For the Disclaimer and stuff, see part one please.

Oh, and Trinka, I am writing that Legolas ficcy. I think I told you that though. Thanks for your input. You too, Claudia. grin you ladies give me the giggles every time.

Okeeey day, this is part three... please bear with me as this story took on a life of it's own. Somebody asked me to explain Farlest and one of my darned plot bunnies came up with this. The angst here is emotional, sorry, Aragorn and Legolas are on hold. Flashbacks are like this.

Part Three

Rescuing the Renegade

Glorfindel growled. This day had not gone well. He was soaking wet and felt about as happy as an Orc with a hangover. Not to mention he had found himself in somewhat hostile territory. The people in the district mistrusted Elves and were quick to see them off. They were, fortunately close enough to Rivendell that they knew the benefits of treating the immortals civilly. But now...well, the Balrog-Slayer had heard a disturbing rumor and meant to get to the bottom of it.

It was well past midnight and he had not meant to be stranded here, but Asfaloth had managed to hurt his right foreleg in some brambles and the nearest shelter had just happened to be Calyn. The last place he had wanted to spend the night. He had managed a degree of inconspicuousy at the local inn, sitting as far away from the main proceedings as possible, and minding his own business. Then the words 'elf' and 'thief' had caught his attention.

Apparently there had been a recent outbreak of crime in the village, which had been traced back to an elf. That in itself was incredibly odd. The second fact was that upon inquiry, the said elf had been described as a 'wild creature' 'villain' and 'rogue'. Not the usual titles bestowed upon an elf. Of course, mused Glorfindel, There had been a few...

But the fact that had most concerned him was that the elf, whoever he was, was to be hanged on the morrow. And that, Glorfindel could not allow.

One of the young men at the tavern had given directions to the jail-keeper's house. Of course, that was only after Glorfindel had grabbed him by the collar and demanded to know, and when angry, the golden-haired seneschal tended to look more like the Balrog he was so famous for killing instead of any decent, civilized being, so it was no small wonder that the youth complied with due haste.

Banging on the wooden door that marked the humble home of the unsuspecting jail keeper, the impatient elf-lord nearly hit the fellow over the head mid-knock when the door opened, revealing a bleary-eyed, stout, and decidedly disgruntled man in his nightclothes.

"Whaddya want?" He barked, seeming not the least bit startled at seeing an angry elf at his door on a rainy night.

Glorfindel glared, and the man had the decency to look at least passably frightened. Especially when the Balrog-Slayer made a sound that could only be interpreted as a growl.

"I hear you're holding an elf in your jail. Is this true?" The elf, being approximately six feet five inches tall, towered over the squat jailor, who gulped visibly.

Wringing his hands in his nightshirt, he began making hurried pacifications. "We have every right to hold him, sir. We caught him stealin' and it ain't the first time he's done it, nor the dozenth. He's an evil one, him. Not a good bone left in his body, nearly killed one of ours trying to get away the other night. Don't hardly say a world, he's gone wild. Looks like a wild thing too, peering at us with those shifty eyes..."

Glorfindel held up a hand, silencing the frantic man, and gave a glare, complete with eyebrow, that would have done Elrond proud.

"Can I see him?"

The man looked at the elf as if seeing him for the first time. "Well you looks to be one that can take care of hisself. But you gotta keep one hand on that sword of yours, this young'un will slit yer throat before you can say 'elf'. He's that quick." He motioned that the elf was to follow him, and grabbing a set of keys from inside the door, shuffled out into the night.

The elf-lord sighed. What was going on here?

Glorfindel stayed close behind the groggy jailor, nearly tripping on the man's heels once or twice.

They reached a low building near the outskirts of town. To Glorfindel, this did not seem a prime location, as any prisoner who escaped would have a better chance of escaping unseen into the surrounding forest and mountains. He mentally filed that away. Just in case.

For the condemned elf, time had ceased to exist. It was just long, rarely interrupted silence in this place. But it would all end soon. The guard had been taunting the elf with his imminent execution. Telling him how much he would enjoy seeing the immortal 'get what was coming to him'.

He had almost laughed in the heckler's face. He wasn't afraid to die. To his way of thinking it was long overdue. To himself, he was unforgivable, a cold-blooded murderer deserving of whatever came to him. He'd sold his soul to the darkness and could never be redeemed; a prodigal son of a proud race who could not come home because of his own self-condemnation.

He chuckled mirthlessly. If he chose to return to darkness, to give in now, he could escape from here. Death, chaos and destruction would be the result, but he, the Son of Dark Spirit, would walk from the blood and flames unscathed. If only...

"I will not." He ground out. Realizing that he was reciting a spell in his mind unconsciously. How easy, how...swift would be the utter desolation of not only this settlement, but of all he had worked so hard to achieve. He had fought the darkness, and won. But that did not stop the feelings and temptations from returning in difficult circumstances.

The door creaked open again and the bedraggled elf, having given up his last chance, hung his head in despair.

Glorfindel could not stop the slight gasp that escaped his lips as they entered the dark cell.

The elven prisoner was so dirty as to be unrecognizable. His hair had a muddy-brown, matted appearance, but it could have been any color it was so filthy. The elf wasn't chained. His neck and wrists were entrapped in shackles that were fastened directly to the stone wall, preventing any movement whatsoever. Glorfindel wondered how long it had been since the elf had slept, as he was unable to lie down and to go limp would have strangled him.

The renegade's head rose slowly, gazing at the intruders with glazed, uncomprehending eyes.

It took just about every bit of will in the elf-lord not to strangle the tubby jailor.

But the little man, oblivious to the mood of his rather dangerous companion, rattled on aimlessly, rather proud of himself.

"We 'ad rather a 'ard time with him, sir. He's a dangerous brute he is."

Glorfindel towered over him in a gloriously threatening display of elven rage. "Then I suppose you won't mind me taking him off your hands, will you?" he growled through his teeth, trying to keep his famed temper from causing him to do anything he would regret later. Though how much he would regret it was seriously in question.

The poor pathetic representation of humanity in front of him wrung his hands in a combination of fear and apprehension. "Sir, I can't do that. You know I can't. The people hereabouts will think I've shirked my duty, they might even...hang me!" the fellow rubbed his throat absentmindedly at the gruesome thought.

Glorfindel's eyebrows headed for his hairline, "And isn't that exactly what you were planning to do to him?"

"Well uh, yessir, but he..." he waved his hands around as if grasping for an answer that would appease the elf, and eventually just hung his head in defeat, but not before spluttering and making some extremely agitated noises that reminded the Balrog-slayer more of a strangled orc than anything human.

"That's what I thought." There was a decidedly satisfied tone in the elf's voice. He reached his hand out in a demanding gesture. "Where are the keys?"

With a resigned sigh the man handed them over, thinking frantically for a way to explain this less than normal situation to the townsfolk the next day. Perhaps he could say that a formidable bandit had held him at knifepoint and forced him to give over the keys. And of course he could recommend a manhunt and throw any suspicion from his own person. The jailor cheered up considerably at this idea and decided that he would leave now, so if the elves were seen leaving he could have an excellent alibi.

Glorfindel did not even notice the man's hasty retreat. He stepped into the cell, fitting the keys to the locks, deft fingers undoing the cruel restraints. He released one manacle and reached for the other, but as he turned the key in the lock, firm finger's wrapped themselves tightly about his wrist.

"Is it time?"

The hoarse whisper of the imprisoned elf cut Glorfindel to the core. An elf that had lost his hope was this one; he was ready to die. The elf-lord had to force down feelings of intense revulsion for the people who had done this, as well as the telltale lump in his throat.

"No." he answered softly. "It is not your time. Nor shall you time come here, in this place. I have come to take you from here."

Please. Don't. Kill. Me.

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