OK . . . I am really sorry but my computer or what ever is messing with the fic is being really stupid and I do not know how to fix it so . . . you will just have to deal with the little ' thing, because for some reason the apostrophe and quote marks are being replaced with ' and ". SORRY!!!!!!! I tried to make it so that there is the least amount of ' and " things possible so if it sounds really formal and stupid. . . blame the computer or whatever is making it go all weird. If any of you know how I can fix it, PLEASE let me know! (in your lovely little review that you are going to be leaving after reading this messed up chappie)

Disclaimer: I am trying to cope with the fact that I'll never own LOTR or anything else Tolkien created. Do not remind me about it . . .

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Chapter Three: Attempt to Escape

"Lady Talithia, we have received the King's answer."

The woman in black turned to face Mercad, her second in command. "Then tell the troops to prepare to leave," she said sourly. Mercad looked at her for a few minutes. Then left to follow her order.

Within ten minutes their camp was cleared up and they were ready to go. Lady Talithia left the ledge of the slight drop from the cave's mouth where she had stood unmoving during the entire stay at the cave. She took the reins of her horse from Mercad and swung up onto her mount. She led her troops down the mountain at an easy pace, but that did not help them remain on their steeds. Again, to her disgust, she was the only one to remain mounted the entire way down the mountain.

The King's spies had been joined with a small number of armored troops. She laughed at this, she had hoped to make an impression, apparently she had made enough of one that the King slightly feared her.

She nodded at the captain that stepped forward, "I am glad to have your escort to Minas Tirith. I also expect to be shown respect as a dignitary from a foreign land," she paused and looked the captain straight in the eye, "You and your men are to call me by Lady Talithia, and Lady Talithia only. When we reach the City you personally will show me to your King immediately upon arrival. Is that clear . . . Stephir isn't it?"

Stephir clenched his teeth, how did she know so much about them he wanted to know. "Right then, you'll be following me and six of my men. Five will be on each side with ten at the back. I've got more men stationed at our sides hidden in the brush so I suggest you or your troops try anything. Consider yourselves under . . . the entrustment of the Northern Scepter."

"You think that, I am under no ones 'entrustment'. Your King fears me and what I have to tell him. And believe me," her voice became deep and dark, a whisper that only he could hear, "He should fear what I know and what I have seen and battled." Her eyes stayed on him, piercing him. He could no longer hold her gaze and looked away. She smiled slightly. "Are we going to go or not?"

Stephir glared at her, but said nothing. He simply turned and mounted his chocolate brown horse. He set off towards Minas Tirith, hoping that this 'Lady Talithia' would keep quite through their journey.

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Legolas stood on the terrace, looking out to the east. He was still, all except his thumb rubbing the tip of his bow. A slight breeze played with his golden hair; it twisted his hair around his neck and face. He still stood unmoving all except his thumb. Suddenly a strong will overcame him. He threw up his bow and caught it again, throwing it over his back to stay put. He turned and marched down the staircase to the study below.

Gimli and Aragorn were standing by the window, talking in hushed voices. Well, actually Gimli was talking to Aragorn while Aragorn stared out the window ignoring him. Neither noticed Legolas as he crossed the room and slipped out.

He went down to the stables. He came across a white horse, the same horse that had bore him and Gimli through a portion of their travels before returning to Mirkwood and the same that had brought them to Minas Tirith. He opened the door to the horse's box and it stepped forward. He stroked its neck and spoke softly in its ears in Elvish. Then he mounted the beast. He did not like leaving without good-byes, but that was how he had been left; he felt no remorse.

He made it to the gates without disturbance. Not many were out at this hour. He was able to talk the gatekeeper to let him through and was off.

He had traveled for no more than five minutes, when Arwen came riding up. At first she said nothing and rode with him in silence. Then finally he broke the silence; "You should not leave."

"Neither should you, and you are."

"Yes, but you have a reason to stay. You can be with the one you love."

At this Arwen could not find an answer, but still she continued to ride with him. They were a far way from the City when she finally spoke, "Rinathen would not want you to leave. Even to find her."

Legolas stopped his horse. Arwen pulled hers to a stop as well and moved so that she blocked his way. Legolas simply stared at her. No one had openly said her name since she had been taken, at least, not in front of him they hadn't. He glared at her; she knew what Rinathen had meant to him, what she still meant to him. Arwen returned the glare, she did not move or show any sign of intending to do so until he turned around and returned to Minas Tirith.

"I did not want orcs to take her and they still did."

Arwen would have laughed at this answer if she had not known that he was dead serious. She thought a moment before telling him this. Elrond had told her once a short while after Rinathen had first been taken on a day when she was especially missing her cousin how he knew that Rinathen was still alive, but she did not know if Legolas was ready for this information. "Legolas, listen to reason. Leaving will do nothing. You and I both know that Rinathen is alive, we should be glad of that—"

"How can you know for sure?"

She sighed, "Gandalf said once that he knew that Rinathen was still alive because you were." She looked him straight in the eyes, "He said that you and Rinathen have some sort of . . . special connection, so you can know what state the other is in. Do you remember when you were very sick twelve years ago? That was because Rinathen was very sick, or . . . she . . . well, never mind, we know that's not the case. But that knowledge that she was – and is – still alive, is what kept you alive. It's what kept your hope up and all our hopes up."

Legolas was no longer looking at her; he was looking down at his hands, "I . . . I know . . . I always felt that connection, I knew that was how I knew I would see her again when everyone else said I wouldn't (although not to me). I know she is still alive, I can feel it, but . . . why do I feel . . . that she's . . . gone?"

"What?"

"I do not know. It just feels like . . . she's . . . I do not know. She is still alive, I can feel that much, but . . . I do not feel her anymore. It's like she just vanished. It's been like that for awhile, it happened almost immediately after I first recovered from being sick twelve years ago, but . . . it's stronger now. It feels . . .like she's hiding from me."

Arwen looked at him; he was not the young, strong-willed elven warrior he had been before Rinathen was taken, or during his part in the War when she looked at him. He looked beaten down, like the only survivor from a long battle, remembering all his comrades that had lost their lives while he had lived. He looked sad, and she saw the caring for Rinathen in his eyes. A look that she had not seen in fifteen years. Those caring eyes had been there right along with the look of pure terror, as Legolas had fought to rescue Rinathen from her captor.

Arwen put her hand out and touched his shoulder. He glanced up at her through the tears that were threatening to fall; she looked grim. "Aragorn thinks we shall find out soon. He believes that Rinathen has something to do with the people that came out of Mordor."

Legolas looked out towards the road now. He had a fleeting vision of a blonde woman, dressed all in black. She pulled back her hair and reveled –

But Legolas never saw what she reveled, for he fell forward onto his horse, a sharp pain shooting through his body. He passed out. Blood began spilling from the exact spot of an old wound that he had received fifteen years before from a black arrow- identical to the one that protruded from his newly blood-stained tunic that very moment.

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Am I evil for stopping there? (If the answer is yes) Thank you! I could not agree more! :~) (If the answer is no) Fine then! Be that way! Sheesh! :~P

Thank you all, my wonderful reviewers **hands out big yummy cookies**