CHAPTER NINE

Close Enemies

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

Unknown

"Move over!" hissed Elrohir in his twin brother's ear as he tried with little success to peer over Elladan's shoulder, which was chiefly due to the fact they were identical and that meant that they shared the same height. Both were leaning over the rail of one of the balconies of Rivendell while hiding behind a curtain so they were invisible to anyone below except for Elladan's face peeking around the edge and his fingers on the frilly borders.

"Shhhhh…"the elder brother growled under his breath. "He will hear us!" He swirled his eyes back to glare with annoyance at his anxious twin. Then after sparing with Elrohir in a baleful glower, he turned his attention back to Glorfindel, who was walking with his white horse along the banks of the pond.

"If you don't move over and let me see what is happening, Elladan Peredhil, I will cast you over the edge…"

A hand over his mouth stifled any further conversation or threats by the younger twin as Elladan whispered harshly again, "shhhhh…" Elladan suddenly jerked his hand back with a cry and turned fully around to ask the younger dark-haired Elf who was glaring and wiping his mouth, "did you just bite me?" The elder identical brother wiped his hand with disdain on his breeches before saying. "Act your age, not your shoe size!"

"Brother, may I remind you your shoe size is the same as my own, and are you implying that I have small feet?" Elrohir reproached with an arched brow as he crossed his arms obstinately and bit back a laugh. A smile lurked in his mouth's corners and was slowly turning them up into a grin.

Elladan quirked an eyebrow and returned the look evenly. He then spun back around on his heels and watched with amusement as Glorfindel patted Asfaloth's neck and leaned on the horse, giving it a warm hug. "He treats that horse better than he does his own!" grumbled the dark-haired Noldo in a nearly whining voice like a child. "No wonder the Valar sent him back!"

He blinked as the sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

When he saw Glorfindel again the Gondolin Elf was sitting underneath the tree Elrohir had been sleeping under, with his eyes closed and his hands still holding the book he had taken from Erestor's study. A content smirk graced his lips and a dangerous look adorned his features. Asfaloth was eating grass quietly nearby.

Elrohir finally got annoyed enough and gripping Elladan's tunic collar, pulled him back as he pressed his way forward to take what he felt was his rightful turn peering around the drape. He snickered quietly as he took in the scene by the pond's edge.

A serene voice behind both of the brothers made them spin around try to hide exactly what they were doing. "What is amusing you so?" asked Erestor as he came forward, holding a quill that Elladan guessed he had used earlier and forgotten to put down but that Elrohir supposed he carried around as a weapon.

"Well, it s certainly not something you would find amusing," Elrohir tired to ward off Erestor looking out over the balcony knowing that Glorfindel might very well die from the piercing glare he would receive as soon as the dark-haired counselor set his eyes on the book being held hostage.

"Whatever do you mean?" Erestor narrowed his eyes, obviously curious. Amusement glittered in his calm grey eyes as he walked forward, only to be stopped by Elladan stepping swiftly in front of him to obscure his view. Normally they wouldn't care if Erestor ripped Glorfindel's hair out or vise versa, but they wanted to put themselves out of harms way first. Elrohir strongly suspected that if Erestor was provoked and frustrated enough, he might actually stab one of them to death with his quill just to vent his wrath.

But of course the way they were trying to cover up Glorfindel and the purloined book the insane counselor might think that they were conspiring with Glorfindel and that could be slightly more risky and definitely bloodier because if Erestor was going to kill, he would kill all three of them. Erestor was the kind that was unnaturally enthusiastic about murdering those who committed one of the three top crimes (in his opinion): messing with paperwork, wrongfully filing paperwork and stealing said paperwork or other works of literature. Glorfindel had done all three at some point in his life.

Elrohir was contemplating whether or not to hurriedly explain to Erestor about the book and their innocence before the adviser had a chance to murder them. But Erestor suddenly said in a provoked and prying tone, "This doesn't have to do with a certain book that has been missing since exactly four in the morning, does it?" He furrowed his dark eyebrows for emphasis and he nearly looked like the Lord Elrond save for the fact that he was shorter in stature and a bit more intimidating.

Elrohir looked appalled and he asked in shock, "what sensible person is up at four in the morning when they have the privilege to sleep in?" He looked at Erestor as though the adviser had just sprouted a second head or said he planed to negotiate with Sauron over a cup of hot tea. But the younger twin doubted that Sauron would want to meet Erestor unless he absolutely had to.

"I do," declared the counselor quite seriously as he glared at Elrond's middle child. "And when I went to read another chapter in my book The Union of Meadhros: Great Negotiations of the First Age it was conveniently missing!" Elladan knew he was supposed to help Elrohir, him being his younger brother, but when confronted with a practically seething Lord Erestor, as a general rule of thumb it was everyone for themselves.

"If you are planning to murder my dear, insane brother that is fine. But please don't kill me in your wrath," Elladan begged incisively. Erestor's look became more incensed and Elladan moved aside, pointing down accusingly to the golden-haired Elf below before Erestor slew him in cold blood. "Glorfindel did it!"

Erestor went to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing tightly as he leaned out to look scrupulously at his opponent. Gray eyes narrowed in what could be called a provoked way, and the counselor's lips pressed into a discreet and thin white line of visible fury. "That lummox,"' he ground out through grit teeth as his eyebrows knitted in his growing wrath.

Looking at the horse that grazed faithfully nearby Erestor smiled wryly but his eyes still burned with a sort of fierceness that was not easily described. "I think if it were not for Asfaloth he might actually try to get married." Shaking his head he said with a sigh, "he loves that horse far too much than what is good for him. Its disgusting." But he said this with a smile and so of course he wasn't serious for the first time in a long time.

Elladan and Elrohir simply exchanged grins with one another. Both knew as did the rest of Rivendell's inhabitance that Asfaloth was Glorfindel's horse, but he liked Erestor far better. This often lead to strange battles of wills between the two Elves and they were often amusing to watch as well. Not to mention that they didn't make very much sense and no one ever tried to unravel anything further. Not that either of those Elves loved the horse in the most affectionate way but neither of them hated the animal. And they were about the only ones who did not.

Quietly, the dark-haired counselor smiled in a fashion, which made the twins think of a scheming and deranged alligator and then, turned to head for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and slow, and it was obvious to anyone who saw him he was an Elf on a evil mission and was working to restrain any rash actions that could cost him the objective.

In a few moments he was standing before Glorfindel, with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for the golden-haired Elf to wake-wake to his living nightmare.

As if on cue Glorfindel's glimmering blue eyes fluttered open and he yawned lazily, simply to annoy the adviser who he knew to be already livid.

Erestor's smile broadened tensely and he asked in a thick voice, "Have a nice nap, did we? You know, it is unwise to bring books near the edge of a pond."

Glorfindel stood up and smiled back innocently, sliding the book behind his back, "what book, Lord Erestor?" He looked like a child who had just stolen something of supreme value and had no intention of giving it back without some sort of a scuffle.

"Unless I am mistaken, you have my copy of The Union of Meadhros: Great Negotiations of the First Age, and I really would appreciate it back. That is, of course, if you are finished reading it," his smile turned to a calculating glare with a hint of amusement somewhere in his eyes. And strangely enough, Glorfindel was not that hard pressed to find it in their grey depths. "However, you certainly chose an odd time to take it. Who steals a book to read at four in the morning?"

"Well, what were you doing looking for it at four in the morning?" countered Glorfindel as he took a step backwards before Erestor advanced much closer. He really didn't feel "safe" within a four foot radius of the livid counselor as long as he was in possession of the wanted book. Actually he didn't feel totally safe as long as Erestor was within his sight. Erestor had been known to be rather drastic about measures he took to get his assets back.

"That," said Erestor firmly. "Is none of your business." He stretched out his hand and held it open before Glorfindel as though he expected to see the Gondolin Elf drop the book into his hand and apologize ruefully.

Glorfindel spun around to run or at least start to walk away quickly and then he abruptly saw stars. Blinking, he shook his head stupidly. Erestor nearly laughed at the golden-haired Elf's gapping mouth and blue eyes widened in shock. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, Erestor let a thin smile melt across his face in pure and unaltered amusement.

The confused and utterly bewildered expression on Glorfindel's face was priceless as it was, but the reason for the expression and the black and blue knot forming on the Gondolin warrior's forehead was invaluable as far as laughter at other's expense went.

He could hear Glorfindel's excuse vividly in his mind: the tree branch didn't move out of my way. Snatching the piece of literature from the stammering Elf's hand, Erestor said stiffly, "serves you right."

Glorfindel staggered backwards a few steps before giving his head a quick and terse shake as he tried to jolt his blurred and much confused senses back. Blinking a few more times he looked at Erestor and asked dimly, "what happened?" It was then he knew that he was out of his right mind; otherwise he might have pretended nothing had happened at all.

Erestor finally let his grin break through and said, "It would appear that your forehead connected with a low hanging tree branch."

Looking his red-covered book over for any lasting or even temporary damage, the dark-haired Elf frowned minutely as he discovered a dog-eared page that looked vaguely like it had come into contact with some form of moisture. A thin stab of anger bristled his even temperament and he glared at Glorfindel, satisfied as he saw the humiliating purple knot growing over the other's right eyebrow.

Glorfindel frowned and then held his head high and tried to appear unconcerned about the recent accident. But his felt a slight pain blaze through his awareness and grow into a throbbing headache all in about fifty seconds, give or take a few.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl walked as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet in his anxiety. His heart was beating quickly to some extent and he wondered with mounting dread if he would find the mutilated corpse of the Elf lying in the water on the floor surrounded by a growing red stain. He should have stayed there to make sure that everything went according to the plan instead of waiting with the ranger watching the man's face turn from white to red; horror to abhorrence and anger.

He knew the answer to why he had chosen to see the ranger's show of emotions over interrogating the Elf. Though he was loath to admit it, there was something inside that twisted and burned whenever the Elf looked at him with those sharp eyes that seemed to penetrate his conscience and see clear through him in a way that made him feel very exposed. It was like that blonde wretch knew what he was all about. That thought was disturbing acknowledged the man and he swung open the door of the cell with one quick twitch of his hand and swing of his arm.

The sight he saw threatened to turn his stomach and made him flex his fingers convulsively in imaginary pain but the sight of the Elf alive also sent waves of pure and complete relief to break over his senses like waves on beach.

The blonde being was on his knees with a gapping mouth that opened and shut systematically and a white face. His lips had even assumed a chalky color striped with red cracks where they were dry and bled. All calm demeanors seemed to have dissolved from the fair-haired Elf's face as Darcíl watched him clench his eyes tightly shut and his lips move wordlessly as he tried to dispel his pain. It was more than obvious that his attempts were far from achieving their goal. Dark rings encircled around the immortal's eyes and one eye in particular had clearly been punched at a point where the captive's defiance must have irked Sarchel.

Sarchel had Legolas' wrist in his hand and was working on popping it from its assigned socket. And from the mutilated and distorted way the immortal's fingers looked it seemed to Darcíl's narrowed eyes that they were all dislocated or broken on his right hand, but the Haradrim Captain was not sure. He didn't think he had the stomach to examine them long enough with his eyes to find out. The only thing that kept this captive from resisting strongly enough to escape or create a tumult was the fact that his energy was stolen due to his time hanging from one wrist and that arm's strength was spent for now. Otherwise the Haradrim captain was sure that the Elf would have proven to have been a very resistant captive as he had in the beginning.

Legolas had heard the door bang open and he slowly opened one eye and it was then that Darcíl noticed the other was almost swollen shut, but a sliver of anger could be seen glowing from beneath the inflamed lids. But in the single eye that was wholly opened he saw more contempt and pure loathing than he had ever thought he would see in one orb. It was truly fascinating when one thought of it. Darcíl spent nearly a whole minute studying the emotion the one eye possessed. As he did he saw it also had scornful pity mixed in with the abhorrence that glittered defiantly. It was the pity that shocked him the most and pierced him deeply. But it also served to flare up his temper and frowning he glared at Sarchel critically.

"Lieutenant!" he snapped abruptly. "Is this as far as you could get?" His tone was thick and commanding not to mention a bit over bearing. But Sarchel guessed that was the entire point and wasn't too surprised but he was alarmed. Legolas felt Sarchel's fear run through his arm like an electric shock and glanced up at his tormentor with laughing eyes. Probably not the best thing to do but it felt good to see the one who had caused him so much pain squirming like a worm on a hook. "Did he tell you asingledamnthing?"

Sarchel released Legolas' wrist and let the arm fall into its owner's lap. Legolas resisted the urge to wince and cry out all at once, so he bit his tongue and worked on keeping his chin defiantly up. He felt like the room was merging and swimming in all sorts of odd shapes and colors, which he was finding refreshing and sort of enjoyable at this point. At least they temporarily took some of the pain away. Not to mention that his head felt strangely like it weighed as much as a single oliphaunt and his neck trembled as he struggled to hold his head up high, causing a throbbing headache to attack his senses with a vengeance.

"He didn't tell me anything, Captain," Sarchel answered readily but unable to keep a slight and nearly imperceptible stammer from his voice as he confronted his superior officer who seemed ready to throttle him. Glancing at Legolas he smiled tauntingly, "but he does have a voice."

Intensifying his bitter and hard glare to the best of his ability, Legolas aimed it straight for junior officer and his lips pressed into a thin line. Sarchel looked down and he took Legolas' damaged hand none too gently before folding the dislocated fingers in on each other and then giving it a tight squeeze. A cold smile crossed his face.

The pain of the fingers being folded after their dislocation was enough to put into question Legolas' strength to hold back another scream, but the harsh squeeze that was given caused him to jerk back and he hissed loudly before giving a quick and bitten off cry of intense agony. His other hand clenched until its knuckles were bright white and his own finger nails nipped his palm. Sarchel applied a bit more pressure and Legolas could not help but give a muffled scream slightly before getting emotions under control. His chest was heaving in his desperate efforts not to scream again.

Darcíl had to mentally keep his fingers in check so they would not coil at his side and so he would not flinch. "I see, Lieutenant. I also see that weak Elves are too much for you to handle, so you can play with the ranger next time. But this conversation is over." He watched as Sarchel grimaced noticeably at the insult.

As Darcíl looked at the captive Elf he noticed small puncture wounds in the Elf's joints. They were not much more than the size of a pen-head but they were between the ball and socket. Little blood ran from them or if more of it had the water had washed it clean. He looked in disdain at the floodwater in the cell as though the blood that he knew flowed in it was going to poison him.

"Before you leave, bring in the ranger so he can see the damage done to his friend," commanded the Haradrim captain as he moved away from the door and began towards Legolas. "Perhaps his pity and sorrow will move him to reason."

Sarchel looked like he was about to object as he half opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap as apparently he thought better of it. His face went stony and Legolas guessed he was suppressing a grim and definite anger towards his captain. At least that was entertaining, depending on how you looked at it. Curious, he thought in the darker part of his mind, curious that I actually feel cold. It was one of those uncomfortable feelings he had not felt in a few years. But he felt more than cold, he felt miserable.

Yes, 'miserable' was the only way to describe it. Then again, he amended quickly, some other words or phrases like, 'severely agitated ' came to mind but other than that he could not think of all that many adjectives to describe how he felt at that moment.

After watching Sarchel slink out of the room, Darcíl looked gravely at Legolas and addressed him calmly and firmly, "Elf, I know you are in horrible pain, but this could all end so easily, and you wouldn't have to suffer the tiniest bit more…at least not until your death and even that will be relatively quick." Taking Legolas' mangled hand in his own he slowly spread the crooked and swollen fingers, noting Legolas' sharp intake of breath and the moans that escaped the blonde immortal's parched and bleeding lips. "And all you have to do is tell me your name, just your name and where you live. Then you can be at peace until execution day."

"Not…in your…most beaut…iful fantasies," Legolas managed and hardened his face around the pain to fix Sarchel with a relentless glower. He spat out one word spitefully, "never."

"Have it your way," Darcíl said in a smooth voice as he looked at the nearly blood shot eyes and the pale face that was within a little ways of being transparent. "But next time you are off limits, it's the ranger's turn. Your best friend gets to be tortured, for your sake." The thing that frightened Legolas the most was that there was no taunting in this man's voice, he was being honest and simply informative.

Legolas unexpectedly snapped his head up to look at Darcíl with wide eyes and his face had become even chalkier if that were possible. "What?" he asked breathlessly. "You can't do that!" the fair-haired immortal managed to protest for what little he knew that it was worth.

"Oh yes I can and I can assure you, I will," bending one of Legolas' fingers he felt the being shudder. "So as you wait here in agony for tomorrow, I suggest you think about whether you want your friend enduring what you have or not." Releasing the distorted finger, the man said emotionlessly, "have a nice night."

As Aragorn was lead in his eyes fell full upon his best friend, taking in the ghost like face and the way Legolas was bowed on his knees in the ankle-high floodwater as though he was some slave and not the proud Prince of the Wood-Elves. His tussled hair was falling about his face hiding the dark bruise surrounding an ugly black eye aside from other numerous bruises on his battered face and hammered chest.

Gaping in shock and sympathy for the bleeding Elf, Aragorn ran forward as fast his manacles would allow and kneeled by the blonde Elf's side, offering his companionship. Darcíl smirked even as he felt something inside his heart bleeding so to speak and that little inner voice that he hardly ever listened to anymore trying to convict him of guilt for the prisoners' blood. Pushing down all thoughts of sympathy, the man slammed the door and left the friends to themselves.

Aragorn locked eyes with Legolas and asked in a stammer that was half choked with shock in itself, "My friend whatever did they do to you?" Aragorn found it amazed he found his voice because his throat felt swollen and dry. His heart labored to beat as it found a deep commiseration with his friend who looked like death.

Legolas finally began to shiver and his breathing became dangerously uneven and shallow. Aragorn followed the strangely dropped gaze of the azure eyes to Legolas' lap, where his hand with the damaged fingers lay. The sight made Aragorn's heart skip a beat and he knew what devastation this meant for Legolas, pain aside. The prince would never be able to use his bow properly again if they were not quickly set back into their joints and mobility returned.

Legolas looked at Aragorn tiredly and said in a soft voice dripping with regret, like spoken tears, "I am sorry. I tried not to scream, I knew you could hear me." His eyes fell to the floor in anguish of the situation and his unneeded apology ended in a forlorn whisper. He didn't want to make things harder on Aragorn than they already were. But knowing that Aragorn had been able to hear every cry…that hurt, a lot.

Aragorn gently took the Elf's all but mauled hand and tenderly held it. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my friend. Nobody could have done any better than you did," he added to try and reassure his companion that he was still just as brave and strong as before. Legolas tried to pull his mangled hand away but Aragorn only had to apply a tiny bit more strength to still the prince's movements. Even Aragorn was surprised and disquieted.

Legolas sighed dejectedly, "Oh, I don't know. I feel so…crushed." He glared then at the ranger threateningly. "And if you ever tell the twins or anyone for that matter that I said that, you are a dead man walking." He winced as Aragorn gingerly took his forefinger and began to straighten it as considerately and painlessly as he might. Groaning, the prince bit his swollen bottom lip until it began to bleed before giving a slight cry that tore at Aragorn's heart.

But because of his own dislocated arm that was hurting severely and feeling like it was ready to drop off, the man could not hold Legolas' hand and get the fingers straight. Sighing dispiritedly, he said, "Mellon nin, you are going to have to be strong and hold your hand out while I fix it. My arm is unwilling to cooperate at the moment." He connected his own disquieted silver eyes with the pain glazed blue ones that stung his heart. "Can you do that?"

Legolas breathed nervously, "of course."

Aragorn knew that Legolas might think he could, but the agony he was briefly going to feel was going to test every ounce of strength he had. He felt Legolas lock his arm and turn away so he didn't have to look at his own disfigured fingers being cracked back into place. It was bad enough to hear them popping and feel them snapping into their correct joints.

Legolas knew that this had to happen; otherwise he would have rather let it alone. But if he didn't get his fingers fixed then not only would he never string an arrow, he wouldn't be able to relocate Aragorn's shoulder. It was his friend's wounds from the ranger's previous session that were in the front of his mind and thinking about what the man had been promised next made Legolas feel like he was going to pass out.

He felt a sharp pain and grit his teeth as his face contorted and his eyes clenched tightly shut so that it looked like they were nearly nonexistent. Hissing as he sensed with acute pain his finger being straightened, the blonde Elf pressed his tongue to the rough of his mouth. He suddenly gave a hoarse cry and then bit his lower lips to silence himself.

How he managed to retain some form of consciousness while pain blinded his vision he would never know and in truth he didn't really want to. But when the last finger was in place he breathed and a sigh of relief and slowly flexed his hand stiffly in disbelief. It still caused minor pain but nothing compared to what he had been experiencing. The minute twitches of his fingers relaxing were ending quickly as his body began its quick recovery rate. But still, it was going to take a long time for them to heal into normality once more.

Legolas was thinking about all that had transpired and about whether he would be the same again when he felt a hand touch his shoulder delicately. He looked at saw Aragorn staring at the small puncture wound in his shoulder and the other in his elbow. Grimacing at the memories, the Elf smiled thinly and it never touched his eyes.

"That was where he drove a small, sharp pin between my joints and their sockets before twisting it," explained the blonde immortal openly as he rotated his shoulder slowly to help get it working better. In his opinion Sarchel's name was like a vile curse: never to be uttered if it could be helped. If a 'name' must be given the phrase 'insane excuse for a goon' would have to suffice. "It leaves no lasting damage it is so small, but the agony it produces is surprising, trust me."

Narrowing his eyes into slits of unmitigated concern, the grave Elven prince suggested seriously, "let me pop your shoulder back into its socket before it is too late. Elrond would kill me if I didn't attempt as much and kill you if you didn't let me," added the Elf succinctly.

"You are trying to draw attention off your own wounds," accused Aragorn darkly as he started to stand up but was stopped by Legolas' eyes catching fire and a smoldering glare returning to them, taking over the pained look.

He found it annoying that Legolas could have that much power over a person with just his eyes. The look he was giving was commonly known around both Mirkwood and Rivendell as the Glare of Sudden Death, because usually if you didn't comply your death was certain. However, nobody had ever dared not to comply so really that was only a theory that had somehow become a legend.

"No I am not," stated the blonde Elf tonelessly as he motioned for Aragorn to sit back down. Aragorn looked with disgust at the water and then complied reluctantly. It was cold, wet and he knew that in it mingled Legolas' blood as well as his own. A slight rumble of thunder echoed form overhead as another storm approached.

"Wonderful," muttered Aragorn half to himself as he slumped down next to the frowning prince. His sardonic tone was not lost on Legolas and the Elf quirked an eyebrow before swirling his blue eyes up for a quick, pointless look since the ceiling and lack of windows prevented him from seeing to outside world.

"Splendid." Legolas' sardonic remark was to be expected and the Elf sighed before rolling his eyes dramatically back down to look grimly at Aragorn's dislocated, more like mutilated shoulder.

As Legolas began to feel the joint to see which way he should set it, he became aware that he was grinding his teeth in his fury at the treatment of his friend. Of course it was to be counted upon but he still had every right to feel furious about it, did he not? Of course he did. What a stupid question. It wasn't bad enough that Aragorn had his shoulder stabbed and the javelin that skewered it was wickedly twisted out, but then it was probed with an obviously hot knife. But on top of that, as though one shoulder being mauled wasn't bad enough, his other was cruelly dislocated and left untreated nearly too long. Legolas was still debating the last part of his observations. The way the swelling around the joint looked made it seem like it indeed had been too long since it was tended.

Well if that was the case decided the prince smugly and with a thin smile, then the men would have to pay double for their evils. But as he felt the wound further with his good hand, the Elf narrowed his eyes and then came to realize, although it wasn't too clear, that the ball still had a chance at being replaced back into the socket. However, it was going to be a tricky business and Legolas knew that there was a chance Aragorn would pass out before it was all over. Riding the pain out simply wouldn't work with this sort of wound.

Legolas said quietly as he kept his eyes locked on the ugly deranged joint. "I think I can replace it. But I do not think you will be able to remain conscious. It has been left untended far too long." Aragorn noticed Legolas' hands were drawn and shaking slightly as they rested lightly on the shoulder. However it was from hunger and mounting weakness, not fear. Legolas was beyond fear at the moment.

Aragorn drew a heavy breath that hurt his battered chest and Legolas could have sworn he had felt it rattle as it entered the weary lungs. Glancing down at the man's chest and torso, where the torment had chiefly been delivered, Legolas noticed it looked uglier than his own, though that was to be expected since he healed faster (though even that was rather slowed). But, he smiled inwardly, at least the men had been 'good enough' not to even consider using whips of any kind yet. But how long could that last? Experience told him not to trust this would last forever and to keep his hopes of getting through this time without feeling the cruel smack of a whip at a minimum.

"Legolas," whispered the ranger, now that no one was around to hear the Elf's real name. "Are you sure? You don't have to try if you don't want to."

"Don't even try to talk me out of it," Legolas growled under his breath as he removed his hand and sized up the wound once more, deciding on exactly how the intense procedure should be carried out.

Aragorn knew that Legolas' warning or more like threatening-advice, was legitimate and he had known the Elf long enough to understand that crossing him in these kind of situations was not the wisest nor the more rational thing one could do…if he wished to live. However if he had a death wish he should keep traveling that road. Biting his lower lip in frustration at knowing the pain he was about to experience and not being able to evade it after already going through so much, Aragorn allowed reluctantly, "very well. But try to leave me with some arm left when you have finished," he teased with a weak grin meant to try and make the moment less intense than it was.

Legolas nodded slowly and in deep thought as he continued to plan out how things were going to turn out. But of course, in these sort of unfortunate circumstances, plans, even the most guarded and thought out, often went awry. And really, Legolas had heard that your initial thoughts and plans were usually correct or the best choice. So pushing aside his debate, the prince glanced nervously at his friend and resisted a want to gulp in anxiety.

O0O0O0O0

The captain sat at the table rather stiffly as he stared at the food on the white porcelain plate set before him by one of the many slaves of Dorrag's household. He had strangely lost his appetite, no, not strangely, it wasn't really any surprise at all. After seeing the blood and general gore down below he didn't think he would be eating for some time to come.

Of course, it wasn't really the gore or the blood, but whom the gore and blood belonged to. He had never had a true problem with tormenting prisoners before, but perhaps, after years of this type of career, his conscience, the small voice he had so long pushed aside, was returning with a vengeance. You are an absolutely worthless idiot! it chided non-too gently. And he had to agree.

But then he frowned inwardly. His career was not the usage of the finer points in tormenting anyone. He was a soldier, a warrior, honorable, strong, and dignified. So he had to ask himself, as he had so often before, why had he allowed himself to fall so low?

Unable to answer the question and not wanting to debate it within himself anymore he merely inclined his head as he looked up at his host. "My lord, you serve a gracious table."

"And this is poor fare," boasted Dorrag regretfully. "But we are at war." He gestured his salves and servants away so he and his captain could discuss things without ears all about.

"Yes, lord," answered the Haradrim officer levelly as he continued to stare at his plate darkly. He just didn't feel hungry. Another thought touched his mind and didn't help to encourage his appetite. It was no secret and he and Dorrag didn't see eye to eye and it was also no secret that Dorrag was not beyond murder and assassinations. The food could be poisoned.

"Why do you not eat?" inquired Dorrag as he took a bite of the roasted pig on his plate. His eyes watched Darcíl's reaction closely, looking for a sign of mistrust or uneasiness.

"I seem to have lost my appetite," explained Darcíl as politely as he could, though he was not really in the mood to be questioned about his health or doings that evening. He looked darkly and conspiratorially at the two great hounds that his lord had near at hand. They were beautiful creatures, slender and muscular. He knew they were used in hunting fugitives as well as deer.

"Doe it have anything to do with conditions things have undergone below?" asked Dorrag with a small frown or misgiving and displeasure and a single brow arched in skepticism.

"No, my lord. It is more a matter of timing, I think. Your concern is appreciated, but really I think I am well..." he commenced to try and ward off his liege's suspicious probing to the best of his ability. If the Haradrim prince sensed the slightest weakness he would not hesitate to have him assassinated or even publicly executed along side his family.

Darcíl's dark eyes scanned his lord's face for signs of anger or suspicion that could prove fatal. Finding none visible…yet, the Haradrim captain shifted his feet quietly and uneasily beneath the table, making tranquil rustling noises against the stone floor with their soles.

"As you like, Captain," answered Dorrag with a unmistakably false shrug. Or at least, that was how Darcíl thought of it. The Haradrim prince sighed dramatically as he looked into his captain's darkened eyes seriously, with a nearly grave look to their glimmer. "So have we learned anything new from the…guests."

"Not a thing," Darcíl answered cautiously as he narrowed his orbs and knitted his brows with concern towards his liege's mood and where this small talk conversation was talking them.

"Pity.. well, not really," Dorrag reproached as he thought things over. "But it is still a problem. We need to kill them soon or the momentum our example will make will diminish to nothing. Captain, you recall what I told you…"

"My lord, they are not regular prisoners!" Darcíl nearly begged for his liege's understanding, which he hated with passion right now. His eyes flashed and he stood up to address his prince. "That Elf has been put through a lot today and at most we could get a muffled scream or two and then he blacked out or clamped his jaw shut!" Darcíl sighed and spoke wearily, "he seems to continue to draw a new strength from somewhere."

"Elves have their gods, the Valar, well perhaps he draws strength from them," suggested Dorrag as he watched his captain curiously.

"We cannot touch his soul-"

"Can't we?" an evil glint came into Dorrag's eyes and he nodded even as his most trusted officer gaped before him in shock. "We can, trust me. Put him through enough and we can do whatever we want. He will pretend to be strong but in the end he will fall, or the ranger will. It is my belief that if he disavows his gods then he will lose the strength he thinks he has."

"He has been through things that would break an ordinary man," protested Darcíl with more heat than he had initially wanted but it didn't seem to change matters.

"Has the ranger?" asked the Haradrim prince, his eyes turning back to a cool shade, giving him an eerie facade of sereneness that seemed filled with deceit and a hidden malice.

"Not exactly, my lord." Darcíl was afraid this answer would tip the scales in his liege's thus far amused disposition. It seemed to have no affect, at least openly. Standing uneasily, the Haradrim captain stared at the floor and then raised his chin slightly, showing he was still in disagreement.

"There lies our answer, Captain," proposed Dorrag as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. "You should have done this a long time ago," he reprehended sharply, drumming his fingers against the table in irritation with no particular rhythm.

"There is one more thing I must tell you, my lord," approached Darcíl cautiously after his appraisal and rebuke. Dorrag nodded and the captain of Harad continued. "The water has flooded below. I do not know how strong the prisons are. We must move the prisoners. I fear their escape or if some part caves, I fear their deaths. If they are desperate enough they could collapse the dungeons and not only take their own lives but cripple us as well."

"How high has the water risen?" asked Dorrag with keen interest as new fears jumbled themselves in his head and he began the weary task of trying to sort them into justified fears and worthless ones.

"It is beginning to get above the ankles," informed Darcíl anxiously. "I do not trust them not to use it to their advantage." Militarily speaking, he would have found a way to get free by now and if he had men with him they would be getting out as well. It was getting on his nerves that this Elf and this ranger had no yet tried. Perhaps it was because they were to busy staying alive or perhaps they had forgotten. But he suspected that they knew they could use it to their advantage and were abiding their time until the opportune moment to strike and break out or destroy them.

Thunder rumbled as though on cue, making the situation seem even more grave. Lightning flickered in the room as it reflected from outside and Dorrag sighed in deep thought. He could not allow them to escape under any circumstances. And if they killed themselves here, then they would be martyrs. But the sudden thought that if he put them to death they would appear as martyrs suddenly crossed his dark train of thinking. He could not have that. It could bring a cause for the Elf-friends to use as a bonding tie that would unite them against him. And yet without putting the Elf and ranger to death he would never rise to power.

These thoughts were temporarily pushed aside as he heard a tap at the door and muttered a testy, "enter."

"My lord," an unsure voice asked carefully. Darcíl watched the young messenger carefully and with a glare on his face. "Captain," the younger mortal addressed him in turn with a curt bow to both of his superiors. "Prince Dorrag, your father sends word from his campaign in the North." Dorrag nodded expectantly. "All goes well with him and he will be here within the next few months."

"Thank you," responded Dorrag coolly. False joy showed in his face and he smiled. But the light never touched even the lower rims of his eyes and they actually seemed to darken. "You may be on your way."

As soon as the young messenger had left, the prince turned to his guards and said, "make sure he never leaves these palace grounds. Dispose correctly of the body." Nodding, they sprang away from their posts to commit their liege's bidding or lose their lives in consequence.

Darcíl pretended not to be appalled and really he wasn't in too much shock. He had known about this side of Dorrag for quite some time, since one of his messengers never came back he had figured that this had been his fate. Now he knew for sure and keeping a uncaring façade on his features he tried to disguise his displeasure with the disagreeable situation.

"Sorry captain," apologized Dorrag grimly as though the business disgusted him as well.

Darcíl nodded, "I understand, my lord. Now what of the Elf and ranger? Shall I have them moved?"

"Indeed, but do not do it until tomorrow. Let them have their little reprieve. Tomorrow will be different."

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas wiped the cold sweat form his brow with the back of his swollen hand as he gazed at Aragorn's waxen face. He was out cold, having passed out halfway through the tedious process of relocating his shoulder joint. Legolas himself was now glistening with sweat from the extent of his energy use in getting the tricky bone back into its proper place.

Aragorn had taken it rather bravely for a human, he told himself. The ranger had hardly cried out though his face had frequently changed colors from a white consistency to a green and then to a grey one. It wold have been amusing had the circumstances been anywhere near resembling desirable, mused Legolas as he shifted Aragorn so the man was resting in his lap and not in the frigid water that was slowly rising to an even more uncomfortable height.

It was not up to their knees but in the deeper places above uneven ground it was three fourths of the way there, the Elf noted grimly as he scooted with his blacked out friend against the wall. Sleep was impossible and so he wasn't even going to try. Besides, he didn't trust Aragorn not to fall into the water and drown.

His weakness that he was experiencing was disturbing yet it was fully expected. He was being starved and brutally tortured, what else was he supposed to expect from this plight? He had seen his share of pain before so this was nothing new, just another adventure Aragorn had dragged him into that they both were going to have a great deal of trouble coming out of. But even though he knew all of this and more beside it was still annoying and the pangs in his gut were beginning to hurt just enough to be considered painful.

He began to wonder if it would better if he was dead. If he was dead then he was no longer of use to them and thus they would not need to know his name and Aragorn would not need to be put through torment anymore. But he had a sinking suspicion that Aragorn might be put to torment anyway because these men were cruel, selfish and had ice water for blood in their veins.

Having not seen his father or Rothinzil in two years he began to wonder what was transpiring back at his home. The strange want to get up and pace about the cell came to his mind and if he had not been keeping the self appointed task of keeping Aragorn's face and upper half out of the water so the man would not drown, the Elf might have paced a little. For some reason it was a comfort and he didn't know why.

But then again, in water it might not be as much of a comfort as he would like to think. One of the many things that got on his nerves was slushy boots and right now there was plenty of that going on.

Looking with boredom at his friend's wounds, Legolas took in the dark, blotches on Aragorn's chest and back. Bruises deep bruises that had to have reached the bones. They were even tinted red in some places were the ruptured blood vessels were especially close to the skin. There were also puncture wounds in his torso that were crusted over with dried blood.

In these dark, wet, and dreary conditions Legolas sent a silent prayer to the Valar that they would not get infected and that his friend wouldn't die of some strange disease that so often captured mortals' under these treacherous conditions.

Sighing and leaning back against the wet stone wall, Legolas closed his eyes and muttered, "Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! Tua amin Manwë!" He needed all the help he could get to face what he knew was coming. He knew what he was going to be forced to listen to tomorrow; he knew what horrible things he would face he knew that there was a sparse chance he might now be strong enough.

Translations:

Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! By the sea and stars!

Tua amin Manwë Help me Manwë!

TBC……Well that was an interesting chapter we suppose. Unfortunately there was no true cliffie. But we will come up with a truly mean one when you least expect it. Trust us.

Please review. We love those so much (huggles reviewers). They make posting such an enjoyable experience.