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.

26. The Elf, the Guards And the Ox

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.


A/N:

Alright, alright, so it was _plus_ two days. I am sorry about that, but at least I am not too late yet. That's something, right? *looks into readers impatient, unforgiving faces* Well, apparently not... *g*
I am sorry about not posting sooner, but the summer term has just started here (Yeah, I know, it's definitely not summer yet, but people here don't care about things like that) and everything is quite hectic at the moment. The exams are over at least and went rather well, too, so there's only one other evil college paper from hell and I'll be fine - for the next month. *dark smile*

I also have to admit that the Glorfindel torture that has so adamantly been demanded by a disturbing number of people will be here, but in ch. 28 at the earliest. I am sorry about that, but I just wasn't in the mood for it, plus I couldn't find a place to fit it in. So, only two more chapters to go! (*shoots nervous looks at Sabercrazy and several other people*)

And now for something completely different ... oh, yes, the length of this whole bloody thing. Well, let's just say that, if everything goes according to plan (which it never does) and if I can convince the characters to shut up (which I never can), I should have wrapped up everything by ch. 32. I doubt I will write more, and am fully prepared to write 35-pages-chapters if I have to. *g*


Okay, yes, I'll shut up now. Those of you who wanted to see the sweet little ox again will be very happy (which shouldn't be much of a surprise considering the title anyway *g*) - contrary to the guards, who aren't happy at all. Other than that, we also have a little bit more of Glorfindel and Celylith (always remember, Zam, he's STILL ALIVE, that's what matters *evil grin*) and yes, Aragorn wakes up. About time, too.

Have fun and review, please!

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Chapter 26


After no more than five minutes of walking down the dark, damp passage Elrohir was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

It must finally have happened, he reasoned darkly as he tightened his hold on his unconscious brother and tried not to drop the small lamp that was the only source of light in this depressing darkness. He must finally have snapped and lost the last remnants of reason and sanity that had managed to survive two brothers and a sister – which hadn't been many to begin with.

What in the name of the Valar had he been thinking, he asked himself for the umpteenth time. He had left a human woman behind to be captured, he had left a child to certain death! The fact that she had all but forced him to go was of no consequence; he should never have complied with her wishes!

He stopped for a moment, all but ready to turn around and walk back the way he had come. Why did Legolas have to send someone who was obviously suicidal? The girl had not even blinked when she had shut the door in his face, she must have been either mad or very tired of living!

Elrohir clenched his teeth and resumed his walk, dragging his twin with him. There were only two reasons why he didn't turn back now, no matter the consequences – two reasons why he had left in the first place. One was that, deep in his heart, he knew it would be futile. There was no way he could help the girl now, just as there had been no way he could have helped her even if she hadn't pushed him in here and locked the door behind him. They had been outnumbered, and he very much doubted that he would have been able to fight off all the guards that had been trailing them even at full strength, with only a rather small human female to watch his back. No, to go back now would only mean to belittle the girl's sacrifice, however ill-advised it might have been.

The second reason was once again close to slipping out of his grasp. Elrohir shook his head, ignoring the wave of pain and nausea that welled up inside of him at that simple movement, his eyes darting to his brother's pale face. Had it been only his life at stake, he might stayed and not let himself be shoved into this charming tunnel. But it wasn't only his life at stake, and he wouldn't risk his twin's in such a manner. Elladan needed him, he needed him to be strong and do the reasonable thing, and he would not fail his brother.

With a stubborn nod of his head Elrohir trudged on, busying himself with calculations of how many hundred tons of earth and stone must be pressing down on the walls of the tunnel at the moment. That train of thought, however, did nothing to set his already very troubled mind at ease, and he quickly concentrated on something else, namely on counting his steps.

Just when he was convinced that this accursed tunnel would never end, it began to slope upwards, something that could only meant that they were nearing the end. A sudden burst of hope flamed to life inside his chest, but the grin that was beginning to spread on his face faded as abruptly as it had appeared when he heard something behind him, something he had been dreading all the time, but expecting nonetheless.

Hadn't he needed to keep Elladan upright, he would have whirled around. No, he thought panicky, there was no doubt about it: That had been the sound of footsteps behind him – footsteps that weren't very far away. His hearing seemed to have suffered significantly from the rather violent blow to his head, but if he wasn't very much mistaken, someone was following him – and catching up quickly.

With a blood-curling curse that would even have caused his elven brother to blanch he continued his stumbling walk, trying to pick up the pace as best as possible. When he had just counted step eight hundred and fifty-six, he stopped abruptly in order not to run straight into the door that suddenly barred his way. For a moment, he simply stared at the door, asking himself where in the name of the One it had suddenly appeared from, when the soft sounds behind him brought him back to reality as quickly as a bucket of ice-cold water. He hadn't left a child to her death and walked this horrible, dark tunnel only to be caught now!

He shortly contemplated how he should get rid of the lamp and finally chose the easiest way: To let it drop to the floor. He would have liked to keep the small lamp, he thought as it crashed to the stone floor and went out immediately, but he really didn't think he had the strength to straighten up again should he bend down. He didn't wait for his eyes to get used to the darkness and quickly raised his now free hand to knock. It took him another, frightening second to remember what the girl had told him, but then he knocked three times, then two, and three again.

For long moments, nothing happened. Elrohir was just raising his hand for the second time, inwardly debating if this hadn't been some kind of sick joke after all, something that would have been just the kind of thing Girion would find amusing, when the sound of a turning key could be heard. He was still lowering his hand when the door was thrown open without as much as a creaking sound.

Elrohir's eyes quickly adapted to the light of two lamps that poured into the tunnel, lamps which were being held by two men who were standing in the doorway, looking at him and his brother with wide eyes. One of them, tall and with grey hair, seemed to get a grip on himself more quickly than his companion, and he opened the door wider, making as much room as possible for the two elves.

"Hurry," he told Elrohir who was stumbling over the threshold. "There are more guards on the streets this night than there are stars in the sky."

His companion didn't seem to care much about the number of celestial bodies and merely stared at the twins, his forehead marred by a frown and the corners of his mouth quivering in what could only be called severe disapproval.
"Another elf?" he asked sharply before his eyes travelled to Elladan's unconscious figure. "Two elves? Sero, you never said that there were elves involved! What was that girl thinking?! She must be insane!"

For some reason, this was enough to cause Elrohir's temper to flare up.
"If you ask me, this whole Valar-forsaken city is insane! And now help me out of this cursed tunnel before Girion's guards join this happy little meeting, in Elbereth's name!"

The not very tall, but thickly muscled man glowered at him and was about to say something when he was cut off by Sero, who grabbed Elrohir's arm and helped him manoeuvre his brother through the open door.
"Guards? What guards? And where is Ethoani? Where are the other elves?" When he noticed the elf's blank look, he added impatiently, "The woman who brought you here? Where is she?"

"They … are not coming," Elrohir answered, trying to ignore the way the grey spots in front of him began to fill all of his vision. "She stayed behind to give us a chance to escape."

The man his companion had called Sero froze for a second, his hand that was holding one of the small lamps trembling slightly. Then he took a deep breath and nodded slowly, his eyes hard and cold in his bearded face.
"I see." Even the other man had fallen silent as Sero quickly closed the door and locked it again, turning back to the elves once he had returned the large, metal key to a pouch on his belt. "There are guards behind you, you say?"

"Aye," Elrohir nodded darkly. "Still a few minutes away though."

"Then they'll have reinforcements here in a matter of moments," Sero nodded as well, a calmness appearing in his eyes that Elrohir had seen many times in many men's eyes just before battle. "It won't have taken them too long to find out where this tunnel ends. We'd better get away from here, and fast."

Elrohir decided that that was the most appealing suggestion he had heard in a long time and was about to nod when Sero's companion tugged at his shirt in an obvious request for him to release his brother's unconscious body. The younger twin automatically tightened his hold on his brother, something that was only commented by two exasperated headshakes. These humans thought him apparently just as annoying as he them.

"Be reasonable, Master Elf," Sero begged him. "We are running out of time! You cannot carry him any further, and we need to go now! Let my companion carry him or we will all be caught and Ethoani's actions will have been in vain."

Elrohir hadn't even completed the hesitant nod he was about to give the grey haired man when the other man hurried forward, all but wrenched Elladan out of his grasp, threw a long, dark cloak over the elf's shoulders and dragged him into the direction of the room's exit. Before Elrohir's befuddled brain could really comprehend what was going on, another, almost identical cloak had been wrapped around him and he was firmly being shoved after his brother through what appeared to be a dusty, abandoned shop. The dark haired elf had just enough time to note that there was an amazing amount of broken pottery, wood, rags and other garbage covering the floor before he was pulled to a stop in front of the door.

Sero let go of his arm, gave him a rather concerned look as if to make sure that the elf wouldn't collapse on the spot (something that Elrohir merely answered with a dark glare) and opened the old, rather ill-fitting door which opened with a loud, shrieking noise. The man gave the street outside only the most cursory glance, something that Elrohir completely understood when the first blows on the locked door at their back could be heard. The door rattled loudly, the wood trembling under the force of the blows, and Elrohir realised that they were out of time.

He wasn't the only person who had just come to that conclusion, it appeared, for Sero's head swivelled around, panic clear to see in his eyes before it was quickly suppressed. Only a second later he had pushed his companion who was half-carrying and half-dragging Elladan with him out of the door and grabbed Elrohir's arm again, pulling him with him.

They hadn't done more than ten steps – Elrohir still wondering since when exactly he had a sign on his back saying "Please drag and order me around, I am merely a stupid elf" – when a sharp voice could be heard behind them.
"Hey! You! Stop right there!"

When they showed no sign of intending to obey the man's words, another, louder shout for reinforcements could be heard, and when Elrohir was pulled around a corner a few moments later and managed to cast a look back over his shoulder, he almost froze in sudden panic at the sight in front of him.

There were at least ten men following them, and some were already beginning to load their crossbows as well as they could while running. More were beginning to pour out of the house they had just left, and with all this racket these men were making Elrohir suspected that the rest of this city's guards would soon join this merry little chase. He felt how his mouth went dry and his heart leaped into his throat. There was no way they would be able to escape them, not with Elladan and, if he was completely honest, himself slowing them down.

He was roughly pulled around the corner into a small side-street that seemed to end in a large plaza just a few yards ahead of them, and while he tried to keep up with the running men, he turned to Sero, looking at him with wide, serious grey eyes.
"Leave me," he told the grey haired man in between gasps for breath. "Leave me behind and get my brother to safety. Maybe I can keep them occupied long enough for you to escape."

Sero didn't even look at him but merely snorted derisively, his eyes darting back over his shoulder in search for their loudly yelling pursuers.
"I'll be damned if I do!" he snapped impatiently. "I was ordered to get you to safety, elf, and that's exactly what I'm going to do!"

"Master Human," Elrohir gasped, noticing that they were only a few feet away from what looked like a large marketplace now, "Please, there is…"

"No," the man shook his head and tightened his grip on the elf's arm. "I've lost one of my people already, a girl I have known for most of her life, and I will not allow her sacrifice to be in vain! You are coming, if you want to or not."

Elrohir was still trying to figure out why lately every other human seemed to assume that he was a mindless object when they entered the marketplace at a run, catching up with the other human who was carrying Elladan without showing any signs of exhaustion. A part of him noted approvingly that the man had to be much stronger than he had given him credit for at first, but the greater part stared wide-eyed at the small, snow-covered fountain in the middle of the plaza, and he realised, rather late, that he knew this place.

This was the place they had crossed when they had been riding up to the castle – had it really only been yesterday afternoon? To him it appeared like several lifetimes at least. But this definitely was the place, Elrohir nodded inwardly as he followed Sero over the snow-covered marketplace, who had still not let go of his arm, probably fearing that he might still do what he had said earlier.

His eyes wandered searchingly over the plaza, and when they came to rest on the large cage close to the fountain that was now partly covered with blankets to ward off the wind's chill, the half-formed plan that had been gnawing at the back of his mind ever since he had realised where they were suddenly unfolded completely in his head.

He stopped as if his feet had frozen to the ground, causing Sero to skid to a halt as well. The grey haired man glared at him, barely suppressing his anger and annoyance as he yanked at the elf's arm, trying to get him to start moving again.
"I said no, elf! I am not leaving you behind! Great Ones, are all of you this stubborn!? And I thought that blond one was being difficult!"

Elrohir didn't pay the man any attention and turned to the right, beginning to hurry over to the fountain and dragging the other with him since he refused to let go of his arm. The sounds of the following guards grew louder, and the dark haired elf realised that they were only fifteen, perhaps twenty seconds behind him. The fear that raged inside of him helped to push back the ever-growing pain in his head, and he whirled around to Sero, stretching out a hand.

"Give me your dagger. Now!"

The man was about to argue, but apparently thought better of if once he looked into the elf's face. It was unnaturally calm and composed, and for a moment all the pain that the dark haired being had been unable to hide all the time was gone, replaced by a strange certainty; not even the smaller bruises on his cheeks and the truly enormous, blood-caked abrasion on his temple could dispel that impression. Sero found himself reaching for his dagger without hesitation, somehow spell-bound by the commanding, demanding look in these grey eyes.

"Here," he said, handing over the dagger. "But what do you want to…"

He trailed off as the elf snatched the weapon out of his hand, turned around and hurried over to the cage in which the huge ox was slowly beginning to wake up. With curious detachment the grey haired man watched the elf while he was stepping closer to the cage, either oblivious to or ignoring the dark growls the beast was emitting as it slowly and menacingly climbed to its feet. It took him another moment to fully comprehend what the elf was doing, but then the realisation hit him like a tidal wave.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed, a part of him noticing that the guards would enter the marketplace in moments. "Are you mad? Do you wish to get us all killed?"

Elrohir didn't answer but concentrated on the crude metal lock, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. The strain and the excitement of the past few hours were catching up with him, and the grey spots had begun to form a barely transparent film that had laid itself over his eyes. He willed his hands to be still and carefully moved the tip of the dagger the tiniest bit to the side, attempting to lift the crude metal bolt inside the construction and push it to the side. He didn't really know much about locks, let alone about lock-picking, since those were skills an elven warrior needed seldom these days. Still, the mechanics were not beyond him, and this lock was even quite a simple one, so it shouldn't be too hard to…

There. With a satisfying click the blade pushed the bolt up and to the side, causing the mechanism to unlock and open. Elrohir grabbed the dagger more tightly and turned back to the man who had helped free his brother and him, eyes dark as the sky above them in the dim light of moon and stars.
"Get back and prepare to run for your life."

"You are mad!" the man exclaimed. "That thing will kill us! It won't hesitate to rip us to pieces!"

"Yes," Elrohir nodded, his dimmed hearing informing him that the first guard had just set foot into the marketplace. He gripped the iron bars of the door and opened it with a sharp yank, grinning darkly at the stupefied man and nodding at the soldiers who were apparently trying to figure out where they'd gone. "But if we're lucky it might also gut our friends over there."

Sero stared at the bloody, bruised face in front of him, wondering if Ethoani had truly realised that she had given her life for a raving lunatic and his half-dead brother, but then all his thoughts were interrupted as the ox in the cage noticed that the door was open. It didn't display any signs of hesitation or doubt and stormed forward, out of the door and into the marketplace. For a moment, Sero really thought that the elf's plan would work and was already taking great satisfaction in watching the guards' paralysed faces who seemed to have frozen on the spot, but then he realised that it had just been a desperate, rather stupid idea.

And that now they were all going to pay for it.

In the exact same moment the thought had fully developed in his mind, the ox seemed to have made up its mind about who was to blame for its incarceration: The nearest person available, who just happened to be Sero. The man ground out a vicious curse as he dove to the side and barely avoided slamming into the fountain in the process. He did have some experience with these beasts after all, as about everyone around these parts who had left the city more than once did. This ox was quite a small specimen actually, even thought Sero had to admit to himself that it was probably the wildest and most ill-tempered one he had ever seen – and he had seen quite a lot, most of the time involuntarily.

He shook his head quickly and scrambled back to his feet, noticing that there was exactly one good thing, namely that the guards were still at the far end of the plaza, looking as if they would rather volunteer for a suicide mission to steal Glamir's favourite whip than come even one step closer. Not that he could blame them, Sero decided in a split second as he jumped to the side again, narrowly avoiding one of the animal's curved horns. He hadn't chosen to be here either; there was only one person responsible for him being here, actually: The elf.

His head swivelled around to the being in question, just in time to see the ox raise its shaggy head and fix its small, furious, squinty eyes on the elf who stared back at it emotionlessly. For a few moments Sero believed that the beast would truly leave the elf alone – he would have done so had he been the animal and had the elf been looking at him like that – but then it became once again clear why these animals were so feared by all who knew of their existence: As soon as they had identified you as a threat, they didn't stop. They never stopped until either you or they were dead. And, right now, Sero thought wryly, it was rather obvious which of the two options the ox would prefer.

He wasn't alone in that opinion for Elrohir had just come to the same conclusion, and all the elf could do to avoid being gutted was to throw himself to the side, jarring his entire body as he connected with the cold, hard, snow-covered ground and sending spikes of pain up and down his body that threatened to send him into unconsciousness. The young elf dimly heard the warning the man screamed in a hoarse voice somewhere to his left, and he slowly and painfully propped himself up on one elbow and lifted his throbbing head, only to wish he hadn't half a second later.

Elrohir stared with wide eyes at the huge, furry beast that was galloping into his direction, having apparently wheeled around and decided to try and impale him for a second time – a rather interesting way to show its gratitude to him for freeing it, he thought detachedly. The thought that he would kill Celylith the next time he saw him for considering this thing "adorable" and "cute" flashed through his mind, closely followed by the thought that there was really no time to get out of the way.

A moment later, the ox that must have been an oliphaunt in disguise was right in front of him and thrust down its head with the very clear intention of impaling him on its horns – and took great care to trample him as much as possible in the process. Elrohir barely bit back a mixture between a cry and a curse as the ox placed most of its weight on his lower body and frantically reached for the dagger he had unfortunately dropped some time ago, inwardly deciding that he would not only kill Celylith, he would kill him as slowly and painfully as possible. The Silvan elf didn't really have anything to do with his current situation, but someone other than this stupid animal would have to pay for this.

The ox wasn't very impressed by the dark haired elf's attempts to reach the knife and merely butted its huge, very, very massive head against Elrohir's shoulder, leaving him nearly paralysed and with the distinct impression that every bone in his upper arm had just been shattered. The animal seized his moment of distraction to give him an evil look and thrust its head down again, giving Elrohir only the chance of choosing between having the horns imbedded in his gut or in his hip.

He did of course chose the latter by twisting his body to the side as far as he could, something he regretted only an instant later as one of the animal's curved horns sliced through the flesh of his right thigh, leaving hot, burning agony in its wake. For more than a few moments Elrohir did firmly expect to pass out, but then a small, persistent voice in the back of his head started yelling at him, yelling at him to stay awake and not to pass out. What would happen to Elladan if he did pass out now and this horrible animal gutted him, what would happen to Estel and Legolas and Glorfindel and Celylith? Besides, what would his family and friends say when they heard that he had been killed by an ox of all things?

No, Elrohir thought as he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain in his lower body, beginning to feel for the dagger again. There was absolutely no way he was going to die like this; if there was one manner of death unbefitting an elven warrior, this was it. His hand had just closed around the knife's handle when the ox pulled back, ripping its horn out of the wound in the process, and the pain that washed through him at the movement was almost enough to send him into unconsciousness after all.

With a stubborn shake of his head the elven twin pushed the inviting darkness aside and swung his dagger up, into the direction of the animal's head. The beast had apparently not expected its victim to put up any more resistance, and was therefore more surprised than truly shocked as the dagger's sharp blade cut across its nostrils. The unexpected pain and the blood that gushed from the wound was enough to cause it to take a few steps backwards, but even that wouldn't have been enough to save Elrohir hadn't the guards made one very crucial mistake: To move.

Until now they had remained motionless, not daring to move even a single inch in face of the ox that had so unexpectedly left its cage, but now they surged forward, apparently thinking the elf to be an easy target, pinned beneath the beast as he was at the moment. Elrohir watched with detached curiosity how the ox's head swivelled around and its small, bloodshot eyes fixed on the running men, and he could almost watch how the animal came to the conclusion that they posed a far greater threat than he at the moment.

All of the sudden the weight that was still pressing down on him disappeared, and Elrohir watched from his position on the ground how the ox charged at the men, feeling with lazy disinterest how blood from the deep wound in his upper thigh flowed down his leg and soaked into the snow beneath him. He didn't possess the strength to get to his feet again, and so he remained where he was, watching the spectacle unfold in all its glory.

It was most curious, Elrohir decided after a moment, he had never seen an ox gut a man before. The man currently impaled on the ox's horns didn't seem to enjoy that sensation overly much either, he nodded to himself, noting that the world became darker and fuzzier around the edges. He wasn't really sure how much time had passed since the ox had left him alone in the search for more amusing victims, but three of the about fifteen or twenty guards were already lying on the ground, not one of them moving. The elf watched while the soldiers scattered into all directions to avoid becoming the animal's next victim – not that it did them any good, of course. The ox was far stronger and faster than they, and no matter how quickly the men ran, they were quickly caught up with. The guards had either no experience dealing with such a threat or were simply not prepared for it, and so they were decimated faster than Elrohir had ever thought possible.

While he was still contemplating whether or not the man currently trying to escape the raging animal would be able to outrun it (he would not, as it would turn out a moment later) and has just decided that the plan hadn't been too bad after all, he sensed more than saw movement behind him, and slowly turned his head to the left, sighing wearily. But instead of one of the guards that were still trying to break through to him he laid eyes on Sero who came running up to him, nearly crashing to his knees next to him.

The man's shoulders were shaking, even though he seemed to be uninjured, Elrohir noted dimly, feeling how the darkness that had begun to lay itself over his senses intensified. It took his tired, pain-filled brain another moment to realise that Sero wasn't crying or in pain. He was laughing. Laughing so hard, in fact, that he barely managed to grip Elrohir's shoulder and pull him upright, his eyes remaining fixed on the sight in front of him. Only five or six men were still standing, the elf noted, the rest was either dead, injured or had run away.

Sero stared at the dark haired elf who looked as if he had just had an encounter with an ill-tempered hill troll – or an ill-tempered wild ox. Apart from the freely bleeding wound on his thigh he was deathly pale, and the wound on his temple stood out even more starkly. He gave the soldiers in front of him a quick, openly amused look, realising that they were really going to make it. Every soldier in the city would be far too busy to recapture that ox to be able to look for them. Such an animal, running around freely in the city, was far more dangerous than even an elf could be.

He hauled the elf over his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, scrambling backwards as quickly as he could. The soldiers may be too busy staying alive to follow them now, but that didn't mean that the ox couldn't decide to finish what it'd started.

Sero managed to enter the side street leading into the direction of Laenro's house without getting himself or the elf he carried killed, and stopped for a second, noticing that his companion had done as he'd told him and was already long gone. At that point he hadn't believed they would both escape and had wanted to make sure that at least one of them would get out of this alive, but now it appeared as if they just might. He stopped a second to tighten his grip on the semi-conscious elf he held upright, the mirth once again breaking through his serious countenance. Gods, using an ox to eliminate Girion's soldiers! That was something he would have to remember…

"I stand by my word," he told the dark haired being with a wide grin as he began to hurry down the street, listening with one ear to the screams and shouted commands at their back. "You are indeed insane. You may be incredibly lucky, but you are insane."

The last thing Elrohir thought before giving in to the darkness that had been beckoning him for a long time was that the man just might be right about that.

Elrohir was insane, Glorfindel decided darkly. So was Elladan, certainly Celylith, and most certainly he himself. That was the only possible explanation for this … disaster they found themselves in at the moment, even though he was willing to admit that, as the eldest in the group by far, he should have know better. He should have known much better.

The golden haired elf lord shook his slightly aching head that was still ringing from a blow that had slammed it against their cell door. He grinned inwardly. He hadn't really done anything to deserve such treatment (at least in his opinion); all he had done was to propose to the man who had been all but dragging him around this dark, dirty and dank dungeon that he take a bath.

It had been a valid proposition – for all Glorfindel knew, that guard had never before heard of the beneficial, not to mention cleansing, properties of soap or even water. That notwithstanding, it had been entirely irrational to slam him against the solid oaken door, something he would have told the man as well – had he been capable of speech at that moment, which had not been the case. He had only regained his senses once they had already been inside this poor excuse for a cell, with a rather anxious-looking Silvan elf leaning over him.

Glorfindel smiled inwardly, trying to concentrate on anything than the present circumstances. Young Celylith seemed to have thought him close to returning to the Halls of Mandos – something Glorfindel was planning to avoid by any means necessary. Well, he admitted to himself, not really by any means necessary. If he had to choose between the three young ones and himself, he knew how his choice would be. The news with which he would return to Mirkwood, and, after that, to Rivendell, was already more than bad enough; there was absolutely no way he would add to the news of his total and utter failure the news of the three young ones' deaths.

The blond elf contemplated getting back to his feet and to start pacing again, an idea he only discarded when he considered that it would neither help him nor be what he would call dignified or behaviour befitting an elf lord. All it would do was to make him dizzy – again. He had sat down because of that same reason not too long ago, and he wouldn't want to repeat watching the cell spin around him in tighter and tighter circles.

Glorfindel took his thoughts off his unpleasant surroundings, only to focus automatically on an equally unpleasant topic: His charges. He ground his teeth, trying not to crush them completely. What would Elrond do to him when he heard about this, he wondered darkly. Personally, he decided after a moment, he thought that the half-elf would strangle him. Slowly. Very, very slowly, and after that he would cut him into tiny little pieces and feed him to something huge, hungry and ill-tempered.

If he was lucky, that was.

And the worst thing about all this was that he would deserve it. He deserved everything that happened to him here or – if they should ever get out of this – back at home, and if he had the chance, he would gladly trade his life for the twins', the two Mirkwood elves' and Aragorn's. That was, however, not a chance he would get any time in the near future, he was realistic enough to realise that. Aragorn and Legolas were either captured or apparently on the run, the twins were in a cell to their left, and Celylith was … gone.

That was one of the things that made his blood boil. About two hours ago a couple of amazingly frightened-looking guards had opened the door and dragged the young silver haired elf out of the small space, and there was nothing he had been able to do. The Silvan elf had done a good job hiding his feelings, but the suppressed fear that had been lurking in his midnight-blue eyes had been clear to see for the elf lord.

Glorfindel unclenched his teeth with some effort and began to ball his hands to fists. He had been unable to do anything to help the younger elf, and he didn't need a drawn picture to know that these people hadn't just taken him away to have a cup of tea and a slice of cake with him. Earlier last night they had thought they had heard cries through the thick door that separated their cell from the rest of the dungeons, and even though neither of them had been able to identify whose voice it had been, it had, again, not been too hard to guess.

The elf lord gave up and jumped to his feet, feeling decidedly glad that Elrond was not here to witness his mounting anxiety. Elrond would be delighted to give him his own Things-a-proper-elf-lord-never-does-speech – most probably while he was strangling him. If these humans had hurt one of Elrond's sons or Prince Legolas and his friend, he would make sure they regretted it dearly before he killed them. And kill them he would, he thought darkly as he started pacing up and down the small room. Oh yes, he would, even if it was the last thing he ever did…

Twenty minutes later, the walls were beginning to waver back and forth and his temper was beginning to rise so high that Glorfindel was suspecting that his head would soon explode. His thoughts went round and round in tighter and tighter circles, and he was beginning to go out of his mind with worry and fear. These people here were obviously mad, that much was sure, but that wasn't all of it. Had they been only mad, it might have been easier to deal with them – unless they were so deluded that they didn't understand what one was trying to tell them, of course.

No, he thought darkly, wheeling around on his heel and walking back the few paces that separated him from the other wall and ignoring the way his head began to swim once again. This Girion wasn't mad in the sense that he didn't know what he was doing; the man knew exactly what the consequences of his actions would be. After some hours of discussing their … predicament the young Silvan elf and he had come to the conclusion that Girion was somehow connected to the last lord of Dale, which would fit the way he had been talking about the elves never being there when you needed them – and that he understood Sindarin. What he was planning, why he had needed the prince or Estel or how he had managed to get the Easterlings to co-operate with him were still questions to which neither of them had known an answer.

And that wasn't all, he thought and turned around once more, glaring darkly at the walls that surrounded him. There was something going on here, and he had no idea what. Earlier, about an hour ago, just after they had come to get his young companion, there had been a commotion outside, and excited shouts and yells had even filtered through the heavy cell door. He wouldn't ask any of the guards, since he knew that it would be futile and he refused to show that he was interested in anything here in any way, and had therefore no inkling what 'it' could be. The most attractive vision he had been able to come up with was that Girion had choked on his own self-importance and was right now suffocating slowly and painfully – a most attractive, albeit rather unlikely possibility.

Glorfindel suppressed a growl and tried to force himself to calm down, something that was almost impossible. It didn't really matter what Girion wanted, he tried to tell himself. He didn't care why he had done these things, the fact was that he would pay for it. He had killed people for less, he fumed inwardly. No one laid hands on his lord's family and got away with it, no one. Certainly not these … men.

While he was still contemplating what he would do to the insane lord of this equally insane city once he got out of this cell, footsteps were beginning to draw closer, and just when he had turned around into the direction of the door the same opened, allowing bright light to pour into the small, dark space. The expected, but nonetheless shocking brightness momentarily blinded the blond elf, and he was still trying to determine which clusters of grey and white dots were actually people and which were just illusions when something rather heavy slammed into his chest, propelling him backwards a few feet. His vision had still not fully cleared when, after a stupid, snide comment from one of the guards, the cell door slammed shut again, plunging the room in almost complete darkness once more.

The weight that was slumped against his chest and that he had instinctively gripped in order not to let it slide to the floor moved slightly and barely stifled a moan, causing Glorfindel to take an even tighter hold on it. One of the few shafts of light that filtered through the cracks between the doorframe and the door caught on something silvery, and that removed the last doubts from his mind as to whom he was currently holding upright.

"Pen-neth?" he asked softly, straining his eyes and willing them to adjust to the darkness once again. "Celylith?"

The younger elf didn't answer for a few moments, and neither did he make a sound when Glorfindel pulled him backwards, into the direction of the wooden cot that was the only piece of furniture in the cell. Only when he was pressed down onto the wobbly pallet he opened his eyes, an almost undetectable hint of humour in their pain-filled depths.

"I am … sorry for this rather … abrupt entry, my lord," Celylith whispered between gritted teeth. "Believe me, it … was … quite unintentional."

"Oh, I do believe you," the elf lord nodded, with a small, forced smile on his lips. "I am willing to let it slip this one time."

"Too … kind of you, my lord," the other gasped and closed his eyes again as he was pressed down onto the cot. "My father would be positively … scandalised if he heard that I had failed to show you the respect you deserve."

That was something Glorfindel was by no means certain about at the moment. The way he saw it, Lord Celythramir wouldn't care in the slightest whether or not his son had insulted him to his heart's desire. All he would care about was the fact that he, the great and mighty Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, had allowed his only son to get hurt, and to get hurt badly judging by the way the younger elf was hunched over himself.

He shook his head slightly and did not comment on the remark, and merely reached out with a hand and gently tipped the other elf's head from side to the side to inspect what looked like angry-red cuts on both cheeks.
"What happened, young one?"

To his surprise, a smile spread over Celylith's face, and he opened his eyes again, something like triumph mixing with the pain now.
"They do not have him."

Glorfindel frowned slightly as he let go of the younger elf's chin and tried to assess any other, possibly hidden injuries.
"Whom?"

"The prince," the other answered as if that had been the most obvious thing. And who knew, Glorfindel thought a little amusedly, perhaps it was indeed.

Celylith struggled to sit up, his eyes boring into Glorfindel's worried blue ones.

"They do not have him, thank Ilúvatar and all the Valar. They never said it, but it's clear that they hope to hear from me what they wanted to hear from him." He clenched his teeth tightly as he managed to lean back against the cold wall, a stubborn glint appearing in his eyes. "Legolas apparently told them nothing, and neither will I. I will never betray my king or my people, and certainly not to these men."

"I hadn't thought you would," Glorfindel smiled slightly. "What did this?" He asked, his fingers hovering over yet another cut that was visible through a large, jagged hole in the silver haired elf's shirt. "What did they wish to hear?"

"Details about Mirkwood's defences," Celylith answered curtly, involuntarily sucking in a deep breath when the blond elf's fingers pressed down onto a bruised rib. He sat slightly hunched over, almost imperceptibly protecting his right side that was facing away from the other elf. "Battle tactics, the number of our warriors, the locations of the guard-posts, things like that."

"You are avoiding my other question, Celythramirion," Glorfindel chided softly. "What did this? What did they do to you?"

"Not much," the younger elf shook his head in a stubborn gesture. "This was apparently just a … a demonstration, so to speak. Glamir, a small man who seems to be the master torturer here, has a fondness for hot knives it appears, something that, as he puts it, 'is enjoying more and more popularity of late'. He," Celylith interrupted himself and suppressed a small shiver, "He is the most despicable man I have ever met in my life. The things he said…"

Glorfindel once again gritted his teeth and placed a hand on one of the Silvan elf's shoulders.
"What things, young one?" For a moment, Celylith didn't answer, and so he added, even more softly, "Please, I have to know. All this concerns you as much as me."

"I know," the silver haired elf nodded slowly. "I know that, my lord. It's just that…" He trailed off and took a deep, hitching breath. "He talked about what he had done to Prince Legolas, and Estel, and … the twins as well."

Glorfindel decided in a split second that his teeth wouldn't be able to stand any more grinding, and so he carefully unclenched his jaw and tried to convince his lungs to start working again that were starting to burn with lack of oxygen. So he had been right when he had thought that it had been one of the twins he had heard earlier. Suddenly he found himself gripped by the powerful urge to kill someone, preferably that Glamir.

"Do not trust anything these people say," he told the younger elf, carefully attempting to keep his voice soft and neutral. "Throwing your captive off balance by telling whatever kind of lies seems to be the most effective is one of the most basic interrogation techniques, as you well know."

"Yes, I do," Celylith nodded again, his eyes dark and haunted in his cut face. "But there was something in his voice that … just … just…" He shook his head slowly. "At least a part of it was true, I am sure about it. That … that man hurt my prince, no, let's be perfectly clear, he tortured him, and I wasn't there to prevent it! I never am when he needs me! What kind of guardian am I? What kind of friend am I?"

"At the moment, an injured and irrational one," Glorfindel retorted, deciding to ignore the way his own heart clenched in guilt and dread when he heard the other's words. He reached out with a hand to touch Celylith's right arm and wasn't very shocked when the younger elf sucked in a deep breath and tried to pull away from him only to hit the wall instantly. If he hadn't been so worried about the silver haired elf's condition, he would have smiled. "So this is nothing, is it?"

Celylith took a few deep breaths until the pain had died down sufficiently and finally opened his eyes again which he had clamped shut, a hint of a small, wry smile on his lips.
"Well, there may be some … small … problems I didn't previously mention."

Glorfindel shook his head slightly, inwardly marvelling at how much alike all of the young ones were, especially in terms of stubbornness, and moved over to the Silvan elf's right side. He strained his eyes to try and discern the outline of Celylith's arm, and, after a moment or two, reached out and carefully took up the younger elf's arm. The other didn't move a muscle until Glorfindel tried to extricate his hand from where he had somehow hidden it in the folds of his ripped shirt; then, however, his face turned the colour of freshly fallen snow and he jumped nearly five inches into the air. A second later Glorfindel exposed the younger elf's right hand and his head shot up, blue eyes fixing accusingly on the other's pale face.

"This is nothing? You should have shown this to me sooner! What are you trying to do, to get yourself permanently marred?" He shook his head incredulously and returned his stare to the silver haired elf's hand. "What were you thinking, young one?"

Celylith tried to take a deep breath and did his best to look innocent, failing miserably on both counts. He looked down at his hand which, from the looks and feel of it now that the pain had died down sufficiently, could have been an alien appendage. He almost didn't recognise it as his own hand, swollen and red as it was, and Lord Glorfindel's accusing stares didn't help matters either.
"I … must have … forgotten it somehow?"

The look the golden haired elf lord gave him would have put Hithrawyn to shame.
"Forgotten. I see." He looked back at the hand, careful not to touch it. "They dislocated your fingers, Celylith. All of them. How could you have forgotten something like this?"

The silver haired elf did not answer, seemingly entranced by the sight of his disfigured hand, and Glorfindel's anger and indignation faded a little. This young one might be just as reckless as Elrond's sons and the Prince of Mirkwood, but he was also afraid and in a lot of pain.
"This is your fighting hand, is it not?"

"Aye, it is," Celylith ground out between tightly clenched teeth as the blond elf's long fingers carefully moved over his own. "Or it was until now. Maybe it is time to switch to fighting with my left hand, what do you think, my lord?"

"I wouldn't start training yet if I were you," the older elf shook his head minutely, pushing down the anger that threatened to overcome him at the sight of the silver haired warrior's hand. He wasn't really sure, but he thought that at least some of the fingers were also broken, not only dislocated. Had Celylith been a man or of any other race than the elven, his fingers would be far beyond aid now. He suppressed a cold shiver when he remembered how humans usually dealt with such grave wounds. "It's not too late. I can still straighten them, but I'll have to do it now."

Celylith gave his hand a quick look, decided that there was no way he would be spending the coming ages of this world with it in this condition and finally nodded at the golden haired elf.
"I understand. Thank you, my lord."

"I am no healer," Glorfindel cautioned softly, taking a tight hold of the other's wrist with one of his hands. "I am no match to my lord or his sons, neither to the twins nor to Estel. I think I can set your fingers, but it will hurt quite a lot I am afraid."

"It will be worth it, believe me. I was never exceptionally skilled with my left hand," Celylith said nonchalantly, trying to take his thoughts off the agony that tore through his fingers at even the slightest touch. "With a dagger, I am fine, but I don't think I could ever threaten anyone but myself if I wielded my sword left-handedly. I am not prepared to see orcs die from laughter at my ineptitude instead of by my sword. Besides, it already does 'hurt quite a lot'."

Glorfindel refrained from pointing out that, no matter how much something hurt, it could always become a lot worse, correct in the assumption that that was something the other elf wouldn't want to hear right now. With a curt nod he shifted his grip slightly, ignoring the pain that flashed over the younger elf's face. He had been on enough battlefields after the fight had been over to know how to tend to various wounds, and more than once even his limited ability had saved lives that would otherwise have been lost before the wounded could have been brought to a healer. To straighten a few fingers shouldn't be too hard for him, and still the visions of what would happen to this young one should he fail to do it correctly danced through his head, threatening to rob him of the last remnants of his composure.

"Alright," he nodded far more calmly than he really was. "I am sure that you will be able to return the favour soon. I have the very distinct feeling that, unless something truly miraculous happens, we will be stuck here for quite some time."

"Thank you, my lord," Celylith opened one eye and gave the blond elf a half tired and half amused look. "I really needed to hear that right now. There is nothing like the passing mention of certain impending pain, death and doom to lift one's spirit."

Glorfindel gave the other a small smile, deciding that he was about as distracted as he was ever going to be, and without warning straightened the index finger, letting go only when he felt the dislocated joint slide back into place. The only reaction he got from his patient was an automatic attempt to pull away, but the younger elf was trapped between the wall and Glorfindel's restraining hands and was therefore unable to do what his body so urgently told him to.

The golden haired elf lord quickly worked on, deciding that it would probably be best to get this over with as quickly as possible, and only when he had straightened the thumb and middle finger and was snapping the forth back into place a soft, pain-filled cry escaped the younger warrior that was almost immediately bitten off. Glorfindel ignored it as best as possible and repeated the process with the last finger, feeling a thin trickle of sweat run down one of his temples and wondering when it had got so hot in this cell. A quick jerk and another small cry of pain later he slowly and carefully placed the injured but straightened hand on the Silvan elf's heaving chest, who immediately grabbed his wrist and cradled his appendage close to him, his face a greenish-grey colour.

"It's alright. It's over," Glorfindel told him softly, unconsciously using the tone of voice in which he had often spoken to one of the twins when they had been children and had been hurt in one of their stupid, reckless dares. "You did well, Celythramirion. Rest now; I can wrap the fingers and the rest of your injuries later."

"No," the younger elf shook his head breathlessly, "No, it's alright. I just … need a … moment, that's all…"

"What you need is rest," Glorfindel said sternly, deciding instantly that elves under the age of three thousand years were all the same, namely unable to admit that they were in pain, hurt or injured in any way. "There is no need for this. You will need your strength and so will I, and I would hate to waste mine arguing with you."

Celylith carefully leaned back against the wall, his hand still cradled to his chest, but made one last attempt, apparently unwilling to give up so easily.
"How could someone … rest in here?"

"Well," the older elf smiled slightly, pressing Celylith gently but firmly down onto the cot, "I might be able to be of service here. I think I know just the story to take your mind off our admittedly rather bleak situation."

He sat down next to the silver haired elf who was obviously battling with the exhaustion and pain that still pulsed through his hand and the rest of his body. He leaned back against the wall, a small smile on his lips.

"This story takes place a long time ago, at least three hundred years, I think. It starts one beautiful autumn morning, when a dashingly handsome, golden haired, extremely brave and enormously skilled warrior woke up with the most horrible hangover imaginable."

Glorfindel looked at the younger elf, seeing with satisfaction that a broad smile was beginning to spread over his face. Well, he thought somewhat smugly, the description wasn't that far off after all, was it? He smiled broadly as well and continued.

"He had been ambushed the evening before by an evil, malicious and thoroughly sneaky and perfidious councillor with a bottle of dubious and extremely potent human brandy, and, although he had battled the effects of the insidious brew most valiantly, had succumbed to its poisonous effects. But the wicked fiend had underestimated the warrior's righteous determination to avenge himself for all the humiliation he had suffered that evening, and so it came that…"

He went on for quite some time, and by the time Celylith lost the battle against unconsciousness that finally pulled him under, Glorfindel had related just how the dashingly handsome warrior had written a certain word on the evil councilman's forehead and had further avenged himself on him to his full satisfaction.

There was a mûmak stomping through his room, and judging by the sound of its footsteps, it was a very ill-tempered, exceptionally nervous mûmak, too.

Thump … thump … thump. Silence. The sound of someone or something turning on their heel. Thump … thump … thump. It went on and on and on, and the annoyance with the never-ending rhythm finally gave him the strength to open his eyes.

For a few moments, his eyes refused to co-operate at all, and he simply stared straight ahead, waiting for them to adjust to the dim light that filled the room. When they did, he fully expected to lay eyes on a large, anxious grey oliphaunt, but instead of that he saw an in comparison to a mûmak rather small, but very anxious elven prince who was very busy pacing a hole into the floor in front of his bed.

Aragorn felt far too content just lying there and watching his friend to really think about what had happened, where they were and what was going on, and so he didn't even try to figure these things out. He simply remained motionless in his bed and watched Legolas turn around and pace the three steps over to the wall in front of him. The blond elf scowled at the wall, wheeled around and stomped back, thump … thump … thump.

After a while the sight lost a considerable amount of its appeal, and the man opened his mouth, finding that the words he wanted to speak nearly stuck in his parched throat.
"…scale from one to … ten this is at … least a nine."

Legolas came to a sudden, violent stop, looking remarkably like a puppet that had just very abruptly been pulled back by its puppeteer. His mouth opened like that of a fish on dry land, and for a moment the elf merely stared at his human friend who was slowly and carefully propping himself up on his elbows, returning Legolas' look dispassionately. It took him only another moment to snap out of his temporary paralysis, and he rushed over to the ranger's bed, nearly knocking over a pair of small oil lamps that were sitting on the chair next to him.

"Estel!" he cried out, beaming like the midday sun herself. "You are awake!"

"Obviously," Aragorn smiled wryly, leaning back into his pillows again now that his body reported a multitude of hurts and pains to his still foggy brain. He still couldn't remember what had happened, but a dark, thoroughly ominous memory was slowly beginning to move to the forefront of his mind and told him unambiguously that he didn't really want to know either. He opened his mouth to say more, but Legolas cut him off immediately.

"Thank the Valar!" the fair haired elf breathed, automatically reaching out to place a cool, slender hand on the man's forehead. "Do you know how worried I've been about you? I swear to you, Estel, that I will personally wring your neck if you ever do something like this to me again!" He ignored the half-confused and half-annoyed look on Aragorn's face and moved his hand from the man's reasonably cool forehead to his less bruised cheek. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Can you remember what happened? You are not … confused, are you? What were you talking about just now?"

Aragorn's brain that was still working rather slowly needed some time to separate Legolas' mothering questions (which he could safely try to ignore in his opinion) from the relevant ones, and finally nodded slowly.

"I am … fine," he said, lifting a bandaged arm to his eyes and surveying the appendage, apparently puzzled by the dressings. "I can't really remember what happened, but I'm fine."

Legolas' face twisted into a slightly suspicious grimace, but relief finally won out.
"The healer said that the fever wouldn't drain you as much as a natural one would have, and I have never been happier to see healer's prognosis confirmed." The suspicious look returned to the elf's face as he carefully placed his second hand against his friend's face and peered intently into his eyes. "What were you talking about then if you are 'fine'?"

Aragorn returned his stare solemnly, a serious, dark look in his eyes that put Legolas on edge almost immediately.
"I meant, mellon nín," the young man began slowly in a grave tone of voice that would have made a professional undertaker proud, "that, on a scale from one to ten, your personation of an anxious, over-protective mother-oliphaunt was at least a nine, if not a nine-and-a-half."

For a moment, Legolas simply stared at the man with wide eyes before he retracted his hands and shook his head darkly, mock indignation on his face.
"I should have learnt by now never to expect a coherent sentence out of you right after waking up, shouldn't I?"

"I think so," Aragorn agreed amiably. "Your inability to remember that has been a source of much wonder for me, and I…"

He trailed off and his eyes widened as the memory he had been trying to ignore refused to be pushed aside any longer, and in a matter of moments all colour drained from his face. The man's body tensed up as his head shot up, and silver eyes began to dart through the room in something closely resembling a panic. Legolas quickly took hold of his friend's shoulders and turned him to the side to look into his face, willing the man to calm down.

"Estel," he said calmly, tightening his hold on him ever so slightly. "Aragorn! Listen to me!" The man's head whipped around and panicky grey eyes fixed on his face with almost painful intensity, causing Legolas to look at him with the calmest expression he could muster right now. "It is alright. We are safe, my friend. Teonvan won't find you here, and even if he did, he wouldn't live long enough to lay even a single finger on you. Trust me, mellon nín. He is gone, and both you and I are alright."

For long moments, Aragorn merely stared at his elven friend before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, all mirth and mischievousness from earlier gone in an instant.
"Where … where are we?"

"Still in the city," Legolas answered and shifted back a little. He tried to take his thoughts off Celylith and the others and all the things that could have happened to Laenro's sister on her more than a little bit risky mission and did his best to exude more confidence than he actually felt. "We are in a house in the western district. It's been more than a day since you lost consciousness in the cell."

"A day?" Aragorn asked incredulously, sinking back into his pillows once more as he found that his elbows lacked the strength to keep him upright much longer. "How is that possible? I mean, the last thing I remember is … Teonvan and his little spiky toys, and then everything gets … well, rather blurry."

"No wonder," Legolas shook his head slowly, not missing the signs that Aragorn definitely not fine. 'Fine'-fine would rather describe his state of health, the elf decided wryly; Aragorn was really the only person in this world who would call being riddled with holes and Valar-knew-what else "fine". "The … potion you mentioned earlier, the one Teonvan used, is a poison of sorts. It causes high fevers, and you have been battling it for more than a day now. Thesieni, the healer here, said that no more than one or two men out of ten survive its effects." He smiled slightly. "It is your stubbornness that saved your life for once. I think you were simply too mulish to die."

"No," the man shook his head as well, his brow creased in a frown. "Now I remember. No more but a few shreds here and the vague memory of a face there, but I do remember your voice. I never understood the words, but I knew you were there, somehow." He reached out a little bit wobbly, grasped the elf's hand and squeezed it briefly. "If you are looking for something on which to blame my continued survival, you needn't pick my stubbornness, mellon nín."

Legolas smiled and squeezed back, the shadows that lingered in his eyes at the memory still not disappearing entirely.
"I think both you and I know better, reckless human, but thank you for saying it."

"Oh yes," Aragorn smiled as well, "We do indeed, stubborn elf." He shook his head once more, the questions that had been starting to build up inside of him beginning to drive him to distraction. "And now please tell me what is going on before my head explodes! The last thing I vaguely remember is being brought back to the cell. How did you manage to get us out of there, and out of the castle for that matter?"

Legolas contemplated for a split second whether or not he shouldn't just call Thesieni as he had vowed to do as soon as the man woke up – in his opinion Aragorn wasn't up to asking questions and listening to rather confusing answers for longer than a few minutes, and this was most definitely going to take longer than a few minutes. As soon as he looked into the man's determined eyes, however, he knew that nothing except drugs would make him comply. He grinned inwardly. He would keep that in mind as a last resort…

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "Alright, I'll tell you what happened, but only if you promise, no, swear to me that you will tell me if you are getting too tired or the pain becomes too much. I am sure the healer would be more than willing to give you something to help you sleep should I ask it of her."

The look that the young ranger shot him assured him more than anything else that he would be alright, and so the elven prince begun with the tale of what had happened since the man had lost consciousness more than a day ago, a tale that was beginning to become more complex and confusing by the second in Legolas' opinion. For the first half-hour or so Aragorn remained quiet, only asking a few questions here and there, and not even Cendan's unexpected and unexplainable behaviour was enough to truly shock him. The man appeared less surprised by Cendan's behaviour than Legolas had been, but then again, the elf thought amusedly, he had never claimed to understand edain, and he most certainly had never claimed to understand this particular one. Only when Legolas explained – very hesitantly and rather hurriedly – what had happened to his brothers and their companions and where Ethoani had gone, the ranger's composure abandoned him and he stared at Legolas incredulously.

"What do you mean, captured?" He took a deep breath and shook his head slowly from side to side. "Are you telling me that they followed us, walked into this city, got themselves captured and dragged Celylith and Glorfindel down with them?"

"Well," Legolas said carefully, "I think that that is a rather exaggerated summary, but it is essentially true, I fear."

"How stupid can you be?" Aragorn ranted on. "They just followed us, walked into almost certain doom and expected to get away with?"

"That's the gist of it, yes."

"What were they thinking? This is by far the most reckless, stupidest thing they have ever done! At least Glorfindel should have known better! To simply walk in here and think to be of any help this way is just…"

"A family trait," Legolas interjected wryly. "You did just the same, didn't you?"

"Uhm," Aragorn said somewhat ineloquently, "Well, yes, but that was an entirely different situation!"

Legolas didn't comment on the ranger's words, but the eyebrow he raised in an exceedingly unbelieving way spoke volumes. Even despite the situation they were in, despite his worry for his brothers and friends and despite the fear to be recaptured that still filled a good part of him, Aragorn began to smile broadly. If Legolas only knew how much he looked like his father sometimes! He knew no one, not even his own father, who could express disbelief by raising a single eyebrow quite like the King of Mirkwood.

"Alright," he finally conceded. "I might have done something like that myself, but I refuse any responsibility whatsoever for my actions! Ever since I can remember Elladan and Elrohir have been there, setting bad examples and corrupting my poor, innocent mind! How else could I have turned out to be … will you please stop laughing!"

"I am sorry, mellon nín," Legolas gasped out between chuckles that belied his words. No, he thought inwardly, he wasn't sorry at all, and he couldn't believe how much better he already felt, knowing that Aragorn would be alright and hearing his stupid jokes. "It is just that the mere idea of you being a poor and innocent child is … mind-boggling."

"At least I can still remember my childhood, o ancient one," Aragorn retorted good-naturedly, desperately needing something to take his mind off their current situation. "You, on the other hand, are so old that your mind is already beginning to become weak and feeble!"

"Feeble?" Legolas asked incredulously, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "Feeble? If I am feeble, what are our fathers then? Or your brothers? Or Glorfindel? Or the Lady Galadriel, or Lord Celeborn, or Mithrandir, or Erestor, or Curunír, or…"

Before Aragorn could think of something that would both free the aforementioned elves and wizards of any accusation of senility and still insist on his previous statement, Legolas' head turned sharply to the side. The man was about to ask what his friend had heard when two hasty knocks sounded on the door a level beneath them. They sounded as exhausted and urgent as knocks could sound at all, and the two friends looked at each other, both of them knowing what that meant.

It had to be the men Laenro had sent to the abandoned shop to meet with Ethoani, and, judging by the sound of it and the way the door was hastily pulled open and low voices began to whisper urgently to each other, it hadn't gone according to plan.

That just might have been the understatement of the past decade, as they later realised.

Nothing had gone according to plan.

TBC...

pen-neth - young one
mûmak (sg. of mûmakil) - oliphaunt, one of the great war-elephants of Harad
mellon nín - my friend
edain - humans, men




No oxen were hurt in the process of writing that scene, really. *g* Celylith's new friend will be fine as well, don't worry, it was just a flesh wound. Elrohir didn't really have any other choice, did he? Well, be that as it may, the next post should be here in six days or a week, depending on how much work I manage to collect during the rest of the week. So, from now on, I'll post about every Wednesday. Once again, reviews are always greatly appreciated, the last ones really helped me a lot during my exams. Really. *g* So, review please?

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Additional A/N:

LOTRFaith - Well, yes, now that you mention it, I agree, I think. They ARE all insane... *g* LOL, so you want to put an arrow through Girion's eye _and_ slit his throat? I can't really say I disagree, so... But then again, I kinda like him. I hate Teonvan, but I like Girion. *shrugs* Don't tell me, I'm mad too.
Elvendancer - Great! *beams happily* Then you're not angry, that means a lot to me! *g* And you are right, of course, I had quite a lot of stuff to dodge. Someone threw a hill troll at me, can you believe that? *shakes head incredulously* You people are just as insane as I am. Really. *g*
Marbienl - Uhm, Monday is a stupid day? Wednesday is much nicer! *cringes under her glare* I am sorry for not posting sooner - and sorry you had to wait for your beloved Estel waking up - but I really didn't have the time. It's nice to hear you understand, though. *smiles sheepishly* And I agree. Estel would realise that the humans knew Legolas if they called him Lasseg. And I really like that name! Oh, and believe me when I say that the twins will have more than enough problems on their own when they get to Laenro's house, and I think that being angry would cost them way too much energy... *evil grin*
Jazmin3 Firewing - Yes, it most definitely _can_ end there. I mean, it wasn't really a real cliffy! *watches her run around in circles* Uhm, twelve days aren't THAT long? *frowns* Well, apparently they are... Oh, and I think it's prolonged contact with Estel. He's contagious, that's what he is... *g* Did Elladan have to say what? He said quite a lot in that chapter, idiot that he is... And I absulutely agree, $20 is alright. I get the same here when I babysit, but it's hard-earned money! *g*
Alasse Tiwele - LOL, thank you! At the moment I think I don't have time to write that particular story though. Another reviewer (Marbienl to be exact) wanted to see that story I hinted at a few times, something about a hill troll, I believe, so this one's next. I don't write more than one story at a time, so the meeting (should I ever write it) could only be written after the next big story. *shrugs* I'm quite weird, I know. And now take a deep breath and repeat after me: Twelve days are not two weeks. Twelve days are not two weeks. *g* Feel better? *dodges heavy objects* I doubt it somehow.
Burn2Shine - *blushes* Thank you! It's very nice to hear that you like my insane little story (and nice to hear that you don't want to kill me for posting a little later)! About that request: I'll see what I can do. The thing is that I have so many different scenes with so many different people I have to integrate that it's hard to fit in enjoyable little tidbits like angst. Now they're all back together though, and trust me when I say that there will be quite a lot of Legolas-angst towards the end. *g*
Someone Reading - LOL, I can just imagine you guys bringing a cave troll. I have to tell you though that I have a pet balrog named Stan. He's my bodyguard, and more than capable to deal with a cave troll! *g* And I agree with you, Glorfindel is at least partly responsible, since he really should have known better. But they were all worried and impatient, which is no excuse, but an explanation at least. *g* Elves are, after all, far from perfect. Poor them. Thanks a lot for the great review!
Gwyn - Ah well, I think Legolas has other problems right now. Now that I think about it, he has a LOT of other problems right now... *evil grin* Yes, I love making their lives miserable... I need help.
TrustingFriendship - Well, I don't want her to die either, but I don't really have a choice in that matter. Any and all complaints should be taken up with Jack, she's responsible for that particular development... *g* And yes, Glorfindel and Celylith do have a small problem now, don't they? They just might not escape at all! *cakles evilly* Oh, I do enjoy being evil... And I think I can safely say that their families won't find them. Would be far too easy, wouldn't it? *cackles evilly - again* Jeez, I really have to stop doing that. Thanks for the review, and the exams went well indeed. *sighs in relief* That's something at least.
Bookworm, .303 - Okay, I'll say it: "Glorfindel and Celylith are going to escape soon" It's not true, but I said it, didn't I? *g* Great you liked the chapter, hopefully you'll like the rest as well! Thanks a lot for reviewing!
Smile Neumann - Yup, I had her rescue the twins and not Glorfindel, mainly because I promised a lot of people (some of them about a year ago) that I'd write a Glorfindel-torture-story, or at least one where he gets tortured. Sorry about that, but I really couldn't disappoint them. And you like Boromir? Well, let's just say that I kinda like the Book-Boromir. I absolutely loathe Movie-Boromir though, sorry, or let's rather say I loathe _The Bean_. *shrugs* Sorry, I just dislike him. *g* So, there will be some Glorfindel torture in a few chapters, I hope that'll cheer you up! Thanks for the review!
Crippled Raven - *wide-eyed* No, bleach is NOT good for you. You really shouldn't drink much of it, I think. Then again, it IS awfully effective... *g* And I absolutely agree: The twins are adorably stupid. It's not their fault really, you can't fight your genes, after all... I like suicidal rampages as well, they're really a lot of fun. They tend to frighten the people you live with, but they're funny as hell. *g* And my reaction time has got a whole lot better! See! *ducks quicker than the eye can follow* Wohoo! Missed me! *gets hit by a cave troll* Ouch - I knew there was a second one somewhere around here... *g*
CrazyLOTRFan - Yup, it could have been the Ring of Barahir, but I guess that was too valuable. Aragorn would have killed Legolas if he had woken up and found out that he had given one of his most prized possessions to a strange, rather suicidal girl... And about the majority thing: I am afraid I DID mean majority, not maturity. I looked it up in my faithful Thesaurus just to be sure, and this is what it said: 1. The property resulting from being or relating to the greater in number of two parts; the main part (what you meant); 2. (elections) more than half of the votes (again, what you meant); 3. The age at which a person is considered competent to manage their own affairs (what I meant) So, essentially, you could use maturity I guess, but I meant majority as in a fixed age, I guess about fifty in elven societies. Here it's 18 years, and over in the US or Canada it might be 21, I am not really sure. *sheepish smile* And I'm afraid I didn't have much FUN studying, but it was worth it at least. And I don't think Teonvan would survive long in my company - I am not overly fond of him myself. *creepy smile* Poor him.
Sirithiliel - Nope, they never do. I think the twins don't even know the meaning of that word, at least not since they so stupidly decided to adopt Aragorn. I think that was their first mistake. *evil grin* Great you liked the chapter, thanks for the review!
Snow-Glory - *helpfully* Well, it was actually twelve days. Sorry about that. How's the hair? *evil grin* I know I'm evil, don't tell me. The twins have to escape, indeed, but once again people seem to think that they'll be able to save anyone. They won't be, but that's another story. *g* Thanks for the great and encouraging review, and to my unending surprise I did very well indeed! *huggles*
Koriaena - Yeah, the characters are like cats, aren't they? Cats aren't suicidal either when they jump off balconies - they merely think they can fly. Just like our heroes, they just think they can survive anything... *shakes head* The worst thing is that they're mostly right... *g*
Shauna - It's nice to hear that you liked the chapter so much, but I'm afraid I have to tell you that Ethoani won't be doing anything for a while, least of all helping anybody escape anything. Sorry. *g* And I can't tell you either whether or not she is going to die, but I can tell you that I never had a choice. I wrote Ethoani's character for Jack, so everything is her fault. *evil grin* As always.
Just Jordy - Oh, believe me, it did help me! I didn't have time to write anything, and yet I sat down and typed like a maniac. Then again, I always do that, but the reviews really, really helped me a lot. *huggles* Thank you! I like the twins too, btw, and Elladan does get annoying from time to time. Poor Elrohir. *g*
Uineniel - My condolences. I had to use Internet Cafés quite a few times myself, and I always went completely mad. One time the computer didn't work, the next didn't have any plug-ins installed, the next hated FF.net and so on. It was horrible. *g* I am honoured that you went through all that to read my insane little story. Thank you. And yes, Aragorn is indeed waking up now, stubborn human that he is. I hope you didn't spend too much money and that your modem is back to normal (or as normal as your average modem ever is), thank you very much for your review!
Crystal-Rose15 - *blinks* Uhm ... you're welcome? Great I managed to make you happy... And there's even more of them in this chapter, even though almost all is Elrohir, since his idiot brother is unconscious all the time. But since, if I remember correctly, Elrohir is your favourite anyway, that shouldn't be too bad, huh? Oh, and they haven't hurt _Glorfindel_ yet - emphasis on "yet". *evil grin* But I would like to see your army of chocolate bunnies nonetheless. It sounds fearsome. *g* And I would ask you not to glomp onto any of the elves right now. I don't think any of them is up to it at the moment. *g* Thanks for the candy, even though we're not religious and don't celebrate it, I still like the candy. *g*
Red Tigress - Well, let me put it this way: _Aragorn_ will be conscious to meet with the twins, but I don't know about them. They just might be busy being unconscious... *evil grin* Ah, I love being evil. They deserve it though, especially when they're behaving as stupidly as now.
Bailey - Yeah, they should all be rescued - and they would be if I didn't possess such an evil alter ego. Unfortunately for them, I do, so that means they're not going to get rescued, at least in the near future. Sorry. *g* And I think you could say that the 'good' characters are suicidal while the 'evil' ones are merely ... uhm, evil? Well, that sounded stupid, but is true, I guess. So: It's better to be a bad guy. *g*
Firniswin - *watches as her papers are attacked* Well - thank you, I guess. It didn't really solve anything since the papers are in the computer or laptop or both, but it was kinda sweet. Rather insane, too, but sweet. *g* Sorry that it was this chapter that took me longer to post, but it could have been worse - I could have left it with a cliffy! You can never have too many of them... *sighs* I love them. Cliffies, I mean. *g*
Firnsarnien - Let me think about that for a moment. Hmm ... yes. Yes, I do expect you to believe that you have to wait for twelve days. I'm evil, I know, but ... yes. Sorry. *g* Oh, and my graduation is still a long way away, I'll get my magister (it's kinda like a master, I think) in about two years. So, there's still plenty of time... *g* Oh, and yes, you sounded _very_ menacing and mean. I am still shaking like a leaf. *g* I can't tell you anything about Ethoani. All I can tell you is that the whole thing is Jack's fault, not mine. I wrote the character for her. *g* And ... well, the guards weren't really Cendan and his men, and even if they had, I doubt he would have helped her. He's not really a nice man, after all. But yes, you can of course dream. *evil grin* Dream on.
Iccle Fairy - Hmm, yes, Cendan COULD do that, I suppose. It would be way too easy though, so he won't, I'm afraid. LOL, you would like it to read how all of them are tortured and killed? Wow, you're even worse than I am! Thanks for the review!
TrinityTheSheDevil - Hey, it's nothing to drool about! It's a very tense situation - you should be ashamed of yourself! *g* As I said in the A/N, you'll have to wait for Glorfindel torture another chapter, but there's a little Celylith torture in here, even though not really explicit. I hope that's enough to satisfy you for now. Sorry to hear that RL is being an a**, my advise: Get bigger boots and kick back! And don't stop until it's gone away. I know, it never works, but a girl can dream, huh?
Tychen - Well, it has taken me the longest time to post, so all's forgiven. *g* Your positive thoughts most definitely helped, thanks a lot! *huggles* It was either that or the fact that I had Teonvan and his spikes with me. My profs were quite freaked out to say the least... *g* Thanks a lot for the review (and the positive thoughts, of course! *g*), it really helped me loads!
Karone Evertree - LOL, yes, just breathe, that's the key... *g* Glorfindel is at the moment in a nice comfy cell in the dungeons, and the childhood friend Ethoani was talking about was Celylith. I don't know if Legolas knew Glorfindel since he was a child, but I doubt you could call him a childhood friend considering the vast difference in age... *shrugs* Whatever. Thanks a lot for reviewing!
Zam - Yeah, well, Wolf-Sauron has a little trouble with obedience. Then again, he could also simply hate you, you never know... *g* LOL, so you and Legolas have the same mind? That's why he tried to kill himself all the time! It really explains quite a lot... And on a personal note: I really like the name Oswald Spalding Kenobi. Has a very nice ring, really, the perfect name for an ox. *g* And you're quite right about Ethoani, btw. Estel and Legolas have already rubbed off on her. *g*
Jera - First I would like to say how wonderful your review was. I got it the day before my exams, in the exact moment I was close to despairing and very sure that I'd die the next day. So, it really, really cheered me up, thanks a lot. *g* It's great to hear that you like the change in perspectives. Some people seem to have problems with it, but I couldn't write a story only from one person's POV. I haven't tried yet to be perfectly precise, but I think it'd be hard. Hmm, I have never really seen it that way, but I guess Ethoani is a little like Éowyn. Both are kinda suicidal, after all. *g* It's also nice to know that you like Glamir. I love him myself (don't ask me why, I love both Girion and Glamir but I hate Teonvan) and am of course very happy that people like him. I've always loved the bad guys. I have to admit that I was firmly convinced that the term is "to make due", but it appears you are right. I haven't found it in any of my faithful dictionaries, but my new thesaurus says you're right. Thanks for correcting that. *g* I am sorry for posting so late and hope you'll be able to read it soon. I promise you a Glorfindel-Glamir scene in ch. 28 though, I hope that'll cheer you up a little. Once again, thanks for the long, wonderful review! It was truly wonderful! *huggles*
LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel - I'm sorry, but that's not really up to me. I wrote Ethoani's character for Jack, and she gave me very clear orders as to what is to become of her. *g* So, it's really not up to me. You are quite evil btw, telling your sister things like that. I'm afraid she'll have to wait yet a bit longer, but I think I'll be finished in a moth or a bit longer. This story really takes ages. *shakes head sadly* Horrible, I know. And I would put up the rest of the story if I had written it, which I haven't, sadly. *g*
Celebdil-galad + Tinlaure - I know exactly what you mean. It happens quite often to me as well: I'm sitting in the library, trying very hard to concentrate, and just can't keep my thoughts off the story. And before I know what's happening, I'm typing that one scene that was missing and then... *shakes head* Horrible. Hmm, you want Teonvan and Glamir (or is it Girion?)? I think that can be arranged, I'm thinking about handing out evil guys-clones after this story's over. So, no problem, just wait a bit longer and you can have two copies. *g* And how they die is absolutely up to you, cat or dog doesn't matter. And I think it's the Spanish-Dutch conflict in the colonies between 1609 and 1621 that's taking me so long. It's the topic of the paper I have yet to write, and I HATE it! *grrr* Sorry for keeping you waiting!
An Exhausted Suzi - *huggles* Aww, poor you. I'm sorry to hear that you are so busy! So you went to Cambridge? It's beautiful, isn't it? When I was in England, I was living in Stansted Mountfitchet, you know, close to the airport (even though you hardly even notice the planes), which is quite close to Cambridge. I was right in the middle between London and Cambridge, and was there quite a lot of times - there are a few very nice shops there, really. Lots of tourists too, but a beautiful town. I'm sure you enjoyed it too. *g* I hope RL doesn't annoy you too much!
Narina Nightfall - Wow - three huge reviews! Thanks! *huggles* *raises eyebrow* The FOAM THING is going to get you, huh? Well, that sounds - dangerous... I guess you're right btw, there are humans who have really old eyes with 18, but I guess the eyes of an elf would be even older. I mean, no matter how much you've seen with 18, it can hardly compare to about 2800 years or something, right? "My" Elladan is not exactly known for having a temper, but out of a reason I can't quite fathom, he's a little more quick-tempered than "my" Elrohir. Don't ask me why, they just developed like that. *shrugs* LOL, SweetWind and GentleWater? I can picture him doing that... Oh, and I liked the poem. Very ... interesting. *g* According to Tolkien the Easterlings favoured axes. But I'm sure they liked swords too. *g* And yes, Celylith has blue eyes. Dark blue (or midnight-blue as I sometimes say *g*) to be exact. LOL, Celywelly? Don't let Zam hear that... And it would have been slightly ... weird if Legolas had described the twins as "unmentionably cute", wouldn't it? I mean, this is Gen, not Slash! *g* Hmm, about the prince vs. princeling: It's a diminutive form. It merely means young or small prince. So, once again, thanks for all the wonderful reviews! *huggles again*
Alisha B - Hi! *waves eagerly* I thought you were dead or on another plane of existence! Great to see you again! *huggles startled Alisha* I missed you, of course, but I understand you. I only have time to review about three or four authors (and if you would start with that sequel you promised us ages ago, you would be one of them *g*), and understand completely if others don't have the time. And yes, the resistance doesn't like our two heroes very much, which I totally understand, of course. Their bad luck is contagious! *g* Thank you very much for your criticism. I never noticed, but now that you've pointed it out, I think you're right. Apart from Ethoani who really _is_ kinda suicidal they really shouldn't be, and I'll try to better myself. I really mean it, thanks a lot for pointing that out. They may be stupid, but they're not completely daft, after all. *g* And yes, I do read C&S, or I usually do. I don't really have the time right now, and I still haven't read more than three or so chapters of their new story. They update too quickly for me, and with this story and college I just can't keep up. I am flattered that you confused SP with one of their stories though. *blushes* And about the twin thing: I have never really thought about such a scenario, but I guess, in my opinion only, of course, that one twin would sense the other's death. Apart from the "mere" twin-bond (which has to be even stronger since they're elves), they're also Elrond's - and Celebrían's as Galadriel's daughter - sons, so I think it's safe to say that they would sense something like that. I'd also guess they could distinguish between death and unconsciousness (I mean, how often must that have happened? *g*), but I really don't know about a coma. It might be possible for them to mistake a coma for death. *shrugs* I don't really know, but I think so. I loved the review (_because_ it was more than a "this story is great; I love you"-review - even though I like them too! *g*), thanks a lot!
Kathleen LaCorneille - I am sorry. I really am. I never meant to keep you guys waiting for so long. Not even my alter ego is THAT evil... *g* Thank you for all your kind words, and my exams went indeed very well. And believe me, I am VERY happy right now - I hate oral exams, I really do. *g* And Estel even wakes up this chapter, that's something, right? And don't worry about your English, it's not my first language either, after all. I make mistakes all the time! Thanks a lot for reviewing! *huggles*

Once again, thanks a lot for all the reviews! Especially last week it was wonderful to read them! *huggles all reviewers*