Boom. Boom. Boom.
The earth crackled and shook like the thunder in the heavens had pelted the earth with its voice.
Doom. Doom. Doom.
He felt the raw fear. It dried his tongue and his thirst grew overwhelming. The terror shone in the eyes of every living thing he saw. He guessed it shone in his eyes, as well. The horror shrouded everything he passed, though Shadowfax bore him swiftly. The horse's nostrils were red with blood, yet the Lord of Horses did not seem to be giving up. It grieved his rider that his mount too should be lost to fire and death. This horse would never be tamed to the will of Sauron, so its indomitable spirit would be crushed.
All things were fading, and he could do nothing. His immortal life was worth nothing. His immortal strength, nothing. The love he felt for the world he dwelled in, nothing. The heritage he so nobly bore, even that was now nothing but ashes.
Not even the Sea could save him now.
He ducked his head as he heard the cruel laughter echoing in his ears. Ai, it drowned the Sea Longing and he could no longer hear the crashing of the waves on the rocks, and the cry of the gulls. Maniacal, cruel, and terrible the voice was as it taunted him. The deepest evil in Middle earth now thrived in every corner, and none escaped His terrible wrath and hate. Helplessness raged in the prince's heart.
Greenleaf, his father called him. Ai, his father. If only he was returning home victorious, to tell him that darkness was the thing that had faded and all was well. He had no way of knowing if his father was even alive now, but if he was, then his last task would be complete. As Shadowfax bore him ever on, he drifted off into memory of the past, untainted by the horror of the present.
Boom. Doom. Boom...
The halls of the elvenking Thranduil were silent and tense. The happenings of these days put many ill at ease. It only made it worse that their best warrior, Legolas Thranduilion, was about to leave for Imladris, the last Homely House East of the Sea. His father sat nobly upon the throne before him. Everything about his posture seemed to indicate that he was as kingly as he always was. But his face showed a mixture of love, fear, and anxiousness as he gazed down at his son.
Legolas looked down at his clothes. He was ready at last to journey to Imladris. The horrid creature Gollum had escaped their care and fled off into the wilderness. It was a journey that could not have come at a worse time. The orcs and goblins were beginning to move freely again, and at a more alarming rate towards the East, past Dol Guldor and across the lands beyond. His attire was evident of this troubling factor, as he wore numerous weapons and a tunic, breeches, cloak and boots that easily blended into the earth and forest. His horse was white, but his attire would help keep him safe if anything was to go wrong.
"Ion nin, you do not have to go. I can easily send anyone else."
Legolas bowed his head. "Aran nin, as much as I love you and our people, and our home, I trust no other with this task. I shall not fail you, Ada."
Thranduil stood up quickly. Legolas had never seen him so agitated, except maybe the day his mother...never mind. "Ada! This is what I am afraid of. That I shall never hear my son speak that word again." He closed the gap between them and laid his hand on Legolas' shoulders. "Aran nin, I can give up, hîr nin, is worth nothing to me. But ada is the gift that I treasure most, and if the one to call me that is torn away, I can no longer keep living." His voice trembled a little at the end.
"You have nothing to fear, father. I have returned after longer journeys than this, perfectly well and at ease. Even were things to go wrong, I would return to you again, and we shall see each other's faces once more." Legolas reassured.
Thranduil nodded and then tightened his grip on his son. His brows furrowed deeply. "Come back to me, ion nin. I shall not be at rest till I see your face."
Legolas awoke with a start from the tender memory. He groaned as the pain from his numerous wounds sparked to life again. Shadowfax whinnied, drawing his attention into the gathering darkness around him. Even Shadowfax could not race the veil shadowing the earth's surface. Legolas could still see the blue sky, many leagues ahead of him, but the wispy fingers of black clouds were encroaching upon the pure blue, like ivy that ensnares a tree. Legolas turned to his left, and the sight shot a knife through his heart.
Across the Field of Celebrant, many leagues away, Lothlorien, the Golden Wood, stood in flames. With his elven sight he could see the leaping heights of the Flames twist themselves up the sacred mallorn trees. The air above the forest was glittering with the burning golden leaves, almost as if golden fire was falling from the sky.
Lothlorien had fallen, and the White Lady who ruled the realm could do nothing, for the ring in her possession served the One now back in the care of its true master.
He cried out loud with lamentation then, no longer heeding the cries that had kept him silent this entire time. His heart was broken, his soul damaged, and if it was not for his final mission he would have given up. Only his father and the Woodland Realm kept him alive now. With a yell, he pushed Shadowfax on, determined to get there in time to see his home again.
They had left Imladris all together, all eight of them. Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer and hobbit, led the way, followed by Gandalf the Grey Wizard. Mithrandir, they called him in the elven tongue. Gimli son of Gloin, a dwarf, and Boromir son of Denethor, a man, accompanied Merry and Pippin, the two other hobbits from the Shire. Aragorn, the Hope of Men, commonly known among elves as Estel, brought the back of the group along with himself, Legolas. The journey had started well, with many merry times and good weather.
They lost Gandalf in the Mines of Moria.
They lost Boromir at Tol Brandir on Amon Hen.
Pippin and Merry were captured by Urúk-Hai the same day.
Frodo set off to Mordor on his own, all by himself with no one to watch him or guard him. He set off in a boat when everyone was fighting the Urúk-Hai. Legolas guessed he had not wanted to be a burden to anyone. Aragorn, himself, and Gimli continued on the path of the orcs, trying to rescue Merry and Pippin.
But if Frodo had only waited, or taken someone along with him...
And although Gandalf came back, seemingly from the dead, and Merry and Pippin were rescued and in good health, all was lost. At the final battle at the Black Gate, Sauron revealed his power with the doom of all.
The One Ring of Power was once again around his finger.
Legolas awoke again, trembling with cold sweat. He laid a hand to his head. It was feverish. The wounds crisscrossing his body burned with fire. He could still see, burned into his vision, the black form of Sauron, glittering in the sun with deadly malice. He could see the Ringwraiths, tearing through the army of men like wind tears through grass. The ranks of the army had fallen around him, leaving only the bravest.
Gimli, his loyal friend had gone first, facing down the giant demon lord before him. Legolas wanted to help him, to take any of the pain of death that was certain to come the dwarve's way, but he was halfway buried beneath a corpse of a troll. With a great dwarvish battle cry, Gimli heaved his battle axe towards Sauron. It shattered before it even hit its mark. Legolas could do nothing but watch in horror as Gimli's head was tossed to the ground, and crushed underneath the dark lord's feet.
Merry and Pippin already dead, Aragorn put up a fight worthy of his ancestors before him. He parried, struck, and roared with a vengeance and anger Legolas had never seen before from his best friend. In his eyes, Aragorn won his crown, fighting with the desperate cry of a man who knew he was going to die, but would die trying to live. When at last Aragorn's agonized eyes met Legolas as the sword drove straight through him, the Hope of Men whispered, staring at Legolas. "Goheno nin, mellon nin. Forgive me, friend." And fell into death.
The last king of men in the line of Isildur was dead.
This time Legolas awoke, screaming in agony. It was all too real! The Enemy was tormenting him, plaguing his dreams with things he would never want to see again. This time, he fought as he drifted back to sleep, confident that Shadowfax would bear him ever safely on, till his final journey's end.
"Legolas, Legolas!" Laughed a tiny voice beside him. He smiled as the warm sunlight met his face. He looked down at the brown haired youngster pulling on his tunic. "Play with me, Legolas!" The little one pleaded, hope in his steel grey, innocent eyes.
Legolas put his hand on the young boy's head. "Estel, how many times do I have to tell you? We have played all morning, and an old elf like me needs rest." He laughed as the little boy pouted.
"Well, you don't look old." Legolas froze. The voice had changed. The little boy that had stood there before was now a young man, stern and tall, but no less happy as he stared at his friend at eye level. "You know, you use that excuse many more times than I can count. Prove it. Fight me and lose to prove you are too old." The man smirked and drew his twin daggers.
Legolas heard himself groan as he stopped leaning against the pillar. "Fine. I give up. Your pride shall be your downfall, friend." He brandished his own daggers and the two laughed, chasing each other down the path towards the meadow, to fight till they dropped and then laugh at each other till the sun sank behind the mountains.
He was weeping. He was back and surrounded by corpses, their ghastly faces even more gruesome now that one of the lights of his life, Aragorn, was gone. His friend, Estel. Fallen in battle with the Dark Lord.
Rage filled his heart. He thrashed around, finally freeing himself from the corpse that had entrapped him. He would make this twisted demon pay. He would break it, make the dark lord think about what he had done. Legolas' thoughts went reckless with his wild anger and grief. He started to run towards Sauron, but a simple twist of the hand from the dark lord brought him completely to a stop, unable to move his body or his eyes. "I am not ready for you, elfling." Sauron hissed, every word bringing a fresh round of pain. His baleful eyes turned to the White Wizard, Gandalf, standing tall and proud above the hillside. "Thisssss excussssse of a Maia shall fall before I pronounccccce your doom." He tossed Legolas backwards against a boulder, causing the elf's sight to blur and tingle.
Gandalf turned slowly to face the dark lord below. He said nothing, but watched him. Sauron hissed, staring back at him. Gandalf's eyes slowly turned to Legolas, now filled with sorrow. "Legolas, I am sorry. I was not permitted to fight this darkness with my strength. I must obey my lords or I am no better than this evil before us." His form grew lighter and he raised his sword high in the air. "I rebuke you, Sauron!" A flash of light illuminated the now dark sky, making Sauron groan in pain, but when the light had faded, all that was left was a lingering sense of pure good, and then Sauron turned his attention to Legolas.
"You. Elfling." Legolas cried out with pain as he was dragged closer by an invisible hand. He tried to show his strength, the rugged Silvan courage in his blood as he looked up at the dark lord.
Instantly, his mind was racked with wave upon wave of pain and fear. Sauron was invading his head, learning everything about him, seeing every strength, every weakness. The eye of Sauron appeared, flaming and burning with an unquenchable wrath. "Good little elfling, you shall obey me. Flee from my presence and go back to your father, and tell him all is lost. Undoubtably he will already know that you failed him," Legolas cried out at the hated voice filled his head, "but I still want you to watch him burn. Watch your entire wooden kingdom fall into nothing but darkness and ashes!" Legolas felt himself released, and he stumbled towards Shadowfax, who had somehow survived the wreckage around them. He pulled himself into the saddle, groaning. With one final effort, he pushed the evil presence from his mind, and fled, the evil laugh chasing him away.
"Ah!" He screamed. Shadowfax whinnied anxiously, so he calmed the horse down before turning to gaze about him. How long had it been since the battle? How long since he had gone back to sleep? He could no longer tell in his blackening vision and the murky air that surrounded him. All he could see...
Trees! His trees! They had finally made it to his forest. His home. New strength found him as he slid off the horse and staggered towards the nearest tree. He placed his hand on the rough bark and closed his eyes.
"Prince." Whispered the tree, softly and barely heard. He smiled and pressed harder as a greeting. "The prince has returned." Echoed the tree to the others. A wave of whispers in a wind not caused by weather carried through the trees, spreading ever wider.
"What can you tell me, huorn?" He heard the pain, the hate and anger, coupled with fear that the trees had felt for centuries. Long they had patiently borne the dark disease of Mirkwood, but still some true stood tall and proud. "Huorn." He drew the tree's attention back to him. "The king. The wood walkers. Where are they? How do they fare?" He was using precious time to talk to the trees, but they could tell him more than he could find out on his own.
The tree was quiet for a moment, speaking in its own language with the other trees. Finally he heard the whispers, gently blowing his way. "King...people...River...running...taken...slaves...given up...souls. Our prince must not go find them. He should stay here, and we shall hide him as long as we can." The trees urged him, bending their branches for him to easily climb up into.
He smiled sadly at them and bowed his head in farewell. "Good friends, I must find the king. My heart is yearning for my people and there is nothing you can do to hide me from the darkness. I have already seen it." He mounted Shadowfax again, a little weakness leaving him. "I shall pray for your souls, and may your leaves still live in the middle of the darkness falling around us." He spurred his horse on, determined to beat the darkness and win.
"Shadowfax." He whispered to the horse, bending down close to the sweaty neck. A knicker told him the horse was listening. "How fast can you run? How fast can you take me to them?"
Shadowfax threw his head up with a mighty cry and the woods turned into a blur of green and grey, as Legolas ducked his head close to the whipping mane of the horse and clung like a burr, a small burden to the great Mearas, running his last race to the love of a father and people Legolas left behind.