In the deepest part of my forest there is a grave. It is old, it crumbles, yet it is well kept. The grass around it is green, and it is peaceful. It is not a place of superstition.

It is where I shall die.

It is my fault you see, my fault that he lies dying in his bed. I ran two days ago, I know that he will not miss me.

None of them will.

I was sorry, so very sorry. But how…how can I watch a friend die, and know I did it. It is by my hands he will die. Oh yes, I betrayed him.

But do not judge me by that, for I did not wish to.

I had my reasons, reasons which you will never understand, but you must know them nonetheless, I will not have a stranger condemning me for things that were out of my control.

We were captured, my friend and I. Yes, that sort of thing always does happen to us. I was given a choice, a heartbreaking choice.

To kill him…or to watch him die by burning.

I tell no lie to you, I was told that I could murder my sworn brother or have him die slowly in the flames.

I suppose it was never a choice.

I had to walk up to him, see the flashes of emotion in his eyes, see that he was afraid, then hurt.

And then…then he accepted it.

Oh it was his acceptance that burned the most. I was allowed one moment, one moment in which I brushed his cheek, trying to convey how very sorry I was, how much I cared for him.

I saw peace in his eyes, I can only hope he knew how he was my very best friend, how close we were…

He was my brother, in all but blood.

I raised my knife, I looked him in the eye and I faltered…could I?

But then I pictured him wreathed in flames…and I knew I had to. Not could, there was no choice. I would have him die by my hand to spare him that pain.

And so I raised my knife again, taking his hand with the other, and he squeezed my fingers as I lowered my blade to slit his throat.

But it could not be that easy.

I was told to stab him in the stomach, or slit his wrists, it was my choice.

Choice.

And so I stabbed him in the stomach, and held him as he lay dieing. I soothed him as best I could….but….he was going to die.

And then they came, rescuing us from the jaws of death, and he warriors tore him away from me, shooting me disgusted looks.

They wouldn't understand, couldn't. And neither do you.

So, dear stranger, I leave you now. It is my turn to die. And maybe he will live, maybe he wont. But this day I will die, in my forest, by this grave.

There is no choice.

This can be read from either Aragorn or Legolas' point of view, it IS one of them, but it's a subtle clue! Enjoy, and please review!