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Title: Ripples (#2212)
Author: celebdilandtin
Chapters: 18

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: When an evil revenge drives one to paranoia who knows where it will stop? How many times can you deny a sinister danger and expect to be safe? How many times can you challenge fate and expect to win? Returning to Mirkwood, Legolas and Aragorn find they are not the only ones to have come back. Now a groundless grudge threatens to slay not only them, but also those they hold dearest to their hearts…their fathers. Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend. -- Agatha Christie Finally COMPLETE! Please REVIEW! Thank you! We would love to hear from you! ;D
Published: 07 Sep 2005
Updated: 18 Dec 2005
Warnings: torture, angst, action/adventure
Type: Angst
Characters: Aragorn; Legolas;Thranduil; Elrond


Chapter 1 - A Stone Cast in the Water

This story is dedicated to Cassia and Sio for their wonderful ‘Mellon Chronicles’ series that has taught us so much about friendship and dedication! Thank you Cassia and Sio!

Title

Ripples

Authors

Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure

Rated

PG-13 or T

Summary

When an evil revenge drives one to paranoia who knows where it will stop? How many times can you deny a sinister danger and expect to be safe? How many times can you challenge fate and expect to win? Returning to Mirkwood, Legolas and Aragorn find they are not the only ones to have come back. Now a groundless grudge threatens to slay not only them, but also those they hold dearest to their hearts…their fathers.

Disclaimer

Ay! We have to go through this again! Here goes…Well, we do not own anything from the "Lord of the Rings" or any other work done by J.R.R. Tolkien. However, we have created numerous O.C.’s that we would like to keep as strictly ours. If you want to use then in a fic and ask (as well as receive) permission that's fine but other than that, don't kidnap them, they don't appreciate it and neither do we! LOL We also would like to point out that we are not getting paid to write this piece of work and wouldn't accept any money anyway. It is strictly for the enjoyment of the readers and of course, ourselves. As you read through "Ripples" please try not to be overly critical. If you have something constructive to criticize be our guests but flames are really not worth your time or ours.

Additional Authors' Notes

You can find the picture for this particular tale on our site, which the URL is on our bio page. This is one in our ever-growing 'Faith, Hope and Love' series.

It includes:

Reflections,

All That's Left of Yesterday,

The Folly of Men

& Masquerade

That list has really grown since 2004! Okay, maybe not really, but it has no intention of ceasing its expansion! Which is shocking, honestly. As long as you people will read and enjoy we will do our best to provide you with stories.

This takes place after 'The Folly of Men' and is a sequel in most senses of the word. Therefore, you may want to read TFoM if you have not. This will be posted every other day but we still would appreciate reviews! We want to know what you guys think.

So happy reading and please review! Thanks!

Oh! And we nearly forgot! Saerwen advised us that we should put a Surgeon General’s Warning on this so, here goes.

Warning If you have heart difficulties, particularly involving strokes or heart attacks, you may want to wait until the end of this fic to read as it will have a consistency of evil cliffies that are potentially lethal. There also will be intense violence that might very well result in your going into a state of shock. If you have a weak stomach or constitution you may want to mind your P’s and Q’s. In short this story is altogether unhealthy. However, with this warning emplaced authors cannot be held liable for any harmful result of its publication.

Ripples

CHAPTER ONE

:0Ж0:

A Stone Cast in the Water

:0Ж0:

There were things that people regretted for a short time, Legolas decided as he gazed at the sunlight filtering through the trees, and things that people regretted forever because they were forced to, whether by themselves or others.

In a place that could easily be called distant from his home in his father's grand halls, and could also easily be called perilous much in thanks to the fact that it was edging a little too close to the dense fir trees bordering upon the edges of the Mountains of Mirkwood, or the Emyn Duir, Legolas walked among the trees, quietly meditating as he had gotten into the habit of doing since he returned home and the entire healing process started.

If he were an Elfling he might be frightened or at least a little more cautious and less reckless about his surroundings and his vulnerability but he wasn't, wasn’t cautious that was. He was old enough and knew his home well enough, he felt, to know where it was better not to tread, where it was taking a risk, and where it was perfectly safe. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty-two years of living in one place often did that to you. Right now this place could be classified as 'taking a risk', but that was if you wanted to ignore the fact that you were edging near the darkest part of the forest disregarding Dol Guldur.

This wasn't to say he wasn't careful, but he was less anxious about the possibilities that could happen, particularly the bad ones. His mind was elsewhere and really, it was such a nice day he didn’t seem think any attempt on his life was plausible.

‘Of course,’ he told himself as he began to feel slightly disgruntled for no apparent reason, ‘the Valar seem to enjoy seeing how many times they can nearly get me killed, so this must be too good to be true.’

Pausing hesitantly as he felt the presence of eyes on his back, a feeling he had decided that based on the past he didn't like very much and rather got on his nerves, the prince hoped that he was wrong about his mounting suspicions. These sorts of feelings never boded well, he reminded himself pointedly and without trying to be subtle. The cold and prickling sensation started at the base of his spine and seemed to tread slowly up, causing him to shiver involuntarily, chilling his bones considerably and raising the hair on the back of his head. His sharp eyes couldn't see anything and his ears didn't hear a single sound, not even a bird.

But his alarm and the creepy sensation did not subside, rather (to his dismay) notably increased.

Yes, he had been right. Everything had been too good to be true. Then again, he could be jumping to conclusions.

Crinkling his nose in thought and discontent, the prince realized it was what he didn't hear that had raised his alarm and alertness. The birds were completely quiet and the leaves on the trees no long ruffled and spoke to each other. Usually around this time, midday, the woods echoed with the calls of birds and beasts and now that it was this quiet it was more than unsettling he scanned the brush and trees uneasily, as if they might sprout arms and legs and vault out to grab him. He came to the conclusion that the woods, as of right now and compared to a burial ground for greater amounts of noise, would be put to horrible shame.

'Well,' he advised to himself in his head since there was no one else around since he had dared to go this far alone. 'Lets look at the good things. I am not being attacked at the moment and am still in one piece. I am home after a rather bad escapade in some spooky caves. I can see the sun through the leaves and orcs despise the sun.'

None of this rationalizing did anything for his nerves and for the wreath of fear that was wrapping itself about his heart and working on squeezing it with what seemed to be all it had. It definitely was not one of his happier feelings to be watched by an unseen foe. Well, he didn't know for certain it was a foe, but generally when he got the feeling like gravity was trying to pull his stomach to the core of the earth it meant that the one secretly observing him was not a friend.

‘Or we can look at things this way,’ he amended quickly. ‘I am stupid. I should have known better. I did know better and the fact I did this anyway proves I am an idiot. This 'was-perfect' day, as usual, appears to have turned completely against me.’ The prince sighed, not all surprised by his own cynicism and trying to ignore the fact that it could be a whole lot worse and he could be thinking about all ways possible of dying that sounded completely unbelievable. But were, in fact, possible if you considered his amount of luck or more accurately, the lack thereof.

Hands clenching simultaneously at his sides in inward anger and anxiety as he reminded himself yet again that he had been not only reckless but also stupid for daring to venture near the Mountains that were known to be full of sinister creatures without taking a few extra precautions. Like riding a horse for instance. That might have been helpful, as well as bringing a friend. His father was most definitely a most wise Elf when he had called him an idiot a few hours back when he had made this incredibly maniacal decision.

Whirling around whilst flipping his bow from his back along with stringing an arrow he prepared to fire on an adversary expected to make itself present any moment. Well, Legolas amended when no one came suddenly forth threatening him with a flamboyantly brandished sword, knife, club, scathe, spear, javelin, or bow, he had never truly expected them to show themselves if he was on guard. That would be too difficult and no one ever had any fun if someone wasn’t surprised, he mused with a small smile.

Anyone who would have been watching him would have seen the smile disappear and a small frown turn the corners of his mouth down; a sign of his obvious distress and mild confusion. His eyes narrowed as he realized his heart was doing a very good job of trying to beat itself clean of his chest and that his lungs were certainly not oxygen deprived. As a matter of fact his breathing was accelerated to a humiliating and nearly unsafe celerity.

'Ah Elbereth, I am a fool,' he chided to himself while he shook his head and began to lower his bow cautiously, trying to will himself to relax and shove aside the horrible feeling he had building in his stomach. A twig snapped behind him and his muscles immediately went taught as he whirled around on his right heel, readying his bow once more. His Elven reflexes were quicker than the sight of men and most of his own kind so that within a few brief seconds he had a target in his bow's sights.

Then a curious thing happened.

The Elf's jaw dropped and his blue eyes went wide in surprise and he quickly abandoned his bow from its target, nearly dropping it completely but somehow managing to hold it in his hands, which were nearly shaking with relief coupled with outright irritation. His face was a near perfect rendition of a fish that realized it had just been hooked by a fisherman's pole.

"Strider!" his exclamation rang through the woods so that anyone could have heard the exchange. "I am beginning to think you rather enjoy getting shot at! Elbereth I could have killed you! You know that, right?" he asked, finally taking a breath and realizing wantonly that he had held it in without thinking about it.

"Of course I know that! What do you take me for?" Aragorn answered, grinning as he watched his friend begin to relax, though you couldn't really tell at first. "Did I frighten you, mellon nin?" His silver eyes sparkled with a devious, troublesome little glimmer that made Legolas' lips purse into a thin line of anger. A warning that might as well have never been given because it was completely lost on the ranger.

Aragorn had frightened him, but he was never going to admit that even if he were tortured by Morgorth himself. There were some secrets meant to be taken to the grave, he decided quickly and continued with his masquerade of anger that, unfortunately, was quickly giving way to mirth.

"No! But you have succeeded in giving me a good reason to be furious with you! -Wait! Allow me to amend that statement -a very good reason to maul you!" the prince stated rather threateningly as he strode towards his friend slowly, eyeing him as though he was the cruelest being that existed on the face of Middle Earth. Which right now, that was about Legolas' opinion of the human. But he couldn't, to his shame, stop a small grin from tenaciously pulling his lips back in a friendly but tense smile. Revealing things. Smiles.

"You know I am so torn between relief and wrath that I could hug and choke you all at once!" Legolas' reaction was to be expected and Aragorn found it to be more than slightly humorous, as the broadening grin and the glittering eyes would lead anyone to believe. They definitely belied any attempt to seem serious and pretend everything was an accident.

It was obvious it couldn't be anyway, even if he were one of the best actors in Arda. Humans did not accidentally sneak up on an Elf. If they were trying to be quiet it was a task, but accidentally? That would never happen and both friends knew it well. This made this situation all the more mortifying on the Elf’s part.

Legolas gave Aragorn a hard stare before he smiled and asked softly, letting his sudden anger leave him in one large sigh, "so, my friend, how long have you been watching my footsteps?" They grabbed forearms in greeting and camaraderie as they began to walk towards Thranduil's halls, some hours distant and away from the Emyn Duir.

Their movement was stilled as Aragorn came to a slow stop to give a thoughtful reply to his grinning friend whom he hadn't seen in quite a few months.

"Well, since you pulled your bow out, actually, so counting from then until now, I would say about three minutes, give or take a few." The ranger suddenly felt his smile slide reluctantly into a frown and he stared at Legolas curiously as the Elf's eyes widened and his muscles tensed once more. He saw his friend swallow a little harder than was normal and he realized that Legolas was alarmed –very alarmed. And as he looked closer he saw a nervous sweat had even begun on the prince’s brow.

Unless he had an acute sense of telepathy Legolas knew he shouldn't have felt eyes on him for as long as he had, fifteen minutes at least. He shouldn't have been the least bit alarmed if it was Estel, anyway, and the odd thing was, the feeling was returning. The cold sense of dread was manifesting itself in his stomach again and causing his body to feel cold and his muscles to go tight and convulse minutely. A small wind blew and then everything went silent, eerily silent.

But that only lasted for a few seconds, though they seemed to haunt the companions like an eternity or maybe even two, the Elf supposed, looking at Aragorn, conveying much consternation and dismay at his friend's words. His blue eyes bored into Aragorn's silver ones as he asked slowly and all too calmly, "three minutes? Are you certain?" he finished, a look of dread now actually finding its way into his eyes in a way that made Aragorn uneasy.

The one thought going through both their minds was simple: orcs.

"Well, it seems that to our misfortune I am entirely sure," he answered as seeing Legolas' distress made his own insides tighten and his spine grow chill as a small shudder tried to get around all his best attempts to suppress it. Luckily, saving his dignity, so far, it was without success. "Legolas," he demanded bluntly, causing the Elf to narrow his eyes and knit his brows in response. "Is there something I should be aware of?"

Legolas tried his best to look completely innocent but ended up looking about as guilty as a man with an ensanguined knife raised over a mutilated body.

"Well, perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"Okay, it might be a good idea," the Elf allowed as Aragorn's scowl deepened menacingly.

"What might be a good idea, mellon nin?" he fairly growled at the obviously fidgety Elf who had actually taken a step or two back. Well that was a little satisfying. Maybe he was finally making a good impression on the spoiled prince, Aragorn's slightly contemptible and more insane side told him as he continued to press the fair-haired being further.

Legolas could not easily mistake the frustration, urgency and pure concern lacing his friend's voice. All the same he didn't want Aragorn to think he was paranoid or completely insane. 'Although,' an irritating and completely stubborn inner voice pointed out without hesitation. 'It is probably a bit too late for that.' And Legolas was forced to agree.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when Aragorn tenaciously asked again, "what might be a 'good idea'?"

Legolas laughed hesitantly and shook his head before he opened his mouth to speak. But, as fate would have it, he never got a chance.

A loud trampling could be heard, the sound of a troupe of creatures that were cascading down from the direction of the mountains. Only a few beasts made such loud, obnoxious, nerve grating and grotesque sounds and wreaked so much havoc in their wake. Legolas sighed inwardly. 'This is just like your luck, isn't it?' that annoying voice asked him persistently and nearly inappropriately as he felt this hands tighten voluntarily on his bow in total instinct and he whipped it up, pointing it towards the bushes in the direction the sound was coming from, waiting for his first assailant.

But then everything became a blur it all happened so incredibly fast.

A being crashed through the bushes, running like Morgoth was on his heals with a whip of fire. When suddenly things seemed to go in complete reverse as the surprised creature was launched backwards with a green and yellow feathered projectile protruding from his chest while blood began to run down it in little scarlet rivulets, saturating the green fabric of the other's tunic. All Legolas and Aragorn had heard was a muffled sound like a quick slap and then they both dropped their jaws in surprise and the color visibly drained from Legolas' face, leaving it colorless and nearly translucent as realization sank in, painfully deep. He was left looking as though he had seen the ghost of Isildur come to slay him by digging his heart out with a spoon.

The struck dark-haired Elf stumbled backwards as his knees quickly began to lose their former strength; looking at the arrow that was in his chest, just above the heart, luckily, if luck you could call it. 'How did that get there?' a detached voice inquired dreamily as he sank back against the bow of a tree without even realizing it, feeling everything swirling and his body quickly going into a state of shock. His jaw was dropped in dumbfounded way and his eyes were transfixed on the arrow, as were Legolas' and Aragorn's.

Legolas would never forget the look that this Elf gave him. It was haunting, confused and hurt and there was something else, something he couldn't put a name to. But it was of no matter now and he took a few faltering steps forward before he felt his knees shaking like saplings in a gale and his body felt limp like water. If he didn’t collapse as his victim had, then he would be amazed beyond measure.

He hadn't meant to shoot him, really that had been the last of his intentions. In fact it had never been an intention at all. Aragorn just stood, rooted where he was like a tree in the ground, unable to move as he watched everything that transpired about them. He felt himself shaking and he saw the orcs coming, lumbering through the foliage in numbers that were surprising and more than slightly alarming. His instincts screamed, ‘and you are waiting for what? Stupid! Draw your sword and try to lodge it in them before they lodge theirs in you!” But he could do anything; his body refused to move!

With his mouth still hanging open, resembling a perfect 'O', the man saw Legolas stumble to the wounded Elf's side and placed his hand on the dark-haired being's chest, just below the wound, suggesting through his movements that he was about to try and dislodge the bolt from the immortal.

"Rána, I never…you have to believe me," he beseeched Celebalda's lieutenant with pure and unaltered remorse drenching his voice that quivered as he understood what he had done. "I never, ever… wanted to hurt you…I…I am sorry, mellon nin, so sorry."

Sorry didn't begin to do justice to how he felt. It was the tip of a mountain of hurt, pain, and a mixture of other horrible feelings he couldn’t identify.

Rána nodded as best as he could, though it was barely seen it was so slight and Legolas noticed that a thin bit of red outlined the other's mouth in a way that he knew to be unhealthy. The dark-haired Elf's face was white with pain and blood loss and his silver eyes were wide in shock as he tried haplessly to comprehend all that was happening to him…as he tried to understand the cold feeling in his blood. A sheen of sweat glistened on his face as he began to go clammy.

Legolas suddenly felt his stomach growing mercilessly ill as he looked and saw, rather felt first, the hot blood of his accidental victim rushing over his hands and staining them red. He was now literally red-handed and as he watched the fluid for a brief moment, dripping and making his hand slippery, the prince felt more guilt engulfed him. He had never, ever, meant to do this. The hot blood burned his hand more emotionally than literally, but burning and branding him with a heavy burden of guilt all the same. It seemed to sear his heart and even send its horrible and relentless tendrils to touch his soul.

Rána began to shiver violently and Legolas managed through great struggle of will to regain control of his composure and raw emotions. His bitter and intense sorrow was suddenly exchanged for a bitter and intense rage towards only himself. The dark-haired Elf shuddered helplessly as Legolas curled the long fingers of his other hand around the arrow's shaft and gripped it tightly. "The orcs are coming…s-stupid," hissed Rána around a set of clenched teeth, trying to tell his prince that this was not the time or place for extracting arrows. If circumstances weren’t what they were he might have tried being a bit more subtle about it.

Aragorn suddenly came to the discouraging understanding that this day, bad as it was, could get a whole lot worse and really fast. The orcs crashed through the brush in great leaps and from the satisfied and very entertained grins on their sadistic faces he knew they were taking pleasure from the scene of an Elven arrow protruding from another Elf's chest. Aragorn knew this was the worst irony and most humiliating thing for Legolas to go through after the accident and he could only feel his own heart stinging in sympathy with Legolas' as he saw the burn in his friend's blue eyes. He also knew these orcs were dreaming, in their twisted and vulgar thoughts, of killing, slowly and painfully, all three of them.

He could not know the half of what Legolas was experiencing right now, and he had to admit that his logical side didn't entirely want to, though his heart wanted to share in his friend's anguish. But he could guess from the lost expression on the Elf's face that Legolas was having a hard time coping with the 'what-ifs'. What if Rothinzil and Helluin were not in Lake Town at this point in time and had been wounded or even killed? What if he had shot Estel? What if it had been his father or one of the twins with an arrow in their chest or lying stiff and cold on the ground, his arrow stopping their heart? The many possibilities were nearly worse than the actuality, nearly.

Trying his best to understand his friend then being slapped by reality, Aragorn quickly came to the conclusion that sympathy never slew an orc and neither did standing there like a dead man walking watching the beastly creatures rushing closer with scimitars drawn prepared to have an appetizer of diced human followed with two helpings of sautéed Elf. Shaking his head to dispel these…discouraging reflections and the unnecessary foreboding that he was sure must be a direct result of being around the overly cynical Wood-Elf, Aragorn drew his sword and made the decision to rush into the mêlée and give Legolas enough time to move the wounded Elf so he wasn't a sitting duck.

The faint ring of metal made the orcs pause as the bright blade was drawn from its sheath and a convenient and befitting ray of sunshine, as though on cue, caught it, seeming to set it with a white fire. 'Wonderful,' Aragorn thought, as he became aware of himself running forward, sword swung back in a readied position. 'At least I know the sun is on my side at the moment. Too bad it's inanimate,' he added briefly before his thoughts were absorbed in one thing that quickly diverged into two things: survival of himself and keeping Legolas' back so his friend could do what he had to do.

"Legolas!" he called out as a warning as the first orc lowered its blade to make a sweep at the golden-haired Elf who was kneeling over the wounded one, attempted to relieve him of the bolt interlocked with his chest. "Duck! You idiot or are you blind?"

Not at all enjoying the insult but taking the point rather well and sprawling himself half against Rána and half against the ground, Legolas barely missed a blow that would have taken his head off if he hadn't followed Aragorn's advice. Fortunately the beast didn't try to change plans to make up for the prince's quick reaction and just bounded over the inert being, deciding the human looked like a potentially easier target.

'The warning was touching, really,' Legolas mused as he stood up once more and yanked his twin knives from their sheathes on his back as best as he was able while dodging more of the Mordor-spawn that rushed past him towards the human. Much of Legolas' safety came from speed and accuracy and a good understanding of common sense provided a decent portion of it as well. 'But it could have done without the insult. I could have done without the insult!'

Legolas felt his cheeks flush hot with anger because apparently the orcs didn't see him as being worth their time, which was a complete insult. "Elbereth, they will pay," he muttered with a weary sigh and twirled the two identical weapons in his long and bloodied fingers before driving them simultaneously into an orc who was about to run him through with a javelin. Luck appeared to be with him for the moment but how long could that last? Not long, he decided, feeling his hands slicked with blood and his weapons trying to slide free of his grip on them.

The sadist beast he had just killed still had a surprised expression on his face before he looked remarkably like a puppet whose strings had been severed and then collapsed to the ground. Well, if he had been a puppet, he would have been a hideous puppet, the prince decided nearly instantaneously as he stepped over the newly lain corpse to encounter another of his adversaries. He put himself boldly between the prone Rána with Estel and the orcs with their primitive but still effective weapons.

Aragorn watched as more of the creatures began to come out of seemingly nowhere and sighed when he realized with vivid clarity that there was a chance, a far too great a chance, they would all A: be captured or B: be slain. Neither sounded appealing and a firm resolve was in his mind to prevent any of them at all costs. The resolve had been quicker than immediate and made at the same time he drove his blade through the neck of a giant Uruk who had managed to get past Legolas' valiant vigil of battle. Despite his strength of mind, the situation was only succeeding in getting more and more…uncomfortable.

Swinging his sword heavily Aragorn lobbed the head off another beast before he managed to get by his fair-haired friend's side. Legolas had about the fiercest face he believed he had seen the Elf wear in a long time and if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it were possible. He couldn't believe his friend could look so vehement and angered. The prince's expressive blue eyes reminded him sharply of deep pools of ice lit from beneath with an Inner Light that was all together mysterious and lethal.

Glancing at Rána, he saw the wounded Elf was trying to rise and had reached for his long knife at his side, preparing to join his prince in the battle. Aragorn had to admire the dark-haired immortal as he saw his chin quivering in pain as his tenacity continued to get the better of his body's limits and he was slowly raising himself from the ground.

Diverting his attention back to the orcs just in the nick of time to avoid a blow to his skull that he was sure would be painful and very easily lethal, and Aragorn watched while faithful Legolas stabbed the hideous creature in the back with both of his twin knives, penetrating side by side, as it stumbled forward after missing its target. But Legolas' attention had been diverted from himself long enough for a particularly large and brutish looking Uruk to take possible advantage of his vulnerability, Aragorn noted before he could shout a warning or go to Legolas' aid himself. The orc just looked like the type of scavenger who would do such a thing.

The prince was bodily slammed to the ground where he rolled down a small incline (naturally hitting every stone imaginable on the way down) after receiving a sharp kick from the same brute that had fairly body slammed him, sending his knives flipping and spinning from his blood-slicked grasp. Legolas moaned inwardly when he heard them fall and bury themselves in the leaves of the forest floor. Was it that the Valar absolutely hated him or that he was this luckless with their help?

Feeling dazed by the stunning blow, the Elf took a few cloudy moments to study the dead leaves by his face. A hand, or rather clawed paw, grasped him by the back of his olive-green cloak just behind his neck before it picked him up unceremoniously and slammed him against a tree so hard the wind was knocked from the prince. Legolas blinked rapidly and fell forward to the ground, or would have if the brute hadn't caught him and slammed him against it again, sending stars to dance before his eyes. He roughly flipped the Elf around so his back was up against the bow and then he placed a hand just below his victim's neck and applied an appreciable amount of pressure that was surprising. Legolas struggled weakly (for an Elf), giving a strong kick to the orc's abdomen, hitting slightly high of where he meant to hit. The creature was far too happy to have cornered the Elf and pushed its pain aside as it pulled a wicked and rather large looking blade from a sheath at its left. The orc was right handed, Legolas noted absentmindedly.

Licking the dagger, running his disgusting black tongue from one end to the other it was more than obvious what he had in store for the winded Elf who was still a bit dazed. As far as this slave of Sauron was concerned this knife had 'Elven heart' written all over it. Legolas watched with large eyes as it proceeded to draw it back as though to plunge it into the immortal heart, stilling it forever. But reality came back just in time for the Elf and though still slightly bewildered, Legolas snaked one of his arms away, for the moment unnoticed. A long and bloodied hand gripped the orc's helmet and Legolas pulled clear of the tree before bringing the orc's skull to crack against its trunk and staggering back from the sheer amount of force he had to expel.

He watched, as the brute that had once been his attacker stood there for a moment, expressionless, before collapsing limply to the forest floor with a dull thud, black blood coursing from his mouth in a way that left no doubts about his death. Legolas had broken his neck. 'Another thing trees are useful for,' he noted without any real emotion. Feeling satisfied but having no time to gloat, the prince quickly dipped down low to avoid having his own neck smashed as another of the foul things tried to get a grip on his long hair to do the same thing he had done to the larger of the Uruks.

Looking to Aragorn he saw that the ranger was holding his own and a small smile crept over Legolas' face. The man fought like an Elf. It was plain Elladan and Elrohir had been excellent teachers, especially Elrohir. Elrohir had more patience than his twin brother did, Legolas had always thought.

Frowning in dismay and perturbation as he realized his knives were buried in the leaves and at least a good sized few yards from where he stood, flashing things over in his mind. Rushing towards where he was certain that they had been flipped, the prince felt defenseless in a way he hadn't in a long time. It was a feeling he was hoping he wouldn't have to get used to. He certainly didn't enjoy it. It was like he was naked without his weapons.

As he scrambled up the incline, graceful as possible, he heard someone give a small cry as he felt something connect with the small of his back, shoving him to the ground. With a groan he knew that small cry had belonged to him. If he had his weapons he wouldn't have felt so exposed and so…un-Elf like. He felt like a disgrace as he rolled over onto his back to face his sudden adversary that was leering down at him, causing Legolas to experience a wave of fury that blurred his vision to a red haze for about three seconds.

Bringing up his legs he kicked it soundly in the chest and sent it hurling back, with it returning a perfect rendition of the glare Legolas had been shooting it except that it was considerably more ugly and sinister. Legolas remembered his bow, feeling suddenly very stupid and once more, unworthy of being an Elf. What his father would have to say of him now he shuddered to think. However when he reached back for it he found plenty of arrows, more than he thought he had, but then was reminded by clutching thin air that he had dropped the bow by Rána's side. It was probably broken by now thanks to the tramping of the iron shod orcs if they hadn't deliberately snapped it. Oh well, arrows would have to suffice; though he didn't feel entirely comfortable with the idea.

Taking two arrows, he tightened his grip around their shafts and used them to stab when he needed protection from his enemies as he fought his way closer to his knives and Aragorn's side where the ranger had effectively eliminated a good deal of his adversaries. In effect, between all three of them (for even Rána had managed to stay on his feet for a time) they had decimated the creature's ranks. It was truly amazing what determination; camaraderie and hard work could do for you.

Calling out to his friend for aid, Legolas got the expected riposte as Aragorn trusted to Rána's meager abilities to defend himself and staggered to the fair-haired Elf's aid, sword being soundly wielded. Another orc or two fell before the man, as he was desperate to get to Legolas' side and guard the prince's back. It was a trust between the friends that they would use each other to make up for their weaknesses. Where one lacked the other would provide their unconditional support if it were at all possible.

All and all, though the battle seemed to last for a grueling decade, it was really only a half hour at most and soon all three friends were panting, sweat covering them mingling with the reeking black blood as the hideous bodies of their enemies lay piled and sprawled about them unceremoniously. Legolas crinkled his nose and made a mental note that orcs looked even uglier in death than in life, with their large black tongues lolling out and their eyes all twisted along with their faces. He had never thought that was possible.

Thankfully his bow had survived the onslaught and he ran his fingers along it carefully before he slung it over his shoulder, having more important things to tend to. Aragorn was hunched over Rána, who looked pale but flushed due to the battle he had been forced to part take in. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were shut tightly as he felt pain rushing to fill his mind. Arrow wounds hurt a whole lot more than he had ever thought they could and what hurt worst was where the simple wound had come from. There were some things that you wanted to deny so badly your heart stung but you simply couldn't do it and so it stung even more knowing it was the truth.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and knitted his brows as he walked over to Aragorn slowly, as though he were wading through a puddle of thick molasses that was pooled in mid winter. His face looked hurt and sorrowful as he took in the scene and assessed their deplorable situation. Aragorn was working to remove the arrow with as little pain and damage as possible but it was a task because it appeared to be interlocked with his collarbone.

This Elf was lucky, Aragorn decided, all things considered. Legolas' shot had been slightly off, most likely due to the fact that he had been on the verge of complete paranoia. Lucky or not though, the ranger was entirely sure that the wound throbbed with a vengeance nonetheless. Shaking his head he said wearily to Legolas, "I am afraid to remove it here. If he starts to bleed profusely we have nothing to stop it and to make things more complicated it is interlocked with the collarbone I believe," he added with a sigh.

Legolas nodded and stooped at Rána's side before he whispered soothingly, "let me carry you back." He wiped some of the cold sweat from the warrior's forehead with his hand and then wiped it on his leggings, which were already covered in black orc blood.

"But its hours away," Rána turned down the offer selflessly. He opened a set of glazed silver eyes before he said, "just give me a moment to rest and then I can walk."

Legolas resisted the urge to bust into rather uproarious laughter at the thought and from the look Aragorn was giving he could tell his human friend was thinking along the same indecorous lines. 'Those words sound familiar, wouldn't' you agree?' a small voice in Legolas' head said that he hastily silenced as his frown intensified. All the same he had to concede that they, unfortunately, did sound very familiar.

Aragorn gave Legolas a look that plainly stated he was agreeing with the Elf, knowing his thoughts. Legolas shot him a swift and withering glare. "Not a word, Strider, not a single word, or I will kill you right here, right now."

Aragorn smiled openly but innerly he was frowning, scowling in deep thought. He couldn't believe that all this had happened because of orcs. Legolas would get alarmed because of orcs, of course, but not to the point of paranoia and jumpiness…not to the verge of shooting another Elf because he was mistaken for a foe. A sinking feeling told him there was a worse evil that the prince was oblivious to. Shuddering, he watched as Legolas offered Rána a hand up, obviously denying argument to the other Elf's refusal to be a burden to his prince.

He watched impassively as Rána stood on a pair of shaking legs that looked like they might buckle beneath him at any given moment. Then a thought struck his mind. Why was this Elf was out here alone? Were his companions killed? Had he had companions to begin with? It was possible he could have been sent to find Legolas but somehow Aragorn couldn't believe it. Too many things weren’t adding up and the fact that Legolas claimed to have been being watched for at least fifteen minutes didn’t help ease his suspicions.

TBC……Well there was the first installment of 'Ripples' and we hope we hold you enthralled. Please review and tell us what you think! It means a lot, truly it does. You guys are always good at making posting such a fun thing to do!

We know, we know, bad us, not much Prince-Ranger angst, but it's only the first chappie and we thought we would let them get a bit terrorized by the implication of angst! Te-he. -Elf and ranger run for cover beneath their beds -.

And we want to say thank you to all the reviews and support through out the entire story we previously wrote, entitled "Masquerade". :o) Thanks a million guys!

One quick note:

Rána means The Wanderer; this was originally the Quenya name for the moon, due to how it moved as months went by.

Emyn Duir is described in the Unfinished Tales as being the mountains in Mirkwood dangerously close to the palace also known as the Mountains of Mirkwood. It is supposedly a very evil place, where Sauron's minions frequently dwell. Legolas was very foolish to go there. :o)


Chapter 2 - The First Ripple

Ripples

CHAPTER TWO

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The First Ripple

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Marble was…interesting; Legolas mused with a soft sigh as he sat, waiting gloomily outside the throne room doors. His face was so long that he was quite sure it could be mistaken at first glance for the face of a horse. Chewing his lower lip doggedly in quiet thought, he wished wistfully that Estel were with him. He might be feeling less lonely right now and certainly wouldn't be as bored.

His eyes narrowed as he looked with keen interest at the brown and black swirls mingled with gray inside the marble of the floor. They made odd shapes and actually, if he looked closely enough it seemed as though they were depicting strange pictures, though you had to have some imagination to see them.

'This is just another one of those random incidents that proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are crazy,' a small voice told him as he continued to gaze mindfully at the floor, his blue eyes half-shut as he allowed his imagination to momentarily run away with him.

To get himself to stop thinking about the floor, and rocks and whether or not he had gone over the brink of insanity and if so, how far? Legolas began to wonder how Rána was doing in the Medical Wards. He had never meant to shoot the other Elf. 'It was an accident,' he reminded himself consolingly, inattentively playing with the fabric of his tunic. But all accidents had consequences, even if they were not direct punishments; they were still consequences all the same.

Trying not to think about the said consequences, the Elven Prince busied himself trying to figure out exactly all that had happened. He looked down and realized that his hands were shaking and he still felt chilled and jumpy from the previous events. Incidentally, that was why he had taken his weapons and left them in his room hanging on a brass hook by the right doorpost. He simply didn't think he could trust himself anymore. He didn't like to think that he had shot the Elf from false paranoia, but he couldn't be sure and that was thoroughly distressing to say the least.

He knew, he had a vivid imagination and was beginning to wonder if it had gotten the better of him, causing the wounding of a dear friend who didn't do anything to garner that sort of treatment. There were lots of mistakes he had made in his life, many things he regretted immensely but this was one of the worst and the one that made him nearly hate himself. Frowning in inner anger and extreme vexation over his foolish impulsiveness, the prince clenched his hands tightly so that the knuckles reflected a dingy white.

About to go into another frustrating, painful argument with himself again, Legolas shot his head up as the door to his father's halls opened slowly, just enough so that he could see the elder Elf's face peeking around the door. His stern eyes seemed unflinchingly hard, for the first time in years, causing Legolas' emotional essence to compress in anguish.

Swallowing hard as Legolas felt the celerity of his heart speed up so that it felt like it was tearing itself free, the fair-haired Elf diverted his eyes to the floor in respect and rose slowly, dragging his feet as he dreaded the conversation to follow. Fear wreathed itself around his heart and seemed to be tightening its hold, like constricting heavy noose.

Watching his every step with careful calculation, feeling unsure of himself even in his own home, Legolas managed to force himself to go beyond the ominous confines of the large dark oaken doors. A shiver or awe and hesitating misdoubt went down his spine as he glanced up at his father and then back at the floor. Thranduil said nothing, nothing at all, not even a sigh or a clearing of his throat and the room was painfully quiet, so that Legolas felt like his own breathing would give him away in the dark, so loud was it.

Deciding the silence was more than his troubled mind and heart could bear Legolas asked quietly, with shame completely evident, "are you going to say anything, father?" His gaze gradually looked up at the elder Elf, who just stood there, arms crossed firmly, watching his son through a set of narrowed eyes. "Please, say something," Legolas practically begged.

He would love a lecture right now, or even to be screamed at or sent to his room and assigned extra duties, even to be locked in the dungeons for a month or two, as long as he knew his father's thoughts. Continuing to hand his head in a most sorrowful fashion, the Elven Prince winced as he heard his father's voice. "There is nothing to say. You know what happened, and Estel told me what happened while you and Lord Elrond took poor Rána to the Healing Ward."

"There has to be more," Legolas whispered quietly, looking into his father's eyes through his own wet ones. "Please say something else, this silence is torturing me." He didn't want to cry in front of his father and add to his shame. After all he was well over a thousand yén and should be able to control his emotions enough to wait until he was alone. But today he seemed to be exactly the opposite of what he always had thought he was, or at least hoped he was. And his unspilled tears were pricking mercilessly under his eyelids…

"Very, well, if you are going to push me, then I will say this: I am very disappointed in you, ion-nin." His voice was anything but emotionless and his face was grave now, but instead of anger it now conveyed anguish and intense disappointment. Legolas' heart felt as though someone had ripped it out and was torturing it in their hand while his blood ran down their fingers and he was kept alive through some mysterious link to his vital lifeblood.

"I cannot believe that I did that because of paranoia, Ada! There had to be something out there… there was something or someone out there!" he urgently finished as his voice raised a little in his turmoil. It wasn't that he really expected his father to understand, but he did hope that he would. But all of this was better than the heavy silence of earlier.

"There were orcs," Thranduil answered simply, putting his arms behind his back and staring down his son. "Orcs, and you let your fear get the better of you." His disappointment in his sorrowful voice stung Legolas' ears and made him grimace as though he had been struck with a blow to his face.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and his forehead had unnatural creases as his brow came together. "I do not fear orcs!" he answered defensively, with an angered light coming to his eyes, causing them to look like they were burning from the inside out. His father thought he was weak, that was the only explanation for the last comment and that hurt Legolas a lot more than he had ever thought it could. You just didn't know how deep a wound would burn until you received it, he realized and became indignant with righteous frustration.

"Then are you a fool? Everybody fears orcs Legolas; everyone, including me. It is a matter of controlling your fear, pen-eth," he replied all too calmly, observing his son with a critical eye. "Use it to your advantage. Are you forgetting everything you were ever taught?" The elder Elf turned away and shook his head, as though the entire situation shamed him, which it really did. He still loved Legolas fiercely, but this had definitely created a rift that would take a while heal.

" Ada, I will not believe that it was orcs! They are foul, frightening; wicked sadists but I do not dread them! It was a feeling of being watched, as though one of the Nine were breathing down my neck; do not tell me that was a pack of strangely intelligent orcs!" Legolas disputed adamantly, as he clenched his hands at his sides simultaneously and all his muscles went taut as anger pulsed through him in a hot wave.

"Legolas, I wish I could tell you it wasn't but what evidence do we have to say otherwise that isn't pure speculation and entirely circumstantial?" he seethed, becoming now angry at his son, who was shooting back a perfect rendition of his glare. However, Legolas was more like in his mother in regards of his tenacity. "I can tell it was an accident and that you are terribly sorry and I do forgive you, my son. But you have really disappointed me and I will not be able to get over it in the blink of an eye!" He sighed tiredly and waved his hand towards the doors, as the other passed over his brow as though his head was throbbing. "I think it would be best for you to go, now. I need some time to let everything sink in. I don't want to see you until dinner."

Setting his jaw, Legolas bit back an uncomplimentary remark he might have made. Instead he answered back thickly, "as you will, father." Out of respect and general habit, he lowered his head in a curt nod and then turned his back on the elder Elf to walk stiffly out of the vast room and into the spacious corridor beyond. Eyes burning with anguish, confusion and a feeling of alienation from everything he thought he had known, not an Elf around dared to cross his path.

Suddenly, a hand clamped on his shoulder, squeezing so hard that Legolas grit his teeth and the prince spun around to glare indignantly at whoever had been so stupid. He was in the sort of mood to make anyone who dared to cross him wish they had never gotten out of bed that morning. But his fierce face quickly melted into one of complete surprise and he gave a visible start when he met the dark stormy blue eyes of the silver-haired Elf still holding his shoulder tightly. "Uncle," his voice ceded more astonishment than he wanted but it was too late to change the offhand response.

Swallowing harder than customary, the fair-haired prince coldly pulled his shoulder free as he saw that his uncle had not come to solace him. Not that he had expected that, situation being that Rána was a very close friend of the elder Elf and he imagined that Lostiâ was more than furious right now. And to be honest, he couldn't really blame him.

"Legolas, I hope I am not next, or your father, or maybe even your little edan friend, hm?" he snarled angrily, glaring at his nephew as though Legolas were Morgoth and had just slain Fingon. "Who is there that can trust you now?" His words struck a painful cord in the Elf that had already been yanked so many times it was nearly callused beyond feeling.

"I didn't mean…it was an accident! Rána ran at me with a pack of yowling orcs at his heals!" Legolas protested invariably, trying to get someone to see this from his perspective. Was there anyone who would listen to him and believe him?

"The fact is my friend is lying on a stretcher as the healers rush to remove your arrow head from his chest!" He snapped bitterly, jabbing Legolas aggressively in the chest with his forefinger to push his point, causing the prince to withdraw a few steps. "And I don't want to hear your excuses! The fact is you shot him! You shot an innocent, Legolas!" he finished in a shout that everyone in the palace most likely heard causing Legolas to pale and then flush with hot mortification.

Legolas couldn’t deny those words.

Aggressively spinning his heel, Legolas' uncle thrust the heavy double doors open and walked hotly into the throne room, welcomed calmly by Thranduil, whose face had become unreadable. Legolas watched his father and uncle until the doors shut and then he stood there another two minutes in complete shock. Everything was finally beginning to sink in.

Frowning and feeling his throat constricting with emotion, the golden-haired Elf began to walk down the corridor, towards the doors that opened to the out doors and the path that lead down to the stables. As he strode down in hall, taking long strides in an effort to evade the curious gawking of everyone as quickly as possible, Legolas couldn't help but feel lost. The cold fear and alarm began to mount inside again and he sped up his pace considerably, not at all liking the feeling of pure horror and disbelief that was quickly taking over. Legolas worked to push down the red rising in his cheeks as he began to feel humiliated before his people, whose eyes he felt on his back, watching him in fear and concern.

His people were supposed to be able to look up to him and he had let them down…again.

Finally getting outside, where there were fewer Elves along with less critical eyes, Legolas walked slowly to the stables and entered under the perimeter of its thatched roofing. The sweet smell of straw greeted him in his first breath and the Elf felt all his tensions slowly beginning to ease as he breathed deeply and slowly. In and out, in and out, in and out…

It was some hours later after dark that Aragorn was walking the halls, searching vigilantly for Legolas. For the entire past two hours that had seemed to be eternities he had no luck in finding his light-haired friend and it was beginning to cause anxiety to spike in his stomach. Legolas had missed dinner completely and he hadn't shown his face afterwards to participate in the merry making that often took place afterwards, which hadn't made a real difference in the evening, Aragorn noticed angrily. Legolas' own people were scared of him and professedly felt more comfortable when he was gone.

Aragorn, unfortunately, knew that feeling. He had often felt it in Rivendell before the Elves had all accepted him as one of their own. It was the feeling of being lost shunned and unwanted and he knew just how deep those unmerciful wounds cut into the already hurting soul. Deciding without a second thought Legolas needed him more than he ever had before; Aragorn more than doubled his already painstakingly thorough search efforts.

Obviously, Legolas was not indoors therefore leaving outdoors as the only other option as to his locality. Unfortunately, that greatly increased the possibilities of where his friend could be hiding that was a rather…discouraging thought. Sighing, Aragorn decided he should start at the stables where he would be sulking and hiding himself if this bad circumstance was his own. Horses were wonderful friends when you wanted to vent to someone about anything because they couldn't contradict you or tell you how foolish you sounded. Where the phrase 'straight from the horse's mouth' came from he wasn't sure and he didn't entirely want to know anyway.

Entering the outdoors, Aragorn frowned and bit his lower lip before he called out nervously, "Legolas! Mellon-nin! It's I! Estel!" His voice seemed to echo and recherché off of the bows of the trees in a way that was eerie and he called out fearfully a second time, "Legolas, it’s a bit creepy! Are you out there? Please answer me," he added as an after thought.

Hearing nothing but the wind quietly shifting the leaves, Aragorn sighed heavily. Deciding he had best go into the darkened stable to see what he could, the man took a few decided steps forward before he became more confident and his strides increased in length and dispatch coupled with the rapid accelerating of his heart. An acute feeling of dread spread in his stomach and he subconsciously put a hand on his abdomen to try and calm the crawling sensation.

Upon entering the shadow of the doorway, Aragorn gave a soft smile as he saw the prince, sprawled in the golden straw piled in a corner, his hair blending in with it to near perfection. His breathing however did not match the breathing of a deep sleeper and Aragorn asked quietly, "Legolas?"

There was a silence that to all appearances lasted at least a full decade. Aragorn wondered if it weren't possibly a century. Aragorn bit his lower lip tensely. Frowning, he was about to say something when Legolas spoke so quietly he was barely audible.

"Estel, go to bed, its late," the Elf chided softly, but without his heart in behind it. He blew a small piece of straw off of his hand without thinking about it and sat up slowly, as though his head hurt.

"Well, can I help you to your room?" asked the ranger with friendly smile at his friend, who was staring at his hands idly and flexing his fingers nervously. He felt saddened and a stab of warning flowed through his awareness.

"I am not going to bed tonight. There is…something I must do." Legolas' voice trailed off and he absolutely refused to meet Aragorn's eyes.

The ranger leaned leisurely against the door frame, crossing his long legs and looking at the ground a moment before settling his gaze back on the Elf, who was watching him carefully from the straw. "Well, whatever it is, I just want to know what time we will be getting back. If Ada wakes up and I'm not in bed I don't imagine that he would be overly happy."

Legolas sighed and shook his head before he stood up and went over to the wall, picking a bridle and saddle for his horse, taking the night and the spooking habits of horses into careful consideration as he gathered his light tack. "Well I am sure your father will not be overly upset," he answered quietly, pausing and setting his jaw as he tried to think everything through. He didn't want to be perfectly blunt and hurt Aragorn but at the same time, he didn't want Aragorn caught up in this mess. It could get dangerous.

"How are you so sure? Where exactly are we going?" Aragorn asked, pushing himself from the doorframe and taking a few unsure steps towards the Elf, who was getting ready to set his tack on a bench and open the wooden door to his white horse's stall. He was beginning to wish he hadn't dismissed the stable hands, but then again they would only interfere at a time like this. He knew that much from personal experience. "Legolas?" Aragorn asked again, this time a little louder as he tried to get his friend's attention.

"I am going to the Emyn Duir, you are going no where," Legolas answered as he laid the small blanket ceremoniously across his horse's withers and smoothed it out gently with his long hands. He did his best not to look over at his friend and kept his eyes preoccupied by getting the tack in place. He couldn't imagine how deeply he must have hurt Aragorn but it couldn't be helped. He finally breathed deeply before saying as though to rationalize his motives, "I will not put you in that sort of danger! Do you have any idea what Lord Elrond would do to me?"

"Besides tress you up, skin you and bury what's left? No. But do you know what everyone would do to me if I simply allowed you to rush head over heels into a danger that we don't even know what it is? Leaving me behind is putting me in worse danger, trust me on this."

"Well that is a risk I am willing to take," Legolas answered as he considerately slipped the bitless bridle, which was really nothing, more than a finely polished leather headstall, around the stomping animal's face. His slender fingers stroked its mane and neck as he spoke to with hushed tones in the Grey-Tongue.

"Legolas! What if something should happen?" Aragorn protested, not at all pleased with this turn of events which left this loyal heart feeling as though it was ripped open and bleeding profusely. "I can't live with not knowing whether you are captured, dead, alive, in pain, lost…" he trailed off, figuring that from that point on in the selection Legolas could make up his own possibilities or take his pick.

"I can't live without knowing what is out there, Estel! Without knowing what caused me to shoot Rána! There is something I must prove to myself, alright?" he asked, not really asking for permission, but for understanding. He held the long chestnut leather reins in his hand and began to walk the horse until he was past the doors to the stables, walking past Aragorn without looking at him.

Aragorn sighed in frustration and asked incredulously, "alone?" He widened his eyes in frank disbelief at his friend's stated plans. "Legolas, it’s night! If a pack of orcs sees you riding alone do you honestly think they will spare you? The Emyn Duir is dangerous and creepy enough in daylight, and I would just bet it is completely sinister at night! It would be a whole lot safer for two to do this, trust me."

Legolas snorted and said lightly, "I think I know my own home better than you, Strider. And I-" he stopped abruptly when he saw the fierce determination on Aragorn's face and the perilous look setting into his glowing silver eyes. He had to resist the urge to swallow and step back a pace. It seemed to take a life-age until he found the courage to speak again and when he did it was regrettably harsh.

"Do wish to burden me with more blood on my hands, Strider? Is that really what you want? Rána is lying in the Healing Ward and I am being held responsible for shooting him and severely jeopardizing his life! Now you are asking me to jeopardize yours!"

"No, I am not asking you to do anything, mellon nin, because I am not your charge. I am going to follow you because I can and you can't do anything to stop me." He smiled. "And because you are my friend and I wouldn't have it any other way." He could see the pure frustration glittering in Legolas' narrowed eyes then the Elf inhaled deeply and stood straighter before Aragorn raised an eyebrow dubiously. "So when the guards come to drag me back to my room you are going to explain that tacked horse how?"

"I can command them not to hinder me."

"You would use your position that way? You would have me be placed under house-arrest for a few hours?" Aragorn's incredulity was beginning to become insulting, Legolas complained mentally.

"If you push me."

"Very well, lets see it." Aragorn answered, crossing his arms and watching his friend darkly as the Elf glared daggers at him and set his jaw. If things hadn’t been so deathly serious Aragorn might have found Legolas' face to be comical. "I am waiting, your majesty."

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In an hour both of the friends were moments from the gate, still indisposed to ride the horses and were guiding them scrupulously on foot. Legolas rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Tell me how exactly you talked me into this?" He was somewhat incredulous to the explanation that he had not been blackmailed or forced at arrow point, but simply gave in under Aragorn's dauntless determination to accompany him to the Emyn Duir. It just didn't sound like something he would do… devious human!

"Do you really want to hear it again? Will you finally believe it?" asked Aragorn skeptically when Legolas shot him a withering glare coupled with a soft snort.

"You Men are a strange breed."

"Elves are stranger."

"I beg to differ."

"Very well then, but so do I."

"Shhhhh…"Legolas hissed urgently, reaching over quietly and placing a slender hand on Aragorn's forearm in warning. He squeezed for a moment and then released the limb slowly, as thought to make sure Aragorn wouldn't suddenly start to talk again. "We are close enough to the gate for them to hear us."

Legolas narrowed his eyes and bit his lower lip gently, but the corners of his mouth quivered with either amusement or distress. With the darkness inching closer around them it was difficult to distinguish, Aragorn allowed, turning his attention towards the large, but rather inconspicuous, iron gates which were flanked at both doors by the dim figures of two lithe sentinels. Their inconspicuous nature was much in thanks to the heavy amount of foliage around the courtyard, Aragorn further observed.

He noticed, tilting his head up slightly to glance at the prince, standing with his eyes still narrowed and his lip still between his teeth as he assessed the entire situation. Judging from the frustrated or dismayed expression he wasn't a happy Elf. But, Aragorn had to admit with an inward shrug, he would be surprised if Legolas was overly joyous about anything right now.

The prince finally released his gnawed lip and then just frowned, or more accurately sulked. Even with him being the prince and being owed due respect; he just couldn't be one hundred percent certain of what these sentries would tell anyone once he was out of earshot. They may swear up and down that Thranduil would never hear a word, but that wasn't to say that someone else wouldn't who wouldn't know that they had sworn up and down and then somehow his father would figure everything out. Legolas, having lived with Elves and of course, being one himself, knew that there was no true way to blackmail them into anything. He was sure that Aragorn would strongly agree.

This meant that things could go one of three ways. First of all, he could have them swear up and down not to tell anyone and then somehow everything would get back to his father. Or secondly, they could give he and Aragorn no hassle and think nothing whatsoever of a midnight ride into the darker portions of Mirkwood's Forest. Thirdly, they could hinder them.

And, Legolas made up his mind decisively. If the sentinels thought that an interrogation was necessary he decided he was going to have to impose his princely authority over the pair and remind them of exactly who was in charge. And if they continued to push the issue out of over loyalty to his father, he wasn't beyond threats. As a matter of fact, due to his perilous mood, he was beginning to think that threats sounded appealing, regardless.

As Aragorn watched the mixed expressions cross his friend's face he commented under his breath, "this is going to be interesting."

Legolas gave a slight nod and answered without glancing over at his friend. "I would have to agree on that." His tone was morbid and the human sighed wearily as Legolas continued to debate and assess the situation. He could tell from the look in the Elf's eyes that he was weighing out the possibilities of things that could go wrong and things that could go right. Unfortunately, there appeared to be a whole lot more that could go wrong.

"This is going to be impossible," Legolas bemoaned, placing his head in his hands and running them down his face slowly as though he was trying to wipe off his frustration with the situation before he sighed and squared his shoulders determinedly. He looked remarkably like his father when he did that.

"And we are waiting for what?" Aragorn asked in a low voice.

"The right moment, which would be when they start to fall asleep," Legolas answered bluntly. Aragorn gave Legolas a surprised and possibly incredulous look to which Legolas promptly answered, "Yes, they do derelict their duties from time to time when it is late. We are immortal, Estel, not faultless."

Aragorn looked away, blinking rapidly in disbelief. "I have to admit that you would be one of the last people I would expect to admit that. But tell me, do they fall asleep before or after having too much to drink?"

Legolas smiled thinly and looked at Aragorn with a slightly amused expression and one raised brow. "Sometimes during, why?" He grinned blatantly as the human shook his head.

"Never mind."

"Good choice."

There was a silence that lasted a few moments between the friends before tit was broken by a cautious whisper from the ranger. "And how long is this going to take?" In his opinion, it had already taken too long, far too long if he wished to avoid being dragged back and confined to his room. Not that it was a bad room, mind you, but it wouldn't be too helpful right now.

"It all depends. If they aren't drunk already, we might as well simply go up, state our business, put the fear of blackmail into them and then get as far as we can as quickly as we can," Legolas answered dubiously.

"I see," Aragorn answered with about the same tone except his was a little more pessimistic, Legolas determined. He nodded in agreement with Aragorn.

"Are you sure you don't wish to go back to bed, young-one?" he asked, half a smile on his face making him look nearly comical.

"I hope that was a joke, Legolas. And in the age of my own people I am old enough to be out on my own, thank you very much!" He retorted with some heat, irritated.

Legolas bit his tongue to contain some…incredulous and rather animated laughter at Aragorn's blunt claim. Aragorn knew this and he gave the prince a leveling glare before his turned his attention back to their frustrating circumstances.

"Legolas, your sentinels look perfectly alert to me," he commented agitatedly.

Legolas split his smile between the circumstances and Aragorn's doubtful expression. "Well at least I know that for half the time some of them can be counted on. Odd," he commented thoughtfully after a moment. "They won't fall asleep if I want them to, but when I would rather they be awake they doze off first time my back is turned. -Not that they wouldn't be vigilant if there were an emergency," he quickly added in his people's defense.

Aragorn snickered and to Legolas' dismay, one of the sentinels turned his head towards them. He had obviously heard them and the prince shifted uncomfortably on his two feet. "Here goes nothing," he muttered dryly as he took a determined step forward, pulling his white horse after him. Aragorn followed closely in the prince's footsteps - literally.

The confrontation, if confrontation you could call it, that followed their march up to the Iron Gate, was humorous as well as tense. Legolas had acquired a demanding and frightening countenance that, unfortunately for both sentries, was intended directly at them.

Their paled faces was something to watch as Legolas stood before them, looking them up and down before demanding to know which one of them was in command. It was all Aragorn could do to uphold their air of importance and control…seriousness. He stroked his horse, standing beside the Elven prince, who was continuing to stare down his underlings with a critical look burning in his intense blue eyes.

"My lord," one of them stammered, apparently on the verge of being tongue-tied. "It was not our intention to go against your wishes. However you have to concede that this is-"

"I hope the next words out of your mouth were not going to be 'unusual situation' and I don't have to concede anything, soldier!" he ground out, clearing scaring the life out of both of the cornered guards. Who looked about as alarmed as though they were two defenseless rabbits cornered by something large, hairy and massive fanged as well as very hungry.

No, wait, Aragorn corrected mentally. One of them, a dark blonde with bright green eyes didn't look the least bit intimidated. As a matter of fact, he looked annoyed and if possible, a little belligerent towards his prince. The ranger sighed, realizing that Legolas was completely oblivious to his warrior's disposition or doing a very good job of concealing the knowledge.

The sulking Elf frowned before he asked in a barely respectable voice, "Prince Legolas, should you not be in bed? I mean, you need your rest, my lord." The last two words barely escaped being classified as a sneer in Aragorn's mind. All the same, if you considered everything, Legolas was being reasonably civil.

Legolas curved his lips up in a near snarl and asked tensely, "and what was that supposed to mean? -And I hope your explanation is exceptionally good!" he added testily, doing his best to glare down the other Elf, who still seemed less than cowering. As he stared down the other Elf, or tried to, he couldn't help but notice that he didn't really recognize this one, which wasn't entirely abnormal if he considered all the Elves returning in a retreat from the increasingly dangerous portions of the forest. It was then Legolas supposed that it was quite probably that this Elf had come from his uncle's battalion returned the past day.

"I merely meant that you should have a rest in light of the …events of this day," he finished, finally beginning to look slightly uncomfortable. His younger and more respectful companion was still looking pale and shaken from Legolas' sudden and stern conduct.

"Your concern is touching, and I thank you for it, however, what I chose to do is my business. I was hoping I wouldn't have to remind you of that," he finished, making his feelings of disappointment, frustration and annoyance explicitly clear. He was finding it disturbing that this warrior wasn't the least bit intimidated, but if he came from his uncle's contingent then he knew he shouldn't be surprised. As far as he could remember Lostiâ's regiment had always been made up of the more…unfriendly Elves.

"As you wish, my lord," the warrior replied tartly, his eyes staring back into Legolas' without blinking. The younger warrior was still watching the strange exchange with wide eyes and a pale face of confusion and shock. Legolas had to admit he was a little confused and shocked himself. He was also beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable, well, more than slightly, he amended before he nodded his head in the direction of the gate.

Aragorn didn't say anything, but mounted his chestnut mare as Legolas mounted his white gelding and they proceeded to ride past the gates at their leisure, almost as if to make a point, the green-eyed Elf noticed angrily. This must be reported. After all, certain things would need to be…delayed and manipulated. This was not supposed to happen, or at least, not this quickly, he decided, watching the human and prince's backs with an intense stare. Ah, well, these things were not his decisions to make.

Legolas looked at Aragorn uneasily and he then stared straight ahead as the minutes passed. He could feel them watching him leave and it was thoroughly disquieting and altogether unpleasant. He leaned over towards Aragorn and whispered when he was sure they were out of earshot, "something was wrong. I felt it. I do not know that Elf but I sensed… I sensed something more than disrespect. I sensed a…a hate." He fumbled for the right words, not wanting to give the wrong impression to the ranger who rode silently by him as they slowed their mounts to an easy trot.

"I felt something like that," Aragorn agreed after mulling things over in his mind for a minute or two. Those bright green eyes looked bitter and cold, he remembered. It sent shivers down his back. "What do you think is going on?"

"I cannot say," Legolas answered thoughtfully. "I wish to the Valar I could." And that was an understatement. He would give anything to be able to tell his tortured heart that he had not shot Rána out of fear, out of impulsiveness…weakness. Right now, all he could do was deny that he had been so paranoid that he had shot one of his friends. "Do you trust me Estel?" he asked softly, causing Aragorn to jerk.

"Pardon?" Aragorn said, narrowing his eyes and pulling his horse to a stop and transfixing his eyes on the fair-haired Elf before him.

"Do you trust me?" Legolas repeated before he stopped his own horse and slowly walked it back to be by Aragorn's. The golden-haired immortal drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though in excruciating pain.

"Legolas, that is a stupid question!" Aragorn snapped in confusion and hurt. Was his trust not obvious?

"Do you trust me?" Legolas asked again, giving Aragorn a glare that told the human the question demanded an immediate answer. No answer at all would be the wrong answer.

"With my life," replied the ranger quickly, alarmed at the question as much as the sound of Legolas' voice, which was eerily calm and cold. Suddenly the Elf seemed so distant and not the same being Aragorn had known. Shifting in the saddle, the man eyed Legolas carefully, as though trying to see through him.

"Even after what happened?" Legolas continued to question without relent. His eyes were bright and wide in the dark.

"Of course!" Aragorn's answers were nothing Legolas had not expected. "Legolas, you didn't mean to shoot Rána! As you said yourself, there was something else out there!"

"But what if I am wrong? What if it just was me? What if I…if I shoot you and I am not off a few inches?" he asked softly, lowering his eyes to observe the leaf covered soil beneath the horse's hooves. He watched as a breeze blew, causing the dead and fallen foliage to dance around about the horse's ankles. Mist crept about the ferns like spirits and he looked back up at Aragorn with burning blue eyes.

"I believe you, Legolas and I know would never shoot me," Aragorn's reassurance gave the Elf no comfort. The ranger noticed with weary sorrow, how the Elf looked back down at the ground in bitter shame and restlessness.

"Are you sure you know me that well? That after today you are not scared to walk in my shadow?" Legolas whispered, hot tears stung his eyes and he let one or two fall to the earth like delicate drops of rain. "Are you stupid?" he finished, a sob escaping him as he shook his head and bit his lower lip to prevent more choking whimpers from slipping past his lips. But Aragorn could see the guttural breaths shaking the prince's shoulders and he frowned, inclining his head so he could see his friend's face.

"Yes, I know you that well. I would be honored to walk in your shadow, mellon nin." He reached out a hand, brushing a tear from Legolas' cheek. The tear seemed to burn his hand and he looked at it, rubbing it between his fingers as he stared at it, his friend's tear. Such a simple thing caused so much pain to wreak havoc in his heart.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Estel," Legolas answered, regaining his composure enough to meet Aragorn's searching eyes without flinching. "I thought I knew, but after today…" his voice trailed off and he shook his head. "I am just not sure."

Aragorn remained quiet, listening to Legolas, whom he knew just wanted to talk and have someone listen.

"You were friends with Legolas Greenleaf, Estel. I don't expect you to stay friends with this…this mess he's made of himself," the Elf finished sensitively. His hands clenched on his horse's reins so the knuckles went white as his heart squeezed with pain and the ache spread though his chest like a consuming fire and tightened his throat. "This is why…I am asking one more time if you are sure you don't want to turn back. This is going to get dangerous and I don't know if I can predict my actions under fire anymore. Please, don't place the burden of your death on me. Abandon me rather. I already have one of my hands stained with Rána's blood, don't stain the other."

"When I became your friend it was unconditional, Legolas." Aragorn put his left hand over Legolas' right one and squeezed it gently. "I know you won't shoot me. You already had the chance and didn't. You stopped yourself. There is no way you can force me to leave without undermining everything you have set out to do, so you might as well accept that I do trust you and I am coming with you."

Legolas smiled weakly and he placed his left hand over Aragorn's so their hands were stacked. "You stubborn human," he teased mildly, still not feeling fully like himself but deciding brooding wasn't going to accomplish anything.

But Aragorn noticed there was something different about Legolas' 'old' smile. It was more sad and hopeless than he had seen it before. And he knew that Legolas' insides were being turned inside out with his emotional anguish. It took all Aragorn had to keep from letting his own smile slip as he realized his friend was flogging himself for everything that had happened he was begging for an escape.

He was no longer sure that it wasn't his entire fault, Aragorn understood. Elves felt sorrow and all forms of emotions so much deeper than any of the other races could possibly imagine and right now, Legolas' pain was beginning to create needless doubt. Aragorn simply couldn't believe that his friend had done such a thing consciously or from paranoia caused by orcs. Something or someone else was out there and he was going to find it for Legolas' sake if no one else's.

TBC….Please review! Really, pretty please!

Just to put you all on notice, we can’t post every other day anymore, too much school work for Anatomy and Physiology. We will post once a week or more if we have the time, but most likely once a week.

Um, yes, well this is going to be a reasonably short and tense story. Around eighteen chapters or so – not that that is short, but if you consider us…never mind. We know what you all are thinking…where's the true angst? Well its coming but "these things must be done delicately" (to quote the Wicked Witch of the West from “The Wizard of Oz”) and so hopefully in the next chapter you will have more insight and there will be more blood, angst and general mayhem. The things we love best… :o)

Please review!


Chapter 3 - Blood in the Water

As we said last post: sorry we can only post once a week now, but we are constantly being crunched for time, which isn’t fair at all, but such is life. Here is the third installment and we hope you enjoy very much…and review, of course! ;)

Ripples

CHAPTER THREE

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Blood in the Water

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Legolas was jolted awake as his horse jumped through a puddle after being spooked slightly by the fall of a few pebbles along the bank of the tributary of the Forest River, making a tinkling sound as they struck the water that was quietly flowing beneath. This stream ran south, practically cutting the upper portion of Mirkwood in half and flowed down in the Emyn Duir. Aragorn, riding behind the Elf, had a grim and uneasy expression on his face as the mist, wrapping and weaving itself around them like a thick shroud of gray, seemed to seal them apart. The friends took comfort in the fact that they could hear each other breathing. Words however, seemed to be muffled in the heavy fog, something, which left the ranger feeling far from comfortable. Not that this situation sat well with him to begin with, but the thick mists and being in Mirkwood at night were not very consoling.

He was acutely aware of the stream bubbling and hissing beneath them softly, trying to lull both of the weary companions to sleep. Legolas had already nodded off once, though now he looked about as alert as ever. Much of the credit for his friend's weariness he gave to Legolas himself, knowing that the Wood Elf had probably made himself tired with his brooding and then his unwillingness to rest. Aragorn also had a sinking and credible suspicion that Legolas was not as well healed from the incidents in Farlost he as would have liked to be and that the healers hadn't been able to confine him to the wards for more than a week. 'We're going to have a serious talk about this one of these days,' the ranger thought darkly, his eyes not leaving the shadowy form of his friend who was nearly lost in the mist except for his faint glow which wasn't as bright as normal.

'No,' he amended mentally. 'We already have, he just wasn't listening.'

Legolas pulled his horse to a stop and twisted in his saddle to look back at Aragorn. With his hood drawn about his face, concealing it completely, the Elf hardly looked like anything Aragorn would want to meet in the darkest hours of the night. But his voice was still the same. "We are going to be reaching it's mouth, Estel, along the edges of the Mountains. We were near here when I…when everything happened." His voice had trailed off into a mere whisper that was choked off by the heavy mists before everything went silent.

Aragorn shivered, beginning to feel the effects of the heavy, wet fog as it seeped through every tunic he was wearing and condensed on his cloak hood before dripping into his eyes. Answering his friend, the man advised, evenly "well maybe we should start the search now. We re close enough and there may be tracks. I'm going to try and find some dry wood to light a torch," he finished sullenly.

Legolas smiled slightly and shook his head. "I wouldn't do that. Really, just trust me on this." His voice was cheerless and Aragorn sighed. He knew why as well as anyone. The spiders. The monstrous annoying beasts seemed to be attracted to the flames and when the light caught their eyes it was a truly ghastly sight, making them look every part the sadists that they were. Aragorn knew this from hard-learned personal experience, much to his mortification and Legolas' amusement. When Legolas advised not to light a torch, then it was best to follow his instruction.

"On second thought," Aragorn adjusted his opinion. "You are probably right." He narrowed his eyes and then bit his lower lip in thought and mild confusion. "Then how are we supposed to find this attacker or stalker or yours?"

Legolas didn't answer for a moment, listening to the woods and the bubbling of the stream, but when he did it was simple and straightforward. "Would he not find us?"

Aragorn shifted uneasily in the saddle and grimaced at the prince's unadorned but clearly not innocent words. He hated how words, just plain words alone, could make a person flinch. But Legolas was right, they wouldn't have to go looking for this someone or something, it was going to find them…again. "You are probably right about that as well. Unfortunately, that puts us at a disadvantage."

"It does indeed," Legolas agreed gloomily.

Aragorn blinked rapidly as the condensation on his hood spilled into his eyes, blurring his vision for a brief moment. "You have a plan, don't you?" he asked hopefully, inclining his head and looking at Legolas expectantly. At least, as far as he knew it was Legolas, but he looked more like a tall gray figure.

Legolas sighed and explained wistfully, "not yet, but I am working on it." He looked about them at the woods as though the trees were closing in on them. That strange feeling was coming back and everything was quiet save for the sounds of Aragorn's breathing and the lulling seething of the stream, bubbling south. Normally Legolas wouldn’t have given much thought to his horse snorting or stamping and generally making a nuisance of himself with his uneasiness. But he himself was beginning to feel…a disturbance in the forest and his heart was beginning to be wreathed in dread once more. A sinking feeling was spreading in his stomach like a spilled poison.

Aragorn swallowed hard as his horse began to back up and snort anxiously. "Oh, that's…comforting." His voice was hardly serious, one might actually think he wasn't being sarcastic but joking completely. Patting his mare's neck, he struggled to calm the alarmed horse, which stopped jerking and began to settle down under his gentle touch.

Legolas arched an eyebrow and looked at Aragorn as if to say: 'well if you can come up with something offhand, let me know!' Outwardly he muttered, "well it isn't like I am enjoying the situation anymore than you are!"

Suddenly the Elf sat completely upright, jerking up as though he had been stabbed in the back, and his eyes went wide as his face tensed. The cold feeling had become stronger, much stronger and becoming more and more unpleasant if that was possible. If one of the Nine had breathed down his neck Legolas imagined it might feel about like this. "It is watching us," Legolas hissed in the Sindarin Tongue. He could feel his stomach clenching and his palms going slick with a cold sweat.

"I feel it too," Aragorn replied back. His hand immediately went to his sword hilt, instinctively preparing for a possible confrontation. His stomach began to feel nauseated and was convulsing as fear spiked through him like an icicle stabbing him in the spine, freezing his insides. As he gripped the hilt it slid around in his grasp, slippery with sweat.

A strong wind began to blow, cold and cutting, shifting the mists away and clearing their view of the world about them. The clouds above shifted, once again reminding them of dispersing spirits, allowing an eerie sliver of silver moonlight to filter through the dense fir trees and their dark boughs that swayed with the air. In the light of the moon the river was revealed, dark and frothing against the banks and the sharp rocks. Legolas stared into the water as though to see through it, holding his breath.

Aragorn watched the water as well; his silver eyes appeared to be glowing in the luminescence of the moon. Looking at the bank, the very edge of it to be exact, the ranger noticed something moving among the weeds, four long and bloody fingers gripping the sandy earth so tightly the knuckles went white. It was a hand, he realized detachedly, and it was struggling to get a grip on the bank. He didn't have to think twice to know that hands -bloodied hands at that -gripping the edge of the bank, were an abnormal occurrence. But that wasn't what really held him captured by its presence. It was the simple question asking to what creature did the hand belong to?

"Legolas," he reached over and smacked the prince's upper arm. Pointing to the bank, Aragorn hissed compellingly in a low voice, "please tell me that is not a hand!"

Smiling sympathetically Legolas readily answered, "it is." His smile faded as he watched the fingers grope for something to hold onto, causing him to swallow harder than customary.

This most definitely had to be one of the creepier things had witnessed in his life, which was very long in human terms. As much as he desperately wanted to, he was unable to rip his eyes away long enough for his body to react and so he watched, entranced, as the hand went on blindly searching for something to grab a hold of. A tiny and nearly insignificant voice inside was telling him to do something, anything, but he was unable to move. Spellbound, Legolas struggled to get himself under control.

"Well at least I know I am not seeing things," Aragorn muttered morbidly as he gave his head a shake, just to make sure.

Legolas nodded in habit but he wasn't really listening, or at least, not for the most part. His sharp Elven ears had picked up the sound of heavy and frightened breathing. Holding his own breath he suspiciously concluded it was not his own, though he did realize his own heart was pounding hot blood in his ears with a thudding sound. Glancing at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye he whispered in hushed tones, "stop breathing."

Aragorn looked at his friend and narrowed his eyes with incredulity. "Excuse me?" Had he heard the Elf right? He knew Legolas was insane but that was a bit odd even for him…

"Hold your breath," Legolas repeated, irritated.

With one last suspicious glare, the ranger grudgingly complied, releasing it nearly a minute later.

Yes, someone was still drawing deep and frightened breaths and it wasn't either of them. 'Do I really want to know what exactly it is?' Legolas asked himself mentally. Dismounting almost inconspicuously, the Elf walked to the edge and stepped just to the side of the bloodied fingers. He was about to peer cautiously over the edge when a hand clamped on his shoulder, causing him to look over and see Aragorn at his back. Feeling safer and consoled with a friend at his back, the light-haired Elf hesitantly poked his head over the side of the riverbank to see what he must.

What he saw looking back at him was more than a shock. He had never expected this, ever. Had not this being died? Or at least, been lost to his assigned exile of one thousand years under pain of death?

Two large blue eyes set back in a frail looking and pale face looked fearfully back up at him, as though he expected Legolas to throttle him. Legolas wondered for a moment if it weren't his reflection so much did the other look like him but more fragile. "Voronwë," Legolas spoke the name at the same time he drew a sharp breath, clearly taken aback by the turn of events. He had forgotten that one thousand years was up; it seemed like yesterday.

Voronwë continued to stare up at the prince with an expression akin to a fawn cornered by a ravenous wolf with blood red eyes. He blinked as the condensation on his hood spilled into his eyes, blurring his vision for a brief moment. “Rána?" he asked in a soft voice, nearly cringing, Legolas noted with a nagging curiosity. With his hood drawn about his own face and the way the shadows fell, Legolas did appear to resemble a dark-haired Elf.

"No, it’s Legolas," the Sindar prince informed the clearly distressed and shaken Elf. He started to reach down to give Voronwë a hand up, but then pulled back as old memories resurfaced. Looking at the other Elf's blood stained hand; Legolas felt a wave of suspicion wash over him. It wasn't helped by the fact that his cousin was asking about Rána. What had Rána been doing out along the Emyn Duir with Voronwë?

"Legolas …he tried to …kill me. Be…careful," the silvery blonde-haired Elf ground out between grit teeth, clearly suffering pain from an unseen wound. So the blood on his hand was his own, Legolas concluded with mild confusion. He wished he could call that a good sign but he had a burning premonition that it was anything but. The tight fear in his stomach was still clinging to his frozen insides, but it was slowly beginning to thaw and disband. However that didn't stop his heart from thudding as though it was trying to break out of its prison of ribs and tissue.

"Who?" Legolas asked as patiently as possible. He looked over his shoulder at Aragorn who was frowning in puzzlement and alarm. He would have to fill the ranger in later about Voronwë's dark past.

"Rána." Voronwë's breathing was heavy with anguish. One of his hands, Legolas noticed, was dramatically clenching a wound under his tunic on his upper right chest.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Legolas tightened his hands into tight balls with frustration. Nothing was making any sense and he could tell that there were vital pieces of this extensive puzzle that were missing. Why was it that the most important pieces were the ones that were always lost? Rána would never try to kill Voronwë or any Elf for that matter, at least, not if he was the Rána Legolas knew. Rána was quiet and entirely serious and Legolas had always thought him to be kind. He had a keen interest in weaponry, which Legolas did often attribute to insanity, but he still trusted the dark-haired Elf. However, if this was true, it changed everything.

"That can't be true!" Legolas protested in baffled astonishment. "When was this?" he demanded rather angrily.

Voronwë struggled to speak with his store of strength nearly depleted and still fleeing his body. His paled lips formed words but it took a few moments for them to be audibly voiced. "Hours ago…near midday I would say…my lord." The celerity of his breath sped up and he wheezed in pain as his eyes squeezed shut, a thick and cold sweat glistened on his brow. Normally the Elven constitution was not this inherently weak, but he had suffered already, Legolas could tell. His face was thin and he appeared to be a shadow of what he once was, though the prince was certain some of that could be credited to his banishment.

Seeing Voronwë struggling to breath, to move and to speak, it made Legolas feel sick. No matter what his younger cousin had done in the past he didn’t deserve this or anything resembling this. And even if he did, Legolas didn’t think he could stand there and watch without making his conscience burn. Biting his lower lip, the prince prepared himself to leap down the small precipice to reach Voronwë, whom he didn’t think could afford much more time. Before launching himself gracefully over the edge of the embankment, the prince looked over at Aragorn and tilted his head pointedly in the direction of Voronwë, down at the very edge of the water. It was more than obvious what his intentions were, all the same, Aragorn gave him an inquisitive look. “We can carry on this conversation as I pull him up,” Legolas explained in very few words considering every passing second to be to be very precious.

Casting himself over the edge without any hesitation, the prince landed lightly at Voronwë’s side just as the younger Elf nearly collapsed. Barely managing to catch the wounded exile and steady him, Legolas wondered in quiet confusion how he was going to support the extra weight and drag them both back up again. Not that he thought Voronwë weighed anything right now; he was now a shadow of what he had once been. To his disgust and dismay, Voronwë’s blood was staining his clothes a dark crimson color mixed with a silvery tint. Having seen enough of Elven blood for a day, in fact, for a century, the prince worked to push aside the vision of his hands being stained with Rána’s blood.

"This doesn't make sense. If he attacked you why didn't he kill you?" Aragorn asked calmly, garnering a withering glare from Legolas, who was trying to concentrate on discovering an easy way back up and having no real luck. Voronwë started noticeably as he seemed to realize for the first time that Aragorn was a human and not an Elven warrior. To add to his shock, it was probably the first mortal he had ever met who spoke reasonably fluent Sindarin.

Glancing at Legolas for guidance and affirmation that his human was a friend, the injured Elf waited until the prince had provided him with the assurance of a nod. Only after the nod did he reluctantly answer, leaning heavily on Legolas the entire time. “There were…orcs…they attacked us…he couldn't fight all of…them by himself…my lord."

"So he ran," Legolas finished slowly, as things he had not thought much of earlier began to fall into place. "And the orcs gave chase."

"They did indeed, my lord," Voronwë managed around his pain that Legolas now saw came from what looked like a knife wound to his chest. It was near the heart but had not quite touched it. Something had caused Rána to miss his mark…something had interfered. It must have been the orcs, Legolas decided quickly. Though, it could have been because Rána had second thoughts about murdering the silvery blonde Elf. Voronwë was not strong enough to go against Rána, though he had been at one time, so the determent of the blade could not have come from Voronwë's strength.

So all the feelings of dread he had felt had been because of Rána? But that couldn't be right. Rána wasn't heartless enough to try and kill Voronwë, no matter what he had done in the past to deserve it. Grimacing as he began to understand all that had taken place, Legolas spoke softly, not wanting to believe any of this. "And he led the orcs into me."

Aragorn watched Legolas putting things together as he too began to understand all that had transpired. But still there were some pieces of the puzzle missing, pieces that he felt, were more than just a little significant. Things were just not adding up and he feared that he and Legolas might have gotten themselves into deeper trouble than they had ever thought possible out of these circumstances. "But I don't think he lead the orcs to you wittingly."

Realizing Legolas was going to need some assistance in dragging Voronwë up into the bank, Aragorn stretched a hand down towards his friend and the wounded Elf. He noticed absentmindedly how Voronwë’ withdrew when he saw Aragorn’s hand extend downward. Aragorn was not used to Elves fearing him or being uneasy around him because of his race and so he was a bit taken back by the reaction even though he knew he shouldn’t be. It had been years since something like this had happened if he disregarded Rothinzil’s reaction after the frightened townspeople of Farlost had beaten him half to death. Pushing memories of that escapade from his mind, Aragorn smiled down sympathetically to try and reassure Legolas’ cousin that he was not out for his blood.

Legolas looked up at Aragorn and then began to lift the injured exile up to the ranger’s waiting hands. Sensing that the ranger was a friend of Legolas’ and not out to kill him like most men he had the misfortune of meeting, Voronwë’ relaxed visibly and suffered himself to be dragged up onto the banks by the ranger, who did his best not to let him get jarred against the rocky sides.

Easing the bleeding Elf onto the bank as gently as he was able, Aragorn slid free of his nearly soaked cloak, placing it gingerly over Voronwë’ whom he noticed was shivering. His cloak was covered with evidence of living out in the elements for years and years, something Aragorn could sort of identify with. But it was also well worn and definitely had outlived its purpose. Aragorn only wished his cloak was drier and could be more of a comfort.

Voronwë’s expression was one of suspicious gratitude and Aragorn couldn’t blame him. It had probably been too long since he had last trusted a soul or been treated half as kindly as they were treating him now. He found it hard sometimes to believe that all the Elven laws were just.

Legolas looked at Aragorn in alarm as soon as he was safely up on the bank before he responded to Aragorn’s earlier assertion. "He couldn't have. No one knew where I was; I left early in the morning before anyone was up." He looked down kindheartedly and a bit disbelievingly at Voronwë sitting by his side with Aragorn’s cloak wrapped about his slight frame. He knew his cousin was in dire need of medical attention and even old memories were not able to drown out his sympathy.

"Could you have been followed?" Aragorn asked, tilting his head and giving Legolas a curious expression.

"I don't think so." Here Legolas had to smile despite things being as they were. However his smile was more shameful than it was joyous. "I left out of my bedroom window…Again." Naturally, this was no surprise.

"I wonder why I didn't think of that!" Aragorn retorted sarcastically, and rolling his eyes over dramatically. "Everybody always uses their bedroom windows for doors!" Snorting in perfect belief that his friend would do something of that nature, Aragorn cast the prince one last disapproving glance. Legolas was a Sindar Elf, he reminded himself calmly. That should explain everything.

Feeling the glance to be uncalled for, considering everything they both had done in desperate attempts to evade healers and various lunatics out for their blood, Legolas graced Aragorn with a scathing glower of his own. But then both of the friends quickly turned their attention back to the confusing problem at hand.

"So if he didn't know you were here, then what was he doing out here by himself in the first place? What reason would he have for killing Voronwë?" the ranger questioned calculatingly in a low whisper. Old suspicions he had felt earlier, when Rána had first been shot, rose again to the front of his mind with a demanding presence. He had been right, something was very wrong, and that could quite possibly be the understatement of the century, he reasoned.

A twig cracked and Aragorn looked to see what Legolas had already seen and was staring at with bright eyes and a tightly set jaw. A group of five Elves stood above them, watching the exchange of information with interest coupled beside mild confusion. One of them, Aragorn noticed was the green-eyed guard that had not withered under Legolas' authority at the gate. He still seemed incredibly cold and nearly disgusted by what he saw and when his eyes settled on Aragorn a flare seemed to go up in them, lighting an angry inner fire.

"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked warily, anger edging his voice, making it sharp. "I thought my orders were unambiguous." It was a statement, not a question and he allowed his blue eyes to bore back into everyone single one of the warriors' eyes of the contingent that had come to escort him back to the palace.

"My lord, we felt you were in immediate danger. Your father would have us skinned alive if he knew we let you leave at this hour of the night with no guard," answered the green-eyed Elf firmly, his gaze was unwavering, Aragorn perceived with an icy prick of concern. But he also realized it was nearly sarcastic and it was definitely colder than a frozen pond in January. And, he noticed that those angered green eyes were watching Voronwë with curious interest, as though he was secretly trying to figure something out.

"Once again, your concern is touching, Arandur, and your service to me and my family admirable. Yet you deliberately disobeyed a direct order." Legolas' voice had gone frighteningly calm and his blue eyes were lit with a pale flame that was smoldering. Arandur didn't seem to notice, or at least if he did, he didn't care. Legolas moved protectively closer to his wounded cousin, who looked more than a little alarmed as he watched the other Elves. The prince carefully placed a supporting hand on Voronwë’s shoulder, giving it a soft but comforting squeeze.

"Prince Legolas, your father already is furious with you and very disappointed," Arandur answered in a semi-respectful tone that was nearly canceled out by a sense of scoffing. Legolas didn't let his glare slip in the slightest as the warrior from his uncle's contingent continued to try and berate him into returning to the palace. But inside he was wondering if Arandur was right, if he shouldn't provoke his father to further anger by deliberately putting himself into danger. "My lord, you must return before he discovers you are gone," reasoned Arandur slyly. "You wouldn't want to get Estel in trouble, would you, my prince?"

Legolas ground his teeth as hot anger flashed through him. Around his set jaw, the fair-haired Elf bit out, "are you threatening me? Or merely giving me strong advise?" His tone was acidic and if an intense glare could kill, one could safely assume that Arandur was dead.

"Interpret it as you wish, my lord," Arandur responded coolly. His green eyes flickered as he blinked and shook his head. "Please allow us to escort you back."

Aragorn looked over dubiously at Legolas, wondering if the prince was actually going to believe these Elves, who were, in his opinion, pathetic liars. He smiled inwardly as he fully took in the mistrustful and disbelieving look on Legolas' scowling face, plainly stating he was not this easily fooled.

They knew something he didn't and he didn't plan to become a victim. The past few years of having Estel as a friend had taught Legolas many things, one being that he should never trust people who appeared to be trying to pressure him into doing something or were overly friendly. And because of the simple fact that he wasn't entirely sure who had his trust right now, besides Aragorn, Legolas was in no frame of mind to blindly follow his warriors, whatever their intentions be. And all suspicions aside, he was their prince and should be giving orders not receiving them. "We will return," he answered flatly. "But we will ride in the back, taking Voronwë with us."

"Are you sure that is an…intelligent choice, my prince?" Arandur asked emotionlessly. "After all," he pointed out with a small smile. "You are weaponless. Save for your little Edan friend with his sword. These forests are dangerous places and you are the prince after all."

Legolas stiffened noticeably at Aragorn's side as he realized this was the second incredibly stupid and rash choice that he had made this day. His weapons were still hanging on the brass hook by the door in his room! He had left in such a hurry and so emotionally distraught that he had totally forgotten to go back in and get his weapons. Or should his reluctance to return be credited to the fact that he had alienated himself with a self-imposed exile and was ashamed to walk before his own people?

Shifting his weight uneasily, at length he answered back, "you will ride before us, that way we shall have some alarm if there is danger." Looking down, he stared at Voronwë, who was looking entirely too calm and had seemed to go a shade paler, if that were possible. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, my lord," Arandur said, this time his voice was respectful. Maybe he had begun to realize he was out of line. But, then to Legolas' surprise, he wrinkled his brow and a bewildered expression crossed his face. "Voronwë is with you?" He looked over the fair-haired Elf and ranger's shoulders, searching for the silvery blonde Elf, who was slowly crumpling in pain. His voice was a bit frosted over as he spoke, "I would have never thought he would return."

Legolas glanced down at his cousin with grave concern as Voronwë shivered in cold or fear; Legolas was unable to tell and something inside told him it was probably both. He then shot Arandur and the other uneasy Elves, whom now he realized that he didn't recognize either, an expectant and dubious look. "And why is that?" His voice was completely bland by design.

Arandur narrowed his eyes and stared at Legolas for a brief moment, as though he was trying to see beyond his prince's emotionless face and questions. At last he answered with a shrug, "well I wouldn't expect anyone to survive one thousand years of exile." He suddenly sneered. "But I guess it takes a lot to kill a cold hearted murderer."

Legolas stiffened as he heard his cousin croak out in a choked whisper, "I didn't do it, and you know it." Voronwë suddenly seemed stronger and his eyes burned for a faint moment until pain forced them to waver. Without warning, the returned Elf struggled to his feet and then clutched at Legolas' cloak for support as he leaned on his older cousin.

Arandur answered back before Legolas could silence him and his voice was cold but scoffing. "Then who did, Voronwë?" Legolas wasn't entirely sure, but he could have sworn he saw a faint smile play across Arandur's face, a knowing smile, a taunting smile. It was smile that only made Legolas more determined to never turn his back on the warrior.

Aragorn went rigid and looked at Legolas questioningly, plainly clueless about the events that had happened far before he was even born. But the answer came in a facial expression that clearly meant that he would be filled in later. Now was not the time, now was too dangerous. A cold feeling returned to Aragorn's stomach and began to spread to his other organs and muscles, causing them to ice up once more and go tight. His heart's rate began to speed up and he could practically feel his hot blood that seemed to suddenly run cold pump through his veins, throbbing in his ears.

Legolas cousin's next words were barely audible and were more of a cowering hiss. "You know." A wave of pain must have broken over Voronwë because he shivered violently and practically fell into Legolas' arms. The prince nearly dropped him, biting back old fears that were returning as he gathered up the frail Elf.

Arandur just rolled his eyes and glanced at Legolas. “I think being out in the wilds by himself for so long has warped his mind.” Voronwë’s scowl darkened and he became indignant. They could say whatever else they wanted but he was no murderer and he was not crazy.

“I am not insane!” the tired voice objected.

Legolas put an arm around his younger cousin, to steady him and keep him on his feet, which were less than reliable. Out of the corner of his mouth he advised, “Keep your peace Voronwë.” Luckily his whisper was lost on Arandur and his followers.

“Voronwë should come with us,” Arandur proposed, keeping his green orbs boring into Legolas’ cerulean ones. “You and your human friend should have much to talk about.” The way he had spat the word ‘human’ was not lost on either Legolas or Aragorn and Voronwë stiffened at his elder cousin’s side.

“Voronwë needs to see a healer, quickly,” added one of the other Elves. “I have a fast horse.” He stepped noticeably forward, pulling his horse behind him and looked at Legolas’ cousin carefully.

“Not that we are saying yours is not fast, your majesty,” Arandur compensated, casting his companion an irritated look. It wasn’t his fault his friends were all a parade of idiots, he reminded himself calmly. “But you will be preoccupied and we may be able to get there a little faster. You don’t need the burden.”

Legolas didn’t appreciate all this rationalizing and was about ready to grab Arandur by his neck and just ask him what the game was. But he and Estel were out numbered and this cordial game seemed to still be in play and was there only option. Gritting his teeth, Legolas glared. He was about to speak when Voronwë stepped forward, swaying slightly and his fingers still clenched over his wound.

“You d-don’t need another burden, Legolas,” he conceded, looking warily at Arandur, fear cowering behind his eyes. “I can go with them. Do what you have to do.” He knew he was as good as dead, and he didn’t want to die, but he loved Legolas like a brother and he had a feeling that if he didn’t go with Arandur then there could be serious trouble. And he sensed things were off balance already.

Legolas wanted to protest, but was afraid of what it would bring. So far things were staying subdued and there was a chance of everyone coming out of this alive. Aragorn could tell Legolas was still ill at ease, he felt that way himself, but he knew there was precious little they could do in this situation. All the same, the helpless and frightened expression on Voronwë’s face tugged at his heart.



TBC….Well here was the wee tip of the start of the entire mayhem deal. Yes, next chapter will actually have some angst and more questions will be answered about Voronwë’s past and the entire backdrop of this fic. Please review! This was and still is a difficult story to write and feedback is appreciated! For all those who did review, thank you very much! It is as Orli puts it in Pirates of the Caribbean…”A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated.”


Chapter 4 - The Crimson Tendrils

God bless New Orleans and America! Pray for them and the entire country, but especially the victims of Hurricane Katrina!
Ripples

CHAPTER FOUR

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The Crimson Tendrils

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Having ridden behind Arandur and his Elves (which were still holding Voronwë captive) for more than an hour, Aragorn was beginning to find himself fighting off more and more of the fear that clung to his frozen insides. Over half of his fear was fueled by a heavy onset of confusion. These events that had taken place many years before his birth were, at this moment, completely beyond his comprehension. He was worried for Legolas, who was looking rather…confused and on edge not to mention sort of stiff.

Deciding that this silence was unacceptable, the young ranger glanced sidelong at his friend before he dared to ask a question of the Elf. “Legolas, who is Voronwë? Why did Arandur mention banishment and call him a ‘cold hearted murder’?” Aragorn ventured cautiously as he paid close attention to his friend’s face.

Legolas looked straight ahead into the thickening mists that were separating him and Aragorn from Arandur and his Elves. For that Legolas was grateful because there was something about them that he didn’t think he would ever come to trust. If my life depended on putting my faith in them I would die, Legolas decided pessimistically. At length he gave an answer to Aragorn’s inquiry, unsure how exactly to respond. It was still a subject that hit close to home –too close. “Voronwë is my cousin, on my mother’s side that is,” he partially answered in a soft tone.

He then drew a heavy sigh and went silent, clearly trying to form his memories into words that would do them justice. Aragorn only nodded and waited patiently, knowing that Legolas would tell him the rest when he was ready. He knew from being around Legolas and his people long enough that their long memories were ridden with deep wells of sorrow that were painful when tapped into.

“His father is Lostiâ, my recently returned uncle and my mother’s brother.” Legolas refused to meet Aragorn’s eyes and for a moment and Aragorn wondered if he had caused hurt. However, Legolas didn’t want Aragorn to think he had caused the pain so he refused to let the man see it. Hesitantly he continued, slowing his horse’s gate to a walk as he did.

“There was murder committed, long ago before you were even a thought. My uncle’s best friend and Voronwë’s mentor was brutally stabbed to death. When he was found, so was Voronwë crouched by his body. In fear we automatically had him arrested and tried."

When Legolas fell silent, Aragorn looked at him mournfully, knowing that there was no way that he could ever understand all the tiny details of the tragic incident that were extremely significant in Legolas' mind. Patiently, Aragorn rode in silence as he watched Legolas struggle to make his thoughts audible.

"I could not believe that Voronwë would do such a horrible thing -but the evidence was so strongly against him that I went against my feelings. By law, Voronwë should have been shot when he was found guilty, but my father could not find it in his heart to sentence his nephew to death, especially so soon after my mother's death. So, he had Voronwë exiled from Mirkwood for 1,000 years under pain of death."

Legolas stopped speaking as he felt the mists press in closer, making his clothes stick to him in the heavy condensation soaking the air. He could see his breath and Aragorn's coming out in small white puffs of steam, condensing in the thick but cool air before quickly dispersing into the night. Looking to his friend's face, Legolas finished his explanations.

"I always feared Voronwë would return and that things better left alone would be roused. Lostiâ, was always cold to me after my mother died and I blamed myself. But since Voronwë's banishment it is not hard to tell that he loathes me." The prince finally pulled his horse to a gentle stop, looking back briefly to make sure Aragorn did the same. "Lostiâ and my father have never truly been friends or close as brothers in law should be."

"None of this explains why Rána would want to murder Voronwë, if what your cousin told us is credible," Aragorn pointed out, looking to Legolas for affirmation. He shuddered, as the mists seemed to settle thickly now that they had stopped riding and remained in one spot for the water vapor to fix on. Even the dark seemed to press in closer he noticed, building to his already mounting displeasure with the circumstances.

Legolas even seemed uneasy and Aragorn could tell he was wishing he had remembered his weapons. In Legolas' opinion it was bad enough that he couldn't trust a single Elf in the place anymore, most definitely including the warriors that rode ahead, but now he was fair game for anything in mind for a succulent Elf-prince. The only thing and it was a truly significant thing, that he could put his trust in, was that Aragorn had his back. However, he didn't appreciate in the least how that put Aragorn in such a dangerous position. He knew that the man would be more than willing to place himself in such peril, which was no comfort either.

"No, it doesn’t," Legolas finally agreed. "Rána was in close friendship with Lostiâ. But he also appeared to be the one with a sense of reason." Looking ahead, he could barely see the Elves riding now far in front, seemingly unaware they had left Legolas and Aragorn far behind. Not that Legolas minded; that had been his purpose for slowing down and eventually stopping. A small smile tugged at the corners of the prince's lips as he realized he had temporary victory.

"We've lost them," Aragorn said with a tense smile at Legolas, who seemed pleased if that were at all possible in this situation.

"But I fear we haven't seen the last of them," the prince muttered in dark premonition. His insides still felt like they were entombed in a hard case of ice. His heart, which had been going at least a mile a minute for quite some time, had only just begun to slow down. There was some comfort in this, he decided hazily.

"Most likely not," agreed Aragorn gloomily. He started to urge his horse forward when Legolas' arm shot out of nowhere, hitting him across the chest so hard it nearly hurt…nearly. Glaring at the Elf, whose blue eyes were narrowed into slits while his brow was creased in concentration, Aragorn nearly hit him back. After brief moment though, he noticed that Legolas was chewing on his lower lip.

"Legolas?" Aragorn ventured cautiously. Lip biting was also the sign of a devious scheme being brewed up; Aragorn had learned that much a long time ago and not the easy way, mind you.

"I think we should return home by a different path," replied the fair-haired Elf shortly, turning his horse suggestingly to the right using solely his heals and lower legs. "I believe I know a short cut."

"A 'short cut'?" the ranger repeated as he incredulously raised a brow. An involuntary shiver ran down his back as he felt the moisture of the dark and damp forest soak through his last tunic. That just about figured…

"Yes," the Elf replied with a small smile as he eyed the rightfully suspicious human. "A short cut." Having taken note of Aragorn's shivering, Legolas gave a small laugh and his hands went to his throat, pinching the clasp to his olive-green, opening it and sliding the material inconspicuously from his shoulders.

Aragorn continued to look perfectly dubious. "Legolas wasn't it you who told me that it was unwise to take 'short cuts' through Mirkwood?" he tried to wave the cloak Legolas was offering away but the Elf insisted until the man reluctantly accepted it with a disapproving glare.

"I was younger and then and more reckless?" he asked hopefully, giving a thin smile as Aragorn's eyes narrowed even further.

"It was last year and you are more reckless now than ever!" declared the human boldly, his annoyed glower beginning to give way to a small smile.

Legolas chuckled softly, though his heart wasn't really behind it thanks to the ugly circumstances they had found themselves in…again. He couldn't easily shove this aside for mirth, could he? However, Aragorn did lighten his heart and mood considerably and so made things easier to bear. "Perhaps," the Elf's voice was thoughtful. "But mellon nin, I would rather risk taking a short cut and getting turned around than an attack…or worse." Right now though he really didn't want to think about what could be worse.

The fact was that he had no idea who these Elves were or what their entire purpose was. Past experience with back-stabbers told him that their symptoms were a telltale sign of worse things to come, much worse things if he had things figured correctly.

Aragorn followed closely behind Legolas as the Elf turned his horse towards the darker and more forbidding looking part of the forest. Aragorn could only pray to Eru that the prince did know his home as well as he thought he did and wouldn’t get them lost or even killed. Unfortunately, both prospects seemed all too likely. Aragorn knew Elrond was going to absolutely kill him if he knew half of what he and Legolas had gotten themselves into so far! Valar! It had to be around one in the morning!

Legolas suddenly spoke, wheeling his horse around abruptly and facing Aragorn with a completely alarmed face. "Estel, Rána wouldn't have known Voronwë was back unless he had been waiting for the day his exile would expire and he could return!"

Aragorn frowned, realizing that Legolas was entirely correct. This put a whole new dimension on things and created an entire new line of questions. First and foremost being, why had Rána been waiting for Voronwë to return? If his exile was over he was allowed back into the forest, of course. Shaking his head and connecting wide gray eyes with Legolas, he could tell the Elf was mulling over the same things and not liking the new twist anymore and quite probably less.

"So perhaps Voronwë was telling the truth!" Legolas spoke for both of them. Which, if this was true, he reasoned, made Rána a very good liar or him very stupid. Hot anger began to melt the icy fear from Legolas' insides, putting a fierce glow in his eyes. As a matter of fact, his Elven bodily glow even increased slightly, pushing the darkness of Mirkwood back ever so little.

"They'll kill him before we can find out," Aragorn warned cautiously. But Legolas was already urging his horse into a gallop and darting ahead, clearing having had the same thought. Aragorn called on his horse for speed to match, desperately wanting to call out to Legolas to wait for him but feared Arandur and his companions, who couldn't be too far away, would hear him.

The branches seemed to press in closer and he felt his face and hood being pelted by them as he urged his mount to go faster, somewhere along the lines of neck-breaking speed.

As the friends sped through deeper and less known part of the forest, like swift shadows, Aragorn was really beginning to doubt whether or not Legolas knew his way through this 'short cut'. To him it appeared that given a few more minutes they would be lost beyond salvation. Actually, he felt obligated to amend that thought. They were already lost beyond salvation.

After thinking all these rather unhappy and discouraging thoughts Aragorn was pleasantly surprised when they charged into the courtyard, tearing up the grass. Legolas' gamble had pulled though it seemed, which was a hopeful sign if not anything else. But he noticed with more than a little suspicion that he didn't see a single sentry. This may or may not be a sign of good things to come but they had no time to split hairs at the moment. Legolas had already dismounted his horse while it was still whirling into the courtyard and had left it to its own intentions praying it didn't decide to make a feast of the flower beds. Aragorn quickly followed suite, rushing to catch up with his fast paced friend.

Legolas' eyes connected with Aragorn's, giving him a silent warning as he saw the man run up. 'We aren't alone and nothing is as it seems. Be doubly on your guard.' His warning was brief but potent enough as he waited a bit impatiently for Aragorn to bound stealthily up the stone steps to his side before the companions proceeded to walk into the vast and dark corridors of the descending palace of the Wood Elves. Legolas went first, clearly wanting to place himself between Aragorn and any hidden adversary or other sudden perils. But before his second foot was planted on the other side of the threshold, Aragorn had grabbed the back of his tunic, holding him back. "As I said before," he whispered in Legolas' pointy ear. "More reckless."

Legolas just smiled thinly and looked into the hood at the determined eyes questioning his actions. An inward voice told him he couldn't argue with what Aragorn had just said without looking like a total idiot. "Well then lets be reckless together," he suggested with all seriousness but coupled with a belaying lopsided grin.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Aragorn whispered back as he and the fair-haired Elf stepped through the door simultaneously, their feet hitting the floor at the exact same time. Both suddenly felt they had entered an intense war zone.

The first thing that alarmed Legolas was that the room -all the halls and corridors -were darker than pitch. The mists of the forest seemed to have crept in and Legolas felt a dark and brooding malice fall upon him like a suffocating heavy cloak. Aragorn felt his stomach clench as ice slithered around his insides once more and the celerity of his heart increased. He gave a shudder and wondered what Legolas' face looked like at the moment, because neither of them could see anything.

Legolas didn't have to tell Aragorn that this was completely unnatural and out of character of his people. Not a single glow-globe was lit and it was enough to make Legolas feel ill to his stomach. "Estel," he whispered in a tight voice as his throat constricted. "It was this night two thousand one hundred and thirty one years ago when my mother died."

Both of the friends suddenly jumped at the wind as it picked up and the double doors to the palace slapped and shuddered roughly and them slammed shut with a heart-stopping bang. Everything suddenly felt tight with proximity and breathing seemed to be an extremely loud exercise.

"Wonderful," Legolas was the first to break the silence as he muttered in dark sarcasm. For the first time ever in his home, which descended underground in a cave like fashion, he was reminded of the mines of Farlost. These were not fonder memories, certainly not ones he wanted to remember now of all times. Not allowing his feelings to own him, Legolas pressed them aside.

"It was just the wind," Aragorn said uneasily, as much to relieve and try and assure himself as Legolas. He could feel the Elf beside him growing tense and he knew well what memories were returning to Legolas' mind.

Legolas shook his head and murmured thoughtfully, "let’s hope." He honestly had his doubts and was well aware that Aragorn was experiencing them too, which didn't comfort him any. It was obvious what they were both thinking it could have been: Arandur and his Elves. But there was no way to prove it and they didn't have time that they could afford to waste by musing.

Shoving aside the disturbing notion, Legolas promptly suggested, "I wonder if we should go and check on Rána in the Healing Ward?" it was a simple suggestion but there was more behind it than one would initially think. There really was no sense on waiting for Arandur to show up with or without Voronwë.

Aragorn drew a deep breath and obviously hesitated before answering his friend, who was patiently waiting. "Legolas, I think I should go and see to my father. After the events I just want to make sure everything is all right. Elladan and Elrohir would never forgive me if something happened to him and I couldn't blame them." The frightened and alarmed tone of Aragorn's voice made Legolas pause.

He hadn't even thought to check on his own father, something that sent a stab of guilt to penetrate his conscience that was still bleeding profusely. He had been more concerned with seeing a possible traitor than the Elf who had raised him from a tiny Elfling and loved him after everything he had done.

All the same a lot of things depended on getting answers from Rána as quickly as possible -preferably before Arandur and his… minions showed up and stirred whatever mischief he suspected that they were plotting.

"Alright, but promise me that you will be careful!" Legolas whispered, knowing that keeping Aragorn from seeing his father was going to hurt more than it would help. "And need I remind you that I am completely serious?" he added with a belaying half-smile that was lost in the dark.

"Am I not always completely careful?" questioned the young ranger, finding Legolas' shoulder in the blackness and placing an assuring hand on it, giving a consoling and gentle squeeze. "I am sure that everything is all right but if I don't know for sure I think what sanity I have left will leave me completely."

Legolas moved and placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, returning the comforting gesture in camaraderie with the ranger. "Just watch your back, reckless human. You know I wished you wouldn't do this, don't you?" he asked one more time, to affirm to himself that Aragorn was really going to leave him. Some feeling, like dark premonition, was telling him neither of them should walk alone.

"I know you do Legolas, believe me, I know. But how would my brothers look at me if something happened to father? I hardly think I could bear living with them." Here he couldn't help but smile despite the entirely serious nature of the gloomy situation. "Valar knows it’s hard enough already."

Legolas shook his head mournfully and said in response, "I wouldn't know." But then he quickly went on, "meet me back at the Healing Ward. And as I have already said, keep an eye on your back. If Arandur and his companions show up I am not sure what we can expect."

Aragorn nodded gloomily in complete agreement and then reminded his friend; "you shot Rána, Legolas. It will be you they come after; I believe I would be an after thought." He released his grip on his friend's shoulder before saying, "I will meet you in about fifteen minutes providing all goes well."

Legolas removed his hand reluctantly, not knowing for sure if he would see Aragorn again and then sighed heavily to make his disagreement with their separation obvious. But even though his feelings said they should stay together and he wanted that, he wondered if it might not be safer for Aragorn to stay with Elrond. If he came to meet him in the Healing Ward there could be a trap laid and then he would walk right into it. Legolas pulled himself free of his thoughts long enough to reply.

"I will wait for you but if something should happen and I am not there don’t you even consider for one moment coming after me," he commanded with a flat and serious tone. The prince went tense before he turned to venture to the Healing Wards. They didn't have much time, Arandur and his Elves could be here at any given moment.

Aragorn knew Legolas' home well enough in the dark but without his friend by his side it felt creepy and foreign. He sensed a strange hostility close at hand, as though it was in the air about him and a feeling of alienation, of being different…set apart and unwanted. It made an ill feeling akin to fear, spread in his stomach like a spilled noxious solution. But it also hurt like a small sting.

Taking a deep breath he did his best to put his fear and suspicions at ease by reminding himself that he was accepted here as a friend. They would never hunt or harm him unless he provoked them and even then there were only a select few that would ever want to take his life. But these unpleasant thoughts were not helping him concentrate and so he stuffed them hastily into the corner of his mind reserved for such pessimistic musings.

Reaching out in the pitch dark the man smiled numbly, as he was pleased to recognize the smooth touch of cold marble against his palms. Feeling like he was relieved enough to kiss and pat the inanimate stone, the man nearly continued on in a skip. But the fact Legolas wasn't by his side and that the darkness seemed to press in closer to make up for his new found merriment reminded him there really wasn't all that much to rejoice about and his dark mood was forced back down upon him.

Groping along the cold stone of the wall Aragorn began to count the number of doors he stumbled across. One…two…three, ah, he should turn right here if he remembered correctly. Traveling further, he counted some more doors before he came to the fifth one and paused, drawing a deep breath before his shaking hand settled on the doorknob and he gave it a smooth twist.

Legolas paused outside of where he knew was the Healing Ward. Everything was still incredibly dark, which was strange for a Healing Ward, especially if there was a patient. There was regularly at least one glow-globe sending faint bluish rays through the room. But right now he couldn't see his hand in front of his face as he waved it and clenched and unclenched the fingers methodically.

Heart in his throat, Legolas walked cautiously in through the open door. He had the feeling of eyes on his back and danger before him, something that made his stomach perform some sickening antics.

Deciding that the window across the room might allow some moonlight to slip in if he cast aside the curtains, Legolas began to pad quietly across the room.

Reaching the window in complete safety, Legolas was beginning to wonder if his imagination had gotten the better of him…again. Feeling the rich silky material of the large curtains, Legolas smiled warmly at the return of fond memories. Of sitting at his mother's feet, watching in awe as she weaved and embroidered these very curtains, putting her heart and soul into them as she did everything. Gingerly, with great respect, the prince started to pull the heavy drapes aside but to his dismay, he noticed that he was staring out into an equally black yard. He could feel the wind picking up and small drops of rain patted against his face, dusting it lightly with moisture. A bolt of lightning rushed across the sky in a purple blaze and Legolas sighed desolately.

Standing there, listening to the rain and other sounds of the fast approaching gale, painful memories he had not thought of for over a long time were breaking over him like waves tossed on a beach. Every time one hit him and withdrew to be replaced by another, a little piece of him was taken away. When he had touched the curtain so many things long forgotten had seemed to transfer to his memories again and they were heart wrenching.

Lost in thought, Legolas was oblivious to the adversary approaching stealthily behind him until it was altogether too late.

In moments everything happened too fast.

TBC….Alright! First cliffy of the story! Ur…bad us! –grin-. Review, please! We really appreciate them and we are absolutely on the edge of our seats to know what you guys all think!


Chapter 5 - Murky Water

Well, here is chapter five, you bloodthirsty people! Enjoy and review, please!
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Ripples

CHAPTER FIVE

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Murky Water

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Aragorn padded smoothly over to his father’s bed, making good use of the faint rays of bluish light provided by a small glow-globe that, thankfully, Elrond had left lit. He felt his heart rate lower and a meager amount of peacefulness spread through him as he watched the elderly Elf drawing a deep breath in his sleep.

Staring down at the limp features of Elrond’s face that seemed carefree as his open but unfocused eyes stared into nothing Aragorn suddenly felt safe. Gently he pulled the blanket that had slid down near the bottom of the bed up over his father’s shoulders but stopped when the Elf-lord’s hand quietly grabbed his wrist.

“What do you want, Estel?” Elrond mumbled, still half asleep.

It took him a moment to bring the young ranger’s face into focus. Aragorn grabbed that brief moment to speak. “Ada, I just wanted to check and see if you were…safe. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Well, of course I am safe,” Elrond raised himself upon an elbow and gave Aragorn a dubious look that came frighteningly close to becoming the dreaded ‘look’. “Is something wrong?” The tone of his voice had changed to demanding, but remained forcefully calm. It was impressive how quickly voices could change, Aragorn thought indolently.

The man stroked the quilt with his fingers and intensely studied the fabric for a minute and half. Finally he managed to find the rights words, or at least as close as he was sure he could get. “Ada, things have taken a strange twist. Rána…isn’t all that he appears to be.” His voice trailed off as he lost what had been an explanation.

Elrond raised himself to an upright position and his eyes narrowed in an obviously distraught and seriously interested manner. Lifting a brow he asked incredulously but still calmly, “how so, Estel? Sit and tell me everything, my son.” The elder Elf gestured lightly to a comfortable looking chair at the bedside, or at least close enough to it that they could talk in reasonably quiet voices.

Aragorn shook his head and objected respectfully. “I would rather not, father. I can’t! I am too worried for Legolas.” The young man began to pace nervously as Elrond stood up, swinging his legs over the bed so he sat comfortably on the edge. He eyed Aragorn as thought the human might wear a hole through the floor, but as he watched his foster son his concern mounted. When Aragorn’s pacing notably increased Elrond bit his lip, something he hadn’t done in nigh on a thousand years at least.

“Why? Estel, as your father I am commanding you to sit and tell me everything!” Elrond didn’t enjoy having to be firm with Estel but he didn’t think he would be able to calm Aragorn and get him to see reason if he did not get the man to take a seat. If Aragorn would be still for little over a mili-second they might accomplish something!

Realizing that Estel must not have heard him because he never had ignored him completely and was still pacing excessively, Elrond reached out a hand. Grabbing the young man’s sleeve, Elrond gently guided him to the overstuffed chair and nodded pointedly for him to sit down.

Taking a clue, Aragorn stayed in the chair though his muscles were begging him to get up and walk to and fro. His nerves, also, were pathetically whining to be relieved and no matter how he turned or shifted in the chair he simply could not find a comfortable position to save his life –or his sanity.

“Now,” Elrond spoke slowly, perfectly aware of the fact that he sounded as though he was talking to a distraught four-year old. “Tell me everything and if it helps, take your time.” His hand enclosed Aragorn’s, which was shaking with emotion and adrenaline pulsing through his system.

Aragorn stared at his father’s hand silently for a minute, not sure how to start his explanations. However, as he thought things through and his mind began to slow down he came to the conclusion that his silence was only enhancing any peril that Legolas might be in and that the entire palace already faced. Drawing a deep breath he decided that everything had to start somewhere…

“Ada, Rána tired to kill Voronwë …”

:0Ж0:

Lying on the floor, staring up at what could possibly be the ceiling, however he wasn’t entirely sure since everything seemed to be spinning in and out of focus in an annoying fashion. Actually, Legolas wasn’t too sure about that either, considering the room still appeared to be dark between the instantaneous flashes of white light from the lightning. It was just that past experience told him that blows to the head usually consisted of headaches that followed blinding pain initiating the spinning of the world. Blinking in surprise, Legolas winced as he truly confirmed someone or something had struck him upside the head.

A hand that had just recently entangled itself in his tunic was revealed in a particularly brilliant flash of lightning that lit up the sky as though on cue. But there was another light, duller but more constant, reflecting a bluish color and pushing back the darkness enough to reveal Legolas’ opponent. Ah, someone had a glow-globe in their possession, Legolas took note before he managed to put his vision into half-decent focus on the Elf boring into his eyes with an icy pair of silver ones.

He didn’t know why he was surprised, really he didn’t.

“Uncle,” his voice was deliberately flat.

“Legolas, my favorite nephew,” a sickeningly cool and smooth voice replied, causing a tingling sweat to start on the prince’s palms as well as a spreading sensation of illness in his stomach’s core.

If Legolas wasn’t imagining things there was a bit more bitter sarcasm in his Uncle’s voice than he had ever hoped to hear in one setting. If this situation hadn’t been bad enough it had just gotten a step up to worse.

“I’m your only nephew,” Legolas returned in a dark mumble, wondering if there was any possible way to wriggle free of Lostiâ’s relentless grip on the front of his tunic.

Lostiâ, for his part, pretended his captive had never spoken a word and continued mordantly. “I must say I was beginning to wonder when you would come here and talk to Rána, you being so clever.” His silver eyes possessed a chilling smile akin to sadism and Legolas moaned inside as he realized he was in trouble again.

Rolling his eyes around the room as he searched for Rána, he found the injured Elf holding the small glow-globe and for once he appeared to be malicious and it was a completely different part of his character that had been well hidden until now. As he looked at his uncle’s friend further, he saw that the dark-haired Elf was positioned halfway behind the door, having stepped out some.

Realizing he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, Legolas would have loved to slap himself and as a matter of fact, inwardly he was doing it receptively.

“Rána, I suppose you know full well that I wish my shot had not been a few inches off?” Legolas asked around a set of clenched teeth as a jab of anger at the betrayal stung with a vengeance, prodding and picking at his heart.

Rána seemed a bit uncomfortable, perhaps wondering if Legolas was referring to the immediate situation or other…events…Deciding that he didn’t much care as the fact of the matter was that Legolas was the captive and he was not, the dark-haired Elf only smiled belligerently. “Oh I do indeed, but I can’t say I’m…ungrateful.”

“I figured that much,” Legolas answered back morbidly.

“Legolas I would have thought over the years you would have acquired a bit more respect for your elders, hm?” Lostiâ asked as he noticeably tightened his grip on Legolas’ tunic front before yanking the prince thoughtlessly to his feet, pulling him so that their faces nearly touched.

“I show respect to those who earn it,” the captive prince bit out a he was becoming more and more angered at his treatment and the entire situation. He knew full well that though he had spoken only a few words he had just said a mouthful and that it wasn’t likely these ‘nice gentlemen’ weren’t going to seek retribution. But he would take things one-step at a time.

The punishment he did receive, Legolas had to admit, was rather unconventional so Lostiâ received a reasonably high mark for creativity. Finding himself launched backward and toppling head over heals with a medic cart that had been idly sitting around, Legolas became aware that there were various porcelain and glass dishes or beakers smashing and breaking all around him. They struck the floor with distinct shattering sounds that seemed extremely loud in Legolas’ ears, though everything seemed sensitive right now.

Only moments later, though it seemed to last a life-age, Legolas discovered he was lying flat upon his back, broken beakers and bowls (some still whole and spinning) along with medical instruments and herbs sprawled unceremoniously all around him. Odd, that his right hand felt like it was literally on fire but soaked at the same time. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was bleeding. The feeling as though his skin was being licked by a slow flame continued to grow, much in part to the mixtures of the herbal poultices that had been freed of their jars and mingled with one another and were now sinking into his skin. He didn’t think they would be too harmful…

Sitting up slowly, with his ears ringing, Legolas dared himself to look at what he expected to be some gruesome abrasions. Lifting his hand from over a shattered ceramic beaker, Legolas realized that the wounds were not too extensive though they were bleeding rather profusely. Blinking and shifting his gaze back to the beaker and then back to his hand, Legolas came to the understanding that it was the beaker that had cut his hand and if he judged things from the burning feeling under his skin, there were still some pieces in there.

The bewildered prince was about to turn his gaze behind him but there was no need as a heavy gag found its way astonishingly fast into his mouth and between his teeth before being drawn taut near to the point of being suffocating. Legolas struggled wildly, even though he knew it was probably in vain and his hand was giving him fits of pain that were definitely distracting.

The gag in his mouth was abusively used as a rough handle to drag him backwards into the waiting arms of his attacker. Legolas bit down on the cloth as his right hand was dragged roughly across the floor and the jagged pieces of broken pottery.

:0Ж0:

Aragorn would have thought that Elrond would have been confused and not had the slightest idea who Voronwë was, or even been shocked by the story and conclusions he and Legolas had come to. But what he must have forgotten was that Elrond had been many places and seen many things. Chronic cases of hate and soul decay, unfortunately, were nothing new to him and he was really quite weary of them.

Drawing his vermilion robe tighter about himself, the elder Elf looked at Estel sadly before shaking his head in disbelief. “My Estel, I think there is more to this story than you know. The time is right,” he added as an after thought.

Aragorn gave him a dubious but respectful expression that conveyed his confusion. Finally, Elrond noticed with some relief, Aragorn was beginning to relax back into his chair, though he was no less intrigued than before. As a matter of fact, Elrond wouldn’t be overly surprised if the human’s curiosity had doubled in the past few minutes.

In response to Aragorn’s incredulous expression the Elf-lord sighed and breathed deeply, attempting to find words to explain the sad story that he thought Aragorn should know. He was a bit surprised that Legolas had not already mentioned it before, considering that the Elf and ranger were remarkably close as friends.

“Do you know how Legolas’ mother was killed?” he finally asked softly, not likely to speak of it here more than anywhere else in all Middle Earth.

“I know she was cut down by orcs two thousand one hundred and thirty one years ago this night,” Aragorn answered slowly, wondering what Elrond was getting at exactly. If there were more he was certain Legolas would have told him. It wasn’t as though his friend had murdered her or anything…

“So Legolas has spoken to you of this?” Elrond asked expectantly but was disappointed by the answer he received. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain and impart this to the ranger.

“I know only what I just told you,” Aragorn replied in full honesty, beginning to feel slightly sick to his stomach and scanned the room unnoticeably for a spot to vomit if the need arouse. The secretive and sorrowful way that Elrond was conducting himself was making Aragorn unnaturally edgy.

“It was a night very much like this night in weather and mood,” Elrond began to the telling of the tragedy from the very beginning, the best place to start. His heart was already beginning to feel a sore as it had when a guilt-ridden prince had told him the story years ago. It was one he had hoped to the Valar that he would never have to repeat.

“Legolas had been sent as an envoy to a neighboring country, minute and whose name doesn’t matter because it no longer exists. Unfortunately he found some…trouble and was imprisoned there for a week before anyone found out –yes, Estel.” Elrond broke off briefly as he added with a sad smile, “he was finding trouble long before you were even a thought.”

Aragorn returned the sad smile in kind before the mood became completely sober once more and could even be called depressing as Elrond continued with his tale.

“Well when his mother discovered her son’s whereabouts she naturally wanted to take a delegation to go and collect him. Thranduil wouldn’t here of it for a week and from what I can piece together it was within that week’s time, that unbeknownst to anyone, Legolas had made an escape and was traveling home. At the same time he reached the eves of Mirkwood, she had departed, taking with her a convoy/delegation that consisted of herself, Voronwë, Lostiâ and his wife (who was close to her) and Rána along with a few other Elves.

As fate would have it, a contingent of large orcs had picked up Legolas’ scent without his knowledge.” Here Elrond closed his eyes in a sorrowful way that made Aragorn’s heart rise up into his throat, making it feel harder to breathe.

“Seeing the convoy of his friends and family traveling through the trees, Legolas bounded towards them, calling out especially to his mother. But then arrows flew and all around them the horde of wicked orcs descended, cutting down anyone who tried to withstand them or flee. It was a massacre. In the end Legolas did all he could to protect his mother but the orcs were great and in large number.

She saw one about to plunge a sword through his chest and tossed herself upon the blade, saving him but killing herself and she died instantly.”

Elrond paused, gathering his thoughts once more. “Lostiâ never forgave Legolas, for he was close with his sister, Legolas’ mother. And he had also lost his wife, leaving Voronwë motherless.”

Aragorn’s eyes were wide in disbelief and he blinked before speaking in a choked whisper. “I never thought there was that much to her death! How did –how has Legolas taken it? He has been acting…like Legolas. Do you think that Lostiâ is bringing a plan of vengeance into action? I knew there was a tension between Legolas and his uncle but I had no idea that it stemmed from this!”

“Well it does. And I do believe that Lostiâ has put a plan of some sort into action,” Elrond agreed desolately. “But that is not the worst part we have to worry about. It is whom he has corrupted that we must fear and watch even more closely for. I fear that Rána may be one of them.”

Elrond went quiet a moment before he calmly amended his latest statement. “No, I know Rána is one of them. But why he would try to kill Voronwë is beyond me. Lostiâ would never want his own son dead. He doesn’t strike me as being that confused.”

Aragorn hadn’t been listening to his father’s last few statements, but was paying full attention to the sinking feeling in his stomach. There was a deep scar on Legolas’ heart that constantly reminded the Elf of his dark past. It was torturing scar, one that was always reopening and causing a great amount of pain. There were tears Legolas had been crying for many years that no one had seen falling behind his eyes.

Aragorn never had thought from the way Legolas acted now that anything this drastic and horrible marred his friend’s past.

Chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, Aragorn wondered if now that he knew all of this he should act any different around the Elf. Almost immediately the ranger decided against it. That wouldn’t be fair to Legolas and probably wouldn’t make things any easier. But he was definitely going to have to have a conversation about this! As much as it would burn like a wound in the process of being cleansed, he had to let Legolas know that he knew but didn’t look down on him for it.

“I think I should go and talk to Legolas,” Aragorn announced, looking at his father with a grim and set expression.

Elrond would have expressly forbid it if he didn’t know it wouldn’t do a whole lot of good. Knitting his brows, the Elf-lord frowned as he slipped smoothly into a pair of slippers that matched his robe quite well. “Be careful Estel. I think it might be wise to wait until the sun came up,” he finished with a deterring suggestion.

Aragorn only answered matter-of-factly. “Perhaps, but I have to meet him at the Healing Ward anyway. He will be expecting me.”

Elrond leveled his foster son with a critical glower and when he spoke the seriousness of his voice cut through Aragorn as effectively as a knife would have. “You have to be careful and I mean it! There could be serious trouble! You know, I am not even sure that you understand the meaning of the word ‘careful’ in the most distant definition. I suppose I will just have to trust and hope your interpretations are the same as mine,” he finished wistfully.

“Ada,” Aragorn assured with a blinding smile. “I will be all right. You’ll see.” His arms went around the elder Elf in a warm embrace that was returned with equal affection, if not more so.

Pushing his son away and holding him at arm’s length, Elrond absorbed the love between them as he watched Aragorn’s troubled but hopeful face. ‘There is always too much of a good thing,’ Elrond mused to himself as he released his son and the human began to rush out of the room. ‘Like self-assurance for instance.’

:0Ж0:

Dragging Legolas backwards, Lostiâ winced as his nephew jabbed his elbow forcefully backward, hitting him full in the mouth. Cursing around a broken lip, Legolas’ uncle cinched the gag even tighter on the younger Elf a he growled, “keep this up and you will lose more than you will gain Legolas, I promise you that!”

He expected that Legolas wouldn’t be easily subdued of course, but he had underestimated the prince’s tenacity a little too much.

“Rána! Damn it! Help me!” He snapped sharply at his friend who hastily laid the glow-globe on the ground and gripped Legolas’ ankles to try and pin his kicking legs down.

Feeling very desperate and not for a moment even considering stopping his resistance, Legolas kicked out even harder, catching Rána in the throat and forcing him back a few faltering and rather diminutive steps. The dark-haired Elf coughed as he recovered quickly; shooting Legolas a venomous glare that was so sharp it could have drawn blood. Drawing blood…now there was an idea that might help, Rána mused as a ruthless plan formed in his mind.

Stumbling to the upturned medic cart, the warrior fumbled and rummaged thought he broken dishes and scattered instruments and bandages. Finally getting annoyed with the lack of light, the grabbed the glow-globe and held it aloft over the spilled contents. At least ten seconds later, or what seemed longer if you actually bothered to pay attention to Lostiâ’s cursing, Rána found what he had sought.

A small surgical knife lay amid the broken pieces of a glass beaker, just the right size for nicking a vein open and taking nearly over a pint of blood from that struggling princeling. Blood loss, he reasoned, would weaken Legolas enough that they would be given an opportunity to twist a rope around his wrists and perhaps around his ankles. But they definitely had to get something around his wrists.

Having no time to be ceremonial about opening a vein, Rána hurried over to where Lostiâ was being hard put to keep a grip on his fighting nephew. Taking a firm hold of Legolas’ right arm, he the blade’s edge on the under part of the forearm near the elbow. Applying a generous amount of pressure, he watched as the knife slid in through the tunic and into the flesh, cutting a large vein just enough to get some blood but not enough that they couldn’t stop it.

Legolas stopped struggling and looked numbly at the tiny wound in his arm that was spurting his silvery red blood like a miniature fountain. Knowing why Rána had done this and not being in any position to prevent it with his arm strongly secured in the dark-haired Elf’s grip, Legolas could only watch as his blood stained the floor. He could already feel his vigor and strength fleeing his body and the more he fought the faster he became weak. Legolas relaxed against his uncle grudgingly, knowing that the more he struggled the more he would bleed. But even after Legolas had seemed to succumb to them and they had drained a pint of blood from his body the Elves were not satisfied until they had taken a little more.

Rána released Legolas’ arm and stepped over all the chaos and broken dishes, reaching the bedside where he promptly shed the sheets from it. Ripping the bed sheets into long and wide strips, Rána bound them tightly about Legolas’ wound that he had inflicted, preventing the prince from bleeding to death. After all, he wasn’t supposed to die yet.

As the dark-haired warrior went to get the rope from where it had been haphazardly abandoned near the door, he staggered wearily. His own wound was hurting incredibly and he was becoming very anxious. He had not anticipated all of this, or at least not that it would happen this soon. Rána suddenly wheezed as pain broke over him. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists and his bit back a moan.

Legolas watched tiredly as the ropes were handed off to his uncle. Suddenly Legolas’ impassive expression turned to a frustrated and irritated scowl as his arms were abruptly pulled behind him and twisted brutally. He was certain they were never designed to work this way. Already the joints that had served him quite well until now were beginning to ache and burn. Another thing that was far from comfortable was the really itchy and inescapably tight bonds twined about his wrists, cutting off his blood flow to his hands.

His uncle’s hands tightened on his upper arms and the fair-haired captive resisted the urge to squirm away. In moments Legolas found himself being hauled to his feet, though he felt so heavy and weak that he thought it was definitely possible he could fall over at any given moment. He was beginning to wonder if some utterly maniacal person had exchanged his legs, which had worked fine before, for two lumps of useless lead. Something slippery was beneath his feet he realized and looked down idly to see he was sliding around in a puddle of his own blood, smearing it crimson across the white marble floor.

The thought made his stomach churn rather violently, but there was another problem beyond his illness.

His right hand, whose palm had been slashed to ribbons by the broken ceramic and glass was giving him quite a lot of pain and was still bleeding rather profusely. Even worse, he could tell that it still had the ceramic beneath the skin and it was being buried further.

Rána and Lostiâ were about to exit the room, dragging out Legolas with them under cover of darkness, dashing the glow-globe and prodding Legolas towards the door when they heard someone calling. Legolas was already missed and Lostiâ was very grateful for the gag in his nephew’s mouth.

All the same he hissed in Legolas’ ear, immediately putting the prisoner in mind of a large, venomous and rather ill tempered snake. “Make one peep and your friend will have to die. Understood?”

Legolas just jerked his face away in disgust and gave a soft and inaudible snort. His heart was pumping blood through is veins at an astonishing speed as he prayed to the Valar that Aragorn would simply think he had left and leave him. He was also earnestly praying that this wasn’t too much to hope for.

“Legolas! Legolas!” He heard Aragorn’s voice call into the darkness desperately. “Are you in here? I know it took me longer than fifteen minutes but I still would appreciate your answer!”

Lostiâ’s fingers pressed and pinched the skin of Legolas’ arms as he reminded his prisoner that the minutest sound would prove fatal for the ranger. As for Legolas, he felt like he was burning from the inside out with anxiety for his friend. He prayed and begged fervently that Aragorn wouldn’t even consider lighting a glow-globe, because he knew that if the human saw or discovered what was going on before they were gone he wouldn’t live to tell anyone

Legolas’ sharp Elven ears picked up the minutest sounds of Aragorn’s boots scuffing the floor and his breathing as he cautiously ventured into the dark room. He could feel his friend’s presence right beside him as Aragorn walked further into the room, with only the darkness hiding everything. For Aragorn’s sake Legolas held his breath and prayed the human wouldn’t find the sticky puddle of blood on the floor.

It was frustrating to have his best friend right beside him and not be able to say anything to let him know he was there because it would mean his friend’s death.
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TBC…., well here was the angst and our dear Elf is already hurt! Please review! Please! Please! PLEASE!


Chapter 6 - Sixth Sense

Hello! Well here is chapter six! Tin and I just wanted to say this is a very difficult story to write and if you haven’t reviewed it and told us what you thought we would appreciate it because at the moment we can’t tell if it is getting the full effect that was desired or not. Reviews, constructive criticisms and any opinions mean a lot to us and we would be honored if you would take a few minutes to let us know what you think!

What was that? You will! Great:)
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Ripples

CHAPTER SIX

:0Ж0:

Sixth Sense

:0Ж0:

Holding his breath in actual terror for Aragorn’s life, Legolas cursed mentally as his knees, which already felt loads less than reliable, began to shake like saplings in a gale. He couldn’t tell if it was weakness or fear that caused their instability but he guessed it was a good portion of both. Feeling faint from his blood loss, Legolas unconsciously leaned back against his uncle, trying not to fall, breathe or make any noise, however minute.

But no matter how much he wished and begged the Valar for his friend to leave, he could still feel Aragorn’s presence by his side in the dark. The ranger’s breathing was more than audible and Legolas could feel his exhales against his face.

In a way the Elf half-wished Aragorn would stay, stay and be the comforting friend that he was. However, as it was, Legolas decided that he would rather be alone and frightened than see Aragorn’s life be stolen and the man fall at his feet dead. His blood mingling with what already had been spilled this might.

‘Just leave,’ voices plead earnestly inside his head. ‘Please!’

Had an entire century passed? Or maybe even two? Legolas didn’t know but to his relief he could hear Aragorn backing out of the room with reluctance. Legolas felt his stomach turn aggressively and clench in a convulsion as a small voice in his head reminded him that Aragorn was a ranger and seemed to have a sixth sense.

It was entirely possible that Aragorn knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Another grueling century seemed to drudge by before Legolas knew Aragorn had totally exited the room and he could hear his hurried footfalls rhythmically treading down the hall.

His racing heart slowed down a little and his blood stopped roaring in his ears. Legolas came to the realization that what had seemed like three entire centuries were in fact, three entire minutes. He also came to the understanding that he was being asked to walk by way of a rough shove forward towards the door and the dark hallway where his friend had just disappeared.

But to his shame and total frustration his feet faltered and he was nearly brought to his knees by the trip. They must have taken more blood than he had thought, which only served to make him even angrier. His uncle stopped his fall with his fingers hooked under his shirt collar, pulling him upright as he choked him. Legolas gagged for a moment as Lostiâ and Rána conversed.

“Rána,” Lostiâ called for his friend in the blackness. “Leave a message they won’t forget. Write it in my dear nephew’s blood!” He scoffed as his long fingers twined themselves in Legolas’ golden locks, giving his head a vicious jerk. Pulling his captive’s face so it was near his own, inches away in fact, Lostiâ set his chin on Legolas’ shoulder as he whispered tauntingly, “and you are coming with me Legolas, may the Valar be with you if you don’t cooperate.”

Legolas’ face turned cloudy and his eyes burned as Rána re-lit the glow-globe and began his gruesome work. Legolas had never exactly been one to take kindly to a threat, depending on the severity how he reacted to it initially. But when the threat came from a bloody-handed traitor it made Legolas even angrier, if that were possible to begin with. Immediately, Legolas decided emphatically that he wasn’t going to let himself be an easy victim. He didn’t have his weapons but he had a working pair of eyes and a reasonable amount of intelligence.

Lostiâ steered him towards the door, pinching the skin of his arms as his fingers clenched inescapably tight. Legolas had to work his jaw and will to keep from trying to wriggle free of the merciless grip in order to try and escape the uncomfortable pain that was just enough to drive him to the brink of distraction. He could stand mild pain and he could stand extreme pain, for the most part, but pain that was in between was incredibly difficult to bear. He supposed that was one of the great mysteries of the world.

Legolas could feel his uncle breathing down his neck and a shiver that he was nearly not able to suppress threatened to raise the hair on the back of his head. If this capture had been uncomfortable it was now becoming annoying.

A large clap of thunder fairly shook the palace and lightning revealed the full message inscribed on the wall in Legolas’ blood. Finally, shuddering in disgust, Legolas came to the conclusion he might as well try to resist since he obviously did have much to lose.

Unexpectedly, Legolas discontinued walking and jerked backwards, bucking as much as he was able in his bonds and with his blood loss. If one took into account his shredded palm then they would have realized that in his desperation he was doing remarkably well. One of his kicking feet managed to catch Lostiâ in the shin, causing him to retreat back instantly, giving Legolas a brief sense of satisfaction.

However, his uncle was quick to have retribution and grabbing Legolas by the back of his neck, the elder Elf drove the captive prince’s head ruthlessly forward before Legolas could do anything about it.

With a cry, Legolas had the ‘honor’ of meeting the doorpost up close and personal with a brilliant show of blinding stars that came exploding out of nowhere. He didn’t hear the crack until what seemed minutes later but was in fact, only a few seconds.

A sharp and growing pain on his forehead provided the entire tale of his abrupt collision with the frame of the door. It also told him he would have a welt to remember for three days at least. Blinking, the prince shook his head to try and reduce the confusing effects of the harsh impact but without much success. By the time be got a bleary grip on what exactly was going on around him Lostiâ has his fingers securely snarled in his fair hair and positioned his face less than half an inch from the door post. “Do I have to treat you to another hit or will you comply? This isn’t your full punishment for an escape attempt. Trust me.”

The serious and perfectly calm tone in his uncle’s voice made his stomach sick and Legolas felt himself breathing hard. He would have liked to have resisted more or even better yet, break free completely, but it was impossible and one more hit would render him unconscious, destroying the small chance he still had. Not that having the knowledge his captors were forced to drag around his limp body wouldn’t be satisfying, on the contrary, he would find it laughable. But the expense of that satisfaction was a risk that was wholly dangerous and one Legolas wasn’t sure he was willing to take.

But there was the small chance that if they had to drag him it would slow them down enough that someone, Aragorn maybe, could find him and liberate him. Almost immediately, Legolas decided that idea sounded appealing and trusting that Aragorn would find him before they reached their destination, or at least before he was killed, he jerked backwards, feigning an escape attempt.

The recompense was exactly as his uncle had promised and Legolas heard the sounds of the storm fading out as his consciousness slipped away.

Lostiâ realized all too late what his nephew had been trying to do. An angry and sadistic smile crossed his face as he was forced to accept that Legolas was not as foolish as he thought and definitely resourceful. Rána, finished leaving their accursed message, stood by Lostiâ’s side anxiously.

“We should have killed that human,” the dark-haired Elf ground out, frustrated. “If he did sense something was wrong then he will go and raise the alarm be sure of that-“

Rána was silenced as Lostiâ raised a hand and shook his head. He was deeply concerned and frustrated with the situation too but in his opinion it was far worth their while to try and compensate for their error than complain about it. He was never one to listen to needless and rather ridiculous whining.

“It’s too late for that now! We will just have to work even faster to make up for the mistake!”

Thunder rumbled and made all of them jolt as though they had been struck by invisible lightning. Rain whipped in, frigid, from the window whose curtains were flapping as though in a state of hysteria.

The drops splattered on the floor, mingling with what blood was in their range, causing it to become runny and form pinkish puddles.

Looking at Rána quickly before he stooped to collect Legolas, crumpled at his feet, Lostiâ asked sharply aggravation, “And where is Arandur and his merry ones?”

“They could be delayed…possibly…” trailed off uncomfortably and shifted the glow-globe in his sweaty hands, though it wasn’t unbearably hot yet.

With Legolas folded in his arms, Lostiâ was able to deliver a cutting glance at his fellow conspirator and friend. “Why are they possibly delayed?” If his glare hadn’t killed Rána, then his voice sure would have except that Rána had been his friend long enough to have the antidote. It was uncertain if this was a fortunate or unfortunate thing, if not sad.

Swallowing, Rána retreated back a step before he quickly answered. “There was something that needed taken care of…” The dark-haired Elf extinguished the glow-globe as he spoke, allowing the darkness to come between them.

The cold look Lostiâ shot at Rána might have frozen boiling water without a second glance; only it had no effect on Rána. The darkness hid all facial expressions quite well and the lightning had become less frequent though the rain had picked up along with the thunder. “I am not even going to ask!” snapped Lostiâ angrily, oddly enough causing Rána’s anxiety to decline ever so slightly. “But they had better be out there with those horses or I will skin you Rána! I promise!”

Rána only nodded stiffly in the blackness before he growled back an irritated reply. “They will be there.”

As if on cue a clap of thunder that made up for its short length in loudness made the air throb, increasing tensions, if that were possible. Shuddering, Rána felt fresh blood surfacing on his wound, seeping into the bandage. He cast a dark look at Legolas’ limp form as Lostiâ hurried out of the room, bearing the unconscious prince.

Blood should be rendered for blood, he told himself in his head. But then that brought into question why he was still breathing and his heart still pumped life through his veins.

:0Ж0:

Leaving Legolas’ room with consternation building in his heart, Aragorn cursed himself for losing the Elf. After all that his father had told him Aragorn had a sinking feeling pulling him to the center of the earth with its ballast, that his friend’s life was in dire danger and that he should have never let him go.

The candle he held caused the bizarre shadows to play on the wall and ceiling, as it’s minute glow pushed the darkness away enough to light a path for feet to tread. This candle he had taken from Legolas’ room, knowing where everything was quite well and being about one hundred percent certain that Legolas could care less.

Stopping as he felt the sensation of being watched, Aragorn turned and gave a start as a set of silver eyes gazed with wide orbs back into his own. However, he wasn’t overly concerned as he continued to stare into the mirror. But he was wary, not sure if he knew this person as well as he had once thought. Initially one wouldn’t think that they would ever hurt themselves, but he had given himself a wound. Having left Legolas to go alone and thus left this friend at the mercy of a blood-thirsty lunatic and his equally insane helpers, Aragorn had not only betrayed Legolas but his own morals and values. As he continued to gaze into those expressive silver eyes that were his own he felt like he was gazing into the eyes of a traitor.

Twisting his face away from his own reflection with disgust, Aragorn began to put all his concentration into finding a way to discover Legolas’ whereabouts. His frustration and anger, directed mostly in part to himself, intensified as he realized that his best friend, who was like his brother, had been going through so much emotional pain and he had never noticed. For the past four years Legolas had been suffering and he had never been able to read the telltale signs.

But the more these thoughts were turned over and over in his mind his anger and frustration were gradually redirected towards Legolas. The awful thought that Legolas had taken him for granted, even after all the hardships they had been through together, or didn’t consider him close enough to tell him of his most painful memory burned Aragorn’s heart like a hot brand was applied to its delicate center. They had crossed so many other barriers, race being the main one, which he was honored by Legolas’ friendship but this still hurt.

But as quickly as his anger had turned on Legolas it returned and attacked him again. If Legolas hadn’t told him it had to be for a reason other than a lack of trust or oversight. It had to be because Legolas must have thought he had simply known or had put all the pieces together over the years. He had let his friend down where he was needed most for support.

But it was Legolas’ fault to some degree wasn’t it?

The Elf should have known better than to lean on a human, especially one with his past and lineage. He never understood why people thought he was so strong. He was surprised that after the horrific incidents in Farlost the Elf was still speaking to him and not hiding. Legolas was the strong one, wasn’t he?

Aragorn took a few more random and indecisive steps that collectively covered a distance of four feet at the most. Stopping abruptly, Aragorn chewed his lower lip and then shook his head in bewilderment, having no more than a faint idea of what to do next.

He wished he had asked his father where it was Legolas’ mother and aunt had been murdered by the orcs. Simple and sadistic logic saying that if the vengeful Elves wished to reap the sweetest flavored revenge they would kill Legolas in the same place his mother had died. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, they probably wouldn’t want to murder Legolas as soon as possible and wouldn’t let him go quickly when they decided to either. That provided more time for Aragorn, but could only serve to make Legolas’ immediate situation even worse.

Of course Aragorn knew he could go and ask his father, a fountain of knowledge and wisdom, for advice or information. However, he was far too much afraid that it would take too much time and he would lose Legolas permanently. Going to Thranduil wouldn’t be a horrible idea but a high risk ran with it, one the ranger wasn’t sure he felt comfortable enough to take, not that this situation was anyway secure to begin with.

Thranduil would most likely lead a contingent of Elves to try and find his son, disregarding whether Aragorn told him anything now or not, because when Legolas didn’t show up late for breakfast he would figure everything out. But the later that contingent was sent out the safer Aragorn was sure everything would be. He didn’t trust Legolas to live long if the circumstances intensified any more and there were other complications that were a threat to Lostiâ.

The whole truth was that it was very difficult to discern which Elves were corrupted against Legolas and which were not. Much of Lostiâ’s battalion, he knew had mingled and mixed with the other Elves as soon as they had returned. Take Arandur for example. He had inner-twined himself with the other Elves soon enough and not a one of them suspected his treason save those who knew it well. However, those who knew it full well were all in on it themselves, most likely having sworn an oath or two as well.

His only other choice for seeking information wasn’t going to be, unfortunately, of much use either. Voronwë was in the hands of Arandur and his Elves now and from the exchanges of looks between them it wouldn’t surprise him overly much if Voronwë were dead. There had been oh-so-much love between them all.

This left him with one last option to use in an attempt to save Legolas.

Tracking was nothing Aragorn hadn’t done quite often and as a matter of fact, under conventional circumstances it was fairly enjoyable. However, with the situation being so dire and so much having to rest on his abilities Aragorn didn’t feel even distantly comfortable with it. However, he had no better ideas and came to the conclusion he didn’t have time to play with them anymore anyway. All the planning in the world wouldn’t rescue the Elf unless someone acted on it and since there was no one else around that someone had to be him.

If Legolas had been supposed to meet him in the Healing Ward that might not be an overly bad spot to start looking for ‘clues’ as to his friend’s disturbing disappearance. However the trail, which Aragorn already suspected would be growing cold, needed to be found within the next ten minutes at the latest to analyze it properly and with optimal success.

Having reached the Healing Ward within the next three minutes, saving the candle’s miniature flame only by cupping his other hand precariously around it, Aragorn slowed outside the door. Breathing hard in anxiousness more than physical exertion, the human did his best to confine a swelling (and rising) lump to the lower regions of his throat. However, his heartbeat quickened, sending the blood rushing to his ears with thuds that droned out all other sound, and the lump rose while taking on new dimensions.

He didn’t know if he could gather up the nerve to go into the black room where he knew from his prior feelings that some atrocity had taken place.

Filling his lungs with a deep breath, Aragorn bit his lower lip and bodily stepped into the room, clearing the threshold by three feet in only two steps. But suddenly he came to an abrupt halt and a sick weight gathered in his stomach’s center.
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TBC….Yes, well, not so much of a cliffy here, but there are worse ones to come, trust us! Please review! As we mentioned at the start of this chapter we appreciate your thoughts, criticisms and any opinions on things and would be totally honored if you would drop in a quick review!


Chapter 7 - Out of Our Hands

Ripples

CHAPTER SEVEN

:0Ж0:

Out of Our Hands

:0Ж0:

Rána had been very lucky, or more accurately, unnaturally lucky, Lostiâ concluded as he amend his grip on Legolas, unconscious before him, and then demanded more speed of his horse, which was already going reasonably fast. Arandur and his Elves had conveniently, for everyone concerned, been there on time. More over, Lostia had to admit he was pleasantly astonished.

He undoubtedly trusted Rána, though he knew his planning skills (or the lack of them) could use more than a little more work or well planning. Though he wasn’t sure ‘work’ or ‘planning’ were really the right words. ‘Practice’ or even ‘consideration’ might be more appropriate. But despite everything, Rána had been his friend since time out of mind.

However Arandur was another story completely, Lostiâ grumbled to himself. The green-eyed creature had been and still was a member of his contingent for nigh on nineteen –no, twenty, years. This wasn’t to say his trust for the secretive and rather secluded Elf was anything worth speaking of. He had allowed Arandur and a few of his friends to his regiment because he really had no other choice and because Rána had advocated strongly in their favor. Initially Lostiâ had not thought it was a good idea but he had been pressed into agreement more or less by a constant asking of acceptance.

For a while things have gone well, but then his initial suspicions had returned when he had become aware of how elusive and secretive Arandur and his companions really were. It was disconcerting and that was putting things mildly. He noticed they never mingled well and didn’t seem to be overly friendly with anyone.

Frowning, he looked at the woods surrounding them, knowing they were still far less than safe. If they reached their destination in under two hours with no assailment they would be lucky. He was grateful that this storm had settled down to a drenching rain with little or no thunder and lightning. And the rain wasn’t so bad, because the thick leaves of the forest canopy collected it all.

Legolas’ limp body started to slither out of his grip as the horse picked up its pace at its master’s bidding. The unconscious prince’s head lolled off at an odd angle as though he was dead. His face reflected a ghastly pale color save for a darkening spot on his forehead, where he had been struck. His golden hair fell over the rest of his face like a curtain.

A truly sadistic and entirely cold smile crossed Lostiâ’s face as he stared smugly down at his bound nephew. It was an odd thing, he mused mentally. He had dreamed and waited, planed and devoted everything to this moment among one other and now that things were in motion he had no idea how to savor it. So far it tasted rather sweet, but not as sweet as it could be.

‘Well then I will just have to make it sweeter. Who said I had to kill him quickly and cleanly?’ Lostiâ mused to dissolve his mildly confusing disappointment.

Rána didn’t know if he was imagining things when he saw the evil grin on his friend’s face become fuller. If he wasn’t mistaken the ice and steal had more potency than before and a chill raised the hair on the back of his head.

Arandur rode up stiffly beside him and without warning, his green eyes sparkling maliciously. Rána nearly shuddered as he noticed the dark aurora that had always aligned and accompanied Arandur wherever he went. He had never had dealings with truly turned Elves until now and they frightened him, though he felt strangely drawn to them. He still didn’t entirely understand why he had even considered placing half his trust in that belligerent warrior. But he also couldn’t believe that he was any better than the one he loathed.

“Rána,” Arandur addressed the Elf whom he considered his only real ally, putting Rána immediately in mind of a venomous snake. “He has been…disposed of.”

Rána coked his head to the side and quirked a brow dubiously. “How, Arandur is that?”

Arandur only gave a small frown of slight hesitation and uneasiness before he replied. “It was more an accident really. We were riding along the Old Forest River when Voronwë fainted, sliding off the horse and into the stream. That water is magic, you know. We believe he drowned after he fell into an instant deep…sleep?” Arandur questioned as to whether sleep was really the word he wanted to use in this context.

Rána was unamused and equally unconvinced.

Actually though, on the whole he was taking this altogether better than expected. The green-eyed Elf had expected something akin to the break of a perfectly horrendous storm that was chiefly composed of lightning. Rána, however, was just scowling…threatening, Arandur realized with a sick feeling spreading his stomach, like a freed toxin.

“You believe he drowned?” Rána growled, putting emphases on every single word, especially ‘believe’. The dark-haired Elf cast a curious look at Lostiâ to see if he was paying any attention to their conversation. Satisfied, Rána turned back to his more personal matters.

Crossly, he waited for Arandur’s expectedly clumsy explanations.

“Well we didn’t have time to search for the body!” Arandur retorted hotly, but in a low tone, becoming indignant and menacing in his own fashion.

He had done his job after all, and in a way it was a favor because he had done more than he had been asked, making sure none would know Rána’s connection. Unless Legolas decided to talk but he seemed…indisposed to do much of anything at the moment. Anyway, he wasn’t very appreciative of Rána’s incredulous interrogation, though questions were somewhat expected.

“Then there is no way to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is dead then, is there?” Rána’s voice rose to risky heights. Annoyed by Arandur’s silence, he glared and answered for him. “No! There isn’t!”

Arandur felt his jaw tighten and he was about to make a rather uncomplimentary retort but thought better of it. With a sense of satisfaction that made a smile nearly spread across his face he saw Rána work to hide a grimace of pain as his wound troubled him again.

Suddenly, Lostiâ gave an amused snort as he slowed his horse to a trot. His eyes were on the being before him, who was surprisingly awake and blinking slowly in reaction to everything he was discovering about him.

That snort was annoying, the dazed prince thought and didn’t make his pulsing headache feel the least bit better. Legolas’ awareness was inching its way back, taking its precious time about it and his line of vision, corrupted by shifting black spots, began to grow with clarity. Unfortunately the more he became conscious; the more he became aware of his throbbing headache. But as he became aware of his pain and confusion he determined that these were probably the least of his growing problems and difficulties. For instance he was half off a moving horse depending on someone he didn’t trust not to let him fall and barely managing to escape having his eyes poked out by a bunch of nasty sticks. But that was small apples, he imagined, when he took the time to consider why exactly he was ‘riding’ through the nastier part of the forest half off the horse with sticks trying to skewer his eyes.

Blinking slowly, Legolas told himself he shouldn’t be too surprised he didn’t remember much of anything because he didn’t understand a whole lot right now, as is what usually happens when you are hit on the head repeatedly. He was partially considering giving his head a small shake, but there was no need and no choice either as the horse jolted him painfully.

Allowing his eyes to look at the ground flowing quickly beneath the horse’s fleet hooves, he permitted the full understanding of the hazardous situation to sink in. The passing of the dark and well foliaged forest floor was frightening close to hypnotic. And actually, the merging shades of green and brown were fascinating. Frowning, he couldn’t help but comment to himself, ‘didn’t I have a dream like this once?’ If he had, he wished he could remember the ending.

Legolas was about to ask just what in the name of blessed Eru was going on when he realized that was going to be absolutely impossible. It was not easy to speak when your mouth was covered with a large and strong hand, but when a thick gag was between your teeth you might as well give it up. But Legolas couldn’t dwell on this long because there was a more uncomfortable and more demanding problem vying for his divided attention.

His arms were inactive and the signals from his brain just didn’t appear to be getting any obedience from his muscles. They were also unnaturally sore and stiff. Unfortunately Legolas had felt this feeling before, several times and it had never once boded well and he had a hard time believing that this was any exception. His hands had been bound behind his back with thick rope and twined about his wrists with almost unbearable levels of tightness. The reason for his numb appendages and actually, both of his entire hands, was self explanatory.

Wrinkling his forehead as he tried to search his memory for exactly why he was in these circumstances, the prince suddenly grimaced openly. Everything from…well recently, was rushing back too fast, botching things up and making comprehension difficult. After a moment of discerning Legolas understood most of it.

Twisting his neck and head around, his now clear eyes fastened themselves with a steely glare to Lostiâ’s mocking silver ones. He had never realized before how cold those orbs were or really, how they glittered with immeasurable malice. The elder Elf smirked with a blinding smile of contempt. Suddenly Legolas was hard put to contain his sudden surprise to less degrading levels as his uncle cuffed the side of his face sharply.

“Look ahead and don’t even consider trying a single stunt!” He snapped, not under promoting his aggression and disdain by any means. “I still have to show you exactly why escape attempts are incredibly stupid ideas.”

Shivering, Legolas felt all too recent memories resurface as his uncle’s words echoed some of King’s speeches a little too closely. The last time he had heard those words a fear had been burned in his heart that had been consuming. As much as he hated to admit it, after King had taught him the hard way that escapes were very foolish and very costly things to attempt and fail, Legolas had dreaded the man’s wrath.

He had never told Aragorn half of all that had happened, though he was sure his wounds had said volumes about his experiences in those dark caves. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but that he was afraid to, though he was certain Aragorn would never hurt him on purpose. But because of King and his cronies Legolas’ limited trust in men had been shaken severely and the over whelming majority of it had come toppling down. Because of King he Legolas found it hard to be so close to a human that he could tell him anything anymore.

Because of King he was afraid.

Legolas could never believe that Aragorn would even dream of truly harming him in any way. For that reason he couldn’t allow Aragorn to know that his presence made him slightly on edge, he wouldn’t wound his friend with that knowledge. However, it wasn’t the purposeful pain that frightened him but the fear that Aragorn would accidentally cause him hurt and then being around human would become unbearable. Wasn’t it more than a bit ironic that those closest to you could cause you the most pain so easily? The insanely strong power of true friendship could do more damage than the most notorious interrogator –and within seconds providing the circumstances were right.

But it also could heal.

A sudden thought nearly made Legolas whirl his head back to look at the forest behind as though its floor had turned into a yawning gap in the ground to swallow them up.

Where was Aragorn right now?

Did the human even know all that had transpired and was he tracking him?

Legolas hoped that at least someone knew where he was, but he prayed to every one of the Valar (save the accursed one) that Aragorn would have the common sense not to come after him by himself. Better yet, he would prefer the ranger didn’t come for him at all. This was his uncle; his problem and his peril alone, though he was sure Aragorn would think he was being a bit selfish not to share. But Legolas decided with a firmly set will, he didn’t much care what Aragorn thought as long as he was safe.

The fact was that Aragorn, no matter what strength he had for a human, couldn’t go up against seven Elves and expect anything other than to die. Legolas himself had little enough advantage over them and as of right now, things were pretty disadvantageous. Legolas trusted Aragorn would take all this into account but he suspected it wouldn’t be given much consideration.

:0Ж0:

There was one odor he could never get used to; Aragorn decided instantaneously as his nose involuntarily crinkled at the coppery tang that hung in the air. Blood, the reeking stench was without exception always overbearing and right now it was filling the room like a toxic cloud.

Aragorn’s throat bean to constrict tightly and his body went taut as a cold sweat soaked his skin. The human didn’t notice he had stopped breathing until his lungs drew a deep breath of their own accord.

Daring to open his eyes to see what his small candle’s miniature flame would reveal, he immediately felt repulsed. Disgust moved mixed with horror covered his face and filled his eyes. He hadn’t seen the blood yet but he knew something atrocious had happened and he fully expected to see his best friend’s body on the ground.

Crimson tracks, three sets, speckled the marble floor starting from a medium sized pool of blood.

Aragorn began to walk across the room and in the dim light nearly stumbled over a capsized medical cart with its contents shattered and spilled all around it. A dusting of herbs on the ground had absorbed some of the massive amounts of blood, being stained red and clumping into sticky clusters. The intense and bitter tang of the herbs with the crimson fluid was nearly overbearing.

But then Aragorn saw a wicked sight that made every instinct he had scream and plead for him to close his eyes but he could not. There was a hand print over a cluster of broken crockery, a bloody hand print. The fingers and palm appeared to be stretched and Aragorn knew as his own heart bleed in sympathy, that the hapless victim had been ruthlessly dragged across the floor after he was wounded.

His fingers slowly and gingerly traced the fingers of the scarlet print, as though he could grab his friend’s hand. He knew this was Legolas’ blood without thinking twice. Oh, no, he couldn’t prove it, but his squeezed and tortured heart knew it and wept for the pain and terror he knew Legolas had and probably was still experiencing. His own hand was shaking and he clenched it into a fist before he touched it to his brow in frustration and self-directed anger. Closing his eyes, he could vividly see Legolas lying on the floor, desperately needing his help that never arrived.

Opening his silver orbs, revealing the re-rimmed eyes, Aragorn worked not to spill tears as agonizing guilt burrowed into his heart and soul. All this might have been prevented if he had been there.

Seeing tendrils of blood dripping form the wall, running down its white sides in thin and wavy lines, Aragorn followed their crimson trails upward and then his face went as white as a sheet before it crumpled in pain.

There on that brilliantly white wall was a haunting message inscribed in Legolas’ dark-red blood. The wall would have to be whitewashed to remove the deep stains Aragorn realized, or to be more accurate, cover them up. They would never truly leave. Those few words, eight of them, had cut his heart deeper than any rebuking lecture his father or brothers had ever given him.

Not allowing anymore time to grieve or hate himself the human, drew his sleeve across his face and turned around, scrupulously studying the footprints with what could be called a professional eye. With alarm he noticed the three print sets on the ground had become two and there was a sign of a struggle by the door. Unless he was mistaken and someone had drawn water form thing air and washed their boots, Legolas had lost consciousness and been carried out. Or even worse, he had been killed and his body removed from the room.

As a side note he took notice that Rána was not in the room and must have been one of the traitors who helped kidnap –or more precisely Elfnap, his friend and stain the floor with his blood. Aragorn felt blinding anger momentarily seize control of his reason as he remembered that it wasn’t more than hours ago that he had tried to help Rána after Legolas had accidentally shot him. He was fervently wishing that he could miraculously turn back time and give Legolas the opportunity to send his shaft into the dark-haired Elf’s stone heart. It was wish that he was certain Legolas would agree with.

Although he also knew fate may have played a role here. Legolas, after all, was one of the best shots in all Middle Earth and if he missed it was unnatural. Rána should be dead. Interpreting that maybe Rána had something to do before the end, Aragorn allowed his anger to flow through his body and turn into a smoldering fire in his chest.

Following the two remaining sets of bloody prints over the threshold and through the door, Aragorn groaned to himself as he saw the only guide he had at his disposal begin to fade as the precious ‘ink’ that marked the trail wore off. His thoughts of where Legolas could be were sketchy at best and didn’t want to risk being thrown off the trail.

Once again the Valar cursed message pushed itself rudely to the foremost of his thoughts. Written in his friend’s blood it was a taunting message and yet wouldn’t be if it weren’t for his guilt that had laid siege to his heart.

Don’t you wish you had lit a candle?


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TBC….please review! Pretty please! This is an evil cliffy after all. :)


Chapter 8 - Not Just Fair Weather Friends

Ripples

CHAPTER EIGHT

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Not Just Fair Weather Friends

:0Ж0:

Legolas was beginning to feel sore. Not from his bonds so much anymore but because after being soaked by the rain and riding on a horse for hours that seemed to last ages at a time, your muscles began to complain. He was miserable right now and that was putting things nicely. Lostiâ and actually all of the Elves holding him captive had not spoken a word to him since the threat, but he wasn’t grumbling about it and was actually quite grateful.

To keep himself occupied, Legolas had been trying to determine where their destination was, but the rain and darkness was making it difficult and things had changed since he had been in this neck of the woods. All he knew was that it was bordering upon the Emyn Duir and that it was relatively close to where he had accidentally shot Rána. The spot where they had found Voronwë was slightly more North.

Unfortunately this meant they were entering into reasonably evil territory and still traveling South towards Dol Guldur, thought he doubted they would go that far because all Elves, even the insane ones, feared the Dark One. The glow of the traveling Elves had long ago begun to be suffocated by the dense darkness wrapped around the incredibly thick forest of fir trees. Shrouded in these dense and dark fir trees many evil creatures, especially wargs and spiders, dwelled, being hidden and aided by the blackness.

Now that they had fully entered into the land of the fir trees the rain was not stopped by any forest canopy and everyone was feeling the effects of a severely heavy down pour. In the dark, Legolas could see the outlines and silhouettes of spiders, sitting on the ground unused to the drenching wetness and unable to stick very well to their webs. It was usually the larger spiders that were forced to the ground that had trouble staying in the trees as it was because of their heavy bulk from being the horrible gluttons that they were. There were a few little ones on the ground that had been washed out from the trees and were being chased here and there by the bigger spiders as the brood’s more dominant ones asserted their cruel authority.

Shuddering, Legolas did his best not to let his bored and weary mind allow his eyes to observe them. He couldn’t help but be a bit alarmed because they hadn’t seen rain like this in quite some time and the last memories of it were not good ones. It had taken a lot of limbs down from the trees and flooded a good portion of the lower forest not to mention his father’s wine cellars. Trade with Lake Town was not heard of for weeks until the mess was cleaned up and things began to get back on schedule, which didn’t necessarily matter because the Lake Men had been experiencing close to the same difficulties.

Though he didn’t recognize where they were now by sight, he was beginning to hear the moaning and sorrow of the trees. Having the talent of his people to talk to trees or at least know their feelings he sensed much sadness in the drooped boughs.

There had once been a horrific slaughter here and many Elves had died. The trees remembered the blood spilled because it had seeped into their roots and they had been forced to drink it and it flowed in their limbs. In all of their leaves there was minute traces of the victims’ blood and their leaves that fell rotted and placed it back in the soil so it never left. It simply lingered for all to remember.

And Legolas did remember.

He recalled the orcs with their merciless eyes and laughter and the desperation of his mother and their people to fight and live as the orcs shot them down or managed to get a few of the warriors into bonds so they could be used for the dark purposes of Sauron. He vividly saw the panic on the pale faces of many of the Elves that had been his mentors and friends, as they understood this was a fight that they could not win and did their best to ward off a crippling despair.

He shouldn’t have walked away, but he had. His mother had saved his life but she herself had not lived. An orc, originally trying to kill him had cut her down right before his eyes when she stood purposefully in its path. To this day it didn’t always seem real and he would stare out the window that over looked the road home from time to time, half believing he would see his mother returning.

But he hadn’t done that in at least, well, close to five years. Certainly not since he had become friends with Aragorn. His own parents being killed by orcs he had been very sympathetic even though they never once talked about it. Rothinzil was wonderful as far as friends went and he was sympathetic was well but Rothinzil was an Elf and felt wounds as deeply as Legolas did and so for once Legolas had found a friend who was more cheerful and less sorrowful in the ranger. It had been an unlooked for friendship that had slowly healed both of them.

Now though his heart was beginning to sting and he hadn’t even realized his face was flushed and hot as tears blurred his vision for a brief moment before they fell and the torrential rains washed them away.

He hadn’t realized that they had stopped.

Lostiâ tipped his head to the side and snarled his fingers in Legolas’ hair, pulling his nephew’s face back so that he could look into Legolas’ eyes. “Well at least I know I don’t need to remind you of where we are,” he spat in reference of the red-rimmed eyes of his captive. For a moment, seeing Legolas so sorrowful he nearly repented of his evil plan but his hate for this prince and anger at the past stopped him. He had taken too many years in planning this to change now.

Blinking as a large drop found its way into his right eye, Lostiâ rolled his eyes and glared accusingly at the canopy above, or more accurately, the fir tree branches. This rain wasn’t helping things and it was trying his patience, it really was. If they had been in the more ‘friendly’ part of the forest, where the oak trees and beech trees grew they might not be getting so wet, but the fir trees’ ‘leaves’ were oily and shed water onto anyone who happened to be traveling below at the wrong time.

Looking at the others with wrinkles of irritation evident on his forehead in a way that made all present more than a bit uneasy, Lostiâ explained crossly, “this rain is messing everything up.” And, he seethed mentally, that was being kind about how things looked.

Everyone exchanged glances and at the best looked uneasy. It wasn’t wise to cross Lostiâ, unless of course you were suicidal, then you were more than welcome to grate on his nerves. Rána was the first to say anything and even he was a bit apprehensive about putting his perspective into words. “We could always find a cave,” he suggested warily. “This water is driving every one to distraction and is rather miserable. In a cave we would be sheltered, the Emyn Duir is full of them,” he explained guardedly, watching Lostiâ’s face as he spoke.

Lostiâ didn’t look amused and far from pleased. He scowled even darker and shook his head to try and rid his face of water as much as in disgust at the situation. “In a cave?” he snapped angrily, narrowing his eyes incredulously as he scrutinized his soggy companions with a critical and disbelieving eye. “Did I hear you right, Rána?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” asked the dark-haired warrior tartly, glaring at Lostiâ. He knew he was taking a risk by getting a little argumentative but he was beginning to get short tempered along with everyone else.

In Legolas’ mind they were all arguing like a pack of mangy orcs and he wasn’t feeling thrilled about the prospect of a cave either. No matter how much he loathed this down pour, he hated caves more. He hated them when he was in them with friends, but being trapped in them with foes...again, it bordered on being unbearable.

Lostiâ returned Rána’s glare without hesitation before he seethed, “No, you most certainly do not!” He paused and then asked insultingly, “are you insane? Elves staying in a cave?” He was getting incredibly frustrated as he had the feeling he was talking to beings with the mentality of highly stupid and stubborn children.

Arandur cocked his head eyed everyone as thought they were all insane. But a cave didn’t sound horrible; as long as it wasn’t small and dank it would be fine. He imagined that these caves, for the most part, would be sandy and dry and probably pretty extensive. “Well what other option do we have?” asked the green-eyed warrior a bit impatiently, not enjoying the rain any more than anyone else and quite possibly less.

Lostiâ and Rána both turned to glare at him before they returned to glaring at each other. Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up, brushing the tops of the trees and causing them to sway –and spill more water onto the already soaked and grumpy Elves. The rain looked as though it was being poured down by the bucket full as it collected in the leaves before spilling to the forest floor below with a terrific splash.

The ground was flooded.

“That settles it!” snapped Rána aggressively, fed up completely with the waiting and the grumbling. “I am going to find a cave and you can all melt for all I care!”

Legolas had felt his heart starting thudding wildly in his chest at the mention of a cave and taken a keen interest in the entire conversation. When Lostiâ hesitated, he prayed that his uncle would be far too stubborn to want to submit himself to the shelter of a cavern of any sort.

Unfortunately, Lostiâ had put up with enough of the rain and was probably willing to walk into a Dragon’s mouth to escape it. Not that Legolas would have minded that, as long as he wasn’t dragged along.

“Well,” his uncle looked at Rána a bit malevolently. “Do you know of a cave nearby? A good and clean cave?”

Rána paused, thinking before he nodded affirmatively. “I think so.” He hesitated before reminding Lostiâ of the fact that there were orcs about, making mischief, especially along the Emyn Duir. “I saw a patrol a little while ago, before your precious nephew shot me. We fought them off,” he turned his attention to Legolas. “Didn’t we? You, me and that strange little Edan friend of yours.”

Lostiâ listened but he wasn’t really concerned overly much. In this storm he couldn’t picture even them stirring up commotion and trouble. Any creature with the desire to save his hide or that enjoyed dry weather would be in their home or tucked away in a cave some place. Which was one of the reasons he was reluctant to go into any grotto near this evil place. They were seldom unoccupied and he didn’t wish a confrontation. After all, there were only seven of them and they were no match for a group of heavily armed Uruks or a pack of hungry wargs. For the spiders he had less concern because the rain was giving them difficulties and he didn’t think his companions and himself could be classified as stragglers in their minds.

“Well, do you think they wouldn’t have found a cave someplace? What if we happen to find the same one?” questioned Lostiâ, not trying to slow things down of course but taking all things into consideration so as not to meet certain disaster.

Arandur and Rána exchanged thoughtful glances before the green-eyed warrior spoke. “We could send a scout,” he recommended helpfully.

“And so if the orcs toss his head out of the cave after we hear a series of horrified screams we know we aren’t welcome?” Lostiâ spoke in bitter sarcasm. “We all should go together. Time is short as well as my patience.”

After a tense moment of silence they all agreed, too wet and irritated to argue any more and not desiring to get on Lostiâ’s bad side. He was rather…ill tempered when his patience reached its limits and wasn’t beyond clobbering anyone, most likely. Though there was the hope that Legolas would bear the brunt of his wrath, it wasn’t like he was in for easy sailing anyway.

As of right now, Legolas just wished there was some sign he could leave behind that would signal anyone tracking him that he was alive and waiting for help. There wasn’t much else he could do and right now he felt so depressed and lonely that he didn’t think he could handle a cave, any cave. But there was no sign that he could leave behind and so as his uncle and the other Elves began to pull out, looking for the closest cave possible, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink at least an inch deeper into despair.

:0Ж0:

Aragorn didn’t know how he had done it. Not that it was overly important now since he was beyond the gate but he still was a bit astonished. Getting past Elven guards was never an easy task, unless they were drunk or getting close to being overly intoxicated. Which, now that he thought about it, might have helped him a little bit. But it was a satisfyingly enjoyable feeling to think he had done it entirely on his own.

He hadn’t fully avoided the guards because he didn’t completely trust them. He happened to know this pair of sentries. But Aragorn didn’t think an interrogation was going to make his travel any faster or help the situation in any way.

For one thing, word would get out that he was going to try and find as well as liberate Legolas and then it would circulate among the Elven community and before long he could be faced with even more trouble. The last thing Aragorn needed or desired was for Lostiâ and his minions to decide that they needed to lack up and move to a less known area, dragging Legolas with them. Of course there was also the chance that if Lostiâ had any notion that his dear nephew might get rescued then he would kill him prematurely rather than allow his escape.

Neither of these discouraging options would be allowed to happen, Aragorn promised himself as he rested on one knees among the vegetation, searching for tracks. At any rate sneaking past the guards had given him a slight boost in his self-esteem, though he couldn’t help but consider the odds to be very discouraging.

Sighing as he searched in vain for some sign of which way the had dragged his friend, or more likely, traveled on horseback, Aragorn wished that Mirkwood was not so…murky, when the sun had already begun to rise. It was really aggravating and inconvenient on a normal day and now it was making him angry. It was after all, near five in the morning and the sun had started to show it’s face, he knew, but you couldn’t tell through the impossibly thick canopy of leaves that blanketed the forest.

The ranger blinked as the rain which had settled into a depressing drizzle, blew into his face with a change of winds. Adding to his aggravations, the air became stronger and whipped his hood back, allowing the rain to soak his head and shoulders. The man stole a moment to adjust his hood and tighten it about his face. No, wait, this was Legolas’ and he hoped to have a chance to give it back.

All right, he admitted to himself, this situation is hopeless, entirely. He had been doing this for about an hour and a half and obviously, things had not improved.

When Legolas had turned up missing in Farlost he was loads easier to tack, mostly because arrogant people, like Calmir and his cronies were careless. However, now he was up against Elves and that was a completely different way of tracking. Elladan and Elrohir had been excellent teachers and even Elrond had let him in on a few secrets, but nothing compared to having them by your side in a pinch. Aragorn was sorely tempted to go and wake his father again and beg him to help.

But it was out of the question for several reasons. First being that it would be wholly dangerous and Aragorn wasn’t willing to put Elrond in that kind of danger. Secondly, he didn’t think both he and Elrond could elude the sentries a second time. It was asking too much. Anyway, he couldn’t picture Elrond ‘sneaking’ anywhere.

He could only do this by himself. Bowing his head in frustration, Aragorn asked himself why life had to be so damn hard! He felt like if he could see beyond the diminutive light his poor excuse for a candle provided then everything would be blurred with a tint of red, so great was his frustration. If Legolas were here right now he would have a thing or two to say.

Staring at the candle and its attractive little flame, the man realized that Legolas would have probably called him idiot in every language he knew. Aragorn should have remembered Legolas’ constant advice to never light a flame in Mirkwood if you were very far from the palace. It only made you look more delicious and noticeable to the monstrous spiders and attracted rather ugly and obnoxious insects of various sorts. But he seemed to forgetting a lot lately…

Hearing thunder, Aragorn guessed that another gale was moving in. He could see the rain breaking through the ‘roof’ of Mirkwood in buckets, flooding the lower grounds and so he could only imagine how heavily it was raining outside the eves of the forest.

Mirkwood normally didn’t get rain like this. It was as though the Valar were crying for events past and present and the trees were mourning in their fashion, soaked branches drooped in sadness.

What Aragorn wasn’t aware of was that it was making the spiders angry and frustrated, forcing them out of the trees and onto the ground where they must find easier prey as their webs had lost a lot of their stickiness. Straggler Elves were ideal, but they were few and far between and the spiders were not overly picky in their choosing. A lone human who was stupid enough to bear a light sounded as tasty as anything in their dark minds and being finicky wasn’t going to fill their stomachs.

When he heard a bubbling hiss, like a seething kettle behind him, Aragorn began to understand his danger as he identified the noise as being only one a spider –and a hungry spider at that, would make. This was definitely not something he wanted and not anything that he needed.

The thing that alarmed him was that the hiss did not come from the treetops but rather the ground and directly behind him. Feeling a cold onset of fear clutching at his stomach, Aragorn forced himself to breathe deep breaths and relax. Placing a hand on his sword hilt, he turned slowly, holding the candle aloft with the other so its rays revealed his gurgling adversary.

To his dismay he saw a giant old and incredibly fat spider bubbling at him from behind with extended and raised forelegs beating the air. Aragorn grimaced as her body was revealed in the light to be slimy from the rains and spittle dripped from her mandibles as Aragorn imagined she was dreaming of fresh ranger blood. Well she could dream on as far as he was concerned.

Drawing his sword, Aragorn prepared for her to advance upon him but she didn’t move, her bulbous eyes glowing as they caught light, making her look even more ghastly. But then the wind unexpectedly snuffed out Aragorn’s candle and left him in the dark, being watched by the menace.


Chapter 9 - But For These Memories

Ripples

CHAPTER NINE

:0Ж0:

But for These Memories…

:0Ж0:

Aragorn felt like everything was petrified for few seconds and all he was able to hear was his heart pounding in his chest. But then things quickly snapped back into the moment and he started as he realized that a large, aggressive and probably hungry spider was about to make a breakfast out of him.

Instinctively, the human sprang into action and dropped into a fearful crouch, muscles tensing as he held his sword in a prepared position, waiting for the first assault. To his dismay and mild confusion, the spider didn’t appear to be doing anything at all. There wasn’t even the slightest sound of the creaking of its legs, which would have been a signal of its movement.

Holding his breath, Aragorn painstakingly raised himself, feeling his vertebrae straighten one piece at a time as he became rigid, lowering his sword ever so slightly. Something wasn’t right, that much was obvious. A spider of this colossal size and strength normally wouldn’t have hesitated the slightest in attacking a victim –even playing with its food.

Aragorn swallowed as he thought it might have already eaten and couldn’t help but wonder what had filled the creature up so much that it was not trying to trap him in its threads. Legolas was missing…. but no, that couldn’t be true. He would have run across the body somewhere, because spiders only sucked the blood and life from a victim, not being able to chew.

A gurgling screech suddenly vibrated in the moist air, causing Aragorn to shudder at the grating sharpness of it. An Elf, he thought, might have covered his sensitive ears at the noise. Bringing his sword up once more, Aragorn backed up carelessly into a large runnel of water tumbling down from the cupping leaves. He was already soaked, so the gallon of water dousing his head and shoulders didn’t make much difference.

All the same he stepped forward decisively, not wanting to make himself any less comfortable than he already was.

A hiss that bore the air of an old man’s grumbling sounded through he rain and Aragorn could hear the creature bubbling and gurgling its displeasure at the rain. The man’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw trying to drop as he thought he heard some understandable speech mingled with spluttering slurs as the spider was being poured down upon by the pounding rain. “Nasty rain….ack! …protecting scrumptious Elves and tasty little humans!” There was some more twisted wailing and Aragorn was stunned to the point of nearly forgetting is danger.

Of course Legolas had told him that the spiders could speak. But he had to admit he had only been half listening and had dismissed it as a joke the Elf was trying to play, feeling a little bit annoyed that Legolas was thinking he was so stupid. He had never supposed spiders had the intelligence to make comprehensible words though they appeared to have the smarts to organize ambushes that were highly effective ninety percent of the time.

But for all their intelligence and bulk they appeared to have one main weakness. The rain had never come down this hard in Mirkwood nor anywhere else, Aragorn supposed, and the spiders were not used to it and it bogged the more delicate parts of their structure down. Throwing threads at prey was useless because they simply wouldn’t stick in this wet and their sticky pads on their clawed feet couldn’t grip the branches properly.

This spider was old, Aragorn determined, and heavy, barely able to be supported by branches on a dry day and during this wet spell when the branches were weighed down with water nothing could hold. Perhaps the reason it wasn’t attacking was because of the unnaturally heavy rain, but Aragorn wondered if the spider had taken a spill, damaging one of its legs in such a way it was impossible for it to hunt.

Deciding this was most likely true; Aragorn couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy. After all, he no longer had the immediate threat of being devoured hanging over his head but his heavy heart quickly reminded him of why he was here.

Legolas was in dire danger and half of it was his fault. If only he hadn’t let Legolas go alone…he should have been there, having his friend’s back covered.

But he couldn’t change the past, all he could do was try and compensate for it. Aragorn couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been more frustrated except maybe after discovering everything his friend had suffered at the hand of the secret miners. Oh, he knew the Elf hadn’t told him everything, not by a long shot, but he could read it in his eyes and in his movements. It had hurt at first how when he got close to him Legolas would step unconsciously away but he couldn’t blame the prince.

To his bitter sorrow he realized that that particular incident and series of troubles was something that he couldn’t never compensate for. He could tell that the Elf had been torn into pieces from the weeks spent in total darkness at the hands of people that were just about as wicked as orcs but slightly more intelligent. They had come up with very…inventive ways to hurt Legolas and force him to fight like an animal.

It had been a long time before Legolas had been able to fire his bow because his chest wound would reopen each time and his strength was no longer adequate. Aragorn supposed that might be another reason why Rána wasn’t dead and the shot hadn’t gone clear through his upper chest. This most likely meant that Legolas’ chest wound wasn’t fully healed as the Elf had proclaimed a day or so back.

Aragorn was jerked form the past back into the present as the spider let out a defeated howl of rage and frustration. Cautiously, Aragorn backed up, hoping he wouldn’t run into another of the hideous arachnids. If he was lucky they had deserted the elder spider completely and the clan had moved on otherwise he might find himself in serious trouble.

Still keeping his sword and body in a defensive stance, the ranger quietly slipped into the brush. Once having the sense he was out of danger and there were no hungry eyes on his back, the man sat with a thump to the ground, feeling defeated, lost and alone.

After all, he didn’t know his way around Mirkwood, at least not well enough to know where everything was in the dark. Covering his face with his hands after he set his sword beside him, Aragorn couldn’t help but feel helpless. He had no idea where to go and he had no one to turn to. Legolas wasn’t by his side and it was his fault. The twins were trying to help Erestor get himself back together after meeting his mortal enemy and so they hadn’t come.

The only thing he had left to do was look for Voronwë, but what if the Elf was dead and he wasted valuable time searching for him? Legolas could be dead by then! The Valar alone knew how they planned to do that! But if he didn’t find Voronwë and give himself the chance to ask where Legolas could have been taken then he was probably going to waste more time trying to find the Elf.

He remembered that when Legolas had ever wanted to see the layout of the forest (not that he ever got lost in his own woods, of course) then he would climb one of the highest trees that stretched above the canopy, shading his eyes from the sun to find the Old Forest River, which ran South from the palace. It had always acted as a flawless guide.

But with these torrential rains Aragorn wasn’t sure he would be able to climb that high, for the first time admitting that he didn’t possess the skill of the Elves when it came to traversing above the ground. And there was the risk of getting struck by lightning not to mention the strong winds. But he didn’t have time to waste waiting on this storm to cease, it could go on for days and he only had hours, if even that.

Having no other reasonable choice, Aragorn rose to his feet and then bent down, picking up his sword and sheathing it silently. Gazing up into the darkness he grimaced as lighting broke through the dense canopy of trees somewhere in the distance, illuminating the forest with a momentary and eerie glow.

That was all he needed as his trained eyes settled on a large trunked and aged tree, one that had been here long enough to out grow its fellows. Unfortunately there were no branches close to the ground though there was a smaller tree growing directly under one of the higher and thicker boughs of the tree of choice. This younger tree also had applicable climbing branches that could easily be reached.

Pelting over to the two growths of vegetation, Aragorn stopped at their trunks, wondering exactly how he was going to do this without breaking his neck. There was not that many options, he concluded as he felt along the smaller tree’s trunk and reached up to grasp a branch so he could swing himself up onto the thicker boughs. To his disappointment the branches were slippery and hard to handle. Pulling himself up onto the first sturdy looking branch, the human balanced, keeping a steadying hand on the trunk and reached up for another branch.

A few more minutes and quite a few branches up and the ranger didn’t know how he had done it. He was at an ideal spot to shift over to the larger and more prominent tree, where the branches crossed paths and intertwined with one another in a twisted and nearly grotesque fashion.

Wasting no time, the ranger reached across and grabbed the thick bough of the other tree, trying to support himself as he made the perilous transition. It was covered in a rough bark that bit slightly into his hands, causing him to recoil at first before he realized what it was and placed his hand back on the limb once more. Bringing a leg over, he managed to get halfway across.

This was encouraging and before he realized it he was over and onto the other tree, making his steady ascendance. It was a whole lot higher than he had bargained for and he decided that looking down was not going to serve him too well in this situation. True, he had never blanched at heights before, but these circumstances were rather unconventional and more dangerous than he felt comfortable with. Challenges were fun when the stakes were only humiliation and the minute risk of a broken arm.

Soon he had reached the top and his breath was stolen away at the magnificent scenery. Sighing with satisfaction he took in what he rarely got the chance to see, the vastness of Mirkwood forest. It was truly beautiful from above. The sight lifted his spirits just enough to allow a weak smile to sneak onto his face.

What was even more magnificent, he realized as the rain beat on his face and shoulders, trying to shove him back to the ground, was the storm. He had never seen clouds like these before and they were amazing. He felt as though he could reach up and grab one but the fact that stretching his hands out might attract lightning coupled with the reality that he was seventy feet off the ground kept his hands where they were –clinging to the braches for dear life.

Good grief! He wondered. Could you drown from rain alone?

Blinking, Aragorn looked around and spotted the Old Forest River churning and gurgling its way South as the rains swelled its waters to levels of flooding in the lower parts. He had last seen Voronwë near the river and he prayed that the Elf hadn’t drowned. He didn’t think he could bear that.

Once again the message left in his friend’s blood crossed his mind again and his heart stung. A bright and literally blinding light flashed right before his eyes and everything suddenly became unnaturally hot. The air seemed to throb and he felt himself letting go of the branches and then falling, falling…

:0Ж0:

The Elves lead by Lostiâ had managed by some strange ‘grace’ to find a relatively large and unoccupied grotto only about a quarter of a mile away from where Legolas’ mother had fallen, where they planned to reap the sweetest revenge. The cave had a sandy floor and was dry except for a small nook towards the very back where the light didn’t reach, or so Arandur had said after he was elected to play the role of scout and bring back information concerning the wellness of the cave.

Now standing outside it after being bodily yanked from the horse by his hair and bound arms, Legolas felt a thrill of fear running up and down his spine and causing him to feel sick. He couldn’t take this; he really couldn’t, not after Farlost and certainly not after Calmir. It was asking too much, even if Aragorn or his own father had asked it of him.

Looking at its yawning entrance with wide eyes and pressed lips that formed a thin white line, Legolas unconsciously took a step back only to feel his uncle’s hands on his shoulders, the fingers pressing into the joints so hard that it hurt and the captive prince jerked away in pain. His eyes never left the mouth of the cave as he looked beyond it at the towering and overbearing walls that leaned in on you when you went inside and were beneath them. Once inside Legolas just knew there would not be an escape and his uncle still had to make good on his promise.

He felt torn into pieces like a worthless piece of paper as he watched the other Elves cautiously filing in, not liking the idea but not having any reason to outright loathe it or fear it. They still walked as though they expected the grotto to come down on their heads, but other than that they didn’t appear to be overly distraught.

Legolas felt like he was going to be sick as his stomach clenched and his throat constricted as his uncle began to prod him forward towards the imposing and yawning mouth of the dark grotto. In his heart, Legolas wanted nothing more than to resist and struggle as his footsteps took him closer to the place he dreaded nearly more than any other place, but he couldn’t bring himself to subject his pride to those levels of vulnerability. He saw the daunting entrance to the cave getting closer and closer and with shock he found himself taking steps towards it at his uncle’s urging.

Rána was watching him with an intense stare, barely within the shadows of the stone and mud walls. He seemed to be a bit impatient as he saw his friend forcing Legolas ahead of him at a relatively slow speed. Water splashed around the related Elves’ feet as they sloshed through the deep puddles forming from the dousing rains that had saturated every conspirator as well as their captive.

In moments that had gone by way to fast, Legolas found himself beneath the imposing walls of the cavern as they leaned in on him, making his heart beat faster and his mind back track, slipping into darker memories that were trying to claim him. Closing his eyes, it was beyond his power to disguise or hide his anxiety and Legolas swallowed down a lump forcing its way up his throat and he tried to suppress memories of Calmir and his cruel attention.

Lostiâ shoved him uncaringly over into the arms of Arandur and his Elves as he stalked over to Rána with an intolerant and agitated face with his eyes voicing his opinion of the situation almost entirely. “How’s your little wound, Rána?” he asked, glancing inconspicuously over at Legolas, who was being held by his upper arms on either side by Arandur and one of his friends.

The dark-haired Elf barely grimaced but it was clear he was hiding most of his discomfort. “It isn’t as horrible as I thought it would be.” Holding Lostiâ’s eyes he searched them curiously as he ventured, “why?” Rána wasn’t sure he approved the sly and malicious glint coming into his companion’s eyes, turning them frosty.

Lostiâ let his eyes fall pointedly onto Legolas’ knees before he gave a nod and an Elf behind the prince dealt a smashing kick into the back of the captive’s knees, forcing him abruptly to the ground with a grunt. Legolas winced as he felt the stone covered ground bite through his leggings at the knees, bruising and scraping the skin, causing it to smart.

“About how much pain are you experiencing, Rána?” Lostiâ asked as he stepped by his nephew, who was glaring up at him with an inquiring expression as he tried to guess what devilry his uncle was conjuring up.

Rána shook his head despondently as he said, “it can be a bit intense at times. Right now it is only burning a little.” Lostiâ was acting strangely, even if it wasn’t an entirely new experience, and it had become disconcerting.

Lostiâ took a brief moment to ring some water out of some of his hair, before he glared down at Legolas. “Did you hear that Legolas? You caused Rána pain.” Sighing over dramatically, the elder Elf clicked his tongue in a mocking chide. “I meant to only take my revenge but you have been misbehaving and poor dear Rána needs some compensation.” He gestured with his eyes pointedly to the dark-haired warrior that Legolas’ had accidentally shot.

Legolas noticed that Arandur along with the other Elves had stepped back a pace leaving him alone before his uncle’s feet. Legolas knew that Lostiâ was just looking for an excuse to beat him or worse and he couldn’t help but feeling faintly sick. “It was an accident,” he tried to explain pleadingly as his bad feeling steadily ascended.

Lostiâ’s eyes seemed to suddenly light up with a threatening flame and he gripped Legolas’ chin in his hand, pinching it tightly as he held his nephew’s head up. “Well everything has a consequence princeling.” Before Legolas could pull free, the silver-haired Elf yanked the gag from his mouth, causing Legolas to make a face at the abrupt movement.

He jerked his head away roughly, not at all liking this turn of events that he had known were destined to go this way from the very start. His eyes took on a steely look as he set his jaw and drew a deep breath. “You don’t have to be this way,” Legolas attempted to reason as he pushed aside the leering feeling of the cave walls coupled with fear of his uncle’s wrath. “It isn’t worth it. You will be killed for this.”

“Legolas,” Lostiâ replied coldly, staring at his nephew in twisted amusement. “I won’t let them kill me. I’ll kill myself first. You, however, will die before me and after I teach you a few lessons.” Legolas diverted his gaze and turned his head away, not appreciating the cutting attention.

He knew there was no way out of this, but he just wished he were wrong. His heart was sinking as the weight of the anticipation of the pain pulled it down. Licking his mouth’s corners that had become chaffed from the gag, Legolas sighed inwardly.

Rána’s voice cut through the air as he complained. “I am soaked, as is everyone else. Before we deal with our guest, I suggest we light a fire and get a little more…comfortable?” His opinion was promptly repeated and backed by three other sopping Elves, including Arandur.

Lostiâ grit his teeth, lowering his ambition a notch and deciding that unless he wanted a mutiny he might want to encourage the lighting of a fire and the drying of clothes and hair. Anyway, it did sound desirable and he doubted that as far south as they were anyone would notice a little light. It might attract some…disruptive and hungry insects and arachnids though, but they could live with that. The cave didn’t look overly difficult to fortify.

Nodding his consent, Legolas’ uncle glanced down at his nephew and then his eyes landed on a particularly dark and insolated corner. There was a leak where the stone had split from freezing and thawing, causing the corner to be dank and cold, creating the perfect place, in his mind, for shoving his captive.

Gripping Legolas tightly by the back of his neck, Lostiâ forcefully shoved him to his stomach on the ground, pinning him there until he set his foot between the prisoner’s shoulder blades. Grinding his heel painfully into Legolas’ spine, he began to untie the bonds that had been tied off using a special knot he had come up with ages ago that was impossible for one to untie if they hadn’t seen it tied. Anyway, the ropes were too close to Legolas’ skin to sever them properly.

Legolas writhed on the ground in quiet panic for a moment and then froze as he felt the blood rush back into his hands, causing him no small amount of pain as his fingertips’ nerves began to feel once more. Hissing in a sharp intake of breath, Legolas tried not to show the aggressive discomfort he was experiencing.

He had to admit that he was mildly confused as to why his bonds were being removed and swirled his eyes upward to try and get a look at what his uncle was doing. Obviously he wasn’t overly worried about an escape attempt, which Legolas knew was impossible anyway because he still felt slightly groggy from the loss of a good percentage of his blood and the knock on the head.

Settling to rest his face in the dirt because he was too tired and frustrated to do anything else, Legolas closed his eyes, shutting out the image of cold stone that surrounded them all. If he didn’t have to look at it he felt slightly better, though it really didn’t do anything for the circumstances.

Suddenly he found himself being grasped by the back of his tunic and being assertively flipped over onto his back so he was looking up at Lostiâ and beyond him, the daunting ceiling of the cavern. Blue eyes wide in surprise, the prince tried to squirm backwards, out of reach, but his uncle curled his fingers around his shirt collar and pulled him back. “If I were you, Legolas, I would first of all, stop trying to get away, because it isn’t going to work and secondly, be very quiet.”

Legolas remained quiet and stopped trying to wriggle free, staring up into his uncle’s belligerent eyes. Lostia mistook this for compliance and grabbed one of Legolas’ arms and wrapped the rope ceremoniously around the wrist before starting to take the other when Legolas yanked his arm free and used his feet to propel himself backwards, kicking his uncle in the chest.

He managed only to get around three feet between himself and his captor before he was swiftly pounced upon and pinned to the earth by his neck. Lostiâ pressed his fingers even further into the younger Elf’s throat, trapping Legolas’ inhale in his lungs and keeping fresh air from entering. He watched as Legolas strove to gulp down air and then stopped, as he understood it was useless. “You just insist on getting under my skin, don’t you?” snarled the elder Elf as he observed Legolas’ face turning an interesting shade of red and his eyes seemed to swell as moisture gathered on their surface.

Legolas winced in surprise as he felt the sharp contact of a hand across his face. Trying to draw a breath he became panicked as he realized it was impossible and the blows were still falling in rapid succession, causing his face to burn. Tasting hot and salty blood in his mouth as it dribbled from a broken lip, Legolas tried once again to inhale sharply and felt terror grip him again, determining that his breathing was still unworkable.

His mind was slightly addled from the oxygen deprivation and he shut his eyes to try and shield them from the powerful blows. All his senses had ceased working save for his hearing, but the only thing he could perceive was the pumping of blood through his ears and the throbbing of his racing heart.

:0Ж0:

Elrond walked quietly and slowly in the darkness of the many corridors of Thranduil’s vast palace. He had tried to sleep for several hours and nothing was working. He felt guilt in his heart for letting Estel go alone to see if Legolas was all right. He hadn’t heard from either of them and his heart was troubled greatly at thinking both of the youths were lost.

He had been pacing the way he was now for at least two hours and sitting and thinking for at least one. He had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that they were both in serious trouble. Estel should have come back, he knew the human may be careless once in a great while but he was sure that if he was able Estel would come and give him a report on what had transpired.

For the first time in a long time Elrond felt scared. He felt scared of losing the boy he had raised from a toddler and loved like a son. Estel was one of his sons and he felt terror gripping his heart as he thought of losing him as he knew Thranduil would feel terror if he knew the danger Legolas as in right now.

It was a cold feeling that made a sweat start on his palms. Estel was getting on to being an adult in human years, being in his early twenties but he still should of never had to go and look for Legolas alone like that. A young human was a reckless human. A young Elf was a reckless Elf. In Elrond’s mind the two were not always a good combination.

Deciding that Thranduil should hear of this if he didn’t already know, Elrond began his way towards the Elvenking’s bedchambers, not taking the time to wait for a servant. A bright flash of lightning revealed his path to him as he went, causing odd shadows to dance on the walls and on the floor.


Chapter 10 - We're All Fallling

Ripples

CHAPTER TEN

:0Ж0:

We’re All Falling

:0Ж0:

Legolas sat in his dark little corner with his knees drawn up to his chin as he rested from the little ordeal he had just experienced. His breath had only just stabilized and blood still oozed from a broken lip as well as from his nose. His whole face felt as though it was on fire and he rubbed his mouth on his shoulder to wipe away the blood since his hands were bound in front on him with unreasonably tight ropes.

Lostiâ had hit him a few more times and continued to suppress his breathing until the last point before he would pass out completely. While Legolas had caught his breath he was slapped into bonds and dragged roughly in a corner without protest. He was too weary from the blood loss, rough ride and abuse to struggle and he also had the common sense to know that getting under his uncle’s skin anymore could make things a whole lot more painful than they had to be.

Casting a withering glare at Lostiâ, Rána and the other Elves, Legolas watched with angry eyes as they sat around a warm blaze, drying off and making themselves as comfortable as possible. Not that he wanted any attention from them but the dank corner he had been thoughtlessly shoved in was worse than miserable. He was soaked to the marrow and was continually getting wet from a dripping leak as well as the condensation of the walls. Hampered with bonds on his ankles as well as his wrists, the Elf was unable to maneuver away from the discomfort and he doubted it would have done much good anyway.

Shivering from fear and dark premonitions more than from cold, the captive closed his eyes and tried to block out the feeling of the cave walls closing in…crushing him. It was becoming unbearable and he was doing his best not to break down. The thunder he could not block out and his sharp Elven hearing picked up even the minutest rumble, sometimes creating the illusion that the cave was about to come down on their heads…locking them in the dark, cold stone forever.

Finally not able to keep his eyes closed any longer Legolas opened them one at a time, cautiously, still jerking noticeably as he noticed the walls leering down. He found himself gazing into the concerned eyes of Rána, who had isolated himself from the other Elves, probably because of his pain. Legolas knew his wound had to be complaining a whole lot more than the dark-haired Elf let on.

Diverting his gaze, Legolas didn’t say anything and gave a snubbing sort of half snort, not wanting to speak to the traitor. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Rána’s eyes on him, absorbing the pain and the fear he was experiencing like a flower absorbing sunshine.

“You’re afraid,” the elder Elf said, noting how Legolas didn’t meet his gaze and shifted restlessly in his ropes. A cold smile spread emotionlessly across his face as Legolas answered without even looking in his direction or lifting his chin from his knees.

“No, I am not,” The prince answered in a defensive mumble. Legolas wished he had sounded more convincing but he had never been a very good liar and these Elves, of all people would know that. Grinding his teeth, he tried to ignore Rána’s presence.

Rána wasn’t about to let Legolas off the hook so easily and he pressed malevolently, “Yes, you are.”

Legolas turned his face back towards the other Elf, his eyes reflecting an icy glower that nearly caused Rána to take a step back. His voice was dead as he spoke slowly, nearly word by word. “If I am, it is not of you or of anyone here.” Shutting his eyes, intending to ignore the dark-haired warrior, Legolas quickly reopened them and settled their intense glare on Rána again. “Why aren’t you over there with my uncle and his friends? Or are you afraid?”

Rána studied the fair-haired prisoner for a moment before he answered slowly, as though he had just thought of a way to put things into words, which really he had. “They are a bit too…dark for my taste.”

“I didn’t think a cold blooded traitor and murderer was afraid of anything,” Legolas spat back bitterly. His eyes looked beyond Rána to the cave mouth where the rain was streaming down in little waterfalls, splattering against the soil. He glanced over at the horses standing unhappily in a corner. A cold shiver trailed up his spine. How dark did Rána think Lostiâ and the others were?

“I never said I was afraid,” growled the other Elf defensively, his eyes flashing. He then narrowed his silvery orbs and snapped accusingly, “Traitor? I am not the one who led a horde of blood thirsty orcs into my own mother and family who had come to save me!” He tried to ignore the fact that Legolas had called him a murderer.

Raising his head, Legolas asked angrily, “Is that what this is all about? It was an accident-”

“Just like shooting me was an accident?” Rána snarled back, resisting the urge to grab Legolas by his tunic and shake him. His eyes spoke volumes about the hate all the conspirator Elves felt towards the prince. They seemed to be wreathed with ice and filled with cold fire.

Pushing aside his heartache as best as he was able as old memories resurfaced, Legolas’ retort was sharp. “Rána prior to this little piece of treachery I would have never knowingly hurt you or anyone else!” he declared, knowing he wouldn’t be believed but having no other choice. “However, right now I wish you were dead,” he added resentfully.

“You will wish you were dead before Lostiâ is finished with you,” Rána answered coldly. “Do you ever wonder what your mother thought of you before she died? Or what the fate of those captive Elves was? You knew what the orcs would do to them because of their race!” He watched as his words struck a cord deep in Legolas’ heart and the prince seemed to shrink and try to become invisible.

He had thought of these things, many, many times and each time was more painful than the last.

Forcing himself not to break down in front of this traitor, Legolas swallowed hard before he answered. “Do you ever wonder what became of Voronwë? You had him banished and I know he has returned-“

Looking over his shoulder to make sure Lostiâ wasn’t paying any attention to the two of them; Rána grabbed Legolas by his hair, yanking his head back so he forced Legolas to stare at the cavern ceiling. “Voronwë is dead, Legolas. Your cousin just couldn’t stay out of our way and I got rid of him, him and his mentor.” Legolas swirled his eyes over to give the dark-haired warrior a condescending glare. “That’s right, I killed him and when Voronwë came back he knew too much so I had Arandur kill him too. Shame, I really wish he had died in exile. He was such a good Elf.”

Legolas felt horribly. He knew that he should have never let his cousin go with Arandur and his conspiring Elves. In a sense some of Voronwë’s blood was on his head and that made him feel sick in a way that no herb could possibly cure. “You have innocent blood on your head, Rána and treason to answer for. You will never see Valinor. The Valar will not let you live for this.”

“Then I suppose we will meet again in the after life, hm, Legolas?” Rána purred softly so that Lostiâ would not hear.

“Does my uncle know all you have done?” Legolas asked threateningly. He knew he would never get a chance to tell Lostiâ anything, even if the elder Elf would listen but he felt compelled to hold it over Rána’s head. Immediately he realized he had made a grave mistake.

Rána’s face went darker than before and Legolas could feel his menacing hate radiating from him as some of his Elven glow subsided. Pulling away slightly from the dark-haired warrior, Legolas felt fear strike his heart as Rána’s threat was one he had hoped would have never been thought of as an option.

“If you breathe one word of this to Lostiâ I will have your ranger friend’s head, Legolas. I promise I will,” Rána admonished seriously. “And he will die hard, I promise you that.”

Legolas grimaced as he felt Rána’s hand clench tightly and his face seemed to lose some of its color as a pain spasm broke over the wounded Elf. It was frightening to think that the dark-haired Elf was this strong with his wound and Legolas feared that he had underestimated Rána when he was completely hale. The prince noted how blood was slowly seeping through the green tunic, creating a dark and spreading stain, and pulled away as he was slowly released.

He watched as Rána took a half a step backwards, in obvious distress and pain, before he turned and made his way back to the others.

Deciding he didn’t want to look at these people any more because he was so disgusted and that the cave wasn’t consoling either, Legolas shut his eyes and jadedly returned his chin to its position on his knees. Working to drown out everything, Legolas tried to give sleep an opportunity to whisk him away and give him a temporary reprieve.

He wasn’t given much time before the sound of footsteps alongside him and all around him caused him to blink vapidly and pull the world into focus. Giving a small frown of confusion as he knitted his brows, Legolas winced as his uncle gave him a jarring kick in the leg. “Well, nephew, its time for your first lesson. Obedience.”

Withdrawing slightly as Lostiâ whipped out a long knife, Legolas asked apprehensively, “what are you doing?” He didn’t like to admit he was afraid, even to himself, but he had to. Between now and Farlost he simply hadn’t had a long enough period of recovery and this was pushing him to his limits.

Lostiâ quickly severed the bonds to his feet in one smooth motion, allowing the blood to flood back with a painful tingling sensation. Taking a piece of cloth he motioned to two Elves who came and set their hands assertively on Legolas’ shoulders, grinding the joints and causing their captive to tense under their touch.

Legolas couldn’t help but shrink back as a blindfold was brought up to his face to cover his eyes, making him more vulnerable –entirely at their mercy. Lostiâ cast a weary look at the two Elves holding him in place, giving them a silent complaint that their job needed to be perfected a little better. Legolas immediately felt their grips intensify and before he could comprehend all that was happening the cloth was placed over his eyes and tied off in the back.

Instantly Legolas felt a sense of dependence that made him angry with himself and with everyone else. The Elves pinning him in place by his shoulders released him and he rotated the joints in their sockets carefully, trying to ease the discomfort the harsh grips had created.

Lostiâ snarled his hands in the front of Legolas’ tunic and hauled him up to his feet and then shoved him forward, towards the center of the cave. Legolas stumbled slightly before he caught his balance and froze in place, unsure of where to step next and not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of everyone. “Keep walking,” Lostiâ commanded snidely, giving Legolas a hard shove from behind while the other Elves snickered audibly.

Legolas went forward a few feet and then stopped, muscles tense. He didn’t feel safe enough to take another step. Even if Aragorn were by his side guiding him step by step and inch by inch he wouldn’t do this. He had never realized how much he had depended on his sight before and now that it was taken he felt incredibly lost. He had already felt alone. Not seeing the lighting flash he had no way to know a clap of thunder was going to follow and so he jumped slightly as its rumbles bounced around the cave’s walls earning laughter from all the spectating Elves.

Feeling shame flush his cheeks, Legolas was concentrating on getting his emotions under control when a blow hit him in the small of his back; nearly sending him to the ground. “Walk, Legolas,” Lostiâ taunted. “Every time you refuse to move you will get hit and harder each time too.”

Legolas spun around in the direction of his uncle’s voice. In a low voice he demanded disapprovingly, “Give me one good reason why I should take a single step.” He wasn’t voluntarily going to do anything for these people who had done nothing to earn his respect or even more importantly –his trust.

Lostiâ just cracked his knuckles and smiled sinisterly. “I knew there was a reason I loved this game so much.”

Closing the space between himself and his nephew, Lostiâ slammed his fist powerfully against Legolas’ abdomen eliciting a surprised cry from the Elf as Legolas half toppled and nearly sank to the ground. His wounds were not healed enough to endure much of this abuse and he wondered how long he would last before his weakened state would catch up with him.

Feeling his stomach voicing complaints from the maltreatment, Legolas tasted bile rising in his throat as the urge to vomit became stronger. Coughing as he barely managed to recapture his wind, Legolas was unprepared for a second blow with the exact same placement. “See why when you are a prisoner it is much more befitting to your health if you are compliant? It saves us all a lot of trouble. Wouldn’t you agree?” Lostiâ questioned, watching as Legolas worked to keep his knees from buckling.

Legolas bit his lower lip as a kick hit the back of his knees, which were already bruised, causing them to cave and bring him to the ground. Another blow seemed to have sought out his ribs and he felt them burning as he involuntarily curled into himself in the sand, trying to make himself as small as possible. Blinded with the cloth he had no way to tell where the next blow would be from but he could tell that Lostiâ was not the only one dealing out the pain. Arandur and his merry ones were doing their fair share of it as well.

The winds outside changed, causing the rain to mist into the cave, wetting the Elf-prince’s face and giving a small amount of comfort even as another boot slammed against his stomach. Legolas brought his knees up to his chin, curling his head into them, shuddering as he felt a wave of nausea break over him. A cold sweat had started on his forehead.

Out of no where, something struck him that was not a boot or a fist but caused an equal amount of pain, and left a stinging welt on his side as it had curled around his ribs, seeming to burn through is tunic. ‘They are using a rope now,’ the still logically thinking portion of his mind mused between glitches caused by pain as the use of the rope was repeated in rapid succession with an occasional kick or punch. The healers were not going to be happy about this…’excited’ might be a more appropriate word.

The pain was becoming more intense and Legolas was now too tired with pain to stay curled in on himself as tightly as before, leaving his abdomen open for abuse, which was promptly taken advantage of, finally wringing a few cries of pain from his bleeding lips. This seemed to encourage his uncle and the other Elves, who intensified their assault upon his already battered body. Clenching his hands to ward off another muffled cry he was reminded unexpectedly of his slashed hand as it smarted and he uncurled his fingers quickly.

Rána watched impassively from his seat on a stone near the fire, pressing an herb soaked cloth to his wound under his unbuttoned tunic. Yes, he decided, there were definitely dark auroras surrounding Lostiâ and Arandur -especially Arandur. He had told Legolas that Voronwë was dead but he only half believed it himself and he wasn’t entirely sure that Legolas believed it either. Shuddering without notice, the dark-haired warrior knew that he was as good as dead if Lostiâ should ever find out he had murdered his son or even been the cause of his banishment.

Reaching down into the bag they had brought that was full of supplies, originally looking for a fresh and dry bandage, his hand enclosed around a cold little vial. It was long and made of no special design, but what was inside was another story. It was designed deliberately to destroy. The victim wouldn’t realize what they had ingested by taste, for it resembled water. Once it got into their s

system they would know it, but that was only the beginning.

Athelas was the catalyst.

:0Ж0:

Aragorn took a moment to realize fully what had happened but by then he was feet from the ground. Reaching out by a miracle he managed to grab hold of one of the branches, clinging to it for dear life while the wind roared around him. Closing his eyes, he willed his convulsing stomach to accept the lie that he was on the ground and in no immediate danger of breaking his neck.

Lightning must have struck directly behind him, narrowly missing turning him into a free-fry. He was also lucky the light emitted from the hot bolt didn’t blind him. Hell, he was unnaturally lucky to have found this convenient and sturdy little limb.

However, he had quickly come to the conclusion that with a good-sized dose of wonderful luck came an equal portion of appalling luck.

First of all his grip was slipping because of the rain and the sopping moss on the branch that left no traction for his fingers to grasp. Secondly, there was growl beneath his feet, a few actually and he suspected it wasn’t anyone he wanted to meet. It couldn’t be a spider that much was plain.

Gathering up the courage to look down underneath his dangling feet, Aragorn clenched the tree branch even tighter, starting at what he saw. A small pack of wargs, with maybe three or four disregarding a large and toothy looking leader, was sniffing amongst the vegetation. It was a hunting party or whatever the motley pack was called and they had picked up his scent, trailing it to his position up in the treetops.

Grimly, the man wondered just how high wargs could jump and if about ten feet was within their range. If so, he was a goner, especially if he didn’t have time to draw his sword on them. Deciding holding still was in his best interest, Aragorn dug even his fingernails into the branch to create more traction and willed his body to hang motionless above the ravenous beasts.

While dangling there, trying his best not to even breath loudly, the man tried to think things through. He had not thought he was this close to the Emyn Duir but apparently he was wrong, unless the wargs were becoming more bold and savvy. He knew the Mountains of Mirkwood were home to some of the darkest beasts disregarding the ones that lived within the confines of Dol Guldur and in the shadow of the Necromancer himself.

All this knowledge wasn’t exactly comforting but it did help his mind get a better grip on where he was. What Legolas would have to say about all this he wasn’t sure and to be honest there were things he would rather not think about. The Elf would certainly not be happy.

The wargs continued to paw and whine around the tree’s trunk, pacing and scratching at the bark with their devilish claws. Aragorn fancied that one of those claws could lay him wide open in less than a heart beat. With their little eyes, the wargs couldn’t see very far up the tree, and their vision wasn’t terrific anyway. It was widely known that they were near sighted and things out of a ten-foot radius were normally beyond their clarity.

But their sense of smell was definitely something to be reckoned with. But for a warg an underdeveloped sense of smell could still detect a herd of deer or other prey from a mile away or maybe even a little more. Aragorn knew if they didn’t know exactly where he was it would be an absolute miracle.

The rain was still coming down by what seemed to be the bucket load and as he watched the wargs weaving between the thick rivulets of water tumbling from the canopy Aragorn knew that they were not used to this weather either. The fact that he had hopped from the smaller tree to the bigger one seemed to have them mildly confused because in the rain, they couldn’t tell the difference and his scent was less strong, having been washed partially off.

This gave him a chance if he could hold out long enough on this branch.

Continuing to watch the wargs as they scrounged around the forest floor, pawing up the wet soil and drinking with deep laps of their large tongues from the puddles, Aragorn prayed that they would simply leave. But to his misfortune and dismay they appeared to be enjoying themselves, splashing in the water and tussling in jest with one another. It was then he began to wonder if this weren’t a mother and her half grown pups.

Groaning inside he realized that it must be and that their den couldn’t be too far away. This was their territory after all if he was as South near the Emyn Duir as he thought.

Suddenly he felt his fingers involuntarily prying themselves free from the limb as the muscles began to spasm, tired of having to support his entire weight and grip so tightly all at once. Silently he attempted to will them otherwise but they apparently had their minds made up. Blessed Eru! He didn’t have time for this!

One hand released and swung down to his side, making a slight whooshing sound as it did. Apparently the wargs were unimpressed and unbothered by the noise, obviously not thinking it to be a human hanging ten feet above their heads. Either that or the heavy rains masked out the noise efficiently.

Desperately Aragorn gripped tighter with his other hand, holding on for all he was worth and praying that he wouldn’t fall right into the middle of the grumpy little family below. A cold feeling was spreading in his stomach as he fought to maintain his slipping hold on the branch. ‘Do the Valar do this for entertainment?’ he asked himself mentally as his right hand made its way to his sword hilt, tightening on the weapon.

Looking down at the orcs and gathering a deep and hopeless breath he decided that if he couldn’t hold on much longer he wasn’t going to waste his energy simply prolonging the time between now and when he would fall upon the beasts below. His arms were going to be unsteady enough from the stress of holding up his weight and becoming tauter than a bow string, a minute more and they would be as good as useless for a couple minutes.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn slowly released his grip on the limb, allowing himself to fall the last ten feet knowing full well he could break something and be totally helpless. Drawing his sword the last five feet before he reached the ground, the ranger snapped his eyes open as he landed in a rush. Bending his knees to absorb the impact, Aragorn then took a defensive stance as the surprised creatures jumped and their hackles raised.

He observed calmly as their lips pulled back to reveal sets of ugly, crooked, but highly effective teeth that looked sharp enough to bite through bones. Putting his discouraging observations aside, Aragorn swung his sword out at one of the smaller ones, who, attempted to get a grip on his leg and drag him away.

If it weren’t for the faint rays of dawn that were peering through the firs as the rain died, Aragorn doubted he would still be alive. Suddenly he found himself forced backwards as the large mother, in defensive of her inexperienced pups, charged forward, striking out with one of her paws to try and dislodge the sword from the ranger’s grasp.

Fortunately, Aragorn’s grip on it was more than adequate and so she only succeeded in slicing a needless gash in her right forepaw. Narrowing her beady black eyes that Aragorn could barely see in the permanent dusk that engulfed the forest, she snarled loudly in a rage.

Her pups hung in the back, obviously willing to let their mother defend them as her ire was more than evident. Getting in her way accidentally or on purpose was not something you wanted to do and they clearly understood it. However that didn’t mean they couldn’t encourage her and they began a loud baying the sounded like a rougher and nastier version of the noise hounds make when they have treed a hapless raccoon.

At the encouragement from her young and the rage building in her mind, the large she-warg drove herself forward, intending to slam into the ranger and knock him to the ground. Her fury that seemed to make the air around them hot was her undoing as in her crazed state she seemed to have forgotten about the sword or just didn’t realize its potency since she was used to Elves with their bows.

Her chest came down on the point, which Aragorn held up as a last desperate resort, forcing the blade deeper into her as she fell with it piercing her evil heart. Her pups, now shocked, hung in the back, unsure of what to do and knowing that something terrible had just happened. Their once excited baying was stopped and they went entirely silent.

Aragorn stumbled backwards, wrenching his blade free and staring in disgust as black blood dripped from the blade. As he stared at her massive body that still convulsed and twitched as it was spread out on the grass, he took another step back, breathing heavily.

Her pups must have gotten the impression that this ranger was not one to be messed with, but they would not forget his scent and would reap their vengeance later. Right now, for their own sakes they began to back off warily into the under brush, disappearing the in extremely dim light like shadows.

Aragorn didn’t have the time or means to pursue them now. If he did hunt them it would be at Legolas’ expense and possibly his own. Wiping his sword grimly in the wet weeds of the forest, looking in disgust at the black blood that trailed it on the leaves.

Looking around cautiously before sheathing the blade, Aragorn wondered what he should do next. The torrential rains had stopped and the rain was no longer pouring through the leaves by the bucket load. However, the ground was left speckled with deep and extensive puddles and the more spongy parts were sopping so that when you stepped on them you instantly found your feet uncomfortably wet.

Ignoring these facts, Aragorn began to walk in long strides towards the Old Forest River not knowing where else to start. He knew that Voronwë was most likely dead, but he had to find the Elf, he

had to.

:0Ж0:

Elrond turned the golden doorknob that would open the door to Thranduils’ bedchambers, giving the servants permission to leave with a wave of his hand before he began to try and wake the other Elf. “Thranduil, Legolas and Aragorn are missing-“

“Lord Elrond, I am awake.” Though Thranduil’s open eyes had conveyed the lost impression of a deep sleep, he had been awake all night, rather lost in memories. Light was trying to peep in around the window and he glanced over at the other Elf-lord with a single raised brow. “Now what was that you were saying?”

“Your son and my Estel are gone,” Elrond repeated, urgency filling his voice. “Lostiâ and his contingent are nowhere to be found,” he added after a moment, carefully studying Thranduil’s face for a reaction.

The golden-haired Elf-lord’s brow creased and he looked at Elrond a bit incredulously, apprehension aging his timeless features. He would have normally asked that information like this be confirmed but he had known Lord Elrond for many years and his trust of the other Elf was absolute. “Has the entire palace been searched?”

“No, but Estel was supposed to meet Legolas at the Healing Ward to discuss things over with Rána. Speaking of which, did you know that Rána tired to kill Voronwë?” Elrond added as he continued to watch Thranduil’s face. “Rána is a traitor. If Legolas was in the Healing Ward waiting on Estel, then I think that what ever befell him happened there before Aragorn could get there in time.”

Thranduil didn’t need much more explaining, knowing the background of things better than Lord Elrond did, and so he didn’t need to be explained the entire gravity of the situation. “But none of this is adding up. Why would they want Legolas?” he asked, hoping his little inner voice wasn’t right in its guess.

Sitting up he swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched as Elrond shook his head uncertainly. “I am not entirely sure but you know what the anniversary of this day is, do you not?” he inquired, seeing Thranduil’s face darken considerably more at the reminder.

“It is all I have thought of all night. That and why Legolas shot Rána.” Sighing, he studied the floor, suppressing the pain he felt in his heart that had never healed. Looking at his feet and then at the lavish wooden floor and its intricate flower and leaf designs, Thranduil waited for Elrond to explain himself.

“Do you think that it is merely coincidence that this happened this morning?” the Lord of Rivendell implied his point, waiting patiently to gauge the Elvenking’s reaction.

“You think Lostiâ would want revenge on Legolas and possibly myself?” Thranduil asked skeptically, tempted to brush the idea off but was held back by the knowledge that Elrond was seldom wrong. Dread was gathering in the pit of his stomach and he felt suddenly very cold.

Elrond seemed to realize this and passed him his dark green robe from a hook on the wall and it was gladly accepted.

“Yes. Lostiâ was your dear wife’s brother. He never liked you and least of all Legolas. Not all your kingdom loves their prince and there are those that would see him dead -or worse,” Elrond explained slowly, making sure he didn’t miss anything.

Thranduil’s face was now white as he understood the mortal danger his one and only child was in. He had only just gotten Legolas back and he didn’t want to lose him again. For the first time in a long time he felt truly scared. “And I suppose his accidental shooting of Rána didn’t help matters considering Rána is close friends with Lostiâ,” he concluded with a desolate sigh.

Inclining his head to one side, Elrond nodded in silent agreement. He didn’t voice out loud that he feared for Estel, knowing Thranduil’s distrust of men and not wanting to get any suspicion placed wrongfully on the boy.

Thranduil rose to his feet, and then paused and his scowl deepened. “But why would Rána try to murder Voronwë? How could he if Voronwë was banished?” The Elvenking’s memory answered his last question for him. His nephew’s banishment was over and he had returned home. Rána must have been waiting for him but he still could not understand why.

“Do you remember the murder that your court found Voronwë guilty of?” Elrond prodded Thranduil’s long memory. “I don’t know this for sure, but I think it is definitely possible that Rána committed the murder and the blame was placed on Voronwë.”

“And so now Rána is trying to kill Voronwë before the truth leaks out,” Thranduil grimly completed Elrond’s thoughts, slipping on a pair of equally green slippers. A strong and unshakable sense of guilt broke over him and he realized what he had sentenced his nephew to- a life of loneliness, of being hunted, of being broken, of being lost, of being without his family. For being an Elf there was nothing worse than to be separated from everything you have ever known and loved. He had destroyed an innocent’s life and some of the retribution was going to fall wrongfully onto Legolas –his son.

“And I am afraid he might have succeeded,” Elrond responded sadly.

“But why would Rána have ever killed anyone?” Thranduil asked, bewildered. He had always trusted the warrior impeccably and even had allowed him to help train Legolas when his son was younger. The thought that Rána was in on this conspiracy to take his son’s life…that hurt.

“Of that I am not sure,” Elrond spoke softly, eyes closed in thought.


Chapter 11 - Washed Away

Ripples

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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Washed Away

:0Ж0:

One more kick caught Legolas in the ribs and he rolled over onto his back, arching in pain and concentrating on his breathing. He still was unable to see and as he lay there, he prayed that they were going to relent of the kicking soon. The rope and punches he could handle, within reason. But well placed kicks were absolutely dangerous not to say anything of the pain they caused.

His entire body was throbbing and he had stopped trying to deflect the blow and simply surrendered to their merciless beating of fists and feet.

There was a hot and moist feeling on his tunic over his chest and he knew it was blood. But it wasn’t from any recent wound; it was seeping from the deep and reopened laceration given to him by Calmir in the mines. Not fully healed, the stitches had popped and it was bleeding anew, having torn the skin again.

Lostiâ smiled as he watched Legolas struggle to catch his breath and the other Elves hung back, observing their work from a small distance. Noting the blood leaking through the tunic front, staining it an even darker green, Lostiâ smiled and bending down, began to unbutton his nephew’s tunic.

Legolas wriggled backwards, loath to allow his uncle have anything to do with his wound, but Lostiâ tugged him back by his foot with a rumble of annoyance and snapped, “hold still. Or do you want another ‘lesson’ before we continue?”

Grudgingly, Legolas ceased his struggling, wishing his blindfold was removed so that he could glare properly. Unfortunately he had to be content to lie there as he felt Lostiâ folding back the flaps of his tunic and the cold touch of a knife to his skin as it was carelessly used to tear through his under tunic layer.

Groaning inwardly, Legolas knew that was another outfit that was ruined. The maids were going to be furious! He was beginning to think they were getting rather annoyed with having to repair his clothes or create an entire new wardrobe.

Legolas bit down on his lip as he felt the prodding of a finger in his wound and he jerked away from the pain only to be pinned to the ground by his shoulders with the help of Arandur and another Elf.

His uncle’s hands were ungentle and careless as they searched the wound, reopening it the rest of the way, and Legolas could just imagine the gleeful smile on Lostiâ’s face. He wouldn’t be overly surprised if the older Elf was grinning from ear to ear. Deciding he had taken enough of the cruel manipulation of his injuries, Legolas snapped, “get your hands off me!”

Pulling back, the prince recoiled as far as he was able and tried unsuccessfully to get out of the grip of the two Elves holding him down. Unable to break free and being totally defenseless, Legolas winced slightly as Lostiâ shed the blindfold from his eyes so he was forced to look into a pair of dark furious orbs. “You never learn, do you?” he growled at Legolas as the prince returned the glare in kind. “Keep quiet!” he snapped, putting emphases on every word.

Sighing and rubbing a hand over his face he said in exasperation, “I tried to be patient with you. I really did. But you have pushed me too far and I don’t have time for this.”

Legolas had been hard put to not laugh out loud at the elder Elf’s words. Patient? By whose definition?

His thoughts were broken up and dispersed like smoke in the air as Lostiâ glanced up at Arandur and his other Elves that were standing nearby, watching the entire exchange with smug interest.

“Arandur take your…companions and go and fetch my dear brother-in-law. Tell him if he wants to see his little son alive when he gets here he will not resist and will bring no weapons. You will provide the needed protection for the time being,” he added as an after thought, before turning his attention to Legolas, whose face had lost its color completely. In fact, he would say the young prince looked as though he was going to be sick as a slight green tint touched his features as fear for his father set in.

Rána just shifted uneasily and then stared at the sadistic look burning in Lostiâ’s dark eyes. The silver-haired Elf was looking just one half step away from being completely insane or perhaps even drunk. A cold feeling began to spread in the dark-haired warrior’s stomach as he guessed Lostiâ was about to unleash his unbridled hate on his nephew. A few seconds after that understanding, knowing he didn’t want to see the extent of this torment, Rána volunteered.

“I think I should go with them. Lostiâ,” he responded to the uncertain look on his friend’s face. “I can keep an eye on things. I am worthless to you here, but there I can help keep some order to things.” He finished by giving Arandur and his Elves a tense and pointed glare, which was secretly returned.

“Keep that meddling human out of this,” Lostiâ commanded tersely as a matter of good-bye, remembering Legolas’ little Edan friend all too well. “He is a ranger and is capable of tracking us.”

Rána nodded his consent and began to button his tunic back up from where he had been forced to open it to tend to his wound. Shuddering as he recalled the merciless gleam in Lostiâ’s eyes he was beginning to understand that his friend was not himself. Gathering his weapons, the dark-haired warrior mounted his horse, pulling his freshly dried cloak over his face to better conceal him in the dark shades of the forest.

Arandur and his Elves cautiously followed suite, watching Rána from the corners of their eyes as they stepped up onto their mounts.

Lostiâ waited until all the Elves were gone and it was just he and Legolas, who had tried to make himself as invisible as possible lying on the ground, scooted against the wall. Turning on his heal and casting Legolas a malevolent smile as the sadistic twinkle in his eyes brightened, Lostiâ confirmed the prince’s fears. “Now it is just you and me, my dear little nephew,” he cooed mockingly, disappointed when he didn’t see Legolas cringe. “I had some…ideas, to help us pass the time until your reunion with your father.”

“Well don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here in the corner and watch,” Legolas offered snidely.

Lostiâ’s evil smile faded some at that. Legolas just didn’t seem to understand the concept of being silent.

“Oh no, you misunderstand me, princeling. I said ‘we’ and so that means you too,” he explained as though he was talking to a highly stupid child.

Legolas recoiled as his uncle stepped forward and scowled for a moment before he reached down and took a fist full of Legolas’ golden-locks, using them as a handle to tug his captive to his feet. Legolas winced and intensified his angered glare at his uncle who seemed unimpressed.

Lostiâ was acting drunk and with a lump of fear rising in his throat, Legolas knew why. He was drunk. He was drunk with absolute hate and malice.

Suddenly the prince found himself forced against the wall, pinned by his neck before his uncle drew his knife back out of his sheath and pressed the point against the center of where Legolas’ collarbones adjoined. If Legolas had conceived any thoughts of struggling they were quickly diminished as the tip bit into his flesh, causing him to pull back a little, as though he could be absorbed by the stonewalls. Looking around he saw the cave again and his mind flashed back to Farlost and Calmir’s intense abuse.

Laughing, Lostiâ released the pressure on the blade but proceeded to drag it through the material of Legolas’ tunic layers, straight down the middle, severing the fabric and revealing Legolas’ chest and the broken wound. The prince tried his hardest to suppress memories of how that wound had been obtained and closed his eyes, feeling his tunic being cut away from his body and tossed in shreds to the floor.

Legolas couldn’t help it as he shivered against the touch of the cold air against his bare skin and saw his uncle smile maliciously at the bruises that were forming from the clobbering he had taken earlier. Tossing his knife to the floor, Lostiâ snarled at his nephew, “you bruise easily for an Elf.”

Legolas ignored the barb and met his uncle’s eyes before he stated calmly, “you don’t have to be this way.”

Lostiâ shook his head and replied bitterly, “you think I am insane, don’t you?” Legolas didn’t answer, not wanting to garner more torment than he was sure he was already in for. “Answer me!” the silver-haired Elf demanded as he pressed his thumb maliciously into one of the deeper and more ugly bruises, causing Legolas to attempt to withdraw and stifle a whisper of a cry.

“If you really want to know,” he answered cuttingly. “Then yes, I do. But you didn’t used to be this way,” he insisted as his uncle pressed him to his knees, applying an aggravatingly uncomfortable amount of pressure on the vulnerable points of his shoulders. He felt Lostiâ’s boot place itself on his back, pinning him there and grinding into a chaffed welt created where he had been struck with the rope.

“I haven’t changed, you just never knew me, nephew.” Using his long knife, he stabbed in between Legolas’ bonds that were about his wrists, holding them fast against the soil and burying the blade to the hilt in the earth. Legolas was too sore to try and pull the blade up and if he didn’t escape entirely he would only get into much more trouble for trying.

Sighing in momentary defeat, he bowed his head between his bound arms and silently cursed his uncle in every language that he knew. And he knew a lot. He tugged a little at his bonds and found that they were more than adequate for their task.

Somehow when his uncle came and drummed his fingers methodically on his back, Legolas found the courage not to shiver under the taunting and ungentle touch. Instead, he bit his lower lip and sucked on the blood that came from it, tying to find an outlet for his apprehension.

“Now what should I do first, Legolas? I mean, it’s your skin not mine,” he teased evilly and paused, as though waiting for an answer. When silence claimed the moment, Lostiâ tsked and said as though making an incredibly hard decision. “I guess if it’s up to me then I will give you a little dose of a special concoction I came up with all by myself. It’s very potent.”

Reaching down into a bag left behind on purpose by Rána, the silver-haired Elf produced a clear cylinder of a vial filled nearly to brimming with the poison. Legolas watched from his position in the dirt, clamping his jaw as he swore up and down to himself that he wouldn’t voluntarily accept anything from this insane being.

Lostiâ shook the contents of the vial and then casually walked over to where his nephew was busying himself glaring, looking very much like a grumpy old owl. He knew that Legolas wasn’t going to just take the poison and wait for it to take effect, but he waited a moment before he forcefully yanked Legolas’ head back by his hair. Waiting until Legolas exhaled, he then pinched his nephew’s nose shut, knowing that Legolas could not hold his breath for long. He would either open his mouth or suffocate.

Yellow spots danced and glided in and out of Legolas’ vision and his chin trembled as he tried desperately to hold his breath long enough to pass out cold. However, his body’s basic desire for oxygen over rode his stubborn pride and gapping like a fish out of water he drew a deep and rasping breath. At that moment, his head was tilted up again and the bottle’s open mouth was thrust between his teeth while half the contents drained into his throat.

Coughing and spluttering, as he tasted the acidic liquid, Legolas worked to bring it up from his throat and tried frantically to spit it out. Lostiâ couldn’t allow this to happen and so he kicked Legolas lightly under the jaw, snapping his mouth shut and startling him so much he involuntarily swallowed. However, some of the toxin was on the floor, clotting the sand, but Lostiâ didn’t seem to fret over that overly much. Taking the rest of the poison, he began to dribble it on Legolas’ slashed hand, allowing it to seep into his wounds and thus enter his blood stream faster.

Feeling light headed, Legolas just blinked slowly and stared tiredly at his hands as the venom did its work in his system, making his senses dull into one slur of confusion as pain wrenched through his abdomen and his hand throbbed with smarting pain. Smiling as he watched Legolas exhale and breath in deeply only to find that his ribs were burning, Lostiâ knew it would only be moments before the vile solution did it’s dirty work.

It did make everything hurt about ten times as much and could very easily be lethal. Fortunately he didn’t believe to have given Legolas a dose that would be deadly on its own.

But there was trick to this potion that only a few knew about, him included.

A dose of Athelas meant to help sooth the pain would only intensify it and possibly make the venom fatal. Being the catalyst it could enhance the destruction of the prince’s system and kill him slowly, within an hour. And the comforting thing, Lostiâ mused, was that Legolas would be in unbearable pain the entire time.

Looking into the glazed eyes of his nephew and the white face with its flushed cheeks, he knew the venom had gone to work, and was doing its job quite nicely. He was actually rather pleased it was working so quickly. Admittedly, that was unexpected.

Now that the prince was subdued with the venom, he wouldn’t even need his bonds because he could barely stand and crawling wasn’t going to get him far. Pulling his knife up and slicing Legolas’ bonds lose all in one stroke, he allowed Legolas to unconsciously spread out on the floor, hurting too much to curl into himself.

Legolas closed his eyes in disbelief at the pain blazing a trail through his stomach, making him want to retch. It would subside and then come back again, never getting less or worse. Everything was moving and swirling around in his field of vision and so it was better to keep his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. He felt unnaturally cold and shivered without thinking about it.

‘What is going on?’ his mind asked between glitches of blackness and despair as pain would momentarily block out all logic. He gagged and coughed but he couldn’t bring himself to throw up, which is what he knew he needed to do before this stuff had time to settle in. But he just couldn’t do it.

The most realistic comparison he could come up with was that a rock was tied around his ankle and he was cast over a cliff and falling into the Hoarwell, drowning and going down, down, down into the darkness. Reaching a hand forward he curled his fingers in the sand and tried to drag himself away, towards the cool air of the cave entrance but was stopped as Lostiâ stepped in front him.

Moaning, Legolas suddenly became aware that he was unbelievably thirsty and all he wanted was a drink of water. It filled his thoughts and he licked his cracked lips but was unable to drag himself to a puddle that had created itself just a few feet away. It was extremely frustrating to smell water and hear water as the rain that had gathered on the leaves dripped into little pools under the branches, but not be able to taste any himself.

He felt something strike him hard, hitting his back but the pain was nothing compared to the havoc the poison was wreaking in his system. It just added to the brutal attack of his senses, merging into one prolonged agony that he couldn’t dispel.

Rolling over carefully onto his back, he saw Lostiâ standing over him with a smiling face. He couldn’t understand much but his uncle’s words were crystal clear and burned themselves upon his heart.

“Your mother didn’t want a child. You were an accident. You were never meant to be born and you cost my sister her life!” There was a pause and then he sneered. “She loved you because your arrogant father wanted her to!”

His response was automatic. “No…she did love me as her son…”

He couldn’t believe otherwise. She had died for him! He had been forced to live with that all his life and he wouldn’t believe it was for nothing. No matter what anyone did he couldn’t believe that his mother had never loved him at least once. And as far as he knew, she had loved him all along.

“She wanted you to believe that. And do you want to know a secret; she never loved your father either! Thranduil? She pitied him to the point where she couldn’t say no and masked it with ‘love’!” he spat angrily, his dark eyes were lustrous with hate as his Elven Glow turned to a dark aurora that changed the cave cold.

Words did not begin to describe his hate for this princeling that had caused the death of his dear sister and shot his best friend. He should have never been born and Thranduil should have never married his sister. Some of it might have been his fault when he had introduced them, thinking it was a wonderful thing and the beginning of good times to come. But that didn’t matter now; he was going to make up for it. He was going to fix things and kill this fair-haired creature that should have never been born.

He was going to make sure that Legolas died the same way his mother had. With a sword thrust through his chest, but Thranduil was going to see every minute of it and then he was going to die as well. Mirkwood was in need of …new leadership anyway.

“No,” Legolas breathed through his agony. “No, she loved us…as her…family…” He said the word ‘family’ with such emphases that it took a second breath.

“Your denial is making me weary, Legolas.” And that was all Legolas heard and then he passed out, his body forbidding the feeling of any more pain and demanding a reprieve.

:0Ж0:

He had not seen any signs of a living Elf along the river and Aragorn was getting frustrated. He couldn’t even venture too close because the body of water had taken these torrential rains, as an opportunity to flood is banks and sweep out all vegetation and life that was within its range. Grimacing, the ranger wondered if Voronwë had been swept away as well and was currently drowned in the water beneath the surface where he would never be found.

Aragorn had remembered the wound the Elf had sustained in his chest and from personal experience knew it had to be painful and must limit his movement extremely. Hot anger blazed up in his chest as he thought of how this had all started. And when he thought of Rána, that Valar accursed traitor, another flame ignited somewhere inside and he felt a hot glow run through him. He would love to choke the life slowly out of him and that was just for getting started.

Frowning as he paused on an overhang that jutted out over the frothing waters that were no longer a blackish color but seemed to be nearly clear, diluted by the rains. Shaking his head he realized that even if Voronwë didn’t drown he was most likely dead at the hands of Arandur and his merry men, Aragorn looked out and scanned the opposite bank, half hoping to see a fair-haired Elf struggling to climb out of the water.

Well, he told himself as his eyes settled on a withered form half on the opposite bank; I think I have found him. But Aragorn’s heart went cold as the fear that he was too late and he was only going to find a body wound it’s way around his heart and squeezed tightly.

Looking over to his right as he tried to find a way over the water, Aragorn saw a tree that must have fallen across during the more windy parts of the storm. It looked a sight more hopeful than trying to swim across and so Aragorn approached it, cautiously putting a foot on it’s base of deracinated roots, half expecting it to be too unstable for use.

To his luck it seemed to be holding up under his weight and getting down on his hands and knees, Aragorn began to crawl slowly across, inching his way towards the opposite bank and trying not to look at the swirling, deep waters beneath him. He knew if he fell in that they would swallow him whole and spit out what was left on the bank later.

Weaving his way carefully around the leaves and smashed branches, Aragorn stepped onto the opposite bank and breathed a deep breath of relief before he rushed over to where Voronwë lay, eyes closed and lips a pale blue. Slowing his steps by the drown Elf, Aragorn collapsed by him and gripped him under his arms, pulling him back and dragging him the rest of the way from the tugging current.

Rolling Voronwë over onto his back, Aragorn placed two fingers on his cold neck and felt on his throat for a pulse. Despair flooded the ranger, as he found none and realized that Voronwë’s wound, though never attended to and very deep, was no longer bleeding. The dead didn’t bleed.

Voronwë was dead.

Hot tears sprang into Aragorn’s eyes as he realized that as Voronwë had died so had his last chance of finding Legolas. His friend was going to be dead before anyone could reach him and there was nothing he could do about it. Looking sadly at the motionless form of Legolas’ cousin, Aragorn took Voronwë’s cold hands and crossed them on his chest, his own hand lingering on them for a moment as he tried to take in that the Elf was dead.

There was a hot and wet feeling beneath his fingers and he started noticeably, withdrawing his hand and staring curiously at what marked it. A red liquid with a silvery tint: Elven blood. And, he added mentally, it was fresh. Knitting his brow and frowning in wonder and concern, Aragorn moved Voronwë’s hands gently from where he had crossed them over the wound and was shocked to feel they were warming up.

Suddenly he nearly threw himself back as the chest rose and fell with deep, raspy breaths and the blue-silver eyes fluttered open, still looking a bit bleary. They scanned the trees tops for a moment and then looked around briefly before settling on Aragorn and growing wide. Voronwë began to shake and he tried to squirm away but was too weak and so condemned himself to lying on his back, staring over at the human in fear.

“Please,” he breathed. “Don’t…please…don’t hurt me.”

Aragorn winced as he realized that Voronwë was terrified of humans, at least now that he was helpless. The Elf was shaking all over, probably from pain and fear combined. The ranger imagined that being in the Halls of Mandos and waking up alive again had startled the Elf a bit too and so he raised his hands slowly, palms turned towards Voronwë in a sign of friendship and peace.

“It’s all right, really. I wouldn’t harm you,” he tired to reason with the fair-haired Elf. As Voronwë cringed, Aragorn couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him to make him this frightened of a human and it made the ranger angry. “But I will help you if I can.”

At that those words, Voronwë seemed to relax slightly and glanced up at the ranger tiredly. “She said I had to go back,” the words tumbled from his mouth one on top of the other. “She begged Mandos, saying I had a job to finish.”

Aragorn wrinkled his brow and then shook his head. “Who?”

“Legolas’ mother.” Voronwë answered slowly and closed his eyes, still breathing deep and guttural breaths. “I can still remember my own mother’s face. It was so sad, as though she had hoped I would never be here even though she missed me.” Voronwë opened up to the ranger, who along with Legolas had been the only kind face he had seen in a long time. He was thirsting for a friendship with someone and Aragorn didn’t appear to be trying to harm him in any way.

“Your father has Legolas and is going to do something horrible to him, Voronwë,” Aragorn explained slowly, wishing he could have spared the Elf this pain, knowing that Voronwë cared for both his father and Legolas immensely. “He wants retribution for the death of your mother and the death of his sister. The retribution he seeks is Legolas’ life and maybe the lives of others.”

Voronwë blanched and if his face had been pale before it was definitely more so now. He stared at Aragorn disbelievingly for a few seconds before he went completely emotionless, staring at his trees. In a soft voice he whispered, “why? It was an accident.” He couldn’t understand and looked at Aragorn with wide and misunderstanding eyes.

“I am not sure. But I don’t know where to find my friend. I know Legolas will be being taken to where the slaughter happened, but I have no idea where that is,” he admitted desolately, bowing his head in grief and frustration at the situation.

Voronwë went silent and then he spoke understandingly. “I believe I was sent back to help you.” He reached out and touched Aragorn’s arm lightly. “I can take you there, or guide you …but you will have to help support me, I fear I cannot stand on my own. …‘Tis this wound-“

He was cut off as Aragorn scowled. “Let me see it. I may be able to help.”

Voronwë caught Aragorn’s hand with a bit more strength than could be expected of a half-alive Elf. “Mandos sent me back. …He won’t let me die…before my task is finished and then …I want to go back. Let it be. …The pain is small compared to the …gravity of the situation.” He slowly released Aragorn’s hand when he was sure the human was going to comply with his request.

“Very well,” the ranger consented, withdrawing and sitting back on his heels. Voronwë smiled appreciatively and relaxed against the sandy soil of the bank, closing his eyes, and only tensing once when pain broke over him. At least when you were dead in Mandos’ Halls you couldn’t hurt! Actually, it was rather boring.

Aragorn stared at the opposite bank, or more accurately scowled darkly at it. He hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get both of them across. It had been hard enough balancing on the slippery log all by himself but with an injured Elf, who was related to Legolas and probably shared the prince’s curse of bad luck he was pretty sure it was going to be impossible. If Legolas had a thing against caves, Aragorn was sure that he was definitely building up a thing against rivers.

They had to be the most inconvenient things ever created!

Sighing, he supposed the only thing that he could do was help Voronwë to belly his way across as well. But that chest wound was going to create some interesting problems, the more pessimistic part of his mind eagerly pointed out.

Aragorn was pulled out of his train of thought by a sound that resembled pounding hooves, man of them, Looking at Voronwë, he saw the wounded Elf was cringing and looking expectantly in the direction of the noise. It was coming form across the flooded river, Aragorn realized and a small smile crept across his face as he knew it was definitely uncorssable for a horse.

All the same, he was sure these were most likely beings they didn’t want to meet. Gripping Voronwë’s arm, he helped the wounded Elf stagger to his feet. “Here,” he said, slipping his arm around Voronwë’s waist and allowing the Elf to lean on his shoulder. “Lean on me and lets get out of sight.”

Voronwë reluctantly allowed the ranger to support half of his weight and staggered to keep up with the man as he half dragged half stumbled, towards the leaves of the fallen tree, where they could take cover. Voronwë couldn’t help it and his head lolled against the ranger’s shoulder. He hated showing weakness but at this point he could hardly help it and he was beginning to understand that he could trust the human.

Once mixed with the twigs, branches and leaves, Aragorn clasped Voronwë close and put the cloak about them both, as an extra precaution to dissuade eyes from thinking there was anything more than leaves and debris among the fallen tree. He started and then smiled softly as he felt Voronwë rest against him, his body craving warmth and comfort as his wound shot agony through his system. Aragorn found he was reminded of when he had first met Legolas and his smile became even brighter at the memory.

His memories dissolved from his thoughts as he heard the hooves coming closer and he crouched lower, pushing Voronwë down with him. It was only a few more moments before the horses tore into view, their riders all Elves and Aragorn guessed that they were coming from wherever Legolas was being held prisoner. In vain, his eyes searched the horses for his friend.

Voronwë’s Elven vision was better than Aragorn’s and he murmured softly in anger as he recognized one of the faces. “Rána is with them. But he is wounded as well,” the Elf added with a tense smile. ‘What goes around comes around,’ he told himself. Aragorn could tell Voronwë was furious because the air around them seemed to heat up and the glow about the Elf dulled slightly, becoming darker.

“Do you know the others?” Aragorn asked curiously, eyes never leaving the riders as they were riding swiftly and would be gone in a few seconds.

Voronwë’s eyes caught and held Aragorn’s and he blinked before answering. “No. They must of come here after my time.” He didn’t know who they were but if they were friends of Rána’s he was sure he was their enemy. A spasm of pain left him breathless and he lay flat on the ground for a moment, all but writhing in agony. Shuddering powerlessly, he waited calmly for it to pass.

Aragorn watched as the last of the Elven riders disappeared and then he began to tug Voronwë to his feet. He knew they had to be one their way, they were wasting valuable time. The wounded Elf got to his feet as quickly as he could, still heavily supported by Aragorn. “They were heading back towards the palace,” the ranger mused before sighing. “I sure wish I knew why.”

Voronwë glanced at the ranger and then across the river. “I wouldn’t know either.” Crinkling his forehead in confusion, the Elf suddenly looked very skeptic. “How are we going to…get across?” He saw the log but he was bit disbelieving that they would use that strategy. Normally as an Elf that would be the preferred route but he didn’t think a human would consider it and anyway, he didn’t trust his balancing skills right now.

“Well this log was how I got across in the first place,” Aragorn answered smoothly. He began to pull them towards it, but Voronwë stopped moving, a bit confused.

“I didn’t think…a human would chose such a route,” he explained as Aragorn gave him a questioning stare.

“I have been brought up in Rivendell and lived with Elves all my life,” the ranger answered, smiling softly and giving a small chuckle. “My brothers taught me risky stunts such as this.” Voronwë didn’t look any less confused, rather simply accepting. Aragorn shrugged and grinned helplessly. “I can explain it later.”

Voronwë smiled thinly before he laid his eyes on the log again, trying to silence the voice that said, ‘this is insane’. Aragorn shifted his grip on the Elf so that Voronwë wasn’t slipping free, since the Elf was leaning heavily on him.

Taking a few uncertain steps towards the log he suddenly stopped and looking at the Elf clinging to his side he sighed. “You are going to have to hold on tightly and trust me, alright? I promise, I will not let you fall.” Shaking his head mentally he couldn’t get over how remarkably Voronwë resembled Legolas. It was easy to tell they were related and if he hadn’t known the exact relation he would guess that they were brothers.

Voronwë didn’t look pleased or at ease with the idea but he swallowed and nodded curtly, suffering to be guided by the ranger.

Stepping lightly onto the overturned log, Aragorn pulled the fair-haired Elf after him gently. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard, not wanting to look at the churning water below that would easily drown them if they tumbled off. Suddenly an anxious hiss forced him to reopen his eyes. “Don’t close your eyes!” Voronwë implored nervously, looking apprehensively at the water.

Aragorn apologized with a weak grin and began to slowly walk across the log while supporting the injured Elf. It was a wide enough tree that two could walk abreast on it so they both just barely fit onto it. But the size wasn’t the problem; it was the fact that the rain had made it slippery and treacherous. One wrong step and they both could be pulled under the current and drowned.

Amazingly, ten minutes later, both of the companions sweating, they where across and Voronwë collapsed on the soil, obviously showing he had been one step away from a nervous breakdown the entire time. He was shaking, whether from fear, weariness or pain, Aragorn didn’t know. But he did know that the fact they had both walk across that fallen tree was a miracle.

“Now where to, Voronwë?” he asked, offering the Elf a hand up.

Voronwë refused the help as he struggled clumsily to his feet himself before answering. “I haven’t been here long enough to find words to explain it but if you follow me I can show you,” he offered helpfully with a hopefully smile.

Aragorn was busy contemplating how Elves always had to be stubborn and refuse help unless they absolutely were dying or common sense over rode their pride. He nodded without thinking; having heard what Voronwë had said but not given it any real thought. “How are you going to guide me when you can barely stand without gripping my arm?” he asked incredulously, blinking and staring at the Elf.

Voronwë became indignant. “If you support me, trust me, I can get us there.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue but decided against it, closing it with an audible snap. This obviously wasn’t going to work if they went on with the petty bickering. It was wasting time they didn’t have and that Legolas didn’t have either. He didn’t want to find where Legolas was being held only to discover his abandoned corpse. Shuddering, he remembered the last time Legolas had ‘died’ and he was scared to see his friend in that condition again. “Very well,” he conceded grudgingly. “Lean on me and lets get moving.”


Chapter 12 - You' Never Know Tomorrow

Ripples

CHAPTER TWELVE

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You’ll Never Know Tomorrow

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Legolas lay in the dirt, panting as he recovered from his abuse, taking advantage of the reprieve his lack of consciousness had provided. Wincing as the pain and despair rushed back, he looked around, trying to discover Lostiâ’s whereabouts. His senses were not so slurred anymore as the drug wore off and he realized he must have been unconscious for longer than an hour.

Forcing him to sit up onto his knees, Legolas doubled over onto himself as any movement at all made his stomach churn violently, brining bile up his throat. Moaning, he convinced his body to sit up a bit more so he could look around. His eyelids drooped and the rocks sort of changed places with each other before he was able to focus his vision.

Lostiâ must have been behind him because he stepped around and crouched before his nephew, smiling gleefully. Grabbing Legolas’ chin, he forced the prince to meet his gaze. “Well now, you finally decided to wake up!” he said snidely. “Feeling any better?” he continued to mock, taking note of the green color that tainted Legolas’ pale skin.

Legolas didn’t want to waste his energy answering verbally so he allowed a hot flame to kindle in his eyes and then winced as his abdomen convulsed. Finding the vigor to jerk his chin free of his uncle’s grip he gaped the abruptly movement ignited a burning feeling throughout his body. Who would have thought little more than two tablespoons of this clear liquid could be so potent?

Lostiâ sat back on his heels, watching Legolas attentively as the younger Elf scooted away and placed a hand on the rock wall for support. Breathing hard and trying to ignore his uncle’s scrutinizing eyes that were watching everything he did, Legolas asked between gasps, “why do you…want my father…h-here?”

He had a feeling he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from his uncle’s mouth. He turned his eyes on the elder Elf without moving his head, setting his jaw so he wouldn’t make any sound as a shooting pain seemed to lay his stomach open.

“Well because I can’t kill you until he is here to witness it,” Lostiâ replied, a little surprised Legolas hadn’t already known. Smiling he laughed heartily, “and you’re going to die hard, nephew, you’re going to die hard.”

Legolas usually didn’t make a habit of begging anything from anyone, especially beings like Lostiâ but he couldn’t help it.

“Leave my father out of this …please.” He knew his father’s heart would be torn to pieces and he didn’t want to see that happen before he drew his last breath and left the circles of the world. He would rather his uncle torment him to death than force his father to watch whatever he had planned. And he didn’t want his father to see what he looked like now, not this weak and vulnerable. He didn’t want anyone to see him this way, brought down by a single poison and emotions laid bare by unbearable pain.

Lostiâ shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t. See, that would only make my revenge half complete.”

Legolas continued with his pleading, trying to get his uncle to see reason. “Lostiâ, you don’t have to be this way. Let go of your hate before it consumes you.”

He knew that his uncle’s hate had already consumed him but he couldn’t believe that Lostiâ was unable to come back. Suddenly Legolas only found pity in his heart and his anger gave way to pitying sorrow. Anyone who was this way by choice was completely miserable and he in dire need of help.

Lostiâ laughed louder and snorted incredulously. “Its too late now, Legolas. There is no going back. I will take your life and have my sweet revenge.” A smile came to his face as Legolas cringed and wiped a cold sweat from his forehead while he endured the savage venom sabotaging his system.

“No,” gasped Legolas desperately, determined to try and get his uncle to understand. “Revenge is never sweet…” his voice squeezed off as he had to catch his breath and pause. “How will killing me fix anything?” he asked, connecting eyes with his uncle’s dark ones that were filled with nothing but malice. For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of doubt and pressed further. “How will that bring my mother or your wife back? It will only spill more blood.”

Lostia’s face blackened with anger and he snarled. “Blood should be rendered for blood! If you had never been born, a little dear surprise, then they orcs would have never even had the to opportunity to overwhelm and kill anyone!” He spat at Legolas and standing up, kicked him in the ribs, please when he heard a small cry and the captive recoiled a few feet.

Legolas went quiet, old memories of this day so many years ago causing doubt to gnaw at his mind. He had been the one to lead the orcs right into his under numbered rescuers and cause so much pain and sorrow, terror and loss. Forcing these thoughts to the back of his mind he whispered nearly under his breath, “but you will only bring more pain to those who don’t deserve it! You will destroy yourself in the end!”

Having heard enough from his nephew, Lostiâ lunged forward, gripping Legolas by the throat and pulling Legolas up, supporting the entire Elf’s weight with his hand constricted around his throat. He watched as fear welled up in the younger Elf’s eyes coupled with a bitter sorrow before that was all erased by an all-consuming calm. “I think I can look after myself and I will sleep better when you are dead!” he retorted with a blinding fury.

Legolas’ fingers clawed at the hand cutting the air from his lungs. “Please,” he croaked in a raspy voice. “Don’t...kill yourself this way…” Spots danced before his eyes as he felt consciousness fading and blackness crept into the corners of his eyes. He had tired being reasonable and he had tried being calm so now it was time to follow through.

“My mother would have…never done this to me…” He didn’t like using dragging his mother into this but he knew it was true and he could never believe otherwise.

“Don’t talk to me about my sister!” Lostiâ growled, pinning Legolas against the wall and sneering in his face. “You hardly knew her! Always out with your bow when you were old enough to shoot straight!”

His grip tightened as the urge to skip the ‘sweet’ part of the revenge and strangle the prince right now struggled for mastery. Fingers twitching as they continued with their death hold while reason and anger wrestled in his mind, Lostiâ watched as Legolas stopped clawing at his hands and began to relax.

The younger Elf mouthed ‘please’ one more time before he seemed to slip away and pass out. Going limp in Lostiâ’s grip, his head lolled to the side and his uncle relented of his suffocating hold.

Immediately Legolas’ chest rose and fell as his body breathed of its own accord even as it slid down the wall and crumpled to the ground.

Eyeing his nephew, hardly believing that as he …prepared some things the younger Elf would just wait in this cave when he awoke, the silver-haired Elf pulled out some rope and shifting Legolas so he was on his back, he bound his hands tightly in front of him and then wrapped a cord around his ankles so he was sure that the circulation was cut off.

Smirking, he shook his head. Legolas just didn’t understand when to keep his mouth shut.

If he was to kill Legolas properly he had to have everything set up. After all, it would be rude to put everything together while his…guests were arriving. He must have this done first and then the fun would begin. Smiling wistfully as his ran his brilliant plans through his mind once more; Lostiâ put his cloak back on and left the cave like a shadow moving through the trees.

:0Ж0:

Aragorn nearly dropped Voronwë as they came to the edge of the clearing where precious blood had been spilled so long ago. Voronwë just looked at the ground sadly, hearing the trees whispering of the orcs’ butchery and the blood they had been forced to drink and absorb. Looking at Aragorn he stared at him with sorrowful, deep eyes. “I brought you here.”

Aragorn knew it wasn’t Voronwë’s fault but the injured Elf bore the brunt of his frustration. “But he isn’t here!” It was like he couldn’t breathe as he realized he was wrong, Legolas wasn’t here.

“Human,” Voronwë tried to calm the ranger whose grip on him had intensified. “You tried.”

Turning to the Elf with burning eyes that were sparkling with unspilled tears, Aragorn whispered savagely. “That wasn’t good enough!” Seething, Aragorn wondered how he could have gotten this wrong! Where else would they take his friend? “He has to be here!” the man nearly screamed.

Voronwë studied him and realizing the human’s rage, pulled away abruptly, trying to avoid the shouting and cringed as Aragorn turned on him. He was almost certain that the man wouldn’t harm him but Aragorn didn’t appear to be himself and it frightened the Elf. “Well obviously he isn’t!”

Aragorn didn’t appreciate Voronwë’s answer and cast a hard glare at the Elf was he paced. “Where else would they go?” he asked angrily, knowing that time might have run out, he could have already failed.

Voronwë stammered as Aragorn stepped over to him, closing the space between them. “I know of no other place,” he plead for Aragorn to see reason and calm down. The intense look of fury and frustration was intimidating and he stumbled back a pace before Aragorn grabbed his tunic, twisting his hand in the fabric and dragging the Elf close.

“There has to be!” Aragorn hissed as tears began to spill over the rims of his eyes. “Think, Voronwë! Think!” he screamed at the Elf, who recoiled as he felt his wound incite to an all out agony.

“Please,” he placed his hands over Aragorn’s, trying to ease his pain and begging for the human’s madness to pass. “Please let go. I don’t know anymore.” His eyes looked hurt and his face had gone a shade paler.

Aragorn realized what his doing and remorse flooded his face as he released Voronwë’s tunic, catching the Elf as they both sank slowly to the ground. Running his fingers through his hair and sighing after drawing a deep guttural breath, Aragorn apologized softly. “I am sorry Voronwë. I should have never done that to you. It’s just that I thought we might have a chance and I might save him. I might get my friend back.” A silent sob made his shoulders shake and he buried his face in his hands as he shook his head.

The Elf inclined his head to the side and consoled softly in one fact, “We haven’t found his body.”

Aragorn looked at the Elf from between his fingers and then lowered his hands slowly as the fair being’s words sank in. It was true, they hadn’t found the body and wouldn’t Lostiâ be gloating over it if he had slain his nephew? Legolas was resourceful, he would find a way to survive, Aragorn hoped.

“I will not believe he is dead,” Aragorn murmured, stumbling up and reaching down to offer Voronwë a hand up, which once again the Elf waved away and struggled up on his own, swaying as he stood.

Aragorn supported Voronwë as they both staggered from the clearing and into the brush.

Aragorn was eager to keep going, determined to find where they were hiding his friend but Voronwë suddenly refused to move. He muscles went tense and he cocked his head to the side, intently listening. He ignored the ranger as Aragorn insisted on knowing what he was listening for.

Just when Aragorn thought he was about to grab him by the neck and choke him in aggravation, wounded or not, the Elf spoke softly, immediately dropping to the ground and pulling Aragorn after him. “There are Elven footsteps though maybe your ears can’t hear them.” He answered urgently, locking eyes with the human as his breathing accelerated in anticipation of the trouble that was coming. Voronwë’s blue eyes were wide as he stared over across the clearing where he knew the sound to be coming from.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably as moisture from the saturated ground soaked into his already rain-dampened clothes. “Are you sure?” he hissed, studying Voronwë’s paling face. He still couldn’t hear a thing but he knew better than to underestimate the hearing of the Elves and he was sure all these years of living alone had given Voronwë superb reflexes.

Voronwë didn’t answer for a moment, too intent on watching the opposite site of the clearing. Yes, the mysterious Elf would appear from over there…. “Yes, I am entirely certain.” His reply was all but under his breath and he tensed even more as the sound became louder. Looking at Aragorn with a knowing smile he whispered, “he approaches.”

Following the Elf’s focused eyes, Aragorn found himself holding his breath as a cloaked figure stepped nimbly from the brush, his face concealed with a large hood. But, as Aragorn looked closer he saw strands of silver hair sticking out around the hood near the bottom the Elf’s neck. It was Lostiâ.

The hair rose on the back of Aragorn’s neck as he stared at the Elf, who was busying himself stacking wood for a large fire. Voronwë was looking on sadly and Aragorn could tell that he was feeling torn apart.

“How badly do you want to find Legolas?” he asked in a low voice, looking at the ranger with sorrow drooped eyes.

Aragorn was speechless at first and then he provided an answer. “I would do anything to get him back,” the man’s voice was equally low so that Lostiâ wouldn’t pick up their conversation. All the same he watched the silver-haired Elf from the corner of his eye.

Voronwë nodded and murmured, “That’s what I thought.” He smiled warmly and added, “I normally don’t like human’s overly much. But I think my cousin should count his lucky stars for having you as a friend.”

Aragorn returned the smile and his appreciation of Voronwë’s trust went without words. But he couldn’t help but wonder why Voronwë was saying these things. He was acting like he was trying to say good-bye but didn’t know the right words. Gulping, Aragorn stared at the Elf, who was frowning as he watched his father pounding a single stake into the ground.

“What are you doing?” he whispered apprehensively, afraid Voronwë was going to get himself killed.

“You are a tracker, a ranger, if I give you the opportunity I know you can trace back my father’s steps,” Voronwë tried to explain, preparing himself to drone out all arguments against what he was about to do. He was out of options and this was his father whom they were dealing with.

Aragorn continued to gape at the Elf but then he saw a glimmer come into the blue eyes that was near identical to the one Legolas had when his mind was made up. His brows were knitted in the same determined way and he was gnawing on his bottom lip just like Legolas did when he knew what he was going to do and was trying to bring up the courage to do it. Sighing in defeat, Aragorn knew it would be no use arguing. Nodding his reluctant consent, the man muttered, “take care.”

Voronwë smiled and whispered without looking back, “you too, human.” He had never learned or didn’t remember Aragorn’s name.

Swallowing, Voronwë stumbled up, staggering into the clearing and managing to stay on his feet just long enough to reach his father before collapsing to the ground in weakness. “Ada…” he breathed out in a gasp, reaching out a hand and grabbing Lostiâ’s boot.

The elder Elf just gaped, unsure what to do. He had thought his son was dead. Pausing everything he was doing he just blinked twice in shock. “Voronwë?” his voice was strangely soft, touched with bubbling happiness and pleasant surprise.

“I’m…h-home, father,” the younger Elf replied gingerly, as he cast a weak smile up at the elder Elf, who had removed his hood and was on bended knee, his hands bracketing the pale face of his child.

“How, Voronwë?” His eyes suddenly fell on the wound that was still bleeding on his son’s chest. Face darkening he growled as his happiness melted away and was replaced by a cold anger. “Who did this to you?”

Voronwë shivered, swallowing before he spoke. “Rána, Ada. Rána tried to kill me.” His eyes closed as he felt Lostiâ’s hands quickly moving to unbutton his tunic.

Lostiâ’s face was impassive as he looked at the wound, a stab wound that looked ugly. Gently brushing his fingers over the bloodied flesh, he grimaced as Voronwë hissed and grit his teeth, muscles going tense. “Blessed Eru I will kill him for this!” he exclaimed. Closing his eyes for a moment, an indescribable fury filled him and radiated from his lithe form, causing the air around them to tingle. “Rána I am going to kill you!” he shouted wrathfully.

And unbeknownst to Lostiâ, Voronwë smiled as his father began to work on his wound. He had bought the human time and he could only pray that the ranger would get Legolas free before they returned.

Aragorn cautiously circled around the two, keeping to the shadowy portions of the brush where he could barely see his hands in front of his face thanks to the permanent twilight of Mirkwood. He still felt horribly about leaving Voronwë behind in the hands of the mad Elf, Lostiâ being his father or not. However, at the moment it was too late to turn back and so he pushed aside his misgivings and concentrated on the ground, reading even the bent blades of grass.

:0Ж0:

It was nearly eleven and Elrond stood out beside the gate, waiting patiently on Thranduil as he thought things through. Of course he hadn’t wanted to wait until the light crept into the forest as the sun climbed but he hadn’t much other choice. If they went when it was dark they could miss something and be thrown off track, quite probably leading to disaster.

He and Thranduil had come to the conclusion that they must go and find their sons themselves. They knew that they couldn’t bear waiting until a trustworthy contingent of Elves returned with news and it wasn’t likely they would find that trustworthy contingent in time anyway. So going out on their own was their only choice.

Quietly, he stared out into the woods and to the road beyond, wondering absentmindedly what was holding Thranduil up and trying to tell himself that he hated it when people second-guessed him.

Suddenly he inclined his head to the side and his eyes narrowed searchingly. He could swear by his father’s star that heard horse hooves in the distance –and coming closer. But then the noise seemed to fade away and he couldn’t be so sure. Dismissing it as a nervous reaction much in part because of his anxiety over his son, he shook his head.

Glancing back in slight annoyance towards the palace, he suddenly whipped his head around as he thought he picked up the faint sound of horse hooves pounding the ground once more. But he thought he heard more of them this time.

Taking an indecisive step forward, Elrond inclined his head and frowned. Yes, there were definitely horses coming, and coming quickly. He estimated they would be coming in oh, around five minutes. Silently, he prayed that Thranduil would make an appearance before then because he didn’t know if he would be able to deal with the situation himself. These were not his people after all and he felt a little out of place when they called him ‘my lord’.

To ease his tensions he began idly to wonder if Rivendell was still standing and if leaving it in the hands of Glorfindel, his sons and Erestor was the smartest decision he had ever made. He sincerely hoped that Erestor’s therapy was going a little better than it had been. After all, as far as he could recall the counselor had been refusing to leave his room and eating was becoming a rarity as well. He had thought that Glorfindel would either irritate Erestor into becoming his old poised and controlling self or cheer him up and make things a little easier on him.

But if that counselor didn’t relearn to walk again then Elrond didn’t know what he was going to do to him! He wouldn’t be useful anymore as a diplomat and Elrond was in short supply of those as it was.

Suddenly he was forced to listen to the galloping of the horses as he heard them coming up the final path to the palace gate. He was beginning to become uncomfortable but was relieved when Thranduil came walking down the path after dismissing two servants with a wave of his hand to fetch a pair of horses.

Seeing the horses and riders now coming up, kicking up mud as they came, Elrond turned around and glanced back to see Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He had sent no contingent out and his heart seemed to swell and rise in his throat as he couldn’t help but think that Legolas was killed already and they were bringing his body.

The sentries looked bewildered and stepped back to surround their lord and his esteemed guest, calling for the hidden ones among the trees as well. Altogether six Elves came and took their place next to the two Elf-lords, defensively drawing their weapons. But their faces were drawn and confused as they tried to understand what exactly was going on. If Thranduil knew his people the way he thought he did they were half afraid and half furious.

The riders all rode up and pulled their horses to a skidding stop, pulling back on the leather headstalls and causing mud to splash around them. “Lord Thranduil?” Rána inquired and waited for Thranduil to push past his warriors, whom when they realized he was trying to get through, stepped nimbly aside, giving slight bows, much to the amusement of the mounted Elves.

“Rána, what are doing?” asked the Elvenking, keeping his temper in check as the urge to strangle this pathetic liar struggled for mastery. An intense scowl darkened his face and continued to get darker at the news he heard.

“My lord, your son is alive, however he is in rather…unpleasant circumstances as we speak.” The dark-haired warrior watched with a calculating gaze as Thranduil’s face attempted not to crumple and nearly failed. “Yes,” he continued casually. “We found out that he has a lovely voice too, though he was…reluctant to let us hear it.”

“You lie,” the Elvenking hissed. “Where is he!”

Rána rolled his eyes in exasperation and said, “please try to be a bit more cooperative, my lord. It would make things so much easier.”

Arandur spoke up, riding up closer to the king. “Your presence is requested. Whether or not you come will dictate if Legolas will live or not.” A cold and knowing smile spread across his face as he watched Thranduil’s lips press into a thin line and struggling to withhold his emotions. “And Lostiâ, as you well know, is not very…patient and kindness was never one of his strong suites.”

Elrond stepped forward, standing calmly by Thranduil who was practically bristling with wrath. “Rána, this is treason!” he warned, trying to give the dark-haired warrior a second chance. He had trusted him for so long and he wasn’t able to accept that the other Elf was evil at heart.

“And there is no going back,” Rána replied, obviously having read Thranduil’s purpose. He felt comfortable with Arandur and his Elves to back him and didn’t fear the sentries that were watching with white faces. It was encouraging to see the dismay on their faces, though it wasn’t their pain that he got his satisfaction from.

At this moment Elrond’s deep and calm voice intervened. “Rána, you can save lives! If only you decide to aid us!”

“Anything you have done will be pardoned!” Thranduil added, earning some disapproving looks from his warriors who kept their peace but scowled among themselves. It was hard for Thranduil to say this but if Rána really did repent then he would accept the dark-haired warrior back as being one of his confidents.

For a moment Rána seemed half-prepared to stay, touched by the speech or by his own guilt it was anyone’s guess. However, glancing around and seeing Arandur and four other Elves, he knew he would be dead if he went turned against them now. The longing expression that had come into his eyes faded as he chose life over honor and scoffed, “why should I?”

Elrond sighed and answered slowly, “Because you could do the world so much more good! If you have that opportunity it is your responsibility to take it!” He knew he was arguing with someone about ten times as stubborn as any mule and about as frightened as a rabbit cornered by a fox but at least he could say he had tried.

Once more the longing look came back into Rána’s eyes but he quickly masked it and snorted, giving his attention to Thranduil. “Are you coming your majesty?”

Thranduil looked at Elrond questioningly before he asked the Lord of Rivendell. “Do you wish to come?”

‘No,’ Elrond thought. ‘I don’t wish to, but I suppose I must.’ However since this was not the time and place for splitting hairs he answered openly, “yes.”

“Well if you are both coming then no guards will be necessary, we will be your protection,” Arandur explained tartly. “Cause any trouble and it will be dear Legolas who pays. Understood?”

Just as Thranduil and Elrond were both about to accept the terms, however grudgingly, the servants came around the bend with two horses in tow. Arandur notched an arrow with hands that moved quicker than sight and had it leveled for them.

Both of the servants stopped, raising their hands in surrender as their faces rapidly paled and their eyes went wide with fear. Dropping the reins, they took a few steps back and Arandur commanded, “lead the horses to the Lords Elrond and Thranduil and then turn around and walk ten steps.”

The sentries immediately tensed, fearing that their brethren were about to be killed and angered that they were not permitted to shoot these treacherous murderers.

Thranduil exchanged glances with Elrond before he stomped over to the green-eyed elf’s horse, gripping the creature’s headstall desperately. “You can’t do this! Leave them out of this!” These were his people and he wasn’t going to let them get murdered and shoved around at will by a pack of traitors. Elrond received both of the horses since Thranduil appeared to be busy pleading for the servants’ lives.

Arandur’s abrupt chuckle turned into uproarious laughter and he shook his head. “Me? Shoot them? No, no…I am not a needless murderer. They can leave; I just had to make sure that they wouldn’t try anything. Now, my lords mount your horses. We need to be going!”

:0Ж0:

Aragorn couldn’t believe it. He had thought these Elves were insane but this was incredible and totally unexpected even of them. They had chosen a cave of all places.

Not wanting to wait any longer, as he knew Legolas was inside, probably in pain and bound, the human kept to the shadows until he reached the cave entrance and then, peeking his head around the corner and finding no one, probably because they were all running hell for leather towards the palace, he cautiously walked in.

‘Idiots,’ he accused mentally. ‘They didn’t even leave a single guard.’

His heart was in his throat, constricting it, as he feared what he might find.

Pushing these fears aside, he looked around, taking everything in at a glance. Legolas would not like this place, not at all. It was dark in all the corners and the fire was dying, making things even dimmer. Not wanting to risk someone hearing him, Aragorn decided against calling out for the Elf.

Walking, in the back, near one of the darker corners, Aragorn suddenly stumbled, his foot catching on something and he heard a gasp. Catching himself and bracing his hands on the wall, he heard a despairing sigh and a moan as he stepped back and his foot barely came down on something soft and was instantly recoiled. “Legolas?” he asked quietly, sidestepping and crouching down by the dark figure he could see as the sparks popped in the fire and provided a little more light for a split second.

“Please, just leave me alone,” the bound figure breathed miserably, almost begging. He hadn’t opened his eyes but he didn’t want to, after coming back to consciousness and finding himself still here, bound and in the darkness all alone he felt despair enter into his heart. Memories from his last cave experience were too strong and though he was refusing over and over again to let them own him he was gradually beginning to give in.

Feeling hands lightly brushing some of his hair away from his face, he winced and withdrew, using his bound feet to push himself backwards. “Leave me alone,” he repeated, groaning as his movements aggravated his bruises.

“Now how could you ask me to do such a thing, mellon nin?” Aragorn asked in a friendly voice. “And after I came all this way for you!” he teased as the Elf opened one eye and quickly shut it again, his fair face scrunching up.

For a brief moment he was reminded all too sharply of Calmir or King, seeing a human peering down on him through the dim light. Suddenly he opened his eyes and blinked, staring into the face of Aragorn. “Estel?” he asked softly, trying to confirm he wasn’t imagining things as a side effect of the poison he had ingested. “Is it really you?”

Aragorn smiled as he took out a knife from his boot and began to saw at Legolas’ bonds on his wrists. “Of course it’s me! I haven’t had any other identity my whole life and I am not going to change just for you.”

The Elf smiled. “I was hoping as much.”

Suddenly he winced as the bonds broke and blood rushed back into his hands, giving him no insignificant amount of pain. Looking around more calmly than he had in the past few hours, it was easier to ignore the cave walls with Aragorn by his side but still, it was difficult to block out all fears recreated by them. To take his mind off the pressing darkness, he asked curiously, “how did you find me?”

Aragorn went silent, even his breathing stopped for a moment as he tried to dismiss the fact that he had nearly not found the Elf. “I had a little help from your cousin,” he admitted, continuing now with the sawing of the bonds about the prince’s ankles.

Legolas winced again as the blood flooded back into his feet and then he tried slowly to sit up, curling in on himself as his movements incited the venom to shoot pain through him once more. “Voronwë? But I thought he was dead?” Legolas asked in confusion.

Aragorn was silent and Legolas didn’t press further, too tired and in too much pain to really care.

“Can you walk?” Aragorn asked softly, gently trying to ease the prince to his feet. Legolas refused the help and dragged himself up, swaying dangerously as he stood and Aragorn gripped his shoulders helpfully. He felt Legolas flinch under his touch and loosened his grip, surprised.

“Just a bit sore is all,” the Elf explained as he saw Aragorn’s face covered in concern. “Really, I will…be all right.”

Aragorn wasn’t so easily put off. He knew Legolas and one thing the Elf consistently did was underestimate his injuries and Aragorn was convinced he did it on purpose.

Scowling, he began to tug Legolas towards the dwindling firelight. They didn’t have long but while the firelight was here he knew he had better make use of it because they might not get another chance for quite some time. Legolas reluctantly allowed himself to be forced into a sitting position as the ranger inspected the bruises, becoming angrier by the minute. “Legolas you are lucky not to be one giant bruise disregarding your face!”

The prince frowned and said defensively, “well it wasn’t exactly like I asked them to kick me around!” Aragorn found the welts the rope had left and his fingers lightly traced them, causing Legolas to jerk away and glare.

During his scrutinizing search, he managed to find Legolas’ slashed hand, which explained a good portion of the blood he had found and the handprint. Seeing two broken pieces of crockery protruding from the skin Aragorn looked sympathetically at the Elf who was already grimacing.

“Don’t even say it,” the prince stated dully.

“Don’t say what?” Aragorn asked, confused.

“That it will hurt,” the Elf replied, already gritting is teeth.

“Well you already seem to realize it will so I suppose I don’t have to,” the man answered with a thin smile.

He carefully used the tips of his fingers to reach into the deep lacerations, having no other way to get a grip on the pieces. Jerking gently, he pulled one free and tossed it on the ground before prodding Legolas’ fingers apart and finding the second piece. Removing it from the hand as well, he continued to search for any more smaller pieces and was nearly thrilled when he found none though he was sure he couldn’t be half as pleased as Legolas.

And the Elf had to admit; it felt a whole lot better. And on the whole, though it seemed to take centuries, the entire procedure had taken up less than a minute.

“Legolas!” the ranger gasped as his eyes fell on the cracked open wound to the Elf’s chest. He had only gotten that stitched five or six months ago! It was never going to heal properly if it wasn’t given the chance! Legolas would be lucky if he didn’t have a scar for the rest of his days.

“Yeah, Lostiâ took special interest in that,” Legolas mumbled under his breath, watching the coals burning lower and lower. They reflected in his darkened blue eyes, making an orange glow gleam in their center as he allowed his thoughts to be absorbed by the dimming fire.

Not having time or the means to treat the wound now, Aragorn could only hiss in sympathy as he looked at the dried blood and the inflamed edges. If it wasn’t infected already then he was an idiot.

Legolas began to get uneasy and stared at the human a bit pleadingly. “Care to leave now?” He didn’t want to risk getting captured by Lostiâ a second time and he certainly didn’t want Aragorn to suffer at his hands or simply be killed.

Aragorn looked at their surroundings and then grinned encouragingly. “I suppose we aught to, huh?”

When Legolas didn’t grin back, the ranger allowed his small smile to fade. The Elf doubled over and groaned, his arms across his stomach, cradling it as pain seized up his muscles. Only this time the pain didn’t last only momentarily but lingered, throbbing unceasingly.

Aragorn undid the brooch holding Legolas’ cloak to him and slid it from his own shoulders, draping it over the Elf gently as he asked, “why do you keep seizing up like that? Legolas, you are beginning to scare me.”

The prince looked at his friend through pain glazed eyes and shivered before answering. “P-poison…s-s-strange…p-poison.” Another convulsion wracked his body and he leaned against the ranger, gagging, as the acidic taste rose from the back of his throat. All he wanted was water.

Aragorn knew they couldn’t stay here a minute longer. Tugging the Elf to his feet, he felt Legolas grasp his arm as he nearly collapsed. This was never going to work. Legolas couldn’t walk in this state, or at least not quickly enough to evade Lostiâ and his treacherous band. “I promise I won’t let you get captured again, Legolas. But you have to trust me.”

The prince nodded, if you could call the minute movement of his head a nod. His eyes were clenched shut as his forehead became drenched in an icy sweat as his cheeks flushed unnaturally red. He didn’t expect they would make it more than a mile before Lostiâ along with Arandur and possibly Rána caught up with them and killed them both for their trouble.

Aragorn found himself hard put to keep his eyes open as he suddenly began to feel so strangely….

“Leave without me,” Legolas plead. “I w-will only…slow you down…you’ll get c-captured t-too…”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and helped Legolas a few feet further. “No. Never. I came to get you out and I am not leaving without you!”

Legolas stumbled and caught himself by grabbing Aragorn’s arm, struggling back to his feet desperately, determined not to bring Aragorn down with him. “We h-have to…go f-faster…” He knew their chances of getting free were slim even if he wasn’t hurt this badly and now he was sure it was just plain impossible.

“I know, you pig-headed creature! And I am sorry, your majesty, but I am going to have to carry you otherwise you will slow us down and we will be caught,” he informed as he stopped walking and caught the Elf as he fell, sent off balance by the abrupt halt.

Collecting Legolas in his arms, Aragorn took advantage of the fact that the Elf couldn’t bodily resist. Any other time Legolas would have absolutely refused and pulled free and Aragorn couldn’t blame him. But now he was just too tired and consciousness was fading again as the venom seemed to awaken and start all over.

Doing his best not to jolt the nearly weightless Elf as he ran from the cave entrance, Aragorn whispered, “Once we find a place to hide us I will tend to you. I have still a little Athelas left.”


Chapter 13 - Some Vindication at Last

Ripples

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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Some Vindication At last

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After an hour of searching Aragorn couldn’t hold Legolas any longer, his heart wrenched every time he felt the prince jerk and flinch. Fortunately, when he felt he was going to drop, Aragorn came across a place to hide that wasn’t optimal but was acceptable -barely.

It was cave-like but obviously had been tunneled into the dirt some time ago by a large beast, though it seemed long abandoned and there were no tracks to show the animal had ever returned. Then again, the rain had washed a lot of the top layer of soil away; leaving the plants uprooted and footprints prior to the rains vanished.

Laying Legolas gently upon the cool grass outside of it, Aragorn was glad to find the Elf had gone into a fitful sleep and was a little more relaxed. Peaking is head inside the entrance that was hardly imposing and wasn’t much bigger than what a large dog could squeeze through, Aragorn smiled when he saw old piles of soft, dead grass littering the room. A warg must have had her pups in here at one time. But that was no matter, she wasn’t here now.

Backing out of the hole, Aragorn gently gathered Legolas up in his arms, causing the prince to stir and his eyes fluttered open as he looked around in alarm and then relaxed as Aragorn’s face swam into view. The Elf gave a weak smile and then asked in a whisper, “w-why have we stopped?”

Aragorn just brushed back some of the blonde hair sticky to the icy sweat of Legolas’ face. “You need rest and tending to. I think I found a place that will work for us as a shelter for a time.”

He knew Legolas would never go for this. There was no question. If the light couldn’t find its way in then it was a place Legolas would never willingly go. Trouble was, there was no other option that was reasonable.

Feeling like a traitor, but not knowing any other way to get Legolas into the tunneled structure, Aragorn placed his hand gently over the Elf’s eyes, shutting them. “Trust me. Keep your eyes closed. I promise I will be right beside you.”

Legolas moved Aragorn’s hand and gave him a skeptical glare before the ranger replaced it and shushed the Elf’s arguments by placing a finger on Legolas’ mouth. “You know I am not going to hurt you,” he reasoned calmly, smiling as Legolas’ lips twitched, trying to hide a grin. “Trust me and rest. Your body craves it.”

Legolas chuckled softly despite his pain, even though he regretted it instantly as fireballs seemed to tear his abdomen to pieces. “I trust you, Estel,” he answered before he began to slide into a fitful sleep once more, his chest rising and falling quickly with his shallow breathing.

Aragorn smiled and regathered the Elf, crouching low so they could both fit under the entrance and enter the underground configuration.

It was a tight squeeze between the two of them and more than a little strenuous on already tired muscles, but before two minutes had passed they were both inside and Aragorn had gingerly laid the prince down on some of the clean, dry grass that was thin bedding. The fact that though the Elf was dozing fitfully but his muscles were still taut as bowstrings was not lost on Aragorn, who scowled and shook his head.

Trusting the Elf would remain asleep and not open his eyes for some time, Aragorn quietly began to heap some of the drier grasses to make a small fire of kindling so there could be more light and he would be able to tend to his friend. The smoke could exit through the small door, but he was still a bit concerned that it would rob their meager shelter of its oxygen supply that already seemed scanty. After he had cleared a wide ring of dirt so that the fire wouldn’t spread and kill them both he was ready light it.

However, he decided he was going to hold off until the last possible moment. The last thing he needed was for it to burn out before he had a chance to use it.

Pulling his small supply of Athelas from his pocket, Aragorn grimaced as he realized he had no water to boil it in. Looking over to the motionless form of the Elf, who for the shadows could barely be seen, the ranger knew he would have to trust to the Valar that the Elf would be safe and not wake while he went to get water.

He knew waking underground would be frightening for the prince and didn’t want to be gone when Legolas began to come around and realized he was nearly incased with dirt walls.

So, putting his trust in the unseen, the man crawled out the entrance and sort of pressed the weeds close around the dark hole, making it less conspicuous to prying eyes. Standing back and looking it, he figured it was probably passable and feeling a little more secure about the situation, glanced around to try and discover the whereabouts of some clean water.

There were a lot of rocks, he realized as he looked around. Which really that figured considering they were bordering dangerously close to the Mountains of Mirkwood and were, in fact, in a portion of the Emyn Duir. But with all these boulders piled up here and there this provided him with a chance to find a cool, fresh water supply that might have pooled in some crevice.

Glancing around, he decided upon which group of rocks he wanted to investigate first and began to walk towards it. He didn’t truly expect to find anything the first time but luck, for the moment, was with him and he smiled with relief.

In a dip on one of the boulders crystal clear, cool water was brimming from the edges.

Unfortunately, finding the water was only half of the battle, and he snorted in disgust with himself as he realized he had nothing to boil it in. Inwardly slapping himself, as he knew he should have thought of this earlier, Aragorn tried to remember back on everything Elladan and Elrohir had taught him.

He couldn’t think of anything for a moment but then he remembered many years ago to an argument. Not any argument, mind you, but one over leaves and if in fact they could boil water if everything was just right. Elladan had declared that had to be one of the most ridiculous things he had ever heard of and told Elrohir he had a wild imagination for someone of his age, but that however, he really shouldn’t be surprised. Elrohir had claimed it did work and it wasn’t his fault Elladan was too incompetent and small-minded to think of such a thing.

Neither of them had any evidence to back it up, of course, but they argued as though each of them had some concrete facts and could prove themselves correct beyond the shadow of a doubt. They might have actually tried too but Aragorn had voiced he didn’t think Elrond would appreciate a fire being created in the middle of the breakfast table nor his potted plants being charred to a crisp, however noble the intentions.

Elladan and Elrohir had both scowled at each other the rest of the morning and refused to converse with one another if could be helped. And on the whole, that day went rather peacefully by.

Chuckling softly at the memories before he remembered the gravity of the situation, Aragorn began to look around for a good-sized and rather waxy leaf. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this but he didn’t have anything else to go on and Legolas was desperately in need of some medical attention.

At least he was in Mirkwood and the selection of said leaves was extensive. He could find leaves of all types here and before long he found a large, maybe a foot long and six inch wide, thick, waxy leaf that looked nearly tropical in appearance but wasn’t frilly and could hold water if it was turned into a strange little cup.

The human plucked two from the tree with a triumphant grin, and began back to the water source with his prize, casting a watchful glance at the concealing place of the Elf. It seemed to be so far undisturbed and so he turned his attention back to figuring out exactly how you went about creating a little cup out of a pair of leaves.

Overlapping them so that they crossed at the bottom and each edge overlapped about an inch, he folded them up and smiled, realizing that if he got the right kind of bond wound about them he could successfully bind them together and expect them to hold over the heat of a flame. Of course all the leaf that wasn’t filled with water was going to burn away level with the liquid, but that just meant he would have to be extra careful when moving it.

Finding some long, thick and wet blades of grass, Aragorn bound the durable blades around and around the creative cup and was pleased when they seemed to hold it together with little difficulty. He couldn’t help but beam with satisfaction as he realized he was going to vindicate Elrohir and had done this all by himself.

But he didn’t want to push his luck by using a direct flame to heat the unique cup/bowl and before he collected water in it, the ranger looked for three separate stones. Two fist sized round ones and a long, thin flat one that would quickly get hot and transfer its heat. Thankfully, because of the strange abundance of rock in the area it didn’t take long.

Going back to the miniature pool, rocks in his hands and the leaf-bowl carefully held, Aragorn set the stones aside and tipped the rim of the unconventional basin under the water. The clear liquid rushed to fill it and soon the bound pair of leaves had accumulated almost more than they could support. Satisfied, Aragorn lifted it gently form the water and held it in one hand, slightly amused by how the bottom spread out evenly, still holding the water so that it wouldn’t tip over.

Tucking the flat stone under his arm, he managed to carry the two rounder rocks with his other hand alone.

Getting to the hidden refuge, the man wriggled in, holding the leaf cup out before him tossing the stones ahead so they landed with a soft thump against the dried grass. For a moment, Legolas stirred and Aragorn thought he had awakened the Elf and froze. But when Legolas didn’t move again he went the rest of the way in and began to prepare everything to boil the Athelas.

Putting one of the rounder stones on either side of his smile pile of kindling, the man then set the flat, thin stone on top. It was worn smooth and he realized there must have been a stream going through here at one time, down from the mountains. Oh well, that wasn’t important now.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he set the leaf-cup with its water on the rock and its bottom spread out from the water pressure so that it was balanced out and wouldn’t roll away. Content, Aragorn took the flint and steal out of his pocket and began to strike towards the dried grass he had heaped into a small and secluded pile, eventually after three tries, setting off a sufficient spark and causing a small tongue of flame to lick at the dry material. It almost instantly went up in flames and began to heat the rock.

Aragon would have gone and gathered more wood but he didn’t want to tempt fate a second time and anyway, he doubted the branches would be dry enough to be of any real use other than creating a room full of choking smoke.

The ranger continued to feed dried grass into the fire until the water held in the leaves on top of the rock began to seethe and hiss. Then, delving his hand deep into his pocket, he produced his meager amount of Athelas and tossed it into the bubbling mass of clear liquid. Instantly the room was filled with a sweet steam as the herb softened and its juices filled the water.

Stopping his feeding of the fire, Aragorn allowed the herb to steep for two minutes before he decided it was time to rouse the prince.

Crawling over to where the Elf lay, pale and looking a whole lot frailer than Aragorn last remembered, he whispered calmly, “Legolas, wake up.” He wished he could keep the Elf asleep but he knew that he needed to get some fluids into him or the poison would be able to concentrate and he would die a miserable death.

The Elf drew a deep breath and his eyes drifted open, looking empty and tired. Aragorn frowned as the Elf gagged and spluttered as the steam entered his lungs and seemed to stick in them. This shouldn’t be happening, it should be helping to ease his breathing. “Estel,” Legolas wheezed as he tried to suppress his coughs. “What is that herb…you are using?”

He couldn’t understand and the situation was already frightening. He trusted Aragorn without question but something wasn't right here, however he was too dazed to put his finger on it.

A wracking cough shook him and he curled in on himself before the human could answer. He just couldn’t understand, it smelled like Athelas but it certainly didn’t appear to have any healing properties. If anything it was making things worse and he could feel his body starting to shut down. Shutting his eyes tightly, Legolas felt a sickening sensation as the pain in his body, particularly in his chest, redoubled and his muscles began to convulse involuntarily.

His wheezing and shallow breathing soon turned into a fit of coughing and gasping. It was like being suffocated but by your body’s own reaction, Legolas tried to stay aware as he struggled to breath through what felt like a pinhole.

Aragorn didn’t know what to do, but then Legolas’ fear and near hysteria heightened as he saw where they were. Panic seized him and he gasped, “you—t-t-took u…us to a….c-cave!”

His accusation bit Aragorn deeply and he felt tears stinging his eyes.

“Legolas, I had no other option!” he plead for his friend’s understanding.

Understanding that he had done far more harm than good with just the simple fumes of the Althelas plant, Aragorn quickly removed the ‘cup’ and threw the contents into the dirt. However costly or rare the leaves were right now, he couldn’t afford to keep them and ground them into the soil. The Athelas was some sort of catalyst if he remembered much of anything of the signs his father had taught him and Aragorn prayed that he didn’t just kill his best friend with his mistake.

Legolas hissed through teeth clenched in pain, “I t-tru…trusted you!” He knew the Athelas hadn’t been done on purpose, but Aragorn had brought him into this dratted cave after he knew his fears better than almost anyone. Unfortunately, this one incident had shaken what was left of his trust that had been cashed in men and he withdrew, still shuddering and coughing as Aragorn touched him to try and help him breathe.

Heart stinging as he saw tears wetting the Elf eyes and one leaving a trail down his cheek Aragorn wondered if his heart had just stopped beating. “D-d-don’t t-t-t-touch…me!” Legolas commanded as his heart seemed to break and a shattering feeling erupted in his chest. It was no wonder Aragorn had wanted him to close his eyes! Didn’t the human value their friendship enough that he didn’t have to lie like that! Didn’t he understand how tenuous things had been since Farlost?

It seemed that the Elf and ranger had broken each other’s hearts.

Not having the strength to pull away further, he only lay on the ground and did his best to concentrate on his breathing. Aragorn watched for a moment before he went and sat by the Elf’s side, afraid to touch Legolas and yet knowing that he had to get the Elf outside so that he could get some fresh air and some water.

The Elf’s blue eyes went wide and his face seemed to change rapidly to a green color. Guessing everything ahead of time, Aragorn pulled Legolas’ hair back and held it as he prince retched up some of the venom. Everything seemed to calm down for a minute and the Elf’s chest was heaving. The prince was saturated with sweat and his cheeks told how his temperature was rising.

Suddenly, Legolas jerked and vomited a second time, causing Aragorn’s face to screw up in disgust. But a second time wasn’t enough, nor a third or a fourth and Legolas continued to expel all the liquids from his body through sweat and retching.

Finally, Aragorn was sure that he was finished with his vomiting and let his hair lose, cringing as he expected the Elf to reject him or worse, be afraid of him. But Legolas had exhausted himself completely and sprawled out unceremoniously on the dirt, trembling as his breathing became dangerously shallow. The Athelas still hung in the air and Aragorn knew if he didn’t get Legolas out then he would die, suffocated by the catalyst.

Ignoring Legolas’ attempts to protest, as the Elf weakly struggled at his touch, Aragorn began to carry Legolas towards the entrance. He was nearly there when there was a low growl and a furry as well as bristling head thrust through the mouth of the tunnel. Lips curled up in a snarl, the young warg growled threateningly and there were sounds of two more behind it.

The younger wargs had found them, having never forgotten Aragorn’s scent and now they were going to vindicate their mother and have a little fun in the process.

:0Ж0:

To say he was furious would be an understatement. As a matter of fact, to say his blood pressure was low and not in danger of causing him to have a stroke would be a lie as well.

How Legolas had done it he wasn’t sure, but Lostiâ had to admit, it was remarkable. But remarkable as it was, it was also highly unacceptable, he seethed mentally as he sat by Voronwë, who was resting on top of his cloak comfortably near the fire. The younger Elf’s eyes were closed and he was pale but his chest was rising in the way of a peaceful sleeper.

That was another thing that had absolutely irked him. Rána was going to pay for this attempt on his son’s life with his own, Lostiâ was sure of that. Clenching his hands, he watched as his son slept, anger mounting as he remembered Voronwë’s banishment and how he had been made an outcast. He supposed the banishment had been Rána’s fault as well.

The dark-haired warrior would spill out the entire story before he was finished with him. That traitor was going to be begging for mercy before he killed him and that was a promise.

He remembered how Voronwë had cried out once as he cleansed the wound with an herb akin to Athelas. His child’s cry of pain had made him see red for a minute as he realized he had put all his trust in Rána at one point and this was how he was repaid! He had also found scars on the younger Elf’s chest from different things his son had gone through alone at the hands of others during his exile.

But his heart wasn’t cooled as he also recalled the footprints he had found with Legolas’ faltering ones that were soon made into one pair, during the time the Elf had been carried. They were made by boots and had sunk deeper in the dirt than any Elf’s would have. That meddling human had been here! Men! They honestly annoyed him to no end and this one had garnered his unconditional hate, stealing the key to his revenge and wrecking half of his plans.

Well, that was fine, he would hunt down the human, capture him for later, and then, he would get Legolas back and they could pick up from there. But he wasn’t going to hunt down the human until he was sure he had everything settled here. There were a few things he had to do first, like rip Rána’s throat out for starters.

Voronwë stirred and Lostiâ felt his eyes on him, staring at him. Looking down he said softly, “You should be sleeping.” He straightened out a part of the cloak that had been messed up as Voronwë had turned in his sleep.

Voronwë shook his head slightly in refusal. “Ada, please don’t be this way,” he plead as he felt his heart breaking. He loved his father dearly but he could be turned against him if he tried to kill Legolas, his favorite older cousin and friend.

“Voronwë, what do you mean?” he asked warily, curiously wondering whether his son knew of the events that had been taking place. Well, he thought nearly proudly, Voronwë had always been rather intelligent so he wouldn’t be overly surprised.

“Please don’t kill Legolas, father,” he whispered, his face going white as he became afraid of the reaction his words would garner. “He is like a brother to me.”

Lostiâ’s face darkened and scrunching up in pure disgust and surprise. “You love him as a brother?” Jumping up he nearly screamed, “Are you insane, Voronwë? He killed your mother! He killed his own mother, my sister!”

Voronwë cringed and closed his eyes shortly. Upon opening them again he gulped and replied. “Ada, I don’t expect you to understand or to escape this darkness immediately. But please, for Valar’s sake could you try? I know you have always loved me and you say you care, but if ever you have loved me don’t kill Legolas,” he finished tiredly as his words and courage wore him out since almost all of his energy was devoted to healing.

Lostiâ’s face went red and he growled, “I really didn’t think you were this stupid! This deceived!” It was easy to believe that if Voronwë were not his son he would have killed him for his words. “That whelp needs to die and I am going to kill him! Now I am warning you: son or not, do NOT get in my way.” His eyes were burning with a fierce as well as bitter fire that Voronwë knew meant he was completely serious and he would do exactly as he promised.

“Please,” the fair-haired Elf implored again. “Hear me, father. I want to trust you and be close to you but I cannot if you are going to continue on with this brutality! I was there! Do you forget? The orcs did it, no one else! It was a horrible accident but he has blamed himself again and again! He would never wittingly do such a thing!”

Lostiâ was ready to lose it and Voronwë knew he was very lucky he was still breathing and his heart was still beating.

“Damn it all, Voronwë! Even if he didn’t do it on purpose he still did it! He was foolish enough to allow it to happen! Blessed Eru, can you not see?” Lostiâ finished; not wanting to discuss this further for fear he would do something he would regret.

‘Can you not see, father?’ Voronwë asked in his head as he felt his heart break. He had once been so close to his father but now he felt like a prisoner here. Lostiâ wasn’t who he used to be! He was so much more than what he had let himself become! How had everything come to this when it had happened so long ago? Broken up deep inside, Voronwë closed his eyes and tried to fall back into a deep sleep so his father wouldn’t see the tears he would cry in his dreams.

Before he finally was succumbed by sleep, he promised he wouldn’t be like his father. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes Lostiâ had and let a calloused heart cause him so much misery. His father had fallen so hard and now he had learned the hard way to never let it get that far.

Falling into a deep and depressed sleep, Voronwë missed the events that suddenly transpired around him.

Arandur entered first, announcing their return and stepping to the side of the cave mouth so that Thranduil could enter, followed by Elrond with the four other Elves and Rána trailing at their heels, keeping the rear guard.

Lostiâ didn’t even notice that Elrond had come along as well and in fact, he actually ignored Thranduil completely too. He had angry eyes only for Rána right now and as the Elf came up to try and give an explanation as to why Elrond was here with Thranduil, he silenced him with a raised hand. “Rána, so tell me, why did you do it?”

Thinking he was referring to the bringing of Thranduil and Elrond Voronwë gaped a minute and then replied in a stammer, “Well because you commanded it, my lord…” his voice trailed off as his eyes fell upon the still form of Voronwë sleeping, a bandage already showing signs of fresh bleeding swathed around his chest. Mouth forming a nearly perfect ‘o’, Rána faltered fearfully as he spoke, “w-w-what do you mean?”

Lostiâ stepped forward, grabbing Rána’s tunic and throwing him to the side. “What I mean, is rather obvious isn’t it?” He stepped forward again, shoving the dark-haired warrior a step back.

Rána swallowed audibly, casting an anxious glance at everyone in the room before he gave a weak smile. “Lostiâ, this isn’t funny…” he began but stopped when his friend didn’t crack even a half smile.

“No,” he said all too calmly. “It’s not.” Ire still gathering in his chest, his already sinister glare intensified as he bit out in a baneful voice, “Why did you do it?”

Rána pretended to be confused and clueless but Lostiâ’s meaning was all too clear and he was certain now that he had only moments left to live. Gulping in terror as Lostiâ decided to continue his questioning with the dark-haired warrior pressed up against the wall, his fist grinding purposefully into the wound, causing no small amounts of pain, Rána tried to squirm away. Lostiâ just dug in further, effectively pinning his former friend to the stone wall of the cave.

“Now, Rána, while you are just standing there, answer me. Why did you do it?” he asked, so close to the other Elf that Rána could feel his breath on his cheeks. Giving Rána a strong shake, he seethed again, “answer me!”

At this Thranduil felt he must intervene and his commanding voice drew all present out of their personal qualms and misgivings. “Sweet Eru! What are you talking about Lostiâ and where is my son?” He had come here to get his son back and the fact that he still hadn’t seen him since his disappearance and had no idea about his health was making him feel sick.

A cold feeling spread in Elrond’s stomach and he found it was impossible to squelch it. Where was Estel? He had a feeling that somehow, Aragorn had been able to get Legolas away from here and now had called the unconditional fury of Lostiâ upon his head.

“Oh, this, Thranduil, is rather simple,” he explained, still holding Rána roughly against the wall. “Rána made an attempt on my son’s life. Oh yes, did you realize he had returned since your cruel banishment has now expired? But when one attempts to take another’s life he must present appropriate reasons.” He wasn’t ready to explain about Legolas’ convenient disappearance just yet.

Thranduil puckered his brow as his face went black with anger and confusion. Staring across the cave he saw Voronwë’s lithe figure and to avoid stirring his emotions, turned his face away. Placing his attention back with Rána and Lostiâ’s struggle, he watched intently as he desired an answer himself.

Lostiâ finally managed, through the infliction of pain at the grinding of Rána’s wound to get an answer, though it was vague.

“He knew too much,” Rána gasped, praying Lostiâ would relent of this interrogation soon.

Another twist of his fist in the trapped Elf’s injury and Lostiâ demanded harshly, “too much about what?” His patience, which he knew had finally exceeded its limits earlier, was completely used up.

Rána grit his teeth, jerking and his words tumbled out on each other, “about Malneldor-“ his answer was cut off by an abrupt cry of pain and his hands clasped over Lostiâ’s in a plead for mercy, trying to loosen the other’s passionate grip.

“What about Malneldor?” he spat, ignoring Rána’s shaking hands without even trying.

“His death-“

“Stop playing word games and tell me everything immediately!”Lostiâ finally could contain himself no longer and screamed at the already quaking Elf.

“I killed him…I killed Malneldor!” Rána admitted, feeling his knees folding as he new it was over for him now and in a few minutes he would have to plead mercy before Mandos. “He was going to turn traitor to our cause,” he explained, glancing over at Thranduil and Elrond quickly, trying to gauge their reactions. “He was going to tell-“

“And you had my son framed?” he growled as he finally was beginning to understand everything to the smallest detail. He had known that Voronwë could never commit such an atrocity as the needless murder of a family friend and was angered with himself that he had ever doubted his own son.

When Rána didn’t answer, Lostiâ slammed him up against the wall with such force that the dark-haired warrior cried out shortly. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” he confessed in a low and frightened voice. “I was afraid-“

“And you made him suffer!” Lostiâ interrupted, drawing gout his long knife and placing it under Rána’s chin pressing it in slightly so he drew some blood. “I am going to kill you,” he whispered into the other Elf’s paled face and wide eyes. “And long may Mandos hold you.”

“No! Hand him over to the court!” Thranduil tried to stop the slaying of Rána, though it wasn’t because he cared for the Elf in anyway but he knew that justice was justice and his personal qualms must not interfere. He could never condone this even if he absolutely hated Rána, which he did not. “Please, don’t-“

But his pleading was in vain and blood spurted from the dark-haired Elf’s throat as his face went whiter than a sheet as the blood left his body. As he felt life leaving him and closed his eyes, crumpling forwards only to be held against the wall by his killer, the last thing Rána saw were the coldest and most merciless pair of eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Thranduil murmured quietly as he watched life speed from Rána’s body and nearly saw his spirit visibly rise and rush away.

“Yes, I did. And that brings us to something else,” he snarled rabidly, flashing a set of furious eyes upon Elrond. “That meddling little human of yours managed to get Legolas away. Not that it matters,” he added. “My dear nephew will die anyway, by your little Edan’s hand. Legolas has ingested a deadly poison, though it can only be truly deadly if it comes in contact with Athelas, its catalyst.”

Corrupted amusement danced across his face as he watched the color fade form Thranduil’s face and Elrond blanched noticeably. At least right now he was having a bit of fun though he was still angry enough to slay everyone present.


Chapter 14 - United We Stand

Ripples

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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United We Stand

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Aragorn gaped, surprised by this new turn of events. His mind darted back to the wargs he had fought not more than five hours ago. Valar! Who would have thought they would be out after noon! But then again, this forest shunned the sunlight and so he amended his former thought. He wasn’t surprised at all.

Aragorn hugged Legolas close to his body as his muscles tensed, not knowing how to deal with this sudden onslaught. The Elf moaned softly at the pain the action inflicted but was too tired to do anything else. The ranger doubted that Legolas able to see anything past his pain at this point and he could hardly be blamed. If the prince didn’t go completely delirious within the next few minutes Aragorn would be pleasantly taken aback.

But if he wanted to live long enough to see if his prediction came true he couldn’t dwell on this now.

Setting Legolas gently down, and clasping the Elf’s cold hand he promised, “everything will be all right. Just lay here and relax.” He smiled confidently and then turned around abruptly, knowing it was very dangerous to turn his back on beasts such as these under any circumstances.

Pulling his sword from it’s sheath, Aragorn took a defensive stance and watched as the first and bolder of the warg yearlings stuck it’s shoulders through. He had the perfect opportunity to kill it now but that would never work, because it would block the entrance and then he and Legolas would be trapped and there would two more outside somewhere to deal with.

To do this properly he was going to have to lure them into the cavern and slay them one at a time without getting injured and without getting Legolas crushed or torn apart. Keeping himself between Legolas and the determined adversaries, Aragorn tried to make himself seem more vulnerable and weak than he was in actuality, seeing if one would be rash and gullible enough to take the bait.

This was taking a huge risk because a single wound could prove fatal for them both in these close quarters and Legolas was utterly defenseless anyway. If Aragorn were wounded and unable to fight Legolas would die one way or another.

The first warg could obviously not contain itself any longer and lunged in at the ranger, thinking it might have an easy snack and the more logical and sadistic part of it’s small mind remembering its mother’s death. Once it was in the small space, Aragorn realized the room was almost too small for the two of them and he was nearly forced to step away from the helpless Elf behind him. Nearly.

Refusing to move, instead he raised his sword stabbed, delving the blade into the flesh of the creature’s foreleg. The result was an immediate yelp and then a snarl of rage as the creature wished to attack further but was forced towards the back as Aragorn advanced, swinging his sword to intimidate the trapped animal further before the fatal blow.

Stopping the show, Aragorn suddenly stabbed, piercing the great chest and sending the beast instantaneously folding to the ground with a muffled rumble from somewhere within as it drew it’s last breath and gurgled it’s death rattle.

Hearing the distress of one of their siblings as their rage redoubled but only able to fit one at a time through the entrance, one of them came charging through as a furious blur of matted and mottled fur. Aragorn pressed himself against the wall, being inconspicuous as possible while the creature turned towards its dead brother, sniffing the body and nudging it with its nose as though seeing if he was really dead.

Making his move at the opportune moment, Aragorn whirled into view, noticed too late by the Wolf of Sauron and he plunged his sword into the creature’s neck, severing the spine and felling it immediately.

The room was getting hot and crowded, he mused mentally as he waited in the shadows for the next one to show its ugly face. Wiping sweat off his forehead, Aragorn hoped he and Legolas would be bale to get out of here after this, weaving a path through the bodies. There wasn’t much space and it was easily possible that the Elf would be crushed accidentally underneath a warg’s paw during the battle.

Minutes passed and the third warg did not enter, though Aragorn could hear it pacing and sniffing outside the small cavern. Its claws were rending the earth with large strokes as it became more and more frustrated.

It appeared to be a bit calculating, although, considering he was thinking this of a warg Aragorn had to briefly ask himself if he was insane. Decidedly coming to the conclusion he wasn’t imagining things and that this warg was waiting for its opportune moment, Aragorn felt a shiver run up his spine and shudder back down.

Suddenly he had the thought that this warg might go after Legolas’ still form that was sprawled across the room from him. But he realized with alarm, this unnaturally intelligent beast had laid a snare of its own.

It was waiting for Aragorn to come to Legolas’ rescue, waiting for him to make himself vulnerable so that he would be easy to subdue and kill. Swallowing, the ranger couldn’t help but be alarmed and curious as to what would happen if he evaded this trap, leaving Legolas there. He knew far better than walk into a snare with open eyes and simply expect to come out alive just because he knew of it ahead of time.

The warg, he could tell was getting impatient and he could hear it shifting uneasily, snarling and generally making far too much noise to truly stalking anyone or anything. It obviously didn’t care if Aragorn knew or not, either that or it was too young to know how to hunt properly.

Aragorn knew if he rushed forward he would be jumped immediately, but he simply was not willing to allow Legolas to be harmed anymore than he already was. He had done enough already to hurt and frighten the Elf and his heart was still burning inside his chest, as he knew Legolas saw him as being a traitor. If the fault of one more injury to his friend was his own he knew he couldn’t live with himself or ever look Legolas in the eye again and that was providing that the prince lived.

Rushing forward before he had time to think on these things anymore, Aragorn threw himself bodily over the prone Elf, covering him with his own body, ignoring how Legolas gave a frightened but barely audible cry.

At that same time the third warg thrust itself halfway into the tunnel like room, swiping one of its massive paws into the air, claws barred. Aragorn felt the wind of the first sweep of the paw brush over him, ruffling his hair as the warg missed and growled its displeasure at the ranger.

Pressing himself against Legolas to make them both flatter to the earth, he whispered remorsefully to the Elf as the warg prepared for another strike. “I am sorry, Legolas. Forgive me.” He knew Legolas was more or less claustrophobic and he really couldn’t be blamed, not after all that he had been through.

The second lashing out of the warg’s paw collided with Aragorn’s leg and the claws anchored themselves deeply in the flesh of his calf, instigating caustic pain to flood his senses before he realized he was being dragged backwards across the dirt. He wanted to hold onto Legolas and remain secured to his best friend but he feared to cause the Elf more pain and almost instantly let go, making the warg’s task all the easier.

Before he could even have much time to react, he found himself halfway out of the hole and with no room to use his sword that was still being tightly gripped in his preferred hand. Before he was pulled the rest of the way out of the dirt room his eyes were caught and held by Legolas’ wide ones that were still glazed by pain and fear.

But he knew in that moment that the Elf held him blameless and he watched as Legolas’ hand weakly reached out towards him, feet from being within his grasp but not having the strength to pull himself closer. Feeling helpless and suspended in darkness, Legolas didn’t want his friend to leave him and he clawed at the ground with his fingers, trying to pull himself closer but unable to move an inch. “Strider!” he tried to scream but it came out as a frantic whisper.

As Aragorn watched this he felt overwhelming joy compromised by the deepest sorrow. He knew Legolas didn’t hate him and he was jovially appreciative at the value their friendship still seemed to hold. But seeing Legolas in that desperate and weakened state made tears spring into his eyes.

The warg had him out on the grass now and Aragorn knew he was only going to have one chance to break free and finish this for good. Without even giving it a second thought, knowing that Legolas needed him, Aragorn used his other leg and as the creature dragged him so he was nearly under her, he kicked her in the nose with his free leg.

She let go in surprise and leaped back with fangs barred, freeing his leg and giving him time to roll over and ready his sword. Hot blood oozed from the several deep wounds the claws left, running down his leg in several rivers and staining his boot as well as his leggings. However, thinking only of his friend’s plight and the bigger problem at hand, the ranger managed to push his pain and discomfort aside for the time being.

Suddenly the warg rushed upon him and was above him before there was anything he could do about. Dodging her snapping jaws around his face and neck Aragorn knew she was coming in for the kill, realizing her prey was too dangerous to be played with and was trying to bite his neck and break it.

Aragorn knew it would be impossible for him to dodge her jaws forever. Eventually he would tire out and slip up and then it would all be over in less than three seconds. Raising his sword, he waited until her mouth came perilously close to his neck and then he lashed out with it, making one quick swipe.

Dark blood spurted from her throat, staining his sword and his tunic as he rolled clear of her collapsing bulk.

The she-warg staggered and swayed on her four feet as she tried to understand why she felt so lethargic and why the world was turning black as she bled out, suffering from no pain. Her eyes blinked vapidly as she watched Aragorn and the lust for revenge still burned within her. Taking a faltering step towards him she could go no further and sank to the ground, lowering her huge head and clawing up the earth as she still tried to drag herself to her escaping prey.

Aragorn breathed deeply in relief as she gave her last breath before he began to stumble weakly towards the cave where he prayed that Legolas was still alive. If the Elf had suffocated it would be a miracle.

Pain blazed up his leg but he ignored it, unwilling to sacrifice his friend to spare himself some discomfort.

Entering into the den that was already reeking of dead warg, he found Legolas, where the Elf’s outstretched hand lay still and his eyes were closed, dark circles outlining their edges making the rest of his face look illuminated in the darkness.

Knowing he had to get Legolas out and into the fresh air as quickly as possible and preferably into a rare patch of sunshine, Aragorn gathered Legolas gently and whispered, “Legolas? Legolas, can’t you hear me? Please, say anything, my friend. Anything at all.”

The Elf smiled softly and opened his eyes partway. “How…badly are…you hurt?” Closing his eyes and going limp without warning, Aragorn feared the prince had died in his arms but Legolas drew a deep breath. “I…am sorry…for my h-harsh...words earlier.”

Aragorn smiled down at his friend as they both passed under the door and were out in the fresh air just in time to feel a rain sweetened breeze run through the forest. In his mind there had been no need for the Elf to apologize to begin with so when the Elf asked in a raspy and tired voice for forgiveness he nearly cried.

“Legolas, you were and still are hurting so I hold the pain responsible. But this drug, its something I am not sure I can cure you of.” He shook as he felt terror clutching his heart and pain at having to Legolas he could do nothing and the prince was simply biding his time. “But you are going to have to keep down some fluids or else you won’t be able to get it out of your system and you will dehydrate.”

He could feel the fever still clinging to his friend and shook his head. If that didn’t come down rather than climb up then there wasn’t much hope.

He felt Legolas despair at his words but the Elf remained strong outwardly. “I…understand.” He drew another labored breath, this time shallow.

Aragorn suppressed his mounting panic and whispered consolingly, “I will not let you die, Legolas.”

The Elf smiled thinly at his words but did not speak. He was too weary. All his energy was being devoted to fighting the venom to the point where breathing was almost an afterthought.

Looking at Legolas’ flushed cheeks, Aragorn knew what the Elf chiefly needed was to be submerged in cold water up to his neck. To his dismay the closest River was too far away to get to in time.

Remembering the water he had found he stumbled in that direction noticing how as life seem to separate from the Elf he became heavier, more like a man than a Firstborn.

Because of his wound and burden it took Aragorn a minute or two longer to reach the precious liquid but once he did he carefully set Legolas down on his back, noticing how the Elf only fluttered his eyes but other than that lay perfectly still.

Taking off his outer tunic, which was just a heavier replica of his under tunic, Aragorn wadded it into a ball and seeped it in the puddle, watching it absorb and become filled with the cold water. He waited impatiently for about a minute and then pulled it from the water.

Gently, afraid even to touch Legolas’ battered chest that was mottled with dark bruises, but knowing that he must, Aragorn used his sopping shirt to bath Legolas’ upper body, allowing the cold water to run over his friend. Taking his wet hand, he used it to wipe the Elf’s hot face.

Opening his eyes, frowning, as he felt unnaturally cold and miserable, Legolas watched as Aragorn repeated the procedure. Strangely, though he was shivering, Legolas was beginning to feel a whole lot better as far as his body temperature went. But he was still in horrible pain that he doubted anyone but he could begin to fathom.

Aragorn could feel the heat receding from his friend though he was sure Legolas was still suffering from a slight temperature. Putting his wet tunic aside, the ranger asked the conscious and shivering Elf, “Could you sit up if I helped you?”

Legolas puckered his brow and answered more clearly than he had in a long time. “I think so.” He didn’t want Aragorn to know that he still felt as though he had been turned inside out and slowly turned on a spit over a fire for a couple hours.

Aragorn nodded, and gently, with a small amount of help from Legolas, he got the prince into a sitting position, leaning his back and head against the rock behind him. To Aragorn’s eyes Legolas still looked frail and like he could draw his last breath at any given moment.

“Wait here,” Aragorn told him, garnering a small and feeble laugh from the fair being.

“I will try to contain myself,” Legolas answered softly, a small twinkle coming into his eyes but fading as the pain intensified a little. It wasn’t like he could easily go anywhere anyway.

Aragorn chuckled, realizing the silliness of his command and began to drag his injured leg after him back to the cave to get the leaf cup so he could try and get that Elf to drink. Smiling, he wondered what Legolas’ reaction would be to this.

Legolas watched the ranger’s back as the man went and then scowled at the limp the human bore and the blood covering the man’s left leg. He was hurt and was carrying one as though he was as well as ever! This was nothing new but Legolas would have thought that reckless human would have learned by now. When Aragorn came out that man was in for a serious talk and Legolas wasn’t going to let him laugh it off either. This time he was going to listen and listen well.

When the young ranger reappeared, struggling over to where the Elf sat with his eyes never leaving Aragorn, giving him a hard glare, Legolas accused flatly, “you ripped your leg open!”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly at the scolding while dipping the cup into the water, getting a little in it and swishing it out before filling it again. “No, I didn’t,” he said innocently. “The warg did.” Lifting the cup from the water, he meant to crouch by the Elf but sat instead, trying to avoid placing any pressure on the injured limb.

The movement wasn’t wasted on Legolas but his arguments were stifled as his eyes settled on the cup being lifted to his lips. Blinking, he tried to believe what he was seeing but it was a challenge. “A leaf cup?” he asked incredulously. “Elrohir would …be proud.”

Aragorn nodded, “that he would be, but Elladan would kill me.” Shaking his head, he glared, shoving the cup so it was nearly beneath Legolas’ nose. “You will drink this.” His voice was nearly threatening and the Elf grinned helplessly.

“I have never been …happier to follow ...instruction,” the prince obliged.

Aragorn held the cup for his friend, putting the rim against the Elf’s pale lips and tipping it slightly so the cool water could slide down Legolas’ parched throat. Legolas felt it flow down his esophagus and slam into his stomach like a heavy rock, at the same time tasting and feeling wonderful. Before he knew it he was gulping and Aragorn withdrew the cup hastily.

“Only small sips,” he instructed anxiously, hoping Legolas hadn’t managed to make himself sick. The scathing glare of the Elf made a small semi-smile play on his lips. “Legolas, if you drink it all but throw it up it isn’t going to do any good.”

“If you insist,” Legolas answered, too drained to argue over this trivial matter. A sudden pain made him jerk and his arms went across his stomach as he curled in on himself. Shuddering, he nearly fell over, but was caught by Aragorn with one hand. “Hurts…,” he moaned. “I think I am going to, be sick…”

Rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Legolas’ back, being very mindful of his bruises, Aragorn whispered, “it’s alright if you do. Just get this stuff out of your system.” Aragorn had a sinking feeling that this could have been a whole lot worse if Legolas had actually ingested some Athelas tea and not just breathed in some fumes.

Once more, Legolas expelled the contents of his stomach, nearly whimpering as it felt like he had literally puked his entrails out. Gasping and clenching his eyes tightly shut, he panted and then threw up again.

After a few moments he sat up, blinking, and breathed a few deep breaths as his racing heart slowed gradually down to about the normal pace. Signing heavily, he leaned against Aragorn’s shoulder. As unpleasant as vomiting had been he did feel better and Aragorn passed the cup over to him.

“Try it again,” he encouraged, hoping maybe this time the water would stay down.

Legolas shook his head tiredly and refused, still catching his breath. Keeping his eyes closed, Legolas seemed to fall asleep, leaning on the ranger’s shoulder.

“Legolas, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t boiled that Athelas-“

“It’s fine Estel,” murmured the Elf, trying to sleep despite himself and wishing the ranger would stop squirming and stop talking. The pain was wearing off and he was becoming very drowsy.

“No, its not,” Aragorn insisted, causing Legolas to open a set of bleary blue eyes that looked slightly annoyed.

“If you hadn’t came and saved me when you had I don’t think you would have ever had a chance,” Legolas whispered insistently. “And you didn’t kill me. I was wrong to be harsh with you and I never meant to be so cold to my best friend.”

Closing his eyes again, Legolas listened to Aragorn’s reply, being more alert than he appeared.

“I just should have known better is all. Because of my mistake you suffered more,” he finished, looking at his hands as he began to feel sick to his stomach. His wound to his leg was throbbing and still bleeding slightly.

“No more than I would of at the hands of Lostiâ,” Legolas muttered drowsily. He yawned before asking, “Have you seen to your leg yet?” He already knew the answer but felt compelled to change the subject.

“No,” Aragorn admitted a bit ruefully. “But I am not going to until you drink some more water and keep it down.”

Legolas retorted sleepily, “That’s blackmail.” Opening one eye he looked up at the ranger’s face to gauge his reaction. If he was looking to see the man taken aback or scowling he was sorely disappointed.

“Yes,” Aragorn agreed with a frustrating grin. “It is.”

“Very well, for your sake I will try to drink some more,” the Elf allowed as Aragorn pressed the cup to his lips again and gave it a tip to get the prince started.

“And please remember to take small sips this time,” Aragorn teased as the Elf glared at him over the rim.

It took a while but once all the water was gone from that cup and Legolas had consumed another cup full the prince was feeling much better. He still was a bit groggy but it was nothing he was sure he couldn’t handle.

Glancing at the unconventional cup as Aragorn dressed his wound with strips from his wet over shirt after cleansing it with the rest of the water from the little pool, Legolas shook his head. Leaning back against the boulder, he laughed a clear sound form the heart. “I still can’t believe it actually worked.”

Aragorn scowled at his wound as he spoke, winding the strips around his leg so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if the circulation was cut off later. “Me either,” he mumbled, concentrating on not jerking as the lacerations objected to his harsh movements.

“Those are ugly,” Legolas remarked as Aragorn tied off the last bandage. He reached a finger out to touch one gingerly. “You are going to have make sure Elrond looks at those soon and I mean it, Strider!”

The Elf went very quiet and for a moment Aragorn held his breath.

“Aragorn,” Legolas slipped, accidentally using his friend’s real name. “When you protected me from that warg and then were dragged out…it reminded me too closely of…of well, you know, Calmir and his cruelty.” The prince fumbled for the right words and was apparently suffering from a stunted vocabulary. “I was afraid for those few minutes. You are the only human I have trusted for a long time and the only friend besides Rothinzil who truly knows all that happened. I didn’t want to lose you and I was terrified I would.”

He sighed. “I didn’t want to be left helpless in that cave either. When you let go of me, I panicked and reached for you.”

Aragorn smiled as he tested his leg out, applying a little pressure on it and wincing before he answered. “I knew you were afraid and I tried to stay with you but I didn’t want to hurt you even more.”

“Just promise me something,” Legolas said in all seriousness. “Don’t pull a stunt like that again or you may age me before I am three thousand.” Though swaying, the Elf struggled to his feet and leaned on the boulder, obviously too weak to walk very far without help. Blinking, he shot a sheepish look at Aragorn, who was shaking his head.

“You need rest,” he insisted, staring the Elf down but making no progress.

“We have no time for that,” Legolas retorted rather bluntly, obviously feeling better enough to be obstinate once more. “My father is coming to get me, thinking I am with Lostiâ. When my uncle finds me missing and my father shows up I don’t know what he will do.” His eyes went hard. “I will not lose my father.”

“You can barely stand,” objected the human straightforwardly.

“Neither can you!” Legolas spat the comeback, fear for his father making his voice sharp. “I have to go and save my father before something terrible happens that we can’t fix! And for all you know Lord Elrond could have gone with him looking for you!”

Legolas’ distress was contagious and Aragorn suddenly became very worried for his foster father. If something happened to Elrond his brothers would absolutely kill him if he didn’t do it himself first. The sickness spreading in his stomach seemed to worsen.

There had to be some way they could travel, but everything seemed hopeless. Legolas was about as strong as water right now and walking more than a little ways on his own would make him sick again. Then Aragorn had his ripped leg to think of. He could hardly put any weight one that.

“Let’s support each other.”

Aragorn’s suggestion made Legolas frown. As Aragorn came to stand hobbling beside him the prince took a step back, reluctant to follow through with this new plan. “Are you insane? I mean, we will both fall over like a pair of idiots!”

“If you know of a better way I am listening,” Aragorn told the Elf as he pulled him close on his left side and put his hand just aboveLegolas’ hip. Legolas cast him an irritated and long suffering gaze but complied, coming to the understanding that this was about the only thing that they could do.

Putting an arm over Aragorn’s shoulders, Legolas smiled thinly, unable to not be reminded of a three legged race. He laughed lightly at the absurdity of it. “Alright,” he conceded as they took a step in unison. “United we stand, divided we fall.”


Chapter 15 - Sacrifice

Ripples

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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Sacrifice

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Aragorn and Legolas both knew they were only a few minutes, perhaps ten, away from the hidden cavern now. Leaning on each other, they could both feel how tense the other’s muscles had gone as their anxiety rose. Having walked as though they were in a three-legged race for over two hours, they had nearly perfected the odd traveling style and were beginning to get used to having to rely on each other’s movements.

Aragorn looked at Legolas, who just didn’t appear to be any happier and as the Elf and ranger walked among the trees near the clearing he sighed dejectedly, shaking his head just a little.

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Aragorn knew it was time he told Legolas what he knew, but he was frightened about how the Elf would react. He didn’t want Legolas to think he had been snooping around in his past but he also didn’t want Legolas to think that he was withholding the fact that he knew something.

“Legolas,” he whispered, in case there were any unfriendly Elves nearby. Aragorn watched the prince form the corners of his eyes as Legolas glanced his way before turning his attention back to the ground.

“What?” he questioned, hearing the tone in Aragorn’s voice and having the sinking suspicion that they were about to engage in some deep and painful conversation. He would really rather not talk to anyone now.

“Ada told me a few things I hadn’t known before.” Aragorn stopped speaking as he found himself fighting to put his jumbling thoughts into words that wouldn’t offend or cause pain to his friend. Legolas just looked at him with narrowed eyes, mildly confused.

“You told me your mother died this day many years ago,” Aragorn finally summoned enough courage to continue. “And I never knew what you meant before, about her being cut down by orcs. I guess what I am trying to say is that…I know all that happened now.” He wanted to say more but found himself struck numb as he watched Legolas’ face remained unchanged save for a more thoughtful look in his eyes.

“It was an accident,” he murmured, hardly able to breathe around the lump maturing in his throat. Swallowing, he tried to force it down but without success. “You have to believe me.”

“Legolas, I am not accusing you of anything!” Aragorn quickly stammered, aghast. He would never believe Legolas had wittingly killed anyone he loved!

The prince looked at him a bit surprised before he spoke softly. “I guess I have become defensive over the years, my friend,” he concluded. “I am sorry, I should have known better than to think you would do anything of the sort.” Suddenly his unnaturally tired feet caught on a root and he stumbled, nearly taking them both down.

Aragorn grimaced as he applied pressure on his wounded leg to try and stabilize them and catch Legolas. He had a feeling that if they fell they might not have the strength to get back up and keep going. Pulling on Legolas’ arm, he waited until Legolas had recaptured his balance before he released the prince.

“Still feeling a bit groggy?” Aragorn questioned with a grin, unable to resist the little tease.

Legolas just flushed and grinned sheepishly back. “Yes, sorry.” Looking at his torn legging that had caught on the barb covered branch lying on the ground, Legolas bit his lip. This was his second to last pair of leggings.

Raising his eyes, he suddenly tensed and ignoring Aragorn’s surprised reaction and resistance, he quickly pulled them both to the ground so they were lying perfectly flat on their stomachs. Pointing with his forefinger, the Elf whispered anxiously, “We were within eyesight of any Elf.”

Aragorn quickly followed with his eyes to where the prince was pointing and grimaced, knowing Legolas was absolutely right. The small grotto yawned ahead of them; maybe about twenty five yards away, if even that much. It had been so well concealed that almost anyone could walk right past it and never see it. Aragorn had almost done so when he was first looking for his friend.

Even though he had spent much time amongst Elves, it still never hurt to ask an Elf a question concerning other Elves, especially if you were unsure. “Legolas,” the ranger ventured in a barely audible voice. “Can they hear us?”

“I should think so, if they were trying,” the Elf answered with a smile though his eyes were still locked on the cave ahead. “But I doubt it,” he continued. “Why should they think we came back to this place once we got away?” All the same, Aragorn noticed Legolas was keeping his voice carefully low so the ranger was almost forced to lip read.

“You seem so confident of your answer,” he muttered darkly under his breath, casting a venomous look at the ground.

“Better safe than sorry,” countered the Elf, not giving Aragorn’s suddenly morbid mood any thought.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, thinking. If they got closer they might be able to hear some of what was being said not to mention discover whether of not Thranduil and or Elrond were being held there. “Do you think we could get in any closer?” he whispered to the Elf.

“Well that all depends,” Legolas responded coolly. “Could you be any quieter?” He was feeling a bit more under the weather than he liked to admit and the thought of moving anywhere on his stomach wasn’t overly appealing no matter the cause. The uneven ground was biting into his bruised ribs enough to make him uneasy.

Aragorn’s reaction was indignant and a bit sarcastic. “I suppose I could.”

Legolas appraised him quietly. “Well then start now,” his voice was bit acidic. Suddenly he began to crawl forward, using his feet to press off from the ground. Unfortunately this created a lot of snapping from the little twigs and other dead bits of vegetation that littered the soggy ground, breaking under his weight.

Aragorn smiled snidely, unable to resist a comeback. “Nice bunch of Dwarvish racket you are making. Could you be any quieter?” he added towards the end, making light of Legolas’ earlier question.

The prince shot him a caustic glare. “Strider, how does your family live with you?” he asked, flipping his hood over his head to hide his easily noticeable fair hair, which he had nearly forgotten about and was thankful it hadn’t already given them away. The last thing he needed some one to think they needed to shoot at the golden thing that was his head sinking through the plants.

Their bickering ceased as they carefully picked their way closer on their stomachs, staying as close together as possible, barely providing for elbowroom.

Holding his breath as they were within ten feet of the cavern now, Legolas decided this was a good place to stop. They couldn’t afford to press their luck any further right now and he was getting tired and the last thing he or Aragorn needed was for him to start vomiting again.

Anyway, his sharp Elven hearing could pick out enough of their conversation that he could understand roughly what was going on. Further more, Lostiâ and his little band were talking in relatively loud voices. His far seeing eyes, if they found a gap in the weeds, could roughly see back into the shadows of the grotto, sending chills down his spine as he remembered the dark experiences of the past.

The portions of the conversation caught told Legolas that there was a verbal interrogation going on between his father and his uncle and it was picking up momentum as well as gathering some heat. He couldn’t tell if Elrond was there or not, because if he was, the Elf-lord had remained silent. Frowning, Legolas knew Lostiâ was asking about his whereabouts, thinking this was all a plan on his father’s part.

Aragorn looked at Legolas’ questioningly, begging to know of his own father, but the Elf didn’t answer, afraid of being over heard.

Listening even more intently he realized that Lostiâ and maybe two other Elves were in the cave, but three, including Arandur, were out looking for he and Estel. Throat constricting, Legolas knew that he and Aragorn had not bothered to cover or disguise their tracks, being too tired and in too much of a hurry.

Neither of the friends had to tell each other that this little case of negligence could lead to a disaster. Both had tracked at times before and so this failure laid heavily upon their hearts, as they knew it carried a lot of weight when it came to life or death.

Legolas’ gaze was transfixed completely on the grotto, as he knew his father was there and that he was helpless to do anything about it. Aragorn, however, had forced himself to be observant of their surroundings, knowing he was going to have to be doubly aware to compensate for Legolas’ disbelief and despair.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel equally despaired but whether because he was mortal with perhaps a less sensitive heart or because of Elrond’s wise tutelage, it didn’t delve so deeply into his spirit. He was able to focus his thoughts on more important things, like staying alive.

Turning his head, the human glanced behind them quickly, making sure they weren’t being watched or stalked as he halfway expected. His grim expectations were not without reasons and were not futile. An Elf, no more than a few yards away was tracking where they had crawled and Aragorn grimaced as the fair being noticed the blood form his leg.

Noticing the intense green eyes almost immediately, there was no question left into his mind as to the Elf’s identity and the knowledge was not making matters anymore encouraging. Arandur it was that had picked up their trail. Somehow, Aragorn had the grim feeling that he shouldn’t be surprised.

Looking over at Legolas he knew in a minute that things would be up and his best friend would be captured and murdered all because of an accident that took place many years ago and because of an Elf’s arrogant stupidity and inability to forgive.

He knew he couldn’t let this happen. He didn’t know how to prevent it, but he knew that it wasn’t going to happen. If it meant taking a hit for his friend and giving Legolas a chance to slink off and hide elsewhere he would, though he didn’t expect Legolas to be inclined to just go and hide. The Elf’s stubborn pride would be his death one of these days, Aragorn predicted as he drew a quick intake of breath before speaking to his friend.

“Arandur is on our tail. He found where we crawled,” Aragorn sighed heavily.

Alarm and cold fear spread across Legolas’ face.

“Forgive me, my friend,” Aragorn murmured sadly. “I can’t do anything else.”

He left Legolas with a dropped jaw as he stood up in a leap and acted as though he was trying to run away form Arandur and his two men. Since they were so near the cave his options of where to run were meager but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he knew he was going to get away.

Legolas wanted to cry out, to call his friend back and fight rather than stay crouched in the weeds like he was some kind of an animal but Aragorn wanted to give him this gift and he knew it would be selfish to destroy it simply because of his feeling of guilt. However, he still felt hot tears prick and burn his eyes until he couldn’t keep them open any longer, not able to watch as Aragorn was immediately pursued.

He could feel and hear the rush of the Elves leaping lightly over him and around him, taking no notice of him because of his long cloak that covered him and concealed him completely as he kept his face pointed towards the ground. Clenching his teeth, Legolas worked not to sob right then and there.

Aragorn bit back the pain he felt in his leg as the torn muscle and flesh found his actual running movements harsh and overbearing. Every time he placed the smallest bit of weight on it, it threatened to fold beneath him and cause him to drop like a rock.

Sweat pooled on the ranger’s face as he strained himself to go further, hoping to lead them far enough away from Legolas that the prince would be safe for a few minutes and have a longer reprieve. He doubted Legolas would stay safe for very long but he felt compelled to give his friend the chance.

Suddenly, his leg decided that this little jaunt of his was asking far too much it folded, caving beneath his weight as he fell to the wet ground, unable to get back up. Grimacing, Aragorn waited the inevitable as the corrupted Elves surrounded him, catching up in a few nimble bounds.

As he looked up defiantly at their faces, studying them each in turn. One thing they all had in common was an angered irritancy that he supposed came from being lead on a merry chase by a human. Aragorn would have felt slightly satisfied any other time, but unfortunately, he was far too tired to think in those terms and was trying not to show the weakness he felt.

Panting form his painful exertion, the ranger didn’t make the slightest attempt to get away. Arandur crouched by him, looking him the eyes.

“I remember you, ranger,” he said with a smirk in his eyes as a cold smile spread slowly on his face. Aragorn noticed his green eyes seemed to glow wickedly. “You’re Legolas’ little friend.”

“I was Legolas’ friend. He is dead,” the ranger tried to lead the Elves on, lying rather smoothly considering it was never one of his talents and his conscience had a habit of giving him away.

Arandur was not impressed and remained unmoved. “Cute, ranger,” he said thoughtfully. “Very cute. So did you kill him then? Where is the body? Lostiâ needs answers, I am afraid and it is my job to get them.”

Aragorn just looked away, disinclined to converse with these Elves if he could prevent it. He was afraid to say too much or falter and give Legolas away. However, he had a feeling that Arandur wasn’t very patient and wouldn’t appreciate his silence. Turning his eyes to looking the Elves in their faces, he glared as convincingly as he could.

“Look here, human,” Arandur spat the slur, frustrated. “He can’t be dead and you wouldn’t kill your best friend. I am going to give you one chance to talk and then if you don’t Lostiâ can have his way with you.” Seeing the pain already on Aragorn’s face, his keen Elven eyes fell on the leg crumpled beneath the ranger and he pieced two and two together. “And he won’t be very merciful, being already furious with these turns of events.”

“He is dead,” Aragorn continued with his lie, hoping in vain that it would be believed. “That poison given to him killed him.”

“You had your chance, human,” Arandur snarled angrily, nodding instructively at the two Elves around him. “You had your chance.”

Aragorn couldn’t help but cry out as he was yanked his feet and pressure slammed down on to his ripped leg sent pain throughout his entire nervous system. Rough ropes were twined and snaked around his wrists, tied overly tight and he felt the circulation between his arm and his fingers cut off abruptly. A fist smashed into his stomach, causing him to grunt and suck air in sharply. Damn it all! Why did being a good friend have to be so cursed hard?

At least there were no doubts in his mind that Legolas was appreciative.

:0Ж0:

After hearing them drag Aragorn into the cave and then the start of drawn out conversation between Lostiâ and Thranduil once more, if it could really be called a conversation, Legolas began to shuffle backwards the way they had come. It was much more difficult to be silent this way be that could hardly be helped because if he stood up now, being this close, they would see him and put a bolt in him quicker than lightning. He couldn’t believe they simply hadn’t shot Aragorn.

In Legolas’ mind if the situation could have been worse before, it was definitely worse now. He had no plan what so ever. Barely able to stand erectly on his own and certainly still too groggy to run, Legolas knew there was no chance that he could rush in and single handedly deal with a total of five or six Elves. It was just impossible.

However, that didn’t keep the idea from briefly crossing his mind.

Now that he was backed up to where they had first started crawling, Legolas stood up to a low crouch, watching to make sure that Lostiâ had posted no sentries. So far it looked like he had been a bit too arrogant for that but Legolas had learned the hard way that it was wise to expect the unexpected with his uncle, at least in most cases.

Standing up but using his Elven abilities to aid him as he tried to appear like a shadow or a trick of the eyes, Legolas stumbled deeper into the brush and undergrowth.

:0Ж0:

Elrond couldn’t help but gape as he saw his foster son being dragged in unresisting by Arandur and his men, who made it look like a task to drag in a child. From the way Aragorn breathed it was obvious the Elves had roughed him up a little and when his bleary eyes caught Elrond’s the glazed over look of pain was unmistakable.

Having caught his father’s glance, Aragorn gave a weak and helpless smile that was quickly broken up by a tug on his already painful bonds. Stumbling forward at the jerk, only to have his wounded limb fold under him, Aragorn knew that Lord Elrond was immediately aware of his injury. Grimacing, he tried to ignore it.

Looking over to his left, Aragorn started visibly as he saw Rána dead, blood pooled around his throat and his face towards the sky. The ranger couldn’t help but feel sympathy as he gazed at those wide and terrified eyes that couldn’t see and were blinding staring.

Rána hadn’t deserved this, even though, Aragorn had to admit that he would have liked to do something along these lines to the dark-haired warrior once in a while. However, the more reserved part of him had always disagreed.

Aragorn flinched when he heard Elrond breathe his name in surprise and felt all eyes turn on him. He had always hated attention and right about now he was wishing he could become invisible. “Ada,” he smiled encouragingly at the Elf-lord, who had paled considerably in the past few minutes.

“Estel, where –how did you get here?” Elrond demanded, staring down the boy as though he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Aragorn shrugged, wincing immediately after the movement. “It’s a long story.”

From near the fire, Voronwë looked over to Aragorn and his face drained. He wanted to ask the ranger what in Valinor was going on but was afraid to link himself in any way to the human, so he just lay on the cloak, resting.

Aragorn, for his part, did the Elf a favor and tried to ignore him as well.

“Estel, you are hurt!” Elrond accused, narrowing his eyes and gazing pointedly at the human’s bleeding leg swathed in strips of Aragorn’s outer tunic.

“Oh, that,” mumbled the ranger under his breath as he was forced to sit by Arandur’s strong hands on his shoulders pressing him down. He was too worn-out to resist and complied promptly.

“What did that to you?” Elrond’s’ voice was commanding and Aragorn’ looked tiredly into his eyes.

“A warg,” he answered simply, not desiring to go into detail. This was clearly not the time or the place. Arandur cast him a quieting glare but he shrugged it off.

Elrond was about to say more but Lostiâ interceded, cutting off his reply.

“This is all so touching,” sneered the silver-haired Elf, the anger in his eyes unambiguous. “Now, human, where is my dear nephew?” His tone of voice told Aragorn that even if he didn’t know Lostiâ’s intentions already he would have never thought Lostiâ just planned to give Legolas a hug.

All faces now turned towards Aragorn and Arandur smiled slightly. The human was going to tell the truth now. Aragorn closed his eyes, blotting out the image of Thranduil’s already paled and hurting face before he spoke as convincing as he knew how. “Legolas is dead,” Aragorn whispered, his throat tightening at the very thought.

He was unable to see Thranduil’s face fall and a deepening anguish and despair flood his spirit, tears springing into his eyes as though he had been run through the heart. At this moment everything seemed to fall apart and the King of Mirkwood felt lost as though suspended in time with no where to go.

Elrond glanced sympathetically over at Thranduil, the bonds on his wrists preventing him from putting a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. Yes, they had been bound and he was none too pleased about that either. This situation just kept getting darker and darker.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Thranduil hissed at the ranger, anger that came from near hysteria pinching his voice. “Tell me it’s not true!”

Aragorn opened a set of glazed gray eyes that were moist with tears that he had somehow managed to call up. “It’s true,” he whispered back, forcing his voice to shake. “The poison killed him,” he added as Lostiâ stared at him disbelievingly. He had to make this as compelling as possible and this was the only way.

Voronwë’s composure seemed to melt and he saw the wounded Elf close his eyes inconsolably, not wishing to see or hear anymore. He no longer wished to live. He wanted to simply go and be with his cousin in the Halls of Mandos, free from Middle Earth and it’s cruelties.

Arandur looked unconvinced and stared skeptically at Lostiâ, who was smiling wickedly. “It wasn’t the poison that I gave him that killed him human, but the poison you gave him.” His tone of voice and assertion garnered shocked expressions from everyone and some accusing glare shot in Aragorn’s direction.

Lostiâ sidled up to the young human. “Yes, you killed him. Or did you not know, Athelas was just as toxic to his system when mixed with the special invention of mine. So tell me, what were his last words?”

Aragorn felt so angry at this point he felt like saying, ‘he bids you burn in all seven Hells,’ but he knew Legolas would never say something like that. The Wood-Elf seemed to always try to see the good in everyone and act on it. Closing his eyes shortly, he answered as authentically sounding as possible. “He wishes you would come back to the light.”

Lostiâ laughed, a cold and scornful sound that could only come from one who lost or buried his heart some time ago. “He just couldn’t quit, could he? So how did it feel to sense him fading?”

To this Aragorn said nothing but pretended to be overcome with grief. However some of his grief was real. He had never meant to cause Legolas more pain and he had never meant to hurt Thranduil and his own father this way. He wished he could have spared them this unneeded pain.

“This does change my plans then, doesn’t it?” he said almost to himself. Suddenly his eyes hardened and he glared indicatively at Aragorn. “Where is the body?”

Caught unawares by this question, Aragorn stammered, “w-what?” The wound to his leg was begging for attention now and he had to split his thought between his pain and his false pretense. Not knowing what to say, the ranger kept his peace, glaring at Lostiâ belligerently even though he knew the Elf had called his bluff and he was caught.

All present in the cave stared at the ranger for a moment before understanding over came them all and Lostiâ spoke around a set of grit teeth. “He isn’t dead, is he? You lied to me!” This human just had an aggravating knack for getting under his skin, didn’t he?

Aragorn didn’t accept or deny either of Lostiâ’s allegations. He knew he was in trouble and he wasn’t about to make things even worse for himself or make himself look like an idiot by rejecting or allowing anything. Noticing Elrond trying to catch his eyes, Aragorn looked deliberately away.

Suddenly the ranger found himself yanked up by his tunic and held up from the ground as Lostiâ twisted the fabric, cutting of his air. “Where is Legolas?”


Chapter 16 - Vertigo

Ripples

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

:0Ж0:

Sacrifice

:0Ж0:

Aragorn and Legolas both knew they were only a few minutes, perhaps ten, away from the hidden cavern now. Leaning on each other, they could both feel how tense the other’s muscles had gone as their anxiety rose. Having walked as though they were in a three-legged race for over two hours, they had nearly perfected the odd traveling style and were beginning to get used to having to rely on each other’s movements.

Aragorn looked at Legolas, who just didn’t appear to be any happier and as the Elf and ranger walked among the trees near the clearing he sighed dejectedly, shaking his head just a little.

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Aragorn knew it was time he told Legolas what he knew, but he was frightened about how the Elf would react. He didn’t want Legolas to think he had been snooping around in his past but he also didn’t want Legolas to think that he was withholding the fact that he knew something.

“Legolas,” he whispered, in case there were any unfriendly Elves nearby. Aragorn watched the prince form the corners of his eyes as Legolas glanced his way before turning his attention back to the ground.

“What?” he questioned, hearing the tone in Aragorn’s voice and having the sinking suspicion that they were about to engage in some deep and painful conversation. He would really rather not talk to anyone now.

“Ada told me a few things I hadn’t known before.” Aragorn stopped speaking as he found himself fighting to put his jumbling thoughts into words that wouldn’t offend or cause pain to his friend. Legolas just looked at him with narrowed eyes, mildly confused.

“You told me your mother died this day many years ago,” Aragorn finally summoned enough courage to continue. “And I never knew what you meant before, about her being cut down by orcs. I guess what I am trying to say is that…I know all that happened now.” He wanted to say more but found himself struck numb as he watched Legolas’ face remained unchanged save for a more thoughtful look in his eyes.

“It was an accident,” he murmured, hardly able to breathe around the lump maturing in his throat. Swallowing, he tried to force it down but without success. “You have to believe me.”

“Legolas, I am not accusing you of anything!” Aragorn quickly stammered, aghast. He would never believe Legolas had wittingly killed anyone he loved!

The prince looked at him a bit surprised before he spoke softly. “I guess I have become defensive over the years, my friend,” he concluded. “I am sorry, I should have known better than to think you would do anything of the sort.” Suddenly his unnaturally tired feet caught on a root and he stumbled, nearly taking them both down.

Aragorn grimaced as he applied pressure on his wounded leg to try and stabilize them and catch Legolas. He had a feeling that if they fell they might not have the strength to get back up and keep going. Pulling on Legolas’ arm, he waited until Legolas had recaptured his balance before he released the prince.

“Still feeling a bit groggy?” Aragorn questioned with a grin, unable to resist the little tease.

Legolas just flushed and grinned sheepishly back. “Yes, sorry.” Looking at his torn legging that had caught on the barb covered branch lying on the ground, Legolas bit his lip. This was his second to last pair of leggings.

Raising his eyes, he suddenly tensed and ignoring Aragorn’s surprised reaction and resistance, he quickly pulled them both to the ground so they were lying perfectly flat on their stomachs. Pointing with his forefinger, the Elf whispered anxiously, “We were within eyesight of any Elf.”

Aragorn quickly followed with his eyes to where the prince was pointing and grimaced, knowing Legolas was absolutely right. The small grotto yawned ahead of them; maybe about twenty five yards away, if even that much. It had been so well concealed that almost anyone could walk right past it and never see it. Aragorn had almost done so when he was first looking for his friend.

Even though he had spent much time amongst Elves, it still never hurt to ask an Elf a question concerning other Elves, especially if you were unsure. “Legolas,” the ranger ventured in a barely audible voice. “Can they hear us?”

“I should think so, if they were trying,” the Elf answered with a smile though his eyes were still locked on the cave ahead. “But I doubt it,” he continued. “Why should they think we came back to this place once we got away?” All the same, Aragorn noticed Legolas was keeping his voice carefully low so the ranger was almost forced to lip read.

“You seem so confident of your answer,” he muttered darkly under his breath, casting a venomous look at the ground.

“Better safe than sorry,” countered the Elf, not giving Aragorn’s suddenly morbid mood any thought.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, thinking. If they got closer they might be able to hear some of what was being said not to mention discover whether of not Thranduil and or Elrond were being held there. “Do you think we could get in any closer?” he whispered to the Elf.

“Well that all depends,” Legolas responded coolly. “Could you be any quieter?” He was feeling a bit more under the weather than he liked to admit and the thought of moving anywhere on his stomach wasn’t overly appealing no matter the cause. The uneven ground was biting into his bruised ribs enough to make him uneasy.

Aragorn’s reaction was indignant and a bit sarcastic. “I suppose I could.”

Legolas appraised him quietly. “Well then start now,” his voice was bit acidic. Suddenly he began to crawl forward, using his feet to press off from the ground. Unfortunately this created a lot of snapping from the little twigs and other dead bits of vegetation that littered the soggy ground, breaking under his weight.

Aragorn smiled snidely, unable to resist a comeback. “Nice bunch of Dwarvish racket you are making. Could you be any quieter?” he added towards the end, making light of Legolas’ earlier question.

The prince shot him a caustic glare. “Strider, how does your family live with you?” he asked, flipping his hood over his head to hide his easily noticeable fair hair, which he had nearly forgotten about and was thankful it hadn’t already given them away. The last thing he needed some one to think they needed to shoot at the golden thing that was his head sinking through the plants.

Their bickering ceased as they carefully picked their way closer on their stomachs, staying as close together as possible, barely providing for elbowroom.

Holding his breath as they were within ten feet of the cavern now, Legolas decided this was a good place to stop. They couldn’t afford to press their luck any further right now and he was getting tired and the last thing he or Aragorn needed was for him to start vomiting again.

Anyway, his sharp Elven hearing could pick out enough of their conversation that he could understand roughly what was going on. Further more, Lostiâ and his little band were talking in relatively loud voices. His far seeing eyes, if they found a gap in the weeds, could roughly see back into the shadows of the grotto, sending chills down his spine as he remembered the dark experiences of the past.

The portions of the conversation caught told Legolas that there was a verbal interrogation going on between his father and his uncle and it was picking up momentum as well as gathering some heat. He couldn’t tell if Elrond was there or not, because if he was, the Elf-lord had remained silent. Frowning, Legolas knew Lostiâ was asking about his whereabouts, thinking this was all a plan on his father’s part.

Aragorn looked at Legolas’ questioningly, begging to know of his own father, but the Elf didn’t answer, afraid of being over heard.

Listening even more intently he realized that Lostiâ and maybe two other Elves were in the cave, but three, including Arandur, were out looking for he and Estel. Throat constricting, Legolas knew that he and Aragorn had not bothered to cover or disguise their tracks, being too tired and in too much of a hurry.

Neither of the friends had to tell each other that this little case of negligence could lead to a disaster. Both had tracked at times before and so this failure laid heavily upon their hearts, as they knew it carried a lot of weight when it came to life or death.

Legolas’ gaze was transfixed completely on the grotto, as he knew his father was there and that he was helpless to do anything about it. Aragorn, however, had forced himself to be observant of their surroundings, knowing he was going to have to be doubly aware to compensate for Legolas’ disbelief and despair.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel equally despaired but whether because he was mortal with perhaps a less sensitive heart or because of Elrond’s wise tutelage, it didn’t delve so deeply into his spirit. He was able to focus his thoughts on more important things, like staying alive.

Turning his head, the human glanced behind them quickly, making sure they weren’t being watched or stalked as he halfway expected. His grim expectations were not without reasons and were not futile. An Elf, no more than a few yards away was tracking where they had crawled and Aragorn grimaced as the fair being noticed the blood form his leg.

Noticing the intense green eyes almost immediately, there was no question left into his mind as to the Elf’s identity and the knowledge was not making matters anymore encouraging. Arandur it was that had picked up their trail. Somehow, Aragorn had the grim feeling that he shouldn’t be surprised.

Looking over at Legolas he knew in a minute that things would be up and his best friend would be captured and murdered all because of an accident that took place many years ago and because of an Elf’s arrogant stupidity and inability to forgive.

He knew he couldn’t let this happen. He didn’t know how to prevent it, but he knew that it wasn’t going to happen. If it meant taking a hit for his friend and giving Legolas a chance to slink off and hide elsewhere he would, though he didn’t expect Legolas to be inclined to just go and hide. The Elf’s stubborn pride would be his death one of these days, Aragorn predicted as he drew a quick intake of breath before speaking to his friend.

“Arandur is on our tail. He found where we crawled,” Aragorn sighed heavily.

Alarm and cold fear spread across Legolas’ face.

“Forgive me, my friend,” Aragorn murmured sadly. “I can’t do anything else.”

He left Legolas with a dropped jaw as he stood up in a leap and acted as though he was trying to run away form Arandur and his two men. Since they were so near the cave his options of where to run were meager but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he knew he was going to get away.

Legolas wanted to cry out, to call his friend back and fight rather than stay crouched in the weeds like he was some kind of an animal but Aragorn wanted to give him this gift and he knew it would be selfish to destroy it simply because of his feeling of guilt. However, he still felt hot tears prick and burn his eyes until he couldn’t keep them open any longer, not able to watch as Aragorn was immediately pursued.

He could feel and hear the rush of the Elves leaping lightly over him and around him, taking no notice of him because of his long cloak that covered him and concealed him completely as he kept his face pointed towards the ground. Clenching his teeth, Legolas worked not to sob right then and there.

Aragorn bit back the pain he felt in his leg as the torn muscle and flesh found his actual running movements harsh and overbearing. Every time he placed the smallest bit of weight on it, it threatened to fold beneath him and cause him to drop like a rock.

Sweat pooled on the ranger’s face as he strained himself to go further, hoping to lead them far enough away from Legolas that the prince would be safe for a few minutes and have a longer reprieve. He doubted Legolas would stay safe for very long but he felt compelled to give his friend the chance.

Suddenly, his leg decided that this little jaunt of his was asking far too much it folded, caving beneath his weight as he fell to the wet ground, unable to get back up. Grimacing, Aragorn waited the inevitable as the corrupted Elves surrounded him, catching up in a few nimble bounds.

As he looked up defiantly at their faces, studying them each in turn. One thing they all had in common was an angered irritancy that he supposed came from being lead on a merry chase by a human. Aragorn would have felt slightly satisfied any other time, but unfortunately, he was far too tired to think in those terms and was trying not to show the weakness he felt.

Panting form his painful exertion, the ranger didn’t make the slightest attempt to get away. Arandur crouched by him, looking him the eyes.

“I remember you, ranger,” he said with a smirk in his eyes as a cold smile spread slowly on his face. Aragorn noticed his green eyes seemed to glow wickedly. “You’re Legolas’ little friend.”

“I was Legolas’ friend. He is dead,” the ranger tried to lead the Elves on, lying rather smoothly considering it was never one of his talents and his conscience had a habit of giving him away.

Arandur was not impressed and remained unmoved. “Cute, ranger,” he said thoughtfully. “Very cute. So did you kill him then? Where is the body? Lostiâ needs answers, I am afraid and it is my job to get them.”

Aragorn just looked away, disinclined to converse with these Elves if he could prevent it. He was afraid to say too much or falter and give Legolas away. However, he had a feeling that Arandur wasn’t very patient and wouldn’t appreciate his silence. Turning his eyes to looking the Elves in their faces, he glared as convincingly as he could.

“Look here, human,” Arandur spat the slur, frustrated. “He can’t be dead and you wouldn’t kill your best friend. I am going to give you one chance to talk and then if you don’t Lostiâ can have his way with you.” Seeing the pain already on Aragorn’s face, his keen Elven eyes fell on the leg crumpled beneath the ranger and he pieced two and two together. “And he won’t be very merciful, being already furious with these turns of events.”

“He is dead,” Aragorn continued with his lie, hoping in vain that it would be believed. “That poison given to him killed him.”

“You had your chance, human,” Arandur snarled angrily, nodding instructively at the two Elves around him. “You had your chance.”

Aragorn couldn’t help but cry out as he was yanked his feet and pressure slammed down on to his ripped leg sent pain throughout his entire nervous system. Rough ropes were twined and snaked around his wrists, tied overly tight and he felt the circulation between his arm and his fingers cut off abruptly. A fist smashed into his stomach, causing him to grunt and suck air in sharply. Damn it all! Why did being a good friend have to be so cursed hard?

At least there were no doubts in his mind that Legolas was appreciative.

:0Ж0:

After hearing them drag Aragorn into the cave and then the start of drawn out conversation between Lostiâ and Thranduil once more, if it could really be called a conversation, Legolas began to shuffle backwards the way they had come. It was much more difficult to be silent this way be that could hardly be helped because if he stood up now, being this close, they would see him and put a bolt in him quicker than lightning. He couldn’t believe they simply hadn’t shot Aragorn.

In Legolas’ mind if the situation could have been worse before, it was definitely worse now. He had no plan what so ever. Barely able to stand erectly on his own and certainly still too groggy to run, Legolas knew there was no chance that he could rush in and single handedly deal with a total of five or six Elves. It was just impossible.

However, that didn’t keep the idea from briefly crossing his mind.

Now that he was backed up to where they had first started crawling, Legolas stood up to a low crouch, watching to make sure that Lostiâ had posted no sentries. So far it looked like he had been a bit too arrogant for that but Legolas had learned the hard way that it was wise to expect the unexpected with his uncle, at least in most cases.

Standing up but using his Elven abilities to aid him as he tried to appear like a shadow or a trick of the eyes, Legolas stumbled deeper into the brush and undergrowth.

:0Ж0:

Elrond couldn’t help but gape as he saw his foster son being dragged in unresisting by Arandur and his men, who made it look like a task to drag in a child. From the way Aragorn breathed it was obvious the Elves had roughed him up a little and when his bleary eyes caught Elrond’s the glazed over look of pain was unmistakable.

Having caught his father’s glance, Aragorn gave a weak and helpless smile that was quickly broken up by a tug on his already painful bonds. Stumbling forward at the jerk, only to have his wounded limb fold under him, Aragorn knew that Lord Elrond was immediately aware of his injury. Grimacing, he tried to ignore it.

Looking over to his left, Aragorn started visibly as he saw Rána dead, blood pooled around his throat and his face towards the sky. The ranger couldn’t help but feel sympathy as he gazed at those wide and terrified eyes that couldn’t see and were blinding staring.

Rána hadn’t deserved this, even though, Aragorn had to admit that he would have liked to do something along these lines to the dark-haired warrior once in a while. However, the more reserved part of him had always disagreed.

Aragorn flinched when he heard Elrond breathe his name in surprise and felt all eyes turn on him. He had always hated attention and right about now he was wishing he could become invisible. “Ada,” he smiled encouragingly at the Elf-lord, who had paled considerably in the past few minutes.

“Estel, where –how did you get here?” Elrond demanded, staring down the boy as though he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Aragorn shrugged, wincing immediately after the movement. “It’s a long story.”

From near the fire, Voronwë looked over to Aragorn and his face drained. He wanted to ask the ranger what in Valinor was going on but was afraid to link himself in any way to the human, so he just lay on the cloak, resting.

Aragorn, for his part, did the Elf a favor and tried to ignore him as well.

“Estel, you are hurt!” Elrond accused, narrowing his eyes and gazing pointedly at the human’s bleeding leg swathed in strips of Aragorn’s outer tunic.

“Oh, that,” mumbled the ranger under his breath as he was forced to sit by Arandur’s strong hands on his shoulders pressing him down. He was too worn-out to resist and complied promptly.

“What did that to you?” Elrond’s’ voice was commanding and Aragorn’ looked tiredly into his eyes.

“A warg,” he answered simply, not desiring to go into detail. This was clearly not the time or the place. Arandur cast him a quieting glare but he shrugged it off.

Elrond was about to say more but Lostiâ interceded, cutting off his reply.

“This is all so touching,” sneered the silver-haired Elf, the anger in his eyes unambiguous. “Now, human, where is my dear nephew?” His tone of voice told Aragorn that even if he didn’t know Lostiâ’s intentions already he would have never thought Lostiâ just planned to give Legolas a hug.

All faces now turned towards Aragorn and Arandur smiled slightly. The human was going to tell the truth now. Aragorn closed his eyes, blotting out the image of Thranduil’s already paled and hurting face before he spoke as convincing as he knew how. “Legolas is dead,” Aragorn whispered, his throat tightening at the very thought.

He was unable to see Thranduil’s face fall and a deepening anguish and despair flood his spirit, tears springing into his eyes as though he had been run through the heart. At this moment everything seemed to fall apart and the King of Mirkwood felt lost as though suspended in time with no where to go.

Elrond glanced sympathetically over at Thranduil, the bonds on his wrists preventing him from putting a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. Yes, they had been bound and he was none too pleased about that either. This situation just kept getting darker and darker.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Thranduil hissed at the ranger, anger that came from near hysteria pinching his voice. “Tell me it’s not true!”

Aragorn opened a set of glazed gray eyes that were moist with tears that he had somehow managed to call up. “It’s true,” he whispered back, forcing his voice to shake. “The poison killed him,” he added as Lostiâ stared at him disbelievingly. He had to make this as compelling as possible and this was the only way.

Voronwë’s composure seemed to melt and he saw the wounded Elf close his eyes inconsolably, not wishing to see or hear anymore. He no longer wished to live. He wanted to simply go and be with his cousin in the Halls of Mandos, free from Middle Earth and it’s cruelties.

Arandur looked unconvinced and stared skeptically at Lostiâ, who was smiling wickedly. “It wasn’t the poison that I gave him that killed him human, but the poison you gave him.” His tone of voice and assertion garnered shocked expressions from everyone and some accusing glare shot in Aragorn’s direction.

Lostiâ sidled up to the young human. “Yes, you killed him. Or did you not know, Athelas was just as toxic to his system when mixed with the special invention of mine. So tell me, what were his last words?”

Aragorn felt so angry at this point he felt like saying, ‘he bids you burn in all seven Hells,’ but he knew Legolas would never say something like that. The Wood-Elf seemed to always try to see the good in everyone and act on it. Closing his eyes shortly, he answered as authentically sounding as possible. “He wishes you would come back to the light.”

Lostiâ laughed, a cold and scornful sound that could only come from one who lost or buried his heart some time ago. “He just couldn’t quit, could he? So how did it feel to sense him fading?”

To this Aragorn said nothing but pretended to be overcome with grief. However some of his grief was real. He had never meant to cause Legolas more pain and he had never meant to hurt Thranduil and his own father this way. He wished he could have spared them this unneeded pain.

“This does change my plans then, doesn’t it?” he said almost to himself. Suddenly his eyes hardened and he glared indicatively at Aragorn. “Where is the body?”

Caught unawares by this question, Aragorn stammered, “w-what?” The wound to his leg was begging for attention now and he had to split his thought between his pain and his false pretense. Not knowing what to say, the ranger kept his peace, glaring at Lostiâ belligerently even though he knew the Elf had called his bluff and he was caught.

All present in the cave stared at the ranger for a moment before understanding over came them all and Lostiâ spoke around a set of grit teeth. “He isn’t dead, is he? You lied to me!” This human just had an aggravating knack for getting under his skin, didn’t he?

Aragorn didn’t accept or deny either of Lostiâ’s allegations. He knew he was in trouble and he wasn’t about to make things even worse for himself or make himself look like an idiot by rejecting or allowing anything. Noticing Elrond trying to catch his eyes, Aragorn looked deliberately away.

Suddenly the ranger found himself yanked up by his tunic and held up from the ground as Lostiâ twisted the fabric, cutting of his air. “Where is Legolas?”


Chapter 17 - Cold Ripples

Ripples

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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Cold Ripples

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When consciousness came back within what had to be a few moments Legolas found himself bound with his hands above his head and his back to a pole with his feet secured at the bottom. Blinking, he gave his head a shake and looked blearily around.

He found his father easily enough, struggling between two Elves. Elrond and Estel were together, he noticed wearily. Their hands were unbound but being weaponless, it really made little difference; they were still more or less captive.

He noticed that his uncle was holding a crooked scimitar, the kind used by orcs and he shuddered. He had only used a blade of that sort when he absolutely had no other option and was even loath to touch one then. The fact that his uncle was using it because he wanted to…it was unthinkable.

A large, nearly massive fire was blossoming and crackling to his right, nearly too close for comfort but that wasn’t the worst of his troubles so he didn’t dwell on it too much as he felt the intense heat breathe down on him. Twisting his face away, his tired and addled mind began to remember and put things together rather quickly, bringing him back up to speed with the situation.

He pulled on the bonds above his head, knowing well enough they were probably strong enough to support his weight and hold him in place all at once, but having to test them just to make sure. But even if they weren’t strong enough, the bonds on his feet certainly would be able to do their job. Feet? What feet? He couldn’t even feel his feet anymore.

Lostiâ finally seemed to notice his nephew was awake and walked uncaringly towards the younger Elf, who was shooting an intense glare. Swinging and twirling the orc-make weapon, the silver-haired Elf chatted almost leisurely. “Well the day is nearly up and if you don’t die today I don’t think I would like that very much.” Lostiâ wrinkled his nose as he spoke, putting emphases on his statement. “As I said earlier, it is time to get this over with.”

“I still cannot understand why you are doing this,” Legolas insisted, knowing his time was drawing near and if he wanted to say something he had better start speaking now and hope to be allowed time to finish. “You cannot change the past. It is set…forever.”

Lostiâ seemed genuinely puzzled for a moment and his normally smooth forehead wrinkled. Legolas appeared to have taken him by surprise and Aragorn narrowed his eyes in curiosity, wondering what had caught the other Elf off guard. He certainly hadn’t heard anything that he felt wasn’t common knowledge.

“Of course you can change the past,” objected Lostiâ slowly, lowering the blade as a bit of the pleasure and gloating drained from his eyes. Some of his jovial tone had bled out of his voice and he shook his head. “You just have to push yourself and try hard enough. Anything can change!”

“No!” Legolas protested, shaking his head in objection. “Not anything! There are some things that none can change and that you just have to learn to live with and compensate for! Is that how far you have fallen, to not know fantasy from reality?” Legolas still couldn’t believe his uncle couldn’t come back and he was going to try his best. This wasn’t about saving his life, but about saving a life that had once been of the noble sort and bringing them back to reason.

“Never!” Lostiâ growled, an angered spark catching his eyes on fire. “If you apply yourself enough we can change everything!” He glowered at his nephew, who as twisting in his bonds, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists.

“How is killing me going to bring my mother back or change anything at all? Don’t you see?” Legolas plead desperately, glancing at the other Elves to see if any of them were beginning to understand this at all. To his surprise one or two were looking a bit more uncomfortable with the situation. Though he couldn’t tell if it was because they were scared of Lostiâ or having a change of heart. “Lostiâ, a birth is like a stone cast in the water, it causes ripples, which touch many lives all at once and continue forever and cannot be stopped even long after the person is dead.”

Legolas didn’t know if he had made an impact on the other Elf’s corrupted train of thought, but at least he could say he tried. Frowning, he pushed his toes against the earth and tired unsuccessfully to take some of the deep pain in his wrists away.

Lostiâ had paused, but no doubt flickered in his gaze, only a storm of fury borne on a strong wind of bitter hatred. Closing the space between himself and Legolas he whispered, “well no new ripples will your life create. It ends here tonight!”

Thranduil slammed himself forward against the Elves gripping him, screaming, “Lostiâ! You cannot do this! You will be accomplishing nothing less than common murder!” Realizing there was no reasoning with the crazed Elf, Thranduil set all pride aside. “Take me instead but let Legolas go!” He was not above begging for his son’s life, not at all.

“You’re going to die anyway, Thranduil, believe me. I would kill you first, however that would sort of spoil things, now wouldn’t it?” the silver-haired Elf answered, the dark aurora around him becoming more intense, making the limited light in the forest even more dim.

Aragorn looked at Thranduil, seeing the despair in his eyes and then watched Legolas, seeing his best friend looking at his father so desperately and a longing expression on his face of wearied acceptance.

Something shattered and died inside and Aragorn couldn’t contain himself any longer. It was like molten lava had decided to spill and spread throughout his entire body and he began to shake. He himself was a ripple of Legolas’ life and he didn’t know what would happen if his friend died. “Lostiâ! Take me instead! Please!”

All eyes turned in wonder upon the human and Elrond forcefully shoved him back, hoping he wasn’t too late and the human hadn’t already sealed his fate.

“Shut up Strider!” Legolas snapped, fear and frustration making his voice have an edge. He would rather die himself than see Aragorn take his place.

Seeing the two people closest to Legolas in life begging for his life and offering themselves in his place made an amused and icy smile pull at Lostiâ’s lips. This was all that he had been waiting for since the day Legolas was born and now it was here. He nearly closed his eyes to savor the moment and his mouth nearly watered as he could picture everyone’s faces, now suspended in horror, but soon crumpling as he plunged the crooked scimitar through Legolas’ heart.

But then many things happened at once and all of the sudden Arandur gave a routed cry, “orcs! Orcs!” He released Thranduil’s right shoulder, pointing frantically over a small rise near the clearing where the trees were slightly thinner. The warrior was nearly jumping up and down with anxiety and surprise. His green eyes that were normally narrowed in hate or concentration were now wide in disclosure and terror.

And indeed, Arandur was right. The foul creatures were almost literally pouring over the small incline, pulling out their scimitars and other various, twisted weapons of evil make. The green-eyed warrior quickly released Thranduil entirely and his four followers released their charges as well, not having time for that anymore.

Pulling their bows from their backs and notching arrows with hands that moved quicker than sight, the five Elves aimed and fired, taking down exactly five orcs almost immediately. But that was only ‘a few leaves in the forest’ as the Elves liked to say and did nothing to stop the flourish of the beasts crashing through the brush, laughing at such outnumbered victims.

Lostiâ rolled his eyes in slight dissatisfaction, and looking at Legolas, suddenly smiled. Reaching up, he patted the bound and helpless Elf’s cheek happily. “Enjoy, nephew,” he taunted, referring to the orcs as they came bounding among the Elves, picking fights with a few of Arandur’s companions who were working not to be run through from one of the foul creatures in the small and surrounding cluster.

Helpless as he was, Legolas couldn’t stop anything the orcs wanted to do to him and he shivered as fear set in, trying to gain control of his thoughts, but with a short struggle he refused it that power. However, that couldn’t stop him from thinking things through. At least he knew that Lostiâ’s method of killing him was sure to be quick, all things considered but if the orcs took advantage of him being bound as he was and carried him off to their dark confines under the evil ground of Dol Guldur… That thought was disconcerting and nearly more than Legolas could bear.

Lostiâ smiled. He actually could have never pictured something this perfect but here it was. Legolas was going to die exactly as his mother had and it was his own entire fault too.

Lostiâ would have stayed to gloat more but he was forced to defend himself as a small band of the foul beasts encircled him and began to hedge him in, doing their best to try and just get a grip on him. Without too much difficulty, Lostiâ broke through which didn’t surprise Legolas overly much because as insane as his uncle was he was good at close quarters combat and was known for his expertise.

Elrond was at Thranduil’s side, Legolas noticed dryly as he tried to locate everyone, fighting off adversaries that attempted to kill them both whilst trying to slice through Thranduil’s bonds. He grimaced as he noticed Elrond was forced to use an orc’s blade because his own had been left behind as well as Thranduil’s, having been part of the agreement.

Pulling his eyes away from his father and Lord Elrond, Legolas located Arandur and another Elf hemmed in by a group of ten larger Uruks, though they appeared to be holding their own and Arandur’s eyes had a lethal glow. He was turning and stabbing left and right, things being entirely too close for decent and safe bow work. The green-eyed warrior was gaping, as he looked around, disconcerted by all the orcs that were coming out of the woodwork.

To his sudden alarm, he couldn’t find Estel anywhere! Where was that reckless human?

A piercing shriek tore his attention away and he felt his stomach sink.

Unfortunately, an Elf had already fell with a mortal wound and was immediately pounced upon by a group of three orcs, who began to kick and punch him even as the life drained from his body. His pained and routed cries went unnoticed by everyone and Legolas swallowed. “That will be me,” he muttered as a band of around eight noticed him and laughing, began to put their scimitars away and pull out some crude ropes of their own, made from a black version of rough hemp.

Legolas breathed heavily as he realized he wasn’t for being killed and stared them down with a withering glare. If his feet weren’t bound there was one so close he would have liked to kick him back a pace or even break his neck.

Suddenly, that very orc’s jaw dropped, and its mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape as it stumbled backwards, a knife of it’s own evil sort of make embedded in it’s chest. The other orcs retreated back a step, uncertain of what to do and frightened that they had just lost one of their own when this Elf wasn’t even unbound. Blinking and spitting their curses in the Black Speech in disbelief, they debated whether one captive Elf was worth half of their lives even if they fell in the favor of their Master.

Legolas saw movement from the corner of his eye and twisted his head painfully to see what it was. His heart stopped and then picked up its pace as he recognized the familiar fighting stride of his father and Lord Elrond’s grim face.

The orcs began to panic, realizing this one Elf would cost them too dearly and Legolas felt slightly contented as they began to rush backwards before they turned tail and fled for their lives. They were quickly pursued by the two furious Elf-lord’s, causing them to shriek louder for support but to no avail.

Legolas sighed as he was still not freed from his painful bonds and he knew as well as anyone that those orcs were most likely not going to be the last ones to try and finish him off.

A soft noise behind him and he jerked, twisting in his bonds as he tried to see what adversary was about to stab him in the back. Unfortunately, the post was about an inch too wide and his bonds were far too tight and had him pinned securely in place. Moaning, he closed his eyes and waited to feel the bite of steel in his spine and the sharp intake but shortness of breath to follow before death.

A semi-playful voice whispered in his pointy ear, “you aren't giving up already, are you?”

A small smile crept across Legolas’ face and soon was formed into an all out grin. “No, never, why?” His voice was soft and was bleeding with relief.

Aragorn just snorted skeptically. “Nothing, nothing at all, but your long face was a bit deceptive.”

Legolas cringed as he felt Aragorn, who he realized had shinnied up the pole, was sawing at his bonds. “Yes,” he spoke around grit teeth. “Looks do that to you.” His already raw wrists were not appreciating the amount of jerking but he knew it was hardly preventable. After all, he could hardly expect Aragorn to keep his balance and severe his ropes. Suddenly he glowered and reminded demandingly, “You shouldn’t be doing this with your leg!”

“I can leave you hanging here if you want,” teased the human, stretching his face around the pole and stealing a look at the Elf’s irritated and tense expression. The prince’s lips were pressed in a tight and thin white line.

Noticing Legolas wasn’t in the mood for even a light jest, Aragorn allowed his smile to fade and he knitted his brows as he concentrated on making those Elven bonds that were cruelly tight, break. It wasn’t that easy if he wished to avoid nicking Legolas’ skin and the ranger felt a sweat forming on his brow in heated drops.

“You are taking long enough,” the Elf snapped, irritated even though he was also extremely grateful. He wasn’t angry with Aragorn but the ranger was going to bear the main force of his frustrations anyway.

Suddenly, before Aragorn realized it he had sawed through the bonds on Legolas’ wrists and was unable to shout a warning to the Elf, who fell forward, still attached the post by his feet. Having the wind knocked painfully out of his bruised chest, Legolas glared behind him at the ranger who was working post haste to try and sever those bonds as well. “A word of warning would have been nice,” Legolas hissed in irritation.

“Sorry, remind me to be more convenient next time I try and save your life,” grumbled the ranger under his breath, concentrating on getting his blade to slice through the rope without gauging Legolas’ ankle. He knew that if Legolas were already grumpy that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Plus he also was well aware that his friend had suffered more than his share these past twenty-four hours.

Legolas sighed, as the bonds seemed to slither form his ankles and the blood rushed back and then glanced sheepishly back at Aragorn, “sorry if I was sharp a few moments ago. I suppose I was a little scared.”

Aragorn shook his head and because of the situation answered tersely. “I understand, now let’s get you on your feet,” he prompted the Elf, gripping one of Legolas’ arms and pulling him up, steadying the prince with his other hand.

Looking around, the friends discovered that most of the fighting was complete and the remaining orcs were fleeing for their lives but were being pursued by the surviving Elves. Their ranks had been decimated at the cost of only one Elf’s life. Aragorn glanced Legolas over, realizing for the first time that he had been scared himself. He had thought he would lose his best friend forever and that was too long to live without him.

Aragorn picked up a long orc knife lying on the ground and offered the hilt to the prince. “Care to help?” he asked, giving a soft and encouraging smile.

Legolas reached out hesitatingly and then his fingers tightened around the weapon as he slowly slid it from Aragorn’s grasp. “My pleasure.” A dangerous light was kindling in his eyes and Aragorn almost pitied the first orc the Elf would come across.

A few orcs made the mistake of thinking Aragorn and Legolas were too worn out to resist or simply too stupid and tried to break through, finding out quickly that even an injured Elf could still be a furious Elf not to mention a lethal one. Legolas twirled the blade, putting on a brief show before driving it through the mail of one orc, withdrawing it, and stabbing another orc to attempted to kill him form behind.

Aragorn ran one through the gut with the orc scimitar that he had ‘borrowed’ and then whacked the head off another within the same minute.

Looking at Legolas, he noticed the Elf’s breathing was labored slightly but that he was still going strong, all things considered and appeared to be holding his own very nicely. His jaw line was set and Aragorn knew that he was making these orcs pay for everything past and present while enjoying himself in the process.

Within another ten minutes the orcs were crushed and defeated and only one or two limped back to tell the tale.

Sighing, Legolas suddenly jerked as he found himself surrounded By Arandur and three other Elves, who had their bows leveled for his head. He may have escaped the orcs but these Elves had definitely not forgotten the entire point of being out here in the first place. Aragorn backed up against his friend as Legolas shot everyone a scathing glare.

Thranduil and Elrond came running up, only to have the crossbows turned on them as Lostiâ came to take care of Legolas himself.

“Lostiâ, let’s talk this over,” Thranduil suggested as calmly as possible from where he was being held but was unable to keep the suspense from bleeding into his voice. “We aren’t dead, we are privileged to have voices.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lostiâ snapped, turning cold eyes on Legolas, who didn’t flinch or even move a muscle. He was beyond that now and he wasn’t afraid anymore. “You will die.” Drawing his sword, he walked towards the prince, crossing the meager amount of separating space in seconds and standing inches away from his nephew.

To his credit, Legolas didn’t withdraw and he answered as simply as was possible, “you are destroying yourself.” His blue eyes didn’t blink once as they locked with Lostiâ’s like two bulls tangling their horns.

“That’s what you think,” Lostiâ growled, raising his blade and placing the tip above Legolas’ heart before giving it a small dig, causing it to bite into the skin and draw a small drop of blood. “But you are a fool.” Legolas still did not jerk away, but remained calm.

He could hear his father screaming as he his face drained and he could feel Aragorn standing in horror beside him, a crossbow leveled for his heart if he should try and interfere. Elrond was tense beside Thranduil, his face nearly transparent it was so white and aged looking. But Legolas was feeling so far away, as though he was already gone and he didn’t acknowledge them.

Just as his uncle was about to give the knife the fatal push and instigate the fatal plunge, Legolas used his own dagger to thwart the blow and swung up, blocking a strike to his head. He wasn’t about to die yet, and he wouldn’t kill Lostiâ if he could help it. He could tell the silver-haired Elf was locked inside this prison of mixed emotions and hate, wanting something more and begging for an escape. He just didn’t realize that he was trying to break free by use of the wrong method and was only digging himself deeper into the pit his bitterness had trapped him in long ago.

The two exchanged strikes with their weapons, each parrying the other causing the eerie sounding of metal on metal to resound through the forest. Their faces were creased with misery and concentration, as they didn’t allow their eyes to falter or their steps to stumble.

“Lostiâ,” Legolas addressed his uncle before blocking a stab meant for his heart. “You don’t have to be this way. You can be free and find happiness if you just let your hate go. It has possessed you.”

“How do you know?” Lostiâ snapped dubiously, his eyes narrowing and he laughed in mocking disgust. Legolas tried to press him close to a tree to hem him in and he jerked aside, not willing to be trapped that way.

“I believe you are stronger than this,” Legolas persisted, aggravated. “You keep putting your conscience to rest. Wake it up!” The prince stumbled slightly, being weaker than his uncle since the venom had literally sucked the energy from his body. It was hard for him to fight at this fast rate and he felt himself growing weak.

Their blades were a blur to those watching and even to the participants themselves it seemed as blow were exchanged too fast for sight. The clangs were intense and soon the two Elves had become interlocked, dropping to the ground, fighting to get the upper hand.

Legolas felt adrenaline flood into his system, giving him a bit more strength. But he wasn’t strong enough to match Lostiâ, and the elder Elf managed to get him flipped over onto his back, preparing to deliver the deadly stab through his heart. Sweat trickled into Legolas’ eyes and he panted in exhaustion, coughing a little as he felt his uncle’s knee press into the center of his ribcage.

Lostiâ snarled victoriously. “So my sister is avenged.”


Chapter 18 - Burning Bridges -Last Chapter

Here is the last chapter! Please review and enjoy, of course:D

Ripples

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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Burning Bridges

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They were near the fire and Legolas could feel its heat breathing on him, scorching him as he closed his eyes against the deathblow to come. Drawing what he was sure was his last breath a sudden thought came to him and he realized he might be able to save his life.

With Lostiâ’s knees pinning down each arm the dagger was useless and all Legolas could move were his legs, which still hurt from the overly tight bonds placed on them earlier.

Opening his blue orbs he murmured, “I am sorry uncle.”

Lostiâ paused, clearly puzzled for a moment just as Legolas thought he might be and there he was taken by surprise. Suddenly Legolas’ knees came up under his chest and he felt himself being hurled to the side and towards the fierce heat of the fire.

Legolas rolled clear of Lostiâ’s blade which had flipped off to the side towards him as the elder Elf fought to twist himself free of landing in the bright blaze.

Jumping up and taking a defensive stance Legolas realized that his uncle only partially succeeded and his left side only came down in the fire while he quickly rolled clear. But he was incapable of escaping some nasty burns to the left side of his face and to his left hand and leg. Even in the dim light one could tell they were ugly and extremely painful. He was lucky that his face had not been moderately melted from the heat of the fire he had built.

Arandur and his remaining three Elves stopped everything they were doing, jaws all dropping simultaneously as they seemed to freeze in place, flabbergasted by what had just transpired right before their eyes. Never before had Lostiâ fallen and to a younger Elf no less.

It was moments before anyone seemed to move, to even blink as Lostiâ lay on his back, eyes closed as a wave of pain broke over his body and he shuddered, whether from pain or malice, Legolas wasn’t sure. It was anyone’s guess and Legolas suspected it was a good deal of both.

Finally everyone seemed to breathe again and Lostiâ opened his right eye, unable to crack his left one even a little. Breathing in raspy and rugged breaths, the silver-haired Elf looked up at Legolas and his one eye was filled with nothing but complete and unaltered contempt, scorn and hate. “Go ahead and kill me, princeling.” He snarled belligerently before gasping in agony.

Legolas stalked over to him, his knuckles white from his intense grip on the knife. His eyes that were normally a soft blue had turned dark and stormy while his brows were knitted and his lips pressed into a thin line. Body shaking from emotion, the younger Elf stepped hesitantly by his uncle.

All eyes were on him and Arandur and his three seemed disinclined to help the Elf they had followed for years. Thranduil was mouthing ‘no’ to his son and Elrond had a grip on Estel’s arm, keeping him back, uncertain of which way things could go. Aragorn’s face was pasty and sweat covered with bright red blood seeping down his temple and dripping form his chin.

Reminded of his friend’s injuries and treatment, Legolas’ heart wanted retribution so badly that he could taste its bitter tang in his mouth, but that was what had started this entire mess and he was bigger than that. Wasn’t he? He could feel himself torn in half and the two strong emotions of anger and mercy struggling for mastery. They were tearing him apart and he drew a ragged breath, shuddering as he relented of his grip on the knife’s hilt and his fingers released one by one, allowing the blade to slide from his grasp and hit the forest floor with a dull clang.

“I cannot,” Legolas breathed. Then his voice firmed and he shook his head, backing away a step. “I will not.” He looked at the silver-haired Elf on the ground, maimed for life. His left eye was blinded and his left hand wouldn’t be much good even after it had healed.

All looked at Legolas in astonishment and he continued to shake his head. “No. Never. I will not fall into that trap!” He looked down sorrowfully at his uncle, who was returning his gaze with the most baleful and cold glower that anyone could ever come up with save for one of the accursed Nine. “It would make me no better than he is,” the prince murmured, walking forward reluctantly so that he was a foot away from his uncle.

Lostiâ hissed, his voice like that of a snake. “I hate you!”

Legolas offered him a hand up and he recoiled, snapping. “I hate you! Now I have to live forever, in debt to your damning mercy! I hate all of you!”

Legolas frowned and looked at his father, who seemed to read his mind and nodded his approval, slowly and so minutely no one else seemed to see the gesture. “You can stay with us,” Legolas offered kindly. “And be healed of your wounds. You can change and be free.”

Lostiâ wrinkled his nose though it pained him and he growled, “never! Why do you wish that? Do you wish to smirk at me? Never! You will have no such privilege! What is it you really want?”

Legolas didn’t like doing this, but enough was enough and this was what had to be done. “Very well. I want you to leave and never come back.”

His statement was firm and he stared down the elder Elf critically to enforce his point. He didn’t know if his mother would do this, but he doubted she would want him tearing their kingdom apart and destroying the limited peace, only causing the shadow to fall upon Mirkwood quicker.

Lostiâ was quiet for a minute and then he struggled to his knees and from there, staggered to his feet, favoring his left leg. Shooting every one a scathing glare, disappointed when none withered under his gaze, the silver-haired Elf looked at Legolas with eyes of venom. “I hate you. You will pay for this, you and that ranger.”

Legolas just shook is head and sighed heavily. “I hope you find peace someday, I really do.”

Arandur looked at Lostiâ and looked at Legolas slowly, evaluating them. He felt torn in half and seeing Legolas so strong and merciful all at once when Lostiâ deserved death touched his hardened heart in some way, softening it and his dark aurora that had floated so strongly around him began to dissipate. Here was a lord he knew would be fair and that he would like to be a warrior for.

Looking at his three remaining, he shifted his gaze reluctantly to the dead warrior, slain physically by orcs but in theory by Lostiâ. If Lostiâ had listened to Legolas’ warning they wouldn’t of had this happen and if he hadn’t gone along with Lostiâ then this wouldn’t of happened either. Legolas had tried to save them even though they had wanted to take his life and had tortured him for their own cruel amusement.

Nodding to his followers, Arandur stepped forward and stood beside Legolas, causing Thranduil to flinch and step defensively forward as well, to try and protect his son. The other three Elves stepped by Legolas as well; all still had their bows notched though they were facing towards the ground.

“Legolas!” Thranduil’s voice reached his son’s ears and Legolas turned slowly, seeing Arandur at his side with his bow and with three Elves at his call. Aragorn tried to spring forward to his friend’s defense but Elrond stopped him. Clenching the human’s shoulder tightly.

Smiling thinly, Legolas acknowledged the other Elves, who suddenly all turned their attention to Lostiâ who was snarling like a rapid creature. “Kill him! Arandur! Kill him now!” His face was turning red and then a slight shade of purple as his hate intensified and drained him of energy. “KILL HIM NOW!”

For nigh on twenty years Arandur had been following orders to kill and terrorize by either Lostiâ or Rána and now he had a chance to be free. He didn’t know where this would take him but he had decided that now that he understood all the horror and unneeded blood that had been spilled, he didn’t want to be a part of this anymore.

Without even realizing it he had placed his arrow away and lowered his bow and was responding coolly. “No. I can’t follow you anymore. You killed Rána and you made everyone’s lives miserable because you tried to change what happened years ago. You committed more atrocities than Legolas ever had and now you have paid.”

At his words the other Elves’ made up their minds to follow his example and dropped their arrows, letting them fall to the ground as they slung their bows over their shoulders. Their faces displayed looks of sorrow and anger. If Legolas hadn’t forbidden the slaying of Lostiâ they would have had done.

“What are you doing!” Lostiâ spat at them as they took a step away from him and their faces hardened.

“What’s right,” responded Arandur, turning his back on the silver-haired Elf and beginning to walk away. The other three followed.

Legolas just shrugged. “You are weaponless, we aren’t going to kill you. Go your own way and leave us and never come back. I am sorry it had to be this way.” The sincerity and mercy in his nephew’s voice caused Lostiâ to turn his nose up in disgust and he snorted disdainfully.

“This isn’t over!”

Legolas blotted out his uncle’s voice and turned to his father with a faint smile pulling his lips back into a grin. Aragorn pulled free of Elrond, technically being released from his grip, and sprinted over to Legolas. Grabbing the prince’s arms and halting his movement the ranger asked seriously, “Are you alright?” He glanced the Elf over with a critical eye.

Legolas brushed him off and frowned. “I am fine.” Pausing, he asked tersely, “what about your leg?” His eyes narrowed demandingly and Aragorn recoiled.

“Fine…well…what about your hand,” he persisted, giving his friend a dubious glower.

“It has seen better days,” Legolas admitted a bit tiredly. “Now Human, how is your temple?” he insisted, having never been put off by Aragorn’s protests before. “That gash looks nasty.”

“None of your business, Elf,” Aragorn teased and would have gave Legolas a light shove but for the battered ribs and severe bruising. Without warning he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, massaging it gently but firmly.

“But it is my business,” Elrond’s deep voice drifted to Aragorn from behind.

“Yes, Ada,” Aragorn relented softly, cringing as he put a bit too much weight on his ripped leg that he had forgotten about until now.

Thranduil came up behind Legolas and looped his arm around Legolas’ waist, offering his support for his son. Legolas accepted it gratefully and leaned his head on his father’s shoulder, rubbing his ear against the material of the warm tunic. “I love you Ada,” he murmured softly into his father’s ear.

Thranduil just leaned his head over so it gently rested on the top of Legolas’ golden one and he smiled. “I know ion-nin. I know.” He pulled Legolas tighter against him, mindful of the tender bruises that mottled his son’s chest and the sensitive ribs. He coulds till feel his son's heart hammering and he was proud. Legolas had been so scared, but controled his fear and anger and done the right thing. Thranduil knew he should have never expected less.

But even as everyone faded into the trees, and Arandur gathered up the body of their fallen companion, Lostiâ didn’t let his hate go. “I hate you all!” his voice filtered through the trees and the leaves, causing them to tremble ominously, and haunting the friends and family with one final threat.

“I will be back!”

~*~

The End


Our next story will be the sequel to "Masquerade", called "The Edge of the World". The music-trailer is on our website (in our profile), use the navigation bar until you find the right option:D Please review! We want to know what you thought of the ending! As a matter of fact...we are DYING to know, so please, tell us. If you didn't like it, that is fine! Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, we would just like to know why and if you have an constructive critism.

Thanks for all the reviews and support that you gave us for this story! We can't tell you how much it meant to us!

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And now, there is snow galore outside and it is time to have some fun sledding and pitching snow balls. :D
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