I wanted you to know

I love the way you laugh.
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away.
I keep your photograph;

I know it serves me well.
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain.

'Cause I'm broken when I'm open,
And I don't feel like I am strong enough…
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome,
And I don't feel right when you're gone away.

--Seether

Arwen stirred and looked around. She appeared to be in the forest near the cave. Elladan must have left her there when they went to rescue Aragorn and that other elf, Legolas, she believed Raniean had said his name was. She stood up and staggered towards the cave. Finally reaching it, she glanced around and saw twin Elven daggers. Picking one up, she entered the cave. She hadnot taken three steps before she felt something hard connect with her skull and all consciousness fled.

Grishnak watched the elf collapse and the knife she had picked up fall with a clatter. Her dark hair fell about her face, obscuring most of her fair features but revealing her two delicately pointed ears.

As he bound her wrists and dragged her back toward the forest, he remembered that he had once been an elf, as well. But he had not been as fair as she, for in a hunting accident, he had been disfigured. And he had been further scarred during his recent transformation. The change had not been as difficult for him as for some others, for ever since he had been an elfling, he had been, as his elders had said, "different," more merciless, darker, crueler. But he had been an elf nonetheless, and that small part of him that was left had been briefly awakened in his conversation with the blonde elf.

He brought his mind back to the present and hefted his prisoner over his shoulder. His master would be pleased with her. He was just about to leave when he spotted the wrathful human sprinting towards him. He quickly secured the elf's wrists to an overhead branch and drew his scimitar to face the human. This was going to be fun.

After his brothers had left, Aragorn had managed to sneak out of the cavern while the rest of the elves had been concentrating on their prince. He had found his sword and jerkin in a loot pile. He had found Grishnak's tracks and followed them towards the forest, careful not to be seen by the fleeing orcs, for he was not yet in any shape to fight. But when he saw Arwen, something inside him snapped.

He charged straight at the orc, ignoring the fresh pain as his healing injuries split open.

He locked blades with the orc, his sheer fury making up for his weakness on account of his recent maltreatment. The two combatants fought; they matched each other, stroke for stroke, one drawing blood each time the other did. Soon, both were dripping blood from numerous cuts.

Then, Aragorn began to tire. He gasped sharply as Grishnak's blade bit deeply into his thigh again. He felt his injured leg buckle and fell to his knees.

Suddenly, Arwen awoke with a cry. Aragorn glanced her way. During his distraction, he more felt the orc disarm him. He turned back to see Grishnak kick his sword away. He then felt the orc's boot connect with his temple and soft snickering by his ear. Before his world spiraled into darkness, a soft whisper escaped from his lips, "Tye melan."

"No, no, no…" Arwen whispered. She could not stop the tears of sorrow and shame from rolling down her cheeks. She had been but a few metres away, watching, as an evil orc hurt the man she loved.

"Do not be alarmed; he is not dead…yet," Grishnak informed her, tickling her with the tip of an arrow, lightly drawing blood. "The fun and games are just beginning. It would do no good if he died right now, would it?"

Arwen could not tear her eyes from the Ranger's prone form. She could see his blood, his life, slowly seeping from his many wounds. She found that she could now answer his earlier question of whether or not she loved him: she indeed did. She found that she could not bear to see him like this, and could feel her heart being torn asunder.

Grishnak abruptly changed the subject and demanded that she read the parchment he had pulled from Legolas. She numbly complied, the words not even registering in her mind. In her mind, all she could see was Aragorn's face, the once clear and bright eyes, and all she could wear were whispers of failure.

As other orcs that had survived the slaughter arrived, she did not remove her eyes from the man's bloody form until one of the foul creatures sent her back into unconsciousness.

"Nárendur!" Elladan exclaimed. He felt his blood run cold as he spotted Aragorn. The human was lying on the ground, not moving a single muscle. Upon closer inspection, he fount that the dirt beneath the Man had actually become so saturated with blood that it had become mud.

He tried to fight rising panic as approached his brother's limp form. One glance at Elrohir told him that his twin also feared the worst. Elladan checked the human's vitals. The skin under his fingers was pale and clammy. The pulse was present, but very weak and erratic and barely palpable. Breathing was also present, but shallow.

Elladan and Elrohir tried to stop the bleeding, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere. Time was running out, and Elladan knew that they could not bind every wound individually. He and Elrohir ended up binding first Aragorn's entire left leg with strips from their cloaks, then his entire right leg, followed by each of his arms and then his trunk.

Elladan slung his brother over his shoulder and was surprised at how light he had become. "When do you think Estel last ate or drank?" he asked, glancing at Elrohir while running back towards the cavern.

"I know not, though I would hazard at least two days."

"I would say more like three."

"Would you wager on it?" Elrohir shot back.

"Hmm? Did you just ask if I wanted to wager?" Elladan asked disbelievingly.

"Indeed I did."

"Estel has definitely been rubbing off on you, muindor-nín," Elladan muttered wryly. A yén ago, they would never have been joking around like this while someone they loved was dying, but since Aragorn had come into their lives, a new, somewhat odd, sense of humor had been introduced. Right now, though, he could only hope that they had come in time to save their little brother.

Legolas sighed, and then winced. His body ached all over, and all that his efforts to get into a comfortable position resulted in was more pain. He thought that he could feel thousands of tiny, but nonetheless sharp, arrows lodging themselves into his back. As his friends continued asking him questions, he found his mind drifting away from the conversation. Though Raniean was doing a professional job cleaning and tending to his wounds, the pain had only ebbed away a little bit, which was still something to be grateful for, of course. However, some parts of his body still felt like they were on fire; like as his back with his new collection of fifty lashes…

"My Prince, did you say that the orc gave you fifty lashes?" Raniean inquired, forgetting that Legolas did not wish to speak.

"Yes," Legolas replied, his voice slightly hoarse with his pain.

To Legolas's surprise, Raniean found this oddly amusing. He wondered idly whether his friend that been taking lessons from Aragorn. Legolas watched as Raniean tried to disguise the laughter that was building up in him with a few fake coughs. Legolas raised an eyebrow, something which, for some reason, had always unnerved his friend.

"Are you sure?"

Legolas shot Raniean a withering glare. Always Raniean the Inquisitive. Legolas wondered why Raniean could not just be silent for once.

"I will admit that I took the orc's word for how many lashes he planned on delivering. I hope you were not expecting me to count?"

"No, of course not," was his friend's hurried reply, and went back to tending Legolas's wounds, giving Legolas a chance to dwell on his own thoughts.

Grishnak had taken his note to his father. Anger welled up in him as this thought came to mind. But, another part of his mind told him that they could have done much worse, which oddly did not make him feel any better. At least Aragorn still lived, and the orcs had not taken his dagger. The dagger was his father's gift to him when he was very young, before he had gone on his first hunt. Given proper care, the Elven blade would stay good and sharp forever.

// "Now, remember this, young Prince. A knife of any kind is naught but a pretty piece of metal unless it is given proper care. This dagger will pierce through anything now, but if you are reckless, it will be naught but something to weigh you down. This was made by some of the most skilled smiths, and will not fail you when need is at hand. Use it well, Legolas."

"Yes, father" was Legolas's reply, and he proceeded to put the dagger into his boot, where it would stay hidden from greedy eyes. //

Legolas made up his mind to find his dagger as soon as he was free to move around, and return it to it's proper place, where it had been kept for many yén.

"Would you like to know why I asked the number of your lashes, Legolas?" Raniean asked suddenly, disrupting Legolas's thoughts. And when Legolas only stared blankly at him, Raniean said: "It seems like the orc's elders did not drill him on mathematics as Thranduil did to you. Your scars number fifty-one!"

Legolas could scarce believe his ears; once in his life, he was utterly speechless. He was forced to focus more on reality when Elladan and Elrohir suddenly burst in carrying a limp form, which as they neared, resolved itself to be Aragorn. Legolas looked at them, alarm evident in his eyes. Though the human was wrapped nearly head to toe by the twin's cloaks, Legolas could see spots of wet blood seeping through the fabric. He scrambled to his feet, and in his haste to see his friend, knocked over the pot of water that Raniean had been using to clean his wounds.

Elladan nodded slightly. "He lives yet."

Aragorn felt consciousness return and immediately regretted it. Every fibre of his being felt like it was on fire. Where was he? Suddenly he remembered. His eyes snapped open. "Arwen!" he gasped, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.

As Elladan gently set him down, Aragorn locked gazes with Legolas.

"He's awake!" the golden-haired elf exclaimed.

"Arwen," Aragorn repeated, his voice audible now, the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his system dulling the pain. "Grishnak has Arwen!" Aragorn's hand clasped Elladan's forearm as his gaze met his brother's. "Elladan, you must find her! I will be fine. Go!"

"Ú-awarthathom hen. But Estel, I fear that if you are not immediately tended to, you may…" He trailed off, banishing that train of thought from his mind.

"No, Elladan, if the orc indeed has out sister, you must make with all haste to find them. I will take care of Estel," said Elrohir, looking into his twin's eyes and seeing the anger, pain and helplessness. "My healing skills are as good as yours. Arwen needs your help."

Elladan looked once at Aragorn who had slipped back into unconsciousness and then turned his gaze back to Elrohir. "I will go."

Grishnak grinned at the miserably huddled figure on the ground. "So handsome, so brave, so valiant, so foolish, so dead…" he taunted, smirking. "But, no, he probably lives yet," he mused. His expression darkened a scowl further twisted his features. "Most likely those cursed Elven brats found him."

Arwen looked up, mild surprise penetrating her dazed and grieving mind. Elven brats?

"They destroyed everything. But I will have my revenge." He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her up, eliciting a small cry of pain from her as her injured limb refused to support her weight. "And, you, my dear lady, shall act as my witness, in this settling of scores."

Arwen unconsciously shuddered slightly. This orc was not only intelligent and cruel, he was also completely mad.

Elladan returned to area that they had found Estel and began scanning for any indication of the direction the orcs were traveling. His brow furrowed as he pondered the recent events. This reminded him completely too much of his mother. Yet there was something else familiar about their situation; something he could not quite place. Something at the corner of his mind; if he looked directly at it, it would disappear, but he knew it was there. He found the trail he was looking for and began following it. As he walked, he murmured softly to himself. "Dolemfuin," he muttered. Hearing what he'd said, he stopped walking. "Dolemfuin." He rolled the name on his tongue, but then spat it out. "No, no, this cannot be. He is, he is gone. Banished, by all rights dead by now."

Elladan abruptly turned and began running back. Suddenly, he felt his foot trip on a cleverly camouflaged rope. He crashed to the ground, which, ironically, actually saved him from being pierce by an arrow that whizzed by where he had been standing a moment ago. It imbedded itself in a tree, shaft quivering. Elladan picked himself up and carefully looked around for more traps out of habit, but in his heart he already knew there no others.

He pulled the arrow out of the tree and inspected it. Much to his surprise, the arrowhead had blood, red blood, on it. Tied to the shaft, with a piece of string entwined with a few strands of raven hair, was a dirty scrap of parchment, which he removed. On one side, was neat Sindarin script. Elladan quickly looked it over, reading the word Legolas had intended for his father's eyes only. Elladan frowned slightly and turned the parchment over, revealing scrawled, but clearly legible, common.

So we meet again. I assume you still remember me? I still remember you. Always so perfect, so in control. Not so anymore, are you? Sauron did not corrupt my mind; he merely helped me become what I truly am. Your worst nightmare. And one, I fear, that you shall not be waking up from anytime soon. Revenge is sweet, and my revenge shall be very sweet indeed. By the way, you have a lovely sister.

Elvish Translations

Tye melan – I love you. (Quenya)

Nárendur! – Servant of fire! (Quenya curse)

Muindor-nín – my brother

Yén – often roughly translates as year, although one yén is about 144 of our years

Ú-awarthathom hen – We will not abandon her.