Note: Well this is it folks, the concluding part of Sowing Wind. I hope everyone who read this tale enjoyed it and I thank everyone who reviewed...a special thanks to Jebb and Deana who were quite dedicated with their comments (cheers guys I always looked forward to them). So without further ado here is the end.

Part 13

The path they trod upon was both strange to him yet eerily familiar. Each rut in the road, each bend, lay like a shadow in the corner of his memory. The girl was dead, one of her sadistic brothers as well, the other still unaccounted for. He had no other choice. Despite the hurt…the actual physical hurt which coursed through his body, he forced himself to take another step, and then another. If he did not do this now he would never again regain that part of himself left behind, that part he feared was sown beneath the soil.

He was dimly aware of his father's presence at his side, Gimli's as well. Their strength and resolve was a balm to his soul, for all his words and determination false bravado was not solely a quality found in men. He was afraid. He knew in his heart of hearts that there was no real danger, that setting foot in that field would not herald the very earth opening and swallowing him up once more, claiming the life of a victim who should never have escaped its grasp to begin with.

It had been a miraculous escape worthy of Mithrandir himself. His final shameful attempt to literally thrust himself free of the earth's grip had created a small hollow about his head, the pocket of air enough to sustain him long enough for Arod and Gimli to save him. Not his strength of will or the grace of the Valar had saved his life, but his own miserable, panicked attempts at gaining just one more breath. He spoke of it to no one.

As they left the last houses and man made structures behind them, walking out into the open, one of the many circling elven encampments sprung up before them. The commander in charge of the troop came forward to meet them, bowing to the trio.

"My lords," he said politely.

"Have you and your men join the search inside the town," Thranduil told him. "Master Gimli, the prince and myself wish to be alone for a time."

Legolas was grateful for his father's forethought. He did not wish for the other warriors to witness his reaction to site of his interment, and if he happened to break down completely he would be grateful for that fact ten times over.

"Of course my lord," the elf replied. "But I must warn you of a particularly dangerous patch of ground. We did not realize it was there for a time, but the heavy rain seems to have softened an area of turned over earth. It has created a sort of bog-sand. One of our men stepped into it, and might have been able to free himself but I am in doubt; it took two of us to pull him to safety. We have marked the periphery of the unstable ground with arrows."

"Thank you for the warning," Thranduil nodded.

It took but a short time for the rest of the elves to clear out of the campsite, leaving Legolas, Gimli and his father alone to weave their way past several tents and struggling fires towards the pit. It was not long before four red spots of color could be seen through the heavy mist which was beginning to fall over the damp countryside. As they approached the color coalesced into four red feathered arrows sticking from the ground, one on each corner of a rough rectangle.

They stopped as one a few feet away from the closest arrow and stared down at the unassuming plot of ground. The only indication that it was any more dangerous than the surrounding land was the slight sheen of murky water which clung to the top, a sure sign of over saturation.

"Is it not strange that I would fear a mud puddle more than an entire army of orcs?" Legolas mused, cocking his head to look at the spot of earth at another angle, as if such a change in perspective would reveal some sort of answer acceptable to him.

"Orcs you can slay with bow and knives, this, this," Gimli said, "can not feel your fury."

Legolas pursed his lips at that, then suddenly spat a great mouthful of saliva and ire onto the soupy ground.

"Legolas," his father chided, shaking his head.

"Its very presence leaves a bad taste in my mouth," he explained, trying to hide a smile as he spied Gimli's look of disgust out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps I should sow salt into this patch of ground, deprive it from ever knowing the joy of green things growing upon it ever again." He sighed as if disappointed. "No, I find that I can not hate so much as to deny that feeling to anyone or anything."

"That is encouraging," Gimli supplied. "You can suffer pity for that which almost took your life."

"Yes."

"And what of men?" Thranduil prodded.

"Men," Legolas stated. "Men I think have moved beyond our world. Though it pains me to say it, keeping to ourselves until our time here has past is the best and safest course. Arwen was our last gift; we can no longer help them."

"As if you ever helped us in the past!" a voice snarled from behind them.

Thinking themselves alone, their attention so focused on Legolas and his struggle, none were prepared for the sudden attack. Admar rush out from behind one of the encampment's tents, large rock in hand, striking Thranduil across the temple and felling him with the blow. With almost the same movement the man threw the stone with all his might in Legolas' direction, scoring a hit on the surprised elf's shoulder, spinning him to the ground with a pained cry as well. Gimli he tackled as he continued his charge unabated, knocking the dwarf off balance and right back into the soupy mix lying in wait behind him.

Legolas hissed as he turned over onto his side, his shoulder aching, he looked over to where Admar was jeering by the edge of the pit, standing quite triumphantly over Gimli, who was vainly struggling in the muck. His compact body and stouts limbs were practically useless mired as he was and he was sinking at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind him to un-sling his bow Legolas discovered the weapon to be worthless; his fall having snapped one tip off completely. Cursing his ill luck he struggled to his knees, casting a quick glance to see his father knocked completely unconscious. No help from that front. Gritting his teeth in determination, Gimli's gasps echoing in the back of his head, he unsheathed his knife and pulled it back for a throw; his injuring hampering his customary arm, forcing him to use his ill favored and quite unpracticed left hand. He almost closed is eyes as he snapped his arm out letting the blade slip free of his grasp, but managed to keep his gaze trained on Admar's back. His aim was true.

One moment Admar stood there, the expanse of his broad back unhindered, the next an elegant elven long knife stood imbedded by his spine at the base of his neck. The end of the blade exploded from his throat, a bloody cough his last breath as the force of the impact sent him tumbling forward into the pit…and on top of the weakening dwarf.

"Gimli!" Legolas called, lurching to his feet and running to the edge of the pit.

He could not see the dwarf. Admar's prone body was slowly disappearing under the mud.

Without a moments hesitation the elf stepped off of solid ground, the ice cold mud enveloping him up to his waist in an instant. Fighting his way over to the body, using the man's legs to pull himself along, he reached the center of the pit and rolled Admar over and away from him, the earth making a hideous sucking sound as it reluctantly released its grip on the corpse. Crouching down further into the mud, his chin nearly touching the surface, Legolas swept his arms about him in wide arcs in a desperate attempt to come into contact with Gimli.

His muscles were burning and panic was rising, not only for his friend, but for his own safety, as he overbalanced a fell sideways. His head immersed for a moment until he broke surface again gasping for air, his vision hindered by the clinging filth. He was now sunk up to his neck, unable to pull himself upright. It seemed this plot of earth would claim his life after all…along with that of his friend. His father would awaken and find them nowhere in sight, perhaps not even thinking of searching the depths of the pit, their bodies lost to their kin forever.

Kicking out in an attempt to keep his head above the surface his foot suddenly connected with something solid. Heart rate and hope rising he maneuvered his way over until he was directly beside his discovery. With one more fortifying breath he ducked down under the muck and reached out. Grasping the dense muscles of what could only be a dwarf, Legolas pushed himself further down until he could shove his friend upward from beneath. The pressure from above was immense, the suction around them debilitating, but finally, though he could not see it, Gimli's body found the surface.

He could not hear it but when his head cleared the mud Gimli took an automatic and much appreciated breath of clean air. Mind clearing quickly with his renewed ability to breathe, he sputtered out mud and ineffectually wiped at his eyes with equally filthy hands. Something was holding him up, pushing him clear of the pit and closer to salvation. Looking about he saw what little was left of Admar's body still visible from the surface, a familiar bone handle protruding from the back of his neck. Never one to decline a gift the dwarf reached out and yanked the weapon free, stretching his short arms out and by providence reaching the edge of the pit. He plunged the knife into the more substantial ground, keeping a firm hold on it with one hand. With his make shift anchor in place Gimli leaned back over as far as he could and reached back down to grasped at his savior. A handful of hair was the first thing he was able to get a firm hold of, mud slick as flesh was, and with the strength of a dwarf and elven hair as his aids pulled Legolas up. It was a mighty struggle to draw them both over to the side of the pit one handed, but once he hauled himself onto solid ground the leverage gained allowed him to drag Legolas up beside him.

They both lay there gasping, Legolas slightly dazed and unsure what had transpired; he had been prepared to die there, with the hope of Gimli's survival calming his spirit. Nevertheless it appeared they were both alive. How remarkable. He rolled his head over in fatigue, the muscles in his neck without strength, and caught sight of his father lying nearby.

Dragging himself over in concern, he reached out with shaking, mud caked hands to feel at his father's swan white throat. There was blood covering half of his face and he seemed very still. He sighed in relief once he discerned the strong beat of a heart under his fingers. Satisfied he collapsed beside his father, drained.

A moment later he heard Gimli lugging himself over to them, the dwarf appearing by his side, breath labored.

"Alive then?" he asked.

"Yes," Legolas croaked. "I think he is only knocked unconscious."

"Good," Gimli said, then reached out with one dirty finger and traced two muddy lines outward from under his father's noble nose. Satisfied with his work Gimli sat back, a devilish grin on his face.

Legolas looked upon his father and the gritty brown mustache gracing his face and fell into gales of silvery laughter. Gimli soon followed suit, the two of them wrought with convulsions unabated.

This was how Thranduil would find them when he finally regained his wits, the pair bursting into fresh howls at the sight of the elf king looking sternly upon them. They would regret it the moment Thranduil got hold of a mirror, but until then they could be merry.

The End