It was one hypnotic moment, gazing at the moon in a conjunction year, and a tear in the fabric of time snatched Legolas from the halls of Ithilien, leaving the astonished gazes of Prince Faramir, the soon to be crowned King Elessar and elf-friend Gimli staring at the place where he had once stood.

Outside, having made ready for their journey north towards home, the rest of the Fellowship were already mounted on horses waiting for the others to join them for the short trip to Minas Tirith. Frodo and his kin looked up in alarm as they heard shouts from within the palace walls.

Suddenly a loud screech rent the air above their heads, and a large dark shape rose from the courtyard. At first they thought it was one of the nazgul, but its cries did not bring the agony of terror. Wide eyed with wonder, they watched it rise up and circle ever higher, and finally fly away.

Elessar rushed out. “Where did it go?”

The hobbits pointed north. “What is it?” Merry asked.

“I do not know. Maybe a dragon of some strange kind. It appeared out of thin air and Legolas is gone.”

“Your majesty!” someone called.

Elessar turned and with one look into the agitated minion, he ran back inside. There in the same spot where Legolas had been standing and the dragon had appeared, now lay a young woman, unconscious and chained. Her dark skin brought them to believe she was of the Easterlings, or perhaps the Haradrim, but her clothing belied either of them. She was wearing little more than a belt of silk across her breasts and another across her hips, both coloured red.

“Does she live?”

“Yes, My Lord. She lives still, but she is badly wounded.”

“Tend to her wounds . . .”

“But, My Lord . . .?”

“You heard me,” Elessar responded.

The minion rushed to apologise and do his bidding. Gimli knelt in that spot silent and unmoving, save for the tears coursing down his cheeks.

“I promise you,” Elessar said to him. “If it is within my power to do so, I will find him.”

Gandalf looked up. “King Elessar,” he called from where the woman had been laid on a small cot at the end of the hall. “This child is an elf . . .but not of Middle Earth.”

Elessar stared at him. “What? Then, from where? Surely not Valinor?”

“I do not know,” was all Gandalf could say.

She was bored with the job, but it was a job, nonetheless. She didn’t think many people would be interested in learning the old art of archery, but she was pleasantly surprised. The morning session had ended and she was taking a break before the afternoon class began. Class was not really the right word for it, they were all veterans just coming for practice. A quick flick of the wrist; her watch told her there was another thirty-five minutes before they would arrive. Ok, enough time for Aragorn to meet the Rohirrim.

She sighed, as much as she loved reading, and her job allowed for many long hours with her face stuffed into a book, she would much rather have been out on one of the ranges honing her own skills. A single session was expensive, and the loss of her old job, which paid a substantial amount more than this one did, she could no longer afford to have lessons. She had read a wide variety of literature, from Shakespeare to John Norman, but nothing compared to Tolkien.

She absently picked a morsel of her sandwich from her teeth as she sat in the office, reading her favourite book, by Tolkien, of course. A loud thump on the low, sloping roof above her, startled her out of her seat. A second later a man, dressed in unusual clothing, rolled off the portico roof and landed on the granite-tiled floor of the patio beyond.

“What the fu . . .where the hell did you come from?” she called out in mildly annoyed astonishment.

He landed with a grunt, winded, and when the light behind his eyelids faded he lifted his head and opened his eyes. On looking around him his eyes widened noticeably. “This is not Osgiliath,” he noted softly. He turned as he pushed himself up onto his feet. The second thing he noticed was the young woman staring at him in shocked surprise, and he returned the gaze measure for measure. The top half was definitely all woman, but she was in leggings much like his. Surely not the attire of a lady, he thought.

In horror, she looked from him to the book in her hand and back again and finally half dropped, half threw the book to the floor. “Ok, Melanie,” she thought aloud. “Reality check.”

Legolas tried to work out where he was. Nothing looked familiar, the buildings, the objects were all strange to him and even the air smelled different. Huge metal carriages moved on the road outside the window behind her. In terror he stepped back against the wall. “What magic is this?” he cried. “That wagons move without horses!” He guessed that was what they were, since he had not heard of beasts forged from metal.

She turned to look at the cars passing by and frowned in confusion.

“What is this place?” he asked, but it was obvious that she did not understand his words. “Who are you?” He was speaking in the common tongue and yet she could not understand him. What language of the Earth did she speak?

“Yn a jo?” he asked again.

She looked at him blankly. Was he mad? Was he some illegal immigrant? She dismissed that as soon as she thought it. With those clothes and his fear of cars, there was no way he was foreign. He looked like he’d stepped right out the book she had been reading.

He tried the same question in all the other languages he could speak, but with the same success. His fear mounted, and in his agitation he did not know what to do or say or even try. She could see that this was as easy for him as it was for her. He was scared, really scared. She picked up the bottled water standing on the desk and watched him flinch.

“It’s ok,” she said slowly. “I’m not going to hit you with it. See? It’s water. Here, you need to sit down and drink something before you hyperventilate and die on me. Explaining a dead body with ears like yours to the police would be one hell of a story,” she added to herself. “And you can’t understand a word I say, anyway, so I might as well be talking to myself.”

She attempted to calm him down but offering him the bottle of water, holding it out to him. She swallowed suddenly noticing that he was armed with arrows, the flights of which were just visible over his right shoulder. Better keep him calm, she thought. No knowing what he might do.

He took the bottle, looking at it stupidly; he could see what it was, but not how was he supposed to drink from it? How was it that he could see right through the water pouch? This was indeed a strange land.

She took the bottle back and opened it, pouring some into a glass that stood on the desk and handed it to him, trying to make out if she was dreaming, hallucinating or someone was playing a cruel trick on her. The look in his eyes made her change her mind. He was the one lost, the cruel trick seemed to have been played on him.

She held her hand to her chest, “Melanie.” She pointed to him, questioningly.

He seemed to be enjoying the taste of the water, she noted. He better had, she thought. It was the best damned water you could get. You could not get better than Brecon carreg - of course, she could be biased. Wales was her home, she was Welsh through and through. She decided to switch to English, and see if she got any better response. “My name is Melanie. What’s your name?”

He finally stopped licking his lips and pressed a hand to his chest. “L’gol’s,” he said.

She blinked.

He said it again, slower than before. “Le-go-las.”

She gasped. She wasn’t dreaming. “Legolas. Oh, boy,” she muttered in English and then switched to Welsh. “Now, I know I am hallucinating.”

His brows twitched slightly. Was he hearing things? Or was she was switching from one language to another? It confused him even more than his present situation. Maybe she was like Aragorn, he supposed. Or perhaps all the folk of this place, whatever place it was, spoke different languages. He nodded, uncomprehending, and said, “Melanie.” He liked the name. “Where . . .?” He swept his hands wide to encompass everything around him.

Melanie seemed to understand. He needed to know where he was. “Where,” she copied his gesture, “That’s easy. You’re in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.” He continued to gaze at her, blankly. Perhaps it wasn’t. “Just call it Llanfair for short, everyone does.”

Melanie groaned inwardly. “This is stupid. This can’t be happening. You’re just a character in a book.” She was pointing in the general direction of the fallen volume and his eyes followed her fingers.

Legolas lifted the dropped book that lay at her feet that she seemed to be gesticulating wildly at and turned it over to see a picture on the open page. It was of three figures on the plains of Rohan. He stared at it in open-mouthed awe. It was coloured, but he knew of no pen that could put paint to paper and not leave brush strokes. He also noted that the book was not hand written like the books of home. The lettering was uniform and strange. He could not read it. But, it was the three figures in the picture that took his breath away. He pointed to the picture of the three heroes and pointed to the tall yellow-haired elf . . .then pointed to his own chest. “Mi . . .Legolas.”

Melanie nodded dumbly.

A stream of words came out of his mouth, but she did not understand any of it. “Wait!” she cried and to her surprise he did. She sighed and dropped into the seat by the desk. “Firstly, we need to find out where you come from, because as far as I was aware, Middle Earth does not exist. Secondly, we need to work out how you got here and how to send you back, because . . .”

She looked at him, now standing by the wall, eyeing the four different types of bow hanging on display. He was still listening, she knew, because he turned his head to find out why she had stopped talking. “I don’t think you would last five minutes here in our world.” she added quietly. “You can’t understand me and I can’t understand you. And never the twain shall meet,” she quoted. She snapped to and looked at her watch. “And third, I have a group arriving in three minutes, and if they see you they are going to freak. You’re an elf. Trust me, people are going to notice.”

Legolas, on the other hand was too interested in the bows hanging on the wall. Melanie looked out of the window and saw the minibus arrive.

“Oh god!” she breathed. With windows the size they had, they would already have seen him.

Legolas turned. “God? Where?” or rather, what he had said was ‘Eldar? Where?’.

Melanie swallowed a laugh. Well, she mused, at least he knows one word of English. She took him by the arm and pulled him into her seat, holding him there as the archers stepped through the door. Legolas shifted beneath her hands, but she held him down. “Good afternoon, Mr Jones, Range three as always? Just sign yourselves in. Thank you. Enjoy your afternoon.” Legolas struggled, but she held him firmly.

One by one, the thirty or so men, each carrying large cases, filed passed them.

The one called Mr Jones stayed until last. “Will this man be joining us?” he asked, noting the quiver at Legolas’ back.

Melanie’s hand squeezed involuntarily and Legolas froze. “He’s a friend from . . .overseas. He doesn’t speak much English.” Legolas tried again to rise, but she still held him. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated very hard . . .and hoped she would forgive him later. If she noticed anything, she made no sign.

“Ah,” Mr Jones replied. “Another time, perhaps.” And he went on his way.

Legolas felt the weight lift from his shoulders and heard her sigh with relief. He turned his eyes up to hers. She fingered the feathered flights of his arrows and from this close up she could also see his twin blades. Her eyes moved to his. They were both on edge, and the reasons were not as different as they seemed. What am I going to do now? she thought. Will I ever forgive myself for what I have done? Will she? he wondered.

“I better teach you some words, or we’ll not find any common ground here.”

Legolas watched her pace around the room for a while before spotting the bottle. He stayed because she seemed to be the only friend he had right now. He stayed because where else would he go or could he go? He gazed up at the bows on the wall. None of them were familiar to him.

The smallest was a short-range bow. He had never seen anything that small before and wondered if it was a hobbit bow. The second was similar to his own, but plain and dull, no interest at all to look at. It looked unfinished, as if the craftsman had grown tired of fashioning it. It was a hunting bow and often used in times of war. The third was a long bow, almost as tall as he was. He had never seen anything like it before. He decided that the men of this world had to be very tall indeed, and that the ones who had passed him must be children, learning the art. The fourth bow was a crossbow, like those of Gondor. Each weapon had its respective quivers beneath them.

Melanie looked up at the bows on display, realising his wonder at them. Suddenly she noticed that there was a fourth bow, the small bow. Stepping over to it, she took it down. “Where did this one come from?” she wondered. It was like no bow she had ever seen. She knew from experience that arrows fired from this bow would be deadly accurate at very short distances and fly swift and sure over middle distances. She turned to the man in her chair. “Is this yours?”

Legolas looked at her and stood up. He could tell something was up. She did not recognise the bow. In fact, he now realised, it did not fit in the display, which had been painstakingly arranged across the wall. He looked closely at the bow, which was made of a wood he did not recognise, the string had been fashioned from animal hide.

“Your . . .yours?” he asked, with difficulty.

“No. It’s not mine, I’ve never seen it before.” She looked up. “You spoke?” She gazed at him wondering how quickly he could pick up a new language. He seemed to be speaking several earlier. She crossed to the desk and picked up the glass. “Water.”

Legolas watched her carefully, and seemed to understand what she was trying to do. “Wa . . .water.”

Melanie nodded. She put the glass down. “Where is the water?”

Legolas frowned. Then stepping forward, he picked up the glass and held it out to her. Melanie smiled a little. “You elves must be very fast learners, either that or have a head for languages.”

Legolas was still holding the glass out for her. “Water?”

“Then again, maybe not,” she said and took the glass. She tipped it up to take a drink, but suddenly he snatched it from her.

“No!” he gasped, setting the glass down. “You must not do that. We have only just met,” he exclaimed in elvish, a look of alarm on his face.

Melanie was looking at him strangely. What he had said was a mystery, but he had a possessive streak, that much was obvious. “Ok, you have the water. No problem. But try and work with me here, Nicolas. Sorry, Legolas.”

Legolas simply looked at her. He picked up the bottle from the desk. “Where is the water?” he said, with a slight lilt to his words.

Melanie took the bottle and giggled nervously. She picked up the glass and handed it to him. “Here is the water,” she replied. She caught the confusion that clouded his eyes. Gotcha, she thought silently, and somewhat cruelly.

The huge, thick-set man roared his anger at the empty space. Throwing the whip aside he turned a full circle. “Where are you, you little whore?” he shouted. The paga was swiftly rising to his head. “Come here! Or I’ll give you what for, so help me!” He staggered through the many-roomed tent scattering furnishings and slaves in every direction. “You won’t get far, you copper-disk slut. You’re wearing my collar. The Ubar will send you right back here!”

The amount of paga he had drunk finally reached the top of his skull and drowned him in unconsciousness. Nearby, seventeen chained women sat in terrified silence, with nothing to do but wait for him to wake up. None of them had been fed for at least a day, and it looked set to be at least another before they would see so much as a morsel.

In the cages behind their tent a tarns keeper yawned tiredly doing his final rounds of the day. He blinked, wearily calling his goodnights to his tarns, which squeaked in response when they heard their names. The last name was called and there was no reply. As tired as he was the keeper turned. The cage was empty. He frowned and crossed to the chains, which lay in the bottom of the cage, they were still locked. The chain and lock on the doors was also still secure, but the tarn was missing.

Suddenly he looked up, fearing the result of a loose tarn. They were vicious hunters, mean and for all their size, swift and agile, the biggest birds in all Gor, and this one, the mightiest war tarn that ever lived, was the prize of the Ubar himself. It’s dinner lay untouched on the hook beside the perch. A hungry tarn was dangerous. A smaller racing tarn often turned on its rider with no reason or warning, let alone if he was pushed to far. But a war tarn . . .

“Guards!” he hollered, sleep forgotten. “Guards!” His foot stepped on something hard and he looked down to find a strange object in the dirt. Stooping to pick it up he frowned, wondering what it was. He had never seen its like before, it had pages of paper bound together on one edge. He did not know what manner of letters they were inside, but he did recognised the picture of the man on the front cover. “Ubar . . .?”

Gandalf administered herbs to the lashes on the woman’s back, and she moaned to full wakefulness. She screamed in terror, and noted that her wrists and ankles were now bereft of the chains she had worn for so long. She cried out again, but this time in relief. Ignoring everyone in the room she sobbed out the last six weeks of her life, until her eyes were dry and red.

“My dear, you are safe now,” Gandalf said softly. “Do you understand my words?”

She lifted her head and looked at him. He had to have been the strangest fellow she had ever seen. “Your speech, strange it is, kind sir. Am I in, what place this is? What you are wanting is it?”

The lilt was one he had never heard before, and her accent suggested that it was not necessary her first tongue, or perhaps his ears were making its own judgement as to what her words were. “Where do you come from?” he asked, noting again the point of her ears. “What is your name?”

“Sil-Gathien, I am. From Avari, I am.”

Elessar stared at her in astonishment. “The Avari? None of your line has ever been seen here before. How did you get here? What are these iron bindings?” he demanded nudging the pile of cut metal that lay on the floor towards her.

She cried out and shrank back. “Captured me, they did. Stubborn, I am. Wanted the light, I did.”

“The light?” Gandalf questioned, turning to Elessar.

“The Avari are the elves from the beginning. They refused to walk into the West, and so never saw the Light of the Trees.” he knelt beside the bed and gazed at the blooded, broken child. “Why are you here? What made you seek for the Light of the Trees?”

“A malcontent, I am. Wanted more than darkness, I did.”

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

Sil-Gathien froze, shuddering. “Took me, they did. Chained and raped me. Made me dance, they did. Not understanding, I was. Like you, but not like you, they spoke. Two moons, they had. Silver and sapphire, they are, and they met, they did. The light broke loose, it did.”

Elessar looked at Gandalf for some semblance of understand. “Two moons met,” he whispered to himself. “Conjunction. An eclipse,” he said a little louder for clarification.

“What was the light?” Gimli asked.

“I have no idea,” Gandalf replied.

“But there is only one moon,” Elessar put in.

“Not always,” Frodo said suddenly. “Sometimes there are two. I have seen the sapphire moon.”

Gandalf looked at him in alarm. “Where, when?”

“Several times. Last night. It was just visible over the peaks of Emin Muil. I first saw it a year ago, just before we left the Shire. It frightened me.”

“What frightened you about a moon?” Gimli asked.

“I can’t explain it. It seemed to be watching me, moving almost. And sometimes it seemed to be closer than at other times.” He eyed the strange girl with less than a full measure of trust. “I don’t believe it was imagined. At first I did, but not any more.”

“Last night?” Gandalf urged him. “Did it do anything? Change colour, shape, move . . .anything, at the time that Legolas disappeared?”

“Yes,” Frodo replied. “It was shining. Before, it appeared like a flat dish, like a pewter plate, but it was shining just before the dragon appeared.”

“I am afraid that it was not a dragon,” Gandalf revealed. “It was an eagle, much like our own. Many centuries ago, they numbered in their thousands and they suddenly disappeared save for a small number of them who were out hunting in the far north. No one ever found out what happened to them. The one we saw last night is almost twice the size of our friends the eagles, and I fear for the safety of any creature, man and beast alike, with that giant on the loose.”

“Metal talons, it had,” Sil-Gathien said dreamily.

“Window, door, floor, trees, birds. Water, please, thank you. Love, sing, eat, sleep.” Legolas recited, stepping around the room. “I love pizza. May I have the butter, please? I will be a good boy. Men are coming,” he finished.

Melanie nodded at each attempt and started at the last. “Better stop. They’ll get suspicious,” she noted and stood up, going to the door, expecting Mr Jones and company to be returning. She looked out along the path that led to the range, but saw nothing. “What men?” she asked.

“They are preparing to return,” he said in elvish, forgetting for a moment. “My eyes can see them,” he said in English. “They are running,” he said startled by something that was beyond her sight. Legolas stood shocked. He stared at her in horror. “You have elves here.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” she said. “They’ll take you home.”

“No, Melanie. Avari,” he reached for his bow, but remembered that he had taken it off while they had been talking. It now lay on the table, out of reach.

“Eldar!” a voice cried in cruel cold, tones. Legolas whirled in terror.

“Bind him!” another replied. “He took my daughter.”

Legolas had time only to push Melanie behind the desk to protect her. Hands grabbed his wrists as other hands lifted his feet from the ground. He wriggled and fought, but there were too many of them. “Melanie!” he cried.

“Stop it!” she cried. “Let him go!”

“Melanie!” he cried again. “Help me!”

“What do I do?”

“Help . . .!”

“I will, I promise!”

Suddenly he was gone. In the sudden and unnatural night, she watched him vanish in a dusting of silver glitters. The office was now in ruins, and Legolas was gone. Suddenly she was angry. How dare they, he had been defenceless against so many.

Quickly slipping her pack onto her back, her books digging into her skin, she snatched up the blades and the quiver and donned them, strapping them to her backpack, and stashing the bow against her chest over her shoulder. “No one takes my friends and gets away with it,” she growled under her breath. She picked up the strange short bow and followed the trail of moon dust.

She had been running for hours. Sometimes she could see Legolas’ eyes gazing out at her. Gagged and bound he could neither speak nor move. Her anger kept her going. She could smell them. They did not smell of the forests like Legolas, they smelled of dark, dank caves, of rotting places, of evil shadows and horrors too terrible to imagine.

People had spoken of elves in folktales for eons, and every one of them had spoken of them with kindness, describing them as shy, retiring folk who governed the seasons and watched over the earth. In truth, they were the darkest evils she had ever seen, including what man had done to this world. Legolas was not like them, and he was in danger.

She gripped the bow in her hand, having slung the short quiver to her belt. It bobbed gently against her thigh as she ran. Only once she had a clean shot and felled one of the fowl beings without a sound. The rest ran on unsuspecting.

There was a light ahead. Not bright, but large like a flood light. It was a doorway of some sort, that is she was aware that it had defined edges between the light and the darkness surrounding it. The elves were making straight for it. “Then so am I,” she decided, and increased the pace, determined not to be left behind.

She slipped through, expecting to find herself inside a building, but instead she found herself walking on metal grid plating, the kind they had in all the old war movies. Without slacking she ran on, the Elves, black-clad and filthy were not far ahead of her. Legolas’ eyes were momentarily visible. He seemed more afraid for her than himself. But she would not stop. Letting loose another arrow, another elf dropped silently. She sailed over it and ran on. Up ahead was a dark doorway and the elves exited. Melanie was close behind.

Without stopping to gaze up at the sapphire moon slowly drifting upward behind her she ran on. She was keeping pace with them, much to the surprise of Legolas, who suddenly looked out over the shoulders of his captors and saw her. From the look on his face, she could tell he did not quite believe his eyes. She was still with him.

She managed to bring down another two dark forms before they abruptly vanished from sight. Melanie ran on, not knowing where she was. She could hear them, but was unsure which direction they had taken, having altered course several times as if they could sense there was something or someone in pursuit. She followed the sounds at a slower pace until the sounds died away completely.

Alone, she stopped, and tried to make sense of her bearings. The stars above her were familiar and yet not. For one thing, they were six months out of alignment and upside down. As she gradually regained her breath, she walked on in the moonlight, following what little sign she could find of the elves’ passing. There were no tracks, no broken branches, but she did find a small piece of knotted cloth, damp towards the middle.

“The gag,” she noted. She ran on through the trees and almost tripped up on a small object. It was Legolas’ boot. There must have been a struggle, she noted. There was blood on a tree stump nearby.

Following the signs of an obvious scuffle she darted this way and that through the trees. A sudden whiz past her ear and she ducked out of sight. In the darkness she looked around her, trying to discern details in the gloom. Behind a fallen tree she set up the short bow horizontally and rested an arrow across her thumb.

Slowly pivoting the bow on a single fingertip she peered out at the menacing dark. A speck of moonlight glinted off some small piece of metal and she fired. Not until after did she think to wonder if it had been one of Legolas’ silver buttons. A grunt in the dark was followed by a thud of a falling body, muffled by the thick layer of pine needles. On hands and knees, she crawled to find another spot, wanting the element of surprise.

She froze. Something was moving slowly in the undergrowth. Suddenly she could smell Legolas, which seemed odd. She watched the darkness, where a darker shape moved between the trees. Suddenly, there he was, peering down at her, now without a gag, but silent.

She searched the forest floor around her and located an interesting object, a pine cone. A wicked idea formed in her mind. In the darkness she slowly smiled. Tossing it high up into the trees, it fell onto the far side of them, startling the dark elves furthest from her hiding place. There were disgruntled voices for a moment.

“Hurry up and open the door,” one of them abruptly spoke, silencing the rest.

“It’s not here.”

“Curse the moon! Too much light or not enough!”

“Try over there.”

The dark shapes moved again. Melanie followed, gathering pine cones as she went. Tossing another up into the air, it landed again in their midst.

“Stop that. This is no time for children’s games.”

Melanie tossed another, which bounced off a tree and hit one of the elves holding Legolas. He whirled and glared at the one behind him, slapping him across the head. The second dropped Legolas’ feet and punched the first elf in the face. Unsurprisingly, a fight ensued. Legolas, now dropped unceremoniously on the ground, could do nothing, bound as he was, but hope he wasn’t trodden on.

Melanie found herself surrounded by disconcerted elves who were lost and angry. Carefully she moved towards Legolas, but stopped. Throwing another pine cone in a different direction it bounced and hit the first elf in the back of the head. He whirled, ready for another fight, but there was no one there.

“The door is open,” a voice called.

Suddenly Legolas was snatched up and carried aloft once more. Melanie jumped up and followed, slipping inside just as the door closed.

In the intense darkness there was shoving and pushing, shouts of joy and a loud boom of a metal door being thrown against its frame and a bolt drawing home. Then there was silence. In the dark she could hear someone breathing, it was herself. Slowly turning, hoping there would be some light to be able to see by, she blinked.

“Legolas?” she whispered.

“I am here,” his voice called back softly.

She took uncertain steps to where he lay. Outstretched hands found him, and hugged him out of relief. “Oh, god,” she whispered empathically. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes, my leg is hurt. I cannot move it. My hands are tied.”

Fumbling around in the darkness she finally located his hands behind his back and struggled with the knot. With much pulling and wriggling it came lose.

“I have your boot,” she whispered. “But I might have more difficulty getting that on than I had getting the rope off.”

“You cannot see?” he asked.

“No, not a thing. Can you?”

“Yes.”

She held up his boot, unwittingly almost hitting him in the face with it. He dodged and took it and she listened to the sound of him putting it on. Something was hurting him, but only a small gasp escaped his lips. “How can you see in the dark?”

“Elf eyes,” was all he said.

“Where is the door? Maybe we can get out.”

“It is before you,” he told her.

Reaching out she carefully stepped towards it. Legolas watched her, realising that she could see far less that he thought. “One more step,” he said.

She took that step and her fingertips found cold metal. After feeling what she thought was the entire door she found it solid, and she found it was useless to try forcing it open. “So much for that idea,” she griped softly. “Oh, god,” she suddenly remembered. “I hate the dark.”

Legolas frowned. “Why do call you on Eldar?” he said. “You are not of Numenor or elf-kind.”

Melanie turned, following the sound of his voice. She suddenly tripped up on his prone form and he caught her as she fell.

“Sorry,” she whispered. In the dark she sat down beside him and sighed. “You believe in God?”

“Of course,” he said. “Eldar is life. Without the life of the Eldar, elves die.”

“I did . . .once,” she said. “We are taught that God created everything. He gave His only son to save us from eternal death in Hell.”

Legolas considered this for a long time. “I believe your God is not Eldar.”

“Are you sure?” she inquired gently.

“I thought . . .your reverence and love, reminded me of our love for Eldar.”

“Don’t these elves believe in Eldar?” she asked, indicating the door.

“They did not walk when Eldar called. They do not have the life of the Eldar,” he replied, hoping his halting words made more sense to her than they did to him. He seemed to be catching on, but something nagged at his mind. Something did not feel right and slowed his thoughts to a crawl.

“What is the life of the Eldar?”

“It keeps us from sickness, disease and from death. Elves cannot die unless killed in battle. These are gifts of the Eldar. The Avari do not have these gifts.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “God made everything. If He didn’t make them, who did?”

Legolas felt her shudder with some unspoken fear and disgust. He gently squeezed her shoulder in comfort. “They are Quendi, as I am, but they do not have the life of the Eldar. They are Avari, the unwilling. They refused to walk when Eldar called us to the Light of the Trees. I have the life of the Eldar.”

Melanie looked at him, now able to see a dim outline of his face against the black rock of their prison. “Sounds like God to me,” she said.

Legolas frowned. “I do not understand.”

“God’s son, Jesus, called the people to follow him. If they believe in Him, they will live forever.”

Legolas looked away in confusion. “I did not know Eldar had a son.”

“Hmm, well, maybe he did and we just have a different name for the same god,” she suggested. “I’ve never met anyone from Heaven before.”

“What is Heaven?”

“Heaven is the place where those who are good go. There is peace, everyone is happy and no one dies.”

“I am not from this place you call heaven. We call it Valinor, the Undying Lands. I have yet to go there, but I will go one day.”

Melanie smiled. “We are not so different after all, except for the ears, and they’re cute, by the way. What is your country called?”

“I am from Rhovanion, in a place called Mirkwood. My father is the King there.”

“King!” Melanie squeaked. “You’re a prince?” She saw him nod faintly in the gloom. “Oh god, this gets better.”

Legolas smiled a little. “You are speaking to Eldar again. I do not believe he can hear you from down here . . .wherever this place is.”

“God can hear you wherever you are,” she stated gently. “If you have enough faith,” she added with a strange tone.

“I have hope,” he said softly. “But . . .sometimes it is clouded with despair.”

“To despair is man’s greatest fear. That is why we cling to our belief in God, whatever name we give Him.”

“My greatest fear,” he whispered. “Is to be alone . . .as I am now.”

Melanie looked at him, a lump forming in her throat. Leaning towards him, she curled an arm around his shoulders, feeling his arms around her she held him closer, wrapping both arms around him. “You’re not alone, Legolas,” she whispered. “Don’t despair just yet.”

Gandalf sat head bowed, not the usual pose of one who was usually full of answers and hope. Elessar entered the courtyard having seen him from the window, at once he crossed and joined him, sitting on the barrels that were stored there.

“Gandalf?” There was no reply. “Do not despair.”

“I find little choice in the matter,” he said quietly. “This time I fear there is no hope.”

“There is always hope,” Elessar coaxed.

Gandalf raised his sad eyes to the King as yet still uncrowned, a look that struck like ice to his heart. “I have tried everything to locate Legolas, but he is beyond my reach, beyond even the reach of the White Council.”

Elessar’s eyes widened. “Their reach stretches across time and space, and yet . . .if they could not find him, what does that mean? He cannot be dead . . .”

“No, he is still alive, but we do not know where.”

“Then there is still hope.”

Gandalf slowly shook his head. “Legolas will be lucky to survive. With his light of the Eldar still intact we can still feel his presence, but it is weakening. Once it is gone, he will be lost forever.”

“We must do something . . .”

“Do? Do what?”

Elessar realised with that empty gaze that there was nothing they could do that Gandalf had not already thought of and tried. “Then he is truly alone.”

“I fear it is so.”

Elessar sighed and looked up, seeing for the first time the dwarf that stood in the light of the doorway. He stood, but not before the dwarf glowered and rushed back through the door in to the palace. “Gimli?” he called and followed. “Gimli!”

Legolas lifted his head from her shoulder. “I hear something.”

“You do?”

“Someone is coming.”

“Good. Rescued . . .”

“I smell Avari.”

“Maybe not,” she finished.

There was a sudden clamour of disconnected voices and sounds from beyond the door, and suddenly the bolt was thrown back. Legolas shifted in the dark, but Melanie could not see what he was doing. Suddenly the vaguely spherical hole they were in was filled with light, forcing their eyes shut against the glare.

“Who are you?” a surprised voice growled. Unable to see, Melanie could not see to dodge the first blow. She fell on her face and moaned. “Speak!” the voice demanded.

Melanie could do little more than moan as the pain arched across her face. She lifted her head only to be yanked up by the hair.

“We only took one maggot. How did this one get in here?”

Legolas gasped, made to rise, but found a blade to his throat, held there by another of the grey beings.

“Pretty elf wants his woman back, eh?” it sneered.

Legolas frowned, too surprised to reply.

“Don’t get all worried,” it sneered with a chuckle. “We won’t break her . . .too much . . .as long as you don’t move a muscle.”

The others behind him laughed, while the one holding Melanie began punching her face and body as it hung from his fist. She was unconscious well before he was done with his sport. Finally he dropped her like a rag at his feet.

“Like for like, elf!” the brute growled. “Give me back my daughter, and we won’t have to repeat our bit of fun.”

Legolas stared up at him wide-eyed, but could not think of anything to say in response. The Avari turned and left them alone again, the bolt thrown across with a resounding echo of finality.

In the abrupt darkness, Legolas reached for Melanie. He winced as he jarred his leg, but forced himself to get to her. The quivers he had secreted behind his back against discovery shifted as he moved skittering to the floor. “Melanie?” he called softly.

She did not answer.

Gently lifting her up he cradled her against him. She was a mess. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to quell the rising tide of rage that threatened him. They had done this to an innocent woman, but to think of her as his wife . . .to beat her for the missing daughter of an Avari . . .he could make no sense of it. Why didn’t they simply kill them both and be done with it?

Tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt he wiped the blood from her face restoring some, if not all, of her beauty. The bleeding from a cut nose and several splits to her lips stopped and she slowly came to.

She groaned. “What hit me?” she mumbled.

“The Avari did,” the elf holding her replied.

“That was a rhetorical question,” she grumbled, shifted and winced. “Ouch!”

“Lie still,” he coaxed.

She looked up at him. “My turn for a cuddle, I see,” she noted.

Legolas tried to smile. “This is no time for humour. The only reason they did not kill you is because they think you are my wife.”

Melanie blinked and shifted to look at him more squarely. “They what?”

He crouched on the shelf of rock above the citadel, his first kill in months gripped within his talons. He bent his head to gouge a chunk of its flesh with his beak and tossed it back down his throat before continuing his survey of the unfamiliar territory.

The horse beneath him tasted like nothing he had ever eaten before, but its rider was the same kind he was used to seeing, the same as the one who rode him. He had not seen him in at least four days now, he could not catch his scent on the air. The rider of this creature lay dead not far away. His beak could not get through the tough metal stuff it was wearing. No matter, the horse would suffice . . .for now.

“Why wouldn’t you let me drink from the glass?” she asked suddenly. They had been silent for a while, taking comfort in the sound of the other breathing. Other than that, there was no sound. She was beginning to feel jittery, total sensory deprivation could break a man. Or woman, she noted silently. She needed to hear his voice.

“To share a drink from one glass,” he said haltingly. His body felt strangely cold, something he had never felt before. For now he ignored it. “Is to . . .to take a wife.” He stopped. He did not know the words he needed, so he linked her two index fingers together hoping it would be clear. Judging by the red glow of her cheeks, visible to his elven sight, he decided that it was.

“Marriage,” she realised. “Ok, well, thanks for stopping me. I don’t particularly want another relationship, right now. I mean, you’re cute and stuff, but I’m still trying to get my last boyfriend out of my hair.” Legolas’ shifted beside her so that his eyes could look at her head, his fingers lifting her soft hair to look underneath. Melanie suddenly laughed. “It’s a figure of speech. He’s not actually in my hair, he’s just an annoying pest that won’t go away.”

“Honourless goblin! To annoy a lady when she has said no,” Legolas retorted, making Melanie laugh out loud, despite the direness of their situation.

Legolas smiled softly. “What is cute?”

Melanie gazed at him for a long moment and swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound, sprang to mind. “Cute is . . .handsome, someone who is good to look at, sweet, and has a . . .nice ass,” she added under her breath. “Like you,” she finished.

“Elves can hear the smallest sound,” he said.

“Oh god,” she mouthed, not even daring to breathe out until she had done so, just in case he heard that too, but then remembered he could see in the dark. She groaned. Was nothing safe?

Legolas was frowning, she was coming up with words and phrases that made no sense. “What is nice ass?”

“I will not give up that easily,” the dwarf roared down the hallway like a storm looking for a shoreline to wreak havoc on.

“Gimli, there is nothing we can do.”

“No, but there is one creature that can tell us where he is.” He reached the doorway of the guest rooms and straight-armed them open, splintering the wood from the frame, leaving them hanging precariously. Worse, Gimli had armed himself as he approached the naked woman just getting out of the bath tub.

The maid screamed and ran for cover. The young girl turned white, as white as her greyish skin would allow. Grabbing a towel she covered herself and screamed, at least they supposed that was what it was meant to come out as. Gimli froze. He had heard that sound before; in Moria, and later on the Battlements of Helm’s Deep.

Elessar’s eyes went wide. “What . . .are you?”

She stared at them, panting breathlessly. “Sil-Gathien, I am,” she said.

“You look like an orc wench to me,” Gimli growled.

The girl cowered, her hands covering her ears as best they could while keeping the towel in place. “No, no, no. Not Yrch, you are calling me. Avari, I am. Back to Darkness, I will not go!”

In horror, Elessar suddenly understood. “You are . . .one of them,” he whispered.

“All Quendi, they are,” she sobbed. “No life of Eldar, we have. Want it, I do.”

Elessar instantly lost the brief feeling of sympathy, now his anger rose like a roc. Stepping forward he grabbed her by the throat. “Is this your way of getting it? By kidnapping our friend? You cannot take the life of the Eldar by force!”

“Friend?” she spoke, confused. “Kidnapped, I was. Kidnapping, I have not.”

A hand reached out and took Elessar’s fingers from the girl’s throat. He looked up. Gandalf slowly shook his head. “This is not her doing, Elessar. She was snatched from her home in the same way Legolas was. For the past few weeks she has been imprisoned in a realm known as Gor. She does not know where Legolas is, nor does she understand that removing his life force would not only kill him, but would gain her nothing for her trouble.”

“She is still an orc!”

“Yes, she is an orc, but a most unusual one, you have to agree. Otherwise, we would all be dead by now.”

Elessar had to concede that point. “What do you expect us to do with her?” he demanded.

“Send her back to the Misty Mountains where she belongs,” Gimli forced through gritted teeth. “Even better, allow me to make an end of her.” He hefted his axe, and would no doubt have felt better for exacting justice as he saw it. Sil-Gathien screamed again.

“I forbid it!” Gandalf commanded. “Unless and until she gives us reason to doubt her word, she will remain unharmed,” he told them both. She cowered behind him, not knowing who to fear more, them for their anger and suspicion of her, or him for his wisdom and power and what he could turn her into. “For one thing, she does not come from the depths of Moria, but from Upper Earth. The men there no longer revere elves, but actively destroy their few remaining hiding places. Men of that world no longer believe in the lore of old. Not only that, but see this.” He roughly turned her around to expose her back, where she had been brutally whipped with something barbed with small spikes. “We do not know what foul creature did this to her, or what magic brought a second moon into the sky. Moreover, this is not what concerns me most, getting Legolas back alive is. Get dressed,” he told her dismissively.

She scuttled away like a kicked dog and hid under the bed, whimpering as she went. In the relative safety of obscurity she donned the dress she had been given.

In the dark, she began to hum a hymn to keep her spirits up. It seemed the right thing to do. Her parents would have been proud. She was not as religious as she let on to Legolas. She hadn’t even stepped into a chapel since she was thirteen, being something of a rebel. The tune felt somehow fitting in their situation.

Legolas shifted against her, opening his eyes a little. He was shivering. “That is a beautiful melody. Are there words that go with it?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He sank a little against her, making her believe for a split second that he was disappointed, but then he lifted himself up again with difficulty. “I would like to hear it.”

“Would you like it in English, since you’ve picked it up quite well?” she wondered. “Or would you like it Welsh? I doubt you’ll understand it in Welsh,” she noted, thinking that he was joking.

“Please,” he begged. “Do not let me fall asleep. It will be a sleep from which there will be no waking.”

She could feel him shudder against her, his breath catching in his throat. After a few seconds she realised that it was not catching . . .he was sobbing. She swallowed, curling an arm around him to keep him warm. She lifted her head and began to sing.

“The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie, in pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.”

Legolas looked up at her, and tried to smile. “You have a lovely voice,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Sing . . .”

“My soul He doth restore again; and me to walk doth make. Within the paths of righteousness, e’en for His own Name’s sake.”

Legolas shivered as he lay against her. He sighed and his eyes drifted shut.

“Legolas?” There was no reply. Melanie cupped his cheek, lifting it to see into his eyes. “Legolas?”

His eyes slowly opened. “I do not feel well,” he said slowly.

“But you’re not supposed to get sick,” she said.

“I am so cold,” he shivered.

She had to agree, he was not so much clammy, but cold, like dead flesh. “You’re dying,” she breathed in horror. “But you can’t die. What about me? Don’t leave me all alone!”

Legolas, unable to lift his head by himself, simply blinked. “I must get out . . .of here.”

Melanie gently laid him against the rock and felt her way to the door. “This damn thing can’t be solid steel,” she grumbled. “It would rust.” Reaching it, she felt over the entire surface. It was mostly wood, wet and soft in places. It gave her hope. With her fists she started pounding at the rotting wood, bits flew in all directions leaving a gaping hole, but it did not break through to the other side.

She growled with disappointment and kicked the door. “Ouch! Sodding, confounded, juicing thing!”

Behind her, she heard a weak chuckle. She turned and hobbled back to Legolas. She sat down, rubbing her insulted toes. “I am not good at cussing. Being in the company of royalty, and God, does that to you.”

Legolas was shivering badly. “Do not let me stop you,” he said. “I am well accustomed to a certain dwarf, as you might recall. His cursing and blue language is of no surprise to me any more.” Then he was silent.

“Legolas?” she called. “Legolas?” She lifted him off the cold rock and cradle him against her to keep him warm, but it did not seem to do him any good, except maybe to comfort him in some small way. He shifted his head against her shoulder and tried to lift an arm to return the hug, but he was rapidly losing strength.

She could still feel him shuddering, but the was no sound from him. Suddenly she was livid. She glared in the direction of the door. “Ok, you Avari ass-holes. Time to teach you about Jericho!” And she began to sing loudly and as boldly as she could.

“The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie, in pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.”

“Avari cannot sing,” the elf beside her whispered hoarsely. “It hurts them.”

This gave her in idea. Long had folktales told of goblins being frightened away by miners’ singing. It had been a tradition long before recorded history that men lost down the mines turned into goblins and were never seen again. The only thing that kept them and the curse at bay was to sing, and sing she did.

“My soul He doth restore again; and me to walk doth make. Within the paths of righteousness, e’en for His own Name’s sake.”

Suddenly a painful wailing started in the distance. It grew louder as the creatures approached. It spurred her on. Her singing was sending them mad beyond the door.

“Yea, though I walk in death’s dark vale, yet will I fear no ill; for Thou art with me; and Thy rod and staff my comfort still.”

Although Legolas did not move, she felt her bow and quiver pushed gently into her hands. “Be ready,” he whispered.

“My table Thou hast furnishéd, in presence of my foes; my head Thou dost with oil anoint, and my cup overflows.”

“Stop the singing!” a voice cried.

“They will have torches. Close your eyes, aim with your heart.”

“Goodness and mercy all my life shall surely follow me; and in God’s house forevermore, my dwelling place shall be.”

The door swung open and she fired. Something fell and she saw the torchlight shift beyond her eyelids.

Then there was silence.

Melanie had expected more opposition than one stinking Avari, actually she had expected to miss the stinking Avari, but blinking in the torchlight she saw it lying dead at her feet. And better yet, the door was open. She turned to Legolas, who lay beside her, eyes closed. “Legolas?” He did not respond. “Don’t quit on me now,” she forced as she shook his shoulder, but he still did not answer. “Wake up,” she urged him. “I just got the door open. Don’t be so ungrateful!”

Legolas’ eyes opened just a little, but enough to reveal the deep blue of his irises.

“Get your freaky ass up off this cold rock, mister!” she growled. Slipping her quiver and bow over her back she picked up Legolas’ belongings and pulled them over his head and one shoulder. “I can’t carry you.” He was like a rag doll, and his skin was icy cold. “You die on my now, and I’ll kill you myself, you understand?”

Legolas blinked in confusion, but he couldn’t make any sound. He tried to move, but nothing would work. Melanie rolled her eyes and pulled him up. She was surprised to find him so light for one so tall. “Man, you’re not just floppy as a rag doll, you weight the same too,” she noted. It was a slight exaggeration, but it wasn’t far from the truth.

Half dragging, half carrying him, she stepped towards the door. The light from the burning torch illuminating the tunnel beyond. It was deserted. Up a small incline was a mid-blue circle of sky, framed with pine branches. Her heart yipped in delight. She made her way out into the predawn light and smelled the strange smell of animal.

She turned to find the biggest beast she had ever seen. The huge brute looked like a cow, but several times it size and with horns at least three metres from tip to tip. Without thinking, she screamed. The cow, chewing lazily, turned her huge head in her direction. It mooed in disgust and slowly ambled away.

Legolas opened his eyes to see the beast disappear from view, but around them were hundreds more of them grazing across the expanse of grass. He knew grasslands, but none like this. The air smelled unfamiliar, leading to the thought that this was not the world where he had met Melanie. He was also of the mind that she did not recognise it either, and her reaction supported that assumption.

“We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto,” she noted quietly.

“Who . . .?” Legolas croaked. Suddenly he slipped from her shoulder, slumped over and threw up.

Melanie grimaced and let go of him. “Are you alright?”

He knelt there on all fours, in shock. “What . . .happened?”

Obviously, he had never done that before and was speechless. “Hmm . . .well, it has several names, some less polite than others. Basically, you were sick.”

“I do not like it,” he said softly.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” she replied. “You’re not supposed to.” She slipped her backpack off and stretched, having realised for the first time that she had been wearing it all night. She dipped a hand inside and pulled out her bottle of water and held it out to him. “Here.”

He reached for it and gazed at it. She popped the top up for him. “Drink, just like a water pouch.” He drank and passed it back gratefully. “We are going to have to share the glass, or in this case, the bottle,” she told him slowly. Legolas’ face fell.

Gimli gazed out at the sun rising behind the distant mountains. “Another dawn,” he whispered. “With each dawn, our hopes fade.”

A small hand rested on his shoulder. “I’ve been there,” the hobbit replied. “Trust me, this will never be that bad.”

Gimli looked up at Sam and sighed. “Can you promise me that?”

Sam gazed back at him and swallowed. “I can,” he said gently. “But I can’t promise the outcome will be as good.”

Gimli sighed and turned away. “There will never be another dawn for me until my friend is beside me again.”

“Don’t say that, Mr Gimli. He’ll come back. You’ll see. Elves, they have an excellent of direction . . .”

“Aye, but you can’t promise me.”

As they walked away from the stand of trees he leaned on her, but after stumbling for the third time he could not get up.

“Rest for a bit,” she told him. Looking up she could see storm clouds moving in. Taking off her pack she rummaged within its spacious pockets. Just as the first drops fell, she took out a red and yellow cylinder and pressed a button on one end. With a pop it flew open. Jarring the butt end into a crack in the rock behind them her attention returned to her backpack. “I can never find anything in this bottomless pit,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

To Legolas’ breathless delight the large drops that had begun to splatter in his face abruptly stopped. He look up, speechless, to see a roof over his head. As she rummaged in her ‘bottomless pit’, she took out a small blue and black box, a red box, and a zipped, black cloth pouch. She stuffed clothing and oddments back into the backpack leaving the three items out.

After opening the red box she turned to him, noticing his wonder at their impromptu ceiling. She smiled. “It’s called an umbrella,” she told him. “Keeps out the rain. You must be hungry,” she said, holding out a small packet she slid out of the red box.

“You eat this?” he asked.

Melanie snorted with laughter. “Well, no. You have to take the foil wrapper off first. It’s a strawberry breakfast bar. Try it.”

Legolas took it and smelled it. Tentatively, he took a bite. He took a larger bit, and noticed her smiling at him.

“You don’t have strawberries in Middle Earth, do you?” she supposed.

“I have never heard of straw berries,” he replied.

Melanie giggled. “For another time, perhaps,” she said, and the smile faded. There wouldn’t be another time if she could help it, but on the other hand if they were stranded in this strange place how would either of them cope, two fish out of water? She wanted to leave as quickly as possible, but Legolas was in no fit state to go anywhere yet.

“You carry many things in your bag,” he said.

“Yep,” she agreed. “Since my dad died two years ago, I’ve had to rely on myself. The landlord threw me out and I’ve been homeless ever since. I’ve been sleeping on friends’ floors for two years.”

Legolas was horrified. “Sleeping on floors is not dignified for a lady,” he said.

Melanie gazed at him contemplatively. “Like my clothes?” she inquired. Legolas looked at her clothes, but said nothing. “I’ve seen you looking and wondering, politely I’m sure, but looking nonetheless. Our worlds are very different, Legolas. Men no longer treat women with kindness. Women are rarely ladies; men are more often wimps than warriors. And as for elves, I don’t believe in them . . .at least, I didn’t,” she added. She took another sip of water and passed the bottle to Legolas. He looked at it, but he shook his head. “Legolas, you need to drink.”

“I cannot . . .”

Melanie sighed. “I just saved your ass back there, so do me the honour of staying alive long enough to figure out where we are and find a way home. Is that a deal?”

“My nice ass was saved and for that I am grateful, but . . .I cannot share the glass with you.”

Melanie thought about it long and hard. “Too late. So whether you drink now or not, we have shared it. And quite frankly, no one has seen us do it. It’s just you and me, and what’s more, we’re both still fully dressed. Who is going to know?”

Legolas hesitated, the difficulty warring within him.

“I’m sorry, Legolas,” she said softly. “Sometimes extreme circumstances, justify extreme measures. Didn’t you and Gimli ever share a drink?”

“That is different . . .”

“No, it isn’t,” she interjected. “You and Gimli are close friends. We only met a few hours ago, but I would like to think that we are friends.”

“Yes,” he replied. “We are friends.”

“And no one stands by and simply allows their friends to die, do they?”

Legolas released a gentle sigh, and took the bottle, and drank.

“Will your strength return?” she asked, lifting the bottled water to her lips.

“Yes,” he replied, watching her drink the water. “But I am not sure if I will ever completely heal.”

She slowly lowered the bottle and gazed at him. “You mean, the life of the Eldar has left you?”

“No, it has not, but it almost did,” he admitted. “Beneath the sky it touches me again.”

“Then, what is wrong?”

Legolas hesitated. “I did not wish . . .this,” he said softly, touching the half-full bottle in her hand.

Melanie swallowed. It was obviously a bigger deal than she realised. With a sigh she gazed out across the grasslands in deep thought, watching the rain.

“What is in this box?” he asked.

She turned her head to look at it and suddenly smiled. “That’s a radio.” Legolas looked at her blankly. “You wind it up and it plays music and stuff . . .” He still had no clue. “Well, way after your time,” she decided. “Listen,” she said and picked it up, turning the handle. Folding the handle back into the case, she set the radio down and pressed a button. Two things happened instantly and simultaneously, the music started and Legolas started.

#Girls just wanna have fu-un! Oh, girls just . . .#

“What is it?” he asked, eyes wide and terrified. “You have spirits locked inside the box!”

“Not even close,” she said. She stopped the music and opened a small door. Taking out a disk she held it up for him. “See? It’s a recording. Cindy Lauper. That way I can have music everywhere I go.”

“Why do you not sing everywhere you go?”

“Me? Sing?” Melanie laughed, putting the disc into the cloth pouch and putting both the pouch and the radio in her backpack, where it wouldn’t scare him any more.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said.

“You were at death’s door. Anything would have been beautiful,” she insisted.

“I was close to death,” he agreed. “But your voice was not.”

Melanie regarded him for a long time. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “I used to be in the choir before dad died. I used to talk to God before dad died, too.”

“But, I have heard you call on him many times.”

Melanie’s cheeks pinked. “True, and it isn’t very nice.”

“I do not understand.”

“Legolas, while most people say they believe in God, not all of them hold his name in such reverence as you do the Eldar.” She looked away. “People use His name to cuss without realising it. They do it all the time and there’s not much anyone can do or say that will change that. It happens when life goes sour on you. Life does that to a lot of people. I was angry with God for a long time.”

There was a long silence between them, before Legolas broke it.

“And now?”

Melanie lifted her eyes to his, sparkling with unshed tears. “Just drop it, ok? I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned away, gathering her knees under her chin.

Legolas was shocked by the sudden show of emotion. Lifting his hand he rested it on her arm, it was all his flagging strength would allow.

Legolas sat propped up against a rock, head bowed and chin to chest, allowing the sun to warm him. He was meditating and Melanie seemed content to allow him the time. There was a road not far from where she sat; the elf was shielded from view, just in case, she had told him. She could see him clearly, but she doubted anyone on the road would be able to.

There was a caravan of lowing animals moving along the road in their direction. She had a bad feeling about this place, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She watched as the collection of brightly coloured wagons drew steadily closer. Gradually the colours on the banners fluttering in the breeze above the drivers of each wagon became clearer. Blue and yellow in broad bands . . .

Melanie’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit . . .”

Legolas lifted his head. “What is it?”

“Someone’s coming.”

“I know,” he said. “You did not seem worried, so I did not mention it.”

“Just rest, Legolas. They’ll chain me for sure, and you . . .they’d kill you. So stay out of sight.”

Legolas’s eyes grew wide with concern. “Melanie . . .?”

“Stay there,” she ground out, hoping he would do as he was told, and doubted he had the strength to do much else.

Legolas’s eyes saw in the distance a group of coloured towers, they were calling to him somehow, but it was not like the call of the white gulls. Someone within the towers knew he was there, and knew his name. Slowly he stood, but did not move towards the road. Beyond the stand of shrubs the wagons were drawing to a halt.

“Tal,” the first driver called, eyeing Melanie with both suspicion and lust.

Melanie, frowned and mentally kicked herself. Tal . . .the greeting between free men. “Tal,” she replied. It confirmed her suspicions, she was on Gor, the fabled Counter Earth. The banners bore the blue and yellow of slavers. First she had to find out which region she was in. There were earth men here, one in particular could help her. But would he? These men, now stepping down, whips in hand would definitely not help her. They were eyeing her appreciatively, but sceptically, since she wore the garb of a man, and was armed like one.

She reached for her bow, but the whip moved faster. She cried out as the leather strip gripped her wrist, and suddenly the man dropped to the ground. The other men gasped and stepped back. Melanie stared at the arrow sticking bloodily out of the back of the dead man’s neck and gulped. She pulled the whip from her skin in disgust. “Legolas, there are upward of two hundred men. You don’t have enough arrows.”

“No,” he agreed, stepping down through the bushes. “But I will not stand by and watch them kill you.”

“Unfortunately, killing me is the last thing on their minds.”

“What do they want with you?” Legolas asked.

“Sex,” she replied.

“I do not understand.”

“To share the glass . . .or more accurately, sleep with me without my consent.”

Legolas went rigid with disgust and fury. Melanie stilled him with a hand to his chest. The men before them were eyeing them both with confusion. Some were even talking amongst themselves in a language neither of them understood.

“Do you speak their language?” Legolas asked.

“No, not beyond a word or two.” She turned to the next nearest man and addressed him. “You, unshaven bilge-rat, which way to Ko-Ro-Ba?”

“Where?” the elf asked.

“Shush, let me do the talking.”

The man spoke, indicating back the way they had come. He suddenly grinned and said something else, leering at her. The other men chuckled at some sick comment he had just uttered. She could guess what it was - she would never reach the city without a brand and collar.

Reaching for her bow she took out an arrow and drew it level with the centre of his chest. “Try it, dog breath, and I’ll kill you.”

As one they all began running at her, whips and chains at the ready. Several died before Melanie had even let loose her first arrow. The rest of the men ran away, leaving the wagons unguarded. Once they were out of sight, Melanie stashed her bow and approached the first wagon. There were whimpers coming from inside. Throwing the flap aside she peered in. As she suspected, the wagon was filled with thirty or more girls, chained together and to long beams running the length of the wagon.

“Any of you speak English?”

There was nothing beyond the whimpers of frightened girls.

“I doubt any of them will understand you,” Legolas said. “We must be in a land far from your own.”

“You could say that. This is not even my world,” she told him.

Legolas frowned and looked inside the wagon, and promptly looked away. “They are undressed!”

“They are slaves,” she corrected.

“They are frightened.”

“They might look like they are frightened, but it’s all part of their act.”

Legolas was confused. “But, they are chained. They are here against their will.”

Melanie sighed. “Sweet Legolas, this is not like Earth. Here, women are trained from the moment they are born to hone their femininity to beguile men. Here, sex is a weapon. Men will die to get the best women for himself.” She threw the flap open on the next wagon and looked in; same story. “Any one from Earth?” No reply.

“But you said that they would . . .”

“I know,” she interrupted. “For Gorean girls, it is fine, but sometimes girls are kidnapped from another planet, my planet, and brought here for the men’s amusement.”

“I do not like this place,” Legolas shuddered, ashamed that a man who should be a being of honour would degrade himself, as well as a woman, for his own gratification.

“Neither do I,” she put in, opening yet another wagon. “Anyone speak English?” Still nothing. “I’m hoping there is none here that can,” she muttered to herself. “On the other hand, it would be a great help if there was.”

“Should we not set them free?”

Melanie gaped at him. “Are you kidding?” she gasped. “If I undo these chains, they would be all over you in a second, and you would die with one big smile on your face.”

Legolas gazed at her. “I do not understand.”

“Sex, Legolas. They are chained to protect the men, not because they don’t want to be here.”

Legolas looked inside at the naked women, who by now had stopped whimpering and were actually smiling up at him.

“Pick me, master, pick me, master,” they cried.

“What are they saying?”

“They want you to choose one to have sex with them.”

“Why would they want sex with me?”

“Because . . .I’ll explain later.”

Melanie walked up to the last wagon and drew a deep breath. Opening the flap she called for the last time. “Anyone here from the other side of the universe, just on the off-chance that I want to get my sorry ass of this God forsaken chunk of rock?”

There was a measured silence from the slaves within before all of them, barring one burst into tears. “Get me out of here!” one cried, and set the rest going.

“I suppose that answers my question,” Melanie responded.

“Can you get us out of here?” one woman sobbed. “I want to go home.”

“I can get you out of the wagon,” Melanie told the American. “But as for getting you home, I’m not sure.”

“But you’re from England aren’t you?” the woman sobbed. “Aren’t you going home?”

Melanie stiffened. “Wales, if you don’t mind. And, I’m trying to get to Middle Earth.”

The woman stared at her as if she’d gone totally insane, but then decided she had gone insane. Melanie turned to Legolas, who was horrified by the sight before him. “You should be resting,” she told him.

“I am fine,” he told her. “I feel lighter here than at home.”

“That will be the lower gravity,” Melanie said making him frown. “Oh boy,” she mumbled.

“Let me guess, for another time?”

Melanie smiled and nodded. “Feel up to splitting a few chains?”

“I think so,” he replied.

She picked up what looked like an axe and passed it to him. “Hit this chain, right there.”

Legolas took a step back, hefted the axe in one hand and swung it over his head. He struck the chain squarely where she had indicated and for a second it looked like nothing had happened. Then the two sides slid to either side of the beam cut cleanly through.

The women leaped up like a smog. “Anyone so much as looks at my elf, and I’ll personally gut you, got it?” Melanie glowered.

The freed women blanched and nodded. Legolas turned to her and was shocked to find one of his own blades in her hand. Silently, he took hold of her hand and plucked the knife from her grasp.

“Not for gutting women,” he told her quietly. “We should be making for those brightly coloured towers I can see.”

Melanie looked up. “You can see Ko-Ro-Ba? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Is that was they are?” Legolas inquired. “I did not know what it was.”

Melanie sighed. “It would have saved us a lot of time if you had mentioned what you could see,” she noted petulantly.

“I am sorry,” he replied. “They are this way. Is there someone there who knows you?”

“Well, no. But I’ve heard that a man from Earth lives there. He knows the owners of this world, as it were.” She eyed the women who were following them from a safe distance.

“Someone calls to me from the tallest tower,” he said. “Which confuses me, as I do not know this place, nor do I know its people.”

“Neither do I,” she conceded. “I’ve only read about this place in books. Just like your story, this place was supposed to be a myth.”

Legolas eyed the women following them, nervously. “I do not understand why these woman were taken. They do not act like those other women.”

“That’s because women from Earth are not raised like they are,” Melanie said.

“Even though men are wimps?” he recalled.

Melanie giggled softly. “Well, yeah. I suppose so. Our priorities are different on Earth.”

“Why are they brought here,” Legolas asked. “How is this done?”

“The Priest Kings usually bring them one or two at a time, but just lately, hundreds of girls were being snatched by the Others, to destabilise the market and as an act of sabotage against the Priest Kings, to loosen their hold on this world. With too many women to train and choose from, there begins a chain of events that are out of the Priest Kings’ control.”

Legolas was out of his depth, he realised, but he continued, hoping for some clarification. “Like what?”

“War, and not just between them and the Others, but on Gor between the cities as well. Consider what it would have been like if Frodo had failed to destroy the ring.”

Legolas considered what that would mean for the peoples of Middle Earth, to be in unending darkness. “I would not like that.”

“Neither do these people,” she concluded. “No matter who starts what war and for whatever reason, if the right doesn’t win, everyone loses out.”

“I believe I understand,” Legolas replied. After a long silence he added. “I still do not like this world.”

Gimli sat alone, food untouched sat before him. The breakfast plate was removed and a luncheon plate replaced it. He did not move, or make any sign that he even acknowledged the change. The others watched him, hearts breaking at seeing him so empty and already torn in two. Without Legolas, he was nothing. Even the sighs had long vanished into obscurity.

As quietly as possible she opened a thick wooden door and pulled him in behind her. She knew this room, had read its description many times. It was the room Tarl Cabot had awoken in upon his arrival in this strange world. A man lay on the large bed asleep. She took in the un-Gorean orange of his hair - her heart leaped.

“It’s him,” she whispered.

As quiet as she was, the man stirred and sat up. Blinking he stared at them both. He opened his mouth, but her hand came down on it before he could call out. In the other hand was Legolas’ blade. “Now we’re not going to hurt each other, are we?” she purred into his face.

Legolas checked his sheath and, much to his horror and consternation, she had taken his blade yet again without his knowledge. He plucked it again from her fingers and whispered in her ear, “Not for gutting men, either.”

Tarl’s eyes moved from the woman to the man, or elf, he corrected silently and shifted to sit more comfortably. “May I at least get dressed, since I seem to have guests in my bed chamber?” he asked.

“Sure,” Melanie replied. “But be quick. My friend here must get home as soon as possible.”

Tarl rose and regarded them. “Out after momma’s curfew?”

“Don’t push it,” Melanie warned him.

Tarl said nothing more of it. “I am Tarl Cabot, Ubar of Ko-Ro-Ba, but you knew that already. Why else would you be wanting to kidnap me from my bed?”

“We are not kidnapping you,” Legolas replied gently. “I must get home. Melanie says that you are the one man here who can help me. She holds you in high regard.”

“Does she?” Tarl wondered blandly. “Well, Melanie,” Tarl said, whilst pulling on his pants. “Thank you for your high regards, but I do no know what I can do. He . . .is an elf. As far as I know, there are no elves on Earth.”

“I was taken from the King’s palace in Osgiliath by the . . .”

“Others,” Melanie filled in. “The sapphire moon,” she added.

Tarl froze. After a moment, he finished doing up the buttons of his shirt, nonchalantly. “What has this ‘sapphire moon’ got to do with me? I know nothing of it.”

“You are lying,” Legolas suddenly announced.

“No use lying to him. He can see your heart rate half a mile away,” Melanie advised.

Tarl reached out to take her arm, an innocent gesture it seemed to her, but a certain elf saw things differently. Tarl started at the arrow abruptly pointing at him.

“Do not touch her. She is mine.”

Tarl lifted a brow, seemingly unperturbed. “Yours? I do not see your collar on her throat.”

“She and I have shared the glass, that makes her mine.”

Tarl regarded him and Melanie with a measured gaze, and nodded in acquiescence. Sharing the glass was tradition on Gor also. “I stand corrected. Forgive me.” With that the collar and chains dropped from behind his back and indicated with the freshly emptied hand down the hallway. “I was merely testing your identity. The Priest Kings said that I must. I hope you understand. I know that this woman is of Earth, but you are not.”

“You were calling me,” Legolas said. “If it was not me, how would I have known to come here?”

“Good point,” Tarl agreed. “But the Others have spies even within my city. We must be on our guard.”

“You will take us to the Priest Kings,” Melanie demanded boldly. The man laughed at her, until she grabbed him by the throat and snarled in his face. “If you do not, I shall fashion a new quiver for my arrows out of your scrawny ass.” Her other hand grasped his balls and squeezed.

The man’s eyes watered and he nodded, coughing. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Melanie released him, smiling like the cat who got the cream. “Good. Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

The man’s face turned sour, as he glared at her and drew a short knife, only to find two arrows fixed on his neck, drawn faster than he could see.

“Do not try anything foolish,” the tall blonde beside her warned. “She is more dangerous than I am.”

He man wiped his eyes and took a step back, sheathing his knife. He held up both hands to show them empty. “I’ll take you to Misk. He has been waiting for you. By the look of you, neither of you belong on Earth, let alone on Gor and neither of you would last long here.”

“Where?” Legolas asked.

Tarl nodded, noting that both were as confused as the other. “We must hurry, or the slavers will take you,” he warned her. “And you, Melanie’s elf, will end up in the Arenas of the Ubar.”

He walked away rubbing his aching groin with a wince.

Legolas whispered in Melanie’s ear. “I am glad you are on my side. Elves do not like that kind of attention from a woman, either.”

She whispered back, “That is why I use it only in direst of circumstances.”

Legolas was thrilled and frightened at the same time. Being so far above the ground on the back of a great eagle was not something he had ever experienced before. Melanie clung to him. It was obvious that this was one of the scariest adventures of her life too. He smiled, and put an arm about her shoulders.

“I will not let you fall,” he assured her.

Melanie tried to smile.

“If we are to travel to my home, I will need to teach you my language,” he suggested.

“I am not as good as you are with languages,” Melanie told him.

“I can touch you,” he said softly.

“Eh?” she suddenly said, wondering what he meant.

“Elven gifts are given to others not of our kind through touch. I can show you our speech through the touching of minds.”

Melanie gazed at him for a long time. “Alright,” she agreed. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing, simply sit still.”

“Me? Sit still? Now that is asking too mu . . .”

He pressed the first two fingertips of his left hand against her forehead and her words ceased as a whoosh charged through her mind, like the passing of a train.

“Whoa!” she gasped, suddenly breathless. “What did you just do?” She gasped again. “What am I doing?”

“You are speaking in Sindarin, the language of most of Middle Earth.”

“Wow, if only I could have done that for you when you dropped into my lap . . .as it were.”

Legolas smiled gently, but said nothing of the touch she had given him and what he had read from her human mind while she had held him in the chair. It had taken him longer to understand it than it had taken her since technically it was not a gift, but a theft. He swallowed and vowed never to reveal that to her. Extreme circumstances, as she had once told him, justified extreme measures. He would sue for peace with the Eldar later.

The tarn flew on and Melanie slipped into slumber, her head resting against the crook of his neck and an arm gently curled about his waist. Legolas watched her sleeping and slowly lowered his cheek to rest on the top of her head.

“What is you name? And where do you come from?” the tall man demanded.

It took a moment to recall where she had seen his face before.

“I asked you a question, young lady. Answer me.”

Now she recalled. “I . . .I am Melanie from Earth, 1996 . . I . . .” She was staring at him stupidly.

“Incorrect!”

Melanie jumped at the mechanical voice. The lie detector said she was lying. The gold-shirted man glared at her. Kirk . . .that was his name. Captain of the Enterprise, and womaniser extraordinaire.

“What do you mean, it’s incorrect?” she blurted out. “It is the truth. Although I have no idea how I ended up here.”

“So you’re going to sit there and tell me that you have nothing to do with the tribbles running around all over my ship?” he demanded.

“Tribbles . . .no. I did not! Uruha brought it aboard . . .”

“Incorrect!”

“And you deny also that you were caught in bed with Legolas?”

Melanie stared up at him in shocked horror. “Yes, I definitely deny that!”

“Incorrect!”

“What! Now look here, you stupid machine, the thought never crossed my mind . . .”

“Incorrect!”

“And I suppose Vulcans are descended from elves,” Kirk said, much to the chuckled delight of a certain doctor who sat nearby, which raised the eyebrow of one Vulcan standing behind him.

To Melanie’s disgust the lie detector remained silent. “Of course they’re not. Elves are passionate people . . .”

“So, you have slept with Legolas,” Kirk decided.

“No!” she shrieked. “Well, yes . . .but not in the way you mean!”

“Incorrect!”

A hand covered her mouth just as she made to scream. Large blue eyes smiled down at her. Breathing thickly, she tried to calm herself.

“You had a bad dream,” Legolas told her. He watched her wince and stretch, rubbing her aching arms. “You have been thrashing around for some time. I had to restrain you, lest you fell out of the basket.”

Melanie sighed with relief, it had only been a dream, but then she remembered where she was; several hundred feet from the ground on the back of a giant bird on a planet called Gor. Tarl was still flying them towards the black peaks up ahead, which seemed much closer now. Gor . . .it had the same meaning in Quendi and Sindarin as it had in her own tongue - dread. It was what she had felt since their arrival.

“I had a very bad dream,” she agreed quietly, ambiguously.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he offered.

“I . . .” She paused. “I would like to go home,” she said quietly. They were quiet for some time before she spoke again. “Ar-edhel Legolas Galenaldæ,” she whispered, sitting closer in an effort to keep warm. She felt him shift slightly at hearing her words. “That is your name in Quendi.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Do I have a name in Quendi?”

“What does your name mean?”

“Black or dark skinned,” she replied. She noted Legolas’ confusion, since her skin was fair and her hair the colour of honey. “It has to be said, parents generally choose names they like, rather than what fits.”

Legolas smiled gently. “Perhaps your name would be Mellon Finmal. It means friend with the golden hair.”

“Mel also means loved one,” Melanie noted slowly. “Legolas, do not fall in love with me. I am not worth it. Besides, Gimli is waiting for you.”

“Gimli is my dearest friend, and I am not falling in love with you,” he assured her. He swallowed. Another lie, how would he live with himself after this was over . . .and she was gone forever?

The tarn flight to the Sardar took several more hours to complete. Tarl’s tarn was a pale brown female, and less of a creature to look at then his usual black steed, and not as reliable. With effort he brought her down onto a tiny ledge where a huge gold creature had just appeared. Misk was waiting high up on a ledge deep within the mountains, although they did not know why or how he could have known their exact time of arrival.

“No time for questions,” the translator hummed and something stank.

“He is nervous,” Tarl explained. “The Others have been taking girls from our world, that is Earth,” he said to Melanie. “But the last one was like you,” he explained to Legolas. “But grey, like the rotting flesh.”

“Orcs,” he and Melanie said at once.

“Send Melanie home,” Legolas beseeched.

“We cannot,” Misk suddenly spoke. “They are looking for her. Men are dead and she is wanted.”

“They think I killed the archery group?”

“You must return home and tell them what happened,” Legolas urged her.

“Tell them what? That Legolas of the Woodland Realm fell from the sky and Orcs invaded through a time portal and killed those men to kidnap you, and I followed them into a space ship to rescue you?” She had not thought the whole adventure so ridiculous until she had laid it all out like that. “I would be committed. They would lock me up without a trial, never to be freed, ever. And I will never find out if you and Gimli ever stop snarling at each other.”

Legolas lifted both eyebrows and realised she was referring to the book she had been reading. “I . . .do not recall ever snarling at Gimli. ”

“Take me with you,” she asked. “I can’t stay here. I would rather be back in that dank hole than here, or at home to be arrested for over thirty murders I can’t prove I didn’t do.”

Legolas looked from Melanie to Tarl. “Your decision,” Tarl said. “Although she does make a very fine argument.”

“I can make another fine argument,” Melanie put in, eyes darkening as her hand reached for Legolas’ groin. “Take me with you . . .or shall I twist something?”

“No!” Legolas cried in alarm, stepping back from her.

Tarl smirked and stepped up to Melanie with a hand on her shoulder, and noted Legolas’ sudden change of stance. He was as protective of the woman as he was his assets. Good, Tarl thought. He took out an object from his pocket. “Unfortunately you have no choice, anyway. She must go with you.” he handed Melanie the object, a book. “This is yours, I believe.”

Melanie took it. “Where . . .? How . . .?” Opening the front cover was her name and a message from her cousin in Montana, who had sent it for her 21^st birthday. The book was Tarnsman of Gor. The likeness on the front cover was the man standing beside her. She looked up at him in surprise. She hadn’t even noticed that the book was missing. “You . . .?”

“My tarn was taken at the same time the one of your kind disappeared from the slavers,” Tarl spoke to Legolas.

“I cannot believe they brought orcs here. The Others cannot possibly know what they have unleashed,” Melanie choked at the realisation. A elf female would not last long in Gor. And orc on Gor would have the opposite effect. They were vicious killers.

“What is tarn?” Legolas asked.

Tarl pointed to the huge creature they had been riding. “That,” he said, and the creature glared over his shoulder at the tasty morsel that was Legolas. “She is a young female, but the one missing is twice her size, a full grown male.”

Legolas looked up at the bird eyeing him most uncomfortably and trembled.

“Ubar of the Skies,” Melanie murmured.

Tarl nodded. “I want him back.”

“No one in Legolas’ world will know what that thing is,” Melanie whispered. “Or what it is capable of.”

Tarl removed his coat and gave it to her. “Take this. He will know my scent. We will be above your city again in one month.”

The sapphire moon returned them to Osgiliath late in the afternoon, the silver of the real moon’s face hiding their approach. They could hear weeping. Legolas lifted his head and listened. A frown settled upon his brow and he stopped.

“They are singing a lament,” he said.

“Who for?” Melanie asked, slipping into the common tongue of Middle Earth with ease along with him.

His ears caught the words. The breath caught in his throat. “For me,” he whispered.

“That is a little premature,” she said. “Let us go and stop them before they flood the place with tears. I hate to ruin a good party, but . . .it has to be done.”

Legolas turned to her in horror and then slowly smiled. “That is heartless,” he whispered. “But amusing.”

Melanie grinned. “Lead the way,” she invited.

The streets were deserted and no one saw them coming up the steps into the palace. Inside one lone voice rose, broken and discordant.

“Gimli,” he breathed, feeling the pain in the words his dear friend was speaking.

Melanie touched his arm in comfort. “Do not start crying, Legolas. You are not really dead.”

She stepped up to the palace doors and stiff armed them open. They gave way smoothly to slam against their frames. A gasp rippled through the people crowded inside as everyone started in surprise. All heads turned and the speaker stuttered into silence. Gimli was staring straight at the interruption wide-eyed and open mouthed.

“Lheidh aé gurth aé Ar-edhel Galenaldæ ha bú belegi curu-farvé cuivië,” Melanie announced loudly, hoping it was pronounced correctly. Legolas smiled, hiding a small appreciative chuckle.

Elessar sank in his chair with extreme relief, tears coursing down his cheeks as he saw Legolas framed in the open doorway. Gimli suddenly roared. “You pointy-eared elf!” His feet stomped down the steps and through the crowd. “Wait ‘til I get my hands on you, laddie! I am going to kill you!”

Legolas’ eyes widened with fear as the hairball rushed at him, knocked him to the ground and squeezed the breath out of him. “Oh, bless you! Where have you been? Gggrrr, I aught to tan your hide, boy, for what you put me through.”

Legolas suddenly laughed, and hugged him to his chest. “And I would gladly do the same if our places were exchanged.” He sat up and gazed into the teary eyes of his friend. “I am glad to be home. I have missed you.”

Gimli stood up, suddenly remembering there were six hundred faces staring at them. “Er, yes . . .well, see that you don’t do it again!” he said, gruffly

An hour or so later, having been introduced to Legolas’ friends as Mellon Melanie-Finmal, she sat relaxing, almost, waiting to see what would become of her. She was sent here to perform one task, after that she had no clue as to what the future would hold.

“As you can see,” Legolas began, a hand on Gimli’s shoulder where he sat at the table eating. “I do not snarl at Gimli.”

Gimli choked on a morsel of chicken. “See that you don’t,” he put in. “If a dwarf does that to another, it starts a night of endless passion.”

Legolas looked away, embarrassed, walking around the table to put some distance between Gimli and himself, as if it would make a difference to the grinning woman. “That had not even crossed my mind,” he stated.

Melanie grinned. “I never thought of you with a toy-boy,” she noted.

Legolas frowned. “I am not familiar with this phrase. What is a toy-boy?”

Melanie stifled a laugh. “It the male lover of someone much older than themselves. You are seven thousand years old, Gimli is only one hundred and twenty.”

Gimli said nothing, simply eyed one then other and stuffing his freshly filled pipe into his mouth.

Legolas’ jaw dropped. “You thought that we . . .”

“I am not going to claim ownership of that thought, Legolas,” she said. “The author of The . . .your story . . .left it for the readers to decide.”

“But, Gimli is my best friend, my soul-companion.”

Melanie nodded. “Of course,” she agreed evenly. “I have never suggested otherwise.”

Gimli hummed under his breath. “In that case, since elves age very slowly, and comparing him to a man Legolas is about 18 years old . . .that would make him my toy boy.” He pulled on his pipe for a moment, blowing smoke up into the air. “I like that idea better.”

Legolas flushed red.

“Melanie,” Gandalf called as he entered to room. “The king wishes to see you immediately.”

As they all rose to head for the King’s hall, Legolas turned to Gimli and asked, “Do you think I have a nice ass?”

Melanie giggled to herself as Gimli choked on his own breath, thumped his chest, and spluttered smoke out of his mouth.

“You say you are the only one who can catch this . . .tarn creature,” Elessar began.

“Well, I can try. His rider gave me his jacket with his scent. A tarn is unpredictable,” Melanie stated.

“It has already killed three men and horses. I cannot and will not lose more,” Elessar forced out, his fear driving his anger. “What, if anything, do you suggest we do with the girl? She is from your world, not ours.”

“I cannot go back. I doubt whether the Others will agree to open the portal long enough to allow her to go home.”

“She cannot be taken to the Misty Mountains. Even I will not sacrifice her to the orcs. She is Avari. I have some scruples,” he added quietly. “But, she cannot stay here. We cannot be sure she will not kill us all in our sleep,” Elessar warned.

“I can,” Melanie voiced quietly. “I know where she has been.”

“Melanie?” Legolas called.

“Trust me, Legolas,” she persisted. “All I need is a blanket.”

Frodo took one from the top of Sam’s pack and handed it to her, not wanting to go near the rancid-looking waif. Melanie thanked him.

She slowly walked around the girl where she stood, inspecting her. Without warning she grabbed and lifted the skirt of the girl to see the brand burned into the skin of her thigh. “Just as I thought.” she said. She noted the males around her averting their eyes. “You’re a branded Tuchuk slave. Remove these clothes, you worthless slut.”

“Now, wait just a min . . .”

Legolas placed a hand on Elessar’s arm. “She knows what she is doing,” he assured him quietly.

The orc wriggled out of the dress she had been given and stood still, clad now in nothing save for a short chemise and petticoat.

“Better,” Melanie said. Suddenly she lifted her hand, palm down and fist closed. To the surprise of all the orcling dropped to her knees and fell on her face, kissing her feet. “I think you can be assured that this hussy will be quite safe. If she so much as breathes without permission, I shall kill her my self,” she announced. And with that she threw the blanket over her. “She will not move until I release her.”

“I will attest to that,” Legolas said, tonelessly, covering his front.

Elessar noted the movement and swallowed, vowing never to ask. “I have still to grant you stay in my kingdom,” he suddenly said.

Melanie froze and all eyes turned to the king. She looked at Legolas who was surprised by Elessar’s sudden turn of hand. He gritted his teeth, his cheek muscles rippling, wondering what the king would say. He knew Aragorn, but would his mind have changed now that he was Elessar? He doubted it. Without drawing too much attention to himself, he stared at Melanie, and drew his thumb tip down the bow string that lay across his chest.

Melanie narrowed her eyes just a tad, without making it look obvious that her attention was drawn away from the king standing before her, or making it look like a sneer. Lifting the Gorean bow from her shoulder, she set it across her palms and knelt before the king. “I offer you my bow, my Lord.”

Elessar was instantly surprised and impressed.

“I swear, before . . .” she paused, lifting her head a little to look at Legolas. “Before the Eldar, who is as my witness, I will do your bidding, unto death.”

Elessar lifted a brow and turned to look at Legolas. “The Eldar?”

“He has visited many worlds, it seems,” said he. “Has many names, and even has a son.”

Gandalf’s eyes widened. “This is one tale they did not put to song,” he noted quietly.

“Remind me to ask Lord Elrond when he arrives,” Legolas suggested and they realised that it was as much a surprise to him as it was to them.

Elessar nodded once. “Your bow is accepted, shield-maiden of Gondor. Rise and serve me well.” Melanie stood and smiled, bowing her head and resetting her bow. “Can you ride a horse?” the king asked.

The smile wavered. “Ummm . . .”

“I am taking Melanie out to where the Gates once stood. The tarn has been seen there,” Gandalf told them.

“I will come with you,” Legolas said.

“No,” Gandalf refused. “It is dangerous enough. If she fails to control the beast, it will go ill for both of us. There is no reason to risk others.”

Legolas stepped between him and the door. “With all due respect, Gandalf, but I must go with you.” Gandalf looked at him with an unreadable gaze, waiting for the reason to come out, which it did. “She and I . . .have . . .shared the glass.”

Elessar lifted his eyes to his friend. “You did what?”

Gandalf’s eyes widened. “Was that wise?”

“There was no other way,” Legolas replied. “I explained to Melanie my reasons for refusing, but there was only one water pouch. We had no choice.”

Gandalf and Elessar exchanged a meaningful glance. Elessar gripped his friend’s shoulder. “And you tell me I get myself into tight corners?” Elessar told him, both remembering Éowen’s affection for him during the early days of their friendship. It had been resolved to everyone’s mutual relief. Now Legolas found himself in a similar tight spot.

“We will discuss this at another time,” Gandalf told him quietly. “With your leave, King Elessar, we make for Pelennor.”

“With speed,” Elessar replied.

Melanie stood on the Pelennor Fields, ravaged and broken when the black gate fell, swinging the jacket around in the wind. Anyone watching would have thought her insane as she screamed "Ubar! Ubar!" into the growing wind as morning claimed the sky.

Gandalf watched, silent and admittedly scared for himself and the small woman who would soon, if her plans succeeded, ride a beast more fearsome than a dragon. A nervous elf stood beside him, watching the skies above the woman. He had seen these fearsome creatures up close, way too close.

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak. His voice was ripped from his soul by the shriek of a bird of prey like nothing he had ever heard before. A great shape approached fast, calling to its one true master. It was huge. The great bird’s head tipped as it flew over, eyeing the three minute figures. His master was not here, but the scent bade him land nonetheless.

Legolas watched it circle, and come ever lower, its talons reaching forward to make a grab at Melanie. A small cry of terror threatened to escape as he fought his desire to protect Melanie and his need to keep still for her safety. One wrong move and the talons could tear them all apart with one swipe. With effort, he willed himself still.

Massive wings raised a storm of wind and dust, Gandalf and Legolas hunched. Melanie did not dare show such weakness and lifted her eyes once the dust had settled to find a pair of pearly black eyes watching her over a sharp beak. Her eyes flitted to the steel-shod talons that gleamed in the golden sun.

Instinct took over. Quietly, she thanked the god she seldom spoke to that she knew how to handle this tarn. She stepped up to him, jacket now over her shoulder, and touched his beak, showing no fear. Then smoothing her hand below his chin to scratch his neck, gathering a handful of marble-sized ticks and slapping them onto his tongue as he had opened his mouth in readiness.

Legolas shuddered, but dared not move as her hand slipped into the birds beak. He swallowed, suddenly wishing he could be somewhere else and not have to watch this.

She smiled gently. One snap and she would be called lefty she thought. Ubar lowered his head, swallowed and dropped his shoulder. Melanie gulped softly. She had never ridden a horse much less a tarn, except in a small saddle basket, but this was something else entirely.

No one could help her now. She had to fly this tarn out to the drop zone. With smooth grace that belied her many still-healing wounds she vaulted onto his back, her rump finding the place where a saddle would have been strapped to, and made herself comfortable. Taking a deep, calming breath she leaned forward and yelled, “Four strap!”

True to his training the Ubar hunched, huge muscles beneath her tensed, and mighty wings took them aloft in the beat of a heart. She smiled, daring not to look down as the animal levelled off waiting for her next command.

She deepened her seat and relaxed a little. “Six strap!”

The tarn banked right and circled the two still on the ground. In the horizon two dark forms were moving closer in the sky. Ubar cried in anger and made directly for the intruders.

Melanie looked up. “Ubar,” she cried. “Friends. Six strap.” At first he weighed the two options. She was not his master, and they were possible food. But he could not disobey the smell of the jacket, or his training. He banked obediently and circled the two tiny figures as before.

The two eagles flew passed, eying the strange bird with both anger and fear. They shrieked at him in challenge, but he did not respond. He watched with disdain as they landed beside the two dots below him, which mounted them and rose.

“Good boy,” she soothed. “They are friends. No need to fight them.” She had noted how alike the eagles and the tarn were, and wondered if the sapphire moon had been here before at some point. Far into the distance she could see what looked like the moon. It was moving and at this distance it appeared to be greyish white in colour.

“One strap,” she cried and off Ubar flew, straight for the rapidly enlarging circle of bluish steel. “Onward, hurry! Harta! Hurry!”

Ubar flew faster and faster, leaving the eagles far behind. Gandalf looked up in astonishment as the disk came into view. He heard a shout behind him almost as the colour changed. Suddenly a bright light flashed up ahead of them and the enormous bird vanished. Legolas cried out to the space where she had been, only there was nothing but empty sky. The eagles shrieked, blinking blindly. Down they fell, the air catching the undersides of their outstretched wings. Landing on the lifeless earth again, Legolas jumped down first.

“Melanie!” he cried. “Mel!” He ran a little way searching the skies for the tarn. “Mel!” The sky was empty. “Melanie,” he whispered. With the realisation of what he had shouted to the heavens, he dropped to his knees. She truly was his friend, his wife . . .and she was gone.

Melanie sat up and looked around. Tarl was standing talking to the great bird with obviously mutual affection, the bird was crooning at him and seemed to be smiling.

Tarl turned as she moved. “You have a choice before you,” he announced. “Which world will you return to?”

“If I go home, I will be arrested,” she replied.

“Then, Earth is no longer an option for you. On Gor, you would be a Free Woman . . .until someone collared you.”

“I don’t want that,” she told him.

Tarl nodded. “What would your life be like in Middle Earth?” he asked.

Melanie considered it for a long time. “I would be free . . .but facing a world I never believed in before.” She remained silent for a long while. “I think . . .Middle Earth,” she decided. “It is the only place where I could finally find the peace that has been missing from my life. Finally I can rebuild my faith. I mean, there’s no chapel here, but God listens wherever you are.”

Tarl gently smiled. “Of course, you do realise that I could collar you now, and be done with it?”

“Because you can, since Legolas is not here? Or because you want to?”

Tarl considered it. “Yes, because Legolas is not here and no, I do not want to. You are free to go.” He pointed to the open door.

She looked at it and at him. “Will the sapphire moon ever come back here?”

“Never,” he replied. “Misk will make sure of it.”

Satisfied Melanie nodded her thanks and walked towards the door. She moved faster, and by the time she was out the door she was running. In the distance across the barren lands someone knelt in the dust and she could tell who it was, the sun was glinting on his tallow head. She was running as his eyes lifted at her approach.

Suddenly Legolas rose to his feet. “Melanie!” his voice was filled with delight. As she drew level she was swept upward in a huge hug, which she returned. She giggled to see him break into a smile.

“Put me down,” she laughed. “You will make me dizzy.”

Gandalf sent the great eagles away, glad that their help in protecting Melanie was not needed after all. In silence he regarded the pair. It was time Legolas learned the consequences of his actions. Sitting in the wagon on the ride home, Melanie silently contemplated what her decision would mean for those she had left behind, and those she had met here. For all intents and purposes she was now centuries in England’s past. All those things she had grown up with and taken for granted were now lost to her.

But, she thought, lifting her eyes to the deep blue ones watching the emotions play out in her face, there were consolation prizes even for the looser. “We need to talk,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “We shared the glass.”

Melanie nodded. “What happens next? Is there no . . .” She stopped. There was no word for divorce in the tongues of Middle Earth, but then realised, why would there be? It had been invented by Henry VIII. “There is no word for it.”

“Breaking the glass,” Legolas told her helpfully.

Neither of them was aware of a head turning slightly to overhear their exchange as he drove the horse onward. Gandalf said nothing.

“There are several things that I must seek a resolution for,” he told her sadly.

Melanie pondered this for a long time, wondering what he meant by that. There was a darkness that clouded his eyes, one that she could not understand. Had he done something so terrible in trying to stay alive? Melanie was still wondering about it when she fell asleep. When she awoke, Legolas was gone.

Legolas gazed up at the stars, begging for the peace that he sought. For over an hour he meditated alone, in the courtyard, seeking a resolution, but he could not find it. A figure approached him, contemplatively, Legolas recognised the feel of his friend the wizard and knew why he was there. Gandalf knew why Legolas had sought solitude from the merriment inside. Without turning, Legolas spoke.

“I must break the glass with Melanie.”

“You cannot,” Gandalf informed him gently.

Legolas turned his head. “Why?”

“To do so would add injury upon guilt. You know of what I speak.”

Legolas squirmed. “She and I are married, but it was not of either of our choosing.”

“No, it wasn’t, but your theft from her mind was by choice,” Gandalf responded. Legolas held his breath. Gandalf knew what he had done. “By taking without permission she, in turn, took that choice from you, even unknowing as she was. You cannot now give that gift back, no more than you could break the glass. The bond must remain.”

“I am to be punished,” he realised.

“Is the punishment so grievous?” Gandalf asked gently.

Legolas looked into the great hall at one person, but it was not Melanie. “What about Gimli?” he breathed.

Gandalf gazed at the dwarf and sighed. “Your love for him will not change,” he said. “But she is mortal, and cannot share with you the journey to the white shores.”

“Neither can he,” Legolas reminded him. His eyes shifted to the woman Gimli was joking with, watching them laugh together and glancing now and then in his direction.

Gandalf smiled gently. “That may change. But you owe her a debt that will take the rest of her natural life to repay.” Legolas winced. “You owe her your friendship and devotion, as much as Gimli.”

“An equal,” he whispered, without taking his eyes off the maiden who had saved his life. He shuddered gently, as a feeling of deep affection moved through him. He smiled softly with a nod, knowing what he must do. “She will have it in full,” he vowed willingly.

Gandalf watched him move back into the celebrating crowd, finding his way to Mel and Gimli. No elf could be more blessed by the Eldar than to have not one but two such mates in their eternal lives and yet, he had them at once, his arm snaked around her waist and she smiled at him, wondering what he had been doing. The eyes of the king watched him from afar.

“You have been gone for over an hour. Meditating again?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Found peace?”

Legolas smiled. “Yes, I found resolution.” He took the flagon from her unsuspecting hand and drank from it before handing it back. With a smile he curled the other arm around Gimli's shoulders and took a sip from his flagon as well. Legolas’ eyes briefly met those of the king, who raised his flagon in congratulations.

The dwarf looked up at the shocked woman. “I think your look matches mine,” said he. “Just what are you doing, Legolas?”

His smile lit the room, as if the Eldar himself had arrived. His lips curled slightly in a mischievous grin. “Just what it looks like.” He paused, carefully choosing his words, “Claiming what is mine, by right.”

Mel and Gimli looked at each other, weighing Legolas’ words against their own previous conversation. They both nodded. “Aye,” they said together.

Mel had gone to bed, and just as she slipped into the land of Nod she heard a knock at the door. She opened her eyes wondering who it was who wanted to speak to her at this late hour. She rose and padded to the door to open it just a little to find Legolas on the other side. He gazed at her gently with a slight smile.

“You are in my bedroom,” he said. “I would like to get to bed, if you would not mind?”

He gently eased himself in through the narrow gap, to her surprise, and proceeded to get undressed. Then, naked, he got into bed.

Melanie stood by the door, in shock. She closed the door, just in case someone saw him, of course, but now he was in what she thought was her bed. She looked at him, not quite believing that he was doing what he was doing, and stole a peek under the bed for the Gimli fellow. From where she stood, the space was clearly empty.

He gazed at her and said, “Are you not coming to bed?” all innocent as you please.

And all that came out of her mouth was, “Wha . . !”

He was lying there, on his side, with just a sheet to cover his hips . . .and they had shared the glass. Hadn’t they? Was she really going to refuse?

She finally found her voice. She was not going to allow him to think she was easy. “This is my bed, and you do not sleep.”

“Both very good reasons for me to stay . . .I was not intending to sleep,” he replied.

Her jaw hit the floor. She stared at him, all gone out, but had taken a couple of steps towards the bed. “But . . .you and I were supposed to break the glass. You drank from it again.”

“I cannot break the glass, Melanie, even if I wanted to, which I do not.”

“Legolas, I told you not to fall in love with me. I am not worth it.”

“Yes, you are, Melanie,” he said softly. “You are worth it, and a hundred times over.” He reached out and slowly pealed back the sheet in invitation.

She slowly stepped forward, bending a knee onto the mattress . . .her eyes never leaving his, hoping against hope to see the love she so badly wanted to see there. He reached up to caress a shoulder where the sleeveless fabric of her nightgown ended. Her eyes closed briefly as the tangible emotions flowed from him to her, sensing the endless expanse of time in his touch. A gentle tug on the bow that held the gown closed pulled it free. The gown whispered from her shoulders to collect about her waist.

She bit her lip as the warm summer air caressed her skin, raising tingles. She moaned, “Legolas . . .” not knowing if it was a plea or a command.

The caress against her shoulder altered to pull her to him, his lips sought hers. Her body responded to his, lips meeting his gently. The first touch of the purest love she had ever known blew all memory of any other touch from her mind and soul.

A hand slowly slid up his trim thigh, relishing his warmth and strength. A gentle roll and his body met the curve of her, covering her. She watched him through hooded eyes, a hand still on his hip where its journey had been halted, dark honey hair fanning over the forest-coloured silken sheets. His hand slipped the cloth of her gown upward as her body rolled lengthways beneath him. She hissed gently, feeling their contact complete.

He stilled, slipping the gown passed the fan of her hair and tossing it aside. He looked down into her blue eyes. “Your first time,” he whispered. “Our first night.” He smiled down at her with deep tenderness and affection. “The first night of the rest of our lives.”

Letting her legs open, she looked up into the most passionate eyes she had ever dared dream of, let alone thought would ever be for her. As she felt her body accustom to new sensations, a small smile haunted her lips. She licked them as her hand came up his side to caress his shoulder.

His movements were slow and measured. He lowered his head to her to kiss her again, languid touches of skin on skin. Her body ached for his, breast taut against his chest, losing herself in his kiss. Her fingers tangled gently in his spun-silk mane.

He moved again, a slow seep of flesh in flesh, burying all the cares of both worlds away, a low purr of pleasure made it all the way to her lips, hips lifting gently.

“Valar . . .” she moaned low.

In the stillness of the night, her calves slid up his thighs to curl around him, to hold him nestled against her being. Both hands gently raked along his spine and rump. She felt him filling her mind, body, and soul.

He moved again, the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips as he dragged them down her shoulder and upper arm. A silent gasp, her senses expanded, hearing his heart against her own, hearing the birds and waters flowing, the wind in the leaves beyond the bedroom window. His scent invaded her thoughts, the aroma of lavender mingling with pine oil danced around them in a slow swirling pattern, and across her eyes the hint of an inner glow mingled harmoniously with the sensory poetry of moonlight on satin flesh. She sighed, a touch of her heart’s desire in her unspoken whisper.

Lifting her head slightly, she licked along his collarbone, feeling his breath quicken . . .his eyes drifted closed at her touch. He moved again, taking all the time eternity had to offer. She blew gently across the wet creamy skin, as much lost in him as he was in her.

His mind was reeling in senses he never knew existed. His breath thick with passion dusted her cheek as he moved against her. Her head tilted back, a warm star of pleasure bloomed in her being and slowly opened. Her touch, her body were his. He slowly opened his eyes to see her flushed face smiling up at him as he moved within her.

She opened her eyes, her hips encouraging his thrusts, feeling a coil of passion winding tighter with each languid thrust. Her belly shivered, feeling his power, his tenderness, his love.

He barely moved, but it was enough, her breath deep and unsteady, matching his. “Mel,” he whispered.

Watching his face, enraptured by the promise there, she purred, “Legolas.”

Groaning slightly as the star grew to a nova, burning away every vestige of earth from her body and soul, he smiled. He knew what was coming, he could feel it. Her breath stopped, the dark of night was broken by her voice as she screamed his name. For a moment in time, an eternity of a few seconds, they are alone in the universe. His breath caught, surprised and yet not, as he filled her.

She began to nuzzle and plant open-mouthed kisses on his collarbone and throat as her breath returned in gasps. He savoured her feathered touch, eyes closed and body unmoving. Embedded in her beauty he kissed her lips with the same meticulous care, every touch continued to send sparks of pleasure to the ends of her existence, coiling in that one pool where they are still joined.

She whispered low into his ear, “Oh, Legolas . . . I love you.”

His eyes drifted shut as he murmured in her ear, “I love you, my Melanie.”

She pulled him gently down, holding him as they kissed . . .

There was a knock at the door. Legolas lifted his head, not at all surprised. Melanie sank into the pillow and groaned.

“You must answer it,” he told her softly.

Still in the throws of afterglow she slowly rose, and he reluctantly broke the contact. Grabbing the silken sheet around her, she padded across the marbled floor. She opened the door just a tiny amount. Gimli peered through the slight crack.

“You’re in my bed,” he announced and opened the door a little more so that he could enter the room.

Legolas was on his side on the bed, now without a sheet, head propped up on one elbow, regarding him with a tender gaze. “You are late,” he smiled gently, eyes moving over him. “And overdressed.”

Gimli huffed gently and stripped, discarding clothing as he crossed to the bed. He gazed at the naked elf before him as he knelt on the bed and he smiled. Melanie followed, allowing the sheet to drift away from her body. Running a slim finger up Gimli’s bare back, she watched him shudder.

Gimli looked up and scooted over a little, taking her wrist in his hand. Gently he pulled her onto the bed, still warm and fragrant from a few moments ago. Melanie slinked onto the bed, smoothing her body against Gimli’s. Leaning down, she kissed Legolas deeply, teasing his tongue out to play with hers.

Gimli’s insides turned to water, watching them. He shuddered again, and as Mel lay beside him he forgot the eyes of Legolas upon them. Melanie smiled playfully at him, and he smiled back, not moving from his side.

Gimli smiled. He had been yearning for this all day. Running both hands up her thighs with a surprisingly gentle touch, he watched her eyes close as the slightly roughened hands brought new sensations to her already awakened body. He smoothed further up her sides and down over her breasts.

Melanie growled low. “Gimli,” she whispered, teasing his hip with feather light fingers.

His fingertips ran down over her belly and down her inner thighs, his beard dangling down to tickle and tease pink nipples. He kissed the skin of her breast, licking and savouring the taste of her salty perspiration.

Her back arched into him. She gasped, a hand found Legolas’ and held on. Legolas smiled and caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. The fingers of her other hand combed through thick, but soft orange-red hair.

His line of kisses left a wet trail from breast to navel, where his tongue swirled around its rim before his lips travelled on. Her breath caught.

His scent wafted up, filling her nostrils with the aroma of warm hearths and hickory smoke. His breath dusted her flushed skin with each swirl of his tongue where thigh met torso. Her body shuddered under his burning lips. His hands smoothed up her thighs to her buttocks, kneading them like fresh bread dough. His mouth nuzzled the soft curls and planted a kiss to her apex. His tongue snaked out to flicker across her nub.

Melanie jerked, his name torn from her throat on a groan. The raw power of this being had claimed what little resolve she had. Her knees rose of their own accord.

Eyes watched them, and lips smiled. “So beautiful,” his voice whispered.

Gimli growled appreciatively, tasting her, the spiciness mingling with the taste of masculine juices. His tongue slid down her peaked bundle of nerves, a low moan responded to his move. The thrum of his growl vibrated from Gimli through Melanie’s body and to Legolas, making a circle of passion. Legolas gasped, feeling it roll through him, tingling his skin with tiny fireworks.

A slow burn boiled up within her, wanting him so much, needing to be filled. He heard her gasp softly, but stridently, and pressed his tongue harder against the swollen flesh. The scents of Legolas’ sky and Gimli’s blessed earth, she drifted in between, breathing from one sigh to another. Her hips jumped, pressing up into his attentions. Her thighs parted further, knees lifting from the bed and body desperate to be filled.

She growled huskily, “Gimli . . .please!” Her need was evident in every breath that stuttered from her chest.

Gimli smiled against her heat and slowly, deliberately slowly, worked his lips back up her body. Almost breathless with need, her coil tightened. His lips moved upward to her breasts and he took one into his mouth. Gently suckling the nipple he entered her.

She gasped as a bolt of pleasure raced between her breasts and centre. He filled her aching channel in one long thrust. Her legs wrapped around his thighs, pulling him deeper as he began to move. Gimli’s thrusts were hard although still gentle, but lacking the languid tenderness that Legolas possessed.

A hand rested on his rump, fingernails gently digging in. He growled, feeling the grasp on his buttocks, along with a tender caress of elven hands. He thrust fast.

Melanie’s breath grew unsteady as her need again rose to near ecstasy. His mouth left the nipple, hard with need, and went in search of the other one. He heard her groan as his beard dragged her over skin sending new sensations coursing through her. She shuddered, moaning low. Her hips lifted to meet each thrust, grinding against her swollen nub. Her hand was still tangled with the elf’s, while the other caressed and massaged Gimli’s hard rump in time with each upward thrust.

Elven fingertips caressed up Gimli’s spine, watching in wonder as his muscles rippled, clenched and relaxed as they squeezed him into her body.

Gimli thrust harder and faster, pounding her with his need, filling and withdrawing. He could feel the fierce heat that blazed from her being. He growled as her breath faltered. Her body again peaked under the touch of pure love. She shuddered, body trembling in delight. She gazed up at him as his head lifted from her breast to look at her.

“Gimli,” she gasped.

“Mel,” he shuddered.

Holding him as close as her body could accommodate, she growled out his name as she lost herself. He growled in return, still feeling the elf’s hand on his back and buttocks. Her eyes drifted closed, lost in the sensations, the love and desire took control of her senses. Her body shuddered. Foreshocks were over, the big one was coming.

Her eyes flew wide as she gasped for air, stars dancing on the ceiling above her. The tingle was beginning in her toes. Her eyes meet Legolas’ as he came up behind Gimli. Every pore of her body started to buzz, moving from toes and fingers and knowing the destination. The meeting point was the hot pool where dwarf and human met.

Legolas began to rub his shaft against Gimli’s buttocks, and slowly slipped inside. As Gimli thrust forward, Legolas followed. Gimli groaned with desire, trembling with delight at this turn of events. He rode back and forth, onto Legolas and out of Mel, into Mel and off of Legolas. He growled at the double pleasure.

Mel and Legolas were still holding hands, a liquid line of fiery pleasure seared through them all, heart to heart and Gimli caught in the middle. Legolas gasped at the sensation, unaccustomed to the pace. He struggled to hold on, wanting to release. His free hand went to Gimli’s hip, gripping his flesh with the effort.

Mel’s feet slipped down to tangle with Legolas’ feet, where he was kneeling behind Gimli, trapping the dwarf between them. One ankle slid back up the back of his leg, making him shudder, a deep flame of passion burned in his eyes as they locked onto hers.

Thrusting and impaling himself, Gimli’s roared his growing desire. Mel shuddered, her heat splicing her breath as it was thrust from her body. Her free hand snaked up and pulled Legolas’ lips to her own. Love, honour, respect and pure passion blossomed in the shadow-filled room. Legolas’ eyes closed, his breath catching as Gimli’s body moved up and down. He moaned softly, losing all reason.

Throwing her head back, Mel groaned as her channel clenched around Gimli’s thick hot shaft. Three hearts boomed as one, souls rising into eternity on a single pair of wings. Suddenly it exploded, all three crying out, filling and releasing together, a combined shudder rolling through them like a hundred thousand horses of Rohan at full gallop.

Mel’s legs pulled Legolas tighter into Gimli and Gimli deeper into her as her breath finally found its way out of her lungs. Panting they stilled, unable to consider movement yet. Breathless, they lay together and fingertips caressed dampened skin. Reaching up, Melanie gently caressed Gimli’s hirsute face. They smiled.

Legolas slipped down beside Mel, Gimli already lying on the other side of her, an arm curled around her. Legolas kissed her temple already on the threshold of sleep. Needing no blanket in the warm night, they lay tangled, Melanie’s back against Legolas’ chest, and Gimli’s chest against hers. They drifted off into slumber.

Beyond the window, dawn was already breaking. A single figure passed the door to the bedchamber, leaving a flagon of sweet mead upon its flagstone. Nothing crossed the threshold in either direction for several days, except honey mead and empty flagons.

The figure turned and gasped as his eyes met a pair of brown ones looking straight at him.

“Sam!” he whispered. “You gave me an awful fright.”

“Well, I’m not apologising this time,” Sam replied. “You, fetching and carrying like some common servant. It’s not becoming of a gentleman such as yourself, if you ask me . . .what is all this honey mead for, anyway? Who’s gone and got married?”

“Legolas,” Frodo replied.

Sam’s eyes went wide. “He has?” He eyed the closed door. “Poor Gimli,” he voiced sadly.

Frodo smirked gently to himself, thinking of the noise that had broken his sleep for the past few nights. “I don’t think so,” he said and walked away.

Sam ran to catch up. “I don’t rightly follow, Mr Frodo. Who’s he gone and married?”

Their voices faded into the distance.

Later Gimli woke to the swirling touch of a tongue. He smiled, breath thick, content to lie back and enjoy this moment. Before long his gasping breath was more vocal, his hands on Legolas’ body more desperate.

Legolas placed butterfly kisses at his groin, as one hand smoothed his shaft from tip to base and back up. Gimli pushed his hips forward into his hand, the hand stilled allowing him to thrust, while his teeth grazed across his inner thigh. Gimli growled in surprise as suddenly he ejaculated. Legolas, who could feel it beneath his fingers, lifted his head in time for it to miss him. He continued to smooth up and down the shaft, which did not soften for long.

Gimli groaned with each breath, feeling the heat rise. He was desperate, needing to be caressed else where. Legolas could sense this and shifted, sliding up his body, kissing as he went. Carefully, so as not to wake the woman in the bed, he rolled, pulling Gimli with him. Straddling his love, Gimli sank on him, groaning with the sweet agony of being filled.

Gimli took control, rising and falling at Legolas’ usual slow pace, Legolas lay back against the pillows, eyes drifting shut as his love drove him ever higher. Without warning Gimli moved faster and harder. The pace was frenetic for an elf. Legolas gasped, eyes suddenly wide, jaw dropping open. He gasped again, panting wildly.

“Slow,” his strangled voice whispered. “Do . . .own . . .nnn” His head dropped back, his fingers gripping the pillow so hard the feathers threatened to escape. He gasped, helpless. Gimli was already shuddering with release. Gasping loudly, Legolas’ body lurched, muscles going taut. He cried out, stars filling his field of vision. Breathless and eyes glazed, he remained dazed for some time.

When she awoke her body was already tingling. She sighed deeply, feeling loved. She was still on her side, and her upper knee was raised. She could feel long fingers laced delicately around her thigh. Long slow strokes were sliding his shaft across her opening and between her lower lips before drawing back again. She heard him gasp as he inadvertently slipped inside her. He stilled, trembling gently. Melanie sighed, feeling him stretch her.

“I thought you were asleep,” he spoke softly.

“Not much chance of that when you are loving me like this,” she whispered back.

Gimli smiled against the breast he was laving. His hand moved from the other breast down her side and along her inner thigh, brushing across the elven hand he found there. His fingers returned up her thigh to her apex, feeling the stretch and relax with each slow thrust. His hand slid further to Legolas’ balls, and cupped them gently, massaging them, satisfied with the grunted sigh that escaped the elf’s lips.

“Elves always take their time,” Gimli murmured, with a smile. He drew his fingertips back along the hot wet flesh to their woman’s nub and began to rub, slow and fast, as his mouth took the nipple back into his mouth.

“He complains because I can love him all night, and yet he cannot last more than an a few minutes,” Legolas whispered with delight.

“I have nothing to complain about,” Gimli replied, moaning softly as he felt the delicate touch of a woman’s fingers around his thick shaft. He pressed harder, feeling her quake, the flesh swelling further.

Legolas sighed softly, kissing her shoulder.

“Glad to hear it,” he whispered. His thrusts came and went, liking slow and knowing the woman in his arms also liked it. Melanie eyes closed her eyes. Being loved by two at once was too much. Her head rolled back, her words became incoherent as she gasped and shuddered. Legolas continued his slow pace, driving her towards another zenith long before he reached his.

At Elessar’s coronation, Legolas appeared doubly pleased with himself and it was not that he had brought Arwen before her husband-to-be, as the King at first supposed. Instead, he had a secret to keep until such times as it would reveal itself, although he was itching to reveal it to his closest friend. He had had their permission, of course, but had still refrained for almost a week. In his mind, he counted the days and hummed a tune, one that he had heard not long ago in a dark hole on a strange world he was glad never to set eyes on again.

“What strange melody is this?” Arwen asked.

“The spring to come will be a glad time,” Legolas responded cryptically.

Elessar, arm around Arwen’s waist, stared at him, wondering for a moment what he was getting at. Arwen’s brow creased slightly. Spring was another nine months away and elves carried for fourteen months. Understanding lifted a brow on each face, but it was Elessar who spoke. “I am hoping to leave a respectful gap between our marriage and the birth of our firstborn,” he said gently. “It would be unseemly for a child to arrive so soon.”

The smile that dusted Legolas’ lips did not fade. “I was not referring to your firstborn,” he replied. “I have a hope that they do not arrive on the same day. That would be . . .awkward,” he decided.

The blue eyes of the king continued to stare at him and slowly the eyes widened as the coins dropped to the bottom. “You are . . .? More than one . . .? Both of them . . .?”

El fin

“What! - (pronounced with the wh transposed - hwo; o as in hot) means wait, or listen to this. Originally What and Wait were interchangeable, becoming corrupted into two separate words through dialectal change.

Interjection - Excuse the Old English, it’s been a while so it may be incorrect. (Hence only one sentence in it J ) if anyone can help me with that, I would be very grateful.

“Lheidh aé gurth aé Ar-edhel Galenaldæ ha bú belegi curu-farvé cuivië,” - Reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated. (Or rather, it actually reads - ‘laments of the death of the elf-prince Greenleaf have been played with too much (mighty) skill’)

Gor (Counter Earth) - a sparsely inhabited world where men are men unless they wear the kes (dhoti-style underpants) It seems sexist, but it’s actually all about the power women hold over men.

Tarn - a giant eagle, able to carry up to four people at a time in a small basket hung beneath it. Or two in a saddle on its back, smaller tarns are used for racing. They are carnivorous with a horrific skill for killing and are barely trainable.

Tarn disk - coins, smallest value is in copper, going up to silver, gold and double gold.

Paga - a very potent alcoholic drink, much like mead, but with attitude.

Ubar - king of a particular city state, on Gor.

Sadar - Huge mountains where the Priest Kings live.

Slaves - usually Gorean women of low caste, but some are often snatched from Earth to add to the gene pool of Gor. Generally slaves are branded on the thigh to signify that they are a slave, a collar around their throat will show the name of the owner and the slave’s name, if given one.

The Priest Kings - insect-like beings that control and protect Gor, highly advanced, and communicate using sent.

The Others - an alien race at war with the Priest Kings.

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