Author's Note:

Hello again! So on with the adventure. Again, a HUGE, gigantor, ENORMOUS thank you to all who reviewedchapter7 :mbali, Lyn, lindahoyland, greeneyedelf001, Elfinabottle, Ainu Laire (for the review and the info:) and of course my wonderful Beta viggomaniac.You all are what motivate me to keep posting and it is so helpful to hear your comments and encouragement.

Much love!

-Athena

p.s. Please, please consider reviewing andlet me know what you think of the chapter. It is so much more fun to get feedback!

Eight

"If you want to save your friends you will do as I say."

Elladan and Elrohir sat silently, eyes fixed intently on the man who now stood before them. They had been waiting at the gate for some time now, patiently searching for any sign of Legolas and Aragorn. They had remained there for the better part of hour when suddenly the city seemed alive with movement and activity. It was a sure sign that the two had been discovered, and the rescue attempt had failed. And now, as though from thin air, a strange man stood before them and dared to give them…an ultimatum? But at least neither was surprised by his presence.

"So you finally make yourself known." Elrohir spoke, his eyes narrowed in discernment. He had felt the other's presence nearly since the start of his journey. The man had the skill of a ranger, skill enough to remain unseen, yet even he could not escape the superior hearing abilities of an elf.

The man bowed low in respect. "Yes, I am Owen, a ranger. I am here to offer my services. I will gladly answer your questions after we have rescued them." He was a youngish man, probably around Aragorn's age, though there were marked differences. His long hair was straight and dark, tied neatly back and tucked behind his ears. Long strands fell astray, about his face. His face was grizzled and unshaven but his eyes were most striking, for they were a bright green, in stark contrast to his otherwise dark features. He was tall and broad-shouldered, obviously no inexperienced woodsman. But his clothing was strange; it was not the typical garb of the rangers of the north. The brown leggings and green tunic, partially concealed by the dark brown cloak he wore, were more like that of a ranger of the south than of the north.

Elrohir frowned, stealing a glance at Elladan and finding no decision there. In fact, Elladan's indecision was a bit unnerving since Elrohir, though he hated to admit it, had grown accustomed to looking to his older brother for guidance in such grim situations. It did not matter now. They had precious little time. It was difficult to trust, but there seemed no other option and Elrohir would rather take his chances with the mortal than with the entire Lamias. Three against an army seemed slightly better odds than two. He shot Elladan a final searching glance and then turned his attention back to the supposed ranger. "What do you propose?"

"They have been discovered. I know of a secret way in, but I will need a diversion in order to get them out. Elimerel does not know of my presence, and that is our advantage. If you can divert the forces to this main gate, I am certain that I can find them and free them."

Elrohir considered this for a moment. The man was tall and sturdily built. At that moment, from his stoic expression to his long sword, he looked very much like a well seasoned ranger. Elrohir's curiosity was sufficiently piqued. Having no help from Elladan, he quickly assessed their current situation. He would be of little help in battle; his leg could not yet bear the necessary pressure and had barely begun to heal. Elladan, though a skilled warrior, could not hope to succeed against an army. And for some strange and inexplicable reason, his instincts told him to trust this man, and to do it quickly. He nodded. "I can think of no other option. What must we do?"

King Elimerel strode forward. Legolas could feel the heavy weight of what felt like a thousand arrowheads pointed at him, each with an incredible amount of latent energy eager to be unleashed. It was intense and every muscle in his body seemed to tighten with anticipation. They were hopelessly outmatched, outnumbered, and out of options. To make matters worse, he felt ill. It was an incredibly discomfiting feeling and try as he might, he could no longer block out the aching, spinning feeling that lurked on the edge of his awareness. It was growing worse and he was beginning to lose the control he fought so hard to maintain.

"You were right before -- it could be worse." Aragorn breathed, more to himself, as the words absently slipped from his lips. He felt Legolas' blank stare and the sight of the wide eyes forced a small smile to play on his grim features. He leaned heavily on Legolas for support, knowing that Legolas himself struggled to keep his footing. Realizing the absurdity of the situation, he shrugged. "Well it could be."

Legolas shook his head in mock frustration, sighing in resignation. "I will never understand."

Their hushed exchange was abruptly cut off as the King stopped only paces away. "If you value your lives you will drop your weapons. I assure you, while truthfully you are more valuable to me alive, your deaths will cause for me no loss of sleep."

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances. To comply would surely mean death, yet to fight in their condition would undoubtedly reap the same result. Their hope lay now with strategy and not strength. 'And by the grace of the Valar,' Legolas mused as he slowly lowered his bow to the ground. As soon as the weapons were down, four guards emerged from the ring, firmly taking hold of the prisoners. Elimerel advanced, swiftly backhanding Legolas across the face. The elf prince growled in anger but managed to curb his temper. Losing it now would not help their situation.

Elimerel then grabbed Aragorn roughly by the collar and punched him solidly in the gut. Aragorn gasped in surprise, the air escaping his lungs. His side burned in pain. Before he could recover the corrupted king dragged him forward and then with remarkable force, slammed him against a nearby tree. Aragorn could not stifle a cry of pain as his raw back collided with the rough bark; the strange and angry wound between his shoulder blades was by far the worst of the pain. Black spots clouded his vision. Elimerel smiled in satisfaction before pulling him forward, only to push him back again, the second collision worse than the first. Aragorn moaned in agony, feeling himself on the edge of the abyss.

"I hate you, adan." The King sneered through gritted teeth.

Again the ranger was slammed mercilessly into the tree. He could sense the warm blood flowing again, sticking to what was left of his tunic.

"You and your kind are pitiful, primal and inferior!"

Somewhere, far off, he thought he could hear Legolas, but the words were muffled now and he had not the will to decipher them.

"Who do you think you are?"

He just wanted the pain to end.

"Who do you think you are!" The King screamed at the barely conscious man before him. This adan who Elrond would see a king, would see rule Arda. "WHO!"

Aragorn blinked, desperate to remain conscious. The angry demand resounded in his head. 'WHO…WHO?' Suddenly, he found his voice.

"Who are you…?" He stammered, his voice a whisper. And then, as though possessed by some greater power, he met the evil elf's gaze with hard, determined eyes of slate grey. "Who are you, traitorous king, tyrannical minion of Sauron or Saruman or whatever darkness you serve?" The elven language flowed from his lips, adding credence to his claim. "I am Estel, son of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, ally to Lamias by an oath of allegiance." His steely gaze shifted from Elimerel to Dalinor. There they remained, fixed on the quivering elf. "You owe him your allegiance!" Aragorn raged in sudden fury.

Dalinor stirred from where he stood beside Legolas.

Words failed to justly convey the intensity of the hatred radiating from Elimerel's very being. He trembled with fury, drawing his sword and readying to deal the last blow. His eyes were alit with the fire of abhorrence and indignation.

"NO!" Legolas raged, struggling with renewed fury against the arms that held him.

Dalinor's attention to the scene before him suddenly shifted as awareness of a low murmur among the ranks crept into his consciousness. Dalinor turned in confusion, observing with growing concern the disquiet and anxiety among the soldiers. "What is…?" He began. And then he smelled it. Smoke, thick, heaving, suffocating smoke which could only mean-

"FIRE!" An elf shouted, his voice crying the alarm. Again, a voice cried out in sheer terror, "FIRE!" All gazes shifted to the eerie flames dancing in the near distance as the northern gate of Lamias became a blazing inferno. The dry leaves on the ground ignited with lightning swiftness and the blaze spread rapidly before them. The alarm was sounded as, in the rapidly ensuing chaos, the elves began to break ranks.

Legolas gasped in disbelief, still fighting the grip of his captors. His ears perked suddenly as a high pitched whistled heralded the arrival of two arrows finding their marks. The two guards at his side fell lifelessly to the ground. He seized his chance, breaking free of their grasp and lifting his bow while nearly simultaneously notching three arrows.

Mass confusion reigned as the death of the two elven soldiers registered among the ranks of the Lamian elves. A loud murmur rose from the rows of elven soldiers as they rushed to deal with the fire. Legolas stood, suddenly free, bow in hand. Elimerel lowered his sword in surprise, trying to determine exactly what was happening. Momentarily forgetting the ranger, he turned towards the commotion in time to watch two more of his men being felled by arrows. His forces were dividing as soldiers rushed to dealing with the rapidly spreading flames.

"My Lord!"

Elimerel searched for the source of the urgent cry.

"King Elimerel!" With unconcealed urgency in his voice, Dalinor stepped forward with his petition to the king, rapidly assessing the growing chaos. The soldiers were torn with indecision; still, most held their ground, waiting for a command that their King seemed unable to give.

"We must break ranks and tend the fire, my lord. It is spreading too rapidly. You must give the order…!"

"No! I will give no such order. This ends now. I will not risk losing the prisoners. Any elf breaking rank will be dealt with accordingly!"

Dalinor gasped in shock and frustration as the flames danced in his King's eyes as a visual manifestation of the insanity which undoubtedly dwelled there.

Dalinor's features hardened. "But your people are dying, we must tend to the fire before the entire wood…"The intensity of the situation only magnified as the flames reached the dwelling houses and meeting hall. It would take a massive effort to stop.

"You have my command!" The king spat back, still clutching Aragorn by the collar, only now he extended the sword towards his captain of the guard.

Loyalty. It was the only word that Dalinor could clearly think of. Loyalty. But to whom? To his king? He shivered in disgust at what his fair city had become, a place of death and coldness, where even the leaves withered, the very leaves which took to flame so easily as though in a final statement of sorrow. Thoughts of his friends and comrades, their faces twisted in hatred and their hearts cold with dissatisfaction, both instilled by the king who would lead them to peace and prosperity, filled his mind. It was not the way of the elves; it was a dark existence, one that had demanded isolation and distrust. What was to separate them from the orcs? Since when did the will of an evil Istari weigh heavier than the welfare of his people? The adan was right, Lamias was a sworn ally to Imladris and Dalinor by virtue of this, was called to be loyal to Lord Elrond. At the same time, he was loyal to Lamias and his people, as Elimerel once was.

Once was.

He turned suddenly, heedless of Elimerel's rage-filled protests, and addressed the army of elves. "All forces will follow me and see to the fire!" he commanded. The message was passed along quickly among the ranks. Dalinor did not look back, did not see Elimerel's crazed look of betrayal and hatred as he reached for the dagger and prepared to throw.

With a final effort, Aragorn took advantage of the distraction and lashed out, landing a well placed punch squarely in the king's abdomen. Elimerel stumbled back in surprise, dropping the dagger but raising his sword. He pounced and Aragorn ducked as best he could, narrowly avoiding the attack. Elimerel wasted no time in coming around again, this time backhanding the mortal across the face with the hilt of his sword. Aragorn staggered, struggling to hold his ground, preparing himself for the coming onslaught as Elimerel charged, sword raised and glimmering as the flames reflected off of the steel. He watched, as though in slow motion, as the final stroke was dealt.

But it never came. Aragorn stared in shock as Elimerel stood, frozen before him, the sword dropping from his grasp. An arrow protruded from his chest, through the heart. The elf king dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the forest floor -- dead.

In that moment, as his body collapsed, Legolas Greenleaf stood in clear view, arms still extended as though the bow still held its arrow. Aragorn nodded fractionally in appreciation. He swayed, then fell to his knees, trembling on the ground, breathing heavily as the world stopped spinning.

Legolas sighed in relief and bounded forward, vaguely aware of the stray arrows that now flew at him. The elves were in disarray, most now following Dalinor and fighting the fire, some remaining behind the King and his vengeful cause, only to desert in the wake of the King's death. It was at this moment that the supposed ranger, Owen, dropped from the trees and met Legolas in mid-stride.

Legolas tensed, going for his dagger, but the man held his hands up in surrender. "Peace, Prince of Mirkwood, I am a friend and have come to help you. I know of the secret way out and will take you to the sons of Elrond."

The elf's distrust was conveyed clearly in the frigid quality of his brilliant blue eyes, which made no effort to conceal the prince's distrust. The sons? Could that mean Elladan is with him? He did not dare to hope. Legolas sensed the urgency in this stranger's voice, a marked contrast to the calm demeanor he tried to convey. He was a ranger of sorts. Legolas could tell by the garb and weapons. He vaguely remembered the battle on their way to the Firien Wood, and the presence he felt tracking them. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because, in all due respect, you have no other option."

This Legolas could not deny. He nodded in assent, pushing past the man to Aragorn. Aragorn was doubled over on his knees, a hand resting shakily against the tree. His head was bowed and dark strands of hair concealed his face. "Estel…" Legolas knelt beside him and turned his friend's face towards him in an effort to see his eyes. He was vastly relieved when the silver eyes fluttered open.

Aragorn smiled. "Nice shot," he murmured, catching his breath.

Legolas could not help but smile. "Let us leave here and find your brothers before they kill each other," he replied, offering his arm. Owen appeared at Aragorn's other side and together they got him to his feet. The three hurried away, eager to escape the commotion, leaving the dead king's body to rot, unmourned and unnoticed.

So, the adventure begins as they finally escape from Lamias...tbc

A special note to Lyn…

Thanks for you comments! I usually like to respond to each review individually (via e-mail) but I would like to address some of your comments here. Especially the wording errors, I don't know if you've read my previous author's notes, but it is certainly something I struggle with and will continue to struggle with.

To begin, I have considered your very good point about assessing the consequences of torture- the nice thing about fiction, especially middle earth AUs, is that there is something to be said for imagination as well as a certain magical element.

I am less concerned with specifics in regards to how a person would respond to torture physically as opposed to the psychological angst the torture brings about. That is what fascinates me. But to address your remarks-

Elrohir is an elf. I am no expert, but I work under the assumption that elves have a higher tolerance for pain as well as an expedient healing factor. Since ( to the best of my knowledge) Tolkien was not very specific on this matter, there is no telling to exactly what extent Elrohir's lineage combined with adrenaline would have aided him in the escape.

As for Aragorn's unfortunate circumstances- the nature of the injury is significant in that there is a magical/sinister element to it. His previous wounds were well cared for because Elimerel needs him alive. His Numenorean blood will also be of help in the coming obstacles that the group will face. Will he survive? I can't say as of yet ;)

As far as plausibility goes- in my opinion it is secondary to the priorities of good plot, good character development, good angst and reader enjoyment. If a lack of plausibility interferes with any of these elements then I become concerned. In a perfect world, perhaps, I would have ample time to research all of the intricacies but things being as they are (and me barely having time to sleep as it is) I don't think it will happen this time around.

Thanks again for the helpful comments and thank you for reading! I will keep them in mind in the future when planning to torture our heroes which, unfortunatley for them, is bound to be a common occurance!

- Athena