Chapter Nine

The Fight for a Life

Aldaya stormed into the dancing chamber like a thunderstorm. Elves gave way before her; there was a violent look her in eyes that boded ill for anyone who got too close. The musicians faltered, and then stopped. Complete and absolute silence fell, and no one dared to even murmur. Everyone felt the tension.

She came to a stop a few feet away from a group of half a dozen sniggering elven males, all only a few thousand years old. Her eyes were cold as she took an ominous step forward.

"Where is my son?" Aldaya asked. The elves in the hall shifted anxiously, glancing at one another.

"Your son?" one elf asked innocently. "Should we know about him?"

"Can humans breed, I wonder? If so, he is only a half-breed. Why should we care?"

"Of course they can breed. Look at their population problem!" The elves laughed cruelly, and Aldaya felt the sudden pain of rejection sharp in her chest. She pushed it out of her thoughts. Aldaya could hear someone running towards the lobby—most likely for Lord Elrond and King Finarfin. She didn't blame them.

"I give you one more chance to tell me where my son is."

"Or what? You'll sneeze on us? Give us the plague?" The elven males found this hysterically funny until Aldaya slammed her fist into the man's jaw. He reeled backwards, blood rolling off his chin as he screamed.

"What's going on here?" a voice demanded sharply. Aldaya ignored it.

"I ask you again," she said coldly. "Where is my son?"

"We'll never tell you, bitch," one elf answered. Then Finarfin was beside her, and she doubted it wise to punch the man out in front of the High King.

"Aldaya?" Aldaya registered Elrohir's voice but didn't turn.

"What's going on?" another voice asked, and Elrond pushed his way through the crowd.

"These elves kidnapped my son, and I want him back," Aldaya said stiffly without turning her head. "And in about five seconds I'm going to physically rip every limb from limb unless they tell me where he is."

There was the ominous sliding of cold steel against scabbard as elves on both sides drew swords.

"Put those swords away!" Finarfin said sternly. "There will be no fighting in my halls! Now, I say!"

Reluctantly the elves sheathed their swords; but Aldaya had drawn no weapon, and her stance alone showed she needed none to do exactly as she had described.

"You can't be sure it was them, Aldaya," Finarfin said quietly.

"Yes, I can," Aldaya answered, and no one doubted her.

She stepped closer to the leader of the gang of elves, putting her face level with his. "What do you want?" she asked softly.

"You have till dawn's light hits the forest on the east side of the Isle," he answered. "If you haven't set sail for Middle-Earth by then, I'll slit your precious elflet's throat."

There was an angry murmur among the elves. Mortal or no, the slaughter of any children was barbaric and unacceptable among the Elves, punishable by death.

"Where is he?" Aldaya asked again.

"Someplace you won't find in time," the leader answered.

"You won't get away with this," said another voice, the voice of Legolas Greenleaf. "When the Valar discover what you have done, you will have to atone for your crimes."

"By then, we'll have what we want," the elf answered. "Oh, and I have you watched, Aldaya. Try and rescue him, and we'll ship your little elfling back to you—in pieces." He laughed nastily. "Come along, boys. We have other business to take care of."

Aldaya resisted the urge to strangle the elves as they went by, and she was trembling so badly she almost couldn't stand. Elrond gently guided her to a chair as Elladan physically restrained Elrohir from attacking the rogue elves.

"Someone must contact the Valar, now," Finarfin said into the silence. His eyes scanned the crowd. "Glorfindel, take whomever you trust. Go."

The golden-haired Elf-Lord touched Ëarel's sleeve and the two of them disappeared into the night.

"There's no time," Aldaya said stiffly. "Dawn is only an hour away. They'll never make it in time."

"There's nothing more we can do," Finarfin said gently.

"Oh," she said grimly, pulling a hair-pin out of her hair that, with a deft snap, turned into a throwing star, "there you're dead wrong."

*     *     *     *

"Be reasonable," Elrond begged, "you can't take an army of elves on by yourself!"

"I won't be by myself. Ellórmë is coming with me."

"I'm coming, as well," said another voice.

Aldaya looked up, startled, into her husband's eyes. "Sure," she said at last. "We could use all the help we can get."

She was dressed in clothes specially made for tracking—right now she was black as death because of the moonset and the dim stars. She was veiled as well, hiding all but her eyes. Even her hair was concealed. Ellórmë was dressed the same, and both were armed to the teeth with throwing knives and stars, hidden daggers, swords, and small bows. They looked like a two-woman army.

Elrohir wore camouflaged leggings and shirt, and his cloak was dark green. He blended as well with the night as any shadow, and both women knew it.

"Let's go," Aldaya said abruptly.

"But where will you start?"

Aldaya closed her eyes in response. Tindómë? she mind-called. Tindómë?

Tindómë was too young to respond mind-to-mind, but Aldaya felt the shifting of his thoughts as he opened up to her. She opened her eyes and found that Tindómë was blindfolded. Tindómë's excellent sense of direction was all she need, however.

"Western side of the island," Aldaya said shortly. "Don't forget to give my message to Ëarel, Lord Elrond. Come on. Let's move."

*     *     *     *

Tindómë, for all that he was still a very young child, was highly intelligent. And despite the fact that he was bound, gagged, and blindfolded, his kidnappers weren't cruel to him, and after setting him down somewhere far into the forest on the western part of the island, they'd left him alone. His sharp ears told him that there were only two guards watching him. And the guards, a bit sympathetic, had loosened his bonds when he cried. However, they'd loosened them a bit too much, and Tindómë was currently cutting the rope on a sharp rock behind him. Had he known how close to death he was as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face he would have hurried. As it was, he was more concerned about loosening his bonds.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him, hauled him roughly to the middle of the clearing, ripped off his blindfold, and then slammed him against a stone table, tying his arms and legs down with leather straps. Only when Tindómë saw the very sharp knife in one of the elves' hands did he realize their intent, and begin to scream hysterically.

One of the elves, the one with the knife, shook his head and stepped back. "I can't kill a child," he said firmly. "Not for any cause."

Snarling, the other guard grabbed the knife out of his hands. "Coward!" The elf turned and brought the knife very close to Tindómë's face. "This one shall make a nice scalp for my collection."

Tindómë screamed louder, more desperately, as the knife began cutting into his skin, drawing blood.

Just as all hell broke loose.