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Chapter Quote: "Stranger things have happened." She said sharply. "Was it not a half-ling who destroyed the evil Sauron? Did not a ranger from the North become a king?"

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Riddles in the Dark

Eryn Lasgalen

The Palace

It was becoming all too familiar, mounting the horses, riding to the city gates, the preparations to leave, preparing to face danger...or even death. Yet this time it was different, for it was not Legolas who rose at his side, but instead an elven maid dressed in the dark greens and browns usual to the fair folk of Eryn Lasgalen. She did not farewell anyone as the others did, only mounted her horse, standing at the brink of the forest while she waited for the others and stared into its depths. There was a scowl on her face and a look of grim determination in her eyes. And the misplaced king of Gondor found himself wondering if the Lady Araviniel's reasons for accompanying the party were as black and white as they all thought.

He had taken three men from his own country, all Dùnedain, as well as four elven warriors, one of which was the Lady Araviniel's companion. And then their was the lady herself, of course. Nine. A company of nine. Was it fated to be such? Or should he consider the number to be unlucky? No...there was no such thing as luck. He shook the thoughts from his mind as they rode deeper into the forest, and further from the safety of the palace gates.

Saronehdel's Lair
It was the first time Legolas had ever seen her lose the calm, always icy expression that frequented her pale, gaunt features. It was the first time he had ever seen so much pain in that face...a face he had grown to loathe and despise with every pulse, every breath of air in his body. And now, he wasn't sure whether or not he should try to escape, wander, or else wait for the elf-slayer to return. Presently he sat up and, wincing, rubbed the red marks on his wrists where the rope had bitten into his skin. He stretched the aching muscles in his back and tried to block the haunted gaze of Saronedhel from his mind.

Perhaps she really did feel remorse over having killed Faerlain, though, in truth, it had never bothered her before...even when she had been accused of assassinating the entire village of Gilloth. No...something was not right here, the piece of the puzzle did not fit. He gripped an edge of the bed with fresh determination and, straining with the effort, he slowly slid off the bed. He winced as he put his full weight on his injured leg and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not greeted by a bolt of pain. Instead there was a sharp twinge, but nothing that proved him incapable of keeping on his feet. Concentrating on what was in front of him, he took a hesitant step forward...and then another. The steps were strained and awkward but the end result was well-worth the effort...he could move again.

His limbs, though slightly stiff, were indeed healing. He glanced around the room, his eyes quickly taking in the details of his current prison. It was dimly lit, a large cavernous kind of area with walls and ceiling composed only of tightly woven branched and vines. There was nothing adorning the walls. And the bed he had been stretched out upon seemed more like a series of wooden planks rather then any kind of mattress. A sharp pang in his back was a reminder that his body was not conformed to sleeping on wooden planks.

Next to the 'bed' there was a small basin, filled with bloody water. On the opposite side there was a series of long shelves that stretched up to several feet in size and filled with various pots, herbs, and bandages. And there, lying desolate on the floor, was the splint Saronedhel had constructed for his leg and also, the knife she had used to cut away his bandages. This his made swiftly for and, upon grasping the intricately carved handle, he slipped it into the belt at his waist. Then glancing once again about the room his eyes fastened upon what he had been searching for...the door. Now all he needed was a course of action.

Saronedhel had left him more or less on his own and she had been upset when she had left the room. There was an excellent chance that not he had time to gain the upper hand on this whole mess...for he knew that he would not let himself be taken advantage of again. Limping forward towards the door, he grimaced as his footsteps thudded noisily across the floor, as he was used to his usually soft, soundless footfalls. That was another mystery of Saronedhel. She was distinctly and utterly human and yet she moved with the grace of the elves. She reminded him of Aragorn, the human had grown up in the house of Elrond, resulting in his elf-like movements and stance. But why would she imitate a race that she loathed so much? But, then again, that came down to the question of why she would have bothered to rescue him at all. Why had she not left him for the orcs? Why had she taken him in?

He shook his head, fighting to keep his wavering mind on topic. He need weapons, he needed to find a way out, and he needed answers. Had she known Faerlain? Had she killed him in cold blood only to learn her mistake afterwards? Had she killed him without thinking at all? Clasping the handle of the dagger, if only to reassure himself that it was still there, he limped forward, grasped the cool metal of the door handle and swung it open. The door creaked softly on old hinges and revealed a circular room. There were various arrows lining the walls... there were no windows and the only light came from the room he had just come out of.

Each arrow was different, each had its own design, but all had the same similarity...all had a black shaft. He gazed about the room as he walked further in. There were four doors, five including the one he had just come out of. Frowning, he neared the one directly across from him and, grasping the handle, he pushed it open. Light illuminated the small room from the doorway and, blinded and blinking, he walked into the light.

Deep Inside the Forest
The Lady Araviniel was not a maid from idle chatter, nor idle purposes apparently. She never faltered from her post as lead guide, spiting any misgivings the Gondorian king and those who followed her might had held before their journey's start. Her eyes were always moving, searching the ground and everything around her with a diligence that was slightly unnerving. Nor did she speak much, actually, she spoke hardly at all. If asked a direct question she would answer it but to all appearances, she was either anxious to bring their journey to an end or else she was anxious to accomplish something by its end. Either way, their horses were in no way under-worked.

Elves are used to silence, and so were Aragorn and his fellow Gondorians from their days in the northern lands. But the Ranger had grown used to conversing quietly with Legolas on their many excursions together. Only this time, it was not Legolas at his side, but an elven maid who was suppose to help him rescue or otherwise discover the fate of his friend. Once in a while she would dismount, her green eyes sweeping the forest floor. Other times she would push the horses to a faster pace and in this way, they reached the clearing where they had originally made camp in half the time.

It was impressive tracking and, as she had never seen the place before, (supposedly) it was even more astounding when she pointed out a blood-stained cloth which still clung to the bush where Legolas had found the trail of blood in what seemed ages before.

The group dismounted as she held the cloth out for him to examine. "This is where we found the trail of blood originally." He said in gruff respect.

She nodded, one of her slender hands tapping her thigh as she gazed at it. "Yes, but that's what doesn't make any sense." She replied. "The rain and weather would, and have, blown away any other traces of anything that had occurred around here. This being so, the question remains, why has this survived?" She pointed at the blood-stain. "This is relatively fresh, the owner put it in use only recently...a day or so at the most."

Aragorn frowned at the cloth now spread out in the palm of his hand. "What would some wounded soul be doing out here in the middle of the forest?"

"Why would anyone be out alone in this forest?" She said softly, her eyes scanning the barren tree-tops.

"Only a day or so..." He murmured, thinking aloud. "Then we should find tracks, shouldn't we."

Her gaze turned to him, scrutinizing him. "Just because we should doesn't mean we will, not in times such as these with ghosts wandering about." She shook her head, smoothed her long brown tresses and then knelt next to the bush where she had discovered the cloth. "My guess is that someone else returned to this site and left this here accidentally. It also probably means that this stranger is either waiting for us, or is trying to hide something from us. This being so, this stranger may have left some sign of his or her stay...but again, one can never know in a forest like Mirkwood."

"Eryn Lasgalen- it was renamed." Aragorn said softly.

She glared at him, "There is still far too much darkness in this forest for me. Mirkwood it shall remain until those wreaking destruction upon my people are put under justice." She turned back to the bush. "No...something dark is breeding in these woods...something dangerous..." She knelt, examining the dark, rich earth. Over her shoulder Aragorn could see her slender fingers slowly brushing the soil. She stiffened, "No...that's impossible..." She whispered. Lowering herself closer to the ground, she squinted in the fading light.

"Do you see something?" Aragorn asked, watching as her gaze rose from the earth to gaze into the depths of the forest.

"Just a feeling." She said rising, and clutching something tightly in her hand. "That somebody is watching us." She held the object out to him and upon taking it he examined it. It was a vial of sorts, a small crystal vial which hung on a dull, silver chain. There was a clear substance inside, one that sparkled and flickered in weakly in the dim light. "It's a healing juice...from the gílorn trees." She said softly, turning back to look at him. "It is a precious substance...difficult to make. Discovered by one of our own healers...an older elf named Mirlaic. It takes a year to create and since its discovery one vial has been given to every elf child upon their birth. It heals nearly every malady."

"I have never heard of such a substance." Aragorn said in awe, holding the vial reverently in the palm of his hand.

"I would imagine that you hadn't heard of the trees themselves until recently. With good cause; the people of Gilloth wished to keep it a secret from those who would use the healing power of the star-flowers against them. The juice can also be turned into a deadly poison if administered correctly. For this reason, few elves even with Mirkwood have heard of its existence. Some might have expected the secret to die with the slaughtered innocence."

Aragorn looked up into the maiden's fair face as she stared at the vial with unexplainable sadness. "How do you know of it then?" He asked her gently.

Her emerald eyes met his own in an unblinking stare. "I was from that village. I grew up there. I worked as a hand-maid for the Queen when I came of age. After she passed I returned to Gilloth. I was called away by pressing matters at the palace and was therefore spared from the attack by the elf-slayer." There were no tears in her eyes as she spoke, no despair in their dark depths. She was cold...as if she had already stroked the hand of death. "I buried my mother there, and my own vial along with her. I had a brother...he was away fighting on our borders...I never heard from him again."

"I am truly sorry for your loss, milady. If there is anything I can do..."

She rose her hand, silencing him. "The past is best left buried." She said softly. "My peace shall come by other means."

Glancing at his hand as silence enveloped them, he pressed the vial into her icy fingers. "You should keep this." He said gently, but she only shook her head and gave it back.

"No. I can not. The secret died in my village...perhaps you shall put it to good use. I have heard tales of your healing abilities...trained by Lord Elrond himself."

Aragorn nodded, smiled sadly. "He raised me as a son."

"As his son, you are wise milord. And a just king you have become. I am intrusting the memory of my village to you." He nodded, slid the chain over his head and concealed the vial beneath his tunic.

"But how could so precious an artifact gotten here? Is it possible that one of your people could have misplaced the vial...or perhaps traded it?"

Araviniel shook her head. "It is unlikely. I believe the owner is possibly another survivor from my village...it is the only explanation." The two could hear soft murmurings of disbelief behind them and she turned to them, her hunter green cloak whirling out behind her. "Stranger things have happened." She said sharply as they fell silent under her probing gaze. "Was it not a halfling who destroyed the evil Sauron?" She glanced at Aragorn. "Was it not a Ranger from the North who became a king?" Her eyes were emotionless as she gazed at him. "The owner of this vial stood here...as we are standing here now. By the tracks he has left behind, he was also tracking someone...or something. And he waited here...possibly even for us. He is alone, and he has left a trail that runs deep into the forest." She pointed in the direction that the trail of blood had led.

She looked at them all, her green eyes blazing. "Whatever is wandering these woods is flesh and bone. No ghost. And he is waiting for us gentlemen. Yes, he is waiting for us." She shifted her weight, drew a dagger from the folds of her skirt. "The final decision belongs to Lord Aragorn, I am only a guide. But I propose that we follow these tracks."

"With all due respect milady." Said a warrior from behind them, stepping forward as he spoke. "We're looking for a band of orcs, and the prince. Not for a solitary wounded stranger. Even if he...or she...is indeed from your village."

Araviniel smirked. "Hasty words." She said. "And yet...my village may have more to do with this riddle then any of us could have imagined. Besides, the stranger is bleeding." She held up the cloth, crumpled in the tight fist of her right hand. "And when there are orc about, the stranger shall not go undetected by our enemies for very long. I believe this stranger will have some of the answers we are searching for."

"So you propose that we follow this trail...hoping for bait?" Concluded Aragorn skeptically.

Araviniel glanced at him, and the first smile he had ever seen graced her fair features.

"Exactly."

A/N: Ok, so all of you should now know that Araviniel was Faerlain's sister and Victoria's greatest friend. So what does she have to do with this whole mystery? And who is the stranger? And lastly, where the hell am I going with this? Well, my lovelies, you will see...yessss...you will see, my precioussss. :) (grins evilly) If you have a question, drop a review! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will do my best to update soon!

By the Lion's Mane,

Allora

TO BE CONTINUED...