((WARNING: The end of this chapter has some mildly sexual references. So if you don't like the idea of unwilling sexual relations, DO NOT READ THE LAST PART.

However, I promise that everything turns out okay! . maybe . Please review!!))

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In the cool peacefulness of Lothlorien slender, pale feet softly padded through the night, making not a sound to break the evening's easy silence. Over soft grass and fallen leaves they traveled down stairs of stone to the sacred Mirror.

With lovely, gentle hands Galadriel reached for the silver urn to fill it with the crystal water from the fountain. The soft musical sound of the water filling the urn washed over the Lady of the Wood, easing the tension in her body but it could not wash away the deep concern growing in her mind. The dawn of the morning had painted the sun in red. Blood had been spilt the day before, yet none of her advisors could tell her from where it had come from.

The steady elven hand paused before pouring the water into the mirror. Galadriel knew she could not find peace until she looked in the mirror but her heart feared the answer. What if Ellessar had fallen in battle? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Or would she look into the mirror only to see the death of the gruff, kindly dwarf? Since the elves and the dwarves had declared each other enemies, Galadriel had not spoken to a dwarf, much less befriend one. But there was a certain charm to Gimli, son of Gloin, that touched her heart. To look into the mirror to see him dead would crush that heart.

What if one of the friendly hobbits had perished? A sudden thought froze the blood in her veins. What if the Ringbearer had fallen?

Driven now by fear for the fate of the ring and its bearer, Galadriel poured the water into the mirror. With a tremor in her heart she gripped the stone basin and peered inside. For a moment all she saw was her own reflection. Then her fair image faded rapidly into a bitter darkness that swirled the waters. The breath within her locked in her throat as grisly images started to appear in that darkness. Villages were razed and burned. Darkness everlasting blotted out the sun and plunged each day into eternal night. An unstoppable evil with sightless eyes moved over the land, slaughtering all in its path like a rabid pack of animals. Everywhere it moved it brought death. Everything it touched it maimed. Bow and steel could not kill it, nor could shields hold it back.

Horrified beyond measure Galadriel tried to turn away but an unknown power rendered her immobile. All she could do was watch petrified as the evil continued to roam through the cities of Rohan and Gondor, butchering everything in its path. Her heart lodged in her throat as the darkness moved upon Lothlorien and Rivendell.

She wanted to scream but no sound came forth, wanted to run but could not move. An icy numbness ran up the flesh of her arms. The power of Sauron was loose upon Middle Earth and was driving this macabre force. But how could this be for the Eye still loomed above the tower even now? Galadriel could only think of one reason. If Sauron himself had not yet returned in physical form then his will and his power must have taken possession of someone else. The ring had found another to wield its evil. With the last of her will Galadriel focused her power upon the mirror, searching through the grisly images for the face of the one who now wears the ring.

The images in the water took the shape of her answer and the scream that lay trapped within her finally let loose.

"Galadriel!" Strong hands forcibly pulled her from the entrapment of the mirror. It took the Lady of the Wood a long moment to stop screaming as her body shook wildly. But those hands that held her did not let go as the voice sharply called her name again. "Galadriel!"

Bereft of air Galadriel found herself staring into the wide, concerned eyes of Celeborn who held her. A million words of warning sprang all at once to her lips, but her gasps for air only jumbled them and let them out in small fragments. "Celeborn ... the ring ... must stop him ... coming for us..."

"Who, melethryn?" he asked, trying to make sense of her warning. "Who is coming? Tell me, what did you see?"

There wasn't time for explanation. Galadriel had to send warning and fast. She managed to breathe enough to ease her tortured lungs enough to say simply, "Send for Arwen, quickly!"

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...Aragorn...

The voice, soft as the night wind, filled the ranger's mind, drawing him from his restless sleep into a state that wasn't quite sleep and not yet wakefullness.

"Arwen?" In his mind, Aragorn opened his eyes to find a glowing incandescence floating before him. The shimmer reminded him of moonlight upon one of Arwen's white gossamer gowns. But the light before him did not take shape. He had heard her voice; where was she?

"Beloved," her voice called to him again and the glow reached out to caress his face, feeling much like the touch of her silken hand. Suddenly the immense tension left the ranger and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Melethryn," he softly spoke, "You bring this heart comfort with your presence."

He could almost feel the glow smile. "I feel the turmoil in your troubled heart, beloved, and wish for nothing more than to bring you peace." The smile faded, "but I fear my visit is to bring you a dire warning. Legolas has been taken by the ring."

Aragorn's moment of peace had left him as quickly as it had come. "This is know. We are tracking him." His eyes grew hard. "I swear by Anduril's blade that we will free him of it."

The glow seemed to match his despair. "And if you cannot? It is of this eventuality that Galadriel bid me to contact you. Beloved, she has seen what great evil the ring will do through him if he is not stopped. It is a horror greater than anything imaginable!"

The incandescence began to flicker. Aragorn could feel his senses being drawn to the real world. The fellowship was stirring from their moment of rest. He too would soon awaken. "Tell me!" he cried, his voice rising with urgency. "What will he do?"

"There is no time," the voice of Arwen answered as dream and reality started to blend and shift. "Hear this, beloved, and hear it well. The ring's control of Legolas is almost complete. It needs him to fulfill its plan. The ring will not let him go without a fight. Through Legolas the ring will sustain a legion of evil that cannot be stopped. The only thing that can stop the massacre that will come is to destroy the ring ... or kill the one who wears it."

Aragorn could feel his eyes start to open, could feel himself slipping even more into wakefullness, but he fought to stay here. "There must be another way!" he yelled. Galadriel could not ask this of him. Legolas has been his friend for longer than he could remember! The ranger would rather give his own life than take that of his friend.

Arwen's voice reflected his pain. "Beloved, there is not." Time was short but she had to reach him. "Melethryn it is not death that you bring him but mercy. With ever moment that he bears the ring he is lost to its control. You have seen what the ring had done to Boromir. I promise you this is nothing compared to how the ring tortures Legolas now. It will make him watch as it uses his hands to slaughter his friends, his family. It will use him to kill, to destroy. You know what such evil will do to an elf's soul." Much as he didn't want to hear, he had to admit that Arwen was right. Elves were pure beings. They would seek death before seeking evil.

Legolas's piercing scream still echoed in his ears and Aragorn's stomach turned as he thought of what the ring was doing to him now. The ranger's head lowered in defeat. Arwen was right. He knew what he had to do.

The light of day slowly dissolved the flow and the dream state yet he could still hear Arwen's last words to him. "Go, beloved. The day is early and you are close upon him. One way or another, melethryn, end his torment..."

Finally the dream state dissipated and the ranger snapped awake. They were on the outskirts of Amon Hen. They had traveled fast, pushing through without food or sleep, pausing only to grant everyone an hour's rest. They were gaining upon the elf and if his tracks didn't lie, they would come upon him by nightfall. The rest of the fellowship were quickly gathering their things, paying the ranger no mind. Aragorn was thankful for that; he was sure that he looked just as troubled as he felt inside for what he had to do.

His hand upon Anduril's hilt, he faced the horizon where Legolas's tracks led. A single tear slipped from his eyes as he grieved for his friend, calling to him upon the morning wind.

"Legolas..."

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(...they are coming...)

The oily voice of the ring played loudly in his head. Legolas longed to cover his ears from its sickening sound but the ring's control of him had chained his soul, his will, and his consciousness so deep within himself that he felt like a prisoner in his own body. He could see everything his eyes gazed upon. He could feel everything his body touched. Yet his movements were made without his consent as if he were nothing more than a child's marionette with the ring pulling the strings.

(...you can feel their approach, can't you?...) The voice spoke again as Legolas felt the lecherous touch of the ring upon his consciousness, like the unwanted caress of a hand upon his throat. He felt the power of the ring like a physical body pressed lewdly against him. It left a feeling of evil upon his soul, like black oil upon his bare skin. It turned his stomach and Legolas could feel the bile rising in his throat but he could do nothing but suffer the ring's violating touch.

Under the ring's power Legolas felt naked, vulnerable, exposed. Never had he known such a hell as this, forced to be nothing more than the ring's slave. The elf longed to scream but he felt as if he were in a constant state of drowning in the dark, sticky sludge that was the power of the ring. And the more he struggled, the more that oily voice would laugh, touching him as if he were a pet.

Or worse.

The ring sensed his revulsion and pressed against him more. Legolas could feel the ring's adulterous touch like a hand upon his chest, leaving an oily trail as it ran down his body to stroke him. The elf choked on a cry at the unwelcome touch and the ring laughed to feel his revulsion. He could feel the ring move against him like a serpent's tongue lapping at his ear and lips as cold as ice pressing to his flesh as the ring spoke again. (...so delicious you are, Precious. How I long to taste you inside and out. You are mine to touch ... to take. They cannot have you! Do you really think they can save you, Precious?...)

At the mention of his forgotten friends Legolas's thoughts drifted from the violating touch. Aragorn! A small glimmer of hope lit within him, easing the horrible chill of his prison. The ranger was close, he could feel it. Gimli and the hobbits were with him! Legolas's soul cried with relief.

Yet the ring was undeterred. The hand continued to move upon him, touching him more intimately to squash his hope. (...it will be nightfall by the time they reach us, far too late to stop our plan. And when they come...) Legolas felt the ring move its hand up his hip to touch his left dagger.

Horror seized the elf and the warm feeling of hope quickly froze into terror. Aragorn was walking into a trap!