Chapter 9

To Know My Enemy

Legolas allowed Tole to recuperate as long as he dared, but need drove him strongly and it looked as though the stallion felt the same. Aragorn's horse had been on his feet within a half-hour of the searing, and the pain of the burn had faded thanks to the herbs Legolas had given him. He was eager to continue to Rivendell, and Legolas was anxious to track the path to the cave. His heart warred within him. Gowen's news of Strider and this information about the man's future was unsettling.

Legolas boosted Gowen back onto Tole, settling the teenager carefully on the stallion's back. Gowen's leg was now firmly splinted and should survive long enough until they reached Rivendell. There he could receive better and more qualified attention. Gowen adjusted his leg until it was as comfortable as it could get on the back of a horse.

"Here," Legolas said, giving Gowen a bundle, carefully wrapped.

"What's this?" Gowen fingered the wrapping, feeling something soft and crinkly underneath.

"Herbs, for both you and Tole. If you sense Tole is in pain, or you feel any yourself, these will help." Legolas settled another bundle directly across Gowen's lap, something large and thick, but soft. "The road will be long to Rivendell; this is my blanket and food, all I can give. I pray they will be of some use before you reach the end of your journey."

Gowen's arms wrapped around the life-giving gifts. "Thank you," he whispered, unsure of what else to say. He had left too suddenly and Aragorn could send him with nothing but the hope that the boy would run into someone who could help.

Legolas gave him a smile he couldn't see. "Get to Rivendell alive and know that what I have given you is small compared to what you have given me." Legolas' voice became strained. "I fear for my friend, and though I wish we could part in lighter moods, I fear it will not be so this time."

"I agree with you. Just help Strider and you will have repaid me enough. I - I cannot bear the thought of his torment." Gowen clutched the blanket tighter.

"No such thing will happen if I have anything to say about it. I swear if they harm him at all they won't live to regret it." And Legolas meant it too. He had heard too much of this elf's evil side, and if he had done anything to Aragorn...

"Be safe," Gowen cautioned the elf.

"Don't worry about me. Now, it is time to be off." Legolas went to Tole's head, fondly stroking the stallion's face. His eyes were bright and Tole watched him carefully.

"Belain na le, Tole. Calo anor na ven," Legolas whispered his blessing for a safe journey home. "The Valar be with you, Tole. May the sun shine on your road."

Tole nickered, and then at a pat from Legolas began walking the way the prince directed him. Heading more or less south to Rivendell, Legolas waited until he knew Tole and Gowen were safely on their way. The land stretched out in front of his eyes, the sky bright. When he turned back toward the path he was to take, Legolas noticed clouds gathering from the north. Tole and Gowen may not see the skies open, but the elf prince was sure he would. The wind whistled gently around him as he returned to the clearing.

Returning to Silme's side, Legolas stroked her gently before leaping lightly onto her back. She had recovered from her shaking as a result of the earthquake hours past, but she now refused to let that hinder them any longer. Legolas directed her in the direction Tole and Gowen had come from, listening to and now understanding the silence of the forest around him, and the growing dark.

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Aragorn didn't know how long he was in their clutches. Didn't know how long he screamed at them until his voice was hoarse. Didn't know how many times he called for help of those he held most dearly. He yanked against his restraints despite the pain it caused him, pulling his arms beyond what they could handle and turning his shoulders black and blue from the treatment. The pain was intensifying with every moment.

His own pain he inflicted on himself was nothing compared to what Lom and Mayroniel did to him. For hours they tormented him. Beat and kicked him. Used whips and clubs to help subdue him. They did their work and they did it well. They stripped him of his boots and used the whip against his feet, over and over again until his leggings had been ripped to the knee and both his feet bleeding under the abuse. His cries turned to breathless grunts of absolute suffering as the elves spoke to him darkly in their native tongue, and beat him around between the two of them with their fists and a bullwhip until they had fractured three ribs and the man was nearly sobbing for breath.

"Help me take him out of the restraints." Mayroniel's cold voice to Lom bore into him at one point, as deeply as the whip that now cut into his back.

"Ada..." Aragorn whispered desperately, no longer fully in the waking world. He longed for his father, for home. "Ada, please... please..." Lom and Mayroniel took him roughly out of the chains, not giving him the chance to move from where he landed before starting a new, horrific method of torment that Aragorn violently fought against until he could struggle against them no more. His body had been weakened too much.

Before, he had wanted to run, he had wanted to fight back, he had wanted to be free of this... but no, that wasn't his wish at this moment.

Now, he wanted to die.

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Tole's trail was not hard to follow in the beginning. Crushed undergrowth and traces of blood readily told of the stallion's earlier dash through the trees to escape the orcs. Gradually however, the signs became fewer and more spread apart as Legolas traveled farther along the path. Even for a stallion Tole's normal gait was light, often hard to read when he was not trying to run while injured. Legolas often told Silme to walk slower to read the ground from horseback, muttering to himself that Aragorn must have taught his horse how to hide his tracks as well.

After about a half hour of tracking the signs on the ground seemed to disappear all together. Legolas told Silme to stop and dismounted, pressing his hand to the earth and searching for any of the stallion's light tread that may not have been so apparent from atop Silme's back. Silme stepped closer to him and let her head fall to the ground, whiffing at the grass, dirt, and tree debris littering the ground. Legolas patted her neck and moved forward a few feet, brushing aside long grass to get a better look at a mark in the ground he had spotted.

Silme lifted her head slowly, testing the wind. She smelled something carried in the breeze, but it was not a scent she immediately recognized. A flicker of fear passed through her, and she nickered gently to her master who was still bent on the ground, intently studying the tracks he was trying to read and had lost his focus of the possible danger around them.

Legolas looked up at Silme when she called to him, reading the flash of concern in her eyes. She sensed something nearby, he was sure of it, and it worried her. He pulled one of his ivory knives out of its sheath, holding it ready in his hand as he stood slowly. They were in a dangerous position and now Legolas chastised himself for being so careless. At the foot of a rocky decline and surrounded by the fallen limbs of broken trees, they were far from safe. Anything could be lying in wait.

Carefully and slowly, Legolas backtracked to Silme's side, trying to sense the wind as she had. When he put a hand on her side, he could feel the tense muscles of the mare's body. Something was near, and now he could feel it too.

It was oddly familiar, but he felt a trace of darkness that threw him off a bit. Yet he knew it wasn't orcs. It was something much stronger.

Keeping one hand on Silme's shoulder, Legolas closely examined the surrounding area, searching for any type of movement or disturbance that was not at the fault of the wind. Sharp eyes took in all detail in every direction. Silme too looked about nervously, gently stamping the ground.

Then, Legolas found the source of their tension. Not a hundred feet away and concealed in the leafy branches of a strong tree far to his left was another elf. The prince's eyes bore right into the intruder's, for a moment struck with surprise and uncertainty about what to do. He gripped the knife in his hand tighter. He was familiar with this sort of strategy, it was one used back at home. A spy. So this was the right way. No one would send a scout if there was not something out here to guard. Legolas knew he was close, very close. He also knew that he was in danger.

The elf in the tree had not yet moved, content for the moment to study the prince. Both his feet were not on a branch as one would expect but pressed up against the trunk, suspended in the air by his left hand wrapped around a branch over his head. His right arm fell straight down, unmoving but tense and ready. His heavy dark cloak concealed much of his physical appearance though by the outlining stature Legolas was sure this elf was tall and strong. A hood covered his head, overshadowing half of the elf's face, though his eyes were bright enough that the prince could see the other watching him. There was not a physical attribute that proved the elf was an elf, but Legolas did not need any witness when he knew how his race differed from all others. What had confused him in the beginning was a lingering trace of evil that had wrapped itself around the other elf, a sense of dread that few could feel. Creatures sensitive to nature could feel the difference where others could not. Both Legolas and Silme were acutely connected to the earth and could sense the unfamiliarity of this elf.

This discovery of understanding passed through the two elves in a moment's notice, both taking in and comprehending who the other was. The elf in the tree could see the prince clearly as a being of light, of hope, and his heart reviled against it. The prince's light was pure and free. After a moment the scout recognized Legolas. The prince may not have known it but the elf knew who he was, knew he was of a royal line. There were few differences between them and only one mattered - the desire that drove them to live their lives as they chose. It was a simple thing, but it had the largest effect, for it defined them as being either good or evil.

Silme whimpered next to him and Legolas shook himself out of the strange trance he seemed to have fallen into. He shushed her gently, easing her back into silence before taking a step forward the elf in the trees. The elf had made no move, obviously waiting for him to do something first.

"Who are you?" Legolas called out to the elf, his voice easily reaching the other being of his race. He was frustrated and confused, unsure of what to expect and that put the prince on edge.

The elf finally decided it was time for action, lightly dropping from the tree and landing smoothly on his feet, his gaze never leaving the prince's. His eyes were piercing as he spoke next, filled with fire.

"Someone you will wish you had never met, Prince of Mirkwood," the elf said in a deadly whisper, the tone sending a wave of shock and fear into Legolas' system. This elf knew who he was, knew where he was from... and when he was alone that knowledge was dangerous in the wrong hands.

Above him, Legolas heard a soft whisper of something falling through the air, having time to only look up and know he was too late. A large, heavy net fell from the sky and landed on him, tangling up around his body and knocking him to the ground. His senses caught up with his mind and though he still had retained a firm grip on his knife, he knew he was trapped. Something heavy landed near him, and Legolas could barely twist around to see another elf drop to the earth from the trees. Silme roared next to him in surprise and fear.

It had all been a plot, a plan. The first elf had only been a distraction, nothing more, and it had worked. The prince chastised himself savagely for this mistake. He should have known it was a trick, should have known there would be more than one waiting for him and anyone else coming this way, should have known so much! But he had not. Legolas struggled with his bonds but the net had him firm. Pulling the rope around his hand that held the knife he cut through a section of the net, freeing one arm. But it wasn't fast enough, nor was the net near enough shorn to give him much of an advantage in this situation. The elf that had dropped the trap walked closer to him, unsheathing no weapon and proving that they wanted to take Legolas alive.

Legolas had no desire to be captured by these two elves; the first elf he had seen now joining the second on the scene. It may prove fruitless but he would not go without a fight.

Silme screamed in rage when the net had fallen, missing her by inches and catching her master instead. Her frantic cries as she watched Legolas struggle with the net drew the attention of the other two elves, and one of them notched his bow. He was going to shoot the mare.

Legolas, caught though he was, yelled out to the horse. "Run, Silme! Go! Go! Go! Run!"

Silme needed little urging, she was already prancing on her feet. She never would have left the elf's side unless he bid her otherwise, and if she stayed much longer the attackers would have killed her for sure. She raced for the cover of the trees, roaring her fear and frustration as she went, quickly disappearing beyond the dense forest and fading from view.

The elf that had notched his bow eased the tension on the arrow. There was no reason to go after the mare; all they wanted was the elf that rode her. Neither of them had guessed that this particular elf would be who he was, and the prospect was exciting.

Legolas began cutting through the net madly, trying to detangle himself from his confines and gain a better stance. But it seemed like every time he cut though the netting it found new ways to grip him and hold him down. The two elves noticed his failure and rushed him suddenly, catching him between the two of them and pinning the prince to the ground.

Legolas wrestled against them desperately. He got lucky once and a wild swing of his knife found the flesh of one elf's shoulder. Blood stained the cold blade and the elf he had injured grabbed the prince's wrist in an unexpected move, wrenching the weapon away. As soon as Legolas lost the weapon he knew he had lost. He had no advantage any longer; he could not fight without weapons subdued as he was. He did not give up however. He fought against them with everything he had, and trapped though he was he was still a force the other elves found more than a little difficult to deal with.

A sudden, unexpected hot flash a pure pain filled Legolas' senses as the elves used excessive force in the attempt to control him, using the prince's own knife to cut a deep gash into the side of his leg from the middle of his thigh to his knee. Legolas could feel blood running down his calf and staining his torn leggings and it left him in shock long enough for his attackers to properly bind him so he could no longer effectively fight back. Bound and gagged on his side, Legolas began to breathe deeply though the restraint placed on him and ceased to move.

"Finally," the first elf exhaled through his teeth, clearly annoyed. "This isn't the one Lord Ralorn wants, is he?"

"No, but we have to take him back anyway." The other elf responded to his comrade. "Mayroniel said to bring back anyone who came this way. Besides, don't you know who this is?" he gestured at Legolas.

"Wait a moment... I do! Well, it's not every day you catch a prince out by himself." The elf sounded amused. "He's King Thranduil's son without a doubt. At the very least he should make Ralorn happy."

"Go call the horses, send one back to me and ride ahead. Inform Ralorn of what we are bringing him. Take this with you." He handed the blood-stained knife to the other. The first elf nodded at the request and turned away, running toward a dense thicket where they had hidden their own steeds.

The second elf looked back at Legolas with a cold glare. "You will be more than useful, prince. Lord Ralorn has been waiting for a sign that someone was coming, and now he's got one." He glanced at his shoulder, where Legolas had cut him. The gash was not deep and after a quick assessment of the injury he gave it no more thought. It was not serious enough to hamper him in the slightest.

A brown horse trotted up the elf from the thicket and stopped near the being, waiting patiently. The elf lifted Legolas none-too-gently off the ground and laid him stomach down over the horse's withers before springing up to sit behind him. Legolas resisted the urge to moan as his injury burned him under the treatment, the gash far deeper than the one he had dealt.

Celebnar had gone, now Silme was too. He still didn't know what had happened to the twins that day, not knowing if they had survived or not. He didn't even know if he wanted the twins to come or not. As for himself Legolas wasn't weary yet. Not by a long shot. There was still much that he knew he had to do.

'I don't care how they take me, I don't care what they do,' Legolas prayed in determination as he tried to balance himself over the rocking gait of the horse underneath him. 'Just take me to Estel, and I will ask no more. Just take me to him.'

As if the elf with him had read his mind, he spoke. "You're friends with the human we took, aren't you? Ralorn would have us go spy on him for many years. He was often with you."

Legolas froze, unsure if he should trust his voice to speak.

"Why would you choose the company of such a worthless race is beyond me. He's got spirit, I'll give him that, but we received word a short while ago that he tried to escape." The elf looked down at Legolas dispassionately. "You better pray you can still recognize him when we get to the cave, if you get to see him at all. The Lord Ralorn does not take kindly to trouble-makers."

Legolas' breath snagged in his throat. The elf refused to say more about Aragorn's condition, but the prince knew he was not going to like what would most likely find.

"Estel..." he breathed. Though he couldn't stand admitting it, he was scared for his friend, and that alone terrified him.

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"Steady..." Silore pounded the block of wood with a mallet near the top to be sure it would hold. Ralorn was kneeling below him, holding the wood in place. "It'll hold," the elf said in satisfaction when the plank no longer moved.

The lower tunnels had been sealed to sufficient measures and anything they could find - mostly supplies - of use was taken to a higher room in the cave. There was little need to go deep and Ralorn was now grateful they had not. It would have been detrimental if they had. About an hour before Silore had left the last of the work to him so the elf could go cut down the support beams they were now using. Silore had found very few, but enough to secure the lower tunnels from further disruption... or so they hoped. If there was another earthquake of the same magnitude there was a good possibility the cave wouldn't be able to take another hit.

Ralorn heard the sound of booted feet before they reached where he was, recognizing the step as one of the guards he had Mayroniel send out. Twisting on his feet he shifted his position until his side rested against the block that Silore was stabilizing and waited.

Another guard rounded the corner and stopped, bowing slightly to Ralorn.

Ralorn stood. "Silore, finish up here. Once the path is stable, go see if Arahil has returned yet. I want him to be here for later events."

"I shall," the elf replied, eyeing the wall carefully and testing the strength of the planks to be sure they held.

"Come," Ralorn gestured to the other guard and motioned him to follow. "I wish to know what you have to tell me, Árë."

Árë nodded, walking up next to his master and taking a wrapped bundle out from behind his belt. "First, I wish to show you this." He unwrapped Legolas' knife and handed it to Ralorn.

Ralorn let the long knife rotate through his fingers, studying the craft and workmanship of the blade. "Who does this belong to?" A glint entered his eyes. "Have they come?"

"No, my lord, they have not, but someone else has. Faroth and I have captured the prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Thranduilion coming toward here. Faroth is bringing him and he sent me ahead to give you this." He pointed to the knife as they walked.

When Ralorn did not reply right away, Árë continued. "I am certain he will not be the only one. They are coming for sure, my lord. They will be here soon."

Ralorn gripped the knife suddenly. "Yes, they will." He stopped suddenly in the cavern, an odd, faraway look in his eyes as he spoke next.

"Árë, I want you to return to Faroth and escort him back. I don't want anything to happen to him or what he's bringing. And make haste! It will begin to rain soon. When you return and we have secured the prince, be prepared to set out again. I want to go met the twins out there."

Árë looked at him curiously. "But, my lord, we don't even know if they will arrive tonight. It could be tomorrow before they make any appearance!"

"Don't worry, Árë," Ralorn was nodding to himself in confidence. "They'll be here. I can promise you that. They will be here."

Árë nodded slowly, not understanding but unwilling to ask further questions and provoke Ralorn's anger onto himself. "I will do as you say." He turned and headed toward the entrance of the cave again. This would prove to be a most interesting night, indeed.

Ralorn waited until Árë was out of sight and hearing before opening the door to his left, a soft cry of utter distress greeting him as he entered.

Mayroniel was standing over the human with such a fierce look in his eyes. Blood was running down the side of his face from a gash next to his eye, and Lom stood nearby, looking rather surprised. The human should have been beyond resisting by now. How had he found the strength to fight back?

"What happened?" Ralorn's voice was calm but the tone was firm, indicating the injury the other elf had taken. Mayroniel looked up at him, looking far more than annoyed. There was no way the man could have had that much energy left, because although Mayroniel would never say it to anyone, that punch had surprisingly hurt.

"The human tried to fight back," he said by way of explanation, knowing the rest was obvious. His only saving grace was that his own retaliation had been swift. Aragorn now sported a gash near his eye as well, though his was much deeper and bleeding harder.

Aragorn cowered close to the ground, trying to regain his breath. His arms were useless, dead weight at his sides that brought him only sharp, blood-curdling pain. He was sure they had barely been short of dislocating, but the muscles so torn and bruised it gave him nothing but unimaginable grief. His feet were no different. He tried desperately not to flex his legs, though at the random slams of boots making harsh contact on his body did not leave him with much control. He pressed his forehead down against the ground, trying to hold back the tears. He had not cried yet during his torment though as time went on the reaction was becoming harder and harder to push aside. They had hurt him. Oh, how they had hurt him was something he didn't know if he would ever be able to live with in the end.

Ralorn looked dispassionately at the sickly look of the human. The ranger had taken a harsh beating; the look of him was enough to attest to that. Mayroniel and Lom had done their job well.

"Back away," he told the two elves firmly, allowing him the space he needed to talk to the man. He wanted to know a few things before the ranger left this world.

"Tell me something before you die, human," the elf muttered, watching the other closely. "Who are you, that some of the most powerful elves alive would risk their lives to save yours? Why do they protect you? You are nothing, Edain, your life is too short and worth little. Tell me why they care."

His voice was harsh; it made Aragorn flinch.

Aragorn didn't know if he would be able to open his mouth. He couldn't even look at Lom or Mayroniel, though he could sense they were both close at hand. Their close proximity made his heart sick. He continued to lay on his side, not ignoring Ralorn's question, but at a loss at how to answer. His heart and mind were in dark distress. His throat caught, the urge to succumb to tears thickening. But he could not, he wouldn't! Not in front of them. If nothing else he would not give them that pleasure of knowing how much they had torn him, his body, his heart, and his life apart.

"They are my kin," the man whispered so gently he barely heard his own voice, his breath coming in ragged and shallow. It was a testiment to his strength of heart that he could find any power to speak. "And I would... do no less for them."

"That does not answer my question," Ralorn said angrily at him. "Why you?"

"I do not... understand sometimes, why... anymore than you... but they chose me... they believe... in me..."

"And yet they take so long in coming for you."

Aragorn shut his eyes. "I hope... they never come."

"What?" Ralorn watched him with a look of surprise mixed with his anger. "Don't you wish to live; don't you want them to save you?"

"I do not wish... them to die... I would rather die... so they could live..." Aragorn was fast loosing his voice, his body fading to shock. But his voice, though weak, was sincere. "I want... their lives... more than you want... their deaths."

Ralorn turned away. He was disgusted and confused. All the humans he had ever met only cared for themselves. They thought the world's existence and everyone else in it was at their expense. They were arrogant, they were so foolish. He hated them. He saw no purpose in their existence. It was why he had gone into slave trading, to help the human race receive some of the real usefulness he felt it needed. Slave trading in the Misty Mountains was scarce but worth a small group just like the one he had sold several days before.

But seeing his childhood tormenters, who could not see how hurt and confused he had been, take in a human whelp when they had not even given him a chance was so crushing on his spirit that he thought it would kill him.

It was the desire of a broken heart; marred by grief and blackened with sorrow... it was almost too grievous to behold. The worst of it was, Ralorn cared not for the outcome of this, all he wished was to be rid of the ones that had destroyed him and then they could throw his body for the sport of the orcs in Mordor for all he cared. At least what he wanted would be done.

"You know not of what you speak. They may pretend to care, but one day they will betray you as they did me."

Aragorn finally looked up, a withdrawn, cold look in his eyes. He knew nothing still of Ralorn's past experience with the twins, but he knew it differed vastly from his own, most likely seen then and now in the wrong light. He would not believe any such accusations of his brothers by words alone. He trusted them more than that.

"Never," he whispered. To his dying breath he would never accept such claims.

"Then you condemn yourself," Ralorn hissed. "Believing that they will continue to protect you. They don't think you are worthy of their time even, so they sent someone else."

Aragorn's gaze turned chill. He did not believe that the twins would refuse to come, but he did not doubt they would have brought or sent help.

"You see, we've caught a friend of yours. I know you know him... does a certain prince of Mirkwood mean anything to you?"

Aragorn froze, disbelieving. At a gesture from Ralorn that the man did not see, Lom stepped forward and gripped the ranger's shoulders, ignoring the man's soft cry of distress as his body was pulled upright on his knees.

"Oh yes, Strider, you can remove any thought you had of escape. If you stop putting up such a fight we might let you see him again. He'll be here soon."

"I don't-don't believe you-" He could barely hold himself up, if not for one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his hair he would have fallen again.

"Does this look familiar?" Ralorn picked up the knife that a guard had brought him moments before. The silver and gold blade glinted, yet on the edge a reddish stain lingered. Aragorn knew that knife, it was unmistakable. Yet what it meant was unthinkable!

"No, no that's-that's not... possible...-"

Legolas!

"Still don't believe me? Well, that's a shame. For you anyway." The man's reaction was all it took to clear any lingering doubt he may have had. Ralorn now knew he had something else to use against the man, and the twins when they got here.

The ire and disdain ate away at the ranger. Aragorn took in another deep breath, but it felt as if he could only fill his lungs halfway. He couldn't believe him; he couldn't believe Legolas had been caught! What was the prince even doing this far north? Yet even as he tried to convince himself Ralorn's piercing but brutally honest eyes bored right into him.

A fading bout of anger rippled its way into Aragorn's head, and with all the strength he could muster he spit right at Ralorn's feet. It was pointless and wouldn't go unpunished, but right then Aragorn was in too much pain and too full of confused rage to care.

"You will regret that," Ralorn hissed, letting his head fall in a slight downward jerk. Mayroniel stepped forward and belted Aragorn across the face, and Lom allowed the weakened ranger to fall to the floor.

Aragorn made no attempt to try and stand. He couldn't even work up enough energy to expel the blood from his mouth. Heavy gloved hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, pulling him roughly to his knees, then this time his feet. Breathless grunts of pain escaped him as pressure to his feet increased. He hadn't recovered nearly enough to stand, and looking down at each foot he could see the growing pools of red spreading over the ground. Yet even with the breathtaking pain, nothing was comparable to the sharpness of the knife that had been pressed against his heart.

He moaned, blood dripping from his mouth. "I won't... let you... hurt them!"

He was cut off as a hard glove punched him in the gut; the hands on his shoulders letting him fall backwards to the floor. He cried out softly but sharply as he landed hard on his tailbone, sending searing fire up his spine. Curling his torso over his stomach but leaving his legs limp, he shuddered once and then lay still, his face strained tight in breathless moans.

The guards were surprised. He was still trying to resist them? How could a mortal stand such torment and still do such a thing?

"Enough." Ralorn's icy voice rang from the side of the room. "Good work, Mayroniel, but we can't have him dying on us just yet. Let him regain some strength for a few hours, and then he'll go completely into your hands if his brothers don't come for him."

Aragorn groggily listened to Ralorn, Mayroniel, and the other two guards leave the room and secure the door tightly. They had taken all the lamps with them, leaving him in utter darkness. He limply shut his eyes.

He couldn't move now. He could hardly breathe. Pain shot down his back and legs, bringing home just how far gone he was. His back was lifeless and ringing, and his feet long deadened with cruel treatment. He had been robbed of the ability to move, much less walk and attempt escape as was his want. Every time he shifted his tailbone would scream with harsh warning, leaving him fully unable to seek a better position and relieve the pain.

The horror of what his tormentors had done and what they planned to do blocked out any comfort he might have sought. The taunts, the laughing, the abuse, and the beatings stayed with him, freezing him where he lay on his side with fear. The head wound on the side of his face was bleeding badly, running over his eyes now and down the opposite cheek to pool on the ground. He could not claim enough strength to his fingers to swipe the blood away.

"Please..." he moaned as shock-induced unconsciousness rushed into his eyes, "Someone... anyone... take me away... from this..."

Darkness claimed him again and mercifully made the pain fade so he could wander within himself, treading closer to a steep endless cliff where a void waited to take away what little life he had left.

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Arahil rode silently into the front clearing and stopped next to the cave entrance. Swinging one leg off Asfaloth's back, he slid to the ground and began to untie the large steer he had managed to bring down. The carcass dropped to the dusty forest floor from Asfaloth's back, and the white stallion nickered happily as the burden hit the ground.

Leaving the steer where it landed, Arahil walked over to Asfaloth's side and began to clean the blood from the stallion's white back. As he worked, his thoughts turned quickly to those inside the cave. He wondered how Aragorn was doing in his absence. The deer had been hard to find, becoming more scattered among the mountain ranges thanks to the now frequent earthquakes and he had to travel a good distance before finding a herd fit to hunt.

Right then his sharp ears caught the sound of running feet, coming closer to where he stood from the inside of the cave. Asfaloth's coat was white now, so he released the horse and turned to the steer, preparing to drag it into the cave, awaiting whoever was coming.

"Arahil!"

Arahil looked up in time to watch one of the guards, Silore, run out of the cave entrance. The guard ran to him, his face alight with a strange excitement.

"Arahil, it is good you have returned. Lord Ralorn asked me to see if you had returned." Silore leaned over to help Arahil with the carcass. Árë had left perhaps ten minutes before to find Faroth and help bring Legolas to the cave. All was going as Ralorn wanted.

Arahil looked up curiously at the guard as they lifted the carcass between them, working to make the steer easier to carry. "Why? Is something happening?"

Silore looked taken aback that Arahil didn't know, but then remembered that the young elf had not been around at all during the day. "We're going to finish dealing with the human. Lord Ralorn is only giving him one more chance for the twins to get here, but my bet is that the human will be dead by sunrise." Silore lead the way into the cave, completely missing the open look of horror on Arahil's face. Dead by sunrise?

"What-what have you done to him?" Arahil tried to keep his voice calm and casual, but for the life of him he could not stop the shiver down his spine that seemed to ripple through his voice. Luckily, Silore didn't notice.

"Mayroniel and Lom have beaten him good enough. He can't even stand now." Silore adjusted the weight of the steer on his shoulder. "He's being given a few hours to rest. That's why Lord Ralorn sent me to see if you had returned. He wants you to go out with him and the others to hunt down the sons of Elrond."

Arahil was speechless. He silently followed Silore into the cool room to drop off the steer, and then as fast as he could he ran to where he had left Strider. All thoughts of preparing the deer were shot, even though Arahil knew Ralorn wouldn't be happy with him leaving the carcass unfinished.

Snatching a lit lamp from its hook on the wall just outside the rough door, he reached for the doorknob and jingled it. It wouldn't give. It was locked, just like it should have been. Good. It meant no one was inside.

Undaunted, Arahil reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring of keys Ralorn had given him that morning. Selecting one particular silver one, he shoved the key in the lock and winced at the echoing click that bounced down the hallway. No one came, caught up in business elsewhere in the cave.

Listening for a moment to make sure no one was coming, he silently stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him and letting the lamp cascade its soft glow to touch the walls. The firelight of the lamp illuminated the small room well enough to easily find the ranger on the floor. Though Arahil knew that he could have found the man easily enough without the lamp, he wanted to see exactly what they had done, no matter what it was. But when Arahil got close enough, he physically lost the ability to breathe.

Clothed only in a badly torn pair of leggings, Arahil could see the worst of the injuries. Whatever skin that was not dark with bruises and welts was a pale, sickly white. The man was so thin from lack of food, water, and fresh air that Arahil could make out every rib underneath the paleness of his skin. Whip marks outlined the young ranger's back, and his feet scarred horribly in the same fashion, lying in a small area of soft earth stained darkly. The open gash on the side of his face had finally ceased to bleed, but bloody ribbons streaked down his face, dried now and hiding his eyes from view. Ai, it was a devastating sight!

Arahil slowly walked forward and knelt slowly by Aragorn's side, sinking to his knees in disbelief. Horror made the young elf shake, and reaching forward he lightly touched Aragorn's bruised cheek with trembling fingertips.

The man flinched and groaned at the soft contact, pulling his head closer to his chest and quickly stopped moving, but Arahil did not miss the small whimpers of fear that followed, a sad plea to be left alone.

Seconds later Arahil was running down the hall, his eyes burning. Weaving his way through the main tunnel he finally made it outside and whistled shrilly for Asfaloth. The white stallion immediately came to him, leaving behind the forage he had found. As he trotted up to Arahil, the normally strong-willed elf burst into tears.

Alarmed, Asfaloth stopped in front of his master and nuzzled his head comfortingly against Arahil's face, but stiffened a little when he could smell a trace of human blood on the elf's hand. Arahil gently wrapped his arms around the horse's neck, crying softly into his mane.

"I failed him, Asfaloth," he moaned. "I didn't keep him safe. I never should have left. They're going to kill him, Asfaloth!" He hugged the stallion tighter. "He's going to die." Asfaloth only nuzzled the elf's shoulder blade, feeling the suffering in the age-old, perpetually young body.

Turning to the cave entrance, Arahil whispered heartbroken words, meant for one locked away in a small, dark room. "I'm so sorry, Estel. I tried my best to keep you safe, but I fear I can no longer do this alone. I've tried to be there for you ever since I discovered you were taken, risking everything. But now I think it's time to take back who I really am."

Turning back to Asfaloth, Arahil hugged the horse one last time for courage and reassurance. Then sighing deeply, Arahil reached back behind his head and began to undo the ties that held his hair back in the style of a warrior.

Shaking out his hair until it hung loosely down his back, his gaze seemed to soften, losing the hard, expressionless gaze that it had grown accustomed to. His entire being seemed to relax, still the same and yet stunningly different. Arahil turned and prepared to mount up. Asfaloth nickered, ready and willing.

"Where do you think you are going?" A voice suddenly exploded from somewhere inside the entrance of the cave.

Arahil stopped and stared as Mayroniel stepped forward. Mayroniel's gaze was cold, and Arahil suddenly felt his heart speed up. How much had he heard? What did he know?

Trying to pretend as though nothing as different, Arahil answered casually and truthfully. "I go to find Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Lord Elrond."

"Oh, are you?" Mayroniel took a few steps forward, trying to catch Arahil's gaze as the young elf tried to mount up, swinging his leg over Asfaloth's bare back. "Want to add to the fun, do you?"

"No." Arahil's voice was hard, but changed somehow. He knew exactly what Mayroniel was referring to and it burned him inside. "I go to ask them for help."

"What?" Mayroniel stopped in his tracks, staring up at the even, cool stare of the rider on the white stallion. "Do you seek to betray us?" his voice turned hard and flinty. He never liked Arahil since the day he had joined them, something about the young elf that never sat right with him.

"I have from the beginning." Asfaloth began to back away at the gentle pressure of Arahil's legs.

Mayroniel hissed in anger and pulled the long knife from his belt, advancing on horse and rider. Betrayal was never something he took lightly, and his temper rose again. Teeth clenched, he looked up at the young rider and a faded beacon of sunlight swept over them both as the gathering clouds allowed a break in their increasing size. It was then that he noticed something about Arahil he had not seen before, something he would not have unless the other elf told him to look for it. It made the elf pause for a moment.

Arahil's hair was flowing softly in a gentle breeze, the dark tresses now framing his face. The hard glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by a gentle light softened with pain. He was suddenly transformed in Mayroniel's eyes. Arahil no longer looked like the young man he lead himself to be. It was amazing the change that had taken place just by Arahil taking out his hair and accepting his fate. Mayroniel growled for being deceived so.

"I knew there was something wrong with you," Mayroniel seethed at the rider, coming closer now. "Arahil, you-"

"My name is not Arahil," the unknown rider whispered, making Mayroniel stop again. The features may have changed, but that voice still held its stinging edge. Arahil threw away his old disguise and revealed the heavily guarded secret that he had held within since the beginning.

"My true name is Arwen, the daughter of Elrond Peredhel, the sister of Elladan and Elrohir, and the protector of the one called Strider. Here and now you discover my true identity, but you will discover no more from me."

Mayroniel looked up at the young elf he had known for only a scant measure of his time and froze. Confusion and understanding entered him at the same time. It made sense. The hiding, the unanswered past, the way Arahil had treated and often defended the man known as Strider. Here from the start to save the man, Arwen had hidden who she really was very well. Amazement wrapped around Mayroniel's thinking, shutting off all else. How could he have missed this?

With that said and the secret out, Arwen kicked Asfaloth in the sides. The great white horse swiftly carried the elf-maiden away from the cave, disappearing into the trees and leaving a speechless Mayroniel behind them.

Around the mountains, clouds where gathering in a vengeance. Thunder rumbled in the distance in fragments, soft but menacing. It was going to be a long night, and it did not look as if all would make it out alive.

"You swear to me that what you speak of is true?" Ralorn's voice was incensed and deadly. He did not take at all kindly to the news Mayroniel had just given him.

"On my life, my lord. I heard it from her own mouth. She deceived us from the beginning!"

Ralorn sat down in a nearby chair, placing his head in his hands. He couldn't believe it. His earlier feelings of mistrust toward the new guard had not been misplaced. Arahil had been Arwen all along? How in heaven's name had she known? She was the only one who had ever understood him, but in the end even she had left him. After all she had seen he could honestly say he knew why she had. This was not who he used to be, but so much had changed. Ralorn knew he needed to follow her, catch her before she got away... but he couldn't. There was no way he could harm her, and he couldn't bring her back. She was the most precious person he had ever known, had been his friend and confident when others looked away. She was all he had ever truly wanted, but now she was gone.

'Am I doomed to never get what I want?'

It was the first time in so many years that he felt as he did now. It was the first time Mayroniel had seen his commander so crushed. If Ralorn had a tender spot this was it - telling him the last of his hope for a life beyond this was gone. It shattered him, taking away the last of his resolve.

His limp hands found their strength and clenched slowly into fists against his eyes. His pain was suddenly evolving into rage. He was done waiting, done planning. He needed some satisfaction before the end, and there was only one way he would find it.

"Mayroniel," Ralorn said softly, low but dangerous. "Now is the time."

"What would you have me do?"

"Leave Silore to guard the prisoners, find Lom and prepare to set out. As soon as Faroth and Árë have returned we will lock up the prince and leave. I want to meet them head on, Mayroniel," Ralorn was glaring, but not at the other elf. "I want to make them pay."

In less than twenty minutes Ralorn's orders had been taken out. Silore had been posted as the only guard to be left behind, and Mayroniel and Lom had readied their horses. The weather was turning dark and cold, their breath ghosted in the air though they did not feel the bite of the wind. When Ralorn led his black horse out of the cave and stood to wait with the others, the sky was a dark grey and the wind was howling. It was going to start raining in minutes.

It was not long before Árë and Faroth came into view, bringing with them another being. The prince of Mirkwood had been bound and was now vertical in front of Faroth, but there was such a look of anger in his eyes that it would have rose to meet the deadly fire in Ralorn's own gaze. He had been relived of all his weapons; Árë now carried his bow, quiver, and knives.

"So there he is," Ralorn whispered as his kicked his horse forward, riding out to meet the other guards and the new prisoner. Three hundred feet from the entrance of the cave they met, and the guards stopped to wait for Ralorn to command them further.

Legolas watched the master of these men with no fear in his eyes. His eagerness to meeting Ralorn was nearly equal to Ralorn's eagerness to meet him. The uncovered burn scars on the other elf's face was a clear marker as to who he was. He had found the elf that hated Elladan and Elrohir, who had stolen Aragorn out from under everyone's noses, and then caught him to add to the price the twins would ultimately have to pay, if they ever made it here. Legolas still didn't know, but he didn't let that lack of knowledge color his reaction as Ralorn watched him just as closely.

"So you are of the royal family of Mirkwood. At last we meet." Ralorn said with no small amount of mocking in his tone. Faroth and Árë snickered. Legolas however, did not break the calmness of his gaze, nor did he did not speak yet.

"I'll have you know, my prince, that you are not my prime target. My course of revenge lies with the sons of Elrond. So, if you will excuse me, I have some traitors I need to find."

"Traitors?" Legolas spoke then, his voice suggesting there was more than just the twins' supposed betrayal. "Ralorn, I presume?"

"The one and only."

"I will have you know, that anything you have done or will do to any of the sons of Elrond including the one they claim as family will not go unpunished. If you have harmed the ranger or do anything to Elladan and Elrohir, you will not have only Rivendell seeking to bring justice down on your head; I will demand it as well."

Ralorn sighed, as if the demand for justice on his part had only amused him. "You have much to learn about what motivates me here," he told Legolas. "I care not for the outcome after my revenge is complete. And you claiming them as allies and friends will do you no good in your situation here, Legolas Thranduilion. I have no quarrel with Mirkwood or the royal family, it is not my desire to harm you, but if you lay a claim of friendship on any of Elrond's children or those he considers his, you become my enemy and a threat, and I will treat you as such."

"Of course I lay a claim of friendship to them, not only because I am their friend but because they are mine." Legolas was furious. There was so much hate and it was directed at things that could not change. "They have told me your story and I understand more than you would think, but if you have any shred of decency you will not harm those who have done you no wrong!" Legolas was referring specifically to Aragorn, trying to liberate for the man's life.

"You have done me wrong, whether you know the story or not! I had thought a prince of Mirkwood would not entertain the company of the merciless and the corrupt, but it appears that I was wrong. If you will not let them go, then you condemn yourself to their fate. I will allow the crimes done against me to go unpunished no longer. I will make the sons of Elrond pay, and I will make you pay for binding yourself to them."

"I will never betray them, and if it comes to such ends I would give my life for them. If you would know them as they are now, and not who they may have once been, you would find little reason to hate them, much less seek their blood."

"Enough." Ralorn raised a hand, cutting off all speech from the prince and directing his attention to the guards who had brought him. "Take him, lock him up tightly, and leave him under Silore's control. He can wait there until I say otherwise. We will leave when he is secure."

Legolas was dragged roughly to his feet and held tightly between Faroth and Árë. His leg quivered beneath him, it would not hold him up much longer. As the guards began to shove him away, Ralorn called back just before they disappeared inside what looked like a scar cut into the mountain, the entrance of the cave.

"Árë?" the elf turned and glanced back at his commander. "Don't be gentle."

A sudden hard punch to his kidney made Legolas double over, wincing hard from the shock of pain. Árë, of whom Legolas was sure had hit him, had wasted no time in responding to his master's request.

"As you wish, my lord."

As they entered, Legolas felt the brush of a raindrop against his cheek. The sky was finally opening.