Story information and disclaimer on Part 1.

Many thanks to those of you who reviewed. I'm glad everyone seems to have liked it thus far! Here's the final part for you. I hope you enjoy.

--Marie K.

Don't forget to read and review!

Hope Immortal

Part 2

The next day found Legolas rising stiffly to his feet. It seemed he had fallen unconscious and remained that way throughout the night. The events from the previous evening had not left him, but at least they no longer felt as though they were boring holes into his very soul and mind. Flexing fingers stiff with cold, the Elf did not hear until too late that he was being approached from behind. It was only the sensation of being watched that kept him from being wholly unprepared.

"Aragorn!"

The human chuckled. "Yes, Legolas. I am Aragorn. You need not announce it to all of Middle Earth."

Legolas flushed at his rather loud outburst. Estel simply smiled before becoming serious. "What happened to you yesterday?" he questioned. "I grew worried when you never returned, but Father said to let you be. Are you well, mellon-nin?"

Legolas took the question the wrong way, thinking that Aragorn had finally caught on. He veered quickly away from the current topic with a question of his own. "Strider, do you remem—"

"Ssh!" Unexpectantly the human covered Legolas' lips with his fingers. He thought he'd heard—there! There it was again! "The twins are calling for us. I'll race you to them!" he explained while at the same time taking the Elf's wrist and dragging him along behind.

Legolas had no choice but to concede the race and tag awkwardly along behind his friend. He hadn't heard the twins, not that he should have been surprised by the fact anymore.

To Legolas, he was running blind through the forest so that Aragorn, naturally, won the race and did so rather dramatically by skidding straight into his brothers. For Estel they hadn't been prepared. Legolas on the other hand—

"Valar, Thranduil-Two," one of the twins said using their teasing nickname for the Mirkwood Elf. "Could you be any louder? You sounded like a herd of Oliphaunts crashing through the forest. Why, Estel here was quieter!"

Neither Aragorn nor the twins saw Legolas wince at the accusation.

"Aragorn? Are you here?" Legolas was standing in the center of the practice range, looking for but not seeing his dark-haired companion. Images from his last encounter with the magic man still flitted through his mind, constantly demanding his attention. He wanted to know more about the enigma of a man and thought that perhaps Aragorn could tell him.

"Here I am." The ranger emerged from behind a target, arrows in hand. "Be right there," was his response to Legolas' unspoken request. The Elf wasn't forced to wait long. When Strider approached him, he was busy fiddling with the arrows' fletchings.

"Legolas, my shots aren't landing where I sight in. They always come up just next to the area." Drawing his bow, he demonstrated what he meant. The arrow landed just shy of a bull's-eye. Strider's aim certainly had improved. The Elf could see that if nothing else. Unslinging his own bow, Legolas sited in.

"Your stance is probably off," he explained. "Keep your toe pointed forward; just the simple direction of your foot can affect the arrow's path." The Elven prince held his breath and fired, letting it out when the arrow was safely away.

He nearly choked on the escaping air as his arrow missed the target completely, flying somewhere into the surrounding forest. The look of utter shock on his face matched that of Estel's.

"Uh, Legolas? You meant to do that…right?"

The Elf worked his mouth like a fish's. "The fletchings," he finally spit out, "the fletchings are bad! And, and the bow: its string has begun to unwind." He shouldered the weapon quickly. If he'd thought his soul had been ripped in two at the loss of his immortality and Elven characteristics, then surely this—the utter loss of his archery skills—was the icing on the cake, the complete shattering of whatever was left of his soul. True, his aim may have been bad while on the hunting trip… but this? Suddenly, the thought of dying didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Try my bow." Aragorn offered the weapon, complete with an arrow, but Legolas refused it.

"Estel, if I may, I'd like to ask you about your time with your parents. Human parents," he classified quickly.

The man furrowed his brow questioningly. "I'm not sure what I can remember, but I'll do my best. What's on your mind, mellon?"

The Elf fidgeted slightly, apprehensive of his question. "Aragorn, the last journey with your parents—was there a magic man of some sort traveling with you? His face always held a scowl and he smelt of smoke and burnt things."

Strider's eyes settled on something in the distance as he concentrated on the faces within his memory. Now that Legolas mentioned it, he did seem to remember a man who always smelled like smoke. Legolas saw recognition dawn and further pressed his friend.

"This man's name: do you remember it, Estel? Did he perish with the rest of your father's company? Was he overly powerful?"

Taken off guard by this barrage of questions, the only thing Aragorn could do was shake his head. "I was young, Legolas," he tried to explain. "I do not remember much more than the foul looks of the man. I do believe, however, that he was deeply loyal to my father. Why do you ask?" He added quickly.

The Elf only shook his head. "It was nothing, Estel. Thank you." He moved to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To my quarters… so that I may write a letter to my father and have it sent before snow covers the mountain pass. I'll see you at the—"

"Noon meal," Estel supplied when Legolas did not seem to know.

"Yes, of course."

Aragorn watched confused as the prince walked swiftly away. Unexpectedly, he spoke. "Hello, Ada."

Elrond, whom had been hiding in the shadows, felt the frown on his face deepen. He'd made no noise as far as he could tell, but somehow, his youngest son had still detected him; for a human, he was very adept at locating Elves, but usually Estel gave a slight indication that he'd heard something at least. Usually he would cock his head to one side, but the young man hadn't done so this time. Estel had changed and was still changing, but it wasn't something he'd quite been able to put his finger on yet. The Elf lord would have to think on it some more, but until then…

"It seems as though Prince Legolas departed rather quickly," he murmured, taking a seat beside the human. Estel studied an arrow that he was twirling between his fingers. "Legolas has been acting a bit odd lately… or is it just I that has noticed?" Elrond looked long and hard at his youngest, but the Edain would not meet his gaze.

Aragorn responded in turn with a question of his own. "Ada, there was a magic man who traveled in my father's company for many years, was there not?"

"Aye, there was." Elrond did not understand the reasoning behind his son's question.

"Tell me about him: his name, his role. Did he too die in the attack?"

Elrond let his thoughts travel to what he knew of Arathorn and his men. True, the Elf Lord knew much of Isildur's heir, but his sons were more familiar with the men that had traveled with them. Still, there was a little he knew…

"There was what one may call a magic man that traveled with your father. Human father." He smiled softly at Estel. "His name was Dorenck. His role as far as my knowledge goes was rather unclear, as Arathorn was never one to use curses or blessings from magic. Still, Dorenck was supposedly very loyal to your father and Elendil's line, and he vowed many a time to do whatever was in his power to preserve the line of the kings of Gondor. If my memory serves me right, he even went so far as to attempt to give Arathorn the gift of immortality. Alas, even such a gift as that would not have saved him that night."

Elrond could practically see his son absorbing all of this new information. He responded to the positive when his son questioned him about Dorenck smelling of smoke. "From the many hours he spent over a fire, laboring on potions."

"Did he die?" It had occurred to the young man that that was one question his father had yet to answer.

The Elf Lord hesitated. "Your brothers say that all but yourself perished that night, although… his was the only body not found. Elladan saw him fall, but there was naught but an empty book and broken vial where his body should have lain."

"Curious," was all Aragorn could find to say. Gradually he lifted his face and eyes, moving the two separately until eventually, he was staring at the abandoned target. Such odd things were happening… "Ah, hannon le, Ada." Aragorn rose slowly, almost hesitating. He flashed his father a quick, small appreciative grin and promised not to be late for the midday meal, then walked in an unhurried manner back to the house.

Later that night, after dinner had been completed, Elrond stepped quietly into his herb room to find Elrohir. The younger Elf was distracted, searching along a low shelf for some herb currently unknown to the Elf Lord. Sensing his father appear, the twin asked simply "Gold vine?"

Elrond reached for a large vial to his right and presented his son with the desired plant. He accepted the forthcoming gratitude, but was reluctant to let his middle son leave quite yet.

"Elrohir, if I may, I'd like to have a work with you."

"Of course, Ada," was the expected response. "Only—only El has a terrible headache and if I could just take the gold vine to him—?"

"Just a moment, ion nín, I will not hold you long." He gently guided his son into a nearby chair. "Elrohir, have you noticed anything odd about your brother?"

"So you've noticed it, too?" The hopeful look on his face belied his inner, hidden mirth.

Elrond's hope, however, was entirely pure. Until, at last, it was dashed by the younger Elf before him.

"I always knew that there was something wrong with him. That Elf hasn't been right since he was born—"

The Elven Lord barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he waved off anything more. "I meant your younger brother. The human? Estel?"

"Oh, of course, Ada…But no…I haven't noticed anything. He acts as he always has: like an Elf. Why do you ask? Should I have picked up on something?"

"What about Legolas?"

Elrohir paused, thoughtfulness stealing over his features. Eventually he shrugged. "He has seemed a bit distant lately. For a while now, actually." Elrohir sifted through his thoughts once more, wondering if there was anything else. No…except… "I suggest he stay here next time Halbarad and the other Rangers call Estel out. He's not only beginning to act like the Humans, but also look like them!"

The two paused as a pathetic, plaintive cry of "El, where's that gold vine!" sounded from the stairwell. When Elrond nodded his head in dismissal, Elrohir gathered what he had come for and started past. The Elven Lord unexpectedly grasped his shoulder.

"Tell the others: word came from Lothlorien today. Mithrandir is visiting with your grandparents. He shall pass through this way when his stay is complete."

Elrohir's grin spread from pointed ear to pointed ear at this news. The others would be delighted at such grand tidings! "Business in the Shire?" he asked.

The other nodded. "Most likely." The smile on his lips, however, did not touch his eyes and Elrohir realized something was still bothering his father. They have previously been speaking of Legolas' odd behavior. Could that be it?

"Perhaps he is homesick?" Elrond did not even need to wonder at whom his son was referring to. Another call from Elladan urged him to wave Elrohir on.

The Elven Lord watched him hurry off, sure that his response was heard by the younger Elf.

"Perhaps."

Time passed so that fall gave way to winter and the first snowfalls. The Lord of Rivendell was becoming increasingly worried over his two youngest charges, yet whatever the problem was had yet to make itself known to him, which irked the Elven Lord to no end.

Legolas continued to endure his changes in silent misery, while Aragorn grew ecstatic with each passing day. He was becoming more of the person he'd always wanted to be—more of the Elf that resided within his heart. His brothers had not noticed a difference, and the fact that he could do things now that at one time he was unable to, did not seem to them the slightest bit strange.

From his vantage point on a balcony high above the ground, Elrond watched his three sons and their Mirkwood guest wrestle in the snow. The prince seemed to have lost his normally vibrant, radiant smile. In all actuality, the older Elf could not remember the last time he had seen true happiness on Legolas' face. Yes, there was the occasional grin, but it was not more than a mask employed by the blonde Elf to hide deeper hurts. It had become much too easy for Elrond to see past the mask, although up until recently he had done a good job of fooling them all. The healer was swiftly beginning to think Legolas had lost all hope. Hope for what, he didn't know, but it was disconcerting nonetheless.

Down on the ground, the Elf being scrutinized collapsed wearily onto the house steps. Legolas felt drained, cold, and grumpy: traits that had usually been laid upon Strider at the end of a long day of snow fights and other escapades in the cool, powdery substance. He watched in a detached manner as Aragorn tackled one of his brothers in the snow. Legolas wasn't at all sure which was which anymore. He'd given up trying to clear his foggy mind enough to determine which Elladan was and which Elrohir was. Now they were simply known as "El" to him.

The troubled Elf let his mind wander as his teeth chattered and his breath frosted on the air. He rubbed his arms briskly to draw warmth, but only when he was sure his companions' attentions were diverted.

Legolas felt that maybe he was finally coming to accept his fate. In the beginning, he had been scared, terrified more than he ever would have previously admitted. Often, he found himself in frightful situations, confronted by something in the wilds that would not have startled him just months ago. But objects that were whole to him at one time now appeared ripped and punctured. Food was bland—wretched to the point that he no longer ate as he should. Wine and other beverages left powerful, sordid aftertastes in his mouth.

With the loss of his immortality came the loss of Legolas' very being and soul. The desire to live lessoned with each new, dreaded discovery. But in most manners now, the blonde prince was no longer of Elven heart. Meaning he was no longer even capable of dying from a broken heart. When Legolas had agreed to the sacrifice for his friend's life, he had truly agreed to a sacrifice: one of monstrous proportions.

A tentative hand on his shoulder roused him from the stressing thoughts that played within his mind. He looked up into the worried face of Estel.

"Are you all right?" the man asked. "You've been coughing for a few minutes now."

"Coughing?" Legolas felt confused, speaking the word as though it was from a tongue foreign to him until the strong itching in his throat grew to its maximum and he was overcome by great, hacking coughs. He had been doing this for a while now, but had managed to keep it a hidden curse. The native of Mirkwood surmised that his lack of focus while thinking had allowed the fits to go unnoticed by himself until too late.

"Yes, coughing. Like that!" Estel squeezed his companion's shoulder, noting how prominent the bone appeared to be.

"Legolas? Are you are right?"

"Yes, yes of course!"

"Truly?" The doubt in the Ranger's voice and expression was readily apparent.

Legolas stood with an "Aye, Estel." It did not occur to him at that moment that the human's more sensitive ears would be able to hear him murmur, "In time I hope to be…" as he turned and walked away.

The news spread quickly. By nightfall nearly every Elf residing in Imladris had heard: Legolas, the Elven Prince of Mirkwood, was ill with the flu. An Elf! Sick! With a common cold of humans, no less! The idea was preposterous… but it was true. Even as Legolas' chilled, yet feverishly warmed body battled the sickness, Aragorn paced the halls and Elrond did what he could. Estel had had the flu many a time as a child. More recently—three years ago to be exact—he had had a particularly bad case during a visit to Mirkwood. Elrond had come to Thranduil's kingdom and nursed his son back to health. But even with these bouts of experience, the Elven Lord could not seem to find anything that eased the blonde Elf's discomfort. This, of course, bothered Elrond to no end…although by no means did it outweigh his confusion for why he was sick in the first place. Odd things were happening still…

The Lord of Imladris was not at all pleased as he left a very ill Legolas to sleep through feverish dreams.

"I don't understand it. He's been so distant since he became sick! What could be bothering him so that he ignores and avoids me at all costs?"

"Caw!"

"That is an idea… could Legolas be embarrassed because he's sick and he's an Elf? And Elves don't get sick?"

"Caw! Caw!"

"I think I should go check on him; just to see what's going on."

"Caw!"

The crow he had been feeding bread to skipped once and flew off when Aragorn pushed himself to his feet. He turned and headed to Legolas' room. Unlike he had done three times that day, Estel chose not to hesitate and back down this time. Up until that morning he had been persistent in visiting with his friend, but enough rejections could turn even the most devout companion away. This time, however, he barely stopped to knock before pushing the door wide.

"Legolas, are you awake?"

No answer.

Typical.

The bed's occupant rested on his side, the tops of his bare shoulders exposed to Aragorn's view amidst the layers of blankets heaped together for warmth. The young man rounded the side of the bed and stopped. He scrutinized the being before him.

Legolas' eyes were closed. In all blatantly true obviousness, he had no idea how someone—someone immortal and immune to sickness—was supposed to deal with the flu. But he did his best and so far seemed to have gotten away with having to expound upon the numerous questions Elrond and his family had for the Mirkwood native. Legolas knew Aragorn had entered the room; knew that he was probably staring down at his "sleeping" from even as these thoughts crossed his mind. But all that he was able to do was that that he had done the numerous other times visitors had come and waited for the estimated time of their stay to pass. True to the times before, Legolas heard Estel rise from his seat after about 10 minutes and walk towards the door. He heaved a large sigh of relief, but realized that he would not have been prepared for the site that greeted his opening eyes even if given time to make ready.

"Strider!"

"Hello, Legolas."

"You're still here!"

"Is that really so bad?"

"How long have you been waiting?"

The human narrowed his eyes, not at all pleased by the situation. "Legolas, I think it's time you and I had a talk."

"A…talk, Strider?"

"Aye, a talk, my dear friend."

Legolas winced. Aragorn's abrupt change of tone felt to him more painful than any physical blow could be.

"Legolas, you've been avoiding me. You've been distancing yourself and carrying some heavy burden upon your shoulders that's greatly in need of being shared. I can sense it. I only wish you would open up to me as you were once so easily able to do."

The Elf could feel himself breaking on the inside. His walls were being attacked by a merciless barrage of good will, something stronger than any mind bent on a desire of destruction.

"Your greatest wishes, your deepest fears—I knew them all at one time. Why can you not tell me now what troubles you so? Do you not trust me as a bearer of your secrets? Have I led you astray at some point and subsequently lost—destroyed—the connection we both cherish so much?"

Legolas felt it just before it hit: a sob that he could not prevent from forcibly shaking his weakened body. Concerned all the more but still desperate for answers, Aragorn kneeled beside the bed and took one of his friend's cold hands in his two.

"If it is still that day," he spoke quietly and slowly, "Legolas, I forgave you for it the moment I awoke. I hold neither grudge nor ill will to you my friend. Strange occurrences have been taking place since I nearly died—"

Legolas felt all manners of defense and pretense be blown away and he finally collapsed under the pressure and secrets that had held him captive for so long. With tears that had been long in mounting now flowing so freely, he gripped Aragorn's wrist with his free hand. "Died! Nearly died! Dead, Estel, you were dead! I felt it within me!" More sobs shook the thin frame and the Ranger worried that his sick friend may hyperventilate in his non-too stable state. Suddenly, the Elf's wet and swollen red-rimmed eyes snapped open, the blueness of those orbs being multiplied many times over by the tears that clung there. With shaky breath, Legolas spoke again. "But I—I couldn't let it happen. My fault—mine. I saw him, the Magic Man. I only did what—what he proposed. Anything for your life, Estel! I gave—I gave—I—"

Thoroughly alarmed now, Aragorn freed his arms and took his sobbing friend by the shoulders, just barely resisting the urge to violently shake him. "Gave what, Legolas? Anta man!"

The prince was still struggling to bring shaky gulps of air in through his mouth as his nose had become rather useless at the moment for breathing. Fear shone in his eyes: fear that Aragorn either would not believe him or would be too satisfied with his new Elven traits to do anything. Through trembling lips he barely whispered, "My immortality."

As he had expected, the human picked up every syllable.

Some form of realization seemed to dawn on Aragorn at that moment. With a hesitancy that made it appear he was afraid of burning Legolas, the young man pushed back a few locks of golden hair and just barely brushed his fingers along the tip of the Elf's ear. Holding back a gasp, he did the same to his own. This time, the sharp intake of air sounded more like an oxygen starved creature finally drawing breath as it escaped from Strider's lips. Breathing hard himself now and with eyes wide, he whispered the name of the one before him. The distressed man bolted from the room and with trembling lips still, Legolas buried his face in the pillow and allowed the tears to come again.

"Ada!"

"By the heavens—Mithrandir, if you'll excuse me just a moment—Estel! What in Valar's name is the matter?"

"Ada, you must come quickly. It's Legolas!"

Fearing the worst, the Elven Lord hurried after his son. Mithrandir looked on momentarily, remembering what Elrond had said of the changes in his two youngest charges and the Prince of Mirkwood's sudden, unexpected bout with the flu. Curious, he narrowed his eyes slightly and walked in a much calmer step in the direction father and son had taken.

Never had any of those gathered heard of such a thing. Yes, there were tales of Elves themselves relinquishing their immortality so that they may stay on Arda for one reason or another. But someone taking the gift—or curse as some saw it—from a Firstborn? As well as the things that made an Elf an Elf? It didn't seem possible! But as Elrond, his three sons, and Mithrandir had clearly seen, it appeared very much possible. An uncomfortable air of silence had descended upon the five companions ever since Legolas had revealed everything and they had left him to an herb induced slumber to discuss the matter at hand somewhere else.

"But how?" Elladan implored, breaking the silence. To his left, Elrohir laid a soothing hand upon his youngest brother's back. The news was affecting Aragorn the greatest. His best friend had asked for a miracle to save his life, but the price that he had been forced to pay was more than any creature should have to surrender. Although…he remembered the brief conversation that had been held between the two friends as Aragorn turned to follow the others out. He had looked to the Elf and said with strong conviction, "Have hope, Legolas! Hope is forever, hope is—"

"Immortal?" A look of amused irony, albeit small, passed between the two. "Yes, Estel: immortal," Legolas whispered. "Hope is immortal."

Elrond sat across the room, his brow furrowed in a foreboding manner. They had been there: the signs, the hints. Suddenly each one seemed clear. Legolas' lack of stealth and hearing. His lack of energy. The deceptive use of his hair. His inability to do the things that were once so natural for him. It was like—

"He's not only beginning to act like the Humans, but also look like them!"

An uncontrollable groan escaped the Elven Lord's lips. Hadn't Elrohir made the innocent comment just weeks before? Of course he hadn't been able to pinpoint the problem. Estel had grown up in a world where he was the only human. How many times had they all wished he was a fellow brother of Elven blood? The change in Estel had been accepted as natural and welcomed with open arms. Legolas, on the other hand, was still the occasional mystery to all but Aragorn, despite his frequent interactions with the family. They had brushed Legolas' odd transformations off as spending too much time around humans, particularly one Ranger whom could usually camouflage himself well enough by simply laying in dirt and mud. Estel had been too preoccupied with his own changes to take the time to see beyond his friend's mask. These were thoughts that made them all feel rather sick themselves.

The only one who still managed to feel somewhat unfazed sat off to Elrond's right, quite contentedly puffing away at his pipe, even though he knew none in the room appreciated the wafting smoke. (Except, perhaps, Aragorn, but he had not yet fully taken up the habit.)

The Wizard, a frequent visitor of the Last Homely House, had rather surprised the House's residing lord by his arrival that morning. He originally was not expected until winter had passed and spring had begun to creep into the valley. But it was not a particularly harsh winter and a little snow had never slowed the Mair before. Truthfully, it had been his intent to wait, but a word of foreboding from the Lady Galadriel and his own misgivings had prodded him to come to Rivendell as swiftly as possible. It seemed their instincts had been right to lead him here. Finally deciding that something had to be done, Mithrandir stood and paused in front of the great fire that forever burned in the peaceful home. He pulled deeply on his pipe.

"The sense of self-blame within this room is enough to smother the fire of a Balrog," he stated sarcastically. The Wizard turned around, pleased to see he had their attention. "Elladan, Elrohir, you out of all of us know the most about Dorenck. Mayhap you should attempt to track him down? Implore of his purpose? Hmm?" Mithrandir raised one bushy eyebrow.

Accepting the task gratefully, the twins quickly exited the Great Hall of Fire. The two did not even bother to stop and collect their cloaks before rushing out into the cool winter air. Estel risked a glance between his father and the wizard before he, too, bolted.

The faintest hint of a grim smile touched Mithrandir's lips. "My friend," he said, addressing Elrond, "why do you not go sit with young Legolas while I give the matter at hand some thought?"

Just as happy as his sons had been to have something to do, Elrond nodded and made his way upstairs.

Mithrandir took his seat up again and puffed away at his pipe, eyes narrowed in deep thought.

The blonde Elf from Mirkwood was sitting against the headboard of his bed when Elrond walked silently into the room. Legolas refused to meet the Elven Lord's gaze, still feeling great guilt and trepidation over all that had happened, not to mention deep embarrassment for having lost what every Elf held dear.

Seeing that his charge still doubted, Elrond chose not to speak for the first few minutes. When he finished with his slight ministrations, however, he stepped back and looked the sick Elf over with both the eye of a father and healer. "Young Prince," he addressed, "you need not worry. Estel and his brothers have gone to seek out Dorenck and set things right. All will be well soon."

"Elrond?"

Mithrandir stood in the doorway, a haggard expression on his face. "I'm afraid I may hold deadly news." He glanced over the Elf's shoulder at Legolas and tried to lead his companion from the room. The prince reached out to them.

"Please, Mithrandir! I would hear what you have to say!"

With a nod of approval from Elrond, the Wizard drew forth a tattered book he had found. It was the journal that Elladan had discovered in place of Dorenck's missing body. At that time, only the first few pages had been filled. The elder twin had brought it back to his father's library, and for years it had rested forgotten. Instincts, however, had led the wizard to it. Upon opening the journal, which he had seen briefly upon his first visit to Imladris after Arathorn's death, the Mair was amazed to find nearly all the pages filled with words. It was an account of some sort of the years since Dorenck's death. Somehow he had fused his spirit to the book. Inside, records could be found of Estel growing up in the Elven sanctuary and later his time with Legolas. The Elf Prince's surprising betrayal and the resulting history sat clear as day upon the bound pages. And near the end, being written even as they watched was the account of the sons of Elrond and their encounter with the spirit of the crazed magic man…

Mithrandir showed all of this to his two companions, their initial surprise as great as his had been. Taking the book in his own hands, Legolas thumbed through the leaflets. He quickly found himself at the last page. The words, which had stopped momentarily, were appearing again. What they revealed chilled him to the bone.

"Dorenck, it is I, Elladan, son of Elrond."

"And I, his brother, Elrohir. We come seeking your presence, Dorenck!"

"My Lord…"

Aragorn jumped as the icy, whispered word brushed along his ear. His enhanced senses were screaming that the three of them were not alone, just as those of Elladan and Elrohir were.

The three brothers swapped startled looks. "Did you—" Aragorn began to say. A particularly icy breeze swept through the clearing, bringing with it the acrid sent of smoke. Close at hand, the Bruinen flowed undisturbed. Movement to the right alerted all three brothers to Dorenck's arrival. Elrohir stepped forward, hands held out in an innocent gesture. He barely took two steps before Dorenck flung his hand outward. A sharp blast of wind knocked the graceful Elf to the ground. Elladan ran and knelt at his side…which left Aragorn exposed.

"My Lord," Dorenck gushed softly, extending his hands. He bowed on one knee and dropped his eyes. Aragorn looked on dumbfounded.

"Why?" He spoke the word like a curse. "You took away the things that my best friend and his people hold closest to their hearts! Why would you allow him to do such a thing?"

"For you, my Lord! I did it for you!"

"Dorenck, it is not such an easy thing to do. It should not be done for anyone, not even I. Whatever you hoped to accomplish must be forgotten. I will not allow Legolas to lose what he has always held dear just to save myself."

Dorenck abruptly stood, confusion shining in his eyes. "But Lord Aragorn, that Elf, the mortal as he is now…I have seen your future together. As long as you remain together, you will be destroyed, whether through protecting him or the curse of old age, I know not. But you cannot die, son of Arathorn! Last heir of Isildur! It is up to you to restore the once mighty throne of Gondor. Do not throw it away to that Elf! Your loyalties lie not to him! They lie with your people: humans. Your survival is all that truly matters."

Finally, Aragorn understood. Dorenck had done what he did to them so that Aragorn would not die of old age, thus giving him a better chance of becoming who he was destined to be. The Ranger did not notice when a gentle wind blew the hair off his ears. Nor did he see the flash of surprise along Dorenck's face at the sight of the pointed tips. The magic man had only attempted to take the Elf's immortality. It appeared now that he had taken more.

Eyes narrowed in quickly mounting rage, Aragorn stepped forward once. "You shame my forefathers," he spit at the spirit. "This is not how it is supposed to be…Step down, Dorenck. Return things as they were and leave this earth for the place where you truly belong: the land of the dead."

Dorenck quickly allowed the confusion and betrayal he felt to melt off his face. "The Elves have blinded you, son of Arathorn. You have the power. Use it. Use it to your own advantage. They are jealous."

"Lies," was all Aragorn said in response.

The anger behind Dorenck's eyes grew. "Very well, my Lord. But you will regret crossing my path," he whispered, a feral smirk upon his lips.

The spirit disappeared, giving Aragorn the impression that he was gone for the time being.

He was wrong.

An exclamation of surprise rose from both twins' lips behind him. Estel turned quickly, stunned to see Elladan high in the air. His legs kicked forcibly and his hands tugged desperately at something around his neck, something that didn't appear to be there. Unnatural static flew through the air, causing the hopeless bystanders' skin to tingle with the charge they could feel. Elladan was obviously struggling for breath; Aragorn knew without a doubt that it was Dorenck's doing. Suddenly, Elrohir cried out and dropped to one knee. He was holding his hand over his heart.

"Dorenck," the younger twin gasped, "he—he's drawing Elladan's spirit out of his body!" Elrohir rocked forward: he was in pain and losing strength, just as his brother was. "I—I can feel it. Estel, he's going to rip my very heart in two!"

Fear radiated off the young human as he helplessly watched his two brothers. What would he do? What could he do! Dorenck was after more than just the twins' immortality. He wanted their very lives and he quite knowledgeably knew that attacking one in such a manner would deeply affect the other.

Despair. Guilt. Helplessness.

These were the things that Aragorn was feeling. Immortal or not, if he lost both his brothers and best friend to this spirit, he would never be able to live with it. He never even realized that the cry of protest and denial that shook the valley was his. He did, however, realize whose voice bellowed up from behind him, speaking commands in the Grey Tongue.

"Misguided spirit, cease your actions! Needless, they are here, and of a wrong purpose. Return to your own world and leave us here in peace!"

There was the sound of a staff striking the ground before a bright flash of light wiped away anything Aragorn could hope to see.

It was his last memory of that eventful day.

Epilogue

Spring had finally decided to grace Arda with its presence again, much to the delight of all creatures that walked in the light. Mithrandir had taken leave of the Last Homely House and its occupants a few weeks before. He claimed to have need of such a hasty leave because he was "long overdue in paying a visit to the Shire folk."

Currently, sitting in his study, Elrond was rather enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. Silence and a sense of calm had been quite rare for a few months now, but for the past week it had been all his. Sipping at his tea, however, he supposed it was a nice tradeoff from what it had been like before the wizard's arrival. Elrond could never thank the Valar enough for allowing him to keep his sons…and the prince. Thranduil would have had his head if something had happened to the mischievous archer. The thought made him smile, although a few months before it was nothing to be laughed at. The road to recovery had been a hard one, and the Elven Lord knew that Legolas had felt lost many times over. The return of what was rightfully his had made a great impact on him both mentally and physically. At one point, he had even confided to Aragorn that he had forgotten who he really was on the inside.

"Then it is my duty as your friend to show you the way back to yourself," he had said, and indeed, by working together, the two had done just that.

It was at that moment that a new arrival touched his sensitive ears—that of a chorus of sound—and his grin grew wider. He chuckled softly. There went his peace and quiet…

"Prissy Human."

"Filthy Elf!"

"Would you two—"

"—just shut up?"

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged amused grins. "We were just joking," Legolas murmured.

"Yeah, just joking." Aragorn reined his usual mount, the quiet gelding, near Elladan and tugged at the Elf's tipped ear before swiftly drawing away. His horse tucked his head and pranced off, feeling spirited in the new spring air. Legolas felt the budding energy of his stallion and smiled.

"Daenár is still full of energy," he managed to get out just before the stallion reared. Legolas lowered his heels further and gripped mane with one hand. With the other he plucked a handful of new, bright green leaves and showered the young human with them.

"No fair!" Aragorn shifted to try and get away, subsequently losing a stirrup in the process. "That's another thing I miss," he growled teasingly, adding to the large list he'd already accumulated. Legolas grinned as he watched Estel fish for the iron piece.

"Personally, I'm fine." The Elf wiggled his stirrup-free toes to emphasize his point and then scrambled gracefully until he was standing on his mount's bare back. Elladan and Elrohir fussed playfully at the prince, telling him that he'd managed to remain uninjured thus far and they preferred to keep it that way. But the archer was having much too much fun to be dissuaded now. He hadn't realized how precious his skills were to him until he'd lost the very thing that made up who he was. With an effortless leap he went from Daenár's back to a nearby tree limb. Those on the ground swiftly lost sight of him until he suddenly appeared beside Estel, swinging freely upside-down with his legs locked around a branch. Aragorn jerked in surprise, then succumbed to the laughter at his friend's ridiculous antics.

"So, mellon nín," he asked, "how about that race?"

Still laughing, Aragorn took one dirt-smudged finger and traced it along Legolas' fair, clean cheek. The prince quickly scurried off, taking that as a no and mock panicking because he was longer entirely clean.

Nearby, the twins shared a rueful grin between themselves and then with their father, whom they could see watching them from a far-off distance, a smile also grazing the elder Elf's features. They continued towards home, knowing the other two would come when ready.

"Yes, it seems things truly are back to normal," Elrohir confided quietly to his brother.

Elladan rolled his eyes and said good-naturedly, "I think I preferred it when Estel smelt better and Legolas was the filthy one."

Bright-blue eyes snapped to attention. "I heard that!" Legolas exclaimed. Beside him, Aragorn, too, suddenly seemed to come awake.

"What? What?" he asked excitedly, his now normal human ears not having picked up what was said.

"Nothing. Or at least nothing that concerns a child."

"Ah, so it's only for the ears of crusty old Elves, eh?"

That did it. In the next instant, Estel was being chased under the arch of Imladris by three 'crusty old Elves.' Elrond's grin grew wider still as Estel slipped quickly past with a brief, "Hello, Father!" He moved to keep from being barreled over by the pursuers.

Yes, things were back to normal…

The End

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