CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Don't close your mind

A dark Dúnadan? How was this possible?

Legolas did not know and he was still shaken by the answer. He just stared at Caranfëa dumbly and the other shook his head again. "It is true Legolas. He hates his race, but he hates Elves more and is not scared of inflicting pain to get his point across. Severely, if not discretely." Here the younger Elf touched the bruises on his cheeks lightly and said, "I would know."

Legolas felt numb. He was not thinking of himself, but for Aragorn. If that stubborn, incompetent, cursed ranger that he was closer to than many Elves he knew came for him….the thought made him want to shudder. Oh, yes, he knew that Aragorn was going to come for him. Why would the human not? He was alive, so why would he wait? He wouldn't and now he would be killed by this man who was more cunning than many Legolas had ever been pitted against. Calmir was cruel, but he was rather stupid and easily understood. He was greedy, as were many men the prince had encountered in his lifetime.

The was the first truly impressive one and he felt a shiver run down his back, but he did not shudder. "Strider…" he whispered into the darkness, hoping the very walls of this evil place did not possess ears.

"Who?" asked Caranfëa; genuinely confused. He had never heard that name and he looked at Legolas with a bewildered facade. "Should I know him?" He shifted and his manacles clinked rather loudly and the noise echoed off the walls, causing both the Elves to look around for a moment.

"He was born after your….capture…years after," answered Legolas softly. "He is a mortal and my closest friend nonetheless. He also is more than what he seems." The blonde being then looked at his chest as he felt a burning sensation and saw that his gash was healing whether well and felt better already. What he did not know whether he should be apprehensive or happy about was the clear poultice that seemed to coat it and was cold.

Caranfëa wrinkled his nose, "you would have a man for a friend?" he asked in a disgusted voice. "A weak mortal whose race most likely would have perished in the second age if it wasn't for us?" He snorted, "Legolas, my lord, that is the most fool hardy thing you have ever done. Does your father approve?" he asked with a bitter tone in his voice as he looked at Legolas.

The prince saw a deadly green flame smoldering slowly in the other's eye and that made him began to develop quite a temper of his own, a temper to be reckoned with. "He has saved my life numerous times!" spat Legolas angrily, letting the blue hot fire in his eye flare up into a sapphire glow. "Men are not all weak! He is stronger than you will ever know! Just because you did not get along well with them, do not blame it on he who was born long after your troubles even began!" He drew another deep breath and then seethed bitterly, "and it is none of your business whether my father approves or not! If I remember, you were not in such high favor with him before you left! And speaking of fathers, you never got along well with yours so I certainly do not need your advice!"

"Legolas, we could have sailed into the West and lived in peace forever. Never troubling with Middle Earth again!" argued Caranfëa angrily as his prince did not seem to get the whole picture and the frustration he was feeling began to grate on is nerves.

"And what would we have lived for? There is more to life than living forever!" snapped Legolas tenaciously as he narrowed his eyes into slits of blue rage towards the other Elf.

The green glow of Caranfëa's eyes increased to an astonishing brightness as he snarled malevolently, "Not if the humans will not listen to us and even try to understand what we have to tell and teach! They hate us Legolas. Why should we stay here when they hate us so?"

Legolas suddenly let his eyes soften as he recalled seeing young little boys in the town he had been held prisoner in before. But then he growled back rancorously, "have you ever seen a human child? How small and fragile they are? We are hear to keep evil away so that they can have a chance to set things right. An entire race should not be punished for the sin of a few!"

"The sins of a few, I agree, but the sins of many? Only a few are good and they have perished or been lost to the dark. We cannot place our trust in men anymore Legolas."

"Caranfëa, I feel sorry for you. You simply can't trust anyone, can you?" asked Legolas quietly as he watched the other Elf. He was not surprised to see the glow intensify and the other Elf growled,

"I don't need your pity. If anything, you need mine! To be friends with a human is asking to share their fate," he concluded darkly and then closed his eyes so the green glow shut out like a candle. Legolas heard the other muttering under his breath and he sighed.

" Caranfëa, you are the most dispassionate Elf I have ever had the curse of meeting!" Legolas spoke to the dark sharply. "It doesn't make it any easier for them to like us if they sense we despise them, though if they treat us horribly out of meanness they have more than earned it."

"You can't ever understand all that I have been through princling!" snapped the dark form from the corner of his cage-like cell.

Suddenly they heard footsteps and both of the Elves suddenly switched on their most alert senses to see who was coming back to them. A light wavered in one of the old mining passages to the right of Legolas and the prince glanced towards it. It was getting brighter and closer and its orange light reflected upon the walls. Caranfëa wrinkled his nose and growled, "he's back."

Legolas knew then who it was and a hard and stubborn look came into his eyes as he waited the human's approach.

The human set the torch into a holding place along the wall and then walked over to Legolas' cell. He was holding a blanket and some food. It looked like sort of oatmeal or porridge. But it smelled strange and Legolas felt dizzy just sniffing the stuff. It had to be drugged and if this man were a Dark Dúnadan he would know the perfect way to blend herbs to achieve the desired affect.

He looked at Legolas and watched as the Elf didn't even move, but sat stock still, watching him with a near bored look. The human smiled and drawing out a key, began to unlock the door. Legolas just rested his head on his chin, determined not to let this man get to him. However his eyes followed the Dark Ranger's every move and he asked, "why are you here?"

The man put on a face of mock hurt and said, "I have brought you food and blankets Elf." Legolas shifted his eyes away stubbornly.

His answer was completely the opposite of what the man had wanted. "No, thank you." The mortal smiled, because though it was not the answer he had wanted, it was the one he had more than expected.

The human stepped through the door to the cell and shut it with a clang behind him. Legolas didn't even look up. He just sighed. "I know you are hungry Elf," said the man carefully as he came to crouch by Legolas's side and he looked into the Elf's blue eyes. "We can be friends, you know. All you have to do is trust me and I will treat you well." He waited to see what this blonde being would do. Legolas did not even change his expression, unless perhaps he appeared to go colder. He tried a different approach, "You know my name, don't you Elf?"

"King," spat Legolas bitterly. He then stared at the man and met the human's gaze with unwavering eyes.

"Is it not only fair that I should know yours?" asked King in return. "I tire of calling you 'Elf'." He sighed and said, "I am sure you are weary of it as well." The man placed the bowl near Legolas and said, "go ahead and eat. I know you're hungry."

"Sorry, no," answered the prince with a malevolent tone. He was hungry…he was starving. But he was quite willing to starve right then and there rather than find himself poisoned with a mind-numbing drug and at their mercy or find himself ill from some kind of anodyne.

"All right, I will say this once before I am forced to do something to you that that you will not like: I am not asking you to eat. I am telling you to eat."

"No, it is drugged. I am not fool and can smell odd herbs easily enough." Legolas lifted his head now gazed at the human with narrowed eyes as he spoke this rather matter-of-factly. His eyes had a challenge written on them that plainly stated :I dare you to try and make me eat.

"You are trying my patience Elf'," hissed King malignantly as he came closer to the immortal. Trying to make the captive Elf get uncomfortable enough to do his bidding without anymore questioning. It was not working and he could not afford to bluff any longer. This Elf had to fear him, fear and respect him.

"That is your problem, not mine," asserted the prince coolly and with a slight snicker edging his voice, making it annoying to listen to and even more annoying if his comment was directed exclusively at you.

He stiffened suddenly as King reached out and grabbed his neck in a tight squeeze that Legolas found socking. But he pushed his tense fear down and a smirking smile played across his face as the man's grip tightened so tears nearly came unbidden to his widening eyes. But even as his eyes widened, he looked at peace and King felt the tension flee the Elf's body and knew that the immortal defied him still in the simple way of not showing the slightest regard of fear. "Elf, I want to be your friend, why do you force me to hurt you?"

Legolas croaked out a cancerous answer, "if you were my friend you would set me free and not keep me caged like an animal for the rest of my life." He felt his eyes bulging as his system pleaded for air, good air! But the man's grip only tightened and Legolas followed the human's other hand as it groped over to where the bowl of porridge lay and grasped the spoon, dabbing a mouthful of the food onto the tin piece.

Legolas tried to pull away, but the man's grip was too fierce and would hurt his neck if he pulled too much. His mouth was already open as his body tried desperately to drag in some oxygen. In came the corn mush and King said, "I am not going to let go until you swallow Elf."

Legolas writhed and felt horror sweeping over him as he felt his senses going numb from lack of oxygen filled blood. Finally, his involuntary response to swallow took over as his body said in no uncertain terms that it was not going to let it's owner's stupid and stubborn pride be it's death.

Legolas looked horrified and watched as King took another generous spoonful and placed it near his lips. The mortal had hardly loosened his grip more than enough to let Legolas get a breath in and now he tightened it again. Legolas glared lancets at the man before he tried once again to pull away. The grip intensified and the prince was forced to open his mouth (he was more than convinced that it was not voluntary on his part). His body had not recovered completely from being oxygen starved once and it was not ready to even consider a second incident.

Caranfëa looked on nervously. He was not going to make it harder for Legolas by contending with King. That would put them both in much more trouble. Besides, he knew that his friend was under no real threat to his life, just his pride. If King was beating him, that was one thing, but force feeding him? That was quite another thing, a harmless thing that was hardly worth the trouble he would get into for trying to break it up. And Legolas had to eat, whether he wished to or not, his body would shut down if he did not.

Legolas had taken in around seven spoonfuls (each quicker than the first) when he decided that he had had enough and could take no more. But he felt terribly sleepy and he could tell that the food had been drugged now more than ever. He was striving with all he had to work against the sedative but it was too strong and the desensitized sensation was over whelming.

He finally felt his eyes beginning to droop and knew that he had to draw the line here. Suddenly he jerked himself away and as he did he felt his shoulder's press on the wall and he felt his head loll to the side. As he began to fade into nothingness he asked through benumbed lips that created a sluggish speech, "what d-d-d-did you d-d-do to me?" He had spoken in the Gray Tongue, though he had hardly realized it. He was too somnolent to care.

"Nothing harmful, just calm down Elf. Now what is your name?" King asked lackadaisically as though he did not really care.

Legolas was not quite that drugged but he was close enough and he mumbled, "n-n-no." The he began to close his eyes and they fluttered as he tried to keep everything in focus and not fall into what he knew would be a deep sleep. But the question came again and he answered, "L-Legolas-s-s."

"Thank you," answered the Dark Dùnadan in the Elven Tongue as Legolas fell into a deep sleep. He carefully took and laid a blanket out onto the straw and then he shifted Legolas onto it and then covered him with another. Legolas did not even stir.

King then went over and saw Caranfëa sitting in his cell, watching and the man slipped quietly out of Legolas' cell and walked over to the short, redheaded Elf's. He was met with a fierce glare of defiance. "Is that his name?" he hissed at the smaller Elf through the iron bars. His narrowed his eyes and took out his key to unlock Caranfëa's prison door.

The Elf was silent for another moment and said, "I am going to tell you why?" He furrowed his red brows and said as though deep in thought but mockingly, "Oh, silly me! I forgot that I tell you everything. No secrets between friends."

King slammed the key into the lock and flung the door open. The short Elf in heavy chains merely inclined his head, "are you going to teach me another 'lesson' or am I too graduate into the black oblivion and to the Halls of Mandos from there?" The man rushed upon the short Elf, grabbing him by a lock of his red hair and yanking his head back, but all he received from the small being was a smile that was as cold as any February morning. "You wouldn't kill me. Without me, you wouldn't have a coin to your name."

"Wouldn't I?" asked the man as he pulled out his knife and placed it conveniently beneath the red-haired Elf's chin with his free hand that was not full of carmine/blonde hair. Caranfëa looked at the knife and his expression never changed. He just narrowed his eyes and shifted his weight that was placed painfully on one ankle beneath himself.

"Is that really Legolas?" he asked sternly and Caranfëa jerked in his grasp as he felt the knife press into the flawless skin of his neck.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked in a growl as he tried again to pull away from the knife that was coming all too close to his jugular vein for comfort. He had no doubt that King would kill him, quickly if he was lucky. But even though he did not get along with Legolas all the time did not mean that he was not the blonde Elf's friend. He was not going to betray anyone. People could say whatever else they liked about him, but he was not a traitor.

"Why is it in your best interest to tell me?" asked King as the shook the little Elf none too gently. He slid the knife into the sheath after withdrawing it from the red-haired Elf's throat. He then stood up, dragging Caranfëa up with him. He placed the Little Elf against the wall and held him there for a moment before slamming his fist into the immortal's stomach and causing the small being to double over in pain as far as the man's grasp would allow. He was struck again and he hissed as he was sure he felt a rib break…no it only creaked…this time.

Caranfëa used what strength was not being directed to catch his raspy breath to try and tear away from this man that was inflicting great pain upon his already battered and bruised sides and battle wounds he had. He pulled far enough away that he was out of reach of the fists, but he was hardly beyond the mortal's legs and King lashed out viciously and caught him in the collarbone, near the neck and the Elf coughed for a brief moment.

He then jumped up and fell over because of the manacles on his wrists that were far heavier than any that should be placed on one so small and the ones on his ankles got tangled and caught up about his feet being two sizes too big. They tipped him off balance and made it difficult for him to counter attack, which was the reason they had been placed on him in the first place. But he stumbled back up and as soon as he was up he felt a fist slam into his face and he was slammed against the wall by the force of the blow. "Is that Legolas?" asked King slowly and thickly as though Caranfëa was incredibly stupid.

Caranfëa hissed, "I am never going to tell you human!" He felt so angry that he thought for a second he was seeing red.

King could not afford to batter and bruise this Elf any more and there was more than one way to skin a cat after all. He said, "fine. Have it your way. You can starve until you see fit to tell me. And when you go down in the ring from weakness and emaciation don't expect me to keep you from becoming a meal for a beast." King brushed his tunic and cloak off from the scuffle and was out of the cell in two steps. He slammed and locked the door behind him and Caranfëa nursed his bleeding lip thoughtfully.

The Hell Fire of an Elf would much more eagerly starve than earn the name 'traitor' and he knew he could last long without food. Whether it was foolish or not, he would much rather do things the hard way than go the easy way. He seemed to find almost pleasure at taking the hard way around things. As he sucked on his bleeding lip, tasting the coppery taste and the salt he purposefully bit it, squeezing it with his teeth to draw more of the sanguine liquid out and taste his pain that had long been nurturing in the dark as he had brooded.

>>>>>>>>>

Elméra gently tipped Rothinzil's chin up as he lay on a pile of furs. She had managed to get him as far as an old storage room ravaged by dust and so she expected that it be hardly ever visited. It had been quite a challenge, but what was wrong with challenging one's self? She often took pleasure in it and now was no exception. A few candles were all that she had to see by and that was as much as she would risk anyhow.

The Elf's breathing was coming in short puffs and his eyes fluttered open and then would slide closed and flap open once more. She did not know what to do, and so taking some other furs, she gently wrapped them about his trembling body. As she sat by him, threading her needle that she always carried she felt ill with the thought of what she was going to have to do.

He was going to die if she did nothing and she knew she was going to have to pierce his skin and give him stitches across his wound. As she placed a slender hand over his brow she felt fever radiating from it even before it touched the burning skin. His cheeks were taking on a flushed pink look as the strong fever set in and as he opened his eyes she saw that the bright hazel color was clouded over by a feverish glaze of pain.

Deliriously he asked, "Am I finally in the West?" His voice quivered and the young women cautiously began to take the fur skin and her vermilion cloak from where they covered the Elf's torso. He shivered and she continued (though it made her stomach turn) to peel away the ensanguined tunic layers and pieces. It revealed the deep laceration and she looked away for a moment before gently as possible extricating the pieces of cloth that had been placed in the wound by her earlier to soak up blood.

He looked at her and licked his lips painfully as he felt his mouth going dry, "if it…frightens you…you don't have to look." He suddenly cringed and said slowly as pain lanced up his body, "it h-h-hurts."

She said in a soft voice with a quivering chin, "I have to give you stitches and I am afraid I have no herbs to give you for the pain my good Rothinzil." Her fingers ran along the thread and needle's length as she held them uneasily.

Rothinzil looked at it and said as hurriedly as he might, "that's n-n-not necessary." He suddenly coughed and she winced with him as she felt the wheeze in his voice.

"I am afraid it is or you will die." She felt tears come to the corners of her eyes and she nearly let them leak out as Rothinzil spoke again.

"Perhaps its…its better this way." He closed his eyes and she let one of her hands stray and rest on his sweat soaked chest as she whispered to him,

"No! Don't talk that way! Everything will be all right. I promise you!" She felt him clasp her hand and she took the thread and needle in one hand as he squeezed her other tightly and she pricked the needle gingerly through his skin's edge on the jagged cut and felt him grip her hand tighter.

Elméra put into two stitches and then felt him go limp and for a moment she feared he was dead. For his breath had left him before he went stock-still and his face had turned ghastly pale despite the fever. His hand unclenched and too all appearances life had left his body. But then she felt his heart, fluttering and struggling to beat. He wanted to live! He was trying to live!

Why she cared for this Elf was still utterly beyond her, but she did and as long as he was trying, even if he stopped trying, to live, she would try and pull him through. If she saved him, they could save each other.

Calmir had to die, he was insane and he had no heart. She wished her father was here, but it would not surprise her if Calmir had done something horrible to him. When Rothinzil got strong…he could help her put an end to her brother. But then again, she was not sure if she could kill him or have him killed. It would be her killing her own kin and she felt more than slightly awkward about that. Elves did not hold Kinslaying in high honor: they feared and despised it.

But why did it matter what the Elves thought? She shrugged mentally as she continued with her inner monologue (wondering why she had ever thought of the Elves opinion) and she tied the end of the stitches she could not help but recall Rothinzil's large hazel eyes and she found herself nearly swallowed up their deep depths. Taking another piece of her dress, she wiped the blood and other bodily fluids away from the wound's stitches.

Rothinzil was still out of it and she did not see the outcome of him waking up soon very probable. Now that she could breathe again, for it seemed as though she had been holding her breath the whole time, she shivered against the cold she had just realized was so very real. It was cold in this room and she must make a fire or it would be their deaths.

But there was nothing here that was combustible…or at least nothing they could afford to destroy. Then her eyes fell upon some old battered crates in a dusty corner. But she did not know if she had the strength the break the wood that had to be oak, otherwise it could not have lasted in these damp, dark and perfectly wretched conditions.

As Elméra got up and wondered over closer, she narrowed her eyes in the darkness and held aloft a candle she had picked up. The crate was covered with a thick layer of gray dust and she blew on it, sending the little pieces of dirt all about the room in a large powdery cloud. However when that settled she found that the wood looked old and fragile enough. She searched through her mind for the exact word…brittle…yes, that was a perfectly valid description. But it would burn quickly then. She would need more soon.

But this would have to do for now and sending a quick prayer up to the powers at be, she placed a slender hand on the wooden box and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy and it was damp to the touch. They could not use this wood, for even if they get it to light, the smoke would kill them both. Wet wood always smoked more than dry as a rule of thumb and she was not blind to that understanding.

Quietly setting it back down again and shivering all the while, she mentally prepared herself to travel outside of this safe haven and search for the life force of firewood. She could only hope that Rothinzil would not wake and that she was not caught. If she was, she would die and Rothinzil would die. But this was not an option, so why even think of it as a extremely distant possibility? That was ridiculous and contradictory!

The women gave one last look at the inert Elf and then spun on her heels for the thick wooden door, stirring up a small cloud of dust. Then, pulling it open, she stepped outside and shut the wooden postern behind her. The first thing that hit her was the darkness. It was creepy, and it felt alive. That was an odd assertion to make, but she could not help but consider it. She felt as though it had eyes, but perhaps that was her fear speaking to her so vividly and in such a dark time.

She was not sure and she certainly did not have the time to think about that. She could only hope that Rothinzil would remain asleep until she got back. Stepping lightly out willingly into the darkness that shrouded the outside of the room she could smell the scent of the dust of the mines even stronger, but she was not afraid anymore. Elméra felt a strange and welcoming resolve growing inside her heart.

>>>>>>>>>>

Erestor sat across from Ryxen in a large and rather over stuffed chair. Both had a cup of tea in hand, however the raven-haired adviser's was hardly touched. He was too nervous to drink anything and feared he would bring it back up as soon as it touched his stomach. He eyed the green-amber liquid uneasily and listened as Ryxen summed up all that had transpired in the town before and since Legolas, Rothinzil's and Aragorn's disappearance. "So now they are missing?" asked the man thoughtfully as he eyed the dark-haired being across from him. Erestor said nothing.

"Well," continued the human, "You do not think that they joined up with the thieves do you?"

Erestor snapped his head up and said, "you had better speak a little more carefully Master Ryxen. My friends are NOT traitors. That much I know is certain, if nothing else here isn't!" The counselor's eyes had a dangerous gleam in them and Ryxen did not seem to deem it necessary to make it brighter by aggravating the subject further, therefore he said,

"very well. But what do you suppose has happened to them?"

"I am not certain, that is why we came here. We have Estel at least and if ever he lives through this he may know or may not. But I believe that they are still alive. We found no more bodies and I am more than sure that they did not want to keep the corpses," concluded the other somewhat crossly. Then he asked, "so the orcs are stirring up trouble again?" He watched as the man's face turned very grim.

"Yes. We do not rightly know why. Our town used to mine, but we haven't done that in nigh on at least twenty years. When we stopped mining, the trouble stopped….until recently." He came to his conclusion slowly as though it pained him in some strange way.

"Is it possible that some are continuing to mine or have returned to it?" asked the counselor somewhat crossly. He was beginning to wonder if he was being told everything. But he could not be sure and therefore did not press the issue too hard. He was going to wait until he was sure that his suspicion was rectified. Narrowing his eyes and creasing his brows, the Elf scrutinized the facade of the magistrate that sat opposite him.

Ryxen apparently felt uncomfortable, because he shifted his weight uneasily and said with what could be called 'extreme reluctance', "it is vaguely possible I suppose, but highly unlikely. Why would our men go to that mine? And I have not heard of anyone coming and disappearing save five or so. Strange men."

Erestor could have coughed in his surprise, but then again he had half expected this answer. "Five? Who were they? Do they live here?" he asked a bundle of questions all at once. If these men were too missing, it was most conceivable that his friends would be with them. As he sat there thinking of where the said friends could be, he began to wonder how he had been caught up into this utter mess after leaving Rivendell to deliver a simple message and come straight back. But he had been with Glorfindel and being with the said Glorfindel explained all of his troubles at the present. As he thought of the annoying Gondolin lord he began to wonder where exactly the warrior was. It had been around five hours and he had not returned.

"Master Elf, where you even listening?" asked Ryxen as he concluded the answers to the raven-haired counselor's abundant questions. He narrowed his eyes as Erestor seemed to pull himself out of space and settled his gaze upon the human with dropped jaw. But assessing the situation (which he found far from amusing) he straightened up and cleared his throat.

"I was merely thinking Master Ryxen and was slightly sidetracked. If you could please run over the answers one last time, I would be more than eternally grateful."

Ryxen just chuckled and said, "worried about that golden-haired friend of yours?"

"Yes-wait a minute! He is not my friend. A companion, yes, friend…no," stammered the Elf of Rivendell irately as he gave a snort of disgust. "Exactly the opposite actually."

"So you would worry for your enemy?" asked the man with an amused smile. He shook his head as he heard the Elf mutter under his breath many words, most likely Elven curses and Dwarvish curses.

"In this case especially," seethed the counselor as he concluded his rambling. "Now would you please answer my questions? For all I know, my friends could be dying or may even already be corpses! One of them lies dying in that room!" he snapped. "I regret to have to snap at you like this, but my patience is being drawn overly thin!"

"Settle down Elf. We are all in this together. " The man shifted again and said, "as for your first question, I know only there names and nothing more of who they are. Calmir, Kushor and Calmir's father Castor and some others that were with them whose names are hidden from me. They came here some time ago, but they are always coming and going. They are. Or were horse traders. Now I (and the rest of the town) know that they are thieves. Calstor was murdered, that is what your friends were accused of to begin with and that is what tipped off this whole mess."

Erestor listened intently and then he scowled, "perhaps they are at the mine." His forehead wrinkled as he struggled for an answer that he was totally bereft of…for now. He needed Glorfindel…he could not do this alone and that was a fact that he was loathe to admit. That poor excuse for an Elf-lord did help at times, especially when you were in a strange town that was ready to willingly lynch any Elf that so much as looked at them wrong. For now they were protected…for now.

"I need to go and look for my companion. He could be in trouble," said Erestor hurriedly as he jumped up and nearly spilled his full tea mug and looked quickly at the door with his cloak hanging by it. "Look after Estel. I think that there is something that this poison is feeding off of. If you could search the wound in his shoulder, I would be very grateful," he finished as he went to the door and grabbed his cloak, swishing it across his thin shoulders and placing his trembling hand on the doorknob.

He was going to choke, no, shoot Glorfindel with that miserable being's own bow! How could the pretentious Gondolin Elf even think of doing this to him? Oh! He was going to pay sooner of later, one way or another.

"Wait! Lord Erestor! I shall send someone with you!" called Ryxen worriedly after the urgent Elf.

But the raven-haired Elf had already left and the great wooden door was left open with a sharp and cold winter wind that came from the mountains bustling through in icy gusts.

He could not even here the light footsteps of the fair being, who was walking as normal as a person would but with far surpassing skill.

Starring hard at the door as though everything could quite probably be its fault, the mortal got up slowly and shuffled towards the flapping door that was making more than a ruckus. He quickly poked his head outside to try and catch one last glimpse of dark-haired Elf, but Erestor was already gone. All that was left was the night and the vacant streets.

Figuring that the Elf would most likely be all right, the man shut the door with a shiver and wondered how they could be out on such a night.

Then, he went to go and check on the young and dying ranger that was in the back bedroom, in his deep coma like sleep.

Erestor paced the streets and drew his cloak tightly up around himself, with the hood hiding his face. He did not know how this town would react to him, but he was not going to risk anything if he did not have to. His dark hair concealed his ears where the hood blew back and he as grateful for that. His face was flushed with wind burn and he could feel the weather turning worse by the minute.

He could not wait to get his hands on that Gondolin Elf's scrawny little neck and wring it until the golden-haired rogue was blue in the face. Oh yes, that would be quite amusing, he chuckled inwardly with himself.

But he was getting more on edge by the minute and so when a hand came to rest on his shoulder he jerked and spun around with a scowl that would have sacred off any opponent save one.

The adviser starred straight into the face of Glorfindel and he snapped in a low and malevolent hiss, "what do you think you were doing you golden-haired rogue!" He stammered, "where have you been? Estel is dying, I hardly know what to do and you are…are smirking you…you…" he was becoming rather tongue-tied in his frustration and the 'golden-haired rogue' could not help but grin even further.

"Go on, this is interesting," said Glorfindel with a flash of a smile. Erestor's lips drew into a tight line and he narrowed his eyes and creased his brows so tightly that it looked as though he might explode or die from suffocation. "But on a far heavier note, I know Estel is fading. I have long been thinking about that. I have been under the window listening to everything said," he ended in a murmur that was fading.

"Ahhh.." said Erestor, "well that is somewhat comforting. But be careful, you might not have been alone."

Glorfindel looked at the counselor strangely and said ethereally, "we are never alone Erestor." He cleared his throat and said, "I would expect an Elf such as you to know that." He rocked back on his heels to get a look at the glaring counselor who sighed and snorted out his breath as he looked at his boots.

Calm down, he told himself slowly between deep breaths. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine...ten. Glorfindel you are going to be dead! You are mine-one…two…three…four…five…six…seven...eight…nine…ten…counting is worthless! "Glorfindel if we survive this just wait until we are back in Rivendell and I rally up a lynching party!" barked the adviser as he began to stomp towards the house of the Lord Ryxen in a manner that hardly befitted an Elf-lord and so Glorfindel had to chuckle.

"I suppose you have finally decided not to save the dignity you think you possess?" he asked as he inclined his head to look at his piqued companion.

Erestor did not even slow his stride; he did not turn around. The dark-haired Elf just rolled his eyes and continued walking. He did not have time for this and eventually Glorfindel had to give up.

Glorfindel just shook his head and walked slowly behind his companion. It was his fault that Estel was dying. He wished that he could take the ranger's place. Oh yes, he dearly wished that and if he could make it happen, he would. Oh yes, he would. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself and watched hesitantly on the steps as Erestor opened the door to the house and stepped inside carefully.

The Balrog slayer was not if he wanted to go in there. He did not want to see Estel's cold and forlorn face. It only made his pain grow deeper and more lethal seemingly to his soul. He would rather die a thousand deaths than face his lord's dead son and face his lord's pain and horror. He did not care how each death would be, just so long as he died if it saved Aragorn from death before his time. He would surrender his body to the flames a second time if he had to.

He also was grieving for Legolas and Aragorn. He knew that Erestor was too, but the counselor, as usual, refused to show his true emotions. He considered it a weakness or something.

He did not seem to realize that the door had shut until he noticed that all was dark about him and he seemed to be lost. He saw light, but felt as though he could not move to get to it. Slowly, he placed his foot gingerly forward and then set his hand upon the door knob and pushed the door open.

The warmth that struck his features felt good compared to the cold that had benumbed them and he stood there a moment, blinking in the light of the great fireplace. But he saw that Erestor and Lord Ryxen…or whatever his name was…were no where around. They had to be back with Estel, for he heard voices and he followed them up the dim hallway.

The floor boards creaked, but he paid them no mind. Beneath a door, he saw light and he went for it.

Inside he saw the lord Ryxen hunched over Aragorn and Erestor looking mortified and actually scared. "Certainly we an extract it?" he asked in a quick and sharp breath. His eyes were large and he went over to where Ryxen had unwound the bandages to the wound on the ranger's arm. An arrow was embedded beneath the skin and it looked wicked. A strange color of blackish-red was forming around the wound, side-effect of the venom.

Erestor narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the wound, "I….you…can take that out?" he repeated his question quietly as he saw how the arrow head was deep in the flesh and most likely could tear some important tendons if it were not taken out properly. He felt his heart leaping up into his throat and he stared with wide eyes at the magistrate, who shook his head.

"I do not know. I have never tried to heal anything this extensive. As a matter of fact, I have never truly healed a real wound. I know of some good healers in the town and we might be able to fetch them, but it would take longer and I do not think this…"

"Can wait," finished Erestor with a sigh of great ardent adversity. "I have never really tried to heal anyone before myself. I have never really left the refuge of Imladris," he asserted somewhat quickly.

"Ahhhhh….but they say the Elves of Rivendell are of the greatest healers," spoke Ryxen with a dream like sigh as he thought of the fair sanctuary that he had only heard of. He looked at Erestor and the Elf smiled coldly as he shook his head in turn.

"Some, but not I. I am an adviser, no more. This is far beyond any experience I have ever had." He looked at the red-black tinted wound and the arrowhead he saw buried deep inside the irritated flesh. He felt his own shoulder screaming in sympathy. Shivering, the counselor wished he had never left Rivendell. Now he knew why Glorfindel got into trouble so easily, it was everywhere and unavoidable. Of course he still believed that the golden-haired warrior could easily find trouble in the safest place in the world. Oh, he would most likely find trouble of one sort or another in the West.

Both man and Elf alike spun around as a voice spoke up, "I will do what I may."

They stared into the determination that shown in the Balrog -Slayer's bright blue eyes. Glorfindel's face was so dark and serious that it made Erestor's jaw drop in shock. The other Elf's mouth was in a tight and worried line and his golden brows made a crease between them as they rumpled with displeasure and grave concern. His hair was wind blown about his shoulders and entangled in his hood that he had let fall off.

Ryxen looked at Glorfindel and then said, "so are you another adviser or a healer?" He did not know much of Elves, he could speak their language and knew some of their history but other than that they were still very mysterious. But he sensed that this one was neither healer, nor counselor, though he was most likely capable of both. He also sensed that this one was older than this Erestor Elf.

"I am neither, I am a warrior. However I know some healing," responded Glorfindel as he pressed in closer and gently brushed Erestor aside and gazed thoughtfully down on Aragorn's soon-to-be-fatal wound. It was a wicked thing and it glowed with an evil.

"I take my leave," said the Lord Ryxen as he stepped back and observed the two Elves before saying, "the herbs are all in the cabinet above where the extra blankets are. I will get you some hot water and rags as soon as I may."

Glorfindel slid his cloak from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor as he side stepped Erestor who had shifted over to get a look at the wound once more. The golden-Elf gingerly, almost as though he was afraid to touch the shoulder, picked the shreds of tunic and bandage that were soaked with Aragorn's red blood away.

He looked at his fingertips and found them ensanguined in the young man's life's blood. It made him feel sick and he was glad Legolas was not here. The young prince would be out of his mind with intense worry and would most likely only serve to make matters worse.

Trying to ignore the crimson liquid, his regret, he sensitively probed the wound, feeling for how deep the projectile's jagged tip was secured in the man's flesh, seeping it's mortal potion into the ranger's system.

More fresh and astringent smelling blood oozed onto the Elf's hands and he tried to resist the want to jerk away.

His face went very grave and took on a pale color as he realized just how dangerous this wound was in terms of getting the arrow out. It was deep and as far as he could tell the edges were jagged and would rip the flesh even more. If the pushed it through, they could break the ranger's collarbone. He did not know much about the venom, but he knew that it was giving them very little time and soon they would run out.

He looked at Erestor and said, "there really isn't much that we can do." He sighed and watched as Aragorn's face seemed to writhe in intense pain and dark dreams that one could never even roughly imagine. It hurt his heart, it stabbed and punctured it with many bitter wounds. How could this have happened?

Erestor just looked at Glorfindel and said thickly as he tried to keep his emotions under complete control and was failing miserably, "Lord Glorfindel, I have never asked anything of you really. But I am begging now that you try and do something. I …..well I can't, alright? This surpasses my expertise by much and reading a passel of books can hardly prepare one for the real thing."

He sighed na d began to pace the room as he spoke, "we already have no antidote and that is horrible enough, but what makes it worst is there isn't one to go and find. If he does not wake from it himself he dies. If we do not get the arrow head out and it continues to …."

"Supply the poison," finished Glorfindel for adviser that was glaring at the ranger as though the human had planned for all this to happen. "Yes, I know. But….never mind."

He did not want to admit that his was totally out of his control and that this was something he could not fight for his friends. He could only be there for them. It was frustrating and what was worse was not knowing what had become of Legolas and Rothinzil and not knowing the future.

He drew his fingers away from the wound and looked at the blood all about the ranger's shoulder and tunic and the ruby fluid that was fairly dripping from his fingers.

Suddenly he said with a such a fierce determination that Erestor nearly jumped, "Legolas need him, Elrond needs him, I need him and I am going to take that arrowhead out!"

He looked at Erestor and the counselor said, "I will go and find that man and see if he can't go any faster about getting that water!"

Erestor left quickly and now a desire that was hot and unquenchable, save by victory, was burning in each of the Elves hearts to extract that projectile tip and bring the young mortal back to life.

It was only moments, though it seemed like hours when Erestor returned holding a large bowl of hot water and some older towel's draped over on arm, swinging with his long strides.

Glorfindel was sitting by Aragorn, feeling the man's cheeks and forehead for fever, which he was unlucky enough to detect one…a severe one. The ranger was burning up. He could feel the life draining from the human and it was frightening, even for an Elf that actually understood death.

Erestor set the bowl on the nightstand and Glorfindel got up and shook his head, "try and get some cold water Lord Erestor. He is practically on fire with fever…see how his waxen cheeks are becoming flushed?" The counselor did not argue and left quickly once more. But he was going to have to talk to Glorfindel later when the situation was less consequential, about the warrior bossing him around.

The fact that Estel had a temperature mean that his body was fighting for life and had not simply given up, so Glorfindel believed that Aragorn's spirit was still fighting to remain in Middle Earth.

Taking one of the towels, the yellow-haired Elf dipped it into the hot water that had steam curling from the top in transparent wisps. Then, he touched the hot cloth to the wound. He watched as it soaked up blood, revealing the red-black tinted skin beneath. As he wiped more of the blood away he saw that indeed the wound was very ugly and extensive as far as wounds went…and it all came from a simple arrow.

He continued to wipe until the laceration was all clean of old clotted and dried blood, then he set the cloth down on the nightstand again. He was not how he was going to do this, but it had to be done. He set his teeth and jaw, then he stuck his fingers into the mottled wound and probed for the arrowhead.

He found it, quickly and he winced as he felt the splintered wood from the shaft. They would be lucky if they did not have to extirpate some of that as well afterwards.

Holding it tightly, he began to pull on the arrow shaft stub that was left and found that it was soundly lodged. He grunted to himself and began to wiggle the tip back and forth. It had to come out and if not he did not know what they were going to do.

It was a disgusting process and blood began to rush hot and sickening all about the shoulder and Glorfindel's hands. It seeped into the pillow and blankets. The smell of the blood of his friend made Glorfindel begin to feel a bit queasy and he felt as though the horrible wound was still gripping Aragorn 'by the throat'.

Suddenly he heard an unpalatable pop and the arrow head came free. But he was not prepared for the amount of blood that would follow and he quickly grabbed the dry towel and placed it over the wound, applying as much pressure as he dared with the ranger's condition. Luckily it was enough to block the wound and contain the massive amounts of blood.

He held the point aloft with one hand and saw the edges serrated, sharp and menacing. He knew exactly who had created this sort of arrow, this sort of torment. It was one who knew that Aragorn had wanted to save Legolas and knew that the bitter irony of knowing where and how to save the prince but being unable to would be just as lethal as the venom itself. The thought made Glorfindel shiver and he looked at the door-frame as Erestor stood there with another rag, limp with the dampness of cool water.

Erestor nearly ran over to the inert form of Aragorn lying on the bed and shoved Glorfindel aside, "he is going to bleed to death now oh wise one!" snapped the counselor bitterly. He placed the cool rag over Aragorn's head and felt the ranger's cheeks. If anything they had gotten hotter.

The raven-haired adviser applied a fair amount of pressure to the wound in an attempt to stay the blood flow. Glorfindel looked disdainfully at the arrow point and he sank wearily into a wooden chair, letting a heavy sigh escape his lips. He was shaking and Erestor looked at the golden-haired being with precarious eyes as he asked, "Glorfindel, are you well?"

The other looked at Erestor with a frown and said, "I am fine. Just a bit weary and a bit shaken." He looked at Aragorn and whispered, "it is he who I worry about. Not myself."

Erestor kept one hand on the cloth and with the other he reached towards Glorfindel and asked, "may I see the arrowhead?" Glorfindel placed it numbly in the outstretched hand before shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb unconsciously. Blood got onto his fair face. But he was too weary to care.

Erestor eyed it and shivered before dropping it to the floor, where it made a dull thud as it hit the wood. "It is evil and by evil it was made." He closed his eyes and knitted his brows then opened them and said, "no man made that." It was too cleverly evil…too sinister. Man might have helped, but he did not complete it. The counselor opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn with much sorrow in his deep eyes. He doubted that there were many Elves that could live through that unless they were purpose driven or there was some sort of divine intervention from the Valar. Aragorn might very well die.

"What chance does he have?" the Elf of Rivendell asked out loud and Glorfindel's face went a shade paler.

"When shall you return?" asked a soft voice into Thalionril's chest as he stood beneath the large oak tree with the one dearest to him. The Elf-maiden snuggled closer to her beloved and rubbed her nose into his tunic.

Thalionril smiled and set his chin on top of the crown of her silver-haired head. He mumbled, "not later than two and a half weeks I should think." He hugged her close and she gave a giggle as he rubbed one of her ear points with his finger gently.

"Thalionril, what if it is longer?" she asked as she pushed away enough that she could gave into his gray eyes with her bright blue ones that were the color of a robin's egg. She knitted her brows and asked, "what if you don't come back?" She shivered and he smiled even broader before answering.

"Of course I shall come back and then we shall be married." Thalionril ran his fingers through her hair and he sighed as he watched the strands of sliver fall down to grace her slim shoulders. She was truly beautiful. "Aredhel, have I ever told you how beautiful the moonlight, all shades of light, reveal you to be?"

She laughed and said, "everyday, but remind me again." She took his dark hair in her hands and felt it lovingly.

"Very well," said Thalionril, "you are like the Lady Galadriel's mirror shimmering beneath the stars…like everything with light…but better. You give the stars a good challenge." He then looked into her eyes and she looked at him in a brief moment of uncertainty. But then he placed his lips over hers and she was lost in peaceful dreams. She felt magical and for a brief moment all of her deepest and most horrible fears melted away into one pleasant haze of nothingness.

He pulled away and she whispered breathlessly, "I am afraid I did not catch that last part. Could you tell me again?"

He smiled and hugged her so close that he nearly picked her up off the ground and placed his lips over hers once more.

Between kisses she told him a breathless murmurs, "if you did not return…at least I know…that you love me." He touched his nose to hers and said;

"Your father is a wise captain. He will see us all through."

She placed her ear over his heart and murmured, "I know." Her hand strayed to her right wrist where she slid a delicate silver bracelet from her slim hand. It was thin and on it were small silver flowers. It seemed to glow and grabbing Thalionril's hand, she managed to get it over his broader wrist. She whispered, "I want you to know that I love the way your eyes light up when you laugh Thalionril and I am going to miss you so much while you are gone. This bracelet is a piece of home for you. So you can always look back, even if you lay dying in the dark and remember me."

He fingered the ornament carefully and wrinkled his brow in thought for a brief moment. Even if you lay dying in the dark…was he going to die?

He did not know and he looked at her with soft and innocent eyes as she fell into his arms again. Then Thaiolril grasped her hand and said, "let us go up into the tree and gaze at the stars. You shan't fall out while I have you."

So together they climbed into the tree and she leaned against him and twirled his dark hair in her fingers before falling asleep listening to the wind in the tree boughs and his heart beat.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Celebalda looked at the small contingent of Elves that he had chosen with scrutinizing eyes; Thalionril and four others. He looked at Thalionril's sloppy sort of grin that was aimed at nothing and the cloudy-dream look in his eyes and chuckled.

Calling the younger Elf aside, he walked a few feet away with him and asked in a low whisper that only an Elf right by him could him hear, "did you give your last farewells to Aredhel then?"

Thalionril went red to the points on his ears and he nodded before stammering as though stricken with a numb tongue, "yes…yes, sir." He looked at the forest floor and muttered something else under his breath and Celebalda rocked back onto his heels before chuckling again.

"You are more than worthy of my daughter, Thalionril. I would have it no other way." He smiled and added, "unless of course you hit me with one of your wild arrows."

Thalionril smiled swiftly in a flash and said, "thank you my Captain." He began to turn red again, or perhaps the scarlet tone to his face had never really faded.

Both went back and Thalionril fell in with his companions as Celebalda spoke, "this is not going to be very threatening mission, but it shall be dangerous all the same. We are going to have to cross the Anduin in search of his majesty Prince Legolas and Captain Rothinzil who are missing…again," he added with a grimace.

Celebalda watched his Elves for a moment and then he shook his head mentally. They were definitely not his best trained soldiers, save for Thalionril. The others were excellent fighters, yes, but they were not the best and he hoped that they did not come in contact with something that would take much fighting to get around.

As he looked at the trees he began to wonder if this winter would pass and the trees would turn to a bright green ever again. It was getting harder for them to turn back to their perfect color each year and if Legolas, their prince, did not return, they would fade as well and so would Thranduil.

TBC………..

Thalionril and Aredhel sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love…then comes marriage… then comes Aredhel with a baby carriage. Well, not in this fic and remember we don't write slash. The farthest we go is kissing.

Review please?

Sorry, no time for review responses, School and all that. But thank you to Snow Glory, Marie Declore, Deana, and elitenschwein.