AN: I know that some stuff that happens in this fic seem seriously screwed up. And I know Aragorn has not yet given a logical reason for Merry's murder. But he has one. It's just kind of all building up to it. But soon!

Oh, and as for Aragorn telling Sam after playacting for so long, sorry if I didn't make it clear, but Aragorn was starting to doubt his ability to continue for much longer. And so gave up, unaware of the fact that Sam was entirely convinced. Sorry for the unclearness there. Anyway... on with the fic!



You won't get away with this.

You will get caught.

Pippin will tell, and you'll meet the Death Penalty before you can do a thing about it.

"Pippin's too frightened to tell." Aragorn replied defiantly, but a little uneasily. He wasn't used to talking to strange, whispery voices in his head, and he had to admit, there was truth in the words that were spoken to him.

Why should he be? If he tells, what could you possibly do about it? You'll be dead, Aragorn, son of Arathorn.

"He doesn't see that."

Oh doesn't he? He has already spoken to Merry.

"Merry?"

Yes, Merry. Merry told him what he must do. And he would have, if you had not killed me, and reminded him what would happen.

The dead elf's voice was driving him crazy, especially because he knew that what Legolas told him was the truth. "Well, then, you did not die needlessly." He spoke bravely, despite his fear. He was not afraid of what the elf may do to him, but afraid of the truth in the words of the dead elf.

There is no such thing as a not needless murder, Aragorn.

"Silence. You're dead. You cannot talk to me." It was a flimsy defence. He knew that sometimes, the world had strange powers over things. And just because he had never heard a dead soul speak to him before didn't mean it wasn't possible.

Oh, can't I? You're just afraid.

"I am King Aragorn of Gondor! I fear no non-existent voices!"

So why don' t you just accept the fact that I'm talking to you, oh great and powerful ruler?

"Do not mock me!"

Why ever not? Don't tell me you fear being mocked, then?

"I fear nothing!"

Oh? So why can I hear the fear in your voice?

This was getting eerier by the moment. No matter how worked up he got, the voice he heard remained calm, and never above a whisper. Occasionally amused, but otherwise, there was little change in the voice Legolas spoke to him with. Aragorn was sure he felt the tickle of breath that normally comes with someone whispering in your ear. His heart pounded, faster, faster. He felt a gentle hand lay upon his arm. He was talented at identifying people, and he knew that there was only one whose gentle touch felt quite this way. But it couldn't be. He was dead, Aragorn saw that that himself. He looked down at his arm, then double-checked, to see what was there. There was nothing, but he could definitely feel it. First on his arm, then slowly running up his arm. "Legolas," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you there?"

What's the matter? Afraid?

The voice was mocking, teasing, and too close for comfort. It sounded, and felt like Legolas was standing by his side, whispering in his ear. Not to mention the feeling like a hand was on his arm, running along his arm, rising to his face, gently caressing the rough, stubbled cheek... and yet, when he waved his arm through the air around him, it only proved there was clearly no one there. It must surely be a trick of the imagination... but he knew what he felt, and it was no mind game. "No." He again replied defiantly, but was beginning to find his own boldness tiring. He knew that this voice, this ghost, whatever it was, knew that he was frightened.

You're lying again, Aragorn. This can't be good for you.

"Legolas?" He repeated, with the same hoarseness in his tone.

I'm here, Aragorn.

"Where?" He could still feel the gentle tickling on his ear, like someone was whispering into it. But there was quite simply no one there. His heart pounded. He had encountered many things, ranging from startling to absolutely terrifying. But nothing was quite the same as having a voice belonging to a dead elf whispering in your ear, a hand that doesn't exist caressing your cheek. It wasn't that nothing had the same fear level - there were things scarier. But there is such a difference between this, and the things he had previously done, not in fear factor, but in situation.

Here.

"How can that be possible? You're dead."

Am I, then?

"You are. I killed you myself."

Does that really mean anything? Just because you killed me doesn't mean I'm gone.

"Yes it does!" He insisted. "It does mean that! You can't still live now that I've killed you!"

Aragorn, you can hear me, feel me, but not see me, yes?

"Yes." He could hear the voice with perfect crystal clarity; feel the gentle breath on his ears. He felt the hand, now finished caressing his cheek, now gently lying on his arm again.

Look carefully. Try and see me.

In the darkness, Aragorn strained his eyes to try and see. He knew it was useless, it was too dark to see a thing, and there was surely nothing to see. But nonetheless, he peered through the darkness, all around him, and tried to find the 'ghost'. "You aren't here." He scoffed, though still with significant unease. "You're just not here."

"Oh I'm not?" Slowly, right before his eyes, a figure began to materialize, seemingly from nowhere. A hand was resting on his arm, but slowly run up to his chest, accompanied by the other hand. Long blonde hair hung around the fair elvish face, which was now directly in front of him, as opposed to leaning across to whisper in his ear.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, watching the elf materialize. At first, the figure was barely visible, but began to become clearer, and clearer, until finally he was totally opaque. "But... how is it possible? You're..."

Smiling serenely, the elf nodded. He seemed quite calm, and not at all irritated with Aragorn for murdering him. "It is I." He replied, leaning closer to the man in a way that, dare he even think of it, reminded him of that other elf, Tara. Aragorn was, to put it simply, seriously freaked out. An elf that he had killed the previous night had returned, and hardly seemed even annoyed at his death. "Yes, I know, I'm dead. But I have returned from the Halls of Mandos for a purpose."

"A purpose?" Aragorn repeated uneasily. "What purpose would that be?"

Again, there was that so serene smile. "Aragorn, why else would I be here?" He asked lightly, pushing the man backwards. He certainly hadn't expected it to work, but it apparently caught him off-guard. He knelt upon the man's chest, feeling the racing heartbeat beneath his shirt. "You know what it is you've done."

"I know..." He whispered in response, looking into the elf's eyes with distinct fright. "I know what I've done. But how is it you've returned?"

"That's unimportant, Aragorn... what matters is that you know /why/ I'm here. I'm here to tell you that you're not going to get away with it. Pippin won't tell, that's true, and neither will Sam. But I will."

"You're dead, no one will listen to you."

"Oh, won't they?" Legolas asked the man beneath him, still with the same mild tone. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we? Namarie, melamin." (Goodbye, my love) The last few words he spoke were with harsh sarcasm, the first sign of any form of emotion apart from just plain calmness. He brushed down his fine, unmarked attire, and planted a rough kiss in the vague vicinity of Aragorn's mouth. The man squirmed beneath the elf, as Legolas stood and allowed the man to get to his feet.

Aragorn brushed down his own clothes, and childishly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Dinen, edhel." (Silent, elf) He ordered.

"My apologies." Legolas responds in the Common Tongue, smiling amusedly, then slowly disappearing.

Nothing will come of it. That never happened. It wasn't real, only the imagination.

But as Aragorn rubbed his sore chest where Legolas had knelt, he reminded himself that from his experience, imagination didn't cause that much pain.