The day darkness descended on Greenwood was a sad day for all of the Greenwood elves. Not only had much of their beloved wood been reduced to gloom and shadows, but great spiders had crept in, spinning their cobwebs around every tree branch, limb, and root. Now the elves of Greenwood, more commonly known as Mirkwood, had to hunt down these spiders and drive them back beyond their borders.

It was on a day like that did this story begin.

"What shall we do, Father?" Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil, asked.

Thranduil looked sternly at his son as well as the Elven guard surrounding him. "We shall do what we have always done, and what we shall always continue to do: drive them back past our borders."

"Yes, Father," Legolas said and turned to his troops. "You heard the King, arm yourselves and prepare to head out at dawn. We must be swift!"

The soldiers bowed and hurried to do his bidding. Legolas had just been about to follow and make his own preparations when his father interrupted those intentions.

"Legolas," the king of Mirkwood said.

He faced his father. "Yes, what is it?"

"You must be wary," he warned. "Not only do I feel a great evil lurking around our borders, but I also," his face became pale and twisted, "Feel a great evil inside these very walls. I am not certain where it is, our where it has come from, but I have a very troubling feeling, it's hard to explain."

"I will take the appropriate precautions, Father. I will not let any of the Elven guard become snared by whatever evil you are sensing," Legolas vowed and began descending the steps from his father's throne.

"Legolas," Thranduil called.

He turned on his heel, eager to be on his way. "Something else?"

Thranduil licked his lips nervously. "I'm not worried so much about the Elven guard," he hesitated a moment, "I'm worried about you, Legolas. This evil I feel, I believe that its goal is, is you."

"Take hope, Father," Legolas assured him. "I will be fine. By the end of tomorrow, the spiders will be driven beyond our borders, and, as for the evil that is in the palace, it will reveal itself when the time is right," he bowed and left to suit up.

As he walked away, Thranduil whispered, "That is what I'm afraid of."

_______________________________________________________________________________

As Legolas strapped his knives to his waist and his bow and quiver to his back early the next morning, he too began to sense the evil that his father had told him about. It was near; very near. He didn't know where though.

The sunlight streaming through the window captured his attention. It was like a golden waterfall that no man, elf, or dwarf could ever plunder for. The sun's rays were the only untouched treasure the world could ever muster.

A thread of silver in the stream of light enraptured his attention. It definitely was not part of the sunlight; it actually dangled in front of him. What was this?

A sharp pain bloomed from the back of his hand. Legolas quickly glanced down and saw a small, black spider sticking its fangs into his skin. He quickly brushed the spider onto the floor. Once he had done this, he gazed at the spider bite.

At the moment, it was a small, red flaw, but the red was slowly starting to grow like a web, and soon, it had covered the top of his hand. He scratched rapidly at it, but, as he expected, the redness did not go away. In fact, the bite now appeared even more inflamed.

"It's just a spider bite," he told himself and yanked on his leather gloves and greaves.

A few moments later, he left his chambers and headed to the gates. On his way, he ran into several of his guard, and they began to file in behind him; their stride steady, their faces determined.

Soon they arrived at the gates, where he found Tauriel, his head of security, waiting for him. She had long, flowing red hair, and eyes as green as the purest emerald in a dwarfish mine. Her face was stern and confident, and in her hands she held her bow.

She was beautiful, and Legolas admired her greatly. The Elven prince suspected that at one time it had been more than just admiration, but those ties had been severed long ago. He closed his eyes momentarily; he must not revisit that pain.

"Tauriel," he addressed her.

"My Lord," she replied and held her fist to her chest and saluted.

"Is the guard all together?" he asked her.

She nodded. "We may head out at once at your word."

"Very good," he said and faced the gathered elves.

"Elven guard," he exclaimed, his voice booming and echoing in the cavern. "Today we have one goal: to hunt down and push back these burdensome spiders that have invaded our borders. Be strong, and always vigilant," he said and paused as his gaze swept the crowd.

For a moment, his eyes rested on his friend and comrade, Beriadan. If anyone had helped him through the hardship with Tauriel, it had been him. They were so close, if Legolas could consider anyone his brother, it was Beriadan. Legolas trusted him with his life.

"Let's head out!" he yelled and turned. Within moments, the elves were out of King Thranduil's Palace and had entered the shadowy wood.

It didn't take the skillful group of elves long to find the spiders' trail. With cobwebs hanging from the braches like phantoms, it wasn't hard to guess who, or what, had passed here. Legolas sniffed the air; the beasts' foul stench hung heavy in the early morning mist.

He pointed east. "They are that way," he said and stood to his feet. As he did, the world tipped precariously and black dots danced at the edge of his vision. Legolas stumbled to the right as his soldiers raced ahead.

Beriadan placed his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Legolas," he said worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied, but, in his mind, he knew that he was not. Something was wrong, very wrong. Never had this happened. Never had shadows danced like goblins at the corners of his eyes. Well, there had been one time, but that had been long ago...

"Are you sure, Legolas?" Beriadan questioned; his dark brown eyes full of earnest.

"Yes, Beriadan," he reassured him. "Nothing is of the matter."

"If you say so, my Lord," the brown haired elf said and raced away into the woods to follow the trail.

Legolas cringed. His friend had called him 'my Lord'. That was a subtle but unmistakable sign that Beriadan didn't believe a word of what he had said.

A sharp pain bloomed from his hand, and he looked at it. He lifted the glove and saw that the infection had spread up his forearm. The rash now appeared purple and yellow, and sickly pools of puss had formed as a result of dozens of blisters.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he jerked his glove back over his hand. His head told him that he needed to turn back immediately; that he needed to seek healing, for this was no flippant matter. But at the same time, Legolas' pride and dignity reared its head. He needed help, yes, but he could not leave his guard, that would make him appear weak and cowardly.

No, he had to forge through this pain. He had to show the leader that everyone was expecting of him.

Taking a deep breath of the foul air, he moved forward to follow after his guard, at the same time trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm.

After Legolas had caught up, he found that the squadron had stopped. They were looking around, touching the ground, and sniffing the air. Legolas stumbled over to Beriadan.

"What is this?" he asked.

"The trail seems to have vanished," the elf replied.

"What?" he questioned and scanned the clearing. "How could that be?"

"We're not sure, my Lord," Tauriel said, walking up to them. "Our archers are searching the forest as we speak."

"Good, Tauriel," Legolas murmured and watched as three elves raced off into the woods, their footsteps silent, like ghosts'

"Be on your guard," the Elven prince said and began to walk, more like limp, over to a stump on the other side of the clearing.

"Yes, my Lord," Beriadan said.

"My Lord" There it was again: another jab of worry from his closest friend and confidant. He was worried about him, which was for certain. Almost on cue, his arm throbbed.

Behind him, the two elves being fully aware that Legolas could hear them, began to speak rapidly to each other.

"He's injured, isn't he?" Tauriel asked as she watched the Elven prince limp away like a wounded dog.

Beriadan sighed. "Yes, he is, though he assures me that he isn't."

Tauriel shook her head. "There's Legolas for you."

"I agree," he affirmed.

The pair watched anxiously as Legolas collapsed down onto the stump, having finally reached his destination. Pain was written on his face clearly, but he was trying hard to hide it.

"You need to find out what is afflicting him," Tauriel said.

"He's not going to tell me."

"You have to try," she interrupted. "If it's serious, he may not be fit for battle."

"You're right," Beriadan said and strode across the plain.

Once he had become near to Legolas, the elf leaned up against a tree, his head cocked to the side. For a moment Beriadan studied the prince. His hair was white like the moon, and his keen eyes were a sharp blue.

"Do you need something?" Legolas asked. "And just to let you know, I heard every single word that you and Tauriel said about me."

"As I knew you would," Beriadan said and squatted down in front of him. "Legolas, I know something it wrong-"

"Nothing is wrong-"

"And if you deny it," Beriadan continued.

"It just proves my point."

Legolas sighed and bowed his head. As he did, Beriadan noticed that his breathing was much labored.

"Legolas?" Beriadan questioned and placed his hand on his shoulder. To his surprise, through the prince's clothes and armor, he felt the heat being emitted from Legolas' skin.

"You're right," Legolas said and looked up at him. Beriadan tried to contain his shock at finding that the prince's normally blue eyes were now streaked with red. "I-my arm..." he said, his voice trailing off as he fell forward.

Catching the wounded elf, Beriadan laid him on the forest floor, all the while calling Tauriel over. Quickly he tore Legolas' greaves off and jerked up his sleeve.

By now, Tauriel had run over, and she now was kneeling next to Beriadan. "What's wrong--?"

Her voice caught in her throat as she saw Legolas' arm. Spreading up his arm toward his shoulder was a black and brown web. She didn't know what it was, or what had caused it, but whatever had done it was obviously something twisted and wicked.

"Oh, Valinor help us," she cried and swept the hair from the prince's head.

Legolas' face contorted in pain as she felt how hot his skin was.

"His eyes," Beriadan gasped as he examined Legolas' arm. "Look at his eyes."

With a tender finger, Tauriel lifted one of the elf's eyelids. She cried out in alarm as she saw the red lines that marred Legolas' blue eyes.

"What could've done this?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know, but we have to get him back to the palace," Beriadan said and slipped one of Legolas' arms around his shoulder. "The only person who could possibly heal him would be Lord Elrond."

As the pair lifted the Elven prince, Tauriel's eyes swept the clearing. "All the other elves...They...We're completely vulnerable."

"I know," Beriadan agreed. "I think this all might've been part of a complex plan to--!"

Beriadan was interrupted as Legolas' head suddenly snapped back, his crimson-colored eyes wide with fright. "Spiders, they're--!"

The two elves exchanged an uneasy look, "Ambush."

As the words fell out of their mouths, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a ring of large, black spiders.

There was no time for fear, though fear was a constant presence in the two elves. There was no time to hesitate, for hesitation meant certain death for the both of them as well as for their prince. There was only time for courage and strength; these attributes were the only things that could possibly tip the scale of death versus life.

The two Elven warriors stood protectively over Legolas and drew their weapons. Tauriel began firing off arrows, and Beriadan threw any spare knives that he had on him.

Tauriel's arrows and Beriadan's knives seemed to be only simple annoyances to the gigantic beasts that now circled them. Their attempts at taking down the spiders had only riddled their sides, causing them no harm, like pins in a sack of grain.

As the spiders approached, the elves locked their eyes on them. They were huge; half the size of the largest tree in Mirkwood, and their hide was black as the night. Their legs were long and spiny, and each of their fangs looked to be at least half the length of a man's arm. The spiders hissed for blood and Elven flesh, and Tauriel and Beriadan quickly took their stance.

The first spider lunged forward, and, with the help of Beriadan, the pair was able to get an arrow through its head within seconds. They had defeated one, but dozens more crept forward.

At the moment, the scale tipped more toward death.

Beriadan grabbed her hand, and she forced her eyes to meet his. "Kill as many as you can," he said.

She nodded. "For Legolas,"

"For Legolas!" Beriadan yelled and charged towards the throng of spiders; Tauriel following close behind.

Firing an arrow at three spiders, Tauriel slipped under another and stabbed it in the abdomen, making it scream. As the beast crumbled, she dived out from under it and, reusing the arrow, shot down another spider right between the eyes.

Meanwhile, Beriadan had leapt on top of a spider and had thrust his knife into its thorax. Jumping off of it as it collapsed, he ran past two more, slicing limbs off as he passed.

At this point, the two elves felt hope flare up like a fire in them. Perhaps this wasn't hopeless. Perhaps they could do this and come out of it alive.

But then, as one, the spiders lunged. Tauriel was trampled underneath scores of knobby legs, disappearing from view. On the other hand, Beriadan suddenly found himself on the ground, a pair of fangs being thrust toward his face. Gripping one in each hand, it was all he could do to avoid becoming the spider's next meal.

With the monster wriggling and struggling, it was difficult, but Beriadan finally was able to kick the spider off, sending it sprawling into its surrounding kin. The elf quickly leapt to his feet, but that was as far as he made it, for just then, one of the spiders stuck its spinneret into his back.

Immediately he felt the venom spreading through him like wild fire, and soon, he could no longer find the strength to stand. Crumpling to his knees, he gazed at the wild beasts around him, longing for his blood. As he fell forward onto the ground, he watched as they crept nearer. Turning his head, he saw that Tauriel was much in the same condition.

"So this is how it ends," he whispered to the air. "Forgive me, Legolas," he continued and stared at the spider that now loomed above him, lusting to end his life.

"For I have failed you," he sighed.

The spider was near, oh so near, but just as its fangs touched his cheek, all the spiders suddenly recoiled like an unspoken command had been given. Stumbling away, the beasts vanished from his vision.

With the last reserves of his strength, the elf turned his head and watched as the spiders surrounded Legolas. One of the spiders came forward and spun a net of web around him, its legs twisting his body around and around gently and skillfully. After this was finished, it began to drag Legolas away, the other spiders following after it.

Beriadan knew that the prince was doomed. The spiders would take him back to their nest and feast upon his flesh, like they did with all of their victims. If only he had been faster, or stronger, or better. As he faded into unconsciousness, he had one last thought:

"Why did they spare us but take him?"
----------------------------------------------

Legolas didn't know where he was, how he had gotten there, or even what his name was. It was dark, so very dark, but, shockingly, he could see clearly. Everything about him was well defined and set off by varying shades of gray and black. Stalactites clung to the ceiling, and stalagmites borrowed on the ground. He liked this place; he could live here.

Something small flew by his face, and with his amazing new reflexes, he grabbed it and stuffed it in his mouth. As he felt the insect's body being crushed beneath his teeth, he smiled and looked hungrily for more.

"Queldonith," a voice in the darkness said to him.

Immediately his all-seeing eyes searched the cavern for the source of the noise. His efforts being futile, he renewed his hunt to find and kill insects.

"Queldonith, answer to your master!" the voice said again, and this time it rattled around in his head, bringing him much pain. Covering his ears with his hands, he cowered on the ground.

"Look up, Queldonith," the voice boomed, and Legolas obeyed.

Far away, down many passages and tunnels, he saw a red light. Silhouetted against the red glow was the form of a man. Just by looking at him, Legolas knew that he was powerful. Perhaps even the most powerful being in all of Middle Earth.

"Who-who are you?" Legolas hissed. "And who am I?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, and who you are is not a cowering, insect-eating freak," the man in the red light said and reached out his hand. As he did, Legolas felt his legs straighten till soon he was standing at his full height with his shoulders back.

"You are a warrior," the man continued. "The strongest one there could ever be, and you shall serve your master and fulfill my commands. You are Queldonith!"

Legolas, no, Queldonith, flexed his muscles, making them ripple, and then roared, rattling the whole cave.

"I shall do as my Master commands me," he growled.

Queldonith could feel his master smirking with pleasure. "Your first assignment, attack Thranduil's Palace. Leave no survivors."

Queldonith roared with eagerness, but somewhere in his subconscious, he felt a lingering doubt. That maybe he shouldn't do this. The feeling was quickly forgotten as the thought of something better than insects entered his mind: Elven skin.
----------------------------------------------

Beriadan opened his eyelids and was surprised to find himself back inside Thranduil's Palace. Immediately he remembered everything, about how Legolas had been taken and was now most-likely dead.

Sitting up in his bed and swinging his legs over the side, he tried to stand. "Legolas!" he cried and stumbled as the room began to quake.

At once, strong, steadying hands held him and helped him back onto the bed. "You mustn't be hasty," his helper warned.

"Thank you," Beriadan said and looked up into the man's face. He was shocked speechless as he saw Elrond, King of Mirkwood standing before him.

"My Lord," he said and struggled to bow.

"We will have none of that," Elrond scolded him gently, "At least, not as long as you are my patient."

Beriadan held his head in his hands. "I-Legolas-he-what happened to me?"

"You were stung by one of those horrible spiders. The venom left you paralyzed. It's beyond me why they left you and didn't take you away, not that I'm saying that I wish you had been taken."

His eyes widened. "Tauriel, is she--?"

"She's fine," Elrond assured him. "She is recovering just as you are. You'll both be back on your feet in a couple of days at the most."

He sighed with relief. "Who found us?"

"Your scouts did after they returned from looking for the spiders. They saw yours and Tauriel's conditions and immediately took you back to the palace for treatment. After they found that they could not heal you, Thranduil personally called for me to come," he paused. "And I'm glad I did."

"Thank you again," Beriadan said just as a knock sounded at the door.

"Just a moment," Elrond whispered and went to the door. Opening it just a crack, he quickly conversed with whoever was on the outside.

"Yes, he's awake," he said, and as he did, the door was flung open, and King Thranduil of Mirkwood stormed inside, his dark green robe flying.

"Where is my son?" he demanded.

"Thranduil, please," Elrond interrupted. "The elf is weak; must you pester him like this?"

The king moved around the Lord of Rivendell and gripped Beriadan by the shoulders. "Where is he?" he roared. "Where is my son?"

"The spiders, your Majesty," Beriadan said shakily. "They took him."

The king's face paled and he stumbled away over to a chair, where, upon reaching it, he collapsed with his hands over his face.

"Some sort of poison," the elf continued, "Had somehow gotten in his arm. It-there was a terrible infection that had spread up to his neck." His voice broke as he remembered the horrifying sight of it all. "His eyes, my Lord, they were striped with red, like lashes on a criminal's back."

Thranduil's shoulders shook as he cried silent tears.

Elrond slowly walked over and patted his back. "Come along, old friend," he murmured. "May we let the young elf get some rest?"

Beriadan didn't know how he did it, but somehow Elrond was able to coax the broken king out of the chair and into the hallway. Before the door closed though, Beriadan heard Thranduil speak:

"My son, my only son, is dead."

The days after the news of Prince Legolas' death had been announced were painful and heart-wrenching for Beriadan. He blamed himself for it, though he knew that he shouldn't. That it could just cause him even more grief.

But even so, he couldn't help it.

The halls seemed empty without him; the forest, silent without his gentle tread. Even the wind and the stars seemed to be in a state of mourning, for they did not blow as softly or shine as brightly.

The only person that Beriadan would ever consider to be his brother was dead.

Like the whole world was tossing with sorrow, terrible storms raged around Thranduil's Palace. The elves were confined to their cavern of safety. They were safe yes, but in a way, this was almost worse, for then one did not have anything to keep one's mind busy. His thoughts wandered, and as Beriadan's did, they rested on Legolas.

If only he could've done something, changed something, or at least moved. But no, he had just lain on the ground and watched as his friend was dragged away. He couldn't stand this feeling of regret; this shroud of failure that weighed heavily upon him. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel real.

And in a single moment, Beriadan knew that Legolas was not dead. It was a feeling hidden deep in his heart, but he knew it to be true. Somehow, somewhere, the heir to the Mirkwood throne was still alive and breathing.

But then the night of the Storm arose.

The other storms seemed like simple showers compared to the beast that now raged in the clouds. Thunder roared like a lion, lightning flashed, temporarily cracking the sky, and the black rain came down in sheets.

The river that flowed beneath Mirkwood began to flood, and soon had filled the lower parts of the great cavern. Young elflings were filled with fright of leaving their homes, and many elves were uneasy that for the first time in their long lives, they could not see even a glimpse of the stars that they so adored.

But the aftermath of the storm was worse than the storm itself.

Strong, ancient trees had been blown over like twigs, and leaves and dead animals littered the ground everywhere. There wasn't a bird on the breeze, not a breath to be found.

That is, except one.

Standing in the middle of the wreckage was a figure. He was tall, but his skin was black, like the night. His hair was gray like the coal of the dwarfs', and in his hand, he held a blade made of pure black metal. Beriadan suspected that it was from Mordor.

When the stranger lifted his head, Beriadan's world spun. Yes, his skin was black. Yes, his hair was gray, and yes he bore a wicked sword, but there was no doubt in Beriadan's mind on who this person was. His face was unforgettable.

Beriadan was staring at the Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, Legolas.

"What is that?" one of the Elven guard asked Beriadan.

"It's an Orc, that's what it is," Thranduil replied as he entered the room, a stern look upon his face.

"My Lord," Beriadan and the other elf said and bowed.

"Why does he come alone?" Thranduil asked and gazed down at the Orc.

"My King," Beriadan addressed him. "Look closely at the Orc's face. What does he resemble?"

Thranduil scoffed. "An Orc, that is what he looks like."

"Ignore the skin and the hair and sword. Just look at its face," Beriadan continued.

The king focused closely on the Orc's face, as he had suggested, and a few moments later, his eyes widened, and he gasped. He quickly looked at the Elven guard.

"Get out," he ordered, and the elf practically ran from the room.

"What is it, Thranduil?" Elrond asked as he came into the chamber.

"The Orc, it-he-it's Legolas," Thranduil replied with his voice soft.

"What?" Elrond questioned and moved over to look down at the Orc. "Valinor, help us," he whispered. "It <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is Legolas."

"What has happened to him?" Beriadan asked.

"I-I am not certain," the Lord of Rivendell replied.

"We have to do something!" Thranduil exclaimed and gripped Elrond's shoulders. "We have to try to save him."

"I'm not sure how we can," he answered weakly.

Thranduil pointed at Beriadan. "You-you said that Legolas had gotten an infection from something! It must have been the evil I was sensing. Legolas' chamber must be searched at once for anything that could explain what has happened to him."

"Slow down, my friend," Elrond said gently. "Even if they do find something, what can we possibly do that could turn him back?"

Their conversation was interrupted as the Orc-form of Legolas began to bellow.

"I am Queldonith!" he roared. "I have come to destroy the elves that preside under the house of Thranduil!"

"A little blunt, isn't he?" Beriadan whispered to Elrond, and he shushed him.

"Do not run, do not hide, and do not fight," Legolas or Queldonith-whoever he was-continued. "I will find you, and I will kill you all."

The trio was silent as his words sunk in. Something-or someone-had turned him into an Orc, had broken his sanity, and had twisted his mind into thinking that attacking the palace was a good idea.

With a shock, Beriadan realized how wicked this all was. Someone had kidnapped Legolas and had turned him into a monster, but not only that, but they had turned him against his own people. The sorcerer who had done this must have known that the Mirkwood elves would not want to fight Legolas, letting Legolas' Orc form reap destruction and death on the elves of Thranduil's Palace.

"What do we do?" Elrond questioned the king.

Thranduil's voice trembled in the struggle to keep it firm. "We'll have no choice. If he attacks our people, then we have no choice but to fight him and k-kill him."

"I'm sorry, Thranduil," Elrond said and laid his hand on his shoulder.

A desperate idea descended onto Beriadan's mind. "What if I went down there and talked to him?"

The elves swung their heads and looked at him in shock.

"It could work!" Beriadan insisted. "Maybe somehow it'll shake something inside of him, and he'll change back."

"That is seriously doubted-" Elrond began.

"But it could work," Thranduil finished. "And if we're going to do this, then I am going to talk to him."

"No, my Lord, if something goes wrong, and he strikes you down, the elves of Mirkwood will be without a leader," Beriadan argued.

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but he cut him off.

"Whereas if something goes wrong, and he strikes <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me down, you will have just lost a soldier, and not a king," Beriadan explained.

"He's right, my friend," Elrond agreed.

The king of Mirkwood leaned his head against the window sill. "If you must, then do so swiftly."

"Thank you, my Lord," Beriadan said and bowed. After he had said this, he quickly strode out of the room, his heart hammering against his chest. What had he just done? He had just volunteered himself to go converse with an Orc, for Valinor's sake!

But it's Legolas, a voice deep inside reminded him. It was true; this Orc was Legolas, an angry, Orc-like, blood-thirsty Legolas, but still Legolas.

And somewhere, Beriadan knew that the old Legolas was deep in slumber, undisturbed, and still.

He had to find that elf on the inside before the monster on the outside could kill him.

"Don't send anyone out if and when he attacks me," Beriadan instructed as he suited himself for the battle to come.

"Might I come with you?" Tauriel asked him.

"No," he said quickly. "You have to stay here and make sure that the king doesn't do anything...unwise."

She nodded a few times and then commanded for the doors to Thranduil's Palace to be opened so Beriadan could slip out. As the doors opened, like the jaws of death goading him forth, Tauriel leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

"Be careful," she told him, "Bring him back to us."

"I'll try," he promised and stepped outside.

As the doors shut behind him, he resisted the urge to arm himself with his knives, for what stood before him was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. A huge Orc, Legolas, he corrected himself, had a stance that was tall and challenging.

The Legolas-Orc observed him, and his mouth parted in a snarl. When it did, Beriadan saw his fangs.

"What is this?" he growled. "The king of Thranduil sends one elf to fight me?"

"You know, you make what actually happened sound ridiculous," Beriadan said, trying to control his rattling nerves.

"And what would that be?" Legolas asked.

"I volunteered," he replied with a grin.

Legolas leveled his weapon. "You are very foolish, elf, but I shall enjoy snapping your worthless bones beneath my feet and then feasting on your flesh."

"This isn't you, Legolas," Beriadan said, his voice becoming serious.

"I am not Legolas, I am Queldonith!" Legolas roared and charged.

With hardly a thought of retaliation, Beriadan side-stepped him as he ran past.

Legolas faced him, his once-blue-now-red eyes glaring at him like daggers. "You shall not mock me, elf," he sneered.

"Legolas, stop," Beriadan begged, but he charged again, and this time it wasn't so easy to get by him.

"Legolas," Beriadan cried. "This is not the elf who I grew up with; the one who I would be honored to call brother!"

"I am not your brother!" Queldonith roared.

"You're right," Beriadan admitted. "You're not, but I can tell you something that you are. You are a son. You are a prince. You are a leader, and somehow a sorcerer has twisted you into an Orc."

"Master," Legolas whispered.

"Yes, your Master," Beriadan repeated. "But Legolas, this isn't you. The Legolas I know and respect is kind, but honest; he's brave, but compassionate; he's merciful, but just.

"The person I see before me is not any of those things," Beriadan said gently. "Fight this evil, Legolas, fight it and push it back. Push it back far past the borders of your mind till it can never invade again."

Legolas looked at him with his eyes filled with terror and pain.

"I-I can' t. Master, he-he'll-"

"You are stronger than this!" Beriadan shouted. "You are good; you are not Queldonith, or whatever your Master named you. You are Legolas, Prince and Heir of Mirkwood, and I-I am Beriadan, your closest comrade."

Legolas' voice shook. "You-you are my friend?"

"Yes, I am," Beriadan said and stepped toward him, resting his hand on his shoulder. "I swore to you long ago that I would follow you to the deepest pit of hell and back again."

"You swore--?" Legolas said and Beriadan watched closely as the red from Legolas' eyes slowly began to recede.

"Yes, I did," Beriadan repeated. "I think this is pretty close to the deepest pit of hell, but we can get out of this. Just come with me, and we can help you."

Legolas looked at him, his grey and withered face full of hope, when suddenly a wave of sorrow struck his features. His face twisted in pain and the red seeped back over his eyes. Legolas opened his mouth and screamed, and the sound was the last sound Beriadan heard before he felt the sharp pain as Legolas thrust his sword into his abdomen.

Beriadan was immediately gasping for breath as Legolas jerked the sword out of him, the sound of tearing flesh filling the air. As he fell to his knees, Beriadan watched as Legolas dropped his sword in horror and began to stumble away, his hands covering his ears.

"I'm sorry!" he screamed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I-I can't-Beriadan-Tauriel-Father! The dark-it's coming for me! I can't hold it, it's too heavy!"

Legolas began to run away, and then collapsed. "Go!" he shrieked as his hands tore at his throat. "Save him! Don't let him die! The weight, it's crushing me! I'm sorry, please; don't let me do this again! Kill me!"

Beriadan couldn't tear his eyes from his friend. He couldn't look away, even when hands pulled at his arms and legs and began to carry him away. Dimly he heard a noise, and he realized that he was inside the palace.

He saw many faces, but mainly Elrond's, and he felt something warm seeping through his fingers. Through his haze, he knew that it was his own blood. It was the blood that had been spilt by his best friend.

But even then, Beriadan forgave him.

It was cold.

Never had Beriadan felt the cold.

It had only ever been a sensation that he had heard about.

But now, it was like daggers were pushing their icy teeth into every pore of his body. He was cold, so cold, and he shivered like a tree in a strong wind. He felt someone's hands on him, trying to make him still, and then he felt warmth as a soft fabric was draped over his body.

The cold was still there, but it was not as strong.

With an exhausted sigh, Beriadan slipped into the dark.

He surfaced from the haze a while later, and when he did, no cold seeped into his bones as it had earlier. He was warm, and he felt completely fine.

Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around him. He was in a small room, and it looked like it had been hastily thrown together. Medical supplies were falling off the windowsill, and his bed consisted of a small cot. Over top of him was a thin white blanket.

He sniffed the air. Strong magic had been performed here.

With a shock, he realized that the magic had been performed on him.

Immediately his mind landed on Legolas.

Lurching to his feet, Beriadan leaned heavily against the wall as pain bloomed from his abdomen. Gasping for breath, he tried to push away the black wave that threatened to overwhelm him.

As he struggled to gather his bearings, Lord Elrond walked into the room, his face stern and lines wrinkling his brow. When he saw Beriadan, his eyes widened, and he immediately rushed to his side. Slipping his arm beneath his, Elrond slowly assisted him back to the cot.

Once he had done this, Elrond stared at him forcefully. "What do you think you're doing? You are too weak for this."

"I-I have to help," he gasped, "Legolas."

"There is nothing you can do," Elrond replied, and as he did, the sound of many elves running by the doorway caught their attention.

"What's happening?" Beriadan demanded.

Elrond sighed. "They're barricading the passages as they've done for the last few days."

"Why?"

"Legolas made it past the gate, and since no one wants to fight their prince, the elves have been forced to keep moving deeper and deeper into the palace. Elves are worried, children are terrified, and Thranduil is completely out of sorts."

"How so?" Beriadan asked.

"He is almost illegible," he replied. "He wants to talk to you, and it's my job to get you back into good health," Elrond huffed, "Not like you're helping me or anything."

"I'm sorry," Beriadan apologized.

"It's all right," Elrond said gently and stood to his feet, "I admire how deeply loyal you are to the prince."

Beriadan lay back in his cot and tried to relax his tight muscles, hoping it would somehow relieve some of his pain. "I'm not just loyal to him because he is my leader, and it is my duty to serve him," he explained, "Legolas is practically my brother."

"Is that so?" Elrond questioned as he began to prepare a balm by crushing leaves and whispering an incantation.

"He and I, we've known each other since we were elflings," he continued. "We trained together, and it's funny because at first we despised each other, but after time, we were the closest of confidants.

"I owe him my life," Beriadan finished.

"A brotherhood like that is indeed something to hold sacred," Elrond commented as he walked over to him with a bowl of a green paste in his hands. Kneeling beside him, Elrond instructed him to lay still.

"I was going to finish the last of your healing when I first walked in here, but then I found you waltzing about," the Elven lord explained.

"I was not 'waltzing about'," Beriadan disagreed.

"It hardly matters, what matters is that you were standing when you're too weak to do that yet," Elrond commented and began to unwrap Beriadan's bandages.

As each layer of cloth was removed, Beriadan slowly began to see his wound. It had much been healed, thanks to Elrond, and now it was just red and swollen. Taking some of the balm into his hand, Elrond began to spread it over the wound.

At first, flames seemed to be nipping at his skin, but then a cool flood swept through his body, taking away all pain. Beriadan sighed in pleasure.

"Feels good, does it not?" Elrond said and smiled kindly.

"Yes, it feels wonderful," Beriadan replied. "Thank you, Lord Elrond, for everything that you have done for me, I am forever in your debt."

Elrond rewrapped Beriadan's bandages and then stood to his feet. "Well, don't count me out yet," he said. "Thranduil is going to want to speak to you, now that you're conscious, and he will speak quite aggressively. I will do my best to keep you alive."

"Um, thanks?" Beriadan said with his voice rising in tone at the end.

Opening his mouth to say more, Elrond was interrupted by an Elven guard as he burst into the room. The elf had long black hair and fierce green eyes, and Beriadan immediately recognized him as Atticus, a strong, sharp archer.

He bowed. "My Lord Elrond," he said and straightened. "Beriadan," he added and nodded towards him.

"What is it?" Elrond asked.

"I'm afraid that we must desert this area, Legolas is coming this way, and as the king has commanded, we must not engage him in battle," Atticus replied.

"Is this absolutely necessary?" Elrond asked and motioned at Beriadan. "I'm afraid that Beriadan is too weak to walk at this time."

"I'll get two guards to help him onto a stretcher and carry him," Atticus suggested.

"Oh, you really don't have to do that-" Beriadan began but Elrond cut him off.

"Thank you, that would be greatly appreciated," the Elven lord replied, and Atticus soon had departed.

"I'm fine, Elrond," Beriadan insisted.

"No, you're not," Elrond disagreed. "And if you keep telling me that you are, I will have no choice but to forcefully pull the veil of sleep over your eyes."

"Elrond, I'm fine-Really!"

Beriadan barely got the sentence out before Elrond waved his hand, his ring of power glowing bright blue, and he fell into unconsciousness.

Part Two

The darkness was so heavy.

It felt like Legolas had to take on the weight of the sky just to take a breath.

Occasionally he would find a burst of strength and he could break through this dimension of black and shadows and see the world around him. He was in his father's palace, and he might just see a few elves run past him, but then the darkness would come crashing back down, and he would go recoiling into the pit.

It was a very literal war of good versus evil, except this time it was a war over his mind and body.

As well as the oppressive darkness, Legolas also commonly heard a voice. The voice was wicked and filled with deceit, and at once he knew that it belonged to his former Master. Whoever the voice belonged to had turned him into a monster, and now Legolas was fighting to free himself from his shackles of insanity and evil.

It was hard and oh so painful, but Legolas knew that he couldn't give up. He had to keep fighting, because if he stopped, he knew that there would be no going back. He would never regain control of himself. He would never see Mirkwood in the scarlet blanket of autumn. He would never again see his father as he smiled at him with pride. He would never see Tauriel, and most of all, he would never see Beriadan ever again.

But was he even alive anymore?

Legolas wanted to die before this evil could completely consume him, and he would begin to kill his own people. Why weren't they killing him? Why wasn't he dead?

The answer was simple really.

Thranduil would never order to kill his own son.

Legolas screamed and for a moment, he saw the palace again. He had moved from where he had been before, and from what he could tell, he was further into the palace then he had been. Had he killed anyone? Legolas prayed that he hadn't; if he had, he would just consider killing himself if given the opportunity.

As the weight slammed into him again and his view was shut down, Legolas threw himself onto the ground. If he couldn't throw off this darkness, then he would throw himself onto a sword and pray for Valor to save him.

Beriadan woke some time later, but did not open his eyes. He was groggy and his mind was in a haze, and at once his body willed him to slip back into unconsciousness. Fighting the urge, Beriadan opened his eyes.

He just about had a heart attack when he found King Thranduil staring at him from a few feet away. Thranduil smiled eagerly at him, almost like a lion before it devours it prey. He raised his voice.

"Elrond, he's awake!" he yelled and rushed towards where he lay.

Beriadan pushed against the mattress and blankets, trying desperately to sit up, as Thranduil grasped his shoulders with an iron grip.

"What did he say?" Thranduil asked angrily. "What did my son say?"

As the king of Mirkwood plagued him with these questions, Elrond came striding into the room, his robes flying in his haste. Upon reaching the pair, Elrond carefully peeled Thranduil's fingers from Beriadan's shoulders.

"Now, now, Thranduil," Elrond soothed and sat him down. "You mustn't speak to him that way."

"But he knows something!" Thranduil shouted and looked at Beriadan, his blue eyes wild. "I will get you to tell me, even if I have to torture you to find the answer!"

"Thranduil!" Elrond scolded. "Do not speak that way."

Biting his lip, Thranduil nodded and looked away.

"Beriadan," Elrond addressed him, "If you're feeling up to it, we would greatly appreciate any information you can share over your encounter with Legolas."

Beriadan gulped. "Of course, I will tell you what I know. When I first began to talk to him, Legolas was very aggravated and Orc-like, but the more I talked to him and reminded him of his home and his people, the less Orc-like he became. The red started to fade from his eyes, and he slowly began to look more like the Legolas we knew."

"What changed?" Elrond asked.

"From what I could gather, Legolas is being controlled by a powerful sorcerer that Legolas only refers to as the Master. Well, when he started to become normal again, Legolas suddenly screamed, and, well, that's when he stabbed me," Beriadan explained.

"I can hardly describe to you how horrible it was to watch him stumble away screaming for someone to kill him before he could do this-as in stab me-ever again," he finished and fell silent.

"So that is what Legolas wishes?" Elrond questioned solemnly, "For us to kill him and end his imprisonment?"

Beriadan nodded slowly.

Immediately Thranduil was on his feet. "Out of the question!" he yelled. "I will not kill my own son!"

"I detest the idea as well, my king," Beriadan agreed sadly, "But that is what Legolas wished."

Thranduil roared in anger and lunged at Beriadan, his strong hands wrapping around his neck. Completely caught off guard, Beriadan flailed helplessly as his air pipe was strangled close. Soon, he began to feel lightheaded.

"Thranduil!" Elrond yelled and yanked him off of Beriadan. Holding him back, Elrond tenderly placed his hand on his shoulder.

"You must stop this!" Elrond commanded, but Thranduil continued to struggle against him.

Sighing, Elrond closed his eyes. A moment later, his ring of power glowed bright blue, and Thranduil collapsed in his chair, all the fire and anger having been drained out of him.

"What did you do to me?" Thranduil snarled weakly. "You used your ring on me! How dare you!"

Although Thranduil was trying to sound threatening, his voice was very weak, and so the threat was hardly intimidating.

"I am sorry, old friend, but I had to stop you from killing this elf," Elrond explained and gestured at Beriadan. "He is trying to help us."

"But he said that we should kill Legolas," Thranduil whispered and looked away as his eyes misted.

"I know he did, Thranduil," Elrond said and patted his shoulder. "My healers are researching an antivenin for the spider we found in Legolas' chambers, but if they fail, you must accept the possibility that Legolas might have to die."

"But he's my only son," Thranduil said with his voice shaking. "He's my pride and joy; the only remnant of his mother that I have."

"I too know how difficult it is to lose a loved one," Elrond said, his voice filled with conviction.

Thranduil gripped Elrond's arms. "Please, please Elrond," he begged, "Please don't let my son die."

"I will try, my friend," Elrond murmured and waved his hand over Thranduil's grief-stricken face. Within seconds, the king of Mirkwood was unconscious.

Elrond turned to Beriadan. "Are you all right?" he asked him and walked over to the side of the bed.

"Yes, I'm fine," Beriadan said and rubbed the parts of his neck where Thranduil's hands had been.

Brushing his hands away, Elrond examined his neck. "There will probably be some bruises, but I think you'll be all right."

Beriadan sighed. "Thank you, Elrond."

For a few seconds, the two were silent as they studied Thranduil's calm, peaceful face that had moments before had been filled with fury and rage.

"Elrond, what are we going to do?" Beriadan asked finally.

The lord of Rivendell shook his head slowly. "I do not know, Beriadan, I do not know."

The next few days passed with little excitement. Beriadan continued to recuperate, Thranduil avoided him constantly, and Elrond was busy trying to develop an antivenin to counteract the spider's venom. Every now and then, the large group of elves had to relocate due to Legolas.

Although Beriadan was confined to his bed, every moment of every day was spent on trying to figure out how he could help his best friend. After several days of no success, Tauriel came to see him, and he told her of Legolas' plight.

Her face was grave, but she nodded and promised that she would think thoroughly on the matter as well.

Another day passed, and Beriadan was just about ready to escape from the hospital wing, when Elrond entered his room. His face was still stern and filled with concern, but Beriadan could tell that something had changed. There was a strange light in his eyes that had not been there before. It took Beriadan

a moment to realize that the his eyes were filled with hope.

"I have news," the Elven lord announced.

Carefully sitting up in his bed, Beriadan asked him to elaborate.

Digging his hand into a pocket, Elrond pulled out a small vial; inside the bottle was a clear green mixture.

"What is that?" Beriadan inquired.

"It is the antivenin my healers and I were finally able to extract and develop," Elrond explained.

Beriadan's heart surged with hope. "This is marvelous news!" he exclaimed. "Have you told the king?"

Elrond's joyful smile was swallowed by a frown. "I have not told him, for his mental state is very fragile."

"Wouldn't this vial-this new hope-help with that? Wouldn't it give him something to live for again?" Beriadan asked.

Elrond shook his head. "See, that's where the problem lies. Although this is an antivenin, it can only be administered directly into the blood stream. Normally, this wouldn't be

a problem, but since Legolas isn't exactly normal at this time..." He let his voice trail off.

Beriadan felt his hope extinguish, but then after a moment, it flared back to life. He quickly stood to his feet, and was quite satisfied when the room didn't tip.

"What are you doing?" Elrond asked him urgently.

"I am going to form an elite legion of Elven warriors to go fight Legolas and give him the medicine," Beriadan paused, "For all of Mirkwood as well as for its king."

"But you are not fully healed-"

"I have been healing for days now,

Elrond, even if I didn't have this plan, I am sick of laying here helpless as my people are pushed further and further into their home. Thranduil's Palace, it's almost become a prison, and that is not how it is supposed to be. This is my home, Elrond, and even if it means killing my best friend, I have to defend it till my last breath escapes my lungs ."

Staring at him, Elrond nodded slowly. "I admire your conviction, but I must advise to tread carefully."

"I will, Lord Elrond, I swear it," Beriadan promised.

Elrond straightened. "Get you and your legion prepared, and when you are about to head out, I will give you the vial containing the antivenin."

Beriadan grunted and exited the chamber.

The first thing on his agenda was to find some suitable clothes. It didn't take long, and once he was properly clothed once again, he began to ask around for spare weapons.

Although most weapons were being used by the Elven guard, he was finally able to acquire several long knives as well as a few pieces of armor.

Once he had gotten all that he needed, Beriadan began to form his legion of elves. Tauriel was a given, and he also asked after Atticus. After recruiting four others, Beriadan figured that that was enough. He didn't want a large group that would draw the attention of the king.

After he had explained

his plan to his group, everyone agreed that they would head out early the next morning. They figured that perhaps they would be mistaken as a scouting party.

Late that night, Beriadan found Elrond in the infirmary. After the Elven lord had finished attending to his patient, a small elfling with a broken arm, Beriadan pulled him aside.

"Everything is ready," Beriadan told him.

"We leave at dawn."

"What is your plan?" Elrond asked, and he quickly explained.

Elrond nodded in approval and revealed the bottle of antivenin. Beriadan reached to grab it, but he pulled his hand back.

"Beriadan, you must be very careful with this vial," Elrond warned. "If it is broken, the antivenin is lost, and Legolas is doomed to an Orc's fate."

Both of them knew what that was: death.

"I understand, Elrond," Beriadan said. "I will guard it with my life."

Elrond grunted and handed him the vial. Taking the glass bottle, Beriadan slipped it into a pouch attatched to his belt.

"I must prepare," Beriadan whispered and slipped back down the corridor.

Elrond raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Valor, help us," he murmured.

As they had planned, the group headed out early the next morning. Their goal was firmly fixed in their minds, but the possibility of Legolas' death was also very clear. Every member was willing to lay down his life for his prince, but they knew that if the situation required it, they might just have to slay their own leader if it meant saving the elves of Mirkwood.

The group traveled fast and with light feet, but they were stopped at the barricades.

"What is your business?" one of the patrolling Elven guards asked them.

Tauriel stepped forward, and Beriadan could tell from the guard's face that he recognized her as the head of security.

"We are here on a mission straight from the mouth of Thranduil," Tauriel told him.

It wasn't exactly a lie; it was close enough.

The guard nodded and turned away from them. "Let them through!" he yelled, and soon an opening was formed in the barricade.

"Whatever you're doing," the guard said as they passed through, "Do it quickly. The maddened prince is nearby."

"In which direcrion is he?" Beriadan asked him.

"The last time our scouts reported, they said that he was west of here," the guard replied hwile giving him an odd look. "He's probably heading this way as we speak."

Beriadan nodded. "Thank you, we'll be sure to not go west."

The guard was just about to ask them a question, but he was cut off as the barricade's door was slammed shut.

"So," Atticus addressed him, "Which way to Legolas?"

"West," Beriadan replied. "Let us be swift."

Just as the guard had informed Beriadan, the group found Legolas to the west, though he was closer than what the guard had supposed him to be. Legolas was positioned in a clearing that was lined on both sides with thick trees which roots spiraled down into dark pits.

Beriadan motioned to the trees, and Atticus and another archer climbed them and positioned themselves in their branches. Gesturing with his fingers, Beriadan silently ordered for a V formation. Carefully they crept forward toward Legolas.

As they neared him, Beriadan was able to get a good look at him. Legolas appeared different from the last time he saw him. Legolas still had the gray skin, black dreadlocks, and the red-streaked eyes, but something had changed. As Beriadan watched him as he stumbled around, roaring, periodically, Legolas' Orc body disappeared, and for a split second, he was able to see the normal, green-clothed, blond haired, blue-eyed Legolas. But then, in a blink of an eye, he morphed back into an Orc, and the vision was gone.

"He's fighting it," Beriadan thought with a grin.

"Let me talk to him first," Beriadan ordered, "But if it comes to fighting, deal with him gently, unless a fatal blow is your last option."

The four elves around him nodded in agreement, and as one, they advanced on the Orc-turned-elf.

Legolas picked up on their scent several yards before they came upon him. His Orc-form glared at him and roared a challenge, but then Legolas' elf form appeared, his face withered and filled with strife.

"What are you doing?" he screamed and began to stumble away from them. "You have to go! Please! I don't want to hurt-hurt anyone else!"

Whispering a few commands, Beriadan continued forward alone. "Legolas," he addressed him gently.

Legolas' Orc form glowered at him with his red, demonic eyes. "You've returned," he snarled, showing his white fangs. "I'm glad that I get to finish you off."

"Legolas," Beriadan said again.

The Orc cried out in agony and collapsed to his knees. As he did, Legolas' elf-form appeared. He was clawing at his eyes and throat, and flowing from his mouth was a steady stream of shrieking.

"Beriadan!" he cried. "You have to go! You have to kill me! I can't control myself. The darkness, the voice...I-I can't hold this. I'm going to fall into the shadows. I'm going to kill you again!" With every plea, Legolas' voice rose in desperation.

"I'm not going to do that, Legolas," Beriadan replied gently. "I have an antidote, but you have to fight the voice."

Legolas tore at his clothes. "I'm tired, Beriadan, so tired..." As he said this, his eyes began to close, but then he snapped them open again. "No! I can't stop fighting!"

"That's right, Legolas, keep fighting..." Beriadan said soothingly and retrieved the vial from its pouch.

Suddenly Legolas gasped and his Orc-form came roaring back to the forefront. Within seconds, he was on his feet, his deadly sword drawn.

"Nothing you can say will stop me from completely consuming this puny elf," he sneered and leveled his weapon.

"He is more than a puny elf," Beriadan yelled. "He is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and I will not allow him to die!"

"I will enjoy reaping your soul," the Orc growled and charged.

Pulling his long knives from their scabbards, Beriadan had just enough time to block Legolas' deadly blow. As he struggled to push against his blade, Beriadan looked straight into his red-streaked eyes.

"Legolas," Beriadan said, "I do not wish to fight you!"

For a moment, his eyes cleared of scarlet, but with a quick shake of his head, all of the rage and anger was back.

"Your death shall be short and painful," Legolas roared and yanked his sword back only to whip it back down toward him.

Diving to the side, Beriadan rolled to his feet. "Stop this, Legolas! Fight it! Remember me! Remember Tauriel! Remember your father! He loves you, Legolas, and he couldn't bear to lose you. He is literally spiraling into madness."

Legolas' Orc-form flickered, for a moment showing his elf-form. "Into madness?" he asked, his form shaky and unsteady.

"Yes," Beriadan replied.

Legolas' eyes widened, and suddenly his Orc-form was back. "You shall die!" he shouted and ran towards him.

His eyes narrowing, Beriadan motioned for the four other elves to join him, two elves on either side of him, and Tauriel being to his immediate right.

"Stick to the plan?" she questioned as she armed herself with her bow.

"Basically," he replied, "Don't die and somehow administer the antivenin."

"Sounds good," Tauriel said before Legolas, or his Orc-from Queldonith, was upon them.

As he arrived, Queldonith swung his sword in a wide arc, making the four of them duck or dive to the side to avoid being cut down. Unfortunately, one of the elves was a bit slow, and he cried out in pain as the blade grazed his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Beriadan asked him as he rose to his feet.

"I'm fine," the elf said, though his face had grown pale. "I have suffered worse."

Beriadan had no time to dwell on the elf's reply, for just then the Orc struck hard and fierce. Even with the four of them outnumbering his one, the elves were having a difficult time keeping up with his attacks.

As Queldonith brought his sword down, Beriadan dove to the side, at the same time, dealing a minor blow to the back of Legolas' unprotected calf.

The Orc hissed in pain, and for a moment,

Legolas was back in his elf form. "Kill me, Beriadan, please kill me, I'm about to do something, and-" He was cut off as the Orc returned in all of his wickedness.

Raising his head, Queldonith roared, but this roar was not like the others. The other times he had roared, it had been out of anger and rage, but this time, it was almost like a cry for assistance. As the last ear-piercing notes echoed throughout the cave, a different sound reached Beriadan's keen ears.

It took him a moment to figure out what it was, but once his mind had realized the answer, his eyes widened in horror.

Turning to the elves, Beriadan yelled, "Spiders!"

A moment later, the cavern was swarming with them.

Beriadan hardly had any time to react; all he could do was fight. They were incredibly outnumbered, and if you threw a huge Orc into the mix of things, their future did not look bright.

Perched in the trees, Atticus and the other Elven archer began to fire arrows rapidly into the ocean of black, twisted bodies. Meanwhile on the ground, Beriadan was battling the beasts back to back with Tauriel, just as they had that fateful day long ago that started all this.

As Beriadan stabbed a spider, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the other two Elven warriors had done much the same, but the one who's shoulder was injured was not doing well. If he did not receive immediate relief, Beriadan knew that it wouldn't be long until he was struck down.

After glancing at Tauriel and seeing that she was managing the chaos somewhat well, he decided to leave her side. Lunging forward, he began to make his way toward the other two elves.

Dodging between two spiders, Beriadan brought his knife's hilt down onto another's head. As the beast crumpled, he leaped over its body and slid underneath the spider on the other side, slashing its underside as he did. Jumping to his feet, Beriadan threw a knife at a spider that had begun to climb one of the trees. Almost as a thank you, the beast in front of him collapsed, its hide riddled with arrows.

That's when Beriadan saw him. Crawling toward him was the largest spider he had ever seen, and around its head was a wreath of deadly horns. Mounted on its back was Queldonith, and he brandished his sword menacingly.

Taking his stance with his knife in one hand and the vial in the other, Beriadan prepared to receive him. He had no real plan anymore; it was all just to do or die. He had to keep fighting, but he knew that he and his men couldn't last forever. Someone was going to fall if he let this continue.

He knew he had only one option.

He had to kill Legolas.

He hated himself for what he had to do, but it was the only way to preserve the lives of his fellow Elven warriors and perhaps all of Mirkwood. When Thranduil received the news, Beriadan knew that he would lose all grasps on reality and would descend into insanity. Beriadan supposed that he would do the same, for who could remain mentally alert when he had killed his own closest friend?

With this act, Beriadan was almost ending three lives: Legolas', Thranduil's, and his own.

As Legolas arrived on his steed of horror and Beriadan charged toward him, he had a split second where he remembered all those who he loved. His mother's face, so pale and peaceful, passed through his mind, as well as Elrond's, Tauriel's, Atticus's, and finally Legolas'.

"Welcome us into Valinor with open arms," Beriadan prayed, "And may my people find it in themselves to forgive me."

Bending his knees, Beriadan leaped into the air.

His blade met Legolas' sword with a loud crash. Avoiding the spider's talons, Beriadan slashed his knife in an arc, but Legolas' blocked it with his sword. Shoving his body against Legolas', the two tumbled to the ground.

Leaping to his feet, Beriadan lunged at Legolas, but the Orc was ready. Parrying his strike, Legolas held their blades in an X formation. As they did this, Beriadan's sharp eyes focused on a chink in Legolas' black armor, just below the collarbone. It would be a perfect place to land his blade.

"Legolas," Beriadan growled as he struggled against the Orc's incredible strength. "If you can hear me, I want to tell you that I'm going to fulfill your wish. I am going to kill you, just as you've begged me. But I also want to tell you something.

"You were my best friend. You are my best friend, and I owe you my life. When I was at my darkest, you brought the light back into me. You are and forever will be my closest comrade. You are like a brother to me, and there is no other name that I could ever refer to you as."

As he said this, Legolas' elf-form flickered like the unsteady flame of a candle.

"You are my prince; you are my future king; you are my ruler; you are my better in every way, especially in archery," Beriadan continued.

Legolas' elf-form became a little steadier, and as it did, Beriadan got an idea.

"Legolas, you are my brother, and I hope you never forget me, for I will never forget you," Beriadan finished and pushed Legolas' sword away.

Once he had done that, Beriadan held his knife with both hands and pierced his stomach. As his old wound was reopened and deepened, Beriadan collapsed, and Legolas' elf from solidified. As Legolas rushed to his side, the spiders around them vanished like dust in the wind.

"What have you done?" Legolas shouted and wrapped his hands around the knife embedded in his body.

"I'm sorry," Beriadan said and jerked the knife out.

"What are you--?" Legolas began but was cut off as Beriadan stabbed the knife into Legolas' hand, right where that small spider had bitten him days before.

Crying out in pain, Legolas' elf-form flashed and was replaced by his Orc-form.

Suddenly Tauriel and the other two elves were beside him. "Hold him," Beriadan ordered weakly, and the trio did their best to restrain the enraged Orc.

Stumbling to his feet, Beriadan grasped the vial in his hand.

As Beriadan uncapped the bottle, Legolas turned back into an elf. "What are you doing?" he cried and fought against the elves fettering him. "You're injured! You have to leave! Kill me! Kill me!"

"Legolas," Beriadan addressed him, and the Elven prince looked up at him with his clear, blue eyes wide with pain. "It is too late for me, but it is not too late for you."

"I killed you!" Legolas lamented and began to weep. "I am a monster."

"No," Beriadan disagreed and choked back a moan of pain. "You are not a monster. I did this because I knew that it was the only way to draw you out of your Orc-self."

"You cannot save me, for I am beyond the realm of rescue. How do you even hope to banish this darkness festering inside of me?" Legolas asked his voice cracking.

"Like this, Brother," Beriadan said and poured the green liquid into Legolas' hand wound. As the fluid sloshed and dribbled off Legolas' hand, the elf began to scream in pain. The elves released their hold on him as Legolas morphed from elf to Orc, to elf to Orc, and then finally back to an elf.

Legolas blinked rapidly and gasped for breath. "The voice, the darkness, the weight-it's all gone! I can see..." His eyes landed on Beriadan as he crumpled on the ground.

"Beriadan!" he cried and knelt beside him.

"Legolas," Beriadan whispered weakly. "You know, if you hadn't been so stupid and had just told me what was ailing you in the first place, maybe I wouldn't have had to save you again, for the final time."

Legolas shook his head. "No, no, no, not the final time. I remember you telling me that you would follow me to the pits of hell and back again. Well, I will do the same. I will not lose you to my own stupidity and pride."

"This is not your fault," Beriadan insisted with an exhausted sigh. How tired he had become as his strength drained out of him in a river of crimson. Never had he felt so weak.

"This was my choice," he whispered as his eyelids drifted close.

"Wake up!" Legolas ordered, and Beriadan forced his eyes open. "I-I command you not to die."

Beriadan laughed weakly. "You can't exactly order me to do that."

"Sure I can," Legolas argued, but he knew that the argument was futile. Whether he liked it or not, Beriadan's life was ending.

"This wasn't supposed to end this way," Legolas murmured, his voice constricting because of his tears. "You and I were supposed to live for centuries more, and when the day came when I would take the throne, you would be by my side, and that was where you were supposed to remain until the day we would sail to Valinor."

"Time can be cruel, can't it?" Beriadan asked as his breathing became labored. "But Legolas, I would have been honored to walk beside you the day you became king, and years past that. Since the time we were elflings, even then it was an honor."

Beriadan gasped for breath and Legolas desperately pressed on Beriadan's wound, hoping against hope that he could stem the flow of blood.

"Stop, Legolas," Beriadan sighed and looked a final time at his best friend. "When the day comes, you will make a fine king, perhaps even better than your father. I look forward to the day I see you again, and when you do, you had better bring someone interesting along with you, for we both know that sometimes you can be a bore."

Legolas could sense that his friend was about to pass. "I promise that I will, and we will entertain you for millennia with our tales."

"I cannot wait, Brother, I simply cannot wait..." Beriadan exhaled and closed his eyes for the last time.

Dimly hearing Legolas' cries of grief, Beriadan found himself floating. It was like he had shed every weight and worry, and all that remained was his spirit.

With a grin, he realized that that was exactly what it was.

And then Beriadan's body became cold.

The day of Beriadan's funeral, as well as the other elf that had been injured, was very sad, but at the same time, it was filled with joy, for their prince had returned to them. Thranduil was indeed overjoyed to see his son again, alive and well, and the king would commonly embrace him, but whenever he did, it was a one sided embrace.

Legolas could not find the enthusiasm that everyone around him had beating in their hearts, because for him, he lost much more than just two good soldiers. He had lost a brother, and a friend.

His people around him could sense his deep sorrow, and they began to grow concerned that perhaps their prince was not as recovered as they had first assumed. Legolas had become so downhearted, that Tauriel finally approached him about it.

"Legolas, you must let this go," Tauriel told him. "Your people are worried. I am worried."

"How can I let this go?" Legolas asked. "Beriadan was my friend, and I am afraid that..."

"What?"

Legolas sighed. "I am afraid that if I stop mourning over him, over the years, I will come to forget everything about him. His wit, his encouragement, the times we had together, everything."

"Beriadan was my friend as well," Tauriel said and sat down beside him. "Perhaps our bond was not as deep as yours, but we were still friends nonetheless. I mourned over him, yes, but I have stopped mourning over him and have instead come to rejoice over him."

"Why?" Legolas asked. "How?"

"I do not focus that he is gone, instead I focus on the time I spent with him when he was alive. It's helped. When I think that way, I sense him running through the woods; I hear his voice on the winds; and I see his face in the stars.

"Legolas, it is possible to stop mourning, as well as it is possible to perhaps forget a loved one's face, but it is impossible to forget who they were and the affect they had on you. They live on, inside of your heart."

For the first time in many a day, a smile lit Legolas' face. "You are right, Tauriel, although Beriadan is dead and buried, he will always be my constant companion. I will remember him every time I see the stars, and I will remember him every time I shoot my bow.

"Although he may no longer live, his heart beat will beat next to mine until the day we may clasp hands once again," Legolas finished and looked up to thank Tauriel for encouraging him, but to his surprise, there was no sign of the she elf, nor that she had even been there. Perhaps she hadn't even been there at all.

Standing to his feet, Legolas began to walk away to seek out his father and give him the whole-hearted embrace that he deserved. Never would he forget Beriadan, the defender of men, but he would not mourn any longer. It was like the sun had arisen on his perspective of life, and there was joy once again. The old had gone, and the new had come.

That night, after a hearty feast prepared to honor all those who had fallen to defend Thranduil's Palace and all of Mirkwood, Legolas stepped out onto the balcony adjoined to his chamber. Through the thick canopy of leaves, he was just able to make out the large, luminescent moon and the specks of stars surrounding it. Once again his deceased friend was brought to his mind.

He remembered some of the last few words that he had said to Beriadan, and he began to ponder a task that had been given him. He had to find a new companion, an interesting one, and on the day he sailed for Valinor, Legolas would bring him along.

But the question remained. Who would he bring? Who would he befriend?

The almost comical answer surfaced in Legolas' mind, and he smiled.

"So," he whispered to the night sky, "How would you feel about meeting a dwarf?"