A/N: Elvish translations are at the bottom of the page.

The next morning when Legolas' eyes snapped open, it was a sense of disappointment that filled him – disappointment that he had not yet been granted an escape. He was still alive, and that meant there was another day of his captor's cruel games to struggle through. Although, maybe it would not be so hard today. Maybe the knowledge that soon freedom would be his would give him enough strength to make it through the long hours of day until night arrived.

"I do not think that it will be much longer," the Elfling whispered, touching a hand to his chest as he wearily left his room. "I can feel it coming closer."

The front room was empty, though that did not come as a large surprise. It was very early, after all. Seregeth was probably still abed, and at least that gave Legolas some extra time to spend in solitude, before peace was shattered. He sat in one of the chairs at the table, and pulled a loaf of bread towards himself. Even as he started to unwrap the cloth covering it, he realised that he was not hungry at all.

Legolas broke off some bread, and nibbled at the crust. It tasted awful in his mouth, bitter and salty, and it was a struggle to swallow. He cast it a look of disdain, before throwing it on the floor for Mellon to eat. When it had disappeared, the dog looked up with hopeful brown eyes, and wagged his tail against the floor, sending dust particles flying upwards into the air.

"I will find you something more suitable to-

"Ah, you are awake."

Legolas raised only his eyes, and gave an imperceptible nod as his captor entered the front room. "Yes."

"Good. I will need you to do something for me presently," Seregeth said. He paused, his blue eyes fixed upon the silent child. Then they narrowed to slits. "You look unwell still. Was the medicine I gave you not up to royal standards, Your Highness?"

"Your medicines will not help me," Legolas said quietly, with a strange smile on his pale face. "I think that I am beyond help now, be it royal or common, mortal or Elven."

"Do you think that I am going to start treating you any differently?" Seregeth asked sharply. "I will not. You should know that the fact you are the son of a King makes no difference to me. Your title means nothing here. Your name means nothing."

"To you, no," Legolas replied, his voice soft. "But it is important to me, for it was the first gift my parents ever gave me. My name will mean a lot to me for as long as I live."

Seregeth curled his lip, and jerked a chair out from underneath the table. "Touching. But now I am afraid you must do some work, Your Highness, if that is not asking too much of you. It is cold today, and I have run out of firewood."

"What can I do about that?" Legolas questioned dully.

"You can either pick up my axe and chop some wood for me whilst I prepare my breakfast; or you can refuse to help me, and instead shut yourself in your room," Seregeth shrugged. "It is up to you. But I would advise you to remember what we spoke of last night before giving me an answer."

'I am not going to let you kill me,' Legolas thought derisively. 'I would die before letting you emerge victorious from this fight. I will die before letting you win.'

"Well? What is it to be?"

"Where is the axe?"

Seregeth smiled, and nodded as though in approval. "Clever boy. The axe is embedded in the wood just outside the stables. It is heavy, but you will manage it. Remember that you are not finished until I say so."

"I did not forget."

"Off you go, then." As soon as the words left his lips, Seregeth's hand shot out, and he caught the back of the Elfling's tunic. "I will be watching you, boy. Any mistake you make, I will know about."

Legolas said nothing. He waited until the hold on his tunic had lessened before pulling himself away and leaving the cottage without a backward glance. The sun above seemed to flash a greeting at him; and as he drifted towards the woodpile by the stables, he wondered vaguely how everything around him could be so bright – the sun, the sky, the grass, the stream – when he felt only as though he was living in constant night.

Letting out a slow breath, the Elfling rested a hand on the axe handle, and pulled half heartedly. It did not move, although that was no surprise. He pulled again, a little harder. Nothing happened. Making a hissing noise of frustration through his teeth, Legolas turned away from the pile of wood, and walked instead to the stables. Aduial stuck her head over the door almost immediately.

"Did you hear me coming?" the boy asked softly, raising a hand to stroke the velvety nose. "You must have good hearing indeed."

The grey horse whickered in reply, and lowered her head further over the door. Pricking her ears, she nudged Legolas' cheek and snuffled at it, as though trying to give him a kiss. The child laughed hollowly, and gently pushed the large face away. Wide brown eyes merely stared back at him, unblinking.

"When an Elf's heart is broken by grief, it is a fatal injury," Legolas said quietly. "And that has happened to me, Aduial. I am starting to fade, I can feel it. Only three things can save me now: Valinor, a miracle, or death. Since the first two are impossible, it is the third on which I must rely. I am going to die, mellon-nin. I do not know when. But it will be soon, for I cannot live much longer with this pain. I came over here to say goodbye to you, just in case I never see you again."

Aduial was silent, listening with pricked ears to the soft voice that was filled with so much sadness and tragedy. Her eyes had darkened as though, not only was she listening, but she was understanding. She whickered again quietly, and bowed her head. Legolas let his hand rest on the grey nose for a few seconds longer, before turning back to the woodpile with a sigh. He had work to do, and he was being closely monitored.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the nearby market town, one of Seregeth's old prisoners had sought refuge in the home of a childless and elderly woman, and had been happily received. Upon arriving in the village in the late hours of the previous night, it was with some trepidation that Criltha had chosen a house at random, and knocked on the door. For the first time in more years than she could remember, luck had been with her.

The old woman had sent her to sleep in a large, warm bed; but not before feeding her a hearty meal of soup, meat and bread, and then insisting that she take a hot bath. The girl, of course, had refused none of this, feeling for the first time in her life that she was worth something, that she was special – and moreover, that she was free from any form of pain.

But the truth was that she was not free. Back in Seregeth's cottage was a little boy who was depending on her; and until he had escaped, Criltha would remain, in soul, a prisoner, still tied to her old life. Of this she had said nothing to the woman who had taken her in, nor had she made any effort to find someone who could give her help in freeing Legolas.

"And I do not think that I will."

Criltha's head snapped up in horror, and she stared unseeingly at the opposite wall of the room she had been given. Those words had no meaning. She had not even meant to say them. They only slipped out because… No. There was meaning to them. She knew, deep down, that when she left this house, she would not return to Seregeth's, even for Legolas. She could not, would not risk her life of freedom.

The knowledge that this selfishness belonged to her pierced the girl's heart like an arrow; and she closed her eyes tightly against the accusing voice in her mind which told her that she was jeopardising the life of a little boy who was relying on her to do the exact opposite. But she could not return. There were just too many risks, and they were not risks that she was prepared to take.

"Sacrifices have to be made in life," she murmured. "Legolas is one of those sacrifices. He has to be, otherwise I could forever be captive."

But what if everything runs smoothly? What if you find someone willing to fight against Seregeth, and set the child free?

"What if I do not?" Criltha countered aloud. She was still for a moment, but then she shook her head just once. "I have made my decision. I will-

The door to her room opened, and the elderly woman bustled in with a tray clutched tightly in her gnarled hands. "Good morning, my dear. The sun has already risen, but I thought I should let you lie abed a while longer," she said cheerfully. "I have brought you your breakfast: porridge, preserve, and fruit. Eat it all, mind. You are too thin. Too thin by far."

"Thank you for all of this," Criltha said with a small smile. "I appreciate everything that you have done, more than you can know."

"Think nothing of it," the woman replied. She paused, and looked down at the girl through beady black eyes. "But, what will you do now?"

"Excuse me?"

"I will gladly have you here for as long as you wish – the company would be a nice treat for me. But you are a young woman, and surely you do not want to remain cooped up here for ever," the elder mortal answered. "So, what will you do?"

"To be honest I have already given thought to that, and I have come to a decision. It was not an easy one to reach for certain reasons which I cannot speak of even to a friend," Criltha sighed. "But nonetheless, I have reached it."

"And?"

The girl raised her eyes, and they glinted with a sudden decisiveness. "I will stay here for one more night, if I may. And then in the early hours of the morning, I will leave this town and all of its memories behind."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Do you think, then, that you imagined those screams?" Elrohir glanced across at his brother, and held the identical gaze. "Only, you did not hear them last night, and you have not yet told me what you think of that."

Elladan shrugged, and dropped his reins to drink from his water skin. "I do not know. But I have decided to think no more of it. Either I heard them and they were nothing at all, or I did not hear them and I am going mad. If it is the latter, I am sure that upon returning to Imladris, Adar will ply me with medicine in an attempt to restore my sanity."

Elrohir smiled his agreement, but said nothing. He had sat up all last night with his twin as promised, and after their already long journey, he wanted rest. But they had left their campsite early that morning, and were riding along a dusty road, closeted between clusters of tall trees on either side. Birds trilled, leaves rustled, running water trickled unseen somewhere close. The noises were enough to lull a tired Elf into sleep – until another's voice broke into the peace.

"How did that happen?"

"What?" Elrohir sighed.

"My water skin was full only a minute ago, but now it is empty. How strange," Elladan replied in annoyance. "Now I suppose I will have to wait for a whole age before we stop again."

"Glorfindel!"

The blonde Elf said something under his breath to Asfaloth, and the horse stopped at once. "What is it?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

"My idiot brother," Elrohir answered.

"All of my water has gone," Elladan said apologetically. "I did not mean to drink it, I just…did. But it doesn't matter. I will be fine until we come across a lake or pool."

Glorfindel shook his head, and levelled the younger Elf with a green stare. "No. Listen carefully, and you will hear a stream though the trees on our left. Make use of resources when they are available, for you can never know when they will become so again. Go and fill your water skin. Elrohir, you too. I will wait here."

The twins dismounted their horses in unison, and stepped off the road. The trees went back further than they had initially thought – indeed, it was a large copse they walked through; and as they stepped over fallen logs or ducked underneath hanging branches, both Elves realised that traps of some sort – perhaps for rabbits – were dotted around on the leafy floor. Elrohir looked at them in surprise for a moment, before glancing at his brother.

"Strange," he said quietly.

"Maybe. Or it could be that there are many animals in this wooded area, and people from the neighbouring towns have set these traps," Elladan replied. "After all, they need to eat. And I expect that they can sell the meat also, or pass it on."

"It feels funny," Elrohir murmured. "The traps to me are ominous. Perhaps we should not be here. I would feel safer if we-

Elladan's hand suddenly shot out, and he grabbed his twin's arm, eyes wide. "Look! Through those trees!"

"Valar, someone lives here? I was right – we should leave. I do not want to be caught trespassing," Elrohir answered. "Come, let us go."

"No. Look."

Both Elves stared through the dense trees, their eyes trained upon the small cottage made of wood, and the roof of yellow thatch. Beside it was a stone outhouse which had been converted into two stables – one held a grey horse; the other appeared to be empty. A stream was a little way before the buildings, and it sparkled as the sun shone down upon it – this must be what Glorfindel had heard and directed them to.

However, the attention of the twins did not remain on this seemingly idyllic scene for very long. Just by the stables sat blocks of firewood, with a hefty axe embedded into one of them. A small blonde boy of no more than eight summers pulled desperately at the handle of the axe, planting his feet firmly on the ground and working hard to find a better grip. It looked as though he was fighting a losing battle.

Elladan laughed softly at the child's futile efforts. "Why is he still trying? He is only wasting his time."

"He is very determined," Elrohir said with a smile, "but not destined for success on this occasion. I wish he would accept defeat. If he continues to strain himself so, he will cause an injury."

"Maybe we should help him," Elladan suggested.

"Yes, I…" Elrohir laughed as the blonde child turned away in frustration, and sat down on the grassy floor. "Ah, he has given up at last. Good. Come, then. Let us go and help him to-

"Look," Elladan cut in softly. "Reinforcements have arrived."

The twins watched from behind a tree as a tall, dark figure stepped out from the cottage, and walked silently towards the woodpile. He jerked the axe free with no effort; and holding it in one strong hand, stepped behind the child, who had noticed nothing. Icy blue eyes glinted cruelly in a tanned face, and the lips turned upwards in a sneer. Elladan and Elrohir could only watch in horror as the man swung the axe blade into the ground only a hair's breadth away from the boy's hand.

"Shirking your duties, are you? Too good for them?" the mortal spat. "Maybe I should have cut your hand off for that. You are lucky that I did not."

"But I-

"Hold your tongue!"

Elrohir closed his eyes as a fist sent the little boy flying backwards, but Elladan was too shocked by the horrific display of violence against such a small creature to look away. As blows rained down upon the unprotected body, his eyes filled with tears so that everything – the raging man, the injured child, even the tree he was leaning against for support – was blurred. He did not even notice the distortions.

"Make it stop," Elrohir whispered. "Valar, do not let it go on. Stop. Stop."

His hand drifted towards his belt, and he unconsciously curled his fingers around the handle of his throwing knife. Fuelled by the sounds of heavy breathing, childish whimpers, and the harsh noises of someone being struck repeatedly, he loosened the blade. Beside him, Elladan was oblivious.

"Stop, stop," he repeated in a panicked whisper.

His knife was free. With eyes still tightly closed, he raised a trembling hand into the air, desperate to halt the abuse, to halt the one inflicting it. But as he prepared to throw the weapon, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, and pulled him sharply away from the tree. He snapped his eyes open, and they looked into the pale face of Glorfindel. He shook his head slowly, still horrified.

"Make it stop," he breathed. "Please…"

"Come with me," the seneschal whispered. "Elladan, you too. Elladan!"

He pushed the frightened twins back the way they had come, casting a look of hate over his shoulder as he followed them. Both man and child were oblivious to the fact that they had been watched from the copse, so caught up in their rage and pain were they. But the cruel beating seemed to be over. As Glorfindel turned away, the elder human spat at the boy, and stalked back towards the cottage.

As soon as they were on the road, Elrohir sank onto the dusty ground and buried his face in his hands, whilst Elladan merely shook his head, still unable to speak. He felt familiar hands on his shoulders; and as they pushed him down to sit beside his brother, he did not resist. He simply looked up and held Glorfindel's green gaze with his own grey one, silently asking questions.

"I do not know," the seneschal replied gravely. "But what I do know is this: that child who we saw through the trees is no mortal. He is an Elf."

"An Elf?" Elladan whispered.

"He was struggling to protect himself. As he covered his head, his hair moved and I saw his ears. They were Elven. But I did not need to see them to know. I just…saw him and knew. It was in his eyes more than anything," Glorfindel said quietly. "He is an Elf, that I would stake my life on."

"What is that scum doing with a child of the Firstborn?" Elrohir spat. He slammed his knife back into his belt, and glared through the trees. "If you had come any later, Glorfindel, I would have…I…" He trailed off, and shook his head helplessly.

The elder Elf nodded, and rested a hand on one of the shaking shoulders. "I understand."

"Whoever the child may be, we cannot leave him with that man," Elladan said vehemently. "We cannot. Glorfindel, even if you tell us not to attempt to rescue him, we will have no choice but to disobey you. Neither I nor Elrohir will leave this place without him."

"I am glad to hear it."

"What?"

Glorfindel gave a brief smile. "Even if the boy was not an Elf, I would try my hardest to rescue him. No-one should ever have to live such a life of pain, especially not a child. Have some of my water, both of you, to calm yourselves. I will decide on a plan."

"What plan do we need?" Elladan asked skeptically. "We can just go in, grab the child, and-

"We do need a plan," Elrohir cut in quietly. "There may be others in the cottage. Seregeth may-

"Seregeth?"

"I heard the Elfling call him that."

Glorfindel nodded slowly as a strategy began to form in his mind. "Good. That knowledge will aid us, I believe. It will aid us greatly."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Seregeth sat at his table, and gripped Legolas' face tightly in his hands, examining the newly acquired cuts and bruises which coloured the previously pale skin in shades of black and blue, purple and red, yellow. The Elfling was still, wincing only occasionally as a sensitive wound was pressed upon or squeezed too tightly. His upper lip was split and caked with blood, the lower pierced by his own teeth. From his left eye he could barely see, and his right was only slightly better. It was a miracle that no bones had been broken. One of his front teeth, however, had been knocked out; and his first thought upon realising this was that he would receive no pennies for the loss.

"Since the day of your arrival here, I have failed to understand you," Seregeth said quietly, wiping away a faint line of blood with his sleeve. "Whether that is because you are of a different race, I do not know."

"What don't you understand?" Legolas blinked in surprise as he spoke. The gap in his teeth had given him a slight lisp. Part of him wanted to laugh at that, but the situation wasn't really funny at all, he told himself sharply.

"You enjoy pain," Seregeth replied. "You must do."

"No. But you enjoy inflicting it," Legolas said. "I do not like being hurt at all, but there is nothing I can do to stop it."

The mortal smiled at the lisp, and pressed a nail into one of the child's cuts. It elicited no cries, no whimpers. "You are strong, that I must give to you. I have underestimated the Elves, it seems, for if they are anything like you, they must be folk of strength indeed."

"They are," Legolas answered quietly. "And I am proud to reflect some of that strength, although I can never hope to reflect it all."

"If I am honest, I thought that you would break after only a few weeks," Seregeth continued. "But you proved me wrong. In fact, I am unsure that you have yet broken altogether. I feel as though there is a little more to you."

The child smiled humourlessly, and shook his head once. "No. I will not deny that you have succeeded in breaking me. You did that last night, when you tried to force Taras upon me – and I feel no shame in admitting that I am broken, because few Elves could withstand such an assault. But this does not mean that you have won. I am still alive, so the battle still goes on. If I should die – by your hand alone – then victory will be yours."

Seregeth was silent for a moment, but then he laughed softly. "You sound like an adult. Your words are no longer childlike and naïve. Your experience here has aged your mind."

"It should not be so," Legolas replied in a low voice. "If I had never met you, I would still be as a young Elf should. I would be innocent, rightly blind to pain, fear and grief. I would laugh with my friends, compete in archery tournaments, attend feasts and parties, spend evenings with my mother and father where I would feel safe and loved. But I did meet you. I am here."

"It could have been any Elf," Seregeth murmured. "Any Elf could have been taken by Amarth, but it was you. Fate must have led you to him."

"Maybe. I-

There was a sharp tap on the door to the cottage, and the mortal's head snapped up quickly. Legolas' eyes flickered, but he kept them fixed on the floor, waiting for something to happen. Silence reigned in the small home for a time; but when another knock came, Seregeth jumped to his feet with a hiss of anger, and pushed his prisoner out of the way. The boy steadied himself on the back of a chair, and watched, wondering who was outside, what they wanted.

Seregeth stalked to the door and wrenched it open, his eyes flashing. "Who are you, and what is your business here? This land belongs to me, and you are trespassing. Speak!"

"Please, I mean no harm." The hooded stranger inclined briefly in respect, and continued: "I come here because there are rumours in the town – rumours that a man called Seregeth who goes by your description is keeping a child. In that area, I have…some interest, you might say."

"Where did you hear these rumours?" Seregeth snapped. "When?"

"In the inn, last night," the stranger replied. "They have yet to spread far, if that is a worry of yours. And few will pay heed to them, for they were started by a drunken man who made little sense, and-

"Taras," Seregeth growled. "Was it he?"

The hooded figure hesitated, and then shook his head slowly. "That I cannot tell you. I was not listening for his name, so he may have been called anything. And as I said, he was making little sense."

"Was his left hand bandaged, or bleeding?"

"I… Yes, now that you mention it. I assumed he had gotten involved in a drunken brawl," the stranger shrugged. "But that is irrelevant. What I want to know is this: do you have a child? An Elf-child? Say no, and I will leave you in peace."

"You mentioned you have 'an area of interest'. Of what sort? Do you sell children? Keep them as slaves? Or are you similar to my friend Taras? Do you prefer to use them for other purposes?" Seregeth asked softly. There was only silence, and he took that as confirmation to his question. "I see. Perhaps I should welcome you into my home, then. Perhaps I should provide you with what you seek."

"So, you do have a child," the stranger pressed sharply. "One of Elf-kind? That is rare. I should very much like to…see him."

"Your name," Seregeth said suddenly. "Who are you?"

"I have an identity to protect," the hooded one replied in a low voice. "In return, I will keep your secret – for that is what I perceive you want it to be – and I will also dispel any rumours that are flying."

There was silence for a minute, but then the man nodded, and opened the door a little wider. "Very well, it is agreed. Come in. You shall meet the child of whom Taras spoke. He is… Boy! Show yourself."

Letting out a deep breath, Legolas stepped away from the protection of the table and chairs, and looked down at the floor. He could feel the familiar icy eyes upon him, and others also. They were hidden by a hood, but despite that, he thought that… No, he felt sure that they were gentle, without the malice or cruelty that he had become so used to. For some strange reason, he felt a vague sense of reassurance.

"You have not forgotten Taras," Seregeth said softly to the captive. "Nor have you forgotten that you prevented him from doing what he wanted last night. But we are in luck. Another has come to take his place, and he will not fail. Will you, my friend?"

The stranger looked up, and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. "No. I will not fail."

"Very good. Do not be afraid to use violence against the boy if he needs to be disciplined. He understands little but pain," Seregeth advised. "You may use that room on our right for as long as is needed."

Without a word, the hooded figure rested a hand on Legolas' shoulder, and pushed him gently but firmly towards the room. Blue eyes pierced his back, but he paid no heed to them. He was not afraid. All he could possibly feel at that moment was anger, an anger of such intensity that it threatened to overflow inside of him; and only his own nails digging deep into his palm kept him grounded.

"Go in," he said softly to the little boy.

Legolas entered and went straight over to stand beside the window; but as he closed the door on Seregeth, the stranger leaned against it and breathed deeply for a minute, his eyes shut tightly behind the grey hood. His whole body was shaking in rage, but he had to control it, he had to control all of his emotions for the sake of the abused child standing before him.

After what seemed to both an eternity, the hooded one took a step forwards, and said quietly: "Avo 'osto, penneth. Telin le thaed."

Legolas spun, and stared in a mixture of fear and wonder. "You speak the Elvish language," he whispered. "You speak it well, as an Elf would. But, what do you mean? What do you mean by your words?"

"You are soon going to be very shocked, but I beg of you: make no noise that could alert the man," the stranger replied in a low voice. "Can you do that?"

"Who are you?"

Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then a slender hand snaked up, and pushed back the hood. It fell away to reveal long black hair, ears with a delicate point to them, and grey eyes that were bright in a pale face unmarred by the passing of seasons. It was an Elf. Legolas drew in a sharp breath, but spoke no words. He could only stare as his mind whirled and tripped over all of the burning questions that were suddenly conceived. He shook his head slowly, and blinked as though trying to correct his vision.

"I will not disappear," the Elf said softly. "At least, not for a few minutes. And when I do, I will not be alone."

"Who are you?" Legolas breathed.

"My name is Elladan, son of Lord Elrond of Imladris," the other replied. "I doubt you will have heard of me, but perhaps you know of my father? His name should be of reassurance to you, if mine is not."

The Elfling exhaled deeply, and passed a hand through his hair. "The fact that you are of my kind is reassurance enough, but I do not know why you are here. In fact, I fear that I am dreaming it. Living here, I have learnt not to trust hope, for it often is no more than my mind."

"So I imagine," Elladan said quietly. "But this is no trick of your mind. I am here, and with help from my brother and our friend, we are going to get you away from this life."

Legolas slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor; and as Mellon crawled into his lap, his eyes did not leave the elder Elf's. "But I do not understand. How did you know that I was here? And what made you want to help me?"

"My brother and I witnessed the mortal's treatment of you when we came to get water from the stream," Elladan replied bitterly. "As for the second question, it does not need answering."

"I need to know, to understand."

The elder Elf looked up in surprise, saying nothing. But when the younger only continued to look at him, he said: "That man beat you. I imagine that he has done so many times before, and would do so many times after. Your face is covered in bruises and cuts, and there are a lot more hidden underneath your clothes. Is that not so?"

"It is, but…" Legolas looked away. "Can I really trust you? This is not another game of Seregeth's."

"No." Elladan took a step forwards, and knelt before the little boy. "It is no game. Look into my face, penneth. Do you see lies? Cruelty? Deceit? Malice? Tell me. Do you?"

"I see…none of that," Legolas whispered. Tears pricked at his eyes, and some fell, stinging his cuts. He did not even notice them. "Are you going to take me away from here? Away from him?"

"Yes."

"For weeks I hoped and prayed that something like this would happen to me, that I would be rescued from this life of pain and humiliation. I thought that after a while, my father would turn up. And he did, every night in my dreams," the Elfling murmured. "But then I gave up hope. Because, what was the point of hoping when this was destined to be my life?"

"Who is your father?"

"He…I-

There was an almighty crash from outside the small room, as of a door being kicked open. Legolas jumped to his feet in horror, but Elladan rested a hand on his shoulder, keeping him still. There were shouts and yells of rage from Seregeth, but there were two other voices heard in the confusion – lower, softer. Yet they were filled with no less anger than the mortal's.

"Your friend and brother?" Legolas asked softly.

"Yes, they have come," Elladan replied, watching the closed door. "It is not safe for us – or you, at least – to go out there yet, so we must wait. Then, we will… What are you doing?"

The Elfling had broken free of the grip he was held in, and was going towards his mattress. A small, leather bound book lay on top of it, and he grabbed it up to his chest, saying: "This I cannot leave. I promised to look after it."

"And so you will," Elladan said, slightly surprised at the vehemence in the words. "What of the dog, penneth? Does he belong to you? Only, I fear that it would be impractical to take him with us."

"He has been my only real friend," Legolas murmured. "Apart from Criltha, but she has gone. Leaving him here will hurt, but if bringing him will cause trouble, he must stay."

"I-

"Elladan!"

The dark haired Elf looked up, and took the child's hand in his own. "Come, that was my brother. It is time to get you out of here."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Avo'osto. Telin le thaed: Fear not. I have come to help you.

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Thank you all for your lovely reviews, they always mean a lot to me! I hope you're still enjoying the story, and I really hope that the last chapter wasn't too much for any of you. I know what my limits are where the rules of this website are concerned, and I also know what my limits are within the rating that I have given to this story, and I haven't overstepped them. I know that some readers are younger, and I take that into account when writing particularly nasty stuff. I'm saying this just in case the last chapter upset anyone.

The next chapter will be up in the next week!

Misto

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