'I gave him too much of the sleeping draught again,' Amarth thought, glancing down at Legolas, who still wandered the path of dreams. 'But it made the journey easier for the both of us. I am only thankful that we have arrived, and I can soon be rid of him.'

He looked down at the Elfling again, and touched a hand to his shoulder. "Child, wake up," he hissed, shaking him. "Come, you must wake."

The Prince moaned, and turned his head to the side. His eyes fluttered briefly, but did not open. "Where…where am I…?"

"You will find out," Amarth replied. "Your journey ends here. Sit up, and take a look around. Here, let me help."

"No…" Legolas forced his eyes open, though he was swift to shut them again, as he was greeted by the blinding glare of the sun. "You gave me that…that sleeping draught."

"I had to."

"My father once said that if you don't know how to use something, then you shouldn't use it at all," Legolas murmured. "And in my lessons, I've been taught about medicines. Sleeping draughts shouldn't be used this much. You could harm the one you give them to. And Elflings especially shouldn't be given so much. You have to be careful."

"Be quiet," Amarth sighed. "Do you want to see your new home or not?"

Legolas pushed himself into a sitting position and blinked carefully until his eyes were open. He was immediately greeted by trees, and although hope flickered at that, it was quick to die down once more. They were different to the trees in Mirkwood – greener, younger, and not so thick. He let out a deep breath, and looked around. He was not in a forest, that much was clear. It was more a copse than anything else.

"You thought that you were still in your own home," Amarth said quietly.

"The trees made me think so," Legolas murmured. "But they are very different."

Just in front of the rows of trees, there flowed a stream. Its water was clear, and the song it sang as it danced over the shiny rocks was a soothing one. The child felt that, had the situation been a different one, he could have spent all day listening to the melody. He wondered vaguely where the stream began, for as he looked into it, he could see fish darting here and there, mere flashes of black and gold.

"I like fish," he said softly. "They are fast, and very graceful."

"The master of the house likes fish," Amarth remarked absently. "He likes to eat them. He has to catch them first. And then he has to cut them open. I expect you will be doing a bit of that."

Legolas shuddered, and raised his eyes to the cottage that stood at the far side of the…field, one would call it, for that was what it was: a long stretch of grass surrounded by trees. The outside walls of the house were made of a dark brown wood, and the roof was thatched, a concept that the child might find fascinating at any other time. There was a single window at the front of the building, though try as he might, Legolas could not see through it.

In front of the door there was a large block of wood, with an axe embedded in the middle of it. Evidently someone had been in the middle of hard work but had either grown tired of it, or just plain fed up. Next to the cottage was another building – stone this time – which was separated into two halves. The left side was home to a horse – Legolas could see the dim outline of it – though he was unsure of what inhabited the right hand compartment.

"That's where you will be living," Amarth commented, nodding towards the cottage. "If you behave."

"No. No, I'm not going there," the child whispered. "I won't. I will find my own way home, back to my parents. And if I don't, they will come for me. They will find me."

The mortal laughed softly at that. "Do not build hope for yourself."

"I am not going to stay here!" Legolas' words were brave, but he was unable to keep his voice from shaking. Grabbing his book – which he had not yet lost – he backed away slightly. "I'm not staying, I'm not. I'm going home."

"Believe that the hope you are giving yourself is false," Amarth said. "You will only be disappointed."

Legolas shook his head, taking another step backwards. "Don't do this. Don't leave me here. Please, take me home to Mirkwood. My father will give you anything you want: money, horses, jewels…"

"There is only one thing that I want," Amarth replied. "That is to marry my love."

"You can marry her. Take me to Mirkwood, and my father will let you and her stay there, away from this man. Please!" Legolas' eyes filled with tears of desperation, and he was powerless to stop them from escaping. "Please, I'm scared."

"You have good reason to be."

The little Prince stared in horror for a moment, before turning and running as fast as he could through the copse. His heart pounded furiously, painfully against his chest. He had been given a head start, but was fully aware that the man was just behind him. And so he threw himself against one of the trees, where he knew he would be safer. But these were hard to climb; he was not used to their slippery bark and thin branches. In his panic, he could not even hold on properly.

"You are going nowhere, squirrel," Amarth growled. He jumped up and grabbed the Elfling's ankle, pulling him back to the ground.

"Let go of me!" Legolas screamed.

The man grabbed the book from the child's flailing hands, and held it high in the air. "This is important to you, I believe. If you cause more trouble for me, I will destroy it. Your choice."

"Please…"

"Do you want me to destroy it?"

"No."

"Are you going to calm down?"

The child nodded mutely, and tears fell with the action. All of this was happening so fast, he could hardly believe it. He kept hoping that he would wake up and realise that it had been nothing more than a horrible dream. And then he could run to his parents and find comfort in Thranduil's strong arms, and Laerwen's tender ones. But deep down, he knew that would not happen. He did not even know if he would ever see them again.

"Good. Take the book and stop crying," Amarth ordered, reaching down and pulling Legolas to his feet.

And then without another word, he grabbed the child's hand and dragged him through the trees and across a shallower part of the stream. Legolas went without a fuss, holding the book close to his chest, eyes fixed unseeingly on the ground beneath him. But silent tears still fell; tears of anger, hurt, fear. He knew that this would not be the last time they fell.

Amarth raised his free arm, and knocked sharply on the door. "Listen to me, young one. Your temper will land you in a lot of trouble if you cannot keep it under control. My advice to you is this: never argue with him, be quick to do as he says, and-

The door swung open. Legolas tried to keep his eyes lowered, but the temptation to see who owned the pair of feet underneath his gaze was too much. So he raised them slowly, half afraid of what he would see, and half curious. He had been told many stories from many people – his parents, his tutor, Alondir, different soldiers of Mirkwood's armies, – and had built in his head an image of what the man would look like: long greasy hair, sallow skin, a scarred face. All the bad characters in the stories looked like that. But what he saw could not have been more different.

The man before him looked not a day over thirty summers, though Legolas was quick to tell himself that it could not be so if his daughter was old enough to marry. His skin was a dark brown, coloured by long amounts of time spent under the sun. Black hair was kept off his face, tied by a thin strip of leather, and his eyes…the child found himself unable to look away. They were blue, which was strange enough in such a dark man, but their hue was bluer than the sky, the sea. They were penetrating, mesmerising, yet at the same time, horribly cold.

"You have arrived."

The man spoke slowly, his voice like dark velvet. It was soft, bordering on tranquil, though the underlying malice that dripped from it did not go unnoticed by Legolas. He shivered, and had to bite down hard on his lip to try and calm the shaking of his body. He hoped desperately that the two mortals – especially the stranger – would not pick up on his fear.

"Yes, I have arrived, Seregeth," Amarth replied. "And I have brought a child with me."

"So I see." The man knelt before Legolas and touched a hand to his cheek, before moving it up to brush some strands of hair away, revealing a delicately pointed ear. "You kept your part of the bargain, then? I was beginning to doubt your courage."

"Yes, I kept my part of the bargain," Amarth said coldly. "But will you keep yours?"

Seregeth stood once more, though his eyes did not leave Legolas. "You picked him up from Mirkwood? Where did you find him?"

"We had stopped to rest when we came across him. From what he has told me, he is the son of a commoner," Amarth said, his voice level.

Legolas' eyes flickered, and he was automatically about to correct the statement. But he bit down on his lip, deciding it was best that this Seregeth did not know that he was of royal blood. He felt grateful to Amarth for lying on his behalf. But only a little grateful. After all, this whole mess was because of him.

"Does he have a name?" Seregeth asked.

"I presume so. You will have to find that out yourself."

"And what of my son? You were with him, am I correct? Did he suspect anything?"

"Would I be here if he did?" Amarth paused, and his face hardened. "Your part of the bargain must be kept."

"My daughter? Keep her." Seregeth's voice was cold. "You are a fool. You could have had her without coming to me, and deep down, you know that. She means nothing to me. But never mind. I hope you are happy with her. I doubt you will be, though. She caused me nothing but grief. I pity you.

Amarth let go of Legolas' hand, and pushed him forwards. "Take the child."

Without saying another word, he turned on his heel and walked across the field. He stepped over the stream, and jumped on the horse. He did not spare the two he left behind a backward glance as he rode through the trees. Legolas watched him go, his last hope. He could've persuaded Amarth to take him home, he was sure of it. But now…now he was alone.

"Come with me," Seregeth said, putting a hand on the Elfling's shoulder and propelling him into the cottage. "I will show you around."

Legolas found himself standing in the middle of a room that could be described neither as large nor small. The furnishings were few: a table in the centre with four wooden chairs around it, and all manner of things piled on top of it – books, plates and bowls, bottles of wine, clothes – the child noted with distaste that some of the dishes still contained half eaten meals. At the back of the room was a mattress, with cushions and pillows piled up against the wall so that one would not get sore after sitting there for a long time.

Next to the mattress was a wooden storage unit, which was used to contain both food and cutlery, though at the moment, the latter's home was on the tabletop. In the middle of the wall on the right was a fireplace, though there was no wood in the grate. Clearly it had not been used for a long while. On either side above it were two shelves. One held ornaments and candle holders, figurines, letter openers, and the other was home to a few books.

"I didn't imagine it would be like this," Legolas murmured.

"I suppose you imagined a horrible stone building in the middle of a noisy and dusty town, with screaming children and shouting and cursing men." Seregeth smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "No, I prefer it here. I think you will too."

'I would prefer to go home,' Legolas answered silently.

The man turned, and pointed to two doors on the far side of the room. "The one on the left is where I sleep. You do not go in there. The one on the right is where you will sleep. I will show you it later. For now though, why don't we have a talk?"

Legolas bit down on his lip, and shrugged helplessly. "Alright."

"Good. Go and sit on that mattress," Seregeth said. "Would you like some water? Or maybe some fruit cordial?"

"No."

"Very well." The man pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down, his eyes not leaving the Elfling. "Tell me your name, little one."

He received nothing but silence. Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, the book still clutched tightly in one of his hands. He kept his eyes averted. He had to; he knew that should he look into Seregeth's blue pools, he would be captured by them, unable to look away. He bit down even harder on his lip, and shook his head.

"You must have a name," Seregeth said. "If not, I can choose one for you."

"Legolas."

The man smiled. He had been doing this long enough to know which games to play, and when. For a child who had been taken away from his home, his family and his friends, having his own name taken away was one of the most degrading things that could happen. It would happen eventually, granted, but it was best to let him live for a while with the belief that he still possessed at least one thing of his own.

"I see that you have brought very little with you," Seregeth continued. "But why a book?"

"I promised to look after it," Legolas whispered.

"Do you like to read, then?" the man asked.

The child shrugged helplessly. "My father would read to me. There are some words, the long ones, that I struggle with. I don't know what they mean."

"Hmm." Seregeth paused, and glanced outside. "Do you like animals? I have a horse. I rarely ride her, though. And some dogs. They are friendly enough - if I tell them to be. Would you like to see them?"

"I don't mind," Legolas said in a low voice.

Seregeth clenched his fists under the table. He was a short tempered man, but a rule of his was to leave it at least a day before letting his bad side show. It gave the children hope that maybe things would not be so awful, and that he was quite pleasant after all. He enjoyed dashing their hopes, and watching the disappointment fill their faces. He had always taken pleasure in the misery of others, and when it was misery caused by himself, that made it all the more enjoyable.

"I will show you the animals on a different day, then," he said, looking back at the Elfling. "Would you maybe like something to eat?"

"I don't mind."

"Maybe later, then." Seregeth paused, casting around for something else. "Ah, did you see the stream outside? It flows all the way down from the top of the field, and a little further up, it is deep and wide. Would you like to go and see that?"

"I don't mind."

"Fine. Would you like to go and see the fish?"

"I don't mind."

Seregeth's eyes flashed. It was lucky that the child had been looking away, for had he seen the fury in them, he would have trembled. "I think it best that you go into your room and get some sleep. I can imagine that the journey from Mirkwood was tiring."

Legolas stood, and without another word, walked across the room and disappeared through the door on the right hand side. The man watched him leave, a friendly smile plastered on his face should the Elfling turn. But he did not. As soon as the door was closed and he was alone, the smile disappeared, and the blue eyes blazed cruelly.

"I will enjoy breaking you, little one."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that evening, Seregeth pushed open the door to the room which had been given to Legolas, and leaned against the wall. He watched silently, the expression on his dark face impassive, but his eyes glinting like sun on ice. The Elfling either had not noticed his presence or was simply choosing to ignore it. But whichever it was, his face was buried in the thin pillow which lay at the top of his mattress, and his small shoulders shook with sobs that could not be suppressed.

"I know why you cry," Seregeth said quietly. "And I understand."

"Do you?" Legolas' voice was muffled, and he did not raise his head. "Do you really?"

The man pushed himself away from the wall, and nodded. "Of course. It is only natural that you should shed tears. You have been taken from the only home that you have ever known, and thrust suddenly into a new one. You miss your family, I imagine, and your friends. I do not blame you for crying."

"I do miss them," Legolas whispered. "And I did not even have a chance to say goodbye."

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

The Elfling looked up, and shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "This is your house. You can do whatever you please in your own house."

"That is true. But," the man said, as he stepped forwards and sat on the mattress, "I am not the only one living here, am I? You live here also."

"It doesn't feel that way," Legolas murmured. "I feel like a stranger. And I have never felt like that before. It is wrong to feel like a stranger in your own home, so I don't see how this can possibly be mine."

"Are you lonely?"

The child sat up, and hugged his knees close to his chest. "Yes, but that won't change anything. Will it?"

"Perhaps not. But you need not suffer," Seregeth answered. He paused, and reached out to rest a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "If you wish to talk to me, I will listen. It may well help you feel better."

"I…thank you."

Seregeth nodded, and his gaze fell on a book that lay abandoned on the floor. "You brought that with you, yes? I can remember when I was a boy, I used to enjoy being read to when I went to bed."

"So do I," Legolas whispered.

"Good, we have something in common," Seregeth smiled. "If you want me to read to you, I would be happy to. Would you like that?"

"I…don't know, I…alright."

The man nodded, and bit the inside of his cheek to hold back the sigh that he wanted to release. He hated this – the friendliness, the pleasantness. It was dull. There was no fun to it. But he knew he had to go through with it every time he received a new child – the pain would come after, and that was what he enjoyed. It was worth waiting for. So with that thought in mind, he leaned forwards and picked the book up off the floor.

"Very well, I-

"No!" Legolas suddenly launched himself forwards, and snatched the book from Seregeth's hands. Fresh tears blurred his vision, and some escaped to stream down his cheeks. "No, please. It isn't meant to be this way. It isn't meant to be you."

"What do you mean?"

"It should be Ada, not you," the Prince whispered. "He would always tell me stories, he would read to me before I went to bed, and…"

Finally overcome with the grief that had been building since leaving Mirkwood, Legolas pulled the book that his father had given him close to his chest, and huddled over it. Sobs wracked his small body, tears stung and blinded his eyes; and the temptation, the want, the need to scream for his parents was so overwhelming that it hurt. He did not even notice as Seregeth wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders, and pulled him closer.

"Cry as much as you want to," the man murmured. "It will make you feel better, trust me."

"No, being with my mother and father would do that," Legolas breathed.

"But they are not here. They do not know where to come to find you," Seregeth answered softly. "It might sound harsh, but you must resign yourself to the fact that they are now in your past. They are part of your old life. And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you to move on with this new life."

Legolas raised his head slightly, and stared at the mortal. "Why?"

"Why what, little one?"

"Why are you being like this? You are being nice to me, you are trying to comfort me, and I don't understand that. When he was bringing me here, Amarth told me…" Legolas sniffed, and brushed away some tears with the back of his hand. "He told me horrible things about you. He made you sound cruel."

"And, do you think that I am cruel?" Seregeth asked.

"For keeping me here, yes. But I don't think that you are cruel in other ways," Legolas answered slowly. "If you were, you wouldn't be sat with me now. Would you?"

The man smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "Of course not."

"Then, why did Amarth say that-

"Do you believe all that you are told?" Seregeth cut in softly.

"Sometimes. Why should I not? But I…I'm sorry," Legolas muttered. He bit his lip, and looked down at the floor. "I should have waited until I met you before convincing myself that you were as Amarth described. You're not, not really. You are nicer than I thought you would be. But that doesn't mean I like you – you took me from my parents."

"Of course I understand that. Now, then." Seregeth turned the child's face up, and wiped away a few last tears. "No more crying, alright? I will leave you now, and I think that you should follow my advice when I tell you to get some sleep. It will do you good."

The man rose and went over to the door. He turned back, and watched as Legolas lay down once more on the mattress which served as a bed. A smile appeared on his face, and his heart sped slightly at the prospect that tomorrow, maybe, would be the time to start enforcing his much beloved power over the child, that tomorrow would be the first day during which his games and torture would start to chip away like a hammer on rock at his captive's innocent soul. He would not sleep that night. He was too excited.

"Goodnight, Seregeth," Legolas muttered.

The mortal's smiled deepened, and he nodded slowly as he stepped through the door. "Yes. Goodnight, my child," he whispered. "Sweet dreams…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

You nearly didn't get this chapter! I've been working all day and some of the evening, and I've hurt my back and it hurts even more when I'm sat at the computer and typing. But then I thought it wouldn't be fair if there was another delay. So here is this chapter!

Reviews are much appreciated, and I'm still debating with myself about whether to e-mail replies or just write them on my bio page, as I have been doing for the last few chapters. What do you all think?

Anyway, see you all next Sunday!

Misto

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