Disclaimer see Chapter One.

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Chapter Three: Facing Death

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“Na brôg,” ((It is a bear)) he told Aragorn, never taking his eyes off the creature.

“Can you talk to it?” the ranger asked. His human eyes still couldn’t make out anything in the shadows below.

Legolas watched the large beast cowering in front of him, pondering the same thing. The bear had lost all its fat and was unnaturally thin. The elf could even see the implied outline of some of its ribs. It must have been trapped down here for quite some time. It could not be completely starved, or it would have attacked immediately, but it was clearly very hungry. Legolas would have tried talking to it nonetheless, but something else made him hesitate. Something felt wrong about this creature.

Looking into the dark eyes, he saw a reddish glow deep in them, and he felt a sudden malice and dark hunger graze him like a cold, feathery touch. There was a shadow around this beast that had nothing to do with the darkness of the cave around them, a shadow he knew only too well. Somehow the bear had been touched by the darkness of Dol Guldur, and there was a hint of a sinister intelligence in its eyes, and more.

In that instant, Legolas knew that it had tasted elf-flesh before. It had crossed a line, and now it was out of control and dangerous. He read bloodthirstiness in its eyes. He would not be able to reach that beast. The bear, or the creature of shadow it had become, was beyond saving. For a moment he was nearly glad that it had been trapped in here. It was entirely too near to the elven settlement for comfort, and it might have found its prey before anyone even knew of its existence.

The only problem was that he was trapped in here with it, and he had no intentions of ending up as nourishment for this creature of shadow and prolonging its unnatural life if he could help it. Legolas wondered if he should tell his friend about all this. Aragorn must be already feeling wretched enough in his helplessness, and nothing he could say would make him feel any better. He decided to tell his friend at least half of the truth.

“No,” he answered finally. “I cannot talk to it. It is hungry and I also believe it is… evil.”

“I do not like this,” Aragorn answered, his voice sounding pressed.

Nor do I, thought Legolas and wondered if the bear would really wait with its attack until the last trace of sunlight had vanished from the cave. He raised his elven knife in silent warning. The creature snarled, a low, rumbling sound, and bared long, dangerous looking fangs and two rows of sharp teeth. One look at those fangs was enough to tell Legolas that he had to stay away from them if he valued his life.

Legolas looked up for a short moment, seeing that Aragorn was ready to fire an arrow the moment he saw something move. A look of silent understanding passed between them. Legolas only hoped that Aragorn would be able to see the bear clearly enough for the shot.

The bear’s fur was dark brown or black, and it was hard to distinguish the beast from the surrounding darkness. But the daylight that would still filter in through the hole in the ceiling even when the sun was gone would have to be enough.

Legolas looked back at the bear, which had stopped snarling now and seemed to be content to watch him out of its glowing, red eyes, half-closed against the sunlight, as it stood perfectly still. Carefully balancing his weight on his uninjured leg, the elf prepared to wait for the moment when the last rays of the sun would be gone, and the attack that would follow.

He tried not to think about the upcoming fight too much. It would have been hard enough to defend himself with a knife against a hungry bear who was also an elf-eater if he had not been injured, but now… He shifted his weight slightly against the wall, deciding that he would need the second knife. The wall would have to be enough to support him.

He raised his left hand slowly, aware of the eyes that followed each of his movements… and the bear lunged at him from one moment to the next, reaching him at the same time as Aragorn’s warning shout. Then the bear was upon him and he heard Aragorn curse somewhere in the distance, knowing that his friend would not be able to shoot now without endangering him.

The thought was gone as soon as it had appeared, and Legolas ducked, his reflexes taking over. Massive fangs snapped shut in the exact place where his shoulder had been one moment before, and the elf could feel the hot breath of the beast near his cheek, the foul smell nearly making him gag. He grit his teeth again, trying to fend off the searing pain his jostled leg sent through his body, and acted without thinking. He brought his knife up and slashed out against the big head of the beast before the fangs could snap at him again.

The sharp elven blade cut deep into the snout of the creature, drawing blood and causing the bear to howl out in pain and jump back. Immediately, Legolas’ left hand closed around the hilt of the second knife and yanked it out of its sheath. An arrow buzzed past him and hit the bear’s shoulder, burying itself deep into the dark fur. The beast roared with pain and anger, whipped its head around, and crushed the shaft with its mighty fangs.

Legolas tried his best to fight the waves of pain that welled up from his injured leg, pressing his back against the cool, steadying wall behind him, grateful for the short respite. A second arrow whizzed through the air, but the bear was moving again and it only grazed its thick hide, leaving a small, bloody cut. The beast snarled, moving its head from side to side, as if it knew that Aragorn was there somewhere but wasn’t able to make him out.

Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he watched the beast. Something was wrong with the bear’s senses. The light obviously hurt its eyes, but its sense of smell also seemed to be affected. Not that it would help him anyway – the bear knew exactly where he was. The creature was mad now, its eyes bloodshot and filled with hatred, its teeth bared in a perpetual snarl. As it couldn’t find its new foe, its head swung back and the red eyes fixed again on the elf.

Legolas suppressed a shudder as those eyes bore into him, feeling the nearly tangible darkness that emanated from the creature in front of him, assaulting his senses. He stared back at the beast defiantly, not willing to give in to an enemy that was much older and more dangerous than the bear he was facing now. The vile shadows of Dol Guldur clung to the beast like its dark fur, and for a fraction of a moment he wondered what had happened to change it like that.

Then the bear was moving, pushing itself off the ground with its powerful hind legs and throwing itself at the elf as if it wanted to crush its prey with the weight of its mighty bulk alone. Another arrow missed the bear and hit the ground behind its target, falling to the floor with a clattering sound.

Legolas did not even hear it. Knowing that he could not duck this attack, he let himself drop to the ground, intending to roll. His injured left elbow hit the floor first, and he was not prepared for the pain that shot both through his arm and his leg with the impact, making him gasp and paralysing him for a few precious seconds.

The claws of the bear scratched over the wall behind him, and it growled deep in its throat, slightly dazed from its impact with the wall. With a clicking sound the claws hit the rock floor and the creature came to stand over the elf, front paws on one side of him, hind paws on the other.

Becoming aware of his situation, adrenaline replaced the pain in Legolas’ body and he pushed himself off the ground and crawled backwards, dragging his injured leg after him, until his right shoulder hit the wall. He caught a short glimpse of Aragorn’s terrified face high above him, but could pay it no heed.

Just as he had managed to bring at least a little bit of distance between him and the beast, the bear shook its massive head and turned. Legolas did not try to get into a standing position again, knowing that one more fall would be the end of him. His leg seemed to be on fire, and he was panting. The bear looked down at the elf, and Legolas could see the dried blood on its snout and in its dark fur, and hear the wheezing sound of its breath.

If the beast was sick, he wished it would succumb to its illness right now. The world seemed to shrink around him, until it consisted only of him and the looming creature in front of him. Then the bear bared its fangs and moved in on him, slowly and silently this time, as if remembering the painful results of its previous attacks.

Legolas knew that the beast would not allow him to repel it a second time. He had to kill it now, or die trying. He would not give up, not as long as he could still move and while Aragorn was watching. Taking courage at the thought of his friend, he forced himself to hold still and wait until the stench of the beast made him gag again and the large fangs parted to go for his throat.

Then he brought his knives up in a quick movement that was nearly too fast for human eyes to follow, intending to bury them in the right eye and the throat of the beast in front of him. Reflexively, the bear threw its head back, and one knife slipped and hit the already wounded shoulder of the beast while the other missed completely and scratched harmlessly over its cheekbone.

Knowing that he would not get another chance Legolas leaned forward and drove the one knife deep into the creature’s shoulder while he tried to push the other into the still bared throat. The bear roared again, nearly deafening the elf and making him wince, and in this one moment of distraction a big paw slammed into his shoulder and smashed him to the ground.

Legolas gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and stayed down, dazed. He heard Aragorn curse and then frantically call his name. Fighting to gather his senses again, Legolas blinked and realized that the bear was nearly over him again. There was a bleeding cut over the throat of the beast, but he had obviously missed the artery. Seeing a ivory-white hilt jut out of the beast’s shoulder, Legolas noticed fleetingly that he had only one knife left to defend himself.

Aragorn called again, and Legolas finally managed to shake off the last remnants of the daze he had been in and start moving. He tucked up his healthy leg and kicked out against the injured snout of the beast with all the force he could muster. The bear gave a hissing sound and jerked back. One of its hind paws came to rest on the elf’s broken leg for a moment, pressing down on it with its full weight.

Legolas could not help crying out in pain when the pressure made the broken bones grind against each other. He needed all his willpower to keep from coiling up on himself. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he fought hard to control the pain, his fingers clenching around the hilt of the elven knife as if he wanted to break it.

Sensing that its prey was finally weakening, the bear moved forward again, jostling the injured leg once more. Legolas gave a groan. He heard Aragorn’s voice again and tried to cling to it. His friend told him to move, and the urgency in the ranger’s voice shook the elf awake once more. Legolas’ eyes fluttered open and he tried to obey, shifting on the ground until his shoulder bumped against the wall.

He looked directly at a gaping mouth filled with two rows of sharp yellow teeth and felt the hot, foul-smelling breath of the beast against his face. He pushed back against the wall, trying to move further away, but there was not much room left. Before he could even feel any fear, the fangs came down on him, closing on his left shoulder and upper arm in the exact place where his throat had been a moment before.

The elf cried out again when the long fangs of the bear burrowed into his upper arm, instinctively lashing out blindly with his knife, drawing a red cut right under the beast’s eye. The bloody fangs opened again and the bear growled at him, swatting at the knife with one paw as if it was an annoying insect. Both the knife and Legolas’ hand hit the wall forcefully, and his fingers went numb, losing their grip on the weapon.

The paw of the bear came down on the elf’s chest, holding him in place and pushing down on him with a weight that rendered him nearly unable to breathe. Legolas felt slobber and his own blood dripping down on him from the bear’s fangs. He felt nauseated. He heard his name called out again, but between the pain and the lack of air he was rapidly losing his hold on consciousness now, unable to move or fight any longer.

He looked up to the light above, knowing that Aragorn would be there somewhere. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he had tried. But he was not even sure if the shadow he saw was Aragorn, and he knew he would not be given the time to find out. The only thing that was left for him was pain and death and regret.

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Aragorn was sure that he would go mad any moment now. It had soon become obvious that Legolas was no match for the creature he was facing in his present condition. Aragorn had tried to help as best he could, but he did not dare fire any arrows when the bear was too near to his friend. The twilight and the shadows down there obscured his sight, and he was not willing to take any chances with Legolas’ life.

Why could it not be Legolas up here, who was by far the better archer and would probably be able to call help by simply talking to the trees? Aragorn hated his own helplessness more than ever. To be forced to sit here and watch his friend try to fight the bear on his own was agony. He knew very well how much the simple act of moving must hurt his friend.

He had not expected the bear to attack when it did, and could only be grateful for Legolas’ skills as a warrior. When Legolas had gone down for the first time, his breath had caught in his throat, and he had only been able to breathe again after the elf had somehow managed to crawl away from the bear and survive another attack.

But afterwards it had only gotten worse, and Aragorn could not help cursing and yelling and had even gone so far to throw some stones into the cave, but nothing could distract the creature from its intended target now. At least Legolas had heard him and reacted to his voice before it was too late.

When Legolas had cried out, Aragorn had been sure that he could take it no longer, but he had been given no choice. So he went on to sit and watch and worry and call out his friend’s name until his voice was hoarse.

And now the worry for his friend was driving him mad, and he knew that Legolas would be dead in a few moments if he could not come up with something – anything – to stop that from happening. He called his friend’s name once more, but in his heart he knew that the elf could not go on this time. He saw the elf’s blue eyes turn away from the creature that was hovering over him and look for him. He was quite sure he read a silent apology in those eyes, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

Suddenly he felt a choking fear, followed by a terrible emptiness. He had a mental image of Thranduil kneeling beside the mutilated remains of his son, and knew it would break the king’s heart. Aragorn’s own life seemed to stretch into endless years of darkness before him without the light of his most faithful friend at his side, who knew his heart and soul like no-one else did. If Legolas died, it would leave a scar on his heart that would never completely heal.

He stared down at Legolas lying motionless under the bear, which was now ready for the kill. If he shot an arrow and only wounded the beast again it could start raving and kill the elf nonetheless. Suddenly, a crazy, dangerous thought crossed his mind.

Aragorn did not hesitate. He dropped his bow and quiver, took his bearings and a deep breath… and jumped.

To be continued…