square pads and put them into the cup to soak. "Nimthalion, there is tea in my pack. I think we will need some before long."

The young elf looked pleased to have a task, but as he crouched over the pack, Aragorn leaned over him and whispered something. Nimthalion looked anxious, but he nodded before returning his attention to the matter of tea.

There was no way to divert Legolas's thoughts from what he knew was going to happen next, but he tried to settle his involuntary tension as Aragorn knelt behind him. "What did you say to Nimthalion?"

Aragorn sounded distracted. "Nothing important, only that he should not be troubled if you begin to shriek and flop around like a stranded fish."

"You never did," Legolas countered as calmly as he could. Still, he couldn't help but clench his teeth against what was coming when Aragorn put his left arm around him to hold him steady.

With his right hand, Aragorn felt for the likely exit point of the arrowhead. "Good, it will be a clean wound."

Without any warning, he pushed hard against the end of the broken shaft. Despite his determination, Legolas bit off a cry and tried to curl forward against the pain. But Aragorn had anticipated him and pulled him back firmly against his own chest. From this position, it was easy to reach around and pull the protruding arrowhead and remaining shaft from the wound. An instant later, Aragorn used his left hand to hold one of the poultices firmly against the new injury.

Legolas struggled to control his breathing, and the initial pain passed quickly. The back of his head rested against Aragorn's chest, and he managed to tilt a look upward. "You did that only because you are cold and wish someone to hold onto."

Aragorn snorted. "If you elves gave up enough body heat to make it worthwhile, I would not hesitate to cuddle with both of you." Despite the lightness of his words, it was evident from his tone that he, too, was recovering from the ordeal. Inflicting pain, even to help a friend, did not come easily to him. Slowly, he helped Legolas straighten up again. He took the second poultice and worked his hand up underneath the back of Legolas's bloody shirt to hold against the wound, then repeated the process with the chest wound.

Legolas flinched. "Your hands are like ice. You should warm them."

"In a minute," Aragorn promised, nodding to Nimthalion.

The youth came forward and helped Legolas out of his bloody shirt, then used a rag and warm water to gently wash away the blood that streaked the pale skin. By the time he was finished, the wounds had already stopped bleeding, so Aragorn fixed fresh poultices and helped Nimthalion tie the new bandages in place.

These new ministrations, however gentle, managed to drain the last of Legolas's meager reserve of strength. Despite his efforts, he started to slump, and Aragorn wrapped his arm around him again to steady him. Grateful for the support, he allowed his head to drop against Aragorn's shoulder.

"I am sorry."

Aragorn's concern was evident. "You lost a lot of blood this morning, and you could ill afford to lose even the small amount resulting from the arrow's removal."

Shaking his head stubbornly, Legolas struggled upright again. The grotto seemed to whirl about him, but he clenched his jaws to push back the dizziness. When he could focus again, he read Nimthalion's fearful uncertainty.

He tried to reassure his young friend. "I will be all right by tomorrow." Then he looked at Aragorn. "And you need to warm your hands."

Aragorn ignored him and chuffed an impatient breath as he dried his bloodied hands on his britches. "You need some dry clothes." He looked at Nimthalion. "Do you have anything?"

Nimthalion frowned in concentration, then brightened. "Yes, I have a clean tunic in my tool kit. It should still be dry."

"Aragorn, I do not suffer from the cold," Legolas protested, then realized what Nimthalion had said. "Tool kit?"

Nimthalion reached into his pack and pulled out a small leather bundle. Unrolling it, he revealed the promised dry shirt and a small but comprehensive set of carving tools, each one nestled in its own pocket sewn into the leather. "I like to carve," he said sheepishly, holding out the soft, moss-colored shirt.

Legolas accepted it, but frowned. Before he could ask his question, however, Nimthalion answered it.

"You told me to take only what was essential." He held out the tool kit. "For me, these are essential."

With his young companion's help, Legolas managed to get into the dry tunic without stressing his wounds too much. "Next time," he said, "I will be more specific in what you are to pack for light travel."

Nimthalion just grinned impudently, then glanced anxiously at Aragorn, who had taken the opportunity to wash his hands in one of the waterfall's many rivulets, dry them, and then rub them together briskly above the small fire. "You are cold?"

"I am cold," Aragorn agreed with a nod.

Quickly, Nimthalion unpacked their bedrolls, but all the blankets had been drenched during their entry into the grotto. He looked almost frantic. "What can I do?"

Aragorn crouched beside him and placed a gentle hand on the elf's arm. He smiled kindly. "The cold is a discomfort to me, not a hazard, Nimthalion. I am sorry for misunderstanding the intent of your question."

Nimthalion relaxed but looked embarrassed. "I know very little about your kind, Aragorn. Forgive me."

"Your concern needs no forgiveness."

The setting sun brightened for a moment the waving shadows cast by the falls. Then, with almost unnerving abruptness, the shadows faded into blackness as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Only the faint orange flicker of the fire provided any light, and it was insufficient to penetrate the farthest depths of the grotto.

Aragorn stood up. "Both of you get what rest you can. I shall stand the watch."

Nimthalion sat down next to Legolas. "How is your wound now?"

Legolas knew his young friend was looking for both information and reassurance. "It hurt badly while we were on the move earlier, but once I was sitting quietly, the pain was not so great. Aragorn's poultice cooled the fire in the wound, and now there is no pain at all."

"Good. That is good." Nimthalion reached out to toss another log on the fire. "Do you wish anything? I have some journey bread in my pack, and a few fresh vegetables and cheese. I could make us some soup."

"A little bread would be welcome," Legolas admitted. He looked at Aragorn, who was pacing slowly from one end of the grotto to the other for the second or third time. "I think Aragorn would appreciate a hot meal."

"Then I shall prepare something."

Legolas watched Nimthalion search through his pack. "How are you liking your first big adventure?"

Nimthalion glanced at him, perhaps to judge the depth of his seriousness. When he realized the question was asked honestly, he shrugged. "The ground is very hard, I felt faint at the sight of your pain, and I am afraid that we shall not survive tomorrow." He smiled wryly. "Beyond that, I find it all quite wonderful."

Aragorn was making one of his return strolls across the grotto. When he saw what Nimthalion was doing, he dug wordlessly through his own pack and produced cooking herbs, an onion, a turnip, and a small bunch of wild kale.

Nimthalion nodded happily at the bounty. "We should have a larger pot, but I will make small batches." He poured the remaining tea from the pot into the cup and handed it to Aragorn. Fetching more water, he set the pot back on the fire, then cut bread and cheese for all of them. The bread was fresh and moist, its dense layers packed with nuts, seeds, and dried berries. A little of it went a long way in satisfying an appetite, although it was not intended for trips lasting more than a week or two.

Nodding his thanks, Aragorn went back to his pacing.

Nimthalion began chopping the vegetables into small pieces that would cook quickly. Occasionally, he glanced at the striding figure. "He is thinking?"

"I certainly hope so." Legolas looked at the youngster. "You will learn, Nimthalion, that no one is immune from foolish actions. I fear I have involved you in one of my most foolish, and I am sorry."

Instead of looking disappointed to hear this confession, Nimthalion smiled gently. "I think I am learning there is sometimes little difference between foolishness and adventure. Is this not so?"

Legolas nodded glumly. "This is very so."

Aragorn returned to the fire to set down his empty cup. He picked up a medium sized log and looked at it for a moment, then broke it over one knee. Scowling at the splintered ends, he tossed the chunks back into the pile and walked off again.

The two elves exchanged glances, and Legolas nodded. "Thinking," he repeated confidently. "He is thinking."

They sat and watched for a long time while Aragorn paced. Nimthalion tended to the fire, alternating the contents of the little cookpot between tea and soup. The cavern acquired a pleasant aroma of cooking vegetables and fresh herbs.

Aragorn ate or drank whatever was offered to him, although he would stop occasionally to heft a piece of wood, glower at its damp rot for a moment, then break it across one knee. Each time, he seemed more disappointed in the result.

Finally, as he stooped to pick up an especially hefty log, Nimthalion stood up and silently took it from him. Without even looking at it, he broke it swiftly over one knee, then dropped the two pieces back into the pile. They stared at each other for a long moment, Aragorn looking perplexed, and then the elf crouched to open his pack. "I, too, am very adept at mangling firewood," he said loudly so Aragorn could hear. From his pack, he pulled a piece of wood already roughly carved into a flat oval shape. He held it up. "Perhaps you will find this more challenging."

Aragorn hefted it thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands and tapping it with his knuckles. Then he smiled.

---

The smell of frying bacon intruded on his sense of peace, and Legolas opened his eyes. The dark wall of the falls had lightened to a deep grey. Dawn was creeping over the mountains.

Aragorn crouched by the fire tending to the sputtering meat.

Legolas spoke loudly to be certain Aragorn would hear. "That is a stench certain to rouse a body in the morning."

Aragorn's look was unapologetic. "This was to be my morning meal in a quiet camp somewhere on the east road, and I still mean to enjoy it." He looked inside his food sack. "I have some bread and cheese if you are hungry. And Nimthalion's stores still contain an apple."

Legolas shook his head and looked across the grotto to the curtain of water at the entrance. Nimthalion stood leaning comfortably against the wall, a mug in his hands from which he sipped something that seemed to please him. "Is there any more tea?"

Aragorn held out his small cook pot. "Mint tea with honey. I apologize for having only the one cup, but I was not expecting to entertain guests."

Legolas took a sip of the still-warm brew and smiled in appreciation. "I see you have recently visited the Leggott farm. Their honey is like no other."

"They are most generous with the bounty from their gardens." Aragorn wadded up a cloth so he could lift his pan from the fire, then settled back to enjoy his bacon.

Legolas sipped his tea for a while and pondered what was bothering him. "Aragorn?"

Aragorn did not look up from his meal. "Hmm?"

"The smoke from the fire does not rise straight to this chimney you spoke of."

Aragorn gestured over his shoulder. "That is because the chimney is high in the rocks back there."

"Yes, but you are sitting directly in its path. Does the smoke not bother you?"

Aragorn smiled. "The path of the smoke is also the path of the most heat. I am still somewhat -- damp."

Legolas nodded. "And due to be soaked once again when we leave this place."

Aragorn used a chunk of bread to soak up the fat at the bottom of the pan, then ate it to the last crumb. Apparently satisfied, he began to pack his meager gear. "How is your shoulder?"

Legolas finished his tea and handed the small pot back to Aragorn. Standing, he picked up his bow and took an arrow from his quiver. Nocking it, he stood straight and pulled the bowstring to full tension. He held the pose for a full minute. "There is a little pain, easily ignored."

Aragorn nodded and finished packing.

Nimthalion joined them by the fire. "We are leaving, then?"

Aragorn glanced briefly at Legolas, then back at the youngster. "Legolas and I are leaving. You are staying here."

Nimthalion sighed and his shoulders slumped. "That is what I knew you would say."

Aragorn's expression became stern and uncompromising. "Nimthalion, this grotto is our only refuge. If Legolas and I must seek its protection again, we will not have the luxury of caution. Nor will there be time to remove the safety rope once we are inside. Someone must guard the entrance."

The young elf straightened and nodded. "I will guard it. How long shall I wait?"

"Until someone comes for you." Aragorn left his pack, but put on his coat and strapped on his sword and knife. He didn't bother with his quiver or bow. "The next person to enter the grotto will be either friend or foe. Try to spare the one, but kill the other."

Nimthalion actually smiled. "I will make every effort to do so."

"Good."

Legolas did not bother with his outer clothing, but put on his quiver directly over his tunic. He checked the placement of both knives and arrows. Then he picked up his bow. "Now, Aragorn, perhaps you will explain the purpose behind all your fussing over poultices and dry clothing."

---

The trail out of the canyon seemed even more treacherous in the grey dawn. Across the valley, the sun's rays gilded the tops of the mountains; its golden light was creeping slowly down through the pines and deciduous trees, but it had a long way to go to reach the valley floor. Here in the canyon, all was cold, misty, and slippery.

Aragorn's leather coat was soaked again and awkward to wear. It would need to be dried out and conditioned before it would be pliable again. But he didn't dare remove it; for one thing, it would be too cumbersome to carry.

He moved slowly to give himself time to search his surroundings. He'd known that close to the falls his adversary could not get behind him, but as he left the swirling cauldron of churning water behind him and started down the river track, he could not be so certain. If what Legolas had told him was accurate, it was very likely Embrohím had climbed into the cliffs during the night to observe their departure. Aragorn had left the grotto alone, a bold but foolish action which undoubtedly would make Embrohím suspicious and ultimately more cautious. Aragorn hoped he would want to stalk his prey for a while before striking.

He was only partway down the canyon when he found a faint sign to show where Embrohím had climbed up into the cliffs. It was unnerving to realize how very close his adversary must have been during the night, and how very close he might be at this moment. The cliffs were high but rugged, with ample places for an adept climber to utilize for cover. Aragorn had to resist the temptation to look up. Nor did he give any indication he'd seen any sign of Embrohim's passage.

Once he left the canyon and crossed the bridge, he was able to move more quickly, his eyes scanning the ground for further evidence of his quarry.

He found it within minutes, a faint depression in the soft, rich layer of decaying foliage blanketing the woodland floor. The sign was very fresh, which annoyed Aragorn more than he cared to admit. It meant Embrohím had not followed him out of the canyon, but rather had outpaced him even though Aragorn had been on a trail and the elf had been in the cliffs. And Aragorn's instincts hadn't given him any warning of his opponent's movements.

The trail moved southward, and he followed it.

All the while, he could feel the prickling of danger at the back of his neck. For the time being, he ignored it. It was not instinct, but his own imagination conjuring up an invisible enemy creeping up behind him, the result of his earlier frustration to sense his quarry.

Soon enough, the feeling would herald real danger.

The faint, almost invisible signs he followed crossed the Bruinen trail and continued south for a time before turning east to parallel the path. Aragorn's tracking skills were great, almost legendary among the elves, but even he had trouble following the sign. At times, he thought he was following a rabbit, or perhaps a badger, but he sincerely hoped not. He wanted to be tracking Embrohím. It was a matter of foolish pride, perhaps, but he detested the thought that he would be stalked by someone amused to know he was tracking false sign.

The sun was high now, its light filtering through the trees and warming the still air. Aragorn began to sweat, but he knew that could not be helped. If Embrohím was stalking him, then he was already firmly in the archer's sight.

The thought brought a frisson of fear, and he stopped to listen to the forest: birds, squirrels, an exuberant woodpecker, a cautious rabbit scurrying off through the ferns. He neither saw nor heard any clue that he was being hunted, and the fact bothered him deeply. He could not afford to be distracted, not if he wanted to continue his own hunt, and continuing was the only option he had.

There was no turning back.

He followed the faint, almost imperceptible signs for another hour. They led him into a small meadow, where his quarry abruptly turned south again toward the mountains.

Aragorn tensed, every instinct warning him of danger. Embrohím had led him here into the open and then circled back. He'd been outsmarted and lured here to die. Embrohím was behind him now, aiming for the kill.

He heard the arrow only for the briefest moment. Then it struck him solidly between his shoulders and knocked the breath from his body. Aragorn fell forward to sprawl unmoving in the soft embrace of the meadow grasses.

---

"Aragorn!"

The voice sounded far away, but he opened his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling a fair measure of grass and dried leaves in the process. Coughing, he pushed himself up and sat on his heels.

Legolas slowed his mad dash and approached more calmly. "You fell so convincingly, I thought you were dead."

Aragorn flexed his neck. "I did not think it would hurt so much. The impact stole my breath." He took another deep breath to assure himself his lungs were in good working order. "Help me with the arrow."

Legolas crouched beside him, and a smile played upon his lips. "Perhaps I should make you wait."

He was not intimidated. "Fine. I will smoke a pipe while you decide how long I should sit here."

Legolas's smile broadened. "All right." He snapped the arrow in half, then helped Aragorn remove his coat over the remaining shaft still stuck in his back. Beneath the coat, tied firmly between his shoulder blades at the base of his neck, was the piece of wood Nimthalion had given him the night before. The coat and Aragorn's long hair had concealed it.

Aragorn untied the strips of cloth anchoring the wood, and Legolas held it up for his inspection. The arrowhead was buried dead center an inch from the top of the plaque; without the protection, it would have penetrated precisely through the base of his neck and killed him instantly.

"It was very close," Legolas said softly. "What if he had missed and struck you someplace else?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I stood still long enough for him to get his shot."

"Then what if I had missed?"

"You do not miss."

Legolas sat down on the grass. "I might have. It was a very long shot. Even though I knew he would get into position directly behind you, I almost didn't see him when he released his arrow." He shook his head. "I almost lost you on several occasions."

Aragorn looked critically at the tear in the back of his coat. "You mean the smell of wood smoke and bacon fat on my coat did not keep you on course?"

Legolas smiled. "I was a very, very long way behind you."

Aragorn stood up. "But you got him." It was a statement, not a question.

Legolas rose in one smooth motion. "Yes. I got him."

Aragorn put on his coat, then strapped on his knife and sword scabbards. Still carrying the oval of wood, he gestured for Legolas to lead the way. "Let us see our enemy."

Even he had to marvel at the long range from whence his attacker had fired. Embrohím had truly been a magnificent archer to strike so precisely from such a distance. He felt a pang of sorrow for the loss of such a great warrior, but he thrust it aside and crouched down beside the dead elf.

The body lay face down, arms outflung, bow still clutched in one hand. The arrow jutting from his back was not precisely centered, but it had been good enough to ensure a mortal wound.

Legolas held back and did not approach. Aragorn rolled the body onto its side. The smooth, ageless planes of the elf's pale face looked serene. Long, amber hair had been well tended during his long slumber, and it shone golden in the dappling sunlight.

Aragorn looked at Legolas, whose grim eyes seemed frozen on the face of the dead elf. "Legolas?"

Legolas's voice was tight. "I wanted him to look like the beast he had become." He managed to tear his eyes away and closed them briefly. "Instead, he looks so --"

"Normal?" Aragorn finished when Legolas faltered. "The great warrior known as Embrohím died 300 years ago, Legolas. Only his shell, consumed by the Madness, remained in his stead."

Legolas nodded, but he didn't look as if the words lessened his pain.

Aragorn let the body roll forward again and got to his feet. "Now, I suppose it is time for you to fetch young Nimthalion and for me to get back across the Ford so that I can arrive as originally scheduled."

A smile, sad, but a smile nonetheless, smoothed the tightness from Legolas's face. "It is too late. We have been found."

They stood together silently to await the arrival of the search party. A few minutes later, Elladan and Elrohir came noiselessly through the trees. Three more archers were behind them.

No one spoke as the new arrivals took in the scene. Finally, Elladan raised his eyes. "Where is Nimthalion?"

"In the grotto at Thundering Falls," Aragorn said.

"I will get him," Legolas added. "He is guarding the entrance and may act impulsively if he does not see a familiar face come through the falls."

Elladan nodded, but his expression remained grim. "Bring him directly to my father." His gaze shifted back to Aragorn. "Lord Elrond will wish to speak with both of you." Then he saw the wood in Aragorn's hand. "What is that?"

Aragorn held it up so they could all see the precise placement of the arrowhead. "A piece of hickory from east of the Misty Mountains," he said quietly. "A hard wood, much harder than pine. Strong enough to stop an arrow." He grinned in satisfaction. "Young Nimthalion knows his wood."

Elrohir nodded thoughtfully. "You wore it as a shield." He sniffed the air. "And you stink."

"I wanted every advantage, however slight," Aragorn admitted. "I could do nothing about an elf's adept hearing and eyesight, but I hoped Embrohím would be distracted by the intensity of the odors I wear. Legolas was wounded yesterday and lost a lot of blood; we took care of what we could, but I couldn't risk Embrohím smelling the blood on his bandages."

Elladan looked at Legolas. "You knew you would be unable to sense Embrohím, but you could follow Aragorn. And you knew Embrohím would be directly between the two of you before he loosed an arrow."

Legolas nodded. "That was the plan. Yes."

Elladan's stern expression gave nothing away. "Where were you standing?"

Legolas gestured vaguely back over his shoulder, but Elrohir had already backtracked his trail to the spot.

"He was here."

It had been a very difficult shot, although not perhaps as impressive as Embrohím's had been. Distance was not the critical factor here, but rather the accuracy. The arrow had required precise placement to avoid the brush and tree branches restricting the line of fire. A single, unanticipated waft of air might have caused it to miss its target.

Aragorn's eyebrows rose in admiration, but Elladan's expression remained cold and unrevealing. "Let us depart."

"My horse --"

"One of my archers will go for him. I presume Nimthalion's horse will be there as well. The others will --" He gestured toward the corpse at his feet. "My father wishes to see you at once."

---

Epilogue

Flanked by his sons, Elrond glared daggers at the three miscreants standing before him. He knew it was too much to hope that either Aragorn or Legolas would show the slightest trace of contrition, and he took no joy in making a child squirm.

"Nimthalion."

The young elf froze at attention. "My Lord."

"I do not hold you responsible for any of what has happened." He glanced meaningfully at Legolas. "The poor counsel of others and your youth caused you to err." He looked back at the youngster. "Any experience you survive makes you both wiser and stronger. I hope it is so with you. You may leave."

"Yes, my Lord." Nimthalion departed with undignified haste.

Next, Elrond fixed his gaze on Legolas. "Legolas, you are a guest in my House. Although you are a prince of Mirkwood, you have never sought to use your position to obtain special favor here. Therefore, I will not let you use your title now as an excuse to indulge in whatever foolishness enters your mind. You disobeyed my orders and those of your father. Your reckless impulsiveness risked the life of someone who trusts in your guidance, and that betrayal is the most disappointing factor of this entire incident. "

It was a scathing rebuke, but Legolas did not flinch. "Yes, my Lord."

Then Elrond looked at Aragorn, who met his gaze squarely and without apology. He spoke sadly. "My anger with you reaches far beyond these recent events, and it is useless to counsel you. Your need to rush headlong into danger makes me despair for the future of this world."

Aragorn's eyes flashed angrily, but he did not speak.

Elrond dismissed them with a wave. "Go now, lest my ire be rekindled."

They spoke almost in unison. "Yes, my Lord."

When they had gone, Elrond let the resulting silence linger. He stood with his sons, all of them somber and motionless as statues.

Finally, Elladan broke the quiet. "Father, what are your wishes regarding the body of Embrohím?"

Elrond sighed. "He will have a ceremony befitting the great warrior he once was."

"Then I will attend to the details," Elladan said.

Suddenly, Elrohir grinned. "They did well, didn't they?"

Elrond looked at his son, younger by one minute than his twin, and barely managed to repress a smile. "Together, they may have the strength to conquer the dark days that lie ahead."

~ End ~