Teaser: ‘The twin white blades of the Elf’s daggers flashed in a deadly dance of light. The Prince knew that he had never fought more valiantly, or indeed, more beautifully. He would vanquish this enemy, and save Aragorn from this web of deceit. In a move too fast for the eye to see, Legolas twisted under the Black Rider’s guard, and came up under his opponent’s sword. Victory! The pure knives plunged deep into his enemy’s heart. The Prince rejoiced. Though his adversary still stood, not even the evilest being from the depths of Mordor could survive with such an injury.
Suddenly, a flash of light radiated through the cavern, and momentarily blurred the Prince’s vision. He stepped out of the reach of his opponent, and blinked his eyes to quickly clear away the light’s affects. It would not do to defeat an enemy, only to have it land a killing blow in its death throes. When his vision once more became clear, the Prince looked to his foe. What he saw made his heart turn cold, and then stop in his chest.
Gone was the black-cowled creature of the Dark. Gone was the enemy of his nightmare. The wraith no longer radiated the evil that the Prince could tangibly feel on his skin. What had replaced the Nazgul was worse. Much worse. For it was not an enemy that stood with the Elf’s white blades buried deep in his chest. It was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur’s heir. His friend.
Aragorn looked down at the twin knives, and the blood that bloomed from his heart like a malevolent red flower. With a stunned countenance, filled with pain and disbelief, he looked back to his friend. “Legolas,” the whisper filled the cave. “Why…?”
With that unanswerable question the life faded from the Ranger’s eyes. Backward he fell, into the deep chasm behind him. The Prince ran to ledge, in a futile attempt to stop the Man’s fall. But it was too late. The last look that Legolas saw of his friend was one of pain, despair, anger, and confusion as he disappeared into the black pit.
“ARAGORN! LAW!”‘

Summary: No Slash! The Rangers of the North are disappearing at an alarming rate, and Legolas and Aragorn go to investigate. However, they are drawn into a web of deceit when they encounter a creature that can cause people to see things that are not real… a creature so old, not even the Elves remember it. When this hunted being decides to become the hunter, its prey is the Prince of Mirkwood. But to get to the Prince it must go around – or through – the Elf’s best friend, Aragorn! And its tool to do so is…Legolas! But can the Prince survive believing that he has killed his best friend? What will the Rangers do? What will Elrond and the Twins say? Will the truth be revealed in time to save the Prince from the Rangers, now out for his blood? Will the truth be revealed in time to save the Prince from himself? Or will Legolas’ grief overcome him to the point where he simply cannot shine anymore, and allows himself to fade. After all, Elves are beings of Light…but no Light can shine on blood-stained hands. Even when those hands are the Prince of Mirkwood’s.
WARNING! LEGOLAS TORTURE (MENTAL AND PHYSICAL) AND ANGST!! Not too bad, but enough that if you don’t like, don’t read! ‘Nuff said!

Author’s Note and Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. ‘Nuff said.
OK, first off, let me apologize for my ATROCIOUS Elvish. I know that any Elvish I use probably not be grammatically correct. I now have an accurate Sindarin dictionary, but I’m still having a little trouble with my syntax. If you see something that is incorrect you’re more then welcome to email me or leave a message in a review with what the correct translation should be. In fact, I hope you do! Please. I will change what is wrong, and give you the credit in my next chapter when it posts. I LOVE, ADORE, AND WORSHIP any comments, criticisms, and even flames. Let me know where I did good, and let me know where I did bad. I want to be a better writer, and you’re the ones to make that happen.
Second, this story has references to Cassia and Siobhan’s “Mellon Chronicles” fanfics. You don’t need to have read them to understand this story, but you’ll understand the finer points better if you have. And beside that fact, “The Mellon Chronicles” is one the best Legolas/Aragorn friendship series that I have ever had the pleasure to read (I wouldn’t put references from it in my own stories if it wasn’t – which, by the way, is something I’ve never done before). Go read the “Mellon Chronicles” by Cassia and Siobhan, and then come back (you can find them under my ‘Favorite Authors’ page)! You won’t be disappointed! Now, in regards to the time-line of that series, this story comes sometime before ‘Dark Visions’ but after ‘The Stars of Harad.’
Third (although not so original), Tolkien says that Aragorn was ‘raised in the house of Elrond,’ so I (and many other writers) have decided that this means that Elrond was kinda like a surrogate/adoptive father to Aragorn and that Elrohir and Elladan were like his brothers (there’s actually detail in LotR to support this theory). But for this story I’m going to take a little artistic license and have his mother die around the same time as his father. So, basically he doesn’t have or remember his mother (what does he need her for, anyway; he’s got Elladan!). That’s that. Anyway, as stated before, ’nuff said. On with the story!

Calad Ú-Sila (Erin Camm Agarwaen)
No Light Shines (On Blood-Stained Hands)
Rachel, The Lady Tigress

Chapter 1
A fair -haired elf smiled at his companion as they rode down the well-beaten path through the picturesque – if a little dark – forest of Mirkwood. This in itself would not be unusual, except that the elf’s companion was quite noticeably a Man, and Silvan elves were renown for their indifference – yea, even active dislike – for the race of Men. What made it even more unusual was the fact that this particular elf was in truth Legolas Greenleaf, heir Prince of Mirkwood, and his active dislike for the race of Men bordered on almost hatred. The young prince had once been horribly abused and tortured by Men, long ago, and it had taken centuries – as well as the friendship of one extraordinary Ranger – for his heart to be purged of the dark feelings that lay inside of him. Indeed, for a time the Prince feared that Light would never return to his soul; but with healing, time, and love the brightest light in Mirkwood now shown from the heart that once was dim.
And Legolas attributed his healing to silver-eyed Ranger who rode next to him.
“Come, Legolas,” the Ranger laughed at his friend when he noticed the Prince’s inattention. “The day grows late, and your mind wanders to some distant shore! If we do not hurry we will be forced to spend the night under the Spider’s domain.” The large Spiders that inhabited the treetops of Mirkwood were a constant threat to travelers beneath the forests, but they were normally cowardly and would not venture against healthy armed riders without good reason. However, after darkness fell, the spiders became bolder, and if their numbers were great enough, they would occasionally attack campers who lay unaware. The young man was no stranger to such perils, but he did not like tempting fates if it could be avoided. His companion on the other hand…
“Or his that what you are hoping for, mellon nin?” The Ranger teased with a smile. “If you dally long enough we will be forced to make camp, and your bow is longing for use.” Legolas’ loathing of the great spiders was well known to his friend.
Legolas started with surprise. Indeed the thought had never occurred to him, but now that the Ranger mentioned it… The man laughed and shook his head at the light in the Prince’s eyes. “Law, mellon. I have no desire to make this night a battleground, and be so weary in the morning that I cannot stay on my horse. We will hasten on to the borders.” With that he spurred his horse forward, forcing the elf to either hurry or be left behind.
When the elf finally caught up with his friend, he gave a mock scowl. “You may be anxious to return home, Strider, but I also appreciate my land, and would not mind spending one more night under her banner.” The man called Strider simply laughed and continued on. “Nay, Legolas, you were just hoping to give my father one more reason to patch you up when we return home, so that you could stay in Rivendell longer.” At this the elf really did become a bit irked, but not at the Ranger’s suggestion that he would abandon his home for another. No, it was an entirely different reason that had his annoyance rising to the surface.
“I am not the one who always receives the worst injuries, Estel!” The Prince protested in defense of his pride. “Who was it that got captured in the mines of Moria by orcs? Who was it that was neatly kidnapped and almost died in the high mountains that winter? Who was it…”
“Who was it that was got in that Valar-forsaken trap set by the dwarves and had to be nursed back to health?” Strider quickly interjected before the elf could continue. “Who was it that was caught and beaten by Taradin and his men? Do not go into who has had the worst injuries, or who has saved whom more times. We both have too many to count, mellon nin, and trying to sort them through would only bring on a headache!” Strider chuckled a bit at his friend’s irritation. In truth, the young Prince hated being saved, and he truly hated being weak or ill due to injury. Lord Elrond, Strider’s adoptive father had often told him that Legolas was one of the most stubborn and vexing patients he had ever had to treat…Estel being the other.
The Ranger’s mirth was contagious, however, and soon the elf found himself laughing with his friend despite the fact that he was trying to remain irritated. Strider was right. They had helped and saved each other more times then could be counted, and would continue to do so should the situation call for it again – which the Prince was sure it would.
“Very well, ceredir o presto! Legolas laughed at his friend. “We will hurry on. If the weather holds we should be able to make it to your father’s house in a week’s time, and he will be very impressed that neither one of us is injured or ill!”
These were, of course, famous last words.

“Tell me again, Strider,” Legolas yelled as he ducked under an orc’s scimitar. “Why did I agreed to come this way with you?” One of the Prince’s white-handled knives neatly blocked the orc’s wild swing while its twin swiftly cut through the creature’s jugular. It fell dead, but another was soon there to take its place. Strider was occupied with his own battle, and didn’t answer for a moment.
“It’s because,” he grunted as he ran through another orc. “This area was supposed to be safe, and father wanted to know the conditions of the mountain passes.” A momentary lapse in the aggressive creatures gave him the opportunity to glance over at his friend, who had just killed off the last of his attackers. “Besides, it’s not like we went looking for orcs. They just seem to find us.” Despite his words, Legolas caught a guilty, self-conscience light in the Ranger’s eyes. He may not have known that the orc’s were about, but he knew more then he was letting on. The Elven Prince glanced around quickly, evaluating the situation. They had dispatched the small band easily enough, but he was willing to bet his prize bow that there were more of the foul creatures in the vicinity.
The two had left the horses at the base of the Misty Mountain’s Eastern edge when Strider had suggested taking the shorter, higher pass, rather then the longer, more time consuming lower one, that was regularly used. The Elven Prince himself had not taken these roads in centuries, preferring the safer Southern route. Legolas had wondered at Strider’s proposition at the time, and although his curiosity was still peaked, he rather thought that this was not the moment to indulge in such things.
“Never mind,” he decided quickly. “You can tell me why later. First I’d like to get out of these Valar-forsaken mountains.” Strider agreed, and shouldering their packs, they quickly descended the far side of the pass.
After they had reached a small clearing that was a sufficiently far distance from the treacherous gap, Legolas stopped and turned to his friend. “All right, Estel,” he demanded. “What do you know about this area that your father doesn’t, and why are you keeping it a secret?” Strider looked at his friend with surprise. He had actually thought for a moment that he had managed to deceive the Elven Prince. He should have known better. Legolas crossed his arms and waited for a reply. He wasn’t moving until he was satisfied.
Strider grimaced. “All right! I didn’t want to say anything because it isn’t common knowledge, but now I suppose I must.” He sat down on an out-cropping of rock, and prepared to set a midday meal. The story would take a little while to tell.
“Before I left Rivendell for Mirkwood, father took me aside and asked me to take the mountain passes when I returned with you. He told me that there had been no reports of goblins or orcs in those regions for some time and wanted me to do some slight investigation. Under no circumstances was I to explore any of the known caves or hidey-holes of the creatures, but I was to look around and see if there was any evidence in the terrain itself that the creatures were still there. For a while the Misty Mountains were off limits to travelers due to the large threat of orcs and goblins, and father wanted to see if perhaps the passes could be reopened. It is, after all, the fastest way when journeying east and west.” He smiled ruefully up at his friend. “I guess the orcs haven’t left yet.”
Legolas looked at the young human for a moment before smiling back. “No, I guess that they haven’t.” After a moment he frowned again. “But that’s not all.” The Prince remembered Strider’s guilty look. “You know something more then that.”
Strider sighed. Couldn’t he keep anything from this sharp-eyed elf? “No, you’re right. That’s not all. While I was on the path to Mirkwood, I came across a man riding hard for Rivendell. It was Hunt, another Ranger and friend. He was riding to bring a message to me. You see, Legolas, this area, at the Western edge of the Misty Mountains, is…well, I suppose you could call it a base for the Rangers. True, Rangers don’t really have homes, but every once in a while one may wish to settle down – maybe marry or have children – or may simply want to converse with others of the same purpose, so that they know that they are not quite so alone. We all are kin – to an extent – you know, and we try to help each other as much as possible.” At this Legolas looked surprised. No he hadn’t known.
“Kin?” He was perplexed. “I thought that you had no kin.” He looked to Strider for an explanation. The young man just smiled.
“Didn’t you know? To be a Ranger isn’t a profession; it what we are. Rangers are the last remnants in the North of the great people, the Men of the West. The Rangers are all that is left of the Dunadain.” The elf looked at him in shock.
“No, I didn’t know that. So what did your friend want?”
Strider continued. “As I said before, this area is almost a base to the Rangers. We meet here, and no matter what, if we are weary or in need of supplies, we know that we can find them at this place.” The Ranger paused, a hard look passing across his face. “But the news that Hunt brought me was not of good tidings. It seems that my kin are disappearing from the area. They don’t know where, as no trace can be found; they simply vanish. And as you know, my people are excellent trackers. Some disappear from the woods. When the others tried to follow the trail, it simply stopped – vanished – with no sign of struggle or confrontation. Others have left on errands, and not returned. These were experienced men, who know how to handle themselves, and yet whatever it is that they are facing leaves no mark. The others don’t even know if the ones taken are still alive, or if they are dead. But the worst of it is…the last disappearance wasn’t a Ranger…it was the child of a friend of mine. She laid down to sleep one night, and when the morning came, she was not in her bed.”
“Maybe she left during the night?” Legolas interjected. “If she was the daughter of a Ranger then surely she must know some stealth. Perhaps she went into the woods that night and met with whatever was taking the men.”
Strider shook his head. “No; the place where they sleep is only a one room hut. They would have heard if she had stirred in the night. Not only that, but she was only five years old, and had not yet learned the secrets of stealth. My friend is devastated, and when this happened, the Rangers gathered together, and agreed that something must be done, somehow. They have sent riders to all the other Dunadain that they know of, warning them to stay away, until the secret could be uncovered. They do not wish to lose any more of their kin…and neither do I. That is why I wanted to come this way, and am glad that father gave me an excuse. This path leads to Sérë.”
“Sérë,” the elf repeated. He glanced down, and then looked back up at his friend. “The Elvish word for ‘rest’ in the High Tongue. Why name it that?” He wondered. Strider smiled.
“Because that it what it is to the Dunadain. It is a haven, a place of rest in a lonely world. Many a Ranger have entered with a heavy heart and tired soul, and this is the place for lightening a burden, or resting for the weary.” Anger spread across the man’s face. “Or at least, it was. Understand, Legolas, to lose Sérë would be to lose the only home that the Rangers have. It would bring a darkness to our hearts that we cannot afford to have at this time. I am lucky, in that I have Rivendell to claim as a home. None of the others do. They wander the Wilds, laying their heads wherever they fall. But the Wilds are not a friendly place, as you know. Sérë is a place for rest; a rest we desperately need from time to time. We must reclaim it back!”
Legolas regarded his friend soberly, before turning to re-shoulder his pack. “Then we must go. Between the two of us, and the rest of the Dunadain, I am sure that we can solve this puzzle. We will stop whatever it is that is taking your kin, and bring rest and peace back to Sérë.”
The young Dunadan smiled brightly at his friend, before turning to grab his own pack. “I had hoped that you would say that! Come! If we hurry we can be there before night falls completely.”
As the two friends walked Legolas turned to Strider. “You do realize,” he said with smile, “that we had better come back injured in some way.” Strider turned to stare at his friend.
“What?!”
Legolas let out a small laugh. “That way, mellon nin, your father and brothers can’t kill us for going off another ‘potentially life threatening journey’ without permission, and for not returning directly to Rivendell. No one can punish us while we’re under Lord Elrond’s care.” Strider just stared at the Elf for a moment before beginning to laugh helplessly.
“Now who’s the Maker of Trouble! I hope that it doesn’t come to that, Legolas, but you’re right! My father will not be pleased when he hears of our detour. Perhaps one of the younger Rangers would be willing to ride to Rivendell to tell my family of what happened. Then we won’t be in too serious of trouble when we return.”
Legolas glanced at him incredulously. “If you say so, Strider. If you say so.”
Neither believed it for a second.

Translations
Mellon nin – My friend (For those who have been living under the proverbial LotR rock) 😉
Law – No
Ceredir o presto – Troublemaker; Maker of Trouble
Note: The ‘High Tongue’ that Legolas refers to is Quenya, or the High Language used only sporadically by the Elves (e.g. for ceremonies, and important events)