Title: Starcrossed
Characters: Legolas, the fellowship, and pretty much everyone in the movies.
Disclaimer: Must I say it? Really? It breaks my heart just to think of it, but no... I DONT OWN IT. None of the characters are mine.
Warning: Contains major angst, Characters deaths, Violence, oh, and disturbing scenes of someone who seems quite literally insane.

A/N: So, yay! I'm glad I finally had the will to accomplish something! I don't usually do big chapters, but you get a lot more in them, and its more fun for the reador (I guess?). I'll be putting alot of angst into this fic. Of course there are character death since this is movie-verse (Sorry to the book-verse fans out there!), but one or two may not be expected *wink wink* Obviously R&R I don't think there's any more to this note, except for the fact that I'm going to try and get Legolas to bond with as many unlikely characters as I can, including my other favourite- by possibly more than Legolas- character Boromir :) Read on!

Starcrossed
Expected and Unexpected.

"Legolas!"

Boromir's deafening roar rang through Frodo's ears, as the man of Gondor sloshed through the water carrying the small hobbit. Within a second, an arrow flitted elegantly past Frodo's face to embed itself in the giant watcher close behind.

"Into the mines!" Another voice bellowed, it's tone panicked, but through the confusion Frodo couldn't make out the speaker, horribly aware of the flailing tentacles at their heels.

The watcher squealed and shrieked with such ferocity that they were spurred on, running at a pace they themselves hadn't known they'd possessed, but no sooner had they stumbled inside that a great thundering shook the walls, and they turned to see rock upon rock protecting them from the monster; barring their entrance and exit. For a few deathly silent moments the Company held their breath, when finally a soft white light blossomed from atop Gandalf's staff, banishing the darkness and restoring light to the pitch black of Moria.

"Then the choice has been made for us." Gandalf's voice was grave, his face weary in the luminous light. "We must risk the four day journey through Moria; let us pray our presence goes unnoticed."

Without another word the old Wizard passed the companions and raised his staff to spread light as he strode into the black of Moria. Vaguely, Frodo was aware of ascending steps as they trudged, but the world seemed a dream to him. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, was where even a Hobbit's mind would never venture. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, walked in the presence of men, elves and dwarves alike: royalty and leaders of their own kin. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, balanced the fate of the world upon his breast. And yet Frodo Baggins couldn't help but wish that none of this had happened. True, they had yet to face casualties. And true, his companions were still capable of being light of heart- at this thought he stole a glance at Pippin- but the ring was having its effect on him. No matter how hard he tried, or how hard he argued with his conscience, he could not see the end of this. Somehow he, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, doubted both himself and the fellowship.

Silently he gazed at each companion, assessing them each in turn.

Sam trudged next to him: his most trusted and cherished friend. He couldn't think of a time when Sam wasn't there, helping him up after a fall; backing him in an argument; even staggering with him all the way to Bag-end after a night at the bar. Sam was devoted to all things living, from plants to hobbits, and it was these qualities that made Frodo so attached to him.

Behind he could hear the chatter of Merry and Pippin. Concerning his troublesome and mischievous cousins, Frodo couldn't remember a time when the two had been separate. Together they were partners in mischief, and they were those who found an inkling of light in the dark: Pippin with his innocent curiosity, and Merry with his jolly pragmatism.

As always, Gandalf led the company with his staff: the wizard was as dear to him as his Uncle Bilbo. Gandalf had been there even before he was born: the ever-loyal friend of Bilbo, and a friend to him too. Gandalf, with his ingenious fireworks and brass chuckle, was a mentor to Frodo for whenever he had troubles.

The long and steady strides tapping beside Gandalf's were plainly Strider; he had not known the ranger for long, but the man held such a manner and radiance that one could not even hesitate to trust him, and trust him Frodo did. The ranger had not failed him yet. Isildur's heir never put himself above anyone else, even with his position to the throne.

At the rear, Boromir was harder to read. At first the man had seemed arrogant, wanting to use the ring of power instead of destroying it, but as they travelled Frodo began to learn more of the Gondorian. This was a man who'd spent his life in the shadow Mordor, pushed to the brink of his capabilities day after day by his father and Steward. The man had sacrificed much for his kingdom, and he only wanted what was best for his home: he was the noblest of men, and perhaps that was why the ring affected him so. Frodo would be forever thankful for the Gondorian's kindness to his younger cousins; were he more obstinate, Pippin and Merry would have none to show them they were not simply extra weight.

Gimli had taken up a new position at the front, where Gandalf had use of him as a guide. However, the long and twisting chambers of rock that was Moria, though of course he tried his best to hide it, confounded even the dwarf. Frodo was sure he'd heard Gimli many a time muttering something along the lines of "-Damn elf-…-never hear the end of it-"

Legolas's footsteps were a mere ghost on the stone floor. The elf, walking silently just ahead of him and to the left, still had his bow nocked. It may have been Frodo's imagination, but it seemed the elf was uneasy, here in the dark. He walked in a half crouch, ready to launch an arrow at the first sign of danger, and his eyes darted from side to side- though how he could see anything in this gloom, Frodo knew not.

As if feeling the hobbit's eyes on him, Legolas glanced back at him, and the uneasiness vanished in an instant to be replaced with a warm, reassuring smile. Frodo couldn't help but smile back, and noted with relief that as they continued, the elf replaced the arrow back into his quiver. Frodo liked the kind woodland Elf from the start, and although Frodo hadn't got to know him as much as Aragorn, he was sure he could confide in the elf. He'd since learned the stark differences between the elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell, the most obvious of which being the colour contrasts- Rinvendell's garments being a rich purple, and those of Mirkwood's being every shade of green and brown. The elves of Mirkwood must be rather attached to Arda, Frodo mused.

"-for a roast chicken right now, Mr Frodo." He heard Sam saying, and instinctively nodded an agreement. He was beginning to tire; they must have already been walking for hours, and to his delight Gandalf stopped and turned to the rest of the company.

"We will rest here. Legolas and I will take the watches." He informed them bluntly, taking off his hat and stiffly bending down to settle on a rock.

With relieved sighs the company heaved their packs from their aching backs and rolled out their sleeping mats, making light banter as they sat and shared out food.

"Are you okay, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked him eventually.

"I'm fine, Sam." Frodo replied with a small smile, seeing the hint of sadness in Sam's eyes. "And furthermore, I'm sure Bill will be fine too, Sam. He's as smart as any pony goes... you've made sure of that."

"Thanks, Mr Frodo." Sam smiled gratefully back at him, the sadness fading, "I bet he's back in Rivendell already stuffing his face with all the grass he can eat! My gaffer always used to say ponies don't half-" Sam's joyful voice was suddenly interrupted by another, angry, voice.

"I do not see any reason for which I could possibly have your axe!"

The fellowship inwardly groaned as they recognised the unmistakable sound of Legolas and Gimli in the throws of yet another argument.

"What! Of course you can, you insufferable elf! Where is it?" Dwarf argued back, his face reddening, but from anger more than his need to look upwards at his opponent.

"I would not touch that tin instrument with a rag, foolish dwarf!" Legolas hissed back. The two were so close that it was as though they'd embrace, if not for their clenched fists and seething words.

"My tin instrument is much better than your flimsy sticks. A dwarfling could cause more damage!" Gimli's face was now a dark beetroot red.

"Ha!" Legolas snorted, or the elvish equivalent to one. "Your tin rusts. Avo bedo brith!" In comparison to the dwarf's red face, the elf's own had not changed colour in the slightest, but his fair features now twisted uncharacteristically into a sneer of anger. /Don't speak gravel! /

The fellowship watched, expressions a mix of horror and awe, as the dwarf snapped. Of course, Gimli had not known what had been said, but the meaning was clear and with a furious yell he launched himself onto the elf. Legolas could have easily dodged, maybe retaliated, but with his attention tampered by anger he tripped on the rough terrain and slammed onto the rock, the dwarf driving all the air from his lungs as he landed on top of him. For a moment the elf seemed stunned and did nothing to push off the dwarf, only blinking dazedly.

"Gimli!" Aragorn, Gandalf and Boromir cried in unison, immediately rushing forward to break the two apart. Frodo, Sam and Merry stood, uncertain if they should help, while Pippin sat on the floor, an apple frozen near his gaping mouth as he stared.

Gimli was landing punches on the elf, while the elf did likewise, punches unhindered by the weight pinning him to the ground. The men and wizard seemed hard pressed separating Gimli from Legolas, and so all four hobbits dove in to assist. A few minutes of struggling and grunting later, Gandalf, Aragorn, Merry and Pippin managed to wrench the dwarf from the elf, holding him back as Frodo, Boromir and Sam pulled Legolas from the ground. A small trickle of blood peeked from a small gash over his left eye and his back was coated with dust from the floor, yet he glared towards Gimli with pure hatred as Boromir stood in front, restraining him. Frodo held Legolas's arm tightly and, pulling back, he tugged on the arm until Legolas turned his head to him. Frodo sent him a pleading look, and the elf relaxed, his features softening in understanding before he stalked away from the group.

"That is quite enough, Gimli- this is the last thing we need." Gandalf scolded furiously. "I had not realised Lord Elrond had chosen children to accompany this fellowship."

Gimli calmed somewhat at the words, but nevertheless grumbled as he trudged back to his sleeping mat and plopped onto it with a huff. Frowning and shaking their heads wearily, the others made their way back to their own mats, resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

"Where is Legolas?" Frodo eventually asked Aragorn, seemingly the only one concerned the elf had yet to come back.

"He has just gone to recollect his thoughts, he should be back." Aragorn said dismissively, as if this had happened many times with the elf before, and Frodo simply nodded in reply as all settled down.

One by one the fellowship drifted into their own unique slumbers, until only Gandalf and Frodo were left awake. After a few moments the wizard picked up his staff, and turned to the hobbit.

"Rest, Frodo. I will be only over there: there is a clearer view of our camp." Gandalf said softly, offering him a small smile before striding away and settling down on a rock not far from the fellowship. The soft glow of his staff had dimmed, but was enough that Frodo could make out the sleeping faces of his younger cousins and gardener.

With a sigh he lay down on his mat, pulling the blanket up to his chest as he lay on his back, looking at the unseen above. Another thing he'd come to know was how deep the hatred between elves and dwarves ran. His companions had certainly been at each other's throats since the first day of the quest, and it had even gotten to a point where Merry and Pippin began betting on who would win the fight, Legolas being the favourite, but never had it become physical, and never had he seen Legolas sporting such a look of anger and hatred. Perhaps unease had a part in it. The elf must certainly miss the stars, for he'd often seen Legolas gazing up at the sky, asleep or not. Being in a dark, dank place underground could not bode well for one of the fair folk of the skies, the trees and the earth.

"Legolas must be happy he cannot feel the cold." Frodo muttered thoughtfully under his breath, a shiver passing through his body.

"I am afraid I cannot be happy for the absence of something I have never experienced." Came a soft voice from beside him, and suddenly another blanket was draped on top of him, this one much warmer than the other.

Frodo turned his head to see Legolas sitting cross-legged next to him, a smile playing upon his lips and a look of mirth in his eye. Frodo noticed that Legolas's face was devoid of blood, the only reminder of his 'disagreement' the cleansed gash, and this already beginning to scab over- by tomorrow it would be gone.

"Won't you sleep?" Frodo enquired quietly, mindful of his sleeping companions, and the wizard sitting on the rock nearby.

"Perhaps, but not yet." Legolas replied. He did not need as much effort to lower his voice.

Frodo nodded, and was silent as he gazed back above. Legolas, on the other hand, seemed to find a particularly interesting rock to stare at.

"Do you miss them?" Frodo found himself asking, and Legolas faced him again, an eyebrow quirked. "The stars, I mean."

Legolas was silent a few moments, and by the far-away look he held, Frodo wondered if the elf had fallen asleep.

"Yes." He replied finally, "I do miss the stars, and the moon also. The trees, and the birds… but I am where I should be and am not remorseful for it."

"And is this where you should be, truly?" Frodo asked, doubt clouding his voice. Legolas considered him for another moment before speaking.

"I feel... as if I should well and truly be here, as do, I am sure, our other companions… no matter if we quarrel and complain." Legolas looked him straight in the eye, "If any of us felt this is not the place to be, we would have turned back long ago." Legolas smiled slightly. "And I am just glad I have been spared the dwarven hospitality."

Frodo grinned at that, his heart gladdened by the elf's words, before sleep finally took him and he slipped into an easier slumber than ever before.

Breakfast had been short that morning, and no one spoke as they sleepily cleared away any signs of their being there. They journeyed in the same positions as the day before, with the exception that Aragorn was now in front of Frodo, talking in hushed tones to Legolas. The elf himself seemed slightly more cheerful, certainly not as pale as he'd been before.

"My old gaffer would never believe this. Eh, Mr Frodo?" Sam spoke; he gazed around in awe, all his previous fear vanished.

"I'm not sure that even Bilbo will believe this, Sam." Frodo replied with a smile as he thought of his old uncle. His smile widened as he heard the soft sound of elven laughter.

"Really, Estel. I had thought-" Legolas abruptly broke off, his azure eyes scanning the area intently.

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked lowly, drawing his weapon and motioning the others to do the same. Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but what he may have said was cut out by an incredible screeching noise.

Startled, the company whirled around, weapons held in front as they attempted to confront the unknown perpetrator of the ghastly noise. Frodo spun around, expecting to see their elven friend's bow already aimed at the source... but Legolas was in no position to do such a thing. The golden archer was doubled over, his hands clamped over his ears, and face screwed up in a grimace of pain; to mortals such as the rest of the fellowship, the sound was merely incredibly irritating, but to one of the firstborn, whose ears were so attuned… it was torture.

"Legolas!" Frodo exclaimed in horror. He doubted that, even if the elf could hear him, he'd be able to answer through his clenched jaw; it looked as though it may shatter under the pressure.

The others whirled around again, eyes seeking out the source of the hobbit's distress, before widening to an almost dangerous extent.

"What is that wretched noise?" Boromir hissed, scanning the black as Aragorn bent to put an arm around Legolas's stiff shoulders, worry etched on his face.

"I know not." Aragorn answered, eyes searching Gandalf's face for answers, but the Istar had his back to them, arms raised and eyes closed in concentration. Without warning the ember upon Gandalf's staff burned bright.

"Dîn!" Gandalf bellowed, his booming voice echoed along the walls. "Drego morn!" /Silence! Flee night!/

Gandalf's roar acted as a knight, slaying the beastly noise with what seemed to be a small choke and splutter, and silence fell once more.

Legolas's stance relaxed, and finally he opened his eyes and lowered his hands, straightening slowly. His expression was slightly dazed, and Frodo was not the only one to notice the drop of blood trickling from the elf's ear. A sickening feeling suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach.

"I have never experienced such a thing before…" Legolas murmured, a frown troubling his brow.

"Come. We must move swiftly," Gandalf spoke with a tone of urgency. "for that was louder than even your quarrelling."

The company wasted no time, moving in what was something between a run and a brisk walk, glancing behind them uneasily. Frodo looked at Legolas again, and though the elf had nocked his bow and his cobalt eyes scanned the area, he was yet again pale.

"I hear drums…" Pippin suddenly spoke, looking confused as to whether his information was relevant or not. The fellowship froze.

"I hear drums."

Legolas froze. How was it that a hobbit could hear the drums before he, an elf? It troubled him greatly, though not nearly as much as the evidently approaching orcs. Even with his hearing at a disadvantage he could hear them clearly: roaring, snarling and banging their spears and weapons against any other object.

"Flee!" Bellowed Gandalf; stealth was no longer of any use.

They ran from what seemed to be the depths of Mordor itself, their feet and boots clattering against the rocks noisily. They ran blindly for Legolas realised that none looked in which direction they fled, and their mistake was dearly paid for by the sounds of roars coming from the direction they ran towards.

"We've been herded." Boromir breathed in horror, their feelings matching his. Orcs were foul creatures indeed, but even at that they were stupid creatures- or rather, supposed to be.

The four experienced warriors stood in a ring around the hobbits without even negotiating the move. They must be protected no matter what, and the understanding was mutual for them all. Legolas expertly draw back the string of his bow. His eyesight level with arrow, the fletching hovering near the corner of his lips as he'd once been taught as a little elfling barely past his second century. He held his breath, watching closely as the orcs and goblins rounded the corner. There were not as many as he'd feared, but enough them to outnumber them greatly. I must use sparingly, he decided, an empty quiver will not do. At his elbow, Frodo peered fearfully at the ugly featured creatures, while at his other side Aragorn had nocked an arrow in his own bow. A mere glance at each other and they knew what had to be done: they were not to break from the ring and leave the hobbits, unless it couldn't be helped.

For a fearful moment, the company merely stared the enemy down, before finally the creatures roared- the breath before the plunge- and charged.

Legolas had loosed three arrows by the time Aragorn was fitting his second, but was forced to use his bow as a makeshift club when an orc came too close for comfort. He was dimly aware of Mithrandir's bellows, when suddenly the ring was broken. He saw Boromir stumble slightly, forced away from them, and it wasn't long before the whole fellowship was separated, and Legolas lost sight of the others. In a single fluid move he drew both of his knives, and used a scissor cut to decapitate the orc in front of him.

"Legolas! Have a care for Frodo." He heard the roar over the scuffle, and spun to see Frodo backed into a corner, waving sting in front as three orcs approached.

No time was wasted as he quickly adjusted his grip on one knife, throwing it with all his might at the nearest of the three. The knife did not waver once as it powered through its path, only stopping when it passed cleanly into the orc's throat. Brandishing his remaining knife, he sprinted to Frodo in time to block another orc's scimitar as it was brought down towards the hobbit.

"Stay behind me." Legolas ordered the ringbearer, never moving his eyes from the creatures.

With a swift fake to the right, he dispatched another by slicing its stomach, wrinkling his nose as its innards came spilling out. With a hiss of distain the third orc eyed him, taking notice of his carefully peaked ears.

"Elf!" It hissed, its forked tongue slithering from between its teeth. Its comrades, if they could be called that, turned their attention towards him, spitting out the single word as if an insult. Legolas paled, and he heard Frodo let out a small whimper as the creatures bore down on them. "Filthy elf!"

He adjusted his stance protectively in front of the hobbit, muttering an elvish prayer before swinging his knife in a quick arc down into the nearest orc; the orc made no sound as it fell to the ground, and the angered others lunged. In only a few moves three more were felled, more by their foolishness than Legolas's skills, but between skills and brains there were still many standing between the two companions and their fellows. They rushed at him like a pack of wild boars, swinging their weapons. Slice, slice, slice, and thrust! Four more crumpled to the floor, their bodies trampled by the others as they rushed to kill the first elf they'd seen in many a year.

Legolas plunged his knife into another's stomach, unprepared for the erupting screech as it was run through. Legolas's pounding head protested intensely as the sound ripped through his brain, and he hastily pulled his knife out: thankfully the orc was silenced in death. For a brief moment the world swam, before a flicker of movement caught his eye. A lone orc had slipped past him, ignoring the elf completely as he now stood grinning wickedly at Frodo, his scimitar posed in the air. The ringbearer shrank back in terror, helplessly raising sting in an attempt to ward off the impending blow. He had no need to. Legolas darted in front of Frodo, placing himself between metal and hobbit; the orc blinked at him, taking a small step back but bringing his scimitar around nonetheless. At the last moment the elvish prince jumped back, being mindful of the hobbit behind him. His mind was his downfall.

The jump did not take him completely out of harm's way, and the blade bit deep into his side. A stifled gasp escaped Legolas's lips, as he wavered for a moment and collapsed to his knees, grimacing. The orc laughed cruelly, the last of his comrades jeering at the sight of a wounded elf at their mercy.

"Aragorn! Boromir!" Legolas heard Frodo's pleading cry from behind, and strength was rekindled in his bones.

With a roar he thrust his knife hilt-deep into the orc before him, pulling it back out as he rose. Pain flared in his side but it couldn't be helped: Frodo needed him. He sliced into another orc, at the same time twirling from another and kicking its weapon from its hand. He sliced the defenceless orc's throat, before adjusting his grip on the knife and swinging his arm back to impale another in the chest without turning, but his success was short lived. An orc finally saw sense to slam into the elf's injured side, the force taking them both to the floor. This time Legolas couldn't stifle the cry of pain that escaped his lips, as his side burned in agony and his head cracked against the rocks.

Dark spots danced in his vision of the orc, and the creature's attention was focused fully on him as his knees pressed to his chest, eyes alight with maddened glee. He remembered his scimitar and raised it high above the gasping elf, when suddenly a rock hit his head with such force that his eyes crossed themselves before he crumpled like the orcs before him.

Legolas was dimly aware of small arms wrapping around his chest, and pulling him close to an equally small body. His back felt warm against the soft body, but the comfort was ruined as his breathing became painful. Just one breath would elicit a spasm of pain through his chest, and he moaned unintentionally at the discomfort.

The arms pulled him closer, tightening their grip around him as the body rocked back and forth, as if trying to soothe him, but he could hear the sobbing. He could hear the roars of Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, and the three other little ones. Then his breathing slowed, and all was dark.