"To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren. He had gone often alone into the voice places seeking the Imperishable Flame, for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own…"
- Ainulindalë

Stone to Bind…

"You did not tell him."

Gimli jumped in surprise. It appeared that he had fallen asleep in Legolas' room in the Houses of Healing. He was sitting in his usual chair next to the bed, and the elf was sleeping peacefully beside him. Sunlight pouring through the window told him that it was around noon.

But not all was how it had been when he had last looked, for now a figure stood at the foot of his friend's bed.

The Elf, easily identifiable by his pointed ears and the proud yet distant expression on his face no mortal could imitate, looked disturbingly familiar to Gimli. His hair was golden, and his eyes weighed down by countless millennia, though his skin, as it was with his kind, showed no wrinkle or imperfection. The stranger had arched an eyebrow at him, and it took a moment for the shock to pass before Gimli realised that the elf had asked a question.

"H-how could I?" The Dwarf looked at his hands, unable to bear the eyes of the Elf. Gimli had developed a resistance to Legolas' eyes, and those of his kin, to a certain extent, but this Elf was far mightier in stature, and far, far older. His eyes traveled to his friend's face, still asleep. Somewhere in his puzzled mind he wondered why Legolas hadn't woken at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Being in a deep rejuvenating sleep, the prince's eyes were closed. The weight in Gimli's heart increased at being reminded of what he had not had the courage to say. "How do you tell someone that they're going to die?"

"How do you, indeed," the Elf echoed. Gimli's gaze returned to the stranger; the Elf was now looking at Legolas, a sad, almost wistful expression on his fair face.

"It will happen, whether you will it or no."

Gimli nodded, opening his mouth to respond. But the Elf was gone.

~*~

Éowyn anxiously fingered the small stone hanging from a leather strap around her neck. Faramir had given it to her, long ago when he had realised that as much as he wanted to stay home and be a dutiful husband, his obligation to the Kingdom had to come first. She had understood; she had lived her entire life with the phrase 'for your people'.

But now for the first time she was worried solely for her family. As much as she had come to love Gondor, in her mind it was still a foreign country, and she had yet to reach the point where she would sacrifice all for the sake of the kingdom. She would sacrifice all for the people of Gondor, but the proud history and ancient culture was still beyond the reach of her heart's embrace.

She had talked with her brother for a long time, listening with keen interest as he eagerly told of the goings-on in Rohan and asking pointed questions about the welfare of the people. She had missed Éomer, especially now that they both had their own families to attend to. Thus she treasured every moment she could spend with the only one of her family remaining.

But tonight even their talks couldn't ease her heart. True, Éomer was the only family she had left, after the death of Théoden King; yet he was a past that she cherished but had put behind her. Faramir was part of her hope and dreams for the future.

Dear, dear Faramir, who loved her for the spirit that was in her. He loved her for her bravery, her skill, the fact that she had just as much knowledge of warfare as him. When she saw her reflection in his eyes, she saw a woman worthy of such a husband.

And she knew that she would find no other. She would have no other.

For a long time, she lay in bed, the stone turning warm under her fingers.

~*~

The world went dark.

Wind screamed in his ears. His skin was cold, like ice.

He wanted to run. He knew he had to. Some deep-seated instinct within him told him to run, run and run until he escaped this unnatural night. The instinct was old, long-forgotten, but it lay in all Elves, passed down from those who first awoke under the gems of Varda. Fear, fear of this ancient malicious darkness.

Something grabbed his waist, pulled him down. His limbs instinctively tensed to fight, but how does one grapple with utter darkness? He wanted to scream, but the very air was torn from his lungs. His heart lurched. One by one each limb was seared with pain. He burned, but he could not see in this dark. Dimly he thought he heard something snap. But he was beyond caring, beyond anything but making sure his heart kept beating. For some reason he felt that this was important, though he could no longer remember why.

As if waiting for this small show of resistance, pain beyond all pain entered his mind, and though he was without voice, without breath, he screamed.

Leagues away, Elladan screamed with him. Then, for the first time in his life, the Lord of Imladris was alone.

~*~

Being a warrior for centuries, slipping into the deeper realm of dreams was still an unusual experience for Legolas. He always kept a bit of himself semi-conscious, alert for a sense of danger. But his body recovered best in this deepest of sleeps, and the grevious injuries that he had suffered would take weeks to recover without such sleep.

Yet this time, there was something… different. Instead of drifting, he felt himself being… pulled. Already uncomfortable being this deeply asleep, something alarmed him enough to open his eyes.

Except…

Seeing someone in front of him, his already heightened senses reflexively tensed his muscles. A few moments passed; neither he nor the other person moved. He cautiously lifted his right hand. The other person lifted his left simultaneously.

He chuckled- it was a mirror! He felt a flush of embarrassment at his reaction, and was immediately glad that Gimli hadn't been around to watch his foolishness. The Dwarf would have teased him endlessly for days.

The thought of Gimli brought memory back. His last memory had been of falling asleep in the Houses of Healing. Had something happened since then? He frowned, straining his mind. Where was he? How had he gotten to this place?

Still confused, he examined his surroundings. He was even more startled to see that he was virtually surrounded by mirrors. On closer inspection, he saw that they were not real mirrors but roughly hewn slabs of rock with extremely reflective surfaces. The edges of the rocks were sharp, and most of the 'mirrors' looked as if they had been smashed into their current shapes. Bits of the rock littered the ground, and he could feel their sharpness through his light boots.

The air was cold, though as an Elf he wasn't overly concerned about that yet. He must be underground, and in a vast cavern too, if the way the reverberation of the sound from the shifting of his feet was anything to go by. Some sort of blue light illuminated the place, but he couldn't see the source.

How did he get here? Where was 'here'?

"A Sindar?"

He whirled around, not having heard anyone approach.

"But- oh my, isn't he a gem?"

He couldn't see anyone. Turning to where the voice was coming from, all he saw was his reflection on a particularly large slab of rock.

Which smirked at him.

Eyes going wide, he stepped backwards.

"Do not be afraid, my dear Sindar. I cannot harm you- physically, anyway."

His couldn't help shuffling to the side. His imagination must be playing tricks on him. He couldn't possibly be talking to his…

The stranger had no sides, or back. All Legolas could see was rock.

"If it makes you feel any better, think of me as a figment of your imagination."

Legolas gaped at his 'reflection', who was moving and talking quite independently from him. Perhaps he was…

"I'm in a dream," he whispered.

The stranger shrugged. "For now."

His rational mind satisfied- after all, anything could happen in dreams- he took a good look at the other Legolas.

He had the same golden hair, the same blue eyes. But after a while Legolas wondered how he had thought the other to be his reflection, for they looked considerably different. The mirror-Legolas was ever so slightly shorter, with a build that was unmistakably Noldorin. The hair had more silver in it, and the eyes were of a lighter blue.

But it wasn't his physicality that was so vastly different- it was his expression, the soul behind his eyes, which made Legolas shiver to think that he had thought them to be the same. The face was cold, bordering on cruel, bearing the expression of one who was suffering and wished others to suffer their pain as well. Haunted eyes stared at the prince.

"You see it, don't you? Yet you are young, too young to understand what you see," the Elf said, his lips setting into a grim smile. "Take a look then, fair one! See how a betrayer is marked!"

Cold, cold eyes drilled into his. A chill went down his spine. "Wh-who are you?" he asked softly, licking dry lips.

"You do not know? But of course- there is no one to remember, is there? All who know are trapped, even as I am." The Elf peered more closely at him, seeming to see right through him, and Legolas had to swallow and tense his body to prevent from cringing at the intense gaze from those penetrative eyes. "I see now. So that is why you are here- I thought it a mere coincidence, a wandering mind."

"What- what do you mean?"

For the first time, the Elf seemed truly pleased, but the smile only clenched a fist of fear around Legolas' heart.

"You will see. Soon, as the barriers weaken, you will know. But you asked me who I am. How rude of me, to give you half-riddles. Come, I will show you who I am- what I am." The Elf held out his hand, beckoning to Legolas.

The son of Thranduil felt the strongest desire to run, to run and never look upon this stranger again. But a part of him felt curious, sympathetic even, and it was that which made him take his first step towards the 'mirror'.

"That's it. Come. I am only an image in your dream- I cannot hurt you."

A dimming part of Legolas' mind recalled the words, "I cannot harm you- physically anyway." But his caution and distrust seemed to be swept away by an overwhelming curiosity. He closed the distance between himself and the 'mirror'.

"Now, reach out your hand."

In a near-trance state, Legolas raised his right hand to touch the surface of the stone, where the Elf's hand was. He felt cold, cold beyond ice seize his hand, and pull him into darkness.

Worse than darkness.

~*~

Author's Notes:

Finally got this out! Was planning on updating several days ago, but couldn't get on FF.Net. Hope everything's sorted out by now. And to those reading Race with Wrath, I've started hammering at it again, so I may update it soon.

As for this fic, I'm afraid it'll be turning rather dark soon, and I may up the rating to R. But if you love angst and character-torture, you might want to hang around *g*. Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with this!

Reviewer's Response:

Tereza- thank you, and a belated welcome to FF.Net. I see you've got your own story by now, and I shall definitely go over and read it in a moment (hopes FF.Net doesn't collapse in the meantime). I'm getting to like Gimli too, and he gets a most interesting role in the plot.

Lirenel- only if you're good! *lol* Thanks for dropping by, proofread or not (winks)!

cm- sorry it's taking such a long time, but RL pulls you away quite a lot nowadays *sulks*

Littlefish- Wow! I'm absolutely ecstatic to see such a renowned writer review my story *falls to knees* Thank you soo much! I see we have another Aragorn/Faramir fan, so I'm planning quite a bit of torture for those two in the future *cackles evilly*. I've read your stories too, though am ashamed to admit that I haven't reviewed (a state which I plan to change very soon). Again, thank you for your many kind words, and I'm positively flattered!