Hi everyone! this is my first f.f. so if I mess it up horribly don't hate me. Not that I really even know who you are (most likely I don't know who you are that is) so it doesn't even really matter if you hate me or not.but please, don't hate me horribly (horribly: key word). Or if you feel like you really must hate me horribly, please, don't flame me in your wonderful review that you will leave after reading.(yes you will, in fact, leave one)

Anyway, enough with my meaningless talk.on with the fic!

Disclaimer: Turns out I'm Tolkien's Great- great (however many 'greats' it is) grandkid and therefore his living heir. Yep! That means that all his wonderful ideas from Legolas to the log that Gollum uses to float on the river and spy on the Fellowship are all mine! Mine! Mine I tell you! Muahahahahahah-- .Huh.what? NO! That was only a dream!? But I was so close!

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(A/N: post-LOTR and ignore the chronology thingy in the appendixes, for the use of my fic)

Chapter One: Returning to Remembrance

Legolas walked through the forest thinking. It was an uncommon site to see the elven prince walk through the forest of Mirkwood without the company of his friend Gimli, but he needed to be alone.

Without paying attention to where he was going he had wandered to a small clearing. It was spring and the sea of green before him reached his knees. He continued walking until he came to a small stream. He followed it, still not paying attention to where he was going. If he had been he would have ran back to the great hall for fear of remembering what he had been harboring at the back of his mind for so long. The stream led him through the forest for a little ways more. It wound through some dense brush growth and once Legolas emerged from the large mass of brush, he instantly was thrown from his daze with a sharp jolt.

He looked around. The area had remained untouched since the last time he had been here. He took in the green grass, the small, yellow flowers that speckled the carpet of grass with color, and the old, gnarled oak trees that grew. Lastly he looked at the small pond and the waterfall flowing into it over the smooth rocks. Behind that very waterfall he had hidden as a young lad late into the day, not even knowing that his brothers had long given up the game of hide-and-seek and were inside, enjoying their warm dinner. He had found refuge there from the older children that had made fun of him with his bow that was to large for him at the age he had first received it (Little they had known then that he would return a hero of all Middle-Earth with a bow from Lothlorien, given to him by the Lady herself). Then his eyes reverted to the very spot that he had stood years before. In the shade of the oldest and most gnarled of all the oaks surrounding the glade form sight. The pond reached out towards the tree, leaving barely two feet of space between its shore and the tree. Just enough space to fit two elves, truly saying good-bye despite the fact that they were happier than they ever could be. Even if Gandalf himself had told them what was to happen the next day they never would have believed it because they were so happy.

Without his consent, Legolas' feet moved slowly towards the same spot under the oak tree he had stood exactly fifteen years before. Legolas stood silently, his eyes unadjusted in disbelief (A/N: which, by the way, actually does happen when something that either really upsets you or shocks you, it's not just in the movies 'n' stuff) as the memories of that day fought to surface from their dusty corner of his mind. He shoved the thoughts back down, he refused to remember the words he had said that day, and the things he had seen and thought. He was still in denial that what had happened the day after that weren't really real, despite the shocking jolts back into reality he received much to often. Such as the confrontation with his father earlier that morning.

Finally, a few sparse memories flew before his eyes, the feel of rich dark hair, the smell that had come with it, and then, to his despair, a face. Not the face he had seen that day fifteen years previous, but the face that he had seen the day after. The beautiful face of an elven maiden, with olive skin and beautiful, dark brown, eyes, and soft round nose and chin- a face that was simply meant to be full of happiness. The face he saw instead was a face full of pain and terror, distorted with fighting effort to call out to him, but just as she took in breath to scream, a ghastly black hand smothered her mouth, cutting off all sound. Terror could be seen in her eyes as she pleaded for help through them. The pictures began to come faster. The evil yellow eyes floated before him. He remembered how he had felt the look of fear cross his face as he had realized how much malice and pure evil was in those eyes as the maiden was roughly thrown over the shoulder of the vicious orc and carried off. He remembered throwing his bow wildly, not caring where it landed, and pulling out his knives, striking out at any orc that came between him and the orc that was making off with the maiden. Then he felt the sharp pain shoot through his back, followed by another. He fell to the ground, two black arrows jutting from his back, but not before seeing the orc sneer at him from a ways off, quickly escaping with the elf still held captive.

Legolas hung his head in despair. He shouldn't have come back. He wasn't ready to face what he knew he was his duty to do as a prince of Mirkwood. His father wanted him to do it, but he just couldn't bring himself to. He somehow knew that the girl was still alive. Legolas saw it as his only reason in life to find the maiden and rescue her if she was still held by the few foul orcs that had survived the War. That, he thought, would somehow make compensation for all the nights he had been forced to endure, unable to sleep and escape the horrible images as he remembered that fateful day: the day that his spirit and almost even his will to live had been wrenched away from him and destroyed.

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Their Queen looked solemn. Her blonde hair rippled in the wind. She wore a simple black tunic and leggings, with black leather riding boots. Even her riding gear and weapons were completely black, all save the steel blades and the points of her arrows which were hidden in their sheaths and quiver. She looked sinister and menacing with her almost pointed face and hard set jaw. The jet-black that she wore gave the desired effect in adding to her sinister look as it contrasted on her snow white horse and pale skin. She looked down from the dark hill on which she had her troops camped. Lush green fields stretched out before her, small streams babbling here and there. She vaguely remembered the area or someplace like it. One of her blue-clad captains stepped up next to her.

"Are you-"

"Sane? No, probably not."

"Not exactly where I was going but close enough."

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The spy looked out of the tree he was hiding in. The intruders were showing some very strange behavior. First they had climbed over the mountain, cautiously. 'As if they think their ridiculously bright blue clothing doesn't give them away,' he thought laughing at the presumably captains' feeble attempts to stay atop their steeds while making their way down the steep slope to the shallow cave where they had made their camp. Only the female had been successful in remaining on her beautiful white horse the entire way down the mountain. It was this woman who most interested him. She was wearing all black and sat surveying the Ithillien landscape below, as if she was a seasoned warrior expecting the attack that would end her long, toiling life. He thought it was very interesting. He seemed to receive the impression that she was tired, tired and old. She looked as if she had just walked many miles without resting once.

What he wanted to know was why these people were coming out of Mordor. No one- at least no one that would wear bright blue- was still in Mordor. He had watched even more closely as a man clad in blue and silver garb had come up to her, no longer on her horse- as it seemed no one would approach her while she was still upon her mount- and exchanged a few brief words. After which both seemed to be slightly annoyed with the other.

He was still watching for any sign that might tell him what these strangers were up to when a stern, but loving voice rose up to him from the ground below, "Would you please stop climbing up trees like a child and come down!?"

He grimaced, he had been caught. He looked down to find his wife staring at the leafy foliage that hid him from view but she knew he was there. She simply stood waiting for him to climb down before she berated him more. Hands on her hips, the black-haired elf was quite an intimidating sight, even to Aragorn who had seen much worse. He sighed and jumped down skillfully, "What do you want me to do? Leave those people to-"

"To be spied on by your spies," answered Arwen for him. She loved him dearly, but he could be so daft, despite all his wisdom, "that is what you assigned them to do remember: watch them but keep hidden and if anything looks strange come and get you immediately. Well how can they come get you when you're half-way up a tree and hidden from ground view?"

Aragorn sighed again, "I know.it's just.I know that the women leading them looks familiar. I know I've seen her somewhere.somewhere.a long time ago-" Aragorn suddenly saw Rinathen, a young elf maiden of Mirkwood, in his mind. It unnerved him to see the smiling face once more, when the last time he had see the face fifteen years ago was when he had been visiting his old friend Legolas in Mirkwood. Orcs had attacked and taken many lives through death, but the only one they had taken alive had been Rinathen. He remembered watching Legolas' father try to convince his comrade to attend the singing of a song written in her memory, but Legolas had refused. Somehow thinking that Rinathen would escape, or be found, or at least that she was still alive and well. Legolas had not eaten for two weeks after that. Finally Aragorn had been able to get through to him and he had eaten a small morsel, but it had taken even longer for him to stop spending his days combing the forest for any trace of her. Once he had had to physically force Legolas to return back to the main halls for the night. He shook his head, it was very strange, the woman did not even remotely resemble Rinathen.

Arwen was looking at him strangely. He did not normally act this way. Aragorn notice her questioning looks and shook his head again, "It's.nothing.I was just." He paused, Rinathen's abduction by the orcs was a tender subject for Arwen as well, she and Rinathen had been cousins and very close. "Nevermind."

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Legolas felt his eyes begin to fill with tears. His feet unfroze from their spot and he fled. He ran back into the depths of the forest, not paying attention to where he was headed. It wouldn't have mattered if he had been anyway, he couldn't see past the tears now freely flowing from his eyes.

He was found many hours later by Gimli and a search party that had been sent out to find him after dinner. They found him curled up in a tight ball, at the base of a large tree, far from both his home and the undiscovered waterfall. His face was tear-stained and his clothing dirty and slightly tattered from his attempt at escaping the memories that haunted him. Gimli crouched down next to him and tried to coax him up, but to no avail. The only sign of life the elven prince made were a few small whimpers and the occasional mumble, "Ri.Rinathen.Ri.come back."

When they finally were able to coax him to uncurl and get up, he had to be helped back to the main halls. He simply stared straight ahead, now completely silent, not taking in any of where he was going or what he was being asked. When they reached the halls the only thing they were able to get him to say was simply, "It's June 27 now." Then he returned to his almost deathly silence. His face was ghastly pale and he refused to eat or drink anything offered to him. He did nothing but stare straight ahead with blue eyes that seemed to have no life in them.

Only his father and mother understood what that meant. June 27 was the fateful day when the Wood elves of Mirkwood had been attacked by orcs fifteen years ago. June 27 was the fateful day when their son had almost died.

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