Here I am ! Finally back with a new chapter !!! I'm so sorry it took me that long to write it, but writer's block summer break isn't such a perfect match I'm afraid... I hope you'll like this chapter !!!

"No, my Master, I am afraid it did not work. The man has hardened his mind and isn't so naive anymore... The Witch King have not been able to find an opening to enter without destroying him..." spoke the Mouth in her native Black Speech, head bowed deeply. A tall, shadowy figure stood proudly before her...

"Then, we will have to use our second plan..." the figure almost whispered in the Dark Tongue of Mordor, yet its deep voice easily filled the entire room.

At those words, the Mouth looked up, her large grin diminishing the slightest.

"My Lord-" she tried, but immediately, the figure raised a dark hand and a ring of fire appeared around it.

"Do not contest me, slave ! The man and his foresights are the key to everything, but one is useless without the other. We are running out of time ! Inform the Witch King of my decision !"

Powerless against the Dark Lord himself in all his majesty, the Mouth could do nothing but bow deeply in submission and do as she was told.

"As you wish, My Lord. It will be done." spoke the Mouth, her eternal grin wider than ever.

The Witch King was moving slowly toward the dark room on top of the cursed tower. This was were the dark cristal sphere. The all-seeing sphere. The Palantír Lord Sauron had stolen from men ages ago. He had received orders. From The Lord of The Rings himself. "Weaken the man, use your army, attack Minas Tirith and show him everything."

Painful.

Yes, it would be.

Very painful.

And it was just what they needed.

Denethor was standing, shoulders low, in front of the dark crystal sphere in front of him. Its attraction, the wish to look was so strong... The Steward could not resist it, as usual... He had to look... He had to see his sons... To assure himself that they were alright... The sphere would show him... He just had to touch it...

Slowly, tiredly, as he had done it so many times before, Denethor walked to the pedestal and carefully, almost lovingly wrapped his hands around the sphere. He felt the usual burning feeling starting to spread in his very arms. Denethor closed his eyes. He was used to this.

He only opened them when he heard the familiar black speech reach his hears. The crystal sphere was dark no more, and slowly, an image began to form itself in it. It was a man... A man lying on a bed... In a wooden room... The walls were decorated with tapestries mostly representing horses... Rohan, the Steward recognised quite rapidly.

The man on the bed... He looked familiar... His hair, his beard, his strong shoulders... Boromir !

Denethor involuntarily gasped in shock. He was so pale... Unmoving... His chest... Was barely moving... No... This couldn't be... Not Boromir...

Before he could do anything more, the scene before the old man changed.

A man was chained to a dark stone wall. The room seemed endless around him, for it was so dark that the walls could not be seen.

The chained man was slumped, his head was low, his breathing was heavy... Yet Denethor could have recognised the ginger hair and frailer body of Faramir between a thousand.

The Steward jerked back at the sight and his hands involuntarily let go off the Palantír.

Denethor's breath was suddenly knocked out of his lungs when his back collided with the cold stone floor.

For a moment, Denethor just laid here, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

Everything was over. Nothing was worth it anymore. Gondor was lost, Faramir was lost, Boromir was lost... Life wasn't worth it anymore..

And as he stared at the ceiling, Denethor felt hot tears streaming down his face...

Yes, life wasn't worth it anymore...

Legolas couldn't find sleep, unsurprisingly... Elves did not sleep much, naturally, but also, the young Prince was troubled.

He was worried.

No, not worried, afraid.

No... Terrified...

For one of the only times in his already very long life, Legolas was terrified.

The simple fact of knowing that something had happened in Lothlórien, but not being able to know what was killing him from the inside.

A part of him wanted to see, to see what had happened to his fellows, friends, to his beloved... Yet the other part was reluctant, afra-... No, terrified by what he would discover...

But still...

Legolas turned on his couch for what seemed like the thousandth time and his gaze involuntarily landed on Aragorn... Or, more precisely, on the thing Aragorn had been carrying in his travel pack since they had retrieved it...

The Elf knew he should not look. He knew that perfectly. He did not want to look... Or maybe he wanted to...

But before he could realise what he was doing, the Prince got up.

The Palantír was reaching out for him... It was calling... He couldn't resist !

He walked slowly, quietly, in the Elf-fashioned way towards his sleeping friend, eyes locked on the round form in his pack.

"Legolas, what are you doing ?" he heard the whispered voice of Boromir calling from behind, but he did not turn around.

Involuntarily hurrying as he felt Aragorn beginning to stir in his sleep, Legolas plunged his hand into the pack and grabbed the sphere. The last thing he heard from the real world was his own cry :

"No !"

First, he saw nothing but flames. Undying flames, burning his skin. Then slowly, an eye began to form. An immense one, a burning one. A deep laugh filled all the space around him. Then without a warning, everything faded an he was surrounded by trees. A deathly pale figure was resting on a couch, between many others. Her hair were messy and dirty, her pale blue dress torn into pieces, and her face completely unrecognisable for the untrained eye. A deep and dark cut was marring to the snow white skin of her left cheek. Dark blood was abundantly dripping from it.

Then, all of a sudden, he felt a wave of pain cross his abdomen and the scene brutally changed. He saw only flashes now. A ruined city... An unstoppable fire... A burning tree... A voice... And then nothing.

Aragorn literally jerked awake when he heard Legolas' cry, coming from right above him.

Before he could do anything, the Elf fell on the ground where his back kept arching impossibly and uncontrollably.

What left the man stunned for a moment, was what the Elf was grasping tightly in his hands.

"Legolas !" both Boromir and Gimli cried, hurrying to the Elf's side where they stood quite unmoving, not exactly knowing how to react.

Quite shocked by what he was witnessing, Aragorn gave a quick glance to his pack, to find that the Palantír was there no more.

Less than a second later, Aragorn had his hand grasped tightly around the now shining sphere and pulled it away from his friend's hands.

Immediately, the man felt an intense burning sensation spreading in his entire body and he took a step back, yelling in pain. But his foot tripped and, barely realising what was happening, the Ranger began to fall.

Aragorn suddenly felt the powerful hands of Boromir grasping his shoulders, and gently easing down.

Then, without knowing what happened, the man felt the sphere being sent away from him and the burning stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Taking a deep breath to ease the tremors that kept running through his body, Aragorn opened his eyes slowly, to meet the very worried gaze of Boromir.

"Are you alright ?" asked the younger man.

Aragorn slowly nodded. Even though the pain was fully gone now, he was still very shaken.

"Oh come on you silly Elf ! Look at me ! Wake up !" the panicked voice of Gimli suddenly reached the men's ears.

Without thinking any further, Aragorn literally jumped on his feet and rushed to his friend's side, realising for the first time that all the Rohirrim had been woken up and were now staring at the Elf and his friend, eyes full of worry.

Legolas was resting on his back, pale, unmoving, eyes unseeing... As if he were asleep... Or dead...

Aragorn quickly shook the thought out of his mind as his trained eyes noticed the slow rise and fall of the Elf's chest. The Ranger rapidly grabbed Legolas'wrist to feel his pulse... It was... Normal, not too fast, maybe a tiny bit slower than average, but nothing much... The Elf looked definitely asleep...

Grabbing his shoulder that had not been injured earlier, Aragorn began to gently shake the Elf awake. Unsuccessfully.

"Legolas ? Can you hear me ?"

No answer.

It would have to be the hard way, then...

'Diheno nin, mellon nîn...' [Forgive me, my friend] Aragorn mentally apologised, lifting his hand, before slapping, with a surprising amount of strengths, the Elf's left cheek.

This seemed to do the trick, for the Elf blinked a few times before carefully bringing his hand to brush his pained cheek.

"Estel ?" asked he in a slightly unsteady voice.

All the soldiers around sighed slightly in relief when they saw the Prince was not dead.

"Mellon nîn, why did you look into this ?" the Ranger asked softly, without an ounce of reproach in his voice.

Legolas closed his eyes and blushed the slightest in shame.

"I tried to resist... I swear... But my body simply moved without my consent... I'm sorry, I do not know what happened..."

Aragorn's pressed his lips into a thin line, his yes filled only with a deep understanding.

"It is all right, mellon nîn, I-"

But before the man could finish his sentence, he felt the shaking hand of Legolas suddenly grasping his elbow.

"Legolas-"

"I saw Him !" said the blonde, eyes opened wide and filled with fear.

"What ?!" exclaimed the Ranger, "Mellon-nîn, tell me what you saw !"

"Estel... He's going to attack Minas Tirith ! I saw it destroyed and consumed by an endless fire !"

"Elladan !" called Lord Elrond, just as his son jumped lightly on his white horse's back, perfectly synchronised with his twin brother on his right.

"Adar ?" answered he as the elven lord began to head to him.

"Ion-nîn, I need to ask you a favour." said the Lord.

"Of course. What do you need from me ?"

Slowly, Elrond brought a hand to his side and grabbed a long sword hidden in its sheath before handing it to his son.

"Ion-nîn, I need you to bring Andúril to Aragorn as fast as possible. You will find him on the road that bounds Rohan to Gondor-" explained the Lord, but he was cut off by the protesting cry of both his sons :

"Ada !"

"I cannot let Elladan to venture on this journey alone !" said Elrohir.

"I cannot leave you ! The Lorien Elves need all the help we have to offer !" argued Elladan.

Elrond raised both his hands to put an end to the argument.

"It is the best way we have. As you said, Elladan, Lorien will need all the help we can give. This is why I cannot let both of you to leave. But Aragorn needs our help too. He will need this sword more than anything else. This is why one of you must go, and since Elrohir has better healing skills than you, Elladan and you are the fastest rider, it is you who will have to go."

Unable to find anymore arguments, both twins lowered their heads and whispered a small :

"As you wish, Adar."

Orophin was staring in front of him, from where he sat on his horse. There was an ill feeling in his body that kept making knots to his stomach... Yet he could not quite figure what it was... A warning, maybe ? Or probably the fact that he knew he would never see his older brothers again before a long time... He would see them again, yes. They would meet in the Undying Lands, where they would enjoy the joys of eternal life together...

Yet who knew when the young Elf would have the opportunity to sail...

A hand grabbing his shoulder brought the Ellon back to present times.

"Are you feeling alright, Orophin ?" asked the slightly concerned voice of Elrond.

"Yes, my apologies, Hír nîn. I was barely daydreaming." answered the Lothlórien Elf.

"Good then. I guess it is more than time to go." said Elrond, turning to face all the other Elves impatiently awaiting behind him.

Hope you all liked that chapter despite the time it took me to post it ! (sorry about that again, I'll try to do better next time, but I can't promise anything...)