Half Of What You See Repost

by Karushna5

Horse hooves pound on the dirt beneath as a man in black races through the night, a black machete in one hand and a severed head in another. A scream is heard in the night as Aragorn watches the horseman approach. It is his turn to die he can feel it.

Only Believe Half of What You See

By: Karushna5

A/N: This is a Halloween story I came up with while watching The Hollow on ABC Family one night. My muse kicked me and said, "What if the Headless Horseman lived in Middle Earth?" And so this story came into being.

Summary: Horse hooves pound on the dirt beneath as a man in black races through the night, a black machete in one hand and a severed head in the other. A scream is heard in the night as Aragorn watches the horseman approach. It is his turn to die; he can feel it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one that is the least bit familiar. So Tolkien lawyer; you can stop calling me now.

ON WITH THE FIC!!

"I dare you to cross," challenged one voice.

"No, I dare you to cross!" replied another.

In the tavern of the small town of Arensdale, Aragorn listed to two young men bicker. They had been doing it for hours. They were only about sixteen, by his reckoning; one had mousy brown hair, the other black. He didn't know why they were bickering, or what it was over, nor did he care. He was there on a different matter: to investigate a series of murders around the town. Someone was riding through the night, screeching like a banshee. He would race towards random passersby who had unfortunately caught his attention, slaughtering them as he rode by. He removed their heads, then left the corpses to rot where they lay. Aragorn had only arrived a few days ago, expecting to find mass chaos and widespread panic. However (much to his frustration and annoyance), he found that the 'murders' that had led him to Arensdale were only an urban legend, told on stormy nights to scare people. The only problem he had actually found was several teenage boys playing a cruel joke on the locals. He had discovered this the day before, and, of course, the 'gentlemen' involved were currently locked away in the local prison until a suitable punishment could be decided.

Eventually, the two boys stopped their bickering. Aragorn was grateful; he wanted nothing more then to be away from this town and back home where he belonged. He was angry more at himself then anyone else. He was the one who decided to ride for the little town when he heard the silly legend, believing it to be true and rushing to the villager's aid when they didn't even need him. Never in his life had he felt more foolish. His friends and family would have grand laugh when word of this reached their ears. They would enjoy an even greater laugh when they heard the legend about a supposed 'headless rider' haunting a bridge leading into a set of woods on the other side of the village. It was said to be cursed; all who crossed would be hunted by the horseman.

Aragorn smiled slightly–at least he had a good ghost story to tell when he returned home. Definitely a tale that would be useful around campfires and on dark, stormy nights, especially if any younger rangers were present. When Aragorn returned from his thoughts, the argument between the two boys had started again.

"You're too afraid. Admit it!" said the brown haired boy.

"I'm not afraid!" exclaimed the other, slightly smaller boy.

"Then go up there and cross the bridge, or shall I ask your sister to? I'm sure she would!" He said his nose held smugly in the air. The other wouldn't back down from a barb like that.

"Only if you go first," said the black haired boy, equally as smug.

"Nether of you will go; ya hear?" interjected an old man. He was medium height, only slightly taller than the two boys. Graying hair clung to the sides of his face and stubble set a fuzzy shadow around his chin. What looked like once-black hair had long ago lost its shine while gray hairs set at random points among the locks. He was missing two or three of his teeth. "You're not allowed to go anywhere near that bridge. If I catch either of you there tonight I'll lock you away with them other boys in the prison. Do you understand me?"

Both boys sighed dramatically as they answered, "Yes, sir."

The old man sank into a seat near to Strider. Another man, looking to be only in his late twenties, sat with him. He bore a striking resemblance to the older man; perhaps the elder had looked like him when he himself was young.

The younger one spoke, "Don't worry so much, father. It's only a silly legend."

"Humph," grunted the old man. He took a deep drink from the tankard in front of him. "It's not the silly curse that bothers me, but what may reside on the other side of those woods."

In the meantime, the same two boys had begun whispering about how they would steal away into the night and head for the bridge. Aragorn had lived among the elves for several decades now, and though his hearing wasn't as sharp as theirs, it was still better than must humans. Whether he knew it or not, it was because of his Dúnedain heritage.

Aragorn sighed and got up, tapping the old man on his shoulder. Both men at the table looked up at him. "Forgive me for intruding, but they're planning to head to the bridge anyway. You might want to catch them before they do anything foolish."

The younger of the two looked to where the boys were, and sure enough, they were leaving in the direction of the forbidden bridge. Cursing, the younger left the bar, chasing after the other two.

Aragorn started towards his room when he felt a hand on his sleeve. It was the old man.

"Please, sit and talk," he motioned to the now empty seat next to him. "I want to thank you for telling us. My grandsons probably would have gone anyway."

"It was no trouble. I just didn't want to have to have to drag them away from danger in the morning, or investigate another prank."

"I see what you mean," laughed the old man. "Or townspeople truly are sorry for your time wasted; we know you rangers have a hard enough time without racing after every hoax and trick running around in the world." He took another drink "Did you at least enjoy the story? I guarantee it's a grand one to scare off people."

Strider smiled. "Of that I have no doubt. It had me worried enough that I would ride down here." Silence fell between them for a short time before Aragorn spoke again.

"Do you believe the ghost exists?"

"Hmm." The man thought for a moment, "I'm not sure if I believe in it or not, for I have never seen the Headless Rider. But I will tell you what I do believe." The man took a sip of his drink. "I believe that you should only believe part of what you hear and half of what you see. You see, lad, most people believe in ghosts because they want to believe. They go into places others say are haunted, expecting to be disproved. But, what they don't realize is that the tale already has them convinced, and they walk into a supposed terrible area. It is only then they hear all the small sounds that they never bothered to notice before. The settling of a house becomes ghost walking in the attic, voices heard in another room are from the people waking and talking above them, the neighbor's dogs roaming becomes rattling chains waiting to strangle; every sound they hear is not what it really is, but that of a haunting of the undead. However, those who truly don't believe won't notice anything at all. The noises are easily explained, thus proving one fact in life."

"And what fact is that?"

"You only believe what you want to believe. If you believe it to be real, then it is so. If you believe it to be false than it does not exist. At least when it comes to ghosts anyway."

After a few minutes more Aragorn finally left, heading upstairs to the room he had been given for the night. Making sure his belongings were packed and ready for the long track back home, he collapsed onto the bed. It was hard and felt like he was sleeping on a board lined with straw. The pillow was flat, having long ago lost its fluff. He spent most of the night tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position. Finally, late into the night, or early in the morning (depending on how you wish to look at it) he fell into a light sleep.

The next morning he awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. He could hear the other occupants of the inn up and about, preparing to do whatever task they needed before heading back on the road, home, or maybe to disappear for a few hours and come back again when the bar downstairs was open.

Aragorn stood up and stretched. His back was stiff from lying on the hard mattress all night. Maybe I should have left last night. The ground may well have been more forgiving then the bed, especially after the rains, he thought with a grimacing.

He opened the little window inside his room to allow a bit of fresh morning air. He had slept in his ranger clothes so there was no need for him to change. When he was finally ready, he grabbed his coat and left, at last able to leave and put the whole bad experience behind him. As he walked by the open window he heard a familiar voice in the breeze that filtered through. He brushed it off as a simple case of homesickness combined with anxiety.

He left money for the room on the main counter and hurried off to get his horse. What he saw when he opened the door to the outside startled him clear out of his wits. There in front of him stood three familiar faces. Identical silver-gray eyes and a pair of crystal blues stared at him with smiling faces while he recovered from the shock of suddenly seeing his friend and brothers here.

Legolas laughed, "See! I told you he would be here."

"W-What are you doing here?" asked Aragorn, still a little surprised; his tone held a little sharpness.

"Nice to know how much he misses us, eh, Elladan." laughed Elrohir. It had been a long time since he had surprised his little brother.

"Truly Elrohir, but it seems he didn't miss us at all. And after we came all this way to tell him not to bother with this town." said Elladan.

Aragorn blushed slightly in embarrassment. It had been many years since he had last been caught unawares by anyone. Then again, these were elves; if they wanted they could sneak up on him even while he slept, and he would never know.

"Hey!" yelled the voice of the innkeeper. "You boys either come in or leave. You're blocking the doorway!"

The three elves and man instantly moved outside and away from the door. They were still laughing at his expense, but they were soon joined by the man's hearty chuckle. He had missed his friends, and was in fact very happy to see them so soon. Their presence had chased away any and all remaining frustrations and anger he felt while he was here. Ah, what a grand day this would be. Little did he know it might have been his las...

"What brings you here? I hadn't expected to see any of you until I was a least halfway home."

"We had heard you were heading here after hearing about the murders," said Elrohir

"When the rangers told us the full story, we soon realized you were going because of a silly superstition," added Elladan. Sparks of mirth danced behind his eyes.

Aragorn could tell the twins were struggling to hold back their laughter. He knew neither they nor anyone else that heard about this would let the man live it down; it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

"I'm glad to hear you found my predicament so amusing." He turned to the blonde elf next to the twins—his friend Legolas. "So, why are you here."

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "It's nice to see you too. I joined the twins about halfway through the journey here."

"I see."

They reached the stables where the horses were kept. Laughter soon broke out among them. "I did actually find something to do when I arrived. Some of the local children were using the legend as a means to frighten the rest of the villagers."

When they were ready to head towards home, they rode out the back way. Aragorn looked around and saw the 'cursed' bridge, not far away.

Legolas saw it, too, "You keep talking about this legend in this town; tell me, how does it go?"

Aragorn smiled. It really was a good story.

"It all started many centuries ago when man first settled here. They were still fairly small and kept to themselves. One of them was a schoolmaster who had gone insane from a disease he had contracted in the wilds. He had killed many during the night, nearly wiping out all the villagers. One day a few of the men took him past that bridge." Aragorn pointed to the cursed bridge. "They took him deep into the woods. Four walked in; three came back. They had beheaded the deranged schoolmaster and left his corpse in the woodland. A few devious children decided to cross the bridge and sniff out the body. It is said few, if any, who cross it will come back alive."

"To see the body?" said Legolas, bewildered. "Who would willingly want to see a decapitated corpse?"

"Mellon-nin, you be amazed by a child's morbid fascination with blood and gore," answered Aragorn. "Well, anyway, they went in to look for the body. However, when they got to where the body was supposed to be, they found that it was not there. They searched all day but it was no where to be found. Finally, night fell, and there was still no sign of the body. They decided to head back and walked in the direction hey had come from. Soon, they became lost. They realized they had been going in circles and began to panic. A screech was heard in the night sky. Terrified, the boys ran, dodging tree roots and bushes along the way. It wasn't long before one of them could hear the pounding of horse's hooves against the cold ground. The boy ran, calling for his friends, three of whom were already dead. Looking back he saw the attacker, a man in a black cloak riding a dark horse. The young boy was frightened by what he saw. In one hand a dark machete dripped fresh blood while the other held the head of one of his dead friends. The man in black had one feature that remained burned into the boy's mind: he was missing his head.

"Terrified, the boy ran for his life, knowing that if he was caught then his fate would be the same as his friends. He heard the horse coming up behind him. Not far ahead, he spotted the bridge that would take him back to the village. Putting in a last burst of energy, he ran as faster than he had thought his legs could carry him. He reached the bridge, the horseman not far behind. He could almost feel the horse's breath on his neck as he clanked across the wood. Knowing the ghost was close to him, he sensed the knife coming down to take his head. He dived, landing on the grass on the other side of the bridge. There he lay, waiting for the final blow, to hear the horse run past him as the ghost headed for the village. It never got there. There was only silence. Looking back he saw the spirit was gone. It had disappeared. The boy scrambled to his feet and hurried to tell the village elders what had happened. A few days later he died under mysterious circumstances, saying in his final hours that he saw the ghost once again standing before him. He had come to take him because he had escaped. He had gotten away. As the years went by others began to test the legend, finally discovering the ghost could not cross the bridge, but he could still hunt the ones that escaped him. All who have entered the domain of the Headless Horsemen have died."

A hushed silence fell over everyone as Aragorn finished his tale.

Legolas shivered to rid himself of the creepy feeling the story gave him. "Strider, you would make an excellent storyteller, but for the love of Eru don't repeat that in front of the smaller rangers. You know how impressionable they are."

The twins whispered to each other in hushed hurried voices. Smiling, Elladan glanced at his youngest sibling. "Estel, do you believe in ghosts?"

Aragorn snorted a laugh. "No. There are no such things as ghosts."

"Really? Are you sure?" asked Elrohir, a grin ever present on his face. "They say that this one is true. After all, every story has some proof to it."

"All right, I'll prove it to you," said the Ranger. Getting off his horse, he began to walk towards the moss covered bridge. He paused for only a minute when he felt a cold wind rush past him. It did not go unnoticed by the elves behind him.

"What's wrong, Estel? Too afraid to cross?" laughed Elladan.

"Me, afraid?!" Aragorn shook his head. The dark curly hair flew around his face. "I'm not a coward."

Aragorn cautiously walked towards the old bridge half expecting something to jump out at him. What if the legend was true? What if the ghost of the Headless Horseman really did exist? Shaking his head free of the ridiculous thoughts, he repeated to himself: there was no such thing as ghosts. He would prove to the elves behind him there was no ghost, and that he wasn't a coward. Smirking slightly, he stepped onto the old wood bridge. As he crossed, he felt the temperature rapidly drop and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Every nerve in his body whispered to him, telling him that something was wrong here. Something about this place wasn't right. He couldn't back down now; not when his brothers had dared to brand him a coward for not going. He reached the other side with no problems, but as he crossed the bridge and touched the ground he felt something watching him. He could have sworn someone was standing next to him. Looking quickly, he saw nothing. As he was about to turn around and head back something moved in the shadows nearby. He went to investigate. Someone was here when they shouldn't be. Great! Now he had to work again. Being a ranger sometimes had its drawbacks.

The three elves watched as the man walked across the bridge. Elladan had to admit he was sure Aragorn would turn around and say he was Ranger and didn't have to prove himself. But then again, even as a child, Aragorn had despised the idea of ever being a coward on any level.

Soon the Dúnadan was across the bridge and stood on the other side. He walked beyond a few trees and completely disappeared from sight in the dense woodland. Silence followed. Nothing in the area moved.

"Estel?" called Elrohir after a few minutes. Something wasn't right here, he knew. Nothing should be this silent. He began to worry some when Aragorn didn't answer.

Legolas tried. "Strider?"

No answer.

Aragorn heard his name being called. Not finding anything he decided it was time to continue with his plan. He'd show them he was no coward.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

The scream startled all three elves, and they literally jumped off their horses and made a dash for the bridge, each eager to get to the ranger's side. Panic and worry gripped the hearts of each elf at the thought of what they had done to their dearest friend and brother. Unfortunately the bridge was only wide enough for one to pass at a time. They struggled and fought to be the first one to cross.

The elves stopped struggling at the sound of a familiar laughter. Aragorn stepped out from behind a nearby tree laughing. It didn't take long for the elves to realize what had happened. Aragorn had tricked them.

"Estel!" cried Elladan, not sure if he should be happy for his brother's safety, laugh with him, or if he should be straight out furious with the human.

Legolas shook his head, "Valar, Strider! You nearly scared us to Mandos and back."

Aragorn laughed the whole way back to the bridge. "I am sorry. I couldn't resist; it was too simple too pass up."

Soon all thoughts of anger and annoyance at the prank vanished and they all laughed good-naturedly with one another.

They all mounted their horses and began the long ride home. The twins up front, Legolas falling in behind them, and Aragorn bringing up the rear. The wind blew ruffling everyone's hair. As it passed, a voice spoke.

Strider

It was whispered and fleeting, lasting for only milliseconds. Aragorn whirled, looking for the one who had called his name.

Strider

The voice came again this time his name was drawn out some as if to prove the point that something whispered his name in the wind. The words spoken in the breeze chilled him. He felt cold and afraid, as if whatever it was that was calling him was evil.

"Strider?"

Aragorn whipped his head around and found himself looking into the blue eyes of Legolas. "Are you all right?" asked the blonde elf.

Aragorn smiled; it was shaky at first, but steadily grew with time. "I thought I heard something is all."

"Are you sure? We may leave another day if you are ill," Legolas suggested. He knew Aragorn better then anyone else, and he knew from past experience with the man that he would hide his injuries and illnesses until he was home, or until he passed out on his horse; which ever came first.

"Truly, Legolas I am fine. I just thought I heard something." Aragorn moved his horse pass the blonde elf and his brothers. "To prove it, I race you."

With that said, he was off already ahead of the three elves. Taking a quick glance at one another, they were off cashing the human.

They rode for a few days and nights with almost no trouble. They ran into the occasional band of Orcs, and (to their amazement) walked away without a scratch. They were now only a few hours away from Rivendell. Night had fallen across the land as they all slid off the sides of their ever-faithful steeds to rest for the night. In the morning, they would be home. The days had passed rather quickly for Aragorn. They had laughed, bickered, and played the whole way home; he couldn't be happier.

That night while they slept Aragorn stood watch. He looked over his companions one by one, remembering different things about each one. As he sat and pondered all that had passed over the years a voice in the wind spoke again.

Strider.

He looked around franticly searching for the chilling voice he had heard before.

Strider, you are my prey.

Aragorn felt a cold hand grip his throat. Jumping back in surprise, his feet tripped over a thick branch that had fallen on the ground. He felt himself falling backwards towards the fire they had built to keep warm during the night. The heat seared his back as he came close to it.

A strong hand gripped his arm a steadied him, helping him back to his feet. Aragorn looked up at the shocked face of Legolas.

"Are you all right?"

Aragorn looked back at where the woods searching for what had tried to choke him.

"I-I thought..." was all he could manage to say before Legolas stopped him.

"Don't worry." he said. "Are you sure you're all right? We can leave now, if you wish," said the blonde elf.

"N-No don't worry. I'm fine. Something just startled me is all."

"If you insist," replied Legolas, defeated. If his friend wasn't going to tell him now, then he would have to wait till later. "Go to sleep my friend. I'll take over your watch."

Aragorn nodded and went to his place by the fire falling into a rest-filled sleep.

That night he dreamed. He didn't know what he dreamed, but he knew that it was a nightmare.

Legolas watched as his brother in arms fell into a light sleep. Twice now his friend had been disturbed by voices only he could hear. That never boded well. He was worried that something had happened to him while he was in the woods. Perhaps there was more to this legend then what everyone believed.

The next day they headed home leaving only a few hours after the sun had risen. Most of the ride home had been in silence, with only the occasional humming of a familiar tune. Aragorn didn't mind the silence; it wasn't uncomfortable and it allowed him time to think. He didn't want to say anything, but he held the suspicion that he was being followed. Numerous times he had looked back, but found nothing there. Maybe he was sick and just didn't notice it yet?

That night in Rivendell, as the house and its occupants slept, the guards surrounding the Homely House found no sleep. As always, the Elven guard patrolled the surrounding forest. From the top of the tallest trees to the faces of cliffs and the ground below the elves stood watch over their home. Should any danger come they were always the first to sound the alarm and the first to risk their lives to defend their land.

Tonight, Glorfindel was patrolling with his troops. He had watched earlier that day as Elrond's boys and Legolas came home. Normally he would greet them when they passed by but something stopped him. Something about the youngest member of the group distracted him. The air around Aragorn was darkened some when he passed under the elf's perch. The shadows that surrounded the human...he could have sworn they moved with him, as if something followed him beneath the darkness. However, in a second glance it was gone. That wasn't all that worried him; since dusk four elves came to him, claiming a cloaked figure had been riding in the Rivendell woods. No trace of the intruder had been found.

Not even hoof prints, Glorfindel mused. Normally he would have passed off such sightings as the Elf suffering from fatigue and over-work. If that were the case, he would send the poor Elf home with orders to get rest and come back the next night. But four different elves, four separate times, giving the exact same report...he sighed. Something's going on.

To add to the strangeness of the sightings, they had all happened along the same path: the main road to Rivendell from the outside world. So there Glorfindel sat, a little further down than the last sighting high in an old tree whose limbs stretched nearly to the other side of the path. He waited for whomever it was to come down the path so he could finally put this whole thing to rest and get back to what he was looking for when he first showed up: Orcs. He was in a hurry to get out of this tree. He didn't care what other people thought—sitting in a tree for hours was not the most comfortable, even for elves.

After many hours of discomfort his patience was finally rewarded.

A shadow beneath him moved. Out of that shadow came the sound of horse reins and gear. The dark horse snorted, its breath taking shape in the crisp night air. Its eyes glowed red, as if they were on fire. Its coat was sleek and dark enough to blend with its surroundings. The only type of horse he had seen like this one belonged to the Ulairë. The blood in his veins froze at the dreadful thought. If a Nazgul had found a way past the river and various traps placed for them, into Rivendell, they were all doomed and Imladris as they knew it would be no more.

Glorfindel didn't know how long he stared at the creature, waiting for the Nazgul's signature screech, but one never came. The temperature surrounding him dropped to near freezing. At last, the horse continued his walk out of the shadows, rider and all. The rider at first glance was nothing more than a man, robed in black with a black machete in one hand. However, that was not what caught the elf's attention; rather, he noticed only what the rider lacked...

...A head.

Another Elf posted not far from where Glorfindel sat also saw the being. Dropping down from the tree, arrow aimed and ready, the Elf spoke.

"Who is it that enters Rivendell under cover of darkness? Speak now and proclaim your peace, or leave!"

The black horse stamped his front foreleg into the ground in defiance. It was the only warning the Elf had before tragedy struck.

The Headless Horseman charged forward.

Move! Glorfindel mentally yelled. Get out of the way! Move!

The arrow was released from the elf's bow. He had aimed for the intruder's right shoulder. The arrow was straight and true, but sadly did nothing to prevent the inevitable. The arrow passed straight through, not even slowing the man down. It was as if he wasn't there at all. The Elf, in a panic, began firing arrow after arrow: he aimed for the shoulders, chest, heart; even for the horse, but each one did the same as the first and passed straight through the being.

Glorfindel watched in horror of what he saw. The elf's movements were perfect. His aim never wavered; he never missed. The Elf watched as the rider quickly closed the gap between himself and the archer. In one swift movement it was over: the rider raised his machete and quickly brought it through the elf's neck, sending the head rolling to the base of the tree Glorfindel was now standing in. The mysterious rider disappeared into the night from which he came. The blonde elf closed his eyes at the sight before him.

After the shock of what he saw wore off he issued his orders. "Send two messengers to Rivendell. Inform Lord Elrond of what happened here. The rest of you find that rider, but do not engage in combat. He's to be considered dangerous and caution should be taken at all times—no one is to be left anywhere alone."

In the Hall of Fire, Elrond sat, listening to the latest adventure involving his children and their friend. The twins were just reaching the part in which they had found out Aragorn had gone chasing after an urban legend when Glorfindel burst through the door, slamming it shut with his back against it, as if he was trying to keep someone out. His chest heaved with every breath as he recovered from his mad rush from the far end of Imladris. His eyes were wild and frantically searched the room, counting off who was inside. After his mind registered what he saw he let out the rest of his already short breath and collapsed into a nearby chair. Leaning his head back he closed his eyes and tried to slow his racing heart. He was afraid the killer had already reached Imladris; that fear was what kept him from collapsing before he reached home.

Questions were instantly directed towards him.

"Glorfindel!"

"What happened?"

"Are you all right?"

"You look terrible!"

"Everyone leave him alone give him some space and let him breathe a little," ordered Elrond, putting a cool glass of spring water in the Gondolin Elf's hand.

Glorfindel instantly raised the glass and drank in large gulps, the cold water doing wonders for his parched throat. He began coughing when some of the water traveled down the wrong side of his throat.

Elrond pounded on the elf's back helping him remove the water from his lungs. "Easy mellon-nin." Still thirsty, Glorfindel drank deeply from the cup again, "Slowly, Glorfindel, I don't want you to choke on it."

The elf nodded, his lips still firmly attached to the cup.

Draining the last of the refreshing drink he finally told what they were anxious to hear.

"Something in the woods is killing off all the elves one by one." Everyone listened as the blond Elf told them what he had seen. When he finished, everyone was silent.

"He's after me," said Aragorn eventually.

All talk in the room stopped and five pairs of eyes fell on him.

Legolas spoke first, "What do you mean, Strider?"

"Do you remember when we were at the bridge in Arensdale and you and the twins dared me to cross and see if the ghost was real?"

"Ghost?" Elrond asked, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

"Aye, the bridge as well as the other side is supposed to be haunted by a headless man dressed in black riding atop a black steed."

"They say any who cross that bridge to the other side would bring the curse of the Headless Horseman upon them..." whispered Elladan.

"The only way to escape him was to cross back over the bridge, and he would disappear," continued Elrohir.

Aragorn picked up the story again, "But all who made it to the other side died mysterious deaths shortly after they returned. They only lived long enough to tell what they had seen."

"And now he has come after you," said Elrond as understanding dawned on him. Aragorn nodded.

"He cannot be stopped by arrows and swords. That much I have seen. They pass through him as if he was never there...but he can still attack. He managed to relieve three of my patrol of their heads. He raced toward them until he was close enough then with a black machete, he removed the burden from their shoulders," said Glorfindel sadly, weariness and mourning tugging at his eyes.

"It's me he's after." Aragorn rose from his seat and began to walk out his father's door.

Elladan grabbed his brother's arm. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"To stop this rider."

"How? Glorfindel just said nothing can harm him. Neither sword nor arrows, not even Elrond's ring can keep him out." The last part was said quietly. Legolas was frustrated by his friend's willingness to run into the waiting arms of death without a plan.

"Legolas, mellon-nin, I will not stand idly by while a man threatens the place I call home."

"And how exactly do you plan on stopping him?" asked Elrond calmly. His features were but a mask, hiding the fear he felt inside.

Aragorn smiled as he remembered the words of the old man in the tavern, "Because I do not believe he is a ghost, only a man. A man dressed in a black cloak riding a black horse. That is all he is to me."

With that Aragorn brushed off his brother's now lose hold on his arm. He walked out of the Last Homely House to bravely face the Headless Horseman. His family, friends, and many other elves had gathered at the front door. They were waiting, watching, to see what would happen to one of the most loved and cared for humans in all of Middle Earth. They did not have to wait long before a dark figure on a dark horse appeared at the closed gates. Gasps filled the air as the figure walked though the gates as if they did not exist.

Legolas stiffened at the sight of the headless man. It wasn't as gory as he had expected, but it was still as terrifying as the stories said. He watched in silence as the Horseman stood near the gate.

Elladan couldn't believe what he was seeing a ghost. A real GHOST. He had never thought they truly existed, instead he'd believed that they were only tales to scare away the unwanted and attract the brave. Elladan regretted ever letting Aragorn anywhere near that accursed bridge. He hated himself for daring him to cross it. He would never have done it if he had known the curse was true, if he has known his harmless dare would end with his brother dead. Tears of regret, sadness, and anger at himself began to fill the Noldor Elf's eyes.

Elrohir's thoughts ran alongside his brother's. He hadn't thought such rumors of headless hunters or any ghosts were real. Now, with the proof standing in front of him, he did. And his younger brother would pay the price for his mistake. For allowing the ranger to cross the bridge, for his share in what he thought was a harmless dare.

The horse let out a screech sounding like that of the Nazgul steeds before the ghost charged for his prey. Aragorn watched and waited as the ghost came closer, closer, and closer still. His gaze was hard and cold, as was his voice while he chanted.

"You do not exist. You do not exist. You do not exist." It started out soft and grew louder with each chant. "I do not believe in you. You do not exist."

The elves watched in confusion. Was the man blind? How could he not see the apparition before him? It was as real as the dawn. What did he mean he didn't believe in it? He would die!

The rider came closer as Aragorn's voice grew stronger. The rider held the machete ready to take the ranger's head. It would be a clean cut, for his blade never dulled. He didn't care about the others, for they were not why he was there; only the man who escaped him, the human who dared to walk across his bridge and disturb his peace. Why must the living disturb the dead? Why could they not simply take tales as warnings? No matter, for it meant the once murderer would be able to kill once more. To taste the blood as it ran down his blade. To hold the man's head in his hands, to steal the life from another being. That was what he wanted; that was all he craved. Death, vengeance, and bloodshed.

The old man's voice echoed in Aragorn's head as he repeated his chant like it was all he could say. 'If you don't believe it then it doesn't exist.' the simple sentence rolled around in his mind, giving him the hope and power he needed to defeat his newest foe. Soon the Headless Horseman would be before him. It wouldn't be long now. This was it; his fate and life balanced on the delicate thread that would prove him right or foolish. If he was right then he would live to see tomorrow. If he was wrong...well, he hoped his death would not hurt his loved ones too much.

The Headless rider soon approached. In a final burst of energy and with all the power that he possessed, Aragorn shouted, "YOU ARE NOT REAL!!"

The rider passed through Aragorn and became a cloud of dust and smoke as it disappeared into the night, leaving the human barely standing in his wake.

Time seemed to stop as Aragorn feel to his knees. Elladan was the first to move to his younger brother. Aragorn was still chanting though it was mumbled and much quieter.

"Aragorn?" Elladan asked quietly. It was then Aragorn stopped and moved his head to look at his brother. Elladan gasped at what he saw. Aragorn was pale, too pale. His full of fear and uncertainty, his teeth chattered as if he were suddenly very cold.

In a meek voice the ranger asked, "Elladan, is it over? Is he gone now?"

Elladan knelt down to hug his younger brother, "Yes, Estel it's over now. He is gone." Aragorn shivered in his brother's grasp. "Estel, are you cold?"

Aragorn nodded, not moving out of the hold that promised safety and hope, and he didn't want to move, either. He felt more afraid at this moment then he ever felt in his entire life, but the words of the old man once again repeated in his head. These were words he would hold wise for the rest of his life.

"Only believe part of what you hear and half of what you see."

A/N: Well HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Yeah I know it's a little late in the game (shrugs) Oh well.