A/N: I am so lazy. I really am. Why can't I concentrate on "Fellowship Of The Authors" and "Well Behaved Women"? I'm so, so, so, SO sorry. But I get inspired SO easily. So read this and tell me whether or not to delete it.

A/N 10/21/11: A small error was pointed out by the lovely Metoochocolate that interrupts the timeline. Consider it now fixed. PLEASE REVIEW!

The moon peeked shyly from behind the gauzy gray clouds which shrouded the gritty yâvië skies. The sweeping boughes of tree branches dipped low to the thick grass, tangling and intermingling in a hidden dance. Sheltered by the boughes of trees from the wind, a campfire blazed merrily in the divet of ground, tongues of flames licking at dry twigs and thick, scaberous logs. Horses, their flanks sleek and gleaming in the faint light, tore at the sweet grasses, tails swishing contentedly as they devoured their dinner. A few of them were picketed, others were simply wrapped around the low-descending branches. Heavy packs were placed on the ground near the horses, but their bridles and saddles remained. Several sleeping rolls had been unfolded, and here and there masculine heads were visible, their shimmering hair fanned out over their travelling pillows. One sat awake, chewing idly at a grass stem as he gazed reflectively into the flames, keeping silent watch over his slumbering companions, scraping a hand on his roughly stubbled jaw.

Off to one side, a far different scene emerged, contrasting starkly to the peaceful serenity of the sleeping elves. Two young elves were bound to the thick trunk of a tree, their hands tied firmly behind their back. They were tethered by their ankles, fine silver chains keeping them hostage, far stronger than usual Man-fashioned rope. One of them, a thin ellon with matted blonde hair, was sleeping curled up close to the solid trunk of the tree, skinny back pressing hard against the unyielding surface. The cold earth seeped into his bones and made him shudder all over, icy fingers trailing down his spine. His tunic was ripped in several places, a stripe of old blood painting the side, and indescribably filthy. The leggings, or what remained of them, were in worse shape - they were worn completely through at the knees, exposing bruised kneecaps, and his feet were bare, the soles of his feet raw from running behind a horse all day. He twitched in his sleep.

To his left was an elleth, her hair dark and just as tangled. She was sitting erect and silent, slender, bruised fingers toying restlessly in her lap. She wore a skirt of some obscenely thin material, tattered at the hem, and her bodice had ribbons snapped from harsh removal. But the elves shockingly mistreated appearance was not what the eyes fell upon first - it was the searing scar, white with age, which ripped across the elleth's face, crossing both eyes. She was blinded, hampered from her mistakes. She swallowed hard, ignoring the gnawing hunger in her belly. To her right, her companion whimpered in his sleep, feet jerking spasmodically. The elleth groped for his leg and soothed it, patting it as high as she could reach. They were kept specifically apart, but somehow they had managed to migrate together, seeking comfort in the warmth of each other's bodies and the soothing touch of their hands.

Had the elleth been able to see, she would have marvelled at the sunrise slowly slipping over the horizon, the Valar once more dressing the skies in their most glorious finery. But as it was, she allowed the rising sunbeams to paint her face with warmth, the barest hint of dawn stroking the sky and waking her fully. She had not been able to sleep properly since she had been blinded - it was a curse that accompanied the constant pain. She shook her companion lightly. "Legolas, mellon," she whispered. "Legolas, it is time to rise."

Instantly the ellon was awake, eyes snapping open to reveal muddy blue, terrified eyes. After a split second of confusion, he remembered where he was. "Amariel?" he asked in a hushed, panicked voice. He reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. A smile softened her scarred features as she felt his clammy grip.

"'Tis only one more day of hard riding, mellon," she said softly. "And then we shall be in Imaldris. You shall escape, and be home."

"Are you coming with me?" Legolas asked, not for the first time. Amariel looked at him sympathetically.

"Legolas, little leaf, I would only slow you. I cannot accompany you - you must be free. Nay, my mellon, I am here to escort you there and give you courage. No doubt I shall be given to some other lord - If I am less fortunate, I shall return to our home." Amariel said, gripping his fingers and then releasing. "Come, mellon, I hear a step."

Indeed, the one Man who had stayed awake was approaching them. He was handsome of features, with a broad chest and hard hands. He was their Master, Ceadda. "Get up," he said coldly. He tossed the key at Amariel - Masters did not kneel in the presence of their slaves. Amariel groped blindly at the ground, enticing a cruel smile from the slaver. "What, can't find it?" Ceadda asked, kicking the key to one side. "Come on, slave, find the key."

Amariel bit her tongue and finally found the smooth, slender barrel of the key. She fumbled for a moment, trying to find the keyhole, and when she did, she unlocked her companion. Legolas returned the favor mutely, and the two of them bowed before their Master. The Man grunted and took Legolas by the tunic, dragging him over to one of the horses. With routine swiftness, he bound the ellon's hands and tied him to the pommel of the saddle. The same treatment was given to Amariel, although to a different horse. She dipped her chin to her chest, keeping her scarred, sightless eyes downturned. The elves waited, frightened, as the men began a languid breakfast. The scent of food was assaulting their nostrils with spicy, heady scents, and Legolas tried not to salivate. They had not eaten since noon of yesterday, and his stomach was growling.

Not a crumb or a drop was saved for the slaves, and instead, the traders loaded their packs onto their horses. "One more day," Ceadda grumbled. "One more blasted day and we are rid of these accursed wares."

"We shall fetch a fine price for them," another said, this one with shaggy gray hair and a hooked nose. "And perhaps the elves can be convinced to buy a worthless slave or two."

"Nay. Those infernal creatures do not adhere to the slavery laws." Ceadda replied, settling himself on his horse. He gave his horse a quick jab, and Amariel was jerked forward roughly, a little cry of surprise tearing from her lips. He looked back at her, sneering. "Which is a pity, for she would have been fair of face had she not been blinded."

"Insolent eyes do not deserve to see," hissed the first Man. "And if they do not take the slaves, well, they shall provide ceaseless entertainment on our journey home."

There was an outburst of howls as the horses trotted quickly down the road, the two broken elves dragged along unmercifully behind them.

09

The path widened and became smoother, the largest rocks disappearing and aiding the elves bare feet. Dappled shade cooled their hot brows, and soon the riding became easier. Abruptly, the Men pulled up, stopping their mounts. Amariel and Legolas were not warned of the halt, and Legolas slammed into the horse, startling it and it's rider. A backhanded cuff disturbed a thread of filthy golden hair and stung his cheek. Legolas sniffed shamefacedly, looking over at his companion. She was breathing hard, wincing as pressure was applied to her bare feet. He looked up at the two granite faced elves looking at the troop of a dozen men and two elves. "State your business in Imaldris," one of them snapped. They were dressed in beautiful white cambric, their tunics fine and braided at the shoulders with gold thread. Gleaming gold bows were strung over their backs, intricately carved quivers fastened to their backs, and polished knives were belted to their hips.

"We come bringing wares to tempt the people of Rivendell," Ceadda said loudly, his commanding voice ringing over the trees. "We mean no harm at all, good friend. Do you wish to buy a trifle or two?"

The elves did not seem at all interested in the wares the men had, but instead were focusing in on Legolas and Amariel. "And of these elves, what of they?" the other guard asked, a frosty bite of anger in his voice.

"Slaves worthy of the Steward himself!" Ceadda said triumphantly. "Although we have few of them, they are well trained to be hardworking slaves. Our business, however, is in trinkets. Would you care to -"

"The only thing I care to do," growled the first elf, his knife unsheathed in an instant, "Is slice your miserable throat in two. You are not welcome in the borders of Imaldris, eadan, and you have no right to enslave these elves! They are free people and not under your reign."

"Ah, but they were sold to us," Ceadda said, startled. "I paid good money for them, lords."

"And you shall have none in return." snarled the other elf, his bow strung and an arrow notched to it. "You are to untie those elves and hand them to us immediately. Then, you shall leave and not return."

Slowly, Ceadda dismounted and went to Legolas. He deliberately ground the ellon's foot into the ground as he cut his bonds, and it was all Legolas could do not to cry out. He was shoved roughly forward, and the young blonde elf cringed away from the soothing hands of the guards. Amariel was cut loose as well, but she was kicked hard from behind, sending her sprawling. The bow-wielding elf shot an arrow between the feet of Ceadda. "The next goes in your chest!" he warned. "Leave!"

Amariel picked herself up, backing away warily from the two strange elves as her master's departed. A clod from a horse's shoe struck Legolas in the back, whether by accident or by design. However, the ellon showed no reaction. He huddled closer to Amariel, bowing low falteringly. "M-my Lords," he began.

"Call me Elrohir," the first elf said softly. "And do not bow to me. You are a free elf, and shall be treated as such."

"Why...?" Amariel looked terrified. Her fingers interwove with Legolas's. Her scarred, sightless, milky eyes trickled a single tear, which she scuffed away. "Do not trust, Legolas," she whispered. "Do not trust anyone save me. We are in Imaldris, a foreign place. Do not trust."