Title: Starless Night (Prologue: The Dead have Come)
Author: Sian Pham
Rating: PG-13 (For Action violence.)
Summary: The Dead are coming. Only one can stop them.
Feedback: scarlett_dragon99@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Everything that pertains to Middle-Earth is the genius 
J.R.R. Tolkien's (But you knew that already.) You'll know what is 
mine, Sian's. Anyway, the necromancer's bells and sword , and the 
Charter Marks, and a few other things are Garth Nix's, (Who is the 
Author of Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen)which I am borrowing for a 
time, and will hopefully give back untarnished. 
Prologue 
"Pray not for lighter burdens, but stronger backs."  
 
 
The wind whispered through the trees surrounding the Tower of Watch in 
Mirkwood. The moon was bright, and it gleamed down upon the face of a 
fair elf; one who was taking a great but silent joy in the rest he had 
been given. The elfin one sighed. While his brother rushed about, 
watching for the Dead, protecting the realm of Mirkwood from their 
horridness, he lay upon his folded cloak, looking up at the stars. 
Stars, he thought, what news of the outside world? Will the Morticai 
come, or will he not? The elfin one marveled at their great beauty, 
like diamonds on dark velvet, but his heart was not alight with joy at 
seeing them. Stars were a sign of beauty among elves, and were also 
much beloved among them; but not tonight. 
A great evil gathered in the depths of the Mirkwood forest; different 
from spiders, and yet bearing the same mindless hatred and desire for 
blood and slaughter. The evil was the Dead, crossed over the Halls of 
Mandos, controlled by a necromancer, an evil one at that, bent on 
destruction, using the Dead as his chosen machine of war. The Dead 
only feared two things above all else: The Sun and the rain. They 
lurked about the world on clear nights; and this was a clear night. 
The elf wished with all his heart that it were raining; the fear that 
took his heart in an iron vice would relent, somewhat. 
Of course, the necromancer that controlled the Dead that were 
attacking Mirkwood was also a great fear. They said he walks here and 
there, wrapped in a read cloak, with red armor; his skin was far 
hotter then any being could be and live, with him he carried a fire 
sword but his greatest weapon was his eyes, eyes that were filled with 
fire, fire that would blind one by just the slightest glance, so much 
was his hatred for beauty and happiness. The elf shivered. Should the 
red necromancer come and try to rule Mirkwood-indeed, Middle earth-all 
would be lost. 
The elf's ears pricked; someone was coming near. His muscles tensed, 
ready to spring at the first sign of danger. 
'Lordship!'  
The elf flew to his feet, grabbing his bow and quiver at the sound of 
his title. The caller was a captain, who quickly bowed before saying: 
'Your Lordship, the Dead have come this night. You must rouse the 
tower, and light the beacons, by order of your brother.' The captain 
stopped to catch his breath; he had sprinted from the keep. 'And then 
you are to join him, above the gate. Hurry, Your Lordship! Already the 
Dead advance upon the walls!' 
Legolas Greenleaf ran with all haste and speed. Need and fear drove 
him. The Dead, they were here! It wasn't as if he had not seen them 
before, but the memories plagued his mind horribly. 'They will slay 
all.' He recalled his brother, Galen, saying. 'They show no mercy to 
their adversaries. We must show them the same.' 
Legolas sprinted along the wall, yelling as he went. 'Get up! Get up! 
The Dead are here!' he yelled, reminding himself that the worst thing 
to do was panic at a time like this. 
His muscles screaming protest, Legolas bounded up the stairs to where 
the stack of wood, a man's height or so high, lay. He grabbed a torch 
and threw it into the carefully placed logs, seeing his hard work go 
up in flame. Legolas had no time to think on this though, as the 
second beacon was lit by the elf who stood at ready for such an 
occasion; sounds of battle and garish yells were drawling nearer. The 
wall would hold, but not for long. 
Legolas strung his bow and fit an arrow into it. He ran, streaking 
down the wall's length, shouting Elendil, Elendil! 
* 
By the end of the battle, many were wounded and more were dead, their 
spirits fleeing across the Sea. Legolas went through them all; he had 
never even made it to the gate, and his brother was among those lying 
dead or dying. Legolas's heart began to quail under the sorrow that 
welled there. If his brother was dead or hurt... If the worst had 
happened... Legolas continued his search. They both knew the risks 
they took in becoming warriors. The dead here did not die in vain. 
Legolas wandered through the bodies, knowing at only a glance that 
they were not his brother. The wounded were already inside, and 
Legolas knew that he should be with them, tending them. That's what 
Galen would do, or would have done. But where was he? A wave of panic 
began to overtake Legolas again, along with nausea at the blood and 
gore. He fought it down. He had to keep a clear head. 
'Legolas?' a weak, desperate voice called. Legolas turned in direction 
of it, knowing at once it was his brother. 'Galen!' Legolas cried as 
he knelt beside the wounded body of his elder brother. Galen's face 
was cut, and his wounds were fatal; they were at his lungs, impossible 
to heal if not tended to immediately. The battle had been finished an 
hour ago, Galen had already begun to cough up blood; Death would come 
swiftly to him. Legolas leaned his brother against his knee, and 
offered him a smile that shook. 
'You have wounds in your chest, Galen.' said Legolas quietly. His 
brother's breathing was ragged; coughs ripped through his chest, 
bringing up more blood, which stained his chain mail a rusty red. 
Galen struggled to smile. 'Well, I guess we know what that means, 
don't we?' Legolas nodded, tears in his brown eyes. His brother was as 
good as dead, and they both knew it. 
'Do not fret, little brother.' said Galen. 'Tell Father that he must 
get the Morticai here, in Mirkwood. And tell Mother and Father both 
that I...I...I love them. And...' he coughed several times, and his 
breathing became labored. 'You must keep fighting them. Promise me.' 
He gripped Legolas's shoulder, 'Promise me you will.' he hissed 
through his teeth. The ruby blood that came from his throat choked him 
as if found the nooks and crannies in his teeth, staining them 
crimson. 
'I promise.' whispered Legolas.  
Galen smiled weakly again, loosening his grip on the younger elf's 
shoulder. Seeing the tears in his brother's eyes, he said. 'Don't weep 
for me, Legolas. You have work...to do.' he gritted out. 'It is... 
my...time. You knew it would come...someday.' 
Legolas clasped his brother's hand; indeed he had known this time 
would come, although not this soon. 'No, please.' he whispered, his 
tears wetting Galen's hand, which had gripped not only a longbow in 
war, and Legolas's own hand to pull him up. This was the hand that had 
taught him the way of the bow and knife and horse... 
'Le mellon1...Legolas...Namarie' Galen's voice trailed off, his eyes 
already seeing the haven in which he was entitled to after all the 
work he had done here on the mortal realm of Middle-earth. 
'Le mellon, Galen. Belain na le2.'  
But his beloved brother was gone. Legolas felt Galen's spirit lift 
from the body that had once been its home. 'The dead have not died in 
vain, Legolas...' it whispered. Legolas's ears pricked. 'Galen?' he 
shouted to the early sky. 'Galen!?' It was a call of desperation, of 
wanting to know that the world would go on. He knelt, clasping his 
brother's hand and wept for some time. 
Later, as the sky turned pink, Legolas stood up, tears coursing down 
his cheeks. Galen was gone. Legolas was the only one left.... The only 
one.... He looked around at the twisted, mutilated bodies of his 
fellows, and it became too much. Legolas leaned down, and retched 
beside his brother's lifeless form. His knees buckled and the last 
thing he felt was his head hitting the wet pile of vomit; his last 
vision was that of the red dawn coming up above the trees of Mirkwood. 
* 
There were once three of us. Legolas remembered. We used to steal 
tarts from Cook, and go for hours in the forests of Mirkwood, back 
when it was safe, and few evils wandered there. We were not only 
brothers and sister, but friends. We sat at the same table, learned in 
the same classroom... Read the same books. That was what he wanted to 
say to his grief-stricken mother and father. That was what he wanted 
to go back to, before the Dead and before fencing and deportment, 
before outward signs of affection were considered improper. But they 
would not listen. They submerged themselves in planning Galen's 
funeral. He had seen them only once since his return to Thranduil's 
caverns. 
There was also nothing to be said to Galen's widow, Legolas's sister 
in law, Alanis. She sat stone still and silent day in and day out. 
Legolas's heart ached when he remembered the hate that had nearly torn 
them apart and flung them each far from each other, but also the love 
that they both had had for the other. 
What can I do? Legolas had asked himself that question over and over 
again. He had grown up over night. He was not the young elf who used 
to gaze at stars, rather now the unofficial prince who as relied upon 
for leading the assault on the Dead. The responsibilities weighed 
heavily on him, and his back bent under it. I must be strong Legolas 
reminded himself ten times a day. I must do as Galen wished, for it is 
for his spirit that I endure this pain. 
Later that day, as Galen's body was placed in its tomb, Legolas looked 
among those who had come to mourn his brother. They would never know 
the pain that had plagued his heart since Galen's last moments. They 
knew he had died in battle, but they had not heard his final words. It 
seemed as if Alanis had died with Galen. She stood, not a single 
emotion or tear on her face; that was typical, as Alanis did not wear 
her heart on her sleeve. But her eyes! As Legolas looked into them, 
they were stone cold and sorrowful. He looked into her eyes and knew 
he could never bear such sorrow as she did with such control. 
'I will never love again.' He whispered to himself. His tears stopped. 
He was finished with love of all kinds. Attachment brings pain. 
Legolas remembered. A lore teacher of long ago had told him that. He 
had never believed it until now.  
Alas! 'Twas the steel wall that had built around his heart that made 
him believe such a thing was true!  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
1Le mellon-'I love you'-Sindarin 
2Belain na le-'The Valar be with you'-Sindarin