Author’s Note: There are some bits of elvish in this story. Translations immediatly follow the elvish words.
Disclaimer: Of course, I do not own any of the characters created by Tolkien. If I did, I would be writting this in books, not on websites.

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Cold. It was so cold. He was chilled to the bone. Why was it so dark? Would he live; or was he already dead? Slowly, he began to remember where he was and why. Even now, he did not regret his decision. This was what was best. This was the end. He heard a door creaking open. Not again… He told himself once again: This is what is best…

2 Weeks Earlier

Through the forests of Mirkwood, Legolas rode upon Arod. It was a rather cool morning, but the cold did not bother him. He finally could get away. Ever since his return home after the War of the Ring, he had been bogged down and had little time for rest or simply be alone. The war had ended several years ago.
He traveled light; carrying only his bow and a fresh quiver. Of course, he had his White Knives as well. He rode bareback, only bothering with a thin rope for reigns. He had some time to spare. Everyone else was still asleep and would be for some time. The sun had not even began to come out yet. Legolas soon came to a small clearing, where he sped Arod to a gallop. He smiled as the wind whipped around him. It felt like it had been so long since he had last been away like this. He missed it. Suddenly, the equine slid to a sudden stop. Legolas was forced to grip the horse’s mane to keep from falling.
“Man carel le, Arod? Man cenich?”
/’What are you doing, Arod? What do you see?’/
Arod snorted and reared up, nearly tossing Legolas again.
“Daro, Arod.”
/’Stop, Arod!’/
It was then that Legolas saw what was causing Arod to rear up. Orcs. He ducked his head just as an arrow flew by his head. They were charging. Headed straight for the Halls.
“Yro Arod! Bado dan an Mirkwood!
/’Run Arod! Go back to Mirkwood!/
The horse turned on a dime, galloping back the way they had come. They were quickly back at the gates. He turned back and looked behind them. The orcs were still following, but he had put great distance between them. He looked up to some of the guards.
“Yrch!”
/’Orcs!’/
He turned Arod to face the approaching hoard while the guards rushed about preparing. He slowly drew his bow. Somehow, he knew there were too many orcs and they had been spotted too late…

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*In Gondor*

King Elessar sat up suddenly in his bed. Drenched in a cold sweat, he looked around his room. What had woken him? A dream? Arwen turned over and looked up at him, sitting up.
“Aragorn? What is it?”
At first, it seemed he had not heard. His eyes remained at the door of the room. Arwen was about to ask again when he shook his head.
“I… I don’t know.”
Arwen put a hand on her husband’s sholder. Aragorn turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but was interupted by urgent knocking on the door. He leapt from his bed, quickly dressing. The knocking stopped as he opened the door. A frantic guard stood there, bowing before speaking quickly.
“My Lord, there is an elf here. He is nearly dead, and insists to speak with you. The Healers doubt he will make it through the night.”
Aragorn took off, the soldier leading the way to the Houses of Healing. They arrived in no time at all. Just as Aragorn reached the door, a group of Healers walked slowly out. The Head Healer stepped out from the group and bowed.
“We have done all we can, My Lord. He will not make it. His injuries are too serious.”
He bowed again and stepped out of the King’s way. Aragorn paused a moment. What if it was Legolas? He took a deep breath, then opened the door adn walked in. A deathly pale figure lay on one of the beds. His pale, blonde hair formed a golden halo around his head. The eyes of the elf were closed, and for a moment, Aragorn thought he was dead. But as Aragorn approached, the elf opened his eyes and turned to face the King. It was not Legolas, but one of Legolas’s close friends. Aragorn had met with him many times before.
“Calaglin! What happened?”
Aragorn bent beside the bed at the elf’s side. Calaglin looked up and shivered, but he replied.
“Mirkwood… attacked…”
The elf paused a moment, wincing and clenching his teeth. If possible, he grew more pale.
“Dark magics…”
He paused to cough, clutching his chest tightly as he did. His eyes began to glaze over. Calaglin shivered and dropped further down into the bed. Aragorn almost thought the elf had passed, but the pain-filled eyes opened again.
“They wanted Thranduil… poison… They… They took…”
The voice cut off and a soft sigh escaped the injured elf, leaving Aragorn at the edge of his seat. He was dead. Who attacked Mirkwood? And what did they take? What the ElvenKing all right? Who was poisoned? Where was Legolas? There were too many questions he had been left with. Aragorn bowed his head, taking a moment of silence, before turning and exiting the room. He did not have to search long to find who he was looking for. The Captain of the Minas Tirith Guard.
“Round of 50 of your best men! We ride to Mirkwood! Now!”

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