Something Evil This Way Comes.

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.

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The Elf stood on the balcony, watching the clouds rolling in from the East. The wind blew the silky strands of his hair about his face and the night grew cold. He could smell the coming rain, but he felt something more was riding in with the storm.

“My lord? Will you return to bed?” The voice of the She-Elf came to him from the shadows of the room at his back. He did not answer and soon felt her presence behind him. She leaned against his back, her soft breasts pressing against his flesh as her arms reached around to caress his chest. As pleasant as he found her touch and the memory of their earlier joining, he was no longer in the mood for sport.

He reached up, taking her hands in his, and kissed her fingertips before gently extricating himself from her embrace. “I will sleep no more this night. You may stay if you wish.” He turned, his startlingly clear blue eyes meeting her own dark blue ones, and smiled. “Thank you for sharing your body with me yet again, Eamane. I feel I must journey to Ithilien and will depart before the dawn. But there is no need for you to leave. I will give instructions that you are not to be disturbed until you decide to rise for the day.”

She returned his smile, though hers was tinged with sadness. “You have only just arrived in East Lorien, my lord. Do you maintain a residence in every Elf-home in Middle Earth?”

He knew her thoughts and sighed mentally. Drawing her into his embrace he kissed her softly. “All of Middle Earth is my home, little one. I have spent two lifetimes here.” Sweet Eru, but she was taking their dalliance too much to heart. Still, she had been a most agreeable bedmate and he did not wish to hurt her.

She looked out at the dark skies, her keen Elven eyesight seeing the clouds still almost a half a day away. “You will be riding into the storm.”

He followed her gaze. “I fear you are correct.”


The rain beat hard against the stones of the manor house. The Lord of the Elves of Ithilien, like his kinsman to the west, stood at the doors to the balcony of the bedroom he shared with his wife and gazed into the night. She had awakened as soon as he had left their bed, but did not rise herself.

She watched him as he stood, looking across the forest where the Elves who had chosen to follow him dwelt. She knew something was troubling him and could see the tension in his body as the lightening flashes illuminated his fair skin. The muscles of his bare shoulders looked tight and she longed to lead him back to their bed and stroke and caress his body until he no longer suffered from whatever cares preyed on his mind. But she knew, after almost six years together, he would share his thoughts with her when he was ready.

Instead, she rose and took a robe from where he had tossed it carelessly upon retiring for the night, and placed it about his shoulders. She knew Elves did not suffer from the cold or heat to the same degree as Men, but she somehow felt him vulnerable in his nakedness. He turned to her and smiled, the wind blowing the unbound silvery-blonde strands of his long, sleek hair about his face, at times veiling his grayish-blue eyes, and she was once again reminded of how beautiful her husband was.

“Thank you, my love,” he said in a soft, musical voice. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of the robe, then drew her to him, pulling the front of the robe around her so they were both enveloped in its warmth. His smooth, hard-muscled body felt strong against her flesh and his embrace made her feel safe. As a mortal, the cold breeze caused her to shiver, though her immortal husband did not seem to feel it. He kissed her forehead, then rested his cheek against her hair, watching for what was coming on the storm.


Something was wrong, and it was not just the storm. The Marchwarden of Lorien could sense danger, but it was undefined. He rose from his bed, careful not to disturb the elleth sleeping next to him or his brother, next to her. Pulling on a pair of leggings he walked through the house and stood at the large window that looked out to the east. The sun was still hours away from rising, though his Elven eyes could discern every leaf in the forest before him. When his brothers joined him---one from his own bed; the other, the one he had left sleeping next to the She-Elf---he knew they sensed the same thing.

Millennia of guarding the borders of Lothlorien before joining their friend in Ithilien had honed their senses, making them keenly aware of threats to the peace of those in their care.

“Will there never be peace in Middle Earth?” asked his youngest brother.

The Marchwarden shook his head. “I do not know. But as Lady Galadriel said, there is always hope.”

“And are we that hope? Are Elves all that stand against the darkness that seems to consume the souls of Men?” his other brother murmured, speaking softly so as not to awaken the elleth he had left sleeping in the other room.

“Possibly,” the oldest brother replied. “Perhaps it is our task to help Men learn to guard against that darkness and find hope in themselves.”

The three sentinels remained at the window, silently watching the storm throughout the remainder of the night; three silver- and golden-haired warriors, waiting for whatever hid in the dark to reveal itself.


Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, Lord of the Elves of Ithilien, sat at the breakfast table with his wife, Alexandra, reading over messages brought that morning by Balglin, the Elven warrior who also served as the chief steward of the Prince’s household. Alex busied herself practicing her Quenya by reading a transcription of the Lay of Luthien, provided to her a week earlier by Erestor, one of the ancient Counselors of Rivendell who had chosen to remain in Ithilien after his old friend Elrond, Lord of Imaldris, had taken a ship to the Undying Lands. The prince and his lady had returned to their bed after watching the rain for a few moments, and although she had fallen back to sleep in his arms, he had remained awake until the skies began to lighten with the cloudy dawn.

The rain continued and the day was chilly. It was a good day to remain inside, wrapped in blankets by the fire, and he was looking forward to spending the day with his wife, possibly playing chess, a game of her people she had taught him recently. He enjoyed the strategy involved although she seemed a bit hurt that he consistently beat her, once he learned the rules. She became angry, though, if he tried to ‘let her win’, as she said. Still, anything that kept him beside her was a perfect pastime, in his opinion.

There was a letter from his father, Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Eryn Lasgalen, formerly known as Mirkwood. The effects of the battle a few years ago with a demon and his army sent by Morgoth, the fallen Valar, were slowly being erased, although it would take centuries for the scars to completely heal. Rebuilding had progressed and life had returned to normal. The king mentioned, however, that while the nests of the Great Spiders that had infested the forest just before the battle, had been eradicated, the occasional eight-legged beast continued to be sighted, perhaps once every couple of months. It was a sobering reminder that evil did not sleep.

Another letter from Legolas’ dear friend, Gimli, Lord of the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves was lengthy, amusing and informative. He and Alexandra had visited his companion of the Fellowship of the Ring several months earlier, following their return from a battle in Rhun, and the Dwarf had been quite taken with Legolas’ lovely wife. The Elf could not hide his smile as he read the gossipy, rambling missive. He missed his friend terribly, and was happy things were going so well for the Dwarves.

There were reports of the activities of the colony; messages from the Elves who were posted along the eastern borders along with the soldiers of King Elessar, protecting the security of Gondor, of which Ithilien was a principality; a formal announcement of the birth of a son to King Eomer of Rohan and his wife Lothiriel; and a note from Aragorn, Legolas’ old friend, also known as Elessar, King of Gondor.

The king was still negotiating a peace treaty with the leader of the Haradrim, following the cessation of hostilities the previous year. The people of Rhun, the Easterlings, had readily acquiesced to the demands of Gondor and Rohan under the watchful eyes of the Eastern Elves and their new leader, Vanurion. Legolas and his kin in the west had not even known of the existence of these eastern brethren until a series of unfortunate events a little over a year ago led to the happy discovery.

In his letter, Aragorn mentioned several sticking points and asked Legolas to request Erestor, Golradir and Saelbeth go over the treaty again and advise him of possible solutions. The three Elven Counselors had millennia of experience in such matters, and as Erestor and Golradir were Noldor, and Saelbeth, Sindarin, they were particularly adept at bureaucracy.

Legolas slowly chewed and swallowed a piece of melon as he finished reading Aragorn’s message. His eyes fell on Alex, dutifully studying the ancient language of his people. He did not know why she insisted on learning it; Quenya was not used much at all by his people anymore except among the High Elves on state occasions, and even those moments were now gone since most of them were now across the sea in Valinor. The eastern Elves still used the language, but were swiftly adopting Sindarin, the common language of the western Elves, as their usual tongue. He found it touching, though that she worked so hard on learning about his culture. He knew virtually nothing about hers.

As if sensing his gaze, Alex looked up and smiled. “Anything interesting in the morning papers?” she asked. Her turns of phrase were often puzzling, but he knew she meant his daily messages.

“Eomer has a new son. Gimli wants you to return for a visit---he did not mention me accompanying you. My father sends his regards. The Haradrim are still driving Aragorn to distraction. Nothing new, really.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Haldir, Orophin and Rumil, the brothers who had served as Wardens of Lothlorien. Haldir, the Marchwarden, was the first to sweep into the room and he greeted his friends in his usual manner, as if they should count themselves blessed by the Valar that he deigned to favor them with his presence. Orophin and Rumil followed, their haughtiness no less than their older brother’s, but tempered by their natural ease in the company of their good friends. Orophin sat next to Alex and helped himself to one of the small, sweet cakes on the plate beside her. Rumil picked up an apple and settled into the window seat, while Haldir poured himself a goblet of fruit juice and sprawled in a chair across from Legolas.

“It is a miserable day,” the Marchwarden pronounced. “I do not envy the guardians on their patrols.”

“You could always join them and ease their suffering,” Legolas said, dryly.

The handsome Lorien Elf fixed his friend with a baleful gaze. “I have done my turn on patrol, thank you.”

“Then do not complain,” Orophin said, enjoying the sport of baiting his brother. “You are, at least, dry and warm.”

Haldir rolled his eyes and took another swallow of juice. “I shall have to be certain you take extra duty next month.” Turning back to Legolas, he asked, “Did you feel anything unusual last night?” T

he Mirkwood prince glanced at his friend sharply. “Indeed I did. I take it you felt it as well?”

“We all did,” replied Rumil from the window. “I was awakened, by what, I do not know. Yet I felt compelled to watch for the rest of the night.”

“As did I,” added Haldir. “Even Orophin left the warmth of a comfortable bed to join us.” The middle brother of the Wardens of Lorien was notorious for his reluctance to quit his bed unless necessary, especially when it was occupied by a willing elleth or two … or more. Alex had learned that when her husband and his friends spoke of ‘a comfortable bed’, what they meant was one where there was eager and accommodating female companionship. She found it amusing and sweet that they tried to be mindful of her ‘delicate sensibilities’.

“I can not name the source of my discomfort,” Legolas said, reflectively. “I remember awakening to a feeling of menace, as if something was approaching.” He shook his head. “I was drawn to the balcony, but could see nothing amiss.”

“Your experience sounds the same as mine,” Haldir sighed. “We kept our bows nearby, once awakened.”

“Has anyone reported anything unusual?” Orophin asked his friend as he took a sip of the juice from Alex’s goblet. The prince shook his head.

“The reports of the Watch Balglin brought do not mention any incidents.” He called for the chief steward and when the other Elf entered, asked, “Did anything happen last night that is not included in the Watch reports?”

The striking, black-haired Elf thought for a moment. “Nothing that could be considered reportable. However, several of the Guardians mentioned a sense of unease. Most attributed it to the approaching storm.”

“Did you experience any of this unease?” Haldir asked.

Balglin gave a somewhat rueful smile. “Actually, I did awaken sometime after midnight with the feeling there was something outside; yet I could see nothing.”

The Elves exchanged speculative glances, and Legolas and Haldir simultaneously called for a messenger. The prince gave his friend a surprised look, and Haldir shrugged, indicating for Legolas to proceed. After all, it was his house. When the messenger arrived, Legolas handed him two small parchments.

“Please find Saelbeth, and deliver these notes to Golradir and Erestor.” He might as well ask them to start reviewing the treaty now. Noldor tended to take their time when it came to such things.

Alex listened to the Elves discuss possible causes for their unease. She had been awake with Legolas, but felt nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she’d learned to trust Legolas and his Elven kin in mystical matters. If they said something was wrong, then it was so. She reached for her goblet of juice and found it empty. Glancing at Orophin, the exquisite blonde Elf gave an apologetic smile and poured more into the empty cup.

“Did you not sense anything last night?” he asked her as she took a sip.

She shook her head. “No. Frankly, I’ve always enjoyed storms. But I felt nothing out of the ordinary. Only Legolas’ unease and tension.”

Orophin’s beautiful sky-blue eyes were shadowed with disquiet. “The feeling I had was one similar to the sensation of being on the border, watching from the trees and knowing there were intruders who meant harm to the realm of the Golden Wood trying to pierce our defenses. We know they are there, but they are hidden.”

When the knock on his door came, Saelbeth was startled from his reverie. He had been unable to get back to sleep after having been awakened by the storm during the night and his mind had been somewhat distracted ever since. He had briefly considered seeking respite in the arms of one of the She-Elves, but decided he was in no mood for companionship, and so had sat, looking out of his window until dawn.

The messenger told him of Legolas’ request that he join them in their private breakfast room and he immediately made his way through the connecting passageways from his house to that of the prince and his lady. He had known Legolas since the young lord had been born, having been friends with Thranduil and a kinsman of Legolas’ mother Baliel. Although he had dwelt in Rivendell for the majority of his long years, he had also served as an ambassador of sorts between Imaldris, Mirkwood and Lorien. Like his close friend, Glorfindel, he enjoyed travel and adventure and sometimes found the constraints of diplomacy stifling.

When he arrived in the airy room with its rounded angles and floor to ceiling windows Legolas and Alexandra had set aside for their morning room, he found Balglin, Haldir, Orophin and Rumil were also in attendance. Alexandra looked up from where she and Orophin were quietly debating the role of personal responsibility in Turin and his sisters’ fates, and greeted him warmly. He bowed to the lady, then turned his attention to Legolas.

“You asked for me?”

“Good morning, old friend. Yes. I … we need your counsel.” He glanced at the others, who seemed content to let him do the talking. “We all felt a disturbance last night and wondered if you felt anything.”

The blonde counselor hesitated. He did not wish to engage in speculation, but could not deny his unease of the previous night.

“Yes, I did feel something.” He paused to consider his answer. “It was as though something … hungry moved through the night.”

The Elves pondered his words.

“Yes,” said Rumil. “Hungry sums it up nicely.”

“Avaricious,” added Orophin. “Covetous.”

Alex began to feel somewhat left out. She’d felt fine last night, but had to admit, she loved a good “spooky” feeling now and then.

“Did you feel like there was something actually there? Like movement?” she asked.

The Elves thought for a moment. “Not exactly physical movement, but a presence,” answered Balglin.

“Like ripples in a pond,” added Haldir. “It felt as though something somewhere had disturbed the peace of the land and I could feel its effect.”

“’By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes’*,” she murmured. At their puzzled looks, she laughed. “Just a line from an old play back home.”

“But quite apt, in this case,” replied her husband. “Yet I do not feel anything out of the ordinary today, except a residual uneasiness.”

“I believe I would like to speak with the patrols from last night,” Haldir said, rising.

“And they should report anything unusual---even if only ‘feelings’,” added Balglin.

“So much for your avoiding the miserable weather,” commented Rumil.

“Oh, you will accompany me,” his brother replied. Casting a stern gaze on Orophin as well, he added, “Both of you.”

Orophin gave Alex a farewell glance that spoke volumes and she suppressed a smile. Balglin departed with the brothers and she offered the fruit and sweet cakes---those Orophin had managed to leave---to Saelbeth.

“You appear distracted, my friend,” Legolas said, taking one of the sweet cakes with nuts sprinkled on top. Alex may not be able to cook, but she certainly knew how to find talent. “Is there more that troubles you?”

The older elf sighed and settled into the chair recently vacated by Haldir. “I cannot say, Legolas, but I fear an ill wind blew through Ithilien last night.”


*Macbeth; William Shakespeare