AN: Finally life is coming together. Am living with my new bf in a town about half an hour from Amsterdam, got myself a job a while back, am FINALLY getting some money in and also my energy levels have sort of gone up again. This chapter took me forever to write mainly coz I got to the halfway point and my inspiration came screeeaaaming to a halt. MUCH apologies for the long wait and I hope I don’t get speared for this.

Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien and Avatar. And any extra bits that look familiar, that don't belong to me either. I just meddle.

Chapter Warnings: Plenty, but if I reveal even one it will give it all away. Ok, maybe just a little. Some medical procedures on a minor scale and if you are bothering to read anything written by me, you should have expected it already.

Chapter Summery: Meeting the woodelves, and all therein.

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One Giant Mystery

Deep within dark forests, the treetops lit only by the light of the moon and heavy with the silence of night, any noise was stifled as though it were forbidden. As were the laws of night. Therein, three figures, one on the smaller side to the others, crept with focussed intent, eyes front and bows at the ready. Focussed upon their prey, they moved as ghosts, filmy pale hair drifting from under dark hoods that covered all but pale skin over jaws taunt with set joint desires for the hunt to end.

The cloaked shadows moved so silently, that the stag did not hear them nor sense them until it was beyond too late and his glassy unseeing eyes stared up at them as his spirit drifted away on their prayers of music and thanks for his sacrifice. He was a magnificent creature, and they would not treat him as anything less. For in a world where life could be as fleeting as a mayfly, yet as enduring as an ancient oak, all were to be treated as equal and as treasured as though they were as family to the ones who had taken it from it’s physical bonds. All that were, except the grotesque creatures of darkness that owned no souls. That felt no mercy and never would treat life as holy. Morgoth’s spawn were as hated as the fallen Valar himself, and were as feared as his successor who had reached them even in this remote part of the world.

Though nowadays the knowledge and memory of Sauron was drifting away on the winds in the minds of mortals, the elves still felt his taint keenly. In these dark woods, they were still trying to rebuild their lives after the death of their former king and his son so far had been striving to make the Greenwood a place worthy of his title.

The three figures in the far edges of the forest had no real conscious thought in the current moment about their history, or even as to what was happening back within the borders of their forest kingdom. Instead they were steadily at work making sure that the animal they had taken down would not be wasted in any way and would be easier to carry back home. The antlers would be used within their bows for reinforcement and strength, the fur for lining clothing and for use in cleaning weaponry. The flesh was obvious food with various organs to be used for their healing properties, like the liver, heart and kidneys. The carcass left over though was, at least this time, to be left to the forest to be a part of the renewal cycle of life as it was too much for a mere three elves to carry. Otherwise it would have been used for broth and the bones for more weaponry. The world of the true hunt left nothing to waste. It would be an insult to life if that happened.

They finished their work and lifted their evening meal upon the makeshift litter. Carried between two while the third scouted ahead, they steadily picked their way through the dense undergrowth towards the small path that would lead them home.

After a short while, the smaller one at the back of the litter spoke up.

“Do you not ever find this rather repetitive?”

“Hunting?” replied the other, looking back. His eyes were barely visible under his hood.

“Yes that,” the first said “and also the days that never seem to end. Do you not wish for adventure? Excitement? Something just a little different?”

The figure at the front made a hidden smile, but spoke without amusement.

“I would have thought that a year in the wild would have helped you understand the meaning of adventure.”

The smaller one looked slightly abashed, but did not let up upon his original complaint. Instead he rebounded upon it with renewed enthusiasm.

“I understand what you are saying, cousin. But it does not truly feel like the wild where we have been camping. We stay still within a day of home at all times and never ventured out from beneath the trees. Our hunts are only for food, we see no orcs that I have heard so much about and the only other folk I have seen are those few dwarves that ventured through here to the human lands of Arnor almost back when I first came out to your flet. Seven months ago!” His exasperation only doubled when there was a low chuckle coming from the side of them and the third figure hopped down from a low branch.

They stopped their forward march and the two older ones simply looked at each other, shaking their heads.

“There is still so much you need to learn.” Said the third, placing his hand on the smaller one’s shoulder. “Soon enough you will wish for this peace to be your only adventure. It is not a fine thing to worry about fighting, excitement and adventure when your only concern now is to better your current skills in the eyes of your peers and run rampant through your home like you always have.”

“But that is childish.” Was the petulant reply and the third laughed again.

“And yet you are still a child. Ah you do have much to learn. But come, time is fleeting and we must hurry our quarry back to the rest before they start complaining of empty bellies and calling out for your song. You will sing for them tonight will you not, young Greenleaf?”

The smaller and now obviously younger one of the trio nearly rolled his eyes, but caught himself in time and merely nodded.

The first then smiled, teeth showing within the dark folds of his hood and he picked up his end of the litter again, inviting the youngster to do the same with his. When they were on their way again, the third went ahead once more to scout, leaving the two to walk on in a comfortable silence.

It was not long before he was running back once more, calling out for them.

“Hurry, there are those who need our aid!”

“Who?” asked the young one, watching as the others gathered parts of the stag that were obvious healing aids.

“Elves, mainly. As for details you will soon find out. But till then guard the litter till we return with them. Though it may not seem to be a glorious duty, I need Arandur’s knowledge in this area.” He bustled with tearing strips of cloth from his spare clothing. “The healer they have is not equipped for something this dire,” he seemed to be talking mainly to the second, now identified as Arandur who was already pouring water through the makeshift pouches that were holding the organs and flesh. “They are all weak with hunger and from something else I cannot garner…it was orcs.” He added. Which drew a gasp from the young one.

“So close to here?”

“No.” answered the other, giving him an intense look. “In the mountains, but they have travelled far with injured in their party and are on their last legs. They were caught in a landslide as well it seems but I did not stay to listen to their story for one is very close to death.” The two finished their preparations and he gave the youngster another close look. “Let your eyes be sharp, Legolas. We do not wish to be going hungry tonight at all now with sickly being brought within the camp.”

And then they were gone, leaving a still rather befuddled young elf to ponder over what was occurring at that moment. The situation was extremely serious, though indeed exciting and he felt as though, in some strange and twisted way, his prayers had been answered.

He settled down at the roots of a large tree with his back pressed up against it and his bow held loosely between his fingers. His quiver he had lain down already next to him so as to make himself more comfortable, but he was no less alert than if he were standing upright in stern surveillance. His family and friends of the family had taught him early to be aware of his surroundings at all times, even when peace was about him. He never truly appreciated their teachings, mainly due to them being repetitive and tedious though he learned nonetheless. But as time passed, he was rapidly becoming distracted and anxious as to where his cousin and their captain had gone, and his curiosity was being piqued.

Who were those from the mountains? Had they fought many orcs in their lives or were they merely unlucky travellers? Who were those who were injured, and who was dying? He asked these questions and more within his head as he waited and absent-mindedly played with fallen leaves by his side.

He did not notice the multiple red eyes coming down from above until it was too late.

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“I am Captain Cilmion of the Forest Guard, and this is Arandur. He will help you.” The elf answered their questions with a wave of his hand, motioning the healer to go to his work.

The people in the group looked warily at them but allowed access to the severely injured one laying on the forest floor. They had obviously been unable to pause long enough to make a litter for him and he had been carried by the others for most of the way.

One came forward, his hair dishevelled and face bruised with still healing scratches crisscrossing in morbid design. He placed his hand on Cilmion’s shoulder and smiled.

“We were wondering if you would even return. You ran off without any intro…” he winced and put his other hand to his side, frowning in concentration. The captain steadied him and bade him to sit down which the other shook his head at, smiling painfully. “It is merely a cracked rib, already bound. My brother has nearly wasted himself caring for us. But he did his best.” He nodded at another elf which made the captain raise a brow in interest at their similarities in appearance.

He then turned his attention back to the one in front of him.

“Then I have suspicions already of who you are, at least you and your brother.” He did not explain himself. Instead he went to check on the rest of the small group and soon came to a sad and pitiful sight.

Sitting dolefully on the ground was an elf, shoulders hunched and wrapped in so many bandages it was hard to tell what part of him was not damaged. The most notable was one around his eyes, soaked through with dark dried blood to such an extent that it was visibly unsure as to what part of his face was injured the most. Next to him was a tired, equally bruised dwarf who seemed to be taking special interest in consistently talking to the elf in the elven tongue as though to keep him grounded. It was an unusual sight and Cilmion waited until the grizzly face turned to him before he came any closer.

“How is he doing?” he asked, kneeling down next to them.

“I am doing just fine thankyou very much.” Came a rough voice and the bandaged head tilted in his direction, giving the captain an impression of irritation. “I am neither helpless, nor dying, and it would do you well not to treat me as though I was not here.”

“Master Hirgon!” exclaimed the dwarf, his eyes wide. “He was only seeing to your welfare. He wishes to help us.”

The injured elf grunted and turned his head aside. “I need no help.”

“But…”

“I said no!” Hirgon nearly shouted and the captain stood up, backing away from the now arguing couple and turning to the brothers once more.

He sighed and shook his head. “I would ask of what happened to you, but we cannot spare much time anymore. Arandur, is he going to make it?”

The other elf looked up from his work and gave him an uncertain nod.

“He was suffering much infection and blood loss. It would do to use maggots to eat away the dead flesh but we have none on hand. He needs to be taken back to camp at least to be washed up, but then we must get him to the healers within the realm. There he would have a stronger chance to come away with...the ability to still use his hands." He grimaced and the captain nodded solemnly, looking around in the undergrowth then for things which could be made into a litter. He came across some beech saplings, saying small prayers as he hacked them down with his long knife. He then tore strips of stringy bark from other plants, started fashioning rope and soon constructed a frame which was then layered with much undergrowth tied together with more makeshift rope and bits of cloth. He then laid his cloak down and, with the help of Arandur, lifted the injured unconscious elf upon it. He took both of the handles at the front, as the litter was to drag him as comfortably as possible due to being carried off the ground would prove to be jolting and difficult.

"Go find Legolas and meet us back at the path. We must travel together but I doubt I can lug this back the way we came. I will find another route." He shook his head at the twin brothers when they stepped forward to help him. "No, you both need to walk unburdened. You are weary and will wear yourselves out faster than if I just did this for you." he started walking, dragging the litter with little resistance. "Also he weighs very little and I am still fresh. Go help your other companion as I fear the dwarf can only lead his feet but not his head. Our woods can be hazardous as the trees can be unforgiving to strangers."

They seemed hesitant, but soon turned to carry out his request. The one who looked the less tired of the two, and by that definition was the one who had greeted him at the beginning, turned back and stared deep into his eyes.

“Who are we to you?”

The captain smiled. “The twin sons of Elrond Peredhil, Lord and overseer of the House of Imladris.” He started walking when he saw the answering nod of the other elf as he went to help a highly resistant Hirgon.

Twins were so rare that the announcement of any was heard across all elven realms, and the fact that one was a healer and all were Noldor had helped him remember of the last announcement called in Ages. The Lonesome half-elven twin had twin sons of his own and the likelihood that there were any others to stake this claim of blessing from the Valar was thin at the most.

Arandur in the meantime had started running back to where they had left the young warrior in training. His senses were on high alert for anything amiss in the memory of the situation he had just left and he did not like the conclusions he was arriving at. Surreal emotion lay over the company, as though they had all experienced something that would leave a mark, and such deep sorrow in those who would not express it openly was palpable. He was sure the Captain had also sensed the grief surrounding the one guarded by the dwarf; such unusual friendships were to be noted as well.

His eyes had also not missed something about the hands of the dwarf and elf. How, where they touched, the ground underneath seemed to bend downwards and dust collect around the fingers. As though the earth itself was trying to communicate with them.

He wished to share this news to his King as soon as possible, but was unsure how he would take it. He was unsure about a lot of things now really, especially how to explain how he had let his cousin go missing within the borders of their realm.

He had just come across where he had left the young prince, and saw with a start how vacant the area actually was. It was with growing alarm that he soon found a broken arrow laying discarded on the forest floor and he started looking around frantically, calling out the name of the young prince in harsh whispers.

“Legolas. Legolas where are you?”

He pushed brambles and low branches aside, peering up into the dark eaves of the trees with ill-contained unease and the original panic growing into a deep-seated fear. The boy could be anywhere. In a hole with his neck broken or dragged aside by the wild beasts that sometimes dared to creep closer to their realm. He could even, he thought with a spike of fright, be taken by the very same orcs that had attacked the strange group. Who knew? They had not stated exactly how far away they had been attacked and they may have been tracked.

“Arandur.”

The elf turned sharply, his hand on the long knife hanging on his belt. There stood the young elf, looking at him with a lopsided smile and his hand holding a broken bow by his side. He stepped forward, holding up a hand in appeasement of the scolding he knew he would receive for his irresponsibility.

The older elf gritted his teeth.

“Legolas,” he ground out. “If you ever wish to test the heart of your cousin yet again, you may find him less than willing to keep it beating steadily at your wishes and he might just kill you himself.”

The other let out a silvery laugh and reached down for his end of the litter, placing the broken halves of his weapon on top.

“Have no fear, dear cousin. I would not do this to you again on purpose. But there was need for my bow,” he became grave and waited as the other took up his end too. “I came across something new. Something I have only ever read about in my father’s old tomes.”

Arandur listened intently and with growing concern as they walked, the child beginning to quote words delivered to memory over years of curiosity and lessons.

“‘With many legs and many eyes, she wandered cross the land. Devouring child and mother alike and hunger all she knew, she followed in the footsteps of the hated Valar Banned. And loth to those who watched her eyes for she would see them dead, and from her bloated belly came the stench that all would dread.’” He paused, then sighed. “I think I met one of Her brood, or at least something like that. It came from above me, and I fought it and chased it into the trees. There it finally died after five arrows into its head.” He shuddered and fell silent, leaving Arandur to his thoughts.

Ungoliant. It was all he could think of. The giant arachnid that followed in Morgoth’s steps so long ago. Her children had been rumoured to have survived in the dark places of the world, venturing out only to steal the unlucky lost traveller. But these were stories used to scare the younger of the Elven people in their cribs. No more than tales. Yet if what the young prince was saying was true, it seemed as though a lot of fiction was becoming fact this day and it would not surprise him to find swarms of the grossly enlarged spiders of myth and legend over the next rise.

But they did not appear. Nor over the next, or round any corner or in any shallow gully they came across during their trek back to camp. His thoughts were lagging back on the conversations with the strange group once more, almost as much as Legolas was lagging behind him, pulling on the litter so it jolted his arms in their sockets and made his teeth clench in consternation.

“If you would, young one,” he muttered out through clenched teeth “please keep up step or it will be midnight before we finally eat.”

“I am sorry, Arandur.” Came the quiet voice behind him. “I am just tired. The spider led me on a merry chase through tree and bush.” He sighed and picked up his pace a little, but the older elf could feel it was forced.

“Never mind,” he said with a tight smile. “We shall slow down for now for we are nearly there in any case. I can hear the chatter of the others even now just up ahead. Can you hear them?”

There was a pause.

“No, I cannot.”

This made Arandur pick up his pace again, worried for the exhaustion that pulled upon the prince’s voice. He wished the child to rest somewhat before they ate and took repose for the night, considering that today held the most excitement he had been privy to over the last few months. The other acquiesced to this burst of speed, seeming to sense, if not hear, the nearness of the camp that contained over twenty of the kingdoms best scouts and hunters. They were waiting for their evening meal and would not be happy for it to be delayed any further than it already was.

The litter jolted again and Arandur was forced to release his end, letting it slip out of his fingers and drop to the forest floor. He turned around, thoroughly annoyed.

“Blast it all! Legolas if you cannot…”

He stopped as he saw the young elf’s face for the first time since they had started their trek. It was pale as death, sweat beading over his forehead and eyes looking at him with an intensity that frightened him. He looked like he had just realized something.

“I think…there is something…wrong.” Was all Legolas said before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he keeled forward, Arandur only barely making it to catch him in time.

He scooped the young one up into his arms and made a mad dash towards the camp, trying to ignore how cold the body was or how he could not sense breath coming from his mouth. It was only a few minutes that felt like so much longer when he finally burst into the clearing, ignoring the calls for him to stop as he aimed directly for the rope ladder that led to the flet high in the branches. He passed the prince to the first person who approached him.

“Make him warm and get water boiling!” he said, the other nodding and quickly carrying out his orders. As an esteemed healer, Arandur was rarely question and in any case, the situation looked dire the moment he had rushed into the camp.

Climbing through the hole in the floor of the flet, he looked around and quickly located the satchel that contained all of his herbs and ointments. He picked it up, slung it over one shoulder, then clambered down again to face the biggest mystery he had yet ever come across.

The child’s clothing had been loosened and a blanket had been tucked tight round his lower body and waist to keep him warm. The water was on the boil and there were two scouts wiping at his forehead which, as Arandur could see as he came closer, was streaming.

He kneeled next to him, feeling his heartbeat that was so weak and erratic and began to work on him. Healing him, purging his body, trying to find out how this had happened.

After a short time his fingers brushed against something lumpy behind the child’s head, just under the hairline. He gently turned the feverish prince over and pulled back the hair, blinking and licking his dry lips in horror.

Two small holes, the skin around them swelled with the infection of an enlarged version of what could only be described as a spiderbite.

A spider. One of Hers. And Arandur, for the first time in his long life as a healer, had no idea how to fix this. All he knew was that Ungoliant was evil and poison in their purest form and Legolas was going to die. He had never heard of anyone living.

“He is gone. He whispered. Arandur closed the still prince’s frozen eyes with a shaking hand, wiping his forehead and trying to keep his breath steady.

“Gone?” said someone close by, confusion marring his features.

“Yes. Prince Legolas of Greenwood the Great has been taken from us.” Arandur forced his voice to be steady, but his face showed confusion and grief unparalleled. He breathed deeply, turned and walked into the trees as the grief threatened to make him burst.

Then the singing started. And then he wept.

TBC

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AN: Again ever so sorry for such a hanger. But do not start killing me just yet for this or complaining of Non Canon (it is AU already people. Hmph) as this story still has a long way to go before it is even remotely finished. My notes in point form took up several pages and that’s not even including the massive amount of filler story that is taking place. There is an explanation for everything. So be upset sure, just…no killing. Yet, heh.

Review Responses:

Calenlass Greenleaf: Hirgon IS a fun character for me to write. But no, he is purely my own creation and has much evolving to go through before he reaches the point in my imagination that is perfect. So we shall see what happens with this stone wielder now won’t we. And yes, I’m a sadistic cow, just ask Eric-Jan or another friend and they will agree.

Nadja: Ok this name looks familiar but I am wondering if it’s the same girl I am thinking of as I know only one Nadja in this world. Anyway, elves CAN sleep as Tolkien never specified what occurs when an elf is NOT having to walk and “sleep” at the same time. Also the boys were quite young and I never have liked the notion of sleeping with your eyes wide open. I prefer to think of it as the fact they never let them close all the way and CAN walk while drifting with this half-closed expression. While in a comfortable bed though, I find it too easy to consider all elves sleep with open eyes and wished to make diversions with this un-proven Tolkien fact.