Chapter 21

And so desiring above all to sow fear and disunion among the Eldar, he commanded the Orcs to take alive any of them that they could bring...and some he so daunted by the terror of his eyes that they needed no chains more, but walked ever in fear of him, doing his will wherever they might be…*

The Lands They Once Did Know

 "Lost elves. That is what they are known as. Lost elves, the unwilling, those who refused the summons…. Very little is known of these creatures, these kin of the Western elves- in a way our own kin, though so many years sundered from our world.  Some say the Valar have punished them for not trusting the summons, though I do not believe the Valar to be so merciless. Some say also that Melkor corrupted some of them to create his Orcs. I wager this is true."

Aragorn nodded as he stroked his horse which continued to drink heartily from the River Celduin. After an entire day of traveling, against the protests of Aragorn, Gandalf had insisted on a short break to at the very least allow the horses to drink.  "And how would you explain what just happened? Why our kin decided to attack us?"

Gandalf furrowed his brows and patted his horse in a sign that the break had ended and it was time to resume their journey. "I say kin loosely when referring to the Avari, though unfortunately in this case, I need not even say it loosely, for it literally was Legolas' own kin who attacked!" Though Gandalf controlled the rage in his voice, Aragorn could easily sense the underlying tension as the old wizard recounted the past night's events. With a frustrated sigh, he mounted his horse and continued. "The Avari are our kin just as the Easterlings and Haradrim are the kin of the men of the West."

Aragorn frowned and mounted his own steed. "Why stop there? We may as well consider the Orcs our kin as well!" he muttered sarcastically, his muscles involuntarily tensing at the mention of the enemies of Gondor who for so long had tormented that kingdom.

Gandalf either did not catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "No, no, I would not go so far as the Orcs, Aragorn. The Valar did not create them. I speak only of those races who shared the same maker."

Aragorn sighed. "Well it does not seem to matter anymore who made us."

Gandalf frowned and peered to the great land ahead of them, where somewhere the young elf he had sworn to Thranduil would one day accomplish something great for Middle Earth, now remained bound. "Aye, the old ties of kinship have long been broken. It is the lure of power that binds so many these days." Gandalf paused and looked pointedly at Aragorn. "But such is not the case for everyone. There are many still who would proudly choose kinship over power – kinship even beyond their own races."

Gandalf turned again and with a swift elvish command, his horse broke into a sprint before Aragorn even had the chance to respond.  But they did not travel long before a crouched figure caught both of their attentions.  Gandalf glanced at Aragorn and as their eyes met, they quickly ordered their horses to hasten towards the figure which quickly revealed himself to be an elf.

Gandalf stopped his horse in front of the elf and leapt off, eyeing carefully the hunched figure who had been in the midst of a fitful coughing rage and thus unable to look up to perceive his new companions. When the coughing subsided, the sickly elf slowly looked up and paled at the sight of the wizard.

"Ai! Nay! It cannot be! I escaped you! I left.. Ai, alas the powers of the Maiar!" he wailed in Sindarin.

Gandalf's and Aragorn's eyebrows shot up at this. "You are one of Thranduil's!" Gandalf breathed. He then dug his staff into the ground and leaned forward. "What is this you speak of?! Who have you tried to escape!?"

The elf's eyes widened in slight confusion and then lit up suddenly with realization. "Mithrandir! Mithrandir! Is it truly you!?  Bless Elbereth, then we are saved!"

Gandalf furrowed his brows and banged his staff into the ground in annoyance. "Yes, yes, it is me, though I'm afraid I am no savior… But tell me, who is this you speak of!?"

The elf, lost in his joyous delirium disregarded the wizard's question. "I speak of many things now that hope has found me! Ai, would you believe the stars do not shine here? And the sun does not smile and the moon does not laugh? Nay it is all darkness! Ai, how we have suffered! But you are here now and the sun smiles whenever she shines on the Gray Pilgrim!"

Had Aragorn not been so concerned for Legolas, he would have been charmed by the elf's blissful chatter.  Just as he was about to interrupt and demand the elf for further explanation, the wizard lifted his staff and pressed it firmly into a piece of the elf's tunic holding him tight to the ground, catching the elf's attention and causing him to stop in the middle of his speech.

"Listen, you fool. We have come for Legolas. Now is no time for such whimsical celebrations – now tell me who it was you spoke of!"

The elf's face quickly dropped. "Legolas? They have Legolas? This is ill news indeed! Then Merionè truly has been taken! Ai! Alas! Alas!"

"What is this about Merionè?" Gandalf demanded crouching down and grabbing the elf by his collar and quickly forgetting his inquiry about who the elf originally thought he was. "Stop wasting my time with your blithering, you fool," he demanded as the elf continued to cry and repeat, 'alas, alas.' Gandalf tightened his grip when the elf did not respond. "Foolish elf! Tell me now what has happened!"

"Ai, Mithrandir, it was awful!" The elf then proceeded to tell Aragorn and Gandalf the entire terrible tale of Merionè's forced betrayal. By the time he was done, Gandalf had released his collar and rose above him, his face long with fear and concern. Aragorn angrily kicked the dirt, sending up a small sandstorm, and peered straight ahead. "I snuck away! I know not how, but I did… I left while the others remained bound… while they suffered and gave in to the terror that daunted them. Ai! It is the terror that binds them!"

Gandalf nodded. "Aye, such are the tales of those all those who fall it seems…And I suppose it was terror that led them to betray their own kin…"

The elf frowned and shook his head. "Nay, Mithrandir, do not speak of them as traitors… Ai, do not do that…I was lucky…I am lucky to not be among them now…" he whispered before falling into another coughing fit.

Gandalf frowned and turned to Aragorn "They are forming alliances. Sauron is preparing for war," he said quietly, pitifully glancing at the elf who now doubled over in his coughing. "He is spreading lies and false promises to gather his armies – men and elves of the East."

The elf gained control of his coughing and sat up. "Nay, I do not believe he will gain much help from the elves of the East. To be sure, there are few whom we have had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting that will fall in his ranks, but I have met others…"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, but did not inquire further about the others the elf claimed to have met. "Yes, well elves are not as easily corrupted as men… But the fact that Sauron would try… the fact that he is already acting on plans to take Mirkwood…"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and gripped his sword. "Aye, Gandalf I know what it is you are thinking of....And I too do not believe Saruman was correct – it did not pass over the sea and Sauron knows this." Aragorn unsheathed his sword and stood but a foot away from Gandalf. "He thinks it is in Mirkwood," he hissed. "That is why he has sent the Nazgûl back to Dol Guldur. That is why he now beseeches these elves to join in his battle against Thranduil. His strength grows because it has not left Middle Earth."

Gandalf held Aragorn's gaze and slowly nodded. "Aye, he knows it is near…Saruman was indeed mistaken…It is here…" he slowly repeated. 

Aragorn broke away from Gandalf's gaze and again looked ahead. "But that is not what concerns me at this moment Gandalf."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow and Aragorn once again faced him as the ranger continued softly, "I worry now about the fates of two young elves."

Gandalf nodded and a determined look chased away his pensive façade. "Aye, Aragorn, as do I."

Gandalf then turned again towards the skeletal elf, who gaped at the wizard and man fearfully. "My ears were not meant to hear these tales of wizards and power!" he breathed. "Alas they cannot close of their own will for I fear these legends that are true and the truths that are legends! Ai, is it the ring you speak of? Does he have it?"

Gandalf's eyes widened and he swiftly rounded on the poor elf, yanking him up and pushing him ahead of him. "Alas for the foolish tongues of woodelves who know not when to speak and speak when they know naught! Do not concern yourself with rings and wizards, concern yourself with your princes for it is they who are in need of your concern!"

With a nod towards Aragorn, the two remounted their horses and Gandalf quickly pulled the elf onto his own steed in front of him.  "On second thought, do concern yourself with wizards, for there is one here who you would be wise to not anger! Lead us from whence you came! Lead us to those who attacked you! To your prince!"

Aragorn pursed his lips, as he felt a pang of pity for the distressed, terribly weakened elf.  But he did not dare question Gandalf's short temper – not now when time was not a luxury any of the travelers from Mirkwood enjoyed – when indeed, time, just like everything else they had encountered, was not on their side. In a few moments, they were off again into the strange lands of the East - as Gandalf had said – the lands of what once was their kin. The lands they once did know.

* * * * *

Legolas gaped at the fallen captain, Velsiur, not fully believing he could actually be dead. Nay, elves could not die so easily! This was not at all how they were supposed to die! Their immortal lives could not simply be cut off like a snapping of a thread by the reckless, merciless hands of one so cruel, so capricious.  If elves died, they died valiantly, gloriously, in the midst of battle, when no other way remained but the frighteningly magnificent path to Mandos' halls – they did not simply collapse with one fatal, deceitful shot – not without a fight, not when they were not yet ready! The cold wind laughed at Legolas, mocking the young elf's innocence. What? You have never seen one of your kind die before?, she seemed to condescendingly ask. Do you base your knowledge on mere tales and legends? What your Ada has told you? What you have heard in Filinor's blithe songs and ridiculous rhymes? Legolas struggled, but could not take his eyes away from Velsiur's lifeless body - the blank face, cold hands, the glossy eyes –eyes that saw no more, and revealed no more brilliance from within. The wind continued her taunting song. Do you think your brothers' deaths were any different? This is death. This is what it is to die. It is not glorious, it is not magnificent. It is a curtain pulled over the eyes – it is the soul's final departure and all that is left is an empty shell.  Death *is* cruel. Death *is* capricious. She is cruel because she rips one away from this world regardless of whether they are ready for the journey. She is capricious because she cares not how she rips one away from this world. Legolas gulped and shut his eyes to this nightmare.

"Yes, you too are capable of death," Rómen breathed. Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he suddenly remembered the presence of Velsiur's murderer. He stiffened and mustered a cold glare which Rómen ignored as he silently turned and walked towards the lifeless body.  "Bind him," Rómen ordered as he approached Reanur. He kicked aside the limp, dead body of Velsiur like a discarded ragdoll.  When he passed Reanur, their eyes met and Thranduil's captain visibly cowered in the harsh glare. When he did not answer Rómen's request to bind Legolas, Rómen swiftly turned on his heel and stared straight at Reanur with piercing eyes that could rival any dagger. "I said bind him," he enunciated threateningly. With a cry, Reanur suddenly grabbed his head in pain and nearly fell to his knees, as if Rómen's words had in fact pervaded his body with their poison.

"You know the hallucinations will stop if you just give in to them…" Rómen whispered, a sneer tugging at his lips.

Reanur gritted his teeth and continued to grab his head fitfully. "Aye, give in and become a monster! A monster who would kill his own kin, who would betray…Ai! Velsiur! Forgive me!" he finally wailed in anguish. "Prince Legolas, I.."

A mercilessly tight grip suddenly choked Reanur. Rómen dug his fingers into his neck, threatening to strangle the elf. "What you do not do consciously, the hallucinations will do for you… You know that!" he hissed.

Legolas quickly noted the small opportunity that had arisen as Rómen continued to address Reanur, his attention diverted from the prince. With his mind racing, Legolas carefully eyed the sharp rocks scattered about the shore and quickly but quietly waded out of the water. Death may be capricious, but she need not be inevitable.  Legolas furrowed his brows and his muscles tensed with renewed determination. Cièdron would not meet Velsiur's fate.  Death would not take him. Not without taking Legolas first. Ai, Cièdron, Velsiur died to prevent me from giving in. Forgive me – I cannot now release Merionè… Not *that* way at least…But I will reach you brother, or I will die trying.

It was a hopeless attempt, but anyone watching would have admired the audacity and determination of the young elf.  Even the warriors that stood in the distance -Velsiur's warriors who now stood on the edge of death – still retained just enough life in them to watch their prince with the faintest possible hint of awe as he crouched and cautiously reached for one of the razor sharp rocks, glancing nervously at the turned form of Rómen.  Reanur's own patrol, weakened and gaunt, but not nearly as frail as Velsiur's, also watched quietly. A few fingered their weapons nervously. Legolas remembered what Reanur had said. A warrior's fate is always tied to his captain, Legolas.  Their loyalty lies wherever their captain's loyalty lies.  Did this mean Velsiur's death would cause his own patrol to wither away? One look at the group answered this question. Yet, those that would fade away now would avoid the chains and slavery of Sauron later.  Indeed, Velsiur had rescued them by killing them for the others faced a fate even worse than death. But of greater concern now was the loyalty of Reanur's elves. Would Legolas have to fight them as well? He glanced again doubtfully at the sharpened rocks. Well, if I must fight them, better with a pitiable excuse for a weapon than none at all…

As Rómen grabbed Reanur's neck, Legolas laid his long fingers over the smooth, water eroded edges of a glistening wet stone.  He closed his hand around it, gripping it tightly despite the sharp edges digging painfully into his skin, as Rómen tightened his own hand enough to leave bruises in the captain's neck.  Legolas then straightened before slowly creeping towards Rómen.  The wind continued her taunting. Death is cruel. Death is capricious. Will you now be the instrument with which she plays her deadly song?  Legolas bit his lip. Could he do it? Could he kill one of his own kind? He glanced at the flaxen hair, the pointy ears, and the lithe, beautiful figure of Rómen. Fate had separated them thousands of years ago – had either of their ancestors chosen a different path, they perhaps would be of the same kin now. It certainly was not too far a stretch to imagine this elf at home in the woods of Imladris or Mirkwood or Lórien.  Nor was it a stretch to imagine the Rhun Sea developing into a world as ethereal as Imladris or Lórien – if only the Valar had blessed it so. Or if only it had one of the rings… Legolas paused at this thought – ai, in that sense, the Rhun elves and the elves of Mirkwood did have something in common. They struggled – they struggled for their mere existence while other elven lands flourished under the protection of the rings.  For a moment Legolas' grip on the stone loosened.  They were deceived – they thought Sauron, or whoever Sauron chose as his agent in these lands, would bring to them what the Valar did not.  Rómen's own words echoed in his mind. "If you were in our place, to whom would you turn?"  

But a fleeting glimpse at Velsiur stifled any doubts that welled up in Legolas' heart. This monster was not of his kind.  The woodelves struggled to their deaths, but they did not so easily give in to the alluring promises of Sauron! Nay, if they gave in at all, it was out of a love for their kin! And they would not resent the elves of Imladris and Lórien for their blessings the way these elves resented him for his. Legolas again tightened his grip and crept closer to Rómen – whatever empathy he felt washed away with the angry tides of the sea behind him.  We were once one, but now our paths have been sundered. One chose darkness and the other chose light.  It is not I who chose wrongly….

But suddenly, Rómen dropped his hand from Reanur's neck and swiveled smoothly around so that he directly faced Legolas.  Legolas matched the elf in his reflexes and instantly hid the rock behind his back. He stiffened and coolly held the Avari elf's scorching gaze.

"Is it revenge you are looking for?" Rómen inquired calmly. His eyes fell on Legolas' arm and he smirked upon seeing the elf shift awkwardly like a child caught stealing candy. "Don't think it would be that easy, little one," he purred as he slowly approached. Legolas again shifted uncomfortably, but he refused to back away this time.  Rather he decided to stand firmly in place, out of the seething water and within the seething reach of Rómen.  As he continued to hold his ground, his courage fought back whatever doubt lodged in his heart.  Aye, he may only have a sharp stone, but after all a knife was really nothing more but a sharp piece of metal - a sword, a slightly longer piece of metal. If he could fight with a knife, then why not this stone? Why couldn't he take down Rómen right here, just as he took down dozens of Orcs and spiders, just as he overtook Reanur? Rómen smiled. "We all want revenge against someone, don't we? 'Tis a shame, for I do believe it is ourselves we have to blame for our ill fates…"

Legolas started and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. But he had no time to question Rómen as the sharp tip of a sword suddenly punctured his shoulder. Gasping in shock, the elf fell to his knees in pain, dropping the stone to his side.  Though Reanur tensed, he remained still, shutting his eyes tightly and grabbing his head as if to control its spinning.  The other warriors continued to watch nervously, fear clouding their eyes.

"Do you think your kind so strong? So powerful? So blessed?" Rómen seethed angrily as he cruelly twisted his sword before yanking it out. Though the wound was not mortally deep, Legolas cried out in pain before being roughly grabbed by the collar and pulled up so that he was face to face with the pitiless Rómen who grabbed Legolas' only hope for a weapon and now lightly traced it along the elf's cheek.

"See how easily they give in," he whispered as he pushed Legolas' face with the stone towards a trembling Reanur. "See the terror in his eyes. See how he needs chains no more…You will soon be that way as well, regardless of whether you give in."

Legolas gritted his teeth and fought against the ripping pain in his shoulder, but he could not control the fuzzy lightheadedness that washed over his mind and clouded his thoughts. Rómen grinned and pulled Legolas closer to him, pressing the stone into his cheek and tickling his ear with his hot breath. His next words, barely audible among the gusty winds, stormy sea, and muffled cries in Legolas' own mind, drove away all sensation of pain as if Death had now decided to free Legolas' soul from his battered body with the terrible words she whispered through Rómen.

"Your brother is as good as dead and it was you who abandoned him to it."

"NO!" Legolas choked on his cry as he lurched against the elf. He fought his own screaming mind, telling himself Rómen spoke naught but lies and would continue to do so until he gave in. Do not believe them! Do not fall victim to his words which are even more powerful than his weapons!  Rómen swiftly kicked Legolas in the stomach, knocking what little breath was left out of his lungs and causing Legolas to double over and fall limply to his knees.

Suddenly, Rómen released his grip on Legolas' collar and as the elf collapsed, he roughly ripped off his blood stained cloak, tossing it lightly to Reanur.  As he struggled for breath, Legolas pushed himself up with one arm watching worriedly as Reanur easily caught his cloak.

"Master Reanur," Rómen called. Reanur slowly straightened, his dazed face revealing his bewilderment and inner torment. He tentatively eyed the cloak as if he did not even realize he had caught it. He paused as his hands lightly touched the red stain, still warm and moist with the blood of Thranduil's son.  Rómen cocked his head and observed Reanur with some amusement.

"I release you Reanur. I release you so that you may return to your King. Be sure to show him that," he airily ordered as he motioned towards the cloak.

Legolas forced himself to his knees and as his mind began to process Rómen's cruel plan, he faintly shook his head as if this show of protest was all his exhausted, beaten body could muster. Again the wind sung her taunts.  You have fallen. And you have now brought your father down with you.

Reanur looked up in shock and gaped at the other elf. "You… you what?"

Rómen smiled and turned again towards Legolas. "You heard me. I order you to return to your King. Bring them with you as well," he continued indicating the Velsiur's warriors behind him with a careless wave of his hand.  "But only them. I keep yours and Merionè's… Tell your King his son freed you…"

Legolas' eyes widened and he again attempted to raise himself off his knees, but it was Reanur who protested as Legolas pathetically stumbled to the ground, the pain in his shoulder rapidly becoming unbearable.

"Bring them? But they are practically dead! They will never make it!" Reanur exclaimed.  Sensing they were the subject of the current conversation a few warriors weakly eyed the two elves. The others apathetically gazed at their suffering prince as he keeled over, coughing and grasping his shoulder, shaking his head pitifully.

Rómen however was unaffected by this plea and he offhandedly kicked Legolas as the elf tried again to bring himself to his knees. "Ah, yes. I am sure your King will be very proud of the bargaining skills of his son – a couple of dead warriors and one traitor for a perfectly healthy young prince. Yes, he will be proud indeed. Perhaps you can make his day even brighter by finding Merionè on the way and bringing back his other son!"

Legolas gritted his teeth and forced himself to his knees, fighting back every screaming impulse in his body to collapse to the ground. "But I did not do it!" he gasped in a voice that was raspy and weak. "I did not give you my word! I did not say it! I did not swear it!"

Rómen dropped the sword and once again grabbed and twisted Legolas' collar, nearly choking the elf. His voice still remained airy and calm as he addressed him. "A mere technicality which will soon be remedied, I assure you," he droned.  He then twisted the collar so tight, Legolas began to gag from loss of breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rómen let go and let the elf fall heavily to the ground. The afternoon tide began to once again creep up on Legolas, nipping at his prone body and carrying back with her red, trails of blood seeping from his shoulder.

Rómen studied the gasping, writhing elf and allowed the stormy winds to speak for him before he finally added casually, "Besides, it is not your oath that I now seek."

Legolas paled and shook his head, "No… no… he would never…" he whispered breathlessly. The waves continued to eat away at him, echoing pitilessly the wind's laughing condescension.

Rómen grinned hungrily and turned towards a new elf who had tentatively approached the group with a curious, but cautious gleam in his magnificent emerald eyes. Legolas stiffened as he immediately recognized the elf as the one he and Aragorn had run into in the wasteland of the Rhun.

"Ah! Look who decided to show up! Long time, no see, Ereb," Rómen laughed. The other elf narrowed his eyes and backed away slightly, clearly regretting that he ever gave in to his curiosity.  Legolas frowned and cocked his head curiously at the elf's strange name, but as he gasped again for breath and choked on the rising water, his mind quickly forgot about the newcomer.

"I want no part of this…" the elf stated firmly in his own language which bore a faint resemblance to that of the high elves.

Rómen frowned and answered in the same strange language. "Ah come now, Ereb. Do not make me question where your loyalty lies…"

Ereb's frown deepened, but he did not respond, instead gazing warily at Legolas. He shook his head lightly, almost sympathetically, and for a moment, a faint hope lightened Legolas' heart and he bit his lip in an attempt to quell a sudden urge to call out to this elf and beg him for mercy – and to control the rising bile in his stomach. As he fell into a fit of heaving, his mind fell in and out of consciousness, barely taking in the conversation above him.

"Take him and watch over him Ereb while I go seek the Ithryn Luin and let him know of all that has occurred here," Rómen finally ordered in the common tongue. 

"I told you I want no part in this," Ereb angrily returned, his soft voice now rising with his irritation. "I do not want any part in your wars."

An enraged flash brightened Rómen's eyes, but he kept his anger carefully under control. "You do not have a choice. These are not my wars. They are far bigger than that. Your kind can no longer live in isolation. You can no longer wander these lands alone, for you are a part of something much larger than yourself! You are part of something that involves all of Middle Earth! Unless you leave Middle Earth, you will have a part in these wars, whether you want it or not! For there will soon be no land for you to wander through if you do not fight for it!"

Ereb narrowed his eyes skeptically, but with a resigned sigh he finally walked gracefully over to where Legolas was now kneeling. He studied the injured prince for a moment before squatting and gazing curiously into his eyes.  Legolas vainly tried to read the elf's steady gaze, but naught was revealed in the glossy green depths. "Fool Teler," Ereb finally whispered as he held a knife up to his throat. "You will come with me."

"Reanur!" Rómen called suddenly, satisfied with Ereb's obedience. Reanur, who had been watching this new elf, lethargically turned to Rómen. "Tell me, Reanur, how do you bring down a King?"

Reanur raised his eyebrows, but did not answer. With a cruel laugh, Rómen looked straight at Legolas and stridently enunciated each word. "First you bring down his sons. One – by – one."

Again Legolas lurched forward, but Ereb's knife stopped him.  "Do not be the fool again," he murmured, glancing disdainfully at Rómen who now laughed heartily at his own riddle as he casually strolled away from the group.  Reanur awkwardly stared again at the cape and then glanced at Legolas.

"Don't do it! Don't go Reanur," Legolas practically whimpered, ignoring the sharp edge of Ereb's knife tickling his throat.

A strange expression twisted Reanur's features and shaking his head, as if confused by Legolas' request, he tucked the cape into his pack and faced the other warriors. "My friends! We are free!" he yelled. "We must return now to Mirkwood!" 

Legolas again attempted to move forward, only to be once again stopped by the sharp tip at his throat. "Reanur! You are not free!" he cried desperately.

Reanur turned again and considered the prince.  For a fleeting moment, doubt colored his eyes, and he looked as if he would change his mind and help Legolas.  But before Legolas could speak again, a rough hand pulled him up.

"Enough," Ereb said firmly as he pushed Legolas ahead and pressed his knife into his back. "Your foolishness has caused enough problems for you and for me," he muttered. 

Reanur watched for a moment before turning again to the warriors. "Come, we will leave now," he ordered. Though he could barely walk, Legolas again tried to escape Ereb's direction, but the moment he stepped towards Reanur, a sharp pull on his tunic held him back.  But even this pathetic effort at escape was too much for Legolas' injured body and he stumbled again to his knees, much to the annoyance of Ereb.

"Get up!" he ordered kicking him lightly on the side.

As delusion settled in, Legolas faintly nodded his head in obedience, but when he tried to push himself up, nausea pulled him back down as his eyes blurred and darkness slowly took his mind. Get away from here Cièdron, run away, he mouthed silently, resigning finally to telepathy since so many obstacles now blocked his escape from the Rhun and now stood between him and his brother.

Ereb however had no patience for such pleas and stalling. "Get up! Get up Teler!"

The distant commands quickly became too much for Legolas to process.  Though he nodded his head he gave up in his struggle to stand. One more angry, but light kick knocked Legolas to the ground and whatever control he had over his mind he lost as he slipped into darkness and fell limply at Ereb's feet, as broken and hopeless as Velsiur.

Reanur paused and stared at the limp prince and then the visibly irked Ereb.  Grumbling, the latter elf bent and lifted Legolas, easily carrying the light figure. "What are you doing?" he then demanded of Rómen. "Go on! You heard Rómen! Tell your King, just as he ordered. Mayhap he will declare war and all of you will fall! Then I will be left in peace!" He then looked down at Legolas and sighed angrily. "Fools you all are indeed…So no world will exist if I do not fight? Little does Rómen know, none of us will exist if we do fight!"

Reanur nodded distractedly and turned again towards the warriors, confusion, terror and pain distorting his gaunt face.  He began to walk towards them, but then quickly turned to Ereb.

"What do you intend to do with him?" he asked suddenly, his voice strained with fear and strife.

Ereb cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "I intend nothing."

Reanur stood still for several moments. He then suggested weakly, "Perhaps you could give him to me then…perhaps I could take him home…"

Ereb started at this and then burst into an uncharacteristic laugh. "You would kill him before you got within one hundred leagues of your home! You fell! You fell before you even fought! The terror within you bound you to perform his will!" he then paused and considered the blank face of Legolas who rested comfortably, almost trustingly in his arms. "I intend nothing," he repeated softly. "I only wish to survive." He looked up again at Reanur, who stood stonily in the gusty winds. "Just like you," he added pointedly. "We sell our souls to survive. And then we must survive for who knows what the fates have in store for us should we die. Nay, you cannot take him, for that would mean certain death for him and certain death for me – Rómen after all is not such a fool."

Reanur nodded and again turned towards the warriors.  The Rhun fell silent around them, quietly agreeing with Ereb's words.  A setting sun cast strange colors and shadows upon the two figures and the pallid, sickly form of Legolas. 

"Aye, no choice…" Reanur muttered. "There is no way to go now but down.  Only a total surrender to the vertigo that pulls me will save my mortality now.  My soul is already lost. Alas the oaths that bind us. Alas the only escape is an impossible path to choose. Alas I do not have the strength to choose death."

With a sigh, Reanur gave one more fleeting glimpse at Legolas, "Alas his strength will only bring him pain. If I will not give in, the hallucinations will pull me in." He shut his eyes briefly at these last words and then jogged towards the warriors, quickly spurting demands to gather horses to leave this cursed land and return home.

Ereb watched apathetically as Reanur gathered the warriors and prepared to leave. With another sigh, he glanced at the elf in his arms and frowned upon noting the growing red stain on his shoulder.  "Curse the day Pallando came to these lands," he breathed as he shifted Legolas' weight and headed towards the towering cliffs overlooking the sea.

"Curse the chains that bind all of us."

TBC

* from The Silmarillion, Of the Return of the Noldor

Thank you everyone for your reviews and the emails pestering me to continue! I apologize for the extremely lengthy delay – I had an insane amount of work these past couple of months and much to sort out with this story. The next chapter will come shortly though, I promise – I have three other unlucky elves I have to take care of after all!