CHAPTER EIGHT

What You've Got Until It's Gone

If there was a more perfect day in the world called Middle- Earth, he had yet to find it. The sun shown lazily down upon his dark head, filtering down through the leaves in little flecks of yellow mingled with a dim orange. A gentle and totally ominous free breeze rippled through the mild air in a peaceful way. Rolling over onto his back as he lay beneath the shadow of a large elm tree, Elladan narrowed his grey eyes to scan the green leaves above.

In spite of all the serenity of the place he was in, Elladan Peredhil felt oddly restless. It had been a full two years since they had even seen Estel and just as long since they had heard from him. His brother was getting older, so he knew that chances were he was capable of looking after himself, for the most part. But every now and then some part of him gave the Elven twin a sharp reminder that he was still needed by his human brother. Of course, he thought with a weary sigh, Aragorn would tell him he was simply being paranoid and needed to relax.

Elrohir could be a little more understanding to the ranger, but he too felt the obligation of an older brother to the human that could not be shaken off no matter how hard he tried.

Elladan turned his head and looked sharply at the said Elrohir, who was sitting with his back to the tree beside him, his eyes closed over as he dozed lightly. "Elrohir?" questioned the elder twin impassively. He knitted his brows and blinked as sunlight shone bright on his fair features as the wind shifted some leaves free of its rays' path. "Elrohir!" he nearly shouted, not wanting to break the peacefulness of the moment but feeling he had no other choice.

The younger twin didn't even open his eyes and mumbled lazily, "what?"

"Do you ever wonder about Estel? It's been two years. You know," reminded Elladan with a small frown of displeasure at the thought. He sat up and asked firmly, "Are you even listening to me? Elrohir!"

The younger twin muttered back, "Yes, yes. You are obnoxious enough to make the dead listen to you!" His voce sounded annoyed and Elladan shot a scathing glare at his younger brother.

"Very funny," he growled back tensely. "Can't you be serious? I am!"

Opening one eye, Elrohir, son of Elrond, gave Elladan and incredulous look before opening both of his silver orbs and allowed reluctantly, "Very well, brother. But you woke me from one of the most peaceful naps I have had in a long time."

Elladan's glare didn't relent and Elrohir shifted uncomfortable before his elder brother finally began to speak. "Estel hasn't been seen in two years! He usually sends us word."

"He usually doesn't go so far South either," reminded Elrohir quietly. He sat up straight and yawned before saying, "he probably is too far away to send word that would reach us before it is far out dated."

"Do you think I do not know that?" inquired Elladan in edginess. "But you at least think he could have let father know he was alive," reasoned the elder twin, obviously slightly angry at the absent human.

Elrohir knew his twin's frustration came not out of literal anger, but out of fear. He argued back in Estel's defense, "We don't always send word."

"You don't always send word," retorted Elladan as he started to stand up. The dark-haired Elf felt weaker, most likely from his attempted nap that he was a bit envious of Elrohir for. In a minute bit of disappointment and annoyance, the Elf sank back to the ground. "I will bet anything he got that horrible habit from you, Elrohir!" accused Elladan flatly. He stared darkly and forbiddingly at his younger sibling who raised his hands in a miniscule attempt to ward off his brother's oncoming wrath.

"Surly not I," argued Elrohir. "Estel is too stubborn to do anything I advised (or anyone else) and in the first place, Elladan Peredhil, I would never advise such a thoughtless deed!" Elladan could feel the rising anger begin to push its way into Elrohir's usually calm and totally impassive temperament.

Elladan backed off abruptly and then mumbled, "This is the meanest thing Estel has ever done." Even if he didn't do it on purpose, thought the dark-haired Elf to himself nebulously as he glared daggers at the new spring grass.

Elrohir watched his brother thoughtfully and then laid back against the tree to continue his rest. Aragorn was always fine in the end, it was in-between time that worried him. The beginning usually worked out reasonably well and the end was never as bad as it could be but in-between Estel managed to find the most alarming sort of mischief he thought a young human could find. Estel had barely lived in the Middle Earth as far as Elven years went and yet he had created more enemies than one could ever imagine he would find in that short amount of time.

There had to be some sort of an award for such a high and unbroken record, thought the younger brother wryly. After all, he and Elladan and lived more than twice as long and not found a fourth of as many enemies. But then again, most of the enemies they would find were not immortal and would therefore die. But Legolas was the exception to the rule as he was to most things.

That prince had found ways to make more enemies than any Elf Elrohir had ever heard of or known, except maybe Fëanor and/or his sons. But Legolas was also just a very odd Elf, he reasoned as he began to doze off once more, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face lulling him into a wonderful little reverie.

It seemed he had hardly closed his eyes for more than a few seconds when an annoying and yet calm voice chided, "you have both been sleeping here the majority of the day, are you going to be here forever?"

"Go away, Glorfindel," Elladan muttered as he continued his spar of glares with the innocent spring grass. As far as he was concerned at the moment, it was deviously innocent looking.

"I think that I should take you with me," mused the Gondolin Elf as he walked smoothly up and stood before the elder twin before casting an amused look towards Elrohir with his deep blue eyes. "You probably have forgotten how to use some muscles; you have been lazing around Rivendell long enough."

Elladan's dark head snapped up as he took obvious interest to what Glorfindel was saying. "Pardon?" He looked up at the interested face of the Balrog-Slayer, who smiled back dryly.

"You heard me," Glorfindel said with a small incline of his head, allowing his golden hair to slide over his shoulders. "I am going to Lorien." He shook his head. "I would expect such adventurous young Elves to want to come along."

"Adventurous? Young? We don't need your pity, Lord Glorfindel!" Elladan warded off with annoyance. If it had been the perfect day a little while ago, it certainly was anything but now. "And anyway," reproached Elladan carelessly. "You should know by your age to always expect the unexpected."

He then remembered an earlier remark of Glorfindel's and mumbled with some heat, "We are not lazy."

The golden haired Elf merely arched a brow in a way that showed he was beyond incredulous about that particular statement. Choosing not to comment on it, the older Elf said, "well if you don't need my pity, then there is no need for you to come is there?"

He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew exactly what Elladan and Elrohir had been looking for. They had wanted to get out of Rivendell for a long time and all the inhabitants were getting quite annoyed by the pacing and unrest of the identical brothers. Glorfindel smiled with self-importance as he realized what a favor he was doing the local community.

"We will come," allowed Elladan as he looked up at the Elf-lord, fighting off the urge to jump up and start to follow. After all he was not a puppy or a little Elfling and that would look so foolish and be so humiliating that he would rather die. "Of course, it is because one should not travel alone."

"Are you questioning my capabilities to protect myself?" asked Glorfindel with narrowed eyes and a small frown pulling at his lips.

"Of course not," said Elrohir lightly. "We just think that it is unfit for one of such obvious importance to travel alone. There are kidnappers out there in that wide world."

Glorfindel scowled darkly at the younger twin and said tensely, "your concern is touching, Elrohir. I know you must have seen all there is to know of that 'wide world'."

Elrohir smiled and opened his eyes as he said quite seriously, "I haven't yet, but I am working on it."

Glorfindel shifted his calculating glare down at Elladan and said, "I will feel rather protected knowing that if there is any danger, you will be the ones to find it first and all the orcs within a ten mile radius will run at the sound of your insufferable voices far across the mountains."

"Very amusing, Glorfindel! You insult Lord Elrond Peredhil when you say that," apprised Elladan while fighting an uphill battle to keep a lurking smile suppressed.

"I am well aware of that, Young One," assured Glorfindel as he chuckled to himself more than anyone else.

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged amused looks and Elrohir said with an apathetic sigh, "your funeral."

Elladan peculiarly at a book held in Glorfindel's hand -almost behind his back. "Curious," he said in an inquisitive voice. "That reminds me sharply of one of Erestor's books." He glanced up at Glorfindel's face with narrowed eyes, as the Gondolin Elf looked shocked at the accusation.

"I am merely borrowing it," stated the golden-haired Elf-lord nonchalantly.

"Of course," stated Elladan as he stood up and gave Elrohir a hand up as well. "I think we have to be someplace." Elrohir grinned and then nodded enthusiastically, reminding Glorfindel sharply of a child trying to please a parent or a young warrior Elf trying to please his captain.

"Yes. I believe father wanted to talk to us about Estel and preparations for his homecoming," the younger twin stated off the top of his head. He knew Glorfindel would be hardly fooled, but it was better than nothing.

"You mean the stocking of the Healing Ward, especially in the department of stitches and sedative herbs?" asked Glorfindel while pushing a laugh down his throat and trying his best not to choke on it. After killing and being killed by a Balrog, choking to death on a laugh sounded undignified indeed.

"Something to that effect," replied Elladan curtly. With a slight tilt of his head towards the Last Homely House he said to his identical brother next to him, "Elrohir, we wouldn't want to keep Ada waiting."

"Admit it," said Glorfindel with a smirk. "You are terrified, absolutely petrified, that Erestor will catch you with me while I have the book and make corpses of you both." His scrutinizing gaze went from one to the other of the twin's uneasy faces.

"Well he doesn't exactly take kindly to thievery and embezzlement anyway. If it is a piece of his property, however trivial, he has been known to seek rather let us say…harsh retribution." Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir with a slow grin and saw that his brother was losing a struggle to remain calm and not burst out in laughter at Glorfindel's plight. It had been long since Glorfindel had dared to tease Erestor or provoke him anyway what so ever. This was refreshing, if nothing else.

"So you would leave me to face his unrelenting wrath by myself?" questioned the golden-haired Elf as he stared at the brothers.

"Incase there is any doubt on your part," advised Elrohir. "I suggest you watch closely for that is exactly what we are about to do." They began to walk away and could have sworn they heard Glorfindel actually laughing behind them. Quickening their steps so as to put as much distance between themselves and the said Elf-lord in about as little time as possible, they came to the well-known conclusion that Glorfindel was psychotic.

O0O0O0O

The room was darkened and all the other Elves were out, merrymaking and things of the like, leaving their king to sit in dark though they had asked him if he would join them several times. The flames in the great fireplace were low as was Thranduil's mood. He watched them with morose vigilance, with his eyes half closed.

Sighing, the Sindarin ruler rose slowly and began to pace the room. If Legolas was here he knew that he wouldn't be feeling half so lonely. His son always managed to make things bit brighter. Perhaps it was his young spirit, or perhaps it was his love of life completely. The Elvenking could not say for certain.

Rubbing his temples unconsciously, the older Elf mumbled, "Legolas when will you stop being so stubborn and come home?" He knew that his son was headstrong enough to put a mule to shame, but he never imagined that they prince would take it thus far. It was more than alarming and he began to pace some more.

He was going to give that princling a piece of his mind when he got home. After he had hugged him to death of course and let him know how much he had missed him. But then Legolas was going to wish he had stayed home. The dungeons still sounded particularly appetizing to him but he wondered if Legolas would somehow manage to escape the same way those dwarves and that…hobbit -had.

A soft voice behind him inquired cautiously, "my lord?"

He turned around to see Rothinzil standing behind him, watching curiously. Forcing a grim smile that was about as hollow as an empty mug, the Elvenking asked, "Rothinzil, what brings you hither?"

"Which reason would you like first, my lord?" asked the dark-haired Wood-Elf with a small frown of obvious displeasure at finding his liege thus.

"There is more than one?" asked Legolas' father somewhat incredulously as he raised his brows. "Which ever you prefer," he decided with little thought.

"Well first of all everyone can hear you pacing and I am pretty sure that those working in the cellar are frightened that you will wear a hole in the floor," Rothinzil answered truthfully. All the inhabitance of Mirkwood had seen or heard their lord pacing and it was alarming not to mention annoying after some time. But they were too polite and sympathetic to mention it.

Thranduil gave the dark-haired Elf an inquisitive look before he asked, "Are you sure?" Sighing he expelled the breath slowly. "I shall have to remember that."

There were a few brief moments of silence in which Rothinzil listened to the pacing of his king without speaking.

Then the dark-haired warrior reluctantly broke it. "You are still pacing, my lord."

Thranduil halted abruptly and cleared his throat. "Sorry, my good Rothinzil. It's Legolas." The addressed Elf watched with some pain of his own as anguish and loss flickered across Thranduil's usually calm façade. It was very distressing and he certainly wished to see no more of it than he had to.

"I know, your highness," answered the captain quietly as he watched with dismay as Thranduil nearly started pacing again but stopped himself. He was soundless for a few minutes, save for the miniscule sounds of his breathing. "I was sent here by Celebalda to see if you are ready for us to go abroad."

"Of course, as soon as you are ready to depart sounds well to me," answered the elder Elf quietly. It almost sounded like he didn't care, but Rothinzil knew that was not true, it simply couldn't be. But his king had greater worries to be thinking about.

"Pardon me, my lord, but you worry far too much. Legolas is coming home. He is just being stubborn…again."

Rothinzil did his best to sound sympathetic, but he had the distinct feeling that he was failing miserably. The truth of the matter was that he was getting annoyed with his liege's dispirited demeanor. This feeling made him uncomfortable and he resisted the urge to stand on one foot like a nervous Elfling. Instead, he just shifted his eyes to study the stone floor intimately until he heard Thranduil start to speak once more.

"Rothinzil, you have known Legolas for years, but I am his father and I am telling you he is not going to come back this time if he continues to be as stubborn as I know he is," the Elvenking's voice was grim and hard.

Speaking of stubbornness, thought Rothinzil darkly. Outwardly he answered, "my lord, I do not think he would have stayed away this long on purpose, even to spite you (which he wouldn't do anyway)."

Thranduil was a wise Elf and needed less than half a second to realize exactly what his obviously uneasy captain was hinting at. "You think he is in trouble." It was a statement, not a question.

"He went out with Estel," reminded Rothinzil impassively as he looked Thranduil in the eye. Any other time Roth's words might have provoked a twisted jest, but this time they struck fear into both of the Elves' hearts.

Thranduil had suspected that Legolas had gotten more than he bargained for, but he had honestly hoped that for once Legolas had not managed to find the strangest and most difficult sort of trouble…again. He should have known that had been too much to hope for, but now that Legolas was solder, he seemed to have thought his son had grown out of that unfortunate and unhealthy habit. Obviously not. He had been naive to even begin to think in those terms.

Inwardly shaking his head, the king observed slowly as though he was reluctant to say what he had noticed a long time ago, "yes, that is true. Ever since that human and my son became friends there has been nothing but trouble it seems."

Rothinzil felt he immediate need to jump in as Estel's defense. After all, Aragorn had done it for him before and he knew how much Legolas valued that friendship. As much as he agreed with Thranduil's statement, he could not defend it with a clear conscience knowing Legolas would have fought to persuade his father the other way to the very end. "My lord, Legolas and Estel are the best friends that they could ever have."

He narrowed his eyes in alarmed concern and asked cautiously, "would you will that they give that up?"

"It depends," answered the Elvenking as he watched Rothinzil's expression carefully. "I would rather my son did not come home needing bandages and stitches every year or so. I am sure the healers agree with me."

Roth laughed slightly and said, "I bet they do, my lord. But their friendship does a lot of good as well. I have a better understanding of men than you do, with all due respect, and I think that their friendship is truly something magnificent."

"Rothinzil, I know what you are saying, for it has often crossed my mind," the Elf-lord spoke in a far away voice. "But I know as well that Legolas would become unmanageable if I denied him camaraderie with the ranger." A sparkle came into Thranduil's grey-blue eyes and Rothinzil didn't think he was far wrong when he thought he noticed a slight glimmer of near gratitude that Legolas had such friends.

"That he would be, my lord," allowed the dark-haired Elf calmly assenting with the allegation. Rothinzil inclined his head minutely and affirmed, "If the past is any guide then they will come out well in the end."

"If the past is any guide, then yes," replied Thranduil wryly as he tried not to smile. Two emotions were grappling in an amusing and hard struggle for dominance: mirth and anger. It was truly a bizarre combination to have at this time, he thought to himself, but nevertheless that was what was transpiring.

He noticed with spiking sympathy how Roth's fair face flickered with a slight bit of pain of loss and he asked obligingly, "Roth? Are you well?" He knew as well as did anyone that Rothinzil was now mortal and therefore not a one in the underground Elven palace was sure what he was now susceptible to.

"Perfectly," came the prompt answer.

It was a lie and what was more Rothinzil knew it, but he raised his head and squared his shoulders. Smiling a smile that seemed to stop before reaching his eyes he grimaced when Thranduil did not appear to be amused or fooled in the slightest.

"If you think you need to stay home, stay. There is plenty for you to do here," the blonde elder Elf supplied his younger warrior with a suitable alternative that sounded moderately appeasing.

"No, I am fine, my lord," argued Rothinzil firmly.

"Legolas' definition or your own?" asked Thranduil, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"My own, rest assured," Rothinzil humored grimly. "I fear that if I linger here any longer though Celebalda will skin me alive. You know as well as I how he is very punctual."

Nodding the Elf-lord dismissed the dark-haired warrior with a warm warning, "you look after yourself Rothinzil. The orcs have grown much more bold and fierce as of late."

"I will my lord. Thank you," Rothinzil's response was smooth and sounded fair and noble as he gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

Thranduil watched the younger Elf's back with concern as he left and hoped with all he had that his young Elf who was like a second son to him did not fall prey to the cruel forces of Dol Guldur. If Rothinzil went, so would the last bit of his sanity and he knew the kingdom might very well go to shambles.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl felt his skin crawl at the content of what he was carrying and the cold blood that was drying on the soft, supple material. Looking at the tunics and cloaks, covering belts that were sure to be immediately recognized by an Elf that saw them, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He had been sent by Dorrag to go and fetch the garments from the dungeons and the torture chamber before they were destroyed by neglect. These tokens were needed as a means of persuasion concerning the will of the Elves of the blonde captive's realm. Darcíl doubted that they would help much. He didn't know Elves, but he sensed that they were not easily negotiated with and even less willing to agreeably surrender emissaries to a land they considered threatening or dangerous. They may be insane at times but he very much doubted that they were suicidal.

But it was the incredulousness of the Elves that was going to be their own undoing. Anyway, that was if his lord's plan went through without a hitch, which he doubted it would. Such things hardly ever did. And the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might have to hinder it.

That was not going to be from sympathy to the Elves. Never, he loathed them. He considered them to be annoying, stubborn and from experiences he had been unfortunate enough to encounter in battle, they were far too fast and skilled.

The only good reason he could find for hindering his lord would be difficult to explain. The fact was that Dorrag was trying to gain more power than he had and usurp it from his own father. Though this was not an uncommon occurrence in history, it was very dangerous and alarming.

If Dorrag was going to gain more followers and publicity than he already possessed by the death of the Elves then there was his problem. Darcíl knew that once the hostage Elves were put to death and the Firstborn broke their alliance with Gondor, the people would flock around Dorrag like flies gathering around honey. What they wouldn't realize until it was already too late was that the honey had a toxic taint to it. The people wouldn't know until after he had already usurped (with their help) the power from beneath his father's nose. If he pleased the people by making them feel safer and hanging the Elves, Dorrag would do it. He was the kind that gained power by any means necessary.

He was the kind of man that was dangerous and needed to die, Darcíl decided without too much thought. He was the kind of man that Darcíl hated with a passion. But at the moment he was no position to be questioning the authority of the madman he was forced to call 'lord'…at least not yet. But things might change. And then he would call the man an insane bovine to his face.

Pushing these rebellious thoughts from his head so as not to say something that might very well give Dorrag cause to make him literally lose his head, the dark-haired man quickly opened the door to the throne room before he had a chance to think things through logically. He was sure if he was given the time, he would see the uselessness of what he and his prince were working to achieve.

Prince Dorrag was walking by a window, scrutinizing his kingdom with cold calculating eyes. When he heard the heavy doors open he immediately spun around and said with expectation, "ah, Captain Darcíl! Do you have something to show me?"

The captain resisted the strong urge to grimace at the voice he loathed and said as politely as he found the heart to say, "indeed. The tunics, belts and sheathes of our prisoners? Correct, my lord?"

"I can always count on you," said Dorrag with a triumphant smile as he walked towards the Haradrim captain with a style akin to a swagger.

"So it would seem," muttered Darcíl briefly under his breath before his lord came close enough to hear.

Taking the tunic of Legolas, a dark green, bloodied and crinkled, he flashed it before his liege's narrowed and haunting eyes before tossing it into a heap at the mortal prince's feet. Then he took the ranger's, more ripped than the Elf's and stained totally sanguine with blood, and tossed it on top of the Elf's. Lastly he produced the belts and scabbards of the two captives.

"These will be what will convince them more than anything," he smiled as he drew the small dagger that had been nestled inside the sheathe of one of Aragorn's belts. It was Elven and it made the accusation that the ranger was an Elf-friend all the more believable, much to the disadvantage of the prisoner.

Darcíl then unwrapped the decorative belt of Legolas and said, "this effect will be remembered well, I believe, for Elves each tend to make their own things or have them specially made. Like a trademark of themselves, really. What they make reflects who they are…or what they are…or so is my theory…"

"Are you hinting at something captain?" asked Dorrag in an anxious voice that sounded akin to a child waiting to be told a secret but with a more demanding and pressing tone behind it that an innocent child could never bear.

"I am just wondering if perhaps we have an abnormal Elf in our hands. I am hardly familiar with Elvish runes or customs, my lord. But this belt has leaves, a certain leaf, actually, all around it followed a sun burst emblem with a silver sort of tree set in front. I think he might be of an esteemed family," finished Darcíl cautiously, watching his lord's reaction.

"Is that the only basis you have for your assumption?" Dorrag began to seethe as he felt his patience waning. If it was, he was going to have a hard time restraining himself from hitting this captain upside the head. But the past told him that Darcíl was smarter than that and so he waited for an answer.

"Indeed not, my lord. That would be foolish," the Haradrim officer said rather in a self-aggrandizing way. "When you work with a prisoner, you began to get to know them, after a fashion. This Elf bears himself in a regal manner and he fears humiliation and shame more than anything else, I believe."

"So he is more than what he seems?" questioned Dorrag tensely as his eyes seemed to catch fire and his brows furrowed in a crease of interest in the new information that could be very useful in the near future.

"So it appears," replied Darcíl uneasily. He had expected this sudden spark of interest from his lord, but it still made him a bit nervous. Not that he had anything to fear from it yet, but he knew when the pressure was on.

"I want to know for sure, captain," explained Dorrag as he fingered his ring pensively, turning it over in his hand.

"The Elf is still in no mind to talk, though that is changing," responded Darcíl to his liege's comment, which was as good as an edict. "I might be able to find out from the ranger…"

"Did I make a preference to how I wanted it found out?" growled the Haradrim prince in wrathful annoyance, clenching his hand abruptly in a sign of coming anger.

Darcíl quickly warded off his lord's rage with a calm and courteous response that nearly stuck in his throat to say. "No, you did not, my lord. I was merely letting you become aware of my plans…"

"If I want to know your plans I will ask you about them!" seethed Dorrag as he looked at the garments and tokens on the floor with a look of disdain. "Take care of these and then I want to know as soon as possible who that Elf is! If he is of royal blood things could go in two directions: better or worse depending on where he is from!"

"I understand, your majesty," Darcíl tried to sound smooth and consenting but that was like trying to sound like a canary when you were in a fact a bug eyed croaking frog. It was hopeless and a bit of his contempt shown through, briefly and hardly noticeable, but he felt that it was most assuredly there.

"I will get Lieutenant Sarchel to see if the ranger's answer has changed on anything…" he stopped abruptly and said in a rushed and apologetic tone, "sorry, my prince." Well, he wasn't really sorry, but right now, the stakes were high enough and he didn't feel that he could afford to risk anymore at the moment, as much as he wouldn't mind gambling overly much with his life. The lives of his family were not his to gamble with.

"I know," answered Dorrag in strangely friendly voice, which was when Darcíl had decided he was most dangerous. "We may err among friends, who bear no ill will towards eachother," he allowed with a tense smile, if 'smile' was the right word, which Darcíl felt it most certainly was not.

"Yes, friends," Darcíl returned in a voice just as calm and with a smile that was just taut, if not more so.

He bent down and his hands gathered up the tokens and garments of the prisoners quickly, as he wanted to be out of this room as quickly as possible. It was one of those weird situations where he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Inwardly shrugging, the dark-haired man stood himself back up and squared his shoulders proudly bit within his limits before his lord.

"My liege, that is all I have to say. So with your leave, I would go and attend to the business below."

"Of course," Dorrag answered as he walked towards his golden throne, which Darcíl felt, was less than deserved and tacky to boot. It was enough to make him shudder and he did without realizing he had done so until Dorrag asked with concern that sounded unreal, "are you well, Captain Darcíl?"

"Yes, quite, my lord. Thank you." Darcíl lowered his eyes to the floor quickly, feeling hot anger at himself for being so careless. Carelessness meant mistakes, mistakes meant death, death was not only your death but also everyone associated with you. He could not understand why he had become so inattentive to his actions. The fact that he had a lot on his mind did not bear thought as an excuse.

"Very well, I was just looking out for the well being of my best captain and closest friend." Dorrag narrowed his eyes and said wistfully, "you have my leave to go. But come back and do have dinner with me."

"Yes, and thank you, my lord."

O0O0O0O

Legolas didn't glance at the door as he heard the rough and nerve grating sound of the key twisting in the rust lock. He didn't give much thought to what was going to happen next and wasn't even going to honor these men with his attention. Hanging in the single bond that was sending fiery agony through his very bones.

Aragorn opened his eyes from where he had gone to the corner of the cell and brought his knees up to his chin to rest. He as still soaked and the sounds of the stormy weather above were not doing any better to help his frame of mind. As a matter of fact, he found the noises of dripping water and thunder downright agitating.

Looking at the door, the ranger took grim notice of the gathering of men on the opposite side preparing to enter. Sarchel, Darcíl, and other men bearing clubs and staves stood uneasily. Aragorn could very easily compare them to horses champing at their bits to kick an annoying groomer around the stable. Chuckling slightly at the thought of the men having bits and kicking like mules, the ranger bit his lower lip and chewed it to keep from bursting out laughing as Sarchel asked sharply, "something funny, ranger?"

Aragorn swallowed down his laughter and went quiet. Not answering was the best thing he could do. He feared to make things worse for Legolas and making things worse for himself didn't sound to appealing either. He gave the stone walls of this unaccommodating prison a caustic glare that made Legolas surprised that the stones didn't actually leap back.

Sarchel snorted and answered, "I didn't think so." Fingering his stave he looked with a grin at Aragorn and said, "But do not worry, things will get a little more interesting." Aragorn was going to have to remember to explain to Sarchel the difference between being funny and being completely obnoxious not to mention being less than the least bit amusing.

The door clanged open and all the men filed in. Darcíl stood before Legolas, eyeing the blonde Elf's hand and the purple tinge it had taken. "If you hang there any longer you could lose that hand, Elf." He reached up and pulled on of Legolas' fingers. "Don't tell me you felt that."

"I am not going to tell you much of anything, human," retorted Legolas readily as he met the dark eyes of the Haradrim captain steadily. "Except that you will pay for this. Someone will come for us. We will be set free and that neither of us will break of our own accord." A slight cold smile pulled at his mouth corners and it was all he could do to suppress it. Biting his tongue, the captive quirked an eyebrow and asked incredulously, "what did you come here for?"

Raising a brow to match Legolas' the man said, "I think you know." He ran his finger along a bruise and pressed it slightly with his finger. Legolas was shocked by the amount of pain the small quantity of pressure created. Hiding his shock and distress, the Elf remained impassive.

"I can never be certain," Legolas said as he watched nervously as the other men, lead by Sarchel walked over to where Aragorn was and surrounded him. He restrained himself from asking what was about to happen, but he could not hide the curiosity and uncertainty in his eyes.

"Elf, what is your name and where are you from?" asked Darcíl pensively. He looked over at Aragorn, who was watching Legolas with intense grey eyes from where he sat in the corner. Legolas knew that Aragorn was not only frightened but coming dangerously close to truly losing his temper.

"That information is classified," Legolas said steadily, as his eyes watched Aragorn, wondering what the men were doing. He could feel his breathing beginning to speed up indefinitely as he guessed what was about to take place. "I have told you once and I will say it again if it still isn't clear."

"Its clear, clear that you will suffer greatly, Elf," said Darcíl evenly. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Aragorn and turned back with a wicked grin. "Or your friend will. However, the outcome will be the same: you will die."

"That may be, but you will die as well," said Legolas bitterly. "You and your insane swine that for reasons unbeknownst to me you call a 'prince'."

"That prince is going to break you Elf, one way or another, and then you will tell all he wants to know and more besides," the Haradrim captain declared forebodingly as he nodded for the men to drag Aragorn out. He commanded over his shoulder in a loud and firm voice, "take the ranger and place him in the other cell. I want to see how he likes listening to his blonde friend scream." Turning a fierce and knowing gaze onto Legolas' face he added sinisterly, "and you will scream, Elf."

Aragorn jumped up in consternation before he could be seized and took a wavering step towards Legolas. "What? You can't do this!" he protested. Sarchel who slid a cloth between the man's teeth to act as a gag and yanked it back harshly before tying it, stopped him in his tracks and yanked him back. The other three men grabbed his arms ruthlessly and began to pull him out of the cell, Darcíl following reluctantly behind.

Aragorn felt his dislocated shoulder shrieking at him as he was jerked and tugged towards the cell door with Darcíl following. Legolas shivered and watched as his best friend was taken away but he felt a small comfort, it was himself who was going to be tortured and not Estel. But the fears of screaming flooded his thought. He knew Aragorn would be able to hear him and he wanted to be stronger, for the ranger's heart's sake. Of course he also was certain his ego wouldn't appreciate it if he dared to scream for anyone.

Darcíl said something to Sarchel who fell back and stayed behind with Legolas as the door was slammed shut behind him, its echo bouncing off the walls eerily. The man watched the Elf dangling by the chain and smiled in a way that made Legolas feel sick and a green tint come to his face as he noticed the man hitting the stave against the palm of his other hand thoughtfully.

Darcíl ordered Aragorn chained to the wall of this new room by his wrists and after this was done he smiled and said, "This should only take a few minutes. Lieutenant Sarchel has a way of getting carried away that can be very efficient."

Aragorn felt his heart sink in his chest and right down into his stomach before hardening to form a tight knot. He shivered as he sat in the ankle high water and tried to force himself to go deaf. A very hard thing to do and he wished to the Valar that it was easier.

Legolas stared at Sarchel levelly. He didn't know this human too well yet, and never really hoped to or wanted to, but he knew that he was not as smart as Captain Darcíl. That in itself was some relief, but in some cases the dumb ones that were mean as well were the worst to work with.

Sarchel looked at Legolas and brandished the stave beneath the Elf's nose before asking in a sneer, "Do you know what this is?"

Narrowing his eyes as well as knitting his brows in mock thought, Legolas raised his eyebrows and said as though he had just reached a paramount decision, "This is a long shot but let me guess… A stave!" The scorn of the sardonic triumph in his voice could not be mistaken and Sarchel's smile melted away and was replaced by a small frown.

"Well, whatever else you may be, I can rule out idiot," he mused as he looked the wooden stick he held in his hands over, turning it slowly.

"Too bad I can't say the same for you," Legolas muttered imperceptibly and scornfully under his breath. He cocked his head and watched as Sarchel came closer and went behind him, inspecting his back grimly.

"Poor little Elf," he teased cruelly as he gave Legolas a pat on his back that made him go taut under the touch. It was a reflex he could not help and he resented the man for it.

Suddenly Legolas arched his back and hissed as the stave came into hard contact with his already marred back. He was lurched forward and his body came swinging back. Blood seeped out in a small trickle from beneath the manacle winding around his wrist.

"You have no idea how good that felt," purred Sarchel in Legolas' ear as he grabbed a lock of hair and yanked Legolas' head back.

Legolas snarled and said in an angry and thick voice, "Well don't get used to it." He tried to jerk his head away but he had to admit it hurt a whole lot more than expected and he didn't get far.

Sarchel smiled and seeing Legolas' slender pointy ear a frown crossed his face. Then, without warning Legolas felt the man's teeth nip his ear, one of the most sensitive parts of his body. But they didn't just nip his ear, they bit down, not hard enough to bite the point off or break the skin, but hard enough to hurt terribly and cause him to hiss and he strongly resisted the nearly overwhelming drive to beat his feet against the air as a way to vent his pain.

He would have cried out more but at the moment he was still contemplating the fact that this man had just bitten his ear. It was more than just a little abnormal in occurrence and Legolas found himself more than confused and nearly cast a bewildered look at his tormentor. But he was so torn between confusion, rage, and pain that his face was utterly expressionless for a few brief seconds.

Sarchel smiled and withdrew from the Elf for a moment, watching to see his reaction, which to his irritation was not so much fear as anger. He was hoping to see at least a tremble on the blonde Elf's chin or perhaps a wide-eyed look for mercy. He continued to grip Legolas' blonde hair fiercely, forcing his head to remain held back. He knew that he shouldn't have expected so much.

"So how did that feel?" he whispered hoarsely to the chained prince, who did his best to meet his enemy's scornful glare due to the difficult position he was placed in.

"What do you think?" Legolas spat angrily.

The captive grimaced as the fingers twisted and burrowed deeper into his hair before Sarchel bit down slightly harder on his ear's tip, causing the fair-haired being to shiver. Saying that this man was insane was a definite understatement. "You know, Elf," Sarchel remarked with a slow relish. "I usually don't go for blondes but in your case I might make an exception."

Legolas nearly shuddered and felt himself beginning to feel sick and he could feel the green color coming back to his face. "You are wasting your time," he growled lethally around a hard-set jaw. And he was hardly trying to be smart about his comments. Legolas was being totally serious.

He did not like how the man's last remark had sounded honest and nearly in likes to a purr of a satisfied and devious cat. If he looked closely enough at the well-shaven man he could actually picture a few long whiskers. Not only that if he hadn't been under the threat of worse torment that he unfortunately was the prince might have laughed out loud. But he felt a strong sense of dread as the man released his hair and allowed him to lift his head upright.

He lifted his head slowly, hoping not to create his headache anew. But he felt himself losing that battle quickly as his head ascend and his skull felt compressed not to mention like his brain was swimming inside. It was a bleary sensation and it made his stomach turn and a swelling feeling came under his tingue as he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Well if you refuse to tell me what is needed or your friend does, I may have to break my rule and get to know you better," he threatened and Legolas felt his breathing want to speed up as the man's eyes seemed to catch fire with a lust. How sick could a person get?

Wanting to give up but with a spirit that would not allow it, Legolas said thickly, "you will never know me, human. You are a sick, perverted coward and will die a sick, perverted coward!" He felt a throbbing ache run his arms length and fill his marrow with a horrible pain that was undeniable.

As Legolas watched the man with eyes glazed over with suffering, he realized how remarkably close this mortal was to an orc. Lustful, corrupt, ugly, cruel without need, and cold-blooded; he was the most Goblin like human Legolas had seen in a long time and he was surprised that the man was not blue because of the ice that had to flow through his veins. As a matter of fact, if Legolas looked closely he was certain he could see blue-ish tainted blood shifting under the seemingly translucent skin. It made his skin craw and caused undeniable and unpreventable shivers to wonder slowly up his spine, causing his hair to rise on the back of his neck.

"That may be, but not before you or that ranger get to know exactly how sick I am," he imperiled to the Elf.

"You wish your lord would allow it," Legolas taunted. As much as the sane part of his mind said that he needed to shut his mouth while he was ahead, the hopelessly insane half commanded him to use the old tactic of -frustrate-and-annoy-your-captor-to-no-end. Although the bound Elf knew that this tactic would only lead to more pain and could also prove to make the man carry out his threats, he could not help himself but be as thoroughly obstinate as he was able.

"Elf," Sarchel growled and his face seemed to turn scarlet and then grey with anger. "I am getting tired of your lip!" As he spoke he struck Thranduil's son across the mouth, hitting the old bruise and breaking the swollen lip anew. The force of the blow snapped Legolas' head to the side sharply and Legolas was bewildered as to why his neck had not broken though he was that much relieved.

Legolas had little time to even realize he had blood running down his chin before he noticed that Sarchel had the stave raised about the shoulder of the arm he was hanging by. His eyes went wide in terror of the pain he knew would follow and he could only gap. The stave came down in slow motion, as though obscured in cold honey.

Legolas screamed despite himself as he felt the hard wooden club come in contact with his shoulder and then there was a creaking sound above. The rotten beam gave where the chain was wrapped around and a chunk of decaying wood came tumbling down on top of Legolas with the chain, freeing him from the pinching, torturous manacle's agony though it was still attached to his wrist.

Legolas tried to stand and came to the realization with growing dread that he could not. He was too weak and the wood made his movements awkward. The Elf was on his feet but his knees wobbled and he collapsed back into the filthy two-inch water with a soft and defeated splash. Looking at his all but maimed hand that rested in his lap, the Elven prince watched as the purple tint began to disappear and circulation returned.

The pain of his own blood flowing back into his hand coupled with the nerves that had gotten slightly pinched was sharp and unrelenting. Little needles of pain pricked his skin and he felt like he had stuck his hand in a hornet's nest and was being attacked with a vengeance. The tingling affliction spread like fire up his arm and through out his stretched chest, hurting especially in the bruises areas.

Sucking on his bleeding lip thoughtfully, the Elf flexed his fingers slowly to encourage blood-flow and looked up at Sarchel with hurting but fierce eyes. And Sarchel noticed with agitation that he could not get the cold defiance and life out of the eyes, though he could add pain to their list of strong emotions. It was more than unsatisfying it was frustrating. He lived to see the broken look in his victim's eyes and when he was not able to see that it was enough to evoke paranoia.

Without saying a word he walked closer to the fallen Elf and clenched his fists at his side. Legolas had no time to even realize he had a boot being driven in full throttle towards his battered chest before it struck him and knocked him so that he was on his back in the cold water. Too tired to get up and try to fight back, Legolas just lay there, looking up at his tormenter bitterly.

Sarchel came and roughly tore the manacle free of the Elf.

The man then reached in his pocket with his hand and pulled out something. It looked like a sliver of silver, a sharp sliver of silver. Holding it up before Legolas he hissed with a low and venomous tonicity, "This is a spike."

Raising a brow, Legolas said mockingly, "you don't say. I wish I knew that."

Ignoring the comment made by his captive, the Lieutenant continued with a slow relish. "But it isn't an ordinary spike. It is extremely sharp, like a sliver of glass and tiny so no lasting damage is done." Twirling it leisurely in his fingers, the human suddenly stopped and pressed it against one of his fingers with very little effort. Blood oozed out of a small laceration made by the spiny tip. He smiled and inquired, "Now what is your name?"

Aragorn sat on the floor hopelessly as he was chained to the wall. His head was bowed and he didn't know how much longer his nerves could stand this. He wished that he would die. Another strangled and tormented cry filtered through the stone walls before choking off abruptly as he knew Legolas gained control of his emotions once more.

That was the third cry he had heard come from his friend in the hour and more choked than the last two. He could not help but wonder what they were doing to his friend. It frightened him to hear Legolas scream. Legolas was always controlled, always calm or at least for the most part. To make him scream took a lot of pressure and a lot of pain. He always liked to think that when he and Legolas got themselves into trouble, it was always going to be Legolas who was the strong one, Legolas who was the protecting defiant one. But he was reminded of the fact he had always known: that everyone, even Elves, had his or her match. Even Elves could die and break. But the ominous prophecy of Mandos from long ago was now becoming all too clear.

He wished, for what had to be close the thousandth time that he had not dragged his friend into this mess. If he had not brought Legolas down to the South with him, then Legolas would not be in this sort of pain and the world would not be in the danger it was in. If either of them broke and Dorrag's masterminding plan came to pass then Middle Earth would be doomed. He knew his own race was too weak to face Sauron without some aid from the Elves.

As he shifted the ranger's dislocated shoulder begged for attention and it was becoming more difficult for him to ignore it and push it aside every time. Another weaker and shivering cry rent the air and he choked back a suffocating sob as he heard it slowly wither and die.

Darcíl looked at Aragorn as he listened with disdain to the cries of the tormented Elf. "Only someone with ice in his veins could standby and listen to his friend being tortured without trying to give him a way out of his pain." Crouching by the captive ranger he whispered in his ear, "he followed you here, he came for you. Such a loyal friend you have. Isn't it a shame that it is the person he trusted most and cared for most that caused him to be captured and endure such pain?"

Aragorn looked up at the Haradrim captain with angered eyes flecked with hurt. Darcíl nodded, "yes, he endures, for now. He is strong. You chose your friends well, ranger. But his attempts to hide his identity and homeland are going to prove futile."

Raising his chin, Aragorn glared, "My friend will never break. Don't flatter yourself, your men or your insane prince."

Laughing dryly, Darcíl muttered, "they are always so confident in the beginning."

Aragorn felt his already drained face go cold as he heard a suffocated wail rise and fall without warning. A dreadful silence fell and the hard knot in Aragorn's stomach moved up to his throat. The uncertainty was a torture to his mind and spirit. The ranger felt his hands shaking and he hoped that Darcíl did not notice. "Please, stop this! He will die! He is little than a child in the years of his own people!"

This was only a half-truth because Legolas had come to majority at six hundred years of age. However, the truthful part of the statement was that Legolas was a young Elf and only two thousand eight hundred and eighty five.

"Tell me who he is and where he came from and I might consider it. But no, he will not die, human, not until I get out of him what my lord wants. Now will you not end his suffering and tell me?"

Aragorn's will hardened as though on cue and he snarled with inner frustration, "he apparently is not gagged. If he wants to stop his pain he will tell you himself! Besides, if we are going to die one way or the other, you tell me which is more honorable and worth our time!"

"He may tell you he doesn't want you to say anything, and you both may have made a compact with each other earlier, but once he is in there his strength will begin to buckle, as will his mind." The Haradrim captain stopped as one of the Elves' louder cries hung in the air, adding to the ghosts of the screams still echoing in Aragorn's ears and mind. Aragorn felt his stomach churning and acid rising in his throat as his anxiety made him feel violently ill.

Green faced he looked at Darcíl, who shook his head sadly. He hated being placed in this position, but he had originally been assigned to torture the captive Elf so this was slightly better. However, if it were up to him he would simply put the Elf and the ranger to death and have done. He despised them, yes, but he felt no need to torture them. As long as they were dead and made an example of as soon as the means of their demise was uncovered by the Elves and their friends. "He will want to speak," Darcíl asserted emotionlessly. "But he won't be able to open his mouth without screaming or simply gapping in pain."

"I will never betray him to you," Aragorn promised angrily. He was angry that he was being asked and nearly blackmailed to back stab his friend. "If I were to betray him, then all that he had suffered would have been in vain and I could not bear that, not after hearing his screams. You may win for a day, but in the end your mission will fail." Aragorn let his cold silver eyes clash with the baleful glare of the captain. His lips were a thin white line as he pressed them together in emotional anguish as much as suppressed anger.

"So you say, wait until you see what he has thus far endured," responded Darcíl coolly, leaning back against the wall casually. "Then make your decision." Shifting his weight uncomfortably as last strangled cry tainted the air and was cut off abruptly. "You know, if what I command of Sarchel doesn't work, I can always let him have his way with the Elf. Though I wouldn't want to do that, it would damage his mind and then he could get his information confused. Not only that, it would be a nasty business."

Aragorn resisted the want to jump up and choke Darcíl with his good arm only. But even if he had decided to leap up and choke Darcíl unrelentingly, the chains would hold him back. Lucky for the Haradrim captain. "You wouldn't…" began the ranger as he guessed the sick meaning of the hints.

"I wouldn't want to, but I would if I were forced." He sighed, as the dungeons were eerily quiet. His eyes became concerned and a bit anxious. "I think he might have gone too far," was all he said as he walked quickly for the door and towards Legolas' cell, where the screams had ceased and so had the shouting. Aragorn felt his heart rise into his throat and stick there.

TBC…Ouch, yeah, evil cliffie here. But hey, you all know that you really do love the cliffies, you simply hate those who write them. LOL

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