Dark Visions (22nd Mellon Chronicles)

by Mellon Chronicles CS

Aragorn is having disturbing dreams about his friend Legolas. When he sees the prince's death in the Mirror of Galadriel he sets out to try change the future. Yet it seems that fate, a ring of horse thieves and deadly venom are determined to conspire against Legolas before his friend can reach him. Even with Elrond's help, will Aragorn be able to keep his visions from coming true?

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is here!

Enjoy!

XXX

Rae

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"Ada?" Aragorn waited until the elderly elf met his eye across the fire. The sparks from the pitch that burned on the wood leapt high into the night sky and painted the ranger's face in warm amber tones. "Tell me of mother." He asked quietly. "I never hear you speak of her."

The elf sat cross-legged on the far side of the fire. His hair normally braided in intricate elvish design was simply pulled back and pleated into one long braid behind his head, in the fashion that Aragorn had seen warriors sometimes wear theirs. The elf lord wore no distinguishing garments that would set him apart from any other elf if they happened across travellers on their journey south. His royal clothing had been given up in exchange for a dark brown undertunic the colour of the woods. It was overlaid by a simple suede jerkin, that laced up the front. The impressions of hand tooled leaves decorated the borders of its edges as it swept down his slender frame tapering mid-thigh and was belted about his waist by a nondescript leather belt. He wore dark leggings that contrasted slightly with the ornate sheath at his side. The elf had also brought his bow and quiver; they lay beside him within easy reach of his hands.

Aragorn had stared long at his father wondering about his early life, he had never seen the elf lord dressed as he was and it had occurred to the ranger that there was much he did not know about his father. Oh, he had heard stories of the courage and strength of Lord Elrond, but never from the elf himself. In a way it was strange really, Elrond was the loremaster and storyteller and from him, Aragorn had learned much of the history of Middle Earth over the years... but very few tales that involved the elf lord's own past. Those thoughts had surfaced questions in the ranger's mind and so he had finally gotten up the courage to start asking.

Elrond frowned in confusion at the human's statement, Aragorn had always been told everything he wanted to know about his birth parents. "You ask of Gilraen?"

With a small shake of his head, Aragorn cast his gaze down, slightly unsure of how his father would respond. Did Elrond not speak of the past because he did not wish to? The crackling fire cast odd shadows about them and Elrond tipped his head slightly trying to see into the shaded eyes of his adopted son. He waited out the human, while the young man thought through his question.

"No. Not her." When he spoke again Aragorn's voice was soft and low but the elven hearing quickly picked up the quiet tones. "You have told me much about them, and I thank you, but... although I know she is my mother by birth, as Arathorn is my father, still if...if your wife were yet in Middle Earth she would have been the mother I came to know. Elladan and Elrohir talk of their mother often and I have come to think of her in such a way through them. I did not mean to be presumptuous." Silver eyes searched the blue ones that watched the ranger closely. Elrond gave his head a slight shake, letting Aragorn know he had done nothing wrong, but he did not speak.

"You never speak of her Ada." Aragorn repeated quietly. There was so much about Elrond that Aragorn realized he really did not know, even though he had lived with him all his life. He had never thought much about it before, but now he wondered about the woman who had captured his father's heart.

Elrond looked quickly out into the night, unconsciously shielding his inner soul from the piercing gaze of his son. No, he rarely spoke of her anymore. The years had fled so quickly and the past seemed more like wisps of remembrance with barely any substance.

Afraid he had hurt his adoptive parent Aragorn quietly stood and rounded the fire, seating himself near Elrond's side.

The soft sounds of footsteps did not register in the elf's mind as his thoughts were flung eons into the past. It was the gentle touch of his son's hand on his knee that brought elf back to the present.

"I'm sorry." Aragorn whispered softly, "I did not mean to bring you pain. I was only curious. I thought perhaps it would be easier to speak of her without my brothers here, but obviously, I was wrong. You don't have to remember for me, its all right to let it go."

Elrond smiled gently at the human that was seated next to him. Why wouldn't his son ask him such questions?

"No Aragorn, it is well. You are correct I do not speak of Celebrìan often and if she had stayed in Middle Earth she would indeed have taken the place of your departed mother." His smiled widened as he thought on his wife, "She would have loved you. You have the same spark and joy of life that always marked her. I find it odd but you, all of you, in one way or another remind me of her. And I see reflections of her soul in yours." He laughed slightly, for Aragorn was no physical relation to his wife, and yet as in his own sons, he saw a familiar kind of spirit. "Her heart was big enough for all of Middle Earth, not unlike your own my son."

"How did you meet her?" Aragorn pressed gently, noting that his father was opening up to him.

Elrond laughed, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment. "Oh, now that is a tale." He shook his head, a smile widening on his face,

"A very long one. It took place on the face of an earth that was very different than the one you now know young one. You recall that before the forging of the Rings of Power, there was a great elven kingdom in Eregion, which men now call Hollin. Galadriel and Celeborn dwelt there and governed the people. Ost-in-Edhil that realm was called in the days of Celembrimbor, when the dwarves of Moria and the Elves of Eregion lived in peace. Now when my brother and I were quite young, after our parents left but before the founding of Númenor, we left the house of Maglor whose keeping we had been in, and joined the elves in Eregion. There we would go out hunting with our friends near Ost-in-Edhil from time to time and for the most part, we younger ones would stay away from the main citadels and hunt the outer edges." The elderly elf stopped, deep in remembrance a frown slightly marring his noble face and Aragorn was amused to see that he bit his lip exactly the same way Elladan did every time the younger elf was lost in thought. "I can't remember why," he finally continued, "But this particular time we had ridden into the inner sanctuary and were on our way back out when she passed by."

"Father!" Aragorn gave the elf a gentle shove as his elder started laughing, interrupting his own tale. The elf lord picked up a stray piece of wood and tossed it on the fire before continuing his story.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I think my mind had all but frozen, for she was the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen. She was walking beneath the trees with a group of her friends but I saw none of them save her. And that of course was exactly the time that my brother chose to spook my horse. He admitted later that he did it on purpose when he saw the look on my face."

"Ah, so that's where Elladan and Elrohir get it from." Aragorn laughed aloud and ducked a playful smack. "I knew you had to be a ruffian when you were younger, get in lots of trouble did we?" He snickered at the glower his father laid on him.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Elrond threatened lightly, unable to contain his own mirth.

"No please, please I wouldn't miss this for all the world."

With a shake of his head, the elf lord continued, "Needless to say my horse reared up and I was thrown from it. I broke my arm in the fall and when I did not rise immediately the commotion gathered quite a crowd. The first one to reach me was Celebrìan and hers the first voice I heard. But it was her eyes that held me captive. Oh her eyes, by the Valar Aragorn I swear they held all the stars of the universe in their depths." Elrond was smiling softly, lost in memories as he stared into the sparking fire.

Aragorn smiled in kind as he watched his father recall his past, swept away to the younger days of Middle Earth and enraptured by the tale the elderly elf told.

"And her hair, it was thick and long and it shown like flax on a summers day. It smelled sweet like the meadow flowers. I can still recall the scent..." Elrond's voice dropped off and he glanced down to his hands, "None of our children carried on that trait." He turned and looked at the human next to him, gently touching an errant strand of Aragorn's unruly locks. "None of them. You all have the darker hair of my side of the family."

Aragorn did not speak when Elrond turned back to gaze once more into the firepit. He did not continue for some time and the ranger gave him space to be alone with his thoughts, idly stirring the fire with a stick he had found on the forest floor. The quiet sounds of the forest about them filtered through the night, bringing with their song a calm and a peace that all was well in the woods and it seemed as though that serenity stretched through the whole of Middle Earth if it were possible.

"She was the first one to reach my side after I fell and the only one I can recall being there." Elrond laughed softly at himself as he picked up the story where he had left it off. "I couldn't even speak her beauty held me sway, much to my brother and his friend's amusement. Thank the Valar her mother rescued me, having witnessed my accident and saved me further embarrassment by taking me with her to have my arm set." He laughed out loud, "*That* was the first time I met your mother...I mean Celebrìan." He corrected himself quickly. It was hard to remember sometimes, that Aragorn was not truly his son the way Elladan and Elrohir were.

"Its all right father, you can call her my mother, for, meaning no disrespect to the dead, I consider you my true family." Aragorn smiled up into the dark eyes that watched him intently, "Tell me, how long before you decided she was the one?" A mischievous grin spread across the young human's face.

"Oh that very day, when I looked into her eyes. I knew I would never be able to live free of her enchantment. So it was that I began to *visit* often, very often."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"As in daily. I couldn't get her out of my head. She, of course, made a merry chase of it, but I knew that she felt the same way and it was only a matter of time." Elrond frowned mockingly at his son who could barely contain himself, trying hard to fight back the giggles, "Don't look at me like that." He gave the ranger a good shove. "As if you haven't been the same. I've seen that far off look in your eyes a time or two. You know how women are!"

Aragorn's mouth dropped open. He was at a loss of what to say. "You...how... I never!"

"You have and you know it! Your brothers have seen it, I have seen it and," he sighed deeply in resignation, "Valar knows Arwen has seen it."

The silver eyes that held his gaze suddenly sought the forest floor.

"O, Estel." Elrond's voice was tender and soft and Aragorn glanced hesitantly back up at his father, "I have tread the path that you have and though our destinies lie in different places, we are not so far removed from one another that I can not understand the heedless choices of the heart." He gently touched the young man's chin, lifting the ranger's head until their eyes met.

"You said we would not speak of it for many years yet." Aragorn's voice was low and slightly hesitant.

"And so we shall not for the future is uncertain, and the time will come." He smiled at the ranger, "But not now, however, you did want to know about Cele...your mother, did you not?" He matched the youth's suddenly mischievous grin.

His smile broadened as Aragorn nodded. He was glad that they had this time together alone; they needed it – father and son.

"We spent many happy days together, for we were young and the world seemed full of nothing but time... however peace did not last. Sauron bred discontent among the elves and they rebelled. Galadriel and her family were chased out of Ost-in-Edhil by their own people. With the aide of the dwarves, she and Celebrìan passed through Moria and so escaped to Lothlórien, although that was not yet its name. Celeborn refused to pass into the dwarf realm. He, I and the other elves that followed Gil-Galad and were not part of the doings in Hollin remained on the west side of the mountains. Then Sauron unmasked his evil intents and war came for many, many bitter years. I did not see Celebrìan again until after it was all over and she and her mother came looking for Celeborn, who was staying with me in newly founded Imladris. It had been so long by then... I said nothing to her at the time, fearing that the bond made in our youth was forgotten. But it was not so, and that soon became clear. By the time I asked her if she would stay with me forever, her answer was not the yes I had hoped and expected, but rather she lectured me on taking so long to ask her!"

"She lectured *you*?!" Aragorn was laughing hard, "I wish I had seen that."

"Yes, well asking her was nothing compared to finding the courage to speak with her parents about our intentions." Elrond let his breath out in a rush, shaking his head. "I may have stood beside Celeborn in battle many times and faced death, but that was nothing compared with the thought of asking for his daughter's hand!"

"Are you telling me *you* were nervous?" Aragorn asked incredulously.

"Yes!" Elrond glowered at him playfully, "Being an elf lord is no easy business and I have been nervous many times in my life since, but none more than then." He elbowed the youth next to him, "Stop laughing. Celeborn and Galadriel have been good relatives through the years, helping me raise two boys and one girl without their mother."

The young human had quieted listening intently once more.

"I tell you Estel, living with a woman half one's life is far different than raising one." A deep sorrowful sigh escaped the elf's lips and Aragorn leaned forward slightly, "Her leaving was one of the hardest things I have ever had to endure." Elrond's voice softened as spoke of Celebrìan's departure, "When she left, much of the beauty of Rivendell passed with her and ere then it has fallen into autumn as though the very woods themselves mourn her leaving."

"You miss her greatly don't you?" Aragorn whispered.

"Everyday." Elrond smiled sadly, his eyes fixed on the brightly burning fire. A look of peace crossed his face and the lines etched in his brow eased as he continued, thinking now on the future, "But we will yet be together once more, when it comes my time to leave this land."

The wistfulness in the elf's voice pained the human and Aragorn found himself glancing out into the dark of night, his own thoughts furrowing lines of sadness onto his face.

Elrond noticed the abrupt change and turned towards his son. "Estel? What is it? What have I said that has caused you pain?"

Aragorn shook his head slowly, "You will one day all leave me and I will see you no more." His voice was a mere whisper when he finally spoke his fears. They were no secret and he had voiced them before, but that didn't mean they had ever truly gone away.

Elrond's fingers gently hooked beneath the ranger's chin, tipping Aragorn's head back up and forcing him to look at the elf again. Tearful eyes met the blue and the elf lord closed his own at the intensity of the emotions. "There is much young one that is not revealed of the future. Do not weary your heart with worry. It does you no good and besides," He smiled gently at his son, "you'll not be rid of me anytime soon nor your brothers I fear!"

Conceding the point, Aragorn nodded and returned the smile. He started to respond but his father cautioned him to silence, suddenly alert. The sounds of the forest around them had grown silent and Elrond glanced about them listening, his hand shifting slowly to the pommel of his sword sheathed at his side.

Aragorn moved quietly into a crouched position, drawing his own weapon, the steel of the blade ringing softly in the dark stillness. He could barely hear the shifting of heavy feet and he swivelled out of instinct bringing his sword up before him as the moonlight caught the edges of the heavy orc blade that swung towards him.

The foul creature's weapon descended on the ranger with a vengeance and Aragorn stumbled slightly under the blow. His collarbone, though mended, was not quite fit for battle and the strain he was placing on it was obvious as a deep throbbing ache set in. Without time to worry about it, the human ignored the warning signals and spun towards his opponent, smashing his fist into the orc's face before driving his blade through the evil beast.

To his right, he could hear his elven father struggling in his own battle. The elf parried a glancing blow and brought his blade up in a high arc; twisting in a tight circle on his boot-heels he swiftly decapitated the orc that advanced on him from behind. Elrond was fast, too fast for his opponents. His style of graceful, efficient warfare took his clumsier adversaries off guard and he dispatched his attackers with ease and swiftness. Running his sharp elven sword through the heart of the orc before him, Elrond realized he was momentarily free from the dark wave and turned to see how Aragorn was faring.

The ranger was locked in combat with an orc nearly twice his size and a good head taller than the human. With a deft twist of his blade Aragorn disarmed the foul creature but before he could finish it off, the orc lunged at him, bringing his fists down together on the humans newly healed shoulder. The blow swept an agonizing wave of pain through the ranger and he was momentarily thrown off his guard as he collapsed down to his knees, bright sparks of pain flashing on the edges of his vision as he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

He heard Elrond call his name and could see the elf out of the corner of his eye as the elven warrior raced to his side. But there was no time; the orc, having reclaimed his scimitar raised the weapon above his head intending to kill the human.

In the split second before the orc could bring the blade down, Aragorn's fingers tightened on the handle of his sword and he thrust the weapon upward beneath his attacker's ribs, piercing the darkened heart. The orc fell with a stifled cry to the ground. Elrond stopped, his own weapon dropping to his side as Aragorn turned a weary gaze on the elf lord.

A shadow behind his father caught Aragorn's attention and he slipped a dagger from his boot. Deftly tossing the small knife into the air he grabbed the blade and threw the weapon across the camp with a shout. The dagger passed through the air mere inches from Elrond's face. The elf didn't move nor did he flinch as the blade barely brushed his hair before embedding itself in the neck of an orc behind him. The creature dropped to the forest floor without a sound.

"I think that's all of them." Aragorn glanced around them, his senses still on alert. He swallowed hard, resting where he was kneeling on the ground, not quite trusting himself to his feet yet.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his gaze falling on his father. The elf lord nodded, he too was still listening, wanting to make sure they were alone.

"Estel?" Elrond asked cautiously, stepping over the dead body of an orc.

Aragorn waved him off and stood unsteadily to his feet, straightening up slowly. He pressed his left hand against his still mending collar-bone and groaned softly, it ached deep in the bone. That last blow had almost been too much. Quietly he surveyed their wrecked camp; the bodies of the dead orcs littering the tiny glen lay in dark in heaps. The fire ring had been utterly destroyed the carcass of one of the foul beasts lay prone across the crushed embers.

"Well, that's nice. I am *not* sleeping here tonight." He turned his gaze on his father. The elderly elf was frowning as he ripped a piece of cloth from one of the dead creatures and wiped the edge of his blade clean, inspecting the smooth steel for any nicks or pits it may have picked up in the fight.

Aragorn watched Elrond for a few moments, fascinated by the warrior that he had seen in the elderly elf only minutes earlier.

"What do you think they wanted?" The Ranger resumed his inspection of the destroyed glade as the elf lord gazed dispassionately at the bodies that strew their camp. His lips turned up slightly in disgust.

"Our gear and ourselves if they could have gotten either. The group was relatively small and from the way they are outfitted they are not soldiers, but marauding raiders, most likely from the mountains somewhere. We are far enough south to be in danger of such errant scouting parties such as this one. It simply never occurred to me when we made camp." Elrond supposed that maybe it really had been a long time since he had been away from the lands surrounding Rivendell, especially when not travelling with a large host. He was going to have to be a bit more on his guard.

A soft laugh drew the elf's attention to his son who was walking slowly toward him, "Those types of things don't always occur to me either, which is why I am always thankful when Legolas is travelling with me. He is... how shall I put it... ultimately cautious about situations like this. I think it comes from living in Mirkwood. If he were here I think he most likely would have insisted on camping in a different location entirely."

The ranger glanced quickly into the treetops above their heads before stooping to retrieve a flat branch, gathering it into a pile that he had started collecting, stacking them on the ground along with various other pieces of wood and large leaves that he could find laying on the forest floor. "And he'd be right too." Aragorn was walking slowly gazing intently into the upper reaches of the trees around them again, his preoccupation taking him out of the ring of the small glade.

"Estel wait, come here," Elrond walked after the young human, "I really need to see to your collar-bone, that was a vicious blow you took. You are not yet healed enough my son."

"In a minute, we need to set up camp somewhere much safer, there may be more parties about."

Elrond could hear the human's voice just outside the glen under the shadows of the woods and growing fainter; the ranger was moving away from him. "I think I've found the perfect place to rest for the evening," Aragorn called back through the forest, his voice taking on an odd strain to it as though his attentions were focused elsewhere.

Elrond had begun collecting what things were salvageable and picked up the pile of leaves and wood that Aragorn had left stacked up, having a good idea of what his adopted son was up to. He followed the soft sounds of the ranger's approaching footsteps as he walked back towards the elf, meeting him part way.

"Here let me help you." Aragorn stepped out of the half-gloom of the woods, and, seeing the load his father carried, quickly wrapped his arms around the upper half of the stack of tree limbs, intending to help ease the burden. Unfortunately, the weight of the wood was too much for his injuries to sustain and he fell to one knee in an attempt not to drop the load he carried, unsuccessfully stifling a small cry.

"Enough." Elrond dropped his burden on the ground and steered the ranger over to a large boulder, forcing the human to sit down. "Let me see to your shoulder *now*. Not another excuse, we'll build our loft in a moment."

Aragorn winced as his father pressed his hands underneath the ranger's tunic and gently felt the healing bones. Moving the tunic back from near the youth's neck Elrond's sharp eyes detected the darkening bruises from where the orc had hit his son. "How does it feel? Can you move your arm at all?"

"A bit." Aragorn painfully tried to rotate his right arm, unsuccessfully attempting to convince the elf that he was all right.

"Estel." Elrond's tone was a warning in its self. He rummaged through his sack and pulled out a white piece of cloth.

"I am not putting that back on. I fully intend to build us a flet and climb up there myself." Aragorn stiffly stood and rounded the rock, keeping the boulder between him and his father.

"You may *help* build a flet and you may climb up there by yourself but you will wear this sling again until that arm and shoulder have had some rest." Elrond laid the cloth on the rock and glanced up at the tree next to him. "This one will do." With that said the elf lord easily vaulted into the lowest branches of the tree, climbing halfway up it where the thick limbs crossed one another and were wide enough to carry the weight of a human and elf.

"Hand me up the wood Estel." The disembodied voice of his father floated down to him, the elf lord's form hidden in the thick gloom.

"I cannot see you." Aragorn hefted a flat limb and lifted it above his head. A soft blue glow brightened slightly in the tree, emanating directly overhead and he smiled up into the eyes of the elf lord, "Oh there you are." He teased lightly as he slowly handed the wood and greens to Elrond, pulling himself and their supplies up with him at the last.

The loft as Elrond had called it was far more sturdy than any flet Legolas and he had ever constructed as far as the ranger could remember. The elf lord had padded the wooden platform with the large fronds from the forest floor, their scent adding a familiar fragrance to the tree top dwelling.

His father scooted to the back of the thrown together shelf, intending to make room for his son as Aragorn edged up on to the loft. The human stood uncertainly, glancing from the trunk of the tree at the elf's back to the elf lord himself.

"What is it Estel?"

"Well, it's just that...Legolas always lets me...makes me..." the ranger sighed in resignation and admitted the reasons for his hesitancy to his father, "I sleep by the tree and he sleeps by the edge."

Try as he might Elrond could not stifle the small laugh that the admission provoked. "You mean to say that he fears you will fall off in the middle of the night?"

Aragorn blushed and the colour that rose in his cheeks was not hidden from his father. "It's not that... well, maybe it is." He glanced in embarrassment out into the night around them. "Mostly it's just that *Legolas* can't sleep cause I fidget and toss in the night, this high above the ground. I just sleep better with the tree at my back." He smiled ruefully down at his father as he inched around the elf, his hand braced against the tree that formed the back of the platform.

Elrond easily slid out of the way and moved towards the edge of the flet, trying to contain his laughter. "Oh Estel, forgive me, sometimes I forget you aren't elven." He reached towards the boy, pulling him closer away from the safety of the trunk as the ranger seated himself wearily onto the platform. "Let me have a look at that shoulder again. I have some ointment here that will help to take the ache out of the bones."

Gently brushing the long wayward strands of dark hair away from the youth's neck, the elf lord worked the soothing lotion into the bruised collarbone. "So Legolas taught you how to build flets did he?" He tried to preoccupy the ranger with quiet conversation as he rotated Aragorn's shoulder and reset his right arm in the soft sling.

A quiet moan escaped the human's lips and he shut his eyes tightly, nodding in answer to the question. Breathing in slowly as Elrond eased his arm back against his chest and held it there gently he continued to speak, "The first I built by myself fell out from underneath us. Don't you know he never lets me live it down." Aragorn laughed softly at himself, "It really was funny though and thank the Valar neither of us was hurt."

Elrond was shaking his head in amusement. His dark eyes watching intently as his son inched back towards the tree's tall trunk and eased down onto the fronds that lined the loft, carefully positioning himself on his left side, the faintly glowing light of the elf aiding him. The youth smiled at his father. He felt worse than he wanted to admit; the surprise attack by the orcs had worn him out and he hated those feelings of weakness.

"Thank you Ada. It does feel much better now." The ranger spoke softly, his words easily falling into elvish.

"Good. Were you injured anywhere else?" The elf lord questioned as he lay down, wrapping himself in his cloak and pillowing his head on his arm. His son's eyes reflected the dim glow he cast about them as the human tried vainly to remain awake. "Estel don't fight it. Let your body relax and rest, you need the sleep."

Aragorn pulled away from the hand that reached towards him, a mischievous grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Do not try that elven trick on me again! I'll fall asleep on my own, thank you."

Laying his hand gently on the young man's shoulder Elrond laughed, "I wouldn't dream of it. Besides Galadriel always was better at that than I."

Relaxing back against the trunk, Estel blinked slowly. "See, this is how Legolas and I are always getting into trouble. We never go seeking it, somehow it simply always finds us."

"You expect me to believe..." Elrond cut their quiet conversation off, rolling swiftly onto his stomach and pulling himself silently to the edge of the flet.

Something stirred below them.

In seconds Aragorn had awkwardly joined him, peering intently into the darkness below their hiding place.

A small party of orcs passed beneath them, their shuffling gait loud in the night stillness. Everything in the forest silenced as they passed, grunting and talking to one another in their coarse gravelling voices. Their complaints carried easily on the slight breezes and the two watchers could hear the evil beasts discussing their slain comrades and wondering where their murderers were hiding even now. The hulking black form of a warg padded next to its masters, scenting the varying smells. Neither it nor the evil creatures that accompanied it detected the elf and the ranger high above their heads.

Elrond gently tapped Aragorn's shoulder and the two pulled back from the edge of the platform, quietly lying back down and watching one another, waiting until the sounds of the woods crept back into the trees around them, their soft cacophony like a symphony to the two.

"We are safe now. They know not where we have gotten to and they will not pass this way again." Elrond whispered, his voice barely heard by the ranger.

Aragorn nodded in understanding, he had long ago learned to read what people were saying without having to fully hear it. Years of wandering with Legolas had given him that edge. His thoughts turned once more to his friend and he grimaced, shaking his head slightly at the edginess that dogged his heart and waking moments.

"Tomorrow we'll resume our search. We will find him Estel." Elrond comforted.

"I know." Aragorn was far from sure but the words of his father went far to soothe his worried heart and he closed his eyes, content in the fact that for the moment they were safe and he was one step closer to finding his friend.

Legolas shivered violently, yet he felt as if his body was on fire. Heat radiated off him and his hair clung to the sides of his fever-damp face. Inside he felt as if he were burning up, yet his skin was unaccountably cold and tense shudders wracked his frame. For one who was unaccustomed to having to feel the presence of either hot or cold, the sensation was distinctly disconcerting, as well as miserable.

If the elf prince had ever had the flu, or anything of that nature, he would have likened his current state to that, but, being an elf, Legolas had never been ill, so the only thing that this reminded him of was the hellish state he had been left in after having been given too much Dragon Water to drink, or some of the worse fevers he had had after being injured. But even that hadn't felt quite like this.

The elf prince moaned softly and opened his eyes, attempting to work the blurry world into focus. A hand rested on his forehead to check the state of his fever. It was not the hand of another elf.

"Estel?" Legolas murmured blearily. His cloudy mind didn't register that it had been several over a month since he last saw the ranger, or how highly unlikely it was for Aragorn to be anywhere near here, wherever 'here' was. All he knew was he was hurting and disoriented and usually when he was in that state, the young Dùnadan was close at hand. Odd how that worked.

"No, Freca. Just lay still. You're going to live," a gruff but not unkind voice spoke nearby, making Legolas start slightly. The accent was that of Rohan. "You may not feel like you want to for a little while, but you will."

Legolas realized that the man near him was a complete stranger, so were the other men he could only vaguely sense nearby. The elf stiffened. He didn't feel threatened by these people, but past experience had not led him to be comfortable being vulnerable around most mortals.

"Where am I?" Legolas tried to keep his voice from shaking. He felt horrible. Truly horrible. "Who are you?" The prince winced. His tone had betrayed much more fear than he intended. He wanted to sit up, but he felt too dizzy and ill to attempt it.

"You're in Émuseld, above East Emnet. My men found you up in the rocky places of the Wold. I'm Freca and you're in my house. You were bitten by a Lhyguan. My people saved your life and brought you here. Now just lie still and rest or you'll wish you were still unconscious. Trust me, I've seen a lot of these cases."

Legolas relaxed because he could not afford to remain tense. If these people intended to harm him, then there was nothing he could do about it and they probably would have done it already. "Where's Trelan?" he murmured as he remembered what had happened before his fall.

"Who?"

"M-my friend... another elf, did you find another elf?" Legolas was starting to shiver again, the violent trembling taking over him as darkness began to edge his vision.

"Sorry, we found you alone. Now be still, it'll pass faster if you save your strength. Be still..."

But if Freca said anything else, Legolas did not hear it, for the shadow world had pulled him under again and he knew no more.

"Rise and shine," an overly rough hand shook Legolas out of his slumber and the elf winced, trying to pull away. The jarring sent waves of pain and nausea through his aching body and the loud voice made his head throb.

"Come on now, wake up," Freca was still shaking the elf.

Legolas rolled over and fixed the man with a slightly blood-shot glare. "I am awake." Silently, he reflected that he would have to have been dead to not be. "What is it?" The prince passed his hand over his face, trying to dispel the deep ache behind his eyes, but it was no use, even the slightest movement of his gaze made his eye sockets throb as if he were looking into the sun.

"What is it? You've been down for nearly two days, it's time you got up and started moving around. You have to work the toxins out of your system now with activity, or they will continue to linger much longer than you'd like. Come on, get up," Freca said with an overly annoying amount of cheerfulness.

Legolas moaned softly. Two days? He only remembered waking up once since the accident and his perception of time was totally lost. Had it really been two days? The elf started to sit up only to have the world crash down upon his shoulders. Legolas found himself flat on his back again and not quite remembering having gotten there. His head was buzzing and he thought he just possibly might need to throw up. That was a very unique feeling and he decided he did not like it one bit.

Freca took the elf's arm and dragged him upright again, wrapping the prince's hands around one of the bedposts next to Legolas to help him remain upright. This time Legolas managed, but he was not sure he wanted to.

"I do not feel well," he murmured softly, letting his hot forehead fall to rest against the cool, rough wood of the bedpost. It was a massive understatement. Even his hands hurt. No, just one hand. Legolas looked at the bandage wrapped around his right palm and tried to figure out what it was for.

"Of course you don't!" Freca shook his head. "I told you. You were bitten by a Lhyguan," he nodded towards the bandage that Legolas had just been looking at. "You're lucky to be alive. You wouldn't be if some of my men hadn't found you right after it happened. They are nasty creatures. You're over the worst, but you're gonna feel like dragon spit for a few more days yet. However, the best thing to do is to get active right away and not let the poisons sit around idle in your body."

Legolas just clung to the bedpost and nodded. All he wanted to do was lie down again, but if he needed to be up and moving then that's all there was to it and somehow he would have to manage. His mouth felt incredibly dry and there was a very bad taste in it. "May I have some water please?"

Freca dipped a cup of fresh water out of a pail in the corner of the room and passed it to the elf. Legolas drank slowly, finding that his throat hurt, but when he was done he felt slightly better.

"You want something to eat?" the man inquired. Legolas shook his head, letting one arm wrap lightly around his stomach. He didn't feel ready for that yet. The elf was surprised to see that Freca was holding another cup out towards him after taking the first one back. The elf took it and looked down at the warm, slightly amber liquid uncertainly.

"Drink," Freca commanded when it became apparent that Legolas didn't get the drift.

"What is it?" the prince questioned, holding the cup away slightly. It had an odd odour and the smell turned his already troubled stomach.

"The only thing keeping you alive," Freca said casually. "We call it AntiVen. It's our own formula, and I might add the only thing that fights Lhyguan poison."

Legolas was confused. "I thought you said I was bitten two days ago."

"You were, and you survived the first 24 hours which are the worst part, but don't think that means your out of the woods yet," Freca shook his head.

"You're definitely not from around here, are you? If you knew anything about lhygians you'd know that their poison remains in a person's body for at least two weeks. Most of the time it's fatal within the first few hours. People in these parts have lost a lot of horses and more than a few people that way in past. But my boys and I have the only remedy for it *, however,* you have to have morning and evening doses of AntiVen each day for the next two weeks to keep the toxins under control, or they'll still kill ya. I'm sorry to say that you're gonna be feeling ill for quite a while, but eventually, the side effects will wear off a bit. If you stay on the AntiVen, you'll be right as rain in a fortnight." Freca explained as he moved around the room. It made Legolas feel too ill to try to follow the man with his eyes, so he didn't know what exactly the fellow was doing.

Having to take on faith that these people knew what they were talking about; Legolas raised the cup to his lips and drank. His stomach protested and he gripped the post he clung to a little harder, remaining still as he tried to battle with his own nausea.

"What's your name then if you don't mind my asking?" Freca said when it seemed apparent that Legolas was not going to comment on what he had just been told. "And what is an... well, one of your kind, doing out here?"

"Legolas," the prince was too ill to think of taking an alias. Besides, it didn't matter, these men wouldn't know him from the next elf. "I was riding with a friend near the borders of the forest, we were attacked."

"You were near Fangorn?" Freca interrupted.

"No," Legolas shook his head. Obviously, they must now be nearer to that ancient wood than to the forests of his home, although he did not realize he had fled quite so far south.

"Mirkwood. We were pursuing some orcs across the river Limlight, but lost their trail. It was then, on the Downs that we were attacked. The men who assaulted us were after our horses. I do not know what became of my friend; we were separated and pursued. I was forced into a rocky area... my horse was frightened and I think she threw me. I... I don't remember anything else," Legolas closed his eyes. Worry for Trelan was eating at his heart again.

He told the truth, just not all of it. He and Trelan had been sent down to southern Mirkwood to check on rumours of stirring in the supposedly vacant Dol Guldur. There they had found a band of orcs who strangely enough did not want to fight, but ran away from the elves as if they were under orders that they could not risk jeopardizing. Legolas and Trelan had pursued them, but the trail was lost with the crossing of the Anduin and then the Limlight, and although the elves felt sure that the creatures had gone down through Rohan, they had decided to abandon the trail and return home with the strange tidings, when they were attacked. But these humans didn't need to know that. It did not concern them.

Freca inclined his head as he pulled a jingling set of leather and metal off a hook on the wall and slung it over his shoulder. If Legolas had been feeling better he would have recognized it as a halter.

"Well Legolas, you need to move and I need an extra set of hands, so follow me," Freca headed for the door in the rear of the room rather than the one that led out into the rest of the house.

Legolas was not sure he could, but he did not want to show this man that much weakness. Standing seemed a daunting task, but the prince found it easier than he feared. The anti-venom drink he had been given had helped his dizziness a little and he made it to the door without mishap. The bright sunlight outside assaulted his senses and he had to stop for a moment, holding the doorframe and swaying slightly as he gathered his strength.

"Close your eyes, and stand in the light for a moment," Freca had backtracked, seeing the elf's hesitation. "It'll be easier when you open them again."

Legolas did as he was told and was surprised that when he opened his eyes again he found that the fierce pain had faded back to a dull ache. He blinked a few times adjusting to the brightness.

"All right, good, come on then," Freca was off and moving again across the windswept grass, passing around the side of the house. The day was clear and the sun shone brightly on the rolling green hills that spread out around them.

"Where are we going?" Legolas' mind was still a little foggy.

"Down to the stables. Fastred and Léod are out looking for our missing horses again and I need a hand. Here, hold this," Freca passed the halter to Legolas.

Legolas quickly found out that Émuseld was not a town as he had at first thought upon hearing the name, but rather a large estate that was comprised mostly of horse pastures and two long rows of stables. There was also a strange, fenced-in ring with a sandy floor to the right of the stables, as well as Freca's main house, and a smaller building nearby. All were fashioned in the manner of the Rohirrim: pointed roofs and thick wooden beams, with images of horses and other beasts carved into the doorposts.

Entering the first stable and moving through the low, thatch-roofed structure, Freca stopped by a stall that held a large, black horse. The animal shied back from him, snorting and pawing its hooves in warning. The stall was not big enough for it to evade his reach however and Freca caught the horse's head, holding it still as it tried to jerk free. Quickly, he tied a piece of cloth over the animal's eyes and it quieted some, but it was still trying to pull away from the human's touch.

"All right, I'll hold him, you put the halter on," Freca's voice was choppy as he strained to hold onto the horse. It was putting up a good fight, even blindfolded.

Legolas stared down at the contraption in his hands. He had had very little call to have to do this in his life, because he generally used no reins or bridle when he rode. Yet he did know the principles behind it more or less. If he were feeling better, it would have been easier, but he tried to push aside his weakness and proceed. The horse did not make matters easier by jerking its head around and attempting to pull up, so the man and elf could barely reach him. Sliding the nosepiece on quickly and pulling the straps up over the horse's ears, Legolas paused, realizing something was wrong.

The horse swung its head to the side, clipping Freca's chin sharply and making him let go. The man swore and spit blood, yanking the halter away. "Don't you know anything? You have to get the bit into his mouth first!"

Legolas was feeling poorly and increasingly irritated, but he also felt a bit foolish. "I'm sorry. I have not done this in a long time. I don't usually ride with reins."

Freca looked at the elf as if he were either lying or still more muddled from the poisons than he had thought. Shrugging, the man pointed at the agitated horse. "Fine, then *you* hold his head and *I'll* put the halter on."

Speaking softly in his native tongue, Legolas reached out for the horse's head. When he caught it, the animal snorted a few times, but did not try to pull away. Instead, he stood very still, bringing his head down and allowing Freca to hook his thumbs in the horse's mouth and slip the bit easily over his tongue, sliding the bridle on without trouble as Legolas just loosely held his head with one hand on his neck and the other on his jaw.

Freca quietly made note of the effect the elf had on the horse. This could work out all right and perhaps not be a total loss after all.

After the horse was haltered and put on cross-ties, Freca prepared to see to his hooves, but first, he took Legolas to a long table at the end of the stables. Many twisted leather strips, rope cords and bits of metal were laid in a heap on one end, while a few finished bridals hung against the back wall.

"Here, see if you can get some of these sorted out and properly strung, you can look at these here if you need an example of how they should be." Freca gave the elf a light task to do because he knew that Legolas was still coming out of the worst of the detoxification period. But around here if a person was able to work, they did. "In a little while we'll go back to the house and you'll take another little lie down. I'll return in a bit." With that Freca went back about his own work.

Legolas sank down on a stool next to the table, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hated feeling this weak and achy. He hated it. He did not question why Freca was asking him to do these things. These people had saved his life, and if they needed a little help he wouldn't begrudge them that. Especially since he apparently needed to be moving around anyway; even if his hurting body wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark shadow and go back to sleep.

Pushing his hair back from his face, Legolas picked up one of the partially formed halters and began straightening out the twisted leather straps, glancing at the ones on the wall to make sure he was threading them right. The halter shook ever so slightly in his hand and the prince realized with extreme annoyance that he was trembling. Clenching his fist harder he forced himself to stop.

Several hours later, Legolas had made good headway through the mess on the table, but he could no longer force his eyes to focus on anything. A burning headache was throbbing between his temples and he was feeling sick to his stomach again. Leaning his elbows on the edge of the table and pressing his palms into his aching eyes, Legolas tried to clear his head.

He jerked when a hand touched his shoulder. The elf hadn't even heard the human approach and that showed how bad off he was.

Freca glanced over the newly fixed and cleaned halters hanging against the wall with approval. The elf felt hot under his hand. Enough work for now, this one needed to rest again.

"Léod and Fastred are back. Finally found the missing horses if you can believe that," Freca chuckled. "Come on, its lunch time."

Legolas stood up but had to grip the table ledge to stay steady. "I think I just want to lay down for a little," he touched the fingers of his bandaged hand lightly to his temple, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You will, *after* you eat something. It's been two days now, you have to keep your strength up, come on then," Freca said decidedly. He was obviously used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It grated slightly on the prince's nerves, for he was not accustomed to being bossed around in this manner, but he tried to remain civil anyway.

Freca, Léod and Fastred cooked outside and ate around their fire. They appeared to be the only permanent occupants of Émuseld, although Freca said that they hired temporary hands as needed depending on how busy they got. But it was a slow time for them at the moment and only these three were needed.

The elf really did not feel hungry, but to please the men, Legolas ate lightly and put up with a host of questions from Fastred and Léod who were fascinated to no end to meet a real elf. They had gotten the idea into their heads that he must be from Lothlórien, because that was the only place they had ever heard of in connection with elves before. Eventually, after being continually corrected, they more or less accepted that he was from Mirkwood, although they knew little of that place save for what fearful tales told and seemed slightly unsettled by the thought that their new companion came from thence.

After they had eaten, Legolas was finally allowed to lie down again on a blanket they brought out for him in the shadow of a nearby tree while Fastred and Léod cleaned up the remains of the meal and Freca sharpened his leather-working tools.

It felt good to be still and be able to close his eyes, but Legolas' mind wouldn't rest. "How soon until I am able to travel?" he inquired, not caring which of the three men took the question as being directed at them so long as one of them knew the answer. Even ill as he felt he was worried about Trelan and the sooner he could go searching for his friend, the better.

"Two weeks," it was Freca's voice who answered and Legolas' eyes opened in surprise. He leaned up on his elbows despite the ache it caused.

"Two weeks?" he didn't want to imagine feeling this miserable for that long.

Freca shook his head, amused. "Don't get yourself in a lather just yet. You won't feel this bad the entire time. In two or three days you should begin to feel quite decent again. By the end of the week, you won't hardly know there's anything wrong with you. BUT remember what I said? You don't get those AntiVen doses twice a day you'll be just as dead as if we hadn't wasted our time on you."

Legolas sank back again a little. "Oh. Would you be able to show me how to make it? I have to leave as soon as I'm able..."

Fastred laughed. "Show you how? Oh, I'm sure you'd like that."

They were all laughing and Legolas didn't see anything funny about it.

"Look, Legolas, I don't think you understand how this works," Freca said when he saw the highly irritated look on the elf's face. "We here in Émuseld are the only ones who know how to make the anti-venom for a lhyguan bite. It's what you might call a trade secret. My father passed it on to me as his father did before him and Fastred and Léod here have been sworn to secrecy. If just anyone knew how to make it, there wouldn't be any reason for folks to come and buy it from us, now would there?"

Legolas pressed his palms into his eyes again with a deep, weary sigh. He was hurting and irritable and not in the mood for a recitation of Freca's business policies. "I thought you said you were horse breakers," the elf mumbled, wishing this headache would allow him to think properly.

"We are," Freca was calmly working a sharper edge on his awl. "And we're a lot more. Horses are our main trade if you want to know the truth. Folks bring theirs to us and we saddle-break them. Catch some of our own wild ones to break and sell sometimes as well. But we also treat sick horses, and that's how the AntiVen came into existence originally. Lhygians are native to this particular area you see, and so we often get horses being brought in with bite wounds. My grandfather's the one who discovered the cure and we've been saving both horses *and* people with it for years now. HOWEVER, treatment isn't free and it isn't cheap." He pointed the tip of his awl at the elf. "You, my friend, have already built yourself quite a tab to be paid off. Forgive us for not asking first, but we made the leap of assuming you'd rather be alive than dead and we could work the details out later," the human chuckled.

Legolas scowled; the profit-conscious mindset of these humans was not one he completely understood. Whether that was because he was an elf, or because he was a prince, Legolas didn't know. "You would let people die if they can't pay you?"

"Of course not!" Léod seemed insulted by the suggestion, glancing up from his work with a dark look. "What do you think we are?"

Freca shook his head. "We didn't let you die, did we? All I'm saying is that we don't do something for nothing and those that can't pay cash for a large enough supply to last them the whole time it's needed find another way to work things out."

The elf prince stared quietly up at the leafy branches of the tree over his head, watching them move slowly in the wind. "I suppose I should ask what you mean by that, since I am most likely about to find myself in that position." Of course he and Trelan had not left home without some travelling money, but they usually did not need much and in any case, Trelan had been the one carrying their purse. He didn't suppose that these men would believe him if he promised to return with money for them... even if he did tell them his father was a king, it would mean very little here in Rohan; they barely knew where Mirkwood was, to begin with and Freca at least did not seem the trusting type.

Freca already knew that the elf didn't have any money on him. Or anything of quite enough value to cover the cost of his treatments. "Don't let that worry you. You can work it off, like the others have. We don't keep a lot of workers around here, just the three of us usually, but we can always use an extra hand with the horses and the chores."

"You mean then that I can be your slave," the prince's voice held an unmistakable edge of disdain. He had served humans before, more than once, and it had never been a pleasant experience. He was liking his current situation less and less.

Freca stopped working and levelled his gaze with that of the elf.

"No. That is not what I said, nor what I meant. I don't know how things are where you come from, but we don't believe in slavery here in Rohan. We never have. We work hard, but we are free people. I'm not asking you to work *for* us, I'm asking you to work *with* us, just until the poison is completely out of your system. Then, when you're finished with your treatments, you're free to go whenever you want, or you can stay and hire on with us for a longer time if you so desire of course. Still, the choice is yours master elf. I'll not force you to do anything."

Legolas closed his eyes and draped his arm over his face, blocking out the light which was beginning to hurt again. He let his breath out slowly. Truly, he supposed, Freca was not being unreasonable with him... but that didn't mean he particularly liked the situation.

"And what choice would that be? To leave and die, or to stay and trade a day of work for another day to live?"

Freca ignored the tone of the elf's voice and shrugged, returning to his work. "Put it however you like, it's still your decision."

Legolas was silent then, for there seemed to be nothing left to say. Freca was right. It may be his decision, but he had very little choice.

Legolas pushed a wayward strand of hair out of his face only to have the light, teasing breeze blow it back down again. He was still worried about Trelan, but right now he was glad that neither he, nor Raniean were present. They would never let him live this down. Never. After all, it wasn't every day that you got to see the prince of Mirkwood down on his knees scrubbing built-up, caked-on grime out of the bottom of half a dozen huge feeding troughs.

It wasn't that Legolas minded working, or working hard. Or even dirty work for that matter, although it was not his preference. He had never been the type to sit around and let others do things for him and prided himself on independence. However, he knew that his friends would tease him mercilessly if they could see him now, because when they were young, punishment for their childish antics usually meant helping the palace staff with the scrubbing or the gardening or something of that nature.

At least the elf was beginning to feel better. The first few days had been a sheer misery. The violent illness that had gripped him, in the beginning, had faded now, but Legolas could tell he was still not fully healed. The poison yet lingering in his system, kept under control by the daily treatments that the breakers gave him, continued to sap a small part of his strength, although the prince was becoming accustomed to its presence and no longer noticed it as pronounced as it had once seemed.

*THUMP* Fastred's body slammed into the soft, sandy ground in the centre of the pen across the field on Legolas' left. The breaker rolled once before getting back to his feet, scowling at the horse that had just thrown him. The large, powerfully built chestnut stallion nickered as if happy with itself and danced lightly away, its dark eyes following the human and seeming to speak a warning about what would happen if the small bipedal being attempted to get on its back again.

Léod, kneeling on the grass and scrubbing feed-troughs next to Legolas, looked up and laughed. "That's it, keep at him Fastred! I think you were on a whole five seconds this time, that *has* to be a new record..."

Fastred glared at his friend, dusting his trousers and muttering. They had been trying to saddle-break this particular horse for the better part of two weeks. Thus far with no results other than a host of bruises. It took Fastred nearly ten minutes to actually corner the horse long enough to get the blindfold on him again so that the man could swing up for another try. He lasted only three seconds this time.

The breaker sprawled in an undignified manner and this time Legolas could not help but join Léod's laughter. It was amusing how cantankerous animals could be around humans.

Fastred saw the elf laughing at him as well and glared harder. He was used to Léod's goading, but Léod had his own share of bumps from this horse and had earned that right. "Hey, what are *you* laughing at elf-boy?"

"You," the prince admitted without compunction. "He's never going to let you ride him that way unless you break his spirit, but by the time you do that he will have lost the very spark that makes him valuable to you," the elf's tone was light but his eyes a little sad. Some horses could be safely and happily saddle-tamed in the method they were attempting, but somehow he could tell right now that this one never would.

"Oh, and you think you could do better?" Fastred snorted. Everybody was an expert, from a safe distance.

Legolas just smiled and shook his head wryly. "Yes."

"Well I would love to see that," the human dared him. "Please, by all means..." Fastred gestured towards the horse who was restlessly pawing the earth and glaring.

The prince accepted the challenge without hesitation, rising to his feet and easily swinging over the fence.

Fastred and Léod exchanged devilish grins. This kind of work always *looked* easier than it was and they fully expected their latest co-worker to eat dirt, and his words, very quickly.

Legolas stretched out his hand, talking softly to the horse in his native tongue as he approached. The horse nickered and backed away, its dark, liquid eyes wide.

The elf paused, his tone turning even more gentle. This horse had been hurt. Somewhere, someone had abused it and it was not going to let anyone get that close again. Legolas understood that feeling and whispered quiet, comforting words as he edged closer, leaving a path open if the horse wanted to run so that it did not feel trapped.

The huge stallion snorted and eyed the elf suspiciously, but did not try to run away. Once the prince had his head, Fastred moved to slip the blindfold on again, but Legolas waved him off as the horse began to shy away. "Thank you, that won't be necessary."

"He'll buck you off before you even get on!" Léod laughed at what he perceived as inexperience.

Legolas ignored him as he swiftly and gently removed the bit and bridle from the horse, unfastening and taking the saddle off next.

Fastred smirked, folding his arms. "Giving up already?"

"Hardly," Legolas allowed himself to flash the two humans a puckish grin as he swung smoothly up onto the horse's back in one fluid movement.

Fastred scrambled back over the fence quickly, anticipating a very short-lived struggle.

The horse however, seemed a completely different animal. It did not buck or rear, or seem to reject the presence on its back as an intrusion. The stallion fidgeted and stirred restlessly at first, but quieted quickly under the prince's soothing voice and a few minutes later Legolas had it walking around the ring and following his every command as if it had been tamed since a foal.

Freca came out of the building across the way. "What are you two staring at like slack-jawed idiots?" he asked Fastred and Léod, before seeing Legolas in the breaking ring. "Wait a minute...isn't that Firebrand?" Of course, it was and a closer look told the man that Legolas had not been lying to him, nor muddled by illness a few days ago when the elf asserted that he did not need a bridle to ride.

"Not bad," Freca approved, slapping the other two men casually upside the head when they did not stop gaping in shock. "Not bad at all. Will, he let anybody else on him though?"

Legolas patted the stallion's neck. All living things seemed to have a natural affinity with elves, and this horse appeared to be able to tell that the prince understood him and intended him no harm. "Firebrand here is used to being wild, that is where his heart is, but be gentle with him, and he will prove an excellent mount. Let me ride him for a few days and I think I can convince him to bear others as well."

Freca nodded. Whatever it took to get this horse rideable and out of his hair sounded good to him. The creature had been nothing but an expensive nuisance since he arrived. "You're obviously a natural at this Legolas, you sure you don't want a job with us when your treatment's up?" The offer was half-jest, half-serious.

Legolas just smiled wryly and shook his head, taking Firebrand around for another pass and petting the horse's arched neck with one hand. "Some of us were always meant to be free." He whispered.

Day was fading into night outside as Léod dropped dramatically down onto his bed against the far wall. "I could sleep for a week!"

"You should talk," Fastred shook his head as he dumped his gear in the corner of the room and tugged off his boots.

Legolas was already sitting on the bed that had been assigned to him while he was here. The first few nights he had stayed in the main house with Freca, until the boss was sure that the AntiVen had the same desired effect on the elf as it did on humans. After the main danger was perceived to be over, Legolas had been moved to the common house with Fastred and Léod.

Léod seemed about to respond when Freca's form appeared unexpectedly in the doorway.

"All right come on, turn out everybody!" the boss called as he leaned in. "Got a group riding in, looks to be at least six to eight headstrong."

The other two humans moaned.

"Now?" Fastred griped as he tugged his boots back on. "It's bloody nightfall, couldn't they choose a better time?"

Legolas just slid off his bed and moved towards the door. He had let his hair down so it now fell over his ears and around his shoulders, but was otherwise still dressed and ready.

"Hey, we don't control the time, we control the horses, now come on, get moving," Freca shook his head. "You're all getting soft and lazy! Look at Legolas here, he's not tired."

This was met with more good-natured mumbling from the humans as they pulled themselves together. "That doesn't count, he's *never* tired!"

Freca laughed. That nearly seemed to be true. While Fastred and Léod got ready Freca passed the small corked drinking horn he was holding in one hand to Legolas. "Drink up lad," he added.

Legolas unstopped the opening and swallowed the liquid inside in one draught. He knew what it was. By now his morning and evening doses of the lhyguan anti-venom had become quite habitual. The weeks had passed quicker than the elf had feared and in two more days, Legolas' treatments would be ended. In truth, the elf felt fully well again already and had for some time. It was Legolas' personal opinion that he was well enough to leave now, because he did not think these men took into account the fact that elves mended faster than humans, but for caution's sake and to avoid argument, he would wait out the last two days before saying his farewells.

Legolas handed the drinking horn back to Freca. The only thing that still reminded him at all of his near-death encounter, was the thin white bandage that ran in between his right thumb and forefinger and wrapped around his palm in an X before tying off around his wrist. The bite wound to the prince's hand had taken a strangely long time to heal but the breakers had assured him that was normal for a lhyguan bite and it too would heal completely with time.

Freca re-corked the horn and nodded. "All right then, let's move," he said before turning and heading out to meet their arriving customers.

Léod and Fastred shoved Legolas lightly from behind as they walked out into the cooling evening. "Oh yes, look at Legolas, he's never tired..."

Legolas rolled his eyes. He was never quite sure whether they were teasing him or actually irritated when they got like this, but shrugged it off in any case, because they never seemed to hold him any serious ill will, whether they were teasing or peeved.

When they got down into the lower pasture some of the first riders and horses had already begun to arrive. A robust, sandy-blond haired man of obvious Rohan heritage swung down off his horse and had just finished speaking to Freca when the others joined him.

Freca turned to his three hands. "All right boys, roll up your sleeves and get ready for work! This is Gram, and these gents have some horses that need grooming, tending and shoeing. Spruce 'em up, they gotta look nice to sell. These six here are just the first batch; the rest of them are a little behind with their main company. They want the already broken ones ready by morning, which gives us less than an hour to get these beauties started on before the others arrive. Let's get to it then!"

"How many more head will your boss be bringing in?" Freca asked Gram as Legolas, Léod and Fastred got to work, herding the horses towards the pens across the yard with the help of Gram's two underlings.

"Near twenty," Gram wiped his brow with the back of his hand, glancing back over his shoulder as he spoke. "They would have been with us but a couple of the horses are incredibly wild, gave us a hell of a lot of trouble and slowed the main group up. My boss, Scatha let us ride on ahead to get things started."

Freca whistled softly. "Twenty? Unbroken?" This was an unusually large order of business for the offseason and normally Freca would have had more workers on hand to deal with an influx of horses as large as this was proving to be.

"No, they're all broken," Gram shook his head. "Only two of them are giving us trouble..." his eyes unfocused for a moment. "But we'll deal with that. We don't need your services for breaking; we just need them fixed up a bit. The trail's been long and not all of them are looking their best. We also need a few re-shoed. Got a couple of ones that are pulling lame on us and we don't know why... that sort of thing."

Freca nodded. "I'll send down to Kurnwait," he indicated the direction of the nearest town with his head. "Get a few extra hands up here to help..."

Gram was already shaking his head. "No, not necessary. Kurnwait is two hours from here. It would only waste time. Scatha wants these animals ready to go by sunrise. Don't worry, our hands will help as soon as they get here and you will be well paid for your services and the use of your equipment." Gram's tone brooked no disagreement.

Freca's eyes narrowed slightly. "If you're sure that's the way you want it..."

Gram nodded confidently. "We're sure."

"All right then," Freca shrugged. "Let's get to it."

By the time Freca reached the stables the horses had been penned outside and three of them were on cross-ties against the inside wall of the stable with the five workers buzzing busily about them. More than a dozen torches had been lit, chasing away the growing evening shadows and giving plenty of light to work by. Freca reasoned that they would need more torches than this before the night was over. These were very strange customers indeed.

Legolas curried one of the new horses with quick, efficient movements while Fastred lifted each foot in turn, checking the shoeing job.

Léod and Gram's two men were working on some of the other animals. All of the horses were coated in mud and in some cases, their original colour and markings were almost impossible to tell under the layers of dirt.

"This one's thrown a shoe, but the other three are still good," Fastred straightened up. "Legolas says he's got a cut on his foreleg, but now that we've washed the worst of the dirt off him it's not that bad. Two others I've looked over so far in more or less the same shape..." the man hesitated, speaking quieter, his words now meant for Freca's ears only. "Although I'd love to know where they got over twenty perfectly saddle-broken horses, some of which, like this one, are sporting incomplete sets of steel-weight shoes..."

Freca raised his eyebrows. Steel-weight shoes were expensive. Very expensive and they lasted for a long time. No one in their right mind sold a horse still wearing such shoes when they could easily be first replaced with cheaper ones and the more expensive ones re-used. And if a horse was sold with them included in the price... who would be so careless as to let such shoes be lost? But then, from the condition that these horses were in, it did not seem that their current owners had been overly concerned about their care or over-gentle in their handling.

Legolas stopped moving, pushing his lose hair absently back from his face a little, the currycomb in his other hand resting on the horse's shoulder. This horse acted calmly, but it was disturbed and agitated inside. He could tell. Nature and animals spoke to elves in ways that humans could never understand, and this horse spoke of disturbing things. As the mud was worked out of the black horse's coat, an unusual patch was revealed on his shoulder. Cleaning further, Legolas realized that the patch was, in fact, a brand mark, an identification of some sort. He had not seen this practice used before, but supposed it to be a local custom for the area.

Gram, who had come over to stand near Freca, saw the elf staring. Legolas' hair was still down and in the torchlight Gram did not realize that the prince was not a man. Besides, all Gram was interested in was Legolas' questioning look.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Gram turned to Freca. "Some of these horses were marked by their previous owners. You have the equipment to remove those of course..." it was not a question.

Freca watched him for a moment, but did not seem tossed off. "Yes. Of course, we do." He did not mention that such work was almost always done *before* the horse was sold, and at the owner's bidding, not the buyer's. He was sure that Gram and whoever this Scatha was that he was working for were also well aware of that.

"Will that be a problem?" Gram's eyes were hard as he held Freca's gaze and there was a hint of threat in his stony glare.

"What problem?" Freca cocked his head. "I told you we could do it didn't I? As soon as this one's clean get him into a marking halter Fastred. And watch for any others who need it," he ordered calmly, before moving on to see how Léod's work was coming.

Fastred moved off to do as he was told, but Legolas caught the other man's arm, inclining his head towards the horse in front of him. "Fastred... something is not right. This horse does not belong to these men."

Fastred just looked at the elf for a moment before he shrugged the other's hand off. "It's none of our business Legolas. We do what we're paid to do and we don't ask unhealthy questions."

"But..." the elf shook his head.

Fastred stepped closer for a moment, putting his head near Legolas' and lowering his voice. "Look, right now there's three of them and three of us, but who knows how many are coming over the hills in the next hour or so? You heard what they told Freca. Now just do your job and don't ask questions that you don't want to know the answer to, all right?"

Legolas looked away. He understood, but he didn't agree. Fastred however, did not care whether or not the elf agreed and was already busy back about his task.

The elf slid his hand gently along the horse's neck. The sound of approaching hooves made everyone look up.

"Looks like your friends got here a little sooner than expected," Freca called to Gram as he went down to meet the newcomers.

Scatha was a swarthy man. A Rohan native, he obviously had a fair share of Dunlending blood in his veins as was evidenced by his dark hair and dark eyes.

Freca greeted him politely, although there was little trust between the men of Rohan and those of Dunland ancestry. Gram had not exaggerated; there were at least twenty horses now being herded into his larger pens in the low meadow behind them. With just his workers, the task they were being asked was impossible, however, Scatha had brought at least a dozen men with him, so they might possibly be able to pull it off... but the pay had better be well worth the trouble.

Gram looked down the hill and his eyes gleamed with hard amusement as his boss talked with the head of the breakers. Scatha would promise these people whatever they wanted. It mattered not, because none of them would live to collect. Once their usefulness was done these four men were dead. It would never do to leave anyone around who might report them. Besides... it was so much less expensive this way.

"You run into a mudslick?" Freca questioned. All the arriving horses were as dirt-coated as the ones they had already begun cleaning.

Scatha smiled at the other man. "You run into lots of things out in the wilds. That is not your concern. All I want to know from you is if you can do the job or not."

Freca nodded with clipped motions. "Oh we can do it so long as you can pay."

"Don't worry my friend, you will be well rewarded for your service," Scatha assured. Talk of just what exactly that pay involved was interrupted by a commotion in the middle of the herd.

Two of the horses were not loose with the others, and it was not hard to guess that those were the troublemakers that had been mentioned earlier. Several of Scatha's men had been trying to pen them with the other horses, but as soon as the creatures had the chance they bucked and reared, shaking their heads and trying to yank away from their handlers.

The four humans guarding them swore loudly as they avoided the flying hooves and yanked on the halters which they had rigged to work like choke-chains; striking the horses brutally with the crops in their hands in an effort to subdue them. This particular pair of horses had been nothing but trouble and the men's patience was gone.

"Got yourself a couple of fiery ones there, hm?" Freca whistled softly as he turned towards the struggle taking place nearby, wincing inwardly at how rough Scatha's handlers were being with the high-spirited horses. That was no way to handle the situation, but these were not his horses and no one had asked for his opinion.

Scatha scowled. Those two beasts had almost been more trouble than they were worth. They were a treasured prize, but they would be useless if they remained as untamable as they had been thus far.

"Hey! Léod!" Freca called up the hill. "Send Legolas down here! We've got a couple of wild ones, let's see what he can do!"

Léod, halfway between the stables and the lower meadow pens, nodded and sprinted up the hill. The breaker poked his head into the stable quickly where Legolas and one of Gram's men were still working. "Legolas! Freca wants you down the hill!" he called before heading back to his tasks. They were all going to be very busy and the sooner they got to work the sooner they'd get done. He figured that tonight would be a long night.

Léod had no idea just how right he was.

Legolas dropped the wet sponge he was using on the horse in front of him back in the bucket by his feet and wiped his hands off on the soiled apron tied around his hips. Pushing his hair back behind his ears for the dozenth time he exited the stable and walked down the hill towards the main group.

At the same time, the two rearing horses broke free of their vicious handlers. Nearly trampling Freca and Scatha who only just got out of the way in time, they bolted up the hill.

"Legolas, look out!" Freca called in warning as the horses barreled towards the prince.

However, the horses had no intention of running the elf over. Instead, they pulled up on either side of him, tossing their heads and neighing in distress.

One of the horses pressed her muzzle against the elf's shoulder pleadingly, leaving behind a dirty smudge. Her sides were heaving and bright red blood from the cruel crop strokes of her handlers mingled with the mud that clung to the distressed creatures.

Legolas blinked in shock as he looked into the mare's frightened, but trusting eyes. The two horses were so mud-coated that they were almost unrecognizable, the dark earth hiding their light, dappled grey coats. However, no amount of dirt could hide them from the elf.

"Avornwen?" Legolas said in surprise, taking her head gently in his hands before moving one hand to rest on the nose of the other horse who was now nipping lightly at his shirtsleeve. "Kynter?"

Surprise turned quickly to rage as he took in the cruel choke-halters that they were trailing and the injuries they had both sustained.

Scatha and his men followed the horses up the hill slowly now that they seemed to be under control. Scatha's eyes locked on the fair-haired elf standing between the two horses and his look darkened. He recognized the elf, and as Legolas' eyes met his he knew instantly that the elf recognized him as well.

As Legolas looked at Scatha he felt his blood run cold. Horse hooves pounded in his head and he was on the edge of that grey shale cliff again; the one he now knew was called Scatha was leering at him as they tried to spook Avornwen and unseat him...

The moment hung suspended for a very long instant... before absolute chaos erupted.

Scatha's eyes narrowed dangerously. They had been recognized and could no longer afford to delay getting rid of these unwanted liabilities. "Change of plans boys!" he thundered, drawing his sword and pointing it at Legolas. "Kill him. Kill them all!"

Scatha's men reacted almost instantly. An arrow whizzed by Legolas' head and he dodged only just in time. Grabbing Avornwen's mane he swung up onto her back, away from the lunge of another man's sword. The mare wheeled around as Legolas' eyes searched for Freca, Fastred and Léod. He couldn't see any of them, only the tossing sea of men and weapons that were rushing towards him.

The elf felt uncomfortably naked without any of his weapons on hand. Avornwen and Kynter sprinted up the hill, away from their pursuers, but Legolas knew he could never just run away and leave the breakers here alone. He scanned the dark landscape for them urgently.

Suddenly Avornwen stumbled and swerved sharply to the side, making Legolas clamp tightly with his knees and cling to the horse's mane to keep from sliding off the horse's mud-slicked back.

Gram, and his men, stepping from the shadows of the stables where they had been all but forgotten, had grabbed the trailing choke-rein from Avornwen's halter and wrapped it around the stable door post, checking the horse's full-out flight sharply.

As her hooves skidded sharply, Avornwen gave a snorting, strangled cry at the cruel yank. She couldn't turn fast enough to counter the check to her speed and fell heavily to her side.

Legolas let out a soft cry as his left leg was caught between the ground and the horse and the side of his head slammed forcefully against the earth. Avornwen lunged against the choke-line, rolling to her knees and trying to break free. Legolas rolled away swiftly before another vicious tug pulled the panicking horse back onto her side. Avornwen was so quick that she had not stayed down long enough to break her rider's leg, but the impact had not done Legolas any good and he staggered slightly as he pulled himself to his feet.

Gram, having reached the downed horse, tried to tackle Legolas but missed by only inches, the elf's injured leg shooting sharp pains through him as he danced away. The pain was distracting and he was not quick enough to avoid the second attacker who knocked the elf to the earth, rolling over and over with him as they grappled for the upper position. Legolas gained the top and slammed the man's head back forcefully against the rocky ground, punching him hard and jumping up and away. Gram and his men blocked the elf's retreat up the hill and Legolas spun around, only to come face to face with Scatha and more of his men coming up from below.

The main host had caught up now and some of the men were holding Kynter again as Avornwen struggled to her feet, obviously winded.

Legolas' eyes darted around him, but his options were incredibly limited. Torches were bobbing everywhere; casting confusing twisted shadows on the darkened earth. Sounds of chaos filled the lower pasture where the other horses, half-in the pen, half out when the commotion began, had spooked and were wreaking havoc with the men trying to recapture them.

"Don't run elf and we'll make this quick," Scatha threatened, his bloody sword drawn as the circle of men surrounding the prince drew tighter. "Not like the other elf."

Legolas' gaze burned into the Dunlending as he tried to circle warily. His left leg was screaming at him and would barely hold his weight. It may not have been broken, but it was definitely not happy with him.

"What did you do to Trelan? Where is he?" the prince ground out through his teeth. Wishing again that he had some kind of weapon. Legolas limped slightly as he moved and Scatha noticed. His grin deepened.

"Was that his name? We didn't do anything, but the horses did pretty good I hear. You ever seen a person trampled to death elf? Well, you don't want to. Don't give us no trouble and we won't be forced to let you see how it feels either," Scatha moved closer, forcing Legolas to retreat nearer to the men behind him. "Your boss is dead," he fingered his bloody sword. "Your other friends soon will be if they aren't already... don't make this harder than it has to be, or I'll make sure you go slow."

Legolas' eyes narrowed and his heart filled with crushing sorrow. "You'll pay Scatha," he whispered softly, lethally, pain making his eyes hard. "I swear you'll pay for what you did to Trelan and these people!"

"At whose hand elf? Yours?" Scatha laughed, levelling the tip of his blade with Legolas' collarbones. "I don't think so." He nodded almost imperceptibly towards Gram. Legolas caught the motion and tensed, but did not know what it foreboded and had no time to react. Gram, knowing what Scatha was doing by driving the elf towards him, had uncurled the long lash whip that hung by his side and held it loosely in his hand. At Scatha's signal, he let the lash snake out with practised skill and wrap around the elf's bad leg, drawing it back swiftly and yanking Legolas' footing out from under him.

Legolas gasped slightly as he hit the ground, half-catching himself on his hands, the jarring fall making his shoulders and palms ache. Before he could even draw his breath in again a sharp boot caught him in the stomach and ribs while another barbed and braided leather thong wrapped around his upper arm, jerking back hard and flipping the elf over onto his back. The lash cut through his sleeve as it was yanked away, leaving a curled, bleeding welt behind on the arm underneath.

Scatha stomped ruthlessly on the elf's out-flung wrist, pinning Legolas down as Gram knelt, grabbing the prince's other arm and sliding the sharp edge of a dagger under Legolas' chin. The prince winced as Scatha's boot ground into the still healing wound on his hand.

Legolas stopped struggling reluctantly as he felt the steel biting the soft flesh of his neck, his eyes blazing furiously up at Gram as the human carefully pinned both his arms over his head by kneeling on the elf's wrists, keeping the dagger tight against Legolas' throat.

Here and there in the distance, Legolas could hear the sounds of raised voices and fighting and guessed that somewhere Fastred and Léod were putting up a fight. The spooked and unsettled horses down the hill had broken through the fence holding them in, as well as the one holding the other horses that the breakers had been boarding and the creatures were scattering everywhere, leaving a number of the thieves chasing them around and generally adding clamour to chaos. Avornwen and Kynter were bucking and pulling on their lead-lines as they were drug forcefully away, trying desperately to get back to the elf, but the men holding them were not about to make the mistake of letting those two escape again.

Most of the other thieves had scattered to try to keep as many horses as they could from running away, leaving only Gram, Scatha and three of his men hovering around their captive. Scatha stood over Legolas, grinning, his whole attention on the elf and not sparing too much thought to anything else right now. His men would take care of the horses, but this elf... this elf was his and he was going to pay for causing them as much trouble as he already had. Letting his sword rest against Legolas' chest, Scatha dragged the razor blade slowly down the prince's torso, cutting open his tunic and the skin underneath. Legolas tensed but wouldn't show them pain, biting back his breath to keep from crying out.

Scatha's smile just widened. "I lied," he whispered softly. "You die hard elf. You die very hard."

TBC...