Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Masquerade (#2217)
Author: celebdilandtin
Chapters: 2

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Captured as prisoners of war by the Haradrim, Legolas and Aragorn are tortured ruthlessly at the hands of their host. If things go as planned there will be no dawn for either Elf or ranger, but first one must break. Though more than their lives and spirits are at stake, an ancient alliance and bond could be shattered and all Middle Earth could be condemned. The fates of many, rest squarely on the shoulders of Legolas and Aragorn, will they give under the pressure?
Published: 08 Sep 2005
Updated: 08 Sep 2005
Warnings: severe torture, angst,
Type: Angst
Characters: Legolas; Aragorn


Chapter 1 - Masquerade (first half)

Title: Masquerade

Authors: Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure

Summary: Captured as prisoners of war by the Haradrim, Legolas and Aragorn are tortured ruthlessly at the hands of their host. If things go as planned there will be no dawn for either Elf or ranger, but first one must break.

Though more than their lives and spirits are at stake, an ancient alliance and bond could be shattered and all Middle Earth could be condemned. The fates of many, rest squarely on the shoulders of Legolas and Aragorn, will they give under the pressure?

Rated: PG-13

: DISCLAIMER :

We do not own anything of Tolkein's Lord of the Rings Trilogy or any other works by he or his family. We wish we could write like that though.

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Please enjoy and review! Reviews are always good-Smiles- Thanks!

Ω

0o0: 0o0 "Masquerade" 0o0: 0o0

The night was dark, very dark, not to mention bleak. The description just wouldn't be accurate without the word 'bleak'. A storm threatened to break in horrible wrath any moment and Aragorn looked grimly at his blonde companion. "So how far ahead are they my friend?" he inquired as to the position of the Haradrim enemy that all knew were lying in wait for them at some point.

Legolas Greenleaf smiled thinly and leaning close to the ranger, whose hood was drawn about his face, whispered his reply. "Well, Thorongil, they lie just over in the ledges of the dried up creek bed and deep in the foliage. They are strong, we are never going to make it past them." The Elf's voice was indisposed and he looked past the hood into his friend's eyes with a look of intense worry.

"Double-cloaked Elf," sneered a man near Aragorn's left; his second lieutenant. "With all due respect sir, how do we know we can trust him?" asked the man as he stared the scowling blonde being down.

Legolas gave the man who was questioning his honesty and honor an I-am-a-Elf-prince-and-you-doubt-my-word look. His narrow blue eyes spoke of irritation and discontent. Aragorn was not going to stand idly by and let this slur against his friend stand. "And with all due respect to you, officer, you question more than the Prince Legolas when you ask if he is trustable, you question my choice of friends and allies."

The man glared at his junior officer and the other man didn't seem to be put off. "Sir, I never meant to question your abilities, but every attack we have had ourselves in the midst of was known to him before the rest of us."

"Are you going to continue to question my sincerity, sir?" asked the disguised ranger tersely with a knitted brow and darkened gray eyes.

"I suppose I had better not, Captain," concluded the other man as he gazed into the deepening darkness, avoiding Aragorn's piercing gaze and the sharp and annoyed glare of the offended Elf.

Legolas turned his attention back to Aragorn serenely, but he kept half of his hearing turned back towards the men who he did not doubt would like nothing better than to kill him and call it an accident. He wasn't about to become some tragic victim of their fears, but he wasn't about to strive fruitlessly against them. He could never win and resistance would only make there opinion of him worse.

Aragorn knew what Legolas was thinking and he gently placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and guided the Elf in the front, before him. Putting himself between his friend's back and the ones whom would like to stab it. He whispered dispiritedly, "Is there any alternative at all, Legolas?"

"None that would be less risky than the attack itself," came the forbidding response. As Legolas watched the trees and foliage sway in the wind of the upcoming storm he let loose a small and inaudible sigh. He felt the trees distress but he also felt their hostile nature towards him and his friends. In the distance, lightening flickered and sent tendrils of blazing volts across the darkened sky. "Remind me again why we came down South to fight Haradrim?" he said as he calculated the throbbing air and rumbling thunder with his scrupulous hearing.

Aragorn looked at the Elf's stony face and anxious eyes. "I don’t know about you, but I came down because they were a threat to Gondor and as a ranger that happens to be one of my jobs...protecting Gondor that is."

Legolas smiled dilutely and gave the ranger a somewhat dubious look. "And I vaguely recall your brothers saying that you wouldn't stay down here more than a few days before you came crawling back. Bets are dangerous things you know," he whispered in a tone that was filled with as much laughter as his fluctuating looking eyes as the friends crouched down now with the men in the brush, waiting for the Haradrim to launch their attack.

"And I remember someone else who's father told him that he needed to settle down and get married and if I recall that same someone disappeared that very night and trailed me everywhere until I consented to having him as a companion," teased the young human lightly. Making fun of his Elven companion was rejuvenating if it was nothing else and he was sure that Legolas had about the same opinion regardless of the fact that he was the center of the jests.

Legolas sniffed in mock contempt, "you exaggerate ranger. He said nothing about getting married." Aragorn just smiled in the dark.

The men laughed and snickered quietly behind the Elf and ranger. Even though they didn’t trust the Elf as far as they could shoot him, they did enjoy the teasing between the two friends that brightened the darkest moments and made the prospect of dying a little easier to bear. They carefully prepared to draw their weapons and the archers readied their bows.

Lightning flashed and in the faint light that lasted only a brief moment, Legolas and Aragorn smiled at one another and the Elf grabbed his bow from its place over his shoulder and grabbed a random arrow from the quiver on his back. Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The enemy was near, they could feel it in the growing tense air that seemed to throb in their ears precariously. The trap was about to spring and it was growing rigid in preparation for the pounce, like a cat playing with a mouse. The thought did nothing to help the blonde Elf's mood as he ran his hand along the feathers on his arrow shaft. He did not like getting played around with under any circumstances and the thought that a regiment of Haradrim warriors had managed thrice to catch them in a snare was disturbing.

Legolas knew that the blame for this attack had been squarely placed on his shoulders by the men and he had no doubt that if a few of them lived they would find a way to make sure he did not. But, he mused angrily, how was it his fault that he always knew the attack before them? He was a scout, what in the name of great Manwë had they expected him to do? Rolling his eyes inwardly with disgust at the men's' ungrateful attitudes, Legolas knew it was because he was an Elf. If a man had been the scout and placed himself in that kind of danger then he would have been congratulated and believed without the slightest hesitation. But because he was an Elf they didn't care what dangers he was placed in and the Elven prince knew with a stab of what could be called slight heartache, that despite all his labors for their well being they would rather that he never came back. Legolas felt a bitter anger rising as he realized what he had thought for a long time was true; they would rejoice to see an arrow embedded in his heart.

The wind blew stronger and as Legolas listened beside Aragorn he heard a series of war cries, like wolves on a hunt, arise in the air and suddenly something whistled past his ear and a javelin hit the dirt by his foot. He crouched lower in surprise and slight fear, and heard everyone else doing the same. Well at least he wasn’t alone, thought the Elf candidly.

But no more shafts came and Aragorn whispered grimly, "they are taunting us. But the attack will not be put off long." A huge shadow loomed not more than a couple hundred yards off and lightening revealed it to be what Legolas already knew as an oliphaunt.

Its bulk was painted in bright paint. As the thunder rumbled Legolas looked back at Aragorn and whispered, "they are close enough to launch their attack."

The ranger murmured, "I know. Stay down, Legolas. Be careful." The last thing he wanted was one of those thick-shafted javelins in his friend's back or head. He looked back at the men he was leading and whispered, "steady. Perhaps we can surprise them if you keep calm.” The proposition was more of a command than a conferral.

The men looked stony faced at one another and shifted quietly in the bracken and shrubs.

A small drop hit Legolas on the nose and he thought, wonderful, the storm is moving in. This is going to make fun combat weather. He sighed under his breath and watched as figures ahead moved soundlessly through the brush and positioned themselves all around the surrounded contingent.

Legolas suddenly shouted, "look out! "As he heard the bows of the enemy drawn back and then released. Bolts thudded against trees, stone, dirt and bodies. A few cries came from those wounded, those dead had been slain silently.

Then the battle began.

Legolas and Aragorn fought side by side as best they could, watching one another's back.

Everything was chaos, between claps of thunder, the cries of men dying and bleeding, oliphaunts crying in agony as arrows found their marks in the large creatures' hides.

In the lightning Legolas saw a man aiming his spear for Aragorn, who was preoccupied with another in intense combat. Drawing the bolt of his bow back so the feathers were along his cheek, Legolas shot the enemy's man dead quicker than sight.

He had hardly time to notch another arrow before he found himself assailed by a number of foes that came out of nowhere. As he looked around he found himself lost in a sea of enemy faces and immediately back stepping in pure instinct, he suddenly felt his boot go against nothing. Air. He was trapped on the edge of the cliff that overlooked the dried up creek bed.

Aragorn spun around as he struck out with his long sword and seeing his friend assailed by foes on all sides, the man gave a cry of trepidation and dismay. Taking his attention away from his own enemies trying to kill him, he ran towards Legolas, who was firing off arrows as quickly as possible, but his quiver was running out and his enemies were pressing in closer. Legolas realized with alarm that they were not trying to kill him, they were trying to capture him.

The ranger stumbled in weariness and abruptly felt a sting as something bit into his shoulder, no, his collarbone. He felt it rip through the muscle of his chest and crack through the bone in a violent assail on a path to his heart. He then hearing a strangled cry he had hardly realized he had given, the young ranger looked up to see Legolas staring straight at him with a contorted face of horror and rage even as the Elf ducked a blow intended to render him unconscious.

He must be hurt badly, or else Legolas would never look at him thus. Aragorn knew it and he looked to see thick-shafted javelin in his chest, just beneath the collarbone, dangerously close to his heart.

Aragorn felt hot blood run over his tunic and he gasped in horrible pain. It was shockingly hard to breathe. He felt as though he had a weight upon his chest, pressing down relentlessly and biting him fiercely.

He saw Legolas struggle to get to him and he saw the Elf notch his last arrow and looking where the fair being was aiming, he saw a Haradrim warrior just above him, ready to drive a scimitar into his skull.

But dazed, Aragorn told his muscles to move and they didn't respond.

Looking up he saw a green and white-feathered shaft sing through the air just as a blinding streak of lightning lit up the sky about them.

But Aragorn could feel the heat of the lightening, blinding, searing, and sending tendrils of volts of current through his body. But when he looked up all he saw was a bunch of dead Haradrim and Legolas, being hurled backwards and over the brink of the ledge and into the dried up creek bed below.

Aragorn felt huge ran drops begin to splash all around him and finding his legs, he ran stumbling to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees as he looked over the edge and saw a pale and forlorn Legolas lying below.

The Elf's body was at a strange and twisted angle on the rocks beneath, so it made Aragorn think that his friend had broken his back. He felt a pang run through is heart and he could not tell if it was because of the javelin in his breast or because his heart had just shattered at the sight of his mutilated friend. He saw the Elf's lips moving faintly and then his chest rise and fall, and then after a violent shiver, the convulsing form of the blonde Elf lay completely still.

If Aragorn had had a difficult time breathing before, he found it impossible now. As hard as it was for him believe it, Legolas had been thrown by the lightning into the gaping pit below, his body smashing against the rocks. His mind was going through enough torture seeing his contingent annihilated but now that he saw his dearest friend lying mangled below he felt like his chest had been ripped into shreds and he knew it came from more than the wound be bore. As Aragorn gazed groggily down into the pit his mind reeled, taking in all the gore and bodies that were beginning to float in the rising water. The creek bed had become a mass grave.

It was more than the ranger could bear. The men he had been entrusted with and who had trusted him back were dead or captured. It was a heart-wrenching failure, one he wasn't sure he could endure. He knew now how Gil-Galad and other wise beings, like his foster father, must have felt after seeing their troops slain in battle and mercilessly tramped upon by the cruel feet of the enemy as though they were being ground into useless and unrespectable dust.

The rain became heavier, as if all heaven cried for his lost friend. Thunder rumbled loudly and lightening strapped across the sky in bright purple and white flares casting light on all the pale faces coated in blood.

Aragorn didn't even bother to remove the barbed spear from his chest and he just leaned forward, not caring if it was pressed deeper into his flesh. His wavy dark hair hung limply with perspiration and rainwater as he hung his head in despair and horrible, twisted agony. His eyes were fixed unmovable on Legolas' helpless and wrecked form, the Elf's hair thrown over one side of his face and plastered to it by the rain.

Legolas blinked in numb awe as he gazed up at the sky and watched the rainfall upon his pale face as he began to come free of his shock that still held a slight grip over his boggled mind. It felt good just to lay still and breathe again. He watched the sky intently, with all its strange and wondrous tendrils of purple and white and the darkness of the blackened world beyond while crystal rain beat upon him.

It was cold enough in the desert at night. The temperature often dropped to single digit number or below. He shivered as he felt his clothes getting soaked to the bone and the bone seemed to be pierced to the marrow. The rocks of the sandy and hard bottom bit into his cold skin like jagged knives and he tried to move, but he found that it was impossible. That alone was enough to send new stab of fear throughout his awareness.

Looking inquisitively up at the edge of the cliff where he guessed he had fallen from, he saw Aragorn hanging over the brim of the precipice, bent over in agony or grief, Legolas could not tell and he closed his eyes in passionate and physical pain. He wondered if he had broken something and thought it would be a miracle if he hadn’t.

He shuddered and then looked up again and as if Aragorn had known Legolas had opened his eyes, the man lifted his head and saw the wide blue orbs staring up into his own gray ones, wondering if he were alright. Legolas' face was still pale and he lay in a contorted form nevertheless, unmoving but his eyes spoke volumes about his thoughts.

After the ordeal Legolas had just gone through, Aragorn was touched to know his best friend was seeing if he was well first. When the Elf's sharp eyes caught the scarlet water running from the man's tunic he knew Aragorn was wounded and he cried up towards the ranger in a horror filled cry, "Thorongil!"

But it was then Legolas realized he could not hear, or at least, not like he used to. Everything was muffled and sounded so far away, even his own voice. He felt cold fear clutch at his stomach in a tight and frigid knot that threatened to grow and break through.

Everything had seemed unreal to begin with, now it was totally surreal and Legolas found himself floating in the juxtaposition of two worlds; fantasy and reality. He felt like he was dying and yet he felt nothing at all and seemed to be watching time drag by in slow motion. Why was it the painful moments seemed to last forever and the joyous faded so fast?

Legolas did not know and he determined rather quickly now was not the time to wonder.

He swallowed hard and saw Aragorn looking at him with dropped jaw and saying something, but he could not hear it. He was going deaf or slowly dying, he couldn't differentiate. The Elf did not even remember what had happened exactly, but he knew he had fallen and he knew he had felt a terrific jolt go through him, running around in his insides and feeling like it as unwinding him through and through.

"Thorongil!" he cried up to Aragorn as the man suddenly found himself surrounded by the enemy. The Elf's cry was desperate and overwhelmed and it delved into the ranger's heart as he realized his friend needed him and he couldn't be there. But he had no time for further thought about Legolas, his men or the rising rain water…anything. All his thought now went to the enemy that surrounded him in a tight, merciless mass.

The precipitation was coming in buckets and Legolas felt the flowing water rising about him, cold and tickling. The ground had been so hard form lack of rain that in this rainy season flash floods were not uncommon.

As the torrential rains spilled around him, Legolas watched in a haze as his best friend was set in bonds and lead away to only the Valar knew where. This didn't make Legolas despair, at least, not in the initial thoughts and reactions. His initial thoughts were intense wrath and a longing to deliver death to every last one of those cursed Haradrim men and personally scalp their leader. But seeing as how that was not possible, he began to retreat into an abyss of guilt and mourning that he felt was well earned on his part.

If only he had been quick enough, if only he had been there when Aragorn needed him most. Cursing himself inwardly in every tongue he knew and even considering for a brief moment making up a few of his own, the Elf-prince felt hot tears burn his eyes despite the cold rain and biting winds. He wanted to scream, but that would do no good.

Aragorn struggled as many warriors of the Haradrim pressed him down and made him completely immobile; he was all but suffocating. But his wound did not allow him to grapple much anyway. He kicked with his feet as the faint and fleeting opportunity arouse but as he did, the javelin was yanked out with a distinguished twist followed by a sickening popping sound and the ranger lurched forward accompanied by a cry before he was slammed into the ground harshly by his subjugators.

His face was smeared into the mud and grime and when that didn't put an end to his fighting a hand came and tangled itself in his dark and wet hair before using it as a painful handle to slam his skull into the ground. Stars danced before Aragorn's eyes and he struggled very little now as he was pulled up to his knees and his arms yanked behind him, and then twisted brutally for good measure before being tightly bound and rebound with thick hemp. A man, with dark eyes and a muscular build stood before him, spear in hand.

He was tall too, as far as Haradrim went and the way he carried himself lead the captive to believe that he was one of distinguished rank among the Southron Men. War paint of a bright red color was about his face and drawn in extravagant designs. He had earrings of gold and a nose ring with a red stone set in it.

His right hand tightly clenched a sword and Aragorn noticed absentmindedly that he had many rings upon it, including a seal of the Haradrim. He was a prince among them then or someone close to the King in one way or another.

"Greetings, Ranger," he said haltingly, Westron spoken by the rangers was not his first language and he wanted Aragorn to hear every word he said. This was not exactly a comforting thought, but Aragorn was too groggy at the moment to really try and discern the man's dark purpose. All he knew was that he was wet, miserable, weary, and first and foremost, utterly furious.

"For so I hold you," the Harad man went on slowly. "None would fight half so well and," he sneered suddenly, "and my intelligence reports you are close to the Elf-spy." He tapped his fingers on his sword hilt rhythmically as though he was calculating what to say next. The annoying sound got on Aragorn's nerves and made him feel even more uncomfortable than he was.

Aragorn twisted in his bonds and strong hands gripping his bound arms so tightly bruises were left, held him firmly in place. He glared up at the man with degenerate and uncaring eyes that still sparked a fierce defiance in their own way.

"Where is the Elf? He wouldn't die so easily." said the man as he watched the mute ranger with amused eyes that glittered in a flash of lightning. The Haradrim man then drove his boot into Aragorn's stomach, causing more hot blood to suddenly burst out of his collarbone wound. "Where is the Elf?"

The captor's attention was momentarily distracted as he watched other prisoners get rounded up at spear point. It was enough time for the hostage ranger to grit his teeth in agony and he doubled into himself against the hands holding him.

The Haradrim mortal narrowed his eyes and said in a commanding voice, "have you nothing to say?"

"Not for your ears, Slave of Sauron," spat the ranger back with difficulty. He was certain that the words 'Slave of Sauron' were not necessary to answer to stupid question (in his opinion), but in his usual manner, he had to infuriate his captors to madness. Of course he didn't do that on purpose, but he never could really stop himself either. Elrond was convinced that this was something the twins had taught him, the young Dúnadan recalled gloomily.

The rain, tumbling down still in buckets, provided little help for the interrogation of the prisoner. And when the Haradrim warrior thought about it more, it provided no help. He glanced at the captain to his left and nodded, "We are moving out. I can't imagine even an Elf surviving out in this."


Ω


He was stupid. That was the conclusion the blonde Elf came to as he lay in the bottom of the reviving stream. Staring up at the steep embankment, the fair-haired being known there was not a chance a man or Elf could get up that. He watched the rain come and he watched the lightning flash, unable to hear the thunder roll. He had been stupid for believing that a single arrow could have saved his friend when there had still been over fifty foes on their feet with more coming. He had been stupid for trying to convince the men to trust him. In summation, he had just been really stupid. No… extremely stupid and under the influence of a gripping madness.

Now Aragorn was captured and most likely soon to be dead. And he was trapped down here, unable to do anything. You can't predict the lightning you fool, he told himself with an inward shake of the head. However, he still felt like an idiot for getting trapped on the edge of a cliff in the first place. Were his fighting capabilities no better than that?

Looking to his right, he saw the pasty white face of a dead man, a Gondorian man. With eyes glazed over and blood running from his nose and mouth to mix into he water, which alone was enough to make Legolas sick. And the fact that the deceased mortal was up stream and the bloodied water flowed over Legolas as the Elf was still stricken immobile from being so close to the lightning's impact was not helping his stomach's strange feeling either. If anything it was enhancing its abilities to create vomit. The water was a repulsive and deep crimson and still turning darker with enemy and allied blood alike. He noticed one thing that gave him a twisted regret: all of the blood was red, none of it was black. There had been no orcs, simply men fighting men…and himself, the only Elf.

Legolas felt his feeling coming back and he felt his nerves regaining their control over his body, but his hearing was not returning and that was a bit frightening. He had never realized how much he had relied on hearing alone. It gave a whole new meaning to the saying; "you never know what you've got until it's gone".

The blonde being could see the water rising slowly but surely and he knew it was get out of the fast flowing water or die. He began to work his numb and freezing fingers first, clenching and unclenching them. He knew the blood was still in them of course, but the fact that they were cold from the water was not helping. It felt like they were detached from his body except for the fact that occasionally they gave him slight twinges of pain as he supposed they were getting cut upon the rocks.

It was rushing to his face now and his golden hair streamed out about him and washed over his eyes as the water began to rise quicker. He gulped the frigid air and struggled, pressing his boots against the rocks and boulders for support. He had to keep his head above the surface. He could feel the icy water closing in and biting his flesh, freezing him and he began to shake. Suddenly the urge to sleep became very strong and his blonde head stopped jerking and leaping out of the water.

What was he fighting for? This was it, everything was over. This was the end of all his hopes and dreams. This was the end of everything. Dying didn't sound too painful and the frigidness of the water seemed to lulling him gently to sleep as he felt the current taking him along. Besides, if he were dead, he would get to rest…and that sounded so…peaceful, so wonderful that he let his muscles relax.

He ceased struggling and just watched the clouds roll across the sky in flickering forms as lightning ripped holes in them with purple streaks. He wasn't frightened anymore, at least for himself, he realized with a stab of guilt that was not easily suppressible.

Aragorn was captured, or lying dying somewhere, with a wound that from what the Elf had seen, was mortal. He had failed his friend and would only help the enemy if he stopped fighting now. Aragorn would fight for him, and Legolas knew it. It was the least he could do to drag himself form the watery grave he was meant to have and track Aragorn on foot.

The current swept him under suddenly and water filled his nose and as he gaped it rushed to fill his mouth and enter into his lungs to suffocate him. He looked around under the current and saw the corpses of more men, floating by his side, showing him what he would be if he stopped now. Legolas felt fear grow inside and blowing bubbles through is mouth, he narrowed his eyes, glaring down at a huge boulder below that he was sinking to rest with. It was dark and he could only see it because of the way the water parted around it.

He was slammed into it feet first and pressing against it with all he had left, Legolas forced a way to the surface of the sinuous river. Once his head broke the frothing crest of the water, Legolas reached a hand up to brush his loose, blonde hair from his face, where it had been plastered and he drew a deep breath. You never could realize just how sweet even horribly foul air was until you have been deprived of it, mused Legolas to himself. Not that this air was foul, but if it had been he was certain it would have still tasted like honey, or maple sugar, if air had a flavor that was recognizable.

Another boulder ahead that jutted out of the water offered hope and the Elf let the current take him to it and plaster him against it. Then, all but giving it a huge hug, he managed to climb so only his waist and below was in the water.

Clutching its jagged surface and feeling it cut his skin, Legolas knew he was still alive and this wasn't some nightmare. Then, he coughed and a slight bit of water came up from his lungs, answering the question as to why his breathing had been hampered when he seemingly had no water in the organs. At least he knew he was still breathing. Just keep thinking those positive thoughts, he told himself silently with an inward and sardonic grin.

Resting his face on the rock, he took in all the air he could and then he finally felt hot tears begin to run down his pale and nearly transparent cheeks, creating their own littler rivers to join the oscillating water that would splash up and froth about his features. At first he felt incredibly stupid. He didn't know why he was crying, but he was. He hadn't cried like this in a while and an acute feeling of helplessness and hopelessness set in. But then the reason for the tears came to him in a reminder of painful clarity.

Shivering, he let the tears fall. He had lost Aragorn, he was all alone and half-dead. He was freezing and he had no knowledge of the world about him. Legolas had never really traveled this far South. His knowledge was only the things Aragorn had taught him.

The rivers all flowed South. Though he had known that himself, it didn't hurt that Aragorn had reminded him, forgetting he was dealing with a couple thousand and some years old Elf. But Aragorn had told him that since this was a desert climate, the people of Harad often built their towns and strong hold along the rivers.

Still crying and biting back sobs of failure, the Elf thought glumly that ending up in a Haradrim village was about the last thing he needed to have happen. He had no desire to get sacrificed or turned into a slave of only Valar knew what sort with these people. His shoulders shook and he couldn't hold back sobs of bitter despair, fear, and anger.

He felt like he as dying inside even if he was alive on the outside. Legolas narrowed his eyes and yelled at the water"my friend is in trouble and you are holding me back" He snarled"curse you" He didn't care if it was stupid to scream at water, it made him feel better to vent his frustrations and wrath upon something reasonably tangible.

This water was not the water of the river Nimrodel, and it was not friendly with Elves to begin with, so naturally Legolas felt his anger returned. He didn't care and he crinkled his blonde brows in fierce bitterness. Not able to blame this situation on anyone else, he blamed it on the water, rushing, frothing, pulling at him, calling him to die and forget the greatest friend in the world.

He choked and cried"I failed" He sobbed irrepressible and then he closed his eyes to try and block out the situation he as in. He couldn't hear, he was trapped and freezing, Aragorn was captured or worse.

He then remembered something that Aragorn had told him long ago, you are my best friend Legolas. Whenever you feel like you are in trouble and can't go on, just remember that and remember that I will do anything to help you. Even travel leagues upon leagues in a few days if need be.

This was some encouragement and Legolas felt his tears stop abruptly as though on command and a temporary calmness filled his mind. If Aragorn would do that for him, then he would do the same back. What was he doing feeling sorry for himself and letting undeserved guilt weigh him down? It would mean going further South into Manwë alone knew what dangers, but that was where he was going.

Recalling how his father had often called him insane, Legolas managed to crack a smile as he saw the truth in the allegation. He gave a wry and emotionless laugh before he looked at the water and watched it flame up in its fury against the rock he was clinging against for dear life. It was not going to get the best of him and he smirked at it darkly, as though it was a foe he had longed to defeat for a long time and finally sent to the Halls of Waiting.

Now, there was one problem that remained as far as this dilemma in the water went; getting free of the large and meager salvation of the reef without drowning. That was going to be a challenge he had never even dimly thought of in his craziest and most dark dreams.

As he was pressed to the rock by the force of the water current, he watched things slip by, bodies, lost and forlorn, fallen trees, arrows and leaves, fading and gliding past as though they had wings and the water were the air. Staring at the water himself once more, he began to see it as a devious being of its own. He snickered inwardly and wondered if Ulmo, Lord of the Waters was as devious as the water seemed to be at the moment.

He wouldn't find trouble believing it and then he wondered if Ulmo might be merciful enough to calm these wrathful waters and spare him. However, he doubted that as one of the top ten things on the god's list.

He saw a dead horse float by and that in itself was not surprising, many of them had to have been wounded and unable to gallop to the safety of the hills and higher placed woods. As Haradrim warriors popped up from beneath the current, Legolas felt strangely satisfied, for he saw a green and yellow feathered shaft sticking from the enemy's throat. It was satisfying to know he had slain at least one of these humans-if indeed that was the right word for them-who had injured his friend and slain many men with families.

Others might have felt a slight guilt, but not Legolas. It wasn't like he had wanted to kill these men to start with. He never wanted to go to war with Aragorn and hoped he never would again. But all was fair in love and war, or so he had heard. It was kill or be killed. He didn't enjoy it like some warriors of other races did. Of course the fact that he was rationalizing made him wonder if he did have some guilt somewhere inside. Reminding himself that war had killed those men, not himself, the Elf decided he would have to let go of the rock before he was going anywhere.

This was kind of laughable, because when he was younger, before his mother's death, he had been walking with her and had gotten stuck up in a tree. A simple walk had been too much to ask for and she had the hardest time just getting him to let go of one branch and grip another to gradually begin to climb down.

Now he was on his own and had to force himself to let go with no guidance. But he as older now, so he could do this, right? Not exactly. Looking at his fingers, holding on so tightly they were white at the knuckles he frowned and narrowed his eyes.

Willing his hand to shift one finger from its deadlock position in a crevice, he felt a thrill of victory that swiftly ebbed and was lost when a wave of water made him return his tight grip. Cursing himself, the blonde prince finally just placed his faith in Ulmo's mercy and let his grip slide free.

Instantly the rapids engulfed him and he felt strangely calm. He felt a strangeness of calmness and detachment followed by hope, a combination of emotions that one was not most likely to feel as he sank beneath the surface of the rapids and was in dire danger of drowning.

He looked at the surface longingly for a moment and then let the water take him. It was odd that for being an Elf and living for a long time compared to a human, nothing could have ever prepared him for this. He felt like he was in another world. He wasn’t frightened anymore, but in awe.

A mass of rising and bursting bubbles beneath the surface of the churning and foaming water caught Legolas' eye and he stared at it intensely. Still contemplating the thought of how the bubbles were swirling into neat shapes and sparkled like purple and nebulous stars, he came to the realization that they pointed out a dip in the rapids and a place to get pulled under and swirled around enough to suck the breath out and force the water into the lungs.

He remembered when Elrohir had been pulled out of the water after slipping from the top of a dam (while trying to pull a potentially lethal stunt of course) and how he had been so shaken, Elladan couldn't travel within site of the dam while in the company of Elrohir. Elrohir had been nearly drowned and frightened out of his mind for weeks. Of course they had all found it funny after a while, but in the beginning it was hardly amusing.

Legolas did not have much time to ponder this before he was pulled suddenly much farther under the superficies of the water than he had ever thought and for a brief moment a look of trepidation and confusion crossed his fair face.

Then everything blurred and he was twisted in the water. He felt the liquid sneaking its way into his mouth as he parted his lips to scream. His hair became wrapped around his face and he slammed into something and had the sensation of vomit rising in the back of his throat as the thought that it could be a corpse. He worked on keeping his mouth closed but the want to scream and vomit was very nearly overpowering.

Something hard hit his head and sent a shocking and immediate amount of pain throughout his body and a blinding light through his vision before blackness loomed before him. He felt himself glide as graceful as a fish through warm water into nothingness.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Eru, Legolas! Thought Aragorn with a worried frown. He heard the river rushing as he was led away and would have preferred at that point in his life to know nothing of the word drowning, nor the facts about flash floods that he knew, and thus salvage some hope for his lost friend.

The harsh fact was that he didn't believe that Legolas was coming back. He wasn’t going to white wash it, though it would feel better if he did, it would do nothing to help the situation. Being optimistic was all well and good to a point, but totally ignoring reality was quite another. Ignoring reality could result in untimely deaths and tragic accidents, not to mention depression when one realized the truth of a matter was far from his calmest and most imaginable dreams.

But now was hardly the time to get all philosophical about life, he told himself as he felt the hard grip of a Haradrim warrior sent a numb feeling through his arm as it pinched a nerve. The wound in his chest was hardly ebbing in its pain and that was a bit disturbing but it was to be expected. It was getting much worse, actually and so was the weather.

Water was frothing about his ankles, with small sticks and other minute debris dancing on the surface. All the enemy warriors around him looked tense as they escorted the prisoners to a group of Oliphaunts reserved for taking them to Manwë or Namo knew where. They obviously knew the situation was graver than originally expected.

It was not a comforting thought at all to consider the fact that these warriors had lived here their whole lives. They knew everything about the land, from weather to landscape, had planned this attack most likely according to weather and climate and now were giving the expression that their plans were dashed.

Of course for the war, this was a good thing, but for the fortune of himself and the other misfortunate captives, this was hardly a nice position to be in at all. He had the ominous feeling that things were going to go from bad to worse and that he and his companions were out of the frying pan and into the fire.

His wound was throbbing and he could still feel the hot blood running down his tunic front and turning it crimson. With a stab of pain, he stumbled and nearly fell over. He cursed his growing weakness from the excessive loss of blood and stubbornly rose up again where he had tripped onto his knees.

As he raised his eyes to see what was taking place around him, he saw a guard with a hand on his sword hilt as he watched the ranger. Aragorn gave the man a hard and defiant glare and then began to walk forward. These men were obviously not afraid to cut down the dying and had no qualms about spilling further blood without death.

Why did he keep thinking in this frightening logic? Legolas was the one who always saw the dark side before he saw the brighter side. But Legolas wasn't here, he reminded himself sharply and he felt his heart slow in his own chest as he thought of his friend broken upon the rocks and…dead. He had to be drowned by now, the water was roaring and he could hear it as he was led away.

As they neared the Oliphaunts, there was a board, revealed in a flash of lightning, that carried prisoners and supplies up to be packed onto the creature's broad back. As Aragorn watched some men being shoved onto it to that the structure was overly packed, he felt slightly more sick than he had before, if indeed that was possible.

The guards must have experienced quite a show as the ranger's face changed from white to ashen gray to a sickly green and then to a white tone again all in about ten seconds. Aragorn was watching the water rise deviously about his ankles and observing the strong undertow when he heard a scream that sounded for the entire world like a wild cat in its death throes. '

Looking up once more he saw a shadow fall from the board and crash to the ground below and as he gazed further he saw the neck of the man was bent at a strange and unnatural angle. The Haradrim were none too gently or caring about the body and gripping it cast it aside without the slightest compunction.

When it was his turn along with other numerous prisoners, he was shoved forward and pressed in tight with his captured men. As they were hauled up one of them said"Captain, where is the Elf"

His tone sounded genuinely remorseful and anxious for the blonde prince. Aragorn sighed and said"he is lost."

The young man who had inquired looked at his companions and then at his feet in shame. Drawing a deep and broken breath, the man said"I am sorry to have lost him." The soldier watched as flashes of pain, memory, sorrow and wonder danced across Aragorn's face all at once. It was truly a sad scene that would have touched the hardest soul.

"So am I" said Aragorn softly and he looked away further South, to where the lightning was flickering across the sky. The lightning had claimed his friend's life, and yet it was so beautiful and fascinating.

A soft voice to his right asked"Captain Thorongil, Prince Legolas was killed quickly, right" Aragorn turned to look at the young man who was about eighteen and a smile faintly formed on his face as he realized what the young man was trying to say him.

"I like to think so, Sirith"answered the young Dúnadan thoughtfully as he listened to the thunder rumbling in the distance as the storm moved away to trouble other places. But he knew that wasn't true…Legolas had drowned…suffocated…the most lengthy death and most frightening that he could think of.

Sirith had been one of the men that had taken the time to talk with Legolas like he as one of them and not some stranger who had no feelings. Legolas and Sirith had gotten along rather well and Aragorn had the feeling that Legolas felt child-like again when he was around the boy. He knew Legolas would be grieved to know of Sirith's capture.

Aragorn saw Legolas again, his body lying on the jagged rocks, twisted and looking broken. He could not imagine looking up through the rushing water pressing you down and seeing the sky in all its majesty above as you died…

The boy asked"Captain, where did he go…when he died" He hoped it was someplace good. He could not see Legolas going to a horrible place when he had so much faith and always seemed so kind and serene.

"He went to the Halls of Waiting to be with his grandfather and his mother" Aragorn answered as he watched the boy's face convey both pain and relief. Aragorn felt like he was going to cry buckets in about a minute. He had not thought of this sort of emotional stuff before and now that young Sirith was bringing them up, they hurt.

Sirith looked at Aragorn's shoulder and he grimaced"you are wounded, sir."

Aragorn nearly snickered at the boy's naiveté but the pain was a bit too real for that and said gently"I am. But I will be all right. Rest assured." It was a lie, but it obviously a whole lot better than the truth right now. He knew how Legolas had felt when he had been younger and the Elf had received a cut. The ranger had told him and Legolas looked at him with one raised brow in a sort of laughing pose and gave him a sarcastic no-do-you-really-think-so look.

Sirith asked one final question before they were at the top of the beast and ready to be secured, to be transported away. "Are you sure, sir"

"You have been following Prince Legolas far too much for your own good" teased the ranger. Sirith looked crestfallen and Aragorn bit his lip to not smile despite the dark situation. Then he remembered Legolas was no longer around to mother him and he no longer had to bit his lip to keep back a smile, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying. The sudden change in emotion was so fast, it would put an Elf's work with a bow to shame.

"I am sorry, Captain, but he told me to look after you if anything should happen to him, a while back" confessed the young mortal with a tear springing into his eye.

Aragorn turned a pair of dead serious grey eyes upon the younger human and asked in a flat tone"when did he tell you that"

"After he woke up from a dream, sir"replied the soldier swiftly, trying to please his captain and friend. "He saw you sleeping, said something in Elvish and then turned bright eyes on me. It was during my watch" he added quickly as t the explanation on why he was even awake. "He said he didn't think he was going to be going home and made me promise to make you treat your wounds."

Aragorn felt a tear melt from his eye and slip down his face. He had wondered why Legolas had been so quiet lately and so quick to anger and frustration. He had known he was going to die. Anger burned in Aragorn's heart. Why had Legolas not told him? That stubborn secretive Elf! He fumed inwardly, tears streaming from his eyes.

He found it slightly amusing though that Legolas had known he, Estel, was going to get wounds. Aragorn guessed that he had received them often enough and it was pretty much predictable. But the ranger also found it highly annoying that Legolas would think someone younger was more capable of looking after him than he himself.

He placed a hand on his wound and it came off wet with blood. Aragorn really had no idea why he felt so surprised. Sirith asked in a soft whisper"does it hurt, sir"

"It does indeed, Sirith" Aragorn said in an absorbed voice that sounded very close to being completely lost. "But I don't mind." His eyes took on a lost look and he watched the world far below washing away, and the bodies floating by in the fast rising water. This pain was better than the pain of loss and so he would rather be distracted by it than by his grieving heart.

Sirith seemed to understand and said nothing, but looked at his boots with sorrow and despair.


Ω

There is nothing that fear and hope does not permit men to do.
-Marquis De Vauvenargues

Legolas opened his eyes gradually and looked wearily about himself. Sandy grit half covered the blonde Elf and stuck in his hair that as plastered like a blonde paste to his neck and face. Brushing it out of the way to better his vision, the prince saw that it as dawn. A new morning and as he laid on the sandy side of the rushing river he realized it was also a new chance. He had to admit this was not entirely what he had expected. Well, waking with the sandy grit half covering his body was expected but other than that things seemed to be going strangely.

Sighing, he suddenly coughed and a considerable amount of water spilled from his mouth. Wheezing, the blonde Elf tried to sit up and found it made things worse. Fallen trees and large rocks swirled and merged into surreal images and he sank back onto his stomach setting his cheek against the cold gritty 'soil'. It felt like everything in his body was detached. He couldn't really explain the feeling and for a temporary moment his memory lapsed and he could not bring up the slightest recollection of why he was here, half-drowned and miserable.

Then all memory of the prior night flooded back and he moaned wearily at the sad and painful thoughts. But he still had no real idea of where he was. That was more disturbing than it was annoying.

This was perfect! He thought satirically.

The sun was bright and he could feel its heat on his back. Rolling over onto his back, the nearly drowned being watched the clear sky curiously. Just last night it had been storming without mercy. Now there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the cruel heat fell to the earth's surface.

It was then that Legolas remembered where he was and he moaned once more into the hot air of the morning. "Oh, Estel. I am sorry. Where are you" Closing his eyes against his pain as much as against the bright light of the sun, which he felt he didn't deserve to see, Legolas Greenleaf resisted the urge to cry in his misery.

He had to go and find Aragorn or die trying. He knew his father would rather he came home alive and if the older Elf was here right now Legolas knew he would be getting the lecture of a lifetime.

A brightly colored, exotic bird sat on a branch nearby and Legolas saw it moving its mouth in song, but he did not hear it. He then remembered the lightning and recalled bitterly that his hearing was lost. He couldn't even hear himself breathing.

Realizing he had a gift given to him by surviving, Legolas willed himself to get up and begin to walk. He was weaponless; everything lost in the torrential rainwater that had washed him away. It was a frightening thought. If he did catch up to the Haradrim, then he would be unable to fight and he was more or less sacrificing himself to let Aragorn know he wasn't alone. As he walked he began to wonder if the 'gift' was more of a curse. As far as he was concerned his life at the moment was wretched, nothing more.

As much as Legolas wanted to be there for Aragorn, he wasn't stupid. Doing that would be what an idiot would do. He would have to rely on secrecy and the power of his cloak to hide him. But that would never work, especially if he got into the heart of their kingdom or stronghold.

Walking further, Legolas knew he was at a severe disadvantage because of his hearing loss. He could be walking into an ambush and never know it, unless he saw it set up with his own eyes. The Elven prince had never before realized how much he had relied on his healing. Glaring at the sand as he walked, as if it was its fault, the immortal's blue eyes became dark, storming slits of self-bound anger.

Looking over to his left he saw something against the horizon. A long row of moving oliphaunts. They had huge structures on their backs, swaying gently with the great beasts' slow and large strides. Legolas looked closer, squinting against the sun and his eyes widened when he saw that these oliphaunts were loaded with prisoners.

Face contorted in fear, Legolas Greenleaf watched the slave drivers lash out at the bound men simply for fun. If Aragorn was with them, Legolas was horrified to even think about what they were doing to his friend. But he was also angry. If he had his bow he might have sneaked in closer and shot some of the Haradrim warriors from their mounts. That would certainly be satisfying.

If these were the same prisoners Legolas realized that he would have little chance of rescuing Aragorn until dark came. He would have to simply trail the caravan of warriors and captives.

Stumbling and nearly falling over with weariness and strangely enough, with dehydration, the prince placed his hands on his knees and bowed over for a second to catch his breath. This was not natural and it certainly was alarming that his energy and sense of balance should be deteriorating so fast. He suspected the balancing problems spawned from his ear troubles, so there was really no way around those. His head felt so detached from his body that he placed a hand on his throat to make sure that there wasn't an empty space between his shoulders and head. Nope, his neck was there and he was surprised it wasn’t broken for how twisted it felt. What his father would say if he saw him in this state, Legolas had no idea and he really was beyond caring.

O0O0O0O

It was some time later, when darkness had crept over the land and the cold winds blew once more that the oliphaunts stopped and the prisoners were lowered down to be fed and get rest. But everyone knew that there was never really a 'rest' for the prisoners, just a slight reprieve from their absolute misery. The Haradrim warriors would still perform interrogations and such things at night when there was a proper place to bind a prisoner.

Legolas shifted his feet uneasily in the wet sand and mud as he waited for the exact and right moment to sneak forward a few meager feet closer to their vast camp. Many watch fires burned and that alone told Legolas they expected the men of Gondor to retaliate.

He was being watched for.

Weaponless, the Elf had no idea what he was going to do if he was surrounded. A shadow fell over the blonde being and the prince slowly turned around to see one of the large mounts grazing in the moonlight. But something else moved… another shadow. Even though Legolas could not hear him, he knew there was a man of Harad, in the briars, watching vigilantly over the pasturing oliphaunts.

He was going to have a hard time getting past the oliphaunt's gaze. They were not fond of Elves, remembering the dark days where Elves had been forced to kill them in battles. Legolas was surprised they could remember back that far, being only animals, but they did and he had long ago accepted it as being one of nature's oddities.

Finally, after what seemed a century, Legolas crept forward a few more yards. He was thus far not discovered, but it was only a matter of time before he was taken prisoner as well. Perhaps a wiser Elf might have gone back for help, but where would he go and who would he go to? There was no one else he could confide in. He could not hear, and he knew the harsh fact that he was as good as dead at the moment as it was. But he would rather be killed trying to protect his friend or save him than he would any other way.

Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows, the Elven prince flipped his hood over his head and pushed his face deeply into it, hoping to be less noticeable. Now that he was closer, he could see the faces of the men, Haradrim, cruel and many.

The sight of the tattooed and painted cutthroats was chilling, but the conditions of the Gondorian prisoners tore at his heart. They were bound extremely tightly and quite a fair share of them bore gruesome wounds that would in the end prove fatal. Remembering how Aragorn had a wound and realizing now that he saw his friend nowhere, the blonde being willed himself not to sigh in despair.

This had to be by far the hardest and most despairing situation he had found himself locked within for quite some time, well, he thought with an inward shake of the head, that was if you disregarded the Corsairs. But that hardly bore any remembrance and he gave a small frown as he further studied the camp about him.

There were many Harad warriors; more than he thought his father had Elven warriors. They must have gathered from every corner of the Southern country. The wind blew and Legolas held perfectly still hoping that the soft and nearly inaudible ruffles of his cloak didn't give his position away. After a few moments of nothing incidental occurring and thinking he was clear, Legolas wriggled forwards just a little in his crouched position. He was nearing the circle of firelight from one of the large watch fires and was about to stop when something slammed into him.

A look of surprise and anger crossed Legolas' fair face before he was smashed to the ground on his stomach and his chin brutally connected with the damp soil. Cursing his luck and being found and counting his blessings for not biting his own tongue off, the Elf looked around slightly bewildered. The blow had seemingly come out of nowhere and he rued the fact that if he had his hearing still he might have heard the attack coming. But as it was he did not.

He tried to roll over to see who his attacker was but whoever it was snarled his fingers in a good sized handful of golden-hair and slammed Legolas' forehead into the hard ground with violent force causing the Elf to cry out softly. Feeling blood running down his face from where his soft skin must have come in sharp contact with a rock, Legolas blinked stupidly and tried to roll over onto his back again.

He should have known that that was never going to be allowed to happen so when a strong hand twisted one of his arms abruptly if not angrily Legolas was hardly surprised. The way the arm was twisted created enough pain to convince him that the more he struggled the more pain he would find himself in. Some blood trickled into his eyes and burned them. Shaking his head to try and relieve the tickling and burning blood on his face, the prince dug his booted feet into the soft soil and tried to pry himself out of the grasp of his assailant.

It was not even meagerly affective and so he stopped and just rested his chin on the ground. It wasn't that he had given up, he just happened to know when it wasn't worth the trouble to fight because it was going to be fruitless in the end no matter how much pain you went through to get there.

Apparently satisfied that the Elf was no longer battling him, the attacker suddenly, in one swift and fluent move, flipped Legolas onto his back. The Elf stared up into the face of a Harad warrior, bright red with war paint. He scowled down at the Elf and placed a knee on Legolas' sternum, pressing it in so that it would be harmful to struggle anymore if he chose to apply any more pressure. Legolas felt the wind being slowly but most assuredly pressed from his lungs and he wheezed.

Glaring up at the man pinning him to the earth, Legolas let his eyes speak volumes about his contempt and displeasure. Nearly curling his upper lip in disdain, the Elf wondered absentmindedly what this man might look like with an arrow in his forehead. With an inward laugh Legolas decided that it would be an improvement and only felt unsatisfied that he was not able to place on there.

The man placed his spear point against the blonde prince's throat and said slowly"Elf, you will rise without any tricks. We know your kind and won't tolerate an escape attempt." Legolas didn't hear the harsh voice, but the man was speaking slow enough he could read the lips and knew roughly what was being said.

Legolas asked bitterly but with hardly any breath left to give a lethal tone"do I look stupid to you" The man had a spear to his throat, like he was going to try some sudden move to escape! That would be insanity.

Laughing, the man said"not exactly. But what you were trying to do was a fool's errand."

"What do you have here, Sarchel" asked a harsh voice, full of scorn and contempt for the other warrior, whom he really didn't like.

The man called Sarchel dug his knee further into Legolas' breast bone causing the Elf to stifle a cry and try to squirm clear of the dull pain. Something that he found highly degrading, having to squirm. "An Elf, Captain Darcíl. He was sneaking about and up to no good I warrant."

"I bet he was up to plenty of good" said the other"good thing you caught him" The Captain sneered down at the pinned Elf with scorn in his eyes. "Prince Dorrag will be very much pleased."

Legolas glared up at this new human with utter loathing and the man just smiled. That was something that got on the blonde prince's nerves, but not nearly as much as being unable to hear what was being said of him.

As he gazed up at Darcíl, he noticed that this man had many strange designs tattooed all over his chest and face. A snake wound about the man's neck, done in a bright blue color with a purple tint to outline the scales. Its eyes were made in red and long fangs protruded from its mouth in s snarl.

Legolas noticed also, that the man carried himself with much assured posture. He seemed to know exactly how much power he had and how much he could get away with. He also knew that those beneath him could be manipulated. His eyes spoke about his temper and sly nature.

Seeing Legolas looking at him he looked at the Elf and smiled brightly"welcome to the army of the Haradrim, Elf." Then, shifting his hard gaze at Sarchel he spat"have you searched him for weapons or valuable things, like maps"

The other man shook his head and said"all my strength has been at use keeping him in place." He gave the captive prince a dig with his spear point.

Darcíl rolled his eyes as though he thought Sarchel was a complete idiot, (which wasn’t far from his conclusions on the other man) and drawing out his scimitar, he touched the cold hard tip to Legolas' neck and pressed. "Now search him"

Legolas felt alarm rising in his throat as he felt the buttons to his suede tunic being undone and he jerked only to feel the prick of the blade against his neck. Struggling to control his breathing, the Elf tried not to let his fear slip into his gaze. Instead he allowed all the anger he felt and what extra he could gather to give expression to his façade.

Finding no weapons hidden beneath is tunic, the man saw the belt Legolas used to hold his knives at times and daggers. Unbuckling it, he searched the sheathes for their weapons and found them not. They had all been washed away in the flood.

Getting frustrated and wanting to please Darcíl, the man moved down to Legolas' leather boots and slipped those off, checking the insides for maps or boot daggers. When he found nothing he reached his hand up and grabbed Legolas' chin. Then drawing up close to the Elven face of his captive he asked hoarsely"where are your weapons"

Legolas could not hear the question and so he could not answer, he simply tried to twist away from the other's grip. Luckily for him Darcíl stepped in and said"we will take him to Prince Dorrag. If he is weaponless then he is harmless enough and our prince can do the interrogations himself."

Sarchel snorted"I don't trust him as far as I can shoot him." He backed away from the blonde Elf and Legolas glared up at the men darkly. He was more than angry at his treatment, though he couldn't really blame them. He and his Elves would probably do the same thing to one of them if they caught him. It was something to be expected.

Captain Darcíl shifted his scimitar and then told Sarchel"run and tell the prince we bring what he has been seeking." Glaring down at Legolas, he snapped"now put your boots on" Legolas didn't hear what the man said but as soon as the spear was removed from his throat and he was allowed to rise the Elf slipped his suede green boots back on for the sheer fact that they were far more comfortable than going barefooted on this terrain. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes of the Haradrim captain. They gave him an eerie feeling of vulnerability.

The tickle of the scimitar never left his back as he was forced to stand with his hands in the air. One arm was twisted behind his back and then the other and Legolas winced in pain as much as with contempt as he felt cords being tied tightly around his wrists.

Shoving Legolas forward he commanded"walk and no tricks Elf. We have sentinels all about and none are afraid to place a bolt in you" he added as a reminder that Legolas was the captive and was not above the threat of death.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn gazed angrily at the man to his left. "That Elf betrayed you and now we are being sent to our deaths. If I were you and I saw him again, I would slit his filthy little throat." The man spat. "So much for Elven loyalty."

"Damn it" argued Aragorn sternly. "He didn't do it! I saw him fall! He was killed, same as our comrades." His wound was hurting badly and he was hardly in the mood to deal with the stupidity and stubbornness of some of the men.

Young Sirith sat to his right and his eyes were on his boots. He missed Legolas, who had befriended him even though he was the outcast. He knew Legolas was loyal at heart and would never willingly let himself or Thorongil get hurt.

The man to Aragorn's left snarled"you just can't admit that even your friend betrayed you, can you Captain Thorongil" The ranger watched as the other's face turned into a bitter scowl. "He even betrayed young Sirith who trailed him around lik


Chapter 2 - masquerade (second half)

Elrohir sat by the windowsill's edge, watching the sunrise behind the vale of pink clouds on the horizon made jagged by the mountains. He squinted his eyes and looked down at his hands that were on the edge. Elladan was snoring behind him as usual, the blankets covering him and completely over his head. His pillows were shoved on the floor and a single arm hung over the bedside clenching and unclenching as he dreamed.

They would be leaving for Mirkwood that day and smiling he knew he had to get Elladan up and moving or else they would never go anywhere. Climbing onto the bed, he stood over his brother and a wicked smile crept across his face as he stared at the pile of blankets that rose and fell with Elladan's deep rhythmic breathing. "Sleeping beauty, you can wake up now," he cooed as he began to remove the quilt from the elder twin's peaceful face.

"Elrohir, go away," Elladan mumbled beneath his blankets as he kicked and Elrohir was knocked from the bed onto the floor.

"Do not force me to get a healer in here to wake you," Elrohir growled as he fixed his disheveled hair and stood up in annoyance. Brushing off his clothes he muttered, "these were only just washed too."

Elladan smiled as he lay under the blankets and teased lightly, "I don't think that any of the Elf maidens would mind if you took your clothes off for them to wash."

"You think you are so funny," Elrohir said as he strode to the bed side and narrowed his eyes, casting a scathing glare at the shifting covers that his brother was laughing beneath as he was half asleep. "You know if you don't get up father might go ahead and change his mind. We aren't necessary for him to go you know."

There was silence and a light snore floated up the blankets. Elrohir scowled and then sighed as he shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "I was honestly hoping I wouldn't have to do this." He was glad Glorfindel had left the Healing Ward early that morning. Otherwise he had a feeling that he would be humiliated.

Gathering himself he jumped and landed directly on top of Elladan whom gave a surprised cry. Rolling over he looked up into Elrohir's smiling face and the twinkling grey eyes. Frowning, he grumbled, "oh, get off." Elrohir laughed at his brother's disgruntled voice and the glare on his face. "I said get off," Elladan repeated with some heat.

After falling out of a window, Elladan didn't appreciate this in the least, though he was in no more pain from the rose stickers. He gave Elrohir a shove and the younger twin suddenly collapsed on top of him and said in a teasing voice, "I love you too brother, dear."

"Elrohir…" growled Elladan as his younger brother smiled and propped himself up on his elbows on Elladan's chest placing his chin in his hands so he could stare directly into his elder twin's face. "Elrohir, you have forgotten about my ribs!"

Elrohir quickly and nearly instantaneously backed off and his joyous face was turned to one of instant regret and worry. "Are you alright El-" He didn't get to finish his question because Elladan grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head, smacking him square in the face and flipping over his shoulder to break a vase on a table nearby.

Elrohir glared sinisterly and said, "You are a liar, and you are lucky Ada never liked that particular vase."

Elladan just looked extremely smug smiled as Elrohir continued to glare evenly and unrelentingly.

"You seem to be in the habit or breaking things lately. Especially Ada's things. I think you are becoming a klutz like Rothinzil," Elrohir said as he took his brother's clean clothes he had brought for Elladan to change into and tossed them onto the bed.

"There is no comparison," Elladan protested as he stared at the sage colored under shirt, tunic and leggings somewhat incredulously. "These are exactly the same as yours. We haven't dressed identical in years."

Elrohir shook his head as he sat on a chair near the bed and muttered, "You’re right. Roth is even more graceful than you." He snorted and leaned back, placing his arms on the arm rests leisurely as he watched Elladan's expression. It was amusing, or at least more amusing than watching paint dry…

"You exaggerate, brother," Elladan muttered beneath his breath as he started to flip the blankets off his body and climb out of the bed. "What is the occasion that we should dress identical?"

Elrohir thought for a moment and shrugged before looking at the floor tiredly. He sighed and then said quietly, "I miss Estel and the old times. If I can't relive my time with Estel, I wane to relive it with you. Like when we were younger and didn't have so much to worry about."

Elladan nodded and said, "Well I agree that it would be sort of amusing to dress alike again. But I wonder how the rest of Rivendell will take to it?"

"Erestor will be next to himself with aggravation," Elrohir laughed as he stood up and continued to snicker. Elladan began to strip his old nightshirt off and slid the clean undershirt on and then pulled the tunic over his head. Amusement crossed Elrohir's face as he saw the red speckles on Elladan's skin where the thorns had left their mark. Sniggering quietly as he turned around to allow his brother to put his clean leggings on in privacy, Elrohir stared out the window of the ward.

"Okay, I'm dressed," Elladan said as he through his cloths into a heap in the corner. Straightening his tunic and pulling at it, he smiled at Elrohir. But Elrohir noticed his smile was weak and concern gathered onto the younger brother's cheerful face.

"Elladan are you…well?" he asked softly while looking dubiously at his twin, who was giving him a strange look.

"Yes. I mean the only thing wrong is that I think I pulled some of my muscle away form my cracked ribs. But I should be alright," Elladan warded off his brother's over concern over such a small thing. "Cracked ribs are a minor injury when you really think about it."

"It depends on where they are cracked," came a calm voice that lingered in the air. Helinyetillë strode in with Erestor following directly behind her, reading over some reports of the herbal stock or something of that nature. The maiden smiled and produced some bandages that she had rolled up in her hand. "While Lord Erestor checks through my records of stock (which he will find to be flawless) I shall bind your ribs to ensure the muscle is not separated from the bone."

Elladan rolled his eyes and grumbled crossly, “I just put my tunic on!" His indignant look was priceless.

Helinyetillë crossed her arms and rocked back on her heals before she said, "Well Lord Elladan, you can just take it off." Erestor walked past her towards the storage rooms, shaking his head as he went. His eyes continued to be locked on the paper and its contents.

"Helinyetillë, how exactly do you find time to write all this down?" asked Erestor from the storage room as he gazed into all the boxes to ensure that they were low on nothing. He felt the texture of the Athelas leaves to make sure they had not some how lost their verve and virtue. He was amazed to find they were remarkably well kept.

Helinyetillë talked over her shoulder as she prepared to bind Elladan's chest. "My work is my life, Lord Erestor, as I believe yours is." Her response was factual and crisp. She was not trying to show off in the least and so her voice had the clear ring of truth.

Erestor came out of the storage room and was still shaking his head. Putting the papers in order, he set them on the bed beside her hand and said, "well Lady Helinyetillë, I find them to be well kept not to mention well organized and the storage room in wonderful shape."

"Thank you Lord Erestor. I find it strange that all the other healers seem to be somewhat…intimidated by your presence. You certainly don't seem to be so overbearing," she said as she smiled and tied off Elladan's bandages and pressed around his chest to make sure it was bound tightly. Elladan continued to look perfectly indignant and even when he winced and grimaced in pain.

"You obviously are blind," he uttered in a low mutter that was not wasted on the young maiden.

"You would be wise to shut your mouth Elladan," she snapped aggressively as she straightened up, smoothed out her skirts and picked up the papers before addressing the counselor.

"Actually," Erestor said uneasily. "There was one problem I found, very minor, but important all the same. I think one of your files was incorrectly labeled."

"I am rather occupied now, my lord," Helinyetillë said as she tapped the papers against a tabletop firmly and briskly. "However, if you wish to discuss it later I would be honored since I know your skill in paper work is hardly matched." Her grey-green eyes flashed as she smiled and said, "good-day, my lord."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances of amusement and shock and Erestor walked stiffly out of the room with a scarlet face.

O0O

Elladan stared at his father with a shocked face as he nearly choked on his honey cake. "You said we could travel to Mirkwood with you!" He protested immediately after swallowing. Elrohir leaned against a pillar, scowling in the corner; a shadow seemed to have fallen on his face. What made him even a little more frustrated than being told he could do something and then being denied was being told he could do something and being denied without real reasons for it.

Elrond didn't answer for a minute, then he choked out in a tense voice, "I have lost your mother and my wife, I am losing my daughter and Estel. I will not lose you both. You are staying here to look after things while I am gone."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and emitted a small sigh in exasperation before crossing the meager amount of space that lay between him and the door and exiting the room. He was tired of this constant arguing over something so simple. It wasn't that he was cold hearted, but that he knew Elladan and Elrohir were grown and capable of defending themselves. They needed to be allowed to make their own decisions. That and if Elrond wanted Rivendell to remain standing he wouldn’t keep them here while he was absent.

Elrond watched Glorfindel leave before he turned back to Elladan who had pure fury in his eyes. "Ada, Elrohir and I managed to free mother, or we tried and we came out…alive. "

"And that may not happen again," Elrond seethed uncomfortably. "If I lost you my heart would break. …It would kill me." Sighing in his anxiety and sorrow, Elrond mumbled, "Excuse me for a moment."

Walking out quietly, Elrond didn't give a thought to where he was a traveling as long as it was anywhere but where his sons were and the hurtful question of travel.

Finding himself alone in his study, Elrond drew a shaky breath and sat in his most comfortable chair, fingering his quill and wondering how he had come to have such stubborn and frighteningly insane sons. He missed Estel, whom he felt was the one who, actually help to keep them safe. Estel had been the mediator out of all of his sons. If there was a fight, he could usually patch things up. He also gave Elladan and Elrohir a reason to be more rational about their actions and take less risk. But then again they would risk anything to keep the young ranger safe and he would do anything to protect them.

"You can't keep them under your wings forever. This is not the first time we have had this conversation."

Elrond glanced up at the golden-haired Elf-lord before him and considered standing up, but thought better of it. At the moment he felt very weak and he didn't trust his strength. "Glorfindel, my friend, you cannot possibly begin to understand." Elrond's voice sounded so tired and a stab of slight fear entered Glorfindel's heart.

"Mellon nin, I may not know exactly how you feel, but I know how I feel and I love them as though they were my children. I would never wish harm to come to them but if you love someone you have to let them go," Glorfindel said in a soft voice. He sat on the corner of Elrond's desk calmly as he was able but his hands were shaking.

Elrond had lost interest in many things lately, especially song and feasting. He didn't watch sunrises or sunsets anymore and there had been days when he had never left his room, never left his bed. He had always said he was just feeling unusually tired but Glorfindel knew that Elrond's heart was breaking.

He had not even feared for his friend's heart when Celebrian had come back with her wounds and miseries. But now, knowing all Elrond had gone through before and knowing all that he would never want to go through again eh did fear for it. Elrond was danger of dying from a broken heart.

Elrond had always been the strong one and now Glorfindel was truly scared for the survival of Rivendell, which was itself not so tranquil anymore. Elves had been quarreling and orcs had been sighted directly on its borders and moving in closer. The power of Vilya was dying as Elrond faded. If Estel didn't come back Rivendell would cease to exist, as they knew it; it might cease to exist entirely. Glorfindel had even noticed that normally trees that were evergreen were turning a dingy brown and falling to litter the cold ground. It had already begun; Rivendell was failing.

"They are my sons, Glorfindel. I can't just let them go!" Elrond said quietly as a dangerous light came into his eyes.

"You let Estel go," Glorfindel reasoned.

"He chose exile!" Elrond growled. "I would never turn him out!"

"And yet you sent no one to look for him!" Glorfindel seethed back angrily as he felt his temper rising. "It has been two years!"

"Glorfindel, do not accuse me of being a bad father!" Elrond stood up and pointed a shaking finger at the golden-haired Balrog-Slayer. "You didn't exactly volunteer to leave!" The lord of Imladris pointed out accusingly as he slumped back into his chair.

"I didn't exactly know where to look! And, Lord Elrond Peredhil, he is not my son!" Glorfindel's temper was beginning to reach its peak. His blue eyes narrowed into slits of pure wrath. "Your sorrow and lack of action is killing your own people and everyone close to you!" The Gondolin Elf bit out with resentment. "Vilya's power is getting out of your control. Trees are withering and Elves are quarrelling. It has been long since we heard music in the Great Hall."

"Glorfindel, you are going too far!" The raven-haired Elf-lord snapped in his own defense. "I am in control!"

"That's what you like to think! You are broken, Lord Elrond! Broken and you refuse to heal!" Glorfindel's voice was bitter now and his point was made completely clear. "Do not make me drag you to Mirkwood. You need to get out in the open air and see the world around you. It is falling into darkness and Rivendell is one of the last places of safety. You know this as well as I do and you have a responsibility to keep it that way."

"I do not refuse to heal! I am not broken!" he nearly snarled as he felt his guilt biting at his own conscience, causing it to bleed. "I am still well, I am simply tired."

"Because your heart is breaking!" Glorfindel said as he stood up to leave. "I stick by you because you are my friend and I owe you that. But you are tired because your heart is dying and you won’t admit it."

Elrond fell quiet and Glorfindel reached the door. "I will meet you in the stable with your sons, Lord Elrond."

O0O0O0O0O0O

Pain, numbness, darkness, and bright light, all merging into a world of mystery and contorted agony.

Legolas opened his liquid blue orbs and blinked his surroundings into focus. It was dark and for a moment he feared he was in the dreaded box once again. Jerking up he felt nothing above him and below him his shaking and drawn hands clenched the cold smooth stones of the floor. Shifting a bit further, he felt straw gently brush his hands and arms in a fashion he once found irritating and scratchy but that now felt beyond all praise.

Wrinkling his brow in confusion, Legolas asked in a shaking voice, "Estel?" He felt so alone and unsure. Was Estel dead or had it all been a dark dream?

Shivering and trying to rise but found that he was far too weak to even lift himself to his knees. Blood, cold and dried coated his side, crusting it over. Legolas felt his battered abdomen over with a cold hand and found that the damage didn't seem to extend to life threatening…not yet. The knives had definitely been carefully planned to not slice or jab any vital organs. But they still hurt a great deal. As a matter of fact they hurt enough that he wondered if pain itself was a killer…if so he was in mortal danger.

Legolas felt himself reeling and before he could stop himself he fell onto his face. Too tired to rise, the Elf lay on the floor and moaned, "Estel, please, please…where are you?"

He groped in the darkness around him, seeking for his friend's hand. He found it, cold and nearly stiff but as his fingers touched the wrist he detected a small pulse. Aragorn was alive and Legolas felt his spirit's rise slightly though he felt the darkness seem to double and weigh them down. He came to feel what he had been conscious of all along. He was helpless, powerless and weak.

Crawling closer to Aragorn, though his wounds grated against the rough straw and jagged pieces of stone, Legolas set his head by the human's arm and snuggled up against the ranger for comfort; feeling a friend so close. His eyes still felt swollen, just as though he had cried for centuries.

"Estel," Legolas spoke to the still form quietly in a hoarse voice. "This has turned out to be more than I bargained for. I thought that we would different from everyone else. I thought that we would last." Breathing heavily but shallowly in his horrible pain, the defeated Elf whispered, "there was once an Elf and a human, captured by Sauron. Baren, of your bloodline, and his friend Felegund." Swallowing before he continued, Legolas murmured, "they thought they would be strong enough. But in the end, Felegund, the Elf, perished to save the human, his closest friend."

Legolas' hearing had fully returned and he heard the rain pouring down outside this impenetrable fortress in which they were imprisoned. Each drop making its own individual sound as it pattered to the earth, bounced off the harsh stones of the palace and added the puddles of murky water that was flooding the desert country. Sometimes he had remembered his home and the sunshine wondering what it felt like, for his memories were even beginning to fade.

He missed his home so much and at times he wished that he had never left. But what would have happened if he had never left? He would have never been there for Aragorn but the human had been doing fine on his own. Drawing a deep breath that bordered on a sob of loneliness, the prince wondered if he had stayed home if any of this had happened. Maybe Aragorn would have taken a different route and missed the ambush entirely and never been captured. Or perhaps if he were captured they would have no reason to torture him and would have simply used him as a slave. In that case Aragorn would have found a way to escape in time.

Legolas knew it would have been far better if he had listened to his father and stayed home. Now he was truly sorry. His father was not only his father but also his king and he had defied him. Legolas deserved banishment and by their law he should receive it. But that was all right. He was already banished.

Trying to sit up in the dark, Legolas felt something cold and hard touch his hand's palm. Grasping it he winced as it stung his hand, slicing his flesh. It was then he realized they were back in his cell and that was the knife that Dorrag had thrown in to him…for him to kill himself with. Eyes narrowing and brows knitting in anger, Legolas glared in the dimness. He squeezed the blade harder and felt his blood rush over his hand as the knife severed the skin and released the sanguine fluid. But he was not thinking of his death, but of another's. Black anger entered his heart and he had not the strength to stop it. It was the anger that brought him new life and gave him a reason to live. He had to prove Dorrag wrong. He and Estel would make it through this and he would personally drive the blade into the works of that miserable Haradrim prince's heart.

A few moments ago he wouldn't have minded dying, he would have enjoyed it. But now he was determined not to. His hand holding Aragorn's cold one clenched and he whispered, "we are going to get out, mellon nin. I promise you."

He felt one of Aragorn's hands squeeze his faintly and a smile touched Legolas' lips as he smile and said, "that's it. Hold my hand. We shall do this together." Giving a small laugh, Legolas whispered into the night, "miracles happen."

He felt Aragorn stirring and knew that his friend was waking up, or trying. But he was deeply concerned that the ranger's wounds could be too extensive.

Legolas' sharp Elven ears picked up the sound of the strong bolt door slamming shut and the strong noise of booted feet against the cold cobblestones of the path to the cell. A faint torchlight glistened ahead of the men and reflected on the walls in strange and bizarre shadows of light. Legolas felt a panic rise in his heart as he realized that the men were coming back and that it wasn't for any nice reasons.

Running his hand down the blade of the knife until he felt the hilt, Legolas wrapped his fingers around the handle. Letting go of Aragorn's hand with his mangled one, Legolas stood up on his pair of weak legs and then crouched ready to spring. He was not going to let them torture himself or Aragorn again. He was going to fight to the death rather and take a few of the men down with him first.

The men were coming closer and now Legolas could see them clearly in the light of the brand. Brushing aside his blonde hair that was loose and in his face, the Elven prince prepared to sell his life dearly. A hard and resolute look replaced the hopeless and mournful dullness that had shrouded them in mist.

As the soldiers, lead by Sarchel appeared outside his cell door, Legolas held his readied position. The Lieutenant smirked and asked with a scornful voice, "still fighting Elf?"

Legolas made no response and he felt a second strength racing through is body as his adrenaline rushed through his veins. His pain was pushed out of his mind and he glared icily. "Still fighting," the Elf growled out as his hand with the dagger began to grip tighter as sweat slicked his palms. His voice was hoarse and showed all that he had suffered and how much he had been forced to cry out of even scream.

Knowing the risk he was taking and hating to take it, Legolas prepared to attack. He didn't expect to win, his wounds were too extensive and his strength would wane too quickly as his energy drained.

Shrugging Sarchel opened the door and began to allow the soldiers to file in to take the Elf away since obviously the ranger was not going to talking for some time.

That was when Legolas made his move and stabbed swiftly, just as he would have with one of his twin knives. The first soldier fell dead, his throat cut and Legolas glared at Sarchel as he spun the knife between his fingers with amazing precision. He dared the Haradrim officer to try anything else.

"Impressive Elf," Sarchel muttered as he drew his own sword. "But you are weak and we are not." He stepped between his soldiers and the furious Elf that was glaring daggers at any who looked his way, which was more or less everyone.

"Now drop your weapon and hold your hands up," Sarchel commanded. "Or I will tell my men to shoot the ranger. He isn't necessary anymore." The soldiers readied their cross bows and the bolts were aimed at Aragorn's still form that lay in the straw of the cell.

Legolas looked at the men with shock and debated whether or not he possessed the skill or swiftness to kill them before they had a chance to shoot his friend. Decidedly not, he decided grimly. Frowning in the knowledge that he had lost and had accomplished next to nothing other than irritating these men to further want to harm himself and Aragorn, the Elf continued to hold on to the blade. He could not find the strength to drop it.

Putting it to his own throat, the blonde prince said, "if you harm the ranger further I will be lost to you forever. Do not test me." The coldness in the blue eyes showed that Legolas was no the least bit unsure. He was simply serious and not afraid to carry out his threat.

"Please," Sarchel begged wearily as the situation bored and aggravated him and he pointed his sword at Legolas' head, "drop the knife."

"So you can kill Thorongil and torture me?" Legolas asked bitterly. "Why doesn't that appeal to me?" He resisted the urge to jump as he nearly pressed the knife too deeply into the skin of his throat. The last thing that he needed was an accident. The only thing that was keeping him alive was keeping himself needed and alive for the men to try and use.

"Elf, you won't kill yourself. You are too scared," Sarchel taunted as he crept slowly closer.

Legolas laughed coldly, "no, I am not. I am warning you one last time, do not test me." He felt his hands shaking. He wasn't scared, but he was frustrated to near the point of tears.

A smooth voice spoke directly after Legolas' ears picked up the sound of footsteps. "Master Elf, drop the knife. We can talk things out. Lieutenant," he addressed Sarchel crossly. "Lower your sword. The rest of you, remove your crossbows." Prince Dorrag gave Legolas a venomous glare. "You have become more of a troublemaker than I had thought was possible."

"Underestimating you’re your enemies is the worst stroke one can have against themselves," Legolas bit out as he kept the knife at his throat. His eyes locked on Dorrag and the Haradrim prince connected his eyes with the blonde being's.

"So I have learned," Dorrag said calculatingly around a set of heavily grinding teeth. "Please, Elf. I am sure we can reach an agreement."

"I doubt it," Legolas said dryly. He looked nervously at Aragorn lying on the floor to his right.

"Elf, you don't have a choice, because you are never leaving this dungeon alive unless it is on our terms and even then, you won't be alive long."

Darcíl nodded sagely at Dorrag's side before smiling wryly at Legolas. "You know you are losing, so if I were you I would drop that knife and look for help elsewhere."

His voice was a tone that Legolas had never heard come from him before. It was strange and twisted. Legolas stared at Darcíl for a moment as though the man had a second meaning in his words. But unable to detect any Legolas continued to give him a strange stare.

That was the undoing of Legolas' sparse grip on the situation and Dorrag whipped his sword from its sheath at his side, snapping it out at Legolas' face and the knife went spinning into the darkest corner of Legolas' cell with a clatter as it banged against the walls. It made a dull thud as it buried itself in the scanty amount of straw.

Smacking Legolas across face with the flat side of the sword, he knocked the Elf to the ground. Giving a satisfied smirk as he watched Legolas rise slowly, Dorrag said, "Elf, you are lucky I didn't break your filthy little neck. Arrogant fool."

Legolas felt hot blood run into his mouth and tasted its coppery and salty flavor. He stared first only at the ground and then slowly raised a set of cold and livid blue-crystal eyes to glare hauntingly at Dorrag; blood trickling down his chin from his broken lip. "You're the fool," he retorted tensely. His glare turned from Dorrag to settle on Darcíl, who looked perfectly at ease with everything that was transpiring.

"No, Elf. Now I am going to give you seven hours to regain your senses and if you haven't by then, I am going to hand you over to my men to do as like with you as long as the information is dragged from you. And after they have you crawling on the floor like a miserable worm, I sentence you to be put to death by hanging." Smiling he smirked, "have a nice seven hours."

The soldiers all lifted their crossbows and turned, filing out one by one, following their cruel prince. Sarchel walked by Dorrag's side, talking in hushed tones with his lord. Legolas watched them go and he noticed with some satisfaction that they must have felt his eyes on their backs as they left, for the ones in the back went as quickly as possible and glanced over their shoulders nervously.

Smiling slightly, the Elf got up and crawled over to Aragorn, lifting the human from where he was sprawled on the cold ground. "You will catch your death if you lay like that," he chided to the prone ranger as he collected him into his arms and looked at the pale face with a tinge of green in it.

Darcíl stepped forth from the shadows where he had waited for his lord to leave. He walked slowly to the bleak little cell and looked through the bars. His eyes came to rest on the pair of friends and their paled faces; forsaken eyes. He knew that as far as the Elf was concerned they had lost their last chance. He knew that the immortal still possessed quite a fervent fire within him, but it was being quenched slowly by his sorrow and misery. A small frown crossed the captain's face as he spoke to Legolas, "you cannot hold out much longer."

Legolas didn't even look up at the man of Harad as he demanded, "leave us alone." He held Aragorn close and a tear fell from his face to land on Aragorn's waxen one and trickle down the ranger's cheek in a small river. He had failed his best friend and nothing in the world could change that cold fact.

"You will break tomorrow. Nobody has held out longer and you are already too weak to put up a half decent fight." Darcíl pointed out bluntly.

"Why don't you go and attend your feast upstairs celebrating your victory?" asked Legolas bitterly without removing his eyes from Aragorn's face as he ran his hand through the ranger's dark locks mournfully.

"But we haven't obtained victory yet. And anyway, I have no reason to celebrate," he muttered grimly.

Legolas gave him strange look. "You don't?" he asked incredulously. Did this man think he was stupid or not listening? Whatever the case Legolas was more than half tempted to say 'liar'!

"No, I don't," Darcíl said quietly. He looked at the stone floor sadly.

"Indeed?" Legolas snorted. "Why not?"

"Because if you break tomorrow you doom my home and life." Producing a key he opened the cell door and stood before Legolas and narrowed his eyes. "I don't really care about you and whether you are in pain or live or not. I only want to you alive because Dorrag wants you dead. Is that understood?" He kicked Legolas' foot as he spoke.

"Not exactly, but I doubt you will explain anymore," responded the Elf smoothly but with a touch of anger.

"Not at the moment anyway," Darcíl as he looked over his shoulder nervously. His hand went to his sword hilt out of habit. They did not have long and if he didn't move quickly they would be captured and he tried for treason.

"So you are going to help us escape?" Legolas asked without letting the suspicion slide from his voice. His eyes left his ill friend and he glanced up at Darcíl mistrustfully. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Whether you believe me or not it is true. But if we do not hurry we will all be caught." Glancing down at Aragorn he asked swiftly, "Can you carry him?"

"How far?"

"Elf, it doesn't matter. Just, can you?" asked Darcíl again impatiently as he looked over his shoulder a second time. "If you can't I am not afraid to kill him and leave him behind," the Haradrim captain stated anxiously as he expect a troupe of soldiers to be sent down for his arrest at any moment.

Legolas stammered, "yes! I can carry him!" There were no second thoughts needed. He doubted that he would be able to carry Aragorn, he could barely walk himself, but his determination hardened and it fed his strength.

"Good, now get up!" he commanded sternly and turned to leave. When he realized Legolas was not behind him he stopped and turned around with a look akin to anger flashing in his eyes. "What's wrong Elf?" His unsympathetic voice made Legolas' stomach churn as he stood on his weak legs trying hard to carry his own weight and the weight of the unconscious ranger whom he could feel fading.

"I have been through hours upon hours of torture and you ask what is wrong?" the blonde prince seethed as he struggled forward. His blue eyes had a jaded tint in them and it was more than obvious the Elf was strongly feeling the effects of his fatigue.

"Elf I am being generous. I do not need him alive and if he slows you I can easily get rid of him." Legolas clutched Aragorn closer and a mutinous expression came across his face.

"You would be sorry if you tried, human," he managed out around his wheezing that came from the pain that coated his body. He felt like he was going to collapse any moment.

"You are in no position to be making threats!" reminded Darcíl with aggravation.

"We are wasting time!" Legolas spat. "Now are we leaving or not?" A green taint was entering Legolas' face as his stomach turned violently and he felt very ill.

"Get moving and we shall see." Darcíl began to walk towards the dead end of a dark passage. He stopped and turned around to see the trailing Elf giving him a questioning look. It was very nearly laughable and he couldn't blame the immortal really. What he was doing did seem rather stupid. "There is a trap door," he explained briefly and then let his actions speak for him.

A slight grating sound was heard as Darcíl put his strength into sliding a large stone slab away from the gapping hole that shown beneath it. A dank, stale odor came up and it did nothing to help Legolas' ill stomach. The thought of traveling down there, in the dark, it not please the Elf very much. Estel was not awake and this man could not possibly understand his fear or even care if he did.

Willing himself not to tremble, the Elf asked, "So are you coming with us?" Legolas shifted Aragorn's weight in his arms.

"I can't. If I disappear they will get suspicious and you shall not get far," Darcíl answered quickly as he motioned for the blonde being to get into the hole. He then showed the knife that had been in Legolas' cell and waved it before Legolas' face before he slipped it into the prince's boot since it was obvious the Elf's arms were full.

Legolas was hesitant. "Where does this lead?" The last thing he wanted was a trap or to get caught by some men and slain cruelly. He had to get Estel home. Something told him that nearly everything depended on it. And he didn't want to run in there, headless of dangers.

Darcíl answered gravely. "This leads to the village where my family lives. The people more than abhor the royal family and will provide your companion with aid. You, however, I am not sure about. But you must travel in the tunnel for at least three days without rest if you wish to get a head start before they realize where you are." Legolas gave him a reluctant look and Darcíl said, "You cannot use a torch. You must travel in the dark. A light could give you away and the fire would eat the oxygen. You have nothing to fear when it comes to turns and passages, however, the path is straight and narrow. Getting lost is not an option. When you reach the end, extend your arm upwards and you will feel a hand. Pull down on it and the door will open. You will be on the outskirts of the town."

"Well that sounds…encouraging," Legolas said wryly and with a twisted, grim smile. "Although I don't know whether I should be grateful to you for getting us out or angry with you for using us." He would have shrugged had he not been bearing Aragorn.

"There is not time for you to chose," Darcíl reminded gravely. "You must hurry or we are all three dead. Remember I would kill you on a battlefield and not think twice."

"Remember that feeling is mutual," Legolas responded irritably. The Elf extended one foot to set on the first stone step into darkness.

Ω

Thunder rumbled and Glorfindel shook his head sadly as he watched the sky illuminate with lightning that jetted across the sky in bright streaks. Thunderstorms were nearly unheard of in Rivendell, but not since Estel had left. Elrond's strength to wield Vilya was fading and the ring's powers were taking over as it took advantage of the fact that no one was governing it. The thing that disturbed Glorfindel the worst was that Elrond seemed to be blind to everything around him. Sighing the Gondolin Elf pulled up his hood and looked over Asfaloth at Erestor, reading the grave concern written all over the counselor's contorted face. "His strength is waning," Glorfindel muttered nervously.

"Obviously," Erestor affirmed the statement. He looked above and nearly winced as a loud clap of thunder split the air and pounded in their ears. "If this continues much longer I shall go mad."

"It’s a little late for that," Glorfindel commented as he stroked the white horse's silvery mane and ran his hand down the sleek neck. The creature nuzzled him affectionately.

Erestor laughed wryly and said, "You would think so, wouldn't you?" He patted Asfaloth's haunches and spoke quietly, "bring Estel back. I fear for the survival of our home. If the rain continues much longer than the waters shall rise and who knows what shall happen if the River Bruinen is let free."

"I shall do my best, for what it is worth," Glorfindel assured grimly, straightening his saddlebags to rest easier on the animal's back and sides.

"Keep Elrond safe," Erestor said solemnly as his grey eyes connected with Glorfindel's blue ones that had become very pale blue with unrest.

"Indeed," the Gondolin Elf smiled and shook his head. "Though I have to put up with Elladan and Elrohir, so in a way I have an excuse if something goes wrong."

"Glorfindel," Erestor chuckled, "you are a living excuse."

"You wound me-" A low rumble that suddenly pitched to a loud and threatening roar made both of the Elves jump and then turn red with shame.

"Relax. Its only thunder," Elrohir called as he strode in, carrying his saddlebags as Elladan walked slowly behind, obviously lost in thought. Elrohir glanced nervously at the barn walls and out the window. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "I wonder if it is storming like this anywhere else. It is most curious weather for this place. Where's father?"

"He is coming," Elladan said as he set his bags on the floor outside his chestnut stallion's stall. "He is leaving Erestor notes and plans." A raindrop struck the older twin's head as it fell from a crack in the ceiling rafters. He looked up and gave a small frown. "There are times when I think Vilya destroys more than it saves."

"Be careful when you say something like that, Elladan," advised Erestor glumly. "Without it Rivendell would not exist." He shook his head and Glorfindel rolled his eyes as he made sure the straps on Asfaloth's harness were fitted well. Finding they were not he tightened one as he cast a scolding glare at Elladan.

"It is because father is fading, just like mother." For a moment Elladan felt a stab of anger towards Aragorn and his actions before he remembered Aragorn had very little control over war. But he wished he could find something to blame his father's lapse on and it hurt that he could not. He felt a great deal of responsibility had been placed on his shoulders and he also felt he might buckle beneath it. It also burned in his heart, seared his heart actually, to know that the person he admired most was struggling immensely not to fail him and coming close to losing.

"I think he is going to be fine," Glorfindel tried to encourage those around him.

"Glorfindel, it would be better if you would just be quiet!" Elladan snapped. Erestor shot Elladan a disapproving look and then sighed.

"I think I should take my leave. I have things to see to I am sure." He cleared his throat and stepped past Glorfindel and walked past the twins before exiting the stable in what could be called a disquieted and uncomfortable fashion.

Glorfindel leaped up on Asfaloth's back and rode out after the raven-haired counselor. "Erestor! Wait!" he called through the rain. He didn't expect Erestor to actually hold up so the next few moments were a bit of a exceptional surprise that he felt was commendable on Erestor's part.

The dark-haired Elf halted and turned around and watched as Glorfindel rode up alongside of him. "Be careful. The more Vilya's power gets loosed, the more dangerous things could get. We do not know what it will do if it is allowed to have control over itself."

"I know. What do you take me for?" asked the dark-haired adviser with a scowl. Glorfindel clearly thought that he was an idiot. Not that this was anything Erestor didn't know, but it still wore upon his already wearing nerves that Glorfindel treated him like one without thinking twice. Oh, maybe in the back of his mind Glorfindel didn't think he was entirely stupid, but he did an excellent job of keeping it a secret. Erestor was certain it was one of the most carefully guarded secrets of Rivendell, if you disregarded the Elven rings and Narsil.

"I just am saying I don't want you to get killed. Then I would have no one to annoy and tease when I am bored," the Balrog-Slayer complained, but he could not completely erase the worry on his knitted brow.

"Killed? Unlikely," Erestor passed off Glorfindel's warning as mere over kill on the account of his anxiousness. "Elrond would surely come in control of the ring before it claimed Rivendell and destroyed it." He could not truly believe Elrond would allow Rivendell to fall into complete chaos and decay. It just wasn't something he ever had dreamt would happen and not something he had ever thought of even once before. But in the back of his bind there was a slight doubt that his friend and lord could fully control Vilya in his mental state right now.

"One would hope, but Elrond has not yet been tested against Vilya once it has been unleashed," Glorfindel cautioned once more. "I am just telling you to be careful." He sighed heavily and looked at the pummel of his saddle gloomily. Finally he mumbled what was pure and unaltered honesty. "I don't want to lose you, my friend."

Erestor didn't do what was expected. He frowned for a moment and then looked up at Glorfindel and nodded quite seriously, "and I don't want to lose you. Be careful and watch your back, all right? Dol Guldur is growing more bold." A clap of thunder broke through and the rain came down in redoubled drops that soaked the two friends saying farewell in the midst of the storm.

"Now you had better get indoors, Lord Erestor," Glorfindel jested lightly, though it came out more serious than it was meant to. "Wouldn't want to look like a wet mop."

"I am no Elfling. I can stay outdoors if I wish," Erestor protested but a smile was playing on his lips as he spoke. He chuckled and said as he looked beyond Glorfindel to the stable entrance where two cloaked figures were emerging. "It looks as though your wanton subservients are ready to depart."

Glorfindel wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "They are always ready to depart for somewhere." Erestor only nodded mutely in agreement.

Another figure approached from behind the dark-haired counselor through the mist that was rising through the falling rain. Lightening licked across the dull, cold sky and if one listened closely they could hear a cry of dismay from the Elves as they plead for the stars to return. A sage cloaked figure rode a shadowy grey horse. His shoulders were hunched and he didn't look at all the proud Elf-lord everybody knew he was.

Glorfindel cast Erestor an alarmed and sorrowful look, which was equally returned by the adviser after he spun around to see the Lord of Imladris. Of course chances were that things looked worse than they actually were. But still, Erestor could hardly say that things were going reasonably well either.

"Are we ready?" asked a voice beneath the cloak and Glorfindel looked into a pair of near dead eyes. It made his heart clench but he said nothing of it and merely inclined his head in coherence. The twins trotted their chestnut and roan horses to stand beside their father's stallion.

"We are not-"

"-Glorfindel's obligation." Finished Elrohir for Elladan as he scowled at the counselor, who rolled his eyes and began to head up to the Last Homely House. He wasn't going to get anymore involved than he had.

"Indeed!" Elladan snorted disdainfully. "I think we are old enough to think for ourselves and look out for ourselves as well!"

Erestor continued walking, obviously thinking to protests of the twins hardly worth the effort it would take to quiet them. 'Look out for themselves?' he asked himself with an inward snicker that quickly escalated to a fair amount of roaring laughter as the absurdity of the statement struck him. He shook his head wearily as he heard them calling after him. Climbing the stairs that lead to a balcony he quickly ascended to the top and turned to look out at his departing friends. Four figures riding out of Rivendell through the muck and mud, he frowned quietly.

Lightening lit up the entire sky in its bright purple flare followed by a loud clap of thunder that pounded in his ears. Looking up at the forlorn sky where the stars used to dwell, he felt his heart sigh. All Elves have a deep emotional passion for the stars and sing to them quite frequently. But there was no music in Rivendell anymore, not since the stars had left.

A wind picked up, whipping his dark hair about his face and he watched as some dead leaves were ripped from a tree nearby and danced in the cold air until they settled on the browning grass. He noticed as though for the first time how Rivendell was fading…was dying. Soon, it would be gone. That was unless Elrond came out of his depression. Erestor knew that his lord and friend's deep sorrow was affecting the mood of Vilya and only if Elrond pulled out of his misery would Rivendell recuperate.

That was of course, unless someone else found the strength to wield Vilya. Elladan and Elrohir might, if they knew the full extent of its power and were fully mature. But even then it would take years for them to rebuild Rivendell…years it did not have.

Sighing, Erestor spun around and noticed Helinyetillë standing there, holding her papers and giving him a strange look. "Lord Erestor, are you well?"

"Just a bit overwhelmed, my good Healer," he conceded sorrowfully. "But I shall be fine." He looked into her eyes and then instantly looked at the floor as she scowled.

"Even for all your diplomacy you are a terrible liar." Her voice was slightly hard and she walked leisurely up beside him and pressed her stack of papers into his hands whilst casting him an evil glare. "Whatisthematterwiththem?"

Erestor smiled wryly and then shivered without warning as he felt the nip of the cold for the first time in a long time. "Would you like to go inside and talk about it?" he asked, though in his ears the question sounded entirely stupid and he felt blood rushing to his face. Willing it to remain normally colored, he looked at her decided face.

"Are you cold, Lord Erestor?" she asked as he raised on slender eyebrow and looked him in the eye. Lightning flashed and it reflected in her grey orbs. The counselor thought this to be rather ironic.

"Not really, I just thought it might be good if we both got in out of the rain," he reasoned with her as he attempted to sidestep her all at once.

She stopped him and if anything her scathing glare deepened. "There is an overhang and neither of us are getting wet. Just tell me what you think is the matter." The wind picked up and more dead, brown, crinkling leaves were torn from the trees' branches.

Erestor finally gave in and pulled a paper halfway from the stack and read aloud the title at the top. "Herbal stock." Frowning he pointed out helpfully, "all you have written on here is our supply of Athelas."

Helinyetillë had a ready counter and she whipped her hair behind her shoulders as she spoke. "We only have Athelas at the moment. The plants in Rivendell are withering, save the Athelas and we are having trouble replenishing our diminishing supplies. However, it is 'herbal stock' and I can add to this file later." She frowned and asked bluntly, much to Erestor's humiliation. "Are you telling me all this just for an excuse to talk some more with me?" A loud boom of thunder followed by littler rumbles of discontent echoed in the air before Erestor could find the courage to speak.

"Business is business." Erestor's voice was firm and his gaze hardened.

"And what exactly is your business?" she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes into silver slits of suspicion. Erestor felt slight flushes enter his cheeks but he narrowed his eyes and knitted his brows to compensate.

"None of yours," he retorted heatedly with embarrassment.

"If you wanted to talk with me, you could have simply asked, you know. But it isn't going to change anything," she added crossly as she snatched her papers from his hands rudely. Casting an unpleasantly conspicuous glance at him she asked quickly, "don't you have some papers to shuffle?"

Erestor looked slightly crestfallen and if the feeling like his chest was being ripped apart was a symptom of a broken heart then he definitely had one. He wanted to sigh, but he had more dignity than that. Helinyetillë saw his saddened face and feeling slightly sorry for him she tucked the papers on her arm and her eyes softened. "Erestor, you aren't unkind or over bearing or anything. But you are just not over bearing enough, and there is the problem. You aren't orderly enough for me. I am sorry. But how about us being simply friends?"

"A friend would be nice," Erestor said as he forced a saddened smile. The winds changed and a shower of rain suddenly cascaded in on them both and thunder clapped several times all at once. Erestor just couldn't believe that he wasn't organized enough! Valar he always had his paperwork filed, labeled and disposed of correctly and on time.

"Very well, then. Friend Erestor, I will see you around then, alright?" she said as she turned and walked briskly away. Erestor turned his face to where he had seen Elrond, the twin sand Glorfindel depart. His sharp eyes saw them at a distance and his face became troubled as he realized the full responsibility of what had fallen on his shoulders.

Feeling miserable and very much alone, Erestor didn't go inside as he felt the rain beat against his face. He wished Glorfindel or someone were here. Even the stars were missing. He wanted someone to truly talk to and there was no one here. As he watched the trees, he saw more leaves tear from the swaying branches and he took note to how the streams no longer tinkled music but roared with the voice of destruction as they flooded their banks. Rivendell couldn't last much longer.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Legolas grimaced as he set his foot down for near the hundredth time as he walked in the dark shaft. The air was close and it was nearly cold. His body was trembling as much from fear as from weariness. His torments were quickly catching up and he staggered, nearly dropping Aragorn. He should have known this was a stupid thing to do even if it was the best thing.

The Elf had found that it was increasingly harder for him to breathe as though a great weight was on his chest. His face so pale it was nearly luminescent in the darkness of the tunnel. Sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes and his hair hung in his face, clinging to his sticky skin. His tongue was swollen and it was ironic that though there was water everywhere, there was nothing that he could drink. He did not trust this water and had no intention of drinking it unless he had to. Even if it was safe, which he was highly skeptical of, it was completely disgusting and unappetizing to say the least.

Licking his cracked lips Legolas thought how he was going to strangle Darcíl for this. Oh, he was grateful for getting out, but he was having an extremely hard time keeping himself and Estel alive. He had been down here for hours and he doubted that he had made much progress at all. If he had, he certainly hadn't noticed. It felt as though he was going in circles and all the dark was weighting him down. 'And' he told himself. 'Caves are not this creepy. Not to mention there is always a cursed stone directly in my path and unknown to me until I stumble over it!'

Legolas could feel Aragorn's life returning as the cool air caressed his hot body and the strange peace in the darkness began to heal his tormented mind. He was returning and Legolas felt his own hopes rising bit by bit. But that didn't mean that his wounds were any less painful or less difficult and weakening. He was simply not going to be able to carry on much longer. He had been bleeding far too much.

Stumbling on a rock submerged beneath the icy water, Legolas finally fell to his knees and he was unable to rise. 'There is another stone, how perfectly inconvenient,' he muttered mentally. His strength had simply given out and he tried to hold Aragorn above the frigid water, but his arms trembled and it was impossible. All he could do was keep the ranger's waist and above free from the dirty liquid. "Estel, I am so sorry I…that…this happened to you. I wanted to save you and I have killed you." The Elf let his tears fall upon his friend's chalky face. 'I was a fool to think this might have been an escape.'

He sobbed. It was his fault entirely. Shivering in fear of the dark the Elf plead to the ranger, "please don't leave me, Aragorn. You know I can't stand the dark." His plea had the resemblance of a cry torn from one's throat, for Legolas' dry mouth and dehydrated body prevented him from speaking well.

Legolas didn't know what he was going to do if he saw Darcíl again, but he didn't worry too much about it. He knew that the Haradrim captain had sent them to their deaths and he knew that it had been done knowingly. Darcíl truly didn't care whether they lived or died; he just needed them gone to suit his own purpose. They would die in his cavern. Legolas was sure that if he wasn't blinded by the thick dark then he would have been blinded by a spell of red as he thought of where they had been sent to and for what purpose.

Glancing about himself, though he could see nothing, Legolas sighed wearily and pulled Aragorn closer. He smiled thinly. "Well if I have anything to do about it you shall see your beloved Arwen again. And you shall see Lord Elrond and Dan and Ro. I may not return, but you shall. But you must forgive me, because I need to rest." Legolas plead for his unconscious friend's understanding as he leaned back against the wet and cold stone wall of the passage. He truly was beginning to loathe this duct.

Legolas closed his eyes and tried to pull the memories of his home forward. He missed dear Rothinzil and little Ilwë and Teleprion. He wanted to see his father so much that it was ripping a large hole in his heart that he knew could be fatal. The Elf drew in a labored breath and smiled as he thought of the starlight on the trees of Lorien at a distance. He had longed to go there someday and see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Aragorn had told him such beautiful things about it and he had hoped that one day he and Aragorn would travel there and stay a while, together and explore its fair forests. But he supposed that wouldn't happen now.

He suddenly heard a hoarse voice say, "Legolas?" Jolting awake, the prince looked down at his friend and his throat leaped into his heart as he found it was possible that Aragorn was alive and with him. Suddenly he felt that he might not be so alone. "There is nothing…to forgive. …Rest mellon nin."

But now that Legolas knew that Aragorn was awake he could not rest and he asked in a stammer that would have been indignant but he was far too happy, "how long have you been awake?" He was hardly able to contain his excitement, like a child knowing he has just received the greatest gift he could ever get.

"I come…and go…" Aragorn sighed and shivered. "W-w-w-where…are we?" Legolas pulled Aragorn close, trying to share his body heat with the ranger who he could tell was absolutely miserable and losing his body heat at a rapid rate.

"The good captain Darcíl has helped us to our deaths inside this tunnel that supposedly leads to a safe village," Legolas answered incisively. "I bet there is no safe village," he assumed pessimistically. He really was beginning to build such fond memories of Harad. Perhaps he would return here for a vacation someday and have dinner with Dorrag himself! Yes, that sounded perfectly insane!

"Still so optimistic," teased the ranger around his chattering teeth.

"Well what do you expect, ranger? That I am going to say I love this place, this miserable death we have been sent to?" he hissed darkly as his cynical eyes closed in weariness.

"No." There was a dead silence that followed, broken by the sound of Aragorn's teeth resuming their chattering. "Why is it so wet?"

"The rains have flooded the inside of the duct, obviously," stated the Elf with bitter realism. He looked around and now that he was relaxing he could hear things more clearly. Drip...drip…drip…the water was creeping from the walls, creeping, creeping… dripping…dripping… The minute droplets of water were heavily grating on his nerves. But perhaps he was just turning paranoid. No, he amended, he was being paranoid.

"You really are feeling particularly cynical today, aren't you?" Aragorn mumbled as he tried in vain to smile. But his face hurt and for some odd reason he didn't seem to remember now.

Legolas's frown deepened and he said darkly and rather flatly, "you could say that." Shifting his weight he growled, "and if I could get you warmer I would, so don’t you dare complain."

"Legolas, I'm not going to complain. I know you are doing your best-"

"Which is simply not good enough." Legolas wanted to bury his face in his hands and he leaned his head back against the wall in weary despair at their dark situation. Well, dark by all standards if you really thought about it. Now he knew that he was going completely insane…

"Legolas, it is good enough. I am still alive and I know that you had some part in that, don't tell me you didn't. I owe a lot to you," Aragorn said as he searched for his friend's thin and damaged hand beneath the water. He found it, against his battered ribs, supporting him so he was not sinking deep beneath the murky surface. Placing his hand over the Elf's he said reassuringly, "there is an end to every tunnel."

"But not always a light," Legolas continued to be pessimistic and it was beginning to make Aragorn angry. He knew he shouldn't expect too much cheerfulness and hope from the immortal but he didn't think he would be this downright apathetic and sour about things! Legolas had surpassed his own record for stubbornness and dismal brooding once again. Typical.

"Legolas, there is always a light because once the tunnel has reached its end there is an outside world with light and the sun can shine through-"

"Unless outside it is night." Legolas cocked an eyebrow and looked at Aragorn to see if his point was made. Which he quickly came to realize once more than it was dark and in fact, that had not helped at all. If they didn't get out of the this darkness and see a single beam of true light very soon Legolas was certain that he would either go crazy or simply die. Between the two deplorable choices it was a draw.

But Legolas' comment had the desired effect as the ranger realized what the Elf had known all along. The tunnel was not going to be the end, unfortunately. There was going to be trouble to follow as usual. All Aragorn could do was knit his brow and mutter nearly inaudibly " we really put our foot in it this time."

Legolas smiled thinly in wry agreement. "Indeed." He then cast a small frown and said, "but the mire we found is a bit deeper and stronger than usual." He really was becoming quite pessimistic, which was an odd talent to possess (if it could be called a talent). But he really was having extreme difficulties seeing a light at the end of this tunnel or anything that resembled even a distant form of optimism. He was interrupted as he tried to figure whether this trait came from his mother's side or his father's side.

"Legolas, it will all turn out well," Aragorn encouraged as he tried to sit up and found that Legolas not about to allow him to do such a thing. "I can sit up on my own, Elf." He tried without success to shrug Legolas from him but once again Legolas proved to be perfectly adamant and unchangeable. The Elf tightened his grip instinctually as he felt Aragorn squirm in his grip.

"Ranger, you're in no state to be even trying or thinking about such a thing," the prince chided in his mother-henish voice that always made Aragorn chuckle.

"I am not a ranger only. I am a captain. I could have you beaten for lack of respect!" Aragorn teased lightly as Legolas smiled down at him in the dark. He felt the Elf shake slightly with a chuckle that appeared to be genuine.

"Yes, you could do that," mused the Elf in a mocking voice. "However, it is too bad that we are locked in this tunnel and my father would have your head." A drop of water fell from the ceiling and hit Legolas on his nose, causing the blonde being to briskly shake his head in annoyance and surprise. Why did they have to be trapped in this cave like place filled with water? His clothes…what was left of them…were sopping and he actually was beginning to feel chilled. It was disconcerting and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance as much as in confusion. That little tiny spike of immense uneasiness was slowly mounting in his heart and sitting still was gradually becoming a challenge as he felt himself becoming more and more uneasy.

"Your father might ask if he could do the honors," retorted Aragorn with a cheeky grin that he never thought he would be using again. However, Legolas had ways of disproving every assessment he made. Know it all Wood-Elf!

"You are probably right," Legolas admitted dryly before he gave a small chuckle. His voice then dropped to a sorrowful state and he muttered, "he probably has disowned me by now though." The brazen grin fell from the human's face as he heard his friend's words. Normally Legolas saying that he was right about anything would have been an invitation for merciless bantering between the two of them.

Aragorn noted the heartache in Legolas' voice and his back went rigid in alarm. He felt Legolas going taut as he grimaced in pain and distress. Glancing up at his friend though he couldn’t see him in the dark, he said, "No. Legolas your father does love you and I bet he is hoping that you will return."

"Human, I was slightly exaggerating on purpose. But all the same, I know he is furious with me," the prince added in a crestfallen tone that ate away at Aragorn's heart. He knew that Legolas' father was all he really had left and that if they were separated forever they would both die. "Ah, well, I suppose I will never find out how things are going back home so I might as well not trouble myself about that."

Aragorn didn't say anything, not quite knowing what words would be best. He was very much afraid of causing more hurt to his friend or planting a false hope in Legolas' sensitive Elven heart. Instead, he just sighed, much to his ribs displeasure and protest. Feeling too weak to stay awake much, longer, he yawned and before he spoke again. "We should be traveling further if we wish to make good time."

"Aragorn, I am carrying you because you are far too weak to walk on your own. I myself am not in the best of conditions. We are going to go at the pace I chose and right now, I am worried for your health…"

"And you are tired," Aragorn broke in, waiting to see Legolas' immediate reaction, which he expected to be furious. But what he heard only increased his anxiety for Legolas' well being. This was the first time Legolas was allowing his weakness to show without regret or hesitation, he was actually being adamant. He was willing admitting he was weakened.

"I am," the Elf agreed glumly. Legolas was about to try and rest when a screeching noise went up, causing both of the friends to nearly jump in alarm. Something swooped by Legolas' face, causing the Elf to lurch his head backwards and hit it slightly against the stone wall before he stopped himself. Wincing at the feeling of the stone's impact, the Elf scolded himself under his breath for being so stupid. Things would be swirling and dancing, Legolas told himself, if he could actually see.

Wings fluttered by his face and some more high-pitched noise rang in the prince's ears. It was a strange squeaking that Legolas had only heard once before, in caves. "Why did it have to be bats?" moaned the Elf in irritation and slight fear. He didn't fear bats but it
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