Chapter Thirty: Twisted Every Way

Moonlight dappled through the dark blue curtains, spilling onto cream-colored sheets. The silver white light glittered in wide open eyes as Legolas stared out the window. He could not sleep. Nervous butterflies kept skittering around in his stomach and his back hurt too much to find a comfortable position.

"Lóthmir," Legolas whispered through the darkness, propping himself up on his elbows. "Are you awake?"

He heard a soft rustling noise as his friend rolled over to face him with a muffled yawn. But his eyes were unclouded and alert; he too was wide awake.

"Legolas? Is it morning yet?" he asked sleepily.

"No, no. Not yet. I can't sleep," the prince sat up with the sheets twisted round his ankles. His blue eyes lifted to the closed door, outside of which Galion had stationed himself. He sighed deeply and stared at the sheets.

He had not spoken to his friend about what had happened. Lóthmir did not need to know what he had suffered under his uncle's hand- those memories were still too near to speak aloud. And it was not over yet. There was still no surety that they could win and he longed to be there with Haldir and Tirien, with his father and mother- looking for them. He missed them horribly and wished they were here.

"I'm frightened," Lóthmir admitted quietly, scrambling onto Legolas' bed and draping his arms about his bent knees. "I don't know what's going to happen. We should be doing something!" His fist struck the mattress violently.

"Iston! (I know!)" Legolas growled exasperatedly but something made him stop and stiffen. He could hear voices outside the door. Angry voices.

Sliding out of bed, Legolas tiptoed across the floor, shivering at the touch of the frozen stone on his bare feet. As he drew closer, the voices grew clearer and he could hear their words.

"… by order of the King, these halls are to remain empty at all times."

"These rooms are empty. Can not a servant tend his duties to which he has been ordered without being troubled for every little thing?" Legolas heard Galion's voice answer bravely but the servant's voice quavered.

"No," Came the curt reply. "Now, open this door or be charged with treason."

Legolas backed away as the doorknob rattled and nearly ran into Lóthmir who had eased up behind him.

"We've got to get out of here," the prince whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Where?"

The doorknob rattled fiercely now and Legolas knew Galion was trying to stall, to buy them time.

"There!"

He grabbed Lóthmir's hand and pulled him over to a tall wardrobe in the dark corner of the room. They squeezed in, shoving aside long, white tunics stacked within. Only leaving the door open a crack behind him, Legolas peered through the narrow slit between door and frame, watching as the outer door opened and two green and black garbed soldiers stalked into the room with Galion rushing in at their heels. One of the guards deposited the long knife the butler had held onto a table.

"Not very good at doing your duties are you?" one soldier sneered, lifting the rumpled sheet of Legolas' bed.

Galion sputtered a vague reply that went ignored.

The two spread out, searching the corners of the room, under the beds, even opening the window and peering over the ledge.

Legolas heard them growing closer and pulled his head back, easing the wardrobe door shut a little tighter. It was very cramped and dark and reminded the prince uncomfortably of his confinement in his uncle's small, stone chamber but he swallowed his fear and kept his eyes straight ahead. He couldn't see Lóthmir but he could hear him breathing softly in the dark across from him. His own sounded loud and ragged to his ears and his heart pounded in his chest. One guard growled in frustration right outside their hiding place.

"Damnation! Where are they?" He spat, striking the wardrobe door hard with his fist.

Legolas and Lóthmir both jumped and a startled gasp flew from both their lips. For a tense second, they froze, the blood thudding loudly in their ears, wondering if the guard had heard them.

"Whom do you seek? Maybe I can help," Galion put in, trying to sweep the guards from the corner.

"That is none of your concern," the other soldier barked, shoving him away.

Galion sank onto one of the tousled beds, clasping his hands to relieve their shaking. He knew very well that he would die to protect those two children.

"He will have our heads if we do not find them," the other addressed his companion in a low voice.

Legolas held his breath, listening hard, the blood rushing to his head, dizzy with fear.

Before he could react or even move, the guard flung open the doors, revealing them where they crouched upon the wrinkled tunics. Trapped, Legolas and Lóthmir could do nothing but stare in terror up at him. The closest soldier grabbed Legolas by the arm, wrenching him out of the wardrobe while the other wrestled with Lóthmir who fought against him, kicking and hitting.

"You will release him."

A long, curved knife appeared suddenly under Legolas' guard's chin, tilting his head back. Legolas looked over his shoulder in astonishment at Galion who had quietly seized the knife from the table and now held it to his fellow elf's throat in an undeniable threat.

The guard's companion drew his sword but Lóthmir stamped hard on the inside of his foot and he yelped, dropping it in surprise.

"Boys, kelo (go)!" Galion ordered, his voice shaking but his hand steady, his face white with fear.

Without hesitating a moment, Lóthmir grabbed Legolas' hand and pulled him out the door.

"Get after them!" a voice cried.

Legolas heard a crash and a vicious curse but Lóthmir tugged on his arm again, preventing him from rushing back to help. They pelted down the hall, careening around the corners as they heard the footsteps of their pursuers right behind them. Fear tore through Legolas for Galion's safety but he could do nothing as they hurtled down the hall, heedless of where they were running just so long as they escaped.

Leaping down a long winding stair, Legolas could hear bootsteps right above his head, almost on top of him and forced his legs on faster though pain shot up his back from wounds he was sure he had reopened. Lóthmir stumbled and nearly fell but Legolas grabbed his arm, supporting him as they kept running. Tirien's son was whey-faced with fatigue and malnourishment; he could not go on like this much longer.

They rounded another corner and Legolas skidded so hard to a stop that he nearly fell over as he found himself facing the tips of very sharp swords.

"Drop your weapons!" Sarithan commanded sternly but his eyes were not on the young prince and his companion. Legolas sagged in relief. He could see Rameil as well but Tirien, Ancadal and Haldir were gone. They must have split up. Maybe they had found my mother or father… he thought hopefully.

As though by unspoken consent, the two soldiers who had halted abruptly in their tracks relinquished their weapons and allowed their hands to be bound. They had no cause they were willing to die for.

"Are you both all right?" Rameil asked; his temples were already streaked with sweat and his blade edged with scarlet.

Battle had already been joined.

Legolas glanced at his friend and touched his trembling shoulder but Lóthmir straightened himself and gave a wan smile.

"Fine. Where's my father?" he asked.

"Don't worry," Sarithan swiftly allayed his fears. "He'll return soon. They are searching for the King." He turned to Legolas and his stern face brightened in a small smile.

"But we have someone who wishes very much to see you, Legolas."

The prince looked up as the soldiers' ranks parted, revealing a figure in their midst.

Anariel flew towards her son, her dress and face stained with tears. With a cry, she swept him into her arms. The prince buried his face in his mother's shoulder, sobbing his heart out in her warm, comforting embrace. He did not notice the lump on her forehead or the blood on her lips and she said nothing but clung to him as though he were her lifeline.

"I'm so sorry, hên-nîn (my child)," she whispered into his hair, kissing his brow gently over and over. Legolas looked up at her, startled. What did she have to be sorry for?

"For what, Naneth?"

Tears sprang to Anariel's eyes at the innocent look on her son's face. He was still her little boy. But so much pain! She could see so much hurt and horror behind her son's eyes. Such hurt. When had this happened to her little boy? Why?

It nearly broke her heart.

"If I had warned you about your… Ainan… I would have done something if I had known- I swear I would have." She clung tighter to him. Legolas hung his head feeling guilty. This was all his fault. If he had been smarter and told his mother or maybe… but it didn't matter now. Elves had died because of him. His own mother was crying because of him! Legolas shuddered, dreading what his father would say if he knew! He had never felt so horrid in his life as his mother rocked him in her arms, crying silently into his shoulder.

He took a deep breath, trying to still the storm of emotions whirling inside him and he managed to keep calm, stopping his tears. Anariel pulled away from him for a moment to embrace Lóthmir as well.

Sarithan allowed them a moment before touching her urgently on the shoulder.

"We cannot linger here, milady. It is not yet safe."

"Of course, Captain," she acceded, wiping her eyes and rising to her feet as she hugged her son and his friend to her.

The entire group suddenly tensed, their hands tightening on their weapons as an elf silently appeared at the end of the corridor but they relaxed when they realized it was one of their own. He was breathing hard and his tunic twisted round him like a shroud as he raced right up to the Queen and collapsed at her feet.

"Ainan has vanished. None of our scouts have seen him though his soldiers crawl over the palace like insects," The guard reported, his brow darkening as he heaved in ragged chestfuls of breath. Anariel laid a hand on his shoulder and raised him to his feet.

"Take ease, soldier. You have done well."

"We should slay them all for what they've done," a dissenting voice hissed.

Anariel's head snapped to the speaker, who realizing her eyes were upon him, straightened.

"Nevertheless, Edraien," she said sternly. "They are our kindred and will be shown mercy whether they deserve it or no," The Queen replied, her blue eyes looking commandingly at the soldier who bowed in deference.

"At your command, my Lady."

Sarithan nodded curtly.

"Let's move out."


The scarlet candles danced madly as a figure swept around the table.

"We cannot do this, hir-nîn!" he burst out suddenly, shaking his head frantically. "The prisoners have been freed! They are besieging the palace. We shall all be slain!" His keen eyes snapped with a cerulean fire as he stepped closer towards the usurper.

"You have led us to this!" he growled, an accusing finger pointing at his face. "We shall all be murdered because of your ambition! It is better to yield now than be killed!"

Ainan said nothing but stepped forward a few paces until he stood beside the elf.

"Now, Arëar," he addressed him, calmly laying a hand on his shoulder. "Have you no faith in your King?"

"I forsook my King the moment I pledged my allegiance to you," the elf shook his head, recklessly ignorant of his terrible danger.

Ainan continued to smile as he tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder. A dagger suddenly appeared in his hand and plunged deep into the elf's side. Arëar gasped and recoiled against the pain but the other held him firmly as the life fled from his eyes. Ainan jerked his blade free viciously and flung the corpse to the floor, his wide-eyed gaze staring around at the others that surrounded him, their eyes on the lifeless form streaming blood over the pristine marble.

Shocked silence spiraled horribly in the close room.

"Any one else? Please, feel free to express your doubts," Ainan invited silkily, wiping the scarlet stained blade, on a white handkerchief he plucked from his sleeve.

None answered.

Ainan allowed the silence to twist for a torturous moment longer as he sheathed the bloody dagger at his waist.

"Good. Now gather your men and meet me in the Great Hall," he snapped. "A few pathetic prisoners escape and we are all to crawl away like scolded children? Are you so craven that you cannot fight when your lord bids you? We shall have no need of fear for we shall crush them in one mighty blow. Final victory will be ours!"

Galvanized by his words and fear of the repercussions lest they disobey, they jumped up as one and headed towards the door.

Ainan summoned a servant and flicked a hand callously at the body.

"Get rid of this filth and clean up the mess."

The servant bowed and immediately fled.

Ainan stood alone in the empty room. In a flurry of temper, he snatched up a candlestick and flung it at the mirror hanging over the fireplace. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces and rained upon the carpet in deadly shards as Ainan clutched at his hair. All of his plans were going awry! They were not meant to have found the brat so soon! He needed only a little more time. Yes, that was it. Just a little longer. He took in a deep breath and slowly unclenched his fingers which were digging bloody crescents into the palms of his hands.

"You have failed me. Again." he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the shattered mirror.

In a myriad reflection, Tindómëtir stared back at him.

"My sincerest apologies, hir-nîn," he whispered, abasing himself at his lord's feet. The entire right side of his face was black and blue and a long tear in his shoulder's sleeve was stained dark with dried blood.

Ainan did not turn to acknowledge him. His eyes burned in a gaunt face as he stared into the mirror, regardless of the glass crunching under his feet as he drifted closer to it.

"No more mistakes, Tindómëtir. No more slip-ups."

The dark elf rose slowly to his feet, his expression apprehensive as he watched Ainan's bloody hand wrap around the candlestick, lifting it from the shard-strewn floor. Tindómëtir twitched nervously, flinching back as Ainan stalked towards him.

"Bring Thranduil to me," he hissed, halting abruptly before him. When the dark elf did not move quickly enough to suit his tastes, Ainan fetched him a blow with the candlestick.

"Now!"


Thranduil strained against his captors, fighting fiercely despite his wounds. Nearly half a score surrounded him, escorting their prisoner down the dark hall. The King was bloody and weakened from his long days imprisonment without food and only a little water. His ragged robes clung loosely to his rangy frame, torn and bloodstained. But his eyes were calm though he knew he would be led to his death. He looked at the soldiers who marched him along the corridor, gripping his bound arms tightly.

"Why do you do this, Ascadim? Your boys and mine played together," Thranduil said softly, appraising the elf holding his left arm who avoided his gaze. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. I made my choice, my lord," he answered softly, sorrowfully. "And I shall stand by it."

"Ever loyal, are they not, Thranduil?" a softly mocking voice taunted from the shadows. Both guards immediately halted, dragging their prisoner upright as they stood to attention.

"Bauglir! (Traitor!)" Thranduil roared, struggling against his captors more than ever until one was forced to draw his knife to keep him under control.

"Now, now, now, muindor, that temper will not avail you," the voice slid from the darkness and Thranduil stilled, his neck forced back by the knifepoint digging into his flesh.

Ainan materialized from the shadows like a wraith, garbed in scarlet and a long sword at his hip. His wicked smile took in the battered, bleeding form of his brother-in law, mocking his helplessness as more of his soldiers lingered behind him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave the comforts of your cozy cell behind, my dear brother-in-law. It's a shame, we've had so much fun, haven't we?" he leered.

Thranduil thrust himself forward again, disregarding the knife digging dangerously into his neck as Ainan paced nearer. His cobalt eyes blazed with defiance and anger, so very like to his son, Ainan mused with a derisive twist of his lips as a thin stream of scarlet began to run down the captured King's throat.

"Victory, brother, I can nearly taste it," Ainan goaded, throwing his head back and breathing in deeply. "The Kingdom will be mine. As it should always have been and there will be none to oppose me." Something in his tone of voice made the Elvenking's blood run cold.

Several yards away down the left-hand passage leading back up to the upper reaches of the palace, soldiers crouched amid the statues and deep shadows, their cloaks blending well with the age-green walls. Only a handful of them for they were the scouting party, scouring the way clear before returning to the others.

"We cannot just stand here!" Tirien hissed, concern for his monarch and friend overriding his good sense. "We have to help him."

"There are too many for us," Ancadal whispered grimly, his hand clenching on his sword hilt as he watched Tindómëtir pass within his blade's reach. How he wished Haldir had let them kill him! They would not risk moving the King if there were such a threat of capture. Where were they taking him?

"Come on," he whispered instead, laying a hand on Tirien's tense shoulder. A tug on his own sleeve alerted him to movement and they hastily retreated back down the corridor as the sanguinary group marched past their hiding place, torches in hand. Ancadal watched Ainan, his grip tightening on his weapon until his knuckles turned white. He watched the elven traitor lean towards the dark elf ever at his side, whispering to him.

"He knows," Tirien said quietly. "We must make haste. Back to the others- quick!"

Like lightning, they bolted from their concealment as soon as the torches had passed. And halted abruptly. Ainan had sent his own guards back to head off the escaping prisoners and Tirien and his group suddenly found themselves besieged by a sea of swords. They drew their weapons, preparing to die for their lord and king.

Tindómëtir stepped from the ranks, his long blade out and gleaming coldly.

"Surrender your weapons and you will be allowed to live- for the moment," he ordered.

"Never!" Ancadal spat back boldly, flourishing his long sword eagerly. Though they were outnumbered, they were prepared to die and Tirien nodded in grim agreement as his soldiers fanned out to either side of him, careful to keep their backs to each other instead of their enemies.

"Le firiath. (Then you will die)," the dark elf replied succinctly.

Chaos erupted.

Ancadal lunged towards him but a fierce-looking woman intercepted him and he leapt backward in shock, staring into Eraeriel's fanatically blazing eyes. He ducked under a blow aimed at taking his head and parried her next hard strike. The passage was very narrow and left little room to maneuver. The shrill whistle and clang of steel on steel echoed down the hall as they fought madly. Blood spray flew into the air and Ancadal slipped in the gore, falling over backwards.

Eraeriel lifted her blade, preparing to plunge it into her adversary's prone body but a hard blow to the back of her skull knocked her flat and the sword skittered from her grasp.

Ancadal wiped the blood from his face and looked up in relief as Rameil grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. The younger elf flashed him a grateful smile but the dark-haired elf was already gone.

The battle spilled out of the narrow passages into a long hall crowned by a broad, many-tiered staircase.

Ancadal spinning around in search of another opponent snatched a glimpse of his commander, ducking and weaving through the battle.

Haldir, caught in the midst of the fray, found himself staring into the dark, baleful eyes of his former tormentor. Tindómëtir flashed a venomous smile, spinning a long narrow blade in one hand.

"You are too weak to fight me, Haldir," he jeered over the clash of ringing steel.

"I am no longer caged," Haldir retorted calmly, his hand clenched upon the hilt of his saber as he lifted it though a warning sting tingled up his spine. For the first time in his life, he knew, he was literally fighting for his life.

Tindómëtir merely smirked in reply and lunged.

A clatter of footsteps went unnoticed as Sarithan and his guard rushed into the room, taking in the scene in an instant and drawing their weapons ringing from their sheaths. Anariel clutched Legolas and Lóthmir to her, her face utterly stricken at the sight before her. Never had she seen the like of it: elf fighting elf.

"U-dago hain! (Do not kill them!)" she cried above the tumult but Sarithan thrust her unceremoniously back, out of harm's way as Ainan's soldiers turned towards them. These elves were wild, from the far depths of the forest and their kind was thought to have died out long ago with the fall of the Southern Kingdom. But it was not so. They fought without remorse and willingly cut down those that opposed them. Trying not to kill and not be killed in the same instance was very difficult indeed and Anariel closed her eyes in pain as she felt her people die.

But the suddenly outnumbered usurpers paused, startled by this turn of fortunes.

As suddenly as it began, the battle ceased as the traitors lowered their bloodied weapons. They were not disillusioned enough to believe that they could win against three to one odds.

Only one continued to fight.

Tindómëtir danced back out of reach of his enemy's longer blade, spinning adroitly under it and thrusting upwards with his own. Haldir twisted narrowly away from it, the tip snagging in his tunic and slicing a long, thin line across his stomach. Ignoring the sudden sting of pain, Haldir smashed the hilt of his sword into the other's face, sending him reeling over backwards. Tindómëtir slunk back to his feet, spitting blood but he paused, out of reach, as something at the top of the stairs caught his eye.

Haldir instinctively followed his gaze and froze.

Ainan stood at the top of the stairs, his silver-blue eyes hard and furious. The power rolling thickly off him could be felt as it tingled the hair on arms and necks, shivering the soul, friend or foe.

Slowly, he descended the stairs, step by step, and the fighting ceased before him, his followers huddling on one side while the rebellion eyed them on the other, waiting for the next move. They had not expected Ainan to reveal himself so openly against them.

The golden-crowned serpent swept through the chamber, caring no more for the spilt blood and elven corpses under his boots than for a bundle of unwashed clothing. The two sides gave back before him and Sarithan stiffened, standing protectively in front of the Queen as Ainan halted, his malevolent gaze upon them.

Lóthmir shivered as that silver-blue gaze rested on him, feeling Legolas grip his hand tightly.

"Pity, hên. You were not meant to survive that," he said cruelly into the silence with a sadistic smile.

"Monster!" Tirien spat as he leapt forth to protect his son.

Ainan cast an amused glance at him.

"King Thranduil is alive- I have seen him," Tirien continued, his blue eyes snapping fire. "You are a blood traitor, Ainan, and must face your crimes against the Elven People of Mirkwood as well as the Royal Crown."

Ainan laughed wildly at that and his followers gathered behind him menaced their weapons, their faces like stone, eyes glowing.

"Face my crimes?" he jeered. His expression hardened dangerously.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

He dismissed the elven guard as inconsequential and this time it was Anariel who caught the brunt of his noxious gaze.

"It seems we are caught at an impasse, my dear," he said lazily, glancing over his shoulder at his group who stood uncertainly, their weapons wavering, awaiting his command. "Do you wish to withdraw or will you continue this foolishness? Bit of a mess for your servants," he added mildly, staring around at the carnage, callously disregarding the grievous loss of life.

Anariel felt Sarithan shudder angrily behind her and laid a hand on his sleeve. Her eyes settled on her son and white-faced Lóthmir beside him. She had to get them out of here.

"Let the children go, muindor. They have no part in this."

"They're not going anywhere," Ainan snarled right back, his vicious smile widening. He was enjoying this! "The only way they leave here is in the arms of Lord Námo."

Tirien growled and leveled his sword at the base of the traitor's neck. Ainan did not flinch, his eyes still steadily fixed upon those of his sister.

"Go on," he goaded. "Command him, muinthel. Tell him to strike. Dago nîn. (Kill me.) Le berthon. (I dare you)."

"Do not play these games, Ainan," Anariel begged, shooting a sharp look at the Royal Guard captain.

Tirien was no fool. He knew that if he so much as twitched, he would be slain by Ainan's guards before he could slit the vile demon's throat. But, oh, how he wished it! Diffidently, he dropped his blade and took a single step back from the evil traitor. Ainan chuckled with a rueful shake of his head.

"Even now, you refuse to take my life, little sister."

Anariel moved forward, gently pushing aside Sarithan's restraining hand. Her voice trembled as she stood within an arm's length of her brother.

"If you will surrender the crown that was never rightly yours, I will not."

"Surrender it to whom?" Ainan sneered, his sharp glance cutting to Legolas who stiffened. "To your brat? The bastard of Mirkwood?"

Anariel stood rigid as Ainan locked his insidious eyes with hers.

"I assure you your dear Thranduil will not be here to reclaim it," he hissed. "I am making Greenwood better than our father ever could," he crowed triumphantly.

Anariel was nearly in tears but she squared her shoulders, taking a single step closer to him, looking up into his eyes, longing to find some small shred of the boy she had once known. Her brother. The one she had comforted in darkness, the one who had loved her and clung to her. The one who had harmed her and shamed her. The one she loved.

"Our father made the streets run with blood!" she cried wildly. "And what you are doing is no different!"

A hush fell over the corridor and the elves shifted restlessly again, bloodied swords in hand, expressions fixed in masks of death and battle as they turned towards their Queen. Tension fairly throbbed upon the silent air, threatening to snap at any moment.

Anariel stood in the puddles of blood, her blue eyes unbearably sad to see such fallen in her own home! Elves she remembered as boys, children! Slain at her feet. Her eyes sought her brother's, poised and utterly calm, staring down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Anariel shook her head numbly, her eyesight blurring with tears.

"I believed you," she said quietly, her gaze only for Ainan. "I trusted you with so much. You were my blood, my family, the one I had looked up to…"

"You are evil, Ainan," she said softly, her voice hardening. "And I regret that I ever called you family."

Her brother recoiled in shock as though she had struck him again. Never had he thought he was evil. Questionable perhaps- but he was only trying to help. To make Mirkwood great again- as it had been under his father, or so he believed. So deeply entrenched in his own lies had he become, he no longer recognized the truth. Never had he considered that he was evil. And from her lips. From she who had seen the best and worst parts of him throughout their long life. The thought shocked him into taking a step back from his sister, his expression dazed.

Ainan's face crumbled and he bowed his head as though ashamed. Unwanted guilt suddenly ensnared the Queen as she thought better of her harsh words, said in anger. Anariel stepped hesitantly forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. He wilted like a cut flower under her touch and collapsed into her arms, quiet tears pouring down his face unchecked.

Surprised, her sisterly instincts kicked in and she enveloped him in her arms without thinking as he sobbed against her shoulder- as she had when they had been small.

Haldir slipped to Legolas' side, laying a hand on Lóthmir's shoulder as the prince turned around and embraced him. They watched as the Queen stood there, rocking her brother in her arms. Haldir stood, every muscle fraught with tension as his instincts rippled uncomfortably. And then the elf captain saw the glint of torchlight on bared steel.

Ainan raised his head, his eyes glittering strangely. Anariel stared at him, her countenance soft and compassionate as she touched his face gently. But a warning shiver ran up her spine nonetheless and she tried to back away but Ainan suddenly tightened his grip on her shoulder.

She felt a sudden sharp jerk and watched in horror as Haldir leapt forward and shoved at Ainan.

Then the pain! Anariel screamed as a fire seemed to pierce her very heart. She arched helplessly against it, feeling herself sway as agony throbbed through her. Through blurred vision, she looked down and saw in her brother's hand, a gleaming dagger that had pierced her between the ribs and had just missed impaling her heart.

She vaguely heard Legolas' scream and saw Tirien grab him to keep him from rushing to her. Yes, she thought, keep him safe, Tirien.

Ainan's stormy façade was livid as he glared at her in absolute hatred. Anariel felt her heart constrict at that look- so full of venom. Where had it all come from? Where was the sweet and innocent boy she had known in her youth? Gone, forever. He was a complete stranger to her. Part of her chided herself ruthlessly: she should have known! Should have guessed that her brother would not have given in so easily. Still, the other part had never believed, never thought he was capable of killing her or her family in such cold blood.

Oh, how so very wrong she had been! So wrong!

"Ainan-" she gasped, unsure of what she was going to really say as she tried to disentangle herself from him but his grip on her arm and the dagger still in her side was too strong. She felt his lips press gently against her forehead and a husky whisper close to her ear.

"Yes, little sister. I am." Those were the last words she heard; the Queen swooned as he released her, viciously jerking the weapon from her flesh as Rameil seized him by the shoulders, wrenching him away from her.

Haldir lunged forward and caught her in his arms, disregarding the pain that tore through his newly relocated shoulder at the movement. She was as weightless as a willow branch and rested lightly in his arms but despite that, the injuries across his back and shoulders burned and he knew he would have to make haste- for both their sakes.

But Ainan was not finished as he threw Rameil from him.

"How many times must I try to kill you, elf, before you will die?" He snarled, drawing the long sword from the sheath at his waist. Haldir began to edge away from the mad elf, careful to keep Legolas at his back. He could not fight, not with the two others to protect. But Ainan was not about to let them retreat.

"You will pay for your interference, Captain- with your blood," he snarled, pointing the sword menacingly at Haldir's chest. The Lórien captain quickly handed the fallen queen to Sarithan who rushed to help as Ainan lunged forward with a growl. Haldir withdrew Cálivien's saber from his belt to meet the other's strike before it clove his head from his shoulders.

"Slay me these renegades!" Ainan cried with another sweep of his sword. His elves charged forward once more and swords met in a deafening clash that made the very stones keen with grief and horror.

"Haldir, run! Get them out of here!" Rameil roared above the din, lunging at Ainan and thrusting the elven traitor back.

Haldir snatched the Queen up into his arms as he dove forward and grabbed the prince's arm, yanking him away from the battle. His keen eyes pierced the tumult, searching for the traitorous wretch. He caught sight of a sweep of a scarlet cloak as Ainan broke off the fight and sprang towards the narrow back stairs, several of his guards at his back.

He had one last trap to spring before the end.

But Haldir wasted no time and sheathed his blade with a snap as he gathered Anariel into his arms lest she be trampled by the battle. Beckoning for Lóthmir to follow them, he pressed himself against the far wall, edging towards the exit. He had to get these three out of here though he loathed himself for leaving his friends.

Legolas' face was the picture of abject horror, unheeding of their looming danger.

"Naneth," he whispered, bending over his mother. Haldir nudged the boy.

"Come on. We've got to hurry." The urgency in his voice galvanized the distraught prince and he raced alongside the older elf as they hurtled up the stairs, knowing they had precious little time and would need every drop of it if they were to save the Queen's life.

"Captain," the soft whisper startled Haldir and nearly made him drop his burden as he shot a glance down at the pale woman in his arms. She seemed so fragile- quite unlike the indomitable but gentle woman he had met several months ago that now seemed so far away like a half-recalled dream. Her warm blood flowed freely over his hands and dripped onto the marble floor and his boots.

"I-I don't-" Her once-melodious voice was an urgent croak, masking the pain as best she could as he tried desperately not to jostle her as he kept moving down the corridor with all the stealth of a ghost as Legolas moved just as silently at his side, pale as a specter himself. She coughed weakly, trying to clear her throat. Her blue eyes fell on those of her son's, which brimmed full of tears as he met her eyes.

Her bloodied hand, which had been clasping the wound in her side, touched her bearer's face to draw his eyes. He winced at the hot stickiness that left a mark upon his cheek but he met her gaze squarely.

"Take care of him," she whispered, her voice now so faint that he could barely hear her. "Take care of him, please, Captain…"

"No, my Lady. You will live through this. Hold on. We're going to find someone who can help you." Anariel smiled slightly but her voice remained weak though steady.

"Promise me, Haldir. Please."

Stricken dumb, he merely nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Suddenly his back felt as though a hot poker had been laid across his shoulders and he stopped abruptly, hissing in pain. Legolas stopped too, looking between his mother and his friend with increasing concern. Lóthmir lingered behind them with an anxious glance over his shoulder.

Haldir tried to force his legs to move but they wouldn't obey his commands. His limbs were shaking badly, the exertion of the battle, the lingering poison still in his veins and his numerous wounds finally catching up with him all at once. He couldn't move another step if he wanted to. The pain was just too much and he feared he would drop her.

The sounds of battle were not far enough away for comfort and Haldir laid the Queen gently on the ground

"Legolas, Lóthmir, keep going- find someone! Anyone!" Haldir insisted, drawing his sword and setting it at his side as he knelt on the cold flagstones in the middle of the passageway.

The prince hesitated, unwilling to leave his mother. Haldir leapt to his feet and shoved the younger one as hard as he could, nearly toppling him.

"Kelo!"

Driven by the underlying panic in the other's voice, Legolas cast one last, worried look at his mother before spinning around and racing away as fast as his legs could carry him with Lóthmir right behind him. His legs shaking and chest heaving with exertion, Haldir sank to his knees beside the Queen as her son passed out of sight. Her gaze lingered long after Legolas had vanished around the corner.

"I am so sorry, Lady," Haldir gasped, struggling to force aside the nearly overwhelming pain that sent black sparks dancing ominously before his eyes.

"Promise me," she breathed softly, her hand squeezing his weakly, half-rising in her urgency. He immediately pressed her back down, pillowing her head with his cloak as they knelt within the shadow of the statue of Elbereth. He nodded fervently.

"I promise," he murmured. "With my life." She smiled in such blissful relief, he feared she would give her soul to Mandos then and there. Haldir looked up at the loving marble face of the Lady of the Stars whose shadow they lay in as he hastily tore a his cloak into makeshift bandages, praying that the Valar would see them through this.