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.

(A/N): Happy Holidays!! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and everything else! Here's just a little present from me. Enjoy!

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CH 10

Celeborn's bright Elven eyes stared blankly out the cell window, his mind preoccupied with worried thoughts of his wife. It had been well over a day, and Galadriel had still not been returned to the musky chamber. His companions were speaking, still trying to come up with a way to escape, but their words went by unnoticed to him.

He needed her. With the destruction of Valinor came the death of many friends and family, that including his only dear daughter. If he were to lose Galadriel as well, he would have nothing more to hold him to this world.

He tried desperately to be strong, if only for his comrades' sakes. Still, it was difficult to concentrate on anything knowing one's spouse could very well be in mortal danger. He caught the odd sentence here or there, but it barely registered within his mind.

Erestor was now speaking, and he sounded somewhat annoyed. "It's preposterous, they won't believe us!"

"We must make them believe," Elrond countered. "Our lives depend on this, and we've nothing else to go by."

"And how, pray tell, do we attract their attention?"

"Simple," said Legolas. "We create a false confrontation. Make much noise and act as though we are trying to assail one another. The ruckus should draw them here"

"Ridiculous!" the chief councilor cried. "It-- it's ludicrous, a most positively childish thing to do!"

"Have you a better idea?"

"No, but—"

"It's the only chance we've got, Erestor." Glorfindel intervened.

The dark haired Noldo blanched, his words coming out sputtered before he could form a proper sentence, which in turn was muttered only to himself. "Suicidal fools, all of them. Eru save us."

"Now that that's sorted out," Gandalf replied, "who is to act as the willing bait?"

"I will do it," Legolas said after a moment's hesitation. "It was my idea, after all,"

"Are you certain, Legolas?" the Wizard asked slowly. "This is no game. You've no weapons to protect you, while the enemy has much and would not hesitate to use it."

"I am aware of that," the Sylven Elf said tersely. "I have already considered the consequences, Mithrandir. I am no fool."

"Very well," the Istari sighed. "Later we will…" his voice trailed off as the sound of approaching foot steps made their presence known, and all occupants of the room, even Celeborn, turned their heads to the opening door.

The evening sun shone down upon three figures, the middle one supported by the other two by the arms, and before the Wizard and the Elves could rise the battered figure of the Lady was carelessly shoved into the prison. She didn't even have the strength left to support her own weight, and fell face-first to the cold floor.

"Galadriel!" Celeborn cried as he scrambled over to her, immediately taking her into his strong arms and carefully scrutinizing her appearance, lips parted. Bruises and cuts marred her normally flawless body, her gown torn and openly gaping in several places revealing more wounds. She was bleeding, and her long eyelashes fanned across her pale cheeks in unconsciousness.

"Oh…" The Elf Lord buried his face into the head of golden curls, matted in blood and dirt, and his body trembled as he silently sobbed, holding her tightly. He was barely aware of the footsteps that raced after him, as well as the gentle hand on his shoulder while a voice pleaded with him to present the lady's body.

"Celeborn, please," Elrond implored, "I must tend to her injuries before they are beyond my aid."

"What could you possibly do?" he gasped. "We've no herbs or supplies."

"No," the dark-haired Elf agreed, "but I can stem any bleeding if need be. Now bring her thither by the light."

The silver-haired Lord did as he was bid, first removing his own robe and wrapping it around his motionless wife's body, leaving him clad in leggings and a silver shirt, before gently picking her up and carrying her beneath the window, the only source of light being the dying ember of the evening sky.

The remaining company respectfully left the two lord's to their privacy as they tended Galadriel. They had seen enough for themselves to know what had happened to her, and each of them felt their blood run cold at the sight.

Elrond's lips were drawn in a grim line, his annoyance truly visible on his face as he gently prodded the Lady of the Wood's prone form. Old memories haunted him as he performed his task, and he was vaguely reminded of the similar circumstances his dear Celebrian had suffered. It was rather ironic in his mind that mother and daughter had eventually come to suffer the same fate, only this time it was by the hand of Man, and not orcs, that had bestowed this cruel deed, had tortured this pure woman, and no longer was there the sanctity of Valinor that Galadriel could turn to. He only hoped that she would not suffer the same trauma that his own wife had, and he feared for her if it were indeed to be so.

The bottom of Celeborn's robe was torn, and Elrond used the strips to cleanse and bind the wounds masking the Lady's flesh. What remained of it was used as a blanket to keep her warm.

"Will she be alright, do you suppose?" Legolas whispered as he glanced across to them for a moment.

"She will," Glorfindel replied firmly, "she must be. There are too few of us left."

Even in her unconscious state, Galadriel remained ever tense, and even if it were not clearly visible to the naked eye, it was blatantly obvious through physical contact. She even managed to flinch in her comatose state as Elrond gently examined the welt on her cheek.

There was little more he could do afterwards, and so he left her in the comfort of her worried husband, and he held her close as she slept, and he remained thus until she awoke.

"How does she fare, Elrond?" The Wizard asked as the Noldo Elf returned to their side, and they all could clearly see both the worry, as well as the exhaustion in his wise grey eyes.

With a shake of his head he sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the stone wall. "It could have been far worse, I don't believe there will be any everlasting effects. I am still concerned over her mental anguish, however. I fear the emotional trauma may be severe. We can only hope the after-affects will fade in time."

"It does not seem like the Lady to fear aught," Legolas murmured, "to me, it has always seemed as though… as though she is indomitable."

"She does carry that air about her," Gandalf agreed. "We must have faith in her. She can overcome this with our support, I believe."

Elrond looked less convinced over Mithrandir's optimism, though he did not voice his thoughts. He had seen far too much in his long millennia to raise his hopes over mere yearning, and though many Elves often carried a saddened aura about them, the Rivendell Lord's was, perhaps, stronger than most. He had lost many loved ones recounted from his earliest years, and had seen much destruction. Disappointment was not an uncommon concept to him.

He did not have time to contemplate much further, however, before the door re-opened not long after, and the same two guards trudged in while a third remained in the doorway, rifle readied. The Men randomly grabbed one of the Elves, in this case Erestor, by the shoulders and lead him towards the exit.

"Confound it all," the counsellor muttered as he was lead down the same path that Galadriel had earlier trod. He grunted as he was shoved, and glared at the man through the corner of his eye as he was ushered to quicken his pace.

The on-goings in the encampment under the setting sun caught his attention, and like the Lady, the brutality of the circumstances weighed upon his heart. The pikes in the ground still stood with the bodiless figures mounted on top, and insects seemed to swarm from every decaying crevice of the rotting flesh. The sight of the putrid face of the young child was no less disturbing then when he had first seen her.

Questions raced through his mind as he gazed upon them. Who were they? What were their names? Who were their families? And above all else, what had they done to warrant such a gruesome end?

He wondered, perhaps if this was some sort of sacrificial ritual, but quickly dismissed the thought. Somehow, he imagined such a ceremony to be a little more ornamental. But if not that, then what? Surely no child was capable of warranting such a punishment, unless perhaps these Edain believed, in their foolishness, the girl was possessed or some similar reason. Men were often very superstitious, and took such endeavors strongly to heart. A positively foolish notion to him, indeed.

They halted at the entranceway of a large tent, and as the guard and their leader exchanged words, a movement several miles away caught the Elf's eye, and as the clarity dawned upon him, he felt the burning taste of bile rise in his throat.

Children, not even half grown, were being trained in the art of combat. They held real weapons in their small limbs, being taught how to aim and shoot by several adults. They were being taught how to kill, and one day they would grow into savage murderers just like their elders. The revelation made him ill, and it took all his will to fight against the sickness that threatened to rise in his stomach.

He barely caught himself as he stumbled into the entrance of the tent, the harsh shove coming unexpected and taking him by surprise. Looking before him, he caught the cold eyes of his former captor. Beside him was an older man, steadily scrutinizing his appearance.

Erestor was suddenly grabbed by an arm and was pulled forward, the older man's eyes glaring boldly into his own. The other hand roughly fisted into long, dark hair, and a pointed ear was revealed to unblinking eyes.

For a moment it seemed to the Elf that fear flitted across the Man's face, but his demeanor was quickly masked, and as if in satisfaction, the elder gave a short nod before Erestor felt the restraining hands of the two soldiers return to his shoulders, and just as relief began to settle within him, a painful blow was landed to his gut, and the life-giving oxygen was forced from his lungs.

To be continued…

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REVIEWS:

Randa-Chan: Hehe… I know, I'm evil. And thank you, I appreciate the praise!

INMH: I know, I know. I'm bad. This chapter didn't exactly come out as planned, and personally I'm not very happy with it. It'll get better as the story progresses.

Pegasus: blush well, thank you very much It's good to know my work is appreciated.