Chapter Text
"You should be dead.
That spear could have skewered a wild boar"
Aragorn to Frodo, LotR
alas, not this time. Poor Frodo
Chapter One: Durin's Bane
To Legolas, the sound of Frodo's gasp was entirely too loud, though it was across the chamber, on the other side of a dozen orcs. He whirled, darting beneath the guard of the orc to his left and slashing its throat, and looked to the corner. The pillar blocked his view of Frodo, but the look of stunned horror on Merry and Pippin's faces was enough to know something terrible had happened.
As one, the two hobbits leaped onto the cave troll's head and began to stab it with their short swords, yelling wordlessly. The troll reached up and found one, Legolas wasn't sure which, and flung him to the ground.
Gandalf too froze a moment, before he renewed his assault on the cave troll. Gimli, at his side, wielded his axe but to little effect.
Noting that Boromir was dispatching the last orc, Legolas re-sheathed his knives and unshouldered his bow. His fingers took a split-second to find one of his few arrows left, and he drew. He watched and waited. In all the lore of his people, the cave troll's brain was one of its few weaknesses, which was why he had tried firing at it at point blank range. But clearly the skull was too thick -- so he would try another angle.
Staying away from the troll's flailing arms, the elf waited for the perfect shot. Then he loosed.
He knew the shot was good as it left his bow. The arrow streaked upward, straight through the troll's gaping maw, and back and upward through the soft tissue at the throat. The cave troll reached for the arrow, its eyes full of simple surprise, and it fell over dead, shattering into stone when it impacted.
For a moment, the tomb was silent. Most of the fellowship was gathered around the stone fragments of the troll, but Aragorn and Sam were at the back, gathered around Frodo. The hobbit had fallen on his stomach and lay unmoving.
With his elven senses, Legolas knew at once that Frodo was dead.
"Frodo!" Sam cried in despair.
Aragorn turned him over gently. The spear had broken at the haft, but it had gone through the small hobbit. There was little blood. Frodo's blue eyes were clear and seemed surprised.
The fellowship looked at one another in despair.
Frodo had fallen. The quest was over very nearly before it had begun.
The other hobbits ran over to them, crying his name, and Aragorn's hand moved gently through Frodo's hair, pillowing Frodo's head on his knee. Gandalf sat heavily on a tumbled chunk of stone.
In that moment of stillness, Legolas lifted his head as he felt the ground tremble faintly beneath his feet. A hot sulfurous breeze stirred his hair with its unseen fingers. He heard the scrabbling of claws on stone from the hall outside, but that did not fill him with the same dread as the fell spirit he could sense rising from deep in the earth. "Gandalf," he called softly.
Gandalf's head and shoulders were bowed and he did not move.
In the great hall outside, he heard the cries and skittering of uncountable orcs, moving in on them. He could see the flickering of their eyes past the shattered doorway, but as yet none were moving to attack.
The orcs were fleeing something else, something much worse.
Legolas moved closer and put a hand on Gandalf's shoulder, and murmured in Sindarin, "Mithrandir, we must go. I feel the shadow moving nearer."
Gandalf nodded and agreed hoarsely, "Yes." He straightened painfully. "Who shall bear the ring now?"
Aragorn's eyes were shadowed. "You must, Gandalf."
"No." Gandalf used his staff and levelled himself to his feet, with Legolas' hand under his elbow as support. "I can not take it."
"Then Legolas," Aragorn suggested, glancing at his friend over the bent heads of the grieving hobbits. "The ring should call an elf least of us."
Legolas could see the ring on its chain still at Frodo's throat, and see the unmarked gold in the dimness. But it was not just a ring. To his senses the gold did not shine, but instead seemed to sit in a pool of shadow. He had no idea what inky darkness like that might do to him. Though no elf of the high kindred had ever served evil willingly, he was not certain that his will would be enough to prevail.
He glanced, troubled, at Gandalf. Gandalf looked to the hobbits, crying above their fallen friend, and then back to Legolas. The wizard reluctantly nodded. "The ring will fight your dominion, Legolas," he warned and his eyes went to Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli who were watching grimly. "The ring's whispers will likely grow stronger, because it will not wish to be carried by an elf. Be on your guard. But we must hurry."
Legolas hurried over, kneeling beside Aragorn. "May you find peace in the garden of Lorien in the undying lands, Frodo Baggins," he murmured, "Namarië."
Then gingerly he reached for the ring. His hand hadn't even touched it, when his whole body seemed to freeze with pain and his vision filled with the image of a great fiery Eye.
"By the Ainur!" He flinched back, panting, and his gaze met Aragorn's. "I am not welcome."
"Perhaps by the chain?" Aragorn suggested and carefully removed it from the fallen hobbit's neck. Holding the ring by the chain, he hesitated as though listening to something unheard then thrust it into Legolas' grip. "Take it."
Quickly, Legolas put the chain over his head. When the ring struck his chest, it was as though a slender blade iced straight into his heart. His hands tightened to fists and he pressed them against the stone floor, closing his eyes and murmuring in prayer, "Elentari, onno thal nin. Tiro nin."
The pain eased and he opened his eyes to find everyone's gaze on him, but he looked at the hobbits', their eyes streaming with tears. "We must go, Sam," he murmured. "Evil worse than a cave troll approaches."
Sam shook his head, but with Merry and Pippin's help he stumbled to his feet.
Aragorn unbuckled Sting from Frodo's waist and handed to Sam who clutched it. "He would want you to keep it, Sam." He wrapped Frodo's cloak around the fallen hobbit and stood. "That is all we can do for him. We have to go." He frowned down at Legolas, who still knelt on the floor. "Are you all right?"
"I have been better," Legolas admitted and forced himself to his feet, feeling unusually weak and heavy, as though the ring were pulling at him toward the earth. Aragorn's hand steadied him.
"Hurry!" Gandalf called. "Durin's Bane approaches. We must make the bridge of Khazâd-dûm."
They ran. The great hall was deserted, but there was a fell shadow of fire at the far end that seemed to grow brighter. Legolas could hear the chittering and scampering of goblins all around, hiding in the floor and the ceiling, terrified of what was coming.
He could not catch his breath suddenly, as if the ring were a great weight pressing on his chest. He stumbled, and Aragorn was there, with a hand under his elbow.
"Come on, my friend," he coaxed, but his eyes were worried.
Legolas sent back a grim smile and continued to run. He had no other choice.
They ran through the great doors at the end and Legolas saw Boromir's arms desperately churning, trying to keep his balance where the stairs abruptly disintegrated into a chasm. The elf put on a burst of speed down the steps and yanked the human backward to safety.
The immense chamber was a rabbit warren of steps and bridges above a chasm that seemed endless. It was impressive construction, no doubt thousands of years old.
"The bridge is close," Gandalf pointed with his staff. Legolas could see the bridge of Khazâd-dûm, the only spanning of this deep well, far below and to his left. "Hurry."
As the group started down the steps, Legolas could feel what Gandalf did as well, the trembling in the ground and the hot sulfurous breeze, and more, the chill of evil touching his spirit.
What kind of foolish people built no railings on steps above a chasm? Legolas wondered as he raced down the winding side steps. Even elves had safety railings in their buildings, and they walked a lot more lightly than dwarves.
They came to a gap in the path and Legolas leaped across without hesitation. But the ring on the chain around his neck swung as it should not have and his foot slipped. He lost his balance and his second step went right off the edge.
"Legolas!" someone shouted.
The nothingness beneath him flashed through his mind and he whirled, desperately reaching for the edge of the stone. His arms impacted painfully, and his fingers clawed at the stone, sliding and finding no purchase. There was nothing beneath him, no way to catch himself as his weight pulled him down to eternity. Slipping ... Stopped. He caught himself by his fingertips on the edge, stilling himself from swinging.
Ordinarily, he could have pulled himself up easily. But now he felt heavy -- too heavy, to risk shifting his grip on the stone. The ring around his neck dragged at him, seeking to fall into the chasm.
No, curse you, Sauron, I will not let you win. Very slightly, he moved his fingers wider apart, to prepare to pull himself up. The edge loosened and he froze, absolutely still, but his heart was pounding.
"A little help!" he called, his voice rather tight and hoarse.
He heard boots land on the stone above him and shortly he saw Aragorn's face above him. "Thought I'd lost you, elf," he muttered, grim worried eyes on him. "You have to be more careful." He reached down and grasped Legolas' forearm tightly. Legolas released his grip with that hand, turning his wrist to seize Aragorn's arm. Then it was a simple matter to get back to his feet.
Boromir jumped across. Then Gandalf all but threw the hobbits across, and Aragorn and Legolas caught them. He did the same with Gimli, over his protests. The ground trembled and Gandalf cast a look back.
The heat and light of the fire was drawing near.
"Gandalf, hurry," Aragorn gestured.
The wizard leaped, and Aragorn and Legolas caught him. Legolas felt something strange at the touch of Gandalf's hand that he had never felt before.
It hummed into him with the intensity of the air after a storm, a recognition between Gandalf and himself. No, he reconsidered with a glance into the wizard's suddenly astonished blue eyes. Not himself and the wizard. Between the great ring on its chain and --
"Narya," he whispered. The Ring of Fire. Thranduil had told him that Cirdan of the Grey Havens had it, but Gandalf was wearing it. It was somehow disguised so that it couldn't be seen, but the One Ring recognized one of its own. What was the wizard doing with one of the Elven rings? How dare he carry it?
A great slab of stone fell from above and slammed into the part of the stairs they had just left, and the sound jolted Legolas out of his anger.
The Ring. By the Valar, it was the ring, already working its poison.
Gandalf's wise eyes met his and he nodded in understanding. His hand gently squeezed Legolas' shoulder. "We must go, son of Thranduil."
Aragorn was ahead of them, as the two immortals continued down the steps. The shaking grew worse as the stench and the heat drew nearer. Legolas looked down toward the bridge, at the brightening of the light. And suddenly he knew what it had to be.
Balrog.
Terror sprouted in his chest like frost covering the autumn forest. Balrog. One of Morgoth's greatest weapons of the First Age, and second only to Sauron in power. Balrogs had slain Fëanor, maker of the Silmarils, and many of the other greatest elves who ever lived. Durin's Bane.
They weren't going to make it.
Because of him, his stumble, the Balrog was going to get to the bridge first. They were all going to die, unless he did something. He was the only one who could reach the bridge in time. All he had to do was hold the creature long enough for the others to cross. Hold it with what? he asked himself, feeling a twinge of hysteria. His arrows and knives?
No, those were not his only weapons. Thoughtlessly his hand rose to clasp the ring. But this time, it did not burn him, but merely seemed warm.
The memory flashed of that moment back in the council in Imladris when Boromir had suggested using the weapon of the enemy against him and his own words denying that possibility. Well, time would now prove whether he had been wiser then or now.
If he was to die, so be it, but he would not take his friends with him. He had failed once already to protect Frodo, and he would not fail again.
Fleetly as the mountain wind, he began to run, racing past the hobbits and the dwarf and sliding around Boromir, to overtake the lead.
Gandalf yelled, "Legolas! NO!"
But he did not heed the call. Indeed he could not. The fellowship had only one chance to live and that was if he reached the bottom of the steps before the Balrog did.
The steps ended at a vast stone platform, with a towering archway before him and the great bridge behind him. A great hot wind blew back his hair as the archway filled with fire-light, at once bright and yet full of shadow as well.
Now that he had taken his stand, his fear eased. His fingers did not tremble as he removed the ring from the chain. His gaze sought the entrance, waiting with elven patience, but as yet his eyes could not penetrate the fire and smoke and shadow beyond the door that heralded the demon.
He grew calmer, centering himself, as if about to make a difficult shot with his bow. There was nothing beyond this moment.
Folly or wisdom, it was now the only path.
The flames stirred in the archway and the demon emerged. A form of shadow and flame, three times taller than Legolas, with the barest hint of legs and arms and great horned head, the Balrog wielded a whip of fire that curled and struck over his head.
Legolas slid the ring on his finger.
The world changed. The fire vanished and turned white, as though he stood in a fog. The very stone of the walls and floor seemed to disappear. He felt power, a strong current flowing through him like a fast river. With it he could do anything.
He saw the Balrog before him -- a creature of purest shadow with red fiery eyes -- but he also saw beyond the Balrog, through it, and to the great dark tower standing beside a mountain of fire. Barad-dûr. He felt as though if he turned his head he could see everywhere and then he did. His vision skipped and shifted, above a vast sea of green broken by a ridge of dark mountains that he suddenly realized were the mountains of Mirkwood. He could see everything.
The Balrog stalked forward, and drew his attention again.
Legolas held up the ring and the Balrog stopped. The words he needed came from out of nowhere. "By this power, I command you. By this power, I bind you."
The Balrog opened its great maw and growled, but it did not move.
Legolas continued to hold up the ring to keep it at bay, but he began to realize something was wrong. He could wield it, but it was fighting him too. Beneath the flowing power of the ring, there was pain. At first it was just a burn on his finger that travelled deep inside, but it grew. It was as though each moment he used the ring was another small cut, each one nothing alone, but all of them together hurt and bled.
But in this other wraith-place, he had no clear idea of time. Could not know whether the others had crossed the bridge yet. He had to wait.
The Balrog took a single step forward, before Legolas raised his hand higher and the ring cast its shadow outward. "By this power, you do as I bid. You will stop."
Again the Balrog stopped, clearly chafing under the power of the ring that held it. But it was not going to be held much longer. Legolas knew it, and no doubt the Balrog knew it as well.
He had to hold as long as he could. Even while the power coursing through him tore at his spirit, he had to hold on.
Please, blessed Valar, give me strength to do what I must do, he prayed.
The Great Eye of Fire was suddenly there, staring down at him. Fear clutched him in sharp claws and he very nearly ripped off the ring at that moment to escape its baleful gaze. But he had to wait.
He had a sense of surprise and then vast terrible amusement. And the whisper came to him, through the ring ... Come to me, my newest servant ... sit at my right hand, prince of the Firstborn... feel all the power that once was yours before the jealousy of the great ones stole it away ...
Legolas could not have spoken aloud but with all his heart, he rejected what Sauron offered. I am not your servant.
Sauron laughed, a sound that cut him like the blade of a sword. You serve me even now, little Firstborn. Your secrets are now mine. Your soul is mine.
NEVER! He tried to stand tall, rejecting all that he heard, all that he felt. Pain was nothing. I am Eldarin, I am your enemy. I will destroy you.
The response came as a freezing hiss. Reject me, and I will scatter your spirit beyond the void so utterly that not even Ilúvatar Himself could find you and bring your spirit to Aman.
His soul quailed at the threat. Never to go to the Undying Lands? To be trapped in the void beyond the embrace of Arda?
The whisper continued, softer now and seductive. But it does not have to be that way, prince of the Firstborn. Serve me, and you shall know power and strength. Avenge all that you have lost. Take the power I offer. Men and Dwarves shall fall before you like a twig before a storm...
He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Fear crushed him beneath its weight. But still he held on to the one great truth -- never had any of the Eldar served Morgoth or his servants willingly. He could not give in to this.
No. He refused again, shaking. No.
Sauron's whisper and the ring had no verbal reply, but they had a response.
The Dark Power rose through him, unstoppable. His strength was nothing, his will was nothing. Both shredded instantly and were gone.
And there was only pain.
When Legolas ran past him on the endless stair, Aragorn had not understood why. Even when the elf raced ahead of all the fellowship with enviable fleetness, Aragorn had thought it was only because Legolas was concerned about another gap in the stairs.
Aragorn was on the landing above, only one length of stair remaining, when Legolas ran out across the floor to stand in front of a stone archway leading back into the depths of Moria. Aragorn was not the only one to stop, amazed by the view below.
The archway glowed as if with the light of a thousand torches. Legolas planted himself before it, facing the arch with a defiant air.
"What is he doing?" Boromir's astonished voice came up to him and Aragorn wondered the same thing.
"Something foolish," Gandalf muttered and then ordered more loudly. "Keep going!"
It was hard to watch the steps and Legolas but he did, dreading what he would see.
When the creature emerged, Aragorn felt a shuddering horror at its power, but a far more immediate fear for Legolas who was standing in its path.
He had known, Aragorn realized. Legolas has known the demon would reach the bridge first.
"To the bridge!" Gandalf yelled at Boromir who had reached the bottom of the steps. With visible reluctance, the heir of Denethor started for the bridge, well behind Legolas.
Aragorn squinted, in the light, trying to make out what Legolas was doing. He clearly wasn't intending to shoot at it, since his bow remained over his shoulder. Both knives were sheathed, not that either was likely to do much harm to the demon. But Legolas was doing something.
The Ring. The elf was putting on the ring.
Aragorn braced himself for Legolas to vanish as Frodo had done back in the Prancing Pony, but that was not what happened. Instead, Legolas became more visible. He glowed with a pure silvery radiance, like the moon. Aragorn's jaw dropped in wonder, as he realized this was what elves truly looked like. For the first time in his whole life spent among them, he truly understood that they were more than just a little different looking from Men who lived long.
The elf held up his ringed hand in a gesture to stop and shouted something. Aragorn didn't know the language, though it sounded harsh compared to Westron or the elvish tongues, so he wasn't sure what it meant but it was clearly a command.
The demon stopped moving, his whip of fire curling idly against the floor. It stared balefully back at Legolas but seemed frozen.
"Go," Gandalf ordered again. "To the bridge!"
The halflings started running for the bridge, their steps slowing to glance back at the towering fiery being and the smaller but bright elf confronting him. Gimli followed behind, pushing at them when they delayed. They started across the bridge.
Aragorn began to follow when he realized something had changed with Legolas. He still held the ring high and he still glowed, but the silvery light seemed to have dimmed. And though he still stood tensely on the balls of his feet, now he swayed. His other hand gathered into a tight fist.
"Legolas, take it off!" Gandalf shouted, but the elf didn't seem to hear. "Legolas!" Nearly to himself, he muttered, "The child will destroy himself."
Child? Aragorn nearly demanded in surprise, but pushed it away for more important things. He had to help his friend.
Gandalf caught his sleeve when the Man would've passed to go to Legolas. "Aragorn, do not touch the Ring. You must get him across the bridge. Don't look back."
Aragorn looked into those wise blue eyes and knew that something terrible was about to happen, but like Gandalf he knew there was no other choice. Nodding reluctantly, Aragorn nodded once and made ready to move.
Ominous gray shadows appeared in the aura around Legolas, and his hand seemed swallowed in shadow. The demon took a step forward and his flame whip rose high again, but Legolas shouted at it again forcing it still. But he was losing control, that much even Aragorn could tell.
"Now!" Gandalf commanded and the two ran for their friend. Legolas was trembling now, and from this angle Aragorn could see his face was drawn with strain. His eyes were wide open and shone a brilliant, unearthly sapphire blue, but they were fixed blankly, seeing nothing in this world.
"Legolas!" Aragorn yelled. "Legolas, take it off!"
Not quite there yet, Aragorn watched in horror as the gray in his aura widened and darkened. The light dimmed and dimmed, until it winked out altogether.
Legolas began to scream. It was a terrible, nightmarish sound of agony beyond physical pain, and Aragorn knew it would haunt him the rest of his days. No being should ever be in such torment. He didn't stop screaming even when Aragorn threw his arms around the elf and began to drag him backward toward the bridge. Touching him was like plunging his hand into an icy river but Aragorn grimly held on. There was something not right about holding him, like trying to hold the winter wind..
Gandalf had drawn his sword and confronted Durin's Bane with the end of his staff glowing brilliantly. He moved back as well, covering Legolas and Aragorn's retreat.
The creature's whip descended, but seemed to strike a crystal ball around Gandalf that protected him from the blow.
Gandalf would have to take care of himself for a moment, Aragorn decided. He turned and, more than half carrying Legolas, rushed toward the far end of the bridge where the others waited. Legolas did not stop screaming, sustaining a high pitched cry of agony.
"Boromir!" he called to the other man. "Get them out of here!"
Boromir nodded and began rounding up the hobbits and Gimli and pushing them up the steps and toward freedom.
Aragorn stumbled to his knees, Legolas draped across his lap still screaming. It had to be the ring that was causing him such pain. If he could get it off... Aragorn lifted the elf's left hand. "By Elbereth!" he whispered in horror, his voice lost in the noise of the crackling fires and roars of the demon and Gandalf's words challenging him.
Though the ring still shone golden, the finger wearing it was blackened as though roasted by an intense fire. And that burning was clearly spreading up his hand. The ring had to come off. But he didn't have time to do it here. The screaming tapered to a soft keening moan that was even more wrenching to hear.
He glanced at Gandalf who stood at the very middle of the bridge, the demon looming above him.
"You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted at it and brought his staff down onto the bridge. Light flared like lightning through the stone but that was all that seemed to have happened. Gandalf began to scoot backward toward Aragorn, who gathered up Legolas as much as he could and prepared to run for it.
Aragorn could sense the demon's contempt as it moved forward, whip snapping all around.
It was utterly surprised when the bridge shattered beneath it. For a timeless moment, baleful eyes stared straight at Aragorn -- no, at Legolas -- and then it fell.
Gandalf relaxed and turned to face Aragorn with a satisfied expression. That was why he never saw the fire-whip curl out of the depths and grab him by the ankle.
"Gandalf!" Aragorn yelled, half to his feet.
The wizard crashed to the floor and began sliding toward the edge. His hands clawed at the stone, but could find nothing to stop his inexorable fall.
The others behind him screamed out the wizard's name, but it was to Aragorn that Gandalf looked. Deliberately the wizard glanced at Legolas and then back up to meet Aragorn's eyes. And even over the sound of the elf's suffering, Aragorn could clearly hear him whisper, "Fly, you fools."
Then, his fingers slipped and he was gone.
"Gandalf!" Aragorn's grief was overwhelming. He'd known the wizard since he was born and his loss, on top of Frodo's so recently, was a blow.
The first goblin arrow, clinking on the stone near him, made him stir and he realized the danger wasn't over. The dead would have to fend for themselves -- he had to care for the living.
He took firmer hold of Legolas across his shoulders and began to haul him to the steps as goblin arrows began to fall like bitter tears.
They came out of the mountain into sunlight that felt like a blessing after all the darkness they'd endured.
The rest of the fellowship gathered around as the ranger laid down his burden gently. Legolas had stopped making any sound, but his eyes were still that ethereal glowing sapphire.
"What's wrong with him?" Boromir asked.
"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked, tears in his eyes.
"I don't know. But the ring has to come off." Aragorn took his gloves out of his coat pockets and put them on so he wouldn't touch the ring. He started to very gently try to ease it off. But the ring had bonded to the burnt flesh and refused to move.
He pulled his dagger and started gently poking beneath the plain gold band. Merry turned away and was noisily sick.
Aragorn concentrated on his task, knowing that the foulness would spread up Legolas' arm and kill him if the ring was not removed.
Sam swallowed hard. "How come -- how come he's not invisible?"
"Because elves are already more spirit than flesh by nature," Aragorn answered, while still working to free the ring. But there was only one way, he feared. He asked, "Sam, if you would hand me Sting for a moment? That's the purest blade we have."
Sam started. "You're going -- you mean to --" he stammered but handed the long knife to Aragorn, who nodded.
"Cut it off," Boromir finished with a grim voice. "Is there no other way?"
Aragorn shook his head. "The poison is spreading and the ring refuses to move. I'll need cloth to bind the wound."
"I'll get it," Boromir offered and knelt beside his pack.
"Everyone, stand away," Aragorn ordered. "I don't know what will happen."
Sting's blade was, thankfully, not glowing, but it did shine in the slanted sunlight as Aragorn poised it over Legolas' middle finger of his left hand. At least it wasn't his pulling hand.
My ancestor cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand defeating him, Aragorn realized and his stomach rolled queasily, and now I must cut the same ring from Legolas. Will this destroy him as well?
Having no way to answer that, he decided he could hesitate no longer. He brought the blade down.
Like a coal that retained the shape of the wood but then crumbled to ash at the merest touch, Legolas' finger disintegrated. There was no blood. The ring clanked on the stone beneath it.
Legolas let out a sigh and was still. The eerie blue vanished from his eyes, and his lids closed. But his skin was stark white and cold as stone when Aragorn touched him. At least his heart was still beating, though weakly, and he was breathing.
He bound the other fingers, which were streaked with an inner darkness, together with the cloth Boromir handed him then, hoping that when they reached Lothlórien the Lady Galadriel might be able to help.
"And what of the ring?" Gimli demanded pointing to where the gold winked in the sun.
Aragorn hesitated. He heard vague whispers that wanted him to take it. And if that was what the ring wanted, it was absolutely what he should not do. Gathering his will, he opened the carrying chain and slid the ring back on it and then the chain around the elf's neck. "Legolas is still the Ringbearer until we are told otherwise. Come, we must hurry to Lothlórien before night falls."
It was a somber and heart-sick group that trooped toward the golden haze just visible in the valley. Aragorn carried Legolas across his shoulders, finding the elf a light burden physically, but all the rest was very heavy. One Ringbearer and the wizard lost, and the second Ringbearer near death. In the Lady's wood, they would find aid and counsel, and the broken fellowship was in sore need of both.