Two Worlds

Summary: I do not own the characters associated with The Lord of the Rings, nor the book its self. All credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

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Ch 11

Blow after blow was delivered to the dark-headed Elf's abdomen as the two soldiers held him firm, refusing to relinquish their hold. Stars seemed to flash before his eyes as the oxygen continued to be forced from his lungs again and again, and despite his efforts, he could not make these men comprehend his lack of understanding of their language or their purpose.

Another grunt left his lips with the coming of another punch, and he could not help the sudden urge to cough. The Captain of these people continued to spit words at him as fists reined down on him, words that held no meaning to him.

"I don't know what you want from me," he finally cried. "How can I make you understand??"

Erestor's words spoken in the Westron tongue, however, only seemed to enrage the vicious Captain further, and the Eldar groaned when he felt the knuckles of the rough fist connect with his right temple, before another quickly followed to the left side, cruelly splitting his lip in the process.

It made no sense to him. Why were they doing this? He had committed no crime. Was it because of what he was? Man feared what he did not understand, after all, and it had been many centuries past since last the race of the Eldar had walked among the Edain. Though that still did not rectify their reasons for such harsh treatment. It was an unlikely scenario in any case. They had attacked before they had even realized what he and the others were.

A darkening haze slowly ensnared him, and very soon Erestor found his consciousness slipping. These men would either beat him until they attained what they wanted, or kill him in the process, and very soon the latter thought became very appealing as the abuse continued.

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Morning came with the first snowfall of the season, nothing but silence echoing throughout the small valley as the tiny individual flakes of white crystal gracefully floated down from the clouded sky, no two exactly alike. And though the silence that accompanied it was peaceful, it did nothing to comfort the hearts of the Wizard and his Elven companions trapped within the cold dingy cell. Erestor had not yet returned, and all had remained awake that night with worry that was quickly mounting as the hours of his absence continued on.

It had been a long while since anyone had spoken, each engaged in their own private thoughts. Legolas stood at the small window, arms crossed loosely against his chest, his eyes gazing outwards across the encampment and unmoving as the snowflakes fell past him.

Gandalf sat huddled in a corner, his hands chafing together to warm them in this sudden on-take of cool weather. It was cold here, in this climate, and he did not care for it at all. More than anything he wished for a piece of flint to light his pipe, but hope could often be cruel and elusive.

Elrond and Glorfindel remained side by side in silence, and while the Balrog slayer's posture was hunched over and lax, his eyes continued to glance at the door in the hopes that his companion would soon return. Elrond's countenance remained a stony mask unintelligible to any other, or at least that would be how it would appear to one whom did not know him well. But his surrounding friends knew better, and could tell he was just as worried as any other for his chief counsellor.

It was Celeborn's worry, however, that seemed to permeate throughout the air as he continued to hold his unconscious wife against his chest, not once releasing her during the entire night. There had been several times that she had shown the briefest signs of awakening, whether it be the fluttering of an eyelash or the twitch of a finger, but it soon became apparent that they were relying on false hope. So when the Lady's eyes had finally peeled open, all had been startled when a sharp intake of breath left her lungs.

Her body jolted forward as a short cry of fear left her lips, her last memories being that of her under the cruel mercy of the Al-Qaeda men. Her eyes darted frantically around her, and after several short pants, recognition of her surroundings and the faces around her, her body slowly became lax as she hunched over, bringing a hand to her mouth as a small whimper escaped.

Now more than ever, Celeborn felt completely helpless. His eyes were wide and unsure as he gazed down at his broken mistress, and he could do naught but encircle her in slim but powerful arms, pulling her body against his firm chest as he murmured words of comfort to her.

The others looked on, uncertain what they should do. There had been fear in the Lady's eyes, cold hard terror that was rarely presented on her beautiful face. It was truly unnerving to witness, and none were certain it was their place to offer comfort.

Elrond, being the great healer he was renowned for, could not deny his instincts, however, and made his way to the couple, holding out his hand to stay his companions when they moved to follow.

"My dear, what happened?" Celeborn whispered into a pointed ear, his hands making comforting circular motions upon the Lady's back. He could feel her body trembling against him as she fought back the sobs that threatened to escape, though he knew in his heart that she would not allow them to pass her lips, for the others reassurance if nothing else.

"Those men," her voice was quiet and strained, "they're naught but brutal monsters."

Ignoring Elrond's command to stay put, Gandalf rose from his corner and knelt down beside the three Elves. "Galadriel, what did they do to you?"

"You know what they've done, Mithrandir. Look at me," she cried, gazing down at her own wounded body. In more of a whisper, she continued. "Is it not obvious?"

The Maia was silent for a moment, and met the gaze of the Noldo lord, and in-turn Elrond held his arm, pulling back slightly so that he could speak in private. "It will do no good to push her for answers, not yet, Gandalf. Give her time."

"If we do not push her, and she allows these feelings of grief to well up inside of her, it could very well be her end, you know this, Elrond."

"Even so," the Elf Lord countered, "to be forced to speak of such things openly so soon could devastate her further. She has been humiliated enough, for the time being. Leave her be for now."

The Istar stared at the Elf for a long moment, absently turning his attention to the two on the floor. With a resounding sigh he gave a short nod, before joining Legolas and Glorfindel near the door. Elrond was right, of course. He had, after all, first hand experience with such occasions.

As Elrond re-examined the Lady's injuries, Celeborn by her side, Gandalf and the other two Elves kept silent vigil by the door in the hopes that the advisor would be returned to them, preying he was not in the same condition as the Lady of the Golden Wood. Erestor was not a fighter, and would not have as great a chance to defend himself as Glorfindel or Elrond would in most similar circumstances.

When footfalls could finally be heard approaching, however, the absence of an Elf lowered their spirits as they walked past their cell. But Legolas, instead of getting discouraged, turned quickly to the Wizard.

"This may be our only chance to carry out our plan," he murmured in a rush. "If we are to do it, then we must do it now."

"Yes," Mithrandir agreed. "Yes, you are right, I think."

Legolas nodded, then turned apologetic eyes to Glorfindel. "My Lord, forgive me."

The Balrog slayer furrowed his brow in confusion. "Forgive you for what?"

He had no other warning, however, before he found himself being tackled to the floor by the younger Elf, and soon after the Seneschal realized what was happening, the two were wrestling around on the floor like a pair of angered elflings. Legolas was careful, though, not to make contact with his friend's wound. He was not as thoughtless to re-injure the other, and would not have even tempted it had Glorfindel's life been in great peril. Elves were quick to heal from injuries, after all, especially this great warrior whom had been resurrected from the dead.

Elrond, however, was not as passive of the situation, and looked on in disapproval, eyebrow raised. "Legolas, that's enough!"

His protests were ignored, and the Woodland Elf merely smirked as he gained power over the other, though his victory was short-lived when the broader figure managed to flip him off his person and pin him beneath with a cocky smile. The Seneschal was behaving just as childishly. Encouraging it, even.

"Glorfindel!" Elrond cried in exasperation.

Their scuffle had been triumphantly heard, and running feet echoed as they returned their way. The door swung open, and as Legolas and Glorfindel continued to feign a tussle, luck appeared to be on their side as only two young Al-Qaeda soldiers entered the room and attempted to separate them. It was then when their hands were free of weapons and instead occupied with breaking the two apart that the Elven Prince turned and swung a punch at the one restraining him. He fell to the floor, unconscious, blood seeping out of his mouth, and before his companion had a chance to cry out a warning, the Balrog-Slayer did likewise to him.

"We must go now!" Gandalf barked.

With gentle care, Celeborn lifted his injured mate into his arms as he and the others raced out of the prison.

Once outside, the group pressed up against the stone wall, eyes carefully exploring their surroundings in search of other Al-Qaeda. Two large doors caught their attention, the same ones they came in through, no doubt.

"That is our target," Gandalf said, "those twin doors."

"How are we to get through?" Glorfindel asked. "The doors are guarded and may be locked."

"That ladder," Elrond said, motioning to the large steps beside a lean alcove in the tall wooden gate. "It's our only chance, should all else fail."

"What about Galadriel?" Celeborn inquired worriedly.

"I'll be alright," the Lady reassured them, "I can make it."

"And Erestor?" the Balrog-Slayer queried. "Surely we're not about to abandon him?"

"Legolas will retrieve him," the Istar reassured. "He is swifter on foot than the rest of us."

"Where might I find him?" The Silvan prince asked, looking expectantly at the Lady, and Galadriel pointed to a large white tent in the center of the fort.

"If they took Erestor to the same place they brought me, he should be in there."

The flaxen-haired Elf nodded, and scanning his surroundings carefully as a deer would a meadow , bolted off.

"Be careful, Legolas," the Wizard murmured.

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Two Worlds

Summary: I do not own the characters associated with The Lord of the Rings, nor the book its self. All credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

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CH 12

He silently sprinted from one tent to another, using the large canvases as shielding from enemy eyes. He was swift and alert, his long, slender legs carrying him to his destination. He paused a moment when a gang of silhouettes approached, and slipped between two tents, crouching down into the shadows.

They marched in double file, limbs matching in perfect unison as they walked, weapons held at their shoulders, faces stony masks of discipline through the dark facial hair.

Once they were beyond sight, the Elf slid out from his cover and made the rest of the short distance to the main tent. He squatted down beside the closed flaps and quietly listened. From inside, he could hear raspy breathing, and this worried him. Peeling back a corner of the tarp, he noticed only a single guard pacing back and forth before the entrance. And on the ground before him, lay a battered and bruised Erestor, his limbs restrained at his back with rope.

Legolas' eyes grew wide as he took in the state of the counsellor. His normally flawless face now bore a black eye, and blood marred a delicate cheekbone, and also a split lip. There were spots of dried blood on his garments as well, indicating more wounds, and in his grief his eyes were tightly squeezed shut as if to block out the cruel world around him.

He meant to ready himself then, but something else caught his eye; in the corner of the room beside what appeared to be a small stand lined with various books, lay a tall, white rod. Gandalf's staff. He would be certain to retrieve it.

Steeling himself, Legolas threw back the tarp and launched himself into the soldier, this action taking him by surprise. For a moment they struggled, the man attempting to ready his rifle, which was slung over his left shoulder, but Legolas eventually managed to overpower him, and with a trip of his leg, the human fell backwards, striking his head against the floor and knocking him out cold.

Stepping over the dazed body, the fair-haired Elf was quick to untie the binds that held his companion. "Erestor, how do you fare?"

"Ai! Legolas," the Noldo gasped, "praise the Valar. It is you."

"Aye," he replied as he assisted the other to his feet. "Come, we must go. Can you walk?"

"I believe so, but--"

"Good. Now come. We must hurry."

Grabbing the Wizard's staff, the prince took Erestor by the arm to lead him out, but before they had a chance to walk beneath the setting sun, the other stopped him.

"Hold on a moment… How did you escape?"

"I shall explain everything later, but needless to say that 'childish idea' of mine managed to prove triumphant. Right now though, we must go! Now come, follow my lead."

Luck took a cruel turn on them just then, however, for not two steps towards the door did they freeze in their tracks as two soldiers, the ones whom Erestor recognized as his restrainers as their master pummelled him, pushed past the entrance, weapons aimed as they stared at the Elves levelly. And the young plump boy, whom had pity shining in his eyes before, showed the same emotions now on his round face.

Legolas looked around frantically for anything he could defend himself with, willing even to use Gandalf's staff to protect them, so sure was he that it was all over as the Men tightened their fingers around their triggers.

That is why he stood shocked for a long moment, staring blankly, when the young man turned his weapon on his comrade, and a loud bang echoed across the plain as he fell face-first to the ground.

A loud commotion began to stir outside as all within the encampment heard the weapon's fire. And the boy, pulling the flap to the side, motioned the Elves outside, speaking only a single word that though they could not understand, could easily grasp the meaning of. Run.

Not waiting for any explanation, Legolas grabbed the other Elf by the arm and together they ran as quickly as their legs would carry them.

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Beyond the encampment, and aside the forest where the rolling hills had turned golden in hibernation for the oncoming winter, a lone bay stallion with a dark flowing mane stood attentively as his large brown eyes gazed down upon the active fort as his master perched astride him. This man, with a neatly trimmed greying beard, and garbed in a dark jacket and wide-brimmed hat, stared down at the same spectacle as his steed, two round objects pressed firmly against his eyes as he did so.

He followed the scene closely, absently gnawing on his lower lip before lowering the item in his hand and nodding to himself. With a piercing whistle, he kicked his stallion into a gallop, and out from the shelter of the forest, several more horses of various breeds carrying riders loyally followed him down the large hill and across the field… towards the enemy camp.

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"Gandalf!"

The gunshot had alerted the soldiers immediately, and now that they had become aware that the strange beings they had captured had escaped their prison cell and were apparently missing, the entire encampment was in an uproar as they searched for their Elven captives and the Wizard frantically.

Legolas and Erestor found themselves dodging bodies and weapons alike, desperately trying to reach the alcove by the ladder they knew their friends were waiting.

Halting as a group of soldiers surrounded them, the Elven Prince used the Wizard's staff as a warrior would handle a sword to strike the men down, while Erestor did his best to fight with his bare hands. More bullets were dodged as they were fired upon, and having other little choice, using the stealth gifted to their kin, the Elves managed to leap over the sheet-covered heads.

Closer they came to the large wooden doors, but as they gradually neared them it became apparent that their comrades were not there. Where were they? They had plenty of time to climb up the wall. Perhaps they had climbed over, already? Or had they been captured before reaching it?

Their answer came to them as they were surrounded once again, this time by nearly every soldier in the camp. They had no choice now but to stop. Elven stealth could not help them now. Coming out of the crowd, blade pressed up against a pale throat, was the Lady Galadriel ensnared in the hands of the Al-Qaeda captain. He spouted something at them, a threat, no doubt.

Legolas sneered at the Man, his body tensing as if readying to leap upon him. But Erestor, with a shake of his head, stilled him with a hand to his shoulder. They would surely kill her if either of them made a move, he had no doubt about it now.

Feeling hands grab them from behind, and the staff yanked out of his hand, Legolas and Erestor allowed themselves to be lead through the assembly. Once they had cleared past them, they were lead to a line of posts near the edge of the fence… right where Mithrandir and their fellow Elves were bound.

Legolas struggled as he was tied to his own stake beside his comrades, Erestor aside him. After they had been secured they watched as Galadriel was restrained and bound to a post, as well.

With an arrogant smirk shot their way, the captain disappeared amongst his soldiers. When he was out of sight, Legolas turned his head sharply, beseechingly gazing at the Imladris Lord beside him.

"What happened, Elrond?"

The ebony-haired Elf sighed, shaking his head to himself dejectedly. "They caught us before we even had the chance to flee towards the doors. After you had gone after Erestor a group of soldiers happened to cross our path. I'm sorry, Legolas."

A movement in front of them caught their attention before the younger Elf could reply, and their bright Elven eyes rose to meet the cocky gaze of the captain once again, whom had returned from the swarm of soldiers. His features were drawn in spite as he held something dark and shiny in his hands. A weapon, one of the smaller versions they had seen the men bear before.

Readying the revolver, the man lifted it, finger wrapped securely around the trigger. And aimed it directly at Elrond's head.

To Be Continued…

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REVIEWS:

INMH: Me? Kill Galadriel?? Never! She IS cool. I would never dream of killing her.

DreaminofLorien: And thank YOU for the review :) I find Galadriel a very complex character, making her hard to write. Glad to know I'm doing an okay job.The idea for this story was actually based on a dream I once had a long while back, just around the same time as the EE of the Two Towers came out on dvd and video. Yeah... I have strange dreams.

Randa-Chan: Well, you got to see both action and Legolas' plan in these two chapter, didn't you? ;P I know... I'm slower than a snail when it comes to writing these things. Between the three fics I'm currently working on it's hard to get them out so quickly. Anywho, hope you enjoyed these ones.

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