Disclaimer: Mirkwood and Elves belong to Tolkien. Vell-os and Polarans belong to Ambrosia Software and ATMOS. Ryllaen, Nil'Tanar and Eiliant are mine.
Anything spoken is in the native language of the speaker unless specifically stated otherwise. Ie, the Elves speak Sindarin, Ryllaen speaks Federation Basic, and Nil'Tanar speaks Polaran.
They were in cells separated by a single wall, thin enough that they could talk with ease had they desired it. Food was brought by the guards and eagerly accepted. Noting this, the guards brought more; they were not unkind, and could well see that the two were half-starved. Ryllaen slept, deeply and uneasily. He was not yet strong enough that he could do without it, and no longer so weak that the dreams did not trouble him. Nil'Tanar sat against one stone wall, observing the coming and going of the guards by the sounds he could hear through the stout wooden door. Their voices were clear and light, and it seemed that the Vell-os was capable of partitioning his mind and keep the translation running even while asleep. Nil'Tanar listened carefully, learning what he could, for he disliked relying on the Vell-os for communication. The Elves speculated on their prisoners and talked of a great feast held recently. He could not understand many of their jokes, but Nil'Tanar could not help the smile that brushed his lips at times. For guards they were light-hearted and merry.
Long hours passed, day and night, and Nil'Tanar slipped often into a doze. His wounds were healed enough that they did not unduly discomfort him; the Elves' healing and his own nanites had seen to it. He jerked awake suddenly and stared almost expectantly at the door. It was too quiet, and the sudden cessation of noise - or the burst before it - had woken him. Just before the lock clicked and the door opened, he recognised the smell that troubled his senses: burnt wood and the sharp tang of released energy.
Ryllaen stood in the doorway, holding himself tall and stiff. Come on, he whispered.
For some indefinable reason he was angry; Nil'Tanar didn't move. You killed them?
Frowning, Ryllaen looked over his shoulder. In the light of the torches could be seen the sprawl of loose hair and still bodies, three altogether. No. I am not that ungrateful. He passed a hand over his eyes, willing the dizziness and pain away. It had taken more of his strength and control to keep them alive than it would have to kill them, but he had been determined. He had caused the deaths of enough innocents. They will wake feeling as though a shuttle had landed on their head, no more. Let's go, now, before more come. I cannot do that again if I am to have the strength to weave a Dart.
Why should I trust you?
Ryllaen laughed harshly. You want to get off this planet, don't you?
Nil'Tanar nodded slowly. He did, but he worried about the Vell-os' intentions. And when we leave?
Don't forget, Polaran, you are still my prisoner, and I fully intend to carry out my orders.
Nil'Tanar frowned. The Vell-os spoke angrily, or perhaps impatiently. He stood, knowing he had no real choice. He needed the telepath, who he suspected wished to leave this planet as much as he. Once they were off the ground, he would find a way to escape the Vell-os without killing himself in the process. Let's go.
The King held court, listening to a Daleman explain why exactly the price of wine had increased. Thranduil's face was impassive, but the Daleman faltered only a little when he tentatively put forward a new price. Legolas, standing to the side, watched with amusement as his father took his time to respond. He would drive a hard bargain, and would probably force the Daleman lower than the merchant would wish, but he knew of the unseasonable weather that had caused the Dorwinion vineyards to suffer. The price he offered in the end would not be unreasonable.
The Daleman licked his lips, shaking his head already at the counteroffer. He listened politely though, and began to speak in his turn. He was clearly nervous about asking the Elven King for a greater price, and Thranduil was not - at this time - inclined to make him more comfortable. But Legolas was surprised when Thranduil held up his hand abruptly in a demand for silence, a frown gracing his face. The Daleman's words stumbled to a halt, his face pale as he tried to think of what he could have said to anger the being before him.
Legolas stepped forward. he queried, speaking in the Common Tongue for the benefit of the merchant.
There was a distant look on Thranduil's face, as if he were trying to pinpoint something on the edge of hearing. His eyes were troubled. Legolas, I think you should check on your prisoners. His words were Sindarin and softly spoken, not intended for the Daleman.
Legolas nodded and left quickly. The King was tied to Mirkwood by magics that Legolas did not fully understand, and he wondered what his father had sensed. He walked the passages with light silent feet. He was not uncomfortable here, for though the forest was his heart and soul, he had grown up in the palace with its bright torches and carved walls of stone.
His steps slowed as he neared the dungeon - or rather, the cellars hastily pressed into service as a dungeon. Something was wrong, the place too quiet. Hand on the hilt of his long knife, Legolas moved forward warily. He entered the cellars; sight of the guards caused him to freeze. The cells were open and empty, the bolts of one door burnt entirely away. Legolas knelt by the side of the guards.
The guard did not answer, lying still as death, eyes closed, his long knife missing from its sheath. But he was not dead; Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the pulse and seeing the slight rise and fall of chest. He reassured himself that the others were similarly alive, and rose.
Within moments the alarm was raised and the search parties organized. The Men could not have left the palace, for both the gate and the river-passage were firmly closed, yet they were not found. What was discovered after a time was a tunnel, melted through stone and earth it seemed, in a distant seldom-used part of the palace, that held the light of day on one end.
Nil'Tanar reached out and grabbed Ryllaen's arm, stopping him from falling yet again. Make your ship now, Vell-os, before you run into a tree, he hissed.
The long mane of unruly hair shook wearily. I cannot, Ryllaen replied. I don't have the strength. The tunnel was all I could handle.
I've seen you do more in battle.
In space! Ryllaen snapped. He stumbled, wrenched his arm out of Nil'Tanar's firm grip, and hurried on. They were putting as much distance between the ELves and themselves as they could. It's harder to work in a gravity well where the weaves are so thick. And I haven't yet recovered fully from the crash.
Nil'Tanar shook his head in disgust and dodged around a tree with thick entangling roots. Then he sighed and went back for the Vell-os. Hauling him to his feet, he said, You should have waited, then.
Ryllaen didn't reply. He could think of nothing to say, and in truth wished to say nothing. The commands of his Bureau masters drove him, a compulsion he could neither resist nor ignore. More than that, fear drove him. Fear, and a realisation he was unwilling to acknowledge. In desperation he ran, concentrating on placing one foot safely in front of the other, as if by keeping his mind on that one task he could pretend ignorance. Growing certainty terrified him.
At last they stopped, far from the palace and the tunnel through which they had fled. The forest around them was dark and sight of the sun was obscured by the close-knit foliage. Thick cobwebs dangled between branches grey with lichen. Ryllaen looked around and shivered.
I don't like this place, he said.
Nil'Tanar frowned. We can't very well go back. Iusia, you could have shown some thought! Those cells would have been fine until you'd slept to your satisfaction.
Glaring at him, Ryllaen opened his mouth to retaliate, then thought better of it. He sighed. We must keep moving; they'll be following us. But I don't like the forest ahead.
Nil'Tanar feigned unconcern. One direction is as good as another. Choose whichever you like, Vell-os. Following closely behind, senses alert for any danger, he suppressed a shiver of his own. Those cobwebs... he had seen spiders before, none bigger than his thumb, but these were something else. He did not want to meet the spider that could spin webs like that, not without a better weapon than the knife shoved through his belt.
And in the end, he was right to wish for something better. The sun fled the skies, taking with it every sliver of light that penetrated through to the ground. As soon as full darkness fell, the cobwebs came down like great nets to enmesh them. A burst of energy from Ryllaen lit a giant spider like a torch and revealed their peril to them. Many eyes glinted around them, reflecting that momentary illumination. Nil'Tanar stabbed at one black furry body, but the webs encumbered him and the spider pranced back out of reach unharmed. A great high-pitched shriek of many voices rose up around them and the spiders pressed forward. They could only put up a brief ineffectual struggle against the webs and the paralysis brought on by many spider bites.