Legolas woke to total darkness. He could hear the sound of birds close by, telling him that it was day rather than night. He blinked, and then started slightly as he realized that he was blindfolded. His mouth felt horribly dry, the cloth he was gagged with stealing the moisture from his mouth. It also tasted foul and smelled worse. He lay as still as possible, recognizing from the sharp pains in his arms and legs that he was bound and had been for some time. The prince tested his bonds, frowning when he realized that his captors knew enough about elves not to underestimate his ability to free himself. He was tied with strong rope and chains over the rope. He could hear voices, close by but not in the same room he was in, he was fairly certain.

"'Is lordship sent our little token to th' king. Now we jest needs ta wait and keep th' elf alive," the first voice said.

"'E's trussed all good an' proper. 'E ain't going nowhere. We jest gotta feed 'im an' water 'im 'til 'e's not needed anymore," a second voice added.

"Aye, an' jest that. I ain't about to waste my time on cleanin' 'im. We'd 'ave ta untie 'im fer that anyroad, an' no way I'm gonna do that!" first exclaimed.

"Might be worth it ta jest untie 'is legs. 'E's as purty as a maid," a third voice chimed in lewdly.

"No road! Ye couldna control yeself wi' the elf-woman an' she ended up dead. Yer not touchin' 'im unless 'is lordship gives the say so. Got it, Rafes?" the first voice decreed, from the sound of it slamming third into some article of furniture.

"I got it, I got it," third whined petulantly. "I'd rather a whore, anyroad. Elves die too quick ta be any fun. An' if ye beat th' whore proper, ye don't gotta pay."

"Shut yer traps, I gotta go check on our guest," first snapped, effectively ending the conversation. A door opened and closed, and the sound of footsteps approached the prince. Legolas could smell the man long before he reached the place where he lay and gagged from the stench of his unwashed body once the man bent over him.

"So yer awake, are ye? Might as well give ye sommat ta drink, then," the man grunted, slipping the gag down and grabbing a fistful of the archer's golden hair. He hauled Legolas' head back enough to cause the elf to grit his teeth. "Open up an take yer medicine like a good li'l elf," the man ordered with cruel humor. Forcing the spout of pitcher through the elf's teeth, he poured a large amount of foul-tasting liquid into his mouth. Legolas gagged and tried to spit the horrid stuff out, but the man clamped his mouth shut and pinched his nose closed. Legolas thrashed as much as he could, but in the end was forced to swallow or suffocate. As soon as he had, the gag was shoved back in place. "Sweet dreams, elf," the man said, laughing maliciously. The door shut behind him.

Legolas fought his bonds for several minutes, but was unable to break them. Whatever the man had forced him to drink was making him dizzy and nauseous. He fought not to vomit into his gag, knowing he would likely drown in the contents of his own stomach if he did. Cold sweat broke out on his brow and he gritted his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose. Finally, his stomach settled, and his awareness receded. His last thought before the darkness reached out and drew him into the pit was that he wished he had spoken to his father before he had left Minas Tirith.

Elessar ran his hand down his face in weary frustration. It had been three long days since Legolas had been taken and they were no closer to finding him than they had been the first day. His men had conducted strategic searches, questioned well over a hundred potential witnesses, traced every known delivery into the city, and posted a reward for knowledge of the elf prince's whereabouts and still nothing.

A street urchin, one of countless left without family either by the war or disease and hunger, had delivered Legolas' weapons and a lock of the elf's hair to the palace that morning. The message that accompanied Legolas' effects had threatened the elf's life if Elessar did not release the suspects in the murder and abdicate the throne in favor of Faramir. The prince of Ithilien had been shocked speechless by the demands and had adamantly insisted that Elessar not even consider complying in any way. Surprisingly, that sentiment had been seconded by Thranduil.

"You cannot give in to fanatics, Estel," he had stated coldly. "Not even for the life of my son." The pain in the Elvenking's eyes was indescribable, and Elessar had been momentarily rendered unable to speak. He had gripped Legolas' father's shoulder tightly for the moment it took to compose himself.

"It is not only Legolas' life; do not think that I do not know that." He met Thranduil's eyes steadily, something few even among the elves could do for very long. The king of Eryn Lasgalen had nodded almost imperceptibly.

"It does not matter. If you did agree to their demands, they would kill him anyway. So long as they keep him alive, they have something to use as leverage. And you cannot agree. The kingdom would suffer for it. Prince Faramir is a good and honest man, but he would forever be tainted by the deeds of these fanatics. Gondor needs Elessar on its throne and no other until your time is done. Elrond was not the only one who sees what may come to pass." He had turned away, unwilling to further share his pain. "I shall be in the gardens if my presence is needed."

Elessar was at a loss as to what course of action to take next. He was having what men he could conduct grid searches of the abandoned buildings in the city, but there were many houses and not enough men. The search was slow, too slow. The reward had elicited many leads, all so far turning out to be dead ends.

Worst of all was what Thranduil was going through. The Elvenking had made it plain that he did not blame Elessar for what had happened. He had assisted where he could and when his temper surfaced, which it frequently did, no one complained. The kitchen staff had informally adopted him, as they were more than passing fond of Legolas, whom they had also informally adopted and tried to fatten up whenever he was in the Citadel. They saw to it that Thranduil was sent treats to tempt his appetite and so keep his strength up and his hopes alive. Any time of the day or night, he could request whatever he wished from the kitchens and it would be cheerfully and promptly delivered to him. The Elvenking's almost lifelong assistant, Luinloth, encouraged and abetted any such schemes seeking, as he always had, to care for his king.

Elessar sighed and heaved himself to his feet. He needed to check on Gimli. The dwarf still had not regained consciousness, adding yet another worry to the king's already burdened shoulders. He made his way to his friend's bedside, hoping that the dwarf had awakened and that at least one worry would be gone.

Thranduil sat on a stone bench in the Queen's gardens. Even the trees and flowers around him brought him no solace. He had thought that he knew everything there was to know about grief and fear. He had seen the sack of Doriath as an elfling, had seen his grandparents cut down before his eyes. He had seen his Naneth's sister take a mortal wound defending him. He had seen his father and younger brother cut down in battle during the Last Alliance and had known it to be a needless result of his father's pride. He had been forced to stay on to lead his father's troops, robbed of his last chance to see his mother before she faded from grief and joined her husband and younger son, leaving him utterly alone for the first time in his life.

He had watched as the spark of life had left his beloved wife's eyes centuries ago, extinguished by an orc's arrow. He had felt the bond between them shatter as her soul forsook her body for Mandos' Halls. He had seen her topple lifeless from her horse, barely retaining the presence of mind to snatch an infant Legolas from her arms as she fell. He had lived through the dark days that followed, keeping to life by sheer determination alone for Legolas' sake, refusing to leave his son parentless.

He had seen hundreds of his subjects, some of them his friends for most of his life, fall to orcs, wargs, spiders, and wraiths. He had seen the Shadow creep across his Greenwood, tainting it and turning it into Mirkwood. He had seen the darkness of Dol Goldur, had seen the remains of tortured prisoners within its walls. He had seen terrors and atrocities uncounted befall elves and men alike. He had known sorrow far more than he had known joy, until his wife and then Legolas. His wife had healed his soul, Legolas had healed his heart. He could bear most any trial, most any heartache with his son by his side.

He had come close to losing Legolas before; life in Mirkwood had been neither safe nor easy. As skillful and careful a warrior as Legolas was, he had taken wounds numerous times, more than a few serious, several life-threatening. Legolas had disappeared once as a young elfling on a trip back to Mirkwood from Imladris when his escort had been massacred by an exceptionally large force of orcs. Miraculously, the elfling had been unhurt, the warriors he had been entrusted to hiding him before the orcs attacked. Thranduil had gotten his son back that time, thanks to a kind group of humans and Elrond's sons.

Then there was the quest to destroy the Ring. Legolas had truthfully and realistically not expected to survive it. Thranduil too had known the risks and as terrified as he was for his son, he was also proud beyond measure of Legolas' courage and determination to face almost certain death unflinching. When both of them had survived that, Thranduil had thought that their times of danger were over. He and Legolas would both eventually sail to Valinor and that would be that.

This had blindsided him. He had been unprepared to have Legolas torn from him again, not now when they were so close to the end of their time in Arda. Not now when they both were just discovering what is was like to live without the Shadow.

The Elvenking's hands clenched in his lap, his knuckles going white with tension. He would maintain his control. He would not break, not unless the worst happened. Only if his son did indeed die would he loose his control. He drew a deep breath, calming and centering himself.

A light footfall behind him betrayed the presence of another of his kindred and he turned, wiping all expression from his face. He did not wish Elrond's daughter to see his pain. Arwen had enough pain of her own; she did not need his as well.

Soft lips grazed his cheek and Queen Arwen Undomiel seated herself by his side, taking his hand in hers.

"Do not give in to despair. He is alive and we shall find him," she stated softly, a hint of her father's power in her voice. He glanced sharply at her, knowing that although she was now mortal, she retained most of her elven strengths and abilities.

"You have seen this?" he asked, barely daring to hope.

"My heart sees it. It is not Legolas' fate to make his end here. He has tasks yet to accomplish and the Valar watch over him. They favor him, I think," she answered, a hint of a smile curving her lips. The corners of his mouth turned up a bit in response. He never had been able to resist Arwen. She had had him as firmly twined around her little finger from the time of her birth as she did every other male who cared for her.

"Then I will hold to hope, for I trust your instincts as I do your Adar's. Thank you." He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a courtly kiss on them before rising. He smiled faintly at her. "I certainly hope that Estel realizes exactly how fortunate he is." Arwen laughed softly.

"He does and I, too, am fortunate in him." She rose from the stone bench. "Come, walk with me and let the trees soothe you."

"I do not know how much solace I will find until I know that Legolas is safe, but I would be honored to walk with you." He bowed slightly and offered his arm, placing his hand over hers when she took it. "How fares Gimli?"

"He has not awakened, which is worrisome, but I believe he will wake soon. He is far too hard-headed to allow something like this to finish him," Arwen replied serenely. "Estel is worried, but I think that is partly due to his worry over Legolas. As I said, Gimli is stubborn and he would not abandon Legolas in any case." They lapsed into silence, walking the garden in circles and listening to the birds and squirrels.

Furtive sounds alerted both Thranduil and Arwen that they were no longer alone. The Elvenking drew a dagger from his boot, and warily eyed the greenery around them. Arwen silently drew twin daggers from her voluminous sleeves, deftly securing the fabric under the devices that had held the knives. She pulled a third dagger from her elaborately styled hair and handed it to her companion wordlessly. At his raised eyebrows she mouthed, 'my brothers.' He nodded in comprehension. It was not surprising that Elladan and Elrohir would think to ensure their sister's safety.

Eight men burst from the undergrowth towards the queen and Thranduil.

To Be Continued………..