Hi again! Sorry for the delay, but life’s just been one huge roller coaster ride the last couple weeks. Anyway, thanks as always to all my faithful reviewers Iwarren, Elwen, Elerrina, and Sofia!

So who’s gone out and seen Troy yet? Went opening day, and though I have to say I was slightly disappointed and embarrassed by Paris’ display of cowardice in his fight with Menelaos, Orlando was looking pretty damn fine with those sexy little ringlet curls of his if I do say so myself... And don’t even get me started on that one scene where you got to see everything except that crucial 10% of Orlando’s body you know every girl in the audience just paid $8.75 to see! (Sigh...) All in all, loved it. I’m defiantly going to be going on a midnight excursion to Walmart the night before it comes out on video. Speaking of which, who else got their version “Return of the King” last Tuesday at 12:01 in the morning? I did!

Anyway, enough of my rambling. On to the story! Enjoy!

Discalimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters belong to JRR Tolkien and not me, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story. Stephen King also gets kudos for the inspiration of this story from his book “the Dead Zone.”

Oh, and don’t forget DEAD ZONE’S NEW SEASON STARTS JUNE 6th (Sunday) at 10pm on USA!!! I can’t wait!! Squeals and runs around in circles in excitement

******

Night had fallen, casting a heavy black cloak of darkness over the city of Minas Tirith. The soaring dome of the chilly night sky hung like a diamond studded canvas overhead, the stars shining down brightly from the heavenly black sea of celestial bodies above. It had snowed earlier that day, blanketing the great capital of Gondor under a shimmering white layer of powdery snow and ice.

The city lay quiet and still. Nothing seemed to stir. Not even the wind. The streets were dark and empty, like those from an abandoned town. Houses stood dark and quiet, their windows tightly shuttered and curtained to the outside world and winter’s icy breath.

But the winter draft was not the only thing that kept the city’s populous locked together in their homes near a roaring fire that cold February night. No. Something much darker and ominous hung over Minas Tirith and filled the air with wary tension.

It was fear.

The mysterious killer that had plagued their fair city now for the past three years was once again back and searching for another daughter of Minas Tirith to rape and kill. Just that morning King Elessar had issued an official city-wide announcement telling people of this and warning them (especially young women of the city) to be indoors after dark and to not dare venture forth into the streets after nightfall.

His warning had not gone unheeded. There was barely a household in Minas Tirith that did not hold its wife, daughter, sister, or mother a little closer that night and bolt its door tight against whatever mysterious demon it was that stalked their streets.

Their king had already risen the alarm the night before and ordered all guards of the city to report to duty and begin large-scale patrols of the city, but this gave the people little reassurance. This killer had already alluded their king several times before despite even Elessar’s best attempts at catching him. He would kill again. This they knew. It was only a matter of time until he struck again and claimed another of their women. So the people of Minas Tirith did the only thing they could and kept their wives and daughters safe and close to home, praying in fearful hope that their king could somehow stop this man before he claimed yet another innocent life.

And it was in a dark, dimly lit upper meeting room of one of the Citadel’s guard barracks that Aragorn was trying to do just that.

“I want several different groups of guards to patrol each level of the city,” he was saying as he gestured down to a large map of Minas Tirith and its seven tiered levels spread out across the table before him. A group of twenty or so men stood huddled around him – mostly captains and officers from different units of White Guards. Amongst them also stood the king’s Steward Faramir, Elladan and Elrohir, and Legolas and Gimli. Though the king’s friends and two immortal foster brothers were not charged with the responsibility of seeing to the protection of Minas Tirith and its people like Aragorn and Faramir were, they refused to not at least try and help their friends stop this mysterious killer stalking their city. This held especially true for the elven prince Legolas. Though Aragorn had already tried everything he knew to convince the elf not to worry himself anymore with finding this mysterious killer, in the end all the man’s words had fallen on deaf, stubborn ears. Legolas refused to let anyone keep him back, no matter what they said. These murders were personal now. In some way, because of his strange and supernatural gift of second-sight, he felt he had just as much right as any of the killer’s other victims to see this man brought to justice for his heinous crimes. He refused to possibly let yet another young girl meet such a horrible death like the one he experienced in the House of Healing. His talk with Eowyn earlier that day had given him a new sense of reassurance and determination. He would find this killer. Even if it was the last thing he did...

“Each unit will be divided into several different squads of two or three men before separating into two main groups that will start at opposite ends of the city,” Aragorn went on to say as he scanned the ring of faces staring back at him from around the wide table, “They will then sweep back and forth across that level of the city they are assigned to so that they meet in the center before moving on to then double back again when they reach the end of that level. Is that understood?”

General nods of affirmation came from around the table.

“Good. Keep on the look out for any suspicious people. If you should happen to come across anyone that looks the least bit suspect, they are to be immediately detained and questioned. We are taking no more chances. I want this man found before he strikes again. Are there any questions?”

One of the captains raised his hand. “How long do you plan to continue these mass patrols, my Lord?” he asked.

“For as long as it takes until we find this man,” Aragorn replied with enough conviction and smoldering venom in his voice to let his men know he meant what he just said, “He has already claimed seven innocent lives. I will not let him take anymore.” He then slowly scanned the row of faces around him again as if daring someone else to question him on this.

Another guard – an older, gruff-looking but good-hearted man Legolas remembered even long before his accident as being the Citadel’s and palace head of security– was the next to speak up. “What if we do not find him, my Lord?” he ventured in a somewhat hesitant tone, “This killer has managed to evade our capture before... What do we do if such a thing happens again?”

Everyone there immediately quieted and anxiously looked back at Aragorn with bated breath, waiting to see what his answer to such a question would be.

The king of Gondor for his part seemed to silently mull this question over in his head for a long moment of silence. “Then we will just have to find another way to catch him...” he said in a low, solemn voice. Though Aragorn did not want to actually admit the heightened security and extra patrols he had ordered placed around the city might fail in actually catching this elusive killer, he knew he could not fool himself into thinking that this problem that had been plaguing his city now for the past three years could be so easily or so quickly solved in the course of just one night. He had to be realistic and prepare both himself and his men for such an unwelcome but probable outcome if their mission proved fruitless.

A heavy silence descend upon the room at the king’s own admission of possible failure and seemed to weigh down and dampen the hearts of everyone there. Sighing softly under his breath, Aragorn slowly looked back around at the other men gathered around the table. “If there are no more questions, then you are dismissed to report back to your units and ready your men for patrol.”

“Aye, sir!” a chorus of shouts sounded as the group of men quickly broke up and began to drift towards the open door of the room, leaving only Aragorn, Faramir, three elves and a dwarf behind.

The six remaining occupants of the room stood in the empty silence that descended upon the room as the last of the guards left, none of them daring to speak and break the heavy tension that seemed to hang there in the air around them like a palpable presence. Heaving a weary sigh, Aragorn looked back down at the map spread out across the table and leaned down over it.

“So what do you think, Faramir?” he sighed in a tired voice with barely even a glance up at his Steward, “Three or four units to each level of the city?”

Faramir for his own part heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. At least that many I would say...” he said as he tiredly leaned down beside his king over the large map, “We should probably station a few extra units around the third and fourth levels of the city though. The killer seems to favor those areas. That’s where most of the girls’ bodies have been found. It seems the most likely place we should start and concentrate our guards.”

Aragorn nodded wordlessly and stared down at the imposing map of Minas Tirith and its seemingly endless maze of winding streets and alley ways as if only now realizing how big of an operation it was he was trying to organize, his eyes distant and glazed with exhaustion. Little of the last forty-eight hours had been spent doing anything else except trying to organize extra patrols and assign extra guards to them. It was both his and Faramir’s responsibility to see to the protection of their city. And although both looked equally harrowed by exhaustion, stress, and growing uncertainty of their mission’s success, neither was about to turn away from his duty and abandon his people to this unknown killer stalking their streets.

“Elladan and I will help patrol the lower levels of the city,” Elrohir said, speaking up from the other side of the table across from Aragorn and his Steward. “We will be able to cover more ground than most of your other men, and will be able to see more without actually being seen ourselves should we come across any suspicious people.”

Aragorn inclined his head gratefully to his two elven foster-brothers. “Thank you. Your help is most appreciated.”

“Gimli and I will also help,” Legolas then spoke up from the other side of the table next to the twins, “We will join one of the other units assigned to the third or fourth level of the city and help increase the number of men patrolling that area. I might not be able to cover as much ground as Elladan or Elrohir because of my leg, but my eyes still haven’t lost any of their keenness. Plus, I’m sure a dwarf’s axe would be a welcome addition to any patrol,” he then added with the smallest hint of forced blitheness in his voice.

Unfortunately though, Legolas’ small attempt at humor was unable to redirect his friend’s attention from his previous statement like he had originally hoped. “Legolas...” Aragorn sighed, shaking his head in growing frustration at the elf’s stubborn, unwavering determination at joining one of the patrols, “I appreciate your offer for wanting to help, and understand why you want to do so, but won’t you please just reconsider going back to the palace to rest?” he begged, already knowing his words were probably in vain from all the heated conversations he had already had with his resident elven prince about him staying behind.

Legolas, as anticipated, only speared Aragorn with an irritated glare. “How many times do I have to tell you, Aragorn: no!” he cried, folding his arms across his chest in an almost childish act of defiant stubbornness. “I already told you before, I’m not going to stay behind. I have just as much right as you about wanting to see this man caught. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and do not need you coddling me like some kind of overprotective nursemaid. I’m fine! Stop treating me like some kind of helpless invalid!”

Something inside Aragorn seemed to snap then, as if Legolas’ indignant anger had finally given him reason to let all the pent up frustration and concern he held for his elven friend to come boiling to the surface in one hot, fiery explosion.

“But you’re not fine, Legolas. That’s just my point!” Aragorn quickly shot back, taking the elf completely by surprise by the intensity of his voice, “I can see you weakening by the hour, though I know you are still too stubborn to admit it yourself. You look terrible! You’re so thin, it looks like you barely weigh anything! You won’t eat! You won’t sleep! You won’t let any of us help you! Elrond thinks you’re not getting any better because of your powers, but you still won’t do anything to try and regain your strength, and actually go off looking for more visions to weaken you! If you keep this up, you’re going to kill yourself! If you don’t want me to worry about you then fine! I won’t! But whenever you finally do kill yourself because you were too damn stubborn to listen to anyone or take care of yourself, don’t expect to find any pity from me because I won’t have any for you!”

A heavy silence quickly descended upon the small room. Everyone there stood frozen in a palpable aura of shock as the last few notes of Aragorn’s sudden outburst faded from the air, his words still ringing loudly in their ears. Legolas, meanwhile, just stood there, staring back at Aragorn with a stunned, but otherwise unreadable expression on his gaunt face. Aragorn thought he saw a brief flicker of unmasked surprise, hurt, and several other emotions he couldn’t quite place but immediately felt guilty and ashamed for pass like a shadow over the elf’s ancient blue eyes.

“I’m not asking you for any pity, Aragorn,” Legolas finally whispered in a soft voice after a long moment of silence, his eyes shining with untold volumes of hurt from his friend’s outburst of harsh words. “I was just trying to help...” And with that, the elf turned and began angrily limping towards the open door of the room.

“Legolas, wait!” Aragorn tried to call after his retreating friend’s back, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean– ” But by then Legolas was already gone, having disappeared into the darkened hallways beyond. Heaving another frustrated, weary sigh, the man leaned back down over the table and hung his head in his hands, mentally berating himself in every different language he knew for his ill-thought tirade of words. “Damn it,” he swore under his breath, angrily shaking his head.

“It’s alright, Aragorn. We know you didn’t mean it like that,” Elrohir tried to comfort as he slowly came around the side of the table to stand beside his mortal foster brother, “We know what you said was with Legolas’ best interest in mind.”

“I’m just so worried about him right now,” the man whispered with a weary sigh, “I just don’t know what to do with him anymore to make him see that. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but everything I said was true. If he doesn’t start taking more care of himself or let us start helping him, he’s going to die. Whether from these damn psychic visions of his or lack of sleep, he’s slowly killing himself. He won’t listen to anyone. He either thinks he’s invincible, or just doesn’t care anymore whether or not he gets hurt trying to catch this killer.”

“I understand how you feel, Aragorn. Legolas isn’t getting any better by constantly pushing himself to do everything in his power and more to catch this man,” Elladan agreed with a solemn nod of his head, “But I fear Legolas sees the consequences of him not helping us catch this killer – whether those consequences be harmful to his own well-bring or not – much higher than if he were to just sit by and do nothing and possibly see another young girl get killed. That would probably eat away at him more than any psychic vision ever could.”

“Aye, I agree with the lad,” Gimli grunted as he shifted his ever present axe agitatedly between his hands, “The elf is too much of a hero to just stand aside and do nothing. But I also agree with Aragorn. If he doesn’t stop doing this to himself, he’s going to get himself sick or hurt. I’ve seen him after he’s come out of these visions of his and been too weak to even stand on his own afterwards. He can’t keep this up much longer...”

“And I agree with Gimli,” Faramir said, “I understand Legolas’ desire to catch this man, but like Aragorn said, he’s only hurting himself by going about it in this manner. He needs to know this. And though it was probably not done in the most delicate of manners,” – here a quick, tentative glance over at Aragorn – “it was probably best he heard it from one of his friends. He may not want to hear it, but if he knows there are people who care about him, he might then take those words more to heart.”

“I still shouldn’t have spoken to him like that,” Aragorn murmured dejectedly.

“Perhaps,” Elrohir relented, “But tensions are running high and tempers short right now. I doubt Legolas will hold your words against you for long. And plus, if it manages to keep Legolas from going out tonight, then perhaps your words were justified even if for nothing more than wanting to keep your friend safe.”

Aragorn heaved a frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately I think I may have just given him more reason to want to go. Even if for no other reason than just to prove to me that he doesn’t need anyone else’s help or concern...”

“That sounds just like something that crazy elf would do,” Gimli agreed with another soft grunt under his breath.

“I can’t order Legolas to stay behind from the patrols, but will you promise me, Gimli, to watch over him tonight?” Aragorn asked, turning pleading grey eyes up towards his dwarven friend.

“Of course,” the dwarf replied without the slightest hesitation, “After all, someone has to make sure that blasted elf doesn’t get himself into trouble.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said, heaving a small sigh of relief, “I doubt anything will happen tonight, but I would feel better if I knew there was someone there with him. I’ve come to find that as of late because of his powers, Legolas seems to attract trouble to himself like flies to honey. I just hope Legolas can make it through one night without something disastrous happening to him for once...”

If only Aragorn knew just how futile his hopes for such a seemingly simple thing actually happening really were...

****** 

Snow lay heavy on the ground. Powdery white drifts lined the silent streets of Minas Tirith like frozen white sand dunes. Ice hung from awnings and rooftops of the surrounding buildings like crystal fringe. Though it had already snowed earlier that day, the sky was clear and bright overhead, the moon illuminating the snow covered land in pale silvery light like a mithril laced dreamscape.

But despite the beauty and calm of the winter night, the otherwise peaceful scene was disturbed by the presence of shadowy figures moving in mass through the darkened streets, spreading out through the intricate maze of alleyways and streets and filling the air with the soft crunching of their footsteps as they passed and cast long, dark shadows across the snowy ground.

Every so often moonlight would shine across polished metal, revealing the shadowy outlines of armored guards. As they quietly moved through the darkened streets, the design of a white tree emblazoned across their armored chest plates became visible in the moonlight, marking them as White Guards of the Citadel – the elite security force of Minas Tirith and her lord and king.

But they were not the only ones patrolling the streets of he city. For walking with one particular group of a dozen or more guards down through the fifth level of the city walked four non-armored figures – one of which was of a slightly shorter and stockier nature than the other three slender figures accompanying him.

“Must be going out of my mind to be walking around like this in the middle of the night... and in the middle of winter no less!” grumbled the smaller figure of the small host of guards as they made their way through the twisting maze of streets.

“Ah, but master Dwarf, you are rendering an invaluable service to the city of Minas Tirith and her king,” one of the other tall, slender figures replied, “She will be in your debt after such a noble sacrifice of warmth and sleep.”

“Aragorn just better not start asking me to stand watch on the walls next...” Gimli snorted, still grumbling under his breath about his apparent loss of sanity for actually agreeing to venture out into the dead of night to help his friends patrol the city and look for some unknown killer he doubted they were even going to find.

“You could always go back to the palace,” another voice, identical to the one that had spoken before him, suggested, “I doubt you would be missed. We already have enough guards patrolling the city to cover almost every alleyway and street.”

Gimli frowned and glanced up at the last member of their group walking beside him at a slightly limping pace. “Nay. I could never do such a thing. I promised Aragorn I’d help, and a dwarf never goes back on his word...” The twin sons of Elrond immediately caught the hidden meaning of the dwarf’s words and followed Gimli’s gaze over to their silent friend walking beside them.

Legolas, for his part, chose to ignore his friends’ concerned glances and just silently stared ahead as he ground his teeth together in smoldering rage. He knew what Elrohir had been trying to hint at before when he had said there were enough guards on patrol already and that Gimli could probably go back to the palace without being missed. They were trying to somehow subtly convince him to go back to the palace and rest. Just like Aragorn had...

Legolas swore he felt a surge of hot anger course through his veins at the mere thought of the man. He still couldn’t believe some of the things Aragorn had said – had actually shouted at him as though he were some kind of disobedient child that needed scolding. The more and more he replayed that moment of time out in his head, the angrier Legolas got. Aragorn had had noright to chastize him for wanting to help catch this killer. He had been the one who had originally asked Legolas to help him in the first place! And it was none of the man’s concern how he chose to live his life. If he didn’t want to lay around in bed all day like some kind of helpless cripple, then that was his decision! Not Aragorn’s!

But more than anything, Legolas knew he was angry because laying there just below that thin facade of anger was hurt. Aragorn’s words had stung him more than he cared to admit. He knew in some small way Aragorn was probably right – that he was pushing himself too hard and that he would eventually have to acknowledge his own weakness and rest before he collapsed from exhaustion. But even though he understood where his friend’s concern stemmed from, he still couldn’t seem to convince himself to actually heed it. This mission he was on was something bigger than just his own well-being. There were other innocent lives at stake, and he couldn’t consciously ignore that. He had to try and help, even if that meant risking his own friendship and health to do so.

He had seen Aragorn one last time just before he had left the Citadel’s guard barracks with Elladan, Elrohir and Gimli and their host of guards. He had seen the man standing there on the other side of the courtyard with Faramir by his side, silently staring after him as though he desperately wanted to run after him and say something. Probably to apologize for his harsh outburst before, Legolas assumed, but Aragorn had not run after him or tried to say anything else. He had just stood there and watched as Legolas slowly followed his friends and small group of guards out the Citadel courtyard and into the darkened city beyond. In a way he had glad Aragorn hadn’t tried to apologize. He had still been too sore from the man’s harsh outburst to have probably accepted any sort of apology the man might have tried to offer. His wounded pride probably wouldn’t have allowed it. But now, walking down these dark and lonely streets looking for some elusive killer he had only sensed in several frightening psychic visions, Legolas suddenly wished he had talked to Aragorn and made his peace with the man before leaving. At least then he could have gone off knowing his friend at least knew why he had to do this.

But he hadn’t. And now all he had was his own stubbornness and pride to blame for the strange sense of loneliness and regret he felt in his heart for not reconciling with his long time friend.

It was as Legolas walked silently mulling these melancholic thoughts over in his head that he was startled back into the present when the group of White Guards he, Gimli, Elladan and Elrohir were accompanying suddenly stopped just under the towering stone archway of the fourth gate of the city.

“You know your orders,” the squad’s captain barked as he turned back around to address the ranks of men lined up behind him in several neat rows, “You are to divide into several different groups of two or three and patrol only within the fourth level of the city. Other units are covering the other levels, so stay within your assigned area! Is that clear?”

“Yessir!” the group of assembled guards chorused.

“Good. Now spread out and canvas the area. Look for any suspicious people and leave no street uncovered. If you meet no suspicious activity, you are to then report back to the Citadel after midnight.”

“Yessir!” the guards once again chorused in perfect military unison and then began to obediently break up into smaller groups of two or three.

“I guess this is where we part ways,” Elladan said with a small shrug to Legolas and Gimli as the guards around them began to slowly drift away into the darkened maze of streets. Legolas and Gimli both nodded in agreement.

“Shall we meet you back at the palace after patrols?” Elrohir asked, trying to sound casual as he nervously glanced back over his shoulder towards the yawning black maw of darkness that stood waiting to swallow them all just beyond the towering stone gateway before them.

“That would be nice,” Legolas replied, following the younger twin’s line of sight. Somehow now that he stood facing the darkness of the night and whatever dark mysteries and dangers it held, he suddenly felt reluctant to part company with his friends just yet and venture out into it’s shadowy depths – just like he was sure Elrohir was also feeling.

“We shall see you then,” Elladan said, also noticeably reluctant to leave. But with a quick glance at his brother, the two dark haired elves seemed to find some kind of mutual support in the other and both turned to follow after the departing guards. “Be careful!” the older twin called back over his shoulder as he and Elrohir walked off, both their swords hanging down by their sides under their heavy, winter cloaks.

“We will!” Legolas called after them as the two brothers slowly slipped away into the night like two ghostly shadows, leaving the elven prince and dwarf to stare after them before they finally turned down a darkened street and disappeared from sight. Legolas and Gimli stood for several long moments of silence, neither one of them moving.

“Well, shall we be off then, elf?” Gimli finally said, breaking the tense air of silence that had fallen over them, “I didn’t agree to follow you out into the dead of night for my own health you know.”

“I suppose,” Legolas replied, still staring at the imposing wall of darkness before them. Gathering up his courage and hardening himself to the task at hand – one he himself had refused to be dissuaded from by any of his friend – Legolas started forward, his faithful friend close beside him.

But before the elf and dwarf could disappear into the night, a sudden shout behind them made both of them give pause.

“My lords!”

Legolas and Gimli turned back around to see several other White Guards still lingering in front of the gate behind them. They immediately recognized the voice that had called out to them as belonging to the captain of the group of guards they had accompanied to help patrol the fourth level of the city with. Legolas vaguely remembered seeing him earlier that evening in the Citadel’s guard barracks when Aragorn had been briefing his captains about his plans for the mass city patrols.

“My Lords,” the man again called, striding over towards them with his armor plates clicking together softly as he moved, “I’m sorry, but I was wondering if perhaps you would like a guard to go with you.” At the inquisitive glances he earned from the elf and dwarf, he quickly hurried to say, “It is just that I know that you are under no obligation to help with these patrols, and that you are doing this as a favor to Lord Elessar.”

“I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say that...” Legolas mumbled under his breath just loud enough for Gimli to hear.

“It is just that I know our lord would be displeased if anything befell you while on one these patrols. Please. Let me order one of my guards to accompany you,” the captain insisted as he turned back toward the small group of guards still waiting to move out and motioned for one of them to come over.

“That is really alright,” Legolas tried to gracefully decline in his most diplomatic way, “Gimli and I will be fine on our own I assure you. I thank you for the offer but–”

“This is Harberd,” the captain interrupted as if he hadn’t even heard Legolas speaking as the guard he had called slowly came over and came to a stop in front of them beside his captain. “He is one of my most trusted guards. He will accompany you on patrol tonight.”

Legolas thought he heard Gimli grunt some kind of angry sound under his breath, but couldn’t be sure as he quickly forced an unfelt, affable smile on his face as he turned to greet the man that was to act as their chaperon and guard for the night. Legolas couldn’t help but notice how the captain hadn’t offered to send a guard with Elladan and Elrohir. Somehow he was sure this offer of goodwill somehow stemmed from some unvoiced belief that he was either too weak and frail to have left the palace and gone out on patrols like this, or that he shouldn’t be trusted to wander the streets at night alone without some kind of supervision besides just that of Gimli’s. Somehow he knew this last assumption was probably somehow born out of his misguided wild goose chase with Erien the day before.

Either possible reasoning however made the elf’s blood begin to veritably boil under his skin though he struggled to keep an otherwise cordial expression on his face. He knew he still hadn’t quite regained his pre-coma figure and strength (Aragorn had already in brutal honestly told him of that earlier that night), but that didn’t mean he was incapable of taking care of himself. For strapped there around his waist and hanging down by his side just under his winter cloak were his twin ivory long knives, freshly sharpened just that morning. He still might not have been able to walk that well without the aid of his cane, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember how to use his long knives. He had begun training with them again sometime right after regaining his ability to walk, and had picked up almost all his old fighting skills with them rather quickly (if he didn’t say so himself...).

Pushing these thoughts from his head, Legolas forced himself to focus on the man standing in front of him. The guard was younger, but well past his majority. He stood tall with strong, broad shoulders and a lean, rugged face framed by long wavy dirty blonde hair under his helmet. He reminded Legolas in some ways of Faramir or Eomer – both older and wise in their years, but still possessing a certain air of youthfulness about them. He in fact already knew this man and remembered him from the day before when he had risen the alarm to Aragorn and the rest of the White Guards after experiencing his vision of Erien and her unfulfilled attack. He had been one of the guards to accompany Aragorn, Gimli, and himself to Erien’s house, and had been the one to break down the girl’s door.

Legolas stared at the guard as the man also stared back at him, seeming to silently be sizing the elven prince up in his mind.

“Well, shall we be off,” the elf finally said, breaking the odd sort of tension that had begun to form between himself and the latest addition to their group.

“Of course,” Harberd agreed, slowly nodding his head and stepping off to the side and motioning to Legolas as if for him to lead the way. The elf hesitated for half a heartbeat of uncertainty before finally giving a quick nod to the man and began walking towards the towering gate that stood before them with Gimli close by his side and Harberd not far behind.

The three slowly made their way into the dark maze of winding streets. None of them carried torches, and relied only on the silvery glow of the moonlight above to light their path. While Legolas and Gimli might have talked and softly bantered between themselves as they walked, a certain tenseness seemed to hang over the small group, the dwarf and elf both suffering the almost painfully distinct awareness of an unwelcome person suddenly intruding in on their established group and breaking the intimate connection of familiarity and ease they shared with one another.

Harberd seemed to sense this uncomfortable air of tension he caused and noticeably shifted with unease as they walked on in complete silence, leaving nothing but the soft crunching of their footsteps in the snow and the empty silence of the night to sting their ears.

Taking pity on the poor man, Legolas tried to think of something to say to somehow include the young guard into their group. After all, Harberd hadn’t intentionally tried to force himself onto them. He was only following orders and accompanying them out of command of one of his superiors. “So have you been a White Guard long?” Legolas asked, blurting out the first question that happened to come to mind. He knew how lame of an attempt at conversation that must have sounded to the man, but at least it was better than the uncomfortable gulf of silence that otherwise hung between them.

“Since I came of age almost ten years ago,” the man replied, sounding both somewhat nervous and relieved to finally be talking. “My father was a White Guard before me, and his father before him. It’s something of a family tradition you could say...”

“I can understand that,” the elven prince replied with a small nod, slowly feeling himself become more comfortable with the man’s presence, “My mother was something of a healer. When my oldest sister was born, it was almost automatically assumed she would follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

Harberd didn’t say anything else and seemed to revert in on himself for a minute as if silently brooding over what the elf just said.

“So do you enjoy being a White Guard?” Legolas questioned, trying to keep up the conversation.

 “It has it’s advantages...” the man replied, saying no more than that and leaving Legolas and Gimli to draw their own conclusions from such a statement.

The three continued on like this for a time: Legolas keeping a steady flow of questions coming that helped stimulate a certain type of friendly small talk between himself and the man as they walked. Gimli seemed content just to listen but would occasionally give a small grunt of agreement or whatnot whenever he felt like interjecting his own feelings on a matter into the conversation. Slowly (as most conversations have a tendency to do) their talk drifted to the weather.

“I am glad that it finally stopped snowing,” Legolas said as he glanced up at the moonlit clear sky overhead. “Though I have a distinct feeling it will probably start up again very soon. It has done almost nothing else but snow for the last few weeks.”

Here Gimli gave a small grunt of agreement.

“I hope you are wrong about it snowing again so soon,” Harberd said with a sigh, “Though I have had heard it said that Elves are more in tune nature and can foretell its movements and change. So I do not hold onto much hope of you being wrong with such a prediction...” he then added with a begrudged sigh of resignation.

“We Elves cannot predict the weather any better than any other race of people like you might think we can,” Legolas said with a small shake of his head, “We are just able to read Nature’s signs better than most.”

Harberd seemed to mull this over for a small pause of silence before finally speaking again. “Yet Elves are gifted with many different gifts of foresight like being able to see into the future,” he said, sounding somewhat perplexed, “Surely beings with such powerful abilities can foretell such a simple thing like the weather.”

“Yes. There are those of us who have the ability to see certain things from the future or even glimpse into a man’s heart to see his true self. But those are only the most powerful of our race, and almost all of them have already sailed from these shores to the Undying Lands in the West like the Lady Galadriel who has no equal. And even then, the Lady Galadriel never predicted the weather to the best of my knowledge,” Legolas said. He thought he saw a distant, wistful look enter Gimli’s eyes at the mention of the Lady’s name, but didn’t say anything about it.

Harberd seemed to consider this for a moment, but then glanced over at Legolas again out of the corner of his eye. “But what about you, my Lord?” he asked in an almost suspicious tone of the elf, “Surely you who can see into the past or future with but a single touch could put your face to the wind and know whether it will snow or rain...”

The elven prince visibly stiffened at the man’s mention of his own psychic abilities, but tried to keep a look of indifferent composure on his face. “I might put my face to the wind,” he said in a slow and even tone, “but it would not be because of powers of second-sight that I would know if it would rain or snow that day. As I said before, Elves can only listen to the whispers of Nature and her creatures and read what signs are already set out on display for anybody to read if they only know but where to look to see and foretell such things.”

The man nodded thoughtfully, but Legolas thought he saw lingering skepticism and something else he couldn’t quite read in the guard’s pale grey eyes.

Legolas walked on for several moments silently pondering the man’s odd expression and sudden curiosity in elven powers of second-sight. But he soon quickly pushed it from his mind. He had come to find that most people that had never met an elf before believed them to be strange and unnatural creatures able to possess men’s minds and control their thoughts, or call upon forces of nature, or walk on water, or shoot bolts of lightening from their eyes, or some other ridiculously absurd thing like that. From what Aragorn had told him, the list went on and on.

Legolas shook his head in mild disgust and amusement. Sometimes he had to wonder how he managed to walk down the street everyday without people scrambling for cover because of some of the wild misconception they held about his people.

By now their little group had turned down into another darkened street. It was quiet and empty, just like every other street they had patrolled so far that night. There was no sound or sign of any other life, just the empty stillness of the night. Legolas began to wonder if they were even in the fourth level anymore. They had passed down so many darkened alleyways and streets during the course of their patrol thus far, he had lost almost all sense of direction. Nor had they met up with any of the other patrol groups so far which was beginning to make him slightly uneasy. He couldn’t hear anything that indicated there was anyone else anywhere near them in the general vicinity. They were alone.

Legolas knew their orders were to break up into multiple small groups and then spread out to patrol that level of the city, but he also knew they shouldn’t have strayed so far off that they were no longer anywhere near any of the other groups. Safety in numbers. It was a basic principle taught to every new recruit during basic training.

It was then that Legolas suddenly realized that he and Gimli had for the most part been following the lead of their guard and escort Harberd on the course of their track through the city. They knew little of Minas Tirith’s intricate maze of winding streets and alleys, and so had on some subconscious level nominated Harberd to be their unofficial guide through the twisting passageways. But now Legolas had to wonder if such a naive placement of faith in their escort guard had been such a wise course of action. Didn’t Harberd realize how far he had led them away from the rest of guards?

Legolas was almost ready to stop and suggest that they turn and retrace their steps back until the met up with another group of guards, but he never got the chance. Had the elven prince not been so distracted by his thoughts, he might have noticed a small patch of ice shining like a thin sheet of black crystal there in the moonlight right in front of his path.

But he didn’t. And just as he set the tip of his cane atop that shining patch of icy cobblestones and shifted his weight up onto it, he felt his extra third support suddenly go sliding out from under him over the ice to the side, leaving him with nothing to lean against except empty air and his own two withered legs for support. Caught off guard by the sudden disappearance of his walking aid, Legolas was unable to compensate fast enough for the sudden shift in his center of balance and felt his legs go out from under him and saw the ground begin to rush up to meet him.

But Legolas did not fall far. For with reflexes faster than what Legolas probably would have given him, Harberd’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of the falling elf, catching him by the elbow and steadying him before he could crash to the ground on his face.

Gimli was instantly there by his friend’s side. “Legolas, are you alright?” he cried, coming up behind the elf and grabbing hold of his thin shoulders as the man gently helped ease Legolas down onto his knees on the icy ground.

But the elf did not seem to hear him. He only stared up at the man in front of him with an expression of horrified shock, his features frozen in disbelief.

“Legolas? Legolas, answer me elf!” Gimli shouted into the prince’s ear, giving his friend’s shoulders a sharp rattle to wake him out of his daze. But even this did not seem to register a response from the petrified elf. It was only then that Gimli happened to see Legolas’ hand tightly gripping the man’s forearm, the man also still holding onto the elf’s elbow as he stared back down into the elf’s face, his features dark and unreadable.

And it was only then that Gimli also noticed that his friend’s eyes had darkened to a dark, fathomless black color.

Legolas seemed frozen in the grips of his psychic vision. He didn’t seem to even breathe he sat there on the ground so still and tense. But then with a sudden shuddering breath of air, the elf released the man’s arm and violently kicked against the ground back into Gimli’s arms, his face a swimming expression of horrified disbelief and shock as he stared up at the man above him.

“You...” he breathed, the single word slipping from his mouth as if uttered as a curse of disbelief and betrayal.

Harberd however did not say anything and slowly rose back up onto his feet so that he stood over the prostrate elf like a towering statue of shadow and violence. His once friendly face had suddenly morphed into something dark and dangerous, his eyes now like two points of hardened ice. He returned Legolas’ horrified gaze with a long cold steady stare of his own, understanding and acceptance of the elf’s reaction shining deep inside the pits of his eyes as if he had already foreseen this moment play out before in the depths of his waking dreams.

And it was in that single moment Legolas sat staring up into the eyes of the man standing over him that he suddenly realized what it was like to look up into the face of evil. For at the man’s attempt to catch him as he fell, he had seen terrible things through that simple touch. Things that would forever haunt him in his dreams until the end of his days. For those eyes he stared up into now were the eyes of a killer. A murder. The eyes of a man whose hands had choked the life out of untold innocent women and stolen their dignity and debased their self-worth for nothing more than his own lust and rapacity for control which he otherwise could not have.

Legolas had finally found the mysterious killer...

******

To Be Continued...

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Gasp! Oh no! Legolas finally found the mysterious killer! But what’s going to happen now? Oh well... I guess we’ll just have to wait and see next chapter! Mwa ha ha!! (evil laughter)

Anyway, we’re finally starting to close in on the home stretch of the story. We’re so close to the end I can smell it! (Well, not really, but you know what I mean...)

So... Did you like it? Hate it? Please tell me! I accept any and all forms of criticism and response. Don’t start holding out on me now! We’re so close to the end!

Well, till next time!