Some time had now passed, since the coronation of Aragorn, and now, it was time to return home. He rode on Arod, riding northwestern, ready to go home. It felt like ages had passed since he had last been there, though it had only been a year or so. Little did he know he would not be going home today. He rode at a rather slow pace, for once not having to hurry somewhere. The feeling of not being rushed was enough to relax him. But a bright light flashed in his eyes suddenly. He immediately pulled Arod to a halt and looked around. There was nothing. He turned his gaze to the ground, and then saw the source. It could not be… It was impossible! He dismounted slowly, his gaze remaining fixed upon the source of the glare. It was… It was the One Ring. But how? It was destroyed! He bent down and picked it up, rotating the golden band around in his fingers. He had no doubt now that this was the ring. There was no time to lose. He pocketed the ring and mounted Arod, turning the Rohan horse back to the East. To Mordor.

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Two years later

Legolas was weakly held up by chains tightly clinched about his wrists. He could not bare any of his own weight, so his full pressure was on his arms. It had been for the past year… He had no clue of time. He did not know how long he had been there. But he knew he had to get away. By some twist of fate, the orcs had not found the Ring, which he bore in his chest pocket. He knew it was still there. With strength he did not know he had, he forced himself to stand and he pulled on the chains. It was useless. They did not break the first day he was here, the would not break no… The chain suddenly snapped, causing him to stumble in surprise. He glanced around. The sleeping orcs had not heard. He worked feverishly on the other one until it too snapped and he was free. This was it. He had no strength, but he had to get out or die. His weapons remained, propped against the wall, where they had been put when he was captured. He quietly gripped them and ran for it. He was quiet a way off before the orcs even realized he was gone, but not quite far enough. They shot arrows, aiming for him as he retreated…

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In the fields of Pelennor, Legolas finally allowed himself to slow. What strength he had found before was gone. He stumbled like a drunken man as he tried to force himself farther. He paused, looking over the horizon. He knew where he was, he was in Pelennor, but it was still too far from Minas Tirith to make it. He stopped his gaze as his eyes fell upon a figure, mounted upon a white horse some distance ahead of him. Gandalf… Legolas shivered and looked to the wizard. Somehow, he managed to speak.
“Gandalf…” It was in a harsh, croaked whisper, but loud enough for the wizard to hear. He was in terrible shape. Long deep scratches across his face and chest and back. Not to mention the dark black bruises on his legs. His tunic was torn to shreds, revealing the treatment from the orcs. He dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up any more. As he dropped, for the first time, an arrow almost directly in the center of his back was visible. The arrow, he knew, had been laced with poison. One to put him to sleep. To give the orcs time to find him. They did not want to kill him. Yet. While he was running, he had been unable to worry about removing the arrow. This had been the first time he had stopped, but even if he tried, he knew he could not have reached it. It was in such a position that he could not pull it out without further injuring himself. Further injury was not exactly what he was looking for right now. His hand went to his chest. Though it looked as if he was clutching it tightly in pain, he was really making sure the ring was still there. It was.
“Gandalf…” he repeated. His voice breaking and almost pleading. The pain was evident in his voice.
The old wizard turned, glancing over in surprise. He did not recognize the elf at first, but rushed over to help. As Legolas’s head dipped back, Gandalf gasped in shock.
“Legolas?”
Gandalf helped the elf to the shade of a tree and laid him down carefully on his side. First thing he would have to do would be remove the arrow.
“Legolas? I thought you went to the Undying Lands… What has happened to you?”
Legolas shivered and clinched his teeth. His brows creased in confusion. Though his voice came in choking gasps, it was understandable and surprisingly strong for his condition.
“Valinor? No… Mordor…”
Gandalf rocked back on his heels and studied the elf.
“Mordor? Why in Middle Earth were you there?”
Gandalf continued working as he waited for an answer. He lifted his hand over Legolas and said some soft words. The elf’s pain dulled slightly and his body numbed to allow Gandalf to work on it more easily. In one swift motion, he pulled the arrow from Legolas’s back and placed a rag on it to stop the bleeding. Legolas hissed in pain and stiffened. He answered through clinched teeth.
“After Aragorn became King, I went there. I found it…”
Gandalf looked at the elf in confusion.
“After Aragorn became King? Legolas, that was two years ago!”
Legolas looked up at Gandalf and saw the wizard was not lying. Two years? Had it really been that long? Gandalf’s brows creased as the thought about what Legolas had said.
“Wait a minute… Found it? What did you find?”
He clinched his eyes shut as the wizard touched a sensitive wound. The wizard pulled his hand back and whispered a few more words in an unrecognized tongue and Legolas’s pain calmed. Legolas looked up to Gandalf with sad, pain-filled eyes.
“The Ring.”
Gandalf’s eyes widened and his grip tightened on Legolas. Legolas winced in pain.
“They did not get it, Gandalf. I still have it.”
His grip loosened enough to dull the pain. By now, Gandalf had somewhat recovered from the shock.
“You said you were in Mordor. All of this is from that ruin?”
Legolas shook his head slowly.
“It has been rebuilt. It looks just the same as it always did.”
He suddenly gave a yelp of pain as Gandalf placed a rag on a deep gash on his chest that was still bleeding slightly. Gandalf did not pull back, but pressed harder, keeping his eyes on his work.
“Legolas, this would be easier to do if you were asleep.”
Without waiting for a reply, Gandalf put a hand over Legolas’s head and with a few short words, Legolas’s eyes glazed and he slept in the way of the elves. Once he did, Gandalf stood up. He closed his eyes and shook his head wearily. How could this happen? Without wasting any more time, he whistled high and loud across the plain. Soon, a whinny returned his call and the white stallion appeared, galloping across the horizon. Shadowfax came to a halt beside the wizard, greeting him with a nudge. Gandalf turned and picked Legolas up and placed him on the horse before he pulled himself up behind the sleeping elf.
“Shadowfax, we must ride with speed to Minas Tirith!”
The white horse whinnied and bolted forward, beginning the short ride from Pelennor Fields to Minas Tirith. Gandalf kept his eyes locked forward, though his mind wandered. All they had done before was of no use. Innocent lives dead for nothing. The ring of power still existed. The Fellowship would have to come together once again and break this evil or be broken themselves. As far as he knew, Legolas may have been broken already. Two years, the elf had suffered the hatred between Orcs and Elves. He wouldn’t be surprised if Legolas would not return to Mordor. But he knew the elf. Legolas would not give up so easily. But he still had his doubts. For the same reason he did not want to return to Moria, Legolas would not want to return to Mordor. Too many memories. Too much wasted time. Gandalf looked up at the setting sun, breaking his thoughts for only a moment.
“Hurry, Shadowfax!”

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