Edraith Gwador, To Save a Brother

Chapter Two: "Perfidy"

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As they traveled on, Aragorn attempted to speak with Legolas, but each time he tried to the elf brushed off him as if he were merely an annoying insect. The ranger held back a sigh of annoyance. He twisted in his bonds, testing them. One the elves slapped his hand. "Stop moving!" he snapped.

"They are much too tight. Could you at least—"

The elf cuffed the back of his head. "Do not speak, or else I will—"

"Halwath, enough." Legolas stopped walking and restrained the elf from making any other moves. "You can deal with him later. Not now." He then leveled a look at Aragorn. "And as for you, I that you not speak, or else we will gag you."

The man bit his tongue and looked away. Satisfied, Legolas gave him a shove. "Keep moving," he instructed him.

Aragorn reluctantly obeyed him, wishing he could speak to his friend and try to make sense of all of this. Why was Legolas doing this to him? Was he this angry at him? The Dúnadan shook his head in frustration. It did not make any sense. He glanced about him, wondering who these grim-faced elves were. Every time they looked at him, there was disdain in their darkened eyes, as if…he was at fault for something.

But for what? For speaking rashly? But his problem lay with Legolas, not these people. His head spun with endless possibilities, and so lost was he in his thoughts that he tripped over a tree root. Without his hands to help him, he fell flat on his face, opening up a cut on his lip.

Halwath unceremoniously jerked him up and poked him in the back with the point of his sword. "Keep moving," was all he said.

A saucy answer flew into Aragorn's mind, but he wisely decided not to say anything for the moment. He rubbed the side of his face against his shoulder, trying to push his hair away from his face. He nearly stumbled again, this over a rock.

Halwath leaned close to Legolas. "He is a clumsy one," he whispered, loud enough for the man to hear.

Legolas snorted. "They are always clumsy on their feet. What would you expect of them?" He could feel Aragorn's eyes upon him. "They were created last, and you know why? Because Ilúvatar ran out of ideas, and therefore these poor souls are mortal and have such short lives." Soft laughter and snickers came from the rest of the elves, and Aragorn could not help but feel a stab of pain in his heart.

The Silvan elf continued carelessly. "Save for only the Númenoreans. But though they do live longer, they have more time to engage in wicked deeds," His mouth twisted as he looked directly at the man. "Such as thinking only of themselves and never stopping to think about the consequences of their actions."

Though Legolas was referring to Isildur, Aragorn thought he was talking about their argument. He lowered his eyes to the ground, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. Maybe he deserved all of this treatment from his friend. Bitterly did he regret his words, wishing he could have a chance to take them back.

But Legolas' actions seemed…odd in a way. The man could not quite put his finger on it, but it felt to him as if the elf no longer recognized him anymore as his friend, but merely as another mortal being. He blinked at his thoughts. He must be mad—how could Legolas forget him? He sneaked a look at the elf. No head wounds or scars were visible, and as far as Aragorn was concerned, amnesia for an elf was rare—they had a strong hold when it came to retaining their memories. Unless the elf had fractured his skull very badly, Aragorn could see no way of it happening at all.

He sighed quietly to himself and turned his attention to the elves around him. Legolas strode purposefully in the front; it was clear he held some sort of high rank. The dark-haired elf flanking the man's right was called Halwath, he knew. Another one was at his right; this one's hair was as fair as Legolas' but his eyes were the color of grass. He peered behind his shoulder to glance at the last elf. The being was taller than most elves, and carried himself with a bearing that seemed proud. His eyes were hazel, and the color was his hair was a deep brown, but not quite black, color. All ignored him, so he turned back around to stare at the back of his friend. He looked longing at his sword and his other weapons, which Legolas held in his arms.

The farther they walked, the more he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Finally he hesitantly asked, "Where are we headed to?"

"To Ered Mithrin," Legolas answered, not even bothering to turn around.

"Why?" the ranger demanded. "Why are you doing this? Do you hate me this much?"

The elf stopped and whirled around, grasping Aragorn by his cloak. "Because someone wants to see you." He answered, his voice so cold that the man pulled a little away from him. "And yes." Paying no heed to the hurt look in the man's eyes the elf released his hold on his clothing and continued to walk.

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The Mirkwood prince adjusted the strap of his quiver, tightening it a little. He frowned, realizing the leather felt worn under his fingers. Mostly likely he would have to replace the strap soon; else he would lose his quiver.

The elf walked on, his thoughts turning toward the strange man. He felt no remorse over what he had said or done to the man, but a tiny part in his mind was eating at him. He thought over what Daefuin had said, and to admit it was confusing. Was the human mistaking him for another? No, for he had called Legolas by his rightful name. The elf frowned. It made little sense. Try as he might, he had no recollection of this Heir of Isildur, yet something about the man was interesting. He felt…drawn to him, as if, in another lifetime, they did know each other.

The fair-haired elf finally decided to push away these troublesome thoughts and to think about other things, such as what Daefuin had wanted him to do. For Aragorn's sake, he hoped the man had a high toleration for pain. If not, then Daefuin would think the fun all over too soon. Then he would send Legolas out to find some other poor soul to torture. For this was not the first time the Noldo had done this.

Due to his deep hate for all Númenoreans, the elf had an insane mission to find a way to kill each one of his victims in the most drawn-out and excruciating way. Time after time, Legolas had heard the men brought in scream; their cries echoed in his ears for days. His lord had not liked his reactions to it. He forced him to accept it, to become insensitive to it.

And he had. Thranduil would have been grieved if he could have seen his son watch someone being punished without even a hint of emotion. Legolas no longer flinched at the sound of a whip; his eyes did not even flicker when they saw another's pain. When someone looked upon him with hate or fear in their eyes he laughed at them mockingly. He had become hardened to it all.

Yet in all of this, a small part of him cried out against his actions and deeds. He still had his doubts, and although he could bear seeing someone in pain, it did not mean that he himself liked to inflict it. He and Daefuin had argued long and hard about this, but the two had finally reached a shaky compromise; Legolas would do whatever Daefuin asked, and then he would not have to assist the Noldo in "experimenting." It was fair enough.

But now, as he reflected, he realized that the ranger had not looked at him with either hate or fear, but with love, a friend's love. When Legolas first looked upon him, those grey eyes had held in them only kindness. And this greatly bothered the elf. He knew the man was Isildur's heir, but this one was different. Very different. If only he could remember where he had seen those eyes before…

He had no more time to ponder, for they had reached Daefuin's dwelling place.

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Aragorn looked up at the dark mountains with no small amount of apprehension in his eyes. Legolas lived here? He could not fathom why; he thought his friend passionately disliked caves.

Someone prodded him; it was the brown-haired elf. "Hurry up!" he hissed at him.

The man followed Legolas cautiously as the elf walked to a crevice at the foot of a mountain, ducking his head. He motioned for them to follow.

Halwath had a tight grip on the man. His fingers gripped his arm so tightly it hurt. Aragorn pushed aside the pain the best he could and tried to see in the darkness. He heard the sound of rock striking against metal, and suddenly he saw Legolas holding a torch. Blinking his eyes, he watched as the elf came close to him.

"Dúron and Halwath, you know where to take him." Then elf handed the torch to Halwath, turned away, and all of a sudden disappeared from sight. By the Valar, what just happened? As the two elves propelled him forward, Aragorn glanced at the spot where he had seen Legolas disappear and saw an opening in the wall. It was another hallway, also dimly lit.

The deeper they went, the more Aragorn felt he was entering a prison of some sort. The corridors and rooms barely had any light in them, unlike the caves of Thranduil's Halls. Everything was either stone or wood; no tapestries or paintings decorated the wall. They had made so many turns and went up and down so many stairways, that Aragorn no longer could figure out in which direction he was heading, and it unnerved him. The many elves stationed here all carried a torch, and in the light the man could see in their eyes was the same hatred he had felt from Halwath and the others. Inwardly shuddering, he was confounded as to why his usually cheery friend who enjoyed his time in tree found delight in such company.

It felt so wrong. Very wrong.

The two elves stopped in front of a large, wooden door. Halwath kicked it twice. "We have him, my lord." he called. His voice echoed oddly in the passageway. The man tensed. He did not want to go in, fearing what would happen. He began to struggle, trying to get free of his captors. Perhaps his chances of escaping alive were slim, but being dead was preferable to being held by an unknown enemy.

Another elf opened the door. Without a word Dúron and Halwath dragged Aragorn in, their strength far greater than his. Without a warning, Halwath shoved him on the ground and landed a solid kick to his back. "Stubborn son of an orc!" he growled.

The Dúnadan held back a yelp of pain as he tried to roll over in order to get to his feet. It was a bad move. Dúron dispassionately kicked Aragorn in the chest, doubling him ever. As the elf seized him by his bound arms and jerked him up.

"What is the meaning of this?" A cool and calm voice broke in. The two elves froze, and Aragorn stopped fighting against them in order to look up at the speaker.

An elf dressed entirely in dark colors stood at the far end of the room. He lit a candle and began walking toward them. The glow of the light cast odd shadows over his face and hair, making him seem disfigured. As he smiled in a feral manner, Aragorn felt his blood run cold. Surely this was the leader? Unconsciously, he tried to pull away, but was he held tightly. He swallowed hard.

"So we meet, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The elf laughed softly at the shock in the man's eyes. "Do not look at me so; for I know many, many secrets." His voice was low, and he spoke deliberately. "And now, some of them will come to light, heir of Isildur." The last three words said with a little more force.

Aragorn tried to control his panic as he thought frantically. How had this elf known his heritage? He had told no one; only his family, Gandalf, and a few rangers knew. Then he remembered another one who knew.

Legolas. A sickening feeling squeezed his throat closed and he could barely breathe. Surely his friend had not betrayed him to this being? His eyes must have reflected his emotions, for the elf laughed again. "Surprised, young one?" He teasingly asked. Never before had the words, 'young one' sounded more hateful.

"You know who I am," Aragorn finally answered, finding his voice. "But I do not know you. Tell me your name, dark one."

The elf smiled. "I did not tell you my name? It must have slipped my mind." He gave a bow. "I am Daefuin."

"What have you done to Legolas?" the man's voice took on a desperate note.

"Done?" Daefuin quirked an eyebrow. "See for yourself." He nodded to two other guards. "Send for Legolas, please." he instructed them before nodding to Halwath and Dúron, who still held the man.

Cutting Aragorn's bonds, they dragged him over to a wall and slammed him up against it. He tried to get free, but could not. The two easily overpowered him and chained him to the wall by two sets of manacles before turning back to their master. "You may leave," he told them, approaching Aragorn. "I have much to do with this one."

The man closed his eyes, no longer wishing to look at his captor. He had a feeling he knew what would be happening in a very short time. He tried to wrench away when a hand touched his cheek.

"Still so young and reckless, are you?" the voice went on. "It is a pity that you are destined to become like the rest of your ancestors—corrupted, weak, and foolish." Aragorn kept his eyes closed. "I myself have personally seen Isildur, and I also saw the choice he had made." The hand suddenly moved it his hair, yanking his head back painfully. The Dúnadan's eyelids flew open at the treatment, and his eyes met that of the elves.

"Do you know why I hate you Númenoreans the most out of all the races of men? Do you know?" Daefuin's voice had taken on a steely quality to it. "Because they were usurpers and men who only thought for themselves. All of them. They plundered homes and people, taking whatever they wanted, lusting after what they could not have, and taking innocent lives!" His hand twisted cruelly in Aragorn's hair. "Long have I awaited for this chance," the elf smiled again, eyes narrowing. "Long have I waited to find the heir within my grasp." He slowly ran a sharp fingernail down Aragorn's cheek, leaving a thin red mark.

The man gritted his teeth as the elf continued. "You are going to pay for the wrongdoings of your forefathers, young one." He leaned even closer until Aragorn could feel his breath upon his face. "And you will pay dearly—first with your pain, and then with your life."

A chill down the ranger's spine. He knew the threats were not idle ones, and his heart sank when he saw that Legolas had entered the room. "My lord?" the elf quietly said. "You called for me?"

Daefuin turned. "Ah, Legolas. It is good to see you. Would you mind coming over here?"

Without a word the elf complied. Daefuin released his hold on Aragorn's hair. "Does this human mean anything to you, Legolas?" he asked, watching the elf's face.

"Nay." Legolas stated calmly. "He means nothing."

Aragorn's eyes flickered as he looked away, wishing he could cover his ears. He did not want to hear this coming from his friend.

"Really?" Daefuin continued carelessly. "Then I suppose you would not mind teaching him a lesson, would you, my friend?"

For a moment the wood-elf hesitated. Then, he stepped up in front of Aragorn. His jaw was set, and there was no hint of recognition. Slowly, he raised his hand.

"Legol—"

The elf slapped him across the face, hard. "Do not speak!" he hissed angrily. "I do not want to hear a word from you, adan." He slapped him again, this time harder.

Aragorn closed his eyes and dropped his head, but Daefuin placed a dagger at this throat. "You will keep your eyes open and your head up, or I will cut out your eyes." he threatened.

The ranger opened his eyes to glare at the elf, but there was definite pain in the eyes. As Legolas struck him again, the dark-haired elf smiled. "It stings, doesn't it, Estel?" He purposefully used the man's childhood name. "Strange how perfidy hurts so much."

The man didn't even try to answer; there was no point in trying. The only thing he could do now was to try to keep his emotions in check. Tears stung his eyes, but it was not from the pain in his face; it was from the anguish his heart as his former friend continued to strike him. Never before had he felt this way, and it cut him deeply.

"Enough." Daefuin's voice broke into his thoughts.

Half-dazed, Aragorn watched while the two elves quietly conversed as they left the room, leaving him alone in his misery. Dropping his head low, he finally could not deny the tears.

"Legolas…why?" he whispered. "Why?"

There was no one to answer him.

TBC…

Translations:

Dúron – "Dark one," I think.

Adan – man

A/N: First, I must apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. I was away for the most of August and had no time to write. Only when I came back in September did I have time to write. I hope you all will forgive me.

A/N #2: Do refrain from doing anything to poor Legolas, though. He's not very happy with me at this moment…and I don't blame him.

A/N #3: Apostate's Ruse will update soon after. It is currently being beta-ed.