CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Out of the Frying Pan...

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.
--Sir Winston Churchill

An entire night had passed, Erestor noted indifferently. He yawned and looked up as the sun began to shine in the sky. He had been in this cursed hole an entire day and an entire night without even so much as even hearing someone calling his name. Did they even realize he was missing/ He supposed they did but there was still an annoying, adamant, and nagging portion of his thought that told him that he could have been looked over for all the chaos Vilya was invoking.

Rubbing his temples wearily, the counselor shook his head, attempting to wake. He wasn't too frightened when he had stupidly managed to fall into this hidden pit. However now he was beginning to feel doubt gnawing at the crux of his hope. Doubt that he would ever be saved, doubt that Rivendell would last and doubt about a lot of other things. He also began to feel a twinge of fear. He had never once considered that he could be claustrophobic, but now he was beginning to think that possibility through.

It had snowed considerably that night and all about him, up to his knees as he sat with them tucked beneath his chin, was a blanket of white crystals. It was sort of insulating and kept him warmer than he would be without, but that wasn't saying very much. He shivered as he came to the realization that his fingers were stiff and more than slightly numb. Flexing them he began to realize with painful clarity just how sore they were as well. It was not a pleasant combination and rued the fact he had not bothered to wear some sort of gloves when he went out for what was supposed to be a short walk.

But how did one predict falling haphazardly into a hole? The reasonable part of his mind asked drearily as though it had been through his a dozen times, which it had. Erestor thought it also sounded as though it was beginning to get a little annoyed with the fact that its message was apparently not getting through.

His body also felt stiff…and cold. His cloak was not doing its job of keeping him very warm any longer. He had never truly needed a heavy cloak. Rivendell was not ever supposed to get this horrible…and to think this was spring! He would certainly have a talk with Elrond when his friend returned. A major talk, he decided unquestionably. If it took tying his lord down and forcing him to hear everything he would do it…

But that would be if there were anything left of Rivendell other than some snow covered boulders. He knew that the Elves were leaving and if he had been helpless to stop them before he absolutely was now. Helplessness was not a feeling he really enjoyed; neither was cold, which he hadn't experienced in a long time, and frustration was not at the top of his 'fun-list' either.

Shivering as he moved and felt the cold snatch away his breath, Erestor sank back down. Besides being cold he knew that he was beginning to get a little weaker. Not much mind you, but enough to make him unnaturally tired. Sighing, the counselor allowed himself to pull his knees back up under his chin and to close his eyes as sleep began to steal over him once more.

O0O0O0O

The look of indignation on Legolas' face was priceless; Aragorn smiled inwardly as he watched the fair-haired prince glare at him from his cot on the floor. Firelight flickered from the small fireplace in the otherwise dark room where the two had been left completely alone. If Aragorn hadn't known better he would have thought that the woman was frightened of them. If she was he knew exactly why and he had to admit that if she wasn't frightened a little she was more crazed than Legolas thought. Sniggering, he said happily for the first time since being brought to Harad, "My friend, I would say that you look better, but then I would have to disregard the green tint coming into to your face."

"I do not know what it was that she forced down me, only that she did a good job of it," he moaned irritably. "She is mad, Estel. Completely and thoroughly mad!"

"So I have been told once or twice," Aragorn yawned as he raised himself up on an elbow to watch his friend glower and sulk. He felt so warm and comfortable that everything seemed unrealistic. However, he knew that they weren't out of the woods yet. No, they were getting a small but much appreciated reprieve. The ranger looked at the Elf as Legolas sighed and checked their boots, which were drying by the fire. Thankfully their leggings had dried on them and so they were considerably more comfortable to wear.

"Her 'dog' is mad too…" Legolas seethed as he lowered himself slowly onto his back, lying down stiffly back on the small cot that the woman had spread out for him on the floor. He winced and jerked as his bandaged cuts and other deep lacerations on his back smarted. His felt like it was expanding and shrinking with each pulse of pain that ran through it as a result of the bruises to his face and the large bruise he had obtained when the gas had caused him to faint. What was it the woman had called the vile and potent stuff? Wipsomë? Yes, that sounded vaguely like it…

"You aren't in a listening and reasonable mood, are you?" Aragorn asked as he looked over the bandage wound around his injured arm where he had been stabbed during one of his sessions with Sarchel. It did feel many times better than it had before, he had to admit. The woman wasn't all that insane as long as she knew how to treat wounds his well.

"What makes you think that, human?" asked the blonde Elf grumpily. He rolled his blue eyes over to fix Aragorn with an unamused glare before closing them again in weariness. His hands went up to the bandage on his head, feeling it beginning to slide free.

Aragorn gently swatted them away as he sat up and proceeded to fix the bandage himself. "There are signs, my friend. Like the fact that you seem to think everyone is insane-"

"Everyone is insane," Legolas argued steadfastly. He grimaced as Aragorn finally got the bandage settled evenly once again on his sore head.

"Or you are simply one very grumpy Elf," Aragorn tired to force Legolas to see the option that just maybe he was the one who had the problem. It was a hopeless task, but amusing.

"Strider, I really didn't expect you to understand. You weren't fully awake," Legolas tried to reason as he lay there with his eyes closed, as his breathing became softer. "She threatened me with a pitchfork. Dorrag and his minions are out for our blood. Her 'dog' enjoys your company. And there are probably other reasons that I can't think of at the moment." Legolas yawned wearily.

"Fine," Aragorn conceded for the moment, too bored and tried to want to continue this debate any further. "Everyone is insane, save you."

"I never said that," Legolas muttered in good humor. He cocked an eyebrow as he opened a single eye, his good eye, and glanced over at Aragorn with a small frown. "How long do you think it is before they realize we are missing?"

"I am not sure. Hopefully long enough for you to get in a better mood and for me to re-gather some of my strength." Aragorn sighed as he strongly suspected that they were already known to be missing and that steps were being taken to ensure their capture and deaths. "It is probably too much for to hope for if we were to wish they didn't come after us."

"Most likely," Legolas agreed with a thin smile. He tried to roll over but he was stopped by the protests of some of his wounds. Cursing them for near the hundredth time, the Elf hissed as he tried to recover back to his old position. "I hate cots," he ground out.

"But they are convenient," Aragorn said optimistically. He smiled as his companion rolled his eyes dramatically and scowled.

"Indeed. As well as hard, very uncomfortable, smelly…"

"Smelly?" Aragorn asked incredulously as he raised a brow of his own and looked at the devious twinkle coming into Legolas' one open eye. From past experience he had the sinking feeling he was either about to be insulted or teased. If they had been at home, walking and wholly well he would have expected some sort of prank that only a mischievous Wood-Elf could come up with.

"Well, no, just yours," amended the prince quickly, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice so as to appear quite serious. It was a futile attempt that made him snort and wheeze as he upset his wounds in his efforts not to laugh uproariously.

Aragorn shook his head before he realized that might not be the best thing that he could do for it at the moment. Wincing inwardly so that Legolas wouldn't notice, the ranger lay back down and talked towards the ceiling. "Funny, Elf. Very funny."

"Well it would have been, but it didn't come out quite right," Legolas snorted softly. He closed his eye and smiled as he felt himself drifting asleep. As he was nearly asleep, he heard a soft rustling noise, quiet and nearly imperceptible. Opening both his eyes, the Elf sat up too quickly and seemed to feel his body shrink as it experienced a great deal of pain for a few seconds before suddenly coming back to its original size. Then, narrowing his blue orbs and knitting his brow, the prince scanned the shadowy room for the source of the noise. He made up his mind a long time ago that he wasn't particularly fond of surprises, especially if they were potentially deadly to himself or his friends. He also had learned at an early age that things going bump in the night were rarely good. So to say he was not the least bit curious as to whom or what their new visitor was would be a bald faced lie.

Feeling Legolas stir next to him, Aragorn sat up stiffly, blinking vapidly as he realized his friend was sitting up. "What?" he whispered tiredly taking note of how Legolas looked slightly alarmed and more than a little concerned.

"Something is in here with us," Legolas whispered back quietly and in far too calm a voice. His answer seemed to hang in the air. Not even looking at Aragorn he brought up a possibility that he still wasn't overly thrilled about. "Maybe it's that 'dog'." He doubted it and continued to look intensely at the shadows.

Aragorn yawned rather loudly, garnering a sharp glare from his blonde companion. "Could you be any louder?" hissed the Elf urgently and rather sardonically.

"Perhaps. Could you stop your antics and go back to sleep?" Aragorn retorted dryly. He cast a glower of his own at the Elf. "I think you are being paranoid."

"I am not," Legolas insisted indignantly as he tensed. "If I were being paranoid it would be something like this: 'Estel! Something breathed! I think something is in my blankets and is chewing on my toe!'" Legolas mocked and then turned away from his friend in annoyance. Why didn't Aragorn believe him? Stubborn, filthy, idiotic, blind, arrogant….

"Greenleaf," Aragorn said with amusement, breaking the silence and choosing judiciously to ignore the toe-chewing comment. Legolas turned his attention back to his friend. "Greenleaf, you have finally gone completely mad. You are jumping at shadows!" the ranger proclaimed bluntly, much to Legolas' utter besetment.

"Watch," the Elf cautioned. "Something is going to come out. Knowing our luck it shall be out for our blood and then we will both be killed slowly probably roasted alive over that little fire. You know as well as I do that concerning us, that is a perfectly reasonable prediction to make! So stop smirking, it isn't funny!" Easing his breathing, which seemed extremely heavy and loud to his own ears, Legolas continued with his immovable and most likely unnecessary vigil as Aragorn began to slip off into another sleep. Yes, that's it. Sleep! He grumbled inwardly at the ranger's actions though they were completely understandable and explainable and he knew he really shouldn't be this irritable.

His own eyes began to close and his head began to nod. He tried to tell himself that he really should be more on his guard but he was so very tired and grateful to be seemingly out of harms way. It was a feeling he knew he shouldn't get used to until he got home and was in his own bed, but it simply could not be helped. It had been too long since he had an apt sleep.

There was something moving to his right, near the fire, he told himself spiritlessly. It was near his face, very near his face…what? Instantly the prince jolted away, jerking his head up all too fast so that he felt like the world was whirling all about him in some strange swirling shape. Holding still until it slowed and finally stopped all together; the Elf narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the creature before him. Glancing over at Aragorn for help, he noticed the man was submerged completely in sleep and from the loose look on is face it wouldn't be easy to wake him for a considerable amount of time. It just about figured he would be asleep at a time like this! Looking over at the being on his right, between himself and the fire, Legolas stared hard at the short silhouette. "What do you want?" he asked in a quiet hiss.

"Bunny is 'ungry!" the tiny voice demanded. It sounded like the voice of a little boy. Well, if an age must be considered, Legolas would guess five at the oldest. But he wasn't an expert with mortals so he wouldn't stake his life on his conjecture in most any case.

Snorting softly with a meager amount of embarrassment at being spooked by a mere child, the prince asked with a soft chuckle, "and who is 'Bunny'?" Legolas sat up straighter and stiffened as his wounds pained him once more. These lacerations and bruises were worse than inconvenient; they were down right obnoxious! He couldn't make a single move without it being dogged by some miniscule amount of grueling pain. But that had been exactly what Dorrag and his insane guards had wanted so he wasn't all that amazed.

The boy extended a tiny hand as he pointed to Legolas. "Bunny," he explained emphatically as though it made all the sense in the world.

Smiling tensely, Legolas crinkled his nose and snorted lightly. Why he was being called 'Bunny' was absolutely beyond him but it wasn't as horrible as it could be. Though he was hoping earnestly that Aragorn didn't wake to hear this or he might never live it down. "Alright," he allowed for the sake of friendship, not wanting this child to turn against him because of an argument. He also felt too drained to put up a decent debate over his name and the child would be better off not having a clue.

"Bunny is 'ungry!" the child persisted with a small glare of indignation that his 'pet' apparently wasn't listening and was being obstinate. He crossed his small pudgy arms and his eye glittered.

"No. Bunny is tired," Legolas made an endeavor at warding off the boy, who was being annoyingly persistent. But how persistent could a mere babe be? Certainly he would get bored eventually and leave; Legolas rationalized to himself for what meager comfort it provided.

Voices…arguing voices…Legolas' voice? Aragorn pushed them out of his mind as she struggled to stay in his sleep, which was very much appreciated and very pleasant. He heard laughter, or was it crying? No, it was laughter. Why? Who was laughing? Well obviously somebody and considering Legolas was the only one in the room that he knew of chances were it was the Elf. And if Legolas is laughing he can't be in agony. You already know he is demented so nothing knew there. So just stay asleep, you fool. Legolas can take care of himself; Aragorn did his best to ignore the maniacal laughter that erupted as a result of his last thought. But it was an uphill battle that was soon lost.

That was enough to wake him up. Fluttering his grey eyes open slowly, Aragorn wondered what mischief Legolas had managed to call down upon their, at the moment, defenseless heads. But no, he realized as his vision began to slowly draw itself into focus, a result of him narrowing his eyes and blinking repeatedly. Legolas was fine; he was even smiling -smiling deviously -but smiling. That was a slight improvement when he remembered the very grumpy Elf from earlier. How long ago was that? Oh, roughly an hour, he wasn't sure. Shaking his head inwardly rather than outwardly, remembering the last time he had literally shaken it, Aragorn watched with half-lidded eyes as he struggled to remain awake.

A little boy, no more than five was with Legolas, he noticed with an outward grin. At least Legolas hadn't taken to talking to himself as he had nearly supposed. Continuing to grin like a fool, Aragorn watched with amusement as the child handed the Elf a piece of crumbling bread. But when the child commanded Legolas to eat that was what nearly sent Aragorn into a series of relentless giggles. No one commanded Legolas, especially to eat when he didn't want to. This conclusion Aragorn could draw from many years of experience in that designated sector and what was more he knew that Lord Elrond would agree. Even at death's door Legolas could be stubborn enough to resist the intake of food if it were forced upon him.

"Bunny eat!" the boy scolded as he looked with Elf up and down with little angry and disapproving eyes. His small furrowed brows and crinkled nose reminded Aragorn sharply of a little snarling puppy, though he wasn't quite sure why…maybe it was the child's age.

Then he confronted and barely endured the strong want to chuckle hysterically. 'Bunny'? Legolas, the high and mighty Prince of the Wood-Elves, was being called 'Bunny'? He nearly asked his friend if he would enjoy a carrot to nibble on, but he didn't have a death wish…at least not yet. If ever Dorrag's minions captured them again he would make a point of asking Legolas if he would like a carrot and no regret that the Elf murdered him in cold blood. Of course if he and Legolas did manage to escape Elladan and Elrohir would have to hear about this and King Thranduil and Ada…

Taking the piece of bread Legolas stared morosely at it before looking at the child tiredly. "I am afraid that I am not hungry at the moment." Really he was famished but he didn't think he stomach could handle anything longer than a few minutes after it was introduced to his system. This bread didn't look very…appealing anyway he looked at. How long it had been in the child's pocket he really wasn't sure and didn't entirely want to know.

Aragorn finally snorted lightly and then placed a hand hastily over his mouth as Legolas glanced hurriedly over his shoulder at him at the sound of his stifled giggle. The glare was so dark Aragorn nearly was sent into another round of giggles and chuckles. However, it also served as an unpretentious reminder that he had better keep his mouth shut or suffer later.

"Bunny must eat. Bunny is h-hurt," explained the boy as though he was searching for the right words. Then he frowned and looked at the bread he had forced into the Elf's hands. Knitting his little forehead that was normally smooth without a care in the world he asked in a whisper, "do you not like bread?"

"No, I do enjoy it, on the occasion. But I am not hungry." Frowning as he spoke, the Elf wondered if there was a way to ditch this boy so he could rest. His body craved true food and deep repose. He was beginning to feel an acute sense of homesickness and his wounds begged to be allowed time to heal. "You might see if the dog I saw around here wants it," he offered the suggestion hopefully. He could barely disguise his voice as being friendly and not desperate.

"Gundol?" the boy snorted incredulously. "Gundol only eats meat. He is a hunter," the child beamed proudly. Pointing to himself with a pudgy finger he boasted, "I trained him!" Scrubbing his dark and short hair through with his fingers, the child frowned, seemingly with disquiet. "Are you a hunter?"

"You could say that," Legolas answered as honestly as possible. His stomach turned violently at the thought of being fed meat from these people. He could not say for sure where it came from and of what animal it came. The Elf scowled. "I need to rest. Go and train Gundol some more," the immortal yawned and as he did he looked over at Aragorn, who was smiling up at him. He didn't mean to be harshly blunt, but he must, by any means, get at least one decent sleep.

The child smiled and reaching down at Legolas' feet, he picked up the disregarded and piled blanket, shoving it against Legolas' chest. His dark hair slid into his eyes and he brushed it away with his stout little hand. "Bunny is sleepy."

"Very much so," mumbled Legolas darkly and completely under his breath. He stared at the blanket dumbly for moment. There was not a prayer that he was going to shut his eyes while this child was around here. He had patience, yes, but not that much patience. He could barely stand Rothinzil's children and they were reasonably sane, disregarding their tendency to enjoy adventures.

"Sleep Bunny, naps are good for you," the little boy commented as he began to back-step out of the room cautiously, as though he feared Legolas would suddenly sprout a pair of decent sized fangs and leap at him. His eyes were large and it was then Legolas realized he had been giving a rather icy glare at everything and everybody for the past two minutes. At least now he could say with equitable accuracy that his glare worked on everybody. He actually felt the want to apologize nagging at his conscience but if this boy was leaving then he wasn't about to risk him staying only because he felt wanted in the room.

Once the child had back-stepped his way beyond the door and shut it tightly Legolas turned his icy glare fully upon Aragorn, heightening it's nearly lethal potency. The ranger laughed helplessly. "Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!" He coughed and then chuckled. "Naps are good for you Bun-"

Legolas clamped a hand over Aragorn's mouth as quickly as his reflexes allow before snarling a legitimate and somewhat intimidating threat. "Say it again, and only one of us will be returning home."

"Well I didn't think it was so humiliating you would die of mortification, but then again you are strange…" Aragorn stated after Legolas released his strong hold on his mouth. He smiled as the offending phrase ran through his mind again, but didn't dare to say it. Rather he grinned like a fool and nearly laughed when he noted how Legolas' cheeks obtained a deep crimson color even observable by firelight and the Elf looked even more cheerless (if that were possible) than he possibly had a moment ago.

"Human," the prince ground out thickly. "I actually was referring to making a corpse of you and returning home all by my lonesome." The blonde Elf shifted his weight and looked uneasy. A faint stritch-scratch could be heard on the other side of the door and a soft whining followed by a minute amount of whimpering and vigorous pawing noises. By Manwë, that 'dog' was out for his blood! Or well, perhaps not, but it still had a tendency to give him an evil glare, which he didn't think were even possible for a canine until he had seen this furry beast. Clearing his throat, Legolas asked with obvious diffidence, "could you move your cot sideways, placing yourself between me and the door?"

Aragorn gave his friend a more than skeptical expression and a weak smile pulled at his lips. "Excuse me? For what reason? This isn't another 'I-have paranoia-issues' venture of yours, is it?" He shook his head as though thoroughly exhausted with Legolas' unnatural nervousness when he actually found it more than a bit ridiculously amusing.

"No, and I don't have paranoia. That would be your brothers you are thinking of. Please do not confuse me with them," Legolas whined with mock hurt that did seem convincing to some degree. "I hope I am a little less reckless than that!" Legolas looked towards Aragorn hopefully, though it almost seemed to be more pleading than hoping…or perhaps a bit of both.

Aragorn began to roll his blankets up none-too neatly and pull them together to create on big, hectic bundle or bedding material. Glancing at Legolas as the Elf smiled, knowing he had gotten his way, Aragorn said, "you coward Elf. You just want me between you and the door so that if something happens to burst in with dripping fangs and perhaps an infection of rabies I can be the one with the honor to be devoured first."

Smiling innocently but disavowed by his words, the prince said calmly, "that is somewhere along my lines of intentions. But replace 'dripping fangs and perhaps an infection of rabies' with 'vengeful warg in disguise' or maybe even 'demon concealed in fur' and you've about summed everything up." The blonde being proceeded to pick up his blankets in no real orderly fashion.

Aragorn tossed his on the floor between Legolas and the door before saying. "You, a mighty warrior, are afraid of a dog?" The dark-haired human started to unwrap his blankets and spread them out again. He glanced at his friend from the corner of his eyes.

The Elf snorted and plopped his pillow dismally onto the ground before there was a soft sound of blankets hitting the wooden floor as well. "It is not a dog, I believe we have held this discussion before, it is a 'dog'. You must put it in quotes when you use that term to describe the …beast." Legolas finished reluctantly, not having any other way to describe his new mortal enemy. He smiled as Aragorn lay down contentedly between himself and the door holding back the 'dog'. Well, he thought optimistically, there was one advantage, Legolas isn't hogging the entire fire all for himself.

Looking with one half-lidded eye he asked sleepily, "is that better, your Majesty?"

Legolas quirked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes in brief and false indignation, "you make it sound so disreputable when you say it." He closed his blue orbs and let his head sink against the pillow delightfully, feeling at last a smidgen of a degree safer now that there was something between himself and the nameless fury beyond the wooden entrance.

"Well you don't exactly do honor to the words yourself, princling," Aragorn retorted. "After all, you are frightened by a 'dog'." The haggard ranger made sure to use quotations lest Legolas should start the entire tirade and lecture over. The human looked cautiously over at the Elf, who was smiling as he lay with his closed, instead of merging the surroundings with his sleep.

"That simply shows how little you truly know. Oh how you are deceived, young one," the Mirkwood prince teased his companion in a way he knew would absolutely irk the ranger. If Aragorn could tease him for his position and his 'paranoia', then he could certainly taunt him right back.

'I am not young anymore!" protested the ranger darkly as he propped himself up on his elbows somewhat shakily due to his stab wounds and other numerous abrasions. He glared threateningly at the blonde Elf smiling all too contentedly as he lay on his cot, looking back at Aragorn with a familiar and dangerous sparkle restoring his tired eyes. Emitting a quiet yawn and closing his eyes, Legolas clearly showed by his actions that he was to worn out to care about or participate in further debates. Not wanting to admit defeat, Aragorn declared himself the winner of the debate. Obviously Legolas simply couldn't challenge him.

The two friends were very nearly asleep when the wooden door banged open, causing Legolas to jump in surprise and alarm. But it was not the 'dog' that provoked his fresh fear and the sickening feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach, pulling him towards the center of the earth. Nor was it the words that the Haradrim maiden hurriedly hissed at the companions that caused the hair to stand on the back of his neck. "They will be here by sunset day after tomorrow."

It was when she took a cross bow and set the bolt aimed for Aragorn's throat before she drew the string back and gave the Elf an almost sad and yet still demanding look. Legolas was not surprised at all that this should happen to him. But what did surprise him was that a maiden had him crippled thus and a maiden had him helpless and his friend ready to be sent beyond Death's Door. Where she had learned to use a crossbow Legolas couldn't rightly guess but he knew that she was not ignorant to its usefulness.

O0O0O0O

Darcíl slipped his knives all into their proper sheathes and hung his sword at his side. This was the most deplorable and surprising turn of events he had seen in a long time. He had always known this would eventually happen, but he had pushed it out of his mind, pretending this game wasn't real and that the pieces weren't relevant or threatened. But to his astonished clarification of reality they were relevant and now threatened. He had known it all along, but being able to truly admit it to himself was not something had been able to do until this very moment.

Slipping his cloak on his gaze looked grimly out the window and he saw the rain coming down in buckets again, portraying his mood rather accurately, he told himself sardonically. His eyes drifted from the sky to the stables, which he could see from his room. How he was going to get down there without being discovered was beyond him. It was definitely going to take a miracle or a bizarre and uncommon twist of unique luck. He didn't expect either. Sighing with despair but a grim determination stemming form the fact he had nothing left to try and everything to lose, the man quickly jogged out of the room.

The halls were deviously and ominously barren of people, he noticed as he ran down the long and decorated corridors. He then realized that chances were someone had discovered Sarchel's lifeless corpse. Maybe that was the distraction and miracle he had looked for, though why it chose to present itself in this fashion was strange indeed. But he clearly didn't have time to put these things into question.

Striding as quickly as his long legs would carry him without tripping flat on his face, the Haradrim captain made up his mind that for time's sake he was going to brave crossing the court yard to reach the stables. Hopefully they were all busy examining Sarchel's body, though in a way that left him with less time because it indicated he wasn't dead and that he was still very much a threat.

Slipping into the courtyard he resisted the urge to stop as he heard a voice call to him that he knew all too well. "Darcíl! Wait! Where ever are you going?" Cortanyar inquired as he ran cordially up to stride beside the other man. To Darcíl he seemed overly jovial coupled with a devious ring in his voice's tone that he had not sensed before.

"Desperate matters call me away," answered Darcíl curtly but politely enough that he might ward off suspicion to some degree. He had to get a horse and then people had better get out of his way. He was not beyond killing anyone who dared to hinder him with one finger or word.

"Indeed," the ex-healer stopped and for the first time, Darcíl noticed as the man looked back that he was in full uniform. He was set to march, bit where to was a complete mystery. This troubled the Haradrim captain and only served to make him subconsciously quicken his already fast speed. "So you shall not come with us to the village of Astroggen?" he asked suspiciously eyeing the other.

"I fear not," Darcíl tried to keep his responses brief and uninformative.

"Dorrag will be most unpleased," Cortanyar said with a small frown. He then began to follow behind Darcíl, but he noted the man still went faster. With annoyance, he quickened his pace to match.

'Will he?' Darcíl asked himself. 'I think not. I think he will be most pleased. In fact, I can't recall a time when he has been more pleased than he will be when he finds out I won't be going.' He didn't dare to say all this out loud. After all he wasn't suicidal or stupid. Instead he kept his mouth shut as he walked up to the first stall he saw bearing a tall and sturdy horse.

Cortanyar studied him curiously before stepping front of him to block him from exiting the stable. "You are fleeing." Darcíl was annoyed this was a statement, not a question. "I cannot allow that."

"I don't have time for this," growled Darcíl as he tossed a saddle onto the horse's back and cinched it up tightly before feeding a bit into its waiting mouth. Mounting the horse he glared darkly with a fierce determination. "Step aside or be overrun." He was not about to let his insane ex-healer prevent him from being near his family. Spurring the horse, he forced it quickly forward so that it had no time to think of who or what stood before it. It simply galloped out through he doors and luckily for Cortanyar he jerked aside at the last moment.

Darcíl had decided not use the back doors of the stables but ride through he palace, which would lead him to the needed road far quicker, which was exactly what he needed. Tuning the galloping horse sharply, he abruptly forced it to turn with a snort into the palace doors and to the astonishment of the guards he continued to ride down at the hall at a dead gallop. The creature's hooves pounded and clicked against the stone tiles rhythmically as he rode the chestnut horse as hard as he was able.

He was sure there were people screaming behind him, but he was not about to stop and for some odd reason his mind didn't even confirm there was anyone else around. He felt alone, and it was actually a good feeling this time. Yanking the reins without warning to his right he guided the horse around sharp bend in the corridor. No he could hear voices behind him inquiring as to his sanity and everything else.

Pulling left on the reins, he guided the animal out of the door and onto the street, where he called upon more speed from the horse by the liberal use of his heels in the beast's sides. Instantly the chestnut horse doubled its pace and rushed through the crowds like a red-ish blur; breathing heavily as it did so. He could feel it trying to please him and prove to be a worthy animal.

It wasn't long before he was beyond the meager groups of people that dared to be out of their houses and was nearing a check-post that you had to have leave to get in or out of the royal city from. Knowing full well that they would never allow him to pass, Darcíl whipped out his short sword in one hand and guided his horse's reins with the other. A grim expression on his feature's looked set in cold stone and his eyes were black like coals in his wrath.

As he had expected men stepped in his way to deny him passage. Pulling his sword back, he let the momentum of his rushing mount bring it forward again as he ran one man over who fell beneath his horse with a cry and quickly dismembered the head from the shoulder's of another who stupidly drew his own weapon as opposed to stepping aside after seeing his companion trampled. He nearly winced as he heard the death cries of the man who had been ran over by his horse and lay dying. But he was far too angry to feel very merciful and that was to be expected.

The animal, now fully free of crowds and other hindrances turned itself lose and if Dorrag were watching all he would see was Darcíl and the mount vanishing into the horizon leaving behind a trail in the mud. Patting the horse's neck as they rode he reassured the animal of his gratitude for its speed and endurance.

He glanced up with alarm as his could have sworn to the gods of the Elves that he smelled something akin to smoke. Looking far off on the horizon, he saw an orange light go up against the sky and he saw other's join it. Fear clenched his heart and he nearly stopped riding with the horse as his jaw dropped in complete and undiminished bewilderment and horror. A black cloud went up from where the red and orange light reflected and it was a thick and growing like a tumor. He watched as the orange reflection also grew brighter and the smell of smoke became stronger.

Even though he was riding the horse at break-neck speed everything seemed to be drenched in cold honey and he felt like he was getting nowhere. It was as though time had stopped and he was still moving, keeping time with the horse on the road. His family's village was burning.

He was not surprised that the fire should light in the rain, at least not if the soldiers had any kind of oil. It would burn for a long time and suddenly, as though he was released from a spell, the Haradrim captain felt the horse moving and the ground thundering under its hooves, pulsing up through its body. He became aware of the mud flinging itself up onto his face and now adorning his clothes and the saddle plus the blanket. He became conscious also of the wet rain soaking him, spilling and running off of his cloak in tiny rivers.

Dorrag would pay for this dearly. Darcíl would see him lying in the mire of his own blood, drowning. He didn't care very much of that was the last thing he ever saw or did. He would die with a sense of satisfaction knowing that insane and utterly sick man was beyond the circles of the world.

Suddenly, his horse buckled and with a strong feeling of detachment he realized he was flailing over its head in a flying mass of arms and legs and onto the ground. He hit it with his hands first, bracing himself before he tumbled to the side and lay there in the mud of the road, pain scoring his body in many different places. His eyes fell upon the horse than lay on the ground, pawing at the mud and muck as its eyes widened in its terror, searching for a way out. A frothing sweat covered its body like white foam and its sides heaved in agony.

It had literally been neck-breaking speed at which Darcíl had forced the poor horse to run and it could take no more. The Haradrim officer heard a rattle in the animal's chest before it lay its head down in the road and the now filmy eyes closed forever. Closing his own eyes against the pain on the left side where he had hit the ground the hardest and he knew that a few ribs had to be broken…two at least. He had never truly experienced broken ribs before and made a mental note not to ever do it again.

Stubbornly he tried to rise and yet he doubled over, nearly falling to his knees again. But he forced himself to run through the slippery mud and towards the burning mass of a village that had once been his home. Without the horse this was hopeless and he more than knew it.

O0O0O0O

Dorrag glanced angrily over the edge of the balcony, barely able to hold his temper in check. Cortanyar stood beside him, watching impassively as his lord turned one interesting shade of red to another. His brows were knitted in silent thought as Dorrag hissed quietly, "he cannot be allowed to live. I must have him dead. But first thing is first, Cortanyar, bring me that Elf, at whatever costs. Don't spare the ranger." He frowned as he looked grimly at the dark stones stained with Sarchel's blood below the balcony's edge. "I believe them to be hiding in Astroggen. It is not far and in their condition it would seem very logical."

"I understand, my lord. The village must be occupied," he answered apathetically to his liege.

"It must be occupied and scoured. Level it if you have to. They have been nothing but rabble-rousers and key to any resistance anyway. It is well they get what they deserve." He narrowed his eyes in frustration and his fingers drummed on the rail in agitation with no distinct rhythm. His eyes fell on the body of Sarchel. Arrogant fool. He was no great loss and in fact, to Dorrag's way of thinking it was 'good riddance'. The man had been completely stupid from the beginning and he hadn't managed to even torture anything from a helpless Elf. Turning to Cortanyar he said unemotionally with a wave of his hand, "dispose of the body."

Cortanyar stood there for a moment and seemed to be rooted to the spot. He then said thoughtfully, "actually, I think I might rather want to keep it, your Majesty."

Dorrag gave the man a disgusted and loathing look before he snarled in repugnance, "then do it, do it! But I don't want to hear one more word about it, do you understand?" He rubbed his temples with his fingers to try and keep a pounding headache at bay. It was not his fault all his officers were psychotic, he reminded himself. One couldn't even pull off what should have been a simple assassination attempt and the other wanted the body of the failed officer. And on top of that his head commander was a traitor and unreliable to boot!

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, My lord," was all Cortanyar said. Glancing down at the body below he gave a sickly and tense smile. He wasn't sure what he would use it for, but he would find a purpose for it. It was a rather nice gift, he thought with an inward grin of joyousness.

"Whatever," Dorrag dismissed Cortanyar's courteous thank-you quickly as he was able. He didn't want his name mixed with this man's if he could help it. He scowled at his officer. "Since Darcíl is now gone, I place you in his position. When you go to that town let them know that treason doesn't pay. If that have that Elf and Ranger or refuse to help I want it razed to the ground! And I don't care about the means, but get that Elf and kill that ranger."

"Indeed, my lord," the ex-healer and new commander gave a slight bow out of politeness. His grin could now be seen as he realized he had just been given a free card to create a living Hell that he would govern directly under Dorrag's nose. He would have to be careful, but in the end the people would fear him more than they did Dorrag and in the end, they would rally behind him out of a terror to do anything else. He would have Dorrag's head on a pike, he told himself happily.

"You are off to a good start. And when you capture the Elf, I have changed my mind. Do not break his legs. He will need to walk the scaffolding once we have him. Name or not his execution is scheduled for three days at noon, when everyone can see his head roll from the platform." Dorrag captured Cortanyar's gaze and held it with an intensifying glare.

"We are going to behead him?" Cortanyar asked incredulously and with surprise.

"We haven't had a decent beheading in years. The people want to see blood, and once his head rolls, we know he won't be coming back," replied the Haradrim prince matter-of-factly. "I want him to die in front of everyone. I will have to hope that it gets back to the Elves somehow."

"We can send the head back to the nearest Elven kingdom," suggested Cortanyar maliciously. The thought of decapitation pleased him greatly and he could feel himself quivering with excitement. A great amount of joy was mounting in his heart and he was working his hardest to withhold a bright smile that was pulling strongly at his lips' corners.

"What is the name of the Elven land that dwells alongside Dol Guldur? We are going to be going that direction already…" Dorrag didn't even notice as the ex-healer interrupted him abruptly.

"Mirkwood?" Cortanyar asked skeptically.

'Mirkwood', that was the name. 'Well I will have to give them a little surprise,' he sniggered sinisterly inside. "I believe that is the name, Captain." He frowned, "you may set out for Astroggen as soon as you are ready." He added, "and get that body out of here!"

TBC...Oh-ho! Aragorn is being held hostage and ohhhh...goodness...Legolas is in dire danger of being beheaded! Te-he...Why are we so happy... :o) LOL Maybe it is because this is what is commonly known as a 'cliffy'.