I Will Always Return

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CHAPTER SEVEN

This Fear is My Own

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Legolas had been walking alongside Ceorl and his horse for a while now, five hours at least, and he was amazed at the progress that the band of traitors was actually making. They had covered at least a league or two by now and he was beginning to feel the effects of their travel. The natural Elven endurance he possessed was undermined by all of the stress of his wounds, torment and being in a cave as well as the capture of Aragorn, so he was more vulnerable to weariness than was typical.

However, Aragorn was far worse. Even if he was extraordinarily strong for a mortal, his body was not fully healed since Harad and susceptible to much more than Legolas' was. His face was still sickly pale and his stumbles were becoming more frequent, making Legolas cringe each time as he watched the rope around the man's neck tighten threateningly and the human was forced to stagger up on his own or be strangled. It was only a matter of time before the man fell and was unable to get up and Legolas didn't know what would happen then.

True, it was only morning but the night had hardly been restful for either the Elf or ranger. The men had been grumpy and tired, and had succeeded in getting drunk; some more than others. In his stupor one man had decided he was sick of seeing Legolas' face and punched the Elf across it, sending him to the ground before he attempted to hit him a second time. Though Legolas had remained silent and only glowered, Aragorn had not and it was his cries for the man to leave the Elf alone that had brought the situation to the attention of Ceorl.

Ceorl had immediately yanked Legolas out from under the drunken man and when the other human charged him in his drunken insanity, Ceorl had not hesitated to run the drunk through with his sword. After that incident he had personally kept an eye on the two prisoners as Legolas nursed his smarting face in silent fury. Aragorn had not slept all night, looking after the wellbeing of his friend as he realized that the Elf was too proud to ask for help when he needed it. The only true protection the two had here was the temporary vigilance of Ceorl and it was hardly trustworthy or reliable.

Staring now at the wound in Ceorl's arm that he had made when they had first met, the Elf was surprised at how fast the wound was healing. It still didn't compare to the legendary Elven healing capabilities or even with Aragorn's but it wasn't becoming infected. Frowning, the prince wished he had cut the man's throat instead. Things would have worked out better.

Aragorn was walking alongside a horse near Legolas and his head was bowed with his dark unkempt hair obscuring his bruised face. Legolas could tell that he was concentrating more on staying conscious than anything else and the Elf felt anger burn through him so that heat nearly radiated from his lithe form and his natural glow unnoticeably brightened in the daylight.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn nearly stumbled on a tussock of dead grass that caught the toe of his boot and refused to let go for a couple of seconds, placing a snag in his stride. Inevitably, he stumbled and his body sank into a doubled-over position over his knees as his weariness caught up with him. However, he was given no time to recover and the noose around his neck tightened as the man on the horse continued, not heeding Aragorn as he struggled to stand up but could not.

The ranger's knees buckled and locked beneath him but the effort of crawling didn't provide enough progress to lessen the pull on his neck. If anything, the man on the horse sped the animal up a bit merely to watch the other man struggle and ultimately suffocate. After all, his chief had not ordered him stop and this trip had grown rather boring.

Legolas heard Aragorn fall and stopped his walking, digging in his heels rebelliously and watching in formidable wrath as the horse and human that Aragorn had been handed to continued to move. He could hear Aragorn's asphyxiating gasps without his Elven hearing and he knew that the ranger was too weak to save himself.

His face twisting in a snarl, he pulled his wrists back and back-pedalled, digging his heels in the spongy grass for footing as he did. The Elf's rebellion pulled against the saddle of Ceorl's horse, confusing the animal that snorted and stopped, stamping its feet in agitation. However, Legolas got the short end of the deal as the rope noose around his neck tightened and started to cut off his air and blood. His vision started to blur but he ignored it, snapping as fiercely as he could with hardly any air, "My friend is being strangled back there by one of your idiot men!"

He continued back-pedalling in order to hold his ground and his glazing eyes narrowed at Ceorl who glanced back casually. "Aye." Looking at Legolas he asked indifferently, "So?" He watched amusedly as Legolas writhed, pulling desperately at the end of his ropes while all the while it tightened closer about his neck, beginning to bite into the soft flesh and constrict his wind pipe. His face was turning colourless.

"You have to stop it…" the prince growled, continuing to twist and pull at his ropes. His hands twisted wildly in their bonds as he tried to draw them free. Being an Elf he could last longer with minimal oxygen if it didn't completely cut off his windpipe.

Ceorl had now stopped his confused and aggravated animal, watching without emotion as Aragorn's horse and rider started to ride past and Legolas looked at them helplessly, with frustration written across his face.

Finally, as he saw his last chance to grab Aragorn's rope slipping away, Legolas lost it. Throwing himself forward, his bound hands latched onto the rope attached to the noose about the man's throat. Pulling back against where it was secured to the horse, Legolas prevented the rope from tightening further and looking back at Aragorn called in Elvish, "Rise, my friend! I have the rope!"

The man on the horse pulling Aragorn along reined in his beast, looking to Ceorl for a command but the other human said nothing, merely put up a hand as a sign for silence and then watched the exchange. Noticing the halt of their comrade and leader, the rest of the procession stopped as well.

It was obvious that there was not much the Elf-prince could do and the attempts he would make could prove interesting, if nothing else. But Legolas wasn't paying attention to their jeers or taunts, having eyes only for the single person he had left to depend on in this situation. But the frightening thing was, he didn't know if he had that person anymore.

Aragorn didn't move and Legolas wondered if he had been too late. The human's chest wasn't rising or falling and his eyes were glazed in a way that resembled the eyes of the dead. His face was flushed but a blue tint had discoloured his lips, leaving them look ghastly and unnatural.

Fearing Aragorn was dead, Legolas' face fell and he felt himself choking up inside so that even if the noose around his neck had been non-existent breathing would have been impossible. He felt a strange fear seep through his body, causing him to freeze and almost go into a trance. He was terrified of being alone and terrified of losing the one person who cared about him amongst all these people. He was terrified of even surviving this while Aragorn died, never to return with him. What colour his face had regained during their travel suddenly drained. The Elf's hands started to shake and their grip on the rope tightened, as though he was trying to hold onto Aragorn through his bonds.

Suddenly, Aragorn moved, his bound hands clawing at the rope on his neck as he tried to pry it free of his now bruised and burned skin and free his wind pipe. Legolas rushed over, even though the rope around his own neck was still painfully tight and he was at the end of his ropes. Gently he stuck his fingers around the underside of the rope and helped to lever it away from Aragorn's neck, mindful to not cause the skin more irritation or injury.

Aragorn flinched under Legolas' gentle touch, recoiling at the pain his friend was accidentally causing. Hurt flooded the Elf's eyes but he let Aragorn have his space, understanding that after the experience he had just gone through, the human might not want to feel overly crowded. If the situation were reversed, he knew he would want breathing room.

Aragorn realized what he had done and inwardly slapped himself. Legolas had put himself at great risk and could have easily been strangled himself. Clearing his throat but still sounding hoarse Aragorn, murmured, "Sorry, mellon nîn. Thank you." He looked blearily into Legolas' relieved eyes, his vision still hazy. "I am all right," he added to try and put the prince at ease.

Legolas nodded but as his hands grabbed Aragorn's to pull the ranger up, the human felt how they were shaking. He had really scared the prince and Aragorn wished that he was stronger, so Legolas wouldn't have had to go through this.

Legolas smiled thinly, but it was obvious that he didn't really mean it. There was nothing to smile about and his eyes still conveyed his anger, fear and relief all fused together. "On your feet, Thorongil."

Aragorn's lungs, working on making up for lost breath, worked rapidly, sometimes above their capabilities, causing him to cough excessively for a few minutes. Curling in on himself, he was steadied by the prince as his in- and exhalations finally became regular.

Regaining his balance, Aragorn was about to tell Legolas not to worry, that he would be fine, and that the Elf had better fall in line before he got in trouble but the ranger was too late in his warning. Just as he parted his lips to speak the rope around Legolas' neck was given a violent yank and the Elf staggered sideways towards the direction of the pull, unable to help himself as he was caught off guard.

His hands flew to his neck to try and relieve it of the cord that was biting deeper and deeper. Legolas felt adrenaline accompanied with panic surge through his system, tensing all his muscles. The force of the reeling in of his rope had knocked him to his knees, but the prince defiantly staggered up, refusing to remain down for long. His 'fight or flight' responses were kicking in, namely the fight response.

Aragorn, though weakened, fought at the end of his bonds, desperate to get to his friend's side. Legolas had done as much for him and he wanted to return the favour. He would never forgive himself if the Elf was strangled right before his eyes and his hands twisted manically in his ropes, looking for an escape. Unfortunately the length of rope around his arms wasn't enough to escape; it was even shorter than Legolas' bonds.

Legolas continued to fight the rope and managed to gain his feet more than once only to have the rope yanked harder so that he fell, not having enough strength in his oxygen deprived state. Even if the rope wasn't very long, the Elf's formidable struggles lengthened the process of bringing him in and when Ceorl finally got a hold of him, he was not in an indulging sort of mood.

A blue tint was now discolouring the Elf's lips and his mouth hung open in futile attempt to even absorb the air around him, reminding Aragorn of a fish out of water. The Elf's eyes were spacious and the glitter of anger was dulling in their depths.

Legolas had to look up at Ceorl, since the man was mounted and the Elf was struggling not to sink to his knees on the ground. Ceorl gave the rope a spiteful twist and with his other hand, backhanded Legolas sharply so that the crack echoed off the hillocks and resounded in the Elf's ears. His head snapped to the side and the prince tasted blood. Legolas' bound hands clawed desperately at the rope constricting around his throat as he felt like he was dying and his system was failing. "You had better never pull a stunt like that again, my dear prince, otherwise, I will let him be strangled and you will have to watch as I drag his body along. I am being gracious right now, or did you forget our pact?" Since Legolas couldn't possibly answer, the man continued, "What ever you do will impinge upon the ranger?"

Ceorl saw his words vaguely register in Legolas' cloudy eyes. Snarling in disgust, the man thrust the Elf away from him, relinquishing his hold on the rope and kicking Legolas in the chest so that he stumbled backward and fell. The elf was much too weakened to catch himself and simply lay against the soft grass, working his fingers hurriedly between the hemp and his neck as he pried at it. It took him only moments to stretch the noose out enough get some air to squeak into his lungs.

His airways instantly responded with spasms, as they reacted to the air that passed through them. A coughing spell wracked the Elf and he curled in on himself as he seemed to be expelling a lung by the strength of his coughs. His starving lungs rapidly sucked in air, involuntarily doing their job as Legolas lay on the ground panting.

Aragorn moved forward to help but was restrained by the man holding his rope, who had reeled him in closer out of sheer spite.

Aragorn longed to be at Legolas' side but the last thing he wanted was to cause the Elf more trouble as it seemed the prince had almost found more than he could handle. Feeling exhausted, Aragorn sighed as he knew they were going to be forced to walk further. His body had been subjected to a lot during these hellish past few days and even through the pace was slow he simply was tiring. True, he could probably continue for a little longer yet but sooner or later he would feel the effects. He was beginning to feel them now.

In moments Legolas had regained his footing and was standing, still breathing a bit heavily but it was starting to even out again. His face's natural colour had returned, still paler than normal but it no longer had an unhealthy blue tint to it.

Legolas had already taken note how Aragorn's body trembled slightly and even before he was fully recovered the prince wanted to address the issue. It was one that could not wait seeing as how things had already started moving again. "Please…" his voice was hoarse and weak but he hardly cared now. "Let me walk beside Thorongil, he needs support. You are pushing him too hard!" The prince's voice regained some of its strength towards the end.

Legolas would allow that Aragorn was a Dúnadan, a strong man of the West, but Harad had nearly run them both into the ground, and then after the recent torment and lack of rest the ranger had been subjected to before they started this little escapade Legolas knew that Aragorn was becoming vulnerable to sickness. And illness aside, the human had already tripped once, what if it happened again and Ceorl didn't order them to stop? If Legolas interfered things would get worse.

His eyes glanced hurriedly back at Aragorn, who was frowning in disapproval. He didn't want Legolas taking on anymore burdens for him but he knew his friend all too well and realized that it didn't matter; the prince would do it anyway. Any arguments or efforts to interfere would be futile.

The man on the horse rolled his eyes. They needed to make more progress. Things were going slow earlier, which was fine, but now this stalling was ridiculous. Wanting the prince to come quietly as possible, well aware of the kind of trouble a single Elf could make, he granted the prince's request.

Before the procession started up once more, he had Aragorn bound the same as before but joined beside the Elf, their wrists linked for better security.

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Elladan slowly cracked one eye open, giving his surroundings a scrutinizing sweep as he tried to remember where he was. His head was throbbing and it took him a few moments to work up the courage to open the other eye. To his surprise, there was no increase of pain from the minute movement and he almost breathed a sigh of relief, except it felt as though a weight of fire was compressing his chest and his lungs were hesitant to fill with air.

Blinking a couple times now that he realized it was relatively harmless, the Elf mustered the strength to call for his twin brother. When he received no answer, he closed his eyes and tried once more to try and recall how he had gotten here and where exactly here was, but his best efforts were in vain.

Something moist and cool was being pressed to his head and thinking it was his brother applying a wet cloth, Elladan allowed his eyes to fly open in full expectance to see Elrohir's smiling face leering over him. But the Elf recoiled with a jerk, seeing an unrecognizable face bending over him, the other being's hand resting on the cloth covering his sweaty forehead, keeping it firmly in place despite Elladan's feeble protests.

"You are safe, Lord Elladan," a young voice tried assure him into a calm.

The voice sounded too assuring to the partially delirious Elf and only incited suspicions, goading him to further struggling despite his pain. "Where is my brother?" he managed out, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Please, my lord, you need rest. You have taken grievous injury! Your brother is has left momentarily but he will return shortly." The boy removed his hand from Elladan's head as the elder twin struggled up into a feeble excuse for a sitting position, eyes wildly searching. The wet cloth slipped from the Elf's forehead, revealing its pasty colour.

The more sane part of the Elf might have recognized the fact that he was far too injured to be moving so rapidly and so impulsively, but the more irrational part of his being was oblivious to any such notion. He continued to try and further remove himself from the cot he had been assigned to during his unconscious state, but it was ultimately futile and his blood loss had left him easily tired. However, he refused to relax until he knew what was happening and exactly where Elrohir was.

"Who are you?" he stared through narrowed eyes at the boy, who had backed away. He had had no prior contact with Elves other than the conversations he had held with Legolas while he had seen to his wounds. To him they still seemed unpredictable creatures of fantasy and he was still admittedly afraid of them.

"I have no name…your brother told me to look after you… I-I tried my best…my lord," the youth stammered, gathering up the courage to hobble closer to the frantic Elf.

Elladan relaxed slightly and he couldn't help but lay back against the compilation of blankets and cloaks meant to create soft bedding over the cot. The boy seemed harmless enough and he coughed slightly, instantly regretting it as his chest erupted in agony. Pain blossomed from some wound towards the centre of his chest that he couldn't quite remember. "Who is my brother?" If the boy knew his brother's name, then chances were he spoke no lies.

The boy seemed puzzled for a moment, either trying to remember the Elvish that fashioned the younger twin's name or trying to understand why Elladan had asked such a question. It was anyone's guess. "Lord Elrohir," he ventured, with no mispronunciations.

Elladan seemed satisfied with that and he closed his eyes as pain broke over him, causing his body to spasm for a couple of seconds. Lightly touching his wound with a shaking set of hands, the Elf was instantly familiar with his brother's administrations. Elrohir had his own flair to how he had managed to perfect his healing capabilities, especially in how he bound wounds and his folds and knots were unmistakable. There was no denying his brother had been here at some point or other.

His body felt as though it was suffused in heat and sweat glistened on his brow. His fever that he had acquired in his unconscious state had broken, bathing him in sticky perspiration. Everything on his body felt so heavy and he fully relaxed against the blankets as his muscles refused to remain tense any longer, having taken all the stress that they could handle –Elf or not.

Gradually, the boy eased his way to Elladan's side and sat down beside the prone Elf, allowing his crippled foot a reprieve. Elladan opened one eye to look at him and then shut it as light penetrated the tent through a minute hole in the top, burning into his grey orb.

"Where is Elrohir or Roth today?" He knew that his brother would never willingly abandon him into someone else's care and the only real reason he trusted this boy was because Elrohir had obviously willed that he should. However, if he was basing his trust merely on moral implications alone then he would have to go by the sense of honesty radiating off of the youth.

The boy frowned, trying to figure out a way to explain this that might not end up with his strangulation. Elladan would not be pleased about what Elrohir or Rothinzil had done and the full meaning of the old adage "Don't shoot the messenger" had never had more meaning. "They went in search of your friends…leaving before daylight actually." Elrohir had filled him in on their close-knit relationships before bed the other night but he still couldn't understand what a human was doing living among Elves.

Elladan's face immediately conveyed alarm. "What? By themselves?" his raspy voice cracked towards the end of his question, inciting the boy to struggle up and fetch him some water from a wooden bucket and ladle in the corner before supplying him with an answer.

Elladan gladly accepted the water, but stared over ladle as the youth struggled to explain all that had happened. The boy was certainly animated about his descriptions, excited about something…or perhaps simply anxious.

"King Thengel is leading a force to attack the orcs…he will later rejoin with Lord Elrohir and Rothinzil to destroy or capture the band of traitors that has taken Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil captive." There was an underlying sadness in the youth's voice that mildly confused Elladan, but he brushed it off as irrelevant for the time being.

"And what will Rothinzil and my brother do until his majesty's forces merge with them?" Elladan's voice sounded slightly accusing, but none of his tone was directed at the boy. The child didn't know that Elladan was used to Elrohir trying to pull off the strangest sort of stunts and ventures and what was unnerving Elladan now was that he was not attempting them with him. Rothinzil was not exactly the most agile of Elves and it was a minor comfort at the most that those two were paired up and left to their own devices.

"Plans were made for Legolas to be sold over to a man named Sharky, though the exchange will be made between…his captor and one of the buyer's underlings I suppose. There is a minimal amount of time for them to intercept him and Captain Thorongil." The boy explained things as thoroughly as he knew how without revealing who he was or what part he had played in these events up until now. He had a feeling that Elladan would eventually piece things together and figure it out, but he wasn't comfortable enough with the Elf to let him in on the secret just yet.

Elladan nearly dropped the ladle in surprise, progressively lying back down so he wouldn't motivate his injury to further pain. It was bordering on unbearable as it was, though somehow the water had provided some relief for his pulsing headache and had naturally quenched his thirst. "They went by themselves!"

"You have to understand! There isn't much time!" The child urged Elladan to comprehend and appreciate the severity of the situation. His imploring bordered strongly on whining.

Elladan quirked a sculpted eye brow and then scowled. "What do you mean?" He had a sense that he was being kept in the dark about something and he hated it when he wasn't fully informed, this spawning from being the eldest of three.

"I mean that Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil both stand to lose their lives before the day is out." The boy did his best to explain this patiently, trying it from another approach, hoping to satisfy Elladan's prying.

Unfortunately, being the eldest brother of three had also taught Elladan how to read the tell-tale signs that he wasn't being told everything there was to hear. And spending time around a young Estel had been excellent, if even tedious, training for this very moment.

"What are you trying to hide?" he asked firmly, but kindly, willing his voice not to break. He wouldn't hurt the boy by any means, but it was important that everything was brought out; otherwise things could go downhill fast. Something the youth might not see as important could mean everything.

The young human seated himself wordlessly by the prone Elf, watching his own hands as he folded them in his lap. His expression was one of fright and shame, one that Elladan had seen numerous times before. "It is my fault," his voice was broken by a guilt-stricken sob.

The Elf's face softened at the reaction and he coaxed, "How is it your fault, young one?" The boy had never informed Elladan of a name.

"I shouldn't be here. He said he would kill them if I came here. He will know, they will die." The boy buried his face in his hands, but the tears slipped through his fingers. Everything he had been through, seen or done in his life was finally spilling out in this moment and he couldn't stop it.

Elladan's heart froze. He didn't know what to do and he merely tilted his head to the side, "What did you do?" This might not have been the most encouraging or comforting thing he could ask, but his head was still reeling.

"He told me to go to the orcs…to tell them…or Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil would die…I did not go. He said he would know and he will…it will all be my fault," The boy spat the words, fury building against himself as he realized all that he had done. Even if it had been right, he couldn't understand why it still felt so wrong. He couldn't stop the shaking of his shoulders and Elladan stared at him curiously, not understanding.

"Who told you? What do you mean young one? You have to tell me or I cannot help you."

"My father…"

Elladan could have been knocked over with a feather and his jaw literally seemed to drop. He knew that his head was spinning anyway and to make sure that he had not heard incorrectly he asked, "Pardon?"

"My father…only by birth. He hates me, he hates the prince, and he hates Captain Thorongil." The boy's sobs alleviated some and he shook his head in regret. "I should never have come here." More tears cascaded from his eyes and landed on the ground, Elladan watched them fall.

"Who is your father? Tell me everything. I promise you, you are safe here," Elladan said in a calm voice, belying the fact that he was terrified of losing his human brother and beginning to feel altogether furious with the situation which was getting more and more hopeless. And what was hurting him the worst was that while Elrohir was out, risking his life with Roth to get Legolas and Aragorn back, he was confined here to a cot with a snivelling boy. And then he threw another factor into the equation when he remembered that he was not the only one injured and that Roth and Elrohir had wounds as well, wounds that would certainly interfere with their shooting capabilities as well as most other fighting techniques.

He leaned closer to the boy, since the child had started speaking exceptionally soft. He was obviously hesitant to spill all the information that he had been a deeply guarded secret for years. Elladan listened closely without missing a word.

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It was mid-afternoon and Ceorl and his men had been forced to make an early camp to accommodate the injuries of their prisoners, particularly the injuries of Aragorn. They still needed to keep him alive to ensure that Legolas wouldn't cause any more trouble along the way. The blonde man wasn't too concerned though, they were ahead of schedule to some extent and his orders had been to bring the Elf in reasonably good health. And, the fact that his son had not returned led him to believe that he had indeed delivered the message to the orcs and they had…disposed of him. The boy was a fast rider and would have made good return time had be been alive. A detached smile crossed the man's face as he realized that he was finally rid of the brat for good.

Legolas and Aragorn had been secured to a medium-sized wooden post pounded into the ground specially brought along on this escapade by Ceorl for this purpose. The ropes that had been set about their necks had been relinquished to give them a temporary reprieve but their wrists were still linked by the rough hemp. However, this didn't aggravate two prisoners as much as the leashes had. But with the neck restraints being abandoned, they should have known Ceorl had something else in store for them and he had their feet bound excruciatingly tight. Their hands were above their heads.

Aragorn was clearly enjoying the reprieve and the warmth of the hot sunshine as was Legolas. However, when the man's eyes silently checked up on Legolas' brand marks, he was alarmed. Grime and sweat covered them, and some skin was still exposed, revealing them for the nasty dangerous wounds that they were. The bruises were fading except for the fresh ones on the Elf's wrists, chest and face and were posing no danger.

"Legolas, your wounds are…well they are becoming infected," he referred to the burns, that he now noticed upon closer inspection, were edged in tell-tale red and inflamed.

The prince looked down at them and shrank his flat stomach in to get a better view as he inspected them for himself. He grimaced, having not wanted to admit that they were in fact that severe but there was no denying it now. Looking to Aragorn, he shook his head. "They are just not getting the proper attention to heal." But, his gaze turned firm, "I will be fine."

Aragorn appraised the Elf in an equally firm voice, "No, you won't be, not if those are not properly tended to. You and I both know it, so it is futile to argue." His unmoving eyes levelled any protests from the prince that his voice hadn't already dissolved.

"Well we can't do anything here. They will have to wait. What about your wounds?" he asked accusingly, looking Aragorn up and down as he mentally assessed the man's condition, which was far from good and in fact worse than his own.

Aragorn was unimpressed, "Legolas, I am not finished with you yet and you know that you had better listen to me." He hissed in the Wood-Elf's ear as Legolas sighed tiredly, a sign of temporary compliance. "Let me see your neck."

The Elf looked quizzically at Aragorn, and shifted so that he didn't have to twist his neck so much. It was stiff and the burned and bruised skin still smarted. Aragorn's unrelenting stare finally forced to Elf to obey and Legolas inclined his head, allowing his shortened hair to glide gracefully to the side. In truth, he wasn't going to waste his strength by arguing and actually right now he wouldn't mind keeping still through one of the ranger's medicating applications.

Unfortunately, the way they were bound prohibited such actions, but Aragorn had a trained set of healer's eyes and he could at least visibly inspect the prince's abrasions. Nevertheless, it burned Aragorn's heart to see the Elf's discomfort and be able to do nothing to assuage it.

Gritting his teeth, he saw the inflamed wrapping welt that had swelled right beneath Legolas' jaw. Fortunately, it seemed to be receding some, even if it was an abnormally slow process. Aragorn smiled inwardly. The Elf's renowned system of recovery was still working on less severe wounds, even if only at a much slower pace that might have been considered normal for a healthy man. "That looks nasty, but I think it will be gone in a couple of days," Aragorn informed as the Elf straightened up, wincing as his stiff muscles complained. "Still sore?"

Legolas groaned. "Just a little," he admitted in a sarcastic mumble, wishing he could massage the aching muscles. Suddenly he glared at the ranger with concern and asked accusingly, "And how is your neck? And while we are on the subject, how does your back feel?" He had not been able to forget the beating the man had taken and he knew Aragorn's secluded nature and love of silence very well.

Aragorn bristled at the accusing attention of his friend but couldn't argue. "It's coming around."

Legolas raised a sculpted eye brow and almost shrugged but that would hurt too much. "If you say so." He had his doubts but was simply not in the mood to argue. Aragorn was too stubborn.

Aragorn feigned hurt and looked at the Elf with a smile splitting his bruised face, "Thanks for the vote of confidence. It means a lot. Really."

The ranger's sarcasm caused Legolas to grin and gingerly shake his head, making his shortened hair swish slightly around his ears. This only served to garner a soft chuckle from Aragorn, causing the Elf to stare at him questioningly. "What?" He asked when staring obviously wasn't going to provide an answer.

Aragorn bit his lip to keep from laughing, but resulted in an amused snort. "Your hair, mellon nîn. I didn't want to say anything earlier…." The man didn't need to finish and he couldn't meet the Elf's eyes as Legolas glared like an unsheltered cat on a rainy, gloomy afternoon.

"Well your hair isn't exactly complementary itself, filthy ranger," Legolas retorted a bit defensively, but it was obviously meant to be jocular and Aragorn accepted it as being such.

"Prissy Elf."

Legolas couldn't' help but laugh softly as the hoarseness that still lingered in their voices made their jesting all the more funny. The whole situation was not humorous in any way when they really looked at it but right now, they couldn't help but feel a bit untouchable, feeling safe in the warm company of each other and the bright sunshine.

One of the various men of the camp happened to notice the shared laughter between the two and was not pleased, seeing nothing funny and having a feeling that they were laughing at him or his companions. Of course, such fun-making would be unacceptable and he meant to remind them of that, particularly the Elf, who was still grinning. In hot frustration at the thought of being their entertainment, he wondered how they could both be up to their necks in hot water and still find a reason to laugh…or even smile.

Legolas heard the human approach before Aragorn did and his head jerked up, the smile fading into a caustic glare as he sized up the man. Without his armour he looked less intimidating but still, he was just as tall as the Elf and about three times as heavy and altogether not a pleasant looking individual. "What's so funny, Elf?" His malicious tone and over-enunciation of Legolas' race spoke volumes.

Legolas stared hard at the man, but Aragorn felt the prince's hand clench as sweat wetted his palms. "It's an inside joke, you wouldn't get it." The surly tone of the prince only darkened his agitator's already nasty mood.

The captor cracked his knuckles menacingly, prepared to wipe that surly look of the Elf's face and deliver an additional bruise or two. He was sure that Ceorl would understand completely. "Try me, Elf." He sneered, still forced to avert his eyes as he could not withstand Legolas' piercing blue ones for long.

Legolas remained silent, but inwardly braced himself for a blow to his face…again. Why did people always have to hit his face?

Just then Ceorl happened by, with some other errand about the camp-set up and maybe even the alteration of a few plans and his eyes habitually checked up on the status of his prisoners, just making sure that they were still there. But he stopped in mid-stride when he noticed the man towering over them with an impatient and angered scowl adorning his face that was directly mostly at Legolas.

Not about to lose his merchandise or bargaining chip, as he considered Legolas and Aragorn to be, the blonde man prepared to intervene if merely glaring wasn't enough. Apparently, his reputation had preceded him from the prior night's events with the drunk and glaring was adequate.

Seeing he had garnered his captain's undivided attention, the man threatening the prisoners back-pedalled a few steps and then hesitated before turning around and retreating back to his spot on the ground where his supplies and gear were strewn out. If he got a chance or was permitted he would deal with them later.

Ceorl kept vigil for a few more seconds, making sure that the man was truly letting the captives alone before going about his business.

Legolas watched the man go, his eyes boring into his back the entire time until he had seated himself with a huff and snarl, contenting himself to fidget with whatever he had shuffled out of his pack. Soon the Elf smelled the sweet, but sickening odour of pipe-weed smoke, as the grey cloud quickly dispersed and spread with the wind. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he looked at Aragorn and sighed in frustration.

Aragorn almost did the same, the feelings of disappointment and irritation being mutual between them.

Legolas closed his eyes, obviously intending to rest for the allotment of time that was provided. Leaning his head back against the wooden pole, the Elf swallowed as he tried to relax. Aragorn watched silently for a few minutes as the Elf fidgeted, and twisted in his bonds, attempting to get comfortable and each time pulling against Aragorn's wrist, until the ranger could stand it no longer. "Having trouble?" he asked softly, causing Legolas' eyes to flutter open in response to his voice.

The Elf's forehead wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. His voice was soft and apologetic. "Sorry, I was just…thinking…and wood is not an overly comfortable pillow anyway." He looked at Aragorn for a moment before closing his eyes again. His stress was obvious by this change in natural habit that the Elf had been doing since this entire business started.

Aragorn scrupulously eyed the Elf, whom he could tell was doing anything but resting. Legolas was many things, but he was not a good liar. Not at all. "Thinking about what?" he asked softly.

Legolas didn't answer right away and his eyes remained closed even when he finally did. His voice sounded as though his thoughts were far away, anywhere but here. "Many things… the future mainly." He settled closer against the pole, feeling irritated.

Aragorn stiffened at his friend's words, almost going completely rigid against the post they were secured to. Legolas was afraid. "Legolas," his voice's tone pulled the Elf out of any reveries and the prince blinked Aragorn into focus, giving him his full attention.

"Hmmm?" He seemed to be favouring vague responses.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to bring this up. Even in Harad he had avoided this subject. "Legolas, you don't have to be afraid." There was no other way to say it and so Aragorn made the statement point blank. Legolas made no response except for looking longingly at the rolling hills and open grasslands surrounding them, turned golden by the sun. He threw back his head and let the sun bathe it with its warmth.

"Legolas, I won't let anything happen to you."

The prince's eyes narrowed as he sat up and he smiled at the ranger's touching concern. "I know that, Thorongil," the Elf continued with the use of the alias out of habit. "If you are alive. It's just…I don't…I will not become an orc!"

"So you are afraid." His tone was flat, and Legolas flinched inwardly at the accusation.

"Not as much as I have been recently." Images of Harad came to Aragorn's mind and the dreaded black box and his friend's helpless cries… seeing Legolas walking of his own power onto the platform ready to willingly be beheaded in the knowledge that his friend was safe. How scared had the prince been there and said nothing? He had been nothing but selfless, as he had a growing habit of doing. Legolas realized what Aragorn was thinking, their memories being mutual unless you counted the differences in perception, and he shook his head, "Not in Harad. Just a few days ago." When Aragorn's puzzled didn't disappear in an allotted time of a couple seconds the Elf confessed, "I was afraid I would lose you…forever."

Legolas didn't want to add that he had feared this since he and the human had first become more or less blood brothers. He didn't want to tell Aragorn that there was an eternal pain in his heart that would never be soothed, no matter where he went. Someday, by the sword or by the crumbling process of time, Aragorn was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing that Legolas could do about it. There was no cure for staying the same and watching everything around you fade.

Unfortunately, Aragorn's close bond with the Elf that could turn telepathic perceived the prince's terror and the man's eyes blurred with tears that he quickly blinked away. Legolas felt a wave of guilt strike the man, breaking over him like waves upon rock and immediately the Elf felt regret, but he couldn't take it back now.

Aragorn instantly recognized this pain that Legolas was feeling. He had seen in so many times in his family's eyes, in their voices. To see it burning behind his friend's eyes and feeling it shredding away at the Elf's sensitive heart was unbearable. Legolas was more afraid of him dying than of being turned into the thing he hated most and all the agony it would take to get him there. Looking away, he couldn't watch the prince anymore. If they hadn't been bound together he would have walked away to hide and cry.

Legolas felt his friend shaking as he barely stifled choking tears and shifted closer to the human, consolingly whispering. "It isn't your fault." He knew that Aragorn wouldn't believe him, but it was all the comfort that he could offer. His regret had no boundaries as he realized the unintentional pain he had caused.

Aragorn didn't respond and the Elf persisted, "Is it your fault that I chose to call you my dearest friend and brother? Is it your fault I chose to love you as a part of me? Even if you had never met me, would sacrificing all the good times that we had together be worth preventing one fear?"

Aragorn would have smiled under normal circumstances as memories of good times rippled through his mind, willed by the power of the Elf but he simply couldn't seem to remember how. Suddenly he flinched in surprise as Legolas' long fingers laced through his, their two hands that were bound together by rope now becoming bound by love. The prince squeezed gently in an effort to assuage Aragorn's pain and whispered, "No matter what happens, I would have followed you into Mordor to face a thousand foes if you had asked it of me."

Just like he had refused to leave Aragorn in Harad, or in Rohan and was paying for it as he had so many times. Maybe Beleg's words were true, spoken so many years ago to Túrin Turambar. "Elves and men should neither meet nor meddle."

Aragorn felt his throat constrict to the point where he literally couldn't breathe. It was as though the noose had been placed about his neck again and was cinched all the way, so that he would never breathe again. A ripple of fear cut through him and Legolas felt it, as though it seemed to travel like ice water through their linked hands and it touched his awareness.

Aragorn knew that Legolas knew that he was afraid, and he wasn't going to dishonour their friendship and attempt to hide it. "Do you remember when I made you promise me that you would be there at my coronation?"

Legolas nodded as his thumb stroked Aragorn's hand the same way he had felt the ranger stroke his after his nightmare. "Yes. Of course. I never forget a promise."

"I didn't want to be alone," he whispered softly. Ever since he had fallen deeply in love with Arwen, he feared rejection from Elrond and ultimately from his brothers, even if it wasn't until the very end. He didn't want to be left alone and he had always trusted that Legolas would be there but all the same he had made the Elf promise, even though he knew that he didn't have to.

"You need not have bound me by a promise Estel," the Elf confirmed what Aragorn had already known. "I would have come anyway. I mean, keeping you alive has been such a task, I deserve to see the fruits of my labour." A smile split the serious face as the Elf smiled at his own jest. The smile was contagious and Aragorn found his lips curling up at their corners.

"I know," the ranger said softly, calmed now as he felt the Elf's thumb running up and down the back of his hand. His breathing had eased as had his heart. He stopped the motion, surprising the Elf as he twisted his hand free of the prince's loose grip and grasped the Elf's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude. "Hannon le, Legolas."

The Elf only smiled. "You're always welcome, my friend." Shaking his head he changed the subject as he accused protectively, "and you need your rest." He appraised the human lightly, "You make death look alive." The dark rings around Aragorn's eyes that accented their grey depths concerned the Elf as did his extensive injuries that had no chance to even start healing.

"Oh, and I suppose you don't?"

Legolas gave a small frown. "Point taken." Looking about the dismal camp, he saw the majority of people had already taken to their bedrolls and were lying sprawled out on the grass, smoking or sleeping…or attempting to do both simultaneously. Even being an Elf, he finally needed a reprieve and had to get some sleep one way or another.

Aragorn offered, "I'll take first watch."

Legolas shook his head, "No, you won't. We need no watch, bound as we are. What will come, will come, whether we see it ahead of time or not. Sleep, my friend. We both need it."

Aragorn understood the wisdom of the Elf's words and in truth, his eye lids had become unbearably heavy so that even as he smiled at the prince they were partially covering his grey orbs. All the same he didn't want to be caught unawares, but when Legolas started to hum a soft, melodious, flowing Elven song, the ranger found himself unable to resist sleep and gradually he submitted to it, leaning slightly against the Elf, the slow song echoing through his dreams.

Legolas continued singing until it was dusk and he felt the ranger fully relax against him, having a decent rest at last. Smiling softly to himself, the Elf watched as his breath ghosted slightly in the cooled, damp air of the evening. The stars were beginning to come out, peeking from the darkness in little radiant points of light. Legolas' eyes sought out the star of Eärendil, finding it without difficulty as he had done so many times in his long life. Its radiance reflected on the grasses and stalks of plants below, almost as though it were moonlight. After watching the celestial point of light for a few more minutes, the prince went on and shifted his gaze towards the constellation commonly referred to as the Sickle that was rising to the North. Finding some comfort in the twilight, the Elf continued staring up at the sky and in that manner fell into a light asleep, his head leaning against Aragorn's and his eyes open, merging starlight and dream.

:0Ї0:

Elrohir looked sidelong at Rothinzil, both of the Elves lying flat on their stomachs on the crest of a small hill, spying out the land. Their horses were left to graze on the opposite side of the hill. "There are lights towards the West, did you not see them? They are small, but I think they are what we seek." The two had been travelling a bit slower than was normal for Elves to accommodate for their injuries and for the meticulous search of the ground for clues but all the same made considerably better time than men, reaching the farthest part of the Westfold before the darkest parts of evening.

"Yes, I think I see them. But it could be a town," Roth felt compelled to remind his friend. Elrohir raised a sculpted brow in response and looked at the warrior as he though the other Elf was out of his mind. "Very well," amended Roth in a mutter, "perhaps not." His cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment and he shifted his weight on his elbows to accommodate for the growing pain in his shoulder. Elrohir's ministrations had been well done but there had been only so much that the other Elf could do.

"There looks to be at least one hundred men," Elrohir assessed after counting their camp fires and discovering there to be around ten to fifteen little flames, which he reasoned there would probably be around ten men to a fire give or take a couple.

"A wonderful number," Roth scoffed under his breath. "It couldn't be five, or even ten, it had be to ten times ten." His dark sarcasm brought a half-smile to Elrohir's face as the younger Elf brought the dire situation into perspective. "And the stars had to be so bright tonight…" his grumbles continued.

Elrohir frowned and pushed himself up onto his knees, gently dusting off his elbows. "Don't curse the stars, my good Roth. They might be of help."

"To the enemy," came the morbid response and Elrohir sighed. This wasn't like his friend, who was usually brimming with optimism and goodwill towards all things living that were not the Enemy's allies or Him himself. But with the growing-up of his children and the aging of his beloved wife, the Wood-Elf had smiled less. Then when Legolas had disappeared with Aragorn for years on end he had finally began to give in to depression and the sea-longing he never thought he would have, and never thought he would miss, was tearing him up inside. Being mortal, having sworn allegiance to his wife that he loved above all things, the West was no longer an option lest he betray all that he had ever loved and worked for.

"I think it means that the Valar, particularly Elbereth, is on our side." Elrohir stood up, willing his tired, aching body not to sway. Offering Roth a hand, he grasped his friend's arm tightly as the other Elf reached up to him and pulled the warrior onto his feet, steadying him gently.

"Well I hope you are right," he murmured quietly, not looking at the youngest twin and instead, staring thoughtfully at the campfires where he knew Legolas to be. For a moment Elrohir was sure that he felt hot anger flood the younger Elf and transfer through his hand and arm that were on the warrior's shoulder. "Save it for when we need it, Roth," he advised, knowing the odds of winning a battle against one hundred were not very good, two to one hundred to be exact.

The other Elf stared at him quizzically. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Elrohir frowned, watching their breath ghosting in the chilled atmosphere for a minute before answering. "It means that you shouldn't let your anger get the best of you. We are going to be facing one hundred at least, Roth. You know that the odds are not going to be in our favour. Save your anger for battle and don't waste your remaining energy now."

Roth nodded in consent, and Elrohir felt him relax under his hand. "We will get them both back, Roth." He wasn't only promising this to the other Elf, he was promising this to himself, by all that was good in Middle Earth.

Looking at out into the distance over the swaying grass, Elrohir watched the flickering campfires, and he prayed that Thengel and his men would make good travel time and get here before the camp packed up and left. He and Roth were not supposed to have to face one hundred by themselves and had only a small allotment of time to wait before they must take the initiative and do the best they could with what they had.

:0Ї0:

Thengel looked around in disdain as he saw the ground, carpeted by orc corpses and here and there a Rohirrim warrior, face down in the grass with a puddle of thick blood pooling beneath. Every now and then a wounded horse struggled to stand as his bloodied master was forced to put him out of the misery of an untreatable wound. Some already lay dead, killed instantly by the orcs. The fighting had been intense when he and his warriors had finally caught up the creatures, which were cornered by the mountains and therefore unable to retreat. They had fought as cornered animals do, desperation marking every move they made and making the battle that much more fierce. Both sides had been armed to the teeth and neither one with less resolve than the other.

The result had been a field of blood and even for the Rohirrim, who had obtained victory, the cost had been frighteningly high.

Spurring his horse and guiding it with his heels alone, the King of Rohan stopped by the side of a limping soldier. "We need to be ready to ride again within the hour." He hated to tell this to his men when they had just fought so diligently and for so long and lost so many of their brothers, but it was what had to happen. They had to know, they had to come, and there were no alternatives. "Can you tell your men that, Eómund?" His voice was sympathetic, even if his request was not and his second in command seemed to understand.

"Yes, my lord," he replied in a battle-hoarse voice, nodding in compliance. His feet hooked with themselves and he stumbled, obviously fatigued. Removing his helmet, he let the cold breeze of the twilight ruffle through his sweat dampened hair.

Thengel frowned and his voice was apologetic. "I am sorry."

"Well, my lord, it isn't your fault," Eómund's answer was soft and cautious. Sighing, his breath came out in puffs of ghost-like steam and quickly dissipated into the air. He looked sorrowfully at the body of what could have been one of his companions, but he could not tell, the dead man was face down and his helmet still on.

Thengel was silent, and there was the sound of leather moaning as he shifted in the saddle, beginning to feel some of the effects of their long ride and battle. "So they tell me, Eómund, so they tell me."

Looking at the carnage that littered the area, he felt his blood boil as he remembered this was the work of treason and traitors. Who could bear this much hate towards the country that raised them and the people that had befriended them? Sighing, his breath slowly draining from his lungs, the king of Rohan decided that he didn't really want to know and that he probably would never understand anyway.

Eómund knew better than to answer and so he just asked, "What is to be done with the dead? We cannot leave them here as carrion for the birds and what else may happen by; more orcs…" He was silenced as Thengel raised a hand palm extended and shook his head.

"No, but my good Eómund we must. We cannot afford the delay." He would not allow these traitors to reach their destination, whatever else would happen. And he didn't want to lose Legolas or Thorongil to their treachery either.

It was obvious that the other man didn't agree, at least not wholly. He might have seen the sense in it but that didn't make it any easier to do. People that he had known for years and had become sort of a surrogate or second family, had fallen here, and some he didn't even know where they lay, all he knew was that he could not find them. It seemed that they had crawled off the battlefield in their agony, looking for solace in solitude, trying to find a suitable place to die. "Yes, my lord." His voice was soft, respectful but obviously hurting.

Thengel shared the same pain and his brow wrinkled as he clamped his eyes shut, wishing that he could will all of this into non-existence. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but go and make those responsible pay for every drop of innocent blood spilled in their game. "We will return here. Those who are responsible for this carnage will get what they deserve."

"I fear not soon enough, my lord," came the soft reply, he nodded his head briefly in respect before turning his back to go and attend to his duties, namely getting the wounded on horses and preparing for a second battle. The slump in his shoulders spoke volumes about his feelings and his fatigue, but feeling Thengel's eyes on his back, he straightened them and went on with his head held a bit higher than before.

Coming cross the first reasonability healthy human-being he had seen in a while besides himself and his lord, he called, "Get your horse prepared! We ride within the hour!" His command was met with a nod and soft grumble, a sign of a sour mood and low morale.

Yes, he told himself, the morale was becoming a real problem. However, it was understandable to an extent and it didn't help that it was dark and that the place smelled of good and foul blood. Tomorrow it would dawn on his fellows that those lost were not coming back, they were gone forever. Once this happened, things could go one of two very different ways with very different consequences. The men could turn on themselves and wrap themselves in their depression, resulting in poor fighting or ultimately death and defeat. If this happened they were resigning themselves to death before the battle started. Or, they could feel a hot anger that would fuel them into battle and give them a sweeping fury that would annihilate their opponents or at least beat them down so that they could be successfully secured.

It was hard to imagine that they would be going up against those whom they had once called brothers in arms. As a matter of fact, the reality had still not fully hit Eómund yet and he still felt a sense of detachment, as though this was all unreal. However, as he suddenly stumbled over the outstretched, ensanguined arm of one of his fallen comrades, he knew that this was no dream or illusion. It was as real as anything he had ever encountered in his life, and there was no escaping it.

Going over to his dirt brown horse that was still drenched in a frothing sweat, the man stroked its wet, well muscled neck encouragingly. "We're all tired, boy. Just a hold on a little longer and then you can eat the sweetest hay and grass." The animal nickered softly and rubbed against his ear with his large, soft velvety nose. The hot breath of the animal ruffled some strands of his master's blonde hair and the man managed a thin smile.

Thengel was having similar thoughts as he rode around checking up on his men and the situation in general. A few times he had closed his eyes and opened them, half-expecting to be staring at the ceiling of his bedroom or military tent. However, he had no such success and was forced to resign himself to the fact that this was real and that there was nothing that was going to change it.

He must have stayed in one place after subconsciously reining in his mount, thinking about all these things because he didn't realize that Eómund was waiting, mounted at his side. Snapping out of his morbid reveries, the Lord of Rohan looked expectantly at his captain that was earning his trust so quickly. This was not the only time the young man had proven himself. "Yes?"

"We are ready, my lord."

:0Ї0:

Elladan lay on his cot under a woollen blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, wishing he could see through it to the stars that he knew must be shining brightly in such crisp, clear weather. The boy, who was sitting in the corner with his head half-propped up by a hand while the elbow was in turn resting against his knee, had finally given into sleep. He had disclosed everything to the Noldor Elf that he could possibly explain and then fell into a complete state of exhaustion.

However, that didn't deter him from trying to continue with attending to Elladan's every need, since the Elf couldn't get up very easily and was still in a lot of pain. He had managed to stay awake and on his feet long enough to get Elladan some water every hour for three hours. However, after that, when Elladan had fallen asleep again, the soft sound of the Elf's eased breathing had coaxed him into a fitful sleep himself.

Elladan had woken up soon after and roving the room with his eyes, he had seen the child, slumped over near the bucket of water. It had brought a small smile to his face and he had watched the boy sleeping for a few minutes before his attention had been drawn to other things.

He now knew exactly what was going on, for the most part. While the boy had told all that had happened to Legolas and Estel he had done his best not to flinch or show overly much emotion. However, now that hardly anyone was around and the one person who was had fallen asleep, he sat up slowly and sighed, placing his head in his hands and rubbing them down his face. He should have known they would run into something like this –no, wait- he had known. It was perfectly predictable.

He would have liked nothing better than to get up, find some warmer attire, a horse and throw caution into the wind to go and fetch his troublesome brothers and his equally troublesome friends and bring them home. Unfortunately, he could barely move and it still felt as though an obese Oliphaunt had decided to sit on him for an extended period of time. If he had not known better he would have easily believed that his chest had caught fire sometime during the night too. It was obvious that his wound, no matter how well bandaged by his brother, was becoming inflamed and dangerously close to getting seriously infected.

Subconsciously, his hands strayed beneath the tattered remnants of his tunic to lightly touch the bandage and trace its intricate knot that was Elrohir's trademark. Frowning, he couldn't imagine what he had put Elrohir through these past few days. Supposing that they all survived this escapade, Elrohir would kill him, pray to Mandos to have him sent back and then kill him again, or something along those lines. And since Elrohir was the more devious one, in his opinion, the younger twin might even find a more creative means of payback.

Sighing heavily, Elladan instantly regretted it as he was left gasping for breath and struggling not to cry out. His wound was still very fresh and despite the fact that he was an Elf, near mortal wounds still healed incredibly slow. Although, he was sure men would marvel at the progress he had already made, such as sitting up on his own and moving anything at all. The more Elladan thought about it, the more he wondered if actually his supposedly faster healing was due more to determination than any aspect of health. Dwelling on this only a minute longer he supposed that was probably so.

Cringing inwardly as he thought of the grievous injuries his mortal brother and Legolas had already taken, Elladan felt the obligation to be at their sides. It was where he had meant to be all along and he was beginning to understand that he just couldn't be the least bit satisfied sitting around here wasting time…healing - some how he managed to quiet the healer part of him- Valar, they could be dying!

And even supposing that they were yet unharmed, then he would still have to get them home. They wouldn't have homes anymore if they didn't return shortly and he wasn't going to watch his family and everything else that he loved fade.

Experimentally attempting to stand up, Elladan fell against his backside almost immediately with a small cry as all his muscles had apparently decided to call it quits. They were the smart ones, he told himself darkly. Pain blossomed in his chest and spread throughout every part of his body like a wave, enveloping him in agony.

Realizing that he was unable to help his brother and the determination quieting inside as his wound dominated everything he did, Elladan reluctantly sank back down against the numerous blankets and other soft material that fashioned his cot, relinquishing his struggles to walk. It was obvious that his throbbing body would not tolerate such insanity and so he was trapped here, tormented by what he did not know.

Oh, he knew his brothers and friends were in for more than they had bargained for, but how much more he could not tell and the outcome was what he feared. Keeping his hand under the dilapidated remnants of his tunic, Elladan kept his hand on the bandage his brother had made for him.

In the corner the boy shifted and opened his eyes, and started as he realized he had fallen asleep and essentially shirked his duties to the Elf, however unintentional it might have been. Scrubbing his eyes with a hand, he struggled to his feet and limped over to Elladan. Seeing the Elf was awake, he asked softly, "Is there anything that you need?"

Elladan clamped his eyes shut as pain broke over him, causing his body to convulse, which only made things worse. The boy felt panic surge through his system as he had no idea how to stop the spasms and felt completely helpless. He felt responsible for the majority the trouble they had experienced and he was feeling sick with the shame that he couldn't provide any help. "Lord Elladan?" he asked when the Elf opened his eyes.

"You are tired. Sleep. I will be… fine," Elladan said forcefully, willing his voice not to crack. Right now he wanted to be left alone, he wanted to think. Somehow, he was going to trick his body into compliance and somehow he was going to find a way out of here.

TBC...

Yes, of course Elladan will be fine...-girls grin- ...you all can keep telling yourselves that. This chapter definitely had a case of mushisness (wow, that is actually a word), didn't it? But everyone needed a little dollop of TLC. Poor things. Or in Roth and Elrohir's case, they need someone to take their frustrations out on...so they are still unsatisfied. And what was this? Rothinzil getting grumpy and agitated? LOL

You should be getting the review responses soon this evening. Probably shortly after this post! And we would love to thank you guys! Honestly, this story is very hard and at points tedious to write, but those reviews and all the encouragement make it worth it:D They spur us on, so that brings us to our next subject...

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See you next Friday!

-Celeb and Tin