Title: Hope Immortal
Author: Marie Kenobi
Time Period: Pre-War of the Ring
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognizable LotR characters are the exclusive property of the great Elf himself, J.R.R.Tolkien. I am not being paid for any of this, although it would be nice.

Notes: This was betaed, but please excuse any mistakes you might find. This is part one of two.

Hope Immortal

Legolas couldn't remember how it happened. Couldn't remember how his ivory handled knife had appeared in his hand. Couldn't remember what had possessed him to plunge the knife into his closest friend's back…or chest, or shoulder, or stomach…and all the other accursed places he had put it. All he could remember was the single sound that had escaped from his best friend's lips: his name. Soft, plaintive, and heart-wrenchingly betrayed. The Elven prince from Mirkwood wasn't even sure how it had all started. He knew that he and Aragorn had traveled south with Halbarad and a few other Rangers to investigate a rumor of an odd happening; and he knew that on the return journey, close to home after they had split with the Rangers, he and his companion had become separated. Beyond that, however, he could not remember a single thing more until Aragorn's voice had pulled him back, stopping him from delivering what would have been the fatal blow. In utter shock and horror he had carried the injured man back to Imladris and his surrogate father and brothers. Some previously unknown strength had explained to the Elf lord and his heirs just what tragedy had befallen the younger being. He'd actually expected them to kill him, or worse in his opinion, banish him from the Elven refuge. But no such thing had happened and it was for this reason that he was now sitting upon the balcony of his usual room: the guest chamber of Estel. His eyes were riveted on the ground below, seeing but not really taking in the flurry of activity in the courtyard, except for the twins. Identical, mahoghony brown heads were bent over the same project—A project that slowly was taking the shape of a box, a crate…a coffin that would carry their little brother to his final resting place.

The words of Lord Elrond after he had seen to his youngest son were burned into Legolas' heart. As he stared at his hands, wondering when those of Legolas Greenleaf had been replaced by those of a traitor and murderer, the words came back.

"An Elven body could—possibly –survive such an…attack; an immortal heart would conqueror it. But…Estel…has neither of these."

It was only a matter of time, and perhaps, the will to live, before Aragorn breathed his last.

The prince looked up to see two pairs of eyes, reflections of each other staring into his dead ones. Elladan and Elrohir were breaking on the inside, their lungs seeming to constrict each time a breath was drawn in. Both wanted so terribly to blame someone or something for the tragedy that had befallen their small, close-knit family, but whatever or whomever it was that they would eventually choose to blame, it would not be Legolas. The younger Elf had become too much of a brother to them, his behavior too much like Estel's for them to shun the SindaLegolas, however, could not see it.

When the twins scurried off with an urgent call from their father, Legolas, too, rose to his feet and shuffled rather lifelessly out into the hall. Elladan and Elrohir bolted past and into Estel's room. When the prince arrived, he found the twins huddled close to their father, a deathly pale Aragorn being the center of their attention. Legolas would have thought him already dead if not for the slight motion of Elrond's hand caused by the rising and falling of the man's chest. Feeling himself go numb and knowing in that very instant that he would die of grief if not guilt first, Legolas backed out of the room and drifted aimlessly through the house, down the steps, and to the forest encompassing Imladris. He could not bear to think of what he would find upon his return—or rather the lack there of. In the distance a rumble of thunder shook the air, rattling the prince's heart in the process. A summer electric storm was brewing and Legolas could feel the static charging the air as he made his way to the powerful presence of the Bruinen. Blood still stained the ground here where the traitorous event had taken place, but it was what he needed to see. He felt the need to subject himself to this mental and emotional anguish as a reminder of what he had done. Growing angry in his grief he chucked a rock into the river and watched as it skipped across to the other side. "If only," were the words ground out between his teeth. "If only—"

"If only what?" he thought. If only he knew what had happened? No, the past was the past and he could do nothing to change it. If only he could help? No, Lord Elrond had said an Elven body may survive the attack, but not a human's. Nothing would help. If only…if only Estel was Elven, if only he possessed an immortal heart –

"If only he possessed an immortal heart, indeed," said a strange voice.

Legolas drew his bow in a single rapid moment. "Who goes there?" he demanded.

From the tree line a figure emerged, clothed in earthly tones, attired in a simple, practical manner most associated with Rangers. The being's face was obscured within the shadows of his hood, but by his voice, Legolas easily identified him as a man. The stranger raised one imploring hand in the Elf's direction. "Do you desire to right your wrongs, Child of Illuvitar?" This last part was added with a touch of mocking.

Legolas felt warnings flare to life within his head, but thought little of them for the grief in his heart. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"'An immortal heart,'" the man quoted. "'An immortal heart could survive it.' Would you desire Aragorn, son of Arathorn, to possess an immortal heart so that he may live to see his duties through to completion?"

The Elf hesitated slightly, wondering where this was headed. At last he said, "Aye, that I would."

"Then tell me, Prince of Mirkwood, would you part with your own immortality to see this done?"

"My immortality?" Legolas was taken aback. The fact that this man knew not only who he was but also Aragorn's rightful identity barely even registered to him in the confused state his mind currently drifted in. "That's impossible. You can not take my immortality from me so freely or easily!"

"Ah, so you say. But you do not know what I know. Tell me Prince, would you sacrifice the gem of your very soul to save the one whom to you is as close as a brother? Would you?"

The Elf was stuck in what he felt was an emotional, timeless void. Give up his immortality to save Estel? Many times he had contemplated sacrificing his very life for the young human with a destiny the size of the world. But his immortality? How—?

"The decision is yours alone to make Prince. But be swift! Offers—blessings—such as this float past as easily as a leaf on the breeze, but as rarely as snow in the summer."

"I—"

Something within the Elf, a light in his heart, suddenly seemed to flicker and die. A cry of utter, complete sorrow rent the stillness of the air. Legolas knew in that instant that Estel had passed from the world. He also knew what his decision would be.

But when he turned back to the man, he found himself to be the only one in the clearing.

Panic ripped through the Elf. He couldn't ignore the offer! He turned in circles, screaming as loudly as he could around the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Yes, yes! My immortality! Yes! Please!" Lightning danced across the sky behind him. The lonely howl of wind was his only response.

With lightening still streaking freely across the sky, Legolas trudged dispiritedly back to the Last Homely House. He needed to apologize, even if only to the empty shell that was his best friend's body. He felt Aragorn should know…

The Elf prince paused, feeling strangely out of breath after having trekked through the woods and mounted the steps to the second floor. After regrouping, he stumbled wearily to Estel's room and collapsed heavily against the doorframe. Elrohir was leading their grief stricken father away from his younger brother's deathbed. Neither seemed to notice the panting Mirkwood Elf as Legolas slipped into the room, nearly brushing shoulders with them. Elladan only graced him with a cursory glance as he staggered to the open balcony. Something didn't feel right, but the Elf couldn't quite place it. The humidity of the night began to affect him in a way it never had before and he felt himself begin to perspire. His stomach churned inside him and he gripped the balcony railing with white knuckles, trying to ignore the rush of roaring noise in his sensitive ears. In his nauseous state, he didn't sense Elladan get up to leave the room.

Suddenly, everything was spinning. The prince leaned over the railing, praying he wouldn't get sick. He didn't hear the great intake of breath from the bed behind him. The sound of his name being rolled off an unexpected tongue would be his last memory of that afternoon.

Elladan turned at the gasp for air from the otherwise motionless figure on the bed. He watched the lips of his young brother form and speak the three syllables of "Legolas" just as the one in question toppled headfirst over the balcony, disappearing from view. With a wide-eyed look at Estel he raced to the balcony, searching for the prince. He lay flat on the ground, two stories down, with one ankle twisted unnaturally. Already Elves were appearing.

And off in the distance, lightening continued to race across the darkening sky.

Elrond had noticed changes in his two youngest charges during the past months of healing. Legolas had taken a hard fall from the balcony that night so many months ago. He had been unable to find any medical reason for why the prince had passed out and Legolas did not seem to remember the events leading up to his fall. Just like he did not seem to remember the time that led up to the brutal attack on Elrond's youngest son, Estel.

Estel…

He truly was a gift from the gods. The lord of Rivendell was beginning to think the young man held an extra special place in Illuvitar's heart. How else could they explain the miracle that occurred that night? Estel had been dead when he and Elrohir exited the room. Not only did his heart and mind as a healer tell him this, but also that of a father. Yet when he had heard Elladan's call and raced back to the room, his son's heart was once again beating within his chest. He was unconscious, yes, but with his injuries and weakness it could only be expected. Elrond had been terrified during the first few weeks that it was all some sick joke and the son of Arathorn would still be ripped away before his time came. But Estel had remained and slowly gained back strength. It had also been a fear in the healer's heart in the beginning that the human's spine had been damaged beyond repair—indeed, when Legolas first brought him back, no manner of testing could stimulate a response from the boy's limbs from the chest down. Now he was having pillow fights with his brothers again. Another day or so and Elrond would allow him out of bed since he'd first been laid there so many months ago. Aragorn was healing so rapidly: quicker than he ever had before!

Legolas on the other hand, was taking long to heal, longer than usually befitted an Elf with a broken bone. They had attributed his loss of consciousness to the lightening and static electricity that night; but that didn't explain why he still required a crutch to get around….

There were no bitter traces of betrayal when Legolas next visited the Bruinen's gentle banks. He'd come in hope of finding solitude. Instead, all he was able to find were memories. And unpleasant ones at that. The prince still was not healed, either physically, mentally, or emotionally. Even now his ankle throbbed and he was forced to take a seat.

His mending bone was not the only thing that burned with pain: he could feel it eating away at his heart, and his mind was one large station of guilt and confusion. No matter how hard he tried he could not recall what had transpired during his brief separation from Aragorn. He did, however, remember what led up to his fall over the balcony railing, although he claimed to Lord Elrond that he didn't. He still remembered, because he was still experiencing it. Even with so many months passed the feelings were still strong, still there. He had just learned to cope better and to hide it so that even Elrond the Healer would have no idea. For the prince knew what sickness was befalling him, but he also knew that the cure was the antithesis of the initial acquiring of the illness…and it was not something he could easily change.

Consumed by his thoughts, Legolas did not realize he was being watched until the newcomer cleared his throat.

"Estel!" the Elf exclaimed, surprised. "Why are you out of bed? Lord Elrond—"

"Elrond is the one who let me out…finally."

The human was smiling at him, all the trust that he had ever held for the Mirkwood archer still shining within his eyes. Legolas wondered how this was possible when he no longer even trusted himself.

The young man seemed to sense his friend's hesitancy, for his demeanor suddenly became solemn as well. "Legolas, I—I was hoping you could tell me what happened all those months ago. You never really came to see me while I was healing and I—well, I don't understand," he implored.

Legolas sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Strider, it—well, you see—I…I don't know. I don't know what happened all those months back. I know it was an egregious mistake, but…I'm as confused about it as everyone else is. Please forgive me, Estel. I never meant to—"

"Ssh, no, Legolas." The young man took a step closer and reached out as though to lay his hand on the Elf's shoulder, but pulled back just before contact could be made. Legolas, whose back was turned, did not see the gesture. "There is nothing to forgive, my friend—" Aragorn's voice trailed off and his eyes grew large. No sooner had he pulled his hand away than he pushed it forward again. This time an almost electric-like pulse had latched onto his hand and held him close to the Elf. Images of that day swept through his mind with the ferocity of hundreds of swarming bees. Aragorn saw the flash of the rising sun upon Legolas' twin blades and felt their skin-ripping tear as they tore into his flesh. The look on his companion's eyes had been dead, as though they didn't see what was occurring. He had been caught completely unaware; the Ranger remembered that, as well as the look of petrified recognition that had appeared when he had called out the Elf's name….

A quiet but sharp intake of breath caused Legolas to turn around. He came face to face with the very look on Aragorn's façade that haunted and would continue to haunt both his waking and sleeping hours for the rest of his guilty life.

The Elf was unsure of how to proceed. If his very presence seemed to cause the human discomfort, then no longer could he provide even touch, which at one time had been so reassuring to the Ranger.

"Aragorn. Aragorn. Estel! Be still, my friend. Be still. You are safe," he said at last in Elvish, hoping to break through the wall of fear that had arisen. With a start Aragorn snapped back to the present. He suddenly found that studying the ground was much easier than trying to meet Legolas' gaze. The sound of the man's boots shuffling atop river gravel was too faint for the Elf to pick up.

Which seemed odd to Legolas.

Just as odd as the fact he was healing so slowly…and his vision seemed weakened…and food and drink didn't taste nor smell as they once had…

"It must be the sickness," he thought to himself.

In the beginning he had been frightened by the changes. But seeing Strider stand before him now of his own will power, looking as he had before save for a few well-hidden bandages and scars…Legolas decided the sacrifice had been worth it. He didn't know what his future had in store for him anymore…now that he was no longer—Legolas tried not to think about that. All that mattered was that Estel would have a second chance to become the man he was destined to be.

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Strider?" he responded quickly, realizing Aragorn had been trying to get his attention for a few moments now.

"I asked if you were all right? You look faraway; you're trembling."

Indeed, Legolas was both. The longer he stayed there with the young human, the more he felt his strength seem to melt away. It was like Aragorn was absorbing it as his own. Or maybe it wasn't his strength, Legolas realized. Maybe it was the critical part of his Elven feä: his immortality. Either way, a great sense of dizziness was overcoming the Elf. He rose shakily to his feet and put some distance between them. Aragorn looked on, concern evident in his blue eyes.

"Are you going to tell Lord Elrond? Are you going to tell him how weak I am and how incomplete my memory?"

With a pained look, Strider reached out to the one being he considered his best friend. The Elf looked at the hand on his shoulder with barely concealed shock. Even after nearly killing him—

"I haven't told Father anything. Nor have I told the twins, and I will not speak a word of it to them until we both know the truth behind all that has transpired. Be not sad, Legolas. I yet live, much to the dismay of many." The Ranger smiled softly at his jest. "You faintly reek of guilt, my friend. I would not have it that way." With a squeeze, Aragorn dropped his hand from Legolas' shoulder and turned to leave. He paused in mid-step, looking back to ask, "You will be along to the house soon? There will be a celebration tonight. For me." He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Father's wish."

The blonde archer gave a small smile in return. "Aye, of course, Estel. I will return shortly."

With a nod the young man left. Legolas noticed with dismay and a slight hint of dread as he sank back to his seat that Estel's boots, clumsy as they were being a man's possession, had left no visible indentations. The simple soles of his own boots, however, riddled the river's banks.

It was time for a hunt.

Estel's wounds were gone, the scars showing early signs of fading. Legolas' ankle had healed and his symptoms were less apparent. They were as eager as the twins to be up and out of Rivendell for a few days and the trees bore their dying but vibrant leaves with pride. Legolas had always loved his home during the fall for the multitude of colors it presented, but for now the prince would have to be content with where he was.

The company of four set out in the early morning, their saddlebags packed minimally with emergency supplies and two small meals worth of food. Legolas sat astride the stallion he always rode while in Imladris, a fiery red chestnut that rather clashed with the prince's blonde hair. He rode with his feet hanging out of the stirrups, the metal bars occasionally bumping against his boots. The act did not go unnoticed by Aragorn, whom reined in his mount until the Elf could catch up. He asked the question of 'Why?' with his eyes.

"My ankle is still tender," he explained somewhat sheepishly, swiveling his toes in small circles. Aragorn simply smiled and trotted on ahead. Legolas had not ridden in over half a year and his horse, Daenár, in more time than that, but he would trust the Elf's judgment on the matter. Unfortunately, his judgment would prove to be mistaken. Barely had they made it beyond Rivendell when the twins called for a canter across the sloping plains stretched out before them. All was well until Daenár gave a mighty, spirited buck. The act was done good-naturedly so that he might inform his rider of his pent-up energy and normally such a thing would barely have stirred the prince's golden hair that flew freely in the breeze. But this time was different. Things known only to Legolas had changed and before he could hope to find his center and balance again, he was unseated and laying on the ground, staring up at the sky. His companions returned to him quickly and the excuse was swiftly passed off that Legolas was rusty and his horse a coiled spring. The prince remounted and they continued on their way.

Until again, it happened.

By this time the twins had grown lax enough that their own stirrups hung empty as well. Even Aragorn's feet dangled freely as they sauntered along a trail deep in the forest. The need arose for the company's horses to leap lightly over a small, downed log blocking the path. A simple enough feat for all it seemed…until Legolas' turn arose.

The Mirkwood Elf replaced his feet in the stirrups prior to his horse lifting off. All went well until Daenár returned to the ground. Upon first contact of the ground by his mount's forefeet, Legolas felt his previously injured ankle give way slightly and he scrambled for balance and purchase with his legs and seat that were not there to be found. The Elf dropped to the ground, watching as the stallion's hind legs came out of flight. He winced prematurely, covering his face and rolling onto his side. For his part, Daenár did his best to avoid hitting his downed rider—as all horses are want to do—but some things are just meant to be. One hind hoof nicked the prince squarely in the back. Once landed, he turned to sniff the prone Elf, wondering how it was that his normally graceful rider was now grounded…again.

The three sons of Elrond reined their horses back in the direction they'd come. They could hear someone struggling for breath and were surprised to find Legolas' horse rider-less once more. Elrohir was the first to find his voice as Legolas' breathing slowly settled out.

"For the love of Eärendil—Legolas, what are you? An Elven prince more than two and a half millennia old? Or a human child no older than Estel learning to ride without the support of his stirrups?"

The two twins laughed at this, not seeing the red flush of embarrassment creep onto the archer's face. He smiled for acting's sake, but the smile did not touch his eyes. Nor did his eyes meet the worried gaze of Estel.

"Legolas—" the human tried to say.

The Elf cut him off somewhat abruptly. "I am fine, Estel. You need not worry." Rising carefully to his feet he tested his ankle. The pain had diminished and seemed no worse for the wear. He flashed a smile at his close friend, once more amazed that anyone could forgive such a grievous act as easily and quickly as Estel had.

Reassured, but still slightly worried, Aragorn passed his mount's reins on to Legolas and mounted the red chestnut. At Legolas' raised eyebrow he grinned. "I want to see what you find so endearing in this monster of a beast, you prissy Elf."

Playing along, Legolas mounted Estel's gelding. "And I, filthy Human, desire to unlock your mad reasoning for appreciating this old hag." Behind the visage of humor stood one of relief: one that Aragorn detected much too readily. The Ranger filed it away with all the other strange occurrences he had noticed in the past half year.

The hunt proved successful for the four warriors and in a few days time they found themselves strolling across the bridge and under the arch of Rivendell. There had been no more mishaps regarding Legolas' riding abilities, but that was not to say other things hadn't occurred. His aim with the bow had been off many a time and his skill for climbing trees reduced to a small, learning child. The twins attributed it to his ankle. Aragorn was not sure what to think. There had been many instances during the trip when he had awaken to find his eyes already partly open. Always, though, Legolas' had been shut, try as he did to hide the fact with his blanket. Which, the young man added to himself, Legolas had needed quite more than even before. He knew that fall had arrived and winter was brewing, but oddly enough he had yet to feel a change in the air…even though his breath often frosted in the mornings now. He wasn't cold, though, so the human didn't question whatever logic may have stood behind it.

Legolas, however, greeted the dropping temperatures differently than he ever had before. He was finding it increasingly difficult to mask all of his new changes while in the twins' and Aragorn's presence.

There had been one time during their trip that a night hunt was deemed favorable. Luckily it had been raining, giving Legolas the excuse to use his cloak and hood. It was a good thing, too, for by hugging the dampened cloth against him he was able to conceal the lack of natural light radiating off his body—the total lack. It had been a pang of both interest and apprehension, however, when he had glanced up at Aragorn. The young man had briefly dropped his hood to push back the hair clinging to his face. By some good chance, the twins never looked back. They never saw how their little brother was lit up like a brand new star just learning to shine. Thankfully, Aragorn didn't seem to notice either, but the Mirkwood prince figured it was just a matter of time.

There was one other thing that frightened the prince. So much so that the very thought of it turned his mouth dry. While bathing in the river one day, he had caught sight of his reflection. Instantly the blue eyes were drawn to his ears. The tips were round and with growing horror, he'd discovered later that Estel's ears were now tipped. The archer felt like he was being taken apart piece by piece and replaced entirely by some awkward, alien creature. He no longer recognized himself anymore. To hide the changes of his ears, he opted to let his hair hang free and restrain only his long, golden bangs. But with the rapid pace of everything happening, he wondered how long it would be before someone found out. Then what could he do? What could he say?

A merry feast was presented the evening of the hunters' return. Legolas spent a prolonged period of time in the deep bath that could be found in an adjoining room of his quarters. Still, when he appeared at the dinner table that evening, he found himself looking only second best…to Strider, no less! The ranger had truly cleaned up. He never looked so presentable, not on his best day, not during vital meetings…not even when Arwen came for her rare, sparse visits!

The Elven prince was not the first who gawked at Estel that night. Nor would he be the last. While the young human flushed miserably under all the unexpected attention, Elladan chuckled and placed his hands on Legolas' shoulders. He led the stupefied Elf to his seat and quite literally clicked his mouth shut. Legolas couldn't believe it. Despite all he'd done to prepare for the dinner, Estel had still come out looking better. The more he thought of it, the more he became appalled. Legolas' own tunic and leggings were actually a slight bit ragged and grubby, as he had run out of clean clothes and had just picked something that didn't appear too terribly dirty. His hair was down to help conceal his ears, but the golden locks were still drying, lending what appeared an oily look to those who were unaware of the fact—which covered practically everyone in the realm of Imladris.

Aragorn, on the other hand, had chosen lighter, more Rivendell colors rather than his usual dark hues. His hair shone from a cleansing wash and his slight beard was neatly trimmed. Legolas narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. Why, Estel looked rather like an Elf at the moment—a Mirkwood Elf to be exact…And the only true Mirkwood Elf currently present looked like—

"A Ranger!"

Legolas' head shot up, focus swiftly returning to his eyes. He found much of the table staring at him. The twins were both laughing.

"You're right, Brother," Elladan said. He repeated what Elrohir had just pointed out. "Legolas does look rather similar to a Ranger at the moment. And Estel! He glows like an Elven prince!"

The color drained from Legolas' face while it rapidly rose in Aragorn's. Trembling lightly he watched Elladan reach for and teasingly tug on Estel's ears.

"Look, Adar!" he exclaimed. "His ears! They're pointed!"

"By the Valar!" Aragorn and Elrohir proclaimed at the same time. The former had used his highly polished spoon to take a look at the topic of his eldest brother's claim.

The Ranger began to laugh. "I used to pull on them constantly when I was younger to stretch them. I guess it finally worked!"

Blissfully ignored for the time being, Legolas somehow managed to compose himself long enough to be excused. No sooner did he pass beyond the dining hall doors than he bolted. He had to get away from the home, at least for a while.

Elrond had remained silent throughout the exchanges at his dinner table. However, upon the abrupt departure of their guest from Mirkwood, the frown upon his face had deepened to a scowl.

Something very wrong was going on under his very own roof and it was not something he particularly approved of.

Legolas' heart was pounding in his chest even before he bolted from the house. He'd told himself since he gave a part of himself away to save Estel that it was all worth it and he could learn to adapt to the inevitable consequences.

His wild flight to the banks of the Bruinen did not stem from saving Estel. Rather, his fears gurgled forth from the consequences. He thought he could learn to live without his immortality…but with his immortality seemed to go everything else that defined him as a living creature…an Elf…as Legolas, son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm! It had become too much for the prince to bear any longer with no knowledge of what surprises may still be to come.

The banks were empty when he raced onto the lightly colored sand and stones. Looking for the entire world like he was expecting a ghost to spring out of thin air, Legolas stopped in the cleaning and turned slowly in a circle, his eyes wide as he panted for breath. Such a simple run as he had just had should not have left an Elf out of breath…but Legolas wasn't even sure he was an Elf anymore…

"Where are you! Hello? Are you there!" he shouted to the wind. He could feel the fear begin to rise up again.

The wind answered.

Spinning, Legolas jumped and turned in the direction he heard the laugh spring from. A cool breeze shifted along his neck and shoulders and it was all he could do not to pull his tunic closer about him for warmth. When he turned around again, the darkly cloaked man was staring at him. He took a menacing step towards the Elf, involuntarily causing Legolas to move back. It seemed that, with his immortality, his steel reserves had also fled. It was this creature, whoever or whatever he really was, that had taken his soul from him and traded it for an empty shell.

The man could read the apprehension in the other's eyes and smiled. "Here I am," he said in a sing-song sort of way. "You were calling for me, were you not? You tremble, son of Thranduil. Surely yes, you feel the cold bite of the wind as you never have before, but within you I sense much more than an aversion to the weather…Am I correct…Mortal?"

"What have you done to me?" His voice came out in a hushed whisper filled with fear, confusion, and dismay.

"What you wanted, Mortal."

"Stop! Stop! Don't call me that!" The blonde archer was practically ripping at his hair. His eyes were held tightly shut and he appeared to be trying to block the man's voice out.

"But isn't it what you wanted?" The man stepped closer, forcing Legolas to jerk awkwardly backwards, once more out of reach. His tormentor pushed on. "Isn't it what you thought of? What you dreamed of? That your best friend would be immortal and not merely human? Why? So that your selfish heart would not one day be forced to say goodbye and let him go…Is that not what you wanted?

"You can't remember the return from your journey, can you, Prince? You don't remember how noises in the night led you from your silent vigil over the slumbering man. You don't remember how the trees warned you too late or the scent of the reeking liquid that set you to dance upon the door of unconsciousness. You don't remember the knife as it cut you or the potion as it coursed through your veins. But you do remember one thing—"

Here, the man blew into Legolas' face. Images—the entire event—from the first to the last of the rips he had placed in his best friend's body flew into his mind's eye. Legolas winced and began to shake violently as though a mighty tremor had taken over his body. He closed his eyes off from the outside world, but still the images were there, repeating themselves in his mind. Finally feeling overwhelmed, Legolas slid to the ground, holding his head in his hands. Realization dawned when he clearly saw the being before him in his mind. This was the creature that had drugged him, caused him to place all those grievous hurts upon the man whom was very much like a brother to him.

"It was your doing! All of it! All of this!" he ground out between clenched teeth. He was in pain, whether from the memories or some other hurt the Elf was not sure, but it caused him to feel sick to his stomach.

More images sprang to life within his tortured mind. Legolas squirmed as scenes flashed by quickly: a traveling party of humans, all dressed Ranger-like; a woman smiling softly down at a sleeping child, the hand of a man resting lightly and protectively on her shoulder—a man eerily familiar in appearance to Aragorn. The peaceful images shifted to men battling Orcs and women running from the sight. Even blurred as they were, Legolas could make out the sight of two Elves, identical in every way, as they came to the battle site too late. Not too late, however, to save the life of an abandoned child, tucked into the secrecy of a large flowering bush. And throughout it all, lost in the background of each passing image was a man, wicked in general appearance with an air of powerful abilities about him. Legolas knew from the first instant he saw him that it was the man standing before him now, whose face remained shielded from view.

The Elf felt overwhelmed by this flowing rush of information. As his eyes rolled back and he collapsed fully and limply to the ground, he was just able to catch the man's final words: "You presented the offer. Now live with the consequences, Firstborn. Or should I say mortal?"

To be continued...