Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Ch.7

The Man's panicked cry alerted several of his comrades over to their position, leaving the remaining soldiers to guard the Elven party, weapons still trained on them as if expecting them to attempt to flee, but as the group bounded through the deep foliage of the forest floor, their feet skidded to a halt in the small clearing, creating a looming dust about them, and they looked on in both shock and confusion at the scene that presented its self.

Celeborn, the wise, stood lingering over the cowering human, his posture regal, and powerful, and a stony mask upon his face as he glared down at him. Yet, even though his noble features were enough to stop anyone in their wake, it was not thus that caused the Men to freeze in their tracks; it was the aura of glowing light that surrounded him, only intensified by the darkness of night, and the shadows of the lanky pines.

One of the seemingly braver Men drew closer to the Elven Lord, his rifle drawn with trembling fingers. His eyes grew wider still, as he caught sight of the leaf shaped ear which had been inadvertently uncovered by the silver strands of hair in the Elf and man's little brawl.

Celeborn said not a word. He remained perfectly still, his only movement being the quirk of his head as he shifted his attention to the other human, staring at him blankly.

The soldier hesitated under the intensity of his stare, the bright Elven eyes almost hypnotic in their brilliance. But he was quick to recover, breaking his gaze as he began to stutter orders to his men in his unfamiliar tongue.

The ancient sovereign quickly found himself being lead from the clearing, the tubules of one of the strange weapons these people carried pressing roughly into the small of his back as they returned to the meager camp. He was shoved into the center with his comrades, and immediately the human whom had found him rushed over to his captain, his eyes wide as he relayed what had happened in a rush, as well as what he had discovered about their present captives.

"Celeborn," Galadriel murmured as she crawled towards her husband, her eyes shifting rapidly as she searched for any sign of injury marring his flesh. "My love, are you well?"

"I am unharmed, my dear, truly," he replied in an attempt to sooth his concerned wife. His face was very grave however, and he shared an unnerving glance with the Wizard. "Gandalf, we have been discovered. They know..."

The lead human approached, his stride holding all the arrogance that his personality was made of, and Mithrandir felt his Elven comrades tense in anticipation for what was to come, minus the delirious Glorfindel. "Remain calm. Do nothing to provoke them."

The Al-Qaeda leader reached out his hand, grabbing the limb of the closest Elf in reach of him. Legolas glared menacingly at the Man as he was roughly hauled to his feet, mentally fighting the instinct to defend himself. His golden tresses were pulled aside by calloused fingers, revealing a delicately pointed ear tip. He was then glared at by cold and contemplating eyes, before he was harshly pushed back down to the ground, his arm released.

With a last long, lingering stare at each of them, the captain began barking orders, and his obedient underlings immediately did as they were bid, rising to their feet and kicking out the fire, gathering packs and supplies about the camp.

Now without the light of the flames, did the auras about the Elven bodies truly glow in all their magnificence. The angelic scene distracted several of the soldiers from their task, and it was only by the demand of their leader that they turned away their gazes and returned their focus to their duties.

These men were truly disciplined warriors, indeed, to be barely phased by what seemed to be aliens to them. The leader in particular was a stern and battle-hardened commander, arrogant and fearless to the last detail, at least that was how he appeared.

Two of the Elves apparent guards hoisted the half-conscious seneschal to his feet by his arms, and a pained groan managed to escape his pale lips. He could barely stand, let alone walk, yet he was forced to trudge forward with the assistance of his aides.

Elrond's first instinct as a healer was to object to this cruel treatment of his companion, but he knew better then to provoke these people by opening his mouth. Even the smallest sound seemed to irritate them, and there was no telling what they would do to either him or the Gondolin veteran, should he interfere. And so he was forced to watch in silent anguish as Glorfindel stumbled across the ground, his heart aching for the pain his exhausted friend was forced to endure.

Gandalf and the other Elves were soon forced to their feet as well, and were lead in single file through the forest path. The only source of light being the torches the Men carried, and the natural glow of the Elven bodies.

They walked for miles, it seemed, far into the morning as Anor brought with her her golden rays with the brightening of the sky, and the waking chirps of the birds nestled in their nests in the boughs of the trees. Still, they did not stop, and for what seemed to be the eleventh time since they had departed the camp, Glorfindel slipped to his knees with a choked grunt, his eyes shut tight, and his teeth bared, this truly revealing his agony.

Elves were normally quick to heal from their injuries, far quicker than mere mortals, but even this required some level of rest, and with the Elf Lord's body being jostled and forced as it was, this would be a hard feat to accomplish. He was still weak from both the blood loss and the operation, and the healing wound was still throbbing and painful, akin to a searing poker jabbing into his side. Beads of sweat covered his noble brow, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion, but before he could take more than three steadying breaths, he was hauled back up to his aching limbs.

It was then that Elrond could no longer hold his tongue. "He must rest! Can you not see? He is exhausted."

But it was useless. They could not understand him, and he could not understand them, though the Loremaster doubted that they would actually heed him, even if they could. With a muttered command by the captain, they moved onward, and Elrond winced as he watched his seneschal put all his strength in his efforts to walk.

For many hours they continued across the uneven terrain, and only as the sun began to set did the company stop. Glorfindel allowed himself to collapse to his knees when his guards finally released him, and Gandalf and the others were quickly at his side.

"Glorfindel," Erestor breathed as he knelt down before him, his eyes scanning his companion worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better," the golden-haired warrior managed through clenched teeth. Heavy pants left his wheezing lungs, his shoulders heaving violently as he greedily sucked in the fresh forest air. Unconsciously, he gripped at his sutured wound, and Elrond, whose keen eyes noticed this, was knelt down next to him in an instant.

The Elf Lord carefully pulled back the hem of his tunic, and quickly unraveled the bandage, revealing the swollen and bloodied wound on the bare hip. Though the stitches were still intact, and the flesh was already scabbing over, the skin around it was irritated with hints of fresh blood.

"This march has aggravated his injury," Elrond sighed, irritation in his voice and his brow furrowed. As a result of these Men's stubbornness, the former Balrog Slayer's wound now risked infection, and with no healing herbs or supplies, he could do little to prevent it from worsening.

"I'll be alright, Elrond," Glorfindel tempted to assure his Lord, shifting his body to a more comfortable position. "I simply need some rest."

Erestor threw the Rivendell patriarch a worried glance, and Elrond, himself, could easily read that expression. They both knew the warrior well enough to know his own emotions. Glorfindel's passive front was only to reassure his companions, and not have them worry over him, especially during such dire circumstances.

The two Noldor helped their friend prop himself against the trunk of a slumping tree, and as the humans settled their belongings while others remained stationed by their captives, Gandalf, and the other Elves joined their confidants, keeping closely together.

They had stopped close to a small meadow. It spanned out for about thirty acres, nothing but knee-high grass, and goldenrod and thistle weeds along the stretch.

As the Elves sat quietly together, Legolas briefly wondered if they would be crossing it. If so, what then? With his keen sight he could easily see across the expanse, and into the forest that continued on thereafter. There was no telling as to where they were going, but it was obvious enough that it would not be pleasant. It was most likely that they were headed to the Men's main village, and that on its own was a dreadful thought, never mind what would happen to them once they arrived there.

Humans feared what they did not understand, and though these Men seemed brave enough, he knew just by their reactions after discovering Lord Celeborn's identity that they were scared. Anger was a natural reaction to fear, after all, and thus had been their response, if not for the apprehension in their eyes.

The silvan prince sighed to himself as he gazed down at his folded hands in silent reverie, for the moment oblivious to his surroundings. No matter what, it was imperative that they find a way to escape.

He must have nodded off, he was certain of it, for when his eyes began to clear from the realm of Elven dreams, the sky was grey with the coming of the dawn.

The camp was only just beginning to rouse, several soldiers carefully stepping over their snoring colleagues and gathering equipment. The Men guarding the Elves had alternated during the night, and they were wide awake, weapons at the ready.

Glorfindel was still resting, his back propped up against the tree, and his eyes half-lidded and glazed over as his battered body fought to heal its self. Elrond was at his side, tired ancient eyes keeping close visual on his friend, and Erestor was flanking the warrior's opposite side, one knee drawn up to his chin, and arms wrapped around it. Galadriel's golden head was nestled upon her husband's lap as she lay dozing quietly, and Celeborn's hand rested upon her shoulder as he leaned his head against a fallen log, his face staring upwards at the lighting sky.

The only one awake was old Mithrandir. His knees were slightly raised in front of him as he puffed on his pipe, his wise blue eyes staring out into nothingness in silent contemplation.

The woodland prince licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden rumbling noise in the distance startled him, and he glanced in the direction in which the sound had emanated from.

Clouds of dust began to rise as some strange, metallic beast appeared out of the trees. It had a sort of squareness in shape to it, and it had a lingering growl, a loud rumbling noise akin to the many flaps of a bee's wings, but more firm and menacing. The sound increased as it drew near, and Legolas could now see that it rode on thick, black wheels, and was controlled by two Men from the inside, shielded by a window.

The others too, had started at the noise, and they were now staring at the beast curiously as it drew closer to them. Finally when it was close enough, it came to a halt, and judging by the expressions of their captors faces, they were happy to see it.

The humans emerged from inside it, doors opening on both sides. The captain whom had held them went over to the other Men and embraced them, talking in rapid tones. After exchanging several words, the leader's face became more serious, and he lead the two newcomers over to their Elven captives.

They were scrutinized with painful curiosity, and as the injured Glorfindel was approached, and his hair pulled back revealing a pointed ear, the Men's eyes grew wide in disbelief, and they glanced at their companion with astonishment. One of the newcomer's spoke, questioning in his voice. The other simply shook his head, and muttered something back.

The Elves were forced to rise, and as they were ushered to the back of the horseless carriage, the two new arrivals pulled back the canvas that covered its top, and pulled open the back wall, before ushering them in. The soldiers climbed in shortly after, and though it was a tight fit, they all managed to squeeze inside the belly of the beast. The wall was then pulled back, and the canvas dropped behind it.

Legolas could hear the doors being opened and shut again at the front, and he could feel the vibrations beneath him as the beast again began to growl. He could sense the movement of it as the shadows of the trees moved past them, and as their speed began to increase, he gazed worriedly at the old Istar. What would happen now?

Reviews:

Regnet: Well that's good, and you're welcome, it was my pleasure. Well glad you approve of the whole 'Celeborn knocking the Al-Qaeda on his ass' thing. Was kind of afraid to post that chapter because people would think he was too OOC.

Xiad Rusco: That's good to hear. I think so too.

pIPPINpIRATE: LOL, it's ok. Thanks for your enthusiasm. Always appreciated.

Tinnuial: lol, yep. I AM CANADIAN!!! Happy that you're enjoying it so much. Enjoy the next chapter.

Ningwen: I'm glad you approve That last chapter was actually really fun to write. Here's the next chapter.

DreaminofLorien: Yeah! Celeborn rocks! Lol. I'm glad you like it so much. I wish I could update more often too, but look at it this way; the longer I take, the better the chapter.