Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

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Part Fifteen

Tonight We Die

Farqwen was surprised and rather pleased to discover the identity of his elven captive, and though Legolas was fuming, Aragorn was almost relieved that Farlest had revealed his friend's identity as the prince's treatment improved drastically. They also were allowed a small reprieve as Farlest insisted that they camp for the night so that he and his brother could seek each other's council and discuss the future. They still remained distant and occasionally at odds, but it seemed that a breach had been bridged in their relationship. Aragorn had the feeling that the two must have been very close once, and he wondered what had happened.

And the apparent absence of 'Ros continued to mystify both captives, as, since the wolf had joined them, he and Farlest had been almost inseparable. They continued their journey early the next morning, traveling at a decent pace this time, heading continually in a south-easterly direction. Which was quite alarming considering that the largest establishment in that particular direction was Mordor. Though deemed somewhat unoccupied, it still had a foreboding reputation.

For days they kept up the pace. Neither of the prisoners were ever pushed to their limit, and Farlest kept a firm hand , forbidding the use of whips or other punishments to keep the prisoners going. Occasionally they would receive a cuff upside the head from one of the guards or even Farqwen. But the older of the two brothers looked out for the two captives. He never spoke to them, and it would not have ended well as Legolas was still angry, often refusing to speak to Aragorn. The ranger understood the elf's anger, as it was justified, so he simply sat by silently, offering his friend the quiet support that the man's presence gave the elf prince.

It was into the second week of their captivity that they reached the mountains. They were not the forbidding black mountains of Mordor however, but an entirely foreign range that the ranger could not identify. Legolas was similarly mystified, but Farlest and Farqwen seemed to know their destination and where they were headed, which sent a pang of fear through the ranger's guts. There was nothing he liked about his situation. Nothing at all.

Of course, there was little he could do about it. But then, on the twelfth day, they reached the far hills, mountains it seemed. And that night, was a night that they would forever remember. Farlest and Farqwen had disappeared shortly before nightfall, leaving the men and orcs to guard the two captives. The orcs glared at them, hatred in their squinting eyes, and Legolas glared back. The men made a fire and sat around it, laughing and talking loudly as well as doing a little dicing. There were alternating groans and cheers as money was won and lost. They ignored the two friends altogether, leaving the orcs to keep an eye on them. And as they had been bound hand and foot, there was not much chance of escape.

It was shortly after midnight when the two brothers returned. Farqwen's green eyes blazed in triumph whilst his brother's identical ones were troubled and turbulent. Moving quickly over to Legolas, the younger of the two dark-haired elves cut the ropes that bound the prince's ankles and hauled him to his feet.

They had camped beneath an overhanging cliff, and this of course was an excellent makeshift wall for Farqwen to slam his captive into. Legolas decided that this was entirely too convenient but did not have time to speculate further as the air was driven from his lungs. "Our employers have no use for you, little woodland prince." The dark elf's low voice was malicious, "So that means I get to play!"

Turning slightly, he beckoned a small group of the orcs forward. "You boys care to have a little fun?"

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The twins had arrived in Mirkwood to find King Thranduil making ready to leave for Dale. When finding the cause of all the activity was the errant prince and his human companion, the twins concern deepened. Dale was only a days journey away and the two were long overdue. They offered their services to add to the search.

"We both have some skill in healing as well, in case…" Elladan's sentence trailed off, and Elrohir for once had not tried nor wanted to finish it.

But Thranduil only nodded, "Welcome, Elrondion, and let us pray that your skills shall not be needed."

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But a healer was needed now. Aragorn wished that they had one, or that he at least would be allowed to treat his friend's wounds. They had baited the elf, and beat him cruelly when he attempted to fight back. Their many-thonged whips slicing his back and sides in their play. Farqwen watched in quiet amusement. He had had the ranger gagged when he had begun to curse and rant, ignoring Legolas' command to be silent.

Farlest, on the other hand, had refused to watch, he had a quiet argument with his brother, but the younger had evidently won out, and the raven-haired figure had strode out of camp in a rage. Aragorn wondered if he would return, not that he would mind if the rogue never did come back. At this moment he only wished that his friend was not hurting so, but he had passed out from the pain. Farqwen had tired of his game, as the prince had refused to make any sound of distress. Though at the end his breaths had come as low sobs, as he had become unable to control his body's reaction.

Halting the orcs, the dark elf had shoved the prince carelessly aside, instead coming towards Aragorn, whose only thought at that moment was to strangle his captor or something equally as violent. Farqwen cut the ropes on the ranger's ankles and brought him over to the cliff face. Where they sat, away from the others.

"Ranger, I am not entirely sure why these people care so much to get their hands on you, nor am I interested. I do not enjoy meddling in the affairs of humans. They always seem so petty. After all, why should someone as obviously weak as you rule a mighty kingdom when there are those who can do such as this?" he brought his hands up and began to gesture vaguely into the night air. Mist began to materialize between his fingers as his lips moved, silently mouthing words. The mist rose from his fingertips and a face appeared, and though his hair was lighter, he had deep green eyes and a mouth that looked like it was set permanently into a slight, haughty sneer. He was an elf, that was apparent, or maybe something just a bit more.

"Mae Govannen, Adar." Farqwen dipped his head respectfully to the ghostly visage.

"What are you doing now, ion-nin?" demanded the specter, "I hope you haven't awoken me simply to tell me that you're trying to impress another underling. I was actually in bed getting a decent sleep, until you impudently interrupted." Though his voice maintained a soft, almost soothing timbre, there was a threat hidden within the words, and Aragorn could almost see the elf pale at his father's disapproval. The ranger wondered if Farqwen could actually communicate with his sire, or if it was just a complicated illusion, though he thought that the elf was not a good enough actor for that.

"I present to you the heir of Gondor, Adar." He gestured to the man, and when the face turned to Aragorn, he felt the weight of that gaze, and the ranger immediately knew that the being, who was hundred of miles away, should be avoided at all cost. If he thought that Farlest had been dangerous, then this elf, if elf he was, was ten times more deadly.

But Farlest and Farqwen's father appeared amused, he chuckled softly, "Ah, but you are a mere youngling. That my sire should fear you so…" he shook his head, which Aragorn found was slightly unnerving as you could not see the body to which it was attached. Then the gaze became searching, and uncertainty came in a wave over the Dunadan, but then the head turned back to the brown-haired elf, and the man sighed in relief, "He is unimportant my son, and the elf prince of which you spoke even more so. Continue with your business."

"As you say, my lord." Farqwen waved a hand, and the mist faded away, wisping into nothingness. The elf leaned closer his expression intense, "You see now, Dunadan? That is only the merest glimpse of the power that is at my fingertips. You cannot stand against me, neither you, nor the elf that you hold in such high esteem. I see that you love him as a brother…well…" The dark elf rose, and stood for a moment staring up at the star-filled sky. "By the sun's dawning he will be no more." he turned to meet the ranger's horrified stare, "Grieve for your brother now, for the whips were poisoned. I purposefully arranged it. And it will be slow, Strider, he will die in agony. There is no way to save him."

The man lunged at him, "You son of an orc!" his charge knocked Farqwen to the ground, "You treacherous, foul demon-spawn! I'll see you in Orodruin's fire! I'll kill you! And you know something, elf? For once the thought of an immortal life cut short will please me greatly!"

He had his hands around the elf's throat, and he might have succeeded had his foe not been Farqwen. An unseen force suddenly threw Aragorn back, smashing heavily into the cliff face causing stars to shoot across his vision and his head, which had just recently ceased to ache, to virtually explode with pain once more. The dark elf had merely gestured, and with one move, immobilized his foe. Picking himself up, he laughed softly at the ranger who lay sprawled on the rocky ground, "Valiant effort, human, but it will do you no good, nor will it help your elven friend. Perhaps you shall die as well. I have no use for your pathetic kind. And besides," His smile was chilling, "It would amuse me…" The elf took out his dagger, and stooping, he held it with considerable nonchalance at Aragorn's throat.

To be continued…

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Eeeeep! Cliffie!