YES! I've just finished the entire Harlan Coben's Myron Bolitar series! (Seven books in all). They are bloody fantastic! You guys should read them. And his other book 'Gone For Good', the one that won the Edgar Award, is incredibly incredible! No wonder it won. It put me through a roller-coaster ride the entire time, from start to finish. I cried, I giggled, I got angry. Make me want to have amnesia so I can read it all over again and be surprised at every turn of pages.

Mr. Coben, you are a genius. Will you marry me?

All right. Enough of that babbling, Addy! Where was I? Oh, yeah. Keldarion and the gang have come to rescue our beloved Leggy. Will they succeed? Well, read and find out.

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Instead of his private chamber, the merchant took his special guest back to the parlor. Keldarion was not the least bit disappointed by this change of venue. In fact, he didn't even care.

Wherever it took place, Movrak would certainly meet his death before the day ended.

Eldarion silently trailed behind them with his head bowed, looking as submissive as any servants in the vicinity. He had been told that his 'master' had just sold him off to the merchant. No surprises there. That was part of the plan. But, earlier, when Movrak had eagerly reached forward to yank down his cloth-mask to see his face, the boy panicked. Luckily, Keldarion had clamped a hand over the man's wrist, reminding him that they had to agree on a price before the buyer could sample the, uh, merchandise.

And so, here they were, ensconced in the parlor like elderly matrons having a blasted tea party. Eldarion remained standing as the other two sat down. The boy's gaze was still downcast, but his ears were strained to the limit to hear everything that was being discussed between the merchant and the mercenary.

"What did you say his name was?" Movrak asked with a lascivious glance at Eldarion's way.

"I didn't," Keldarion curtly responded.

Movrak blinked. "Pardon me?"

"I never mention his name." The elf gave the man a sharp look. "You still want him?"

"Of course. He looks strong. And good looking too, you said so yourself." Movrak leaned forward. "How much?"

Keldarion emitted a thin smile. "He is not for sale."

"But just now you told me…"

"I'm not selling him, my lord. I want to barter him."

"Barter him?" The merchant's eyes narrowed. "With what?"

Chuckling, Keldarion also leaned forward. He answered in a soft voice, "Isildur's crown."

Movrak flinched as if he had been struck. "That bloody crown? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Trust me, my lord. I'm quite serious here."

"But that's preposterous! The relic worth a lot more than this slave boy! I won't agree to this exchange!"

With a comforting smile, Keldarion reached over and patted the man's hand. "My lord, my lord. Let's not get too excited yet. I'm not finished. I have no use of Isildur's crown, you see. To me it's nothing but an old rusty band of iron. Completely worthless."

"Then why mention it?"

Keldarion shrugged as he leaned back. "I only want to look at it, to see for myself if the legend is true."

"But it is true!"

"If you say so, my lord." The elf shrugged again and looked away, as if quickly losing interest. "But I still can't help feeling that this is all a hoax. The crown could be a fake. Someone might have made up all that silly stories…"

"It is not a fake, I tell you! It is indeed Isildur's crown!" Movrak yelled angrily.

"Then show it to me," Keldarion brazenly demanded. He shot Movrak a gaze so penetrating that the man fidgeted in his seat.

Silence reigned for several tense moments.

Eldarion glanced nervously between them, almost expecting a sword to materialize out of thin air and cleave Movrak in two.

"Look, my lord, I mean no offense," the elf finally added lest the merchant grew suspicious. "I just want to satisfy my curiosity, nothing more. If I wanted to steal the crown from you, I would have already done so. I won't have wasted my time sitting here talking with you."

Movrak grudgingly nodded. "Too true, Rowan. I'm well aware of your various skills and abilities. Stealing is without doubt one of them."

Besides murdering bloody pompous merchants, that is, Keldarion grimly thought.

"Fine, then. You win. You may see the crown," the man announced good-naturedly.

"Thank you, my lord."

"And now the slave boy is mine," Movrak gleefully said. He called out to Eldarion, "Come closer, boy! And take off that mask!"

"Not so fast, my lord."

Movrak rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh, Rowan, what more do you want?"

"Easy, my lord. The boy is not going anywhere. You can have him all for yourself later on." Keldarion gave the man a placating but cold smile. "I have one last proposal for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Legolas' blades, my lord. I thought you want to see them?"

"Oh, of course! I almost forgot. Show them to me."

Keldarion bade Eldarion to come forward. The boy obeyed, riffling through the satchel he carried along with him. Then he wordlessly passed over a package to Keldarion.

"Here they are, my lord—Legolas' famous twin blades." The elf unwrapped the bundle.

Movrak's eyes widened, staring in amazement at the two identical daggers lying atop the dark velvet cloth. "These weapons are elven made?"

"Yes, my lord. Exquisite, are they not?"

The merchant picked one and held it up to the light to admire its craftsmanship. He nodded his approval. "Magnificent. A truly splendid work. The best I've seen."

"Now these are not for free, my lord."

Movrak turned to Rowan with a grin. "I knew you would say that. All right, how much?"

"Fifty gold nuggets for each," Keldarion told him.

"Agreed." Movrak didn't even blink at the outrageous price. He put down the blade, next to its twin, and rewrapped them both. "Wait here. I'll go and prepare the payment."

As the man rose, Keldarion voiced out, "Are you forgetting something, my lord?"

"What do you mean?"

The elf also stood. "The so-called Isildur's crown. When can I see it?"

Movrak screwed his face in distaste at the word 'so-called'. "I tell you again, Rowan, the crown is authentic."

"You can prove it?"

"Of course, I can! Why is it so hard for you to believe this?"

"I'm a born skeptic, my lord. I can't change what I am. "

Movrak shook his head. "Follow me then, Rowan. I'll show you the bloody crown. I need to put these blades in the vault anyway."

The man paused, staring at Eldarion. "The boy may come with us. He can help me count the gold."

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Outside in the front square, the wagon still stood where it was. Gallard sat in the driver's box, keeping watchful eye on the horses. They were fast growing agitated by the long wait. Even Keldarion's usually calm white mare—now tethered to the side of the wagon—started to show her restlessness.

The afternoon heat was unbearable. Gallard was already half-drenched with sweat. The air was so hot that he grew light-headed and his vision swam, making him wonder how the Haradrim could stand it at all. But mostly he was well aware of his friend's extreme discomfort, locked away in the back of the wagon like that.

It must be close to baking in there but Legolas made nary a sound, except for some low moans of pain that occasionally hit Gallard's eardrums, causing the draq's heart to wither with sympathy. He did not dare inspect the elf's condition. Movrak's guardsmen were still closely about. It would seem strange to them if he opened the wagon door and gave treatment to his supposed prisoner.

Gallard hated it. But to guarantee their mission's success, Legolas had to suffer for several minutes longer.

The draq glanced at the house for the umpteenth time, expecting to see his other two companions to shortly appear in the doorway.

"Come on, Kel," he muttered. "Where the heck are you?"

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Accompanied by four guardsmen, Movrak led his guests down the dark and narrow stairways to the treasure vault. Unlocking the heavy door, he told his men to stand guard outside.

"After you, Rowan," the merchant invited, pushing the door wide open.

Keldarion slightly inclined his head in gratitude before he stepped inside. Eldarion closely followed, keeping his distance as far away from the merchant as he possibly could.

Movrak just grinned at the boy's skittishness. He walked after them both, silently ogling Eldarion's behind the entire time.

Without looking, Keldarion knew what the man was doing. He cleared his throat to get the merchant's attention. "Problem, my lord?"

"Why would there be any problem?" Movrak smiled. He spread his arms wide. "Look around you. We are surrounded by all my riches. Clearly I have nothing to worry about."

Pretending to be impressed, Keldarion nodded at the gold and jewels and the other treasures that took up most of the space on the floor and against the wall. "Yes, I can see that."

"Haven't seen anything like this before, have you?"

Actually, my father's treasure vault is a lot bigger, Keldarion wanted to boast but knew it was unwise. He said instead, "You are the richest man I've ever known, my lord."

Quite true, though King Thranduil remained the richest person in all Middle-earth.

"That's a high praise coming from you, Rowan." Movrak beamed with pleasure. "You are very frank, I like that. It makes me appreciate our relationship more."

Relationship? Keldarion refrained from rolling his eyes. He gestured at the twin daggers in the merchants grip. "Aren't you going to store them away?"

Movrak looked down and remembered. "Ah, yes. I know just the perfect place for these two beauties. They would look good in that glass case over there, don't you think?"

Unwrapping the package, the merchant walked over to a tall cabinet. He pulled open the glass door, took off an antique sculpture from its stand, and placed the daggers there instead. After he finished, he stepped back with a hand clasped over his heart, admiring his handiwork.

"Now, isn't that a nice thing to see?" The man gushed to himself, his pleasure almost euphoric. "Never have I dreamed to see this moment. Good Lord! I got to keep Legolas' blades!"

And I keep Legolas' toy warriors and wooden sword hidden under my bed. You want them?

Keldarion made a face as Movrak babbled on, "By God. The legendary Legolas, of all people! Today, I have his weapons. Maybe next time, I would have his embalmed head on a silver platter!"

Or maybe your head, Movrak.

The merchant turned to face Keldarion, as if the mercenary had spoken out loud. "I have to thank you for the blades, Rowan. This is the most wondrous purchase I've ever made so far."

And also the deadliest.

"I'm glad my lord is happy."

"That I am, my friend. That I am." Movrak then strode for a heavy chest in a corner, nearly overflowed with gold nuggets. He called out to Eldarion, "Come here, boy. Help me with this."

At a slight nod from the elf, Eldarion went reluctantly. He accepted a sack from the merchant and began to work, putting in one gold nugget after another. Movrak intently watched, noting that the slave boy had no trouble counting.

"What is your name, lad?" the merchant suddenly asked.

Eldarion jerked in surprise and instantly lost count. He looked to Keldarion for help.

"I asked you a question, boy. Answer me. What's your name?" Movrak repeated.

"He can't speak, my lord." Keldarion came nearer, choosing that moment to interfere. "He is mute."

"Mute?" Movrak blinked.

"I cut off his tongue."

Movrak blinked some more. Flabbergasted. "But why?"

"A nobleman from Gondor lied to me in a business deal," Keldarion made up another story. "So I stole his son, and sent the boy's cut-off tongue back to him. As simple as that."

Both Movrak and Eldarion stared at him as if he had grown fangs.

"Oh, don't be so surprised, my lord." The elf chuckled. "I've done a lot worse to my biggest enemy."

Paling a little, Movrak nodded. "Yes, I can believe that."

"I'm sure you can." Keldarion smiled. "Why don't we leave the boy to his counting, my lord? I trust you have a crown to show me."

"Right…uh…" The merchant glanced back at Eldarion who began counting all over again.

"Don't worry about him. He won't steal anything. I will personally cut off his right hand if he did," Keldarion said, already fingering the sword strapped to his waist, planning to use it to sever the man's neck instead. The guardsmen were right outside the door, so he needed to get Movrak a little further out of their hearing.

"Come along. This way." Movrak was already walking towards the back of the room.

Sending Eldarion a brief wink, the elf went off after the man. He shortly found himself in a tomb, facing several gold-plated caskets lying next to one another. Turning to Movrak, he cocked one eyebrow. "This your family, my lord?"

"My ancestors, yes." The man nodded. "That one there belonged to my mother. She died giving birth to me."

"Which one is your father's, may I ask?"

"Oh, his grave is somewhere in the desert. He got caught in a violent sandstorm while out hunting oliphaunts."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. My father was a mean, crazy old sod. He grew even nastier after his mistress killed herself. Once, he was so drunk he didn't recognize his own son. He threw me onto his bed, ripped off my clothes, and had his way with me. And then he knocked me around when he found out I don't have pointed ears."

Keldarion was quite taken aback. "Err…pointed ears?"

"My father's mistress was a she-elf, Rowan. He abducted her during a business trip in Pelargir." Movrak smiled bitterly, recalling his past.

For once, Keldarion was speechless. He stared at the man, his face blank of all expressions.

"After my father kicked the bucket, his treasures and wealth became mine. And they just multiplied since then. But where is the bastard now? Well, he is not around to see all this." Movrak turned fully to Keldarion. "Poetic justice, don't you think?"

Poetic justice. Right, Keldarion thought to himself. This man here is the best exhibit for bad parenting.

"All right, then. Enough of that." The merchant clapped his hands once and broke into a huge grin. "Let me show you the crown."

Wordlessly, Keldarion watched as the man stood next to sarcophagus and began pushing at the lid. He moved closer as Movrak reached inside.

"Ah, here it is." The merchant held up the circlet. "Look at it, Rowan. Look at it carefully and tell me that it is a fake."

Keldarion took the crown from Movrak's hands and inspected it all over. He noted the emblem of the white tree, the type of iron used, and the craftsmanship that clearly belonged to the people of Gondor. There was also a trace of a script engraved on the inside, but he could hardly read it. The scrip had already faded with time.

If this were not the lost Isildur's crown, then it was certainly a cleverly made replica.

"Well, Rowan? What do you think?"

Keldarion looked up. "I don't know, my lord. It looks real enough to me."

"Of course, it's real! You still don't believe me even after I've shown it to you?" Movrak clearly looked disappointed.

"On the contrary, my lord. I do believe you. Thank you so much for showing it to me." Keldarion still held to the crown as he said next. "And now, I have something to show you."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Let me get the slave boy in here first." He did not need to call out for Eldarion. The young prince had already come to stand quietly behind them.

Movrak gaped incredulously when the mercenary passed the crown to the boy. Smelling foul play, he protested, "What is this, Rowan? Why give that to him?"

"Because, by right, the crown is his," Keldarion glibly replied. "Tell me, my lord, do you like surprises?"

"What the blazes are you talking about?"

"Show him your face," the elf told Eldarion. The boy obeyed by pulling down his cloth-mask.

Movrak did not understand at first. Then he did a double-take when he recognized who the boy was. "You!"

Before the merchant could utter another word, Keldarion's hand went up and caught him around the throat. Movrak was pushed backward, bending almost half at the waist over the opened sarcophagus, his head nearly touching the corpse inside. That awkward position rendered him completely helpless. He kicked and struggled to no avail.

"That was surprise number one," Keldarion softly said, his face grim. He tightened his merciless grip. "Want to see surprise number two?"

The merchant flailed about for release. He tried to scream for help but he could hardly breathe. His panicked eyes caught the mercenary's eerie smile, and his heart ran cold. "Ro…Rowan…Stop…please…"

"That's not my real name, my lord." Keldarion yanked the turban off his head with one hand. He pointed at his ears. "See these? They are pointed. Know what this mean?"

Movrak's eyes bulged, both in terror and disbelief. "Elf…you…elf…?"

"Exactly." Keldarion nodded. He squeezed harder. "Darion? Turn away."

Eldarion didn't need to be told twice. The boy whirled around to face the wall, hugging the satchel that now contained his ancestor's crown to his breast.

"And now for the last surprise, my dear Movrak," Keldarion was heard saying. "The elf that you caught, the one you tortured and put to death under the rock—"

Movrak's went on choking.

"—he is none other than—surprise, surprise—my own little brother. And do you know what I do to those who harm even a hair on his head, Movrak?"

More choking.

"I let them drown in their own blood."

There was a slight hissing sound of a sword being drawn, a quick slash, and then someone was gurgling as if being slaughtered—which was exactly the case.

Eldarion stood rigid, tightly closing his eyes as he tried to block out the hideous sound from his mind. He jumped a foot when someone touched his shoulder a while later.

"Are you all right, young one?" Keldarion asked, watching the boy's white face.

Eldarion nodded, forcing a smile. The elf's head was once more covered by the turban, his deadly sword already sheathed and hidden within the folds of his cloak. The boy looked for the merchant's decapitated body but saw no sign of it.

Keldarion smiled back. "I put him in the sarcophagus. Don't worry about him. He is now at the bosom of his family. Literally."

The boy shuddered. "That's gross."

"It's a lot less than what he deserves. I'd rather not tell you what I really prefer to do to him. You might have nightmares afterwards."

Uh-huh. As if I won't have nightmares now.

It was hard, but Eldarion managed to keep a straight face. "Right…um…I'd rather you don't, Kel."

"Cover your face. Our job here is done. Let us go." Keldarion was already walking ahead. "We must not keep Gallard waiting."

"What about the guards outside?" Eldarion asked, pulling his mask back on.

"Leave them to me. Say not a word. Just follow my lead. If something happen and I tell you to run, you run. Got that?"

"Got it." The boy nodded.

"Remember. No heroics."

"No heroics," Eldarion repeated. Walking between the treasure cases, he spotted the full sack he had left on the floor. "What about the gold? Shouldn't we take them?"

"We won't need them." Keldarion went to the cabinet instead. He opened the glass case and took out the twin daggers. "But Legolas will surely need these."

Tucking both blades into his waist-band, the elf jerked his head towards the door. "Come. Let's go."

When they walked out, the guardsmen immediately stood to attention.

"Lord Movrak wants you to keep guarding here," Keldarion told them. "Please don't make any noise because your master doesn't want to be disturbed. He is sitting inside with his ancestors, praying for their souls."

The four guardsmen didn't know what to make of that. One of them, the red-haired one, looked mighty suspicious. But even he had not the courage to challenge Rowan's words.

"I'll show myself out," Keldarion added, calm as ever. He pushed Eldarion in front of him and they started walking.

"Don't rush," the elf's voice was barely a whisper, but Eldarion heard him. The boy nodded, shuffling forward with his gaze fixed to the floor.

They ascended the spiral staircase, walked through the darkened corridors, cut across the foyer and emerged into bright sunshine—completely unmolested. Keldarion relaxed a bit. He had been keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword the entire time. Just in case.

Telling Eldarion to climb aboard the waiting wagon, the elf then paused to speak with the guards who stood flanking the doorway. "Give my thanks to your master for his hospitality. I look forward to our next transaction."

They gave him a slight bow. Smiling, Keldarion hurried down the steps towards his mount. He then gave the signal to depart.

Gallard nodded. The horses snorted and jerked forward when he snapped the reins. Sitting next to him, Eldarion held on to the side as the wagon rambled off.

With Keldarion at the lead, the entire procession steadily left the front yard and went through the huge gate.

And then they were free!

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Legolas surfaced from deep oblivion as the wagon shook about. He stiffened, fearing another torture coming up. But then his heart soared when he understood what was happening.

We're moving!

They were moving, all right. It was much too slow to his liking and very shaky, but the wagon no longer stood in one spot. Not anymore. And that could only mean one thing.

They were making their escape.

Grimacing, Legolas tried to rise to a sitting position, but fell back with a sharp cry when he felt intense pain in his abdomen. His already battered body screamed obscenities at every bump and rut that the wheels encountered. His entire joints rattled, not to mention his teeth. And he was sweating profusely.

Yikes! It's like a furnace in here!

He raised his arm to wipe the perspiration off his face. That was when he realized that his hands were still bound behind his back. He had had no chance to free himself because after Gallard had shoved him inside, he had promptly passed out cold.

The scarf was not too tight around his wrists, Gallard had made sure of that. But in his current weakened condition, Legolas couldn't even think straight, let alone work himself out of his bond. So he left it be, lay his head back down and closed his eyes with a sigh. He let the rocking of the wagon lulled him to sleep.

By the Valar, he truly needed some rest.

TBC…

Awww. Looks like Leggy will be home in time for Christmas.

So guys, I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a very MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR! Drive safely if you need to travel. Don't hit any reindeers, okay? And watch out for that old man in red. He will be busy making deliveries.

Have a nice holiday, everyone!