To Walk In Night

by Nili

Just before Aragorn should travel back to Rivendell, a Mirkwood patrol is attacked and Legolas captured. When Aragorn finally finds him and his captors, both come to realise that a dark force is stirring in Rhûn that might destroy all they hold dear.

20. True Colours

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.


A/N:

First of all, I have to vent my passionate feelings of hatred and loathing for this entire website. It didn't let me log in yesterday, and if you can't log in, you can't update, it's as simple as that. I am very sorry for the delay, but for once it truly wasn't my fault. There is also the problem that I didn't get any reviews till yesterday, so if I fail to reply to some of them at the bottom, please forgive me. I hope FF.net got most of them, but just in case it didn't I apologise in advance for not replying.

Second, about the names. I see now that it wasn't quite as clear as I thought who Girion is, even though there are quite a few who got very close. I hereby award Zam Kenobi, Starlight, Galadhriel Vornionien and Narina Nightfall a cookie each for finding out (more or less) who everyone's favourite evil overlord is. *thrown confetti into air* I'm afraid though that only Sabercrazy got the meaning of Lord Súliat's emissaries even remotely right. She found out the meaning of both delegates' names - well done! I hereby award her a cookie _and_ a copy of Teonvan's book! *throws more confetti into air* To all the others I can only say: You were searching in the wrong language, sorry. *evil, cryptic grin* If you want, I can tell you next chapter though.

And, finally, third: The twins & Co. I have to announce here that they're NOT in this chapter, but that they will be in the next, at least briefly. I think they'll reach this cheerful little city in about chapter ... 23. Yes, that sounds about right. So there might be a partial reunion around chapter 25. Please note that those are _estimates_. I am not promising anything. *g*


Alright, alright, I am shutting up. I know you can't wait to get to the ranger ... angst. *g* Apart from that we also find out the evil overlord's plans, find out that he is - unsuprisingly - quite mad and have a few cheerful discussions between our favourite elf and ranger.

Have fun and review, please!

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Chapter 20


It took Aragorn only a moment to decide that, if he had ever seen a darker or more depressing room, he certainly couldn't remember where right now. The walls and floor were of the same dark grey stone they had already seen in the corridors and outside, and if there was a window somewhere in here he could not see it.

A shudder raced through him, only adding to the fear and worry in his heart. He would never understand how someone could build a room without even one tiny window – humans and dwarves were indeed curious races. The rest of the room wasn't much brighter and more cheerful either, he thought darkly a second later once his eyes had got used to the gloom. Some walls were draped with dark grey curtains to ward off the winter's chill, and torches burned in wrought-iron holders, casting a flickering light onto the dark surfaces.

The only real piece of furniture seemed to be a large, throne-like chair that stood at the far side of the room on a small podium. It was masterfully crafted and would have been beautiful hadn't it been made of such a dark, gnarly wood that only caused the chair to appear as dark as the rest of the room.

Apart from the guards who were once again pushing them forward, there were several more soldiers in the grey and black livery present; apart from that the room seemed empty. It was in fact empty, except for a man whose face was just as foreboding as the room's décor, and who had therefore to be the lord of this place, which was only logical since he was also sitting on the throne-like chair, Aragorn concluded, his growing panic being replaced by a calmness he was very thankful for. The last thing he needed now was to lose his head.

Cendan and Teonvan had bowed before fully entering the room and had now straightened up again, dragging him and Legolas forward until they were only a few feet away from the podium. Teonvan once again inclined his head respectfully before turning around slightly to the impassionate elf whose arm he was grasping.
"Bow before Lord Girion," he hissed at the friends, an unusual, frightened sparkle in his eyes.

Legolas and Aragorn didn't even have to trade a look but simply stared at the brown haired man, an expression of such disbelief on their faces that Teonvan might just as well have asked them to climb up to the highest tower and fly around it a few times. Teonvan didn't grin at them when it became clear that neither of the two intended to even grace that order with an answer, something he would have done under any other circumstances; the man's gleeful, sadistic nature seemed to have melted away with the snow they had brought into the chilly room.

A curt nod into Cendan's direction and a few moments later both prisoners crashed to the ground due to a kick to the back of their knees, and the four guards quickly stepped forward to keep them there as Teonvan and the dark haired lieutenant stepped forward and to the side, once again bowing slightly before the man sitting on the large chair.

"Your prisoner, my lord," Teonvan said subserviently, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"I don't know about you, but I see two," the dark haired lord retorted icily, his cold eyes wandering from the emotionless, bruised face of the elf to the equally emotionless and bruised face of the young man.

"The ranger was captured when he tried to free the prisoner, my lord. We had no choice but to…"

"I know," Girion interrupted the man coldly. "I actually talked with the messenger you sent ahead, Teonvan."

"Of course, my lord," Teonvan mumbled softly, shooting Cendan who was standing next to him a dark look which the other man either didn't notice or ignored. Trust Cendan to send a man who not only informed their lord of their arrival but also told him everything he had wanted to explain to him in person.

"And therefore I also know of Captain Reran's … demise," the dark-clad man added. "We have a lot of things to talk about later – Captain."

A dark, pleased smile spread over the brown haired man's face and he nodded his head while Cendan's already emotionless face froze in an even more emotionless façade. His lord knew, he thought incredulously, he knew that Teonvan had killed Reran, and he not only did not throw him into the dungeons, he openly condoned it! He allowed a despicable creature like Teonvan to kill a good, fair captain just like that, just because it had got him what he wanted. Cendan did his best to uphold a steady, calm façade. If he himself deserved scorn and contempt for not protecting his captain, then what did his lord deserve for condoning Teonvan's actions?

Had Cendan's lord known about the dark haired lieutenant's thoughts, he would most likely not have been very amused, but the way things were he simply sat on his chair and studied the defiant faces of his prisoners, a small smile on his lips as he looked at the fair haired elf's bruised features.
"So you're too superior to bow before a mere man like me, are you, elf?"

"I bend the knee only before my king and before those who have earned my respect," Legolas told the man, not at all intimidated by the threatening looks he received from the guards and Teonvan. "Neither is the case here."

The room seemed to hold its breath, but the dark haired man did not seem overly distressed by the elven prisoner's bold answer, for his smile only grew wider.
"Just the answer I expected from one of the Firstborn. It is good to see that some things always remain the same," he said friendly before turning his head slightly to the side, looking at the young ranger who was kneeling next to the elf, held in this position by the hands of two guards on his shoulders. "What I did not expect is you, ranger."

"I'm so sorry to ruin your plans," Aragorn said before he could stop himself. "Some people, however, like surprises, or so I've heard."

The dark-clad man's face darkened. He was apparently not willing to put up with such candour from the younger man, and before Aragorn in his amazing stupidity could add something that would get him killed, Legolas turned to the side and glared at his human friend.

"Nuitho lam lín, Estel," he told the young ranger insistently in a low hiss. "Ú- 'ado chin dîn, pedithon na chyn."

Aragorn glared back at the elf, trying to tell him without words that there was no way he would allow Legolas to distract these people for his sake, but his eyes were drawn to the face of the dark haired man when he began to chuckle loudly.
"Listen to your friend, Estel," he said in heavily accented, but understandable Sindarin. "An interesting name you have there, boy, especially for a man. Hope – rather ironic, is it not?"

Aragorn traded a shocked look with his friend before he looked at the other man, silver eyes wide and unbelieving.
"How do you know this language? What do you want? Who are you?"

"My family has always set a high value on following the old ways. Especially in terms of education," the man said cheekily in the Common Tongue, which was a good thing too, Aragorn thought defiantly. This man had obviously learnt Sindarin from a person who had never spent any time whatsoever in the company of a native speaker, and the language the young ranger had come to consider his mother tongue did not deserve to be butchered like this.

"And," the man went on, "if you want to know who I am, ask the elf. He knows."

Legolas ignored Aragorn's questioning look and kept staring steadily at the man in front of him, searching for – and, to his vexation, also finding – traces of the man he had known so long ago in the dark haired human.
"You are from Dale," he said quietly, not ceasing his intense study of the man. "That's what is depicted on the flag; the burning valley of Dale with the Lonely Mountain and the River Running."

"Girion," Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, oblivious to his friend's pleading look that asked him to stay silent, for Eru's sake. "The last Lord of Dale before the coming of the dragon."

"Very perceptive," Girion nodded, a smile once again appearing on his face, something that was entirely unusual for him. "Girion is my ancestor."

"If you are from Dale, then why are you doing this?" Legolas asked hastily before the dark haired man could fix his attention on Aragorn. He tried to sit up straighter, but was hindered by the restraining hands of his guards. "The Men of Dale have ever been the friends and allies of the Wood-elves of Mirkwood!"

Girion leaned back in his chair, a dark frown marring his face.
"My family may be from Dale, but I am not of Dale," he retorted darkly. "The Lake-men and the Men of Dale are nothing but dogs fighting for the scraps you throw them!"

"Scraps?" Legolas asked incredulously, the contempt he felt for these people finally breaking through his carefully erected façade and spreading on his face. "We 'throw' them nothing! King Bard is our ally, and…"

Even the most unobservant person would have noticed that that had been the wrong thing to say. The sitting man shot to his feet and his face assumed a red colour in a matter of seconds.
"Bard!" the man spat. "Bard is no-one, nothing, a coward! The dragon is finally gone and dead and what does he do? He settles for what we had before! He should have taken Lake-town and Erebor and all that comes with it!"

"That would have meant war," Aragorn shook his head, not at all liking the way this man was losing his temper. "He only took what was his, what had belonged to Girion once, as every honourable man would have…"

In a movement almost too fast to follow, the dark haired man had moved in front of the ranger and grasped him by the throat, beginning to close his hand around the other man's unprotected neck.
"Heed your friend's advice, boy," he hissed furiously as he watched the younger man struggle to draw breath despite his fist that was blocking his breathing. "It is only because of a whim that I didn't have you killed at the gates. It is a mistake I am more than willing to rectify if you do not hold your tongue now. Understood?"

He closed his hand a little more tightly around the other's neck only to release the young ranger as quickly as he had seized him, spinning around to his chair and sitting down once again.

"Let me tell you something about Girion, my noble ancestor," he said, calmer now and ignoring the murderous looks the elf shot him while the younger human tried to get his erratic breathing under control. "He was not what he is now said to have been! Did you know that he had two sons? Probably not, since everyone was only ever interested in the safety and comfort of the older of the two. He was always the favourite; his father cared more for him than for his younger brother, he loved him more than his younger brother. When the dragon descended on the valley and Dale and her precious lord were destroyed, no-one cared for the younger of the two; all that mattered were that the heir and his mother got to safety."

"That is not true," Legolas said slowly in an attempt to reason with this man that was doomed from the start. "I knew Lord Girion. You did not. He did love his sons, both of them."

"Did you now?" Girion sneered. "The only reason my father named me after him was that I would never forget what he had done to my ancestor! He deprived him of his family inheritance, or he would have done it if the dragon had not forestalled him by destroying the city! No-one cared about the younger son then, and so he and some of the survivors left Wilderland instead of settling in Lake-town with the others. They journeyed for a long time until they found these mountains, the Ered Dhuir, and founded Baredlen, this city."

Legolas narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the man in front of him. If what he said was true – and he was sure it was, for he saw much of Girion and even Bard in his face – then Girion's second son hadn't been killed as had been believed so many years. Girion – junior – was wrong. His ancestor had loved both his children; it had been only the younger son's imagination that had made him think that the king favoured his brother.

Legolas had met him only once during a diplomatic trip to the then prospering city, and had disliked him from the very minute they had been introduced. Lord Girion's younger son had been pathologically jealous of his older brother, up to cataloguing every gift their father ever gave to his brother and comparing them to those he himself received.

All that however, he thought darkly, was unimportant, since this man here obviously believed that what he had always been told was the truth. Dale had fallen almost exactly 184 years ago, and that was a long time for lies to grow until they resembled the truth more than what had really happened. It was time enough for an old grudge to grow into an all-encompassing, all-consuming need for vengeance, and Legolas understood with frightening clarity what it was this man was planning.

"We have no quarrel with you or your people," the blond elf said slowly, unconsciously assuming the tone of voice he would use for talking to a frightened, skittish colt. "Let us go, now, and I will beg my king to consider this a ... concatenation of unfortunate circumstances."

"Once again, very characteristic," Girion nodded, apparently having regained his icy, calm aloofness. "For how stupid do you take me? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you would simply ride back to that wood of yours and actually tell your king to forget about this episode? After you have seen my … allies out there, in front of the city gates? Only a fool would believe that, and I am no fool."

"Is that so?" Legolas asked scornfully, ignoring the small voice in his head that screamed at him to stay silent and become part of the scenery. "You send your men to the woods of my king, disturb our borders, attack my patrol, kill one of my companions and ally yourself with the Easterlings, and you expect anyone not to believe you to be insane? If you are indeed one of Girion's descendants, you know that the Wood-elves are loyal friends but just as fierce enemies if we have to be! Do you expect King Thranduil to sit idly by while you attack his allies and bring war upon Rhovanion? If that is so, then you are indeed the greatest fool I have ever seen in my whole life, and I have seen many of them!"

Teonvan who seemed to be torn between fear and surprise that anyone would dare speak to his lord like this took a step closer to the elf and raised his arm to hit him, but Girion raised his hand and stopped him in his tracks.
"No, Master Elf, I do not expect you or your king to believe any of this, and that is why you're here."

Legolas' eyes narrowed and he gave Aragorn who had recovered his breath by now a small, worried glance. The dark-clad man leaned back into his chair and gave the two kneeling figures in front of him a content look.
"I see you are beginning to understand," he nodded at the stony-faced elf in front of him. "I know that you elves are older than you looks, so you will know that what determines the outcome of a war is, in the end, not only the strategy, or the tactic, or the number of soldiers and how much money you have, but rather the amount of planning that precedes it. You can beat an army twice as large as yours if you surprise them and know the tactics they will employ to oppose you. Information can win a war."

The fair haired elf's eyes narrowed even further until they were no more than two narrow, silver-blue slits.
"Save your breath," he told the man in front of him, contempt on his face. "You will learn nothing from me."

"A rash statement," the man shook his head seriously. "I expected nothing less, of course, at the beginning, that is. You will tell me everything I want to know about Mirkwood, her defences and tactics – sooner or later."

"I will never betray my people or my king," Legolas shook his head in a gesture that was both calm and very determined.

"As I said: A rash statement," Girion repeated, appearing just as determined. "I will not go looking for trouble with your king, elf; you do not concern me. For all I care you can live forever in that forest of yours, as long as you stay there. Everything east of Mirkwood is mine; it should have been mine and my family's for the past 180 years! I am taking back what is mine, and you and your king are not going to stop me!"

"Wilderland is not yours," Legolas told the man in a cold, contemptuous whisper. "Lake-town is not yours. Erebor is not yours. Dale is not yours. Nothing north of this place is yours. And nothing north of this place will ever be yours, not while one of my people still draws breath."

"Then," the man leaned forward, eyes cold and afire with a strange, almost insane glow, "that will have to be changed, won't it?"

He nodded at the guards holding the prisoners on their knees who promptly pulled the two of them upright, still grasping them tightly by their bound arms.
"You have seen my allies – they are getting restless," he told the elf and ranger in front of him. "Still, I'll give you till tomorrow to think about my words. After that we'll have to resort to less … civilised means of persuasion."

Aragorn bit onto his lower lip to prevent from making a stupid comment that would not be conducive to their situation, but Legolas was apparently not of the opinion that discretion was the better part of valour. The elf was really getting into the whole insulting-their-obviously-insane-captor-even-in-the-face-of-death-and-torture-thing, the young ranger decided as he watched Legolas raise his head and square his shoulders in a gesture oddly like his golden haired father.

"This city is as far from civilised as possible," the elven prince told the dark haired man with the arrogant contempt that only long practise could bring. "You are nothing but a descendant of a disgruntled, envious younger son who could never accept that his brother was worthier than he! King Thranduil, King Bard and even the Dwarf King of Erebor will continue to rule long after your army has scattered in the winds and your realm has crumbled into dust."

Once again the mention of King Bard's name was enough to provoke a reaction, and Girion was standing in front of the bound elf in a second, hands twitching in agitation.
"We will see about that," he hissed at the fair being that was far from impressed. "We will see about that when you end your life in my dungeons, begging me for death."

The elf did not reply, but his eyes grew even colder, if such a thing was even possible. For another long moment the human lord continued staring at the other, but then he averted his eyes and gave Cendan a quick nod.
"Get them out of my sight."

The dark haired man bowed his head and was about to motion to the guards to take the prisoners away, when Teonvan's voice interrupted the icy silence, sounding both anxious and full of suppressed anticipation.
"What about the ranger, my lord? Do you need him or is he to be … disposed of?"

Legolas felt his heart freeze in his chest but did not dare raise his head to look at his friend. That was the question he had been dreading the whole time; what if this man said Yes? What if he ordered Teonvan to kill Aragorn, what if…

The dark-clad man seemed to ponder his captain's question for a moment, but then he slowly shook his head, a calculating sparkle in his eyes.
"No, don't kill him. I have the feeling that he might prove useful later on – as a kind of encouragement, yes?"

Legolas sensed more than saw Aragorn stiffen next to him, and as the guards grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the dark room into the direction of the dungeons, he thought to himself for the first time how much easier everything would have been for everyone had he just died with Galalith.

Several minutes later, the heavy, iron-mounted doors of their cell swung closed behind them, producing a sound as foreboding and ominous as everything seemed to be in this place. Legolas remained where the guards had pushed him, namely leaning against one of the rough, damp walls, and took a close look at their surroundings.

There wasn't much to look at, he concluded quickly. The room – their cell – was barely more than six square feet big, with only one large, thick wooden door and no windows. The walls were of a slightly darker, very solid-looking stone and so thick that Legolas could hear little of what went on outside the room. There was not a single light source, and it took even the fair haired elf some moments until his eyes had adjusted enough to see that the only piece of furniture was a wobbly cot that looked old enough to date back to this city's foundation.

Legolas took a deep breath and slowly turned fully around, just in time to see Aragorn flop down onto the cot he had just run into in the near darkness of the room, moving slightly stiffly and awkwardly due to the fact that his hands were still bound behind his back. The elf was studying the young human's tired, pained face and was just thinking about what he could possible say to his friend when Aragorn did the very last thing he had expected him to: He started to laugh.

For a moment, Legolas was too stunned to react, but then he carefully leaned back against the wall, actually enjoying the cold that soothed the pain that had developed in his bound arms.
"Would you kindly inform me of what is so very funny about all this? As far as I'm concerned, being captured by a madman bent on destroying all of Rhovanion is neither amusing nor enjoyable!"

"No," Aragorn gasped between fits of laughter, "No, of course not! I – I don't think it's funny!"

Legolas arched an eyebrow, mentally debating if Aragorn was on the way of losing his mind.
"Then what is?"

Aragorn finally regained control of himself, still gasping for breath and chuckling softly.
"You!" he finally replied, staring into the general direction of the elf he could still not see clearly. "You are! What was it you said, 'you must cease your foolish attempts to draw attention to yourself'? I? Draw attention to myself? Ha! Valar, the next time you say something like that I am going to laugh in your face!"

"You already are," Legolas grumbled under his breath.

"Of course I am!" Aragorn exclaimed, all mirth suddenly gone from his face. "What in the name of all the Valar were you thinking? You insulted this insane lord! You insulted him, his realm and his ancestors! Have you taken complete leave of your senses??"

"Maybe," the elf admitted testily. "Maybe I have, but he was wrong! I knew Girion; I met him when my father sent me to Dale with a delegation to…"

Before Legolas could finish the sentence, Aragorn had begun to shake his head, grey eyes darting to the heavy door.

"Queta Quenya lambë," he told the elf quickly. "Úmelvë ista man lastëa."

Legolas frowned, but immediately understood what the man was hinting at. He switched to the High Elven Tongue that was not commonly spoken anymore on Arda.
"I do not hear anyone outside the door," he told Aragorn in the same language. "And even if there is anyone there, I doubt he would understand us if we were to speak in Sindarin."

"I think you are right," Aragorn nodded while Legolas walked stiffly over to the cot to sit beside him, "But I would rather not take the risk. I don't know if that Girion understands Quenya, but I suspect it's rather unlikely."

"He barely speaks Sindarin," Legolas shook his head somewhat contemptuously. "The ruling family of Dale always set value on a traditional education. The sons of the kings always learned Sindarin, but only to be able to converse with the Wood-elves in our language – as an advantage during negotiations, you could say. They were never taught the old tongue."

"Let's hope so," the man said quietly. "Otherwise we might have a whole set of new problems atop the old ones – and those are enough if you ask me."

"You could say that," Legolas agreed and leaned back, ignoring the soft creaking noise the wooden cot made when one of them shifted ever so slightly. "We have to escape this cell, get out of these dungeons, make it into the courtyard, get two horses, escape the city, avoid being cut to pieces by about eight thousand Easterlings and reach Mirkwood in time to warn my father of what promises to become the largest invasion of more than half a millennium."

"Don't forget the fire-breathing dragon," Aragorn advised him wryly.

"Of course," Legolas nodded. "Let's not forget the dragon."

An uneasy silence fell over the small space while both of them tried to listen to anything that might indicate what was going on outside the thick walls.

"Promise me one thing, my friend," Aragorn demanded suddenly, his eyes gleaming in the darkness of the room.

"What, Estel?" the elf asked cautiously.

"Don't tell them anything. No matter what."

"I am not planning to, Strider," Legolas said evasively, trying not to think of the look on Girion's face when he had referred to his human friend as a means to "encourage" him.

"Laiqualassë," Aragorn stressed his friend's Quenya name and looked into the shadowy oval he knew to be the elf's face, "Promise me. I would not want to live with the knowledge that I am responsible for the fall of Mirkwood. Don't tell them what they want to hear."

"Estel…"

"No!" Aragorn shook his head in sudden agitation, a hard, determined expression in his eyes. "You are a prince! You have a duty to your people, to your realm and your father! Royalty has not the privilege to choose its destiny, that is something we both know, do we not? You are honour bound to choose your duty above your personal feelings, and you would dishonour both your house and mine were you to comply!"

"This is about honour and duty, human?" Legolas hissed back. "Well, in that case, do not tell me about my duties to the kingdom! I have had duties and obligations since reaching my majority, long before your forefathers even lost their kingdoms! I would never betray my father or our people! And still, what honour could I claim for myself if I allowed my best friend to be killed for a cause that isn't even his?"

"Those are the burdens of your position, my friend," Aragorn said a little bit more gently now. "Yet your personal honour does not matter here, and neither does my life. All that matters is that these people don't learn what they want to know. And tell me one thing: What honour could I claim for myself were I responsible for the destruction of the largest of the elven realms here on Arda? This is my cause, elf. I greatly respect your father, and your people. I would rather die than live knowing that I am responsible for causing them harm."

"You have much to live for, Telcontar," Legolas used the Quenya equivalent of his friend's nickname with an affectionate sparkle in his eyes that the human could not see. "You are so young yet. There is much you must still see and do. You are too young to die."

Under any other circumstances Aragorn would at least have glared daggers at his elven friend for calling him young, but the dark, sad undertone in Legolas' voice had not been lost on him. He sat up straighter, trying to peer into the elf's face and cursing the darkness once more for hiding his friend's features.
"So are you, my friend. It is too early to despair."

"Is it?" Legolas laughed hollowly. "Fire-breathing dragons or not, we are not getting out of this one, Estel. We are in over our heads."

"Do not talk like this," the man admonished his friend. "Not even Smaug himself could keep me here! I absolutely refuse to die here without having told my brothers or Celylith about your adorable new name." He narrowed his eyes at the other, trying to pierce the still lingering darkness. "This is not like you, my friend."

"I am not myself," Legolas said softly, casting his eyes to the floor.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked concernedly. "Please, Legolas, tell me."

A moment later, the elf raised his head, his eyes so large in his face that even Aragorn could see them more than clearly.
"It is dark, Estel, that is what it is."

Aragorn did not answer, knowing that it was not only the darkness in this cell that his friend was referring to. Legolas fell silent again for a moment, but then he continued, the beautiful Quenya sounding hopeless and hollow in the inky blackness that surrounded them.

"I do not know if you can feel it, but this land is … evil. I have known it for days now, and the feeling has become stronger the closer we have drawn to the city. Baredlen was founded in anger and hatred, and has been ruled by fear and terror, and the lands reek of it. The trees whisper it with the winds, the earth murmurs it in the evenings and the water mourns the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. This whole place is evil, it is malicious, and it is dark, and the most evil, malicious and darkest place is that room where Girion's descendant sits and plots his war that is meant to free him of a sense of inferiority that nothing could erase, not even were he to achieve all he dreams of. All he will obtain is a feeling of emptiness and betrayal when he realises that, a realisation that will have been bought with thousands of lives."

The elven prince paused for a moment and laughed shortly, a soft, bitter sound that was swallowed by the heavy, dark air immediately.

"And here I sit, in the dark, in a cell, and can do nothing to change that. One of my men has already died, one is probably on his way to the Halls of Mandos, my best friend will die to make me betray my people and my king, and in the end I will die as well. In the darkness, far away from the trees of my home, and my father will never know what happened to me."

Legolas fell silent, leaving Aragorn at a profound loss what to say. There were several possible answers blossoming in his mind, and so the man finally said the first thing he could think of.
"You will not die. I will not die. You will get back to Mirkwood and see your father again, and all this will seem like nothing but a dark dream."

"Aye," the prince nodded bitterly. "A dark dream. A dream I will not wake up from."

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, and had he had his hands free, he would at least have shaken his friend, if not even hit him in an attempt to snap him out of the dark despair the elf was sliding into. "Listen to yourself! You speak as if we are already dead! We are not! You are right, we are in a bad situation, and I am even objective enough to realise that it is probably the worst situation we have ever been in, but we still live! As long as we live, there is a chance to escape, and we will escape, or stay alive as long as it takes my brothers to reach us – and they will reach us." He looked at the fair haired elf, grey eyes locking with blue ones. "They will reach us, and if they have any sense at all, they will not be alone. Trust them, Legolas, and if you cannot, then trust me."

The elf briefly closed his eyes and shook his head forcefully from side to side, as if trying not to take notice of his surroundings.
"It is too dark, Strider," he whispered softly. "Look at this room; it is dark, just like the rest of this castle, of this city, of these lands. It is choking me, robbing me of life and light and hope, of my memories of things beyond this cell and these dungeons. It is a blackness that lays itself over my senses, and I don't know how long I will be able to fight it."

"As long as necessary, my friend," Aragorn told the elf firmly, trying to look into his eyes. "Do not lose hope now. You are not alone. We can fight this darkness together and escape this place. You must believe in this."

"I try to," Legolas replied quietly. "I try to, but how can I believe in anything but death and despair here? There is nothing but darkness."

"Darkness is only the temporary absence of light," the young man said seriously. "No darkness can last forever, and certainly not this one."

"You speak wisely, young one," the elven prince nodded his head, and, for the second time in an hour, Aragorn did not protest against the loathed, naturally thoroughly inappropriate term.

"Those are not my words," Aragorn confessed with a small smile, still eyeing the elf rather warily who was sitting next to him "They are my father's, who is counted among the Wise for a reason." His smile widened, and a look of home-sickness spread over the young ranger's face. "In fact, they remind me of something he told me not so long ago, just before he travelled back home last year."

"What did he tell you, Estel?" Legolas asked softly, watching the young man smile wistfully at the mention of his home.

Aragorn gave a mental sigh of relief when he saw that Legolas' dark, frightening mood seemed to have abated, at least for the time being.
"'Only when it is dark enough you can hope to see the stars.'"

The elven prince nodded slightly and lowered his head in thought. He waited for about as long as it would take Aragorn to get worried before he raised it again, his face carefully expressionless and his voice only half joking.
"There are no stars here."

For a moment, the man was rendered speechless while he was trying to decide if Legolas was being serious, which he was not, he concluded quickly. There was a faint, but still visible mischievous sparkle in the other's silver-blue eyes that was definitely a lot better than the look of despair and desolation he had seen there earlier.

He knew that Legolas had meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, and still he looked at his elven friend seriously, in a way that reminded the elf greatly of the other's foster father.
"You must simply look hard enough for them, my friend. No matter how dark, you can always see the stars if you only try hard enough to find them."

For a long time, neither of the two said a word, and it must already have been late evening outside their small, dark prison when Legolas finally spoke up again after having made sure that Aragorn was in fact still awake and not asleep as he had thought him to be several times in the past hours.

"Your father is a very wise elf; did you know that, Estel?"

Even though he could not completely see it, Legolas could hear the smile in the man's voice.

"Yes, my friend, I did know that," Aragorn replied softly. "And I have thanked the Valar for it more times than I can count."

"As have I," Legolas nodded in the darkness. "I don't even dare to think about what you would be like had you not grown up in the House of Elrond. Even more reckless, I'd say."

"Are you sure that's possible?" Aragorn asked wryly.

"No," Legolas shook his head. "But I thank Ilúvatar I don't have to find out."

"Me too, my friend," the man agreed. "Me too."

The both of them exchanged a small, wry smile, and for a long time it remained silent in the little cell, even when the sun rose above the dark mountains close to the city, bathing the lands in a soft golden light that did not reach the two friends deep underground.

It was almost a day later, when the sun was once again sinking beneath the horizon after her journey across the heavens, that the door of the small cell opened again with an eerie, creaking sound that grated on Legolas' sensitive ears.

While the door swung open, Legolas decided that he took everything back he had told Aragorn earlier. About two hours ago he had complained to the man that he would be happy for anything that interrupted the monotony that had lingered heavily in the room, including the fire-breathing dragon that still had to be here somewhere, but now he took it back. He might be close to going insane after spending a day in a small, pitch-black, damp closet-like cell, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't all that bad. He would gladly stay here for the rest of the day, and he did not wish for any additional company.

Next to him, Aragorn was entertaining much the same thoughts. It had actually been him who had started complaining much earlier today, namely about the fact that their captors seemed to think food not a necessity. It had quickly got out of hand, and about noon they had started enumerating all their cell's shortcomings, having quickly agreed on the fact that it possessed not even one virtue they could think of.

Both of them had stopped about two hours later, but had kept talking about anything that came to their minds to keep their thoughts off their situation and, most importantly, off the darkness that seemed to have even grown these past hours, if such a thing was even possible. At the beginning, he'd had less trouble coping with the blackness than Legolas, but the longer the shadows preyed on his mind the more memories seemed to rise to the front of his mind, threatening to pull him down into even greater darkness.

The past few hours he'd had great trouble keeping his thoughts on the present, and more than once he had been convinced that the dark walls were beginning to close in on him as they had seemed to do in the small cave where Legolas had found him in Eskadol when he had been captured by Donyc and his men. This cell was downright spacious in comparison to that cave, but ever since then he had been anything but comfortable in small, enclosed spaces. It had got better in the past months, but he was still having a hard time keeping his breathing even and steady and not to start trembling. He had tried to hide this fear from Legolas, who had already more than enough trouble not losing his own composure. It wouldn't help the elf at all if he knew that he was very close to losing his self-restraint.

The door swung open wider, and the bright light that poured into the cell brought both man and elf out of their thoughts and blinded them temporarily. Legolas' eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness more quickly than the ranger's, and he slowly got up from the cot and stood to his feet, pulling his human friend with him. A few moments later Aragorn's vision cleared as well, and he unconsciously straightened his back when he looked at the men standing in the entrance of the small room.

At the very front stood Girion, of course, wearing once again his emotionless expression. Behind him were at least ten guards, most of them with loaded crossbows that were pointed at the two of them and all looking alert and ready to pull back their lord and kill them should they see any reason to do so.

For a few moments, the two groups simply stared at each other, and the contrast between them could not have been starker. Girion looked the two prisoners over, feeling suddenly rather glad he had brought so many guards with him. If looks had the ability to kill, he and two-thirds of his men would have dropped dead here and now.

Still, what he had heard about the Elves seemed to be true: They didn't react well to darkness. The fair haired elf's face was still proud and determined, but he was paler than yesterday and his eyes looked darker, somewhat haunted. The ranger didn't seem very well either, with dark circles under his defiant grey eyes that seemed to be drawn to the light that flooded the small, square cell. He smiled to himself. The darkness had apparently not broken the two of them, but the haughty arrogance the prisoners had worn like a cloak had somewhat diminished.

"I keep my word," he finally broke the hostile silence. "I promised you time to think about my words, and you've had it. What is your answer, Master Elf?"

"You already have my answer," Legolas retorted, resisting the urge to step in front of his human friend to shield him from view. "I will not help you plunge all of Rhovanion into war because of a baseless grudge your family has been nursing without the slightest reason for centuries! Go find your information somewhere else. I will not tell you anything."

The dark haired man seemed not at all bothered by the elf's determined, soft words, for he only pursed his lips slightly and nodded his head.
"I had expected you to say something like this, elf. Have it your way; the results will be the same."

He took a step back and nodded at his guards, and a second later four men stepped forward into the cell, nearly filling up all the space there still was inside the tiny room. Legolas gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders, but was unpleasantly surprised when the guards merely shoved him backwards, sending him crashing into the wall with enough force to almost throw him to the ground. Having pushed the elf out of the way, the men grabbed the ranger who was trying to get over to his friend's side and began to drag him out of the room. Bound as he was, Aragorn couldn't put up much of a fight, and so he was quickly manhandled out of the cell.

For a moment, Legolas couldn't breathe because of the pain that had once again exploded in his side, but the panic that was beginning to fill his entire heart gave him enough strength to speak.
"Wait! You don't need him! He is not one of my people, he knows nothing!"

For the smug expression alone that spread now on the dark haired lord's face Legolas would have killed him with the greatest of pleasure.
"Oh, but I don't agree," the man told the elf who was leaning against the wall, his face a sickly grey colour. "I know that your kind does not easily associate with outsiders. If he's followed you all that way to save you, he's indeed your friend, and in that case he knows at least some of what I want to know. Not as much as a captain like you would know, maybe, but…"

"You lie!" the elf spat, taking a step forward but freezing when half a dozen crossbows were aimed at his chest. "You know he cannot tell you what you want to hear!"

"Maybe," Girion shrugged. "But I still believe all you need is a little encouragement." He smiled darkly, turning a little to the side to look at the slightly wide-eyed ranger. "And Captain Teonvan is more than willing to provide you with it, he's assured me." The smile grew even darker as he turned back to the elf on whose face shock and rage seemed to war with each other. "The Firstborn are keen-eared, correct? Trust me, in two hours' time you will have all the encouragement you'll ever need."

He nodded at the guards again who swung the door shut, cutting off the elf's desperate voice. Girion turned to one of the men, eyeing him sharply.
"Captain Teonvan is waiting for him. Give the elf two hours and take him over to Glamir after that. He's been asking for a new assignment for days, it's time he is provided with one."

The guard nodded and turned to the rest of his men, motioning them to take the ranger away, but Aragorn refused to move, staring hard at the dark haired man with the empty, cold eyes who was just turning back to walk down the corridor into the direction of the stairs that would take him back to the ground level.

"He won't tell you anything," he said, quiet conviction colouring his words. "No matter what you do to him, or to me, he will never betray his king. You are wasting your time."

Girion stopped and turned around, looking at the younger man who was staring at him with eyes that were full of anger and hatred, but totally devoid of fear.
"I beg to differ," he told him friendly. "I am not wasting my time. Even if he doesn't tell me what I want to know, I will have done two of my captains a favour. No matter what happens, I will see you and the elf die in my dungeons, begging me to end your suffering. How could that be wasted time?"

Without another word the man turned around and left, accompanied by his personal bodyguards, and that was the moment Aragorn decided that this man was completely, utterly mad. He wasn't insane in the sense that he didn't know what he was doing, but he was mad with anger and hatred and without the tiniest spark of morality and mercy. He was quickly torn out of his thoughts when the three remaining guards grabbed his bound arms and began to drag him down the corridors, taking so many turns that Aragorn quickly lost count.

In the end, they stopped in front of a large, wooden door that looked disconcertingly like the door leading to the cell he and Legolas had occupied, but Aragorn had the feeling that they were in fact not that far away from where his elven friend was – probably indeed close enough so that the elf would be able to hear him if he screamed loud enou…

Aragorn's mind shied away from these thoughts, and a second later the door was opened from the inside and he was shoved into a rather large room that was lit by several torches on the walls. In the middle of the roughly circular space dangled two long, rusty manacles from the ceiling, long enough to allow a man to stand – barely. On the one side of the room was a long, wooden table on whose surface lay several instruments whose function he did not know, but which was not too hard to guess now that he thought about it. The wooden surface looked worn and was spotted with quite a large amount of a dark brown liquid. What that liquid was he didn't even have to think about.

All in all, the young man concluded wryly as he was pushed forward, unsurprisingly into the direction of the chains, this was the stereotypical torture chamber. All that was missing now was a slimy, maliciously smiling torturer with a hood over his head who was rubbing his hands together in glee and telling him that he would enjoy breaking him and…

"So, ranger, we meet again. I hope you're as pleased to see me as I am to see you."

Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and gritted his teeth when Teonvan's voice cut through the eerie silence of the room, sounding so pleased that it was almost unnatural. Why had he thought something as stupid as that!? If he had learned one thing in the past, it was never to think anything beginning with "All that is missing now is…".

He did not answer though as he tried to keep his mounting fear and panic under control while the guards pushed him forward, pulled him to a stop, cut his bonds and forced his wrists into the chains hanging from the ceiling. All this happened so quickly and with such a practiced efficiency that it caused a cold shiver of dread to run down Aragorn's spine.

After the guards had made sure that the prisoner was secured tightly, they bowed slightly to someone standing at Aragorn's back and withdrew, and the door closed with a thoroughly ominous bang. For a few moments, the room was completely silent, and Aragorn stubbornly refused to look anywhere but straight ahead. The last thing he would do was to voluntarily show nervousness, fear or any other emotion in front of Teonvan.

Patience, however, did not seem to be Teonvan's strong point, and so Aragorn soon heard heavy footsteps behind him, and a moment later Teonvan stepped in front of him, looking about as smug as a wolf that had just cornered a fawn.
"Well … Strider," the brown haired man grinned. "I assume you know why you're here?"

"Uhm," Aragorn frowned as in deep thought, "Well, it's either because your lord is insane or because you are a sick coward. I'm just not sure."

Being back home had apparently not increased the other man's self-restraint, and so the young ranger's head was whipped to the side when Teonvan's fist connected with the side of his face. It took Aragorn only a few moments to straighten up again, and he locked eyes with the other man, mocking surprise and contempt on his face.

"What? You are doing the dirty work yourself?" he asked tauntingly, "Where are Caellan and Lybran?"

"This is no dirty work, boy," Teonvan grinned at him. "This is my reward for capturing the elf."

"Your reward for capturing … Lasseg?" Aragorn asked incredulously, remembering just in time to use Legolas' nickname. "You? You couldn't have captured him had he been tied to a tree! Reran captured him!"

That earned him another blow to the face, but Aragorn did not regret his words. He did not know what Teonvan was planning to do with him, but he did know that nothing he could say now would change anything anymore. Then again, a small voice told him teasingly, it just might get a whole lot worse.

"You are just like him," Teonvan told him when he had raised his head again. "Just as proud, just as arrogant, just as cheeky. But you know what? I changed all that that afternoon, even if only for a short while. Had I had more time, I would have broken him, but I knew I couldn't do that; I had my orders, after all. You, however, I must not keep alive."

"You lie," Aragorn told the other man after a moment, fervently hoping that he was correct. "You are not allowed to kill me yet."

Barely hidden anger flashed in Teonvan's eyes, and Aragorn grinned openly. So it was as he had thought and hoped, Girion didn't want to risk killing him just yet. This was only to pacify Teonvan and to "encourage" Legolas, they would not let him die yet. Looking into Teonvan's dark, malicious eyes, Aragorn asked himself if that was really such a good thing.

"You are clever, boy," Teonvan told him, walking over to the table. "That's the thing that got you into trouble in the first place."

"Like Reran?" Aragorn shot back, eyeing the man closely. "Did you kill him because of that? Because he saw through you and wanted to accuse you in front of your lord?"

Teonvan seemed to freeze and slowly turned back to his prisoner who was doing his best to stand on his toes to take some strain off his arms.
"You should be careful with what you say, ranger," he advised him, walking back to stand in front of the younger man. "Someone might take such accusations seriously one day."

"I accuse no-one," Aragorn retorted. "It is the truth. You killed your own captain. You are not only a coward, you are a traitor."

This time, it took the ranger a lot longer to raise his head again, and he needed to shake it from side to side until the ringing in his ears had subsided enough for him to take notice of his surroundings again. Teonvan watched with fascination as the stubborn glint that had wavered for a few seconds returned to the dark haired man's eyes, now burning even stronger than before.

"Treason, boy," he began languidly, "is in the eye of the beholder. Reran was weak and careless. It I hadn't killed him, someone else would have, sooner or later. All these ideas about loyalty and honour clouded his mind. I actually did our lord a favour."

"You did yourself a favour, no-one else," Aragorn shook his head contemptuously.

"Yes," Teonvan nodded thoughtfully, turning back around and walking back to the table, "I think you are right, I did. If not for the dear captain's little … 'accident', we wouldn't be here, or, you wouldn't be here because he would have killed you. You should be grateful."

"To you?"

It were only two words, but in them the young ranger managed to convey surprise, sarcasm, disbelief and such a profound contempt that it caused Teonvan to grip the tool he had just picked up so tightly that his knuckles showed white through the skin. A moment later he turned, the old, complacent smile once again firmly attached to his sallow, sunken features.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked brightly, holding up the small, dully gleaming object. The ranger refused to look into his direction, however, and so he stepped back to where the other was chained upright and roughly grasped his chin, forcing him to look at the tool he held up in front of his eyes. "Well?"

Aragorn's eyes fixed on the small object in Teonvan's hand, and he was hard-pressed to keep the sudden surge of fear that twisted his insides off his face and out of his eyes. The grip the other man had on his bruised jaw grew more painful as he burrowed his fingers into the skin, and so he finally looked up to fix emotionless grey eyes on Teonvan.
"No."

The brown haired man released his prisoner's chin and took a step backward, beginning to languidly twist the tool between his fingers.
"It's a very small, simple thing," he began to explain, an almost friendly expression on his yellowish face. He held up the object he held, a metal spike a little longer than a man's spread hand. "It's a spike."

"You don't say," Aragorn commented wryly, resorting to his old, tested and not very successful plan of action when faced with a maniac who wanted nothing more than to torture you to death: Trying to make him angry. Afterwards he never knew why he had done something as stupid and suicidal as that, but at those times – this being no exception – it always seemed like a good idea.

Teonvan, however, didn't pay him any attention and continued, his fingers beginning to twitch slightly with impatience or anticipation.
"It's designed to penetrate almost everything effortlessly – including flesh and bones, of course," he added, an evil glint in his eyes. "The wonderful thing about it is that you can get much deeper than with a knife, and you have much better control over what you do. Knives are always so messy."

'You would know,' Aragorn thought to himself, but didn't say it for once. He didn't like that glint in Teonvan's eyes, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, the man would soon…

Yes. Do something just like that, he thought wryly as Teonvan reached for the knife at his belt and cut through the straps holding his now rather tattered cloak around his shoulders. A moment later the bright steel cut through the fabric of his shirt and it joined the cloak on the floor, leaving Aragorn cold and very angry. That had been his last shirt, the last shirt he had had from home. He had given his spare shirt to Legolas when he had found him in the camp since the elf's had been ruined beyond repair, and the only one he had left now was one that had been made for him in Mirkwood during the winter. Apart from the fact that it was in one of his bags that he would very likely never see again, it was of that abominable brown colour the Silvan Elves seemed to treasure so much. Aragorn shuddered inwardly, doing his best to think of anything but Teonvan who had once again begun one of his boring, smug monologues. That shirt was indeed horrible, and he'd only not burnt it when he had first laid eyes on it because he hadn't wanted to insult Legolas or his people…

For a few seconds, the young man's way of distracting himself from what was going on around him worked quite well, but his musings of what he would say to the Mirkwood tailor should he ever get out of here were interrupted when something sharp and very pointy was placed against his left upper arm and was pushed forward, just enough to break the skin and tear him out of his thoughts.

With an internal sigh he allowed his eyes to focus on Teonvan who was standing in front of him, his eyes so malicious and filled with dark anticipation that he would have shrunk back had the ability to do so. Aragorn waited for the brown haired man to speak or to gloat, but Teonvan did no such thing, much to the younger man's surprise.

All the warning the ranger received was a small, almost benevolent smile before Teonvan's eyes shifted to the metal spike that was still pressed against Aragorn's flesh, and with a quick thrust of the man's hands it was driven deeply into the flesh of the young man's arm. In the split second of calm rationality before the pain washed over him, Aragorn had to admit grudgingly that, at least this one time, Teonvan had spoken the truth: The spike did bore into the flesh of his arm amazingly easily.

A moment later, however, all thoughts about how amazing it was that Teonvan had spoken the truth for once vanished from his mind and were washed away with a wave of agony that swept up and down his arm, causing sweat to break out on his brow. His mind automatically searched for a reference or something to compare this to, but he just couldn't remember anything. He had been shot with arrows of almost all sizes before, at least it seemed to him that way, but arrows usually weren't at least an inch in diameter.

Teonvan's face that was filled with the utmost concentration began to blur around the edges, something Aragorn welcomed even despite the pain that was beginning to rob him of his composure. Anything that enabled him to block out Teonvan was welcome. A few seconds later, he felt the tip of the spike penetrate the back of his arm, causing him to moan softly even despite his resolve not to give the other man the satisfaction of hearing him voice his pain.

The brown haired man's eyes flickered from the spike that was deeply embedded in the other's arm to his face, and his concentrated countenance broke into a bright smile when he saw the pain on the younger man's face he was so desperately trying to conceal. The smile widening slightly, he grabbed the end of the spike that protruded from the ranger's arm and twisted the length of metal from side to side, causing the prisoner to bite down hard on his lower lip to stifle another moan. Not bad, Teonvan nodded to himself, twisting the spike once again and watching the grimace of pain that flickered over the ranger's face. This one wasn't quite as skilled at hiding his feelings as the elf, but more skilled than most men he'd seen until now – and he'd seen a lot. This, he thought gleefully, should get interesting…

Teonvan took a step backwards to survey his handiwork and finally nodded approvingly. The ranger appeared to have trouble keeping his breathing under control, but otherwise he appeared relatively calm and composed, apart from the cold sweat on his brow and the white colour of his face. The younger man stared straight ahead, giving Teonvan a look of such furious contempt that the brown haired captain found it hard not to avert his eyes.

"Interesting little things, aren't they?" he asked friendly. "But I have to apologise for scraping over the bone. I have used them only once before and am slightly out of practice."

The reasonable voice in Aragorn's head screamed at him to stay silent and not say anything stupid, and, to the voice's profound surprise, he really did remain silent. It was mostly because he didn't trust himself to keep his voice steady and pain-free and because his thoughts were too jumbled by what was happening to come up with anything that wouldn't sound idiotic, but still, he did the reasonable thing and remained silent.

Teonvan studied him for a moment longer before he turned around, back to the table, and Aragorn seized that opportunity to look at his left arm, something he had refused to do while the brown haired commander had been watching him. Well, he thought after a moment, he had seen far worse things than a spike sticking out of somebody's arm, and the sight wouldn't have bothered him overly much either, had it not been his arm it was sticking out of.

Since it was his arm, however, the sight was none too pleasant indeed, Aragorn decided darkly as he narrowed his eyes at the metal spike that was now stained with quite a lot of blood. The tool's tip protruded from the back of his upper arm, about five or six inches from his shoulder that was by now covered in small rivulets of dark red blood that sneaked down his arm to run down his torso. The injured muscles tried to contract around the foreign body that had torn through skin, muscles and sinews, only adding to the pain that already burned brightly in the wound. And apart from that, Aragorn thought with a half-angry, half-annoyed frown, the constant strain on his arm that came from hanging from the ceiling by his wrists didn't help much either.

Heavy footsteps drew his pain-dulled mind out of its musings and he slowly returned his attention to Teonvan who had walked back in front of him, holding a rather large, brown bottle in his left hand. Aragorn felt his mouth go dry. He didn't know what was in it, but very sure he didn't want to find out either.

Without another word but with an exceptionally smug expression on his face Teonvan reached out with his right hand and grasped the spike, ignoring the way his prisoner's body tried to jerk away from the painful touch. The brown haired man tightened his hold on the metal tool that was slippery with blood and pulled the spike out of the ranger's shoulder in a single movement.

Aragorn gritted his teeth so tightly that he was sure they would crumble into tiny little pieces, but he didn't cry out even though he couldn't stop his body from spasming with the sudden pain. A few moments later the greyness that had laid itself over his senses receded, giving him a clear view on Teonvan who was waiting patiently for him to regain control over his senses, which should have been a warning to him, really.

"Is this it?" the young man finally ground out between his teeth, deciding that he had remained silent for far too long now. "Now I see why you need the help of those two idiots."

"Oh, not at all," Teonvan grinned and stopped playing with the spike he had just removed from the ranger's shoulder. Letting the bloody piece of metal fall to the floor, he opened the bottle with a flick of his thumb and stepped closer. "We're just starting."

Aragorn had just enough time to note that the liquid that poured out of the body was of a muddy brown colour before it made contact with the bleeding, raw wound the spike had left. In less than half a second the bottom of his world fell away and he was plunged into a black abyss of pain that was unrivalled by anything he had ever experienced – and that meant quite a lot in his opinion.

He dimly noticed that his whole body trembled and tried pull away from what was causing it such agony, but that was entirely useless since the source of the pain was the wound itself which was filled with liquid fire that showed no signs of abating. It continued to burn deeper into the wound and spread into the rest of his body, and with every heartbeat pain of such intensity shot through him that he firmly believed that he would pass out.

After an eternity or two, the agony slowly receded, and while Aragorn was still trying to find enough strength to raise his head, he noticed that there was a strange, ringing sound in his ears, and it took him quite a long time to realise that it were the lingering remnants of a scream. His scream. Hadn't his head been hanging forward already, he would have let it sink onto his chest on his own. He had sworn himself not to cry out loud enough for Legolas to hear him, and only ten minutes later what was he doing?

He was still berating himself for his lack of self control and trying to convince his neck that it had lifted his head for years and that it wouldn't hurt it at all to do it once more when Teonvan solved that problem for him by tangling a hand in his hair and jerking his head up. The bottle was no longer in the other man's hands, but Aragorn had not nearly enough energy to look anywhere but straight ahead. For several moments, Teonvan merely looked at the younger man's glazed, pain-filled eyes until he reached out with his free hand and almost tenderly wiped away the thin trickle of blood that had run down from the other's bit lip. Aragorn did his best to suppress a shudder at the touch, but didn't have the strength to shy away.

"It took the master torturer years to find the right mixture," Teonvan told the dark haired man, his hand still keeping his head upright. "But now it works quite well, doesn't it?" It soon became clear that the ranger had no intention of answering him, and so he continued, his dark eyes boring into Aragorn's grey ones. "You were right, you know. I am not allowed to kill you yet. I do have you for another three or four hours though, and all that is required is that you're still alive at the end." He let reluctantly go of the handful of dark hair he was grabbing and took a step backwards, the grin once again returning to his face. "And that is an awfully vague term, isn't it?"

Teonvan walked back to the table and grabbed another dully gleaming spike, running his fingers over the smooth surface before he turned around, looking at the bound ranger who was hanging from his wrists a few feet away from him. He gave the brown bottle sitting next to the small pile of remaining spikes an almost fond look and began to stalk over to his captive, an expectant smile on his face.

"So, ranger, I have always been adherent to symmetry. What about you?"

TBC...

Nuitho lam lín, Estel (S.) - Hold your tongue, Estel
Ú-'ado chin dîn, pedithon na chyn (S.) - Don't attract their attention, I will talk to them
Queta Quenya lambë (Q.) - Speak Quenya
Úmelvë ista man lastëa (Q.) - We do not know who is listening




Yes, I admit that I made Girion's second son up. But this whole story was inspired by that one sentence in The Hobbit ... yes, here it is: "...They wondered if they were still lying there unharmed in the hall below: (...) the necklace of Girion, Lord of Dale, made of five hundred emeralds green as grass, which he gave for the arming of his eldest son in a coat of dwarf-linked rings the like of which had never been made before, for it was wrought of pure silver to the power and strength of triple steel." (Chapter 12, Inside Information) *g* Well, you see, the word "eldest"suggests that Girion had other sons as well even though they were never mentioned in canon, so my mind simply started working and working and hasn't stopped until now. It's scary, I know.

Other than that, I realise that this was an evil cliffy and that Teonvan is an even more evil person, as is my alter ego. *hits herself* I am trying to get rid of her, without much success, however. Okay, so, barring a natural disaster or another problem with FF.net, the next chapter should be here around Thursday and will contain more angst for everyone involved, we meet Glamir and the twins, Celylith and Glorfindel make an appearance. Great, huh? And yes, reviews are still greatly appreciated, as always. *g*

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Additional A/N:

Deana - Well, I hope you didn't _really_ feel it. That would be disconcerting and rather scary. *g* Glad you liked it, thanks for the review!
Tychen - Hmm, yes, it might. I am not yet completely sure about that, but it might. *g* And you are completely right: The odds are NOT in our heroes' favour here! But, as Han Solo once put it so eloquently: Never tell me the odds! *g* Uhm, Girion is a man and has therefore nothing to do with Thranduil personally, which is quite a good thing too since the king would kill him, but that's beside the point. *sheepish grin*
Carrie - Uhm, yes. That was the last bit of the calm before the storm, at least I think so. And you know what: You are beginning to think just like me, which is, at least for you, a highly dangerous development. I suggest you go and find a capable psychiatrist as soon as possible. *g* Yeah, that bit with Legolas' cover: Believe it or not, it won't be blown so soon. There just is no way for anyone to recognise him, even though the evil lord will finally find out, but not for the next few chapters. Sorry. *g* I hope you got over your bad day - there are days so bed that you just want to crawl into bed and stay there for the rest of the week, right? *g*
Nikara - Yeah, you know the evil overlords - they always tell the heroes about their plans and then give them a chance to escape. In the words of the wonderfully evil Dr. Evil: "I'm going to leave them alone and not actually witness them dying. I'm just gonna assume it all went to plan" *sighs* Evil dudes ARE stupid, huh?
Firniswin - I don't agree. It wasn't a major cliffy. It was quite a little one, and not even very evil. I agree with you about my alter ego though: She IS evil, even though I think I am beginning to like her no matter what. I know, I need help, don't tell me. *g* Teonvan is spelled, well, T - e - o - n - v - a - n? Quite simple really, once you've typed it a few dozen times. *g*
Mouse5 - Come on, you _know_ how I could do that to you! I am EVIL, remember!? I enjoy doing such things to people. I ENJOY it!!! Mhahahahaha! *runs off cackling evilly* I can assure you though that it's not my intention to give anyone a heart attack. I hope you are well, and every time you feel one creeping up, just repeat to yourself: "It's just fiction, it can't harm me, it's just fiction, it can't harm me." *shrugs* Almost never works, but what the heck. *evil grin*
CrazyLOTRfan - *pats her back in sympathy* Poor you. I know how horible it is not to have internet access. It's like ... having an arm cut off, right? Or a part of your brain. *evil grin* Or both. And no, this evil lord won't discover Aragorn's identity. You must remember that most humans don't even know anything about Isildur, the ranger, old kings and all that, besides, he'll be more than busy finding out Legolas' identity. *g* And if you tell me what Lord Súliat's name means, you can have a cookie _and_ a copy of Teonvan's book _and_ your Nólad clone! *g* Deal?
Someone Reading - *blushes* Well, thank you! I am very glad to hear that you are enjoying this bit of mindless insanity thus far! I regret having to kill Reran too, but otherwise Cendan would never have got really angry with Teonvan, and that will still be very important. There was nothing I could do. *g* Oh, and I hate to be nitpicking, but about that one Sindarin sentence you used: 'Naur dan i gwath' - that should be 'Naur dan i 'wath'. The singular article 'i' triggers lenition, therefore turning "i gw..." to "i 'w". In Gandalf's sentence "Naur dan i ngaurhoth" you see the same, even though one would usually expect a lenition to "... 'aurhoth". It's changed to 'ngaurhoth' because the primitive stem of the word was a ng-stem, which means it changes back, representing 'i ñaurhoth'. *stops and blinks* Jeez, I'm a freak, aren't I? Sorry. *g* And thanks a lot for the reviews!
Zam - *watches as Zam blows herself up* Yes!!! Finally!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you! There IS a God after all! *finally notices Zam's not dead* Hey! Nice to see you! I am SO glad you didn't hurt yourself - too much... *g* J/K, DO be careful with these staffs. Your guess about men colonising the area is very good. You get another cookie! *snickers* So Celylith is getting jealous, huh? Better be careful, he just might kill Cendan! You never know what a jealous Silvan elf might do! *g* Once again cograts for figuring out Girion's identity! And I honestly hope that the student shall never surpass the master! *shudders* No, everything but that...
Miaow Artsy - Well, thank you! It's great that you like this story, and I take it as a huge compliment that you read this even though you don't usually read WIP's. Hmm, right now I can't think of anyone Cendan could remind you of. I mean, I didn't write him with someone in mind, but I guess there are always people you base your OCs on, even if you do it unconsciously. *shrugs* Tell me once you remember, okay? LOL, yes, it would indeed be a clever trap! And I could give you a clone of any character you would like, either now once you tell me what Súliat's name means or at the end of this story. Okay? *g* Thanks for the link, but the problem is that I don't know all these series the fanfic is based on. So I could read as many stories I would like and still wouldn't understand a thing. *sheepish smile*
Cosmic Castaway - Oh, it's great you appreaciate being killed. Most people are awfully testy about it - glad to see you're different! *g* No, j/k, I'm glad that you like it, but I really hope I did not cause any lasting damage. I would hate to harm my reviewers. *g* Oh, and you DID review twice. I am not complaining, of course, but I have to come to FF.net's defence for once. Once. *g*
Starlight - *g* Ja, genau den hab' ich gemeint, den guten altern Girion. Gut gemacht! *ueberreicht wunderschoenen Keks* Viel Spass damit! Ich sehe schon, dass meine Tips nicht ganz so eindeutig waren, wie ich dachte - du hast recht, natuerlich kann kein Mensch so alt werden, abgesehen davon sollte Girion schon seit 184 Jahren tot sein. Aber keine Angst, der Fiesling erklaert alles in diesem Kapitel, wie Fieslinge das eben gern tun. *g* Und du hast natuerlich wieder recht, es kommt so ziemlich so, wie du dachtest. *schluchz* Armer Legolas, armer Aragorn. *g* Sorry wegen der Zwillinge, aber ich hab' einfach nicht genug Platz fuer alle. *g*
Sirihiliel - Well, yeah, at least the thing with the motif should become clear. I hope the rest too, but you never know. *g* Thanks for the review!
Aromene - *g* Yes indeed, the scale must be balanced. We can't have it that Legolas is injured and our dear friend Aragorn is not, now can we? I try to keep everything nice and fair. *g* But "Poor Estel" about sums it up.
Orlandofan13 - They would have, wouldn't they? I mean, how hard can it be to slay a dragon? Bard did it, so Legolas wouldn't have any trouble doing it either - one would think so at least. Considering his luck, he would probably get burnt to a crisp. *g* Stupid wood-elf.
Elenillor - LOL, I like Dr. Evil. We have a few of them ourselves. They are indeed evil, and some of them are downright scary. And I realise that you're not complaining, I think I am complaining to myself. I hate it when I can't control the plot - and it seems that I can't right now. *grrr* Stupid elf and ranger. I'm glad you like our sarcastic ranger. I love sarcasm, it's what makes life wonderful. *g*
Jenihenpen - Nope, it hasn't. It tells me to do the one thing and I do the other. *shakes fist* You shall not control me!!! Hmm, everything is black and depressing and scary? Well, I guess you could say that - it's not the most cheerful town in history, I'll give you that... And would you care to define "in one piece"? *g*
Alilacia - Thanks a lot, I will need all the luck I can get. The papers aren't about anything I'm really interested in, so I'll have to manage somehow. *grimaces* Hmm, grey and black livery = Wormtongue? I have to admit I never made that connection. *g* No, this isn't Mordor, and it isn't Dol Guldur either. And I like the stinking creatures. You are right of course. They must probably stink by now. But we won't tell them, will we? *places finger on lips* No, preciousss, we won't. *g*
Shauna - *raises eyebrow* The "beetroot-forgot-the-word award"? Why, I am honoured! Thank you! *g* And don't we all want to know what Legolas knows? Well, to be honest, I don't really, but you known I mean. *g* Thanks a lot for the review, and it's very nice to hear that you liked it so far!
Stacee Phelps - Hmm, you could do both. You could hate me _and_ bow at my feet, only if you want to, of course. I apologise for the cliffy, but I couldn't stop myself. *evil grin* Sorry about not updating sooner, it wasn't my fault this time, at least I think so. Thanks for reviewing!
Isadora2 - Na, wen haben wir denn da? Wenn das nicht Isadora ist, die mir in der Tat noch 30 Gazillionen Reviews schuldet! *g* Schoen, dich zu sehen, und mach dir keinen Kopf wegen der anderen Reviews. Ich bin bereit, die zu vergessen. *g* Ich muss auch zugeben, dass die Abkuerzungen ein wenig komisch klingen, aber das waren diese englischsprachigen Leute. Ich glaube, die sterben, wenn sie nicht was abkuerzen duerfen... *g* Und ... *schuettelt Kopf* ... ich muss sagen, dass du absolut ... daneben liegst. *g* Sorry. Ich weiss, dass der Titel so was vermuten laesst, und du bist nicht die erste, die auf solche Ideen kommt, aber nein, das ist nicht so, sorry. Das mit den Augen ist immer so die Sache, und da ich mich immer bemuehe "realistische" Fanfics zu schreiben, ist Blenden so 'ne Sache. Die Chancen, jemanden ohne moderne Medizin nur voruebergehend zu blenden sind extrem gering. Danke allerdings fuer die guten Wuensche, und wie es so schoen heisst: Sorry to burst your bubble. *knuddelt*
Sadie Elfgirl - I'm evil incarnate? Why, thank you! That was a very nice thing to say! Well yes, the evil lord id marching somewhere, or wants to march somewhere, even if it's not really Mirkwood. I think you're not the only one who hates Teonvan, there should be a few dozen people right now. Sorry for not really posting "tomorrow", but this time it was F.net's fault. *g* Finally, I am not to blame for once.
Galadhriel Vornionien - Yes, indeed, you are quite right. There are only a few other people who even remotely figured out who Girion is - even though I thought it rather obvious. If not because of the name, I thought that the flag was going to give it away. *shrugs* Well, I guess not everyone can be a freak like me. *g* I don't think that your brothers would be overly happy to be there, though. It's not the nicest city, you know. *g*
Sabercrazy - I really have to congratulate you! Most of the people were looking in the wrong dictionary, so to say. Both names are correct, and I just added the 'r' to Sangwar's name since it's a rather common male ending. But you were wrong with Súliat. Don't worry, it's the hardest name too, since *whispers* it's a compound, that's makes it hard to figure out. *g* And that line was meant to be funny, don't worry. *huggles* Once again, congrats!
Elvendancer - Yeah, pillow fights are fun, but only if your siblings aren't violent. Mine are. *g* So it can be a very bad idea. I understand your other sister though, HP is quite good too. I don't really like the new books, but I-III are very good indeed. Thanks for taking the time to review!
Firnsarnien - I know, I know, I hate it too! I really hope your troll bashes it... *grrrr* And yes, I could tell that you were angry with FF.net - the curses at the beginning were kind of a giveaway... *g* LOL, that would be great, to have college courses about something like that! Believe me, I'd be the first to attend! And I hope that cliffy was bad since it was supposed to _be_ bad. Would have been a shame otherwise, wouldn't it? *g* Yup, definitely.
Grumpy - Well, the bribe was a nice idea, apart from the fact that I got the review only yesterday. Sorry about that. *g* And I like the idea with the balrog! The nad thing is that they're so hard to control... *shakes head* No, a balrog wouldn't be such a good idea after all...
Jazmin3 Firewing - Nicenicenicenicenice... chapter? *g* Thanks! Hmm, as I said in the A/N, the twins and the others won't get there for some time. They are at least three days behind them, after all. Uhm, yes, Girion would be the name of the men's lord. I hope this chapter answers at least a few of your questions!
Narina Nightfall - It was your birthday? Sorry! *throws even more confetti into air* Happy Birthday!! And I think you mean Anardir, not Adruran, because Adruran has never met Galalith - and now he won't either. *evil grin* Uhm, about the silver hair: Sure do other elves have it! Just look at Celeborn's and Celebrían's names! Sure there are other silver haired elves. And yes, Cendan looks a little bit like Aragorn, but I somehow doubt that the exchange would work. About the names: Halla means tall. And you're looking in the wrong language, sorry. *g* The OC won't be here for a while yet. Yes, Rhûn means East, and so does Rómen, but you have to remember that Quenya is the older - and frankly, more beautiful - of the two languages. The Tengwa Aragorn carved into the tree is called Rómen, not Rhûn, since the Tengwar all retained their Quenya names. Humans have twelve pairs of ribs, at least I think so, so out of 24 five aren't that much, are they? And as far as I know Arathorn and Gilraen were related, but then again I think most Dúnedain were related in one way or another since there were so few left. Apart from that, Dírhael was a descendant of Aranarth, who died in III, 2106, so they were _very_ distantly related. And I guess you could marry a cousin. I mean, now you can, and I don't think people saw it differently then. And I doubt there's a term for how Aragorn is related to Boromir. Were Boromir the son of a king and therefore a descendant of Anárion, I guess they would be _very_ distant cousins, but since he's from the House of Húrin, I guess they have ceased to be really related.
Snow-Glory - *g* Great, because it was meant to sound terrifying. It worked then, very good... *g* And I am _sure_ Legolas would agree. He hasn't understood anyway that the palace is a cave, so... *evil grin* You'll have to wait a bit to find out what will happen with the twins, sorry! *even more evil grin*
Just Jordy - I'm sorry you don't like cliffies. I LOVE them, but only when I write them. If I have to wait for ages for another chapter I don't like it overly much either... Great you liked it so far, thanks for the review!
Amelie - Well, that all sounds ... very interesting. The sugar and all that, I mean. Oh, don't worry, the bad guys don't really want Legolas at the moment. I mean, they want him, but not really. *grimaces* I am not making a lot of sense at the moment, right? Well, you'll see what I mean. Eventually, I think. As I said in the A/N, there won't be any twins or Celylith in this chapter, sorry. I really hope you're better and get more sleep in the future! Not sleeping can't be healthy! *g*
Crystal-Rose15 - I know, I know, FF.net hates us. And it's great ROTK won all these Oscars, huh? Even though I think that it won all them for all the movies, because I really don't think that ROTK is the best of the three. And I have to admit that I never before heard of a miniature, vegetarian balrog. Silly me. *g* *shakes head* I really don't see why you people love the horses so much. They're just ... horses, right? And Bob is VERY scary. Very scary indeed. *g*
Alex Mistress Squirrel - Yeah, too uch violence can ruin the whole story. I've always said so. There are stories that are nothing but - I don't like them overly much, or rather not at all. Thanks for the review!
Jera - Your review makes in fact more sense than most of my stories. *g* Hmm, you want Sangwar? Well, that's a new one! I don't think anyone likes him overly much at the moment, even though I do. But then again, I like all my OCs, so that doesn't mean much. LOL, yes, it's indeed hard being an evil overlord these days. When I was a kid, it was far easier and more rewarding... *drones on* Oh, and I liked the orc captain too. He was ... cute. *shudders* I need help, I know. And you're the second person to tell me about the "blonde" thing - why in the name of all the Gods did no-one tell me before??? My dictionary doesn't make a difference, which only proves that it's not a very good dictionary. I'll start using "blond" then, and I'll chance it in all the other chapters once I have too much time. Thank you very much for pointing that out - how am I supposed to learn if no-one tells me what I am doing wrong? *g* Well, thanks for the review! *huggles*
*Falling Star* - Well, there is a lot of sarcasm in this story, I think I would die if I had to write a chapter without a single sarcastic comment. No, I am sure I would die. *g* You forgot to eat? That's certainly a compliment! Thanks! I am glad you liked this, and thanks a lot for reviewing!
C Hobbes - *g* I see what you mean. "Next week: Another episode of 'The Ill-fated Adventured of the Reckless Human and His Companion the Stubborn Elf'"... I like that! *g* I know, in school or college or whatever they make you analyse everything, even the analyses of analyses of analyses. *shakes head* Horrible. If that movie is in French, it explains why I haven't seen it yet. I speak about ten words of French. I speak more Quenya than that. It's sad, don't tell me.
Bailey - It doesn't mean that you're stupid that you don't know who Girion is, it only means that you're not quite as freakish as I am. Which is good. *hands her a cookie* Well done. I think that most questions will be answered in this chapter. That's what I hope though. *g*
Karone Evertree - Well, I just received this review yesterday, so sorry for not mailing it to you. I just hope I can post this today, otherwise I will perhaps really send it to you. I hate FF.net, but I'm sure you know that... *g*
A rather ticked off Suzi - I whole-heartedly agree. FF.net is evil and mean and hates me. But I hate it too, so that's okay.
Iverson - Sorry to hear that you're so busy. It's absolutely okay if you don't review. We all know how much time Real Life can cost - much of one's time, in fact... It's great that you liked the bad guys, I very much enjoy writing them too. And don't worry, most of the people here are looking forward to Aragorn Angst. We're all insane here. *insane grin* See?
Marbienl - It's not really cool! It's rather scary, in fact, VERY scary... And she's only 17, too! *g* You didn't miss anything. Gladiator was laughable, _especially_ when you know a thing or two about that time period. It made me weep on several occasions - and not because it was tragic. *g* Oh, and really? You are REALLY looking forward to ranger torture? *sarcastically* Who'd have thought...
Crippled Raven - An angst addict, huh? Well, there seem to be lots of them... *g* I'm sorry to disappoint you though, he doesn't get to watch. A little bit next chapter, but only a little, if at all. Sorry. *g* I know what you mean, there are loads of fics that simply overdo the whole torture thing. I mean, it's not that I don't like it (not that anyone would believe me if I said I didn't anyway *g*), but you can really destroy an otherwise good story with too much of it. *blinks* I like your comparisons though. Very ... figurative. I love the cow. *stupid grin* I'm also glad to hear that this insane little fic meets your approval. I tried to think of an alliteration myself, but failed, sorry. *g* It's nice to hear that you like Celylith, even though I have to insist that you do in fact not abduct him. He's quite happy where he is, or so he's assured me. And you're right: If anyone steals him, I would have to stop writing. Good threat. *g* You did not bore me at all, I thank you very much for taking the time to review and I hope you're finished with your exams now. *huggles*

As always, thanks a lot for the reviews! I hope I got all of them, but knowing FF.net, one or two have slipped through. If that is the case, I'm sorry. Blame FF.net, not me. *g*