Dawn broke early for the group the next morning. Seasa had never returned to her bed; instead she stood, staring out over Mirkwood , watching darkness pass into day. No one had ever come back up into the flet; but she could see glowing eyes in the dark in the surrounding tree tops – her own personal guard.

She sighed, as the red sun rose over the canopy of trees, wrapping her arms around herself – as if she needed a hug and that was the only way she knew how to get one. Red sun she thought sadly, blood has been spilled tonight . She shivered – the medicine had a draining effect on her system, and she felt exhausted. Plus, having not slept, dwelling on her current situation all night was not having a good effect on her physical well being.

She didn't turn around when she heard someone climb into the flet, only slightly turned her head. She knew it wasn't Legolas.

Sindatil cautiously approached her, his eyes carefully observing her. She had dark, telling bags under her jade eyes, and her complexion was startlingly pale. But she was still an elf, and elves are the epitome of beauty – rather than looking hideously tired, overrun and weary, she looked vulnerable and frightened. But Sindatil was not to be fooled; only yesterday had the helpless, feeble elf managed to dupe an entire section of the Mirkwood Guard, and then, through some means, convince the Prince of Mirkwood to save her life. He wasn't sure how to address her – 'my lady' was too formal for a prisoner.

The Captain hated how apologetic he sounded as he spoke. "I have been given the order to bind your hands." Seasa didn't answer, naturally, but she nodded slightly, and the elf came up behind her and tightly bound her hands behind her back. "Are there any lingering effects of yesterday's events?" He asked as his hands touched her ice cold body. She didn't answer, and he tugged on the ropes binding her hands. "Were there any effects?"

"No, my lord."

Sindatil glanced at her, his brow furrowing suspiciously. "Are you up to something?" he asked in a deadly whisper, his hands tightening the ropes around her wrists from tight to painful. She gave a small outcry of pain, but gritted her teeth. She could feel the ropes digging into her skin, cutting her flesh as she refused to answer. "Answer me," Sindatil snapped, giving another painful tug on the ropes. "No!" She finally cried, her head dropping in shame. "I have done nothing! Nothing!" Her words rose in volume until she screamed the last word, her treacherous body beginning to shake. The acrid taste of tears rose in her throat, and her eyes began to sting – but she would not cry. She was so drained, so spent, but this foolish elf would not break her, not yet anyway.

Astalder suddenly materialized at Sindatil's side, his eyes concerned. There was no love lost between Astalder and Seasa; he considered her a traitor of the worst kind, and she considered him an ignorant bigot. But she was still in their custody, and should harm come to her, someone would have to pay.

"What is the matter?" he asked immediately. "What is going on?"

"She refused to answer my questions," Sindatil explained gruffly.

"Did you strike her?"

"No," Sindatil answered at once, and Seasa interjected savagely, "He merely cut off the circulation to my hands."

"Quiet." Astalder answered automatically, mechanically glancing down at her wrists. Drops of blood decorated the ropes that bound her, and with a reproving glance at Sindatil, Astalder gently loosened them.

"Come," he said tiredly. "The Prince is ready to leave."

They moved down to the line of horses, and Seasa kept her head down as she passed the row of elves. They were too respectful to make any comments, but their eyes followed her and Seasa discreetly moved closer to Astalder and Sindatil, trying to block herself from view. Astalder, glancing behind him at the long line of elves on horses, understood and grabbed her arms, gently pushing her between Sindatil and himself, blocking her from sight.

Legolas, astride his mount, waited impatiently for the trio. His horse tossed its head, prancing impatiently and he gently calmed him down with inaudible words of comfort. "Quickly; the sun races ahead of us," Legolas prompted as Sindatil mounted his horse and Astalder lead Seasa towards Legolas. "Where shall – " he gestured to Seasa " – where shall the Lady ride?"

Seasa glanced up sharply at the polite term, her eyes locking with Astalder's. She couldn't read his expression, but she didn't understand. She knew he hated her and everything she stood for, and yet three times in the last few minutes, he had shown her a great kindness. What was going on? She wasn't supposed to be taken care of by her captors – they were supposed to mistreat her, so she could hate them. Didn't they know that?

Legolas too, seemed flabbergasted. He hadn't seen Astalder's actions inside the flet, but his quick eyes did see how he hid Seasa from probing eyes – and now, he treated her as a guest, not a prisoner. What was going on?

His eyes locked with Astalder's, and he nodded as he read the message in Astalder's gaze – "we shall discuss it later". After a moment, Legolas nodded, and though it seemed as if the words pained him, he said, "The Lady shall ride with me."

Seasa was hoisted up in front of the Prince before she knew what was happening. It was one thing for Astalder to address her as a lady, but Legolas? She was baffled beyond belief by the kindness, and it threw her. She did not know how to react – the last time someone had shown her kindness with no ulterior motive in mind was a long, long time ago, and she was instantly suspicious.

The party started to move and Seasa took comfort in the steady, rocking gait of the horse. Legolas's arms were securely around her but there was no warmth in his touch and Seasa once again dropped her eyes to the forest floor. She didn't care to look at the brightly colored birds and proud trees.

Legolas's quiet voice buzzed in her ear and it took her by surprise. She started, whipping around to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes. He gazed back, amused at her jumpiness. When he didn't repeat what he said, she stared at him. A tiny spark of defiance flashed back into her experisson and Legolas was almost glad. This subdued, docile girl was unnerving. Without speaking, she turned around completely.

Legolas's muffled laugh annoyed her and she bristled. But the last time they had met, he had warned her not to speak, and she wouldn't.

"The lady is quiet today," Legolas said, but Seasa refused to answer. She could feel her spirits rising, however, whether it was from the new distraction or the new surroundings. "Oh?" Legolas continued. "Nothing sharp or satirical to say?"

Legolas was unsure as to why he was continuing to taunt her, but something in her eyes when she first mounted had frightened him – a dead, lost look. He had heard her scream of her innocence – who hadn't – and though he was now convinced she was indeed a spy, he now had a new take on things. He knew she had been sent to spy on them – but sent by someone, not of her own accord. She was indeed a spy for Sauron, but more of a slave – it wasn't her choice to turn traitor. Why doesn't she just admit that? Legolas wondered, then answered his own question. She must think that we'll still imprison her. But if she just admits it – there are other options then prison or death. But if we catch her, her life would be in great peril. . He shook his head, feeling Seasa's stance tense beneath his hands as he gripped her tighter as the horse started at something. He chuckled, and the sound of his laughter made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She shivered, and her hand flew to her throat, only to remember that her necklace was lost. Legolas noticed the action, but said nothing.

"What you said last night—" Legolas said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, as if he would truly engage in a conversation with her, "was completely out of line." Seasa didn't answer at first, her breath coming in quick, short gasps before she finally answered in a strained voice reeking of sarcasm and bitterness, "Sire, last time I was in your presence you told me to hold my tongue or you would see that it was cut off. As, in the last twenty-four hours, I have grown rather fond of my body and all its contents, I would rather keep my faculties intact by avoiding all discussion with you."

Instead of becoming frustrated with her, as Seasa had hoped, her comment had the opposite of the desired effect – he laughed. Again. Her fists clenched as he replied, "Ah, there is the fiery elf who yesterday managed to fool dozens of trained warriors!"

"Dozens of poorly trained, naïve warriors," Seasa said harshly and Legolas shrugged. She could feel his muscles rippling underneath his tunic and she felt very small. "They are taught to believe the best in everyone."

"That is a weakness," she retorted scornfully. "The best part of someone may be their ability to deceive." Legolas didn't answer for a moment, then said softly, "Then that is a very lonely person."

------------------------------

Meanwhile, the members of Seasa's village had heard of her capture. Her father was being informed in one of his halls.

"….It is thought that she has managed to convince the Prince that she is innocent. Many of the warriors currently with the party do not think he will jail her, and will plead with his father, Thranduil King, for her innocence." The messenger finished his statement and Valneuma waved a hand, signaling his dismiss. He was in a tiny, undecorated room, his cold blue eyes the only color in the gray area. Long ago, he had been handsome, full of promise and a thirst for acceptance. Now, his eyes were sunken and his skin sallow. His hair was pallid, his hands weak and translucent.

Evil does horrible things to one's appearance.

After so many years of isolation from any decent conversation, as Sauron preferred to keep his primary elf leader locked away, from assassins who tried to claim his life, Valnuema had begun to talk out loud to himself. He rose, and walked near the window, his hand on his temple. In a feeble and guilt stricken voice, he whispered, "Oh, what have I gotten her into? I was assured this was a no risk mission…a no risk venture…" Just as suddenly, his face contorted and he slammed his fist onto the stonewall as he roared, "Damn her! I told her not to fail me, and look what she's done!" Turning, he paced away from the window, towards the darker side of his chamber. He longed to be outside, but when he was sane and rational, he knew it was best. Still, this chamber gave him the chills – it reminded him too much…too much of the past…

Many, many years ago, before even Thranduil was born, Valnuema was a young elfling. He and his family were making their way south, and were on the Southern borders of the kingdom when a group of slave traders stormed through the tiny party, seizing Valnuema, his father and older brother. Far away, they were brought, to work their lives away, helping men – their new enemy – build their lands up from rock and stone. It was a hard life and both Valnuema's brother and father died of grief – of longing for their homeland, of love one's left behind. They left Valnuema alone.

Alone, with only dwarves and other men for company! The elf rebelled – he was above all this! He withdrew from his fellow slaves, and when they attempted to include him in an escape effort, he stayed behind. He bore the brunt of the punishment when the slave traders learned of the others escape, and was thrown into a dark pit, his wounds fresh and festering. Fever claimed his body, and still his captors were relentless. He remembered countless, endless nights of simply begging to see the stars. "Stars?" his captors would sneer at him. "Stars don't exist anymore for you, prissy elfing."

He was forced to work underground, in the dead of night, when even the stars have gone to sleep. Finally, after three lifetimes of men and more injuries and beatings than he could remember, Valnuema attempted an escape.

He made it, of course – all of his hard work for many years had made his body strong – and his mind detached. He began to talk to himself, have whispered conversations when his heart burned with such hate he thought it would consume him. Eventually, it did.

He made his way back to Mirkwood, back to his mother and sister. His mother had shared her husband's fate – she had simply wasted away, and gave up the will to live. His sister, however, welcomed her long lost brother with open arms and an open heart.

Under her careful touch, he began to feel whole again. He spent long, endless nights under the stars, simply breathing in their light and becoming part of the world again. And for a while, his heart had felt light. The pain of the past was always there, but he managed to push it aside and focus on living again. He laughed – it was forced, but it was still a laugh. He married a lovely elf – a friend of his sister, who helped him recover. He had a son, and a daughter, and no one would ever know that this elf, who loved to be a part of nature, had such a horrific past.

Valnuema decided to teach his son, who now had the maturity of a human twelve year old, how to hunt. He took him to the edges of the forest, to hunt the white dear. He was just learning how to hold a bow and arrow when a deafening roar screeched in their ears and Valnuema froze. His son did as well; both of their hearing was so sharp that they heard the arrows fly before they saw them. "DUCK!" Valnuema roared, throwing his son down behind his own body. And suddenly, they were upon them, men with sweaty, bloody brows and wild, glowing eyes – they were not slave traders, merely hunters who had wandered into Mirkwood's depths chasing their prey. They didn't see the elf and his son, but Valnuema's son was so nervous and anxious, he accidentally let the arrow he had notched fly. His aim was amazing – first them he had ever held an arrow and he hit his target. The men responded instantly, and though Valnuema picked up the child and swung him behind the bulk of his own body, it was too late. The world of men had claimed yet another immortal life – another life dangerously close to Valnuema's own.

That was the end of the elf's peace – a mad light came into his eyes and he snapped. He killed every single one of the hunters with a cat-like grace, and for many weeks, stayed in that area of the forest, hunting all of the men who dared entered it's domain. Rumor of him grew, and his wife and daughter began to worry when their husband and brother did not return for months on end. It was said that a dark elf lived in the forest, and all men avoided the area. Eventually, the elf returned back to his home – but it was never the same. He avoided the eyes of his peers, and when rumors of a darkness growing in the forest reached his ears, a darkness that was rumored to aim to destroy the world of men, he was the only one who smiled.

And when elves began to flee from the Southern depths of the forest, to go survive in the safety of Thranduil's halls, Valnuema, who had become the head of his village, allowed no one to go. Some snuck away and told of a mad elf who aimed to join Sauron – but no one believed them. Some day, they would.

But by then, it would be too late and Valnuema would have handed over control of the village and the Nazgul would roam freely. Elven casualties wouldn't matter – he would try to make sure they would be few. The real enemy was man, and even his only child would be a pawn in their defeat.