Here is chapter seven! Please keep those wonderful reviews coming! Tin and I really appreciate them very much, plus I could use a little self-esteem booster.

Pictures are Thursday for school and my mom tried to cut my hair and cut the bangs way too short. I normally don't worry about appearances that much but this was just ridiculous! I feel like an idiot since they come midway down my forehead and the rest of my hair is long and wavy and I cannot wait until a month or two when they grow out. The may look good on someone else but not me. LOL!

Ripples

CHAPTER SEVEN

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Out of Our Hands

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Rána had been very lucky, or more accurately, unnaturally lucky, Lostiâ concluded as he amend his grip on Legolas, unconscious before him, and then demanded more speed of his horse, which was already going reasonably fast. Arandur and his Elves had conveniently, for everyone concerned, been there on time. More over, Lostia had to admit he was pleasantly astonished.

He undoubtedly trusted Rána, though he knew his planning skills (or the lack of them) could use more than a little more work or well planning. Though he wasn't sure 'work' or 'planning' were really the right words. 'Practice' or even 'consideration' might be more appropriate. But despite everything, Rána had been his friend since time out of mind.

However Arandur was another story completely, Lostiâ grumbled to himself. The green-eyed creature had been and still was a member of his contingent for nigh on nineteen –no, twenty, years. This wasn't to say his trust for the secretive and rather secluded Elf was anything worth speaking of. He had allowed Arandur and a few of his friends to his regiment because he really had no other choice and because Rána had advocated strongly in their favor. Initially Lostiâ had not thought it was a good idea but he had been pressed into agreement more or less by a constant asking of acceptance.

For a while things have gone well, but then his initial suspicions had returned when he had become aware of how elusive and secretive Arandur and his companions really were. It was disconcerting and that was putting things mildly. He noticed they never mingled well and didn't seem to be overly friendly with anyone.

Frowning, he looked at the woods surrounding them, knowing they were still far less than safe. If they reached their destination in under two hours with no assailment they would be lucky. He was grateful that this storm had settled down to a drenching rain with little or no thunder and lightning. And the rain wasn't so bad, because the thick leaves of the forest canopy collected it all.

Legolas' limp body started to slither out of his grip as the horse picked up its pace at its master's bidding. The unconscious prince's head lolled off at an odd angle as though he was dead. His face reflected a ghastly pale color save for a darkening spot on his forehead, where he had been struck. His golden hair fell over the rest of his face like a curtain.

A truly sadistic and entirely cold smile crossed Lostiâ's face as he stared smugly down at his bound nephew. It was an odd thing, he mused mentally. He had dreamed and waited, planed and devoted everything to this moment among one other and now that things were in motion he had no idea how to savor it. So far it tasted rather sweet, but not as sweet as it could be.

'Well then I will just have to make it sweeter. Who said I had to kill him quickly and cleanly?' Lostiâ mused to dissolve his mildly confusing disappointment.

Rána didn't know if he was imagining things when he saw the evil grin on his friend's face become fuller. If he wasn't mistaken the ice and steal had more potency than before and a chill raised the hair on the back of his head.

Arandur rode up stiffly beside him and without warning, his green eyes sparkling maliciously. Rána nearly shuddered as he noticed the dark aurora that had always aligned and accompanied Arandur wherever he went. He had never had dealings with truly turned Elves until now and they frightened him, though he felt strangely drawn to them. He still didn't entirely understand why he had even considered placing half his trust in that belligerent warrior. But he also couldn't believe that he was any better than the one he loathed.

"Rána," Arandur addressed the Elf whom he considered his only real ally, putting Rána immediately in mind of a venomous snake. "He has been…disposed of."

Rána coked his head to the side and quirked a brow dubiously. "How, Arandur is that?"

Arandur only gave a small frown of slight hesitation and uneasiness before he replied. "It was more an accident really. We were riding along the Old Forest River when Voronwë fainted, sliding off the horse and into the stream. That water is magic, you know. We believe he drowned after he fell into an instant deep…sleep?" Arandur questioned as to whether sleep was really the word he wanted to use in this context.

Rána was unamused and equally unconvinced.

Actually though, on the whole he was taking this altogether better than expected. The green-eyed Elf had expected something akin to the break of a perfectly horrendous storm that was chiefly composed of lightning. Rána, however, was just scowling…threatening, Arandur realized with a sick feeling spreading his stomach, like a freed toxin.

"You believe he drowned?" Rána growled, putting emphases on every single word, especially 'believe'. The dark-haired Elf cast a curious look at Lostiâ to see if he was paying any attention to their conversation. Satisfied, Rána turned back to his more personal matters.

Crossly, he waited for Arandur's expectedly clumsy explanations.

"Well we didn't have time to search for the body!" Arandur retorted hotly, but in a low tone, becoming indignant and menacing in his own fashion.

He had done his job after all, and in a way it was a favor because he had done more than he had been asked, making sure none would know Rána's connection. Unless Legolas decided to talk but he seemed…indisposed to do much of anything at the moment. Anyway, he wasn't very appreciative of Rána's incredulous interrogation, though questions were somewhat expected.

"Then there is no way to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is dead then, is there?" Rána's voice rose to risky heights. Annoyed by Arandur's silence, he glared and answered for him. "No! There isn't!"

Arandur felt his jaw tighten and he was about to make a rather uncomplimentary retort but thought better of it. With a sense of satisfaction that made a smile nearly spread across his face he saw Rána work to hide a grimace of pain as his wound troubled him again.

Suddenly, Lostiâ gave an amused snort as he slowed his horse to a trot. His eyes were on the being before him, who was surprisingly awake and blinking slowly in reaction to everything he was discovering about him.

That snort was annoying, the dazed prince thought and didn't make his pulsing headache feel the least bit better. Legolas' awareness was inching its way back, taking its precious time about it and his line of vision, corrupted by shifting black spots, began to grow with clarity. Unfortunately the more he became conscious; the more he became aware of his throbbing headache. But as he became aware of his pain and confusion he determined that these were probably the least of his growing problems and difficulties. For instance he was half off a moving horse depending on someone he didn't trust not to let him fall and barely managing to escape having his eyes poked out by a bunch of nasty sticks. But that was small apples, he imagined, when he took the time to consider why exactly he was 'riding' through the nastier part of the forest half off the horse with sticks trying to skewer his eyes.

Blinking slowly, Legolas told himself he shouldn't be too surprised he didn't remember much of anything because he didn't understand a whole lot right now, as is what usually happens when you are hit on the head repeatedly. He was partially considering giving his head a small shake, but there was no need and no choice either as the horse jolted him painfully.

Allowing his eyes to look at the ground flowing quickly beneath the horse's fleet hooves, he permitted the full understanding of the hazardous situation to sink in. The passing of the dark and well foliaged forest floor was frightening close to hypnotic. And actually, the merging shades of green and brown were fascinating. Frowning, he couldn't help but comment to himself, 'didn't I have a dream like this once?' If he had, he wished he could remember the ending.

Legolas was about to ask just what in the name of blessed Eru was going on when he realized that was going to be absolutely impossible. It was not easy to speak when your mouth was covered with a large and strong hand, but when a thick gag was between your teeth you might as well give it up. But Legolas couldn't dwell on this long because there was a more uncomfortable and more demanding problem vying for his divided attention.

His arms were inactive and the signals from his brain just didn't appear to be getting any obedience from his muscles. They were also unnaturally sore and stiff. Unfortunately Legolas had felt this feeling before, several times and it had never once boded well and he had a hard time believing that this was any exception. His hands had been bound behind his back with thick rope and twined about his wrists with almost unbearable levels of tightness. The reason for his numb appendages and actually, both of his entire hands, was self explanatory.

Wrinkling his forehead as he tried to search his memory for exactly why he was in these circumstances, the prince suddenly grimaced openly. Everything from…well recently, was rushing back too fast, botching things up and making comprehension difficult. After a moment of discerning Legolas understood most of it.

Twisting his neck and head around, his now clear eyes fastened themselves with a steely glare to Lostiâ's mocking silver ones. He had never realized before how cold those orbs were or really, how they glittered with immeasurable malice. The elder Elf smirked with a blinding smile of contempt. Suddenly Legolas was hard put to contain his sudden surprise to less degrading levels as his uncle cuffed the side of his face sharply.

"Look ahead and don't even consider trying a single stunt!" He snapped, not under promoting his aggression and disdain by any means. "I still have to show you exactly why escape attempts are incredibly stupid ideas."

Shivering, Legolas felt all too recent memories resurface as his uncle's words echoed some of King's speeches a little too closely. The last time he had heard those words a fear had been burned in his heart that had been consuming. As much as he hated to admit it, after King had taught him the hard way that escapes were very foolish and very costly things to attempt and fail, Legolas had dreaded the man's wrath.

He had never told Aragorn half of all that had happened, though he was sure his wounds had said volumes about his experiences in those dark caves. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but that he was afraid to, though he was certain Aragorn would never hurt him on purpose. But because of King and his cronies Legolas' limited trust in men had been shaken severely and the over whelming majority of it had come toppling down. Because of King he Legolas found it hard to be so close to a human that he could tell him anything anymore.

Because of King he was afraid.

Legolas could never believe that Aragorn would even dream of truly harming him in any way. For that reason he couldn't allow Aragorn to know that his presence made him slightly on edge, he wouldn't wound his friend with that knowledge. However, it wasn't the purposeful pain that frightened him but the fear that Aragorn would accidentally cause him hurt and then being around human would become unbearable. Wasn't it more than a bit ironic that those closest to you could cause you the most pain so easily? The insanely strong power of true friendship could do more damage than the most notorious interrogator –and within seconds providing the circumstances were right.

But it also could heal.

A sudden thought nearly made Legolas whirl his head back to look at the forest behind as though its floor had turned into a yawning gap in the ground to swallow them up.

Where was Aragorn right now?

Did the human even know all that had transpired and was he tracking him?

Legolas hoped that at least someone knew where he was, but he prayed to every one of the Valar (save the accursed one) that Aragorn would have the common sense not to come after him by himself. Better yet, he would prefer the ranger didn't come for him at all. This was his uncle; his problem and his peril alone, though he was sure Aragorn would think he was being a bit selfish not to share. But Legolas decided with a firmly set will, he didn't much care what Aragorn thought as long as he was safe.

The fact was that Aragorn, no matter what strength he had for a human, couldn't go up against seven Elves and expect anything other than to die. Legolas himself had little enough advantage over them and as of right now, things were pretty disadvantageous. Legolas trusted Aragorn would take all this into account but he suspected it wouldn't be given much consideration.

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There was one odor he could never get used to; Aragorn decided instantaneously as his nose involuntarily crinkled at the coppery tang that hung in the air. Blood, the reeking stench was without exception always overbearing and right now it was filling the room like a toxic cloud.

Aragorn's throat bean to constrict tightly and his body went taut as a cold sweat soaked his skin. The human didn't notice he had stopped breathing until his lungs drew a deep breath of their own accord.

Daring to open his eyes to see what his small candle's miniature flame would reveal, he immediately felt repulsed. Disgust moved mixed with horror covered his face and filled his eyes. He hadn't seen the blood yet but he knew something atrocious had happened and he fully expected to see his best friend's body on the ground.

Crimson tracks, three sets, speckled the marble floor starting from a medium sized pool of blood.

Aragorn began to walk across the room and in the dim light nearly stumbled over a capsized medical cart with its contents shattered and spilled all around it. A dusting of herbs on the ground had absorbed some of the massive amounts of blood, being stained red and clumping into sticky clusters. The intense and bitter tang of the herbs with the crimson fluid was nearly overbearing.

But then Aragorn saw a wicked sight that made every instinct he had scream and plead for him to close his eyes but he could not. There was a hand print over a cluster of broken crockery, a bloody hand print. The fingers and palm appeared to be stretched and Aragorn knew as his own heart bleed in sympathy, that the hapless victim had been ruthlessly dragged across the floor after he was wounded.

His fingers slowly and gingerly traced the fingers of the scarlet print, as though he could grab his friend's hand. He knew this was Legolas' blood without thinking twice. Oh, no, he couldn't prove it, but his squeezed and tortured heart knew it and wept for the pain and terror he knew Legolas had and probably was still experiencing. His own hand was shaking and he clenched it into a fist before he touched it to his brow in frustration and self-directed anger. Closing his eyes, he could vividly see Legolas lying on the floor, desperately needing his help that never arrived.

Opening his silver orbs, revealing the re-rimmed eyes, Aragorn worked not to spill tears as agonizing guilt burrowed into his heart and soul. All this might have been prevented if he had been there.

Seeing tendrils of blood dripping form the wall, running down its white sides in thin and wavy lines, Aragorn followed their crimson trails upward and then his face went as white as a sheet before it crumpled in pain.

There on that brilliantly white wall was a haunting message inscribed in Legolas' dark-red blood. The wall would have to be whitewashed to remove the deep stains Aragorn realized, or to be more accurate, cover them up. They would never truly leave. Those few words, eight of them, had cut his heart deeper than any rebuking lecture his father or brothers had ever given him.

Not allowing anymore time to grieve or hate himself the human, drew his sleeve across his face and turned around, scrupulously studying the footprints with what could be called a professional eye. With alarm he noticed the three print sets on the ground had become two and there was a sign of a struggle by the door. Unless he was mistaken and someone had drawn water form thing air and washed their boots, Legolas had lost consciousness and been carried out. Or even worse, he had been killed and his body removed from the room.

As a side note he took notice that Rána was not in the room and must have been one of the traitors who helped kidnap –or more precisely Elfnap, his friend and stain the floor with his blood. Aragorn felt blinding anger momentarily seize control of his reason as he remembered that it wasn't more than hours ago that he had tried to help Rána after Legolas had accidentally shot him. He was fervently wishing that he could miraculously turn back time and give Legolas the opportunity to send his shaft into the dark-haired Elf's stone heart. It was wish that he was certain Legolas would agree with.

Although he also knew fate may have played a role here. Legolas, after all, was one of the best shots in all Middle Earth and if he missed it was unnatural. Rána should be dead. Interpreting that maybe Rána had something to do before the end, Aragorn allowed his anger to flow through his body and turn into a smoldering fire in his chest.

Following the two remaining sets of bloody prints over the threshold and through the door, Aragorn groaned to himself as he saw the only guide he had at his disposal begin to fade as the precious 'ink' that marked the trail wore off. His thoughts of where Legolas could be were sketchy at best and didn't want to risk being thrown off the trail.

Once again the Valar cursed message pushed itself rudely to the foremost of his thoughts. Written in his friend's blood it was a taunting message and yet wouldn't be if it weren't for his guilt that had laid siege to his heart.

Don't you wish you had lit a candle?

TBC….please review! Pretty please! This is an evil cliffy after all. :) Thanks for all the earlier reviews from our prior chapter! We might not get a chance to do review responses from chapter 6 until later this week around Thursday unless, of course, life chooses to surprise us with a smile. That doesn't mean we don't appreciate them! Quite the contrary! So please keep them coming!