Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

Chapter 17: Captive

Talendil slumped down, nearly drifting to sleep, nearly escaping into the welcome nothingness of his dreams. But, the shackles over his wrists tore further at the scabs on his skin, and he bolted awake. He grunted into the chilled darkness of the stone chamber, shifting his body back up, dropping his head back against the unyielding rock.

He felt weak, faded, just the act of sitting up exhausted him. Itchy patches of dried blood covered his face from his beating the day before, and he could not brush it away with his hands chained above his head. He had brushed some away with his shoulders, but much remained. And yet, he feared it was more than just his injuries that made him feel so wretched. He yearned for clean air, to feel the sunlight on his upturned face. He had heard it said that elves could not live without these things, that they withered if kept underground, and he had scoffed, thinking only the weak would succumb. What a fool he had been. He could feel day by day that the darkness was devouring him alive.

The flickering of torchlight appeared faintly in the doorway, growing a more harsh orange as someone approached. Talendil winced, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. He was tired of the helplessness, the humiliation of being beaten by a cackling gang of dwarves. Why couldn't they leave him be, just long enough to heal, just long enough to get over the old pain before new pain was piled on top of it? He lifted his head with purpose, forcing a look of quiet strength into his eyes, strength he did not really feel. His pride would not allow him to show even the briefest moment of weakness to his captors.

That was how the dwarves found him when they turned into the cavern, staring them down with that same defiant look he had maintained for all these weeks.

"Good morning, Captain," a dwarf with a scarred lower lip sneered, slapping a club against his meaty palm.

Talendil refused to look at the weapon, instead glaring into the beady eyes of the dwarf. But, his gaze was finally drawn away, and he peered around the other dwarves to one who lurked behind them. Sometimes he came with the others, but always he kept to the shadows, wearing a hood, never showing his face. Talendil had spotted the end of a braided black beard from within the dark hood, and he knew the mysterious figure was a dwarf. But, he was surely the tallest dwarf Talendil had ever seen, towering at least a head over all those around him.

"I see you have not broken him, Gahmer," a gravelly voice came from within the rough cloak, displeasure clear in his tone.

"No, Lord Zhul. He is stronger than he looks. What shall I do?"

"Keep trying, of course. Be creative. Try fire."

Zhul swept from the room, and even as the first blow fell across Talendil's chest, the elf kept his eyes on the huge dwarf as he walked away. It was this dwarf who kept him here, who meant to see him punished. In one single blind moment, Talendil's composure snapped, he lunged against his bonds, cursing violently in Sindarin at the retreating back of the dwarf. Zhul paused, glancing back at Talendil over one broad shoulder. The torchlight shone under his hood, sparking in his black eyes. He pierced Talendil with a gaze so calm and cold that Talendil fell back, dropping to the rough stone.

"Fire, Gahmer. Fire."


Moraelin marched through the halls of Thranduil's fortress, tugging her axe into place in annoyance. She had slept in. It was the first time she had slept in a real bed in so long, she had been reluctant to drag her exhausted body from under the covers. The scowl on her face deepened. Legolas would not be pleased.

"Moraelin!" A voice reached her ears, and Moraelin spun. Myallore was rushing after her, excitement shining from her sky-hued eyes. She gripped Moraelin's arm, dragging her further into the palace. "I can't believe I found it!" she exclaimed. Moraelin tried to gently pull her arm away, but found the queen was herding her back toward the royal chambers with surprising ease.

"My Lady, I am sorry, I must-"

"Legolas can wait. He is impatient, just like his father. I think they should both just calm down sometimes, don't you?"

Moraelin smiled warmly and gave up the fight, obediently following Myallore. As she crossed the threshold into the queen's chamber, she stopped short, the color draining from her face. Moraelin stared ahead in disbelief and nausea, suddenly wanting nothing more than to flee from this place before the queen could see how she was affected. For, in the middle of the room, suspended from a wooden dress form, unchanged by the centuries, was Moraelin's Swan Feather dress.

She realized that Myallore was talking, and tried to slow the drumming of her heartbeat enough to listen.

"The Festival has been postponed due to this...unpleasantness with Talendil. But, when you have all returned safely to us, we will have much to celebrate. You should dance again, Moraelin."

Moraelin shook her head so emphatically that her ear chains slapped against her face. Feeling the sharp metal snap across her skin reminded her of one of a thousand reasons why she would never dance again. She was a dwarf. Elven traditions held no allure to her anymore...and yet...

"I couldn't Myallore. I just couldn't. It has been too long. I'm sure Legolas would say the same thing."

"He misses dancing," Myallore said softly, "For many years we tried to get him to at least judge the dance, but at first he could not even stand to watch it...he would wander into the woods and not return for many hours."

"Why didn't he just choose another partner?" Moraelin asked, still unable to tear her eyes away from the dress.

"You know why." Myallore said with quiet vehemence. Moraelin looked away, wincing and shaking her head again.

"I have to go," she said, pivoting for the door.

"Please think about it. That is all I ask."

Moraelin looked back over her shoulder at Myallore with sad eyes, "You do not know how much it means to me that you kept the dress. But, I cannot promise anything. There is too much that is uncertain." Moraelin sighed and dredged up a small smile, "I will see you soon."

Moraelin turned away, hurrying on her way again. She was still reeling with old memories and new guilt as she emerged into the front courtyard. She could see Legolas speaking with the stable master far across the grassy yard. Feeling her heart constrict painfully, Moraelin bit her lip. Surely, she would give her very life to dance with Legolas again. But, those times were in the past, and she would do best to leave them there.

When she reached the large stable doors, she could hear Legolas's conversation with the stable master. "You're sure he is not yet well enough to bear a rider?"

"Yes, your highness. That was a pretty big chunk that got taken out of him, he'd best rest a few days yet."

"Rocky?" Moraelin asked in alarm, "What is wrong, what has happened—"

"Nothing, Moraelin, he is fine. He's just not ready to set out again..." Legolas trailed off as Moraelin scurried by him, afraid for her old friend.

He sighed, exchanging a small smile with the stable master. Suddenly, Legolas frowned. "You don't have any mares in heat, do you?"

"Yes, two right now. Why do you ask?"

"Keep a close eye on Rock while we're gone. He has a certain...reputation for his productivity."

"I'll do that, sir."

"Moraelin!" Legolas called, going back to Rock's stall.

"They bandaged his wound. Better than I could have. They're very good here." There was a vulnerable apprehension in her eyes as she rubbed Rock's neck.

"He's in good hands here, Moraelin. Do not worry."

"I know, it's just hard to leave him behind."

Legolas nodded, his eyes softening as Moraelin kissed the horse on his forehead. But, Moraelin jerked back, her face twisting as pain tore up her spine. She tried to muffle it, but a grunt slipped from her lips as she doubled over. As the waves of pain reluctantly subsided, Legolas's voice reached her ears and she realized he had vaulted over the stall door and was leaning over her in panic.

"Moraelin, what is it?"

She bit her lip, straightening to her full height with great effort. "I—I think it's Talendil. Something is wrong, Legolas."

He nodded, his eyes grim, and drew her out of the stall. "We have another horse ready for you. Let us go."

Moraelin nodded, nearly sprinting down the center aisle of the stable to her new mount. "Sorry, Rocky, no time for long good-byes," she whispered, vaulting into the saddle and spurring her horse out of the gates.

Legolas paused, seeing across the stable yard a lone figure clad in fine gray robes. Legolas looked once again at Moraelin, watching her thunder down the residential streets in the direction of the distant mountains. Gripping the reins, Legolas walked his horse across the damp ground, nodding to his father in silence.

"Legolas," Thranduil said with no emotion. He drew in a slow breath, "I don't need to tell you how much Talendil means to our people, or how much he means to me."

"I wish you were coming with us," Legolas said, "It would show the dwarves you are serious about these negotiations if you were at least in the army encampment."

"The Council will not have it, son. They think it too dangerous for me to go to the front lines myself. If these blasted councilors have their way, I will end up dying in my sleep, not with a sword in my hand as a proper king should."

A crooked smile spread over Legolas's face, "You are one of a kind, Father." Legolas leapt into the saddle, looking down at Thranduil with confident eyes, "Next time you see me, Talendil will be at my side. I swear it."

Legolas spun his mount, driving it on in Moraelin's wake as his father looked on with troubled eyes.