A/N: Thanks to Sofia, Elerrina, Shaan lien, Lossenchristal, Miriel, and Jay of Lasgalen for their wonderful reviews!  

Also before you read on... 

**WARNING**  This chapter contains some material in it that may or may not deserve an R rating.  Please know that you have been warned and that nothing in here was written to intentionally cross any lines that stray into the realm of R or otherwise. 

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The sights and sounds of Minas Tirith were nothing but a blur to Legolas as he pushed his already tired and hurting body down the snow-covered streets in a hurried, limping sort of jog. Pain shot up the length of both his legs with every irregular, limping step he took, but he willed himself to ignore it. Consumed by raging thoughts of worry and dread, the limping wood elf barely even felt the burning fire coursing up every fiber and sinew of his long, withered legs. All he could focus on was the tall stone building slowly nearing in the distance.

The House of Healing.

Pushing more effort into his already stinging leg muscles, Legolas quickened his pace, totally ignoring the curious glances he earned from several of the local denizen as he hurried past them in an awkward, hobbled run. His cane beat a frantic rhythm on the slush-covered ground beside him, loudly tapping out his pace every other step. Beside Legolas, Gimli had to break into a light jog to keep up with the hurriedly limping elf. The stout little warrior said nothing in response to the elf’s increased speed and merely shot his friend a slightly worried glance out of the corner of his eye.

Though Gimli did not like Legolas pushing himself so hard like this after all he had already done that day on their walk through the city, he understood the elf’s desire to reach the House of Healing fast. Aragorn’s message had been anything but ominous. A murder? This did not bode well at all. The messenger had been given no information except that the two of them were out in the city somewhere and that he was to find them and tell them to come to the House of Healing as quick as possible. This disconcerting lack of information on Aragorn’s part to his messenger had done nothing to lessen any of the friends’ initial anxiety over such grave tidings and had subsequently led to the frightened string of questions now running ramped through each of their worried minds.

Who had been killed? Was it someone they knew? If not, then why had Aragorn requested their presence so urgently?

Wild, frantic possibilities all spawned by the ramped imaginations of worried minds swarmed through their heads and seemed to grip them and slowly drown them in growing fear.

Finally turning into the House of Healing’s front courtyard and hurrying across it, the elf and dwarf barely even slowed their run before bursting through the heavy front doors and into the darkened entrance hall beyond. The two were almost ready to charge deeper into the cavernous interior of the huge stone building in search of the one who sent for them, but quickly found they did not need to. For standing there off to the side of the large entrance hall as if waiting for them was not only Aragorn, but also the king’s Steward Faramir and two elven foster-brothers Elrohir and Elladan.

“Legolas! Gimli! Thank goodness you’re finally here,” Aragorn called out to them in relief as he and the others with him hurried over to the meet the elf and dwarf in the middle of the large hall.

“We came as soon as we got your message. What happened? Who was it?” Legolas panted as he weakly limped the last few feet separating him from his friends and finally came to stop before them with Gimli close by his side. Untold fear shined in the elven prince’s eyes and gaunt features. “Who was it? Who was killed? Was it someone we knew?” he demanded, his face a swimming confusion of apprehension and dread.

“Legolas. Legolas, calm down. It’s alright. It wasn’t anyone we knew,” Aragorn said, his calm, steady voice instantly stilling anymore of the elf’s frightened ramble of questions.

Visible relief washed over the elven prince’s face. His whole body seemed to suddenly sag and waver in strength, as if the sudden release of tension had finally drained the last remaining bit of energy from his overtaxed body. He could feel the strain and exhaustion from his previous flight through the city to get to the House of Healing as quick as he could finally catching up with him.

“Legolas, are you alright?” Elladan questioned, starting to push his way towards Legolas as he saw the blonde archer momentarily waver on his frail legs and grip his cane tighter as if he were about to collapse. The others also saw this and begun to simultaneously move forward to help steady the wavering elf.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Legolas insisted, quickly waving Elladan away before he or any of the others could touch him, “Really. Just please don’t touch me. I’m fine. I just... I just need to rest a moment. I fear my legs still aren’t used to such strenuous activities just yet.”

“Did you run all the way here?” Aragorn questioned, worriedly examining the exhaustion clearly written across his friend’s crumpled face. Legolas gave a weak, reluctant nod of affirmation. “Oh, Legolas, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you like that. Faramir said that you and Gimli were out in the city and I wanted to send a message to you as fast as I could. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Aragorn. Just tell me why you summoned us here,” Legolas said, forcing himself to ignore the exhaustion quickly draining his weakened body of strength.

Aragorn hesitated for a moment, his face growing dark. “Actually, it was you I wanted to see...” At the elf’s confused look, the man gave a heavy sigh. “Perhaps we should move someplace more secluded where we can sit and I can explain things better,” he suggested, “This may take awhile.”

Legolas shared a slightly bewildered glance with Gimli beside him before finally nodding his head in acceptance and motioning for Aragorn to lead the way. The group quickly relocated to a small room down one of the side passages branching off the main entrance hall. It looked like some kind of office or study of one of the House’ resident healers.

“Don’t worry. I know the man that runs this ward. He won’t mind us using his study for awhile,” Aragorn explained as he motioned the others inside and told them to take a seat in one of the numerous chairs scattered about the healer’s small office. Legolas just nodded as he gratefully lowered his weary body into one of the chairs.

When all were finally comfortably seated, Aragorn shut the door behind him and slowly moved into the room. “I summoned you here, Legolas, because there had been a murder...” he began, staring down at the floor as he came to stand in front of the group.

“That much we could have already told you ourselves, lad...” Gimli mumbled under his breath somewhere on the far side of the room. Aragorn just shot Gimli a slightly withering glare out the corner of his eye that quickly silenced any possible future comments from the stout little dwarf.

The man then heaved a heavy sigh and carefully perched himself on the edge of the desk in front of Legolas. “I don’t know if you have somehow already heard or have had any reason before now to know, but for the past several years Minas Tirith had been plagued by a series of unsolved murders,” Aragorn said, his voice low and quiet as if he wished for no one else to overhear what he was saying to the stunned elven prince.

“The first murder was about three years ago, around this time of year. We tried everything we could to find the murderer, but couldn’t find any clues. At first we hoped that would be the only one of its kind, but then several months later there was another murder. And then several months after that another.”

By now, Aragorn’s voice had begun to slightly tremble with building anger and helpless frustration as he continued his retelling of the horrific crimes committed in his city that he had been unable to stop. “We have tried everything we could to stop this killer, Legolas, but we can never find any clues. He strangles then mutilates the faces of his victims – all of them young women from the lower parts of the city. At first he killed irregularly, only even six months or so, with no set pattern, but in the past two months he’s already killed three girls. He’s starting to become more active. We need to stop this killer now. This last body we found makes seven. Seven, Legolas! I cannot stand to sit here any longer and watch my people be murdered like this. It is my responsibility to see to the protection of this city and its people. This killer must be found and stopped now, before any more innocent lives are taken.”

Legolas sat for a long moment of silence, staring back at Aragorn in shock. This was the first time he had heard of such murders taking place in the white city of Gondor. He knew if he had inquired deeper into the happenings of the last five years he might have come across this bit of information before. But ever since coming out of his coma and finding everything so changed around him, he had avoided looking into the past or recent events. To him it was easier not to know what happened in the last five years. Because in some small part of his mind he believed that if he didn’t know, then he didn’t have to actually acknowledge and accept all the time lost to him while he had laid there in an deep, unending sleep. But now to hear of these disturbing events of the last several years, Legolas had to wonder what else he had missed, and if he could really go on pretending his coma never actually happened.

Breaking himself out of his thoughts, Legolas finally found the voice to speak. “I can understand your frustration for such things happening in your city, Aragorn, but why did you call for me? I know nothing of these murders. How can I possibly help?” he asked, confusion clearly shining in his ancient blue eyes.

At this, Aragorn nervously shifted his gaze away from Legolas and down to the floor. “I– I was actually hoping you might somehow use your powers to help us catch the killer...” he said, his voice small and tentative as he rose pleading grey eyes up to meet those of the elven prince. “Please, Legolas,” he begged, “We cannot let these murders go on. We must find who is responsible and stop him.”

Legolas sat for a minute, stunned. He had not been expecting this. “Aragorn, I... I don’t know what I could do... I don’t even know if such a thing would work. These powers... I don’t even know how to control them, or how they work. I don’t know how– ”

“Please, Legolas,” Aragorn cut off, desperately looking into the elven prince’s liquid blue eyes, “I know these powers are still strange and foreign to you, but will you at least try?”

“Please,” Faramir joined in from off on the other side of the room beside the twins, “We have tried everything else. We are out of other options and time is running out. You might be the only one that can do anything about this.”

Legolas looked torn by indecision. He honestly wanted to help his friends find this killer stalking their city, but he was also apprehensive about using his powers to do so. They were still so strange and mysterious. He really didn’t even know what they expected him to actually do.

Seeking any kind of counsel in helping him make this weighty decision, Legolas glanced over to the elven twins quietly sitting next to each other in the far back corner of the room. “What do you think?” he asked, quietly imploring their own opinion.

Elrohir heaved a heavy sigh and shared an unreadable glance with his brother. “The decision is yours, Legolas,” he said, “You must be the one to decide if you want to subject yourself to whatever vision you might see.”

“But as Faramir said, you might be the only one that can actually help stop this killer before anymore lives are lost,” Elladan then added, effectively not helping Legolas reach any sort of decision at all.

“Well, I for one don’t like this idea at all,” Gimli snorted, drawing everyone else’s attention to him. “The power of second-sight is not something that should be taken lightly. We don’t even know what risks might be involved for Legolas if he actually agrees to such a thing. It’s too dangerous a thing to risk if Legolas might somehow be hurt.”

A heavy silence quickly descended over the room like a dense fog as everyone there digested this new point. Though they all wanted to see a stop to these grisly murders, none of them wanted to see their friend somehow hurt in the process.

Legolas slowly turned back around in his seat and began to chew his bottom lip in frustrated indecision. He honestly wanted to help them. But did he really want to possibly experience another vision like he had with Gimli and the Glittering Caves? He could still hear the ghostly echo of frightened screams ringing in his ears from those dwarves being buried alive under several thousand tons of falling rocks. He could still see the terror in their faces as they had hurried to flee the collapsing cave. He didn’t want to see such things again. He didn’t want to see innocent people die and not be able to do anything about it.

But... if he were to use his powers, he might be able to stop these horrible murders.

It was as Legolas sat there warring with his own emotions that he happened to remember a previous vision he had experienced not too long ago. One he received from Aragorn little over a month ago when he and Aragorn had been sitting together out on the balcony to Legolas’ room. He had tried to push the horrible images he received from the man’s careless touch on his shoulder, but in remembering them a rush of unbidden memories flooded back to him.

A girl lying face down in the middle of some back alley, her face brutally maimed. Blood pooling on the ground under her head. Her clothes violently torn and shredded as if there had been some kind of fierce struggle.

Legolas had to choke back a sob as he remembered those horrible images. He had never told anyone of that vision. He had unwittingly known back then what was going on in the city and never told anyone. His powers had still been no new and strange he could not bring himself to speak of what he had seen. Scared and frightened, he had pushed them from his mind, dismissing them as wild illusions brought on by his head injury. But his vision had once again come true. If he had told someone of this before could he have somehow saved this latest victim’s life or others? Could he have somehow helped stopped these killing back then?

Overcome by an intense wave of guilt and self-reproach for not speaking of this vision before because of fear of rejection or accusations of insanity from his friends, Legolas suddenly knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let something like this happen again. “I will do it,” he said, slowly turning sapphire blue eyes up to look into those of the waiting king before him, “If it is in my ability to do so, I will help you find this killer...”

An excited murmur ran through the room’s occupants at this declaration except for a soft grunt of disapproval from the room’s only dwarf.

“Are you sure about this, Legolas,” Aragorn asked hesitantly, “I do not want to push you into something you do not wish to do or might somehow be harmful to you.”

“Nay. This is something I must do...” the elven prince responded with a small shake of his golden head, “I have had other visions before and survived. If I can somehow use these powers to help prevent anymore of these senseless murders than I will do what I can.”

With a grateful nod of his head, Aragorn quickly rose. “Come, then. Let us see what you can see...”

Motioning for the others to follow him, the king of Gondor quickly led them down one of the House’s many twisting hallways. As the small group ventured deeper into the building’s cavernous depths, the hallways began to grow darker and more quiet and narrow, as if they were being led into a completely different building.

An ominous tension seemed to enter the air. The soft background murmur of life that usually filled the crowded building gradually fell away to a deep, oppressive silence. Their collective footsteps echoed loudly down the long, empty corridor. Eery shadows danced across the corridor’s rough stone walls from the flickering light of torches burning in metal brackets intermittently spaced along the long passageway.

“Aragorn, what is this place?” Legolas ventured to ask in a hushed whisper that nevertheless seemed to ring out like a shout in the unnerving silence surrounding them, “This is like no other part of the House of Healing I have ever been in before.”

“We are in the far north section of the building,” the man answered from the head of the line, “Not many people willing come to this part of the House of Healing unless they must...”

“Why is that?” the elf asked.

“Because this is where the bodies of those who have died while here in the House’s care or those in the city without family are kept until they can be given proper burial...” the man answered in a low, ominous voice.

The unnerving silence of the dark, empty passage suddenly seemed to come rushing back like a palpable wave of tension as the last few notes of Aragorn’s reply slowly faded from the air, leaving them to linger only in the ears and minds of those that dared venture into the House of Healing’s dark inner depths. Uneasy, furtive glances were exchanged between the group’s members as the heavy, unwelcoming presence of the dead that occupied those halls seemed to press down around them. Aragorn, leading the small group, quickly hastened their pace and led them to one of the many closed doors lining the long passage, desperate to reach their destination and be done with this unholy task.

Beyond the closed door which Aragorn quickly opened and motioned the others through was a chamber lit only by the flickering glow of torches burning around the perimeter of the small room. There were no windows or furniture of any kind. Only a low, raised table with a long stone slab for a top situated in the center of the room.

A sterile white sheet lay draped over it, covering the distorted shape of a body laid out on its back beneath. Aragorn slowly moved towards it as the others filed in after him and spread out across the one side of the room behind him.

“This is her...” he said as he slowly stepped up to the side of the stone table and looked down at the round mass of the girl’s covered head. “She was brought here by some of the city guards earlier this morning. We are still trying to identify her and find her family, but I am afraid that is proving very difficult at the present moment. I would show you her, but I feel the desecration her killer wrought upon her face would be best left unseen...”

Aragorn then slowly moved to the foot of the table. “We did however manage to find some things at the crime scene that may help us discover who the girl was or who her killer is.” The man the slowly picked up several items laying on the end of the stone slab holding the dead girl’s body.

“Legolas...” he said, turning back around to face the elven prince, “Will you help us?” he asked, holding up the objects in his hands.

Legolas nervously hesitated but them slowly moved towards the waiting man. “What do you want me to do?” he asked as he came up beside his mortal friend.

“I thought you could touch these things we found and somehow be able to tell us something that might help us solve these murders,” Aragorn replied. Nervousness clearly tainted the man’s usually strong voice as he finally put into words the absurd sounding hope he wanted his friend to somehow do.

“I will try...” Legolas said, his own uncertainty of what he was about to do evident to everyone else there.

Aragorn nodded and held out the first object to the woodland elf. “This was the girl’s shawl. I don’t know what you might see from it, but...” he nervously trailed off, passing the tattered length of grey cloth over to the elven prince. He then stepped back, expectantly watching Legolas for any kind of reaction with bated breath. His anticipation was mirrored in the other observers watching from the side of the room.

Legolas hesitantly turned the cloth over in his hands, letting the shawl glide across his skin as he ran his fingers along the roughly knit material, as if trying to draw out some kind of vision from its billowy folds.

But no vision came.

“I’m not getting anything,” he finally said after a time, still running his hands along the cloth futilely. He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t see anything.”

“Maybe you’re just trying too hard,” Elladan tentatively suggested from the side of the room.

“No. If I am to see anything, it is almost instantaneous,” Legolas replied with an irritated shake of his head. Handing the visionless shawl back to Aragorn, the elf nervously looked down at his feet. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good...” he said, starting to berate himself for thinking he could use his fickle psychic abilities to help his friends.

“Please, Legolas,” Aragorn begged, quickly grabbing the next object before the elven prince could protest, “Here. Try this. It’s a necklace we found near the girl’s body. We think it must have broken off sometime during the struggle with her attacker,” he explained, holding out a long, broken chain with a small heart-shaped pendant dangling from it to Legolas.

The elf noticeably hesitated, but finally held out his hand to accept the broken trinket. Legolas stood for a moment completely still, silently staring down at the necklace sitting there in a small pile in the palm of his hand. For a minute Aragorn and everyone else there were almost ready to believe Legolas was not going to receive any kind of vision from this item either when the elf’s eyes suddenly seemed to grow distant and dark.

“She was a potter’s assistant...” he said in a low, almost mechanical voice as he turned the necklace over in his hand and began slowly stroking the heart-shaped pendant as he spoke. “She worked in the third level of the city... Her name was Talia... She was going to be married later this spring to a young blacksmith... Her fiancee gave her this necklace as a gift two years ago for the midsummer’s festival... She has no family except an older sister in Osgiliath who was going to come help her make her wedding dress... She had wanted her wedding in May, right after the flowers bloomed...”

Legolas slowly trailed off, letting his words linger in the still silence that had fallen over the room the moment he had begun speaking. Blinking and giving his head a soft shake as if coming out of a deep trance, the elf finally returned to himself, his eyes once again their normal shade of blue. He did not look up at the others expectantly watching him from the far side of the room and only continued to stare down at the broken chain laying in a small coiled loop in his hand with a sad, distant expression on his face.

“She was going to get married...” he said softly, talking more to himself than anyone else there. “She was going to get married and have a bright and happy future with children and a loving husband...” he said, staring down at the necklace with a fine mist of watery tears beginning to shine in his ancient blue eyes.

Looking up, he shared a long, sorrowful look with Aragorn standing in front of him. The man solemnly stared back, the same thought running through both their minds. This girl was going to get married. She had had her whole life in front of her before it had been brutally ripped away.

Filled with a sudden surge of fiery rage, Legolas knew he could not let this happen again. He could not let this horrible crime be inflicted on yet another innocent life. He had to find this killer.

Cold determination burned in the elf’s ancient blue eyes as he stared back at Aragorn. “What else do you have?” he asked, setting the broken necklace down on the edge of the stone table holding the dead girl’s body and looking back up at the man expectantly.

Seeing this new aura of determination well up in his friend’s fathomless blue eyes, Aragorn nodded and quickly handed the elf the last item he had. “This is a cloak pin we found,” he explained, “We do not know for sure who it belongs to, but the girl died clutching it in her hand. We think she ripped it off while trying to fight off her killer.” As the elf took the simple silver clasp from him, the man stepped back, a look of intense anticipation on his face. Elrohir, Elladan, Faramir, and Gimli also stood in complete silence on the side of the room, frozen in suspense to see what the elven prince’s reaction to this item would be.

Legolas stood still for a moment, the cloak pin tightly held between his first two fingers. And then, just like with the girl’s necklace, the inner circle’s of Legolas’ eyes seemed to darken and grow sharp like two blades of obsidian blue.

“This man comes from a broken home,” the elf said in his trance like voice as he blindly stared ahead, seeing not with his eyes but with his mind’s powerful gift of second sight, “His father used to beat him and his mother whenever he was drunk... No one ever knew this though... Everyone always thought his father was an exemplary husband and father... His mother left when he was still young... Only about seven or eight years old... He... He also smokes pipeweed,” Legolas then said, squinting his eyes slightly as if he had to concentrate harder on what he was seeing, “But he doesn’t like anyone to know it. He sees it as a weakness...” The elf trailed off slightly, turning the cloak pin over in his hand to hold it in a tight fist. “He... He feels he has to kill because it is the only thing that makes him feel alive and in control of others... He... He...” Legolas shook his head slightly, narrowing his eyes in fierce concentration, “He kills women because he feels they are responsible for what happened to him in his childhood... He blames his mother for abandoning him and leaving him with his father when he was still so young... He...” Legolas began but then abruptly trailed off.

He could see no further. It was like his mind had suddenly hit some kind of invisible barrier that prevented him from seeing any further into the vision. Forced back, Legolas was only vaguely aware of the silver cloak pin slipping from his suddenly lax fingers and falling to the ground beside his feet. His entire body began to shake, trembling from the lingering after effects of the vision as he returned to himself. The elf’s hand blindly shot out, desperate to grab hold of the stone table beside him to help steady his suddenly weak knees.

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried, quickly moving to his friend’s side.

“No. No, I’m fine,” Legolas panted as he weakly waved his friend away, “I– I just need a minute,” he said, bringing a trembling hand up to the left side of his head where a pure white streak of hair grew from the raised area of scar tissue of his old head wound.

“Are you sure, Legolas?” Faramir worriedly asked as he and the others who had been watching from the side of the room rushed forward to their ailing friend’s side.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” the elf assured none too convincingly as he weakly pulled himself up straight again. “I just feel a little light headed is all...” he said, still holding the side of his head, “I’m not sure what happened. All of a sudden it was like I was cut off. I couldn’t see anymore.”

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” Gimli angrily grunted, coming to stand beside his friend though taking care not to get too close to accidentally touch him, “I told you dabbling in powers of the unknown was not a wise course of action.”

“Well, at least Legolas was able to tell us something,” Aragorn sighed, stooping to pick up the dropped cloak pin back off the floor, “At least we now know the name of the girl so we can contact her family.”

“But that is basically all we’ve learned,” Faramir interjected in a voice of clear frustration, “We are no closer to discovering the identity of this killer then we were before. What we now know is not enough to help us find this murderer. From what Legolas told us, he could be almost any man in Gondor! Were you able to see him, Legolas? Can you describe him in any way?” he asked, desperately imploring any kind of clues the elven prince might be able give him.

“Nay. I’m sorry. I cannot,” Legolas said with a slow, sorry shake of his head as he finally dropped his hand away from his head and looked up into the Steward’s face, “I was unable to actually see him. Only kind of... feel his presence.”

Faramir sighed in helpless frustration and disappointment. “What are we to do then, Aragorn?” he asked, looking to his king as if hoping he might hold the answers, “If Legolas cannot help us catch this killer, how can we find him before he strikes again?”

“I don’t know,” the retired ranger sighed, wearily rubbing the pinch of skin between his eyes, “I suppose the only thing we can do right now is increase the number of guards that patrol the city at night. We will have to issue a public warning to the people telling them to be indoors after dark until we find this killer.”

“But, Aragorn, you’ve already tried catching this man by sending more guards out on patrol, and it never works,” Elladan piped in, “He just waits until you think it safe to call off the extra guards to strike again. Unless you plan on having one guard posted on every street corner throughout this entire city for the rest of your reign, he will only wait until he feels the initial panic of this murder has died down enough to kill again. Such a thing would only be a temporarily deterrence.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?” Aragorn snapped at his elven foster-brother, “We have been trying for over three years now to catch this man and still can’t! If you have any suggestions at all, I am willing to hear them. I am prepared to do anything I can to protect the people of this city.”

“Estel, he didn’t mean it to sound like you haven’t been trying,” Elrohir quickly stepped in between his brothers and said in a calming voice, “We know you are trying everything you can to stop this man, but Elladan’s right. Increasing the guards will only be a temporary solution to this problem until you actually catch this man. He won’t stop killing until he is caught.”

A heated argument then quickly ensued, filling the air with raised voices as each of the room’s occupants began arguing over what their next course of action should be in dealing with this mysterious killer assailing their fair city. All of them, that is, except for the room’s only blonde haired elf.

As the others continued to loudly argue amongst themselves, Legolas silently stared down at the floor, lost in a storm of thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel that he had failed in doing anything to help solve these brutal murders. Aragorn had asked him to help and he had been unable to give them any useful information. If he didn’t somehow find a way to find more clues, these unsolved murders would only continue.

Shaking his head in frustration, the elven prince absentmindedly glanced over at the broken necklace still sitting on the edge of the table beside him that held the body of the killer’s latest victim under a long white sheet. As he stared down at the motionless form of the dead girl’s body, an idea suddenly popped into the blonde archer’s head. A sudden, wild and dangerous idea.

His heart beating like a slave ship’s drum up against the inside of his chest, the elven prince glanced up at the others still arguing amongst themselves in a small group off to his side. None of them as of yet had taken any notice of him standing beside the dead girl’s body.

He wondered for a minute if he should go ahead with what he planned. But then he remembered his early vision of the girl laying face down in the middle of a decrepit alley like some discarded piece of trash, and that this killer would not stop until he was finally caught and brought to justice.

He knew what he had to do.

His mind firmly made up, the elven prince leaned down over the side of the long stone table holding the dead girl’s body.

“Legolas...?” Aragorn’s tentative call sounded as the man finally noticed the blonde haired elf’s actions on the other side of the room over his Steward’s shoulder standing in front of him. The others also quieted their heated discussion and looked back over at the elven prince.

Legolas did not answer or look up, and only lifted up the one edge of the sheet covering the dead girl’s body and threw it back, revealing a cold white hand beneath, lifelessly laying on top the cold stone slab holding the rest of the her shrouded body.

“Legolas, what are you doing?” Aragorn called out again, his voice starting to become more anxious as he was once again ignored. The elf slowly leaned down over the exposed hand and tentatively stretched out his own hand towards the lifeless appendage. “Legolas! No!” Aragorn cried, finally realizing what the elven prince was going to attempt to do. A startled gasp rippled through the others present as they also realized their friend’s intent.

But Legolas either did not hear the man’s words of warning or decided not to heed them and slowly fitted his hand into that of the girl’s, clasping her cold, dead hand to his as if exchanging a friendly human handshake.

For one half heartbeat of silence it seemed as if nothing was going to happen. But then just as everyone there was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Legolas was suddenly assaulted by a barrage of mental images that seemed to flood into his mind like a powerful surge of water from an unleashed dam.

It was suddenly dark. He couldn’t see. All he could see and feel was the wild flurry of movement suddenly assaulting him, overwhelming his senses as some unknown attacker grabbed and pushed at him, pulling at his hair and clothes as he was brutally driven to the ground.

Legolas collapsed to his knees, crying out loudly as he violently twisted to the side up against the stone table as if trying to defend himself from some kind of unseen attack. He blindly stared ahead, his eyes distant and pupils darkened to a deep, almost obsidian shade of black. Another strangled cry flew from his lips as he once more twisted to the side. His hand still tightly clutched the dead girl’s hand whose arm now lifelessly hung down over the edge of the table.

“Legolas! Legolas, answer me!” Aragorn cried, instantly there by his seizing friend’s side as everyone else also rushed forward and crowded around the screaming elf. “Legolas! Legolas!” he desperately called, frantically grabbing his friend’s shoulders to calm the elf’s struggles.

But the elf could not hear him and only continued to fight against the storm of images invading his mind.

A heavy weight was suddenly straddling his chest, crushing him into the ground. He tried to roll out from under the crushing weight but couldn’t as he was tightly pinned against the cold hard ground at his back. He tried to see who was attacking him, but couldn’t. All he could see were dark shadows and wild movement. He tried to scream out for help, but just as he was about to, a pair of vice-like hands suddenly clamped down on his throat, crushing his windpipe and cutting off his air supply. He frantically clawed at the powerful hands wrapped around his neck, desperate to pull them off and draw air into his burning lungs.

“What’s happening to him?!” Aragorn cried as Legolas collapsed down onto his back, struggling as if pinned to the ground under something.

“He’s having a vision!” Elrohir called out over Legolas’ screams as he dropped down next to the seizing prince and tried to pull the convulsing elf into his arms. But before he could, Legolas violently twisted away from him and suddenly began to choke and gag as he frantically began clawing at his neck as if trying to pry something away. Fear widened eyes blankly stared up at the ceiling, his fingers still desperately clawing at his throat.

“Do something!” Gimli screamed.

“We can’t!” Elladan called back over Legolas’ straggled cries to the panicked dwarf kneeling on the other side of the convulsing elf, “He’s having a vision. We don’t know how to break him out of it!”

“The girl!” Faramir suddenly cried, pointing down at the elf’s hand still tightly clenching the dead girl’s in his own, “Break their connection! That’s what’s causing the vision!”

Elladan and Aragorn quickly saw this too and leapt towards the joined hands to pry them apart. Legolas’ hand seemed fused to the girl’s, as if some invisible force held them together. His fingers felt like iron vices wrapped around her cold, dead flesh. The man and elf wrestled for several long minutes trying to peel Legolas’ fingers back and break the emaciated elf’s unimaginably strong grip on the girl’s hand. Finally, just as Aragorn and Elladan were about to panic as the sound of Legolas’ struggles and desperate gasps of air suddenly took on a slightly higher pitch of urgency, the two finally managed to pull the two apart. The dead girl’s hand bounced against the side of the stone structure holding her body as it was finally released and lifelessly swung from side to side over the edge of the stone table.

But even though Legolas’ connection to the dead girl was finally severed, his vision did not end like his friends had so desperately hoped.

He fought against his attacker, desperately trying to draw even the tiniest bit of air into his burning lungs. He could feel his vision beginning blur from lack of air and frantically pushed more effort into his steadily weakening hands to pry the merciless fingers crushing his windpipe away from his throat. But his attacker only dug his fingers deeper into the soft, supple flesh, slowly smashing the back of his head into the ground behind him.

He couldn’t breathe! His lungs screamed for air. He could feel his body beginning to grow weaker, as if his energy was slowly being drained from his body like some thick sludge. The hazy fog tunneling his vision seemed to grow denser. His ears began to ring with the desperate need for air. He frantically gulped at the air like a beached fish, but could draw no breath in past the cruel fingers squeezing down on his throat.

The world was beginning to grow dark and hazy, shadows beginning to sweep over him like a hungry black cloud. But just as he thought he was about to pass out from lack of air, he felt one of the hands clamped down around his throat release its hold and begin to move down lower over his helpless body.

He tried to cry out, but the one hand still wrapped around his throat prevented him from making anything more than a strangled squeak. He felt the hand roaming down his body begin to savagely paw and pull at his clothes, violently ripping them away from his upper body like a wolf hungrily tearing at the carcass of a downed animal. He screamed out again, fresh terror exploding through him as he felt his attacker’s fingers finally come in contact with the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath.

He weakly tried to squirm away but the fingers wrapped around his throat only tightened, pushing him down harder into the ground and stilling his futile movements. He felt his attacker’s hand wander lower and grab at the hem of his pants, ripping the material away from his body. He struggled vainly, but the heavy body sitting across him prevented him from any escape he might have tried to make.

The hand wandered lower, brushing across his skin and sending fresh waves of terror surging through his body. He felt his legs then brutally pushed apart and the heavy weight sitting across his chest shift down lower on his body. The fingers wrapped around his neck momentarily loosen for a second, letting a small rush of rejuvenating air back into his oxygen-starved lungs as his attacker shifted off him for a moment before then quickly clamping his one hand back down onto his abused throat.

But that small gasp of air he managed to steal from his attacker’s momentary respite was more than enough to let one last strangled scream of terror rend the air as a blinding bolt of pain suddenly shot up through his body, flaring white in his eyes...

Legolas frantically kicked at the ground, propelling himself backwards across the ground until his back finally connected with the rough stone wall behind him. His strangled screams filled the small room, reverberating off the walls like the echo of a hundred tortured souls.

“Legolas! Legolas, snap out of it!” Aragorn desperately cried into his friend’s ear as the elf scuttled back from them and slammed into the nearby wall, still clawing at his neck and choking for air. “Legolas, breathe!!” he screamed, trying to pull the seizing elf into his arms to calm him.

But the elven prince could not hear him and only screamed louder and violently twisted away from his friend, still caught in the unyielding grips of a psychic vision. He lay on the ground with his shoulders firmly pressed up against the wall behind him even as he frantically kicked at the ground, as if trying to escape whatever was mentally attacking him. The elf’s expression was one of utter terror as he stared up at the ceiling above, his eyes as distant and fathomless as the deepest ocean depths.

Aragorn shared a frightened, helpless look with the others huddled close around him and the choking elf. None of them knew what to do to help break their friend out of the vision assailing his senses. Their collective panic quickly rose and seemed to fill the air like a tangible presence.

And then, just when they believed Legolas could scream no louder, the elf suddenly let out one long blood-curdling scream, his body going completely ridged as his legs fell open as if suddenly forced apart.

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried, moving closer to his friend’s side.

“Hold him, Aragorn,” Elrohir directed, dropping down to his knees on the other side of the elven prince, “Try and hold him still until he comes out of it.”

But before the man could do anything to help comfort his seizing friend, Legolas suddenly arched up over the ground, screaming out again as he continued to desperately claw at his throat as if for air. Tears had begun to form in his wide-shot eyes, slowly leaking down his cheeks and staining them in long, salty rivulets.

He couldn’t breathe! All he could feel was pain and the burning agony slowly consuming his lungs in unquenchable fire. His hips painfully ground into the ground behind him with every violent thrust that slammed up through his thin body. The sound of his attacker’s harsh grunts and groans rang in his ears like those of a wounded Orc.

The indescribable pain coursing up through his body suddenly intensified with a sudden increase of tempo from his attacker above, slamming him down harder into the cold stone ground at his back. He wanted to scream the pain was so much, but all he could managed was a weak, gurgled whimper. The vice-like fingers wrapped around his throat suddenly tightened, crushing his windpipe completely closed as his attacker once again increased his speed, pressing him down into the ground.

Unbidden tears of helplessness and fear welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He could feel his body begin to weaken, despite his determination to fight on and struggle against his unseen attacker. Blackness was quickly sweeping over him like a dark funeral shroud. He could feel his heart begin to falter and its beating slowly still, like a windup toy reaching the end of its life.

The pain consuming his mind and body slowly began to fade, bleeding away into a strange, disconnected sensation. He suddenly felt weightless, drifting along an invisible tide of nothingness that seemed to gently lull him deeper into its welcoming embrace. There was no more pain, no more fear. And as the last whisper of horror from the physical world dropped away like a bad dream into the inky black void of nothingness that seemed to rise up to meet him, he felt the darkness slowly wrap around his mind and body and pull him down deeper into its dark, empty depths...

Like a string pulled so tight that it finally snapped, Legolas suddenly found himself back in his own body in the small room hidden deep in the inner sanctums of the House of Healing. Immediately breaking down into tears, the elf huddled back against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest and curling into a tiny ball. Hysterical sobs shook his emaciated form as he hid his face behind a curtain of blonde and white streaked hair and clutched at the left side of his head, wailing loudly.

“Legolas. Legolas, it’s alright. You’re safe now,” Elrohir said, quickly drawing the shaking elf into his arms, “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s all over now,” he whispered, gently rocking the sobbing prince back and forth in his arms.

“No!” the elven prince wailed hysterically, burying his face in the other elf’s chest and clutching at the front of his tunic as if trying to seek safety from some unknown horror in his friend’s arms. “He raped them!” he screamed through his helpless sobs, curling himself into a tiny, shaking ball and burying his face deeper into Elrohir’s chest, “He raped them! He raped them! He raped them!”

A horrified silence quickly fell over the small group huddled around their weeping friend as the full meaning of the elf’s hysterical words finally began to register in their startled minds.

Not only had Legolas seen the attack on the killer’s latest victim, but he had actually lived it out through the dead girl’s eyes, as if he had been the one to actually suffer the girl’s brutal murder and feel her attacker’s violent lust carried out on his own body...

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To Be Continued...

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*Squeals in terror and hides behind computer screen* Ahh! Don’t hurt me!! Don’t hurt me!! I’ll sue!! Before I get any possible flames or scathing reviews, I just want to say that I wrote this chapter like I did because I wanted to show rape for the horrible crime it really is, not because I find enjoyment in writing graphic scenes of violence. Please don’t kill me! There was a reason why I had Legolas experience such a horrible vision, though that will come up more in later chapters. This is the only chapter that has this kind of material in it if anyone out there is worried about me pulling another surprise like this.  Please don't hunt me!!!!  I'm just wonder how that pesky little trait of elven fading is going to play out now that Legolas experienced such a traumatic vision...

Well, 'till next update