“Have you ever been scared, Legolas?”

The Elf glanced up from cleaning the gleaming blade of his long knife. His eyebrow rose in a perfect arch and a slight smirking twist came to his lips, a clear indication that he was not going to waste any breath answering such a stupid, human question.

Seeing Legolas’ expression, Aragorn hurried on. “Oh, I don’t mean ‘scared’ like someone popping out from behind a tree and giving you a start, I mean….” He paused, his gaze lowering to examine his hands as if he had suddenly found his fingers and the wooden twig he held to be of great interest. “I mean really scared; scared down to the marrow of your bones….to your very soul.”

Legolas stopped his rhythmic polishing and studied the ranger intently. It was now obvious to him that Aragorn had something weighing heavily upon his mind and was pursing this line of questioning in an attempt to wrestle with it. He ceased the cleaning of his weapon and returned the knife to its sheath; then set aside the hide cloth and turned his full attention to the ranger.

“Is there something you fear, Aragorn?” he quietly inquired.

The ranger’s head popped up much too quickly. “Hmmm? Oh, no, I just…. well, yes….”

Legolas cocked his blond head to one side, long, golden hair falling over his shoulder in a rippling wave as he did so. “What is it that frightens you, mellon nin?”

Aragorn angrily tossed the stick he was holding through the air and it sailed over the camp fire and out into the darkness of the night. He refused to look at the Elf and nervously twisted his hands together as they rested upon his raised knees. Legolas waited, knowing that Aragorn was battling the anger and frustration within him that this unknown fear was causing. When he was ready, he would speak of it; and finally he did.

“Gandalf believes the Ring may have surfaced.”

An icy chill scurried down the princeÂ’s spine and Legolas gasped. His usual calm bearing altered and his body stiffened as if it had a will of its own. He found himself sitting up much straighter upon the grass and he stared at Aragorn with growing apprehension.

Aragorn turned toward the Elf, his silvered eyes filled with worry and a grim foreboding and then he quickly glanced away. “If the Ring is found, the war with Sauron will escalate,” he shuddered slightly. “And my part in it.”

The last words were spoken so softly that only the Elf’s keen ears could pick them out. Legolas’ expression grew somber and his head lowered as racing thoughts sped through his mind and he pondered the dire implications of this news – and how they might affect Aragorn’s future.

He turned toward the stricken ranger seated nearby. “And you fear your destiny,” he murmured.

Aragorn’s anguished eyes locked with his. “Destiny!” he spat the word out with such harshness that Legolas ached within as he realized just how much his friend’s inner pain and torment ravaged him. “I do not seek out this destiny,” he whispered; then turning his gaze away, he clasped his hands over his head and buried his forehead in the hollow formed between his pressed knees. “I fear the weakness in me.”

This last was uttered barely above a whisper, yet the Elf heard well enough, and his eyes shut momentarily as a surge of empathy gripped his heart and he felt AragornÂ’s pain and anguish as surely as if it was his own. His saddened eyes looked toward Aragorn and he reached out his slender hand and placed it firmly upon the manÂ’s upper arm. Aragorn started as if he had forgotten the Elf was seated beside him, and then he stared at Legolas, the wretched turmoil of his soul showing plainly upon his face.

“There is but one thing to do, Aragorn,” Legolas replied. “You must face your fear.”

As he said these words, the princeÂ’s expression drifted away and it seemed to Aragorn that the Elf was lost in some long forgotten memory. He watched Legolas without speaking, somehow knowing that the Elf was about to relate some especially significant event that had occurred within his past; something that would, in the telling of this tale, help to ease his own doubt and torment. Something that Legolas particularly wished him to know; so he waited.

Legolas slowly turned his serene face to look directly at Aragorn and a slight smile formed at the corners of his lips. His deep, blue eyes searched the rangerÂ’s face as if seeking out the accursed fear harrowing the mind behind those silver eyes, and targeting it for destruction, would gladly remove it if only he could; and then he looked away.

“You asked if I had ever been scared,” he began quietly, and his golden head bobbed slightly. “Yes,mellon nin, I have,” he laughed contritely, his eyes shining with a new brightness that alarmed the ranger more than this admission of fear.

Aragorn studied his Elven friendÂ’s enigmatic face, his own fears temporarily set aside. A hundred questions rose within his mind, begging to be spoken aloud, but he forced himself to remain silent and eventually Legolas began his tale.

“It was at least five hundred years ago or some time there about. It was a dark time and The Watchful Peace had ended. The orcs were just starting to build their secret strongholds in the Misty Mountains and Sauron had returned to Dol Guldur. We had our hands full in Mirkwood, but not so much as Mithrandir and the White Council and it was an uneasy and dangerous time for all.

“Mithrandir had some notion about seeking out the last remaining Dwarves in Moria. For what purpose, I know not, for as an Elf warrior in the service of my people, and not yet privy to the secret conferences of my father’s council, that information was not conveyed to me. The wizard made a request of my father that I accompany him on this mission and serve as his guard escort. To my utter astonishment, my father agreed. I could not understand why my father would allow this, for I was very much needed at home and on patrol. And, too, my father had no love for Durin’s Folk, so why would he agree to send his son to Moria? But, as a soldier I did not question my king’s decision, and so we set out.

“The journey through Mirkwood and down the Old Forest Road was rather uneventful and despite the gathering orc bands and raiders lurking about the mountains and forests, we crossed the Anduin unhindered and headed south along the Misty Mountains. We often heard the foul grunts and snorts of roaming orc bands passing very close to our camp, but we were never discovered and passed through the foothills unharmed. I would have gladly strayed from our course to hunt out and kill those orcs we spied, but Mithrandir insisted that our presence go unnoticed and I deferred to his wishes.

“We likewise skirted the forests of Lorien and made straight for the eastern gate of Moria. From there we would travel down into the mountain to the ancient Dwarf city of Khazad-dûm.”

Legolas turned a grim smile toward the listening ranger. “As you know, I have no love of the deep, dark places beneath the earth where no light shines, or tight, close places where the air is stale and dank and you can feel the weight of the stones above you, smothering you….”

His words trailed off and Aragorn could see the anxiety in the ElfÂ’s expression as he recalled those dark passages beneath the mountain. Legolas took in a deep breath of the cool night air and tossed his head back to stare up at the clear starlit skies above. This small gesture seemed to renew him and he continued with this story.

“Mithrandir’s staff lit our way across the carved stone bridges and massive stairways that led to the city. The silence within the mountain was absolute and the wizard seemed to grow uneasy the farther we traveled into the deep. I could feel a growing fear creeping into my thoughts as well and wished that we would meet these Dwarves quickly and be gone from this place. But we saw no Dwarves and as we neared the towering pillars of Khazad-dûm, my inner panic was almost a living, breathing thing, eating away at my gut.

“As I stood looking upward at the gargantuan structures of this underground city, I felt the wizard’s hand upon my forearm and I looked down to his face. ‘Stay close,’ he told me and I was only too eager to comply. I had no wish to wander alone into the nether regions of this dark, vast, and empty place. We had traveled no more than several hundred feet along the corridor when a low, rumbling sound arose from the stone floors beneath our feet; a vibration I could feel penetrating my bones and echoing within my skull.

“Mithrandir turned to me and shouted, ‘Run!’ and then he turned back the way we had entered, fleeing from the sounds. But I was frozen to the spot and could not move. My heart was pounding so rapidly I thought it would burst from my chest and still I could not make my legs move. The rumbling, thundering sound grew louder and closer and an eerie orange glow appeared at the end of the long, dark hallway. Somewhere in the dark I thought I heard Mithrandir’s voice telling me to flee, but I could not. A fear so overpowering, so all-consuming that I could think of nothing but that fear held me within its grip and I was helpless to combat it.

“I vaguely remember Mithrandir’s strong hand gripping my arm and forcibly pulling me away from the center of the corridor. I stumbled after him on stiff, leaden legs and he shoved me behind a large pillar only moments before the hall erupted in a blaze of fire. The bellowing roar of some unknown beast hammered at my ears and I could feel a heat rising within the darkness of the air around us. Mithrandir’s voice whispered in my ear, ‘Do not make a sound!’ And my wild eyes sought his as he placed a comforting hand upon my chest and nodded slightly, telling me with his gaze that he was there and would not leave me.

“I felt the wizard’s hand leave my chest and he moved around me to the other side of the pillar. As I watched him, he gestured for me to follow and somehow I pried my back away from the stone to move behind him. What I saw I shall never forget and I never wish to see it again. Standing before us, its black head almost touching the vast ceiling of stone was a creature bathed in flame and shadow. Its eyes were blood red and it seemed to have wings, yet I could not distinguish its body because it kept shifting and wavering even as I watched it lumber through the pillared hall. It paused momentarily and threw its head back to bellow anew and flames spewed from its mouth in a fiery cloud.

“I shrank back against the stone pillar, gripping the wizard’s arm and Mithrandir turned to look upon me. He leaned toward me and whispered, ‘It is a balrog of Morgoth. Look upon your fear, Legolas, and it will be yours to control.’ But I could not force myself to look upon it again. The evil of this creature filled me with such terror that I lost all reason. I cannot remember what occurred next, only that I surely would have perished had I not felt Mithrandir clutching my arm once again. He was pulling me away from the pillar and down a darkened passage to safety.”

Legolas stopped and turned to face Aragorn and his expression was unreadable, yet his eyes were filled with a deep regret. “I did not face my fear in that dark place, Aragorn,” he said simply. “It is still with me.” He allowed the barest trace of a grim smile to cross his lips. “Face your fear, Aragorn. Do not carry it with you, as I do.”

Aragorn stared at the Elf and found he could think of no words to adequately express the emotions he was feeling at that moment. Instead he simply nodded his head and placed his arm across LegolasÂ’ slim shoulders, giving the Elf a brief, one-armed hug of understanding, friendship and compassion. Together they gazed into the fire, saying nothing, yet speaking volumes.

Â…..and thatÂ’s the end of this tale