Welcome to Gaia! ::

Hi! This is my first long fanfiction. Please leave comments and criticisms in the corresponding 'chatter box.' I could really use some feedback. [No, I do not own either series, or most of the characters. I can claim credit for a few of them, though ...]


1. Bruenor

Drizzt fought his way up the sheer rock wall to where Wulfgar and Catti-brie stood. The two gasped in shock as his lavender eyes appeared over the edge of the gorge.

"How..." Wulfgar stammered. "You and the assassin both fell..."

Drizzt nodded absently. "It can wait. Where is Regis?"

"I don't know," Catti-brie said. "I haven't seen him." She scanned the cavern's depths. "Can you see him, Drizzt? You have better vision than any of us down here."

"There," the drow pointed. The dark elf's vision explained the halfling's silence. "He's been knocked out."

"Let's get him and get out of this place," Wulfgar said, swallowing the large lump in his throat that the death of his mentor and friend had placed there.

"We can't leave Bruenor without a burial!" Catti-brie exclaimed. "Especially when he is-" she winced "-was King of Mithril Hall."

"We don't have time," Drizzt told her sadly, fighting to keep his own emotions from getting control of him. "The gray dwarves could return at any time, and we do not yet know if Shimmergloom is dead."

"But-" Catti-brie's protest was stopped in midsentence as Drizzt covered her mouth.

"Quiet," the drow hissed, "Can you not hear them coming? Speed is needed now, and silence. Be wary as we cross the gorge: it is deep and very steep."

When he was sure that Catti-brie would be silent, he signaled the two humans to follow him and carefully led them across the gorge. Regis moaned when Wulfgar lifted him up, then lapsed back into unconsciousness again. The friends made the rest of their journey through the pitch black caves without any further trouble. Apparently the gray dwarves had become distracted with something else, for they were not followed.

As the friends reached the surface, Drizzt instinctively pulled his hood down over his face to shade his lavender eyes from the sun's piercing glare.

They put a few miles between themselves and the caves before daring to slow their pace. Though moving mechanically with grief over Bruenor's death, the companions (minus Regis, who was still unconscious) put up camp. Typically, Regis awoke to the smell of a cooked meal.

"What happened?" he asked as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "The last thing I remember is Bruenor attacking that dragon." He looked around, puzzled. "Where is Bruenor?"

The friends couldn't meet his eyes. Wulfgar stared off into the horizon, Drizzt bowed his head, and Catti-brie glanced away.

"He isn't -" the halfling stopped. Even he could not say the fateful words.

Drizzt nodded, blinking away the moisture gathering in his eyes.

The four sat in silence, then, each lost in his own memories of the valiant dwarf.

3. Of Mist and Magic

"Show yourself!" Wulfgar called into the silence.

A few tense seconds passed before a 'thunk' was heard from behind them. The companions spun, bringing their weapons to bear, and stopped short.

Entreri, the assassin, had knocked out Regis and had his jewel-encrusted dagger at the halfling's throat. In the other hand he held the statue of Guenhwyvar.

Even is the friends had not been shocked at the assassin's sudden appearance, they could not attack for fear of Regis's life.

Drizzt's eyes burned with hatred. Keeping his eyes on the assassin, he slowly drew his remaining scimitar from its sheath.

"One move, drow, and he dies."

Drizzt froze again, but the light in his eyes flared an ever deeper lavender as he glared at Entreri, daring him to make his move.

Even the trained assassin could not hold Drizzt's gaze for long. He slowly backed away, having made it exquisitely clear what would happen to Regis and Guenhwyvar if the friends did not let him go.

When Entreri had hidden out of sight, the friends began the chase.

They had tracked Entreri under a league when a strange blue mist filled the air. The air seemed to throb, and the glow centered on Drizzt.

"What sorcery is this?" Wulfgar asked, frightened. The barbarian did not like magic, not one little bit.

"I do not know," the drow answered him, lifting his hands as if to part the shroud of blue mist. Drizzt froze as the mist thickened, holding him in place.

"Drizzt?" Catti-brie asked tentatively when the drow stopped moving. "Drizzt, what's wrong?"

For long seconds their friend stood as still as a rock as the mist darkened and thickened, then shone bright white. Catti-brie and Wulfgar flung their hands over their eyes, blinded by the flash.

5. Legolas

"What is the world has happened to me?" Legolas asked. He had dropped behind the humans to have a quiet debate with himself, and now leaned invisibly against a broad tree in the twilight. "Either this place is naught but a dream, or I have been asleep all my long life. But which is the dream? Is Boromir dead, the Fellowship broken, Merry and Pippin taken to Isenguard? My heart tells me that these things are so, and that I should be tracking the orcs with Aragorn and Gimli." He paused and looked around him. The setting sun shone through the tree leaves. Legolas sighed deeply. "But this place, too, feels right, as if I have lived here all my life."

By now, Wulfgar had reached the small clearing. Hearing Drizzt's voice, he had stopped and listened to his friend. "What has happened to him?" he thought. "He speaks of two worlds, and names things that I know nothing of." Wulfgar shook his head, then stepped into the elf's line of sight.

Legolas, who had turned to watch the sunset in evident sadness and indecision, spun as though an arrow had whizzed past his ear, dropping silently to the ground and putting a hand on the hilt of his scimitar. "Who goes there?" he challenged, then saw that it was one of the humans who called him 'Drizzt.' Warily, he stood and faced the large barbarian. "What is it," he asked more calmly.

Wulfgar walked forward slowly, hands held out in a gesture of peace. "Easy, Drizzt. It's just me. Why did you pull a disappearing act on us? You had us pretty worried."

"I am sorry. I needed to settle my mind, and to puzzle over several issues that I feel must be addressed." Legolas fell silent, wondering just how much he could tell the human. He smiled grimly as he made his decision. "You have a good heart, and bear no ill will toward me," he told Wulfgar. "Very well. I will tell you my story."

Wulfgar held up a hand, stopping the elf. "Will you tell Catti-brie, as will?" He nodded. "Then it can wait until we find the camp. Come on," Wulfgar waved his friend forward.

The two walked in silence back to where Catti-brie had been left. A small fire had been kindled, and each traveler found a comfortable place to sit. The humans waited expectantly for the elf to tell his tale.

After staring into the fire for several minutes as though he were lost in another world, Legolas spoke. "I shall apologize in advance, for I know that what I say shall greatly disturb you, but it must be said. I am not the Drizzt that you know, nor do I know of him. I am called Legolas Greenleaf, an elf of Mirkwood. I have lived for many years now, and long have I walked the paths between North and South, but I have no memory of these woods. Before I found myself here, two friends and I were tracking a band of Uruk-hai who had kidnapped the youngest of our party, Merriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. The others still with me were Gimli, son of Gloín, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Mithrandir, leader of our Company, had fallen into darkness, and Boromir, son of Denethor, had been felled with many arrows. I shall not speak of our mission, for I have been sworn to secrecy. All I can say is that it cannot be allowed to fail. Who you are, I know only from what you have told me, and what I can see of your hearts through your actions. I must return to my own world, but my heart would not allow me to, even if I knew the way, for you, too, have a quest which must be fulfilled, and I cannot abandon either it or you until your friends are found."

He was silent for a time, and Catti-brie noticed the moisture gathering in his eyes. "Drizz- Legolas, what is it?" she asked.

"I am afraid, Catti-brie. I am afraid that I shall never return to my home. I do not know the way, and I suspect that none in this world knows it either. My friends are in desperate need of help, and it breaks my heart that I cannot give it to them."

7. Drizzt

Drizzt pondered what had been said as they ran. The drow was thoroughly confused. Where were Wulfgar and Catti-brie, and who were these strangers that called him 'Legolas'? He did not recognize any of the places that they passed, and that worried him. He was in an unknown land, with strangers who appeared to know him. Besides that, the sunlight here did not hurt his eyes! At that realization, the drow looked more closely at his companions and their surroundings. The human and dwarf were real enough, as was the landscape. He could see nothing to explain this sudden change until he raised a hand to brush his long hair out of his eyes.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Blonde hair. "What ...?" he began to ask, then was further shocked into silence. His skin was white. Pure white. No longer did he have the black skin and stark white hair that marked him forever as a drow, a dark elf to be scorned and hated by those who knew nothing of his character. "What has happened to me?" he asked the confused human, visibly shaking.

"I do not know, Legolas," the human told him sadly. "If I did, then I would do whatever was in my power to help you. My only guess is that some foul mage has learned of our quest and seeks to further hinder us. If that is the case, I hope that the effects of this will fade, in time."

Drizzt shook his head. "I do not know what you speak of. Hope is one thing that I have never had."

"You cannot give up! Hope is the only thing we truly have in this world. Never give up estel, mellon nin. [hope, my friend] It will bear you through when all else fails."

"He's right there, elf," Gimli said, huffing and puffing out his breath in short gasps. "I grow weary of this endless chase, but for Merry and Pippin's sakes we cannot give it up. We can only hope that they are still alive, now. Were it not for hope, this whole quest would never have gotten this far. It was on hope that we left Imladris to destroy it, and on hope that we still stand, that it may yet be destroyed."

Aragorn nodded. "We have much to hope for, in these days of trial. Come, now! For we have many leagues yet to cross before the day is ended!"

And they ran on, not stopping until they could go no further. The black of night had covered the land as a veil, and the moon remained hidden.

"We cannot hope to follow their path in this black night," Aragorn at last admitted defeat. "If only Eärendil would shine through, then still we could go on. But tonight he is hidden. Alas! Now we will never reach them in time."

The dwarf practically collapsed onto the ground. "Aye," he agreed, "we will be hard pressed to catch them, indeed. But we shall do so! Wake me for the second watch." He was asleep before any acknowledgement could be given.

"First or third," Aragorn asked the elf, smiling.

"First. I do not need sleep yet, and there is much that weighs on my mind."

To Drizzt's relief, the human did not question him further, but laid down and was instantly asleep.

Drizzt watched the stars slowly break through the cloud of darkness, wondering if he would ever see his friends or home again.

9. Possibilities

The elf was cleaning his blades when they returned. He glanced up, ready for an attack, then sheathed both knives on recognizing the human and dwarf. He looked deadly in the morning's half-light, and the fierce glare of his eyes made the two friends pause before it dropped out of sight into a slight smile.

Slightly unsettled, Aragorn was silent. Gimli, however, more worried than ever, wanted some answers. "We need to talk."

The elf nodded. "Some explanation would be helpful," he told them.

"Do you know who you are?"

Another nod. "Yes. But it is not who you take me as, unless I am much mistaken." He glanced at the two of them, then sighed. "I am Drizzt Do'Urden, of Icewind Dale. I am a drow elf." He stopped, staring at his hands in dismay. "Perhaps I should say that I was a drow elf." His voice shook. "It appears that I am one on longer."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked.

The elf blinked in confusion, then decided it was an honest question. The human truly didn't know. "A drow, or dark elf. My kind looks nothing like this." He swept his hand at his torso. "We are dark-skinned, white-haired, and lavender-eyed. We use magic, and are often shunned because of it. Of my people, I am the only one who has conscience. I have always been treated as an enemy because of this reputation, even though I am not like them." He stopped himself and looked almost fearfully at the two facing him.

Comprehension dawned in the Ranger's face. "It's alright. We," he pointed at the dwarf, then himself, "will not harm you. You speak the truth, although I do not know how you came to be here in place of our friend."

"Aye," Gimli agreed. "And we're quite worried for him. Do you know how you got here?"

After a moment's thought, the elf answered them. "No," he said sadly, "I do not. The last things I remember while with my friends were a chase, and being surrounded by a strange fog. It held me in place, and knocked me out. Then I woke up here."

Man and dwarf exchanged glances again. "That sounds exactly like what happened to Legolas," Aragorn said. "We were chasing after our captured friends when a blue mist came out of nowhere. He could not break free of its hold, and that is when you arrived." He thought about the problem. "Could you have switched places? That would explain your presence and his absence from this world, though how this could be possible, I do not pretend to understand."

The elf nodded slowly. "With what I know of wizards and their sorcery, that is not impossible. But what would be gained from it?"

11. Shadows

Wulfgar sat a short distance from the tree Legolas had climbed. Dismayed at the elf's reaction and worried for his well-being, the young barbarian had followed the elf. When he realized that Legolas had no intention of coming down, he stayed, keeping watch for his friend's sake. He knew the danger the elf had put himself in, and he refused to abandon him to it.

The darkness drew close around him, and a shadow crept over his heart. Wulfgar shivered under the trees, aware that all was not well.
Something was watching him.

Red eyes glinted in the darkness.

Catti-brie had remained with the fire. On a night as cold as this, she knew that the two warriors would be grateful for its light and warmth when they returned. She bent to put another log on the small fire, then warmed her hands in its warm glow. She shivered, though the fire burned brightly. Catti-brie watched the darkness surrounding the camp warily. She didn't trust these woods.

A small gasp escaped her lips when she saw a pair of eyes staring back. "Legolas?"

There was no answer, save the crackling of the fire.

Catti-brie's only warning was the snap of a branch behind her. She whirled, but saw nothing but darkness. Her last conscious thought was how disappointed Bruenor would be - she had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

Dark hands caught her as she fell. "Why didn't you kill her?" a voice hissed from the shadows. "We have no use for prisoners."

"Where is the sport in that?" asked the one who had captured the human.

"This is not sport, it is revenge. Revenge against those who walk in the light."

"Yet I walk in the light, now." The dark elf pointed at the fire. "Blinding, isn't it? Just as darkness is blinding to them." He nodded at his prisoner, now bound hand and foot against a nearby tree.

"Yes. Now get away from there, before any more of them show up! We don't want any more trouble than we can handle."

"We wouldn't have had trouble in the first place if you hadn't insisted on entering those dwarf-infested caves, Ritaaj."

The unmistakable sound of battle cut off any more accusations from the pair. "Stay here and guard her," Daja called as he dashed toward the source of the fighting.

The other drow glared at his back. "What does he expect me to do, run off to Menzoberranzan?"

When Daja reached the battle, two of his elves were already down. He watched as a third was felled by the human's giant war hammer, never to rise again. Just before he entered the fray, he noticed the second foe: a drow elf.

"Hold!" he called to his warriors, stopping the skirmish before another of his party was killed, "hold." He walked toward the odd pair. "Who are you, and why do you fight against us?" he asked the drow, ignoring the enormous human for the moment.

He got no answer.

Annoyed at his silence, Daja stalked toward Legolas, placing his hands on his saber and dagger as he did so. "I shall only ask you once more, drow, so answer wisely. Who are you, and why do you fight against us?"

13. Prisoners

After assigning watches, the band of drow slumbered peacefully in the knowledge that their prisoners had no chance of escape. The two drow on guard kept their distance from the prisoners. They had been told to let them be, and not one of them dared Daja's wrath. He was an excellent leader and none of them doubted his judgment, although they did not always agree with him. The issue of the prisoners was one of the few sources of dissention, and one that merited discussion.

Once the two were sure that Daja was truly asleep in the midmorning light, they debated. "Why, exactly, did we take them prisoner?"

"Well, the strange drow is the rogue. He must be taken back to Menzoberranzan to be sentenced."

"And the others?"

"I have no idea." They pondered their leader's actions long into the day. Eventually, the drow in question rose to change watches. The two supposed to be on duty instantly fell silent. They knew that they could be punished for dereliction of duty for their discussion, which had picked up again before Daja woke. To their infinite relief, Daja dismissed them without a word, waking Myzzt to join him on the watch.

"Wake, my friend," he told him. "There is something that I must discuss with you."

Myzzt nodded, alert and ready. "The prisoners. You want to free them?"

"Without causing suspicion."

"Of course. Do they know?" He nodded in the prisoners' direction.

"No. The drow suspects, but he has no proof, nothing to hold against us if they are captured again."

"Ahh, but I do," came an unexpected voice.

The two drow spun, caught entirely off guard.

A prisoner was awake.

I had a brain freeze, so a good bit of the next few chapters is book-verse. Sorry. It's hard to keep up with writing this and school-work...

15. Riders

Aragorn still had no answer for the elf. They had seen a red sun rise that morning, and raced against time to the battle far in the distance, where great clouds of black smoke still burned against the sky.

Drizzt stopped them. "There are horsemen coming."

"How many?" Aragorn asked. Even with his hand shading against the sun, he could see no more than a dark shadow on the landscape. "They must be leagues away."

"They are one hundred and five, with three empty saddles. Their leader is tall and his plume is white."

Aragorn nodded. "The Riders of Rohan."

"Should we stay here, or go to meet them?" Gimli asked.

"Stay," Aragorn decided. "They are taking the orc-trail back, correct?" At Drizzt's nod, he went on. "Then they will soon see us. We need news, and they may have word of the hobbits."

They waited. Soon enough, a brown cloud of dust rose over the hill, announcing the riders' arrival. The thundering of many hooves filled the air, and then the host came into sight.

Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed; their gray coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks. The men that rode them matched them well: tall and long-limbed; their hair, flaxen-pale, flowed under their light helms, and streamed in long braids behind them: their faces were stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears of ash, painted shields were slung at their backs, long swords were at their belts, their burnished shirts of mail hung down upon their knees.

In pairs they galloped by, and though every now and then one rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead and to either side, they appeared not to perceive the three strangers sitting silently and watching them.

Aragorn rose when most of the great host had passed. "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

The riders whirled, and before the three friends could attempt to do anything more than rise, they were surrounded by a thicket of spears. Their leader rode forward until the tip of his spear was a foot from Aragorn's breast. Aragorn did not move.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" their leader asked.

Aragorn answered. "I am called Strider. I came out of the North, and am hunting orcs."

The Rider dismounted, handing his spear to one of his men. He studied Aragorn keenly, and not without wonder. "You know little of orcs if you hunt them in this fashion. They were swift and well-armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey, if you had overtaken them. There is something very strange about you, Strider. That is no Man's name. How did you escape our sight? Are you of elvish folk?"

"No," Aragorn replied. "Only one of us is an elf, Drizzt, or a distant realm. We have passed through Lothlórien, and the gifts and favour of the Lady go with us."

"Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as the old tales tell!" said the Rider. His eyes hardened, though he looked at the travelers in wonder. "Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days, indeed. But if you have her favour, then you may be sorcerers, as well." He turned his gaze on Drizzt and Gimli. "Why do you not speak?"

Gimli's hand gripped his axe-handle, and his eyes flashed. "Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine."

The Rider glared at the dwarf. "The stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am Éomer son of Éomund."

"Then Éomer son of Éomund, let Gimli Glóin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the realms of your sight, and only little wit can excuse you."

Éomer's eyes blazed. "I would cut off your head, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Drizzt drew his knives from their sheaths. "He does not stand alone. You would die before your stroke fell."

Éomer drew his sword and moved to strike.