Ok, so here we are, shamelessly eating Bertie Botts™, Ice Mice™, Acid Pops™, and Droobles Best Blowing Gum™ (Which, by the way, blows horrible bubbles) as we type up this horribly late chapter—laughing our heads off as we go. Note: never eat an Acid Pop™, never eat a sardine flavored jelly bean. In fact, just don't eat sardines.

Our sincerest apologies in the late update, we were excavating some ruins in Egypt when we happened to come across a green orb that was glowing.

Of course, our reaction was: Cool! Green! I wanna touch it! So we touched it. It opened a portal to another dimension in which we were chased by swat ninjas and nearly drowned in a sea of dust bunnies and… what else? Sardines.

Important(!): We are really sorry about chapter three being gone (somehow, fan fiction dot net managed to delete one of our chapters), but we've checked all of our computers, floppys, and dustbunny hide-aways, and we cannot find the chapter! That chapter took us five hours to type, and fan fiction dot net doesn't even have the back up of the chapter. So we were wondering, even though it's highly unlikely, if any of you readers saved the chapter to your computer? If you have, please please please e-mail us and e-mail the chapter! We would be so grateful!

Also, please note, reviewers: please don't flood with many reviews saying the same thing over and over. Not only does fan fiction dot net not appreciate this, but neither do we, and neither do other reviewers. Please note this, and sorry if we sound harsh. This was brought to our attention, that someone was flooding, not only by simply noticing, ourselves, but also by a complaint from another reviewer.

We also sincerely hope that if you read The Mischief of Elves, during the limited time that it was up, that you enjoyed it!

Yes, so anyway, we are sorry, and here we go!

Disclaimer: AAAAAAAAAAAAah typing all those a's is fun! We don't like disclaimers, and we don't like sardines, because in our hearts we would like to believe we own the world, except for the sardines. Nor do we own the song below: "Time to say Goodbye" translated from Italian to English. Oh! And kudos to anyone who sees the allusion to Lost.


When I'm alone I dream of the horizon and words fail me.
There is no light in a room where there is no sun
and there is no sun if you're not here with me, with me.
From every window unfurls my heart the heart that you have won.
Into me you've poured the light,
the light that you found by the side of the road.

Time to say goodbye.
Places that I've never seen or experienced with you.
Now I shall, I'll sail with you upon ships across the seas,
seas that exist no more,
it's time to say goodbye.

Sarah Brightman, "Time To Say Goodbye"


Chapter 5: Time To Say Goodbye

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Forgive me," he whispered.

"Forgive me for asking you to do such a thing," Legolas said softly in reply. Then he closed his eyes and waited, ready to let death take him.

Aragorn, on the other hand, found no such tranquility in the task before him. Every time he raised the dagger it was only to lower it once more. How could he slaughter a pure being meant to live forever, even by the elf's request? He could feel tears in his eyes.

Both companions turned abruptly at the sound of hurried footsteps entering the forest, accompanied by loud, infuriated voices.

"Aragorn!" Legolas hissed sharply.

The knife slipped from his grasp. "I cannot…"

Suddenly, Legolas reached out and took the weapon in his own hand. "Ae aníron nad carnen, han cerithon anim," he said darkly, raising it.

Aragorn grabbed the blade a second before it plunged into Legolas' chest. Blood streamed through his fingers, more and more as the elf tried mercilessly to jerk it back from him, slicing his hand further. After a few moments of wrestling for it, the dagger went flying. Aragorn lunged for it. Yet as he was just grasping it, an Orc's foot came down on the blade. He looked up to se Ognak's sneering face.

"We're doing things my way now," the Orc said cruelly. He clouted Aragorn in the head and drew a sword covered in Groushnak's blood.

The last thing Aragorn saw his world went black were Legolas' eyes, full of piercing hatred.

"Man gonoded eraid derithach? Man le caree si? Avo aphado nín…"

Aragorn slowly came to consciousness, his head throbbing painfully. He felt a dull pain in his hands as Elvish seemed to swirl around in his mind. He opened his eyes blearily and realized the Sindarin was coming from Legolas. He was against a tree, his eyes half closed. The part of the eyes he could see where dull and glazed. The elf was mumbling Elvish deliriously.

"E ú-'ar hired râd… ú-chenion… mas ha nín muindor? Goheno nín. Estelio nín…"

Aragorn looked lower and saw the hilt of a dagger sticking of his stomach.

"No," he whispered to himself. "Legolas!" Aragorn tried to move forward to his friend, but found himself restricted—not by ropes, but by chains. Chains that had been attached to a boulder.

Why chains?

"'E'll be dead soon," came Ognak's squalid voice. Aragorn turned to see the Orc leaning against a tree, sharpening a jagged knife. They had been dragged back to the camp. "But I made sure he suffered first."

Ognak only laughed when Aragorn shouted at him every curse he knew in the tongues of Men and Elves. "Shut up," he said admiring his blade and setting down his sharpening stone. He nodded to Ugluk, who then bound Aragorn's legs tightly and secured them to two pegs in the ground. A large wooden club lay near Legolas. Ognak picked it up, then began to walk slowly around Aragorn, making sure the man saw the club from all angles.

"You know that I'm going to kill you," the foul creature said casually. Aragorn snorted.

"I dare you to try," he whispered, his mind on Legolas.

"Brave words," said Ognak, looking over at the elf. "Your friend had them too." He laughed cruelly. Without warning, he brought the club heavily down. It connected with Aragorn's side and a loud sickening crack resounded through the silence. Aragorn winced and ground his teeth, hissing a curse underneath his breath.

"Why were you spying on us? What did you hope to learn?"

Aragorn gave no answer, but stared defiantly at the Orc. "You hit like a pansy," said the young ranger mockingly, a painful smirk coming to his face. If he was trying to infuriate Ognak, it worked. The Orc brought the club down on Aragorn's opposite side. Despite the mind-blowing pain, Aragorn could not help but think, Well. Two pansies.

"Who is your master?"

Aragorn just forced a smile to his face.

Ognak lost his temper as he grabbed his sharpened dagger in sudden fury and pointed it at Aragorn.

Aragorn waited for death to take him but, instead, Ognak placed his fingers around Aragorn's jaw, forcing his tongue out.

"Since you're not going to talk, why don't we just cut out your tongue!"

He brought the knife to Aragorn's tongue. Aragorn clenched his hands as he tasted cold blood and metal. Suddenly a yell was heard and Ognak pulled away, fury clear in his twisted eyes.

"What-" he began, but was stunned silent as four horses suddenly charged into the clearing, four elves upon them, ire in their eyes.

"Hain dago!" came the cry of the elves as Orcs were killed. Suddenly, he golden-haired Elf stopped as he saw Legolas, his eyes wide with shock. Aragorn watched as a single tear came from Thranduil's eyes, and his sword dropped ground.

Thranduil dropped his sword, his body suddenly chilled with fear.

"Legolas."

Thranduil's vision blurred and he felt himself dismounting his horse and kneeling in the muddy ground. All thoughts were jumbled as he saw his child… his life… broken and nearly dead.

While Thranduil rushed to Legolas' side, Elladan and Elrohir came to their human brother's aid. Their arrows were soon embedded in Ognak's chest. The Orc fell to the ground, and the club slipped from his fingers. Elrond grabbed a key from Ognak's belt and had soon freed the wounded Aragorn from his bonds. Despite his cracked ribs, he used Ognak's sword and battled the many Orcs who were now pouring into the clearing, the twins were alternating; one would shoot while the other would engage in hand-to-hand combat.

Meanwhile, Thranduil had carefully removed the knife from his son's stomach bound the wound with his own cloak to lessen the flow of blood.

"Legolas?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

Legolas' eyes looked around blearily, his gaze unfocused. He said nothing for awhile, then looked slowly into his father's eyes.

"Ada?"

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief and took his son's hand in his own. "I'm here for you, my son."

"Forgive me," he managed to say through labored breaths, tears trekaing down his face. "I have failed you."

"No," Thranduil answered quietly. "It is I who have failed."

"Thranduil!" Elrond called sharply. The battle was going ill; they would soon be overrun. Elladan and Elrohir's arrows were spent.

Reluctantly, the Elvenking left his son's side and joined the fierce battle.

However, they were soon terribly outnumbered. One by one, they fell. Elladan was the first. A group of seven had cornered him, and fight as he may, they were eventually able to bind his arms and legs, though for some reason he was not slain. Elrohir, second, as he tried to save his twin. He attempted to free his brother, but was cornered and bound soon after fell Elrond as he tried to save his sons.

Last fell Thranduil, for a madness came over him as he fought to save his son. Finally an Orc overtook him from the back. They quickly grabbed the chains, which before had held Aragorn and bound the Elvenking with them. Thranduil bit back a yell of fury that he had failed in helping his son escape. He fought desperately against the chains which heed him so that he could help his son. Legolas was hallucinating now, Thranduil could see, as his son called out Gildur's name and deplored him for help.

Thranduil just wanted to end his child's suffering. He suddenly realized he had been sobbing. How could his have happened to his son? He felt nauseated to think that this had happened to his child. He wanted to do no more than to take Legolas in his arms and comfort him. His own breathing was irregular and he could still feel the tears cascading down his face as his body was wracked with sobs. Pride no longer mattered. All that mattered now was saving his son; no matter the cost upon himself.

Struck with the irony of the situation, Thranduil realized that he was captive in the very forest he reigned. No patrols came this far south, that escape route was disbanded before it ever came into being. He had to create some plan, for if it was to extemporaneous, it would fail. Until then, he would not remain quiescent. And when the time came, they would be sorry they had even touched his child! Yes, they would pay for this- and pay dearly.

So were Thranduil's final thoughts before his world went black.

When Thranduil awoke, he still felt the familiar touch of metal on his wrist, only now the chains led to still bonds on Elrond's arms. Feeling dazed and lightheaded, he looked down the line to see that they had been chained in succession by the wrists and ankles, with Legolas lying at the opposite end from his father. The chains on his wrists were attached to a tree at his side and the cloak with bound his waist was soaked with blood. All were still unconscious save the human on his right.

The bodies of the dead were piled high off to one side. Those remaining had fathered in a circle and were listening to the direction of Ugluk, their new leader. It hurt Thranduil's ears to listen to their foul language, and he could not understand it.

Aragorn, however, knew enough of the Black Speech from what Gandalf had taught him to comprehend what they were planning. A sick dread rose in his heart.

"Lord Thranduil," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

The Elvenking looked to him, hated and distrust evident in his silver eyes. He said nothing.

Aragorn shifted uneasily, trying to lessen the pain his ribs. "They do not plan to remain in Rhovanion," he continued quietly. "They know that they have captured the King of Mirkwood and lord of Imladris…and plan to take us before their master."

"The Dark Lord," Thranduil breathed. He immediately looked to his son, who had already endured so many hardships and suffered so.

"They're awake!" an Orc reported suddenly. All the Orcs immediately turned. A sneer crossed Ugluk's face as he strode to Aragorn and Thranduil, and they realized that their weapons and belongings had been piled behind where he had been standing. Aragorn was horrified to see the glistening shape of the Ring of Barahir near the bottom.

Ugluk grinned malevolently at his two captive. "The Great Eye will be pleased," he said.

Ugluk's eyes traveled from Legolas to Thranduil and Elrond. He smiled cruelly and laughed.

"Yes, he will be greatly pleased!" he laughed to himself. "And Ugluk shall get the reward!" His smile disappeared as he turned back to his prisoners.

"Get moving!" he snarled. "We don't have forever. And keep a steady pace or you'll suffer the consequences, and I guarantee you won't like them!"

Elrond began to move, but Thranduil remained where was. Shackled together as they were, it stoped al movement.

Ugluk dropped back, a scowl on his face.

"Move, scum!"

Thranduil merely glared at the Orc. "How do you expect him to walk?"

Ugluk glanced at Legolas.

"You're right, scum! We'll just leave him here!"

Thranduil's eyes widened. The prospect of leaving his child to die horrified him.

"No!" Thranduil shouted, then he stopped himself and turned to Ugluk.

Ugluk smiled cruelly. "Whatever you wish," he said. He reached over and yanked Legolas to his feet, laughing mercilessly when he stumbled and the chains which restricted his movement cut into his skin. "It would have been a mercy to leave you here," Ugluk said, taunting the prince. "But your father felt he urge to intervene. And you will find no mercy before my master."

Thranduil bitterly realized the truth behind those words. They were to be taken to he land of shadows, where the monstrous Orcs first came to be. To a land corrupted by darkness and relentless evil, where no elf could survive the torment that awaited them.

Where all were ensnared in the gaze of a great, lidless eye, ever watchful, wreathed in flame.

Thranduil felt terror rise in his heart as he looked at his suffering son. The pain of seeing one he loved so in such a state was overwhelming, and magnified by the knowledge of where they were now headed. He distantly felt chains being pulled, felt himself being forced to walk forward.

No more words were said by the captors nor by their prisoners, and the bed of moss on the forest floor swallowed the sound of their footsteps. Only the threatening crack of a whip could be heard occasionally, and it would resound throughout Rhovanion, a repeating and unyielding reminder of the horrors that lay ahead. The captives kept their faces downcast, for the grim silence somehow spoke louder than words and brought upon them the terrible feeling of hopelessness.

Such was the mood as Aragorn, Legolas, Elrond, Thranduil, Elladan and Elrohir began their trek to the forsaken realm of Mordor.

Gandalf knew in his heart ha ill fortune had befallen the Elvenking and his companions. He could feel it, hear it in the whisper of the wind. It gave him urgency, and he drove his horse forward. He had known this would happen whether he was there or not and he had left to fetch help.

Now, with a large group of dangerous Sindar Elves riding behind, hopefully they might save Legolas and the others. If they rode hard, they might be able to corner the Orcs at the edge of the wood, or perhaps even before. It was because of him that they got into this mess and he would see them out of it… he just hoped that he would not be too late.

His body was on fire and yet felt like ice. Pain controlled his every nerve, and consumed his mind. He was unaware of everything going on around him, and yet, at the same time, he knew just what was happening. He regretted showing such anger and hatred towards Aragorn. If it had been Aragorn asking of him what he had asked, what would he have done? Would he have truly been able to hill his friend? He knew the answer only too well: No… he could not even begin to think of Aragorn dying, whether by his hand, or mortality. That only meant more pain, losing another loved one. Pain was the only thing love ever brought him, whether upon himself, or upon someone that he loved.

A tear slipped from his eye, unbidden, unexpected, unwanted. He had only survived thus far because of the ranger. Aragorn had held a deep faith in him when he had little faith in himself. Even now, he was alive because of Aragorn, and thought he was grateful to him for having eternal faith in him, Legolas could not help but think that his faith was misplaced. What he did know, was that if he allowed it, Aragorn would he his eternal friend and brother-at-heart.

Legolas felt the tear fall to his chest. Everything now seemed so hopeless… How could he continue like this? The poison from the blade should have dealt him death on swift white wings… but his tortured body, mind, and heart remained resilient. All he truly wished for now, was for his friends and loved ones to be safe… he could not take the constant ache in his heart that shook with shame. The Valar had spared him, this he knew. The Orcs could have done much worse to him—things that could have caused him to wish for death even more so than he did already.

Nay! He would not think of that. He gazed around, but everything remained hazy. He was surprised he was even able to think this well… before all his mind could comprehend was the constant, terrible pain that had burned his very self. Yet, before he could contemplate his understand further, pain shot through his body, consuming all thought again, and as a single moment of clarity was gifted to him, he wondered briefly what poison had been instilled in his body that was prolonging his death so cruelly.

Ugluk stood nearby, eyeing Legolas and holding a whip at ready. Legolas found that he didn't care. BY now, he was nearly accustomed to the stinging pain, to the strange weakness that came from loss of blood. Each step felt like he was dragging weights and the debris on the forest floor cut into his bloody feet.

The journey was one that the prisoners would scarcely remember. It was a blur of countless days that followed a pattern of repetition. There were brief rests in which they were forced to consume the fetid food and drink of their captors. Those rests were hardly better than the long hours they spent being driven forward ruthlessly. Just as the dreams that sometimes came upon them were even worse than the waking agony of a nightmare that they were forced to endure.

One of the Orcs had gone ahead, and had hoisted himself into a tree and was looking out in all directions as far as he could see; which was not very far. Despite this, he could make out all the distant movement of horses through the trees.

"We are being tracked!" he yelled.

A murmur and commotion rose. The Orcs knew of course, that the party must be elves of Mirkwood, and that they stood no chance again mounted Elven warriors.

Orcs are very disagreeable creatures, and many somewhat dull-witted; they bickered among themselves for a great amount of time before realized that it was getting them nowhere. Ugluk commanded that they remain silent.

"They're good trackers," he said with anger and disgust. "They'll be able to follow our trail, wherever we go."

"Let them follow," muttered another. "It will mean nothing once we reach the Land of Shadow."

Ugluk glared at him. "They are on horseback, fool. How long do you think it will before they overtake us? No. We must go off course and confuse the Elven scum into going the wrong direction."

Obviously, Ugluk was among the more intelligent Orcs. The rest had not the fainted idea as to how this was to be accomplished. He grew somewhat impatient.

"We have to split up!" he said. "Half of us will continue on our planned route with three of the prisoners. The rest must break off and go to Dol Guldur. It's the only way."

After the others made sense of the plan, they consented. Aragorn felt his heart sink. Certainly, the latter road made more sense than the one to Mordor… would the Elves fall for the trap? He looked over at the wins, at Legolas. If they were separated, there would be no way of knowing what fate had befallen the others. He just hoped, for everyone's sake, that Elladan and Elrohir were not separated.

"I will lead the host to Mordor," Ugluk said. He then chose who would go with him. Once the two groups were decided, the Orcs turned to their prisoners.

"Which three have the honor of traveling with me?" Ugluk wondered aloud, a sinister grin spread over his face. Legolas' eyes were downcast as Ugluk passed by him. He knew in his heart which road he would be traveling.

Ugluk returned to the other Orcs and spoke some words to them. They listened, then a few came forth bearing a second line of chains. One of the Orcs undid Legolas' bonds, then forced him mercilessly to his feet. The Orc bound Legolas' wrists, then pulled out a knife and pressed the cold steel to the elf's neck. He nodded at Elrond and Thranduil.

"Release those two," he said. "If they give us any trouble at all…" He pressed the blade harder, drawing a trickle of blood. "…he dies."

Legolas watched as Elrond and his father meekly accepted the new set of chain, their eyes full of anger and despair. He felt himself being chained as well.

Legolas cast one last look at Aragorn as the Orcs began to lead him away. Their eyes locked, and Legolas looked for any sign of hope, the slim amount that he had always seen in their before, the small flame that had kept a small spark of hope in his own mind, but found none. Aragorn's eyes were brimming with tears… and Legolas could not help but blame himself.

At the same time, he briefly wondered if Aragorn, or the twins, his father… if anyone would miss him, if he were to be killed. He would gladly sacrifice himself if it meant that they would be free, if they would be allowed the chance at freedom—the chance at life. Even if he was to be the sacrifice, if he could be the one thing that would give them life… if he would ever be remembered… if he would ever be missed.

He wondered, at that moment, as the darkness of the trees enclosed him and he continued his journey to Mordor, if he would ever see Aragorn again… or if, like with Gildur, he and his mortal brother were about to be separated forever.

The sound of thundering hoof beats could be heard even from a distance. Gandalf kept a steady pace, and the elves followed and kept up without questions. He was driving his exhausted stallion to its absolute limit.

They had found the trail, which was still pretty fresh. That was a good sign. At least it indicated, as Gandalf had hoped, that they were catching up.

As night was beginning to fall and stars lit the blackness of the sky above the thick, tangled, labyrinth of branches above them, they arrived at a clearing in the woods—and the sight was shocking. Corpses of Orcs were pilled high in a far corner and had been left to decay. The stench was horrid, and nearly overwhelming. Some weapons and armor that had been too heavy to carry had been thrown in a heap nearby.

Gandalf and a few of the Sindar Elves dismounted and began to examine their surroundings.

Gandalf began to rummage through the pile of belongings. He worked quickly and efficiently. Every now and then he would find something small that suggested the elves had been there, and towards the bottom he began to uncover the weapons of Thranduil, Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir.

"Have you found something, Mithrandir?" asked one of the elves, crouching down beside him, giving off a faint light.

Gandalf nodded grimly. "It is as I feared," he said, showing the elf the weapons and armor. "They have been taken captive."

A strange emotion flashed through the Elf's jaded eyes. "Then we must continue along the trail."

"Yes," the Istar replied, an odd tone in his voice that was directed towards the Elf. "Give the command for the others to mount."

As the Elf did this, Gandalf noticed a small object glimmering as his staff emitted a beam of light towards it. He picked it up and felt his heart ease slightly. The Ring of Barahir. Whatever had happened, the Orcs knew nothing of Aragorn's true identity. It seemed that they Orcs were moving steadily in the direction of Dol Guldur. However, he made not any assumptions since one occasionally, however rare it might be, came across the cunning Orc; and he, Gandalf, would take no chances while his friends' lives were on the line.

Gandalf saw the elves had gathered the weapons and had taken them. They were now scouting the area.

"Mithrandir!" cried an Elf—the same Elf as before. "The trail continues south."

Gandalf gazed down the dark path ahead of them. The Elves leapt atop their horses as Gandalf mounted his horse. The Elf, called Sidh, led the company. His eyes were keen upon the rail ahead, determined to fine the tracks which led to the prince, which led to his friend. Gandalf rode up beside him.

"Lead on."

Sidh nodded curtly, as thought his thoughts were elsewhere. Gandalf was not surprised, and he said nothing. He knew this elf to be a friend of Legolas'… at least he had been before Legolas had withdrawn from the world after his brother had died.

The other elves followed Sidh's lead. The forest seemed to be growing darker and more ominous. When Mirkwood grew darker, it could mean only one thing: Dol Guldur.

Pain does not lie.

Nor is it truly possible to lie about pain, for it consumes one thoughts and distracts one from all else. One cannot go through a certain amount of suffering and be not changed. Yet pain can be made more bearable when one is with those who one loves, and when that is taken away, the dreaded pain seems to close in with dark persistence.

The other thing pain causes, for one who has suffered for a long amount of time, is shame. Shame that another being is able to inflict this much pain on not only one's body, but also upon one's soul and mind. It builds a slow burning shame in one's heart… slowing eating away and forcing one to become of mere shell of who they once were.

This was the path two of the regal Elves would soon embark upon and the path that the other had been stumbling down for what seemed to be eternity.

Pain was the meaning of Mordor.

If any of the company of Elf and Man lived through of the horrors which lay before them, it would be only through the grace of Ilúvitar.

"Keep moving, scum!" snapped an Orc angrily.

A whip cracked menacingly about them like the slow premonitory rumblings of thunder—the booming thunder which could only mean a long, cold storm. The storm that was so much like the doom which filled their heart and the inevitable doom which lay before them, as one thought filled all of their minds: there would be no escape now.


Ae aníron nad carnen, han cerithon anim- If I want something done, I'll do it myself.

Sidh- (The Elf's name)—peace