Well, I have finally got Internet on my new computer and decided that to celebrate I would post chapter ten a little early:) So as always, Tin and I can't wait to see your feedback for this chapter so if you could leave a wee review for us that would be wonderful! Thanks for all of them you have given us so far! They are encouraging and we read each and every one!

Ripples

CHAPTER TEN

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We're All Falling

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Legolas sat in his dark little corner with his knees drawn up to his chin as he rested from the little ordeal he had just experienced. His breath had only just stabilized and blood still oozed from a broken lip as well as from his nose. His whole face felt as though it was on fire and he rubbed his mouth on his shoulder to wipe away the blood since his hands were bound in front on him with unreasonably tight ropes.

Lostiâ had hit him a few more times and continued to suppress his breathing until the last point before he would pass out completely. While Legolas had caught his breath he was slapped into bonds and dragged roughly in a corner without protest. He was too weary from the blood loss, rough ride and abuse to struggle and he also had the common sense to know that getting under his uncle's skin anymore could make things a whole lot more painful than they had to be.

Casting a withering glare at Lostiâ, Rána and the other Elves, Legolas watched with angry eyes as they sat around a warm blaze, drying off and making themselves as comfortable as possible. Not that he wanted any attention from them but the dank corner he had been thoughtlessly shoved in was worse than miserable. He was soaked to the marrow and was continually getting wet from a dripping leak as well as the condensation of the walls. Hampered with bonds on his ankles as well as his wrists, the Elf was unable to maneuver away from the discomfort and he doubted it would have done much good anyway.

Shivering from fear and dark premonitions more than from cold, the captive closed his eyes and tried to block out the feeling of the cave walls closing in…crushing him. It was becoming unbearable and he was doing his best not to break down. The thunder he could not block out and his sharp Elven hearing picked up even the minutest rumble, sometimes creating the illusion that the cave was about to come down on their heads…locking them in the dark, cold stone forever.

Finally not able to keep his eyes closed any longer Legolas opened them one at a time, cautiously, still jerking noticeably as he noticed the walls leering down. He found himself gazing into the concerned eyes of Rána, who had isolated himself from the other Elves, probably because of his pain. Legolas knew his wound had to be complaining a whole lot more than the dark-haired Elf let on.

Diverting his gaze, Legolas didn't say anything and gave a snubbing sort of half snort, not wanting to speak to the traitor. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Rána's eyes on him, absorbing the pain and the fear he was experiencing like a flower absorbing sunshine.

"You're afraid," the elder Elf said, noting how Legolas didn't meet his gaze and shifted restlessly in his ropes. A cold smile spread emotionlessly across his face as Legolas answered without even looking in his direction or lifting his chin from his knees.

"No, I am not," The prince answered in a defensive mumble. Legolas wished he had sounded more convincing but he had never been a very good liar and these Elves, of all people would know that. Grinding his teeth, he tried to ignore Rána's presence.

Rána wasn't about to let Legolas off the hook so easily and he pressed malevolently, "Yes, you are."

Legolas turned his face back towards the other Elf, his eyes reflecting an icy glower that nearly caused Rána to take a step back. His voice was dead as he spoke slowly, nearly word by word. "If I am, it is not of you or of anyone here." Shutting his eyes, intending to ignore the dark-haired warrior, Legolas quickly reopened them and settled their intense glare on Rána again. "Why aren't you over there with my uncle and his friends? Or are you afraid?"

Rána studied the fair-haired prisoner for a moment before he answered slowly, as though he had just thought of a way to put things into words, which really he had. "They are a bit too…dark for my taste."

"I didn't think a cold blooded traitor and murderer was afraid of anything," Legolas spat back bitterly. His eyes looked beyond Rána to the cave mouth where the rain was streaming down in little waterfalls, splattering against the soil. He glanced over at the horses standing unhappily in a corner. A cold shiver trailed up his spine. How dark did Rána think Lostiâ and the others were?

"I never said I was afraid," growled the other Elf defensively, his eyes flashing. He then narrowed his silvery orbs and snapped accusingly, "Traitor? I am not the one who led a horde of blood thirsty orcs into my own mother and family who had come to save me!" He tried to ignore the fact that Legolas had called him a murderer.

Raising his head, Legolas asked angrily, "Is that what this is all about? It was an accident-"

"Just like shooting me was an accident?" Rána snarled back, resisting the urge to grab Legolas by his tunic and shake him. His eyes spoke volumes about the hate all the conspirator Elves felt towards the prince. They seemed to be wreathed with ice and filled with cold fire.

Pushing aside his heartache as best as he was able as old memories resurfaced, Legolas' retort was sharp. "Rána prior to this little piece of treachery I would have never knowingly hurt you or anyone else!" he declared, knowing he wouldn't be believed but having no other choice. "However, right now I wish you were dead," he added resentfully.

"You will wish you were dead before Lostiâ is finished with you," Rána answered coldly. "Do you ever wonder what your mother thought of you before she died? Or what the fate of those captive Elves was? You knew what the orcs would do to them because of their race!" He watched as his words struck a cord deep in Legolas' heart and the prince seemed to shrink and try to become invisible.

He had thought of these things, many, many times and each time was more painful than the last.

Forcing himself not to break down in front of this traitor, Legolas swallowed hard before he answered. "Do you ever wonder what became of Voronwë? You had him banished and I know he has returned-"

Looking over his shoulder to make sure Lostiâ wasn't paying any attention to the two of them; Rána grabbed Legolas by his hair, yanking his head back so he forced Legolas to stare at the cavern ceiling. "Voronwë is dead, Legolas. Your cousin just couldn't stay out of our way and I got rid of him, him and his mentor." Legolas swirled his eyes over to give the dark-haired warrior a condescending glare. "That's right, I killed him and when Voronwë came back he knew too much so I had Arandur kill him too. Shame, I really wish he had died in exile. He was such a good Elf."

Legolas felt horribly. He knew that he should have never let his cousin go with Arandur and his conspiring Elves. In a sense some of Voronwë's blood was on his head and that made him feel sick in a way that no herb could possibly cure. "You have innocent blood on your head, Rána and treason to answer for. You will never see Valinor. The Valar will not let you live for this."

"Then I suppose we will meet again in the after life, hm, Legolas?" Rána purred softly so that Lostiâ would not hear.

"Does my uncle know all you have done?" Legolas asked threateningly. He knew he would never get a chance to tell Lostiâ anything, even if the elder Elf would listen but he felt compelled to hold it over Rána's head. Immediately he realized he had made a grave mistake.

Rána's face went darker than before and Legolas could feel his menacing hate radiating from him as some of his Elven glow subsided. Pulling away slightly from the dark-haired warrior, Legolas felt fear strike his heart as Rána's threat was one he had hoped would have never been thought of as an option.

"If you breathe one word of this to Lostiâ I will have your ranger friend's head, Legolas. I promise I will," Rána admonished seriously. "And he will die hard, I promise you that."

Legolas grimaced as he felt Rána's hand clench tightly and his face seemed to lose some of its color as a pain spasm broke over the wounded Elf. It was frightening to think that the dark-haired Elf was this strong with his wound and Legolas feared that he had underestimated Rána when he was completely hale. The prince noted how blood was slowly seeping through the green tunic, creating a dark and spreading stain, and pulled away as he was slowly released.

He watched as Rána took a half a step backwards, in obvious distress and pain, before he turned and made his way back to the others.

Deciding he didn't want to look at these people any more because he was so disgusted and that the cave wasn't consoling either, Legolas shut his eyes and jadedly returned his chin to its position on his knees. Working to drown out everything, Legolas tried to give sleep an opportunity to whisk him away and give him a temporary reprieve.

He wasn't given much time before the sound of footsteps alongside him and all around him caused him to blink vapidly and pull the world into focus. Giving a small frown of confusion as he knitted his brows, Legolas winced as his uncle gave him a jarring kick in the leg. "Well, nephew, its time for your first lesson. Obedience."

Withdrawing slightly as Lostiâ whipped out a long knife, Legolas asked apprehensively, "what are you doing?" He didn't like to admit he was afraid, even to himself, but he had to. Between now and Farlost he simply hadn't had a long enough period of recovery and this was pushing him to his limits.

Lostiâ quickly severed the bonds to his feet in one smooth motion, allowing the blood to flood back with a painful tingling sensation. Taking a piece of cloth he motioned to two Elves who came and set their hands assertively on Legolas' shoulders, grinding the joints and causing their captive to tense under their touch.

Legolas couldn't help but shrink back as a blindfold was brought up to his face to cover his eyes, making him more vulnerable –entirely at their mercy. Lostiâ cast a weary look at the two Elves holding him in place, giving them a silent complaint that their job needed to be perfected a little better. Legolas immediately felt their grips intensify and before he could comprehend all that was happening the cloth was placed over his eyes and tied off in the back.

Instantly Legolas felt a sense of dependence that made him angry with himself and with everyone else. The Elves pinning him in place by his shoulders released him and he rotated the joints in their sockets carefully, trying to ease the discomfort the harsh grips had created.

Lostiâ snarled his hands in the front of Legolas' tunic and hauled him up to his feet and then shoved him forward, towards the center of the cave. Legolas stumbled slightly before he caught his balance and froze in place, unsure of where to step next and not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of everyone. "Keep walking," Lostiâ commanded snidely, giving Legolas a hard shove from behind while the other Elves snickered audibly.

Legolas went forward a few feet and then stopped, muscles tense. He didn't feel safe enough to take another step. Even if Aragorn were by his side guiding him step by step and inch by inch he wouldn't do this. He had never realized how much he had depended on his sight before and now that it was taken he felt incredibly lost. He had already felt alone. Not seeing the lighting flash he had no way to know a clap of thunder was going to follow and so he jumped slightly as its rumbles bounced around the cave's walls earning laughter from all the spectating Elves.

Feeling shame flush his cheeks, Legolas was concentrating on getting his emotions under control when a blow hit him in the small of his back; nearly sending him to the ground. "Walk, Legolas," Lostiâ taunted. "Every time you refuse to move you will get hit and harder each time too."

Legolas spun around in the direction of his uncle's voice. In a low voice he demanded disapprovingly, "Give me one good reason why I should take a single step." He wasn't voluntarily going to do anything for these people who had done nothing to earn his respect or even more importantly –his trust.

Lostiâ just cracked his knuckles and smiled sinisterly. "I knew there was a reason I loved this game so much."

Closing the space between himself and his nephew, Lostiâ slammed his fist powerfully against Legolas' abdomen eliciting a surprised cry from the Elf as Legolas half toppled and nearly sank to the ground. His wounds were not healed enough to endure much of this abuse and he wondered how long he would last before his weakened state would catch up with him.

Feeling his stomach voicing complaints from the maltreatment, Legolas tasted bile rising in his throat as the urge to vomit became stronger. Coughing as he barely managed to recapture his wind, Legolas was unprepared for a second blow with the exact same placement. "See why when you are a prisoner it is much more befitting to your health if you are compliant? It saves us all a lot of trouble. Wouldn't you agree?" Lostiâ questioned, watching as Legolas worked to keep his knees from buckling.

Legolas bit his lower lip as a kick hit the back of his knees, which were already bruised, causing them to cave and bring him to the ground. Another blow seemed to have sought out his ribs and he felt them burning as he involuntarily curled into himself in the sand, trying to make himself as small as possible. Blinded with the cloth he had no way to tell where the next blow would be from but he could tell that Lostiâ was not the only one dealing out the pain. Arandur and his merry ones were doing their fair share of it as well.

The winds outside changed, causing the rain to mist into the cave, wetting the Elf-prince's face and giving a small amount of comfort even as another boot slammed against his stomach. Legolas brought his knees up to his chin, curling his head into them, shuddering as he felt a wave of nausea break over him. A cold sweat had started on his forehead.

Out of no where, something struck him that was not a boot or a fist but caused an equal amount of pain, and left a stinging welt on his side as it had curled around his ribs, seeming to burn through is tunic. 'They are using a rope now,' the still logically thinking portion of his mind mused between glitches caused by pain as the use of the rope was repeated in rapid succession with an occasional kick or punch. The healers were not going to be happy about this…'excited' might be a more appropriate word.

The pain was becoming more intense and Legolas was now too tired with pain to stay curled in on himself as tightly as before, leaving his abdomen open for abuse, which was promptly taken advantage of, finally wringing a few cries of pain from his bleeding lips. This seemed to encourage his uncle and the other Elves, who intensified their assault upon his already battered body. Clenching his hands to ward off another muffled cry he was reminded unexpectedly of his slashed hand as it smarted and he uncurled his fingers quickly.

Rána watched impassively from his seat on a stone near the fire, pressing an herb soaked cloth to his wound under his unbuttoned tunic. Yes, he decided, there were definitely dark auroras surrounding Lostiâ and Arandur -especially Arandur. He had told Legolas that Voronwë was dead but he only half believed it himself and he wasn't entirely sure that Legolas believed it either. Shuddering without notice, the dark-haired warrior knew that he was as good as dead if Lostiâ should ever find out he had murdered his son or even been the cause of his banishment.

Reaching down into the bag they had brought that was full of supplies, originally looking for a fresh and dry bandage, his hand enclosed around a cold little vial. It was long and made of no special design, but what was inside was another story. It was designed deliberately to destroy. The victim wouldn't realize what they had ingested by taste, for it resembled water. Once it got into their s

system they would know it, but that was only the beginning.

Athelas was the catalyst.

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Aragorn took a moment to realize fully what had happened but by then he was feet from the ground. Reaching out by a miracle he managed to grab hold of one of the branches, clinging to it for dear life while the wind roared around him. Closing his eyes, he willed his convulsing stomach to accept the lie that he was on the ground and in no immediate danger of breaking his neck.

Lightning must have struck directly behind him, narrowly missing turning him into a free-fry. He was also lucky the light emitted from the hot bolt didn't blind him. Hell, he was unnaturally lucky to have found this convenient and sturdy little limb.

However, he had quickly come to the conclusion that with a good-sized dose of wonderful luck came an equal portion of appalling luck.

First of all his grip was slipping because of the rain and the sopping moss on the branch that left no traction for his fingers to grasp. Secondly, there was growl beneath his feet, a few actually and he suspected it wasn't anyone he wanted to meet. It couldn't be a spider that much was plain.

Gathering up the courage to look down underneath his dangling feet, Aragorn clenched the tree branch even tighter, starting at what he saw. A small pack of wargs, with maybe three or four disregarding a large and toothy looking leader, was sniffing amongst the vegetation. It was a hunting party or whatever the motley pack was called and they had picked up his scent, trailing it to his position up in the treetops.

Grimly, the man wondered just how high wargs could jump and if about ten feet was within their range. If so, he was a goner, especially if he didn't have time to draw his sword on them. Deciding holding still was in his best interest, Aragorn dug even his fingernails into the branch to create more traction and willed his body to hang motionless above the ravenous beasts.

While dangling there, trying his best not to even breath loudly, the man tried to think things through. He had not thought he was this close to the Emyn Duir but apparently he was wrong, unless the wargs were becoming more bold and savvy. He knew the Mountains of Mirkwood were home to some of the darkest beasts disregarding the ones that lived within the confines of Dol Guldur and in the shadow of the Necromancer himself.

All this knowledge wasn't exactly comforting but it did help his mind get a better grip on where he was. What Legolas would have to say about all this he wasn't sure and to be honest there were things he would rather not think about. The Elf would certainly not be happy.

The wargs continued to paw and whine around the tree's trunk, pacing and scratching at the bark with their devilish claws. Aragorn fancied that one of those claws could lay him wide open in less than a heart beat. With their little eyes, the wargs couldn't see very far up the tree, and their vision wasn't terrific anyway. It was widely known that they were near sighted and things out of a ten-foot radius were normally beyond their clarity.

But their sense of smell was definitely something to be reckoned with. But for a warg an underdeveloped sense of smell could still detect a herd of deer or other prey from a mile away or maybe even a little more. Aragorn knew if they didn't know exactly where he was it would be an absolute miracle.

The rain was still coming down by what seemed to be the bucket load and as he watched the wargs weaving between the thick rivulets of water tumbling from the canopy Aragorn knew that they were not used to this weather either. The fact that he had hopped from the smaller tree to the bigger one seemed to have them mildly confused because in the rain, they couldn't tell the difference and his scent was less strong, having been washed partially off.

This gave him a chance if he could hold out long enough on this branch.

Continuing to watch the wargs as they scrounged around the forest floor, pawing up the wet soil and drinking with deep laps of their large tongues from the puddles, Aragorn prayed that they would simply leave. But to his misfortune and dismay they appeared to be enjoying themselves, splashing in the water and tussling in jest with one another. It was then he began to wonder if this weren't a mother and her half grown pups.

Groaning inside he realized that it must be and that their den couldn't be too far away. This was their territory after all if he was as South near the Emyn Duir as he thought.

Suddenly he felt his fingers involuntarily prying themselves free from the limb as the muscles began to spasm, tired of having to support his entire weight and grip so tightly all at once. Silently he attempted to will them otherwise but they apparently had their minds made up. Blessed Eru! He didn't have time for this!

One hand released and swung down to his side, making a slight whooshing sound as it did. Apparently the wargs were unimpressed and unbothered by the noise, obviously not thinking it to be a human hanging ten feet above their heads. Either that or the heavy rains masked out the noise efficiently.

Desperately Aragorn gripped tighter with his other hand, holding on for all he was worth and praying that he wouldn't fall right into the middle of the grumpy little family below. A cold feeling was spreading in his stomach as he fought to maintain his slipping hold on the branch. 'Do the Valar do this for entertainment?' he asked himself mentally as his right hand made its way to his sword hilt, tightening on the weapon.

Looking down at the orcs and gathering a deep and hopeless breath he decided that if he couldn't hold on much longer he wasn't going to waste his energy simply prolonging the time between now and when he would fall upon the beasts below. His arms were going to be unsteady enough from the stress of holding up his weight and becoming tauter than a bow string, a minute more and they would be as good as useless for a couple minutes.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn slowly released his grip on the limb, allowing himself to fall the last ten feet knowing full well he could break something and be totally helpless. Drawing his sword the last five feet before he reached the ground, the ranger snapped his eyes open as he landed in a rush. Bending his knees to absorb the impact, Aragorn then took a defensive stance as the surprised creatures jumped and their hackles raised.

He observed calmly as their lips pulled back to reveal sets of ugly, crooked, but highly effective teeth that looked sharp enough to bite through bones. Putting his discouraging observations aside, Aragorn swung his sword out at one of the smaller ones, who, attempted to get a grip on his leg and drag him away.

If it weren't for the faint rays of dawn that were peering through the firs as the rain died, Aragorn doubted he would still be alive. Suddenly he found himself forced backwards as the large mother, in defensive of her inexperienced pups, charged forward, striking out with one of her paws to try and dislodge the sword from the ranger's grasp.

Fortunately, Aragorn's grip on it was more than adequate and so she only succeeded in slicing a needless gash in her right forepaw. Narrowing her beady black eyes that Aragorn could barely see in the permanent dusk that engulfed the forest, she snarled loudly in a rage.

Her pups hung in the back, obviously willing to let their mother defend them as her ire was more than evident. Getting in her way accidentally or on purpose was not something you wanted to do and they clearly understood it. However that didn't mean they couldn't encourage her and they began a loud baying the sounded like a rougher and nastier version of the noise hounds make when they have treed a hapless raccoon.

At the encouragement from her young and the rage building in her mind, the large she-warg drove herself forward, intending to slam into the ranger and knock him to the ground. Her fury that seemed to make the air around them hot was her undoing as in her crazed state she seemed to have forgotten about the sword or just didn't realize its potency since she was used to Elves with their bows.

Her chest came down on the point, which Aragorn held up as a last desperate resort, forcing the blade deeper into her as she fell with it piercing her evil heart. Her pups, now shocked, hung in the back, unsure of what to do and knowing that something terrible had just happened. Their once excited baying was stopped and they went entirely silent.

Aragorn stumbled backwards, wrenching his blade free and staring in disgust as black blood dripped from the blade. As he stared at her massive body that still convulsed and twitched as it was spread out on the grass, he took another step back, breathing heavily.

Her pups must have gotten the impression that this ranger was not one to be messed with, but they would not forget his scent and would reap their vengeance later. Right now, for their own sakes they began to back off warily into the under brush, disappearing the in extremely dim light like shadows.

Aragorn didn't have the time or means to pursue them now. If he did hunt them it would be at Legolas' expense and possibly his own. Wiping his sword grimly in the wet weeds of the forest, looking in disgust at the black blood that trailed it on the leaves.

Looking around cautiously before sheathing the blade, Aragorn wondered what he should do next. The torrential rains had stopped and the rain was no longer pouring through the leaves by the bucket load. However, the ground was left speckled with deep and extensive puddles and the more spongy parts were sopping so that when you stepped on them you instantly found your feet uncomfortably wet.

Ignoring these facts, Aragorn began to walk in long strides towards the Old Forest River not knowing where else to start. He knew that Voronwë was most likely dead, but he had to find the Elf, he

had to.

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Elrond turned the golden doorknob that would open the door to Thranduils' bedchambers, giving the servants permission to leave with a wave of his hand before he began to try and wake the other Elf. "Thranduil, Legolas and Aragorn are missing-"

"Lord Elrond, I am awake." Though Thranduil's open eyes had conveyed the lost impression of a deep sleep, he had been awake all night, rather lost in memories. Light was trying to peep in around the window and he glanced over at the other Elf-lord with a single raised brow. "Now what was that you were saying?"

"Your son and my Estel are gone," Elrond repeated, urgency filling his voice. "Lostiâ and his contingent are nowhere to be found," he added after a moment, carefully studying Thranduil's face for a reaction.

The golden-haired Elf-lord's brow creased and he looked at Elrond a bit incredulously, apprehension aging his timeless features. He would have normally asked that information like this be confirmed but he had known Lord Elrond for many years and his trust of the other Elf was absolute. "Has the entire palace been searched?"

"No, but Estel was supposed to meet Legolas at the Healing Ward to discuss things over with Rána. Speaking of which, did you know that Rána tired to kill Voronwë?" Elrond added as he continued to watch Thranduil's face. "Rána is a traitor. If Legolas was in the Healing Ward waiting on Estel, then I think that what ever befell him happened there before Aragorn could get there in time."

Thranduil didn't need much more explaining, knowing the background of things better than Lord Elrond did, and so he didn't need to be explained the entire gravity of the situation. "But none of this is adding up. Why would they want Legolas?" he asked, hoping his little inner voice wasn't right in its guess.

Sitting up he swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched as Elrond shook his head uncertainly. "I am not entirely sure but you know what the anniversary of this day is, do you not?" he inquired, seeing Thranduil's face darken considerably more at the reminder.

"It is all I have thought of all night. That and why Legolas shot Rána." Sighing, he studied the floor, suppressing the pain he felt in his heart that had never healed. Looking at his feet and then at the lavish wooden floor and its intricate flower and leaf designs, Thranduil waited for Elrond to explain himself.

"Do you think that it is merely coincidence that this happened this morning?" the Lord of Rivendell implied his point, waiting patiently to gauge the Elvenking's reaction.

"You think Lostiâ would want revenge on Legolas and possibly myself?" Thranduil asked skeptically, tempted to brush the idea off but was held back by the knowledge that Elrond was seldom wrong. Dread was gathering in the pit of his stomach and he felt suddenly very cold.

Elrond seemed to realize this and passed him his dark green robe from a hook on the wall and it was gladly accepted.

"Yes. Lostiâ was your dear wife's brother. He never liked you and least of all Legolas. Not all your kingdom loves their prince and there are those that would see him dead -or worse," Elrond explained slowly, making sure he didn't miss anything.

Thranduil's face was now white as he understood the mortal danger his one and only child was in. He had only just gotten Legolas back and he didn't want to lose him again. For the first time in a long time he felt truly scared. "And I suppose his accidental shooting of Rána didn't help matters considering Rána is close friends with Lostiâ," he concluded with a desolate sigh.

Inclining his head to one side, Elrond nodded in silent agreement. He didn't voice out loud that he feared for Estel, knowing Thranduil's distrust of men and not wanting to get any suspicion placed wrongfully on the boy.

Thranduil rose to his feet, and then paused and his scowl deepened. "But why would Rána try to murder Voronwë? How could he if Voronwë was banished?" The Elvenking's memory answered his last question for him. His nephew's banishment was over and he had returned home. Rána must have been waiting for him but he still could not understand why.

"Do you remember the murder that your court found Voronwë guilty of?" Elrond prodded Thranduil's long memory. "I don't know this for sure, but I think it is definitely possible that Rána committed the murder and the blame was placed on Voronwë."

"And so now Rána is trying to kill Voronwë before the truth leaks out," Thranduil grimly completed Elrond's thoughts, slipping on a pair of equally green slippers. A strong and unshakable sense of guilt broke over him and he realized what he had sentenced his nephew to- a life of loneliness, of being hunted, of being broken, of being lost, of being without his family. For being an Elf there was nothing worse than to be separated from everything you have ever known and loved. He had destroyed an innocent's life and some of the retribution was going to fall wrongfully onto Legolas –his son.

"And I am afraid he might have succeeded," Elrond responded sadly.

"But why would Rána have ever killed anyone?" Thranduil asked, bewildered. He had always trusted the warrior impeccably and even had allowed him to help train Legolas when his son was younger. The thought that Rána was in on this conspiracy to take his son's life…that hurt.

"Of that I am not sure," Elrond spoke softly, eyes closed in thought.

TBC…..Well, WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK? Athelas is the catalyst! Muahahahaha! And poor Aragorn now has vengeful wargs out for his blood…they might have an entrance in another chapter….Muahahahaha! Er –why would Tin and I, two perfectly nice and carrying people, ever plot the destruction of an innocent Elf or Ranger's life?

Please review! Right now we are having trouble with e-mailing review responses, but if it works then you will get the responses by Wednesday or Thursday. We are sorry, but it is simply a ridiculous problem that is having serious problems being solved. –We still appreciate all your reviews, of course. :)