I would just like to say thanks to everyone who is still reading this and especially to those of you who have followed/favourited and reviewed. It makes me feel its worth carrying on with the story.

ilovevolleyball- you and your sister are crazy! Love it!. Hopefully this chapter will help go some way to calm you down... nah, actually I'm lying. I don't think it will. *evil laugh* I'm glad Authorunable noticed the Will Turner link there I just couldn't resist, it fitted so well. Thanks for your feelings on Gone too. I'm glad the emotions came through. I wasn't sure if I had gone too OTT with it. Whos POV did you read it from out of interest?

Well I best let you get on with the next installment. Here goes...

Chapter 16

The two elves stand face to face, their only movement the light rise and fall of chests with each breath they take. Neither wants to be the one to break eye contact. A battle of wills both feel the need to win. Time holds no meaning as they are trapped within a world now shrunken to encompass their bodies only, there is nothing else that matters, only them. A sudden, swift movement breaks the spell as a tiny green bird flits between their gaze, the two are so close that each feels the gentle brush of a soft wing upon their forehead as it passes. Both turn to watch as it disappears off between the trees and for a moment share the feeling of just having witnessed something unique and magical but this rapport does not last and Legolas once again feels the cold edge of a blade resting upon his neck.

"One quick slice and it will all be over," a whispered breath conveys Lhossons message to the archers ear, his mouth so close it is almost like a caress, and an involuntary shiver runs down his frame from the intensity held within those few words.

" Yet that would be too easy," the voice continues, now louder and dripping with contempt, "and I have no intention of making this easy, you have spent too much time having things easy 'my prince'." Once again the honorific is spat out with malice.

" Leaving others to do battle in your place whilst you take your leisure in Imladris, never heeding the dangers faced to ensure our peoples safety." The words flow fast and furiously from the elders lips.

"You make me sick! To think I once taught you, took pride in you, loved you as if you were my own, trusted you to look after my most precious….." the words fade away and all is silent once more as each elf contemplates the one before him, both hearts filled with anguish, one for what has been and one for what might have become.

Lhosson quickly steps back a pace as the tension surrounding them continues to shimmer, almost palpably in the air. Raising one hand he holds a knife out to the archer, ivory handle first, an offering which his eyes entreat harshly to be accepted. Legolas looks down to see sunlight glint briefly off the blade of his own knife and wonders at this sudden change of fortune. Why should his captor do this? Why give him back his knife? His eyes are brimming with confusion as he looks back up into the once kindly face but sees only a blank expression with challenge written loud in dark eyes.

"Take it!" the elder shakes the knife to emphasise words hissed through clenched teeth, " go on, take it!"

Legolas reaches out in slow motion and feels his fingers curl around the familiar handle, he is unsure whether his reluctance to take back what is his is due to foresight or fear and this is a new sensation for neither have been his companion before. Without thought his blade is lifted, then flipped end over end to settle once more within his grip, gently cradled where it belongs and waiting patiently for its next action. His gaze has never left that of Lhossons during the reaquaintance of hand and knife and now he tilts his head slightly and raises an eyebrow in silent query.

By way of an answer the elder takes a further step back and raises his other hand, the one that contains his own long knife and twirls the blade effortlessly through his fingers once more before letting it rest in a deceivingly lax grip.

"Fight me," the challenge is issued in a soft drawl, "let me see if you remember any of what I taught you, or have you become too soft, too weak over these past few years."

The black handled knife is suddenly brought to life once more with these words and begins to flash back and forth as it is passed from left hand to right in a blur of movement.

"I have no wish to fight you" there is strength and sorrow in the quiet words "why do you want this?"The knife in Legolas' hand hangs loosely at his side as he speaks, his will concentrated upon presenting a relaxed demeanor. " There is no reason for combat between us."

With this he half turns as if to walk away but is stopped by the sharp pain of blade through flesh as Lhossons knife pierces his left side, is twisted and removed in a single rapid movement, then, faster than a blink of the eye the elder is before him once more, so close he can feel warm breath upon his face.

" Oh, but you will, youngling, or this time Mandos will claim you."

There is another blur of movement and another sharp intake of breath as the black handled knife again tastes blood.

" Or are you too much of a coward to face me, have you forgotten what it means to be a warrior." Lhossons voice rises in both speed and pitch. " Fight, you craven, spoiled, pampered elfling."As the taunts continue so the blade maintains its dance, drawing fresh blood from the archers pale body and the elder becomes more frenzied with each new stripe of red." You want to fight. I can see it in your eyes. Coward! Coward! Cowar…"

Finally the black handled knife meets ringing resistance as the instinct for self preservation takes over and elven blade kisses elven blade. Without thought Legolas has joined the dance, his mind crying out to stop but his body unwilling to take further punishment. As they circle one another warily each faking a slash or stab here and there the archer considers his options. Looking into his opponents eyes he sees that reason has left to be replaced by a dark madness that nothing but death will satisfy. The only option he has is to fight and hope that he can tire his old mentor enough to capture him and prevent further tragedy. With a nod to the elder his mind is set, this is the only course of action now possible, he will trust to the Valar that his skill is enough and he begins to fight.

.

"What was that?" the twins halt their forward motion, uttering the words almost simultaneously.

" What was what?" Estel turns and looks back at his adoptive brothers, his dark eyebrows raised in query.

Elladan places his finger to his lips in an indication for silence which is underlined by the forceful stare he sends the young humans way. They stand mutely, each ear straining to catch an evasive sound they are unsure exists.

" There!" Elrohirs eyes gleam " the meeting of blades, if I am not mistaken," he turns to his twin for confirmation knowing that the sound will be too faint for human ears to discern.

"Aye" the elder twin replies simply, nodding to his brother in agreement, " and I perceive only two."

"Legolas" the name comes out as a soft prayer from the young human as he tries desperately to make his ears pick up the sounds, and curses softly as he can not. " Which way?"

Desperation laces his question and his eyes move swiftly from one twin to the other, willing them to lead him swiftly in the right direction and as Elladan raises a finger to point he wastes no time in further talk, simply moves rapidly away on the indicated course hope once more shining in his iridescent eyes.

.

The clash of blade upon blade rings through the woods as the elven battle continues. Master and pupil are now locked in a combat neither will concede. Legolas knows that this is no friendly sparing match, the slightest slip will mean either the end or everlasting sorrow and he is unsure which of these two fates will be the worst.

Their bodies move almost independently of thought, well honed and practised over the years, there is little between their skill despite the age difference, so well matched that their moves synchronise and it becomes a mesmerising spectacle as they thrust, twist, parry twirl and jump through the woods, making use of logs and rocks on the uneven ground in vain attempts to distract each other and unsecure respective footings.

Time moves on unheeded and still they continue. Both blades have now tasted blood yet neither elf has felt the sharp kisses bestowed upon pale skin so wrapped up in the endless dance they have ceased to notice all else.

.

Estel hastens through the trees, his brothers in tow, heart racing, fear making it thump in his ears like a drum, almost drowning out the sounds he can now hear clearly, the sounds his brothers perceived before. Heedless of any danger ahead he ploughs on with one thought, to save his dearest friend or die trying.

A sudden blur of movement to his left catches his eye and he stops, to stand transfixed by the sight before him, two figures moving with such speed and grace as he has never before witnessed. He has watched his brothers spar together and on occasion Glorfindel and Elrond but this, this takes his breath away, if it were not so deadly, he thinks it would be beautiful.

He turns his head to the twins and sees they too seem rooted to the spot by the fighting pair, both observing in silent awe as the blades and bodies whirl. He looks back and impossibly, the pace increases, now both forms become a fluid blur of colours, inseparable to the human eye and he realises, with a sinking heart that there is nothing he can do to stop this, he has neither the skill nor the speed to intercede and is unsure if even his brothers could step in now. All they can do is watch as the dance continues and hope that their friend will prevail.

Legolas knows he is tiring, the injuries sustained over the past few days are beginning to take their toll, pain lingers at the back of his perception but he refuses to acknowledge it and bring it to life, yet, as he continues to push his body up to and beyond the edge of its endurance it is becoming more insistent. He fears his strategy is not working, the elder seems to be gaining more strength as they continue the fight and he can see the gleam of triumph in the darkened eyes as Lhosson realises he has the upper hand.

It is with a sickening realisation of failure that the young archer finally missteps and finds himself on his knees in the leaf litter strewn under the trees, he manages to roll from under the downward plunging knife poised above him as he prepares to stab upwards with his own in an effort to deflect the killing blow and suddenly hears his name shouted out in an anguished cry.

Both elves are distracted by the sound momentarily and concentration wavers for one, short second, but that is all it takes.

Both elves feel metal plunge through flesh, both feel a searing pain as their eyes are drawn to the sight, then to each others, the world stops, this is all there is, one moment in time that endures for ever in the mind, playing over and over again. One moment in which everything changes and the future lays undecided. For one the pain of the flesh will be erased all too soon as they start the journey to another life, for the other the pain of the fea will continue on into eternity.