A/N: Here is chapter 2!

Enjoy!

XXX

Rae

...

It was the elf's turn to go wide-eyed. "You can't! Not here, not now!" he shook his head emphatically. In sight of an orc camp with nothing and no one on hand was a horrible place to deliver a baby, even had he known how to do so, which he didn't.

Maraen gasped slightly as she sank down to a sitting position but managed a weak, wry grin. "I don't know how it is with elf women Legolas..." she panted slightly around the building contractions. "But I have no control over this. The-the baby's coming whether I want it or not!"

"Can you move? Can we..." Legolas was at a complete loss. He didn't know how it was with elf women either, much less human ones. In his centuries of life experience, this was not something he had ever been called upon to do before. Birthing was work for midwives, not warriors.

Maraen shook her head somewhat desperately, the terror of their situation clutching at her young heart. "Legolas... I can't! It's coming *right now*!" She looked up at him with large, pleading brown eyes, looking much younger than her seventeen years.

"I-I thought I'd have my mother with me... my aunt Betha even... Legolas... Legolas I'm scared! I-I don't know *how* to deliver a baby!" Maraen was nearly crying, but they were both careful to keep their voices at the lowest whisper possible to avoid detection by the nearby orcs.

"That makes two of us," Legolas murmured, too softly for her to hear. Running his hand over his face he forced himself to be calm and rational. Maraen needed someone to be strong and in control of the situation, even if he did have no clue what he was doing.

"It's all right Maraen, everything is going to be fine," the elf assured gently, crouching down next to the girl and squeezing her shoulders gently. "Your body knows what to do, listen to it."

"Well right now it wants to scream," Maraen whispered dryly.

"Well *don't* listen to *that*," Legolas replied with a small grin. "Unless you want to invite a troop of orcs to this happy event."

"Let's skip that," Maraen gritted out through her teeth. She bit her lip hard and took a deep breath. Fear was not helping her pain any. "Legolas... what do I do?"

Legolas' mind sought blankly for information it did not contain, but when he spoke he acted with confidence to give the girl courage. "You need to lay down, come on, I'll help you."

Gently, the elf prince laid the young human girl down upon the mossy ground, wishing he had someplace better and someone more experienced on hand. He rested his hand gently on her stomach, feeling the little life move under his fingers.

Maraen was trying to be brave, but as the time drew nearer, her resolve began to crumble. "They're going to kill us... they're going to kill my baby like they've killed Erron..." tears slid down her cheeks. She restrained a sob.

"Shh, shh..." Legolas soothed gently, lightly stroking the girl's hot face with the back of his fingers and brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes. "Breathe deeply and try to remain calm, it will make this easier. I'm not going to let anything happen to you or your baby, I promise you that."

"Y-You swear? You won't let them get my baby?" she pleaded with large, childish eyes, tightening as the contractions became more forceful.

Legolas gripped her hand firmly, squeezing it and letting her hang onto him. "I swear," he reiterated seriously. "I will die before I let any harm befall you or your child."

The girl seemed to relax a little, obviously trusting the elf implicitly. "Y-You're so good to me Legolas, and you don't even know me..." she murmured. "Here you had to leave searching for your friend to get home and now you're waylaid by some pregnant girl and a pack of orcs..." Maraen winced and drew a deep breath in as another contraction gripped her sharply. "You-you didn't ask to get stuck with me, and now this... I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is happening..."

"Shh," Legolas placed his fingers softly against her lips, stilling them. "None of this is your fault. You can't control when your baby comes, I just wish I had someone more knowledgeable here to help you. Father will just have to manage the ceremony without me; it will hardly be a crisis I think. As for Estel..." Legolas closed his eyes. He couldn't think about his missing friend right now. That was too hard and too painful and he had to keep all his attention on the task at hand. "Lord Elrond was right, he and his sons do know this area, and Estel, better than I do, if he's out there, they'll find him." He wished he believed that, but it eased Maraen's mind a little, so his words served their purpose.

The girl stilled slightly, but then her eyes grew large and she gripped his hand tightly. "I-it's coming!"

Legolas knelt by her side and laid his hand on the top of her skirt and hesitated, looking questioningly into her eyes for permission. He was not at all comfortable with this situation, but someone was actually going to have to deliver the baby, and unfortunately the only someone around who wasn't an orc was him.

Maraen nodded slightly. She was hardly more comfortable with the situation, but what couldn't be helped couldn't be helped, and she had started to trust Legolas. At first the strange elf had frightened her, but she had come to like him and respect him quite a bit in the last day or so.

Gently, Legolas helped her get ready to bring her baby into the world. It was not a moment too soon because everything was happening rather swiftly now. Maraen clenched her jaw and kept perfectly silent, no matter how she hurt, because she knew that the slightest sound would bring down a horde of orcs on their heads. Legolas spoke softly, soothingly to her. He slid in and out of elvish and the common tongue, but it didn't matter because she was barely hearing his words, just his gentle tone of voice and the comfort of having him near.

When the child began to appear, Legolas was relived... but he quickly became concerned, because the baby was not coming out. He could see the infant's shoulder and arm, but nothing else. He had no way of knowing that this was not the way the baby should be coming, but his mind suddenly flashed to the only reference he had, which were stories he had been told about his own birth. It had been a difficult labour and he had been lodged sideways in the birth canal. He and his mother had both nearly died, or so he had been told. A zing of panic shot up Legolas spine. He didn't want Maraen and her baby to die like this, just because he didn't know enough to do anything...

Praying that he was doing the right thing, Legolas tried to turn the baby so that it was head-first, because that seemed logically the best way for it to be. It was difficult and he could only hope that he was helping the situation and not making it worse.

Maraen was scared; she could tell something was wrong. "Legolas? Legolas!" she whispered desperately, wanting to know what was happening, why the pain was different now.

"It's all right Maraen," Legolas lied for her peace of mind. "The little one's just a bit twisted, but it'll be all right."

Legolas had no idea how long it took, but just as the sky was beginning to streak with grey, the baby did somehow end up in the right position for delivery and the elf caught the small infant so that it did not have to touch the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief as the baby spluttered a few times and then let out a soft, low burble. He bounced it gently, soothing it with soft, elvish words, not wanting the child to cry and give them away.

"Maraen," he whispered softly to the exhausted mother. "You have a daughter."

Maraen laid her head back in weary relief and happiness. "And she's all right?"

"She's fine," Legolas assured, looking down into the tiny face. "She's beautiful. Maraen..." Legolas glanced about, uncertain what to do now, he had a general idea, but did not want to do anything wrong.

Fortunately, Maraen did have some idea about follow-up care and was able to tell the elf what to do and how to separate the baby from the umbilical cord.

Finally the whole thing was actually finished and Legolas pulled his outer-vest off, wrapping the tiny child in the soft, warm, fleece-lined leather. Laying the baby in her mother's arms, he brushed gentle fingers over the infant's forehead. The small babe looked so incredibly tiny and fragile.

Maraen beamed down at her baby. "She's so perfect... What shall I name her Legolas?"

The prince was surprised by the question. "Surely, that is a question for yourself and your husband to decide."

A shadow crossed Maraen's face and her eyes glistened. "Erron must be dead Legolas... he would never have left the baby and I alone otherwise," she choked out softly. She loved her husband so terribly much, it was a horrible thought, but one she could no longer deny.

Legolas laid his hand gently on her shoulder. "You don't know he's dead Maraen, there are many things that could have happened," he comforted gently. It was the same thing he had been telling himself about Aragorn so many times now it was almost painful to try to give that hope to someone else, yet he knew how important it was to cling to hope, no matter how slim.

"Perhaps..." Maraen said wearily. "But even if he is, I know he'd be grateful to you for the care you have taken of a complete stranger. And... I-I want you to name her."

Legolas was slightly staggered by this turn of events. "You offer me an incredible honour young one," he smiled gently down at the girl. "Very well, if I were to name her, I would call her Estelle." He brushed the now sleeping baby's cheek. "Estel means hope in the Elven tongue," he explained.

"That was the name of your missing friend, was it not?" Maraen said softly, compassion and understanding showing in her tired eyes.

Legolas nodded once. "It was... one of his names. One that fit him very well when he was..." Legolas kept himself from saying, "When he was alive" because he still refused to accept that Aragorn could be dead. He still clung to that hope.

Maraen smiled weakly. "Then I am most honoured for my daughter to carry that name. It's beautiful, and it seems perfect, just like her..."

"Rest a little now Maraen," Legolas said quietly, "Regain your strength. We will leave for Rivendell as soon as you are ready."

They would not have as long to rest as they would have liked. Legolas slid out of the grove to check on their unwanted company in the woods, leaving mother and daughter sleeping. A few minutes later the baby's cry broke the stillness, loud as only a baby can be, and insistent.

Legolas turned on his heel and fled back to the enclave where he found Maraen sitting up and rocking the baby hurriedly, her eyes wide as she tried to shush the child's perfectly normal testing of its new lungs.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know why she did that..." Maraen shook her head, fear igniting in her eyes.

Legolas guessed that the little one was hungry, but there was no time to worry about that now. "Babies cry, it's not your fault. Come, we've got to get out of here, there's no way the orc sentries will have missed hearing that."

Maraen struggled weakly to her feet, clutching her baby to her breast. It was far too soon after delivery for her to be moving and her body protested sharply, but she ignored it because she had no other choice.

Legolas saw how pale she was and gave her his arm to lean on. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry but we have to go."

The young mother just nodded and the new threesome hurriedly pressed further back into the trees as the sound of crunching footfalls and coarse shouts confirmed their fears; the orcs had indeed heard the cry and come to check it out.

Legolas chaffed at their slow speed and pressed Maraen as fast as he dared, but he was beginning to fear it would never be enough.

They could hear the orcs behind them clearly now and knew they were on their trail. Giving up stealth for as much speed as they could get, Legolas and Maraen ran through the trees, although Maraen felt sure each step would be her last.

Finally she tripped and stumbled, unable to go on. Legolas halted by her and she pushed her baby into his arms. "Run Legolas! Take Estelle, take her away from here! Don't let them get her!"

Never in a million years would Legolas have left a young, vulnerable thing like Maraen to the mercy of the orcs. Instead, he stooped and scooped both the girl and her baby up into his arms, with one arm under Maraen's knees and the other supporting her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he moved off as fast as he could with his new burden.

It was a good thing that elves were naturally stronger than was normal by human standards, but Legolas was still considerably slowed by his burden.

The desperate flight ended minutes later when a dozen orcs that had split off and cut around another way to outflank their prey, burst out of the trees on the left, near at hand.

Legolas was forced to relinquish his load, setting Maraen down on her feet and quickly drawing his bow. The young mother clutched her baby tightly as Legolas' hand flew in a blur of motion, stringing arrow after arrow until five of their attackers lay dead.

Unfortunately, the delay was all the main troop behind them had needed to catch up. The hideous creatures poured from the trees with shouts of the hunt and Legolas moved to stand squarely between them and Maraen and Estelle, his bow already in motion. He had sworn to protect the two humans to the death, and he did not make light promises.

Drawing his bowstring back again he let the arrow fly as the black horde rushed towards them like the horrendous floodwaters the elf had beheld earlier in the year, easily as frightening as any force of nature they had yet witnessed.

Legolas picked off as many as he could with rapid, steady shots until they crowded too close for his bow to be very effective and then he drew his knives.

The elf prince's speed was almost inhuman as he spun, whirled, deflected and slashed, trying to be everywhere at once, trying to counter the enemy and at the same time keep them away from Maraen and Estelle.

The odds were overwhelmingly against them and Legolas held no illusions. This was a battle he could not hope to win, there were far too many orcs and with Maraen in tow, he could never hope to outrun them. The cliff wall to their back both helped and hindered their efforts. It helped, because it at least kept the enemy down to only three fronts they could attack on, but at the same point it was a liability because it left the small trio nowhere to flee, even if they could have.

Four orcs rushed Legolas at the same time. He stabbed one, twirling away from another and slashing at the third, but the forth slipped inside the tiring elf's guard. Without realizing it, Legolas side-stepped just in time to save his life, but felt a blinding stab of pain shoot through his shoulder before he even had time to register the danger. The elf had barely a moment to take in the orc, the knife blade buried half-way into the soft flesh of his shoulder, only inches from its intended target, which had been his heart. He had even less time to react, but somehow he did.

Striking out with the swiftness of a serpent, Legolas buried his own blade deep in his assailant's midsection, kicking the beast back.

The orc fell away with a cry, ripping his blade free of the prince's shoulder as he did.

Legolas couldn't stifle his own cry of pain as the curved, serrated blade did further damage on its way out, leaving a fast-growing crimson stain spreading across the front of his forest green tunic. He was not allowed time to deal with the pain or the injury.

Grimly, the prince ducked and struck, leaping away from another assailant, but his strength was running short. It was incredibly painful to move his left arm and the orcs, spurred on by the scent and sight of blood, redoubled their attack.

A heavy orc body slammed into him and Legolas flipped the creature over his back, but his injured shoulder screamed in pain, slowing his movements. The fallen orc grabbed the elf's ankle, wrenching his feet out from under him. Legolas fell and landed heavily upon his left side, making his head spin dizzily. Before he could rise the orcs were on him. One kicked him in the back, another in the chest and shoulder as Legolas tried desperately to roll away from the jabbing, slicing blows of their scimitars.

Legolas stabbed one of the creatures in the leg and the orc howled, hopping away. Just as swiftly, another of the beasts kicked the prince's knife out of his hand, ruthlessly stamping on Legolas' wrist and hand, forcing him to drop it.

The press of the orcs was suffocating and Legolas was slowed by pain and blood loss.

Nearby, Legolas heard Maraen scream. His heart wrenched and he struggled harder against the orcs that were attempting to keep him down, but there were just too many of them and flat on the ground like this he had no room to manoeuvre.

A heavy boot landed on the elf's chest, pinning him to the ground and crushing the air out of his lungs. Dark spots danced before Legolas' eyes as he felt the harsh steel of an orcish blade bite the flesh under his chin, pressing down on his neck. Overhead a loud, blood-curdling shriek filled the air, but Legolas had no time to wonder what it was, indeed, he barely had time for the realization that he was about to die... before the orcs were suddenly stopping... looking up. In his confused and slightly oxygen-starved state, Legolas couldn't figure out what was going on.

Whatever the reason, the orcs did not bring their blades down for the deathblow, and Legolas could have sworn that they looked almost frightened. That was not too much of a wonder actually for at the same moment a dark shadow fell across his own heart and he shivered as if an impenetrable cloud had crossed the sun, turning its rays to frost.

From his position he could see little, but something did indeed sweep across the sun for a moment, like a great bird coming in for a landing. Legolas heard a thump as if something had landed close by and the orcs holding him drew back a little in fear. It was then that Legolas had the first clear look at the approaching evil that would haunt his nightmares for many years to come.

A great, evil looking black beast stood about two stone throws away, folding up it's great, bat-like wings in evidence of the fact that it was what had just landed. But it was what was sitting atop the beast that was turning every heart in the clearing cold.

Robed all in black with only the tips of his cruelly pointed boots and sharply jointed gloves showing, a figure dismounted from the creature and walked towards them. It was the first time, although not the last, that Legolas beheld something he had only ever heard of before in tales... a Nazgûl. One of the Nine most dreaded servants of the Dark Lord Sauron. Ring Wraith. Witch King. Master of nightmares and lord of all that was dreadful and twisted.

The Nazgûl spoke a command in the black speech that Legolas did not understand, nor did he wish to for the very sound of the black words hurt his ears.

Immediately the orcs pinning him down took him by the arms and dragged Legolas to his feet, holding him roughly between them and intentionally twisting his injured left shoulder, causing their prisoner to wince.

Now Legolas could see that Maraen also stood captive between a set of orcs, clinging to Estelle and trembling.

At a nod from its master, the dark beast the Nazgûl had arrived on lifted up into the air and flew away, giving the captives a wicked glare before it did so, as if it would have liked to be allowed to eat them all. Legolas reflected for a moment how very much he would like to shoot the loathsome creature out of the sky, but that was obviously not possible at the moment... maybe another time. If he lived through this current situation that was.

As the ring wraith approached, Legolas pulled against the orcs that held his arms and was rewarded by a swift blow to the head that made sparks dance before his eyes. His shoulder throbbed unmercifully as he hung forward against the hands that held him.

The Nazgûl's dark gaze swept the area, taking in the frightened, sobbing girl clutching her baby, the bleeding elf warrior with the flashing eyes and the heaps of dead orc bodies that strew the glade. Obviously the girl and the child were not responsible for any of them, which meant that this one elf had taken on and killed more than two dozen orcs in hand-to-hand combat, totally unaided. It was impressive, even for an elf.

The Witch King cared little for the lost orcs in a personal sense, they were easily replaceable. They were tools to use, he felt no responsibility towards them, however, they were tools that had been wasted and resources that were lost because of this elf, and that did not please the wraith at all.

The Nazgûl stepped carelessly over the bodies in his path, his black robes swirling around him like dark mists. Legolas watched his approach with apprehension. The elf felt a dark fear such as he had never before experienced clutch at his heart. The being before him was completely evil, more so than anything he had ever crossed in all his many years on Middle Earth. Indeed, the only way he could have been faced with a greater dread would have been if he were to come face to face with Sauron himself and all his evil malevolency. However, this was quite as close as Legolas cared to come... a lot closer actually.

The wraith paused by Maraen and Estelle, stooping slightly and sniffing them. Maraen turned positively white with fear and the baby shrieked in uncomprehending terror as the young mother clutched at the precious bundle so tightly as to almost risk hurting the child.

Legolas tightened. He was afraid that Maraen was going to pass out, but amazingly she did not. The young girl was sturdier than she looked.

It only took a moment for the Nazgûl to know that neither of these humans was of interest to him. He moved on, stopping in front of Legolas, his empty hood regarding the prince with a blank, dark glare. Legolas did not shrink from the malevolent gaze, but met it with his own. Inside his heart hammered roughly in his chest and he felt icy cold, but his will was strong and he had the strength of the Eldar in his blood, he did not back down.

It felt as if the wraith were looking for something, as if he was searching every fibre of Legolas' being. A call was being issued, but for what purpose the elf prince knew not. In any case, there was no answer and when the dark being was satisfied that the elf did not have what he was seeking he withdrew his will.

The elf warrior was strong, but he did not possess the one thing that the wraith's master coveted above all else. Yet Sauron knew it was stirring. He was calling it to himself and he knew it would try to answer. That was part of the wraith's mission now, searching, looking... somewhere, somewhere out here the One Ring was trying to return to its maker, and he wanted to find it. They had been scouring the banks of the Anduin for years now, but Sauron's eye was beginning to turn its attention to the almost forgotten lands west of the Misty Mountains, yet secrecy was still essential. The time was not yet right for anyone to know that the shadow was once again re-gathering itself in the darkness of Mordor.

The Witch King laughed softly, a low, chilling sound. "You are strong, even for an elf," he hissed, his dark voice both harshly grating and strangely seductive, unsubstantial like mist, yet as piercing as steel. "You would be more of an asset to me alive than dead I think, at least for now..." he turned back to his orcs. "Kill the woman and child. I have no use for them."

Maraen bit her lip in terror as the orcs turned on her, knowing there was no escape.

"No!" Legolas cried urgently. Kicking out suddenly, he caught one of his captors in the shins, pushing them back as he twisted sideways, wrenching his arms free and causing no small amount of pain to his injured shoulder. Ducking one orc he punched his good shoulder into the creature's gut, flipping it over his back and relieving it of its weapon in one fluid move.

Jumping away, the elf prince clutched the orc scimitar easily in one hand as he put himself between Maraen and the creatures that intended to kill her. Dispatching all three of them in under half a minute, Legolas once more found himself battling almost a dozen orcs as the creatures recovered from their initial surprise and rushed to retake the captives.

Legolas retreated quickly, keeping Maraen and Estelle behind him, but he knew he had no more chance of escaping with the two humans than he had before. Alone, yes... but not with the woman and child. Yet if they all had to die, he would die fighting.

The orcs pressed the elf back, until the small trio found itself forced up against the face of the cliff at their backs. There was nowhere to go and no way out. The orcs paused their attack, circling their prey like a pack of wargs preparing for the kill.

The Nazgûl laughed darkly. "Brave, but ultimately futile. You'll never get out of here with them alive. Now on your own I do believe you just might, but you're too noble to leave them behind, aren't you elf? Such a pitiful weakness for one so strong. It's too bad, I would have enjoyed shaping you into something more befitting." He shook his head mockingly.

Legolas still stood protectively in front of Maraen. He was breathing hard and agony was shooting through his shoulder; he was nearly spent, but his gaze was firm. "The only way you'll ever touch me is if you kill me," the prince said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Unless..." Legolas hesitated. He glanced back at Maraen's pale, terrified face. Estelle was too over-wrought to even cry anymore. He had sworn his life to protect them and he meant it. The prince swallowed his own fear and plunged ahead. "Unless you let them go. I offer you this trade dark one, their lives for mine. What are they to you? A girl and a mere babe, they can do you no harm. Let them go free, and I will stay with you, whatever you have in mind. It is the only way you will ever get me alive if you truly want me." Legolas had never made an offer he was more afraid of in his life, but it was the only chance he seemed to have left to try to save Maraen and her baby.

"Legolas, no!" Maraen protested from behind him. She would not see the elf prince make such a sacrifice to save her life.

"Hush Maraen!" Legolas said quietly. "Think of your baby."

The wraith seemed intrigued by the offer. "You are in a very poor position to bargain with me elf, but still... it is an interesting idea. And do you give your word that you will not run if I do as you ask? You will submit to whatsoever I choose of you?"

Legolas took a deep breath. "So long as it harms no one save myself... then yes."

The Nazgûl knew better than to expect unconditional obedience from the elf, but that didn't matter. Once he got his hands on the fair being, that would all change. "Very well then. Lay down your weapon."

Legolas obeyed slowly. Immediately several orcs rushed forward and bound his hands, obviously not trusting the elf very much, but the wraith waved them away from Maraen and Estelle. Striding forward he let his shadow fall upon the young woman, gazing down at her trembling form. A foul wind stirred around him and Maraen felt as if she had suddenly been plunged into a lake of ice as the black breath washed over her. Her knees buckled and she swooned senseless to the ground with her baby still in her limp arms.

"What have you done to her?!" Legolas demanded both angry and afraid.

The wraith walked away from the still forms. "They are not harmed, merely unconscious. When they wake they will not remember you elf, nor me, nor anything that has happened these past two sunrises. Now come... you have promises to keep."

Legolas choked back his fears as the orcs moved out, prodding him along with them. Glancing back over his shoulder to where Maraen lay, the elf prince hoped that no evil would befall them, alone and helpless as they were, and that they would make their way safely to Rivendell, whether they remembered what had happened or not. At least worrying about them kept him from considering the dark possibilities of what exactly the Nazgûl had in store for him, and he was sure that whatever it was would not be pleasant.

The foul troop halted several hours later. Legolas' back was placed against a tree and he was forced to sit at its base while his arms were tied behind him, around its trunk.

Presently the Nazgûl approached him, crouching down in front of the elf. He held a long, dark-bladed, evil-looking knife in his gloved hands. Holding it up where the prince could see it, he twirled it lightly between his fingers.

"Do you know what happens to mortals when their hearts are pierced with a morgul blade?" the Witch King inquired somewhat tauntingly, like a cat with a plaything.

Legolas did, but he said nothing. He wouldn't play the evil one's game.

"They fade. They become as myself, neither living nor dead, bound to the will of the mighty one I serve," the wraith placed the tip of the dagger lightly against Legolas' chest.

"Not so an immortal," Legolas said coldly. "The firstborn do not fade, nor do we serve the dark power, ever."

"No, no, you are right more's the pity," the Nazgûl admitted. "My blade would kill you, but it would not turn you. However... there may be other ways. You will serve me in the end."

Legolas' hard gaze turned even icier. "I will never serve you."

"So you think," the wraith's voice held cruel amusement. He let his knife drift along Legolas' chest until it came to rest against his blood-soaked shoulder. The wraith pushed Legolas' bloody tunic off his shoulder, cutting away the fabric that did not give and revealing the wound. His actions were un-gentle and Legolas flinched slightly in pain.

The elf did not know what the Nazgûl intended, but was taken by surprise when the wraith thrust his blade into the open wound, widening and deepening the injury.

Legolas cried out in surprise and pain as the evil knife cut deeper into his flesh.

The wraith seemed pleased with his work, and presently withdrew his blade.

Fresh red blood ran down Legolas' shoulder and he felt almost dizzy with pain. He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to calm himself. When something pressed against his injury, his eyes popped open again and he found that the wraith was applying some kind of poultice to him, but something about it felt wrong, incredibly wrong. Whatever the Nazgûl was working into his wound was evil and done with evil intent.

Legolas struggled, wincing at the fiery pain blossoming in his shoulder as the wraith forced the dark concoction down into the elf's wound. The poultice burned like fire and bit like steel and the elf had to clench his teeth tightly to keep from making any sound. A cold, icy dizziness swept over Legolas as the wraith's potion worked it's way into his bloodstream, assaulting his mind and making his body scream at the evil intrusion. After a few minutes, Legolas blacked out, his exhausted body unable to handle whatever was being done to it.

The Nazgûl continued to work over the unconscious elf. He had been wanting to test this new evil on someone and the elf was the perfect subject. If he could subdue a strong will such as this, then weaker ones would crumble before him like dust. It was going to take time to bend the elf to his will. Time, and much pain on the elf's part, but he would see it done. Since the forging of the One Ring, no elf had ever walked in the service of the Dark Lord. The wraith intended to change that. He looked down at Legolas' unconscious form with a cruel gaze. "Soon you will serve me elf, whether you desire it or not. Soon."

Aragorn held his bow strung and ready as he crouched in the underbrush. Something approached and he waited patiently for it to enter the clearing that he had covered in his sites.

The young ranger had expected a deer or even a boar, for he and his brothers were on a hunting party after all, but what came into the clearing instead surprised him.

A young woman with auburn hair and a bundle in her arms stumbled into the view through the trees. A few steps closer and Aragorn could see that the bundle was a baby. The young mother's face was drawn and pale. She looked nearly ready to drop.

Aragorn sprung quickly from his hiding place. It was obvious that the girl needed help.

Maraen was not prepared for his sudden appearance and stumbled back with a small cry of fear, bumping into a tree behind her. Clutching her baby tightly she sank wearily to her knees. She had been wandering for a long time now in the wilderness. She didn't even know how long she had been out here because somehow it seemed as if she had lost time somewhere... and her sense of direction had been unclear ever since then, although she attributed the haze to the stress of the birth of her daughter, an event she could only dimly recall. It had been weeks now since Estelle was born and Maraen had woken up in the woods confused, disoriented and completely lost. By this time she had almost given up hope of ever making it out alive.

"Don't hurt us, please," she whispered, pressing her eyes closed and hunching over her baby. She felt ill and a perpetual chill that even the bright sunshine could not drive away clung to her like evening mists.

Aragorn crouched next to her, laying a gentle hand on the young girl's shoulder. He could tell that she was quite a bit younger than he. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help. Who are you? What are you doing way out here?" The baby in her arms could not have been more than a few weeks old at most, yet the area they were in was almost completely unpopulated, where had these two come from and why were they alone in this vast wilderness? The questions concerned Aragorn.

"My name is Maraen. O-orcs destroyed our village, higher up in the mountains. M-My husband and I were trying to get away... but I-I fear they got him too," the woman seemed too emotionally drained and too ill to even cry, but her voice held her anguish. "I-I've been lost out here forever... I don't even know how long..." There was more. She felt like there was more, but she could not remember it if there was.

Aragorn squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. It was amazing that they had survived as long as they had. "Come, you need food, shelter and rest. Rivendell is less than a day's travel from here, let me take you there. You and your child will be safe."

Maraen nodded slowly. "Thank you," she whispered as he helped her to her feet.

Elladan and Elrohir came upon them then and glanced inquiringly between the woman and child and their younger brother.

"Well Estel, this is an unusual catch you've bagged," Elrohir joked with a smile.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "She's ill and in need of shelter and rest. I'm taking her back to Rivendell."

"We will come as well," the twin elves agreed, but Maraen was looking strangely at Aragorn.

"He called you Estel," she said softly. "That means hope... doesn't it?"

Aragorn stopped, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes it does, but how did you know that?" Most humans had a very minimal grasp of elvish.

Maraen glanced down at the sleeping child in her arms and a real smile touched her weary face for a moment. "Her name is Estelle."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful child," Elladan said softly, as he and Elrohir exchanged covertly questioning glances. It was an unusual name for a human to give their child.

Aragorn too was a little surprised to hear the female form of his own elven name. "You know elvish Maraen?"

The woman shook her head blankly. "No. No, someone else told me what it meant..." her brows furrowed as she tried to remember who, but her memories were hazy and slid uncertainly through her fingers when she tried to grasp them. She wavered slightly on her feet, dark spots dancing before her eyes. "I-I can't remember who..." she nearly swooned, but Aragorn caught her. Elladan and Elrohir hurried over to help their brother. Elladan took Maraen from his younger brother, gathering the young girl up in his arms, while Aragorn took the baby from her mother's limp grasp. Elrohir hurried to get their horses.

Elladan shook his head as he shifted the girl's weight in his arms. "She's burning up, we have to get her home as quickly as possible or I fear she will not live."

Elrohir came back with the horses and they mounted up. Elladan kept Maraen's unconscious form with him on his horse while Aragorn held Estelle carefully in one arm, holding his reins in the other. He realized that the child wasn't even swaddled in a proper blanket, but wrapped in a fleece-lined leather vest. It was obviously a man's vest and Aragorn wondered somewhat sadly if it had belonged to the child's father. He knew what it was to lose parents before you were even old enough to remember them. "Don't worry little one," he whispered as they rode hard for home. "We won't let your mother go too, not if we can help it."

Legolas resisted the urge to moan. Even opening his eyelids hurt. For almost three weeks he had done nothing but endure the slow, poisonous torture that the ring wraith had seen fit to put him through. They travelled but little, since in these initial stages Legolas was left too weak to walk very far and the Nazgûl was directing most of his strength and attention at overcoming the elf's will.

Outside, the elf prince refused to give any quarter that he could not help giving. Inside, Legolas was terrified because he felt as if he were losing himself slowly. A shadow was creeping into his thoughts and his mind and although it could not own his spirit because he was not choosing it, it was wearing away at his will and seeking to take control of his body away from him. And it was working.

He realized that in some way the Nazgûl was indeed trying to turn him into a wraith of sorts, and the thought horrified the elf more than any other could have.

Until he had him completely under his control, the Witch King made sure that Legolas was kept bound and under guard at all times. It wasn't so much that he doubted the elf's word that he would stay, but he knew that now that the fair being was aware of what he was trying to do to him, it was very likely that Legolas would prefer to choose death at his own hand rather than life as a servant of Mordor.

Legolas tried not to flinch as his black-robed torturer knelt over him again. He knew what would come, but couldn't help jerking in pain when the foul potion was applied to him yet again. Each time it left him weaker and weaker. The elf did not know how much longer he was going to be able to fight the doom that was coming for him.

When it was over, the prince felt dizzy and ill. He could barely move on his own and each breath was beginning to feel like an unbearable agony.

"Who is your master?" the wraith demanded, fixing Legolas' clouded eyes with a piercing stare. He was not pleased with how long the elf had been resisting him.

Legolas did not answer but turned his head away.

The Nazgûl grabbed the elf's chin between the spiked fingers of his glove and forced the prince to look at him. "Who is your master?!"

"I have... no master," Legolas forced out around the shrieking protest of the darkness that was growing inside him.

The wraith slapped his head to the side. This was not going well. The elf should have been his by now. Rising in cold anger, the Nazgûl summoned the captain of the orcs under his control. "Tell your men that I've decided to let them have a little fun with the prisoner," he said harshly, glancing down at the bound elf. "They can have their sport, but be sure that they do not damage him severely, or permanently. Just teach him a lesson."

"Yes, sir," the orc captain grinned evilly.

Legolas swallowed hard, trying to still his trembling body. He was trapped in hell and there seemed to be no way out. He wondered if anyone would ever know what had happened to him.

"Is she going to be all right?" Aragorn inquired of his adopted father with concern as the elf lord emerged from the guestroom where Maraen had been laid.

Elrond nodded, but his eyes were lost in thought. "She is awake, but incredibly weak. Some of the ladies are still with her. She was severely dehydrated and I doubt she has eaten in a long time, it's amazing her body found anything to give her child at all, but the daughter seems to have fared better than the mother. Her fever comes from not being properly cared for after childbirth, but we have caught it in time and she will be all right. However..." he shook his head slowly. "That is not the sole cause of her illness. I see on her a shadow that I do not understand. She has been touched by an evil far greater than she should have had to cross I fear, but how or why... I know not."

"And the baby?" Aragorn inquired, deeply troubled. This young woman seemed full of mysteries.

"I am on my way to check on the little one now," Elrond said as they walked down the hall together. "Telwen is looking after her and I believe your brothers are down there as well. She is being well cared for I think," he grinned slightly. "It has been a long time since there has been a baby in this house." The elf lord glanced fondly at his youngest son.

Celboril approached them and they paused to hear his message. "Lord Elrond, visitors from Mirkwood are here to see you," the elf reported.

"Oh?" Elrond queried.

Celboril nodded. "Two warriors, one is very short. They are looking for Prince Legolas I believe."

"It must be Raniean and Trelan," Aragorn surmised, remembering Legolas' friends quite well. Trelan was about the only elf he could think of that ever fit the description of being short, although he had enough fire in his blood to more than make-up for his size. Why they would be looking for Legolas immediately concerned the ranger.

Aragorn had actually been planning on going to Mirkwood to seek out Legolas and let the prince know personally that he was well. The elf had not returned yet as he had promised and Aragorn was well enough to travel now. He had intended to leave after the hunt, if they were successful, but it seemed as the though the turn of events had conspired against him.

"Then you can greet them for me my son," Elrond told Aragorn. "I will be there presently, but I wish to see the child first and be sure that she is all right."

Aragorn nodded and followed Celboril away. True to his suspicion, it was Raniean and Trelan who waited for him in the audience hall. They traded warm welcomes and greetings, but the eyes of the two Wood-elves were troubled.

"King Thranduil was concerned," Raniean explained, but Aragorn could see in the elf's eyes that the king was not the only one. "According to the last word we received Legolas is long overdue. We thought to meet him on the road perhaps... but we did not. We were hoping that he had merely extended his visit again without informing us. He did not attend the yèn celebration." The warrior was trying to remain light and hide the true depth of his concern, but Aragorn could see through that. Worry gripped his own heart. There was no reason that they should not have met Legolas on the path, indeed, no reason that the elf prince should not have already made it home.

"Legolas left here almost a month ago specifically to attend the celebration, I thought him safely home by now," deep concern flashed in the ranger's dark eyes. "I was coming to visit in the next few days when we have had some unexpected guests whose arrival changed those plans. I had wanted to tell Legolas myself that I was all right.

By the looks on their faces, Aragorn could tell that that was not what the Prince's friends had wanted to hear.

"Then I fear something grave has befallen him," Raniean said softly. "They were to send out runners after us if he arrived after we had left, none have come and I do not think it likely that we could have missed him on the road. There is only one safe path between Mirkwood and Rivendell."

"Strider, we would speak to Lord Elrond if we could," Trelan requested.

Aragorn nodded, his heart beginning to spin with gnawing fear. "Of course, come, I'll take you to him right away."

They found Elrond still with baby Estelle and his sons. The elf lord held the wee babe cradled in one arm and was speaking to her softly, his ancient face gentle as the little one gazed up at him with huge, innocent eyes. Elrond looked up when Aragorn and the Wood-elves entered and the looks on the threesome's faces instantly told him that something was wrong.

"Father, Legolas never made it back to Mirkwood and Raniean and Trelan did not meet him on the road," Aragorn informed quickly, not waiting for pleasantries.

Elladan and Elrohir stiffened visibly. They had come to like the elf prince quite a bit and they knew how close Estel was to him, the news that he was missing was a hard blow not made any easier by the fact that they had had to practically chase the elf prince out of Rivendell.

"This is indeed grave news," Elrond said seriously.

Telwen re-entered the room at that moment, having left in search of some proper clothing for the baby. Elrond passed Estelle to her and the elf maiden removed the child from the vest she had been wrapped in these many days and slid her into a clean, new blanket. Among other things the little girl would need a bath, but on the whole she seemed to have faired better than her mother and Elrond had only been able to sense the very slightest tinges of shadow around her. It was still enough to be troubling however.

"Ai!" Trelan reacted when he saw the discarded vest, snatching the article up and showing it to Raniean. The warrior's face reflected recognition and confusion. "Where did you get this?" he asked the others in the room.

"The baby was wrapped in it when we found her and her mother wondering around in the woods," Aragorn said, puzzled. "Why?"

"Unless I'm very much mistaken this belongs to Legolas," Raniean explained slowly, turning the article of clothing over in his hands as if searching for something, stopping when he found it. "See, here?" he pointed at a small crest emblazoned into the leather near the waistband. It was easily missed if one didn't know what to look for.

"That circle of leaves is the crest of King Thranduil's house. Only he and his heirs may wear it," Trelan explained, but it was not necessary, almost everyone in the room already knew that. Elrond certainly did, and even if he had not known what the crest meant, Aragorn had seen that particular device worked into most of Legolas' clothing in one way or another and had thought it a design his friend must favour.

"The question then is how did this baby come to be swaddled in an elven vest and given an elven name and yet her mother remembers none of it?" Elrond said after a moment of thought.

"The prince would not willingly abandon anyone he had taken under his care," Raniean shook his head. "If he aided this woman he would not have left her to wander the woods alone as you say you found her. So then what happened?"

"I think these are questions we had better put to Maraen," Elrond said as he rose. He knew he needed to get back to her anyway. He was still greatly concerned about her state of being.

At his father's bidding, Elrohir stayed behind with Telwen and Estelle to keep watch on the child, because as slight as her brush with whatever darkness they were dealing with had been, Elrond did not wish her left alone until something could be done.

Elrond, Aragorn, Raniean, Elladan and Trelan made their way back up to the room in which Maraen lay resting. Only it didn't sound like she was resting when they arrived.

Low, wailing cries assaulted their ears from halfway up the hall and they hurried faster. When they entered the room they found Maraen tossing and turning restlessly on the bed, emitting infrequent, keening cries. The two elf maidens attending her were beside themselves with worry.

"Lord Elrond, thank goodness you've come, I was just about to send for you," one of the ladies rose with deep concern in her eyes as Elrond approached. "She started acting like this about five minutes ago. We can't seem to get through to her."

"It's all right Eliwen, I'll take over from here," Elrond nodded quickly, dismissing them. The elf maidens left and Elrond sat down on the edge of the bed, beside the young girl. The others gathered around the bed, looking at the shaking, moaning girl with worry and alarm.

"It's as I feared," the elf lord said with deep concern, smoothing the girl's hair back from her clammy forehead and trying to still her trembling, convulsing body. "The shadow is devouring her. It is possible that it is also what was affecting her memory."

"You... I-I know you..." Maraen fixed fever-bright eyes upon Raniean, reaching out towards him for a moment before her arm fell limply back to her side. The blonde elf reminded her of someone... another elf... but not the dark-haired elves of Rivendell who had been caring for her. She tossed her head on her pillow with a small moan. "No... no I don't, not you... where is he? He said he wouldn't leave me, he said he wouldn't!" she continued to ramble deliriously, but Aragorn and the elves did not miss the implication of her words.

"Who said Maraen?" Elrond asked gently, squeezing her shoulder in a calming manner and holding her hand. "Who?"

"E-elf..." she murmured, her face creasing with pain as if trying to remember actually hurt her. "Beautiful elf. Saved me... saved me from them... delivered my baby..." her words broke off in a small cry of pain as her body convulsed and she retreated back into the delirium that had her in its grasp.

"Orcs!" she cried in wide-eyed terror, her eyes springing open again. She tried to push herself further back against the headboard of the bed, trembling with fear and illness. Her face was wild and she was obviously not seeing anyone who was truly in the room. "Orcs!" she half-screamed a second time. "Don't let them get my baby, don't let them get my baby!" she was nearly shrieking in hysteria.

Elladan and Aragorn helped Elrond restrain the delirious girl before she could do herself damage, gently trying to push her back onto the bed. Whatever she had been through must have been horrible.

"Shh, shh... It's all right child, it's all right," Elrond soothed reassuringly, reaching out to her with the power of the light that was within him and attempting to dispel the darkness around her, but the shadow was curiously strong. Still, he had a calming effect on her and Maraen's tense body relaxed a little bit as they laid her down again.

"Don't let them get Estelle... Take her Legolas, run!" Maraen murmured in fevered exhaustion, dry sobs shaking her slim shoulders as she relieved the events that were still partially blocked from her full memory.

Everyone in the room stiffened at the mention of Legolas' name. They had already felt almost sure that the prince was the elf Maraen spoke of, but now there was no doubt. Yet what had happened? Where was he now and why had Aragorn found Maraen and the child alone?

"No, no..." Maraen moaned softly, closing her eyes and clutching at her head.

Elrond softly told Elladan the things he needed and the younger elf hurried off to get them. Elrond knew he was going to have to do something for Maraen soon or they would lose her, but he could not let go of her because at the moment he was about the only thing keeping her from disappearing into the shadow of madness and death that wanted to have her.

"No, let him go!" Maraen's eyes sprung open once more. "Let him go!" her eyes roved the room wildly. "They took him," she moaned. "They took him. It's my fault. They took him. No, no, no, no, no..."

Aragorn felt a cold sick feeling settle in his stomach. The glance he exchanged with Raniean and Trelan told him they were feeling the same thing. If Legolas had been taken by orcs... Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, repressing evil memories with a shudder. He knew first hand what that was like. Yet how could he have been taken and Maraen escape? It didn't make sense.

Elladan re-entered the room with the things Elrond had requested.

Without warning the girl's body shuddered and went still. Elrond rose quickly. "She is not dead," he answered the unspoken question. "But she soon will be if the shadow upon her is not lifted. I need everyone to leave so I can work."

They all obeyed immediately, but Elrond caught his youngest son's arm. "Not you Estel, I want you to stay here with me."

"Yes, father," Aragorn nodded quickly. He was glad to be able to help, but pained because he wanted to begin searching for his missing friend immediately.

"Patience my son, all things in their time," Elrond accurately read the young ranger's heart. "Right now we must be swift if Maraen is to have any hope. Heat the water," the elf lord instructed as he unrolled a cluster of herb leaves. Aragorn recognized the plant as athelas, or kingsfoil in the common tongue.

"Estel I want you to pay attention to what I am going to show you," Elrond said as he worked. "This girl has been touched by a morgul darkness. I know not how, but it is an evil that comes from Mordor in whatever form she encountered it. The shadow must be driven away and she must be called back to the light before it is too late."

Aragorn nodded gravely, even if he did not completely understand what his father had just told him. He watched as Elrond took the athelas leaves in his hand and breathed across them. Crushing them and releasing their sweet, fragrant odour into the room, he threw them into the water. Aragorn had seen his brothers do something similar for his father when Elrond had been injured in an earthquake some time ago, for the wholesome herbs cleaned the air and seemed to aid the healing of mind, body and spirit, but what Elrond did next was wholly new to Aragorn.

Bending over Maraen, Elrond took her hand again in both of his. "Maraen, Maraen..." he called softly. A call so compelling that Aragorn did not think any who heard could resist answering. "Leave the shadow behind child. Be free. Wander no more down the dark paths of forgetfulness and death, return to the light. Return to your daughter whole."

Maraen stirred slightly and a faint smile brushed her lips as some of the lines began to ease from her young face.

Elrond stepped back, satisfied. Squeezing her hand one more time he laid it back by her side. "Rest then young one, regain your strength."

Aragorn watched with wonder. It was as if he could physically see the change come over her; see the darkness fleeing away as Maraen returned to herself.

Elrond laid his hand upon his son's shoulder. "There are not many now who can dispel the morgul darkness when it falls upon someone Estel. Your brothers and I are some of the last. But the reason I show you this is because you alone among the world of men have the ability do as I have just done, and someday my son, you may need it."

Aragorn regarded Elrond seriously. "I don't know that I could ever do that..." he whispered softly, looking at Maraen's still form, so changed from what it had been just moments before.

Elrond shook his head. "Do not underestimate yourself. The power of the kings that runs in your blood is stronger than you know, son of Arathorn."

Legolas wasn't sure when his eyes were open and when they were closed. Darkness seemed to be all around him now, his very being ached with it. He had tried to cling to his memories, but slowly the shadow had grown up and devoured them all. He couldn't remember anything past the pain. He could recall no time when he had not lived in this murky twilight world. He didn't feel like he belonged there, but he must because there was nothing else.

A voice called out to him. A voice he could no longer refuse. Indeed, he couldn't remember why he had been refusing it. Something in him resisted, wanted to fight... but he didn't know why, and the call was too strong.

"Who is your master?" the ring wraith hissed at the helpless elf, looking deep into the prince's pain-glazed eyes.

Legolas blinked slowly, and when his gaze came to rest on the robed figure above him it was as dark and empty as the blackness that hung behind the shadow of the Nazgûl's dark hood. "You are," the elf's voice was toneless and as dead as his eyes.

The wraith hissed in pleasure. Finally. Finally it was beginning to work. "And whom do you serve?" he pressed.

"The Dark Lord of Mordor," came the response. Yet even as he said it something twisted inside of Legolas. The words were what was expected, what he felt he was supposed to say... but something somewhere felt terribly wrong.

The wraith was pleased; he stroked the elf's pale cheek lightly. "Good... good," he purred softly. Cutting Legolas loose from his bonds, he let the elf sit up on his own for the first time in weeks.

Legolas rubbed his raw wrists absently. They hurt, but pain was beginning to take on a new meaning to him. It seemed that it was part of life and it almost didn't matter. Every moment seemed painful because of the darkness that had wrapped itself around him, but he did not know of any other way to be, so he could not think it an unusual thing.

"Get him something to eat and drink," the Witch King instructed one of the orcs. That was another thing that Legolas had had precious little of this whole time.

The wraith placed his hands on the elf's shoulders and Legolas repressed a cold shudder, but did not pull away.

"It's time to start building your strength up again. The more I find I can trust you, the more freedom I will give you. Please me elf, and you will be rewarded. Provoke me and I will make your life miserable... do you understand?"

Legolas nodded slowly, his empty eyes focusing on nothing. "Yes."

The ring wraith's hand tightened on his shoulder slightly his voice quietly seductive and threatening at the same time. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, master," the elf murmured.

Aragorn lay awake in bed. He couldn't sleep. With a deep sigh, he turned over and gazed unseeingly out the huge picture window opposite his bed. The light curtains had been left open and they blew gently in the soft night breeze. But even the quiet sounds of the valley couldn't calm him this night. He closed his eyes in frustration and forced himself up in bed, pushing the sheets away from his upper body. He could take it no longer; he couldn't just stay here while Legolas was out there somewhere captive to orcs.

And what if he's already dead?

The little voice inside his head wouldn't quit asking questions, awful, horrid questions that brought up deep, painful memories. No matter what he did, he couldn't silence them. He still remembered the way the orcs smelled, they way the whip bit into his skin, the way he wished they would just kill him and end the cruel pain... and Maraen had said that the orcs had taken Legolas. He kept hearing her repeated phrase, "They took him. They took him."

Quietly, the ranger collected his things and quickly dressed. The conversation he had had with his father earlier reverberated in his mind, rebuking him. He wished the last time they had spoken had not ended in an argument, but there was nothing he could do about that now. His heart was already too heavy. Shrugging into his overcoat he stole silently out into the hall.

Growing up in Rivendell he had learned early on as a youngster exactly where and where not to step on the wooden floors to keep his exit from being noticed and he expertly crept across the threshold, soundlessly making a quick stop in the small room where his father kept the medicines and poultices. Grabbing a pouch of the leafy athelas that Elrond had instructed him in the usage of earlier that day, he stuffed the potent medicine in his knapsack and stole back out.

Pressing his hands firmly against the front doors Aragorn slowly pushed them open just enough so he could squeeze out between them, carefully shutting them from the outside.

For a moment he considered fetching a horse from the yards but the sound of the animal's hooves would surely wake the household and he wanted a decent head start before they came looking for him.

Aragorn glanced back up to the open windows of Rivendell, easily finding the one that shuttered his father's room. Their last conversation came to mind again unbidden -

"I am going to find him." Aragorn turned and resolutely headed for the door after he and Elrond had left Maraen's room.

Elrond placed a firm hand on the young ranger's shoulder stopping him, "Let us wait until Maraen awakens. Perhaps it will be that she can tell us more of what happened to Legolas. Do not be so quick my son to rush into danger, we do not know who her attacker was."

"We know it was orcs father, what more needs knowing?" Aragorn looked around them in frustration, "I can't just leave him there!"

"And I did not suggest that you should. In the morning we will be able to question Maraen. Then you and your brothers, with the Prince's friends can go out well prepared," He held up his hand to forestall the argument that his son was trying to interrupt with, "Prepared for what you will face. It may not simply be orcs. It sounded as though there was something else. Besides Estel," Elrond took the boy's chin in his hand and redirected the silver eyes that had sought the floor, "no orc could cast such a darkness over a soul as to pull them into the shadow realm. I fear there is much more to her story than we have heard."

His father's eyes had held an unknown fear to them even as he spoke the words but the shadow passed quickly and he smiled gently down at the human who stood next to him.

Anger and helplessness radiated from Aragorn, "He is my friend." The words were soft and driven and he shook his head, breaking eye contact with the elven lord. "I cannot just wait. You cannot ask me to. You don't know what they do to elves..." Even as the words left his lips he regretted them and he glanced quickly at his adoptive father, hoping that somehow the elf had not heard him.

But the pain was there, showing that the elf had, and Elrond simply nodded, "Yes my son. I do." How could he ever forget the sight of his wife when his sons had brought her home...? The elf turned his gaze back to Maraen's room, "Please Estel, be patient, wait."

"I'm sorry father I didn't mean to..."

Elrond shook his head, "I know. Don't worry my son, you are simply upset over Legolas, that I understand also." He draped his arm around the boy's shoulders pulling him close and walked with him down the hall. "Let us go see to Estelle before Celboril calls us for dinner."

With a heavy heart Aragorn had followed. He knew he would never be able to obey his father, but he would try.

"Forgive me father. I will return with Legolas, I promise you that." He whispered quietly into the night, standing for a few moments longer to stare at his father's room before turning and running swiftly up the path from Rivendell and heading out towards the place where he had found Maraen.

He had in mind to track back from where he had discovered her. In the shape she was in, even though she had been in the woods several weeks, she couldn't have gone far. He had a hunch he would be able to pick up Legolas' tracks if he could just find the last place she had been with the elf.

Using the light of the stars and the full moon he had nearly gained the meadow where he had found Maraen by the time the sun was blushing the skies a soft shade of pink.

"Father!" Elrohir ran into the dining hall, interrupting the morning meal. He had been sent to fetch his younger brother to join them. "He is not there!"

Elrond simply stared at the young elf. He had known, known in his heart that his youngest son was going to go out after Legolas on his own and now he chided himself for not being more aware last night.

"You do not think he has gone after Legolas on his own do you?" Elladan cast a worried glance at his father already knowing the answer that he feared.

Trelan and Raniean had stopped eating. Trelan's fork clattered to his plate as he listened to the conversation. "We must go after him."

Elrond raised his hands and stood to his feet, "No one is going anywhere." He sighed deeply and returned Elladan's worried gaze, "Estel has an eight hour lead on you at least. If he has tracked back to where he originally found Maraen then he will already have left that area. Let us eat, and when we are done I will question the girl more on Legolas' captors." The younger elves began to protest but Elrond's tone turned firm, "Listen to me. Whatever put that girl and her child under such a dark spell was not an orc. No orc can bind another to Mordor in such a way. You need to know what you are up against, just like I warned your brother." The elder elf turned away from the group seated before him, "That young one, will be the death of me."

"He needs to learn to listen a little better." Elladan muttered darkly, "I think I'll beat it into him when I get him back."

"If we get him back." Elrohir spoke softly.

"Don't." Raniean stopped the self-berating, fearful talk, "Strider is a smart ranger, I saw that when he was in Mirkwood on more than one occasion. As strange as it sounds, I believe that he's got a better chance of finding Legolas than anyone other than maybe Trelan and I. And we will be out searching for the both of them."

Elrond turned back to the table and eyed the warrior.

"Eat." Trelan spoke around a mouthful of fruit, "You'll need your strength. Raneian is correct." The small elf raised his eyebrows at the twins, trying to encourage them. "You think you have it bad, imagine having to tell Lord Thranduil his son is missing." The warrior rolled his eyes and smiled at Elrond.

"He'll have our heads." Raniean continued the thought for his friend.

Elrohir snickered softly from his side of the table and leaned forward, "It's really not so bad, we get it all the time here. Estel is forever getting us into trouble."

"Estel is?" Elrond re-seated himself and smiled at the twin, "Funny I was under the impression that it was the two of you who were always getting him into trouble. Or at least that's what he says."

"Just another thing to beat him for when I get a hold of him." Elladan's mood had not improved, his worry getting the best of him.

"Uhm...father, perhaps you can keep Elladan here with you. He might not be very helpful and I'd hate to drag Estel home half dead again because he got to him before you do." Elrohir leaned towards his father trying to evade his brother's reach.

"You have a point my son."

"Father!" Elladan stared at the elf lord wide-eyed.

"Eat, all of you." Elrond smiled and swept his hands over the table indicating the still untouched food, "You all will be going so that I may have some peace and quiet in this house – for a bit anyway."

The laughter about the table broke the dark mood that had fallen, but the father's heart was still tight with worry as he thought on the safety of his human son.

Aragorn knelt in the still moist grass. The dew hadn't quite dried on the green blades as his keen eyes searched the small glade. This was where he had originally found Maraen. He needed to know where she had come from before that morning. Carefully he paced the exterior of the glen, his vigilance finally rewarded as he approached the south side; the branches of a tender sapling growing on the edge of the meadow were broken, the sap from its damaged outgrowth had caught a stray hair from the one who had passed this way and it was auburn, definitely Maraen's.

Easily the ranger spied the outline of her booted foot in the dirt beneath the trees and began to follow the weaving trail off towards the west – deeper into the forest.

The Nazgûl couldn't have been more pleased than if he had found Sauron's desire himself. It was long since anything they could do had been able to effect any of the firstborn, and if this were indeed successful then his master would be very pleased with him. He watched the elf prince quietly from where he stood. It was time to test his latest servant and see just how far the elf would obey him.

"Elf," The wraiths voice hissed soothingly, "Come here."

Legolas placed his food on the forest floor and rose gracefully in one swift motion, moving to stand before the dark lord. The silver-blue eyes were dead of emotion as they locked on the faceless darkness beneath the wraiths hooded countenance.

"Do you see that orc on the far side of the fire, the one with the axe?"

Legolas turned and looked in the direction indicated before slowly gazing back at his new master, "Yes, my lord."

"Kill it." The nazgul folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Turning, Legolas watched the orc who stood in shock, surprised by his master's command but at the prodding of his companions he gleefully took up the challenge. The elf was unarmed and the orc had a debt to settle with this one anyway. Killing the fair being could actually be fun.

Inside Legolas baulked. As much as he hated orcs, there was no reason to kill this one. It was just something the dark lord desired for his own pleasure and he had no want to please the wraith. But the part of Legolas that baulked, that was still himself, was weak and small. It was as if his very control over his own body and his consciousness had been pressed back into a small prison locked inside his mind and there was no way out. He could see, he could hear, he spoke, but the words were not his own – he in essence did not exist as the free being he once was. He was truly owned by Mordor's minion and the thought horrified him.

The elf moved towards the orc, unfazed by the jeers and taunts of the creature's peers. He had not been given a weapon to dispose of the being but it did not seem to matter as he coldly stalked the orc, circling the dark creature, moving just outside the arc of its swinging blade. Easily he spun and ducked every jab and swing the orc threw at him, slowly wearing down his opponent.

He waited until the orc had raised the axe blade once more and charged the foul creature. Every bit of Legolas' memories, strengths and combat skills had been commandeered by the evil poisons in his system. His body reacted to his master's command as he slammed the orc backwards off balance forcing the creature to stumble over the stones of the fire ring and fall into the pit. As the orc tumbled backwards into the fire the elf wrenched the axe from the creatures hand and threw it into the beast's chest before he had a chance to even stop falling.

Legolas screamed inside his own head but no one paid him any attention, no one listened, no one cared and he was forced to watch in muted silence as he walked back to the nazgul and kneeled. His voice even and dead as he spoke, "As you commanded, my lord."

The orcs in the camp had grown silent at the defeat of their comrade. Their tiny eyes latched onto the dark lord for an explanation.

The Nazgûl's high pitched laughter rent the air causing, icy fear to shoot through Legolas' soul but his body did not flinch. "Well done my servant. Yes, well done." He turned his hooded gaze on his orc minions, "Let that be a lesson to you. The elf will come to no harm unless I say so. Understood?"

The orcs stood dumbfounded.

"Is that understood?" The wraith asked again, his very presence seeming to darken and grow and the lethalness in his voice was chilling to bear.

Legolas cringed inwardly. If only he could die. He almost did not care what happened to his shell of a body. He begged Iluvitar to free his soul.

Aragorn had found the rocky shelf that Legolas had made his last stand in front of. The ranger inspected the ground about the edges of the tiny plateau that butted up against the cliff, noting the trampled down plant life and the very obvious prints that were uniquely orc. But the set of boot prints he was crouched over now confused him. Whoever had occupied this spot had stood in one place and watched the entire proceedings of what had happened. The edges of the imprints were deeper than those of the orcs and the boots were oddly shaped, seeming to be of plates of metal riveted to one another. Whoever had accompanied the orcs was also apparently their leader for his prints had overlapped those of the orcs as they came into the glade and they had been the last to take their leave when the company had left with Legolas heading out in the opposite direction.

A slight chill made the ranger shudder and he glanced around him to see if the trees stirred from a breeze but the glade was still, deathly still and the feelings of lingering darkness caused thrills of fear to skitter up his spine. Something had definitely gone wrong and his friend had been in the middle of it. His father had been right, something far more evil was afoot here than mere orcs.

It didn't take him long to pick up their trail and track the orcs back. Their path was muddied and even after all these weeks the grass had not grown back over their footprints as though the very forest itself detested their presence.

Aragorn couldn't remember ever seeing orcs this far north and he trailed them all afternoon, nearing their camp by sunset.

The forest grew deathly quiet around him and he frowned as his keen hearing picked up the sounds of many feet heading his way. Quickly, the ranger concealed himself in the brush on the side of the path and waited.

Several orcs stalked by his position; obviously it was a hunting party. But what caught his attention was the elf that walked unbound in their midst, seemingly at ease with the foul creatures. He was relieved that Legolas was in fact able to walk and still alive, but puzzled at the same time. What had they done to the prince? He needed to free his friend and quickly.

Waiting until the hunters had passed him by, the ranger attacked them from behind; the element of surprise was on his side as he cut down the two creatures bringing up the rear.

The commotion Aragorn's attack had caused halted the hunting party and they turned in confusion towards the human.

Legolas stopped and looked over his shoulder. In his mind he almost cried for joy as his tortured consciousness caught a glimpse of the human, but his body simply stood and watched the melee as his friend slew orc after orc. The elf was so relieved that the ranger had survived being drug over the falls that if he had been able to he would have cried. He had never thought to see Strider again and now he was forced to watch as orcs attacked the human relentlessly. Unable to help, Legolas beat against the prison of his mind until his agony had nearly numbed him senseless.

"Slave." The Nazgûl's dark call drifted to the elf caught on the winds by his sharp ears. The wraith had heard the disturbance and was coming with more orcs, "Return to me."

The elf prince turned casually and walked away from the man who was fighting for him, calling his name repeatedly.

Aragorn was completely surprised. He watched as Legolas walked away under the darkness of the trees - confusion sweeping through him. But he had little time to ponder what was wrong as another orc stepped near him, attempting to cleave through him with a wicked looking scimitar. The ranger caught the scimitar on his blade and spun beneath the locked weapons, sliding his sword along the length of the blade and driving a sweeping lethal blow to his opponent's side. The orc dropped dead to the forest floor.

Under the cover of the trees in the fading afternoon light the wraith watched the human as he fought with the orcs. The man's display of lethal combat was almost as stunning as the elf's had been but not nearly as graceful. Legolas approached his liege and inclined his head.

"Bring me that human, he interests me. I will return to camp and await you there."

Legolas nodded and walked back towards the small open area where he had left the orcs fighting the human, another contingent of orcs at his heels.

As the elf stepped into the glen the ranger felled the last of the creatures that had rushed him. The entire hunting party lay dead at his feet, their bodies decorating the small meadow. The ranger was breathing heavily and his eyes widened as he saw the elf walking towards him.

"Legolas! Thank Iluvitar you are all right." Aragorn had not noticed the dead, glazed look his friend laid on him as he moved closer to the elf, nor had he glimpsed the orcs that trailed the prince. "Quickly, before more come." Aragorn spoke breathlessly as he turned to lead his friend away. "What happened to you? When I saw you with all those orcs..."

His question was cut off as Legolas grabbed his wrist, stopping his retreat. Confused, Aragorn turned back and glanced around them, "What? What is it Legolas?"

The orcs encircled the two friends, trapping them in the small area. Even though he was winded, the ranger had no doubt that he and Legolas could take them on and escape unharmed, but when he glanced up into the eyes of his friend his heart stopped and his mouth dropped open in silent question.

Legolas' bright blue eyes were dead, dead and glazed. This was not his friend that he had known. It was Legolas' body, but there was no recognition in the glassy stare.

"Legolas?" The elf didn't seem to hear Aragorn as he pulled the ranger with him toward the far side of the grassy meadow, his fingers tightening on the humans'.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" Aragorn gazed worriedly between his friend's blank eyes and the elf's iron grip on his wrist - dread clawing at his heart. "What's wrong?"

"My Lord wants to see you, you must come with us," Legolas said tonelessly, his grip tightening even harder on the young ranger's arm. The orcs moved in closer.

Apprehension and wariness blossomed into near panic in Aragorn's chest at the icy deadness he saw clouding his friend's countenance. "I did not know that the Prince of Mirkwood answered to anyone save his father and I have not heard that he was near," a hard edge crept into the young man's tone.

"When a Nazgûl calls, you do not keep him waiting," the iron bite in Legolas' voice was chilling. At that moment, the young ranger barely recognized his friend and fear flooded through him.

Aragorn tried to wrench his arm away in horror, but Legolas held on tightly, spinning him around and twisting it painfully behind the ranger's back, refusing to set the younger being free.

"Since when do you serve the shadow of Mordor Legolas?!" Aragorn spat darkly, somewhere between uncomprehending anger and breathtaking betrayal.

There was no answer, but the elf started to bind the human's hands behind him. Reacting quickly, Aragorn bent sharply forward, ignoring the pain that shot through his twisted arm and rolled Legolas over his back, wrenching free.

In an instant, the orcs were on him. Drawing his sword, Aragorn crossed blades with them, whirling as he fought and dispatching two of them. Then suddenly he was face-to-face with Legolas. For a few split seconds, he had a clear path and could have taken the elf down with a stroke. With any other foe, Aragorn would not have hesitated, but this was not a foe, this was his friend... or at least so he had thought to this point.

The Dùnadan did not strike, he could not, but that moment of hesitation cost him the battle. Legolas did not pause, but yanked the sword out of the ranger's grip and struck out with an open palm. His blow caught Aragorn's chin and mouth, knocking the young man to the ground. In an instant, the remaining orcs were on Aragorn. They bound him securely and dragged him back to his feet, but Aragorn's eyes never left Legolas.

"What's happened to you Legolas?!" Aragorn demanded, caught between anguish and anger. "What have they done to you?" He refused to believe that his friend would ever willingly betray him like this, yet the empty look in the elf prince's eyes scared him.

Legolas did not answer, but turned away. "You must come. He is waiting."

"I'll be damned if I will!" Aragorn exploded, struggling like a wildcat against the orcs that held him. He had never met one of the legendary nine ring-wraiths before and he had no desire to do so now, especially not if they wanted to do to him whatever they had done to his friend.

Legolas stalked back to where the orcs were trying to subdue their prisoner.

"I don't know what they did to you Legolas, but you've got to snap out of it! This isn't you!" Aragorn pleaded desperately with his friend. "I know who you are, you are not this darkness! You are Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, not the thrall of some dark lord, not the servant of the Nazgûl! Come back to yourself!"

For an instant something flickered across Legolas' eyes, something akin to pain, anguish... but the deadness quickly took its place once again and before Aragorn knew what had happened Legolas lashed out sharply, striking the young ranger so hard that the world swirled black before the Dùnadan's eyes and he fell back in the arms of the orcs that held him, unconscious.

I'm not afraid of tomorrow,
I'm only scared of myself,
feels like my insides are on fire,

and I'm looking through the eyes of someone else...

("Tomorrow" - SR-71)

Aragorn woke to find that dusk was fading and he was being carried over someone's shoulder. Were it not for the pain in his head and the fiery numbness of his bound hands he would have thought what had happened back there in the clearing was all an incredibly bad dream, but he knew it wasn't.

Presently he was dropped to the ground and left there. They still thought him unconscious, so Aragorn lay unmoving, not anxious to let them know otherwise, and still unsure of what exactly they wanted with him. Darkness had fallen not long ago and the orcs who had captured him moved about their camp, for that was obviously where he had been taken. From under partially lidded eyes, the young ranger watched them, but his gaze was more or less centered on the tall, slender figure who stood out in sharp contrast to the hideousness of the orcs around him.

Legolas moved like one in a trance, doing what he was told, but initiating very little action on his own.

Aragorn still ached where his friend had hit him and he longed to know what was going on. What had these people done to the prince to change him so much? To make him totally forget who and what he was? And more importantly, what could he do to get back the Legolas that he knew and whose friendship he treasured?

The young ranger remembered the absolutely dead look in the elf's eyes when he struck him down and resisted a shudder. What if there was no way to bring him back? Aragorn clenched his jaw. No. He refused to think of that. He refused to let that be an option.

The young human realized that something was going on and risked opening his eyes a smidgen further to see what it was. Several of the orcs had taken Legolas' arms and were leading him somewhere. The Nazgûl stood nearby, watching calmly with folded arms. Aragorn knew what he was without being told. There was no mistaking the aura of sheer horror and evil that the Witch King carried with him like a mantel of darkness.

Legolas did not fight them, but there was a stiffness in his movements that suggested he would have liked to resist if he could.

The orcs guided the prince to lie on his back on the ground and to Aragorn's surprise they bound his wrists and ankles, staking the elf down firmly until he could not move on his own.

His tunic was pushed off his left shoulder and a bandage that Aragorn had not realized was there was removed to reveal a healing wound. Exactly how old it was was hard to tell because elven bodies healed more swiftly than those of men.

As Aragorn watched, the Nazgûl knelt over Legolas and the night seemed to darken around them like a cloud. The elf prince's body trembled slightly and Aragorn felt his ire rising swiftly. He didn't know what they were doing to his friend, but whatever it was, it was evil.

The Witch King roughly re-opened the wound as he had every night since Legolas had come under his power. The elf stiffened and choked back a cry at the pain as a new trickle of red blood welled up from the injury. He twisted weakly in his bonds, gritting his teeth against the agony of the Nazgûl's un-gentle ministrations, for the flesh around the wound had become highly inflamed and incredibly tender from the repeated treatments.

Calmly, the wraith pressed something into the wound. Aragorn could not see what it was, but from the way Legolas' body reacted it must have been evil indeed.

The elf's body spasmed and jerked, trying to pull away, but was not allowed to do so. He moaned softly in pain as the wraith rubbed whatever dark herb or poultice his evil had devised into the wound, strengthening his hold over the elf, renewing his control. The struggle to hold Legolas was far more intense than it would have been for a mere mortal. A human would have completely succumbed to the wraith's power a long time ago, but elves were strong and their spirits hard to harness, so this was still necessary if the Nazgûl wished to retain his control over the prince.

"You are mine..." the evil being whispered softly over the elf. "You hear only my voice, you think only my thoughts, you feel only the black breath of Mordor in your body... you are mine."

Legolas thrashed weakly, but could not fight for long. Numbness followed the pain and spread slowly through his being, perhaps even more frightening than the pain had been. When the elf stopped fighting him, the Witch King knew that the foul medicine had done its job. Wrapping Legolas' shoulder up once more he moved away, leaving the elf lying as still as death in his bonds.

Aragorn's heart burned. If he had thought it would do any good he would have liked to jump to his feet, bound or no, and aid his friend. But now was the time for cool heads, not impulsiveness and he knew better than to act before he could hope that it would do more than bring down more trouble on both their heads.

At least he was able to glean some small amount of comfort from the horrible thing he had just witnessed. Aragorn glanced sadly at Legolas' still form as several of the orcs knelt to cut the elf free. Whatever they were doing to him, Legolas was still resisting, it must not be permanent yet, or there would be no need for what he had just witnessed. However, Aragorn feared that something was going to have to happen soon, or it would be too late, perhaps for both of them.

Sleep eluded the ranger throughout the remainder of the night. He had kept a close watch on Legolas. The elf had lain on the forest floor without moving for the better part of the night. As the sun barely brushed the tops of the canopy of trees Legolas had stirred, his eyes seeking out the dark lord.

Aragorn had no idea where the wraith had secluded itself during the nocturnal hours. He was alerted to the evil beings approach by Legolas' intense gaze. The elf's eyes followed the dark creature as it paced slowly through the camp towards the ranger.

Aragorn lay very still, hoping the Nazgûl would think him still unconscious, but his bluff was called. The wraith sniffed the air above the man and laughed softly.

"You are awake. Good." He turned his back on the ranger and motioned to the orcs near the campfire. The foul creatures made their way quickly to the wraith's side, awaiting his commands. Across the camp, Legolas watched with apparent disinterest, but inside the fear for his friend drove the captive elf into a frenzy.

The ring wraith approached the bound human once more, eyeing him curiously as two orcs jerked him roughly to his knees. They were motioned away by a flick of their master's hand.

There was something about the man that was different, the wraith knew it, felt it, sensed it. Could he be the one who carried the ring, the one long thought lost? The wraith raised his hand palm outward towards Aragorn and concentrated. Waves of darkness swept around the ranger, numbing his thoughts, stealing his consciousness. Bands of evil like steel bonds wrapped invisibly about his chest seeming to search his being for something, something he knew not of. He began to pant as the pressure and pain increased and he couldn't fight off the terrible darkness that swirled out of control around him. Somewhere inside him, he felt a spark of resistance welling up, ready to fight, ready to match the evil one's will with his own, but at the same moment something inside told him to wait, told him now was not the time... he didn't understand. Unable to endure the wraith's painful searching any longer he cried out under the onslaught and collapsed to the forest floor.

Satisfied that the human did not carry his liege's ring, or anything else he sought, the Witch King took a different tactic with the man. With a long slender finger he pointed at one of the orcs. The foul creature stepped forward and bowed slightly.

"Yes my lord."

"I may have need of your services. Get the human up." The wraith instructed calmly.

The orc pulled the man back up to his knees with one hand. With the other he shook out a cruel looking whip, allowing the leather strips to fall in front of the ranger's face as the kinks were worked out of them.

"Who are you?" the Nazgûl demanded, the hood of his dark, seemingly empty robes glaring straight at the young human.

Aragorn's jaw tightened but he did not flinch under the wraith's gaze. "Strider, Ranger of the North."

The Witch King hissed shrilly and the orc standing behind Aragorn brought the lash in his hand down sharply across the young man's shoulders. The many-tongued instrument raked fire across the Dùnadan's skin and Aragorn couldn't help jerking slightly.

"Who are you?" the question was repeated, the dark, empty voice holding a tone somewhere between perilous impatience and deadliness.

The young ranger schooled his features to blankness. "Strider, Ranger of the North," he repeated tonelessly, knowing what kind of response he would get for that.

Predictably, his words earned him another burning cut with the lash. Aragorn gasped slightly through his teeth and rocked forward a little, but gave no other sign. He knew that it was not for naught that his true identity had been hidden from even himself for the first twenty years of his life. Elrond had fully impressed upon him the seriousness of his situation, and the importance that the enemy never find out his true heritage, not yet. Not until the time was right. Aragorn was unsure that time would ever come, or if indeed he wanted it to, but for now, it was enough for him to know that a truthful answer to the Witch King's question would bring about a fate a hundred times worse than death.

The Nazgûl lord looked down at the kneeling human with a wary gaze. Perhaps he was just another man, although being a ranger was cause enough for the wraith to plan a gruesome demise for him... yet... there was something about this one. Something that smacked of Nùmenor, something that smelled too much like elves and a power behind the dark, determined eyes that the Witch King doubted the young man himself even understood yet. It was... curious.

"Tell me the truth Dùnadan, or you'll wish you were never spawned," the wraith threatened darkly, moving forward until his shadow fell over the helpless human.

Aragorn felt an involuntary shudder run up his spine. The mere presence of the Nazgûl was terror, and far harder to endure than any torture the wraith could devise.

Aragorn jerked when the whip struck him again, and a second and third time in rapid secession. The last two strokes drew blood and the Witch King dropped one gloved hand down, running the sharp tips of his fingers along the bleeding welts on his prisoner's back.

Aragorn was not prepared for the sharp, biting agony that the Nazgûl's simple touch wrought and only half-stifled his cry of surprise and pain at the icy needles of dread and torment that stabbed through his already wounded flesh.

The wraith laughed softly and moved his hand away, letting Aragorn slump forward as if released from an electrical charge. The Witch King's head turned towards Legolas who stood motionless several yards away. Glancing down at the human, the dark lord walked over to the elf.

The Nazgûl placed his bloodied hand on Legolas' cheek, but the elf prince did not move or flinch, he simply stared ahead with empty eyes. His will was not his own and he could do nothing to stop what was happening.

"You know this man?" the wraith asked.

"Yes," Legolas' voice was toneless. Inside him his heart twisted violently and Aragorn's blood burned against his cheek, but the wraith's hold over him was too strong and he could not battle himself out of the corner he had been shut into. Some part of him remembered who he was and he had momentary flashes of lucidity, but not of control, and always again the black shadow would overpower him and he would forget once more, lost in the illusion he could not escape.

Aragorn gazed up at his one-time friend, fear creeping into his heart. Legolas knew full well who he was, something that was true of very few people outside his father and brothers. At one time, he was sure that that secret was safe with the elf prince, but now the young ranger was sure of nothing. When Legolas looked at him, the elf's beautiful silver-blue eyes were dead and completely empty. Aragorn's heart sank.

"Then tell me my faithful servant... who is he?" the wraith hissed, and if you could have seen the shadow world in which he dwelt, the Witch King was grinning evilly.

Legolas' body stiffed slightly, as if there were a war going on inside, but none of this showed on his face. For a moment the elf opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw trembling.

The Nazgûl leaned closer, his grip on Legolas' cheek tightening painfully. His shadow engulfed the captive elf and although his expression did not change, inside, the prince screamed in pain at the darkness that was overrunning his will.

"He is Strider, Ranger of the North," Legolas' tone was flat and dead, but his voice trembled ever so slightly. "He is Estel, an orphan raised in Rivendell..." the elf closed his eyes for a moment. "He is nothing more."

Aragorn resisted the urge to let his breath out in relief. Desperately, he searched for some trace of his friend in Legolas' dead eyes. He found none, yet he had a measure of hope now, however slim, because for whatever reason Legolas had protected him. He knew the Prince knew he was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descended of Isildur and Elendil and heir to the empty throne of Gondor, but even though Legolas was obviously under the Witch King's control, he had not betrayed his friend.

The Nazgûl backhanded Legolas with enough force to send the elf sprawling, his studded gloves cutting the prince's lower lip. Legolas re-gathered himself and rose quietly back to his feet.

The wraith had no reason to doubt the prince's answer, thinking as he did that Legolas was completely under his power, but there had been a moment of hesitation in the elf's reply and it was for that that the Nazgûl punished him.

Having been raised in Rivendell explained the elfness he felt about the ranger at least, and the evil one supposed that was all that he sensed. After all, all Dunèdain held some of the blood of Nùmenor in their veins, curse them.

"Then we have no more use for him," the Witch King said coldly. Pulling the long, black-handled dagger from his belt he pressed it into Legolas' hand, closing the elf's fingers around the hilt. "Kill him."

The elf turned and walked towards the bound human. The orcs stepped back, smiling wickedly and laughing amongst themselves.

Legolas stepped in front of Aragorn and stopped, his eyes slowly lowering to fix on the man kneeling bound in front of him.

Aragorn noted the way that the elf's fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger until his knuckles were white and trembling. There was a war going on unseen behind those dead blue eyes but the body in front of him betrayed none of the torment of the soul deep inside. Slowly Legolas raised the knife into a defensive position. He grabbed the ranger by the hair and tipped the man's head back, exposing his throat.

"Legolas," Aragorn spoke softly in the grey tongue knowing the elven ears could hear him, "Legolas you are my friend, I know you are in there. Fight it - don't listen to that creature. You are light, you are not this darkness. Legolas..."

The blade drew closer to Aragorn's exposed throat and he flinched involuntarily, closing his eyes against the sight of his friend. If Legolas were going to kill him, he did not want the dead eyes of his friend to be the last thing he saw.

"Please my friend, wake up." The soft begging tone of the human broke the elven heart and something inside Legolas wrenched free.

"No." The softly spoken word surprised Aragorn and he opened his eyes to stare at his friend.

The elf was trembling; his loyalty to the ranger fighting the hold of the dark lord and his entire being was in conflict. Shakily his fingers released their death grip on the morgul blade and the knife fell to the forest floor, his hand falling limply to his side.

"Legolas?" The ranger tried to stand to his feet but the orcs had noticed the change too and had rushed in to press the human back down. Pinned under the weight of the foul creatures he couldn't help the elf when the Nazgûl descended on the helpless prince.

"Slave!" The hissing shriek made the hair on Aragorn's neck stand on end.

Unable to disobey, the elf turned around only to be backhanded once again by his master. The blow caused Legolas to stumble. He caught himself against the trunk of a large tree and the wraith pursued him, pressing the prince against the tree's trunk. The Witch King wrapped his hand around Legolas' neck and pulled the elf off his feet.

The prince's eyes widened in fear as his airway was cut off. The wraith's hard glove cut deeply into the soft skin under the elf's chin as he was held there, suspended above the ground.

"Did you think I would tolerate disobedience?" the wraith hissed in anger. He turned his dark hooded face towards the orcs and called them to him as he ripped Legolas tunic from his shoulder, exposing his bandaged wound.

Dropping him back to the floor he glared at the orcs, "Bind him."

Immediately they pulled the elf's arms behind him, wrapping them back around the girth of the tree and bound him in place.

"You will obey me or you will die." He closed the small space between the elf and himself, the darkness encompassed Legolas' consciousness, compressing his will with its foul evilness. In utter torment and darkness Legolas cried out within himself but his body would not respond as he struggled against the Nazgûl's rule. The bandage was torn from his shoulder and the Witch King pressed the palm of his hand down against the healing scar, breaking it mercilessly open once more.

The cry of terror and pain that was forced from the elf's lips ripped through the ranger and he struggled against his bonds. Having been momentarily forgotten by the orcs, Aragorn rolled over onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest and eased his bound hands from around his back shifting his arms until his hands were in front of him. He grasped the knife from the ground where Legolas had dropped it and quickly severed his binds. Jumping to his feet he threw the blade into the back of the nearest orc that was holding Legolas still as the ring wraith practised his evil art on the helpless elf, enslaving the prince to the darkness even further.

The orc fell with a shriek and his companions turned quickly, eyeing the freed human.

Aragorn glanced around him wildly for a weapon. There was nothing close at hand. He looked at the fallen orc and rushed towards the dead body, grabbing the hilt and pulling the blade from the carcass. The ranger rolled over onto his back, using the dead orc as a brace and fought off the first of the orcs that had reversed its course and followed him back to their fallen comrade. The human ducked a sweeping arc of the orc sword and thrust the blackened dagger at the advancing creature, slicing through the monster and stopping his attack. He kicked the dying orc away and threw the blade down exchanging it for the creature's own sword. With fierceness brought on by survival instincts alone he charged his assailants, taking them by surprise.

The Ringwraith took the moment of inattention and finished his work on Legolas. The elf arched against his bonds, writhing with the pain of the forced poison.

"Strider!" The word was ripped from Legolas throat as he suffered through the mind-altering effects of the darkness.

Aragorn caught a parrying blow on the edge of his sword, blocking his attackers advance. He spun beneath the press of the blade coming up on the right side of the orc and drove his sword through the creatures throat, decapitating it. The cry of his friend broke through his battle frenzy and the ranger whipped around to see Legolas sag against the trunk of the tree, drugged senseless once more.

He kicked an orc to his left out of his path and ran towards the Witch King, intent on destroying the evil being.

The Nazgûl sensed his approach and spun with an unearthly howl, viciously backhanding human. The blow sent the man stumbling back and he lost his footing, falling just inches from the still burning campfire. The sword pried from his fingers by the force of wraith's strike, flew into the midst of the fire, scattering the wood and sending sparks flying into the air. Trying to regain his bearings, Aragorn pressed himself up unsteadily on his hands. His fingers brushed a heated log jutting out from the fire pit. Recoiling from the intensity of the flames, a thought struck his subconscious and he reacted without thinking. Snatching the burning timber from the fire he leapt to his feet as Legolas cried out again.

When the dark creature had swept the human out of its path it had redirected its anger and hatred at the cowering elf. His orcs could deal with the human. It would not tolerate disobedience or treachery from its minions. Bent on the fair beings destruction it did not see the ranger approaching, unimpeded by the scattered orcs, until it was too late.

The witch king cut Legolas' bonds and grabbed the elf by his wounded shoulder digging his long nailed fingers into the soft, newly torn flesh. The prince cried and his knees buckled beneath him as the pain of the evil darkness swept in agonizing waves through his body. He only wished it would kill him and ease his suffering.

With his free hand the ring wraith grabbed a handful of the elf's long blonde hair and jerked the fair being's head back so that Legolas was forced to stare into the faceless mask of darkness.

"I told you to kill that whelp of a human. You belong to me elf, body mind and soul, you are mine and you will obey me. Do it now."

Fear shot through every fiber in Legolas' mind and the dark poisons in his systems screamed at him to obey. The force of the conflict within him was a like a whirlwind and it tore at his mind, shredding his thoughts and setting the very threads of his consciousness on fire. His body shook with the effort to maintain control. Deep within him, his loyalty flared briefly and in his last act of defiance he fixed his eyes on the evil blank hood and replied through gritted teeth, "Never." The one word was a mere whisper, but the strength in his eyes belied his body's weakness.

The wraith drew him closer, "Then for that slave, you will die," it hissed evilly at him. The creature threw the elf hard to the ground and pressed his pointed metal boot against the prince's chest. He pulled his sword from its sheath, the weapon screaming as the blade slipped from its metal casing and held the sword above Legolas prepared to plunge the weapon into the elf and kill him.

"NO!" Aragorn ran towards the dark apparition, he wouldn't allow the wraith to murder his friend.

The Nazgûl whipped around and glared at the human.

"Why don't you kill me yourself." The ranger growled at the wraith. Taking the attention away from his wounded friend, he circled the Witch King until he stood between the Nazgûl and the elf. Aragorn pulled the flaming torch in front of him and held it out towards the wraith, warding off the advancing attack. The witch king shrieked and retreated from the flame, seeming to shrink in on himself. The effect of the fire on the evil being was not lost on the ranger and he danced forward weaving the firebrand in front of him. The wraith brought his sword up in a tight arc, trying to get underneath the fire and cut the torch from the human's hand. The flat of the blade snapped sharply against Aragorn's fingers and with a cry he released the burning piece of wood. But the wraith was too close and as it fell the torch brushed the edges of the creatures black robes, setting the cloth on fire.

Screaming in anger and fear the Wraith attempted to put the flames out but to no avail and within moments the fire had consumed his outer cloak. In panic the foul beast ran off into the woods shrieking. When the orcs saw their master so easily routed they quickly took to the forest, abandoning the wounded human and the dying elf.

Aragorn dropped down next to the still elf prince. Gently brushing the hair away from the elven face he bent close to the elf, talking to him softly in the grey tongue.

"Legolas?" When the prince didn't respond, the ranger carefully inspected the wound to his shoulder. It was hot and ragged. The edges of the skin were dark from the foul poison that the wraith had injected into his body. Tendrils of black ran under the skin, spreading away from the cut. Legolas moaned as Aragorn pressed his hand against the elf's shoulder feeling the heat of infection beneath the skin. "Legolas can you hear me?"

The elf's eyes flicked open and he gazed unseeingly at the human.

"I have to get you out of here." Aragorn glanced around them into the forest. There was no telling how soon the Wraith and his orcs would return and the sky looked like it would open up and pour on them at any moment.

"Can you stand?"

Legolas didn't respond, he simply stared straight ahead with the same dull dead gaze that Aragorn had first seen on him.

Large drops of rain began to fall gently around them, increasing in frequency as the seconds ticked by. Nothing the human did provoked any type of response from the elf and in frustration, the man finally pulled the prince to his feet. The fire sputtered and died out as the rain turned into a downpour.

"We have to get to shelter!" Aragorn spoke to the elf even though nothing he said seemed to get through to him. "Come on Legolas." He grabbed the elf's arm and drug the prince after him, collecting his pack and his weapons on the way out of the camp.

They crested a small hill on the far side of the glade where the Wraith had set up camp and followed the spine of the knoll as far as they could before Legolas collapsed. Aragorn knelt over him, shielding him from the rain. He watched in horror as the elf's eyes rolled back into his head and his eyelids closed.

The ranger scrambled down the opposite side of the hill and frantically searched the surrounding area. In moments he found what he was looking for and ran back to his fallen friend. Lifting the elf onto his shoulders Aragorn stood carefully to his feet and descended the hill once more heading straight for the partially hidden opening of a small cave. Once inside he set the unconscious elf down on the dry dirt floor and quickly stripped Legolas of his wet tunic.

Grabbing his pack he untied his bedroll and used the soft fabric to dry his friend, redressing the elf in a spare shirt to stave off the chill. Shaking out the contents of his pack he sifted through the assortment of things that he carried with him. He had what he needed but did he have time? Gathering what dry branches and leaves he could find, Aragorn started a small fire and filled the tiny pot he carried with him with water.

TBC