CHAPTER 14. WORDS OF WARNING

Legolas tugged halfheartedly against his bonds, though his energy was entirely spent, and the action in vain. His wrists had already been rubbed raw, and bled where the rope had torn at the skin. Just as damaged as his physical self, however, was his mental state.

The total darkness and silence engulfed him, isolating and debilitating. For an Elf that had grown up surrounded by the light-filled forest and the warmth of sun filtering through the trees, the cold, empty darkness was terrifyingly foreign. This was not the type of cave that he and Gimli had travelled far to see - it was bare, jagged, bleak. He had begun to fear that his captor had left him to rot in the blackness when the flicker of a torch brought the sharp cave walls back into focus.

Legolas craned his neck, almost relieved at his return. The man came into view, and for the first time, the Elf caught sight of his face - to his surprise, his appearance was astoundingly ordinary. He bore the typical ruddy complexion and sandy hair of a Man of Gondor, and he looked to be in his middle years. The only part of his face that stood out were his eyes - cold, concrete and unforgiving. The flicker of the torch cast an eerie shadow onto his face, the flame dancing in his eyes.

The man stared down at the Elf with a slightly furrowed brow, head cocked to the side slightly almost thoughtfully. Legolas responded with an innocent, wide-eyed stare, hoping to evade aggravating the man further.

"So you are an ambassador, you say?" he asked, after another long, poignant moment.

"Yes, yes, I am." Legolas replied quickly - perhaps almost too much so.

"How curious... I wonder, then, why this letter refers to you as 'dear friend'?" the man queried, holding up the piece of parchment, adorned with the broken wax seal of the King of Gondor.

Legolas' eyes widened slightly - enough for his captor to take notice, and suddenly his face contorted with rage. He swung out a vicious kick, catching Legolas unawares as his boot slammed into his rib, accompanied by an unmistakable crunch. He cried out in pain before he could stop himself, his every breath sending a sharp stab of pain to his chest.

"It would seem odd, also, that this letter addresses you by the name Legolas." the man went on, voice cool and detached. "What was it you said your name was: Olórin? Yet, I was told by the messenger entrusted with its delivery that it was intended for a blond-headed Elf, a close comrade of the King of Gondor. There can't be many that would fit that description in these parts, now, could there?"

Legolas' stomach fell nauseatingly.

"What a strange coincidence indeed." he said weakly, scratching one last attempt at redemption.

"You lie." the man hissed, circling the crouched figure like a vulture. "I had heard that your kind were all lying scum, with tongues of silver and words that run like poison, but I will admit, I thought you better. My mistake."

"Insult my kindred further would be your next mistake." Legolas threatened, and his captor laughed cruelly.

"I do not think you are in any position to make threats, my friend." he commented, placing a boot on the Elf's back and pinning him to the floor, where he writhed half in pain, half purely in rebellion. "But tell me, for I am curious: how goes that wife of the king's - Arwen, is it? She's a pretty thing, even if she is one of your kind. I'll have a lot of fun with her once her husband's blood covers the-"

"You wouldn't dare!" Legolas growled lowly, his eyes alight with rage.

The man looked down at the Elf with a look of mild surprise.

"You fight so hard to protect him, even now!" he stated incredulously, his face mocking in its every line. "But where is he, Legolas? Where is your precious Aragorn now? Because he certainly isn't here in your hour of need, is he?"

Legolas froze, instantly regretting the decision as the movement sent a sharp stab of pain to his ribs.

"Now," he continued, crouching down and placing his face close to the Elf's pointed ear, his voice intent with cold, sadistic malice. "You are going to tell me exactly what I need to know, or we're going to see if your blood is as pretty as your face."

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Gimli's bones ached from the continual, jolting motion of the horse, but he dared not stop until he had reached his destination. Instead, he urged the beast onwards as best he could, cursing the fact that he had never sought to learn how to ride the creatures. Time was to be the key factor in maintaining Legolas' life, and every moment he trotted along was another minute that his friend could, for all he knew, be fading away.

"Faster, you blasted thing, faster!" Gimli cursed, shaking the reins angrily.

To his immense surprise, the horse replied with an enthusiastic whinny, and took off, almost throwing the Dwarf off the saddle in its haste. Gimli quickly grasped the leather fixings, hands closed tightly around anything that might keep him on the animal's back. Yet, he gave an involuntary chuckle as horse and ungainly rider pelted across the fields of Rohan - there was no doubt in Gimli's mind that it was the strangest sight to cross these lands in a very long time.

Rounding a large, rocky outcrop, Gimli gave a cry of relief as a hill appeared in the distance, surrounded by a tall wall and scattered with buildings and houses. The great palace at the top of the landform identified it without a shadow of a doubt, even from such a distance - The Golden Halls of Meduseld, home of the king and the grandest building in the city of Edoras. Gimli gave another tug of the reins, spurring Arod onwards even faster.

When at last he reached the entrance gate, a soldier whose face Gimli vaguely recalled from his visit just days previous called out to him.

"Master Dwarf, you return so soon!" he chirped, opening the gate immediately. Gimli did not slow Arod's pace (though, in truth, he did not entirely know how) as they passed beneath the archway, leaving the guard looking bewildered in his wake. Arod climbed the hill with tireless speed, and Gimli spared a moment's thought for the animal - from his urgent pace and stamina, it was almost as though the creature understood the danger his master was in, and sought, as the Dwarf did, to warn anyone that could help.

As he reached the Golden Hall, Gimli let go of the saddle, and toppled gracelessly from the horse's back. Brushing himself off, quite unhurt, he glanced up, to see the grinning, bearded face of Éomer rushing down the steps towards him.

"That was quite a dismount, my friend!" he laughed. "But I did not expect you back so soon - and where is Legolas?"

The Dwarf's face darkened, and the smile dropped from Éomer's face like lead in water.

"Gimli, what news of Legolas? Is he injured?" Éomer asked urgently, gripping Gimli's arm tight. "Where is he?"

"He's been taken." Gimli choked, his speech rushed. "You must send for help!"

"Come inside and we may talk." Éomer suggested, gesturing towards the hall.

"No! There is no time. He has been taken, his time grows short. You must send your men to retrieve him." Gimli panted.

"By whom? How many?"

"DOES IT MATTER?!" Gimli roared. "You must help, you must-"

"I cannot send my men wildly after some unknown party! It would be to send them to their deaths." Éomer protested.

"If you do not send soldiers after him, you will ensure Legolas'." Gimli retorted.

Éomer furrowed his brow deeply. "I am sorry, Gimli, but I cannot just-"

"YOU'RE THE KING, OF COURSE YOU CAN!" Gimli bellowed, face bright red behind his beard.

"I am the King of Rohan, but Legolas is not one of our people. Even if he were, I would need to know exactly who, why and where he had been taken before I could even consider sending troops." Éomer explained calmly. "Come, please, into the Hall. You are dead on your feet."

"Then send word to Aragorn." Gimli requested breathily.

"What?"

"Aragorn, send a letter to him! Surely you can spare a single messenger? Aragorn will surely send help, if you are too cowardly to!" Gimli snapped.

"It is not a question of bravery, my friend. I am bound to my people, and Aragorn to his." Éomer reasoned. "Still, I will send word with my fastest man. He may reach Minas Tirith by nightfall."

Gimli exhaled deeply, but nodded. "Alright, but quickly. I fear already that Legolas may be out of time."