Disclaimer: I am not a professor or a philologist or a member of the Inklings. Alas, I have never been to England nor was I born in South Africa. So apart from a love of beauty and an admiration for Old English and medieval stories I have nothing in common with the writer of The Lord of the Rings. Ergo, any recognizable characters are his not mine. I but vainly hope to add a few threads in the great tapestry of Middle Earth.

Warnings: This story is AU, since it is a "what if scenario." I wondered what would have happened if one of the three hunters had chosen to follow Frodo and Sam and this story is my answer to that. Furthermore, while I do not like gratuitous violence this story contains some graphic imagery. If you dislike blood, sweat and tears…this is probably not the story for you. If you like stories that contain such material for the purpose of showing up the courage and hope of the characters despite all odds then read on…

Chapter 1 – The Search for Sam and Frodo

Three grey-cloaked figures stood against the setting sun looking sorrowfully down upon the golden foam that rose about the falls, the last traces of their song lingering on wind. For here at the last the Fellowship had been broken. Even the fall of Gandalf in Moria had not splintered this last hope of Middle Earth the way that the death of the man of Gondor had. For though he had given his life in defense of the hobbits and paid his debt still his fall to the power of the ring had riven the company as the death of their leader had not. Aragorn looked wearily at his companions.

"Now we must abide the choices we have made" he said mournfully "and may they not be as ill-chosen as the others."

Legolas looked at him, noting such weariness as he had never seen in all his years of friendship with the man. "Nay" he said softly "Never were our choices in vain, there is a greater purpose in the weft and warp of all that has passed. I know not what it shall be, yet in my heart I know that it is so regardless of what our waking minds would have us believe, we will yet defeat the shadow."

From where he stood Gimli glowered a little at the elf's words. For though he honored him and had grown to love him like a brother, still he found the workings of elvish minds at times strange and unsettling. Still he took comfort in the elf's words and even more in his spirit and looking on Aragorn he saw that the man did as well, for some of his weariness left him and his face became less shadowed at the touch of the Eldar. "Then let us take the ways that need choosing and tarry in this accursed place no longer." he called, his strong voice bringing his companions out of the grip of their memories.

"Then it is here we part at last" said Aragorn "For I would not see any of the little ones without a protector." Legolas nodded "It would be better if I followed Sam and Frodo" he stated calmly "for you are better known to the horse lords and their path may lead where only an elf may follow." He turned to Gimli "Farewell, mellon nin until we meet again, for my heart foretells that our fates are yet wound together though the shadow lies between us." Gimli said nothing, cursing the emotion that held his tongue as he gripped the forearm of the elf he called friend.

Legolas turned to Aragorn embracing him warmly "Namarie" he said softly "There is hope yet Estel o Dunedain, Boramir was a great warrior and a good man, but his path does not shadow yours, do not take his fall to heart." Aragorn looked at him amazed "You know of what befell between him and Frodo?" The elf nodded "Gar-estel" he called and turning he leapt lightly into the boat that remained and paddled swiftly towards the eastern shore.

The man and the dwarf watched as his woodland clothing faded into the trees. Then they turned their faces towards the wide plains of Rohan and their captured friends, whispering prayers for those they sought and those that were left behind.

Legolas sang softly under his breath bending all his concentration to following the tracks of the two hobbits. Their footsteps were light, and skilled tracker that he was he doubted not that he would have lost the trail more than once without the aid of the trees, with their help he continued tirelessly even as the sun sank in the west. Looking back in after years upon those days of pursuit he could remember little for all his elven memory. For he had a late start and the darkness of Mordor pressed heavily upon his spirit, clouding his thoughts, and even though a trees helped, he was yet a greenleaf among the bare winter of the trees and little was the solace that they could offer. And yet though no oath bound him his heart was sworn to aid the halfling in his task though the Nine should bar the way.

His heart sank in spite of himself though, as the tree line gave way to the bleak crags of Emyn Muil and still he had not seen those he sought. He prayed that no evil fate had found them before he could offer his aid. As evening neared on the third day of his pursuit a great storm rose and the chill wind and rain buffeted him as he stood looking down upon the shadowed lands and the sickly green of the Dead Marshes. He shuddered at the faint scent of decay the wind brought him. He did not fear their evil for the shades of men and elves had no hold on his soul but wood-elf that he was he dreaded the decay and the mockery of all that he loved that the enemy had wrought upon them.

His thoughts turned upon these things and the ill-fate that had brought him, a prince of the Woodland Realm to seek passage into the land of he who had defiled the Greenwood and hated the wood-elves and especially the royal house nigh as much as the remnants of Numenor. He held no illusions about the fate that awaited him should he be captured in the land of shadow. There would be no merciful death, and his torment would hardly be less than that of the Ringbearer or the heir of Gondor for he had led the wood elves for centuries in their fight as commander of the archers and prince of the realm and now he aided the Ringbearer.

His dark thoughts broke off as he heard a cry upon the wind. At last it seemed that he found what he sought. "Mr. Frodo" came the call, faint and full of distress and fear. Legolas recognized Sam's call and leapt quickly towards it. He reached the place as they both stood alive and whole upon the bare rock below. He whispered a pray of thanks to the lady of the stars and undid the elven rope, letting it fall below, lest some enemy find it and thus follow their trail. For him there was another path, and he quickly lowered his body against the cliff face seeking what footholds he could. He could hear Frodo teasing Sam about his knots and he laughed softly at having been the cause the mystery. He hoped that they would not notice him until he could speak to them and assuage their fears of betrayal.

His luck held until about twenty feet from the bottom he heard fearful whispering. He felt an urge to bang his head against the rock, he could only hope that they would not be too frightened when he landed before them. And with that hope he leapt to the ground, his legs bent to absorb the impact. He landed softly and found himself looking down at the sharp edge of Frodo's elven blade while Sam leapt on him from behind.