Disclaimer: I own none of Tolkien's creations and only lay claim to my own humble creatures.

Chapter Quote: "You thought I was Gwenél...and if so, where did this note come from."

Chapter Forty

Fire

Eryn Lasgalen

Saronedhel's Flet

The note, though not written in blood as had the first, read thus:

To the elf-slayer,

Debts need to be paid and there are questions in need of answering. You have nothing left here. Come to me. Need further incentive? The medallion of which you have coveted for so long is in my grasp. Do you wish it returned to you? Then meet me at noon in the clearing northwest of Gilloth in four days time. I will be waiting for you.

- Gwenél

Legolas looked up at her, but the elf-slayer's face was cold and emotionless as it had been on the first day he had met her. "What does this mean?" He exclaimed irritably.

She stared at him, opened her mouth to answer but instead her eyes widened and she turned to look at the flet. Legolas jerked in surprise as he saw smoke and he turned, startled as Saronedhel let out an unearthly wail. The flet, the beautiful twisting of vines, was wreathed in flames. Impossible! He thought at once. The flames could not have spread so quickly without us not noticing. But the flet was already writhing and twisting as the flames bit and tore at it like a wild beast.

There was no time for him to stop her as she darted from her place beside him, up the steps and into the burning structure. Despite his hatred for her, he called her name frantically in hopes that she would emerge from the fiery inferno. Talorta was screaming in fear as he reared but the horse would not move without the direction of his mistress who had disappeared inside. Legolas could not decide whether it was some misplaced form of guilt or deranged form of honor that bade him to go after the elf-slayer as she fled into the burning flet, but he went after her all the same.

Running as fast as he could manage, he lept up the rooted steps, raising his arm over his face to protect himself best he could from the blaze. Her trophy room was already unrecognizable, darting past it as burning branches fell from the ceiling. "Where are you!" He shouted. He heard the wail again, squinted as he fought to see amid the burning walls. Walking nimbly across the floor, he hurried into the room where he had originally seen the murals. She was desperately trying to gather various books and papers into her arms; her face frantic as she reached with shaking hands toward objects which were already burning.

"Saronedhel!" He shouted. Her eyes rose for a fraction of an instant and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw the torrent of emotions flooding through the depths of those blue orbs. "We have to get out of here!" He said loudly, approaching her as she scrambled to retrieve more things from the floor.

"NO!" She shouted back, pulling herself away from him. "I WILL NOT LEAVE THEM BEHIND!"

"It's no use!" He shouted, reaching again for her arm which she drew back in terror. Her eyes were reflections of the flames blazing about them and he coughed as smoke clogged his throat. "COME ON!"

A huge branch fell with a crash to the desk before her. She was startled so badly that she dropped everything she had been holding in fright. He gabbed her arm before she could protest and drug her away from the burning branch but she only pulled away once more and stumbled back.

"I WILL NOT LEAVE THEM!" She screamed, her face livid. "YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!"

"You will die here!" He shouted back.

"I should have died a long time ago." She said, more quietly this time. She straightened her shoulders, glaring at him. But before he could say anything more, another branch fell from the ceiling and in falling, landed right on top of Saronedhel and pinned her to the floor. Without thinking he darted to her side. Her body was limp under the branch, burning as it stretched from her shoulders down to the center of her stomach. Letting out a cry of frustration and pain, he shoved the branch off and with his hands smarting; picked up the still figure of the elf-slayer into his arms and carried her swiftly out of the building.

He didn't stop until he was sure they were safe enough distance away from the blaze and then he gently laid her down upon the earth. Her breathing was harsh and shallow as he gingerly touched her forehead. Unconscious, which was a blessed fact, Saronedhel's clothes had burned away in some places, revealing painful burns. He glanced around frantically for some water and, spying a small collection at the base of one of the many star-trees, he began to tear pieces of his soiled tunic into strips and pressed the dampened cloth to as many of the burns as he could.

He worked for hours, ignoring the heat from the fire and the twinges of pain from the burns on his own hands. He had first removed her outer cloak, which she had worn as sort of a long over-coat. Then, working as carefully and quickly as he could he removed what torn remnants of clothing that still managed to cling to her scorched shoulders so that he could better attend to her burns.

The flet had burned to embers by the time she awoke. He had only just finished bandaging her wounds with strips from his tunic when her eyelashes fluttered open revealing clouded eyes. She winced in pain as he finished tying the final bandage and wished with an unnatural sense of regret that he was not trained as expertly in the art of healing as Aragorn was...or had been. This sense of guilt itself was not unnatural, what was unnatural was that he felt it in such a way for the elf-slayer, a woman he had grown to hate so passionately during his stay here.

But he was too tired right then to hate her, could not even conjure anger as she lay there so helpless, still, and confused. He was kneeling, and he turned his gaze towards the burning embers of what remained of Saronedhel's flet. Her tunic had slid partially from her shoulders as she sat up, revealing some minor burns he had missed, but also long scars, older scars, that told tales of beatings and imprisonment. His brows knit together as he turned his gaze from her back to look into her face. Her eyes were depth less voids, her face slack as she gazed in horror at her home.

She tried to rise to her feet, but instead shakily fell forward onto her arms, grimacing as her bandaged burns brushed the ground. The tears had came freely then, welling up in her emotionless blue eyes and pouring down her face in rivers. But they hadn't stopped there. She sobbed, pounding the ground and wailing in grief before finally covering her face wit one hand as her body began to shake. Legolas didn't know what else to do. He walked over to her and knelt at her side. Hesitantly, he draped her cloak over her scarred and bandaged shoulders before finally placing a hand on her back as if to offer comfort in some way.

She surprised him as she sobbed, for she did not tense beneath his touch. Hardly knowing why he wished for her tears to cease, he did not pull away when she finally leaned toward him and embraced him, crying into his shoulder. She cried for a while after that and he rubbed her back soothingly, whispering to her in Quenya that all would be well. He could never recall afterwards when it was exactly when she stopped, but eventually he realized that her tears had slowed and that she was sound asleep against him with her legs stretched out on the forest floor and her head resting upon his chest.

She seemed a different person in sleep, so vulnerable and not nearly half as evil as she presented herself to be. She seemed almost...what as the right word? Perhaps innocent, though he knew it wasn't true. His own attitude towards her was changed even, as he sat there holding her still, slumbering body, he realized he had never really seen her cry.

He changed her bandages while she slept, readjusted her pitifully torn tunic as best he could and wondered if she would be thus angry with him for seeing so much of her when she was caught unawares. Crushing a few star-flowers as he had so often seen her do, he blew a small amount of the fine powder onto her face so that she slept long and painlessly through the night. His own tunic was in tatters and, finding himself with a want of something better to do, he placed her slumbering form as gently as he could under one of the star-trees and afterwards set about to making a fire. Talorta eventually wandered over to his mistress and kept a faithful vigil at her side while she slept.

Thus far, everything he had planned had gone wrong. And now he was burdened with this unshakeable knowledge that he could not leave her alone like this, not now. So he sat by the fire, staring at the note that had miraculously escaped harm from the fire. Reading and rereading its contents many times over. Another mystery, more questions...would he ever escape them? But he brooded in silence nevertheless, waiting for the elf-slayer to awaken so that he could determine his next course of action.

I awoke late that next morning, found the burns decorating my shoulders swathed in bandages and haven been laid comfortably beneath one of my gíllorn trees. Talorta was hovering nearby, and he knickered affectionately as I sat up and winced. The first thing that caught my gaze was the smoking ruins of what had been my flet...what used to be home...my home. The next thing I noticed was the small fire that burned fitfully a few feet away from where I laid and the person I least expected to see was sitting beside it, his silver eyes staring into the flames.

I rose awkwardly to my feet, the bandages tugging at my burns as I did so. I patted Talorta, cooing to him softly in elvish before I finally turned to look at the elven prince once more. I knew somehow that he was aware of my having awakened without actually looking at me, maybe I was beginning to know him better then I thought. Calculating quickly, I gingerly touched the bandages covering my shoulder and chest, putting the pieces together as I recalled the events of the previous day.

I remembered the crushing despair that had driven thoughts from my mind and reduced me to tears. I remembered how he had touched me, issuing silent comfort that I had never thought possible to come from him. I remembered embracing him and letting the rise and fall of his chest quiet my sobs and lull me into a dreamless sleep. When was the last time someone had cared enough to quiet my tears? How long had it been since I had wanted that sort of comfort? Maybe it was as he said, maybe I really was insane.

I neared the fire, announcing my presence by discreetly stepping on a twig. I saw his head turn ever so slightly to glance in my direction before he went back to staring at the fire.

"I wanted to thank you." I said quietly. I felt empty inside, drained of all emotions. Just then I couldn't even bring myself to hate him. What had happened to me? I saw him nod in acknowledgment before he drew his tall, lean form up to full height and looked down at me. I could read nothing from his face. His tunic, now in tatters, hung loosely from his broad shoulders, he was clutching something in his left hand.

"Explain this to me." He said, stretching out the palm of his hand to reveal the note I had received just before my flet had burned. I stared at it for a moment, suddenly conscious of how tall he was as he glowered over me. The words from the note slowly flitted back to my mind and I took it from his hand as my feelings of panic and outrage slowly bit at me.

"Someone wants answers...and they will give the medallion back to me if I go to them."

"Yes, I understood that." He said irritably. "I meant the bit about where it was from Gwenél...I do not understand...I thought-"

I saw the look in his eyes and I finished the thought for him. "You thought I was Gwenél...and if so, where did this come from."

He nodded slowly, hesitant about my having caught on so quickly.

"I am Gwenél." I said. "And I think it is obvious to even you that I did not write this letter."

He was silent for a moment, absorbing what I had said. "Then there is no ghost." He said at last, trying to hold my gaze in order to confirm this fact. I felt an old part of myself surface and I smirked.

"Ghosts aren't real. They're fakes...somebody trying to put on a good show...or to hide something."

He turned his head quizzically. "Like you?"

I felt anger well up inside me, but I also felt my weariness at the same time and the emotion died. "Yes...like me."

"So what are you hiding from...if you aren't really a ghost?"

I stared at him, trying to grasp what he had just said to me. I cleared my throat, angry at both him and myself for my inability to answer the question. Time for a change of topic. "In the cellar there were some stored away supples that we might find useful if they weren't all destroyed in the fire. I intend to follow this letter, I no longer care if you accompany me or not."

Which was true, I had held him prisoner for a long time but now...I knew that I no longer held any power over him. And, truth be told, I could no longer recall the reason why I had kept him for so long...or even why I had rescued him in the first place. It didn't matter now...none of it did. I was surprised somehow when he gave me his consent to come along. I asked him his reasons.

"You still have not been given the justice you deserve from those who have suffered from you. I will follow you only to gain answers, which you have refused to give to me. But after that...we shall see what happens."

I shrugged, there was nothing left for me now. All my hard work...all those years...it was gone. Everything had been destroyed with the burning of my flet. Everything left for me to live for was now gone. And as I looked into Legolas' cold, silver eyes...I realized that I had never felt so alone.

A/N: Yes, I'm surprised to. I haven't updated this story so quickly before in a LONG time. :) I hope you all enjoyed it though I was slightly dis-heartened by the lack of reviews I received for my last chapter. Thanks to those who did review, but I would enjoy some more reviews in the near future. So please, don't forget me:)

TO BE CONTINUED...